Address of Captain Hezekiah Shook at the Second annual reunion of the
37th Regiment, Indiana Volunteer Infantry September 19, 1878
Comrades, Soldiers, and Friends,
Since we of
the 37th Indiana were mustered into the service our country, 17
years have passed and today a few of that grand old regiment have met to greet
each other, to talk of our trials, the dangers and privations to which we were
subject during the long and eventful years of the Rebellion.
The tocsin
of war had sounded and reverberated from every hilltop and every valley
throughout this broad land of ours. The flag of our country had been fired upon
at Fort Sumter,
by internal foes, and already the disgraceful battle of Bull Run
had been fought and lost to the Union hosts. For five months, our armies had
been in the field, battling for the overthrow of the Rebellion. Contrary to the
expectations of many patriots in the North, the Rebellion grew stronger and
stronger until it seriously threatened the overthrow of the Constitution and
Government, and the destruction of the liberties achieved by the heroes of the
Revolution, and handed down by our fathers to us, to be transmitted untarnished
to our children. The Republic seemed to totter upon her foundation. The
approaching storm rolled on. The clouds became darker and thicker until the
Tree of Liberty, under which we had sheltered, began to bend before the
dreadful tornado. The clans of secession throughout the entire South were
mustering to destroy the life of the Nation. The patriots of the North, determined
that the nation should live, were rallying around the stars and stripes, the
emblem of liberty, the hope of the lovers of freedom throughout the world.
Under these
circumstances, the 37th Indiana
were mustered into the service of the country at Lawrenceburgh, on the 18th
day of September 1861. George W. Hazard, Captain in the regular army, was
commissioned Colonel.
It cannot
be expected upon this occasion, nor would it be proper at this time to weary
your patience by entering into a minute description of the workings of the
regiment through those three long and weary years of its existence. Its
marches, its battles, its privations, and its difficulties are no doubt fresh,
and will ever remain engraven deep upon the tablets of your memories. We must,
necessarily, pass hurriedly over its history.
On the 21st
day of October 1861, the regiment with 980 men, true as steel and equal to the
best that ever drew a weapon in defense of a country, with high hopes, left the
city of Lawrenceburgh for Salt
River in the Land of Dixie.
We arrived at our destination on the 23rd. As we ascended the banks
of the Ohio, and planted our
banner upon Kentucky soil, a loud
an enthusiastic shout from the 37th shook the hills around. The
thought of the smell of powder, the booming of cannon, the thundering of
musketry, and the clashing of bayonets rendered jubilant the sons of Indiana.
As one by one our gallant boys stepped upon Kentucky
soil, I asked myself: “How many of these braves will be permitted to return to
home and friends?”
After many
drills, much sickness, and numerous deaths, fatigue and camp duty, the many
privations of a soldier’s life, long, tiresome, and eventful marches, we pass
successively Camp Holman; Elizabethtown, Camp Nolin, Bacon Creek, with its mud,
its sickness, and its many deaths; Green River and from thence the two days’
march of 42 miles through rain and snow and the coldest day of that winter,
over the rocky pathways almost impassable, crossing Barren River in a small
ferry, driving the enemy from the town, we entered Bowling Green at break of
day, February 15, 1862. How disagreeable, how fatiguing, how chilling, and
terrible was that cold, cold night of the 14th of February. Here we
performed the usual duties of the soldier until the 23rd, when we
started on the march southward. Passing Franklin,
we arrived at Nashville on the 27th,
the enemy retiring before us. We went into camp, and in honor of Old Hickory,
named it Camp Andrew Jackson. Here we bid farewell to Colonel Hazzard. He was
sent back to the command of the 4th U.S. Artillery. Afterward, he
was wounded in the battles before Richmond,
from which he died. Thus perished a brave man, a well disciplined officer.
Colonel Gazlay was our next commander. March 18th we again struck
tents.
You remember
well, I have no doubt, the fatiguing marches as we passed in succession,
Murfreesboro, Shelbyville, and Fayetteville; wading streams and plunging
through mud holes, we tapped the enemy’s communication at Huntsville, Alabama
April 10th, capturing 17 railroad locomotives, many cars, and 200
prisoners.
April 15th,
we left Huntsville upon the raid
along the Tennessee River to Decatur and Tuscumbia,
returning to Huntsville on the 29th.
May 1st we were at the sacking of Athens.
May 9th we took in Elkton and returned to Athens,
marching during the day and night 42 miles, the farthest march the regiment
made in one day during its organization. This same day, May 9th, we
had to lament the capture of Company E. Of that gallant company, four men were
killed and 12 wounded ere it surrendered to 680 Confederate cavalry.
May 26th
we are again on the march to Fayetteville, Tennessee,
where we arrived on the 27th. On the 30th we, with
Turchin’s and Negley’s brigades, commenced that memorable march to Chattanooga
and thence Stevenson. It is not necessary for me to mention the long and
fatiguing marches, under the scorching sun of June; the nerve and energy you
displayed in aiding the artillery and heavy wagons over those steep mountain
passes. You remember it all.
From our
arrival at Stevenson June 15th until our return to Nashville
September 6th, our time was occupied in guarding the railroad;
perhaps the most pleasant of the many duties as soldiers were called upon to
perform. In and around Nashville,
with our communications cut off by Bragg’s famous raid into Kentucky,
we remained until December 26th. Our time was occupied with heavy
guard duty and many foraging expeditions.
The army
during this time was reorganized and placed under the command of Old Rosey. The
Army of the Cumberland was composed
of three corps, commanded respectively by Generals Thomas, McCook, and
Crittenden. A noble army was this. A better never trod the earth. From the
period of enlistment up to this date, the time of the regiment was occupied with
drill, guard duty, long and fatiguing marches after a retiring army, with an
occasional skirmish at long range. But now a change. Real soldiering begins.
Gunpowder must be burned. With great anxiety, we started on the morning of the
26th of December in search of the enemy. Advancing towards Murfreesboro,
we soon begin to hear the artillery and musketry as our troops were advancing,
driving the enemy back. Through the rain and mud we plodded along through the
forest, and camped for the night at Nolensville.
December 27th
we are again on the move across the country, driving the Confederates before
us. On the 29th, the 28th being a Sunday, the forward
march was again sounded and we carefully felt our way, driving Bragg’s men
slowly but surely towards Murfreesboro.
We went into camp about three miles from the town. It was a dark, rainy night.
The camp fires of McCook on the right, and Crittenden on the left, with the
Confederates completely in front, completely illuminated the heavens. December
30th was passed in selecting our places of battle and in skirmishing
with the enemy. The roaring of artillery could be heard all day long. Our
regiment held position about one mile to the right of Murfreesboro Pike;
Crittenden’s extended from the left of Thomas across the Pike, and on to
Stone’s River; whilst McCook’s corps extended across the country from our
right. In these positions, we remained during the night. You remember our
location. The field to our left and front, the sparse woods oblique to our
right, the woods beyond the field in front, the silent battery of the enemy
oblique to our left.
At the
first dawn of morning on the 31st the regiment was astir, preparing
for the conflict that was evidently upon us. Everyone seemed anxious to measure
arms with the enemy. We all felt that a fearful and bloody battle was at hand.
Our thoughts are upon victory, our homes, our wives and little ones, our
friends, and upon generations yet unborn. Our banner waves in sublimity over
our heads; majestically she flaps herself in the breeze. That flag which has
been our pride since infancy. That flag which was honored and respected all
over the world. That flag which had floated in every port. That flag which made
kings and tyrants tremble upon their thrones. That flag which had been a shield
and protection to every American, in every country. That same old flag is ours.
The stars and stripes are still there. Around her still cluster the many
associations of her past glory; her present power and future hopes.
It is early
morn. The sun is beginning to cast her light over the world, but ere she began
to tip the distant tree tops with golden hue, our ears are greeted with the
long hoarse roaring of the artillery, and the sharp crack of musketry, as they
belched forth their deadly contents and speed them on their way of destruction
and carnage. Volley after volley in quick succession pours forth into our ranks
upon our right, and replied to with promptness by the Union troops. A dreadful
contest, a mighty struggle we see at a glance has burst upon us in all its fury
and ugliness. The extreme right of McCook’s line is attacked and surprised.
From right to left, the bloody wave rolls on. With overwhelming numbers the
enemy bears upon those troops and press them back. As we cast our eyes to the
right, we can see our boys struggling, but retiring. The entire force of
General McCook becomes engaged. Volley answers volley. Our cannon play upon the
enemy; but still the advancing column comes. The enemy, several lines deep, are
driving our entire right slowly back. Closer and closer the Confederates come.
It is 9 o’clock and a few balls from the enemy’s
muskets begin to whistle around. Steady and firmly we remain, waiting to play
our part in the great and bloody drama already begun. About 10 o’clock, being
formerly thrown out upon the field in front, we were ordered to advance up over
the eminence to our right, now become our front, and if possible gain the woods
a few rods distant, and through which the enemy, several lines deep, was
advancing, and already within 80 yards of the position which it was intended
for us to occupy. Gallantly did our men advance amidst the leaden shot. Our
line wavered, reeled, but steadied again. The enemy’s front line melted away
before our fire, fell back, but rallied once more to the conflict. Terrible was
the contest. Hard, indeed, was the struggle. Thick and fast flew the missiles
of death. Gallantly did the regiment hold the line. Many brave boys fell
wounded, dying, dead. The entire 60 rounds of ammunition being expended, and no
more to be had, the regiment, covered with honor, was ordered to fall back
which we did in good order. As we retired, Colonel Hull, commanding the
regiment, was severely wounded. The enemy slowly followed but was finally
checked. We moved back to the Pike and again took position, where we remained
during the night. Hard, hard, indeed was the conflict. Many, yea, many of our
brave boys fell fighting for their flag, the unity of the nation, the
Constitution of our country, the perpetuity of the Union, the liberties of the
people. Among the killed was Lt. Abernathy, true, patriotic, and brave; also,
Lt. Holman of my own company, who fell close by my side. Known from boyhood up,
a former associate and tried friend, generous and a general favorite, a brave
and gallant soldier, he fell at his post with his face to the foe, battling for
his country. Twenty-three non-commissioned officers and privates of the
regiment offered up their lives that day upon the altar of our country. Brave
boys were they. A noble sacrifice. Some yet rest were they were buried by their
comrades, upon the shores of Stone’s River. One hundred and six of the regiment
were wounded on that day. Some died from those wounds, others remained crippled
for life.
We
skirmished and fought with the enemy on the 2nd and 3rd
of January 1863 until finally victory perched herself upon our banners, and we
marched into Murfreesboro as Bragg
fell back, “away, away down South in Dixie.” We remained
here until June 24th, when we again struck tents and southward took
our way.
You
remember well the campaign against Tullahoma;
the march through mud and rain; or skirmishes with the enemy. Fill the space
and we will pass on to Decherd and remain there until August 16th.
At this date, we move onward towards Chattanooga,
destination unknown to us. Cowan Station was passed, the Cumberland
Mountains ascended, and we pursued our weary way down Crow
Creek Valley.
The night of August 17th you remember well. The camp on the hill
side; the night O how dark! The charge of the cow brigade upon our camp, the
stampede of the men; their yells and exclamations, the upsetting of the stacks
of guns, the broken toes and general demoralization of the command; caused by a
few old cows becoming frightened and running pell-mell down the mountainside
through the camp. This was the greatest farce and the most complete failure in
repelling an attack of any in which we were engaged in the war. We passed on
down the valley and through Stevenson September 1st, crossing the Tennessee
River on the same day. Onward we move over the rough country
beyond the river; ascending Lookout Mountain; skirmishing with Confederate
cavalry, driving them before us until the 9th of September when we
passed down the mountain into McLemore’s Cove, about 25 miles from Chattanooga.
One the 10th, we advanced across the valley about three miles, had a
lively skirmish with the enemy upon both sides and in the gap in the mountain,
remaining here during the night. At the approach of day, the Confederates appearing
in force, we fell back to Lookout, fighting the enemy to save our train;
reaching position after night. Here we awaited the arrival of more troops.
September 17th, our troops coming up, we moved on toward Chattanooga,
feeling our way, and skirmishing with the enemy.
September
18th was a continuation of the past day’s maneuvers, pressing on
toward the city. More skirmishing and considerable fighting along the line.
The 19th
day of September, 1863, 15 years ago today, was a fearful day to us, my comrades.
From the present, and from this lovely spot, look back into the past 15 long
years, look away down into the Chickamauga
Valley and gaze upon the scenes of
blood and destruction on that fearful day. Methinks I can see the Queen of
Liberty which hovered over our destiny so long, sitting upon Lookout’s most
lofty peak, to witness the terrible conflict between her loyal children and
those striving the banish her from the earth. She had been driven from the Old
World long ago. She had planted a colony, with her sons, in the
wilds of America.
She had witnessed the deeds, the noble deeds of her children during the stormy
days of the Revolution. She had built up this great and prosperous nation, and
was now present to witness this bloody contest; which perchance night decide
her destiny forever. The storm of battle bursts forth. Through that valley,
during the 19th and 20th, the two armies surged two and
fro, contending for victory. Against great odds, we fought. Disaster at times
seemed inevitable. At many places, Union and
Confederate, struggling, fell and mingled together their blood and dying
groans. Partly retiring and partly driven, from right to left, the Union troops
moved. At length the enemy struck General Thomas at Rossville, the very key to
our safety. Here after one of the severest conflicts of the war, the enemy was
checked and our army saved. How brave and heroic was our grand old commander
General Thomas. A general without a mistake, without a failure. He was the
greatest warrior of them all. See him stand with his brave men at Rossville
like an iron wall, against which the concentrated strength of Bragg’s army
dashed and were broken to pieces. His name should live forever in the hearts
and affections of his countrymen. We retired to Chattanooga.
The waters of the Chickamauga were
stained with blood, whilst the plains were crimsoned with human gore. From
Crawfish Springs to the very outskirts of the city was one vast burial ground,
and yet among the moaning pines and the thickets remained numbers of the dead,
bleaching for want of burial.
Whilst at Chattanooga,
you remember the various duties to which the regiment was assigned; picket
duty, and short rations whilst surrounded by the enemy and the booming of their
artillery from Lookout from day to day are fresh in your memory. From our camp
here we beheld Hooker in his battle above the clouds; in the struggle around
Lookout’s ragged top. You will never forget the storming of Mission Ridge, the
many prisoners and artillery captured there. From February 22nd-27th,
we skirmished with the enemy, driving him from Tunnel Hill toward Dalton,
fought him at Buzzard Roost and Rocky Face; returning we went into camp at
Greysville, Georgia. I will not detain you with the details of this campaign.
Suffice it to say, it was interesting, fatiguing, laughable, and dangerous.
May 7, 1864 the regiment under General
Sherman with his army of 100,000 men started on that memorable campaign against
Atlanta, skirmishing from beginning
to end. Tunnel Hill was captured on that day. We fought the enemy, commanded by
General Joe Johnston at Rocky Face, Dalton,
and Resaca, occupying the last named point May 15th.
May 16th,
we crossed the Oscanula River,
following and driving the Confederates through Calhoun and Kingston.
We wade the Etowah River
on the 23rd and fought the enemy at Dallas
on the 27th, our regiment loosing 13 killed and 45 wounded. We
contend with him at Big Shanty, Pine Mountain,
and Kennesaw. You remember the looks of the grand old mountain, around which
from top to base played the leaden hail and from which burst forth the roaring
of artillery, which seemed to shake the entire country for miles around. But
conquer we did, and the enemy retreated through Marietta
on toward Atlanta; from thence to
the Chattahoochee River
was one continual skirmish. At the river, you remember the desperate stand,
that terrible struggle. We crossed July 17th.
We left
Ringgold with only 300 effective men. Upon this date we lost 16 killed and 72
wounded. We expended in action 39,000 rounds of cartridges. We drove the enemy
from ten fortified positions. After the crossing of the river, fighting and
skirmishing continued. You remember the fighting on the 20th of
July; also the bloody conflict of the 22nd while closing around Atlanta
in which the gallant McPherson fell. General Hood was now in command of the
enemy. Again he assaulted our right on the 28th. A bitter struggle
ensued. The enemy was repulsed with tremendous losses. Closer and closer drew
our lines around the doomed city. The artillery from day to day made the plains
and hills around shake with their thundering. This continued with nothing
decisive until August 25th, when we with all the troops except the
20th Corps, General Slocum’s, cut loose and made one of Sherman’s
celebrated flank movements to the right. We cut the enemy’s last line of
communication. We tore up the railroad. We charge his lines at Jonesboro,
September 1st, breaking him to pieces and driving him south,
capturing many prisoners and munitions of war. Returning we arrive at Atlanta
September 8th.
It was four
months and one day from the time our army emerged from Ringgold until it
occupied the Gate City of Atlanta. During those long four months there was not
a day, scarcely one hour, but what we could hear the roaring of artillery, the
rattling of musketry, even the whistling of bullets around us. What a terrible,
bloody, fatiguing, and disastrous campaign this was comrades! Forget it? Never!
The non
veterans returned to Indianapolis,
where we were mustered out October
27, 1864.
I can not
at this time give any detailed account of those veterans of our regiment who
remained in the service after we were mustered out. Suffice it to say, they
were with Sherman on his celebrated
March to the Sea, through the Carolinas, and on to Washington,
back to Louisville, where they were
mustered out July 25, 1865.
The war is
over. Peace has been established. Not a slave darkens our land. We are all
freemen. The Constitution remains intact. Not a star has been erased from our
banner. This is a nation, not a confederacy. Let us protect and defend that
nation. Let us guide the ship of state carefully as she floats majestically
down the current of time, avoiding the rocks and quicksands upon which
foundered and split to pieces the republics of the Old World.
May the wounds inflicted by the terrible Rebellion through which we have passed
be all healed. May discord and civil war henceforth be a stranger to our
government. May civil and religious liberty ever be the great and fundamental
principles of the American people. May the tree of liberty ever extend her
shades to the downtrodden of all nations, who, fleeing from tyranny and
oppression, seek an asylum in our beloved and happy land. And may our country,
our country’s liberties, our country’s peace, our country’s unity, be protected
from on high, until time on earth shall end, and the nations be summoned before
the bar of God.
