Its Glory Seemed to Have Parted: the 7th Ohio at Ringgold

It was a long, awkward train ride from Bridgeport, Alabama to Nashville, Tennessee for Sergeant Major William P. Tisdel of the 7^th Ohio Infantry. It was a cold, dreary Thursday December 3, 1863. Tisdel had been tasked with escorting the bodies of his beloved regimental and brigade commanders to Ohio, both whom had been killed at the battle of Ringgold less than a week before. He found himself seated next to a young Confederate officer who had been captured at Missionary Ridge.  As soldiers do, the men fell to talking and Tisdel learned that he was seated next to Lieutenant Cabell Breckinridge, the son of former vice president John C. Breckinridge then serving as a divisional commander in the Army of Tennessee. Cabell, a teenaged “slightly built but confident young man nattily dressed in gray and wearing an embroidered hat,” had been captured by soldiers from the 9^th Iowa near Rossville Gap on November 25, 1863 while delivering a dispatch from his father to some Georgia troops.[1]

 

No doubt Tisdel related the sad experience that brought him onto the same train as Cabell: Colonel William R. Creighton and Lieutenant Colonel Orrin J. Crane, both officers of the 7^th Ohio, had been killed in action near Ringgold, Georgia on November 27, 1863. Both men were heading north: Cabell to a prisoner of war camp, and Tisdel to Cleveland, Ohio where the two deceased officers would be buried. Tisdel was no doubt surprised to hear Cabell state that he was a Union man. “Sergeant Major Tisdel informs us that he had a long conversation with young Breckinridge, who he says, is strongly Union, having been forced into the Confederate service by his father,” reported the Cleveland Morning Leader. “The young man thinks it would only be necessary to put down the leaders of the rebellion to secure a prompt and honorable peace.”[2]

Colonel William R. Creighton, 7th Ohio Volunteer Infantry

Creighton, dashingly brave and easy of approach, was incredibly popular with the men of the 7th Ohio; he referred to them as his 'roosters' and they 'crowed' for Creighton. The 7th became known as the Rooster Regiment and many of the men wore brass rooster devices on their caps or jackets. Creighton was working as a compositor for the Cleveland Plain Dealer before the war and raised Co. A of the 7th Ohio in April 1861. 

Library of Congress

 
 

Upon arriving at Nashville, the two men parted and Tisdel had the bodies delivered to a local undertaker named William R. Cornelius, a Pennsylvania-born businessman who was the primary contractor for embalming and burying dead Union soldiers in town. Before the war, he made furniture and coffins, but since the war had done a booming business in the undertaking trade. In 1862, he took up the practice of embalming and by the end of the war claimed to have embalmed more than 3,000 Union soldiers. He was also in charge of directing the burial of Union soldiers in the graveyard at Nashville. During the war, he shipped North more than 33,000 bodies and along with the two men Tisdel delivered that afternoon, six more dead from the Chattanooga battles were brought into his shop for such preparation.[3] “But little could be done for Creighton, as he had bled inwardly,” remembered Major George L. Wood of the 7^th Ohio. “His body was therefore put into a metallic case. Crane’s body was embalmed and placed in a plain but neat coffin till it should arrive in Cleveland and be transferred to a burial case.”[4] The bodies were shipped North on December 4, 1863.[5]

 

“Boys, we are ordered to take that hill. I want you to walk right up it.”

Colonel William R. Creighton, before Taylor’s Ridge, November 27, 1863

 

A week before, the tragedy of the Battle of Ringgold or Taylor’s Ridge played out a dozen miles south of Chattanooga, Tennessee. In the aftermath of the Union victories at Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge, the Federal army pursued Braxton Bragg’s Army of Tennessee into Georgia. “General Hooker took the Dalton Road in pursuit of Bragg’s flying disorganized army,” wrote one correspondent. “Geary’s division in advance met no formidable opposition till within a short distance of Ringgold where the enemy was discovered in formidable force occupying two precipitous hills, densely covered with underbrush, and commanding the road from each flank. Between these hills yawned a deep gulch along the brink of which a road was excavated, rendering it necessary for us to possess the hills before passing up the road. Here a fatal blunder seems to have occurred. If [General John] Geary, instead of charging the enemy’s chosen position, had obliqued a mile either to the right or left, this serious obstacle might have been avoided and doubtless a more fruitful victory gained without the irreparable loss of many of our noblest and bravest soldiers.”[6]

 

Rooster emblem of the 7th OVI

First Lieutenant George A. McKay of Co. A described what happened that morning. “At daylight of the 27^th, we marched over Pigeon Hills and other ranges capturing many prisoners while advancing. Osterhaus’ division commenced skirmishing with the enemy’s rearguard in the town of Ringgold as we approached the creek. With accelerated pulse and pace, we followed the creek down and crossed it upon the toll bridge northwest of the town. At 8 o’clock, we passed through the town under a heavy fire of musketry from the bridge beyond and several of our men were wounded. Just beyond, the Western & Atlantic Railroad ran through a gap in Taylor’s Ridge running in the same general direction as Missionary Ridge but much high and more precipitous and well covered with timber upon its summit,” he wrote.

 

“Before our arrival, the whole of Bragg’s army had passed through the gap, leaving Cleburne’s division of Hardee’s corps as rearguard upon the ridge to dispute our advance and enable their trains and artillery to escape,” McKay continued. “General Cleburne extended his lines both ways from the gap. General Osterhaus at 7:30 formed his lines at the foot of the ridge and covered by lines of skirmishers he assaulted the enemy under a heavy fire. Shortly after 8 o’clock, General [John] Geary ordered Creighton’s brigade [7^th and 66^th Ohio regiments, 28^th and 147^th Pennsylvania regiments] past Osterhaus’ left which it unmasked about a quarter of a mile, and it was formed about three-quarters of a mile from the gap parallel to the railroad in echelon: the 66^th Ohio [on the right], 28^th Pennsylvania, 7^th Ohio, and 147^th Pennsylvania [on the left] ‘with orders to scale the mountain, gain the summit, and if possible, attack the enemy in flank and charge with vigor along the ridge.’ Creighton, pursuant to orders, moved rapidly, marching in echelon across a large open field to the foot of the ridge under a severe fire from the summit. The echelon movement was here abandoned, the regiments advancing until the brigade formed a single line.”

Lieutenant Colonel Orrin J. Crane, 7th Ohio Volunteer Infantry
Note the rooster device pinned upon his jacket; the dour Crane was the steady Eddie of the regiment; hard-working, diligent, and a thorough soldier. He worked as a ship carpenter in Cleveland before the war and drew upon his engineering background during the war.
Library of Congress 

 

“Under a galling fire from the heights 500 feet above, Creighton steadily ascended the steep sides of the hill, determined to carry the ridge at all hazards,” McKay stated. “By his orders, his men advanced with fixed bayonets until within close range when the whole line was ordered to fire upon the enemy on the summit. Volley after volley was poured into the hosts above and their return fire was deadly in the extreme. The fatigue of climbing was fearful, and the assault was slow. General Geary ordered Creighton to make a final attempt to carry the ridge, sheltering his troops as much as possible.”

 

“The 7^th Ohio on the right of the 147^th Pennsylvania who held the extreme left, was compelled in its advance to move through a ravine which it was rapidly ascending when a terrific enfilading fire from the enemy opened upon them. Unflinchingly, the regiment moved forward toward the top of the mountain, firing steadily, some of the men being killed on the summit while the regiment as a unit got within 25 yards of it. Colonel Creighton in this movement of the brigade marched with his regiment [7^th Ohio]. Lieutenant Colonel Crane was killed near the top of the ridge and the men forced to retire. Creighton railed the regiment and tried to reach the body of Crane, crying out that they must carry off the body, even if the charge failed; but it was impossible, the men had done all that men could so, and they were ordered to retire slowly and sullenly,” McKay concluded. “While retiring, I was shot, and Creighton mortally wounded, and we were borne off the field together.”[7]

 

Leman described this final action in somewhat more detail. “In scaling a fence which extended around the hill’s base, every man presented a plain target and officers were easily distinguished from the men owing to the proximity of the enemy. Entering a narrow clearing, there belched from the opposite side a sea of flame which for a moment rolled them backward. Then ensued a terrific struggle lasting fully 30 minutes. Our line surged to and fro, recoiling and wavering beneath the overwhelming numbers thrown against it and the murderous fire that scourged its ranks. Colonel Creighton saw that in a few moments his entire command would be annihilated or literally trampled down and wisely ordered a retreat. Still fighting valiantly, they retired to the fence. Creighton stood facing the foe, waiting till his men had crossed the barrier when the fatal shot pierced him through.”[8]

 

Sergeant Major Tisdel was near both colonels when they were shot down and described their wounds. “The ball which killed Colonel Creighton entered the left arm just above the elbow (in the same spot where it did at the time he was wounded at Cedar Mountain in August 1862), breaking the arm and entering the side and passing through the body to just beneath the skin on the right side where it was extracted. Colonel Crane was shot in the head, the ball entering about two inches above the right ear,” he related. “Crane died instantly, and his body was left on the field until the artillery came up and the enemy was obliged to give up the position. It was then brought off. Colonel Creighton lived for some five minutes after receiving his wound, most of the time unconscious. The only words he was heard to utter were, “Oh, my poor wife.”[9]

 

The losses for the 7^th Ohio at Ringgold were staggering: roughly 75 of the 200 men of the 7^th Ohio who ascended Taylor’s Ridge were shot down; 13 of the 14 officers were either killed or wounded; indeed, the soul of the regiment was shot out. All three field officers would die: Crane and Creighton upon the ridge, and Adjutant Morris Baxter a few days later. Baxter received five wounds on the ridge and was dragged by the Confederates behind the lines. “The Rebel robbers carried him off over the crest of the hill and stripped him of watch, money and clothing, leaving him naked to die.” Baxter would be recovered but would die at Chattanooga on November 30^th.[10]

 

The loss of Colonels Creighton and Crane at the Battle of Ringgold was a stunning blow to a regiment that had already seen more than its fair share of hard service in the Civil War. “After the bodies of the fallen braves had been laid side by side, the remaining few of a once full regiment gathered around and mourned, the silence alone being broken by the tears and sobs of a band of warriors grieving for the loss of their chieftains. It seemed to these mourners, that in their loss, the regiment itself was blotted out- that it would be no more be known and honored, that its sun had forever set,” recalled George Wood.[11] Lawrence Wilson of Co. D recalled that “the severe losses at Ringgold so depleted the ranks of the 7^th that a great depression fell upon the few remaining officers and men.”[12] Theodore Wilder of Co. C averred that “it was a sad affair for the regiment. Its glory seemed to have departed.”[13]

 

General John Geary

The impact of both Creighton and Crane’s deaths extended well beyond regimental boundaries: it was a heavy blow to division commander Brigadier General John Geary. Geary had once led Creighton’s brigade and was already grieving the loss of his son Edward who had been killed at Wauhatchie a month before; in his rage and grief, Geary’s prudence subsided which is the likely culprit for this disastrous assault. Regardless, Geary praised the two men in his official report “stating that they were two as brave men and thorough veterans as ever commanded in the field, and to speak of Creighton and Crane was at once to personify all that was gallant, brave, and daring.”[14] General Joseph Hooker blanched when informed that the two men were dead, exclaiming “My God, are they dead? Two braver men never lived!” General Henry Slocum, commander of the 12^th Corps who had known both men during their long service in the eastern theater, burst into tears when he heard the news. [15]

 

General Dan Butterfield, Hooker’s chief of staff, ordered that the bodies of the two colonels be removed to the rear and returned to Ohio. Sergeant Major William P. Tisdel was chosen to escort the bodies to Chattanooga where he met with four other members of the 7^th Ohio who were chosen along with Tisdel to escort the bodies back to Ohio: Quartermaster Stephen T. Loomis, Creighton’s chief bugler Private Henry Wetzell of Co. E, Private Edmund G. Meigs of Co. D, and Private Charles A. Shepherd of Co. D. The bodies were conveyed by wagon then ferried across the Tennessee River at Bridgeport, Alabama, where they were placed on a train heading to Nashville along with carloads of Confederate prisoners. While in Nashville, Dr. John Strong Newberry, secretary of the Western Division of the U.S. Sanitary Commission and, like Creighton and Crane, a Cleveland resident, assisted Sergeant Major Tisdel with all preparations to send the deceased home and personally escorted the contingent on the train through to Louisville, Kentucky. The bodies were boated across the Ohio River then sent by train to Cincinnati were a delegation of notable Clevelanders, many of them former officers of the 7^th Ohio, were to meet the special escort and accompany them through to Cleveland.[16] The delegation missed the train, however, and the special escort waited at Columbus while the delegation hurried to join them. A special train was arranged to travel from Columbus to Cleveland and arrived Sunday morning, December 6, 1863.

 

The train arrived shortly after 10 a.m. and was met by the families of the deceased, various delegations from the city, and hundreds of mourning citizens. It had been more than a week and a half since the men had died and the effects of decomposition were evident upon their arrival. “The body of Colonel Creighton was not as well-preserved as could be wished, but the remains of Colonel Crane presented a very natural appearance,” it was noted.[17] Among the mourners was a group of discharged veterans of the 7^th Ohio, among them George Wood who described the scene at the depot. “On Sunday morning, the train dashed into Cleveland and stopped at the foot of Superior Street. Two hearses were in waiting; one for Colonel Creighton drawn by four white horses, and the other for Lieutenant Colonel Crane drawn by four black horses. Each was draped by American flags and the usual insignia of mourning. The remains of Colonel Creighton were now removed from the car to the hearse and conveyed to the residence of Mrs. Creighton on Bolivar Street. The remains of Lieutenant Colonel Crane remained under guard till the return of the escort when they were taken to the residence of his widow. This bright Sabbath will long be remembered,” he concluded.[18]

Regimental colors of 7th O.V.I.

 

 The colonels had both been something special. “Both these officers were devotedly loved by their men. They were at all times approachable by the humblest in the ranks and never did they refuse a hearing to any proper proposal, nor fail to mete out reward to those who merited it, or punishment to the transgressor. Always firm in enforcing necessary discipline, they had no respect for that red tape system that crushed the poor private while it dandied the wearer of shoulder straps. Neither of them were seekers after promotion or personal preferment, satisfied to let those come as just rewards of meritorious action, but they were, nevertheless, tenacious of the fair fame of their regiment and would maintain it at any cost,” the Leader commented.[19]

 

Cleveland, draped in mourning, welcomed home its deceased heroes with pageantry usually reserved for heads of state. The notable war record of the two men and the esteem with which they were held by the men and fellow citizens prompted an outpouring of sentiment. The men laid in state at City Council Hall through Monday, visited by thousands of citizens of the Western Reserve. A joint funeral was held for the two colonels on Tuesday, December 8, 1863 underneath bright and fair skies at the Stone Church. Proceeded by the 7^th Ohio band which had been discharged in 1862, a lengthy procession escorted the remains to the church for an Episcopalian funeral service. The church was packed full,+ standing room only, and among the mourners who newly-elected governor John Brough. Professor Henry E. Peck of Oberlin College provided a funeral address in which he recounted the lives of the two men. Proceeded by the local 29^th Ohio Volunteer Militia along with veterans of the 7^th Ohio, the two bodies were escorted from the church to the cemetery. A lengthy procession followed the hearses, a scene which the Leader described as the “the most magnificent and imposing that has ever passed through the streets of Cleveland.” The two colonels were escorted to the Erie Street Cemetery, now known as Woodland Cemetery, and placed in the Bradburn vault. “After it was finished, and the religious offices of the day thus concluded, a funeral and farewell salute of three volleys was fired by the boys of the 7^th Ohio over the graves of their dead comrades,” it was reported. The bodies today reside side by side in the cemetery; just as they fought side by side in the Civil War.[20]

 

Back in Tennessee, the remnant of the 7^th Ohio went into camp at Chattanooga depressed and angry; their anger was primarily directed at their division commander General John Geary. In their grief, the men pondered the reckless charge he ordered at Ringgold and concluded it was evidence of Geary’s “thirsting ambition which overreached his judgement.”[21] This anger became amply evident when General Geary tried to persuade the 7^th Ohio to re-enlist as veterans in December 1863. “A fine speech of General Geary’s was insufficient to cause the boys to forget their abuse and hard usage which had so prejudiced their minds that they could not see it to be their duty to do further service,” Theodore Wilder wrote. “Besides, Geary had not by any means made himself their favorite and his protestations that “to lose the 7^th would be to lose the seventh star of the Pleiades” and that “they were dear to him as the apple of his eye” only served to disgust them.” It also didn’t help when Major Frederick A. Seymour showed up to take command; he had been at home since April 1863 and had missed out all of the heavy fighting of 1863, and compared to the departed colonels, was no soldier. “His reception was anything but flattering and he ought to have seen at once that his presence was exceedingly distasteful to every officer and man. The Major is undoubtedly a good citizen and would evidently make a soothing and kind hospital nurse, but military affairs are certainly not his forte,” one observer noted.[22] It was one thing to sign up for three more years under the command of such men as Colonels Creighton and Crane; quite another apparently to sign up for another hitch under Major Frederick Seymour. Consequently, the regiment was the only one of its old brigade [5^th, 7^th, 29^th, and 66^th Ohio] which did not re-enlist.[23]

 

A mourning veteran of the 7^th Ohio wrote the following lines “on a drumhead in the field” thinking about his departed commanders:

 

Oh, tell me not that lives are lost,

When spent in freedom’s cause,

When nobly, firmly given up,

For Union and the laws.

 

When patriots to the contest rush,

Disdaining every cost,

And by their best blood victory seal,

Such lives cannot be lost.

 

For though the silver cord be loosed,

Amid the cannon’s roar,

Yet will the spirit, freed from clay,

Up to its Maker soar.

 

‘Tis by such lives our country’s rights,

Will be restored again,

And surely if they gain the end,

They are not spent in vain.

 

That life alone is really lost,

When to no purpose given,

But lives when lost in freedom’s cause,

Are found again in Heaven.

 

Then tell me not their lives are lost,

Who to the death-shot yield,

Bur rather write beneath their names,

“Promoted on the field.”[24]

---

[1] “Cabell Breckinridge loses his horse,” Sam D. Elliott, Chattanooga Times Free Press (Tennessee), April 29, 2018

[2] “John C. Breckinridge’s Son,” Cleveland Morning Leader (Ohio), December 8, 1863, pg. 1

[3] “The Undertaker Undertakes,” blog post by Taylor M. Polites, November 1, 2011

[4] Wood, George L. The Seventh Regiment: A Record. New York: James Miller, 1865, pgs. 250-251

[5] “The bodies of the following officers…,” Nashville Daily Union (Tennessee), December 4, 1863, pg. 3

[6] “The Battle of Ringgold,” letter from Leman, Cleveland Morning Leader (Ohio), December 17, 1863, pg. 4

[7] Wilson, Lawrence. Itinerary of the Seventh Ohio Volunteer Infantry, 1861-64. New York: The Neale Publishing Co., 1907, pgs. 284-286

[8] Ringgold, op. cit.

[9] “The Battle of Ringgold, Ga.,” Cleveland Morning Leader (Ohio), December 7, 1863, pg. 2

[10] “Adjutant Baxter,” Cleveland Morning Leader (Ohio), December 12, 1863, pg. 1

[11] Wood, op. cit., pgs. 248-249

[12] Wilson, op. cit., pg. 290

[13] Wilder, Theodore. The History of Company C, Seventh Regiment, O.V.I. Oberlin: J.T. Marsh, 1866, pg. 39

[14] Wilson, op. cit., pg. 287

[15] Wood, op. cit., pg. 250

[16] Ibid.

[17] “Obsequies of Colonels Creighton and Crane,” Cleveland Morning Leader (Ohio), December 7, 1863, pg. 3

[18] Wood, op. cit., pg. 251

[19] “The Death of Colonel Wm. R. Creighton and Lieutenant Colonel O.J. Crane,” Cleveland Morning Leader (Ohio), December 3, 1863, pg. 3

[20] “The Obsequies of Our Dead,” Cleveland Morning Leader (Ohio), December 9, 1863, pg. 3

[21] Ringgold, op. cit.

[22] “Letter from Leman,” Cleveland Morning Leader (Ohio), February 10, 1864, pg. 4

[23] Wilder, op. cit., pg. 40. Seymour’s reception was so frosty that he resigned his commission at the end of March 1864.

[24] “Lines Written on a Drumhead in the Field,” Cleveland Morning Leader (Ohio), February 1, 1864, pg. 3