150-years-ago -- The Battle of Nashville, Tennessee, Dec. 15-16, 1864.

[Excerpted from Company Aytch, Maury Grays, First Tennesse Regiment, or A Sideshow of the Big, by Sam R. Watkins, Columbia, Tenn. 1900]  

Pvt. Sam Watkins, Co. H, 1st Tenn. Inf.

NASHVILLE.

      A few more scenes, my dear friends, and we close these

memoirs. We march toward the city of Nashville. We camp

the first night at Brentwood. The next day we can see the fine

old building of solid granite, looming up on Capitol Hill the

capitol of Tennessee. We can see the Stars and Stripes flying

from the dome. Our pulse leaps with pride when we see the

grand old architecture. We can hear the bugle call, and the

playing of the bands of the different regiments in the Federal

lines. Now and then a shell is thrown into our midst from

Fort Negley, but no attack or demonstrations on either side.

We bivouac on the cold and hard-frozen ground, and when we walk about, the echo of our footsteps sound like the echo of a  tombstone. The earth is crusted with snow, and the wind from the northwest is piercing our very bones. We can see our ragged soldiers, with sunken cheeks and famine-glistening eyes. Where were our generals? Alas! there were none. Not one

single general out of Cheatham s division was left not one.

      General B. F. Cheatham himself was the only surviving general

of his old division. Nearly all our captains and colonels were

gone. Companies mingled with companies, regiments with

regiments, and brigades with brigades. A few raw-boned horses

stood shivering under the ice-covered trees, nibbling the short,

scanty grass. Being in range of the Federal guns from Fort

Negley, we were not allowed to have fires at night, and our thin

and ragged blankets were but poor protection against the cold,

raw blasts of December weather the coldest ever known. The

cold stars seem to twinkle with unusual brilliancy, and the pale

moon seems to be but one vast heap of frozen snow, which

glimmers in the cold gray sky, and the air gets colder by its coming ;

our breath, forming in little rays, seems to make a thousand

little coruscations that scintillate in the cold frosty air. I can tell

you nothing of what was going on among the generals. But

there we were, and that is all that I can tell you. One morning

about daylight our army began to move. Our division was then

on the extreme right wing, and then we were transferred to the

left wing. The battle had begun. We were continually

moving to our left. We would build little temporary breastworks,

then we would be moved to another place. Our lines kept on

widening out, and stretching further and further apart, until it

was not more than a skeleton of a skirmish line from one end to

the other. We started at a run. We cared for nothing. Not

more than a thousand yards off, we could see the Yankee cavalry,

artillery, and infantry, marching apparently still further to our

left. We could see regiments advancing at double-quick across

the fields, while, with our army, everything seemed confused.

The private soldier could not see into things. It seemed to be

somewhat like a flock of wild geese when they have lost their

leader. We were willing to go anywhere, or to follow anyone

who would lead us. We were anxious to flee, fight, or fortify.

I have never seen an army so confused and demoralized. The

whole thing seemed to be tottering and trembling. When,

Halt! Front! Right dress! and Adjutant McKinney reads

the following order :

     "Soldiers: The commanding general takes pleasure in

announcing to his troops that victory and success are now within

their grasp; and the commanding general feels proud and

gratified that in every attack and assault the enemy have been

repulsed; and the commanding general will further say to his

noble and gallant troops, Be of good cheer all is well.

"GENERAL JOHN B. HOOD,

"KINLOCK FALCONER, "General Commanding.

"Acting Adjutant-General."

       I remember how this order was received. Every soldier

said, "O, shucks ; that is all shenanigans for we knew that we

had never met the enemy or fired a gun outside of a little

skirmishing. And I will further state that that battle order,

announcing success and victory, was the cause of a greater

demoralization than if our troops had been actually engaged in battle.

They at once mistrusted General Hood’s judgment as a

commander. And every private soldier in the whole army knew

the situation of affairs. I remember when passing by Hood,

how feeble and decrepit he looked, with an arm in a sling, and a

crutch in the other hand, and trying to guide and control his

horse. And, reader, I was not a Christian then, and am but

little better to-day; but, as God sees my heart to-night, I prayed

in my heart that day for General Hood. Poor fellow, I loved

him, not as a General, but as a good man. I knew when that

army order was read, that General Hood had been deceived, and

that the poor fellow was only trying to encourage his men.

Every impulse of his nature was but to do good, and to serve his

country as best he could. Ah ! reader, some day all will be well.

       We continued marching toward our left, our battle-line

getting thinner and thinner. We could see the Federals

advancing, their blue coats and banners flying, and could see

their movements and hear them giving their commands. Our

regiment was ordered to double quick to the extreme left

wing of the army, and we had to pass up a steep hill, and

the dead grass was wet and as slick as glass, and it was with

the greatest difficulty that we could get up the steep hill

side. When we got to the top, we, as skirmishers, were ordered

to deploy still further to the left. Billy Carr and J. E. Jones,

two as brave soldiers as ever breathed the breath of life in fact,

it was given up that they were the bravest and most daring men

in the Army of Tennessee and myself ; were on the very

extreme left wing of our army. While we were deployed as

skirmishers, I heard, "Surrender, surrender," and on looking

around us, I saw that we were right in the midst of a Yankee

line of battle. They were lying down in the bushes, and we

were not looking for them so close to us. We immediately

threw down our guns and surrendered. J. E. Jones was killed

at the first discharge of their guns, when another Yankee raised

up and took deliberate aim at Billy Carr, and fired, the ball

striking him below the eye and passing through his head. As

soon as I could, I picked up my gun, and as the Yankee turned

I sent a minnie ball crushing through his head, and broke and

run. But I am certain that I killed the Yankee who killed

Billy Carr, but it was too late to save the poor boy’s life. As I

started to run, a fallen dogwood tree tripped me up, and I fell

over the log. It was all that saved me. The log was riddled

with balls, and thousands, it seemed to me, passed over it. As

I got up to run again, I was shot through the middle finger of

the very hand that is now penning these lines, and the thigh.

But I had just killed a Yankee, and was determined to get

away from there as soon as I could. How I did get back I

hardly know, for I was wounded and surrounded by Yankees.

One rushed forward, and placing the muzzle of his gun in two

feet of me, discharged it, but it missed its aim, when I ran at

him, grabbed him by the collar, and brought him off a prisoner.

Captain Joe P. Lee and Colonel H. R. Field remember this, as

would Lieutenant-Colonel John L. House, were he alive; and

all the balance of Company H, who were there at the time. I

had eight bullet holes in my coat, and two in my hand, beside

the one in my thigh and finger. It was a hail storm of bullets.

The above is true in every particular, and is but one incident of

the war, which happened to hundreds of others. But, alas! all

our valor and victories were in vain, when God and the whole

world were against us.

       Billy Carr was one of the bravest and best men I ever

knew. He never knew what fear was, and in consequence of

his reckless bravery, had been badly wounded at Perryville.

Murfreesboro, Chickamauga, the octagon house, Dead Angle,

and the 22nd of July at Atlanta. In every battle he was

wounded, and finally, in the very last battle of the war, surrendered

up his life for his country s cause. No father and mother

of such a brave and gallant boy, should ever sorrow or regret

having born to them such a son. He was the flower and

chivalry of his company. He was as good as he was brave. His

bones rest yonder on the Overton hills to-day, while I have no

doubt in my own mind that his spirit is with the Redeemer of

the hosts of heaven. He was my friend. Poor boy, farewell!

When I got back to where I could see our lines, it was one

scene of confusion and rout. Finney s Florida brigade had

broken before a mere skirmish line, and soon the whole army

had caught the infection, had broken, and were running in every

direction. Such a scene I never saw. The army was panic stricken.

The woods everywhere were full of running soldiers.

Our officers were crying, "Halt ! halt !" and trying to rally and

re-form their broken ranks. The Federals would dash their

cavalry in amongst us, and even their cannon joined in the

charge. One piece of Yankee artillery galloped past me, right

on the road, unlimbered their gun, fired a few shots, and galloped

ahead again.

       Hood’s whole army was routed and in full retreat. Nearly

every man in the entire army had thrown away his gun and

accouterments. More than ten thousand had stopped and allowed

themselves to be captured, while many, dreading the horrors

of a Northern prison, kept on, and I saw many, yea, even

thousands, broken down from sheer exhaustion, with despair

and pity written on their features. Wagon trains, cannon,

artillery, cavalry, and infantry were all blended in inextricable

confusion. Broken down and jaded horses and mules refused

to pull, and the badly-scared drivers looked like their eyes would

pop out of their heads from fright. Wagon wheels, interlocking

each other, soon clogged the road, and wagons, horses and

provisions were left indiscriminately. The officers soon became

effected with the demoralization of their troops, and rode on in

dogged indifference. General Frank Cheatham and General

Lor ing tried to form a line at Brentwood, but the line they

formed was like trying to stop the current of Duck river with a

fish net. I believe the army would have rallied, had there been

any colors to rally to. And as the straggling army moves on

down the road, every now and then we can hear the sullen roar

of the Federal artillery booming in the distance. I saw a

wagon and team abandoned, and I unhitched one of the horses

and rode on horse-back to Franklin, where a surgeon tied up my

broken finger, and bandaged up my bleeding thigh. My boot

was full of blood, and my clothing saturated with it. I was at

General Hood s headquarters. He was much agitated and af

fected, pulling his hair with his one hand (he had but one),

and crying like his heart would break. I pitied him, poor fellow.

I asked him for a wounded furlough, and he gave it to

me. I never saw him afterward. I always loved and honored

him, and will ever revere and cherish his memory. He gave

his life in the service of his country, and I know to-day he wears

a garland of glory beyond the grave, where Justice says "well

done, and Mercy has erased all his errors and faults.

I only write of the under strata of history; in other words,

the privates history as I saw things then, and remember them

now.