THE BATTLE OF SHILOH AS A PRIVATE SAW IT

by Robert Flemming

     This paper makes no claim to any literary or historical value, but is written hastily and intended to cover events which came under the writer's own observation at Shiloh, and which were indelibly stamped on his memory.
     Being a narrative of personal experience, the writer is necessarily obliged to follow the instructions of General R. B. Hayes, a former chief of this Commandery, to "use the personal pronoun freely."
     Sherman's division was organized at Paducah, Kentucky, in February, 1862, the 77th Ohio regiment, to which I belonged, being brigaded with the 53rd Ohio and the 57th Ohio composing the 3rd brigade of W. T. Sherman's division, commanded by Col. Jesse Hildebrand, of our regiment.
      After our arrival at Pittsburgh Landing, the 5th Ohio Cavalry was also attached to the brigade. All the regiments were perfectly raw, having been recruited during the summer and fall of 1861. Arms were not furnished the 77th Ohio until a short time before the army started up the Tennessee River from Paducah. The guns issued were known as Austrian rifled muskets, a gun using a large-caliber bullet. They were not considered a desirable arm, and there was bitter disappointment among the men in not getting the Enfield rifle, which was then considered a very superior gun. I well remember the bitter revolt of some of the companies, and that Company C. stacked their guns in front of the tents and almost mutinied. They were a very heavy, awkward gun and had a very unpleasant habit of kicking back when fired. The regiment had been well drilled in company and regimental movements since September or October 1861, but had little time for practice in the manual of arms before the general movement of the army up the Tennessee river which took place early in March, 1862.
     Nothing transpired during the progress of the immense fleet of steamers transporting the army up the Tennessee River which particularly impressed itself on my memory. The river was nearly bank full and the sight of the immense flotilla, was loaded to the guards with soldiers and army supplies, was an exhilarating one,. The fleet was convoyed by several gun boats. This looked at last like real war, and the troops were all in high spirits.
     The first landing of Sherman's division was at Yellow Creek, some distance above Pittsburgh Landing, where it was proposed to march to Iuka and cut the railroad. We were marched off the boat long before daylight and formed the line in the deep mud. The night was inky dark and a perfect deluge of rain was falling. My recollection is that we did not move more than a mile all day. Some of the regiments in advance had crossed a bayou, but owing to the rapid rise in the river, it was impossible to cross the troops over, and those already across the bayou had to wade back, and the artillery was pulled back across with ropes. Some of the men in my company had built a fire on a high spot of ground and were attempting to do some cooking, but the encroaching river finally covered the ground and extinguished the fire, and all the troops were obliged to re-embark on the boats. The division then dropped down to Pittsburgh Landing and disembarked next day.
      This was our first night out without tents or other shelter, and is vividly remembered. Our brigade then moved out about two and one-half miles and camped at Shiloh church, the church being used by Brigade Commander, Colonel Hildebrand, as his headquarters.
      About this time I was detailed as clerk to the Adjt. General at brigade headquarters, and it was my fortune to spend a number of nights in Shiloh Church until the headquarters tents were erected immediately alongside the church. Little did we think then that the name of this crude little structure was to be so soon engraved on history's pages as the center of one of the most bloody of the nation's battles.
      On March 31st, General Sherman sent Colonel Hildebrand with the 77th Ohio and four companies of the 57th Ohio, accompanied by two gunboats, up the river to Eastport, where a small confederate force was camped. The gun boats shelled the town, which was back a half mile from the river, and our regiment disembarked and marched back through the town. The effects of the cannonading were plainly visible. In places cannon balls from the gun boats had gone through several houses in a row. Not a human being was visible, man, woman, or child, the whole population having suddenly abandoned their homes and fled behind a hill for protection from the gun boats. Meals were on the tables untouched, and ever evidence or a hasty exit. Just beyond the town where the road wound around behind a high hill beyond the protection of the gun boats, the advanced guard encountered the enemy, and we experienced for the first time the thrilling sensation of being rapidly deployed from column into line of battle, prepared for instant action. The enemy's cavalry scouts, who were visible, instantly fired, and General Sherman, who accompanied the boats, ordered the regiment to re-embark and return to Pittsburgh Landing, where we resumed our old camp at Shiloh Church.
      General Shaman had, at this time, an officer named J. H. Hammond, acting as his Assistant Adjutant General. He was a very arbitrary and impetuous individual, and a little incident in which I figured about this time caused me to hate him intensely.
      Colonel Hildebrand, our brigade commander, was as brave a man as ever lived, but very unmethodical as to the transaction of his official business. General Sherman had issued an order for every brigade commander to report at once the amount and character of the transportation in his command. This order reached Colonel Hildebrand personally and instead of turning it over to his Assistant Adjt. General for compliance, he put it in his pocket and went off personally to inspect the pickets. Capt. Hammond came later to headquarters in Shiloh Church to learn why the report had not been made. Col. Hildebrand and the Assistant Adjutant General were both absent, and I was the sole occupant of headquarters, being busily engaged in my regular duties. Capt. Hammond asked me why the order had not been obeyed. I replied that I not seen it and knew nothing about it. He asked where Colonel Hildebrand was, and I replied politely that I did not know. He then flew into a violent passion, and with a string of oaths, ordered me to go out quick and hunt up Hildebrand, or he would help me out with his boot. Later in war I would probably have taken a musket and blown his head off. But being young and green, I complied with alacrity. The man lacked the requisites of both a gentleman and a soldier. He did not remain with Sherman long and I never heard what became of him.
      The Fifth Ohio Cavalry belonged to our brigade, but was detached shortly before the Shiloh battle. This regiment was commanded by Col. W. H. H. Taylor. Each battalion had an adjutant and there was also a regimental adjutant. I had much trouble each day with the regimental report of that regiment, owing to errors in it, and I was obliged to send the report back almost daily for correction.
      The regimental adjutant was a very tall, pompous looking man. I can remember particularly that he wore a stunning pair of high-top boots. I think he had seen service in some European army. At any rate he had the most supreme contempt for our volunteer infantry, officers and soldiers. He did not propose to even have his reports questioned by one of these green men, and came to headquarters in a rage one day to call us down . I listened respectfully until he was through with his tirade and then had the pleasure of showing him that he was wrong and the figures of the morning report would not prove up. he beat a hasty retreat and sent his battalion adjutants to receive instructions and correct the reports.
      During the early days of April we got accustomed to hearing the occasional shot from the picket line. On Friday, April 4th, Sergeant C. J. Eagler, of Co. B of our regiment (later captain of that company) came into camp and reported the enemy in force in our front, and General Sherman ordered him put under arrest for bringing a false alarm into camp. I will let Sergeant Eagler tell in his own language the particulars of the matter, which he does in the following letter:
Macksburg, O., Jan. 23rd, 1903. Major R. H. Flemming, Ludlow, Ky.
      Dear Comrade--Yours received, and will say in reply that I am glad to hear from you and to know that you are still in the land and among the living. It has been some time since I last saw you, and a great many changes have taken place.
      In regard to the matter that you write me about, I will state the facts briefly as I now remember them:
      At 12 o'clock noon, Friday April 4th, 1863, Company B and a part of Company A, 77th Ohio Regiment, were ordered out on the picket line in front of our camp at Shiloh. It rained all night, Friday night, and in the morning of Saturday the rain had ceased, and the men came out nice and warm and all of Company B that were not needed at the outposts were standing around drying their clothing, when our Captain, W. B. Mason, suggested to Samuel Tracey and myself that we take a walk down into the woods to the edge of the plantation in our front. We agreed, and we walked about 300 or 400 yards to the plantation, and when we got to the fence, we looked across the fields, about one-fourth of a mile, to the edge of a piece of timber, and there we saw the enemy in force, and to all appearances, they were getting breakfast. We saw infantry, cavalry, and artillerymen very plainly. Captain mason turned to me and ordered me to report to headquarters, that the enemy was in our front in full force. I took my musket and double-quicked to headquarters and reported what we had seen to our major B. D. Fearing, and the Major said to me that he would report to General Sherman himself.
      I stood and watched Major Fearing until he got half way to Sherman's headquarters, when I turned and went back to my company on the picket. In about one hour after I had joined my company, Captain Stevens and ten men of Company A came to where we were and Stevens handed Captain Mason a paper, and Mason read the paper, and said to Captain Stevens he would attend to the matter himself. About twelve o'clock Saturday, a squad of rebel cavalry rode within firing distance of one of our outposts and Sam Dillon and Dave Brown exchanged shots with them, and about a half hour later Company G relieved our company on the picket line. Captain A. W. McCormick of Company G. can tell you what happened on the picket line in the afternoon of Saturday. The next morning the ball opened and the results we all remember very well. About two weeks after the Shiloh fight I received a letter from home, stating that it was published in the Northern papers that Sergeant C. J. Eagler had been placed under arrest for reporting a false alarm at Shiloh, and they wanted to know if it was true. I took the letter to Captain Mason and asked him if he knew what it meant, and he asked me if I remembered Captain Stevens and ten men coming out to the picket line on Saturday morning, and I told him I did, and he told me the paper Captain handed him was an order for my arrest, from General Sherman, for bringing a false alarm into camp. I asked Captain Mason why he did not let Captain Stevens carry out his orders, and he replied that it would have fallen back on him, as I had only done what he had ordered me.
      Now, Major, I think these are the facts in the case very briefly stated. I am in hopes we will both b3e able to go to our next regimental reunion
      Very truly yours, C. J. Eagler, Late apt. C. B. 77th Ohio Infantry.
      The dawn of Sunday Morning, April 6th, opened on a spring day of superb beauty. The regiment was astir with the usual camp duties. There were no indications of the impending, bloody conflict, excepting the distant sound of an occasional musket shot from the picket away out in the front, and as that had been going on at intervals for a day or two, we thought nothing of it.
      Company rolls had been called, breakfast had been eaten, and orderly sergeants had made their reports to the adjutant, and the adjutant had made his regimental report to Brigade headquarters. I was at work compiling the brigade morning report from the regimental reports. The firing away out in our front became gradually more incessant and distinct, indicating that our pickets were being driven in.
      The regiment was finally formed in line and advanced partly down the gentle decline leading from the tents to the creek, which ran nearly parallel with our front, and about 500 feet distant from the line of battle. This branch crossed the brigade line between the camps of the 57th and 53rd Ohio regiments. The main road from Corinth to Pittsburgh Landing crossed about the center of our regimental line of battle. Here the regiment stood in line of battle for some time awaiting events.
      The headquarters' tents were deserted by everybody except myself, and it was my duty to remain there and complete the morning report and care for the brigade records. Occasionally a wounded man would pass along the road in front of headquarters on his way to the landing, and it was a difficult matter to do clerical work inside the tent when matters so exciting were transpiring outside. I ran out several trips past the church to the regimental camp, where I could see the boys in line, then returning to my duties. Matters finally became so strenuous outside that I could remain in the tent no longer.
      I had a brother in line, orderly sergeant of my company, and a large number of my schoolmates, and the impression was on my mind that the regiment was going to get into a skirmish, and the boys would be writing home that they were all in it except "Little Bob," and he was clerking at headquarters. As I went down to the tents of my company, I passed Colonel Hildebrand, who was sitting on his big black horse watching the line of the brigade. The ground was open between Shiloh Church and the left of the 53rd Ohio, and from Shiloh Church the whole line was plainly visible.
      While passing near the church I saw Adjutant E. C. Dawes, of the 53rd Ohio Regiment, ride up to Colonel Hildebrand and salute, and I heard him say: "Colonel, the enemy are coming in on our left flank," and Colonel Hildebrand replied, instructing him to have the regiment change front to the left. I passed on down between the tents and Company D quarters to hunt for a gun. As I passed the door of one of the tents, Basil Chalfant, who was sick, came out of a tent with his gun and accouterments on, and evidently suffering greatly. I asked him if he would loan me his gun and cartridge box a while, and he promptly consented, and I went down and fell in line on the left of my company.
      My front-rank man was Second Sergeant E. A. McPeek, and the man to my right was a little Irishman named John McInerney. The underbrush and timber were pretty well cleared off down as far as the creek in our front, but the large trees were standing. Our pickets were still being driven in, but we could not see anything until our own pickets commenced to emerge from the woods on the far side of the creek.
      We were crouched down on our knees, with our muskets ready for action as soon as our men came back to the lines and we could see any enemy to shoot at. The first intimation I saw that they were not far off was a musket ball striking a few feet in front of us, and throwing the dirt over Sergeant McPeek and myself. He glanced around and gave me a very significant smile, which I reciprocated.
      I remember seeing Captain W. A. Stevens, of Company A, who was with the pickets, dodging from tree to tree for protection as he made his way back over the creek to the regiment. Finally the enemy's artillery opened, firing over our heads into our camp. The cannon balls commenced cutting the limbs off the trees over our heads, and my particular fear at that time was of being killed by a falling limb. Before the enemy had emerged into full view, my right-hand man, John McInerny, received a ball just over his right eye. The blood spurted out profusely, and I thought he was finished, until I saw him jump up and step to the rear of the line and say to Lieutenant Jack Henricle: "Lieutenant, do you think that went in dape?" It proved to be a glancing blow, and though "Johnny" was knocked out for that battle, her returned, and served until the close of the war.
      All the time the enemy's artillery was blazing away over our heads, and suddenly the artillery the enemy's artillery was blazing away over our heads, and suddenly the artillery fire trebled in volume, and all the furies of hell broken loose at once could not have made more din. We did not know whether the guns were all on the enemy's side or not, but I well remember the feeling of joy when Major B. D. Fearing came running along behind the line, shouting at the top of his voice, to make himself heard above the din of battle: "Boys, those are our guns."
      Just at this time the rebel lines, firm, compact, and terrible, emerged from the woods across the creek, and advanced into the creek to get the shelter of its banks, and the battle opened in fury along the whole front. At about this time General Sherman, with his staff, was near the flank of our left regiment, the 53rd Ohio. The General was, with his glasses, examining the front. I have often hear Captain E. H. Ball, of the 53rd Regiment, relate how he called to Sherman: "General, you're looking in the wrong direction!" A volley at that moment killed Sherman's orderly, and the General exclaimed,: "My God, we're attacked!"
      Our fire was too hot for the enemy in our immediate front, and they disappeared from view in the brush beyond the creek. Some of our men thought the battle was over, and several, among them being Sergeant-Major Gordon B. West, ran down to the creek in our front to secure some trophies of the battle. The lull did not last long, however, as they came back with redoubled force, and settled down to that long series of sledge-hammer blows, kept up almost incessantly during that long day. We could see off to the left of our brigade line that everything seemed to be giving away; in fact, the position of the left regiment, the 53rd Ohio, was untenable from the start. If they remained in line with the brigade, their left flank stuck out in air. They were probably caught executing the order for change of flank, which I had heard Colonel Hildebrand give Adjutant Dawes, and soon swept from the field.
      General Sherman states in his official reports that Colonel Hildebrand held his own regiment in position an hour after the balance of the brigade had disappeared to the rear. As a matter of fact, the men in line were not aware that any officer held them there. I never heard any command to go or stay. The truth was, the men in line were equal, if not superior, in average intelligence and army experience, to the officers in immediate command. I know my own company had in its ranks as privates and non-commissioned officers quite a number of Latin and Greek scholars--men who, later in the war, became the company and regimental officers. The Confederates made repeated attempts to carry our line, but were as often driven rapidly back to the cover of the timber.
      When the 53rd Ohio was compelled to give way it left the left flank of the 57th Ohio exposed, and they in turn were flanked and compelled to retire. This left the left flank of our regiment unprotected, and as a matter of actual fact, the men in the left companies of our regiment had left faced in their tracks and were firing at the enemy in the rear of the position first occupied by the 57th Ohio before we fell back from our first line of battle. There was no formal movement in falling back; the men in the left gradually sloughed off and passed to the rear, singly and in squads, as they were flanked.
      I received a wound which knocked me out while we were still in front of the church. As I fell and felt that deathly shiver which many of the companions present have experienced, and felt the warm blood spurting out, I thought I was done for. However, I soon struggled to my feet, and boy-like, my first thought was to saving and returning the gun and accouterments which I had borrowed. Realizing, however, that "discretion was the batter part of valor," I left the musket, and made my way back through the regimental tents to the improvised field hospital in the small ravine back of our camps. While going through the camp I encountered a wounded man of my company named Chris. Bowman. His left arm was shattered and bleeding profusely, but in his right hand he playfully displayed a canister shot, and showed me where it had hit one of the buttons of his blouse and drove the button into concave shape.
      After lying at the hospital perhaps a half hour, the surgeon, seeing that the left flank of the brigade was entirely turned, ordered all who were able to go to the rear, and, with the aid of two sick convalescents, I reached the river shortly after noon and was placed on the hurricane deck of one of the steamers, every available foot of space on the first deck and cabin being filled with wounded men.
      From this position I had a good view of what was going on along the landing. There was a motley crowd of sick men, teamsters, company servants and straggling soldiers. I never noticed, however, any evidence of panic among them, and have never thought the number of stragglers was much greater than is usually found in the rear of any army during a great battle. The space occupied by the landing was quite limited, and I do not think that at any time during Sunday there could have been as many as five thousand men under the brow of the landing. I remember seeing a line officer go among a lot of men, swinging his saber and berating them, but his harangue had not the slightest effect. They evidently thought he should be on the front line himself instead of under the bank berating them.
      Men were kept busy with stretchers, carrying men off the boat as fast as they succumbed to their wounds, and laying them in a row on a level ledge about half way up the bank. While watching this rapidly increasing line of dead soldiers, I noticed one of those carried out as dead attempting to raise his head. Two of the Sisters of Charity on the boat quickly went to his aid with water and other restoratives, and he was again brought aboard, and is possibly alive to tell this same story.
      My brother James, a beardless boy two years my senior, who was First Sergeant of our company, was wounded about the same time I was, I learned, late Sunday evening, that he was on the same boat and was desperately wounded. Monday morning I managed to reach his side. he was lying on one of the guards of the boat in a puddle of water, it having rained heavily during the night, and I saw at a glance that death was written on his face. I took off my shirt and got a man to take it out and fill it with hay for a pillow for him, and got some stimulants to ease his pain as much as possible. He told me the doctor told him Sunday that his wound was mortal, and, lying beside him with my own wound still undressed, bloody, battle stained, sore and miserable, with the thought that I must communicate this sad news to that anxious widowed mother at home, my cup of sorrow was full. He passed away during the day Monday, giving loud orders to his company, which, in his delirium, he was commanding. I directed the making of a rough board box by the boat carpenter, and he was buried near the old log house on top of the hill, where his remains still lie, on that ground hallowed by his blood and that of other brave boys.
      Sergeant-Major Gordon B. West, who was shot through the shoulder, and on the same boat, and I the determined not to go home, and on the following Thursday we worked our way painfully back to camp, and I was put into a headquarters tent and tenderly nursed by that gallant soldier, Major B. D. Fearing, my wound being dressed by his body servant.
      Long before able to bear arms I resumed my duties as clerk at headquarters, and a promotion from private to second sergeant when I again took my place in the ranks was more appreciated than any subsequent promotion.
      Among the wounded in Sunday's fight was corporal John Morris, of my company. He was my nearest neighbor at home, had been my schoolmate, and we enlisted together. No one of our regiment saw him after the battle. It was known that his leg was shattered below the knee, and that he had a thigh wound in the same limb, and he was left on the battlefield when it was occupied by the enemy. Some weeks later an official report came to the regiment that he had died in a Cincinnati hospital. It became incumbent on me to write a letter of condolence to his parents, and, as he had been a model soldier and fighter, I had a good subject. He was home to read my letter when it came, and he said it was certainly a first-class obituary and almost made him weep. The doctors had wanted to cut off his leg on the battlefield, but he fought them off, saying he did not want his corpse worse mangled than the rebel bullets had left it. His father came to Cincinnati and found him and took him home. Another poor fellow had doubtless been put in his cot without changing the number and died there, and the mother of some poor boy may yet be mourning the fate of a lost son.
      John Morris lived in his own home, an honored and highly-respected citizen, until a few years ago, when he dropped dead in the twinkling of an eye while reading the morning paper. I desire now to touch on a matter the mention of which has always aroused a feeling of the utmost indignation in the breast of every member of the 77th Ohio Regiment. About a week after the battle, the newspapers reached us from the North containing outrageous accounts of how the troops have been surprised and bayoneted in their tents; of how some of the Ohio troops behaved shamefully, and particularly how the 77th ran without firing a gun.
      Some cowardly correspondent of a Chicago paper, who probably got no near the battlefield than Paducah, started the lie and it never got less as it traveled. Even as late as a few years ago a comrade of an Ohio regiment, who fought in an Eastern army, asked about our being disgraced at Shiloh. In answer, I showed him a photograph of the monument of the 77th regiment near Shiloh church, and this is what the inscription on the granite says:
      "The regiment was engaged here from 7 a. m. to 9:30 a. m. April 6th, 1862. On the 8th it joined in pursuit of the enemy and was engaged in fight near Mickeys. Its losses on the 6th, 7th, and 8th were: 1 officer and 50 men killed; 7 officers and 90 men wounded, and 3 officers and 48 men missing; total, 219"
      The mortality of this regiment was only exceeded by two regiments in the entire battle, the 9th Illinois having a death list of 61 and the Sixth Iowa 52. The 55th Illinois was exactly equal to our regiment, 51 killed.
      Our regiment's loss in this battle was greater than the entire American army in the famous battles of Bennington, Saratoga or Cowpens of the Revolutionary War, or Resaca de la Palma or Palo Alto of the Mexican War
      General Sherman states in his report that he regarded Shiloh as so important that he remained by it, and gave orders to hold the ground, which was done until about 10 a. m. General Grant, on page 338 of his memoirs, states that Shiloh Church was the key to our position.
      That gallant soldier, General R. R. Dawes, wrote some years before his death regarding the battle of Shiloh as follows:
      "General Sherman's star was then flickering in the fogs of criticism, calumny, and charges of insanity. All that saved his reputation in that dark hour of swift and cruel accusation was victory snatched from surprise, and that was won at Shiloh by the individual valor and fidelity of common soldiers."
      Had any one of these green regiments in Prentiss' or Sherman's division of the front line, who stood their ground until 10 a.m. of that fateful Sunday, stampeded early or given way an hour sooner, is it not possible that Beauregard would have watered his horses in the Tennessee River, and the country would have lost the transcendent record and invaluable services of its two greatest generals?
      Great generals as well as private soldiers must take their first lessons.
      The personal and individual valor of the American volunteers who handled the muskets, and who were ignorant of their own defeat, carried the day at Shiloh. The humble private values his heritage of honor as much as the greatest general.
      There is no part of the writer's army record in which he takes as much pride as in having been one of the "boys behind the guns" at Shiloh.