Pittsburgh, Tenn., April 11th, 1862.
My Dear Family:—Andy
and father are both well, which you will be glad to hear. We both went through
a severe ordeal on the bloody field of battle on last Sunday and Monday, from
6:00 A. M. until dark of both days, and a bloody field it was.
Poor Andy acted gallantly all the time, and lost two of his
guns, a large portion of his horses and all his personal effects, papers, etc.
He has no clothing but that he has on his back, as all our camps fell into the
hands of the enemy. Our forces were gradually driven back about four miles to
less than a mile from the river.
About 4:00 P. M., on Sunday, all appeared lost, and it
seemed to me it was Bull Run over again. While many gallant men freely shed
their blood for their country, a large portion—say, 10,000—ingloriously fled
back to the river, and no entreaties could prevail upon them to return. They
sheltered themselves under the steep hillside next the river, where they were
out of the range of shot and shell.
Colonel Taylor, early on Sunday morning, detailed a
Lieutenant and a portion of his command to act as a bodyguard to General Grant,
and I was one of the number. We continuously rode along the line of battle, through
the hottest of their fire, for the whole distance of about five miles. The
battlefield was about as large as a township in Ohio, say five or six miles
square, and a greater part of it wild forest land with thick underbrush, and
occasionally a small field of cleared land.
Andy had fifty-nine horses killed in their harness, all
within a few minutes of each other. I was at his camp yesterday; his battery
wagon has two six-pounder shot and sixty-five grape and canister shot through
it, and is shattered all to pieces.
Strange to say, I have never been able to see Andy since the
battle, although I have all the time hunted for him, and I know he is well.
The last time I saw him was on Sunday, in the forenoon, on
the field of battle. He was riding a white horse, whose back, neck and forelegs
were all covered with blood, it having received three bullets in its neck
without killing it. As we were all driven from our camps, and had to rally
where we could, it was impossible to find each other.
I never tasted anything but a few picked-up crackers to eat
from early on Sunday morning until Tuesday morning; stood both nights in the
rain and mud, protected only by my jacket, all of my clothing having been
stolen while we were absent from our camp — my overcoat and poncho with the
rest.
About 4 or 5 p. M., when all seemed lost, General Buell's forces
appeared upon the opposite side of the river, crossed over as fast as they
could, and moved up the hill right into action, which changed the fate of the
battle.
Although hostilities were renewed early in the morning, and
fought obstinately all day, we gradually and steadily drove them back a
distance of six miles, when, about noon, they were completely routed and
abandoned the field. It was too late to pursue them far, and the next morning
they were beyond our reach, and we got back into our camp.
Many of the dead are not yet (Friday morning, the 11th)
buried, and many never will be. Of the number killed and wounded I have no
means of estimating; it must, however, be very large, as the field of battle
was heavily timbered, and five or six miles square, and twice fought over, with
dead scattered everywhere.
From what I saw of the field of battle yesterday I never
want to contemplate another.
Your husband and
father,
A. HlCKENLOOPER.
SOURCE: W. H. Chamberun, A. M. Van Dyke & George A.
Thayer, Editors, Sketches of War History,
1861-1865: Papers Read Before the Ohio, Military Order of the Loyal Legion of
the United States, Vol. 5, p. 435-6
