Brigadier-General William T. Sherman to Ellen Ewing Sherman, April 3, 1862

Pittsburg Landing, Tenn.

Camp.  April 3, 1862.

Dearest Ellen,

I have really neglected writing for some days.  I don’t know why, but I daily become more and more disposed to stop writing.  There is so much writing that I am sick & tired of it & put it off on Hammond who is sick cross and troublesome.  I have plenty of aids but the writing part is not very full.  I have been pretty busy, in examining Roads & Rivers.  We have now near 60,000 men here, and Bragg has command at Corinth only 18 miles off, with 80 Regiments and more coming.  On our Part McCook, Thomas & Nelsons Divisions are coming from Nashville and are expected about Monday, this is Thursday when I Suppose we must advance to attack Corinth or some other point on the Memphis & Charleston Road.  The weather is now springlike, apples & peaches in blossom and trees beginning to leave.  Bluebirds singing and spring weather upon the hillsides.  This part of the Tennessee differs somewhat from that up at Bellefonte.  There the Alleghany Mountains still characterized the Country whereas here the hills are lower & rounded covered with oak, hickory & dogwood, not unlike the Hills down Hocking.  The people have mostly fled, abandoning their houses, and Such as remain are of a neutral tint not Knowing which side will turn up victors.  That enthusiastic love of the Union of which you read in the newspapers as a form of expression easily written, but is not true.  The poor farmers certainly do want peace, & protection, but all the wealthier classes hate us Yankees with a pure unadulterated hate.  They fear the Gunboats which throw heavy shells and are invulnerable to their rifles & shotguns, and await our coming back from the River.

I have been troubles some days by a Slight diarrhea but am well enough for work.  My Division is very raw and needs much instruction.  Brigade commanders are McDowell, Stuart, Hildebrand & Buckland.  Genl. Grant commands in chief, and we have a host of other Generals, so that I am content to be in a mixed crowd.

I don’t pretend to look ahead far and do not wish to guide events.  They are too momentous to be a subject of personal ambition.

We are constantly in the presence of the enemys pickets, but I am satisfied that they will await our coming at Corinth or some point of the Charleston Road.  If we don’t get away soon the leaves will be out and the whole country an ambush.

Our letters come very irregularly I have nothing from you for more than a week but I know you are well and happy at home and that is a great source of consolation.  My love to all

Yrs. ever

W. T. Sherman

SOURCES: William Tecumseh Sherman Family Papers, Archives of the University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, Indiana, Box 1, Folder 144, image #’s 03-0046 & 03-0047; M. A. DeWolfe Howe, Editor, Home Letters of General Sherman, p. 219-20; Brooks D. Simpson, Jean V. Berlin, Editors, Sherman's Civil War: Selected Correspondence of William T. Sherman, 1860-1865, p. 170-1; 

Brigadier-General Thomas Kilby Smith to Eliza Walter Smith, January 18, 1864

Headquarters First Brigade,

Fourth Div., Seventeenth Army Corps,

Department Of The Tennessee,

In The Field, January 18, 1864.

My Dear Mother:

Here I find myself isolé, and until further orders must so remain. The government of the army is strictly monarchical, almost a pure despotism. An eminent English jurist asserts that there is no such thing as martial law, or in other words, that martial law may be defined to be the will of the general in command. A true soldier, the instant he enlists or accepts a commission, surrenders all freedom of action, almost all freedom of thought. Every personal feeling is superseded by the interests of the cause to which he devotes himself. He goes wherever ordered, he performs whatever he is commanded, he suffers whatever he is enjoined ; he becomes a mere passive instrument for the most part incapable of resistance. The graduation of ranks is only a graduation in slavery. I desire to become a good and practical soldier and strategist, one whose labor and conduct no enemy will ever laugh at in battle, no friend ever find insufficient, as such, to serve my country so long as she may need my services or until they cease to be valuable.

As for this country I am in, I feel perfectly incapable of conveying an adequate idea of the dreary lonely nakedness that surrounds me. The curse of Babylon has fallen upon it. It is “a desolation, a dry land and a wilderness." I have in former letters adverted to the peculiar geological formation of the chain of bluffs upon a portion of which I am now encamped. The chain is about three hundred miles in length, always on the east side of the Mississippi, and as some geologist asserts has been blown up, formed like snowdrifts by the action of the wind in former ages. Be this as it may, the face of the country upon them has very much the appearance of a succession of snow-drifts upon which a sudden thaw has begun to act. The top soil has no tenacity, although fertile, and when broken for cultivation, yields like sugar or salt to the action of the elements. The country is not undulating but broken in precipitous hills; deep ravines, gorges, and defiles mark the ways. Upon the hillsides not too steep for the passage of the plough, where have been the old cotton-fields, the land lies in hillocks, resembling newly-made graves. And as the area upon which the great staple could be produced is extensive, one may ride for many miles over what, with little stretch of imagination, may be considered an immense graveyard. To add to the gloom and desolation, are the charred remains of burned dwellings, cotton sheds and cotton-gin houses, gardens and peach orchards laid open and waste, negro quarters unroofed, long lines of earthworks and fortifications, trenches and rifle-pits, traversing roadways, cutting in their passage hamlet or dwelling, plantation and wilderness. Huge flocks of buzzards, ravens and carrion crows, continually wheel, circle, and hover over the war-worn land. The bleaching bones of many a mule and horse show where they have held high carnival, and for them much dainty picking still remains, as the spring rains wash off the scanty covering of the soldiers who have gone to rest along the banks of the Yazoo. The patriot veteran who packs an '' Enfield " is as a general rule superficially buried in his blanket, if he falls in battle, on the spot where he falls, unless, wounded, he crawls to a sheltered nook to find a grave — happy, then, if he's buried at all. Many a corpse I've seen swelled up and black, with its eyes picked out, which, while it was a man, had dragged itself for shelter and out of sight, and been overlooked by the burial fatigues. This, as father used to say, is a digression. Off from the cultivated lands are canebrakes, dense jungles of fishing poles of all sizes. The little reed of which they make pipe stems that grows as thick on the ground as wheat stalks in a field, and the great pole thirty feet high and as thick as your wrist. Occasional forests, and there some of the trees are majestic and beautiful; not a few of them evergreen, one, the name of which I cannot get, with a bright green spiked leaf bearing a beautiful bright red berry, grows large and branching and shows finely. The magnolia is evergreen. I send specimens of both in the box, though I fear they will wither before they will reach you; also some of the moss that attaches itself to every tree that grows, and some that don't, or rather, has done growing and are dead. Through this country I have penetrated in all directions where there are roadways and where there are none, and sometimes have had a high old time in finding my way. The better portion of the inhabitants have abandoned — some refugees at the North, some in the rebel army, some fled to Georgia and Alabama, the few that remain are the poorest sort of white trash. This element, as a general rule, is Union in sentiment. They possess strange characteristics common to the class wherever I have met them in Tennessee, Arkansas, or Mississippi, but not in Louisiana. They are ignorant, and rather dirty, I mean uncleanly, in their habits, always miserably poor and miserably clad, and yet, the women especially, possessed of a certain unaccountable refinement and gentleness almost approaching gentility. The children are pretty, even with the unkempt head and grimy features. Men and women always have delicate hands and feet, the high instep and Arab arch is the general rule. There 's blood somewhere run to seed. There is great suffering among the people of all classes, and the end is not yet. I enclose you one or two intercepted letters.

In the jungles and canebreaks and the thickets of the forest there are many cattle and hogs running wild; some are Texas cattle that have escaped from the droves of the rebels while they were in occupation; some have escaped from our own droves; some have belonged to the planters, and have been run off to prevent their falling into the hands of either party, and so long have they been neglected that at last they have become wild, almost like buffalo, or elk, and run like the devil at the sight of man on foot or horseback. These animals we sometimes circumvent, and I make up expeditions for that purpose, taking out wagon-trains, shooting and butchering the beef and pork, and hauling it in dead. The wildness of the animals gives these forays the excitement of grand battles and hunts. The meat is excellent, and my mess table since I have been here well supplied. Thrice since I have been here I have journeyed to headquarters at Vicksburg, and twice have been visited by the general commanding, McPherson; with these intervals, I have been without companionship. In the evenings I sit quite alone, except I have a terrier puppy I brought with me from Natchez, who seems disposed to become social. Last winter at Young's Point, and indeed ever since I have been in the field till now, I have been most fortunate in social commune. General Sherman has been a host to me, and while he was within ten miles I was never at a loss for somebody to talk to. General Stuart was a very fascinating man, and I have never been very far away from General Grant and staff. But now I am quite alone, and for two months have hardly heard the sound of a woman's voice. My horses are a great comfort to me, and, thank God, are all well; I am much blessed in horseflesh. Captain is gay as a lark; no better little horse ever trod on iron. He's as game to-day as a little peacock. My other horses you never saw. They are superb and sublime. Bell is confessedly the finest horse in the army, East or West. J. L. is well and growing. He starts to-morrow morning at three o'clock upon an expedition to the Yazoo River to give battle to some wild ducks. I have no faith in the expedition.

My command of infantry will all re-enlist as veterans; the major part of my cavalry. General Sherman, I learn to-day by telegraph from Vicksburg, was there for a short time. I did not see him. I have a telegraph office and operator for my own use, and am in communication with Vicksburg and the other headquarters over a considerable extent of country. I can tell you nothing further that I think would interest you concerning my inner life here, so far away for the time being, and for certain purposes I am an independent chieftain leading a wild enough life. “No one to love, none to caress.”

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 350-4

Colonel Thomas Kilby Smith to Eliza Walter Smith, April 3, 1863

Headquarters Second Brigade, Second Div.,

Fifteenth Army Corps,

Camp Before Vicksburg, April 3, 1863.

My Dear Mother:

We are fully aware of the feelings toward Sherman. We know the antagonism against the Army of the Southwest. We know the efforts of traitors at home, and those who are not called traitors but who nevertheless would rejoice at the failure of his army to open the Mississippi, jealousy is rampant; war, more terrible civil war than we have yet known, will desolate the North as well as the South. My friends at home will remember my prophecies two years and one year ago. The rebellion, revolution, call it what you will, is not understood.

David Stuart has been rejected by the Senate. He is now neither general nor colonel, and is only waiting from day to day an order to relieve him from his command. Of course it will affect me and at once. He was my immediate ranking commander, and his place will be filled, I suppose, by Frank Blair. I shall not be immediately affected in my command — that is, I shall retain my brigade — but aside from this I am seriously and personally grieved. General Stuart has been my near, dear, and most intimate friend; his place as such to me in the army can never be filled. Of splendid genius, most liberal education, wonderful accomplishments, as scholar, orator, lawyer, statesman, and now soldier. With the courage and chivalry of a knight of old, and the sweetness and fascination of a woman, he won me to his heart, and no outrage . . . has affected me more than his rejection. I have no patience to write about it or think about it. The blow was unexpected by all of us. Generals Grant and Sherman, Stuart and I never thought of such a thing — could not guard against it. When I first reported at Paducah with my regiment to General Sherman, at my own request, for I had known him in Washington, I was brigaded with him. We went directly into service and together. We fought side by side at the battle of Shiloh, till he was wounded, when I assumed his command. We made all the advances to Corinth together and rode side by side in the long marches through Tennessee. We fought at Chickasas Bayou and at Arkansas Post, and advanced together at “Young's Point.” Many and many a long night's watch I made with him, many a bivouac in the open air through night and storm and darkness, always sharing our canteens and haversacks. Had I been killed he would have perilled life to save my body. Was my honor assailed, he the first to defend it; little I could ask of him he would not grant, and when I say to you that he was really the only real, true, thoroughly appreciative friend I have in the army who I care much about, you may imagine how irreparable is my loss. His character is not well understood in the community, because an unfortunate notoriety attached to him in the . . . case.

His own sufferings therein turned him prematurely gray in a very few months. His father was a partner of John Jacob Astor in the celebrated American Fur Company, and made for Astor ten millions of dollars. He was educated at Andover and in Boston, and was the protégé of Mrs. Harrison Gray Otis. He was brought into life very early, and married into the Brevoort family in New York, but being a great favorite of General Cass, was brought into politics in Michigan. At a very early age he was Prosecuting Attorney of Detroit, and immediately afterwards represented the Detroit district in Congress; there I made his acquaintance. He abandoned political life to take the solicitorship of the great Illinois Central Railroad, which gave him the control of the railway influence of the entire State and Northwest; and he abandoned stipulated salaries of eighteen thousand dollars per annum to enter the service, having expended upwards of twenty thousand dollars to put two regiments into the field. He has travelled largely in Europe and in Canada; his family are in the army and navy, he is exceedingly familiar with military life and has a most decided taste for it. His record is clean and bright, one to be proud of; he exerts a wider and better influence than any other man in this army, and why he should have been thrown over is a mystery.

The roses are blooming here and the figs are as large as marbles, the foliage is coming out green and the mocking birds hold high carnival. This is a famous country for flowers and singing birds. My horses are all well. If there was any safe opportunity, and I thought you could manage them, I would send two or three home; they are very high-strung and want a master's hand. Bugles and bayonets don't tend to depress the spirits of a good horse, and mine are the best in the army.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 283-5

Colonel Thomas Kilby Smith to Eliza Walter Smith, February 4, 1863

Headquarters Second Brigade, Second Division,

Fifteenth Army Corps,

“young's Point,” Before Vicksburg, Feb. 4, 1863.

My Dear Mother:

I could write much on these army matters and the course of events here if it were proper for me to do so; but, of course, my lips are sealed and my pen tabooed. You must rest assured that all the newspaper accounts you have seen of the late battles, and the movements of the Army of the Mississippi, are basely, utterly false. So much has been admitted by the correspondent of the New York . . .  in my presence to General Sherman. Courts martial will develop strange facts. All that you read in the newspapers will only serve to mislead you and confuse your mind. Great plans cannot be revealed. Few of the generals themselves know them. The newspaper men, dangerous to the army as spies giving information to the enemy, closely restricted and carefully watched, nevertheless manage to mingle undetected with the residue of the horde of base camp followers who are always at the heels of the army. Provoked at the restrictions placed upon them, by common agreement they hound down with infamous slander the generals from whom the orders against them emanate. Thus the scoundrel . . . the correspondent of the New York . . . has admitted by letter to General Sherman, as well as verbally in my presence, not only that his article was false, and malicious, and based upon false information received from parties interested in defaming General Sherman and his command, but that he renewed the old story of his insanity for the purpose of gratifying private revenge. . . .  Our country is in an awful condition ; we are verging rapidly upon anarchy. Government has almost ceased to exist save in name. An immense army will be demoralized and crumble by its internal opposing forces. A united people have only to fold their arms and calmly bide the event. God help us, and forgive that political party which sowed the wind, the fruits of which we now reap. This much and this alone I have to say. A soldier has naught to do with politics; the nearer he approaches a machine, an animal without volition, the more valuable he becomes to the service, and perhaps the greater part of our present difficulties grow out of the fact that our soldiers are too intelligent, for they will talk and they will write, and read the papers. Our Army of the Mississippi, and particularly our gallant “Old Division,” have the firmest faith and the most implicit reliance upon Sherman and Grant. Sherman is a splendid soldier, a most honorable gentleman, a pure patriot. Would to God we had more like him to battle for the right. I earnestly pray God he may not be sacrificed. This new infusion I know nothing about. McClernand has been sent off; he is out of place here. Brigadiers have come and are coming. I shall soon be superseded by some one of them, or General Stuart will be compelled to give way and I to him. No change of this kind will be cheerfully submitted to by my command. I have the most substantial evidence that I possess their affection and confidence. You speak about my resigning; it would be utterly impossible for me to resign, if I desired to do so, and an effort on my part to have my resignation accepted would ensure my lasting disgrace. An officer cannot resign in the face of the enemy. But I do not want to resign. With all its terrible hardships and privations, greater than tongue can tell, or pen describe, the life of a soldier is dear to me. I love its dangers and excitements. I am proud of, and delighted with the applause which even a temporary success meets. I am relieved of the miserable, wretched chicanery that surrounds the civilian. I rejoice in the free air. I take kindly to the nomadic life that a field service compels. The romance of chivalry is realized, the ideality of my youth and early manhood brought into actual being. The war horse and the sabre, the glitter of the soldier's trappings, the stirring strains of martial music, the flashing eye, the proud, high bearing, the bivouac fire, the canteen, the song and jest, the perilous scout, the wary picket, the night march, all familiar — this is my life. What I read of, till my cheeks tingled and my eyes suffused, I now do and my comrades do, and like Harry Percy, feel able to “pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon.”

How long we shall stay here, God knows; it is a horrid place now, what it will be in the spring, none can tell; a long fiat swamp a foot above or below — I can't tell which —  the level of the Mississippi, which we are fighting to keep out. That portion not covered with a growth of brake and timber is completely so by cockle burr, that grows to an enormous height and presents an almost impenetrable mass of those little prickly burrs that get into the manes and horsetails, the same kind we have at home, but fearfully exaggerated in size and numbers. It is not quite the season, but after a very little while we shall be enlivened by the pleasant society of alligators and mocassin snakes, mud turtles and their coadjutors. Meanwhile we have every conceivable variety of lice and small-pox, measles and mumps, and other diseases incident to women and children. There is a species of moss you have often heard of and which abounds in this climate — a long hanging and beautiful moss when seen close at hand, but which waving in the forests presents a dreary funereal aspect. It is an article of commerce, and when properly prepared is a material for the stuffing of mattresses. Of course the men, when we camped near where it grew, eagerly sought it to make their beds, and were much disgusted to find it filled with lice. It has to be boiled and bottled to clean it from vermin. So, with the moss, and the transport boats filthy in the extreme, many of which had been hospital boats, the troops were pretty thoroughly infected with the plagues of Egypt, all but the frogs; and the first sun, I reckon, will make them tune their pipes.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 268-71

Colonel Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, January 14, 1863

Headquarters Second Brigade,

Second Division, Fifteenth Army Corps,

January 14, 1863.

My Dear Wife:

You have heard of our last battle, and this will give you the assurance of my safety. My brigade behaved splendidly. I had ninety-three officers and men killed and wounded; among them, Captain Yeoman, senior captain and in command of my old 54th, had his right arm shattered, since amputated. The 54th has lost pretty heavily in both the last engagements. She's a gallant little regiment, the men true as steel. Indeed, my command is most emphatically a fighting brigade. The day was beautiful after we had got fairly on the ground, and the spectacle was splendidly imposing as my forces made the charge. You must understand, that this post, heretofore called “Post Arkansas,” but christened by the rebels “Fort Hyndman,” is situated upon the Arkansas River about sixty miles above the mouth. The country about where the Arkansas empties into the Mississippi is flat and intersected with bayous and cutoffs; one of these leads into White River, and our fleet having rendezvoused at the mouth of White River, we sailed up that stream to one of these cutoffs, and through that to the Arkansas and up the Arkansas to a point three miles below the fort. Here we threw troops across the river to intercept reinforcements to the enemy, but the main army debarked on the side on which the fort is situated, and immediately commenced the line of march; directly as we were en route, the enemy began to throw their shell among us, which were returned by our gunboats, while the infantry steadily pursued their way. About a mile from the point of debarkation, we came upon their rifle-pits from which they had recently fled, and where we found their fires still burning and cornbread still warm. The term rifle-pit means a long ditch or trench, sometimes extending for many miles, with a barricade of logs or rails or sometimes willows or canes, to hold the earth in position, which ought to be in embankment at least four feet broad at the top. Behind this embankment, troops stand sheltered and in line firing at advancing forces. I make this explanation because many suppose rifle-pits to be holes in the ground.

Well as we advanced, the enemy abandoned their defences and after some slight skirmishing, retreated to the fort, from which was now commenced terrific cannonading. A little before sundown, other troops having marched around to the other side, and rear of the fort, it became my duty to advance my brigade to a point immediately in front of one of their batteries, and having put the troops in line of battle, I was ordered to advance them and draw the enemy's fire; this I did with such effect as to cost me fourteen men, among whom was Captain Yeoman. Under their fire we lay until nightfall, and indeed all night. The next morning, at the break of day, we were ordered to the right and to a point nearly in front of their main fortifications, and here we lay again, under shell, until one o'clock, when I was ordered to storm the works; I wish I could fully explain to you the position of the ground, and must make some faint attempt at it, so you can appreciate the movements of my troops. The original fort is an hundred years old, and was erected as a defence against the Indians; considered one of the strongest forts in the U. S. Being upon a bluff it was supposed to command the bend of the river with three immense cannon, throwing respectively 110-, 100-, and 85-pound shot and shell; besides these, were fifteen pivot guns, having range at any given point. These are in the fort itself, a most scientifically constructed work, capable of holding, crowded, fifteen hundred men. From one side of this fort, and running westwardly, was a line of breastwork extending to the river-side somewhat thus:

Now you will imagine my forces lying in the woods to the eastward, say half a mile, at the time of my receiving the order to storm, and you will imagine all of this ground north of the fort and breastworks, a beautiful level plain, a little ascending to the fort and spacious enough to admit of three regiments in line, and the day to be as bright and beautiful as ever gladdened the heart of man, and then imagine, if you can, my brigade deploying from the woods just in the rear of General Sherman, and firing exactly as you see in the diagram, with ten brave banners fluttering in the breeze and gilded by the sun. Recollect, each regiment has a banner and a regimental flag, such a banner as you saw for the 54th, and the U. S. flag, the stars and stripes. As a military display, I never saw it equalled. The troops were formed under a perfect hurricane of shot and shell, the breastworks and rifle-pits were lined thick with the enemy. We formed, advanced, and the official reports will give you the rest. Their white flag went up, and I leaped, or got my horse over somehow or other. I don't know exactly how, for it was a wicked-looking place when I surveyed it the next morning, and by order of the commanding general caused four thousand men, prisoners of war, to ground arms by my order. I marshalled them behind the breastworks, while my troops stood on the ramparts. The enemy fought most gallantly, with a most unparalleled obstinacy. The ground inside the fortif1cations was piled with corpses and strewn thick with mangled limbs. The fort was torn all to pieces. The muzzle of the 110-pound gun was shot off. A shell of ours must have entered the very muzzle. These descriptions you will get from the professional writers, and in this instance all their word painting will hardly be an exaggeration of the truth.

I have reason to thank God; for a little while this, to me, was the hardest-fought battle I have been in, and the whistle of bullets and shrieking of shells are sounds familiar in my ears as household words. This, however, is my first real action at the point of the bayonet and the muzzle of the gun. The feeling is very thrilling; nobody but the victor on the battlefield can appreciate the very madness of joy. I made speeches to my new regiments; the enthusiasm was tremendous. My old veterans are seasoned and take things quietly, but my 83d Indiana and 127th Illinois were carried up to the seventh heaven.

I suppose it is small and mean, but there is a flattery, an adulation, a praise coming from the mouths of these soldiers that is very dear to me, and not from them alone. I must confess I want it from my country.

“If we are marked to die, we are enough

To do our country loss; and if to live,

The fewer men the greater share of honor.

God’s will! I pray thee wish not one man more.

By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,

Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;

It grieves me not if men my garments wear.

Such outward things dwell not in my desires;

But if it be a sin to covet honor,

I am the most offending soul alive.”

I must hope for justice to my name, for my dear children's sake. If it is tardy in coming, or wholly withheld, I still have a satisfaction in the possession of the affection of these troops. Ohio in all her counties is well represented. Illinois and Indiana fairly. Many a family throughout a vast breadth will learn who led their brother, or husband, or son, at Chickasas [sic], and Vicksburg, or Post Arkansas.

The conduct of my command was under the immediate eye of the generals. My own official report is therefore very brief. I would amplify more to you now if I did not suppose I should be duplicating what you will probably have read in the newspapers, before this letter comes to hand.

The incidents of our life, thrilling enough in the start, soon become an old story; at least, we think nothing of them and suppose they have lost interest to our friends. I might tell how, leaving the boat in the expectation of an immediate fight, and, therefore, taking nothing with me in the way of nourishment or extra clothing, I stood by the head of, or sat on, my horse all the night long, the first night out, the shells coursing their fiery flight through the darkness and bursting over my head; how eagerly I watched for the streaks of dawn ; how all the day I fainted for a drop of water ; how the wounded and the dead lay all around me; of the captures I made in the way of prisoners and horses (individually, I mean), of the ludicrous scenes in the field — for strange as it may seem to you, there is always something to laugh at even on the battlefield — but this has been told over and over again; I cannot paint pain and anguish, and disappointment and dismay and death. They must be seen as I have seen them to be understood; they can never be described.

We occupied the fort for two days and then re-embarked, and, after a little, shall sail down the Arkansas to the mouth, where we expect to rendezvous with other troops from Grant's army. From thence, I suppose, to Vicksburg, to try them again with a much larger force. There’ll be many a bloody fight before Vicksburg surrenders, in my judgment; her natural position is immensely strong, and she is thoroughly fortified, well provisioned, and well manned. We have vague news from Rosecrans; nothing, however, reliable; if one half of what we hear be true, and his success as great as represented, that, joined to our late victory here, may have a demoralizing effect upon the Southern army, and cause them to capitulate at Vicksburg. Many of the soldiers we found here claimed that their time was up, and that they would have left in a few days. However that may be, one thing is certain, they will dispute every inch of ground as long as there is a man among them capable of bearing arms. It’s no rebellion, it’s revolution, and a more united people you never heard of or read of. Recollect what I used to say before the first gun in this war was fired, and for many months afterwards, how I used to talk to my friends, when they would prate about the South and its resources — a matter of which they had not the slightest conception. I propose to fight the fight out, at least as long as I have a right hand to draw the sabre.

I notice in reading my letter over, that I have not explained there were two sets of works or rifle-pits, the first about a mile and a half beyond the line of fortifications. I mean the outside lines, and the first we encountered. They were on the north and east.

The four thousand prisoners surrendered to me, of whom I speak, were only a portion of those within the fortifications; the residue being inside the fort and at other points. We took seven thousand prisoners and eight thousand stand of arms.

I speak of the representation in my brigade. I suppose there is scarcely a county in Ohio from which some men have not been recruited for the old 54th; the 57th is made up from the Hooppole region and the northwest. The 55th and 127th Illinois were both picked regiments, and came from all over the State. The 83d Indiana was recruited near Lawrenceburg and the tier of counties bordering Ohio. So you see I have gone over good space for infantry. My batteries are from Chicago and my cavalry from Illinois.

My boat is under way; she, of course, is the flagship of my fleet of six. It used to be quite a thing when I was a boy to command a steamboat. I have the sublime honor of commanding six, some of them very heavy, fine boats. Just before leaving, I went to pay my wounded a visit. Poor fellows, I found them in all stages of suffering, but all cheery, game to the last. My poor Captain Yeoman sat holding up his poor stump of an arm. I could hardly keep the tears back. The boat was crowded and they were bringing stretchers in all the time I was there. I hope the poor fellows will get good attention when they arrive at home. The Sanitary Commissioners have done nothing for us. The living for the wounded and the weak is the hardest that can be imagined — no wine, no brandy, no nourishing food. The fresh beef from starved sick cattle that have been brought upon the steamboat, the bacon, potatoes, bad; nothing fit to eat but beans, and I’ve lived on beans till I loathe the sight of them. What our poor wounded are to do, God only knows. I gave them all the money I had, and all I could borrow, but a good many of them will see hell before they die.

As I write, the weather, which was beautiful and warm, changes to rain and then cold, and now as we sail down the river, we are in a violent snowstorm. The river is wide, and winding, and beautiful, lined with the canebrake and cotton tree and now and then a fine plantation. The water is not fit to drink, being impregnated with soda and salts, that causes it to operate badly. Population is sparse upon its banks so far as we have gone.

I received two copies of your little poem, and wish you would send me some more. It was very much admired. I showed it to Stuart one day in the field before Vicksburg. We were waiting breakfast early in the morning. He insisted on reading it through, and cried like a baby as he read it. You must send me some more copies.

We are nearing the mouth of the river and soon shall be again on the broad Mississippi.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 258-64

Colonel Thomas Kilby Smith to Eliza Walter Smith, January 7, 1863

Headquarters Second Brigade,

Second Division, Second Army Corps, Army Of Miss.,

On Board Steamer "Sunny South," Jan. 7,1863.

My Dear Mother:

We are on the broad bosom of the Father of Waters, the shimmering moonlight streaming bright on the glittering waves that dazzle in reflection. I am surrounded by gay officers, the jest and the laugh and the song go round, but I get a little apart and look out into the night, and alone, with no commune for my thoughts save sweet memories of my mother. Two natures, two distinct beings seem blended in mine. Blood, carnage, and exposure to the elements, the dull and dripping rain at night, sapping the creeping marrow in my bones, the swamp, the forest, the noontide heat, prolonged endurance of fatigue, and wakeful watching, intimate converse with gladiatorial soldiers, the harsh reproof and bitter curse (alas, too familiar to my own lips,) the forcing of fierce and maddened spirits to my own will, at times as fierce and maddened as theirs, the groan, the imprecation, oftener than the prayer of the dying; the contorted limbs and fixed stare of the dead, who have gone to their death at my bidding — all this, and more, more than I dare to think or to write, makes me feel as he must have felt who fell from heaven. When plunged in the abyss of reflection, I look for my pure, bright angel, with white and fleecy wings, hovering above me, her outstretched arms, her beckoning hand, her mild and lovely eyes entreating, the mother of my early days. I change, even in thought with her. I become a child again, like the little child I used to see in some of the editions of the '”Common Prayer,” with the leopard, and the lion, and the lamb, that I used to ponder over instead of listening to the service long years ago, when I sat in the quaint old church. The Bible pictures all come back to me, the clouds that I used to watch through the open windows, when the Sunday was pleasant, shaping themselves into queer and fanciful forms, when I used to wonder if God really sat among them, as upon His throne, and if the little cherubims and seraphims, all head and wings as they were lined above the pulpit, were really all about him crying aloud, and if he ever spanked them for so doing, and from these child dreams I passed to others; soft and pleasant fancies flit through my mind; music and the bright fireside, whispering voices, pure, sweet, holy love, the greeting and the parting, the hopes and fears. My spirit changes; I lean over the top-rail and gaze into the deep and flowing river, to wonder if the scene about me is real, if I may not go to you within the hour and lay my head upon your breast and cry myself to sleep, with your dear hands clasped in mine. You are curious to know where I am and what I have been doing, and I can only give you commonplace descriptions of fleets and the great broad river, martial music, startling the wild fowl from the well-nigh deserted shores, the debarkation of the army, the bivouac, the attack at night, the fiercer conflict that raged for two days, the storming of the “imminent and deadly breach,” the heroism, the slaughter of the soldiers, the withdrawal to the transports — all this you will hear about in any penny paper, told with all the variations far better than my pen can portray, and your heart will sicken that such things can be. You will hear that my own band acquitted themselves nobly, that nineteen of them bit the dust. Stancher followers no man ever had. They say I did my devoirs. I don't know. The blood gets into my head in the hour of battle and I rage, though men say I am cool. The Generals have given me the command of a brigade. . . .  If I live, I shall hope to gather laurels; you shall not be ashamed of your son. I have a splendid command, five fine regiments of infantry, two full batteries of artillery (one of which is the famous Taylor battery of Chicago, and the best of the service), and a squadron of horse, nearly five thousand men, and the very flower of the army. The treason of these Southerners is almost atoned for by their dauntless courage; but if the political generals don't succeed in taking my command from me, they shall meet a “foeman worthy of their steel” the next time we are in battle array. Remember I am writing to my mother, and if an indirect trail of egotism or vanity is suffered to creep into my plain letters, forgive me.

De Quincey, in his confessions of opium eating, says, speaking of his reveries, “Often I used to see after painting upon the blank darkness, a sort of rehearsal whilst waking, a crowd of ladies, and perhaps a festival and dances. And I heard it said, or I said it myself, these are English ladies, from the unhappy times of Charles I. These are the wives and daughters of those who met in peace, and sat at the same tables, and were allied by marriage or by blood; and yet, after a certain day in August, 1642, never smiled upon each other again, nor met but in the field of battle; and at Marston Moor, Newberry, or at Naseby cut asunder all ties of blood by the cruel sabre, and washed away in blood the memory of ancient friendships.”  One of my lady friends in Memphis gave me a copy, and in casually turning its leaves to-day, the quotations seemed strangely apt to the unhappy condition of our own bleeding land.

I have said if the political generals do not take my command away, — a batch of them have come down with McClernand, who, you will perceive by one of the accompanying copies, has divided the command with General Sherman; two or three of them are educated military men, and have great reputation as soldiers; an effort was made to place one of them over my command; it may yet be successful, though they tell me my popularity with officers and men is very great, especially since the last battle; that some of them declare they won't fight under another leader, especially under an importation. The advent of McClernand is deprecated. What the result may be I do not know. General Sherman is pretty firm about the matter, now, and I do not think will go behind his order. The Administration is treating me badly, but “Time at last sets all things even, and if we do but watch the hour,” etc. Meanwhile, in my little authority, you must imagine me as I really am, surrounded by very considerable state. My staff consists of an adjutant, two aide-de-camps, four clerks, six mounted orderlies, and as many of a detachment of cavalry as I may choose to detail for personal escort; this, with my body servants, makes up a very considerable menage, and as I retain my own old regiment as a body guard, I move with very considerable personal force. My colors float very proudly. You know I was always given to the taking on of airs, and thereby exciting envy, malice, hatred, and all uncharitableness, which with evil speaking, lying, and slandering, are always rife in the army. Therefore, there will be many attempts at assassination (figuratively speaking, I mean), and these political pets will be after me. Whatever I've got has been literally dug and hewed out with the point and edge of the sabre, and the devil of it now is that I have to fight front and rear. I had a bitter enemy in . . .  who is now hors de combat, having been badly shot in the late engagement. I think he’ll die; he won't sit on horseback for a year anyhow. I had disposed of him pretty effectually before he went under.

I know of none other now of any consequence, but the higher one gets up the more he makes of them. It's damned hard they won't back me at Washington.

I received a day or two since a very beautiful letter from Mrs. Sherman, in which she spoke of “having had the pleasure of seeing my very elegant and charming wife and mother.”

I enclose General Stuart's official report, which you may show to as many friends as you please, though it should not be published. Also the order assigning me to command. It is not difficult for some people to get the rank of brigadier, but the same find it devilish hard to get the command to follow the rank, and are proud enough of two meagre regiments. Mine is a young army; I am immensely proud of it.

I won't write myself to ask for promotion. I don't want it unless it comes regularly and through my commanding general, but inasmuch as I have been clothed with the command, and that against the claims of rank; inasmuch as I must assume immense responsibility, expense, and exposure without commensurate reward, therefore, I think, I am right to urge through my friends for what is only my due.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 254-7

Colonel Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, January 3, 1863

Headquarters Fourth Brigade, Second Div.,

“MilliKEN's Bend,” Louisiana, January 3, 1863.

I seize a moment to write you a brief letter, for I know how anxious you all must be about me. The papers, who know everything, and more too, will have apprised you long before you receive this letter that we have had a fight, that we have met the enemy and that they are not ours; and you will imagine, of course, that I am captured, wounded and killed, but by the grace of God I’ve come out of the ruins unscathed. I went under fire Saturday evening, about six o'clock, 27th ult.; was in raging battle Sunday and Monday; and Sunday, very early in the action, Gen. Morgan L. Smith was shot pretty badly in the hip and had to go off the field. I think he’ll die. By General Sherman's order, General Stuart assumed command of the division and I of the brigade, but Stuart being unwell I virtually had command of the whole division during the fight of Sunday. After the first part of the affair was over, Gen. A. J. Smith, as ranking officer, took command. I had ten regiments and three batteries of sixteen guns before Smith came. My men behaved splendidly, especially in our own regiment, which, however, suffered a good deal, nineteen killed and wounded; my best captain badly wounded. Our loss is pretty heavy, but the enemy must have suffered terribly. I am now in command of the old brigade, composed of the 54th Ohio, 55th Illinois, 57th Ohio, 83d Indiana, and 127th Illinois, with two fine batteries. The 83d Indiana is a noble regiment, commanded by Colonel Spooner, of Lawrenceburgh; he knows your father well. I led his regiment under their first fire myself and can testify to their gallantry. I suppose the Administration will have too much to do to think of the promotion of so insignificant and humble an individual as me, but it is pretty hard to take the responsibility of commanding brigades without the rank. Yet this is the second big fight in which I've been compelled to it, to say nothing of minor skirmishes. My own little regiment is a brick; she'll follow me to hell at the word go. Never falters, never complains. We lay in that swamp, among the mud-turtles and alligators, a week, and short of rations, and not the first man whimpered. I had a fellow shot through the hand, shattering it and maiming him for life; the ball broke the stock of his rifle, and instead of complaining about his hand, he went hunting about for another gun, cursing the enemy for breaking his; however, all these incidents of battle are very uninteresting to you and it is really wonderful how soon we forget them. There is a party of officers sitting now at my right hand, laughing and talking and playing cards, whose lives, twenty-four hours ago, were not worth a rush, who have been in the imminent and deadly breach, who have lost comrades and soldiers from their companies, and who this moment are entirely oblivious of the fact.

The weather has been generally warm and pleasant for the past ten or twelve days; is now warm enough, but it rains tremendously. I am told, by those who know the climate, that it rains at this season of the year, after it once sets in, for six weeks, then storms for six weeks, and then rains again. I don't know how this may be, but God preserve us from having days of such rain as has been pouring down this.

They all seem to be looking forward to Christmas, with the usual fond anticipations of childhood, and with that they wish I could be with them. My Christmas was far away, sailing on the Mississippi; my dinner, for supplies were very short, a homely dish of codfish and potatoes minced, with a relish of stewed beans. My New Year's Day was passed under the rifle-pits and batteries of the enemy in one of the vast swamps of the Mississippi, beneath huge cottonwood and sweet gum trees overgrown with the long peculiar moss of the country that flaunts in the breeze like funeral weeds. On Saturday night, while I was planting a battery, a huge owl — one of the species that make these swamps their home — flapped his wings right over me, and roosting in the tree above my head gave an unearthly screech and wound up with a laugh and prolonged ha! ha! ha! so much like the utterance of a human being as almost to startle me. I took it for an omen. Where will my next Christmas be, where shall I make my next New Year's call? The last has been an eventful year to me; for the past nine months each day has been filled with thrilling incidents. I should like a little rest. I should like to lie down and be quiet. I should like to have some one soothe my brow, and make me feel as if I were a little child again. That is a beautiful idea in Scripture, where we are taught that all must become as little children, before they can enter into the kingdom of heaven. It is almost heaven to feel like a little child on earth. But now my business is to slay and destroy, to exercise all my intellect in the destruction of human life and property.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 251-3

Col. Thomas Kilby Smith to Mrs. Eliza Walter Smith, April 24, 1862

HEADQUARTERS 54TH REGT. O. V. INF.,

CAMP NO. 8 BEFORE CORINTH, May 24, 1862.

MY DEAR MOTHER:

In the midst of "battle and murder and sudden death," your letter of the 12th inst. is handed me. I snatch a hasty moment to reply. I have waited for many days for the time to come when I might sit down to write you as I would wish, but the hurry of the march, the incessant labor at the breastworks, the din of the skirmish leave no opportunity for writing. I have slept in my clothes with bridle in hand for the past ten days and nights. We are close upon Corinth. Our pickets within sight of the enemy's entrenchments. My troops stack arms behind our own breastworks, and there I bivouac. You must, judging from the slips you sent me, have very meagre accounts of the movements of Sherman's Division. I have asked wife to forward the newspaper intelligence, which is partly reliable, and with which the Cincinnati papers have been filled. Pretty full accounts, I am told, have also been published in the New York Herald, a correspondent of which is with the division, and there also will be found Sherman's and Stuart's reports. Sherman's report is decidedly the best account of the battles of the 6th and 7th, and Stuart's will locate the position of our brigade in the field those days. Many papers published in St. Louis and Chicago and local country papers in Ohio have been sent me in which my name is prominently mentioned, and they have been pleased to compliment me. I am only conscious of having tried to do my duty. Acts of heroism were rife those days, and thousands of brave hearts ceased to beat. I rode many a weary mile over the dead and dying. Some of these days, if we live to meet, I will tell you some of the horrors of that battle. Strange how soon one becomes blunted to horror. How little one thinks of human suffering and death and despair. I could tell you of trenches dug and filled with bodies, packed to lie close ; of gentlemen of the South, whose delicate hands, ringed fingers, and fine linen gave evidence of high birth and position. Twenty, thirty together in one hole; men thrown in head downward or upward, clotted, mutilated, bloody, sometimes a man and horse together, and in the midst of these graves and trenches and the carrion of hundreds of dead horses, I camped for twenty-two days, right on that part of the battlefield which was the very charnel, and right where I halted my brigade on Monday night. From thence our course has been forward; every inch of the ground stubbornly contested by the enemy. We have crossed the State line from Tennessee, and now in Mississippi by regular parallels approach the stronghold of the enemy; for every commanding ridge or hill there is a fight, a skirmish we call it here, and think but little of forty or fifty killed and one or two hundred wounded. . . . It is a terrible war in all its phases. God grant that our beloved country be once again blessed with peace. How little did we appreciate the blessing! how priceless now would be its restoration! You ask for incidents interesting to me. I wish, dear mother, I could gratify you. If I only had memory and a graphic pen I could give you a startling history, something in comparison to which the scenes in Scott and James would seem tame, but my aversion to writing amounts to a mania. I shrink from pen and paper as a mad dog does from water, and save to you and wife, I write ne'er a line to man or woman. I wish I had never learned to write, and could set my seal like the knights of old instead of affixing the signature which has also become distasteful to me. I ought to tell you of some of my night marches when I have been ordered out in rain and utter darkness with my own regiment, unsupported, and with no one to divide the responsibility, and none but a doubtful resident as a guide. How, at the head of my men, with the guide's bridle in one hand and a pistol in the other to shoot him should he prove recreant, I have marched for miles through the pathless and almost impenetrable swamp, my men toiling after me with their cartridge-boxes slung at bayonet point to keep the powder dry. How with clothes wringing wet they have lain in ambuscade till day-dawn right under the enemy's guns without fire or food, word or whisper, till gray dawn, and then making reconnoissance, steal silently back. I could tell you of my charge when my color-guard were all killed, and my standard-bearer swept away by a falling tree, a tree cut sheer off by the solid shot from a cannon; how my gallant horse pressed right through rank after rank and enabled me to rescue my flag; or I could tell how the same gallant stallion (and I thank God he stands now unscathed right near me munching his oats) by three successive leaps bore me right up, not down, a precipice of rock almost perpendicular, and when one could hardly have found foot-hold for an antelope. For the first time in my life on horseback I closed my eyes in fear. Jagged rocks were behind me, a sheer perpendicular wall in front; here and there a fissure where the wild vine caught root. I thought he must have fallen backwards and that I must die ingloriously mangled under him, but with unequalled power and activity he bore me to the top, and there amidst a perfect rain of balls he tossed his head and flung his neigh like a clear ringing trumpet. These things should be for others to tell; it is not mine after I have fought my battle to tell my own story, but alas! there are so many stories to tell that it is hard to find a historian; and one's comrade, in scenes such as these transpiring, has enough to do to take care of himself instead of taking care of another's fame and notes to give it wing. Speaking of fame, I may as well give up the hope of it. This name of Smith, in these latter days, attaches to too many good men and true, to say nothing of the damned rascals who also inherit it. There are four colonels, one a Kirby Smith from Ohio. There is your friend, E. Kirby Smith of Southern notoriety, and now, to cap the climax, I have been brigaded with Morgan L. Smith, the hero of Fort Donaldson. He is a dashing, fighting man, and we have an eminently fighting brigade, the left flank of which I still retain; but a man by the name of Smith might as well attempt to pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon as to win fame. If I figure in the ball, the scribblers attach the feat to Morgan; if he performs some dauntless deed of heroism, I get the glory. But as I have said and written, this is not the war or the field in which to gather laurels; it is unholy, unnatural fratricide. As well might he who has buried his knife in his brother's heart rush forth and exultingly brandish the dripping blade as evidence of good deed done, as he, the executioner of the law (for we are nothing else than executioners sent forth by Government to see the law enforced), offer his trophies, the wrung heart of the widow and fatherless, the ruined plantation, the devastated field, the destruction of the fond hopes of the loving, the ruined patrimony of the unborn, claiming fame, glory, and renown. In sadness and sorrow we draw the sword, the true soldier and patriot sheathes it in the body of the rebel in the same spirit as the patriarch of old offered his son.

But, my dear mother, I must write you of yourself. I received two letters from wife, one acquainting me with your illness, one of your convalescence; but I am grieved and shocked that you should have been so ill. You have been worried about me, and your anxiety has affected your head and brought on those dreadful hemorrhages. I know how prone you are to borrow trouble and always fear the worst; but don't fear for me, dear mother; the same God to whom you nightly pray for me will hear your prayers and the prayers of my wife and children. I have firm reliance upon Him, that He will uphold, sustain, and strengthen me, and bring me out of the conflict unharmed. If it should be my lot to go under — if I should fall, believe me, dear mother, I shall fall with my face to the foe, and then, in the language of the poet who has written the beautiful lines you have sent me, "Yield him 'neath the chastening rod, to His Country and his God."

But banish all apprehensions from your mind. A few years, perhaps a few short months, will intervene when you and I together will join those who have gone before us, when we shall solve the great problem, fathom the great gulf, and relying on the Holy Word of God walk with the loved ones in the paths of Paradise. A little, only a little while, and the battle of life for both of us, dear mother, will have been fought, and, with God's help, the victory won.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 205-9

Colonel Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, May 8, 1862

HEADQUARTERS 54TH REGIMENT O. V. INF.,

CAMP NO. 5 1N THE FIE1D, May 8, 1862.

I notice the printers make terrible havoc with my name. They call me Kelly, and Kirby, and F. Kirby, and the Lord only knows what else, but I can generally be identified as the Smith who led the Second Brigade on Monday, and that directly under Sherman's eye, and in conjunction with the celebrated Rousseau Brigade. A good many of the local papers up through the country have complimented both the regiment and myself. These, of course, you do not see, but I would advise you to take all of the Cincinnati papers for a while, and look out for official reports of both Sherman and General Stuart. I have not written full details of the battle to you for two reasons. One that I had very little time and one that I thought you would get fuller details through the newspapers. The battle is getting somewhat stale now anyhow. The next one I will try harder.

While I write there is an incessant roar of artillery, heavy siege guns. We made a sortie this morning and had a brush with the enemy's pickets. My Zouaves killed three of them, wounded five, and brought in four prisoners. Our brigade, the Second of the Fifth Division, consisting now of only Colonel Stuart's regiment and mine, is clear in the advance of the whole army and the nearest to Corinth. We heard for two nights the whistle of the cars very plainly. Cannon are playing all the time, and I think a great battle not far off. General Sherman has been made a Major-General, a promotion he well deserves. You must not believe all the newspapers say of him; he is a splendid officer and a most excellent, good man. I have every confidence in him. I sat by his side on horseback for an hour on Monday of that terrible battle while shot and shell, cannon, cannister, and Minieballs rained and rattled all about us. Scores of horses and men killed, and falling so close that the dead and dying piled all up about our horses, his cheek never blanched. He never for a moment lost his coolness. His hand was badly wounded by a piece of shell. He quietly went on giving his orders as if nothing had happened. A few minutes before I joined him he had three horses killed under him. A braver man I never saw, and I saw him in the thickest of it. If you note the official returns, you will discover that the Sherman Division lost a great many more in killed and wounded than either of the other divisions. I had intended to write mother, but have just received orders to get my regiment in marching trim. We go forward, and this time, I think, no halt till we storm the batteries of Corinth. You must make the latter part of this letter do for her. I think of her always, in the still camp at nightfall, on the march, or in the din of conflict her image is always in my heart. I have written very often to her, it is strange she does not receive my letters. She asks for details of my regiment, these she must get from the newspapers. Even they, or those who have written for them, admit my men fought most gallantly. I took three hundred and ninety into the field, of these one hundred and ninety fell killed or wounded. Ask her to search the papers for detailed report General Sherman, and Colonel Stuart, which ought to accompany it. Part of this has been published in the New York Herald. The Illinois papers publish accounts of the 54th. You know, but must write mother, for she, I suppose, has not heard it, that the regiment stood on Sunday under a murderous fire for four hours and a half; that the 55th Illinois and the 54th Ohio with about eight hundred and fifty men were attacked by an entire division, admitted by intelligent prisoners, surgeons, and others to contain nearly ten thousand, with cavalry and artillery, led by some of their best generals; Hardee among the number; that we stood till our ammunition was all exhausted, and then fell back in good order for more; that while standing, we piled the ground with the enemy's dead; that we made two of their regiments break and run, who in running were received on the bayonets of their own men, who forced them back. On Wednesday one thousand five hundred of their dead were buried in one little ravine where they fell. Towards the last and when ammunition got scarce, my Zouaves never fired a shot without drawing a cool bead; and no shot was fired, for we were within less than one hundred yards of them, that a rebel did not bite the dust. We fell back, were reinforced with ammunition, formed a line, and in the rear of the batteries fought till dark. We lay on our arms in the rain and rose to fight all day Monday, and on Monday evening we were in the advance of the army, and the last to stop under orders in pursuit of the fleeing foe. We lay on our arms Monday night, and were in the line of battle again on Tuesday, and on Wednesday we marched forth to bring in thirty-two prisoners.

Individual acts of heroism were performed by men and officers of my regiment that have never been excelled in song or story. There is none to tell the tale for them, and they are too modest to puff themselves. You will not find details, but you will find the main facts in the reports I have spoken of, and these you must hunt up and read. I am considered by my superior officers to have done my duty, and I have their confidence, God has been good in preserving my life.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 201-4

Colonel Thomas Kilby Smith to his sister Helen, April 14, 1862

HEADQUARTERS 54TH REG1MENT O. V. I.,

CAMP SHILOH, TENNESSEE, April 14, 1862.

MY DEAR SISTER:

Well, my dear Helen, the great fight has been fought; I have had my part in it, and, save a slight scratch not worth mentioning, have come out safe. The papers, of course, teem with accounts, which you have doubtless read until you are satisfied; but, at the risk of stale news, I will give you my experience of the battle, of which I believe I saw as much as “any other man.”

On the Thursday preceding, my command had been ordered upon a most fatiguing night march, which lay for six miles through a dense swamp to a point near a ford, where we lay for some hours in ambuscade for the purpose of taking a body of rebel cavalry. On Friday we marched back to camp. On Saturday, nearly the whole regiment was turned out on fatigue duty to build some bridges and a road to cross artillery, and on Saturday night I was ordered to hold my command in readiness for an expedition to march as early as eight o'clock on Sunday. All this service was intensely fatiguing to the officers and harassing to the men, but to the last order I probably owe my life, for, having been prompt in its execution and my horse being saddled, no sooner had the long roll sounded, than my men were in line. The attack was very sudden, and within three minutes our tents were literally riddled with the balls of the enemy's skirmishers. We marched the battalion to a kind of peninsula formed by a dense ravine on the one side and a creek on the other, and there formed the line of battle.

From the fatigue duty I have spoken of, and certain camp epidemics prevalent, our forces had been very much weakened, and we took into the field but about fifteen hundred men. To this force were opposed eight thousand of the enemy's infantry, supported by artillery and cavalry. Now, to the better understanding of my account, you must recollect what I have before written you, that the Second Brigade of Sherman's Division occupied the extreme left wing of the army, whose front lines extended many miles; that my regiment occupied the extreme left of the brigade, and observe that the enemy having surprised the centre which was broken, and having routed and captured the greater part of Prentiss’ command, to whom we looked for support, stole down our front and attempted to outflank us, and now at about nine o'clock on Sunday morning we joined battle. Having seen by my glass the vastly superior force of the enemy, I determined to sell our lives as dearly as possible, but never to surrender, and ordered my Zouaves to lie on their bellies, and, waiting the attack, not to fire until the foe was within twenty yards. We were ranged along the brow of the hill, slightly covered with a small growth of timber, and between us and the advancing ranks was an open plain. On they came, steadily, and save the tread of the well-trained soldiers, led by General Hardee in person, not a sound was heard; at last they were upon us, and then commenced the deafening roar of volley after volley; for four hours and a half the deadly hand-to-hand conflict raged. (I took 390 enlisted men into battle, I left 187 upon the field, killed or badly wounded, but from me they took no prisoners. The 71st Ohio . . . abandoned us early in the action, but the 55th Illinois were staunch. The brigade lost 587 killed and wounded, but most of these are from the 54th Ohio and 55th Illinois). At last our ammunition began to fail, and I never shall forget the despairing looks of some of the boys, who would come clustering around my horse and say, “Colonel, what shall I do; my cartridges are all out?” But, fortunately, the enemy's fire began to slack. My men all fired low, every man made his mark, and though our own men could hardly get round among their own killed and wounded, the field was strewn thick with the dead of the foe. By this time I was in command of the brigade, Colonel Stuart having been wounded and compelled to retire. I fell back in good order for better position and until I could be reinforced with ammunition; my forty rounds were all gone. At last an orderly from General Grant came up to promise the required supply and to order us to a position at which we could cover a battery. I forgot to tell you that the enemy had planted a battery upon a height, commanding our first position, and were shelling us all the while the first fight was going on. One of my horses was struck once by a piece of shell and twice by rifle balls. No sooner had we taken position by the batteries than the attack was renewed with greater vigor than ever; but now the heavy guns from the gunboats in our rear began to throw their shells clean over us and into the ranks of the enemy; never was sweeter music to my ears than their thunder; the shades of night drew on, the enemy began to slacken fire, and, as shell after shell dropped and burst in their midst, gradually retired. Our men dropped exhausted on their arms; all day the battle had raged, all day they had suffered privation of food and drink, and now began to fall a copious shower of rain, which lasted steadily till morning; through that shower without a murmur they slept, and the next morning at seven o'clock I, having been formally placed in command of the brigade by order of General Sherman, began the march towards the right wing, where we were to take position. General Nelson, who with General Buell had brought up reinforcements during the night, had commenced manoeuvres at daybreak. As early as eight o'clock my brigade was in the line of battle and under a heavy fire of shell. At about nine o'clock we were ordered into action, which was hotly contested all the day long. About four o'clock I was ordered to the command of another brigade, or, more properly, a concentration of skeleton regiments, which I had got into line, and, leaving my own command with Lieutenant-Colonel Malmborg, carried my new command far into an advanced position, then returning, brought up my own brigade upon the left of Shiloh Chapel. Now the Pelican flag began to waver and droop. All the day long we, that is, my immediate command, were opposed to the “Crescent City Guards,” the pet regiment of Beauregard, to whom in the morning he had made his whole army present arms, and whose flag he had at the same time planted, saying of us, the Northern army, “Thus far, but no farther shalt thou go”; vain boast; at even tide, like a gull upon the crest of the wave in the far-off ocean, it fluttered and went down.

I drew my forces up in good order under the eye of General Sherman, and Monday night again under a most drenching shower, which lasted all the night through, the men even now without food or drink lay upon their arms, and on Tuesday morning were again in line; the enemy had gone, but not their occupation; all day they stood guard upon the outposts, and the next day we marched the whole regiment onward for three miles and a half to bring in the wounded of the enemy. That day I took thirty-two prisoners, and brought in the bodies of an Arkansas colonel and Major Monroe, of Kentucky, the latter one of the most distinguished men of the State, and both of them I had decently interred. Oh, Helen, if you had seen the horrors of that battle, as I saw them when the rage of battle had passed, the heaps of slain, the ghastly wounds, had you heard the groans of the dying, had you seen the contortions of men and horses; but why dwell on the theme which abler writers will so vividly portray? I have given you one hasty sketch of the humble part it was my good fortune to be able to play in one of the greatest dramas of the age. Thank God for me, for in His infinite mercy He alone has preserved me in the shock of battle; pray for me always. One more conflict, and I leave a memory for my children or make a name for myself. My flag is still unstained, my honor still bright.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 195-8

Colonel Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, April 11, 1862

HEADQUARTERS 54TH REGIMENT O. V. INF.,

CAMP SHILOH, TENNESSEE, April 11, 1862.

MY DEAR WIFE:

You will have learned by the papers long before this letter reaches you that we have had a splendid engagement, or, I should say, a series of engagements running through three days. This is the first time I have an opportunity of writing you to apprise you of my safety, though I have asked some two or three others to do so. I have thus far passed through unscathed, save a slight wound in the arm. My regiment, however, has been badly cut up. My boys fought gallantly, and have shown a dauntless heroism in the fortitude they have displayed, in the endurance of fatigue and hardship they have been subjected to since.

Poor young De Charmes was shot through the lungs early in the action of the first day. Placing his hand upon his wound he said, “Tell my friends I die happy in the service of my country,” the only words he spoke. Captain Rogall,¹ the accomplished gentleman I have spoken to you of so often, was mortally wounded. De Charmes was a nephew of Mr. Geo. Graham, who may enquire of you concerning him. His remains were found and buried, but his person had been rifled of his watch, money, and everything valuable. One of my horses was shot three times, and struck in the neck by a piece of shell, but my noble “Bellfounder,” thank God, is safe; he carried me two days and nights, and never flinched from shot or shell. He is the most gallant horse I ever saw. Fatigue, starvation, exposure, nothing daunts his mettle.

Ben Runkle, I am told, who was with one of the regiments that came up with the reserve, was shot through the mouth. A bad wound, I am told. I went into battle with less than four hundred. My regiment had been cut up by sickness and fatigue duty. The reports, as near as I can get them at this time, show two hundred killed, wounded, and missing. After eleven o'clock on the morning of Sunday, the battle began. Colonel Stuart was wounded, and had to retire. The command of the brigade devolved upon me as next senior officer, and I carried the brigade through till three o'clock in the afternoon of Monday, when, by order of General Sherman, I added another brigade to it, and had command of both until the close of the battle.

I thank God who has graciously spared my life. I ask that all my family give Him thanks. My health is good. Write to my dear mother and send her this letter. This is the only sheet of paper I can borrow, and it is hard to write. My best love to all my dear children and to you.

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¹ This officer, though shot through the body, recovered.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 193-4

Colonel Thomas Kilby Smith to Mrs. Eliza Walter Smith: undated probably written between March 31 & April 6 1862

HEADQUARTERS 54TH REGIMENT O. V. INF.,

1ST DIVISION OF THE EXPEDITION OF THE TENNESSEE,

ENCAMPED NEAR PITTSBURG, TENN.

MY DEAR MOTHER:

I am as safe here as I should be in New York or in Cincinnati; the same kind Providence is over me. My command has been much harassed with marching and countermarching and rapid movements from place to place, coupled with confinement on steamboat, which has tended to produce sickness; but my own health is good. As evidence of this fact, I may say that yesterday the division under General Sherman, of which our brigade forms a part, made a very extended reconnoissance, driving in the enemy's pickets; that I was compelled to rise at four o'clock in the morning, and, mounting at five, rode at the head of my regiment for fourteen hours without dismounting save to change horses; that I did not lie down till after twelve o'clock, and that I rose this morning at five, and now at nine do not feel any ill effects. This has been the longest and most hurried march we have yet made.

We shall have a very large army here, as will probably the rebels, who will concentrate their forces at Corinth, a point on the railroad some seventeen miles off. The army here is now under the general command of Gen. Charles F. Smith, whom you may recollect in Washington; either his wife or daughter, I suppose his wife, was somewhat celebrated in social circles as Mrs. Fanny Smith. Ada, I suppose, will recollect her. He is very distinguished here as a soldier, and was the hero of Fort Donaldson. The immediate division, of which my command forms a part, is under General Sherman, and I am brigaded under the command of Colonel Stuart, who ranks me, but I am second in command to him. He is David Stuart of Michigan, who represented the Detroit District in Congress during the Pierce Administration. The commander-in-chief of the department is General Halleck. Letters will reach me directed to the 54th Regt. O. V. Inf., Second Brigade, First Division of the Expedition to Tennessee, via Cairo or Paducah, Ky.

We are in the midst of the cotton-growing region, but the upland is sterile, and the climate apparently the same as in Cincinnati. The people are a strange compound of extreme ignorance with very considerable refinement of manner and conversation. They are all, without any exception I have yet found, "secesh," and look upon the "Yanks," as they call all people from the North, with not only aversion, but a "holy horror." I feel almost convinced that we are a distinct people, that re-union is well-nigh impossible.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 191-3

Colonel Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, March 31, 1862

HEADQUARTERS OF 54TH REGT. O. V. U. S. A.,

CAMP SH1LOH, TENNESSEE, March 31, 1862.

We have not yet had the good fortune to meet the enemy. I have made, in connection with Generals Sherman and Stuart, various reconnoitres, and day before yesterday we were just on the heels of a body of cavalry, but they managed to elude our forces. As I mentioned to you in a former letter, there is a large army concentrating at this point, where, I suppose, will be congregated a force of an hundred and forty thousand. The enemy are in force at Corinth, some seventeen miles distant. Our men are fast becoming acclimated, and are becoming restored to their wonted health and vigor. As I said before, my own health is most excellent, and I am really insensible to fatigue, at least on horseback. It is no unusual thing for me to be eight or ten hours on the stretch in the saddle. If the spring and summer heats do not overcome me, I am sure I shall derive benefit from the campaign. I desire continually to assure you of my safety, and to pray you to disabuse your mind of apprehension of danger to me either from ill-health or the casualties of an engagement, the latter are of the most trivial character; there is not one chance in a thousand of my being scathed.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 191

Major General William T. Sherman to Ellen Ewing Sherman, January 4, 1863

ON BOARD Forest Queen,

MILLIKEN'S BEND, January 4, 1863.

Well, we have been to Vicksburg and it was too much for us, and we have backed out. I suppose the attack on Holly Springs and the railroad compelled Grant to fall behind the Tallahatchie, and consequently the Confederates were enabled to reinforce Vicksburg. Besides, its natural strength had been improved by a vast amount of labor, so that it was impossible for me to capture or even to penetrate to the road from which alone I could expect to take it. For five days we were thundering away, and when my main assault failed, and Admiral Porter deemed another requiring the cooperation of the gunboats “too hazardous,” I saw no alternative but to regain my steamboats and the main river, which I did unopposed and unmolested. To re-embark a large command in the face of an enterprising and successful enemy is no easy task, but I accomplished it. McClernand has arrived to supersede me by order of the President himself.¹ Of course I submit gracefully. The President is charged with maintaining the government and has a perfect right to choose his agents. My command is to be an army corps composed of Morgan L. Smith's old command (poor Morgan now lies wounded badly in the hip on board the Chancellor, and his division is commanded by Stuart), and the troops I got at Helena commanded by Fred Steele whom I know well. These are all new and strange to me but such is life and luck. Before I withdrew from the Yazoo I saw McClernand and told him that we had failed to carry the enemy's line of works before Vicksburg, but I could hold my ground at Yazoo — but it would be useless. He promptly confirmed my judgment that it was best to come out into the main river at Milliken's Bend. We did so day before yesterday, and it has rained hard two days and I am satisfied that we got out of the Swamp at Chickasaw Bayou in time, for now water and mud must be forty feet deep there. . . .  Regulars did well, of course, but they or no human beings could have crossed the bayou and live. People at a distance will ridicule our being unable to pass a narrow bayou, but nobody who was there will. Instead of lying idle I proposed we should come to the Arkansas and attack the Post of Arkansas, fifty miles up that river, from which the enemy has attacked the river capturing one of our boats, towing two barges of navy coal and capturing a mail, so I have no doubt some curious lieutenant has read your letters to me. We must make the river safe behind us before we push too far down. We are now on our way to the Post of Arkansas. McClernand assumed command to-day, so I will not be care-worn again by the duty of looking to supplies, plans, etc. . . .  It will in the end cost us at least ten thousand lives to take Vicksburg. I would have pushed the attack to the bitter end, but even had we reached the city unassisted we could not have held it if they are at liberty to reinforce from the interior. . . .

__________

¹ On January 2, Sherman had learned that McClernand had “orders from the War Department to command the expeditionary force on the Mississippi River” (Memoirs, I, 322). On January 24, Sherman wrote to his wife: “It was simply absurd to supersede me by McClernand, but Mr. Lincoln knows I am not anxious to command, and he knows McClernand is, and must gratify him. He will get his fill before he is done.”

SOURCES: M. A. DeWolfe Howe, Editor, Home Letters of General Sherman, p. 235-7.  A full copy of this letter can be found in the William T Sherman Family papers (SHR), University of Notre Dame Archives (UNDA), Notre Dame, IN 46556, Folder CSHR 1/150.

The Headquarters Monuments at Shiloh National Military Park

Major General Ulysses S. Grant, Commanding the Army of the Tennessee

• Headquarters at Savannah, Tennessee
• Headquarters on the Night of April 1862

•  Major General John A. McClernand, 1st Division

• Colonel Abraham Hare, 1st Brigade
• Colonel Julius Raith, 3rd Brigade
• Colonel Leonard F. Ross, 3rd Brigade

• Brigadier General William H. L. Wallace, 2nd Division
• Colonel James M. Tuttle, 1st Brigade
• Brigadier General John McArthur, 2nd Brigade
• Colonel Thomas W. Sweeny, 3rd Brigade

• Brigadier General Stephen A. Hurlbut, 4th Division
• Colonel James C. Veatch, 2nd Brigade

• Brigadier General William T. Sherman, 5th Division
• Colonel John A. McDowell, 1st Brigade
• Colonel David Stuart, 2nd Brigade

• Brigadier General Benjamin M. Prentiss, 6th Division
• Colonel Everett Peabody, 1st Brigade