<SPAN name="XXII">
</SPAN>
<p class="chapter">
CHAPTER XXII.</p>
<p class="head">
THE FIGHT ON THE RAILROAD NEAR MURFREESBORO, DECEMBER 15, 1864.</p>
<p>On the afternoon of December 12th the regiment fell in and we marched to the railroad depot at Murfreesboro, climbed on a train of box cars, and started for Stevenson, Alabama, about 80 miles southeast of Murfreesboro. The number of the regiment who participated in this movement, according to the official report of Maj. Nulton, was 150 men, and we were accompanied by a detachment of about forty of the 1st Michigan Engineers. (See Serial No. 93, Official Records of the War of the Rebellion, p. 620.) We soon learned that the train was going to Stevenson to obtain rations for the troops at Murfreesboro, and that our province was to serve as guards for the train, to Stevenson and on its return. We had not gone more than eight or ten miles from Murfreesboro before we ran into the Confederate cavalry vedettes who were scattered along at numerous points of observation near the railroad. However, on our approach they scurried away like quails. But in many places the track had been torn up, and culverts destroyed, and when we came to one of these breaks, the train had to stop until our engineers could repair it, and then we went on. Right here I will say that those Michigan Engineers were splendid fellows. There was a flat car with our train, and on this car was a supply of extra rails, spikes, and other railroad appliances, with all the tools that the engineers used in their work, and it was remarkable to see how quick those men would repair a break in the road. They also were provided with muskets and accouterments the same as ordinary soldiers, and when the necessity arose, (as it did before we got back to Murfreesboro,) they would drop their sledges and crowbars, buckle on their cartridge boxes and grab their muskets, and fight like tigers. It was "all the same to Joe" with them. After getting about thirty-five miles from Murfreesboro we saw no more of the enemy, the railroad from thereon was intact, and we arrived at Stevenson about 10 o'clock on the morning of the 13th. The train was loaded with rations and early on the morning of the 14th we started back to Murfreesboro, having in addition to the force with which we left there, a squad of about thirty dismounted men of the 12th Indiana Cavalry, who joined us at Stevenson. The grade up the eastern slope of the Cumberland Mountains was steep, a drizzling rain had fallen the night before, making the rails wet and slippery, and the train had much difficulty in ascending the grade, and our progress was tedious and slow. This delay probably was the cause of our undoing, as will be revealed later. We didn't get over the mountains until some time in the afternoon, and went along slowly, but all right; and about dark reached Bell Buckle, 32 miles from Murfreesboro. Here trouble began on a small scale. A Confederate cavalry vedette was on the alert, and fired at us the first shot of the night. The bullet went over us near where I was sitting on top of a car, with a sharp "ping," that told it came from a rifle. But we went on, proceeding slowly and cautiously, for the night was pitch dark, and we were liable to find the railroad track destroyed at almost any place. At 2 o'clock in the morning, just after leaving Christiana, about 15 miles from Murfreesboro, our troubles broke loose in good earnest. We encountered the Confederate cavalry in force, and also found the track in front badly torn up. We got off the cars, formed in line on both sides of the road and slowly advanced, halting whenever we came to a break in the road, until our Michigan Engineers could repair it. As above stated, they were bully boys, and understood their business thoroughly, and very soon would patch up the breaks so that the train could proceed. But it went only about as fast as a man could walk, and during the balance of that cold, dark night, we marched along by the side of the track, skirmishing with the enemy. On one occasion we ran right up against their line, they being on their horses, and evidently awaiting our approach. Luckily for us, their guns must have been wet; they nearly all missed fire, with no result save a lively snapping of caps along substantially their entire line. But our guns went off, and we gave the fellows a volley that, at least, waked up all the owls in the neighborhood. It was so intensely dark that accurate shooting was out of the question, and whether we hurt anybody or not I don't know, but our foes galloped off in great haste, and disappeared for a while. Shortly before daylight, when we were within about six miles of Murfreesboro, we came to the worst break in the track we had yet encountered. It was at the end of a short cut in the road that was perhaps four or five feet deep. In front of this cut the track was demolished for several rods, and a deep little culvert was also destroyed. We sat down on the ground near the track, and our engineers went to work. The situation was like this: In our front, towards Murfreesboro, and on our right and left rear were corn fields, with the stalks yet standing, and on our left front was a high rocky ridge, heavily timbered with a dense growth of small cedars, and which ridge sloped abruptly down to the railroad track. A small affluent of Stone river, with a belt of willow along its banks, flowed in a winding course along our right, in the general direction of Murfreesboro. While we were sitting here on the ground, half asleep, waiting for the engineers to call out "All right!"—there came a volley of musketry from the woods of the rocky ridge I have mentioned. We sprang to our feet, formed in the cut facing the ridge, and began returning the fire. After this had continued for some time, a party of the enemy moved to our rear, beyond gunshot, and began tearing up the track there, while another party took up a position on the opposite side of the little stream on our right, and opened fire on us from that direction. A portion of our force was shifted to the right of the train to meet the attack from this quarter, and the firing waxed hot and lively. Our engineers had seized their guns, and were blazing away with the rest of us, and our bunch of dismounted cavalry men were also busy with their carbines. This state of things continued for fully an hour, and I think some longer, when suddenly, coming from our left rear, a cannon ball screamed over our heads, followed by the roar of the gun. The commanding officer of Co. D in this affair (and the only officer of our company present) was Lieut. Wallace, and he was standing near me when the cannon ball went over us. "What's that?" he exclaimed. "It means they have opened on us with artillery," I answered. "Well," he responded, "let 'em bang away with their pop-guns!" and I think we all felt equally indifferent. We had become familiar with artillery and knew that at long range it was not very dangerous. But the enemy's cannon kept pounding away, and pretty soon a shot struck somewhere on the engine with a resounding crash. About this time Col. Grass gave the order to retreat. There was only one way of escape open, and that was down the track towards Murfreesboro. We hastily formed in two ranks, and started down the right side of the track in a double quick. As we passed out of the cut a body of dismounted cavalry came out of the woods on the ridge to our left and gave us a volley of musketry. But, being on higher ground than we were, they overshot us badly, and did but little harm. We answered their fire, and their line halted. The command quickly went along our column to load and fire as we went, and "keep firing!" and we did so. We kept up a rattling, scattering fire on those fellows on our left which had the effect of standing them off, at any rate, and in the meantime we all did some of the fastest running down along the side of the railroad track that I have ever seen. Speaking for myself, I am satisfied that I never before surpassed it, and have never since equaled it. But we had all heard of Andersonville, and wanted no Confederate prison in ours. To add to our troubles, an irregular line of Confederate cavalry charged on us through the corn field in our rear, firing and yelling at the top of their voices, "Halt! Halt! you G—— d—— Yankee sons of ——!"—their remarks closing with an epithet concerning our maternal ancestors which, in the words of Colonel Carter of Cartersville, was "vehy gallin', suh." But, as said by the French soldier, old Peter, in "The Chronicles of the Drum,"</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>"Cheer up!'tis no use to be glum, boys,—</p>
<p class="i2">
'Tis written, since fighting begun,</p>
<p>That sometimes we fight and we conquer</p>
<p class="i2">
And sometimes we fight and we run."</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Occasionally we would send a bullet back at these discourteous pursuers, and possibly on account of that, or maybe some other reason, they refrained from closing in on us.</p>
<p>About half a mile from where we left the train the railroad crossed on a high trestle the little stream I have mentioned, which here turned to the left, and we had to ford it. It was only about knee-deep, but awful cold. The Confederates did not attempt to pursue us further after we crossed the creek, and from there we continued our retirement unmolested. I fired one shot soon after we forded the stream, and I have always claimed, and, in my opinion, rightfully, that it was the last shot fired in action by the regiment during the war. I will briefly state the circumstances connected with the incident. In crossing the creek, in some manner I fell behind, which it may be said was no disgrace, as the rear, right then, was the place of danger. But, to be entirely frank about it, this action was not voluntary on my part, but because I was just about completely played out. Firing had now ceased, and I took my time, and soon was the tail-end man of what was left of us. Presently the creek made a bend to the right, and circled around a small elevated point of land on the opposite side, and on this little rise I saw a group of Confederate cavalrymen, four or five in number, seated on their horses, and quietly looking at us. They maybe thought there was no more fight left in us, and that they could gaze on our retreat with impunity. They probably were officers, as they had no muskets or carbines, and were apparently wearing better clothes than private soldiers. I noted especially that they had on black coats, of which the tails came down to their saddle-skirts. They were in easy shooting distance, and my gun was loaded. I dropped on one knee behind a sapling, rested my gun against the left side of the tree, took aim at the center of the bunch, and pulled the trigger. "Fiz-z-z—kerbang!" roared old Trimthicket with a deafening explosion, and a kick that sent me a-sprawling on my back! There were two loads in my gun! My last preceding charge had missed fire, and in the excitement of the moment and the confusion and uproar around me, I had failed to notice it, and rammed home another load. But I regained my feet instantly, and eagerly looked to see the effect of my shot. Nobody was lying on the ground, but that entire party was leaving the spot, in a gallop, with their heads bent forward and their coat tails flying behind them. Their curiosity was evidently satisfied. There is no mistake that I sent two bullets through the center of that squad, but whether they hit anybody or not I don't know.</p>
<p>At a point about a mile or so from where we left the train, we reached one of our railroad block houses, held by a small garrison. Here we halted, and reformed. As I came slowly trudging up to Co. D, Bill Banfield was talking to Lieut. Wallace, and said: "I guess Stillwell's gone up. Haven't seen him since we crossed that creek." I stepped forward and in a brief remark, containing some language not fitting for a Sunday-school superintendent, informed Bill that he was laboring under a mistake.</p>
<p>Soon after we arrived at the blockhouse a strong force of our troops, having marched out that morning from Murfreesboro, also appeared on the ground. Gen. Rousseau had learned that we were attacked, and had sent these troops to our assistance, but they were too late. He had also sent a detachment to this point the evening before, to meet us, but on account of our being delayed, as before stated, we did not appear, so this party, after waiting till some time after sunset, marched back to Murfreesboro.</p>
<p>In this affair we lost, in killed, wounded, and prisoners, about half the regiment, including Col. Grass, who was captured. He was a heavy-set man, somewhat fleshy, and at this time a little over forty years old. He became completely exhausted on our retreat, (being on foot,) tumbled over, and the Confederates got him. Many years later, when we were both living in Kansas, I had an interesting conversation with him about this affair. He told me that his sole reason for ordering the retreat was that he had ascertained shortly before the artillery opened on us, that our cartridges were almost exhausted. Then, when our assailants brought their artillery into play, he realized, he said, that the train was doomed, that it would soon be knocked to pieces, and also set on fire by the balls and shells of the enemy, and that we were powerless to prevent it. Under these circumstances he deemed it his duty to give up the train, and save his men, if possible. Col. Grass was a good and brave man, and I have no doubt that he acted in this matter according to his sincere convictions of duty.</p>
<p>The Confederate commander in this action was Gen. L. S. Ross of Texas, who, after the war, served two terms as governor of that State. All his men were Texans, (with the possible exception of the artillery,) and, according to the official reports, were more than three times our number. I think it is permissible to here quote a small portion of the official report made by Gen. Ross of this engagement, as found on page 771, Serial No. 93, Official Records of the War of the Rebellion. Speaking of our defense of the train, he says:</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>"The men guarding it fought desperately for over an hour, having a strong position in a cut of the railroad, but were finally routed by a most gallant charge of the Sixth Texas, supported by the Third Texas."</p>
</div>
<p>While the tribute thus paid by Gen. Ross to the manner of our defense is appreciated, nevertheless I will say that he is absolutely wrong in saying that we were "routed" by the charge he mentions. We retreated simply and solely in obedience to the orders of Col. Grass, our commander, and neither the Sixth Texas nor the Third Texas had a thing to do in bringing that about. I don't deny that they followed us pretty closely after we got started.</p>
<p>Among our casualties in this affair was Lt. Lorenzo J. Miner, of Co. B, (originally of Co. C,) a splendid young man, and a most excellent officer. In addition to his other efficient soldierly qualities he deservedly had the reputation of being the best drill-master in the regiment. I happened to see him on our retreat, shortly before we arrived at the blockhouse. He was being helped off the field by Sergt. Amos Davis of Co. C and another soldier, one on each side, supporting him. They were walking slowly. Miner's eyes were fixed on the ground, and he was deathly pale. I saw from his manner that he was badly hurt, but did not learn the extent of it till later. He was shot somewhere through the body. The wound proved mortal and he died a few days after the fight.</p>
<p>And so it was, that after more than three years of brave and faithful service he was fated to lose his life in the last action the regiment was in—a small, obscure affair among the rocks and bushes, and which, when mentioned in the general histories at all, is disposed of in a paragraph of about four lines. But a soldier in time of war has no control over his fate, and no option in the selection of the time when, nor the place where, it may be his lot to "stack arms" forever.</p>
<p>I will now resume the account of what occurred after we reached the blockhouse. It will be brief. We formed in line with the reinforcements that had come from Murfreesboro, and advanced toward the train. We encountered no opposition; the enemy had set fire to the cars, and then had hastily and entirely disappeared.</p>
<p>I have recently discovered in a modern edition of the Reports of the Adjutant-General of Illinois, (the date on the title page being 1901,) that in the revised sketch of our regiment a recital has crept in stating that in our subsequent advance we "recaptured the train in time to prevent its destruction." How that statement got into the sketch I do not know, and I am sorry to be under the necessity of saying that it is not true. When we got back to the scene of the fight the train was a mass of roaring flame, the resulting consequence being that every car was finally consumed. No matter how much it may hurt, it is always best to be fair, and tell the truth.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/010.jpg" alt="J. B. Nulton" width-obs="298" height-obs="525"> <br/> <span class="caption">
J. B. Nulton
<br/>
Major, 61st Illinois Infantry (later Colonel).</span></div>
<p>In the course of the day our troops all returned to Murfreesboro. Maj. Nulton, who was now our regimental commander, gave us of the 61st permission to march back "at will." That is, we could start when we got ready, singly or in squads, and not in regimental formation. So Bill Banfield and I started out to get something to eat, as we were very hungry. Since leaving Stevenson on the morning of the 14th, we had had no opportunity to cook anything, and had eaten nothing but some hardtack and raw bacon. Then that night we had left our haversacks on top of the cars when we got off the train to skirmish with the enemy, and never saw them again. And this was a special grievance for Bill and me. We each had a little money, and on the morning we left Stevenson had gone to a sutler's, and made some purchases to insure us an extra good meal when we got back to Murfreesboro. I bought a little can of condensed milk, (having always had a weakness for milk in coffee,) while Bill, with a kind of queer taste, invested in a can of lobsters. One time that night, while sitting on the ground, in the cold and dark, tired, hungry, and sleepy, waiting while our engineers patched a break in the railroad, Bill, with a view, I reckon, to cheering us both up, delivered himself in this wise: "This is a little tough, Stillwell, but just think of that bully dinner we'll have when we get to Murfreesboro! You've your can of condensed milk, and I've mine of lobsters; we'll have coffee with milk in it, and then, with some hardtack, we'll have a spread that will make up for this all right." But, alas!</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p>"The best laid schemes o' mice and men</p>
<p class="i4">
Gang aft a-gley."</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>My precious condensed milk, and the crustaceans aforesaid of Bill's, doubtless went glimmering down the alimentary canal of some long-haired Texan, to his great satisfaction. My wish at the time was that the darned lobsters might make the fellow sick,—which they probably did. So Bill and I were now at the burning train, looking for something to take the place of our captured Belshazzar banquet. We found a car that was loaded with pickled pork in barrels, and getting a fence rail, we finally succeeded, after some peril and much difficulty, in prying off one of the barrels, and it fell to the ground, bursting open as it did so, and scattering the blazing pieces of pork all around. We each got a portion, and then sat down on a big rock, and proceeded to devour our respective chunks without further ceremony. The outside of the meat was burned to a coal, but we were hungry, all of it tasted mighty sweet, and we gnawed it just like dogs. At the close of the repast, I took a look at Bill. His face was as black as tar from contact with the burnt pork, and in other respects his "tout ensemble" "left much to be desired." I thought if I looked as depraved as Bill certainly did it would be advisable to avoid any pocket looking-glass until after a thorough facial ablution with soft water and plenty of soap. Dinner over, we were soon ready for the march to camp, (there being no dishes to wash,) and started down the railroad track for Murfreesboro. We took our time, and didn't reach camp till about sundown. We were the last arrivals of Co. D, and, as there were all sorts of rumors afloat, we afterwards learned that Capt. Keeley had become quite anxious about us. As we turned down our company street I saw the Captain standing in front of his tent, looking in our direction. After the affairs of the 4th and the 7th, I had taken much satisfaction, in speaking to him of those events, in adopting the phraseology of the old chaplain, and had expressed myself several times in language like this: "And we smote them, hip and thigh, even as Joash smote Boheel!" But it was now necessary to amend my boastful statement, so as I approached Capt. Keeley, and before anything else had been spoken, I made to him this announcement: "And they smote us, hip and thigh, even as Joash smote Boheel!" Keeley laughed, but it was a rather dry laugh, and he answered: "Well, I'm glad they didn't smite you boys, anyhow—but, great God! go wash your faces, and clean up generally. You both look like the very devil himself." We passed on, complied with the Captain's directions, and then I curled up in my dog tent and slept without a break until next morning.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/011.jpg" alt="Lorenzo J. Miner" width-obs="320" height-obs="525"> <br/> <span class="caption">
Lorenzo J. Miner
<br/>
1st Lieutenant Co. B, 61st Illinois Infantry.
<br/>
Died December 19, 1864, of a wound received in a fight on the railroad,
<br/>
near Murfreesboro, Tenn., December 15, 1864.</span></div>
<p>In concluding my account of this affair it will be stated that the most of our boys who were captured in the fight, and (I think) all the line officers who had the same bad luck, made their escape, singly, or in little parties, not long thereafter. Their Confederate captors, on or about the day after our encounter, had hurriedly joined the army of Gen. Hood, taking their prisoners with them. In their retreat from Tennessee on this occasion, the Confederates had a hard and perilous time. The guards of the captured Yankees were probably well-nigh worn out, and it is likely that, on account of their crushing defeat at Nashville, they had also become discouraged and careless. Anyhow, the most of our fellows got away while Hood was yet on the north side of the Tennessee river. He crossed that stream with the wreck of his army on the 26th and 27th of December, and fell back into Mississippi.</p>
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