A Dark, Despairing, Deplorable Blue: Shiloh with the 11th Iowa
Watching the
sun set after the first day of Shiloh, Sergeant Harold White of the 11th
Iowa “commenced musing over the affairs of the day and you may well suppose my
musings were not of a very agreeable character. The prospect was most decidedly
blue- not the bright cerulean tings of the summer sky, but a dark, despairing,
deplorable blue.”
“That we were whipped was certain.
That on the morrow we should all be taken prisoners was more than probable.
Nothing but the appearance of Buell could save us from utter destruction. Fortunately,
Buell was near at hand and all night long we could hear the constant splashing
of the steamboat wheels as regiment after regiment was brought over the stream.
During the night, as if nature was disposed to add to the general gloom, a furious
storm came on, which continued for several hours.”
Sergeant White’s detailed recounting of his regiment’s role in the Battle of Shiloh was written to his friend Charles Elliott of West Liberty, Iowa; Elliott shared the letter with the editors of the Muscatine Journal who first published it in their May 2, 1862, edition. During the battle, the 11th Iowa was part of the First Brigade (Abraham M. Hare), First Division (John A. McClernand) of the Army of Tennessee, serving alongside the 8th Illinois, 18th Illinois, and 13th Iowa.
Pittsburg
Landing, Tennessee
April 16, 1862
My dear
friend,
I dare say you are at this moment
better posted in regard to the great Battle of Pittsburg Landing than your
humble servant who had the good fortune to be here at and during the fight.
Nevertheless, I am certain you will not be content until you receive a full,
true, and particular account from your own correspondent, so here goes.
In the first place, endeavor to fix in
your mind the location of a few prominent points. Pittsburg Landing (a simple
landing place with no houses) stands on the west bank of the Tennessee River
some 10 miles south of Savannah. From the Landing, a road leaves the river and
running at an angle of some 45 degrees from the river for a distance of three
miles reaches the camping ground of our brigade. Thus, you see, we are at the
southwest of Pittsburg while some 20 miles to the southwest of us lies Corinth,
the crossing of the Memphis & Charleston and Mobile & Ohio railroads.
South of us and between here and Corinth is an extensive swamp which, starting
from the river, extends several miles to the west. Through this swamp, with a
view of transporting our heavy artillery and baggage, our generals had
constructed a causeway but, unfortunately, we never had an opportunity of
traveling on our new and elegant road.
As Mohomet, in despair of the mountain
coming to him, condescended to make the mountain a visit [a reference to The
Arabian Nights], so our friend Beauregard, the hero of Sumter and Manassas,
concluded that we were not at all anxious to enjoy that entertainment of
Southern powder and Southern steel prepared for us, made up his mind to come
and partake of our simple Northern cheer. And so, he came, bringing, as I am
told, part of his army over our newly constructed road without even going
through the formality of paying toll. He evidently intended to remain through
the day as he came before breakfast. Before he reached our camp, however, the
morning meal was over and we were preparing for inspection. But the sounding of
the long roll through the camp told us that sterner work was at hand.
The regiment was formed and after
remaining standing for a short time in the field where our camp was located
[Jones Field], we marched into a piece of timbered land to the south of us.
Through this we advanced perhaps half a mile to a sort of clearing [Woolf
Field], an occasional cannon ball passing over our heads, indicating the nature
of the day’s work before us. Reaching this clearing, we were ordered to lie
down and presently the firing commenced and the contending parties were
speedily engaged.
 |
| Colonel Abraham M. Hare of the 11th Iowa commanded the brigade at Shiloh where the colonel sustained a wound in his hand. (Stan Huston Collection) |
The regiment that was advancing
against us was an A, No. 1 One look at them was enough to convince a man that
courage and discipline are virtues peculiar to neither North nor South. Without
a waver, the long line of glittering steel moved steadily forward while, over
all, the silken folds of the Confederate flag floated gracefully on the morning
air. What regiment this was I have not been able to ascertain positively; at
first, I was told that it was the 8th Mississippi but since then one
of the prisoners has told me that it was the Crescent City Guard from New Orleans.
At all events, it was a superb one and we speedily had the most convincing
proof that it was good for something else besides to look at. At their left and
slightly in advance was another regiment of which I did not take so much
notice. Both of these regiments did their best against us while we were
assisted by a section of two pieces of artillery. [Dresser’s Battery, Battery
D, 2nd Illinois Light Artillery]
“We marched up and met the enemy, firing a volley into them. We got another one for it. William Mikesell, William Gorton, and Dad Kneese fell. We then laid on the ground and waited for them to come up. They came up in fine style with their flags flying. When they came within 50 yards of us, we rose up and poured a murderous volley into them which checked them. We followed it up with a charge bayonet and took their big flag. The boys tore it all to pieces.” ~Private Jesse M. Dill, Co. H, 11th Iowa
After about half an hour of good work,
we were ordered back. At this point, I judge that we must have suffered more
than during any other part of the day. It was here that Henry Ady received his
mortal wound, William Ady was wounded and here and Thomas Lewis received a shot
through the shoulder. One of our men was killed here and more were wounded than
during the balance of the day although it could have had exceeded half an hour
from the time we were ordered in until we were relieved. The order at length
came to fall back which was done in good order.
And, by the way, I must say that the
regiment (I have not yet learned who they were) that was in the fight before us
is not entitled to this praise. They came running back in the wildest disorder.
One frightened fugitive in particular I noticed who, as he came along and ran
through our ranks, exclaimed, “Give them hell, boys! I gave them hell as long
as I could.” Whether he had really given them any of the sulfurous or not I
cannot say, but assuredly he had given them everything else he possessed,
including his gun, cartridge box, coat, and hat, and was in a fair way to leave
his unmentionables and under garments to accounted for perhaps by the return so
commonly made: “lost in action.” [Private Jesse Dill of Co. H offered that this
was the 49th Illinois, stating “we had not gone very far before we
met part of the 49th Illinois running like devil. We told them to
stop for God’s sake but they ran through our ranks.”]
But to return, our regiment was
ordered to fall back which we did in good style and at a distance of perhaps a
quarter of a mile, our line of battle was reformed in a very creditable manner.
Being so drawn up, a second time we advanced, halting at first on the brow of a
slight elevation, firing and by slow degrees advancing.
 |
| Major John C. Abercrombie, 11th Iowa Wounded in the head at Shiloh |
This time most of the boys fired while standing. The line was
also much more extended than at first, there being a regiment on our left and
one, I believe, on our right. The enemy occupied about the same ground that we
did at the time of the first attack by us, that is they were firing from the
same spot where we were lying about half an hour before. This time, I should
say, we remained some three-quarters of an hour and again fell back into the
timber. Our ranks reformed and a third advance was made. This time we remained
perhaps half an hour when our cartridges having given out, it was directed that
we go to the river for more ammunition.
This was for all practical purposes all the fighting done by
our regiment during the day. How severe it was may be inferred from the fact
that our regiment, numbering I think not more than 600 men [750 per Lt. Col.
Hall’s report], lost about 180 in killed and wounded. The colonel was shot in
the hand [Colonel Abraham Hare, commanding the brigade], the lieutenant colonel
[William Hall] in the ankle, and the major [John C. Abercrombie] in the head.
Both our regimental and company officers have shown themselves possessed of an
abundance of pluck and capacity for command. [Total casualties amounted to 33
killed, 160 wounded, and 1 missing, all told, 194.]
There were some scenes positively ludicrous,
although it was such a serious time. Some of men were given to firing from some
distance to the rear without thinking sufficiently who were in front and in
some instances wounded our own men who were too far in advance of the regiment.
One of these, with a view to protecting himself from what he regarded as the
most dangerous fire, took position in front of a tree, having nothing between
himself and the enemy but a most excellent defense against the injudicious
attacks of his own friends.
One little fellow in our company was
wounded in the head at the time of our first advance and while I poured water
from my canteen on his wound, he gave me an account of the manner in which it
was received, garnished with such an abundance of oaths that it would have made
a sad inroad upon his pay had the pecuniary penalties imposed by the third
article of war upon “any non-commissioned officer or soldier who shall use any
profane oath or execration” been strictly enforced.
One of our greatest misfortunes was
the want of suitable cartridges. The powder used in them was of such poor
quality that after firing the first few shots, our guns were so dirty that it
was almost impossible to load them, the bullet being forced down with the
greatest difficulty. Why such powder was used can only be explained on that
supposition that poor powder costs less than good, and by using it somebody’s
friend in the shape of an army contractor made a “big thing” which might have
ben considerably reduced by the use of the proper article.
Our march to the river was not a very
regular affair as each man got there as best he could and by his own route.
Nevertheless, we all, or nearly all of us who were unhurt, reached it. On the
way I found Hugh Prouty assisting Warren Evans, who I for the first time
learned was wounded. [Evans would die of his wound on April 29, 1862, at home
in Muscatine, Iowa; Prouty would die of disease September 2, 1862, in Jackson,
Tennessee] I came up on the bluffs when the regiment was forming and where
several boxes of cartridges had been provided for the use of our regiment.
Again, we started back for the scene of action but were ordered to take
position in front of one of our batteries which was situated about half a mile
back from the Landing but at that time had not commenced firing.
 |
| Pittsburg Landing bustled with activity on the night of April 6, 1862. Thousands of troops from General Don Carlos Buell's army arrived throughout the nighttime hours while steamboats hauled wounded men across and downriver to Savannah. |
We remained there for a short time
only when we were directed to take another position half a mile in advance
where we remained nearly an hour. The enemy in the meantime was approaching us
gradually but surely. The rattle of musketry during the whole day had been
unceasing and at 2 or 3 o’clock it seemed to be increasing in fierceness and
intensity. Our lines were assuredly giving way before the steady and vigorous
attack of the Rebel army and while the masterly genius who directed their
movements had infused his own spirit into their ranks, on our side, there
seemed to be something lacking.
The work assigned to us during the
afternoon was exceedingly light. The order now came to fall back behind the
battery. Other regiments had already passed us and taken their places there. The
battery then opened. It was comprised of a good many pieces, among which my
attention was principally attracted by a couple of monster guns said to be an
84-pdr and 64-pdr. They belched forth their iron hail upon the advancing enemy and
should these fail, the word came from an old staff officer that our last and
only resource was the bayonet. We were not forced to this dire alternative, however,
as the artillery proved to be very effective.
The day was rapidly drawing to a
close. I can well remember when an urchin at school with what satisfaction I
used to see the lengthening shadows of evening come on, knowing school must soon
cease. I have viewed the same spectacle with the liveliest satisfaction when
engaged in the eminently useful but somewhat laborious occupation of hoeing
corn. Those who are accustomed to pay evening visits to young ladies assure me
that the approach of evening is always hailed with pleasure. But never to the
tired school boy, never to the wearied laborer, never to the ardent lover, never
event that that industrious poet who was so much edified when “the curfew tolled
the knell of parting day,” not to Wellington, even, when at “red Waterloo he
prayed that Blucher or night might soon come, was the close of day more
welcomed than it was to us when the golden chariot of the sun wheeled slowly
down the West and passed out of sight.
Just before sunset as our regiment, now fearfully reduced from killed, wounded, and exhaustion, was standing in its place, a fresh regiment of Buell’s command made its appearance and relieved us. Captain [William] Grant of Co. A, who had been in command the after part of the day, directed us to a place of rendezvous which was near an old house in which but a few hours before a sutler was doing a thriving business. But commerce, you know, is proverbially timid and trade does not flourish amid the rude clangor of arms. So, the sutler, finding that it was unpleasant to transact business while cannon balls were flying through the roof of his establishment, had prudently abandoned it to its fate and taken care of himself.
The judicial decision which pronounces
pirates on the seas as enemies of mankind and as such liable to capture by the
ships of any nation is paralleled by another decision, if not of the military
courts, at least of most members of the profession to the effect that sutlers
are foes to the human (or soldier) race and their goods therefore are lawful
subjects of capture. I assure you the theory was acted upon promptly that night.
A barrel of excellent crackers was the first to suffer in the general scramble
for the sutler’s estate, of which I was so fortunate as to receive as many as
my two hands would hold. With these and a chunk of cheese of most prodigious
strength I made a most excellent supper, after which a transient acquaintance
of mine from Company I gave me a larger paper of excellent smoking tobacco
which I feel confident he never obtained by any legitimate purchase. I sat down
and filling my pipe, commenced musing over the affairs of the day and you may
well suppose my musing were not of a very agreeable character. The prospect was
most decidedly blue- not the bright cerulean tings of the summer sky, but a
dark, despairing, deplorable blue.
That we were whipped was certain. That
on the morrow we should all be taken prisoners was more than probable. Nothing
but the appearance of Buell could save us from utter destruction. Fortunately,
Buell was near at hand and all night long we could hear the constant splashing
of the steamboat wheels as regiment after regiment was brought over the stream.
During the night, as if nature was disposed to add to the general gloom, a furious
storm came on, which continued for several hours. The gunboats which had
somehow obtained an idea of the position of the enemy kept up a pretty regular
fire during the night. The roar of that firing was appalling and the next day
we learned that the effects of it had been destructive in the extreme.
In the morning, the enemy, acting on
the maxim that the early bird catches the worm, commenced operations bright and
early. But during the whole day the tide of success rolled the other way. Not
only had the force of Buell crossed the river, but Buell was with them and it
is no more than truth to say that his personal presence was worth more than his
whole army. Today we had generalship; yesterday chance seemed to rule the hour.
The change was miraculous. Regiments the day before had gone into battle with
no idea of what they were to do, without support, and with no provision for
following up their success or recovering what they had lost. Today, it was
different and for the first time we could perceive the difference between a
scientific soldier like Buell and an imbecile character which term describes
somebody else.
 |
| Major General Don Carlos Buell |
Towards night, when it became evident
that the enemy was in full retreat, we were near our old camp and concluded to
stop there for the night. Turning the head of the regiment in that direction,
we came in about half an hour to the pleasant spot which 36 hours before we had
left under peculiar circumstances. Our home looked decidedly worse for wear. In
our principal avenue nearly in front of the captain’s tent lay a dead horse.
The tents were considerably torn by balls. In our tent was a 6-pdr ball which
had torn quite a hole in the side of the edifice; two canister shots also passed
through it and left their marks behind them.
When I saw these evidences of what had
been the character of our visitors, I could not help entertaining the
inhospitable though that I was glad I was not at home when they called. Our
knapsacks had all been broken into and all of our blankets taken. From my
knapsack they pilfered a pair of sky-blue pantaloons which were my special
pride and joy and in which I had been wont to array myself when preparing for
any great occasion. The marauding vagabonds had also carried of my Bible, for
what purpose I can’t conceive unless to have the Ten Commandants, especially
the one which says “thou shalt not steal…” I fared no worse than my neighbors,
however, as each man lost something and the Texan Rangers, who are generally
supposed to have perpetrated the theft, are in consequence by no means popular.
Since then, we have remained here and
are in daily expectation of moving forward or being attacked but neither event has
yet happened. Perhaps I have been too jocose in giving a description of the
fight as I saw it, but God knows I feel sad enough as often as I think of the
dear friends who were stricken down to rise no more and those who are lingering
in pain and suffering.
I must now bring my letter to a close, not that I have told you the hundredth part of what I would like to, but I am kept somewhat busy now and besides my conveniences are not of the best.
Sources:
Letter from Sergeant Harold M. White, Co. H, 11th Iowa Volunteer Infantry, Muscatine Journal (Iowa), May 2, 1862, pg. 4
Letter from
Private Jesse M. Dill, Co. H, 11th Iowa Volunteer Infantry, Muscatine
Journal (Iowa), April 25, 1862, pg. 4
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