Note 7 — Chapter X · THE SIEGE OF KNOXVILLE.

The following account of this assault is taken from a history of the Sixtieth Alabama Regiment, published at Montgomery, Ala., in 1867:—

"At about three or four o'clock in the morning the regiment was gotten under arms. The atmosphere was damp and penetratingly cold; the men were thinly clad, and numbers of them barefoot. Their sufferings while standing under arms, clasping with numbed hands the cold barrels of their muskets, can be appreciated by those alone who have experienced similar hardships. But, despite of cold, hunger, nakedness, and approaching peril, the brave fellows were full of spirit, and stout hearts beat hopefully beneath each ragged gray jacket. General Gracie, while riding through his brigade on the day before, had pointed significantly towards Knoxville, and remarked, 'There are shoes over there, boys,' and visions of comfortable brogans were floating through the minds of those barefoot Confederates.

"There was no noise, save the low hum of subdued voices, the rumbling of moving artillery, and the steady tramp of different bodies of troops advancing to their allotted positions. The night was dark; but the enemy, anticipating our movement, filled the heavens with streams of artificial light, which threw the shadow of our columns far to the rear, and was reflected back by many an unsheathed sword and burnished barrel.

"At length, the ominous silence was broken by the discharge of a single piece of artillery from the brow of a hill to our right. Artillery had been planted on each of the hill-tops in the vicinity,—some being occupied by the enemy, and some by ourselves,—and now, in a few moments after the discharge of this pioneer piece, a brisk fire was opened from them all. Thunder peals burst forth and answered each other in quick succession; and, like destroying angels, the huge missiles flew through the dense atmosphere with an unearthly shrieking. Under the exhilaration of this stirring martial serenade, and the animating words of the colonel of the regiment (who seemed everywhere present), the line was put in motion, and, encountering a creek, plunged through, regardless of the cold.

"After ascending a hill, and advancing a few hundred yards in the open field beyond, the command was suddenly ordered to fall back, and accordingly faced about and moved in retreat to the brow of the hill just passed, where it occupied a line of rifle-pits located at that point. This retrograde movement, suggestive of ill, and at first inexplicable, was soon accounted for in a manner that filled every heart with sorrow, and shrouded every countenance in gloom. We had been in the rifle-pits but a short time when day began to dawn. The firing ceased for the most part; only a stray shell now and then ricocheted through our line, or burst above our heads. While thus waiting in the rifle-pits, expecting, with much solicitude, the denouement, a solitary litter was seen advancing toward us over the field in our front; then another and another, and anon a sad procession was silently threading its way to the rear. No words were required to convey the sad tidings. The blood dripping from the litters, and the occasional groans of their mangled occupants, who had led in the charge, as they passed through our line on their way to the rear, apprised us, more unmistakably than language could have done, of the woful fact of the morning's disaster. The charge, though gallant, was unsuccessful, and five hundred noble Mississippians lay dead or dying in the moat that surrounded the fort upon which the attack had been made. A truce had been early secured, and all day long the sad procession moved on, silently and mournfully, in the discharge of its duty.

"Among the many inexpressibly sad days of our military career, no member of the regiment will, I am sure, fail to recognize this, the 29th day of November, 1863, as one of the most sad. All through that dismal day the words were ever recurring—'These are they who have passed through great tribulation.'"—pp. 24-27.