Coddington masterfully uses archival portraits and personal accounts to transform the abstract chaos of Chickamauga into a visceral, human experience. This research-driven approach provides a rare and intimate perspective that standard military histories often overlook.
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Chickamauga: “The Earth Trembled with the Rattle and Crash of Battle.”追加:
Hey all, Ron here from Military Images Magazine with a new episode of Life on the Civil War Research Trail.
There's no safe place on a battlefield, and the 11th Ohio Infantry knew this as well as any fighting regiment during the war. The Buckeyes saw serious fighting during its three plus years in uniform.
from the Western Virginia campaign during the war's first summer through the surrender of Joe Johnston's Confederate army in the Tar Hill State in 1865.
The list of battles, well, it reads like a history book. Scary Creek, Second Bull Run, South Mountain, Antidum, The Taloma Campaign, Chikamaga, Chattanooga, Missionary Ridge, Buzzards Roost Gap, Raca, Kennesaw Mountain, Peach Tree Creek, Atlanta, Jonesboro, Lovejoy Station, The March to the Sea, the Carolina's Campaign, Bentonville.
The chaplain who served the spiritual needs of the Buckeyes through most of that time. Well, he's pictured here.
William Wallace Lyle, a Scottishborn immigrant. His life dates 1826 to 1893.
He came to America in 1848 as a congregationalist church missionary [snorts] preaching in New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio.
About a year after he mustered out of the regiment in 1865, Lyall's book about his experiences was published just a year after he left the regiment. It's titled Lights and Shadows of Army Life or Pen Pictures from the Battlefield, The Camp, and the Hospital.
It's among the earliest wartime memoirs that I found. I want to share a portion of his description of Chikamaga.
We pick up with the good chaplain riding with the regimental surgeon John McCertie as you'll hear in an unsafe place on a battlefield.
Lyall writes, "While following the regiment in company with the surgeons, a rebel sharpshooter concealed in the trees sent a ball whizzing among us.
Whether aimed at Dr. McCertie or myself, I do not know, but it passed uncomfortably close to my head. An inch or two more or less, and these lights and shadows would not have troubled anyone.
It is said that a miss is as good as a mile. It may be so, but if a mini ball misses one's head just by about an inch, the sensation produced is not quite as comfortable as if it was a mile further off. At this juncture, an entire change took place in the relative position of the several regiments. The 11th made a sudden movement to the left and took position in the woods. It moved again to the right to relieve a regiment whose ammunition was exhausted. And we got so bewildered with the rapid changes going on that we found it impossible to find or even to follow.
taking another direction toward where the firing was heaviest. We were soon made aware of the fact that the rear is not always the place of safety. To say that the bullets whistled around us like hail might seem extravagant, but I can compare it to nothing else. The incessant roll and rattle and crash were fearful. The peculiar hum, whiz, and shriek of rifle balls, which give one the idea of [snorts] fiery arrows cutting the air, grew louder and louder, while the chipping of leaves and twigs told better than words can do, of the thickly flying missiles of death. My horse gave a plunge and a snort, poetic enough in a painting perhaps, but very startling and practical just then.
Whether a spent ball or a piece of gravel thrown up by the shot struck him or not, I do not know, but he gave a jump as if he would fly from under me, and but for a military bit, would doubtless have become unmanageable.
Hither too he had stood fire well, did not seem to pay much attention to the artillery or the musketry, but at this moment he became almost wild. It was little wonder. There was a strange surging to and fro of the combatants, while the rattle of musketry and the explosions of artillery made the very earth tremble.
But with the noise of the battle in front and the noise of Russian troops coming up behind, it was enough to bewilder and try the nerves of either man or horse.
In a few minutes, there was that advancing wavy sound that tells of movements the wrong way. Our troops were being driven. The surgeons became somewhat bewildered and rode almost at right angles to the line of fire and toward the point of greatest danger.
Giving one glance at what seemed the only outlet, I gave my horse an unusually vigorous touch with the spur by way of bringing him to his senses, and holding a tight rain, dashed out on the open field. There was a deep ditch and a rail fence right ahead. Could my noble gray leap both? Leap he must, or break his own neck and mine, too, perhaps. He nerved himself for the leap, cleared the ditch handsomely. A few more steps, and he bounded over the fence like a deer. Then came the trying moment. The enemy had partially broken our lines and came tearing down like demons, sweeping the open field with grape and canister. And as I rode through it, it was plowed up by the shot which as it fell threw up clouds of dust. By the protecting care of a merciful God, we passed through the fiery ordeal unscathed.
But nothing else than his almighty arm saved us. Some of our men who saw the whole affair expressed their wonder at the escape and made free to insinuate by way of friendly advice that the chaplain had better keep out of the mess.
The whole thing seemed to occupy but a moment so rapid were the changes but it was a critical moment. The balance seemed poised. Our lines had been partially broken by the massing of the enemy's troops, and they were following up their advantage by a deadly and destructive fire. But regiment after regiment of our brave boys rushed forward with loud cheers and streaming banners toward the breach, and in a short time sent the foe reeling back. As I write these lines, I can hardly imagine the fact mentioned to have been anything like a living reality, an actual occurrence, but rather some wild dream, the remembrance of which still haunts me.
So there you have the reminiscences by William Wallace Lyle, the chaplain of the 11th Ohio Infantry at the Battle of Chikamaga. Lyall undoubtedly did not find himself in such a tight precarious place on a battlefield being a chaplain, a man of the cloth who attended to the spiritual needs of the boys in blue. But here he was on that day of Chikamaga getting caught up and also his horse managing to save the day, his gray as he called him. saved the day by leaps and bounds getting out of harm's way. Both getting himself and the rider Chaplain Lyle out of hard harm's way. So, thanks for listening. We'll see you on the next episode of Life on the Civil War Research Draft.
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