A Confederate Soldier's Tale

Sam Watkins' Civil War Experiences from 1861-63

by Harrison W. Mark

Sam Watkins was only 21 when his home state of Tennessee seceded from the Union in the spring of 1861. Swept away by the patriotic fervor and thirst for adventure that gripped an entire generation of unfortunate young men, Watkins and most of his childhood friends enlisted in the Confederate Army, joining Company H of the 1st Tennessee Regiment. They marched off to war, little knowing that four long, horror-filled years awaited them, in which they would see action in almost every major battle of the western theater, including Shiloh, Perryville, Chickamauga, Atlanta, and Franklin. Out of the 120 young men who formed Company H in that hope-filled spring of 1861, only seven lived to see the end of the war. One of these was Samuel Rush Watkins.

Sam Watkins Unknown Photographer (Public Domain)

Watkins Enlists

Watkins was born in June 1839 near Columbia, Tennessee, on the farm owned by his father. Like thousands of other young Southern men, he had never strayed far from this little patch of land and was readily seduced by the promise of adventure and glory offered by service in the Confederate Army. Watkins could still vividly recall the enthusiasm surrounding secession as he penned his memoirs in 1882, more than 20 years later. Entitled Company Aytch: Or, a Side Show to the Big Show, these memoirs boosted Watkins to postwar fame, offering one of the most detailed accounts of the American Civil War from a private soldier's perspective. The entirety of the following passages are taken from these memoirs. In its earliest pages, he recalls the war fervor that swept through the South in the days just after secession. "Reader mine," he wrote:

Do you remember those stirring times? Do you recollect in that year, for the first time in your life, of hearing Dixie and the Bonnie Blue Flag? Fort Sumter was fired upon…war was declared, and Lincoln called for troops from Tennessee and all the Southern States, but Tennessee, loyal to her sister States, passed the ordinance of secession and enlisted under the Stars and Bars. From that day on, every person almost was eager for war, and we were afraid it would be over and we not in the fight. Companies were made up, regiments organized…everywhere could be seen Southern cockades made by the ladies and our sweethearts…flags made by the ladies were presented to companies, and to hear the young orators tell of how they would protect that flag, and that they would come back with the flag or come not at all, and if they fell they would fall with their backs to the field and their feet to the foe, would fairly make our hair stand on end with intense patriotism, and we wanted to march right off and whip twenty Yankees.

But, of course, it would be a while before Watkins would get a chance to 'whip' any Yankees. Company H spent the first months of the war marching through the mountains of western Virginia, shivering in their inadequate clothing and taking potshots at the Union sentries, who always seemed to leer uncomfortably close. Like most other privates, Watkins was often posted on picket duty, tasked with standing guard in the night and watching for enemy movements. On such a post, a private would often have to fight off sleep and contend with the paranoia conjured up by the dark night around him. Watkins was standing guard on one dark, snowy night, when he thought he saw movement in the shadows:

I could hear the rumblings of the Federal artillery and wagons, and hear the low shuffling sound made by troops on the march. The snow came pelting down as large as goose eggs. About midnight, the snow ceased to fall and became quiet. Now and then the snow would fall off the bushes and make a terrible noise. While I was peering through the darkness, my eyes suddenly fell upon the outline of a man. The more I looked the more I was convinced that it was a Yankee picket. I could see his hat and coat – yes, see his gun…what was I to do? The relief was several hundred yards in the rear…at last a cold sweat broke over my body. Turkey bumps rose. I summoned all my nerves and bravery and said: 'Halt! Who goes there?' There being no response, I became resolute…I marched right up to it and stuck my bayonet through and through it. It was a stump.

Young Confederate Soldier

Unknown Photographer (Public Domain)

Shiloh & Corinth

Eventually, the tedium of army life in western Virginia was broken up as the 1st Tennessee Regiment was sent west; a Union force under Ulysses S. Grant was making inroads into their home state, and Watkins and his fellow Tennesseans were eager to defend their home soil. They would receive their first taste of battle at Shiloh on 6 April 1862, as the gray-coated Confederates rushed forward to surprise the Union troops at their camp. Watkins would recall the sights and sounds of being in the thick of what was at that time the largest battle fought in North America:

Men were lying in every conceivable position; the dead lying with their eyes wide open, the wounded begging piteously for help, and some waving their hats and shouting to us to go forward. It all seemed to me a dream; I seemed to be in a sort of haze when siz, siz, siz, the minnie balls from the Yankee line began to whistle around our ears…down would drop first one fellow and then another, either killed or wounded, when we were ordered to charge bayonets. I had been feeling mean all the morning…but when the order to charge was given, I got happy…I shouted. It was fun then. Everybody looked happy. We were crowding them…one more charge, then their lines waver and break. They retreat in wild confusion. We were jubilant; we were triumphant. Officers could not curb the men to keep in line. Discharge after discharge was poured into the retreating line. The Federal dead and wounded covered the ground.

Casualties at Shiloh

Adolph Metzner (Public Domain)

But despite the victorious charge made by Watkins and the Tennesseans, the Confederates ultimately met with defeat at Shiloh and thereafter beat an inglorious retreat to the town of Corinth, Mississippi. It was here where the Southerners spent a tedious and uncertain few weeks, and where Watkins witnessed the execution of a deserter:

One morning…I saw a detail of soldiers bring out a man by the name of Rowland, whom they were going to shoot to death with musketry, by order of a court-martial, for desertion…He was being hauled to the place of execution in a wagon, sitting on an old gun box, which was to be his coffin. When they got to the grave, which had been dug the day before, the water had risen in it, and a soldier was bailing it out. Rowland spoke up and said, 'Please hand me a drink of that water, as I want to drink out of my own grave, so the boys will talk about it when I am dead, and remember Rowland.' They handed him the water and he drank all there was in the bucket, and handing it back, asked them to please hand him a little more, as he had heard that water was very scarce in hell, and it would be the last he would ever drink. He was then carted to the death post, and there he began to…curse…all the rebels at a terrible rate. He was simply arrogant and very insulting. I felt that he deserved to die.

Battle of Perryville

Soon enough, the Confederates abandoned Corinth and moved to Tupelo, Mississippi, where, Watkins recalls, their principal pastimes included "playing poker, chuck-a-luck, and cracking graybacks (lice)." They stayed there only long enough to reorganize and were soon marching into Kentucky, where they were cheered by the local Confederate sympathizers. "They had heaps and stacks of cooked rations along our route, with wine and cider everywhere, and the glad shouts of 'Hurrah for our Southern boys' greeted and welcomed us at every house." This warm welcome was sorely needed, as the invasion of Kentucky would soon culminate in another of the war's great fights, the Battle of Perryville.

The battle now opened in earnest, and from one end of the line to the other seemed to be a solid sheet of blazing smoke and fire. Our regiment crossed a stream…and we were ordered to attack at once with vigor…From this moment the battle was a mortal struggle. Two lines of battle confronted us. We killed almost everyone in the first line, and were soon charging over the second, when right in our immediate front was their third and main line of battle, from which four Napoleon guns poured their deadly fire. We did not recoil, but our line was fairly hurled back by the leaden hail that was poured into our very faces. Eight color-bearers were killed at one discharge of their cannon…It was death to retreat now to either side. Our Lieutenant-Colonel, Patterson, halloed to charge and take their guns, and we were soon in a hand-to-hand fight – every man for himself – using the butts of our guns and bayonets…such obstinate fighting I never had seen before or since. The guns were discharged so rapidly that it seemed the earth itself was in a volcanic uproar. The iron storm passed through our ranks, mangling and tearing men to pieces. The very air seemed full of stifling smoke and fire, which seemed the very pit of hell, peopled by contending demons.

The fighting was stopped only by the onset of darkness. Watkins survived the battle without much injury, although he had two close calls when a bullet pierced his hat and another shot through his cartridge box. He spent the entire night searching for and carrying off the wounded. Amongst the dead and dying were his friends, young boys he had grown up with, comrades who had shared the hardships of war with him for the past year and a half. In all, 350 men from the 1st Tennessee were killed or wounded in this battle. Watkins knew their names well:

Joe Thompson, Billy Bond, Byron Richardson, the two Allen boys – brothers, killed side by side – and Colonel Patterson, who was killed standing right by my side. He was first shot through the hand, and was wrapping his handkerchief around it, when another ball struck and killed him. I saw W.J. Whittorne, then a stripling boy of fifteen years of age, fall, shot through the neck and collarbone. He fell, apparently dead, when I saw him jump up, grab his gun, and commence loading and firing…we helped bring off a man by the name of Hodge, with his under jaw shot off, and his tongue lolling out. We brought off Captain Lute B. Irvine. Lute was shot through the lungs and was vomiting blood all the while, and begging us to lay him down and let him die. But Lute is living yet. Also, Lieutenant Woldridge, with both eyes shot out. I found him rambling in a briar-patch.

Injured American Civil War Soldier

Reed B. Bontecou (Public Domain)

The excessive casualties suffered by the Confederate army at Perryville compelled it to end its invasion of Kentucky and retreat into the Cumberland Valley. During the first days of the retreat, few rations were doled out to the demoralized and hungry soldiers. On the fourth day of marching, Watkins saw a cavalryman passing by his regiment with a pile of fried dough on the pommel of his saddle. He called out to the cavalryman, telling him to hand over a "pattock of that bread." When the cavalryman initially refused, Watkins cocked his gun and was about to raise it when the intimidated rider threw him a piece of dough. All at once, "every soldier in Company H made a grab for it, and I only got about two or three mouthfuls." Luckily, the company came across a cow at nightfall; Watkins helped kill and skin it, and the soldiers ate the meat raw. Aside from this colorful episode, the retreat was a dull affair. "Along the route was nothing but tramp, tramp, tramp," remembers Watkins. "No sound or noise but the same inevitable tramp, tramp, tramp uphill and downhill, through long and dusty lanes, worn-out and hungry." Watkins' memoir, then, perfectly highlights the duality of a Civil War soldier's life: months of monotonous marching and drilling interspersed with hellish battle scenes. As he himself put it, "there was no rest for the weary. Marches and battles were the order of the day."

Battle of Murfreesboro

The army wound its way to Chattanooga, Tennessee, and from there on to Murfreesboro. It was here, in late December 1862, that the Union army advanced on their position. "I was on picket duty at the time when the advance was made by [Union General] Rosecrans," Watkins writes.

I had orders to allow no one to pass. In fact, no one was expected to pass at this point, but while standing at my post, a horseman rode up behind me. I halted him…but he seemed so smiling that I thought he knew me or had a good joke to tell me. He advanced up, and pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket, handing it to me to read…I read it, and looked up to hand it to him, when I discovered that he had a pistol cocked and leveled in my face, and says he, 'Drop that gun; you are my prisoner'. I saw there was no use in fooling about it. I knew if I resisted, he would shoot me, and I thought then that he was about to perform that detestable operation. I dropped the gun.

Watkins, however, was determined not to sit out the rest of the war in a Northern prison. Acting quickly, he leapt down and picked up the gun that he had dropped. The cavalryman – really a Union spy – fired and missed; Watkins pulled him off his horse, but after a brief struggle, the spy got up and fled. No sooner had he done so than Union skirmishers appeared, firing as they drove back the rebel sentries. Watkins and the other sentries pulled back to a fence, where they fired at the advancing Union troops, who had to travel across an open field. "I think we must have killed a good many in the old field," Watkins said. The Battle of Murfreesboro – or Stones River – was about to begin. "The next day," Watkins writes, "the Yankees were found to be advancing."

Soon they came in sight of our picket. We kept falling back and firing all day, and were relieved by another regiment about dark. We rejoined our regiment. Line of battle was formed on he north bank of Stone's River – on the Yankee side. Bad generalship, I thought…we were ordered forward to attack. We were right upon the Yankee line on the Wilkerson turnpike. The Yankees were shooting our men down by scores…we were not twenty yards from the Yankees, and they were pouring the hot shots and shells right into our ranks…Oakley, the color-bearer of the Fourth Tennessee Regiment, ran right up in the midst of the Yankee line with his colors, begging his men to follow. I hallooed till I was hoarse, 'They are Yankees, they are Yankees; shoot, they are Yankees' (58).

A Night Scout in the Southwest

Thomas Nast (Public Domain)

As the men of Company H neared the Union line, the fighting intensified:

The crest occupied by the Yankees was belching loud with fire and smoke, and the Rebels were falling like leaves of autumn in a hurricane. The leaden hailstorm swept them off the field. They fell back and reformed…I did not fall back, but continued to load and shoot, until a fragment of a shell struck me on the arm, and then a minnie ball passed through the same, paralyzed my arm, and wounded and disabled me. General Cheatham, all the while, was calling on the men to go forward, saying 'Come on, boys, and follow me'. The impression that General Frank Cheatham made upon my mind, leading the charge on the Wilkerson turnpike, I will never forget. I saw either victory or death written on his face…as he was passing me, I said, 'Well, General, if you are determined to die, I'll die with you'. We were at that time at least a hundred yards in advance of the brigade, Cheatham all the time calling upon them to come on. He was leading the charge in person. Then it was that I saw the power of one man, born to command, over a multitude of men then almost routed and demoralized.

So, even though he was wounded, Watkins charged up the crest alongside the rest of General Benjamin Franklin Cheatham's reformed division. They

raised a whoop and yell, and swooped down on those Yankees like a whirl-a-gust of woodpeckers in a hailstorm, paying the blue-coated rascals back with compound interest; for when they did come, every man's gun was loaded, and they marched upon the blazing crest in solid file, and when they did fire, there was a sudden lull in the storm of battle, because the Yankees were nearly all killed. I cannot remember now of ever seeing more dead men and horses and captured cannon, all jumbled together, than that scene of blood and carnage and battle on the Wilkerson turnpike. The ground was literally covered with bluecoats dead…By this time, our command had reformed and charged the blazing crest. The spectacle was grand. With cheers and shouts, they charged up the hill, shooting down and bayoneting the flying cannoneers…the victory was complete. The whole left wing of the Federal army was driven back five miles from their original position.

Battle of Stones River Kurz & Allison (Public Domain)

After that hard day of fighting, Watkins began to make his way to the field hospital. Along the way, he came upon another soldier, whose left arm was entirely gone.

His face was white as a sheet. The breast and sleeve of his coat had been torn away, and I could see the frazzled end of his shirt-sleeve which appeared to be sucked into the wound. I looked at it pretty close and I said 'Great God!' for I could see his heart throb and the respiration of his lungs. I was filled with wonder and horror at the sight. He was walking along when all at once he dropped down and died without a struggle or a groan.

Thus, Watkins ended the first year and half of war, welcoming the new year of 1863 on the bloody battlefield of Murfreesboro, Tennessee. Having survived months of privations, endless marching, countless nights on sentry duty, as well as the great battles of Shiloh, Perryville, and Murfreesboro, he had already seen much of the horrors of war. Yet he could not have known that the American Civil War was not yet halfway over, and that even more marches, battles, and hardships awaited him in the years to come.