A Cold Night at Stone’s River

Looking for Union wounded by torchlight in Winter weather.

Looking for Union wounded by torchlight in Winter weather.

I had been on a discussion board on LinkedIn in reference to Ambrose Bierce’s Civil War writings recently–a favorite topic of mine, since I just finished a book dealing specifically with his war career. In passing I mentioned that both of the Civil War anthologies currently in print omitted at least one Civil War tale of his–A Cold Night. It’s a short piece and, typical of Bierce, one is hard put to tell whether it is fact or fiction. It is certainly bizarre, but the circumstances he describes–the night after the first day’s battle–are certainly accurate. In this piece, Bierce leaves us to speculate on whether a man can take a bullet through the brain and survive or whether the dead can feel the cold–either proposition defying our notions of reality.

It was originally published as a newspaper article, then subsequently amalgamated with several other offbeat tales and anthologized as “bodies of the dead.” Because it first appeared in book form with non-Civil War stories, later editors of his tales overlooked it. So, for those of you Civil War buffs with a taste for the bizarre, I republish it here:

A Cold Night
by Ambrose Bierce
THE first day’s battle at Stone River had been fought, resulting in disaster to the Federal army, which had been driven from its original ground at every point except its extreme left. The weary troops at this point lay behind a railway embankment to which they had retired, and which had served them during the last hours of the fight as a breastwork to repel repeated charges of the enemy. Behind the line the ground was open and rocky. Great boulders lay about everywhere, and among them lay many of the Federal dead, where they had been carried out of the way. Before the embankment the dead of both armies lay more thickly, but they had not been disturbed.
Among the dead in the boulders lay one whom nobody seemed to know — a Federal sergeant, shot directly in the center of the forehead. One of our surgeons, from idle curiosity, or possibly with a view to the amusement of a group of officers during a lull in the engagement (we needed something to divert our minds), had pushed his probe clean through the head. The body lay on its back, its chin in the air, and with straightened limbs, as rigid as steel; frost on its white face and in its beard and hair. Some Christian soul had covered it with a blanket, but when the night became pretty sharp, a companion of the writer removed this, and we lay beneath it ourselves.
With the exception of our pickets, who had been posted well out in front of the embankment, every man lay silent. Conversation was forbidden; to have made a fire, or even struck a match to light a pipe would have been a grave offense. Stamping horses, moaning wounded – everything that made a noise had been sent to the rear; the silence was absolute. Those whom the chill prevented from sleeping nevertheless reclined as they shivered, or sat with their hands on their arms, suffering but making no sign. Everyone had lost friends, and all expected death on the morrow. These matters are mentioned to show the improbability of anyone going about during those solemn hours to commit a ghastly practical joke.
When the dawn broke the sky was still clear. “We shall have a warm day,” the writer’s companion whispered as we rose in the gray light; “let’s give back the poor devil his blanket.”
The sergeant’s body lay in the same place, two yards away. But not in the same attitude. It was upon its right side. The knees were drawn up nearly to the breast, both hands thrust to the wrist between the buttons of the jacket, the collar of which was turned up, concealing the ears. The shoulders were elevated, the head was retracted, the chin rested on the collar bone
The posture was that of one suffering from intense cold. But for what had been previously observed — but for the ghastly evidence of the bullet-hole — one might have thought the man had died of cold.

For more strange and unexplained accounts of the Civil War, see Ghosts and Haunts of the Civil War, published by Rutledge Hill Press and still in print. My most recent work, The Paranormal Presidency, delves into the more esoteric aspects of Abraham Lincoln’s life and career.

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About Christopher Coleman

I am an author, lecturer, and sometime instructor. My interests span a variety of subjects, including Southern tales of the supernatural, American history and folklore, military history in general, as well as archaeology, anthropology, plus various and sundry things that go bump in the night. I currently have six books in print: Strange Tales of the Dark and Bloody Ground, Ghosts and Haunts of the Civil War, Dixie Spirits, Ghosts and Haunts of Tennessee and The Paranormal Presidency of Abraham Lincoln, a factual history of some more esoteric--and hitherto overlooked--aspects the sixteenth President. My book is Ambrose Bierce and the Period of Honorable Strife, published in hardcover by the University of Tennessee Press and chronicling the wartime experiences of young Ambrose Bierce, noted American author. Bierce has been called many things by many people, but idealist, hero and patriot are terms that should be added to the list after reading this book. I am currently at work on several projects, some dealing with the American experience but also several fiction and non-fiction works looking into the Age of Arthur.
This entry was posted in Abraham Lincoln, Ambrose Bierce, Battle of Stone's River, Christmas 1862, The American Civil War, The Army of Cumberland and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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