September 24th. This morning details were made for picket duty and working on the railroad and the telegraph lines, doing the work laboring men ought to have done. The enemy destroyed about everything connected with the railroad. I was detailed, with twenty men, to report at the station to the road-master. Our equipments were left at the station, while we loaded telegraph poles on flat cars, distributed them along the road, and helped to set them. We were obliged to throw the poles off from the slowly moving train. It was hard and very dangerous work for inexperienced men who were so near used up from hard service during the year. We were thankful when night came and we could return to our camp to rest and sleep.
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
September 24.—Newnan is now the head-quarters of the army. Hood is moving West. No one can tell what will be done next. Sherman is still in Atlanta. Every thing is quiet.
I have received a letter from my friend, Dr. Burt, who is now at Cuthbert, twenty miles below this place. The way the hospitals move from place to place puts me in mind of the contra-dance, where the head couple are always taking a jump to the foot. Some time ago I wished to go to the hospital which Dr. B. is in, because it was so near the army, but now he is way below me. He gives an account of two raids which visited Oxford, near Covington, while he was there. He says the enemy infested the place twice; but, thanks to high weeds and green grass, he was not captured. He also says he is completely demoralized with what he has gone through and the fear of other raids, and that any thing blue, even the blue of heaven, gives him an unpleasant feeling.
We are getting the hospital put to rights again. On the square where the fire was new buildings are being erected. The latter is one of the things I do not like to see; for, like Dr. B. and the blue, the sight of new lumber gives me an unpleasant feeling, as it is always a sure sign of our exodus. We are having a fine bakery built—I believe the eighth one our baker has had to put up since the war.
September 24th.—These stories of our defeats in the valley fall like blows upon a dead body. Since Atlanta fell I have felt as if all were dead within me forever. Captain Ogden, of General Chesnut’s staff, dined here to-day. Had ever brigadier, with little or no brigade, so magnificent a staff? The reserves, as somebody said, have been secured only by robbing the cradle and the grave—the men too old, the boys too young. Isaac Hayne, Edward Barnwell, Bacon, Ogden, Richardson, Miles are the picked men of the agreeable world.
Saturday, 24th—This morning found us lying at Acworth, Georgia, having arrived at about 11 o’clock in the night. There is an engine off the track about a mile east of town, and they are at work repairing the track and trying to get the engine back on. Eleven trains are waiting here, six going North and five South. We left Acworth at 2 p. m. and arrived at Big Shanty, where we again had to lie until night, waiting for the railroad to be repaired. The rebels tore up the tracks to the west of Kenesaw mountain, this afternoon. They had a small battery with them and threw some shells at the trains, but with the exception of hitting three or four cars, did no damage.
Etowah Bridge, Saturday, Sept. 24. Another rainy, disagreeable day. The public property of the Battery is now turned over to Simpson and everything is ready to start for home, only waiting for transportation. Captain Dillon came to camp at noon. He takes command of the old Company on their way home. Capt. G. J. * * * relieved him as chief of artillery. Monthly inspection by Division inspector at 1 P. M. He found the camp rather upside down, after which a champion game of base-ball was played on the flat between the nonveterans and veterans. The non-veterans came off victorious by 11 points in 61. The day passed sadly for me at thought of parting with my loved companions.
Blicks Station, September 24th, 1864.
Another letter from home reached me this morning, giving me cause to thank God anew for His goodness and mercy in preserving, thus far, the lives of my dear family. It seems to me that, notwithstanding the sufferings we have endured the past two years, we have been highly favored by a kind Providence. We still remain an unbroken family, while others have fallen on our right hand and on our left. Although death has come so near we could almost feel his icy touch and see his grizzled visage, we have been spared. It is not for us to know why—short-sighted mortals that we are—we are led in safety through dangerous, crooked paths, but our past experience should teach us to trust, with unwavering faith, the hand that guides us. But, after all, how frail we mortals be, and powerless. I find it to be impossible to abate one jot of my anxiety in their behalf. I am keenly alive to all the embarrassments our situation exposes them to, and can only school myself to endure, for a brief period, by considering the sacredness of the cause in which we are engaged. My wife can never know how much the confidence she expresses in my integrity has strengthened me in my determination to deal justly. I acknowledge I have been tempted. The inducements held out to me have been strong. Thus far, I have been enabled to resist them. The knowledge that my wife expects better things of me, added to my own sense of right, has thus far kept me, but there are times when I need advice—encouragement. I want it—crave it—from my wife alone.
With men I am sufficiently self-reliant, asking no favors. With her it is different. I know she is sincere. I confide in her judgment; her intuition.
I am somewhat disappointed in McClellan’s letter of acceptance. I had given him credit for more manliness than he possesses. He accepts the nomination but repudiates the platform, which is the soul of the party that nominated him.
I do not know how it may be in the North, but he has lost his influence in the army. I have talked with many who were his friends, who now say they would as soon vote for Vallandingham. In fact, I hear none but boys, and a class of men whose only reason is, “d—n the man who won’t vote for McClellan, anyhow,” speak in his favor the last ten days. There is not the least excitement. Everyone seems to have settled down to the conviction that “Old Abe is the best we can do,” and acts accordingly.
Saturday, September 24. — Marched five [miles] to Edinburg, seven to Mount Jackson, seven and one-fourth to New Market — nineteen and one-fourth [in all]. A fine day; fine scenery. Rebels stood a short time at Reed’s Hill near Mount Jackson, but soon retreated; admit a bad defeat — loss of seventeen pieces of artillery and five thousand men. Camp facing the gap into Luray Valley.
Saturday, September 24.— A new officer arrived at the navy room. He was captured at Plymouth last February. The navy made some egg-nog, of which we had our share. Day cloudy most of the time. Scrubbed out the room. Spent the evening in the navy room, singing, etc. Had quite a scene in jail to-day. A rebel deserter was brought in. He was captured in the street, his two sisters being with him. When he was brought into the jail the sentry tried to keep the sisters out, but they shrieked and screamed and fought, and finally dodged in under the guard’s bayonet, and joined their brother amid the applause of the surrounding multitude.
Camp Near Strasburg, Virginia, September 21, 1864.
Dearest: — As I anticipated when I added a few words in pencil to a half finished letter last Sunday, we left camp to seek General Early and give him battle. We met him at Winchester and, as I telegraphed, gained a great victory. General Crook’s command in general, and my brigade and the Second (Kanawha) Division in particular, squared up the balance left against us on the 24th of July at the same place. The fighting began at daylight Monday (19th), with our cavalry. Then the Sixth Corps fighting pretty well, joined in; and about 10:30 A. M. the Nineteenth [Corps] took part — some portions of it behaving badly, losing ground, two guns, and some prisoners. We in the meantime were guarding the wagons (!). Since the fight they say Crook’s command was the reserve!
By noon the battle was rather against [us]. The Rebels were jubilant and in Winchester were cheering and rejoicing over the victory. We were sent for. General Crook in person superintended the whole thing. At one o’clock, having passed around on to the Rebel left, we passed under a fire of cannon and musketry and pushed direct for a battery on their extreme flank. This division was our extreme right. My brigade in front, supported by Colonel White’s old brigade. As soon as we felt their fire we moved swiftly forward going directly at the battery. The order was to walk fast, keep silent, until within about one hundred yards of the guns, and then with a yell to charge at full speed. We passed over a ridge and were just ready to begin the rush when we came upon a deep creek with high banks, boggy, and perhaps twenty-five yards wide.
The Rebel fire now broke out furiously. Of course the line stopped. To stop was death. To go on was probably the same but on we started again. My horse plunged in and mired down hopelessly, just as by frantic struggling he reached about the middle of the stream. I jumped off, and down on all fours, succeeded in reaching the Rebel side — but alone. Perhaps some distance above or below others were across. I was about the middle of the brigade and saw nobody else, but hundreds were struggling in the stream. It is said several were drowned. I think it not true. (N. B. I just received the enclosed with orders to have it read to every man in my division. I send you the original. Save it as precious.)[1] The next man over (I don’t know but he beat me — but — ) was the adjutant of the Thirty-sixth.
Soon they came flocking, all regiments mixed up — all order gone. [There was] no chance of ever reforming, but pell-mell, over the obstructions, went the crowd. Two cannons were captured; the rest run off. The whole of Crook’s Command (both divisions) were soon over, with the general swinging his sword, and the Rebel position was successfully flanked, and victory in prospect for the first time that day.
We chased them three to five hundred yards, when we came in sight of a second line, strongly posted. We steadily worked towards them under a destructive fire. Sometimes we would be brought to a standstill by the storm of grape and musketry, but the flags (yours as advanced as any) would be pushed on and a straggling crowd would follow. With your flag were [the] Twenty-third, Thirty-fourth, Thirty-sixth, and Seventy-first men, and so of all the others. Officers on horseback were falling faster than others, but all were suffering. (Mem.: —Two men got my horse out and I rode him all day, but he was ruined.)
Things began to look dark. The Nineteenth Corps next on our left were in a splendid line, but they didn’t push. They stood and fired at long range! Many an anxious glance was cast that way. They were in plain sight, but no, or very little, effective help came from that handsome line. It was too far off. At the most critical moment a large body of that splendid cavalry, with sabres drawn, moved slowly around our right beyond the creek. Then at a trot and finally with shouts at a gallop [they] charged right into the Rebel lines. We pushed on and away broke the Rebels. The cavalry came back, and an hour later and nearly a mile back, the same scene again; and a third time; and the victory was ours just at sundown.
My division [was] entering Winchester as the Rebels were leaving, far in advance of all other troops. My division commander had fallen (Colonel Duval) badly, not dangerously, wounded, and I commanded the division in the closing scenes. The colonel of the other brigade, Captain Hastings, one of my orderlies (Johnny Kaufman), and hosts of others [were] wounded. You will see the lists. No intimate friends killed.
It was a great victory, but a much greater battle to take part in than the results would indicate. I certainly never enjoyed anything more than the last three hours. Dr. Joe was perfectly happy, the last two hours at least — always after the first cavalry charge. We felt well. The sum of it is, [the] Sixth Corps fought well; [the] Nineteenth only so-so. Crook’s skill and his men turned the Rebel left making victory possible, and the cavalry saved it when it was in danger of being lost.
Of course this is imperfect. I saw but little of what occurred. For that reason I would never have a letter of mine shown outside of the family. There is too much risk of errors. For instance, crossing the creek, I could only see one hundred yards or so up and down. Forty men may have beaten me over, but I didn’t see them.
Colonel Duval has gone home. I command the division. Colonel Devol of the Thirty-sixth commands the First Brigade in my stead. We are following the retreating Rebels. They will get into an entrenched position before fighting again, and I suspect we shall not assault them in strong works. So I look for no more fighting with General Early this campaign. — Love to all.
Affectionately,
R.
Send this to Mother and Uncle with request to return it to you.
P. S. — A comment on this letter. I am told that the creek we crossed was a swail or “sloo” [slough] three hundred yards long, and that my line above and below me crossed it easily — thus separating still more the different parts of my line. No one knows a battle except the little part he sees.
[1] Two yellow flimsies. One giving a despatch of September 20 from Secretary Stanton to General Sheridan, reading: “Please accept for yourself and your gallant army the thanks of the President and the Department for your great battle and brilliant victory of yesterday. . . . One hundred guns were fired here at noon today in honor of your victory.”
The other a despatch of the same date from General Grant, reading: “I have just received the news of your great victory and ordered each of the army corps to fire a salute of one hundred guns in honor of it at 7 o’clock tomorrow morning.”
September 24 — There has been a battle fought recently somewhere in the lower Shenandoah Valley. General Kershaw’s division which was detained here for further orders started back toward the Shenandoah Valley this morning.
