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Chapter One

From Mobile to Dalton

FEBRUARY 16 TO MAY 1, 1864

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Camp Life

A Record of the Georgia Campaign

By H[iram] S[mith] Williams

VOLUME I

Proem

Miss Mary J[ane] Walker

Esteemed Friend

You may remember when I was talking of rejoining my Command in January last that I spoke of keeping a journal, and you requested me to send it to you. I promised you to do so, and I now redeem that promise in part, by sending you the first volume of my record embracing a period of some four months. I trust you will read it with a kindly criticism, for did you but know the circumstances under which the greater part of it was written, you would overlook the faults which I know it must contain, not only in the style of composition, but also in the lack of skill displayed in throwing the varied incidents together. Seated by my campfire after a long wearisome day's march, I would jot down the events of the day, while a dozen voices around me would tend to draw my attention to other things. But I will make no longer apology for the faults within, knowing that your good sense will overlook them. You will find more to criticize in the penmanship than aught be, but guess at what you cannot read, and when we are meet again I will translate it. With my best wishes for your health and happiness, Believe me as ever. HSW

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Camplife

Tuesday, Feb[ruary] 16th, 1864

Two o'clock has arrived. Military power rules, and military orders are imperative. Military power in the shape of three bars of gold lace running horizontally on the collar of a grey coat, says, very politely of course, "Mr. Williams, you must return to your command in the Army of Tennessee."--We remonstrate, very moderately, of course, but gold lace answers our objections by saying with great firmness, "It is absolutely necessary, sir that every man belonging to that army must be at his post. The country demands it in the first place, and then, more than that Gen[eral Joseph Eggleston] Johnston demands it."

The straw is placed on that breaks the camel's back. "Gen[eral] Johnston" is the knock-down-argument, conclusive and unanswerable. So we meekly pack our knapsack, put four days rations in our haversacks, bid all our numerous friends, "Goodbye," and march meekly down to the Steamer Senator to be transported across the bay. As I said at the commencement, two o'clock P.M. has arrived. The steam whizzes, the engineer turns the wheels two or three times by way of an experiment, the whistle sounds for the last time, a few hurried "good-byes" are spoken, the planks are hauled in, and we are off. I walk the deck in a kind of trance, trying to realize my situation. I look at the city fast fading away in the dim distance. Where am I? Where am I going? The replies are painful enough. The Eastern shore is nearly reached, and now nothing but the spire of Christ's Church is visible. Mobile has faded away from my vision, perhaps forever. The past, the irrevocable past, must henceforth live only in the sweet associations of memory. Farewell to all, to the pleasant places, the theatre, the social hoards. No more must I enjoy the sweet smiles of lovely women or hear their musical voices whispering kind words. The friends I have found must be left and I must go forth again, alone, to fight on in the battle of life. But why dwell here, let me go on and record the few facts that I find worthy the honor.

At Blakeney we take the cars for Montgomery. Two returning soldiers invited me to occupy a seat next to theirs and in their society I passed away the night very pleasantly. Thanks to the kindness of Mrs. Brandt, I have plenty to eat. With true motherly instinct, she stowed away biscuits, potatoes, pies and meat in my haversacks, so that I will not suffer from hunger.

It is just sunrise when we arrive at Montgomery, of a cold morning. Is it because we are farther North, or is it a change in the atmosphere? Yesterday at Mobile it was very warm, today it is bitter cold. It must be the latter. I will not go on now, but wait a day or two as I wish to visit the Theatre here and see some old friends. So the traveling companions I found yesterday must go on without me.

At 10 o'c[loc]k A.M. called at the theatre and was warmly welcomed by nearly all the actors, they thinking I had come up to play. As soon as they were apprised of their mistake, Mr. [Theodore] Hamilton, one of the managers, invited me to his office and invited me to play Don Jose in "Don Caesar, the Bazan," to-morrow night. At first refused, but finally consented to play one night. In truth, the weather is so very cold that I had about as lieve stay as not, as I am In no hurry to get up to the Army. So the rest of the day I will study and look about town. The Theatre is much nicer than the one in Mobile. It is larger and much better finished off, while it is far easier to speak.

Thursday, Feb[ruary] 18th 1864

I have made my debut to a Montgomery audience, and I feel better. Fortunately I felt in excellent spirits tonight. I felt well both bodily and mentally, and I went on to the stage with the same ease that I would walk into a drawing room, filled with old friends. It was Mr. [Theodore] Hamilton's first attempt at Don Caesar and he was far from perfect. I never did like to play with Miss [Cecelia] Crisp, but I went through with my part finely, felt the designing and intriguing spirit that must have impelled the original Don Jose , providing he had lived, took advantage of the gay, reckless confiding nature of Don Caesar , gained the confidence of the beautiful little dancing girl, and just as I was about to reap the rewards of my labors, I disappear from view while my fate was told after by my executioner, Don Caesar . The Company here is miserable, all the talent outside of Mr. Hamilton and Mr. [Charles] Morton could be put in a nutshell. What persons go on the stage for who have not intelligence enough to conceive the characters they attempt to personify is what I never could learn. They only make asses of themselves by so doing. Now I should like to remain here two months just to see what I could do. But perhaps the time will come, so tomorrow I will pursue my journey on towards Dalton, with the best grace I can put on the matter.

It is still very cold [and] unpleasant.

Saturday Feb[ruary] 20th/64

In Camp--Yes, here I am in camp once more. It seems very natural to me after i6 months out of camp. Left Montgomery yesterday morning at 8 o'clock and reached Atlanta at two this morning; left there at 8 this morning and arrived in Dalton at 4 P.M. and walked out to the camp, a distance of three miles or so N W. All the boys seemed rejoiced to see me, and proved it by crowding into the little cabin where my mess put up, so as to make themselves and everybody else uncomfortable. Told them all the news I had to tell, and composed some, so as to satisfy them [and] get clear of them at the same time.

What a change from the company in which I first volunteered two years ago. [J. J.] Aughe has lost a leg and has gone. [J. A.] Springsteed is gone. [F. M.] Bradley is wounded, a dozen or more are prisoners at the North, while many of them are dead. Their graves are scattered from Dog River all through Mississippi, at Columbus, Deer Creek, and Vicksburg, to this place. Such is war. Three of my old mess are dead, several are wounded and disabled for life, but otherwise all well. A good omen I hope. We now have a Captain that is a gentleman. As much could not be said for our former one, [William Alexander Campbell] Jones, who, thank heaven, has left us for our good.

Captain [Thomas M.] Brunson is as clever a man as one can find anywhere, and I do not mind soldiering under him. I am tired and need rest.

Tuesday 23rd 1864

In line of battle with a thousand camp fires blazing around us, I make this record. But first, let me go back a day or two and bring my journal up this far with some system. On Sunday I rested in camp. On Monday I assisted to make a target for our regiment to practice. Just after roll call at night our Orderly Sergeant came around and said the order had just arrived for every soldier to pack his knapsacks and be ready to move at a moments warning. As I had nearly all my things packed, I had but very little to do. An hour or so afterwards the order came to cook two days rations. That kept us busy the rest of the night. We were ready early this morning to march, but the order did not come until three o'clock this P.M.

This portion of Georgia is a succession of bold ridges and mountains running a little East of North, by West of South. The vallies between are generally fertile, and form the only tillable land. The boldest of these mountains is called Rocky Face, half way up the Eastern slope of which my Brigade was camped. A stream called Taylor's Creek runs through between this mountain and one half as high to the North forming a gap through which gap runs the Western and Atlantic R[ail] R[oad]. As the gap forms the only natural passage to the East of Rocky Face Mountain, it is expected that the enemy will attempt a passage thereby. I may remark here that when ordered to get ready to march it was the opinion of all of us, officers as well as privates, that we would retreat, or in the language of Camp, "tute." We were, however, wrong in our conclusions, for after marching down to the foot of the mountain and crossing Taylor's Creek, we were formed in line of battle just to the rear of the smaller ridge North of the R[ail] R[oad], where we now lie with our guns stacked, ready for use at a moments warning. The whole army, comprising some twenty-five thousand men is in a similar position, extending for several miles along the ridges. Our position is to defend the gap before described, together with two or three more Regiments [and] 4 batteries of artillery. If the enemy attempt to come this way, the Angel of Death will be busy.

Wednesday 24th

Behind a rough breastwork of logs, I will attempt to narrate the day's history as far as I am concerned. Fortunately for me, the mess I am in had a lot of bacon and flour on hand, so that we cooked up a lot of biscuit and everybody knows, cold biscuit is decidedly preferable to cold corn bread. The latter is the poorest apology for food I know of. Well, we ate our biscuit and a small piece of bacon this morning when we moved our position to the top of the ridge. The forenoon was passed in comparative quiet, but about noon the skirmishing commenced pretty heavy along our entire line. Two companies from my Regiment are out on picket duty, and I suppose they are in it pretty heavy. Our right seems to be the scene of the heaviest fighting as the musketry and cannon fire is continual over there. A large force of the enemy advanced about four o'clock on the gap when two of our batteries opened on them with such force as to drive them back. As yet the enemy has not opened on us here with artillery, but our time will come before long. Night has brought an end to hostilities. Only now and then a picket firing in the front. It seems to be the general impression that to-morrow will bring on the general engagement. We shall see. It is quite cold to-night and I have made up my bed on the side of a steep hill, so steep I have to stick my heels in to keep from sliding down hill.

Thursday 25th

The morning opened gloriously. Too fine a morning for men professing to be civilized to be engaged in cold blooded butchery, but then this is war . I was up early this morning and after breakfast fixed up my things ready for anything that might happen. The forenoon passed in expectancy. After a cold dinner on corn bread and a little meat (I have saved two biscuit for breakfast to-morrow) we sat down to pass away the time as best we might. Some were reading, some sleeping, some doing nothing, and some playing cards. I was engaged in the latter source of amusement with Lieut[enant John T.] T[erry] and two others, when suddenly whizz--zzz a Yankee shell went over our heads and bursted, scattering a thousand fragments in every direction around us. "Well" said Lieut[enant] T[erry], "I think we had better leave this place," [and] such a scattering I never saw before. Every one sought the friendly shelter of a tree, where I, not to be outdone by old veterans , listened to the bursting of shells in fancied security. There is something awful in the bursting of a shell and the shrill hiss of a minnie ball that has to be heard to be fully appreciated. After an hour or so, we were moved down the hill, where we again took up our station. The firing was very rapid and continued until nearly dark. The enemy made a charge on our line and reached part way up the hill, but were repulsed, and two companies of some 20 men each, taken prisoner. Our battery of Parrot guns on the hill done some fine execution, killing a large number of the enemy and wounding many. Some of our Regiment were brought in wounded from picket, but none killed so far.

Most of the afternoon I passed below the ridge reading a book, only dodging every time a shell bursted over me. It is still cold and clear, rather pleasant weather for this kind of life. It is a wonder how well I stand it, much better than I ever expected to do after my life of comfort in Mobile.

To-morrow we will either have a fight or else the enemy will retreat back.

Friday 26th

The day is passed and I am still alive. Early this morning one of our Captains went up to the top of the ridge and soon returned, saying "Now boys we'll have it. The Yanks are coming in two splendid columns. A most magnificient array." I confess that I began to feel somewhat uncomfortable. As long as I could not see the enemy, I felt a certain sense of security, but now that there was a prospect of meeting them face to face, just the thought caused a tremor to run over me, more than all the shelling of yesterday combined. After waiting some hour or so for them, one of my Lieutenants went up the hill and returned with the rather pleasing intelligence that they had all filed off to our right and had disappeared behind a ridge, some two miles off. The whole day has been devoted to skirmishing, as we have had no general engagement today. I think the main body of the enemy has gone, leaving some skirmishers behind to protect their rear.

This afternoon our line of pickets were doubled with the intention of advancing. We had two days rations in our haversacks and the impression prevailed that we shall advance ere long. I doubt it.

Last night it was very cold and the prospect for to-night is still more dreary. The boys are now in very good spirits, and I think they would make a very good fight now.

To-morrow will decide it.

Saturday 27th

The Tragedy is over. We are still in line of battle, but will return to camp to-morrow. Now for the events of the day. Last night was the coldest we have had since we have been out. It was so cold that I got up at three o'clock, as I could not sleep. Built a good fire and managed to pass the remainder of the night quite comfortably. The forenoon was passed in quiet, the skirmishing becoming lighter in the distance. Some of our boys came in with some prisoners, who reported the enemy all gone. They have tried our position and strength [and] have returned to get a heavier force no doubt before trying it again. They were under the impression that nearly all our army had gone to Demopolis to reinforce Pope. In that, they were right, but not quick enough, as nearly all the troops sent down there have returned and are now with us.

About 11 o'clock P.M. we received orders to fall in. Done so when orders were given to "Forward March!" On reaching the top of the ridge the valley below us was black with lines of armed men. At least a mile ahead of the column extended regiments and Brigades easily distinguished by their battle flags and bands of musicians. Following the R[ail] R[oad] some time we then took the wagon road and through the dust and dirt pursued our way. After going some three miles we halted for rest. Rested an hour perhaps, then we were "about faced" and back we marched again to our original position. I do not understand the movement nor no one else. It very forcibly reminded me of "Hudibras'" account of a similar movement by a hero of the olden time.

The King of France and 20000 men

Marched up a hill, then marched down again

To apply it I have only to alter it thus,

Our General Johnston

With 20000 men

Marched up to Tunnel Hill

And then, marched back again.

So much for the fight. I have confined myself as you see to the simple facts as they occurred near me. A friend of mine in [Major General Henry DeLamar] Clayton's Brigade has given me a history of their movement which is of much more typical a nature than ours. The heaviest fighting occurred on our right where that Brigade was stationed [and] he tells me that the fighting was severe there for some time. The shell and ball falling like hail about them. On our left there was some heavy fighting too, with severe loss on the part of the enemy. Our men were so well protected by their strong natural positions, that our loss was small compared to that of the enemy.

On our return from our advance , we met some of the "Pioneer Corps" who had just finished burying the dead of the enemy. They reported some thirty men in front of our lines near the "gap." At one place one of our shells burst among a squad of the enemy, killing seven of them. One poor fellow had the top of his head blown completely off, and his brains lay scattered on all sides. It was horrible to look on. A grave near the R[ail] R[oad was marked by a small piece of plank, on which was crudely carved--

"B. C. Garrison, Co K"

"85th Ill. Regt."

Poor fellows! I would pity the untimely death of the bitterest foe I have on Earth. To think of these men, but a few hours ago in the enjoyment of life and health, now buried by stranger hands. Dieing on the battle-field, with no kind friends to cheer our last moments, it is fearful.

War at best is horrible enough to cause a shudder to chill the heart of all good men, but this [one] so unholy, so bitter, in its progress, so useless as to results, so absurd as to the establishment of any great and vital principle, is the worst record upon the pages of modern history. It makes me mad when I reflect upon it, its cause, progress and the uncertainty of its duration. Like all wars, the innocent have to suffer, the innocent die, innocent hearts break, while the guilty live and prosper, all over the land. I have seen enough in this little affair to make me more deadly opposed to the cursed custom, than ever before.

Sunday 28th

In camp once more. It seems like home to get back to our cabins, rough and miserable though they are. One does not stop to inquire about the neatness of quarters, after having slept in the open air for a week. Just so that we have a roof over our heads is enough.

We returned to camp this morning before breakfast and passed the rest of the day in writing letters and resting ourselves. If we only had a good supply of rations now we would get along pretty well, but our bacon is all gone, and we have nothing but poor beef and corn meal.

March 10th 1864

Quite a long jump from Feb[ruary] 28th up to today, but nothing has transpired of sufficient importance to justify my making a daily entree. Have been out on picket once, [and] been on guard duty once at Camp. Very cold and very disagreeable. A few days ago I was asked if I should like to be detailed in a Pioneer Corps. After some hesitation told them yes. So last night an order was read out on Dress Parade for me to report to Capt[ain John R.] Oliver at the Pioneer Camp situated at the gap, noticed in my description of the battle-field. Came down and found Capt[ain] Oliver to be a very clever gentleman in appearance, and the mess I am assigned too, a very fine one, with large comfortable quarters to live in. There is seven in my mess, of as clever sociable fellows as you would wish to meet with. And then better than all, they are clean , a great consideration in camp. The rations are a little more plentiful [and] a little better in quality here than at camp.

Well, what have I made by the exchange? A good deal in my way of thinking. First, I have no drill. Secondly, roll call but once-a-day, in camp three times, with all one's accoutrements on. We stand guard here but once in about twenty days, in camp once in every three or four days. To be sure we have to work now and then, but I do not engage in any battle .

Sunday 13th

The more I see of this Company, the better I like it. All seem to be a clever, sociable set of fellows as I ever met. I can congratulate myself on my good fortune in getting this company.

We have orders to build two dams, so as to overflow the valley of Taylor's Creek and we have to get the lumber at Tilton, a small R[ail] R[oad] station 9 miles below Dalton. We left our camp at Mill's Gap this morning at daylight [and] walked to Dalton (3 1/2 miles) where we took the train and came on to Tilton. Soon after our arrival, we went out to repair the roads so as to haul our stocks to mill. After which I washed [and] put on some clean clothes. Then in company with two of my mess, Mack [probably William McMullen] and Duncan, went down to the river, a good sized stream called Conesoga [ sic ] to cross over. Arriving at the ferry we discovered a skiff half way across with a girl seated in the stern paddling away with a good deal of dexterity, while another was seated in the skiff as a passenger. Looking across the river we beheld a third seated on the opposite bank awaiting the arrival of her companions. "Well boys," said I, "here is a chance for an adventure," and it proved so as the sequel will show. When the boat reached the opposite shore [and] had deposited its passengers, we hailed it. Over it came with the fair ferry girl paddling away as handily as I could have done it. She was of medium size, well formed, passable good looking, dressed very neatly, with a clear black eye that sparkled in its brilliancy. Duncan fell in love with her immediately. We engaged passage at once [and] for the first time in my life I was ferried across a river by a young woman. Romantic wasn't it, on this lovely Sabbath afternoon? I complimented her on her dexterity with a paddle, and apologized for troubling her to take us across, whereupon I learned that she and her sister plied the ferry regularly. This was a new phase in Georgia life. On reaching the opposite shore, I spoke to the two ladies awaiting our arrival, inquired about the country, and a great many other things, just to keep up a conversation. They told us they would return to town to attend church at 3 o'clock and we told them we would return by that time if we could and accompany them. We proceeded on out in the country some two miles, calling at the different houses, when we finally arrived at the house of a widow lady, Mrs. S, who boasted of having three unmarried, but marriageable, daughters on hand. We passed the remainder of the day there, and about dark we left, after having made, as I consider, a good impression.

The youngest daughter, Amanda, is really a pretty girl, rather below medium size, good figure, fine carriage, plump as a young partridge, with very rosy cheeks, and a soft black eye--really I should like to see her in a passion once, just to see those eyes flash. I confess that she made quite an impression on my mind, and I flatter myself that I shall see her often while we stay here as we received a pressing invitation to call again.

There are plenty of girls in this part of Georgia, but very few goodlooking ones. As a general thing, the inhabitants are poor, small farmers, and as nearly all the men folks are gone to the war, they have a poor and hard work to make a living.

Monday 174th

The day was passed in cutting timber some miles from town. After our return, and before I got supper, the Captain came to me and asked if I did not want to attend a wedding. Told him "yes" of course, tired as I was. Said it was across the river, near the ferry. Thought at once of my ferry maid and wondered if it was her. By the way on yesterday at Mrs. S.'s, I learned their names. There are two sisters, the Miss Dean's, the eldest Miss Mary, the youngest Miss Amanda Jane. I was soon ready and we went down to the ferry where we found some dozen or more awaiting passage. From one of the boys there, I soon learned the particulars of this most strange affair. The bridegroom, Mr. P., was an Arkansas soldier, while the bride was a Miss C., living two miles above Tilton. It seems Shakespeare's maxim that the "Course of true love never did run smooth" was true in this case. The "old folks at home" objected, and a runaway match was the result. As the river is the boundary between two counties, they were leaving one county to be married in another, Murray. When all the party had got across, the loving couple stood up beneath a beach tree on the banks of the swift Conesoga, and were then united in the bonds of wedlock. It was a romantic scene. The moon nearly full was shining through a mass of fleecy clouds, while the crowd beneath the trees looked in the dim-light like weird sisters of the Macbeth era. The squire who performed the ceremony was an old spectacled genius, rough and uncouth as we generally find them in the wild backwoods. With a lantern in one hand, he pronounced the awful ceremony, or rather awfully pronounced the ceremony that made the two one. I enjoyed the scene hugely . After it was over, all returned across the river but the Captain and myself. We accompanied the Miss Dean's home where we passed a most agreeable evening. Feeling in a good talking humor, I occupied the attention of the old folks and Miss Mary also, while the Capt[ain] devoted his talents to Miss Jane.

Friday 18th 1864

Tuesday it was very cold. Wednesday ditto, yesterday a trifle warmer. It was about as disagreeable weather as I have seen for a long time, so much so, that I could not muster up courage enough to visit any of my lady friends, until last night when the Captain, Duncan, and myself passed the evenings at Miss Dean's. And a pleasant evening it proved to be. I felt in a glorious humor, and I talked nonsense by the wholesale. Kept all laughing at my remarks until nearly ten o'clock when we returned to Camp. Memo : Nonsense is the only kind of talk appreciated or understood by the girls in this neighborhood.

As we had nothing to do today, Duncan and myself concluded we would go hunting. So after an early breakfast, we crossed the river, and after borrowing a rifle with ammunition at Dean's, we started out. This is the pleasantest day we have had this week excepting Monday and Sunday. I wanted to go back in the country some five miles, but Duncan wanted to hunt in the bend of the river [and] so certain was he or pretended to be that he could kill a turkey that he bet me a quart of whiskey we would find one. After wandering through the woods until twelve o'clock, we stopped in a rough log-cabin to get dinner. Had a fine dinner, good corn bread, waffles, ham, sweet and sour milk, molasses, and so forth. Done it full justice, as you may well believe.

As we were tired of hunting, we concluded we would visit some of our female friends and pass the afternoon in that way. And a pleasant afternoon it proved to be. The girls were fine spirits, so were we. A soldier has no need of false modesty in these times. He must have plenty of impudence if he expects to get along in society now. In fact, a soldier without impudence had better remain in camp altogether and never pretend to pass an hour socially among the softer sex. We had to meet the gold-lace gentry very often, but I think, we generally came off first best. This is one reason why I like this company, if we are anywhere but in the midst of an army, we can visit in the neighborhood and pass away time agreeably.

Sunday 20th

Back in our comfortable old quarters once more. It seems like home to get back, after our Tilton expedition.

We returned last evening about dusk very tired. This morning, soon after breakfast, I went up to the Reg[imen]t to see the boys and to get my letters. Received two bundles of papers from my friend Miss Mary J[ane] W[alker] of Mobile, besides a very interesting letter from her. The papers will assist me to pass away many an otherwise tedious moment. This is a very pleasant day, quite warm and cheerful after our cold spell. It has truly been a day of rest to me, for I am very tired with my hard work down at Tilton, the hardest work I had done for years, much harder than the Theatre.

(Continues...)

Preface
Introduction	p. 1
From Mobile to Dalton: February 16 to May 1, 1864	p. 13
Prologue of the Great Battle: May 7 to May 13, 1864	p. 57
The Great Battle: Atlanta: May 14 to June 19, 1864	p. 67
Atlanta: June 21 to September 1, 1864	p. 95
Retreat from Atlanta: September 1 to November 14, 1864	p. 113
From Mobile to Point Lookout Prison: January 19 to April 16, 1865	p. 123
Sayings of Madam Rumor: April 10 to June 6, 1865	p. 133
Notes	p. 139
Bibliography	p. 167
Index	p. 171
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This War So Horrible

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