"If Anybody's Boys Go Out, Mine Go." Turchin's Escape at Chickamauga
In the final hours of the Battle of Chickamauga, Corporal George L. Camp of Co. G of the 92nd Ohio witnessed General John B. Turchin's determination to lead his brigade to safety. "About 4 p.m. an officer came up to General Turchin and told him his brigade was surrounded and must cut its way out or surrender," Camp wrote. "His answer was 'I think is anybody's boys go, mine go.' We at once left our works which we had held for eight hours, went to the rear through the woods and passed around to the left of the Kelly House. We came to the edge of the woods where we halted and soon saw coming down across the farm from towards Snodgrass Hill eight columns of Johnnies. We lay low until they got close enough to be good marks, then General Turchin took his hat by the crown and waving it over his head gave the order 'My brigade, charge bayonet! Give 'em hell, God damn them!'
Turchin led his boys out, but it came at a high price: when Co. G stacked arms that night, Corporal Camp counted eight guns and found himself in command of the company, being the senior surviving non-commissioned officer. His account of Chickamauga is constructed from segments of two articles he wrote for the National Tribune in 1898 and 1908.
Corporal George L. Camp, Co. G, 92nd Ohio Volunteer Infantry (Ohio History Connection) |
On September 18, 1863,
our portion of Thomas’ army lay near the foot of Lookout Mountain. In a few
hours we started on an all-night march.
Every rod of fence was burned as we marched along, and it was dangerous
at times for the artillery to get by, and if it had not been for the pain they
caused us by smoked out we should hardly have known we had any eyes left. We reached
Crawfish Springs about daylight, passed Lee’s Gordon’s Mills, and arrived in
the neighborhood of the Kelly farm between 9 and 10 o’clock, rested, cooked
breakfast, and then went in about 11 a.m. There was no skirmish line in front
of the regiment. The ground descended in front of us. We lay flat on the
ground.
A comrade and myself
selected a pine tree a few feet in front of the line. We would hug the ground
to load then rise up and shoot. As the comrade got up on one knee to take aim,
a ball struck him in the breast and passed clean through. I helped him back to
the rear of the line, where he was taken to the ambulance. He was taken back as
far as Nashville, where he died. Our Colonel Benjamin D. Fearing was wounded
through both thighs by the same ball as he was passing back and forth along the
line. The Johnnies that afternoon charged our battery four times. We would let
them get pretty close, then the brigade would give them a volley and charge
them back. That afternoon a ball entered my knapsack as I lay on the ground,
just missing my head. At dark we were relieved and went to the rear to get some
sleep.
Private John A. Hoit of Co. H, 92nd Ohio Volunteer Infantry |
Sunday morning was very
foggy. We took the front line again about 8 o’clock. The troops we relieved had
built breastworks out of old dry logs. My company and Co. B were sent out to
feel for them in the fog. We did not go far before finding all we wished for
and had to return to the works. Later, when the fog lifted, the sun dried the
leaves and they took fire from our battery, which was located to the left of
the regiment and only one company between ours and the battery. The fire got
into the breastworks and threatened to leave us without protection unless
stopped. We tried to get Co. B to pull out the logs in their front and get over
and rake away the leaves, but they declared it would be sure death to a man in
front. I said, “Boys, if the works burn, probably most of us will be killed. If
one or two get in front and stop the fire and get killed, it may save many
lives. If there is one who will volunteer with me, we will run the risk.” A
little fellow by the name of John McVey spoke up, “I am your man.” We jumped
over and worked with a will, raked away the leaves and pulled out the logs, and
assisted by those behind the works, the fire was put out; but how the balls
spat all about us and every chunk we picked up a ball would spat it, reminding
us to make haste and you can bet we tarried no longer than we needed to. We
both got back again without a scratch but McVey, poor fellow, was missing at
Buzzard’s Roost Gap and never heard from after.
About 4 p.m. an officer
came up to General Turchin (who commanded our brigade) and told him his brigade
was surrounded and must cut its way out or surrender. His answer was “I think
if anybody’s boys go out, mine go.” We at once left our works which we had held
for eight hours, went to the rear through the woods, passed around to the left
of the Kelly house and came to the edge of the woods where we halted. Soon we
saw coming down across the farm from towards Snodgrass Hill eight columns of
Johnnies. We lay low (only four regiments of us) until they got close enough to
be good marks, then General Turchin took his hat by the crown and waving it
over his head gave the order: “My brigade, charge bayonet, give ‘em hell, God
damn them!”
General John Basil Turchin, the Russian Thunderbolt. "My brigade, charge bayonet, give 'em hell, God damn them!" |
We fired a volley into
them and came out of the woods with a yell. The eight lines, not knowing what
was in the woods, broke and ran. We ran them clear across the farm. The first
volley left Lieutenant James W. Merrill and First Sergeant Charles A. Brown wounded
on the field besides a number of others. We captured about 500, but lost about
300. A battery of ours got in position on a hill at our left and began to shell
the enemy and we filed up between the guns and stacked arms. All told, in my
company there were eight to stack guns, not a commissioned officer, and I the
only non-commissioned officer in the company. They kept coming back to the
command so that after three days we could muster 25-20 men.
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