Pentecostal Possibilities or "The Story of My Life"
by Milton Lorenzo (M. L.) Haney
CHAPTER 39
Chattanooga
We came by transports from Vicksburg to Memphis, and then across the country to Chattanooga, taking dinner under the guns of the enemy at Lookout Mountain. We camped above the city, near the mouth of the little Chickamauga, which comes down from the north. General Bragg had the Union troops shut in, and his two flanks were on the Tennessee River. Hooker had effected a crossing below the city, on Bragg's left flank, and Sherman was to cross on his right under cover of the night. Our brigade was selected to perform that hazardous task. Before entering the pontoon boats, we had, in our regiment, a season of prayer, in which was given gracious assurance of protection, in what seemed to be among the most dangerous undertakings of the war. The boats were lying in the Chickamauga and when this right night had come, we went quietly on board, and as quietly drifted into the river. On reaching the river we were to drift down three miles, clinging closely to our side, till a signal was given, when all were to cross and effect a landing at any cost. The Confederate pickets were stationed all along on the south bank, and their fires were burning.
A surgeon who had just come from the North to serve in the army happened to be in the same boat with me. As we neared the river I noticed him shivering like a man with the ague as he said in a whisper: "When we come out into the river we will be torn to pieces," and he sank down in the boat till his face was on the bottom! His fears attracted the whole crew in such a measure as to turn us all away from thoughts of danger. Our boats would jostle against each other, and against the willows, making a noise which was evidently heard by the rebel pickets, as I saw, by the light of their fire some of them rise and look toward us. At one post the picket squinted with his hand above his eyes, as though determined to see us, and I heard him say with an oath: "There is a boat, --- ---!" But we went right on. When the signal came, those in front turned squarely across the river and went up its bank. God had put the picket post there, asleep, and the poor fellows were in our hands before they waked.
A rebel Lieutenant, with a group of men, hearing the noise of this rush among the dry corn stalks, came hurriedly through the darkness right into our hands, and throwing up his hands, said he was in the wrong place but the boys told him he was all right, to come around to the rear and he would be cared for. All this without the firing of a gun! Behind where we landed, on high ground, we had artillery, which was to open fire over our heads as we were landing, giving a chance for us to get up the bank, and in case we were met at the brink by the enemy we were to go up at the point of the bayonet. Not a musket was loaded, as in the confusion of ascending the bank, if we had fired our own men would have been in great danger. The landing had been effected before our boat reached the shore, and our new doctor hearing it, arose and yawned as though awakening from sleep, declaring he had had quite a nap. The men who rowed our brigade down and across hurriedly recrossed and took in the other brigade of our division, then Gen. John E. Smith's division. So in a brief time two divisions were ready for battle, had the enemy come at us. By daylight we had lines of breastworks, and in a few hours the army of Sherman was tramping over on a pontoon bridge made of the boats we had been using. The enemy had no heart to come down from the mountains, to attack us, and we had things our own way. To this day I have not doubted that God interposed on our behalf, putting a deep sleep on the rebel watchmen, and thus opening the way to the right flank of Bragg's army. When ready, Sherman moved up the river on the south side, to reach the enemy's works, having some severe skirmishing. In one of these I met Gen. Giles A. Smith our brigade commander, who said: "Chaplain, I would not go into that brush; it is filled with bullets." So I halted. The General stepped back five rods or more and turned toward the enemy. In less than five minutes he was seriously wounded. From that wound he really, never recovered. He was a splendid soldier, a first-class officer, and a thorough gentleman.
We had taken the first mountain, and we ordered down to the base of the second. Each regiment came down by itself. When nearly half way down, the rebel artillery opened on us, and the old Colonel became confused and ordered the men to lie down, and shell after shell struck among us, and their explosion filled the heavens with dust and smoke. It was very plain, if we were lower down, the artillery could not reach us, but the men were kept at the best point for slaughter, till it looked as if not many would be left. It was an agony to endure it, and I cried out: "Colonel, why don't you take the men to the bottom of the hill?" We were then ordered down. I supposed numbers would be left on the hillside, but when our casualties were summed up one Irishman's finger was scratched, the face of another was slightly scorched with powder, and a third was slightly injured! A regiment which followed was passing a tree when a shell struck it and exploded, making a gap in the column (four men abreast) which looked to be 12 to 15 feet. They all sprang up, and I think none were hurt.
An effort was made to storm the next mountain whose sides were very steep. The men climbed nearly to the summit, but were forced to retreat, leaving the wounded and dead on the mountain. The enemy seeing we would take their work the next day, retreated in the night, leaving our dead largely stripped of their clothing. The next day there was a general rout of the whole Confederate army, and the battle of Missionary Ridge was ended.
Sherman then went to the relief of Burnside at Knoxville, but the enemy left before we reached the city. We followed them down to Tellico Plains through a beautiful country of hills and valleys, crossing Tellico River, which comes out of the mountains. Our men plunged right in and waded across, though it was nearly waist deep. I saw a group of Confederate prisoners, most of whom had voluntarily surrendered because of being sick. they looked so pale, and feeble, that it was trying for them to wade the stream. I said to one of them: "Put that sick man up behind me and I will take him over." When over those other pale faces haunted me, and I returned for another, and then another, till the one who had helped the others was alone. So I said: "You wait and I will come for you, too." The dear man had heard everything that was evil about the "Yanks," and was really confounded at my treatment of them. He piled up adjectives in my favor, and when he had exhausted his vocabulary he said, as he got off the horse: "Sir, I have a beautiful sister at my home, and if you will come down after the war is over you shall have her, by all that is good and great!"
We were cut off from our supplies and compelled to live on the country for a time. The Colonel was notional and appointed forage parties who failed to supply the wants of the men. Having halted for the night, I went from headquarters to see the men and met the line officers in a body, which was very unusual. Asking what it meant, their spokesman said: "Many of the men have marched all day without a mouthful to eat, and we are going up to settle with that ---old Swede!" I begged of them to let me handle the Colonel, and if I failed they could then come at him. Coming to the Colonel I said: "A large number of men have marched all day without a mouthful to eat." "Is dot so, Chaplain?" "Yes, it is lamentably true, and the foraging party don't seem to succeed." "Well, Chaplain, I will do whatever you tink best." I told him if he would let me choose my men I would see that the boys had something by noon the next day, and he was pleased with the proposition. I reported to the officers and their wrath cooled down. I chose Joe Presson as my Sergeant, and a company of spirited men, and we struck the column with supplies before noon.
Riding up to a nice looking home, the husband, wife, and two girls, met us at the gate, but Joe marched right into the house without ceremony. They were Union people, as they claimed, and had three sons in the Union army. many rank secessionists, when we came, were good, loyal folks, so I was questioning them pretty closely when one of the girls ran into the house and brought a pile of letters from her three brothers and their photographs in our uniform: "There," said she, "if you don't believe we are Union folks, and that my brothers are in the army, read those letters!" And the tears gushed out of her eyes. Just then Joe came out saying: "Chaplain, there is a pile of meat here." I answered: "These are real Union people and have suffered much, Joe, and we will not take anything here." There were also some turkeys on the fence, and as Joe looked at those turkeys and thought of the meat, he gave me a look which stays with me till this day! Joe has now been a Methodist preacher for thirty years, and recently Chaplain of the Nebraska Legislature.
As we came down into a valley I heard a boy say to his mother: "There are more coming; get ready." I found he had been going down to the road and back all day, as the army was passing, and bringing soldiers up, that his mother could give them a warm meal and send them happy on their way. I informed her of my errand and she asked what I wanted. I said: "Some meat, if you have it to spare." "Well, how many pieces would you want?" I said two or three, and the bacon was in Joe's hands at once. I said to him: "You go across the valley there and get what you can, but be sure and do no wrong." I went in to talk and pray with the family. There was an old lady on her bed who was exceedingly feeble, looking as though eternity was at the door. I said to the woman of the house: "It may seem singular to you, being at the head of a foraging party, but I am a Methodist preacher and I came in to talk to you about the Lord." The old lady sprang up in the bed and shouted aloud the praise of God. She had not seen a minister for about three years, nor heard the voice of prayer outside their home. They were Southern Methodists, but had been cut off from the church because they were loyal to the Government. Having prayers with them, we all had a Pentecost together, which was glorious. The memories of holy fellowship in those days of war, with such Southern saints thrill me today with the gladness of the Lord!