With General A. S. Johnston at Shiloh

Confederate Veteran
Volume 5, Number 12, Page 609
December, 1897

Col. George Tithe Baylor
So much has been said by the prominent commanders on both sides of the fierce and bloody struggle at Shiloh that it may seem presumptuous for one who was only a lieutenant at the time to attempt to throw any light on the scene; nor do I pretend to give a full account of what transpired- but as I was senior aide-de-camp to Gen. Johnston, and with him from the time he left Columbus, Ky., until his death, and during that time acted as his secretary, even copying his letters to President Davis, I think what I have to say may be of interest to the numerous Albert Sidney Johnston camps and all others. I write from memory; yet, after a lapse of thirty-five years those events are vividly recalled. The impressions left by this deadly struggle-between people of the same name and blood, opposed in internecine strife, each side actuated by love of country and of causes that seemed more dear than life-are not easily forgotten.

After Gen. Johnston reached Corinth we were very busy organizing the commands that came from So many different points into brigades, divisions, and corps. This was Gen. Bragg's forte. On the 4th of April, 1862 (Friday), we rode out from Gen. Johnston's headquarters at Corinth and took the road for Pittsburg Landing, where we knew Gen. Grant's army lay. Gen. Johnston talked little of his intentions, but he had said at the breakfast-table that he was "going to hit Grant, and hit him hard." His staff was composed of Gen. McKall, chief adjutant-general; Gen. William Preston, Col. A. P. Brewster, Capt. Nat Wickliffe, Majs. Dudley Hayden and Calhoun Brenham, assistants- Maj. Gilmer, chief engineer; Majs. Mumford and O'EIara, voluntary aids; Maj. Albert Smith, chief quartermaster; Capt. Leigh Wickham, assistant quartermaster- Lieut. Thomas Jack, junior aid; and mvself, senior aid. Col. Brewster, Lieut. Jack, and I were of Texas. When we rode off Gen. Bragg and staff and Gen. Beauregard and staff joined us, so we formed quite a cavalcade. When we reached the troops we found them lining the sides of the road. They had been cautioned to keep silent, but they knew their commanders and pressed forward. We reined up on the crest of the hill overlooking the field of Shiloh, and Gen. Johnston spoke encouragingly to the men about him, enjoining them to "be cool to-morrow, and take good aim at their belts." We pressed on by a log house on the right, and dismounted in a wood just beyond.

While we were getting the troops in position night came on, and a council of war was held in Gen. Johnston's tent. Among those present were Gens. Bragg, Beauregard, Polk, Hardee, and Breckinridge, and quite a number of their respective staffs. I heard each opinion as it was given of the course that should be pursued, and all spoke hopefully of the morrow. Only one, Gen. Beauregard, uttered a doubt---and he the bravest of the brave. His words were strangely impressed upon me, because of their difference from the others. He said: "In the struggle to-morrow we shall be fighting men of our own blood, Western men, who understand the use of firearms. The struggle will be a desperate one, and if we drive them to the brink of the river and they make a last determined stand there, our troops may be repulsed and our victory turned to defeat." I believe these words account for the order to retire on Sunday at nightfall, when we had the victory in our hands. The battle has created a great deal of dispute and much criticism that was unjust to commanders of both armies. Those who did not experience it could hardly arrive at equitable conclusions. The only reason why Grant's army was not destroyed or captured was that the rain of Friday night prevented our getting our army into line of battle and making the attack at daylight Saturday morning,. The impassable condition of the roads prevented Gen. Breckinridge bringing up his artillery. After a battle is over any one who has had any experience can plan an easy victory. All we had to do was to arrange an order of battle, let the artillery stick in the mud-for it was a battle of small arms-and we could soon have had all the artillery we wanted from the foe. As it was, we captured entire batteries.

It has always been a matter of wonder to me how the Federal army lay in camp all Friday evening near enough for us to hear their drums beat and fail to discover our proximity, especially as there were nearly fifty thousand of us (forty-six thousand, I think), and some of our overly zealous men had brought about a skirmish, in which they used a field-piece, and captured some prisoners. The Terry Rangers had fired their guns to load them afresh, greatly to Gen. Johnston's annoyance, and Col. John A. Wharton was put under arrest for it. That brave officer put in an earnest appeal to the General, saying he "would rather be shot than not allowed to go into the fight," and upon being released did gallant service with the Terry Rangers in the battle.

After the meeting at Gen. Johnston's tent Friday evening we had a heavy downpour of rain. Our tent had been stretched so that a path ran diagonally through it, and I was sleeping on the side where it first entered. I had laid down in my clothes, overcoat and all, and, being aroused by the rain, I put out my hand and found the water banking up against the tent. I arose, found a spade, and soon had the path filled and a trench dug that turned the water off from the tent. When I returned to the tent I had a vote of thanks from the staff, and the General spoke in his kind way of the small service.

After the rain, which was very heavy, Gen. Johnston called me to him and said: "Lieutenant, I wish you would go to Gen. Beauregard and ask him if we had not better postpone the attack until Sunday, on account of the rain." I started on this errand, and soon found a French sentinel, who knew little English, and the extent of my French was "Beaugar," but it was sufficient to soon put me at the General's tent.

I found him still up, although it was past midnight, and delivered Gen. Johnston's message. He reflected a moment, then said: "Tell Gen. Johnston that time is of such importance I think we had better commence the attack at daylight." Why we did not has been explained. The condition of the roads, the utter impossibility of getting raw troops into position in a given time (except from the extreme front under a hot fire to the extreme rear, which is generally done with promptness and despatch), and for many reasons the day was so far advanced before order was obtained that the attack was postponed until Sunday morning, April 6.

Gen. Grant said, in his article to the Century magazine of February, 1895, "It was a battle of ifs" and I am convinced that if we had begun the attack on the 5th, instead of the 6th, of April, if Gen. Johnston had not been killed on the afternoon of the 6th, and of Don Carlos Buell had not come up at all, why there would have been no "ifs" about it; but the chances are that Gen. Grant would have shared the fate of our own gallant leader and the horrors of the war would probably have been prolonged for several years.

But to return to the incidents of the battle. A young lieutenant was captured on the 5th, and Gen. Johnston turned him over to me. We were both young, and talked freely. I said to him: "You Yankees are very determined in trying to deny us the right to regulate our own state affairs." He flared up at the word "Yankees," and replied: "I want you to understand that I am no Yankee, I am a Western man, and fighting for the Union."

That evening there was an informal meeting of corps commanders, and, as the weather had cleared up, it was decided to attack at daylight. While breakfasting at dawn we heard the crack of skirmishers' guns, so, hurrying the meal, we mounted, and were soon on our way to the front. When we drew near the reserves under Breckinridge we found the brave Kentuckians pressing forward, almost on the heels of the first line. The front by this time was hard at it, and the rattling fire was a constant roar. Gen. Johnston rode straight to the front, and we were soon where the bullets were singing around us and where we could see the Federal tents. Here I discarded my overcoat, and as I was riding by the General's side he said to me: "Lieutenant, you had better keep that coat; you will need it before the war is over." I replied that if we won this battle I should get another, and if we didn't, I should probably not need it. This spirit animated the young men of the South at the time. It was "death or victory." Later on we would have preferred "badly crippled or victory." I was wearing a dark-blue coat, and Dr. David Yandell, seeing the danger that it subjected me to, insisted that I should exchange with him. Many a poor fellow during the day, seeing the surgeon's stripes, hailed me with: doctor, can't you do something for me?"

When we struck the line, some hundred yards from the first tents, the Federals were making a fight for their grub and tarpaulins, and there was a slight break in our lines. The General and staff rode right through the gap, and just then Gen. Hindman passed in front of us, going to the left. His horse was at full gallop, his long hair streaming out behind him, and he was waving his cap over his head and cheering the men on. I shall never forget what a picture of daring and courage he was. Gen. William Preston turned to the right, and, galloping down the line, called the attention of the troops to Gen. Johnston. As they recognized him a cheer went up, and a charge made at double-quick brought us into the Federal camp. I never knew what command it was, but they were either surprised or thought we were only joking. There was an old field to the right of the camp, and across it a long row of overcoats and knapsacks, as though they had been in line for inspection and had to hasten to the rear before it was over. We rode through this old field to the right. There was a creel; crossing it in front of the encampment, and we saw the gleam of bayonets and cannon in an old field beyond, where they had rallied. The Second Texas, under Col. Moore, was just west of us, under cover of the creek-bank. Just here the Federals sent a shell over our heads that went into the ground near the line of their own overcoats. I believe all the staff bowed respectfully to this missile, but the General sat as straight as an Indian. Several orders were given by the General, and then we rode toward our right wing, where he gave me the last order that I ever had from him: "Lieutenant, go to Gen. Chalmers, and tell him to sweep round to the left and drive the enemy into the river." I have seen some severe criticisms of this order from the Northern press, who denominated it "barbarous, inhuman," etc.; but there was no such spirit underlying it. It was just such an order as any general would give to impress his men with his own determination to win the battle.

On my return I found that the General had moved still farther to the right, and was on a high hill in the rear of this Second Texas regiment, I think. While sitting there we noticed an officer fall, and, riding forward, I found it was Capt. Clark Owens, whom I knew. The General also knew him as a gallant soldier in earlier days in Texas, and was much distressed at his death. Orders were given to the Texas troops to advance, when I asked and received permission to join them in the charge. Col. Benham, whom I had known in San Francisco, also got permission to go. After the charge we rode back to where we had left the General, and learned that he had ridden toward the left again. We took the same direction, riding at a canter, and soon became separated. I was some time on the way, making inquiries here and there, and finally came to a battalion of soldierly looking men, and inquired for their commander. A captain in gray uniform stepped up and said the commander, Maj. Hardcastle, had gone to the front to get orders, as they had evidently been overlooked. I told him that T was aid of Gen. Johnston, and that thev could safely move to the front. I afterward learned that this captain was Robert McNair, once Superintendent of Public Schools of New Orleans.

I began to feel uneasy about being so long absent from my general, and, concluding that I should find him where the firing was the heaviest, I rode in just behind the line of battle. Presently I saw an officer galloping toward me, and was glad to recognize Maj. O'Hara, of the General's staff. He, seeing my surgeon's uniform, had ridden straight for me. I asked for Gen. Johnston, and he replied, "He is wounded, and I fear seriously. I am now looking for a surgeon, as well as others of the staff," adding that he was just from the General, and had left him in an awful hot place. I went to him at once, and the Major, hoping that a surgeon had already been found, rode back with me. After riding some distance we turned to the right, crossed a ravine just above a log cabin on the south bank, and a short distance beyond it found the General and staff in a depression that emptied into the branch. No surgeon had yet been found, and the group gathered around the dying General was a sad one. As I dismounted I saw that a stream of blood had run from the General's body some six or eight feet off and ended in a dark pool. Around were gathered, as well as I can now recall them, Gen. William Preston, Gov. Isham G. Harris (who acted as assistant adjutant-general during the battle, and rendered most valuable aid, especially among the Tennessee troops), Maj. Albert Smith, Capt. Leigh Wickham, Maj. O'Hara, Lieut. Jack, and myself. Gen. Preston was kneeling and holding Gen. Johnston's head. Becoming cramped with the position, he asked me to relieve him, which I did. As I looked upon his noble face I thought of the dauntless warrior who had ridden out of camp that morning so full of life and hope, his face alight with the excitement of approaching battle, whose very presence was an inspiration to those under its magic influence, the personification of Southern chivalry. I also thought of the gentle wife on the golden sands of the Pacific, whose heart would be pierced by the same bullet that brought him death; and, leaning over him, I asked: "General, do you know me?" My tears were falling in his face, and his frame quivered for a moment, then he opened his eyes, looked me full in the face, seeming to comprehend, and closed them again. He died as a soldier must like to die: at the moment of victory and surrounded by loving comrades in arms. There was not a dry eye in that sad group, and Gen. William Preston sobbed aloud. He said, as though to explain it: "Pardon me, gentlemen; you all know how I loved him."

After a while I was relieved by Lieut. Jack, and, at the request of Gen. Preston, started to look for an ambulance. I rode for some distance, but, failing to find one, turned back, thinking some of the others might have been more successful. While returning I met one of Gen. Bragg's staff, who had been sent to tell Gen. Johnston that they had carried everything on the left. This officer's grief on hearing of Gen. Johnston's fate was another tribute of love and admiration that the great man aroused in all who came in contact with him. When I reached the spot where I had left the General's body I found that it had been removed, and followed the tracks of the ambulance back to camp.

Gov. Harris and Capt. Wickham told me, concerning his death-wound, that the General had led in a charge and received a wound that severed the artery below the right knee and just above the boot-top. The wound seemed to have been inflicted by a navy revolver or buckshot. The sole of the boot also was cut by a minie ball and a spent shot had struck him under the shoulder blade. To an inquiry from Gov. Harris after the charge he replied that he had been wounded, but that it was "only a scratch." He then gave an order to Gov. Harris, who returned after its execution to find him pale and faint. He asked if the General had been wounded again, and was assured that he had not, but that the wound was more serious than he had first thought, and he would ride to the rear and look for a surgeon. Gov. Harris and Capt. Wickham rode back with him, but before they had proceeded far the General was reeling in his saddle, and the Governor sprang to the ground and caught him in his arms as he fell. He was then carried to the depression in the ravine before mentioned, where he died. I have seen pictures of this spot, but none of them bear the slightest resemblance to it. We were among tall post-oak trees, and, unless these have been cut, I believe I could now find the exact spot.

To return to the condition of our men and the enemy at sunset. In 1863 there was in my brigade a Lieut.-Col. Alonzo Ridley, of Col. Phillips' Regiment, formerly sheriff of Los Angeles County, Cal., who had come across the plains with Gen. Johnston. At Bowling Green he received a captain's commission, and was given authority to select from the soldiers a company to act as scouts. He told me that late in the evening at the battle of Shiloh he rode up on the bank of the Tennessee River, opposite one of the gunboats. He concluded that he would give them a round, as his men were armed with Enfield rifles, so he formed them in line and fired a volley. Every man on deck of the gunboat disappeared in a moment, and, to his utter astonishment, a cloud of bluecoats swarmed up from under the river-bank, holding up their hands, and saying: " we surrender." The stream continued to crowd up the hill, until he was afraid they would disarm his company, so he marched off with what he could guard. Col. Ridley still lives near Phoenix, Ariz. In El Paso, Tex., a few years ago, I met a Mr. Burton, who belonged to a Tennessee regiment engaged in this battle, and he told me that when his regiment had nearly reached the brink of the river they were halted, but, moved by curiosity, he walked forward and looked over at the crowd. He said he had never seen such a sight-officers, men, mules, horses, cannon, all mixed together, no one paying the least attention to orders. He even saw one officer on a stump waving his sword over his head and trying to rally his men, but none of them heeded, and one Federal soldier, who stood near enough for Mr. Burton to hear his words said: wouldn't he make a daisy stump speaker?' This shows how utterlv all discipline or thought of resistance was at an end. Now, let us suppose that one Tennessee regiment had advanced and fired a volley into this demoralized crowd. What would have been the result? I am convinced, with Josh Billings, that "there is a great deal of human nature in mankind," and I am sure that a panic started there would soon have spread to the brave men who were making such a desperate resistance on our left. A lot of men stampeded have no more sense than so many Texas "long-horns," and I have seen them stampeded by a cotton-tail rabbit. I am convinced that Gens. Grant and Sherman and a good many more who have expressed the same opinion were sadly mistaken in thinking that the battle of the 7th could have been gained without Gen. Buell's army. We knew that he had arrived during the night, and it was believed that he had fifty thousand fresh men. The moral effect of this is not hard to determine: it depressed our men and encouraged the Federals.

Gen. Grant, in his account of the battle of Shiloh, says: "Nothing occurred in his brief command of an army to prove or disprove the high estimate that had been placed upon Gen. Johnston's military abilities." When the order came to the Confederates to fall back they were flushed with victory and ready for a final struggle. Hardly any Federal soldier in that army can seriously doubt what would have been the result of such a charge at sunset, with Buell a day's march away.

That night I lay on the ground by the cot which held Gen. Johnston's body and listened to the beating of the drums as Buell's army arrived. I was born at Fort Gibson, and have lived nearly all my life with the army. tl he notes of drum, fife, and bugle are as familiar to me as my own voice, and as I noted the tones of the different drums of regiments I knew that it meant a death-struggle for us on the morrow. It was generally believed by our army that if we could not defeat Grant before Buell came up, we would have to fall back to Corinth on the 7th.

On the morning of the 7th I rode to Shiloh church, Gen. Beauregard's headquarters, to ask for permission to accompany the body of Gen. Johnston from the field and for instructions. He told me to say to any Confederate commanders or soldiers that I saw that the enemy were making a stand at only one point, an(l he expected to capture them that morning; he also asked me to direct them to the point of the heaviest firing. This was about daylight. As I left him he kindly offered me a position on his staff if I returned. I have never been able to determine whether Gen. Beauregard really believed there would only be a slight struggle to gain the victory or whether he only hope 1 to encourage the men- but no one can say, brilliant as had been their dash of the day before, that it was eclipsed by their dogged determination on the 7th, when they believed they were fighting the defeated army of the day before, reenforced by fifty thousand.

Two acts of Gen. Grant have endeared him to the entire South: the one was his conduct at Appomattox, when our Lee surrendered his broken-down, half starved men, and the other was the stand he took when fanatical abolitionists wanted to hang President Davis. These things did more to conquer-or to pacify-the South than all the powder that was wasted from Sumter to the Rio Grande.

And there was one act in the short career of Gen. Johnston that if more generally known would bring to him the tender regard of the North: At Shiloh, after a heavy charge, he passed a group of wounded men wearing both blue and gray, and ordered his own surgeon, Dr. David Yandell, to "stop and attend to all alike," saying: "They were our enemies, but are fellow sufferers now." This very care for the wounded soldiers cost him his life; for, had Dr. Yandell been with him when he was wounded, a simple tourniquet or a silk handkerchief twisted with a stick would have stopped the hemorrhage and have saved his life. His staff seemed dazed with the great calamity, and there was no surgeon near to apply the simple bandage.

---