The Crime at Pickett's Mill
There is a class of events which by their very nature, and despite anyintrinsic interest that they may possess, are foredoomed to oblivion. Theyare merged in the general story of those greater events of which they werea part, as the thunder of a billow breaking on a distant beach is unnotedin the continuous roar. To how many having knowledge of the battles of ourCivil War does the name Pickett's Mill suggest acts of heroism and devotionperformed in scenes of awful carnage to accomplish the impossible? Buriedin the official reports of the victors there are indeed imperfect accountsof the engagement: the vanquished have not thought it expedient to relateit. It is ignored by General Sherman in his memoirs, yet Sherman orderedit. General Howard wrote an account of the campaign of which it was anincident, and dismissed it in a single sentence; yet General Howard plannedit, and it was fought as an isolated and independent action under his eye.Whether it was so trifling an affair as to justify this inattention let thereader judge.The fight occurred on the 27th of May, 1864, while the armies of GeneralsSherman and Johnston confronted each other near Dallas, Georgia, during thememorable "Atlanta campaign." For three weeks we had been pushing theConfederates southward, partly by maneuvering, partly by fighting, out ofDalton, out of Resaca, through Adairsville, Kingston and Cassville. Eacharmy offered battle everywhere, but would accept it only on its own terms.At Dallas Johnston made another stand and Sherman, facing the hostile line,began his customary maneuvering for an advantage. General Wood's divisionof Howard's corps occupied a position opposite the Confederate right.Johnston finding himself on the 26th overlapped by Schofield, still fartherto Wood's left, retired his right (Polk) across a creek, whither wefollowed him into the woods with a deal of desultory bickering, and atnightfall had established the new lines at nearly a right angle with theold--Schofield reaching well around and threatening the Confederate rear.The civilian reader must not suppose when he reads accounts of militaryoperations in which relative position of the forces are defined, as in theforegoing passages, that these were matters of general knowledge to thoseengaged. Such statements are commonly made, even by those high in command,in the light of later disclosures, such as the enemy's official reports. Itis seldom, indeed, that a subordinate officer knows anything about thedisposition of the enemy's forces--except that it is unamiable--or preciselywhom he is fighting. As to the rank and file, they can know nothing more ofthe matter than the arms they carry. They hardly know what troops are upontheir own right or left the length of a regiment away. If it is a cloudyday they are ignorant even of the points of the compass. It may be said,generally, that a soldier's knowledge of what is going on about him iscoterminous with his official relation to it and his personal connectionwith it; what is going on in front of him he does not know at all until helearns it afterward.At nine o'clock on the morning of the 27th Wood's division was withdrawnand replaced by Stanley's. Supported by Johnston's division, it moved atten o'clock to the left, in the rear of Schofield, a distance of four milesthrough a forest, and at two o'clock in the afternoon had reached aposition where General Howard believed himself free to move in behind theenemy's forces and attack them in the rear, or at least, striking them inthe flank, crush his way along their line in the direction of its length,throw them into confusion and prepare an easy victory for a supportingattack in front. In selecting General Howard for this bold adventureGeneral Sherman was doubtless not unmindful of Chancellorsville, whereStonewall Jackson had executed a similiar manoeuvre for Howard'sinstruction. Experience is a normal school: it teaches how to teach.There are some differences to be noted. At Chancellorsville it was Jacksonwho attacked; at Pickett's Mill, Howard. At Chancellorsville it was Howardwho was assailed; at Pickett's Mill, Hood. The significance of the firstdistinction is doubled by that of the second.The attack, it was understood, was to be made in column of brigades,Hazen's brigade of Wood's division leading. That such was at least Hazen'sunderstanding I learned from his own lips during the movement, as I was anofficer of his staff. But after a march of less than a mile an hour and afurther delay of three hours at the end of it to acquaint the enemy of ourintention to surprise him, our single shrunken brigade of fifteen hundredmen was sent forward without support to double up the army of GeneralJohnston. "We will put in Hazen and see what success he has." In the wordsof General Wood to General Howard we were first apprised of the true natureof the distinction about to be conferred upon us.General W. B. Hazen, a born fighter, an educated soldier, after the warChief Signal Officer of the Army and now long dead, was the best hated manthat I ever knew, and his very memory is a terror to every unworthy soul inthe service. His was a stormy life: he was in trouble all around. Grant,Sherman, Sheridan and a countless multitude of the less eminent lucklesshad the misfortune, at one time and another, to incur his disfavor, and hetried to punish them all. He was always--after the war--the central figure ofa court martial or a Congressional inquiry, was accused of everything, fromstealing to cowardice, was banished to obscure posts, "jumped on" by thepress, traduced in public and in private, and always emerged triumphant.While Signal Officer, he went up against the Secretary of War and put himto the controversial sword. He convicted Sheridan of falsehood, Sherman ofbarbarism, Grant of inefficiency. He was aggressive, arrogant, tyrannical,honorable, truthful, courageous--a skillful soldier, a faithful friend andone of the most exasperating of men. Duty was his religion, and like theMoslem he proselyted with the sword. His missionary efforts were directedchiefly against the spiritual darkness of his superiors in rank, though hewould turn aside from pursuit of his erring commander to set achicken-thieving orderly astride a wooden horse, with a heavy stoneattached to each foot. "Hazen," said a brother brigadier, "is a synonym ofinsubordination." For my commander and my friend, my master in the art ofwar, now unable to answer for himself, let this fact answer: when he heardWood say they would put him in and see what success he would have indefeating an army--when he saw Howard assent--he uttered never a word, rodeto the head of his feeble brigade and patiently awaited the command to go.Only by a look which I knew how to read did he betray his sense of thecriminal blunder.The enemy had now had seven hours in which to learn of the movement andprepare to meet it. General Johnston says:"The Federal troops extended their intrenched line [we did not intrench] sorapidly to their left that it was found necessary to transfer Cleburne'sdivision to Hardee's corps to our right, where it was formed on theprolongation of Polk's line."General Hood, commanding the enemy's right corps, says:"On the morning of the 27th the enemy were known to be rapidly extendingtheir left, attempting to turn my right as they extended. Cleburne wasdeployed to meet them, and at half-past five p. m., a very stubborn attackwas made on this division, extending to the right, where Major-GeneralWheeler with his cavalry division was engaging them. The assault wascontinued with great determination upon both Cleburne and Wheeler."That, then, was the situation: a weak brigade of fifteen hundred men, withmasses of idle troops behind in the character of audience, waiting for theword to march a quarter-mile uphill through almost impassable tangles ofunderwood, along and across precipitous ravines, and attack breastworksconstructed at leisure and manned with two divisions of troops as good asthemselves. True, we did not know all this, but if any man on that groundbesides Wood and Howard expected a "walkover" his must have been asingularly hopeful disposition. As topographical engineer it had been myduty to make a hasty examination of the ground in front. In doing so I hadpushed far enough forward through the forest to hear distinctly the murmurof the enemy awaiting us, and this had been duly reported; but from ourlines nothing could be heard but the wind among the trees and the songs ofbirds. Some one said it was a pity to frighten them, but there wouldnecessarily be more or less noise. We laughed at that: men awaiting deathon the battlefield laugh easily, though not infectiously.The brigade was formed in four battalions, two in front and two in rear.This gave us a front of about two hundred yards. The right front battalionwas commanded by Colonel R. L. Kimberly of the 41st Ohio, the left byColonel O. H. Payne of the 124th Ohio, the rear battalions by Colonel J. C.Foy, 23rd Kentucky, and Colonel W. W. Berry, 5th Kentucky--all brave andskillful officers, tested by experience on many fields. The whole command(known as the Second Brigade, Third Division, Fourth Corps) consisted of nofewer than nine regiments, reduced by long service to an average of lessthan two hundred men each. With full ranks and only the necessary detailsfor special duty we should have had some eight thousand rifles in line.We moved forward. In less than one minute the trim battalions had becomesimply a swarm of men struggling through the undergrowth of the forest,pushing and crowding. The front was irregularly serrated, the strongest andbravest in advance, the others following in fan-like formations, variableand inconstant, ever defining themselves anew. For the first two hundredyards our course lay along the left bank of a small creek in a deep ravine,our left battalions sweeping along its steep slope. Then we came to thefork of the ravine. A part of us crossed below, the rest above, passingover both branches, the regiments inextricably intermingled, rendering allmilitary formation impossible. The color-bearers kept well to the frontwith their flags, closely furled, aslant backward over their shoulders.Displayed, they would have been torn to rags by the boughs of the trees.Horses were all sent to the rear; the general and staff and all the fieldofficers toiled along on foot as best they could. "We shall halt and formwhen we get out of this" said an aide-de-camp.Suddenly there came a ringing rattle of musketry, the familiar hissing ofbullets, and before us the interspaces of the forest were all blue withsmoke. Hoarse, fierce yells broke out of a thousand throats. The forwardfringe of brave and hardy assailants was arrested in its mutableextensions; the edge of our swarm grew dense and clearly defined as theforemost halted, and the rest pressed forward to align themselves besidethem, all firing. The uproar was deafening; the air was sibilant withstreams and sheets of missiles. In the steady, unvarying roar of small-armsthe frequent shock of the cannon was rather felt than heard, but the gustsof grape which they blew into that populous wood were audible enough,screaming among the trees and cracking their stems and branches. We had, ofcourse, no artillery to reply.Our brave color-bearers were now all in the forefront of battle in theopen, for the enemy had cleared a space in front of his breastworks. Theyheld the colors erect, shook out their glories, waved them forward and backto keep them spread, for there was no wind. From where I stood, at theright of the line--we had "halted and formed," indeed--I could see six of ourflags at one time. Occasionally one would go down, only to be instantlylifted by other hands.I must here quote again from General Johnston's account of this engagement,for nothing could more truly indicate the resolute nature of the attackthan the Confederate belief that it was made by the whole Fourth Corps,instead of one weak brigade:"The Fourth Corps came on in deep order and assailed the Texans with greatvigor, receiving their close and accurate fire with the fortitude alwaysexhibited by General Sherman's troops in the actions of this campaign.... TheFederal troops approached within a few yards of the Confederates, but atlast were forced to give way by their storm of welldirected bullets, andfell back to the shelter of a hollow near and behind them. They lefthundreds of corpses within twenty paces of the Confederate line. When theUnited States troops paused in their advance within fifteen paces of theTexas front rank one of their color-bearers planted his colors eight or tenfeet in front of his regiment, and was instantly shot dead. A soldiersprang forward to his place and fell also as he grasped the color-staff. Asecond and third followed successively, and each received death as speedilyas his predecessors. A fourth, however, seized and bore back the object ofsoldierly devotion."Such incidents have occurred in battle from time to time since men began tovenerate the symbols of their cause, but they are not commonly related bythe enemy. If General Johnston had known that his veteran divisions werethrowing their successive lines against fewer than fifteen hundred men hisglowing tribute to his enemy's valor could hardly have been more generouslyexpressed. I can attest the truth of his soldierly praise: I saw theoccurrence that he relates and regret that I am unable to recall even thename of the regiment whose colors were so gallantly saved.Early in my military experience I used to ask myself how it was that bravetroops could retreat while still their courage was high. As long as a manis not disabled he can go forward; can it be anything but fear that makeshim stop and finally retire? Are there signs by which he can infalliblyknow the struggle to be hopeless? In this engagement, as in others, mydoubts were answered as to the fact; the explanation is still obscure. Inmany instances which have come under my observation, when hostile lines ofinfantry engage at close range and the assailants afterward retire, therewas a "dead-line" beyond which no man advanced but to fall. Not a soul ofthem ever reached the enemy's front to be bayoneted or captured. It was amatter of the difference of three or four paces--too small a distance toaffect the accuracy of aim. In these affairs no aim is taken at individualantagonists; the soldier delivers his fire at the thickest mass in hisfront. The fire is, of course, as deadly at twenty paces as at fifteen; atfifteen as at ten. Nevertheless, there is the "dead-line," with itswell-defined edge of corpses--those of the bravest. Where both lines arefighting with-out cover--as in a charge met by a counter-charge--each has its"dead-line," and between the two is a clear space--neutral ground, devoid ofdead, for the living cannot reach it to fall there.I observed this phenomenon at Pickett's Mill. Standing at the right of theline I had an unobstructed view of the narrow, open space across which thetwo lines fought. It was dim with smoke, but not greatly obscured: thesmoke rose and spread in sheets among the branches of the trees. Most ofour men fought kneeling as they fired, many of them behind trees, stonesand whatever cover they could get, but there were considerable groups thatstood. Occasionally one of these groups, which had endured the storm ofmissiles for moments without perceptible reduction, would push forward,moved by a common despair, and wholly detach itself from the line. In asecond every man of the group would be down. There had been no visiblemovement of the enemy, no audible change in the awful, even roar of thefiring--yet all were down. Frequently the dim figure of an individualsoldier would be seen to spring away from his comrades, advancing alonetoward that fateful interspace, with leveled bayonet. He got no fartherthan the farthest of his predecessors. Of the "hundreds of corpses withintwenty paces of the Confederate line," I venture to say that a third werewithin fifteen paces, and not one within ten.It is the perception--perhaps unconscious--of this inexplicable phenomenonthat causes the still unharmed, still vigorous and still courageous soldierto retire without having come into actual contact with his foe. He sees, orfeels, that he cannot. His bayonet is a useless weapon for slaughter; itspurpose is a moral one. Its mandate exhausted, he sheathes it and trusts tothe bullet. That failing, he retreats. He has done all that he could dowith such appliances as he has.No command to fall back was given, none could have been heard. Man by man,the survivors with-drew at will, sifting through the trees into the coverof the ravines, among the wounded who could draw themselves back; among theskulkers whom nothing could have dragged forward. The left of our shortline had fought at the corner of a cornfield, the fence along the rightside of which was parallel to the direction of our retreat. As thedisorganized groups fell back along this fence on the wooded side, theywere attacked by a flanking force of the enemy moving through the field ina direction nearly parallel with what had been our front. This force, Iinfer from General Johnston's account, consisted of the brigade of GeneralLowry, or two Arkansas regiments under Colonel Baucum. I had been sent byGeneral Hazen to that point and arrived in time to witness this formidablemovement. But already our retreating men, in obedience to their officers,their courage and their instinct of self-preservation, had formed along thefence and opened fire. The apparently slight advantage of the imperfectcover and the open range worked its customary miracle: the assault, asingularly spiritless one, considering the advantages it promised and thatit was made by an organized and victorious force against a broken andretreating one, was checked. The assailants actually retired, and if theyafterward renewed the movement they encountered none but our dead andwounded.The battle, as a battle, was at an end, but there was still someslaughtering that it was possible to incur before nightfall; and as thewreck of our brigade drifted back through the forest we met the brigade(Gibson's) which, had the attack been made in column, as it should havebeen, would have been but five minutes behind our heels, with another fiveminutes behind its own. As it was, just forty-five minutes had elapsed,during which the enemy had destroyed us and was now ready to perform thesame kindly office for our successors. Neither Gibson nor the brigade whichwas sent to his "relief" as tardily as he to ours accomplished, or couldhave hoped to accomplish, anything whatever. I did not note theirmovements, having other duties, but Hazen in his "Narrative of MilitaryService" says:"I witnessed the attack of the two brigades following my own, and none ofthese (troops) advanced nearer than one hundred yards of the enemy's works.They went in at a run, and as organizations were broken in less than aminute."Nevertheless their losses were considerable, including several hundredprisoners taken from a sheltered place whence they did not care to rise andrun. The entire loss was about fourteen hundred men, of whom nearlyone-half fell killed and wounded in Hazen's brigade in less than thirtyminutes of actual fighting.General Johnston says:"The Federal dead lying near our line were counted by many persons,officers and soldiers. According to these counts there were seven hundredof them."This is obviously erroneous, though I have not the means at hand toascertain the true number. I remember that we were all astonished at theuncommonly large proportion of dead to wounded--a consequence of theuncommonly close range at which most of the fighting was done.The action took its name from a waterpower mill near by. This was on abranch of a stream having, I am sorry to say, the prosaic name of PumpkinVine Creek. I have my own reasons for suggesting that the name of thatwater-course be altered to Sunday-School Run.
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