A Continuous Line of Fire: A Mississippian Recalls the Assault on Munfordville

Pinned down during his regiment’s assault on the Federal works at Munfordville, Kentucky, Private Francis Chaplin of the 10^th Mississippi observed the various sounds made by the fusillade of bullets that flew overhead.

          “It seemed at length as if I could tell the nature of every ball that passed,” he wrote. “Each kind of ball has its peculiar sound. A shell screams. A grapeshot or round musket ball whistles, a conical ball from a large Belgian rifle sings. A half-ounce Enfield ball, if smoothly formed, sounds like the rapid tearing of a piece of silk. If roughly made, it produces a fluttering noise as though it had a small piece of paper tied to it. A spent ball hums like the last drawn note of a bumble bee, and when it strikes an object, sounds like a stone thrown against it.”

          Chaplin’s account of the September 14, 1862, assault on Munfordville ranks as one of the finest battle accounts I’ve yet encountered, loaded with details and insightful observations of a little remembered but important engagement of the Kentucky campaign. The letter, written to his sister in Natchez, first saw publication in the October 21, 1862, edition of the Natchez Daily Courier.

 

Chaplin criticized Chalmers' assault on the Federal fortifications at Munfordville; to be sure, it was a rash, unauthorized act that cost his brigade heavily and netted few benefits to the Confederate cause in Kentucky. The arrival of the balance of Bragg's army a few days later ultimately compelled the surrender of the Federal position and marked a rare success for the Confederacy in Kentucky. Within a month of the surrender at Munfordville, the Confederates would be retreating back to Tennessee. 

Fort Denham, near Munfordville, Kentucky

September 19, 1862

My dear sister,

          We commenced our march on the 30^th day of August and on the afternoon of the 12^th of September we were four miles north of Glasgow, Kentucky. Although we had marched since 3 o’clock in the morning on that day and made a distance of 16 miles, yet “Chalmers’ Fast Cavalry” as the boys call themselves (Bragg has facetiously dubbed them the “High Pressure Brigade”) started at 8 o’clock in the evening for Cave City, 12 miles distant, to try and intercept a train expected to arrive from Louisville.

          By midnight, we quietly took possession of the place, much to the surprise of the inhabitants and the Yankee telegraph operator. The next day we spent principally in sending dispatches to the Yankees. The old operator, superintended by one we had brought with us, was made to work the lines, but the Yanks evidently smelt a mouse and stopped the train at Munfordville. On the afternoon, it became known that Chalmers, learning by intercepted dispatches, the strength of the enemy at this place, resolved purely on his own responsibility to attack them before Bragg and the rest of the army should arrive.

          Upon first leaving the Tennessee River, our brigade was far in the rear, but through the influence of ambition and forced marches, we now found ourselves three days in advance of any portion of the army. We had been without provisions for the last 24 hours, having marched completely away from our wagons and supplies. It was expected that we would capture provisions on the way, but as we were disappointed in this, we were taken four miles up the turnpike and turned into an apple orchard. Green apples made a very poor supper, but we not only ate them, but filled our haversacks with them for breakfast.

          We started again at 11 o’clock at night and halted again at 1 o’clock. At 3, we again took up the line of march, proceeding quietly and cautiously. A short time after daylight, we came within sight of the enemy’s pickets and reached a point about a mile from the river. Our sharpshooters drove in the pickets and our regiment, accompanied by two pieces of artillery, filed off on a crossroad to the left, the rest of the brigade still proceeding on the turnpike to the right. We planted our artillery on the summit of a hill that overlooked the whole of the enemy’s works.

          The morning was beautiful. A light fog hung over the river and pointed out the course it took in its windings through the valley. The sky was reddening in the east and shed a soft glow over the intervening fields, the enemy’s camps, the red lines of earthworks, and the rich forests beyond. All seemed so quiet and peaceful that I could scarcely believe there was any of the foe before us. But the booming of the cannons soon roused them. The inhabitants of the farms around us (men, women, and children), rushed half-naked from their homes and fled to the rear.

          The Yankees could be seen, as thick as bees, issuing from their camps and lining the breastworks and it seemed as if every animate thing for miles around was frightened from its rest. Soon a large fire blazed forth from the woods beyond, which I took to be the railroad bridge over Green River, but as we afterwards discovered, proceeded from a church which stood in the way of the batteries of the fort and which the enemy did not wish to destroy until the last moment.

          We kept up the firing from our artillery for upwards of an hour. The first shell we threw, as one of the prisoners since has informed us, killed the horse of the Yankee commander Colonel John Wilder. Our regiment was now moved still further to the left and halted behind a hill. As we passed along, we obtained a still better view of the entrenchments, but though in easy range, the enemy did not fire upon us.

Colonel John T. Wilder, Federal commander at Munfordville

The Yankees were posted in a strongly entrenched position built, I believe, last winter and since improved upon. The position was not a good one for a fort because it was surrounded by eminences from which it could easily be shelled out; but against storming parties, it was almost impregnable. The earthworks were over a mile extent, both flanks resting on the river, and supported on one side by a stockade and on the other by a fort. There was a ditch surrounding it, five feet in width and depth. In front of the breastworks, for a breadth of 500 yards, throughout their whole extent, are open fields or fallen timber.

The force with which General Chalmers was silly enough to undertake to capture this strong fort, garrisoned by a force of over 3,000 men, consisting of portions of the 7^th, 9^th, 10^th, 29^th, and Blythe’s Mississippi regiments, supported by the Alabama State Artillery with three smoothbore 6-pounders and one 12-pound howitzer. There was also a battalion of two companies of sharpshooters which had been formed of men transferred from the other regiments of the brigade. The whole numbered, according to the general statement, 1,300 effective men though, in my opinion, there was fully 1,600. I know that the number of them reported for duty the day before was upwards of 2,000 and there was not more than 400 left at Cave City to guard that place and the wagons.

The enemy were raw recruits of Lincoln’s last draft but they were the finest and bravest Yankees I ever saw and were all fine shots. Such men, I verily believe, placed behind entrenchments were far more effective than the best disciplined troops of Buell’s army. They were all from the southwestern portion of Indiana. The number of guns in the fort was nine, all of the finest description, with five placed on the left and four in the fort on the right.

General James R. Chalmers

It was a little after 6 o’clock in the morning when our regiment was ordered to charge. A courier rode up to Colonel [Robert Alexander] Smith and told him that he was ordered to charge on the left and that the sharpshooters would charge on the right of us. Smith, without saying a word, went out by himself and with a spyglass reconnoitered the ground. It appeared that our regiment alone was expected to take the whole of the left front where the five cannons were stationed. Colonel Smith soon returned and gave the order.

We advanced by the left of companies to the front. We had three fences to cross. The first two were in open fields, the third skirted the edge of a strip of fallen timber yet enveloped in fog and hid from our view. As we emerged from the woods and crossed the first fence, the enemy opened fire upon us. We were thus within about 500 yards of the breastworks. Five pieces of artillery and a half mile of Belgian rifles poured a perfect shower of missiles towards us. They mostly over shot, however, and did not get the range until we reached the second fence. This we tumbled over, many being killed in the attempt, and rushed forward at a run.

Just as the command “into line” was given, we reached the third fence. The brushwood was so thick on the opposite side that there were apparently only two places where a man could pass over. Everyone rushed to these places and the companies became mixed together in the greatest confusion. They could not all cross at once, and by the time the last man got over, the front ones were far in advance. It was impossible to again form into line. We found ourselves completely entangled in a mass of brushwood, briars, and fallen trees. Each man had to make his way as best he could regardless of the others.

We could not, however, get any further than within a hundred yards of the breastworks. Here the only opening, which was but a few feet wide and choked up by the dead and wounded, and the firing was so hot that it was madness to attempt to go further. The column therefore came to a halt and each man lay down where he happened to be. Colonel Smith, however, with the color bearer and a few others who first succeeded in crossing the fence, ignorant of the position of the rest of the regiment, made their way through the brush to the open space beyond and still forward.

As our Lieutenant Colonel [James G.] Bullard emerged from the fallen timber to follow them, he was struck by a grapeshot which passed clear through his body, killing him almost instantly. As he lay on the ground, his body was pierced by 20 balls. The color bearer soon fell and Colonel Smith seized the colors. He had not proceeded far when he, too, was shot down. Again, were the colors raised aloft, but fearful that the enemy would capture them, they were torn from the staff and buried.

Colonel Robert Alexander Smith
10th Mississippi
Mortally wounded at Munfordville

The position of the regiment was now, as it were on the brow of a little hill, where the slight declivity which we had been descending since leaving the woods became more abrupt on the other side of the hollow. The ascent was open and gradual as far as the breastworks which were above and overlooked our position. We were all crowded into a space not exceeding 50 yards square. The enemy throughout their whole line concentrated their fire upon this spot. The artillery poured a perfect avalanche of shell, canister, and grape upon it. Nothing could be seen by us but a continuous line of blaze.

          The sun just rising, shone full upon our faces, not only completely blinding us, but rendering us conspicuous marks for the enemy’s aim. We kept up a brisk fire, however, aiming at the smoke, and occasionally at a head when it could be seen. But the unequal contest could not last long. It was apparent that our men were being sacrificed without inflicting any damage upon the enemy in return. Most of the captains, therefore, ordered their companies to cease firing, and to conceal themselves as much as possible behind logs and stumps. Almost our total loss, consisting of 117 men, was during the first half hour of the fight. After this, the firing almost ceased upon our part but the Yankees kept it up incessantly. Whenever a head could be seen above a log or an elbow protruding from behind a stump, a thousand guns were fired at it.

          I could not before imagine that bullets could fly so thick. There was literally a sheet of lead continually rolling overhead. I truly believe that more shots came over us during the space of one hour than during the whole of the two days’ fight at Shiloh. It was certain death to stand up. You could not hold your hand aloft without having it hit. Even a gun upright was sure to be knocked down. It was interesting to observe the force the Minie ball as shown in those that were struck. In some the ball passed clean through the barrel. In others, pieces were cut out of the toughest iron as if it was so much lead. Others were bent in all imaginable shapes, some nearly double, while very few resisted the shock so as to have the ball mashed by the force of the concussion. I was lying about eight feet from a log which was barely high enough to protect me. A small twig, not six feet in height and not over two inches in diameter, was struck eight or ten times and once not four inches from my cranium.

This early war view taken at Fort Barrancas in Florida depicts eight members of Co. B of the 9th Mississippi Infantry (7 of them identified) in camp wearing civilian clothing. The 9th Mississippi, part of Chalmers' brigade, would take part in the charge at Munfordville and later that fall be consolidated with the 10th Mississippi. 

          It was an hour or more after we began the charge before any of the other troops came to our aid. Blythe’s regiment then charged on our right. We could hear their cheers and volleys, both of which soon ceased, however. In half an hour, we could hear the 9^th Mississippi attacking the fort on the right and at intervals of another half hour each, the 7^th, 29^th, and sharpshooters came into action. But they were soon out of it again. Ours was the only regiment that held its ground and they could not get away. They could have killed us all had we attempted.

          Meanwhile, we did the best we could and that was to lie close to earth. While doing so, a ball so far spent as to curve considerably in its flight, grazed the top of the log and struck me on the shoulder. I felt as though someone had dealt me a blow with a hammer and it was sometime before I could convince myself that it had not penetrated the flesh. It did no other damage than to take a small piece of skin off about the size of a dime and to create a slight bruise. It seems singular that firing at such short distances there should be so many spent balls. It is generally believed that spent balls always came from a great distance, but I believe they are more frequently caused by some defect in the powder or ball. Cartridges often get damp and the powder loses its power. I have often had my gun with a full load in it not make a louder report than a pop gun. The ball, as often happens, may be too small for the bore of the gun. In either of these cases, the ball will fall short. You can always tell a spent ball, as it passes, by the sound it makes.

Different bullets apparently made different sounds: a round musket ball whistled while large conical balls like these .69 caliber bullets "sang. A half ounce Enfield ball, if smoothly formed, sounds like the rapid tearing of a piece of silk; if roughly made, it produces a fluttering noise as though it had a small piece of paper tied to it." 

          While lying here amid the groans and covered with the blood of the wounded, I could not help making some observations on the balls that flew overhead. It seemed at length as if I could tell the nature of every ball that passed. One who has never heard it can imagine the noises they make. Each kind of ball has its peculiar sound. A shell screams. A grapeshot or round musket ball whistles, a conical ball from a large Belgian rifle sings. A half-ounce Enfield ball, if smoothly formed, sounds like the rapid tearing of a piece of silk. If roughly made, it produces a fluttering noise as though it had a small piece of paper tied to it. A spent ball hums like the last drawn note of a bumble bee, and when it strikes an object, sounds like a stone thrown against it.

          We lay thus behind our wooden breastworks until fully 10 o’clock. No one knew that Smith had been wounded or that Bullard was killed, and we were expecting every moment orders from them to charge again. The excitement was so intense that we would much rather have done so than remain where we were. At last, when we all were praying like Wellington for night or Blucher (old Bragg) the fire of the enemy suddenly ceased. We could see them preparing for something, and every one of us thought they were going to charge upon us. They were moving about with bayonets fixed, apparently getting into line. We were prepared to meet them and expectation was on tiptoe.

          At last, someone cried, “here they come!” And at that moment, a half dozen Yanks mounted the breastworks, but the flag they carried was a white one. I could not imagine what they meant for I was sure it could not mean a surrender. One of our officers tied a white handkerchief to his sword and went out to meet them, when it appeared that Chalmers had sent them a flag of truce, ordered them to surrender, and while the truce was pending, they wished to get off some of their dead who day without the breastworks. We likewise embraced the opportunity. I went forward to help carry off Colonel Smith. I passed a Yankee on the way. He closely touched his hat and said, “Good morning, sir, how do you do?” I felt neither in a humor to return his politeness or notice his impudence, so passed on to where Colonel Smith was lying. We found him within 30 or 40 yards of the breastworks. His head was bloody and he had a severe and I fear mortal wound in his side. His clothes were completely riddled with balls and he lay almost senseless. A Federal officer helped us lift him into a blanket and cautioned us to carry him gently. As we bore him along, he opened his eyes and seeing the white flag feebly said, “Cheer me, boys! Tell me, you haven’t surrendered, have you?”

          [Colonel Robert Alexander Smith died of his wounds later that day. A 26-year-old native of Edinburgh, Scotland, he has three markers commemorating his death: one on the battlefield at Munfordville, one at Greenwood Cemetery in Jackson, Mississippi, and a third in a family plot in Edinburgh, Scotland.] 

The Confederate assault at Munfordville as depicted by the regimental historians of the 67th Indiana who were part of the Munfordville garrison. 

          After helping to bear the wounded from the field, I returned to bring away their guns. Many Yankees were walking about. They were all dressed as if for the ballroom and appeared to look down in pity upon us. I cannot tell how angry this made me. It even made me angry to see them help our wounded. Every kindness they offered to extend us, and for some reason they were very lavish of them, made my wrath grow hotter. And so that, when one of them stepped up and says to me, pointing to the dead lying around, “See that poor fellow? This is a horrible business. Why will you not come and live with us like brothers?” I answered him so sharply that his captain stepped up and ordered him back into the entrenchments.

          One fellow, fresh from an Indiana debating society, spread himself as wife as the American eagle on the clasp of his belt and graciously informed one of our men that he “didn’t wish to hurt us and that if we would only come back into the Union, that the western states would join with us and whip out the east and all the abolitionists in it!” From all their actions, I have come to the conclusion that they think we are poor, misguided wretches, and by showing us that they are willing to extend the hand of fellowship, at the same time that they impress upon us that they will fight us to the death, we will be willing to return to the old Union and live together again. Most of them had their canteens filled with whiskey which they were very free to offer to us, as if that would help conviction.

          We carried from the field everything that belonged to our men. It appears that Chalmers, finding us in a tight place, which we could not well get out of, recollected Santa Anna’s stratagem at Buena Vista and sent the flag of truce in order to get an opportunity of withdrawing his forces from the field. He told them that he had received 5,000 reinforcements, which they afterwards found out to be a lie, and denounced accordingly. We took our dead back into the woods and buried them near the place where Colonel Terry fell. [Colonel Benjamin F. Terry of the 8^th Texas Cavalry was killed during the December 17, 1861, action at Rowlett’s Station] Most of the dead were shot in the head and nearly all received more than one wound.

Our company was peculiarly fortunate. We had but seven wounded, and four of them so very slightly that their wounds may be termed mere scratches. One company, no larger than ours, lost five killed and 24 wounded while another company lost six killed and 15 wounded. The whole loss in the brigade was 280 killed and wounded, of which 117 were from the 10^th Mississippi.

The Yankees gave us notice that the armistice would expire at 5 o’clock in the afternoon and accordingly we hastened to get away by that time. We went three miles and halted until night when we returned to Cave City, reaching there at 12 o’clock. Although we had eaten nothing for more than two days and the Negroes had cooked rations ready for us upon our arrival, yet the excitement being over left us so much exhausted that we could eat nothing and were content to lie down without even taking the trouble to unroll our blankets and sleep ourselves into life again.

We remained the next day at Cave City and on the morning following, again started for Munfordville leading the advance of the whole of Bragg’s army. We took our position next to the river to cut off the enemy should they attempt to escape. With the rest of his army, Bragg completely surrounded the place on both sides of the river and having placed in position 64 pieces of artillery, sent word to the Yankees to surrender or he would open fire on them at daylight the next morning.

At midnight we heard that they had surrendered unconditionally and that ours and [Sterling A.M.] Wood’s brigade were to receive their capitulation. In the morning, our regiment in the advance, marched around to the extreme right, entered the fortifications, and at the same time the Federals marched out with all their arms and accoutrements on and loaded down to the guards with baggage. The Yankee officers were dignified and polite and appeared to take their surrender in good part. They marched down the road to where our two brigades were, laid down their arms, and all except their personal property. We took, according to report, 4,500 prisoners though one of the Federal officers told me they had but 3,800 men in the fort, some 600 of these having arrived after our attack.

To read a Federal perspective of the fight at Munfordville from a soldier in the 67th Indiana, please check out:

Among the Hoosier Greenhorns at Munfordville

Source:

Private Francis D. Chaplin [Chapline], Co. B, 10^th Mississippi Infantry, Natchez Daily Courier (Mississippi), October 21, 1862, pg. 1