Memoirs of a Soldier

November 25^th: HIS DEAD HAND STILL GRASPING HIS DRAWN SWORD

I am on duty with General Sheridan. The day is bright and clear. Several Corps. and Division commanders meet and ride out to an elevated point in full view of the enemys position. We can see the crown of Mission Ridge for miles up and down our front. Also the line of works extending along the top with head logs on top of the earth works. Also at the foot of the ridge is a complete line of defense, with a fort here and there, but no cannon in them, but on top of the ridge the whole line bristling with their black muzzles. The steep sides of the ridge taken together with the formidable armament makes their position seem almost impregnable. In front of our line there extends a flat level plain from a half to three quarters of a mile in extent, commencing with a belt of timber in front of which, in plain view of the enemy, our troops are marching to the left as though intent on massing over there where General Sherman is already engaged with the enemy's right wing, and counter-marching in the rear of the timber out of sight back to their original position, repeating this maneuver several times. We can see that it has had its effect on the enemy who are apparently moving to their right, weakening their center, while our center is as strong as ever. When all is ready our lines are formed within the shelter of the timber. The order is given to advance and they move out in regimental front, each body of men over-lapping the one in front, with an interval between. As the lines get well into the field the rebels open on them with their cannon. As we ride across the plain, I can see for miles to the right and left, the whole field covered with advancing troops. A most beautiful sight it is! If it were not for the fact that death lies in their front; for now along the whole length of the ridge the enemy cannon are belching forth a continous flame with shot and shell, grape and cannister, which tears ragged lines in our regiments. The gaps are closed again, to be again ripped open, with that hail of deadly iron. Now our men are on the double quick, knowing that the sooner the lower line of works are taken the sooner they will be out of range of those death dealing guns. The first line of works are taken with a rush and all the rebs within them are our prisoners. And now a short rest is taken. The chestnut horse General Sheridan is riding has received a bullet in his ankle and I am ordered back to bring up his big black horse. I put the spurs into the flanks of my horse and dash across the field at breakneck speed, and getting his horse I mount him and lead my own, racing back again at top speed. Reaching the General he gave his wounded animal to another orderly to lead off the field and mounted his black, I having mounted my own. By this time our troops were mounting the ridge. The sides were so steep that every regiment lost its organization almost at once. The rank and file became all mixed up, but all endeavoring to reach the top of the ridge. There are several standards of colors in front, each trying to be the first to plant them on the enemys' works. Directly in our front our Division is in the form of a living, struggling triangle, with its narrow point with the flags. Now one standard bearer is down, his flag in the dust; but only for a second. It is snatched up by one of the guards who steps into the tracks of his comrade and again it is waving with the rest. Now over they go, pell mell, into the works and in another moment our men are in by the hundreds, clearing the way for the others coming up. The enemy is in full retreat. The works are captured, the day is ours, the battle won. A log hut stands just to the left where our Division went over. General Bragg and his staff had barely time to rush out, mount their horses and flee ere they would be captured. More than fifty cannon fell into our hands, together with thousands of prisoners. And thus Chickamauga is avenged. From the severe riding which my horse had undergone, together with the coming up the ridge, he was as near used up as he could well be, so I exchanged him for a big white horse harnessed to one of the rebel caison, relieving him of his trappings, transferred my saddle and bridle and swung onto his back, turning my own loose. That was the last I saw of my good old friend. No doubt he wandered off and gave up the ghost. This rebel horse is the tallest piece of horse flesh I ever mounted. He is as tall as a camel. I must look like a fly on a ridge pole. However, there is no time for comments for our troops are in full cry down the valley after the vanishing enemy. The chase is kept up until dark. I ride back down the ridge and over the ground where our Division fought and see many dead forms, comrades that were full of life only a short time ago. Many of my friends are among them; Lieut. Wyman, who formerly was a Sergt. in the old Powell Scouts, but had recently received a commission as Lieut. is among those killed. I find him lying half way up the ridge, his dead hand still grasping his drawn sword. Those that are wounded are being taken up by the ambulance corps back to Chattanooga and placed in the hospital. I ride to Headquarters on my captured horse. The big white animal with his long legs gets over the ground at a great rate, but he will not do for my use. He is too big and clumsy. I take him to the Quartermaster and exchange him for one more suited for my work.

Reach Cowan Station last evening. We are in camp at the foot of the Cumberland Mountains. We expect to remain in camp here until the whole of the army come up and are well in hand to cross the mountain. Orders were issued to fire a salute for Independence day. The day has been clear and fine, with no sign of rain. At nearly sundown, the battery selected to do the honors of the 4th of July, came up into position and commenced firing. The guns were fired 'en battery', and they made the valley sing with their music and re-echoed among the mountains in front. While the guns were being rapidly discharged, a clap of thunder came from the clouds that had gathered above our heads. Immediately there was a deluge of rain decended. It seemed as though all nature had broken loose. Still the gunners kept to their work. The flash of the guns would be followed by the lightening flashes from the heavens. The report of the guns were repeated by the thunder of the artillery of the heavens. It was a most remarkable experience and one to be long remembered.

Soon after the salute was completed, the rain ceased to fall and the sun set in a red glory. An officer of the 15th Missouri shot one of his men for some insubordination. He was placed under arrest.

Last night our Division march to a point beyond Farmington, throw out a double line of skirmishers and set to with pick and shovel and erect a line of breast works; where our regimental line was located, it ran through a grave yard. The boys did not like the idea of digging among the graves, but a soldier has to obey orders and the work went bravely on. The ditch was made shallow and broad so as to avoid getting too deep into the graves. At mornings dawn the works were nearly completed and the finishing touches put