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URING the latter part of the War, in 1864, and until its close, in 1865, I was con nected with the armies under Gen. Sherman, usually desig nated the Army of the Ten nessee, the Army of the Cumberland and the Army of the Ohio, wrote Maj. Gen. O. O. Howard. The campaigns were exceedingly active. From Chat tanooga to Atlanta Sherman’s soldiers were under fire every day, except the three just before crossing the Etowah, or 113 days. There was not a day or night in which there were no soldiers slain. The screeching shells burst over our heads while we were sleep ing, but, wonderful to tell, the sol diers had become so used to this con flict that they lost very little sleep in consequence of the fitful and random fling at night. In that period of 113 days there were 1% sizable battles fought. In one at tack I made at Pickett’s Mill I lost 800 killed and three times as many wounded within the space of 15 min utes. At night I sat among the wounded, and realized something of the horrors of war. It seems to me to day as I think of it like a terrible nightmare, but it was a more terible reality, which I will not attempt to de scribe. When I come to think of the “March to the Sea” and later the “March Through the Carolinas,” what occurs to my memory first is the exceeding hardihood of the soldiers. . They re covered quickly from their wounds, I mean from those that were not too severe, and there was scarcely any illness. . But when Columbia was on fires an untold number perished in the sprees. Still more perished from ac cidental explosion of confederate ‘shells at Columbia and Cheraw.We like to turn away from the mangled corpses and distorted faces of the wounded that cannot be described. I feel the same horror and depression in view of these things as I did at Gettysburg, where on bot sides up ward of 50,000 men were placed hors de combat. For several days poor fel lows, union and confederate soldiers, waited in patience, unattended by sur geons, simply because there were not enough of them. Without further detail, imagine the joy that came over the armies of Sher man,as they gathered about Raleigh, N. C., in 1866, and were told that Lee had surrendered and that Grant had sent Lee’s soldiers home to begin life anew; that Johnston had surrendered on the same terms as Lee and all that belonged to Slocum’s, Schofield’s and Howard's armies were to march on the morrow toward Washington, the capital of the nation, soon to be mus tered out of service and then to go home. I remember the sudden depres sion at the news of Lincoln’s death; how still this going home produced ‘too event a joy to keep over this catas treha of their heavy loss very long petera their minds. They marched hevitually at 20 miles a day from Beakish to Richmond, and never neared weary at the close of any lar’s march—the camp fire was bright, t he old songs were sung over and over rrin, and the comradeship knitted durizs: the war would never cease—it “was at its best when the word “peace” filled all the air I knew that we were proud when we marched past the president ‘of the United States in our last great re view; but, as I remember. dt, it was a tearful pride even then. A regiment had gone out 1,000 strong; it had been recruited and re-recruited; it had been veteranized and added to in other ways; and now it was bringing home less than 300 of all the men who had gone out from that section of the country from which it had come. The joy of going home for the 300 was great, but it was a tearful joy the in stant one thought of the 800 or more who could not go home, who never did go home, who were buried somewhere in the broad land over which the 300 had marched, and too often with a headpiece marked “Unknown.” After the war I stood in the large cemetery, near Murfreesboro, Tenn., with Gen.R. B. Hayes (afterward president) and Mrs. Hayes. I remem ber how Mrs. Hayes, who was an ex ceedingly handsome woman, looked up into the faces of the general and myself as her large, dark, speaking eyes were flooded with tears, when she said: “Just look there, that plot of ground is covered with headstones marked ‘Unknown.’ Unknown, wun known,” she repeated, “and yet he gave his life that his country might live!” It was a touching picture, but every time I think of it I say to myself: “Really, that ‘unknown’ soldier, ap parently unknown, recorded unknown, was not really unknown. Somebody knew him. His comrades knew him. A mother, a sister, a wife and children, if he had them, knew him. There is a better record somewhere than that in the soldiers’ cemetery.” Our faith is so strong that we all believe in the resurrection and in the future life and have a great satisfaction in feeling that no sacrifices and particularly not that of life itself for duty, for what one sincerely believes to be duty, has ever been, or ever will be made in vain. The saddest pictures of all, to my mind,are those connected with a los ing battle like that of Fredericksburg, and still more that of Chancellorsville. At Fredericksburg the army of Burn side went straight forward to its own destruction. The lines of Lee, half en circling Burnside’s points of attack, were complete. It was like a trap into which an animal deliberately puts his feet. We sprang the trap, and it is a wonder that Lee had not dealt with Burnside’s army as the sturdy Thomas dealt with Hood’s at Nashville. I can see in my mind’s eye those immense plateaus in front of the Merve Heights and other confederate entrenchments and barricades covered with the dead and dying. The plateaus were fairly blue, as they were dotted with the wearers of our uniform. Gen. Couch was standing by my side in the steeple of a church, near the close of that battle, where we together were taking a fresh reconnaissance, when I noticed that his voice trembled as he spoke to me. He said: “Oh, Gen. Howard, look there! Look there! See the ground covered with the boys in blue, and all to no purpose.”* After we had returned, all of us who could return, to the other shore of the Rappahannock, the depression of the soldiers was greater than at any other time, during the war. We could hardly speak to each other. Now, after years, we can recognize the fact that our grief was balanced by the joy of the confederates over a great victory, and yet not a decisive one, gained by them. At a moderate calculation there were sent into eternity more than a million of men, who left home in the prime of health and in strength; more than a million of souls by the terrible conflict. For one, I am glad, indeed, that there is an effort on foot to set tle difficulties without bloodshed.Of course, the waste of human life is not all of it. There is in every war a waste of possession, a destruction of proper ty and a degradation of character hard to avoid at the best. I know that there are some things worse than death. I know that the union of our states was worth all that it cost, and I know that humanly speaking, it was, necessary that we should be purged as by fire; but is it not wise now to do all that we can to hold up to the world, the blessings of a great peace; even the peace that passeth, understanding Which’ never ‘must ‘exclude cany. of. the noblest ‘qualities of: a. womanly: woman or:a.manly,mant = ‘A soul full: of. ‘Taement. greetings” to: all our ‘borrowing. comrades: of the. elvil war. Wo TLS NO-O-E
Newspaper Details
Rochester Republican
Rochester, Indiana, US
Thu, May 28, 1908
Page 8
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Anonymous
USA 02 Jun 2026
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