Tramps and Triumphs of the 2nd Iowa: Part II- Shiloh

In the spring of 1885, the Omaha Bee newspaper in Nebraska ran a 12-part series of articles written by John T. Bell of the 2nd Iowa Volunteer Infantry covering the entirety of his service with that regiment. 

    A resident of Omaha at the time of his enlistment, he joined the ranks of Co. C on December 2, 1861, at the tender age of 19. He would survive the war with the rank of second lieutenant and 20 years after his discharge penned these reminiscences. The following year, these articles were published in book form as Tramps and Triumphs of the 2nd Iowa Infantry.

     Bell’s reminiscences are simply superb, really giving the reader an intimate look at life in the ranks of the famous 2nd Iowa. Three of his articles will be featured in this series; the first, covering the regiment’s baptism of fire at Fort Donelson in February 1862. This part, part 2, will cover the regiment’s role at the Battle of Shiloh and the third covers the Second Battle of Corinth in October 1862. Bell’s rank at Fort Donelson and Shiloh was that of a private; by the time of Corinth, he had gained his first stripes as a corporal.

 

John T. Bell of the 2nd Iowa experienced Shiloh as a private in the ranks of Co. C but ended the war with the rank of second lieutenant.
(Find-A-Grave courtesy of the University of California-Berkeley) 

Our camp at Shiloh about three-fourths of a mile from the landing was delightfully located on a handsome meadow with large forest trees on three sides. A fine spring nearby afforded an abundance of water; rations were abundant, guard and drill duty light and the weather all that could be desired. We had good wall tents, organized messes to suit ourselves, and the daily arrival of steamers loaded with troops furnished us with variety and excitement. Day after day the lines of soldiers could be seen marching past out camp to take position beyond us in the beautiful forest.

          We had a grand review on the 3rd of April when General Grant rode down in front of the line on his yellow charger and was received with much enthusiasm by the soldiers. Sunday morning, April 6, as we are out for company inspection we hear the long roll sounded for the first and last time in our entire term of service. Orders are given at once to take two days’ rations and with 40 rounds of ammunition in our cartridge boxes and 20 in our haversacks, the regiment forms in line and hurries to the front.

          Our regiment is a part of General W.H.L. Wallace’s division, chiefly troops that have been engaged at Donelson. It is nearly two miles from the point where Prentiss had been attacked, the outlying regiments being composed principally of soldiers then hearing the crash of battle for the first time. As we marched at double quick to the front, we soon meet stragglers by the score and hundred who have left their commands and are breaking for the rear. The advise us to go the other way; one poor, scared rascal in particular stands by the roadside yelling, “For God’s sake, don’t go out there, you will all be killed! Come back! Come back!” But we do not “come back,” though there are then marching with us men who have looked upon their camp for the last time.

          The roads are full of ambulances and heavy six-mule wagons loaded with wounded being taken to the temporary hospitals. Their cries of pain as the teams are rushed along are distressing; the woods swarm with bluecoats; batteries are hurried here and there with horses on the gallop; the terrible din of musketry is directly in our front. Shells shriek and burst above our heads; the air is thick and heavy with the smell of burnt powder all around us and we are in the midst of what proves to be one of the memorable battles of the great war.

          We form in line of battle and finally take position in an old road running north and south and are ordered to lie down. A Rebel battery concealed in the brush in front of our regiment opens on us and one of our own batteries dashes up and takes position directly behind us, endeavoring to silence the Rebel guns. Solid shot, grape, canister, and bursting shells pass over is in a fearful manner and here we have 87 men killed and wounded. One of our company threw his foot forward to stop a piece of exploded shell which was thrown towards the line which he thought had spent its force; instantly his foot is mangled and crushed. Amputation follows.



          I am lying so close to Captain Bob Littler that I could touch him by putting out my hand when a shell bursts directly in out front and a jagged piece of iron tears his arm so nearly off that it hangs by a slender bit of flesh and muscle as he jumps to his feet, crazy with shock and pain. He shouts, “Here, boys, here!” and drops to the ground insensible. A rabbit, trembling with fear, rushes out of the brush in which the Rebel battery is hidden and snuggles up close to a soldier, his natural terror of man entirely subdued by the dreadful surroundings.

          Then to the right of the Rebel battery, we see the Confederate flag moving forward with a long line of men in gray. They are allowed to come within 100 yards of our troops lying in that old road then the bluecoats rise, thousands of muskets ring out, and the line of gray coats is broken and hurled back. The assault is repeated for the second and third time with such terrible results to the Rebels that this locality is now designated by them the Hornet’s Nest.

          Meanwhile the crash of musketry and the roar of artillery at other points of the battlefield has become absolutely appalling. At least 50,000 men are engaged in the dreadful carnage and the slaughter is frightful. The long day is drawing towards it close; there is quiet in our immediate front but the firing on our right and left appears to be getting nearer and nearer and it is evident that our forces are falling back. We occupy a central position in the long line and are anxiously awaiting an order from General Wallace to shorten up the line by moving to the rear. But General Wallace has given his last command and at that moment lies cold and silent on the battlefield. Receiving no directions, Colonel Tuttle uses his own judgment and about 4 o’clock he gives the order to about face and we march steadily back, but not in instant too soon, for General Prentiss’s division joining us on the left is immediately surrounded and captured.

          We moved back in good order, finding the flanks of our division “in the air,” entirely disconnected from any other command. To the right and left through the open woods we see a long line of Union soldiers intending in an oblique direction, marching towards each other. We are moving at substantially right angles to these lines though not connected with them. Behind the Union regiments are seen the Rebel regiments following up their advantage and, as our lines converged, securing a complete crossfire which proved terribly destructive to our forces. This, for a brief space, seems to be the position of W.H.L. Wallace’s division forming on one side of an oblong towards Pittsburg Landing which is perhaps two miles distant; the other two lines, much longer, are at right angles with the river and approaching each other in good order with the various regiments plainly discernible by their colors. Our division apparently connects with both these lines at the right moment; there is a shock as the men crowd on each other, a waver, then all discipline is lost and the Union forces break from control and a mad race for the landing and shelter of the gunboats is made. The Confederates with cheers and yell follow fast and follow faster.



          I soon find myself entirely cut off from my company and hurry along, the Rebel bullets doing great execution in the surging mass. Just in front I see a horse standing quietly, his rider having been shot, and I debate in my own mind as to the desirability of mounting that horse when I reach him and thus gain greater speed in escaping. But before I can seize the bridle a man dashes in front of me, evidently bent on the same purpose, when a rifle ball crashes through the back of his head and he pitches forward in the dust.

          A single gun with a full complement of men and gunners sitting in their places dash by me in splendid style, the riders lashing their horses into a gallop towards the landing. The uniform differs somewhat from the regulation blue but attracts no particular attention on that score; they press forward and suddenly wheel, dismount, unlimber the gun from the caisson, and dire shots and shells as rapidly as they can be served into the mob of flying men. Then we know that these are Rebel, not Federal artillerymen, and though enough Union soldiers rush by to pick up gun, carriage, caisson, and horses to hurl them into the Tennessee River, no effort is made to capture the gun or silence the gunners. It was a brave deed, but the Confederate army was composed of men capable of just such acts of heroism and for four years it commanded and fairly earned the admiration of the world.

          On the hill immediately overlooking the landing we found a semi-circle of heavy guns that had been hastily got into position and as the Union soldiers rushed behind the protection thus afforded, the advance of the enemy was stopped by a destructive fire from these guns and those of the gunboats at the landing which raked the Rebel right. The infantry lines were reformed to some extent and added their assistance and thus ended the first day’s fight at Shiloh.

          Just at sunset, General Nelson’s division, the advance of Buell’s army which had been on a forced march for Pittsburg Landing, arrived on the opposite side of the river and was rapidly ferried over by steamboats and formed in line of battle in front of our semi-circle of artillery. We were very glad of their arrival and to hear that Lew Wallace’s division of 5,000 fresh troops had reached the battlefield after a day’s time consumed in marching five miles to reach a position which Wallace had received orders at 8 a.m. to occupy.

          As we laid in line that night, completely soaked with the heavy rain which fell (a rain always seemed to follow a battle) we could hear the steady tramp, tramp of Buell’s men as they marched past us and were pushed out to the front. We had heard of the death of General Albert Sidney Johnston, the Rebel commander, and that he had been succeeded by Beauregard who had sworn to “water his horse in the Tennessee River at the Landing that night or in hell,” and comforted each other with the remark that he had failed in the first part of his proposition which was a matter of considerable importance to us.

          By sunrise of the 7th the battle was renewed; Buell’s command and Lew Wallace’s division of Grant’s army occupied the front line and assaulted the Confederates. The regiments which had been engaged on the 6th were held in reserve and followed up as the Rebels were driven back at every point. By 4 o’clock in the afternoon we had regained all the ground lost on the previous day and the enemy was in full retreat for Corinth, Mississippi some 25 miles distant and we returned to our old camp.



          A visit to the battlefield the next day disclosed a horrible sight. In places dead men lay so thick that a person could walk over two acres of ground and not step off the bodies. Details of soldiers were scattered through the woods, gathering the dead together; in one instance I saw 230 bodies buried in one grave. Death came in all imaginable shapes. In one case six of our men were killed by a cannon ball which passed through the center of a solid oak tree 18 inches in diameter behind which they had taken shelter in a line. The man nearest the tree had his head cut off entirely, the second was struck a trifle lower, the third still lower down, and so on as the ball lost its force after passing through the tree.

One of our company took from the dead body of a fine-looking, gray-haired Confederate a beautifully written letter, dated at Memphis a few days previous and evidently from his daughter, in which she deplored in the most touching and tender manner his absence, but thanked God that a few days more would end his term and then he would return home to leave his family no more. During the battle of Sunday, the woods were fired and we regained our outer camps. Monday found at our point a pile of corn containing several hundred bushels with the husks on. Many wounded soldiers crawled to this pile of corn seeking more comfortable positions and when the fire swept through the woods and over this pile of corn they could not get away and were burned to death.

At another place, Monday afternoon I found a bright Confederate boy lying badly wounded on a cot in a tent. Facing him, on another cot alongside his own, sat a dead Rebel with wide, staring eyes and underneath the cot occupied by the boy was the body of a Union soldier. By dropping his left hand the boy could touch this body and by moving his right hand a trifle he could touch the other. He said, “I was badly wounded yesterday but managed to get into this abandoned tent and climbed up on this cot. Soon after this man on the other cot crawled in and just before dark this soldier lying under my cot. They were both hurt worse than I was but we talked to each other as much as we could for encouragement. Then along in the night this man on the cot talked very low and weak and after a while said he knew he was going to di and bid us goodbye. I didn’t hear anything after that from the man lying under my cot and it was awful still till morning. When daylight came I found that they were both dead and I have laid here all day hoping someone would come and help me.” I saw that he was carried back to a hospital but never heard whether he recovered or not.

 Sources:

“War Recollections: The Campaigns of the Second Iowa Infantry- From Fort Donelson to Pittsburg Landing,” Private John Thomas Bell, Co. C, 2nd Iowa Volunteer Infantry, Omaha Evening Bee (Omaha, Nebraska), March 14, 1885, pg. 4; also, “War Recollection: The Campaigns of the Second Iowa Infantry- Halleck Assumes Command at Shiloh-A Thirty Days’ Siege,” Omaha Evening Bee (Omaha, Nebraska), March 21, 1885, pg. 4

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