Arkansas Post New York Times Articles #2

Battle of Arkansas Post

New York Times Articles

The following articles are transcribed from the New York Times, dated January 29, 1863.

CAIRO, Wednesday, Jan. 21, 1863.

One day in this place is not particularly unlike any other day, with the exception that, when we have a day especially mean as regards its mud, or its rain, or some other unpleasant characteristics, we can always safely calculate that the next day, in these or some other respects, will be a little meaner. There is no sameness about the discomforts of Cairo -- unlike many other places -- for, however bad things are to-day, you may always safely calculate on a change; to-morrow will not be like to-day, it will simply be worse. If, to-day, you wade through mud up your knees, to-morrow you will experience the pleasant variety of wading through mud up to your waist; if now it sprinkles, it will rain an hour later; in short, Cairo is simply an inclined plane, which gradually, but surely, leads from bad to worse, and so on. I have not the slightest idea in the world why I have written these things, for certainly they have no bearing whatever upon the subject of my present letter. I was intending to commence this letter with a different train of thought -- viz., that the descent of matters in Cairo from bad to worse was interrupted, or rather mitigated, to-day, by the arrival of several boat-loads of prisoners from Arkansas Post. This being the legitimate intention of my present letter, I will confine myself to that, instead of philosophizing upon matters in Cairo. TROLLOPE has done Cairo slight justice, for which I thank him -- especially its hotels and barber-shops. Reporters, snugly living within the palatial St. Charles Hotel, have long ere this given your enterprising cotemporaries full details of the besiegement and taking of Arkansas Post. With less imagination, I can only write you a few outside facts, which may, possibly, serve to add lustre to one of the finest achievements of the war. It is no small achievement, either; for while we have shown the courage, of our men, the acuteness of our leaders, and the invincibility of our arms, we have also "Opened up" one of the finest cotton-growing regions of the "sunny South." While we have subdued a certain portion of rebeldom, we have likewise made it practicable for constituent patriots to remunerate themselves for the expense and trouble of this unhappy war by buying cotton at twenty-five cents per pound, and -- giving it away for fifty-eight. Three boats came in to-day -- the Sam Gaty, Nebraska and John J. Roe -- having with them fourteen hundred and fifteen rebel prisoners. Among them was Gen. CHURCHILL, and along with him were several gentlemen, mainly distinguishable from the ramifications of gold lace on their sleeves, and the enormous quantity of the same golden ornamentation upon their cape. Gen. CHURCHILL was lately in command of Arkansas Post. His gold-mounted satellites not long since revolved about him. secure in the single fact that they, individually, were Chivalry, and could whip any number of Yankees, from three to fifteen. I held a long conversation with these gentlemen and learned many incidents of the battle. I learned, for instance, that we had 50,000 men and they only two thousand -- that they mowed our men down by thousands, while we only killed some half dozen of theirs -- that they never surrendered, never would have surrendered, and had repulsed with fearful slaughter, eight different charges made by our men, and would finally have driven us from the field had, not some cowardly miscreant run up a white flag. It is but fair that the rebels be allowed to give their version of the fight, and hence I inclose an account which was originally intended for the Richmond Enquirer, but which was finally handed over to me, upon the assurance that it should be promptly forwarded for publication.

YANKEE STEAMER NEBRASKA, OFF THE POST OF ARKANSAS, Wednesday, Jan. 14, 1863.

Editors Richmond Enquirer: MESSRS. EDITORS:

The most remarkable battle of the war has just been fought at this place. It is the first time in the history of the war that three thousand men have resolved to make a stand against fifty thousand infantry, with an immense quantity of artillery and cavalry, together with a cooperating fleet of gunboats, carrying one hundred guns; and it is the first time, too, in the history of the war, that a land force has unflinchingly withstood a terrible gunboat fire for two days, lying motionless in the trenches, and receiving, at a distance of only two or three hundred yards, every shell, without being able to return a shot. This stand was made not because we expected to be enabled, unassisted, to hold our position, but because we were hourly expecting reinforcements, and because Lieut.-Gen. HOLMES had telegraphed Brig.-Gen. CHURCHILL, commanding, to hold the position until all should be dead. We have fought the whole Vicksburgh expedition, and we are now all prisoners of war; but not willingly, nor of our consent: we have been betrayed into the hands of our enemy. Our gallant Gen. CHURCHILL had determined to fight, and to fight to the last, and each man had made a solemn pledge to the General and to each other, never to surrender, but to hold the fort until all, all!! should die. Every man knew that to conquer was impossible, but to die fighting for his country's honor was a glorious privilege. Oh' it was a sublime spectacle to behold, our Commander as he rode along that little line of devoted heroes, the Spartan glory that was reflected from face to face: each and every man seemed to feel that it was indeed sweet to die for his country. There they stood, cheerfully awaiting the hour they should be called upon to yield their lives a willing sacrifice upon the altar of their country. Oh! shall I ever forget the day when I rode down the lines and looked upon those faces! The enemy stood in their front in line of battle, fifty thousand strong; one hundred guns were approaching them by water on the right; a large body of cavalry already encircled them in the rear. But there they stood like martyrs, glorying in the prospect of proving their devotion to their principles by yielding up their lives in maintaining them. Before that hour I never knew what patriotism was. How dearly! how devotedly! I loved my country. I felt that each man before me was dearer than a brother, and to embrace him would be a blessing. The thunders on the right announced that the struggle had commenced. I stood and watched it with eager interest. Boat after boat approached our little fort of three guns, and hurled upon it their angry bolts of metallic fury. But thunders answered thunders, and slowly and solemnly the little fort, with its three guns, poured out its vials of wrath upon the cowardly foe clad in steel. But it was of no avail. I saw gun after gun melt away until none were left. Their boats passed us, but the fort was not surrendered; for the 50,000 had now advanced upon our whole line in front, and the small artillery from the fort and all along our line were giving them the strength of Southern principles. Eight times they advanced upon us; as often they were repulsed, running and yelling like cowardly curs. The battle rages furiously. All our guns are shattered, and every horse is killed. But that devoted band heeds it not, for they were there to die. Their heroic General had told them in the morning: "Boys, let us whip them, or let us all die in the trenches." And they had answered it with three long, loud cheers, and "General, in the trenches we will die." The struggle is renewed; the thunders of a dozen batteries open on us in front, on the right, on the left and in the rear. Still that little band stands unmoved, alike by the thunders of artillery as well as by the crashing of musketry. A shout is heard. CHURCHILL, who holds a charmed life amid a shower of bullets and shattering shell, raises his hat and shouts: "Boys, we are driving them;" and dashing forward, exclaims, "Come on"' and on we dashed. But alas! my God, shall I ever forget it? A bundled flags of the hated despot were seen unfurled and floating upon the ramparts of our sacred fort, amid the exultant shouts of a cowardly foe. Oh! can the terrible vision be ever banished from my mind? My heart sank within me. To surrender to that flag? No! Never! Never!! We could not do it; and we did not do it. Some base traitor had denied our gallant leader the realization of his fondly-cherished hope; and when he had but begun to prove how faithful he was to his promise to yield his and our lives rather than give up the fort, this craven wretch raised that symbol of cowardice -- the white flag -- exclaiming, at the same time, "Gen. CHURCHILL says raise the white flag." The enemy saw it, and, being near the lines, (before it could be arrested.) rushes into our fort. Treachery had done its work; and the gallant CHURCHILL, who was so lately robbed of his most coveted privileges, beheld it like a broken-hearted hero, yet sublime in his mien, and appearing like some superior being amidst the multitude around him. We are now on our way to Yankeedom, but we are not conquered. R.H.F. One can scarcely read the above "glowing" account without being deeply moved. It is a Southern utterance, more full of sound and fury than an old Dithyramb -- a new version of the old song of the chivalry, entitled. "Dying in the last Ditch." Gen. CHURCHILL assured me that, under instructions from Gen. HOLMES, he had issued orders to never surrender, and to fight till the last man fell dead in the trenches. Sublime determination, and worthy of the "Southern" heart! But somehow our chivalrous friends, although absolutely and irrevocably determined never to yield, but to fight so long as there remains a single Southern arm to wield a blade, frequently do surrender long before the genius of destruction has fastened its fangs upon the heart of the last man in the last ditch. There is something wet and cold and unpleasant about death. The last man in the last ditch looks heroic, it sounds well and fires the Southern heart to talk about it. but when the individual is sought for to take his everlasting slumber in this damp resting-place, he is not forthcoming. On paper they are all willing to be the last man, but in practice they decidedly give the preference to life, salt pork and Yankee prisons. The rebel officers say that the storm hurled against the fort by the gunboats was terrific beyond all conception. The shot went through and through the armored casemates, and within two hours had torn the works in pieces, and dismounted every gun in the fort. There were four guns in the fort -- two 100-pounders and two rifled 68s. The balance of their artillery consisted of a 20-pound and 10-pound Parrott, and a flying battery of 6 and 12-pound brass pieces. A shot from a gunboat struck one of the large guns, and broke off about three feet of its length from the muzzle; another struck the carriage of another, and reduced it to kindling wood. The officers' quarters within the fort were as completely demolished as if they had been torn down by design, and their shattered timbers distributed at random over the entire surface within the fort. The total result, in short, was, that in two hours the gunboats reduced the fort, its defences and everything within it to a perfect ruin. The Post, which was garrisoned by three brigages of Texan troops, was consequently taken by surprise upon the arrival of the National forces, and had due diligence been used the place could have been taken with scarcely the loss of a man. Saturday Gen. STEELE's Division was disembarked below the fort, and in obedience to very proper orders, made a detour to the north of the works, with a view of getting above them and cutting off their escape up the river. The division floundered through the swamp until nearly night and had almost reached the position, when it was ordered back to the landing below the works. During the night of Saturday, the rebels labored hard, and by morning had constructed a semicircle of rifle-pits, some five hundred yards from the fort. Until this time, they had no defences outside of the fort, other than such as was afforded by the fallen timber. Hence, had we attacked them Saturday, as we should have done, their capture would have been a matter of perfect ease. As it was, a conflict resulted, which, although short, was decisive and bloody. Gen. STEELE's division suffered severely, especially the Twenty-fifth, Twenty-sixth and Thirty-fourth Iowa Regiments. Col. SMITH, of the Twenty-sixth, was shot through the leg; his Adjutant was killed, and several other commissioned officers killed and wounded. Col. DAVE STUART's regiment, the Fifty-fifth Illinois, was in the thickest of the fight, lost heavily, and covered itself with credit. About 2,000 rebels escaped. The balance, sick, wounded and hearty, amounting to 6,307, were taken. In addition to these, there were 134 rebels killed, and 40 marines, belonging to the Ponchartrain, taken prisoners. The prisoners were, without exception, well clothed, and supplied with improved arms and ammunition in abundance. Among the officers taken, was Major GAINES, Chief of Artillery. He is a nephew of Gen. GAINES, and of the Mrs. GAINES whose lawsuit has so long been before the public. Gen. CHURCHILL is a native Kentuckian, but a resident of Arkansas. He has been in the war since its beginning, and was present at Wilson's Creek, Pea Ridge, Corinth, and several other battles. After reducing Arkansas Post, and placing its earthworks upon a level with the ground, the expedition returned to the Mississippi, and joined GRANT's Army on its downward progress. The next move promises to be one of importance. The retaliatory order of JEFFERSON DAVIS, whereby no more prisoners are to be paroled, is too bad. Before he was so unkind, war to many of our officers was not entirely bereft of ameliorating circumstances. For instance, a Colonel with his regiment was placed at some point on a railroad. The Colonel cultivates the acquaintance of the native ladies, plays poker nights with brother officers, and keeps a couple of orderlies whose main business is to keep his tumbler full of toddy. Some morning, just as the Colonel has turned in, a few hundred of FORREST's or MORGAN's gorillas make a sweep on the place, and in five minutes thereafter they have paroled the whole command, stolen all the boats and whisky in the place, and disappear. The Colonel and his gallant fellows then go home, stay six months, do nothing, draw their regular pay from Uncle Sam, and have a capital time generally. Under the old regime, it was just about as certain that a post would be captured and its garrisoned paroled, as it is that day follows night or a Jew-clothing dealer the Army. But now, when capture doesn't mean going home for six months and being lionized in some country village drawing large pay therefor, there won't be so many of these "surprises" and "surrenders" as have latterly occurred. JEFFERSON DAVIS is entitled to our thanks; and would be still more so, if he would issue his proclamation declaring that he would slightly hang all the men who hereafter may fall in his power. The Grand Mississippi Expedition is slowly gathering headway, and in the course of a fortnight will probably be heard from. All the divisions, save MCPHERSON's, have left Memphis and are on their way down the river. The balance will leave in some four or five days.

GALWAY. THE BATTLE AT ARKANSAS POST;

Details of the McClernand-Porter Expedition.

The Acuteness of Our Leaders and Invincibility of Our Arms. Value of the Cotton Region Secured. AN INTERCEPTED REBEL ACCOUNT.

CAIRO, Wednesday, Jan. 21, 1863.

I have not the slightest idea in the world why I have written these things, for certainly they have no bearing whatever upon the subject of my present letter. I was intending to commence this letter with a different train of thought -- viz., that the descent of matters in Cairo from bad to worse was interrupted, or rather mitigated, to-day, by the arrival of several boat-loads of prisoners from Arkansas Post. This being the legitimate intention of my present letter, I will confine myself to that, instead of philosophizing upon matters in Cairo. TROLLOPE has done Cairo slight justice, for which I thank him -- especially its hotels and barber-shops.

Reporters, snugly living within the palatial St. Charles Hotel, have long ere this given your enterprising cotemporaries full details of the besiegement and taking of Arkansas Post. With less imagination, I can only write you a few outside facts, which may, possibly, serve to add lustre to one of the finest achievements of the war. It is no small achievement, either; for while we have shown the courage, of our men, the acuteness of our leaders, and the invincibility of our arms, we have also "Opened up" one of the finest cotton-growing regions of the "sunny South." While we have subdued a certain portion of rebeldom, we have likewise made it practicable for constituent patriots to remunerate themselves for the expense and trouble of this unhappy war by buying cotton at twenty-five cents per pound, and -- giving it away for fifty-eight.

Three boats came in to-day -- the Sam Gaty, Nebraska and John J. Roe -- having with them fourteen hundred and fifteen rebel prisoners. Among them was Gen. CHURCHILL, and along with him were several gentlemen, mainly distinguishable from the ramifications of gold lace on their sleeves, and the enormous quantity of the same golden ornamentation upon their cape. Gen. CHURCHILL was lately in command of Arkansas Post. His gold-mounted satellites not long since revolved about him. secure in the single fact that they, individually, were Chivalry, and could whip any number of Yankees, from three to fifteen.

I held a long conversation with these gentlemen and learned many incidents of the battle. I learned, for instance, that we had 50,000 men and they only two thousand -- that they mowed our men down by thousands, while we only killed some half dozen of theirs -- that they never surrendered, never would have surrendered, and had repulsed with fearful slaughter, eight different charges made by our men, and would finally have driven us from the field had, not some cowardly miscreant run up a white flag.

It is but fair that the rebels be allowed to give their version of the fight, and hence I inclose an account which was originally intended for the Richmond Enquirer, but which was finally handed over to me, upon the assurance that it should be promptly forwarded for publication.

YANKEE STEAMER NEBRASKA, OFF THE POST OF ARKANSAS, Wednesday, Jan. 14, 1863.

Editors Richmond Enquirer:

MESSRS. EDITORS: The most remarkable battle of the war has just been fought at this place. It is the first time in the history of the war that three thousand men have resolved to make a stand against fifty thousand infantry, with an immense quantity of artillery and cavalry, together with a cooperating fleet of gunboats, carrying one hundred guns; and it is the first time, too, in the history of the war, that a land force has unflinchingly withstood a terrible gunboat fire for two days, lying motionless in the trenches, and receiving, at a distance of only two or three hundred yards, every shell, without being able to return a shot.

This stand was made not because we expected to be enabled, unassisted, to hold our position, but because we were hourly expecting reinforcements, and because Lieut.-Gen. HOLMES had telegraphed Brig.-Gen. CHURCHILL, commanding, to hold the position until all should be dead. We have fought the whole Vicksburgh expedition, and we are now all prisoners of war; but not willingly, nor of our consent: we have been betrayed into the hands of our enemy. Our gallant Gen. CHURCHILL had determined to fight, and to fight to the last, and each man had made a solemn pledge to the General and to each other, never to surrender, but to hold the fort until all, all!! should die. Every man knew that to conquer was impossible, but to die fighting for his country's honor was a glorious privilege. Oh' it was a sublime spectacle to behold, our Commander as he rode along that little line of devoted heroes, the Spartan glory that was reflected from face to face: each and every man seemed to feel that it was indeed sweet to die for his country. There they stood, cheerfully awaiting the hour they should be called upon to yield their lives a willing sacrifice upon the altar of their country. Oh! shall I ever forget the day when I rode down the lines and looked upon those faces! The enemy stood in their front in line of battle, fifty thousand strong; one hundred guns were approaching them by water on the right; a large body of cavalry already encircled them in the rear. But there they stood like martyrs, glorying in the prospect of proving their devotion to their principles by yielding up their lives in maintaining them. Before that hour I never knew what patriotism was. How dearly! how devotedly! I loved my country. I felt that each man before me was dearer than a brother, and to embrace him would be a blessing.

The thunders on the right announced that the struggle had commenced. I stood and watched it with eager interest. Boat after boat approached our little fort of three guns, and hurled upon it their angry bolts of metallic fury. But thunders answered thunders, and slowly and solemnly the little fort, with its three guns, poured out its vials of wrath upon the cowardly foe clad in steel. But it was of no avail. I saw gun after gun melt away until none were left. Their boats passed us, but the fort was not surrendered; for the 50,000 had now advanced upon our whole line in front, and the small artillery from the fort and all along our line were giving them the strength of Southern principles. Eight times they advanced upon us; as often they were repulsed, running and yelling like cowardly curs.

The battle rages furiously. All our guns are shattered, and every horse is killed. But that devoted band heeds it not, for they were there to die. Their heroic General had told them in the morning: "Boys, let us whip them, or let us all die in the trenches." And they had answered it with three long, loud cheers, and "General, in the trenches we will die."

The struggle is renewed; the thunders of a dozen batteries open on us in front, on the right, on the left and in the rear. Still that little band stands unmoved, alike by the thunders of artillery as well as by the crashing of musketry. A shout is heard. CHURCHILL, who holds a charmed life amid a shower of bullets and shattering shell, raises his hat and shouts: "Boys, we are driving them;" and dashing forward, exclaims, "Come on"' and on we dashed. But alas! my God, shall I ever forget it? A bundled flags of the hated despot were seen unfurled and floating upon the ramparts of our sacred fort, amid the exultant shouts of a cowardly foe. Oh! can the terrible vision be ever banished from my mind? My heart sank within me.

To surrender to that flag? No! Never! Never!! We could not do it; and we did not do it. Some base traitor had denied our gallant leader the realization of his fondly-cherished hope; and when he had but begun to prove how faithful he was to his promise to yield his and our lives rather than give up the fort, this craven wretch raised that symbol of cowardice -- the white flag -- exclaiming, at the same time, "Gen. CHURCHILL says raise the white flag." The enemy saw it, and, being near the lines, (before it could be arrested.) rushes into our fort. Treachery had done its work; and the gallant CHURCHILL, who was so lately robbed of his most coveted privileges, beheld it like a broken-hearted hero, yet sublime in his mien, and appearing like some superior being amidst the multitude around him.

We are now on our way to Yankeedom, but we are not conquered. R.H.F.

One can scarcely read the above "glowing" account without being deeply moved. It is a Southern utterance, more full of sound and fury than an old Dithyramb -- a new version of the old song of the chivalry, entitled. "Dying in the last Ditch." Gen. CHURCHILL assured me that, under instructions from Gen. HOLMES, he had issued orders to never surrender, and to fight till the last man fell dead in the trenches. Sublime determination, and worthy of the "Southern" heart! But somehow our chivalrous friends, although absolutely and irrevocably determined never to yield, but to fight so long as there remains a single Southern arm to wield a blade, frequently do surrender long before the genius of destruction has fastened its fangs upon the heart of the last man in the last ditch. There is something wet and cold and unpleasant about death. The last man in the last ditch looks heroic, it sounds well and fires the Southern heart to talk about it. but when the individual is sought for to take his everlasting slumber in this damp resting-place, he is not forthcoming. On paper they are all willing to be the last man, but in practice they decidedly give the preference to life, salt pork and Yankee prisons.

The rebel officers say that the storm hurled against the fort by the gunboats was terrific beyond all conception. The shot went through and through the armored casemates, and within two hours had torn the works in pieces, and dismounted every gun in the fort. There were four guns in the fort -- two 100-pounders and two rifled 68s. The balance of their artillery consisted of a 20-pound and 10-pound Parrott, and a flying battery of 6 and 12-pound brass pieces. A shot from a gunboat struck one of the large guns, and broke off about three feet of its length from the muzzle; another struck the carriage of another, and reduced it to kindling wood. The officers' quarters within the fort were as completely demolished as if they had been torn down by design, and their shattered timbers distributed at random over the entire surface within the fort.

The total result, in short, was, that in two hours the gunboats reduced the fort, its defences and everything within it to a perfect ruin. The Post, which was garrisoned by three brigages of Texan troops, was consequently taken by surprise upon the arrival of the National forces, and had due diligence been used the place could have been taken with scarcely the loss of a man. Saturday Gen. STEELE's Division was disembarked below the fort, and in obedience to very proper orders, made a detour to the north of the works, with a view of getting above them and cutting off their escape up the river. The division floundered through the swamp until nearly night and had almost reached the position, when it was ordered back to the landing below the works.

During the night of Saturday, the rebels labored hard, and by morning had constructed a semicircle of rifle-pits, some five hundred yards from the fort. Until this time, they had no defences outside of the fort, other than such as was afforded by the fallen timber. Hence, had we attacked them Saturday, as we should have done, their capture would have been a matter of perfect ease.

As it was, a conflict resulted, which, although short, was decisive and bloody. Gen. STEELE's division suffered severely, especially the Twenty-fifth, Twenty-sixth and Thirty-fourth Iowa Regiments. Col. SMITH, of the Twenty-sixth, was shot through the leg; his Adjutant was killed, and several other commissioned officers killed and wounded. Col. DAVE STUART's regiment, the Fifty-fifth Illinois, was in the thickest of the fight, lost heavily, and covered itself with credit.

About 2,000 rebels escaped. The balance, sick, wounded and hearty, amounting to 6,307, were taken. In addition to these, there were 134 rebels killed, and 40 marines, belonging to the Ponchartrain, taken prisoners. The prisoners were, without exception, well clothed, and supplied with improved arms and ammunition in abundance.

Among the officers taken, was Major GAINES, Chief of Artillery. He is a nephew of Gen. GAINES, and of the Mrs. GAINES whose lawsuit has so long been before the public. Gen. CHURCHILL is a native Kentuckian, but a resident of Arkansas. He has been in the war since its beginning, and was present at Wilson's Creek, Pea Ridge, Corinth, and several other battles.

After reducing Arkansas Post, and placing its earthworks upon a level with the ground, the expedition returned to the Mississippi, and joined GRANT's Army on its downward progress. The next move promises to be one of importance.

The retaliatory order of JEFFERSON DAVIS, whereby no more prisoners are to be paroled, is too bad. Before he was so unkind, war to many of our officers was not entirely bereft of ameliorating circumstances. For instance, a Colonel with his regiment was placed at some point on a railroad. The Colonel cultivates the acquaintance of the native ladies, plays poker nights with brother officers, and keeps a couple of orderlies whose main business is to keep his tumbler full of toddy. Some morning, just as the Colonel has turned in, a few hundred of FORREST's or MORGAN's gorillas make a sweep on the place, and in five minutes thereafter they have paroled the whole command, stolen all the boats and whisky in the place, and disappear. The Colonel and his gallant fellows then go home, stay six months, do nothing, draw their regular pay from Uncle Sam, and have a capital time generally.

Under the old regime, it was just about as certain that a post would be captured and its garrisoned paroled, as it is that day follows night or a Jew-clothing dealer the Army. But now, when capture doesn't mean going home for six months and being lionized in some country village drawing large pay therefor, there won't be so many of these "surprises" and "surrenders" as have latterly occurred. JEFFERSON DAVIS is entitled to our thanks; and would be still more so, if he would issue his proclamation declaring that he would slightly hang all the men who hereafter may fall in his power.

The Grand Mississippi Expedition is slowly gathering headway, and in the course of a fortnight will probably be heard from. All the divisions, save MCPHERSON's, have left Memphis and are on their way down the river. The balance will leave in some four or five days.

Civil War Track

Battle of Arkansas Post

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