The American Civil War

Nine miles from Atlanta, two and one-half miles
southwest of railroad crossing,

July 9, 1864.

On the evening of the 7th, just dark, a Rebel battery in a fort which our guns had been bursting shells over all day, suddenly opened with eight 20-pound Parrotts, and for one-half an hour did some of the most rapid work I ever heard. They first paid their attention to our batteries, then demolished some half-dozen wagons and 20 mules for the 4th Division of the 17th Army Corps half a mile to our right, and then began scattering their compliments along our line, wherever I suppose they had detected our presence by smoke or noise. They kept getting closer and closer to us, and finally, a shell burst in front of our regiment. The next one went 50 yards past us and dropped into the 40th Illinois. Neither of them did any damage, and no more came so close. An hour afterward we fell in, and moving a mile to the left and onehalf a mile to the front, occupied a ridge which we fortified by daylight, so they might shell and be hanged.

The Rebel skirmishers heard us moving as we came over, and threw more than a thousand bullets at us, but it was so pitchy dark that fortunately they did us no damage. From our colors we can see the fort that fired so the night of the 7th. They are about three-fourths of a mile distant. There have not been any bullets or shells passed over us since we got our works up, though the skirmish line at the foot of the hill, has a lively time. We have it very easy. I was on the 8th in charge of a line of skirmishers on the left of our brigade. The Rebels were seemingly quite peaceable, so much so, that I thought I’d walk over to some blackberry bushes 50 yards in front of our right.

I got about half way out when they sent about a dozen bullets at me. I retired in good order, considering. In the p.m. of the 7th, the skirmishers in front of a brigade of the 20th Corps, and the Rebel line, left their guns, and went out and were together nearly all the afternoon; 13 of the Rebels agreed to come into our line after dark. At the time appointed, heavy firing commenced on the Rebel side, and our boys, fearing foul play, poured in a few volleys. Through the heaviest of the fire two of the Rebels came running in. They said that the 13 started, and that the Rebels opened on them. The rest were probably killed. One of my men has just returned from visiting his brother in the 20th Corps. It is reported there that the 23d Corps crossed the river this p.m. without losing a man. The heavy firing this evening was our folks knocking down some block houses at the railroad bridge. The 4th Corps to-night lays right along the river bank.

July 7, 1864.

The shooting still continues in our front, but hear no Rebel artillery. The water here is excellent, and everybody seems to get a few blackberries. We also stew grapes and green apples, and everything that ever was eaten by anti-cannibals. There is so much confounded fighting to be attended to that we can’t forage any, and though fresh beef is furnished to the men regularly there is some scurvy. I have seen several black-mouthed, loose-toothed fellows, hankering after pickles. Teamsters and hangers-on who stay in the rear get potatoes, etc., quite regularly. I do not believe the Johnnies intend fighting again very strongly this side of the river. Our scouts say that between the river and Atlanta the works run line after line as thickly as they can be put in. Per contra, two women who came from Atlanta on the 6th say that after we get across the river we will have no fighting, that Johnston is sending his troops to Savannah, Charleston, Mobile and Richmond, except enough to fight us at different river crossings. Our scouts also say that the Rebels are deserting almost by thousands, and going around our flanks to their homes in Tennessee, Kentucky, etc. I have not been in a house in Georgia, but several citizens I have met in camp said they had heard many soldiers say they would never cross the river with Johnston since the charge of the 27th.

Harrow has kept our brigade in reserve, and I think he will continue to do so unless a general battle is fought. We have suffered more heavily than any other two brigades in the army, and when we started we were one of the smallest. I am willing to see some of the others go in a while, though I want to help if Johnston will stand a fair fight in open ground. The chigres are becoming terrific. They are as large as the blunt end of a No. 12 and as red as blood. They will crawl through any cloth and bite worse than a flea, and poison the flesh very badly. They affect some more than others. I get along with them comparatively well, that is, I don’t scratch more than half the time. Many of the boys anoint their bodies with bacon rinds, which the chigres can’t go. Salt-water bathing also bars chigres, but salt is too scarce to use on human meat. Some of the boys bathing now in a little creek in front of me; look like what I expect “Sut Lovegood’s” father did after plowing through that hornet’s nest. All done by chigres. I believe I pick off my neck and clothes 30 varieties of measuring worm every day. Our brigade quartermaster yesterday found, under his saddle in his tent, a rattlesnake, with six rattles and a button.

This is the 68th day of the campaign. We hope to end it by August 1st, though if we can end the war by continuing this until January 1st, ’65, I am in. Reinforcements are coming in every day, and I don’t suppose we are any weaker than when we left Chattanooga. The Rebels undoubtedly are, besides the natural demoralization due to falling back so much must be awful. My health is excellent. Remember me to all the wounded boys of the 103d you see.

July 5, 1864.

Can hear no firing this p.m. It seems the Rebels have got across the Chattahoochie. We are about 12 miles from Atlanta. The river will probably trouble us some, but we all think “Pap” will make it before August 1st. Johnston don’t dare give us anything like a fair fight. We are all in splendid spirits and the boys have made the woods ring with their Fourth of July cheers, tired as they are. We have lost no men since the charge of the 27th. I have an Atlanta paper, giving an acount of that fight. They say we were all drunk with whisky and fought more like devils than men.

p.m.

We have continued our march about four or five miles today. Osterhaus and M. L. Smith are ahead of us ,and I think we are on the right of the army again. The 4th Division, 17th Army Corps is engaged one-half mile ahead of us or rather are shooting a little with their big guns. I climbed a tree a half hour ago, and what do you think?—saw Atlanta, and saw it plainly, too. I suppose it is ten miles distant, not more than 12. The country looks about as level as a floor, excepting one-half mountain, to the left of the city, some miles. We seem to be on the last ridge that amounts to anything. We are, I suppose, two and one-half miles from the river at this point, though we hold it farther to the right. Very large columns of smoke were rolling up from different parts of the city. I suppose they were the explosions of foundries, machine shops, etc. Dense clouds of dust can be seen at several points across the river; suppose it means trains or troops moving.

Have seen but few wounded going back to-day. We are laying along some very good rifle pits, occasionally embrasured for artillery, which the 17th Army Corps took this morning. They were not very stoutly defended, though, and the artillery had been moved back. With some pretty lively skirmishing the line has been advanced this evening. Not much loss on our side; saw some one-half dozen ambulance loads only.

July 4, 1864.

I count it the hardest Fourth I have seen in the service. About 8 a.m. we moved out, passed through Marietta, which is by far the prettiest town I have seen South (about the size of Canton), and continued south nearly all the way along our line of works. Marched about 11 miles. Not more than one-third of the men stacked arms when we halted for the night; fell out along the roads. I have seen more than 1,000 prisoners and deserters.

June 30, 1864 8 a.m.

There was a terrific fight on our right, commencing at 2 this morning and lasting until 3. I have not yet heard what it was.

Some deserters passed us this morning. I have lost just half the men I left Scottsboro with just two months ago, but what I have left, are every man ready to help. We have a good deal more than “cleared” ourselves. I had my canteen strap cut off by a bullet and a spent glancing ball struck my ankle.

Front of Kenesaw Mountain, June 26, 1864.

Nothing worth mentioning has occurred since my last. The usual amount of artillery and musketry have kept us sure of the enemy’s still holding his position. I have sent you, piecemeal, a journal of every day since May 1st, excepting the last four days, which were stupid. It promises to be interesting enough now. We received orders yesterday p.m. to be ready to move at dark, and were all glad enough. When we are in the face of the enemy I believe one is better contented in the front line than anywhere else, though, like every other good thing, it becomes old. At 7 p.m. we moved out and it took us until 2 a.m. to march three miles. We relieved Jeff C. Davis’ division, which moved farther to the right. It is right at the foot of the west one of the twin mountains. The Johnnies shot into our ranks with impunity. They have to-day killed one and wounded three of our brigade that I know of, and more in the 1st Brigade. Dr. Morris’ brother is the only man struck in our regiment; he is not hurt much.