It is raining this morning; has been all night. There may be
poetry in war, but there is no poetry in Camp Halleck (the name given to this
camp by general orders). Mud predominates and the camp fires burn dimly. Soon
the rain ceases and the clouds vanish; the sky becomes clear, and the sun sheds
forth refreshing light, which is very welcome to the wet Seventh. But ere it is
noon we have marching orders. The gun-boats, terrible looking monsters, are now
steaming up towards Fort Henry. The army is put in motion. We look away; and
around the hills and up the ravines we see the beautiful starry banners flying.
It is our fate to be one of the rear regiments, and while waiting for the
assembly to beat, the regiment ascends a hill close by, from where we first
behold a rebel camp. We see the ensign of treason floating defiantly over the
Fort. Mad, mad, men! that they would thus insult the mother that gave them
birth. But ah! they are now being circumvented. The gunboats still keep
steaming up towards the Fort. We predict that ere the sun sinks to rest, that
banner, the representative of a wicked people, will be struck down, and that
upon her staff the old Union's flag will flutter in the wind, and cast around
Fort Henry her flashing light. Up a winding ravine we pass, over the hills we
climb. The troops are aiming to get to the rear of the Fort, ere the bombardment
commences. The roads are cut up terribly. The artillery mires down upon the
hills; the Seventh lifts them out. We are now away on the Tennessee bluffs.
Looking up the river we see a smoke; we hear a sullen roar. What means it all?
It is a smoke and a roar from the gun-boat Essex. The ball is now open. In
quick succession the mad machines of war give vent to their death-dealing
elements. The troops seem eager for the fray, but it is evident the way the
artillery is miring down, that it will only be a naval battle. Shot and shell,
like living monsters, are now flying over and into Fort Henry. Moving on, the
imposing scene is lost to our view; but like the rumble and roar of distant
thunder, the echoes roll over the bluffs and cliffs of the Tennessee. All day
we keep winding around through the woods, seeking to get to the rear of the
Fort. Towards evening a messenger comes riding back and his voice rings out, “Fort
Henry's flag is down and the rebels are flying.” It being imposible for the
advanced troops to get to the rear in time to cut off the retreat, they now
move up and take possession of the works. We go into camp in the woods one mile
from the rebel works. Having been ordered to leave our knapsacks with the
wagons this morning, we have in consequence no blankets nor overcoats to-night.
It is cold. The soldiers are suffering; a bleak winter wind is blowing around
them, but a rebel flag went down to-day, and the soldiers' hearts are glad,
glad because in its stead floats the old Union's loved banner.
SOURCES: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment
Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 26-7
