By

One evening in December, 1861, while the Twenty-fourth Ohio Volunteer Infantry [Regiment] was encamped near Bardstown, Kentucky, a number of enlisted men succeeded in passing the sentinels just before the countersign had been given. The men were armed and accoutered, and as discipline was not so exacting as it afterwards became, they were permitted to pass out of the line, the little squad appearing to be on duty.

Such, however, was not the case, for instead of being on a detail, the boys were after a supply of that recklessly inspiring distillation of orchard fruit known as “apple-jack,” which in its new condition is almost as hot to the throat as if one had swallowed a crematory, but mellowed by age, becomes an important ingredient of the seductive toddy, and is dignified by the name of “old apple-brandy.”

After reaching Bardstown, the boys skirmished about the place, filling their canteens and themselves with the fiery fluid, and then returned to camp.

In the meantime their absence had become known and the sentinels were admonished to be on the alert. It was after taps when the befuddled soldiers approached the sentry line and were met with the peremptory challenge: “Halt! Who goes there?”

To this they paid no attention, whereupon the sentinel fired a shot, more as a menace than anything else. A foolish fellow, drunker than his companions, answered with a discharge from his gun, and an alarm was sounded. The guard was turned out, the long roll sounded, and in a few moments the entire regiment was in line on the parade ground, ready to meet an attack of the enemy.

An investigation immediately disclosed the real state of affairs. The culprit who returned the sentinel’s shot was discovered in the person of a private named Burkhardt, who was summarily committed to the guard house, after which quiet was restored in camp.

Of course, such a flagrant violation of the articles of war was not to be permitted to pass unpunished. Charges and specifications were preferred against Burkhardt, and a court martial was soon after convened, of which Colonel Stanley Matthews, Fifty-ninth Ohio Volunteer Infantry, late Attorney General of the United States, and still later Associate Justice of the Supreme Court, was president. Burkhardt was tried and the court was dissolved, but before the proceedings could be reviewed and the sentence approved and promulgated, the command to which Burkhardt belonged was marched to Louisville, and there embarked on river boats to proceed to the support of Grant, who was operating against Fort Donelson. Before the troops from Kentucky reached there, the rebel stronghold had surrendered, and they continued their way up the Cumberland river to Nashville, Tennessee, which naturally fell after Donelson.

During these movements Burkhardt was kept under guard. While the findings of the court were unknown to the rank and file, it was generally believed that the severest sentence would be inflicted, and that was death. There was nothing of an extenuating character in his case, and it was not likely, therefore, that his punishment would be in any degree mitigated. His only hope was in escape, and in this (page 303)

His comrades offered their aid, but Burkhardt, believing that his punishment would not be so direful as that expected by his companions, refused all overtures, and in his blind belief cast aside this chance for life.

Several months had now passed since Burkhardt’s offense, and it did seem as if the affair had died of inanition, but as the unexpected so often happens, one evening late in February, 1862, general court martial orders were read to the command while on dress parade near Nashville, and the sentence of death was pronounced on Burkhardt. The findings of the court had been approved by Major General Don Carlos Buell, then in command of the Army of the Ohio, and from his decision there had been no appeal.

Although there was no unusual haste manifested in such matters, still there was no unnecessary delay, and when the day of execution arrived the prisoner was ready. It was a bright, sunny afternoon in the early part of March. Nelson’s division of three brigades, aggregating about twelve thousand effective troops, were ordered out to witness, for the first time in their lives, a military execution.

A place more peculiarly adapted for such an event could not have been formed by nature. On three sides of a slight depression of ground, there gently arose a small ridge, upon which the lines were formed, commanding an unobstructed view of the little hollow in which the doomed man was about to meet an ignoble death.

The troops took position with a silence that was unlike any other military movement. Every word of command was softly given, and there was an awful solemnity even in these early proceedings. The command was standing at a parade rest, while down in the hollow, exposed to the view of every one present, was a rude open coffin, which was soon to shelter the mortal remains of poor Burkhardt, The object lesson was already beginning to be felt as the horrible reality of their comrade’s coming fate became manifest.

Many of those soldiers abhorred the penalty of death in this form, and to such the solemnity of the scene was nothing less than a tyrannical tribute to military despotism. But to nearly all it was the only possibility by which the condemned could expiate his misdeed, and so he should perish that an example might be presented for the proper guidance of those whose duty it was to avoid perilous acts involving disaster to our country.

Soon were heard the doleful roll of muffled drums and the soft sounds of a solemn dirge played by an approaching military band of many instruments. A few moments after, the prisoner entered through the open end of the hollow square. The condemned man, placed between two chaplains, marched at the head of a firing party of ten, whose muskets, all but one, contained the usual cartridges of powder and bullet, the excepted gun having a blank cartridge, and as no one of the firing party knew who had possession of this weapon, it left room for a sickly sentiment in the minds of each that he might be the fortunate fellow, and thus every conscience among the detail was absolved from having contributed to the death of a comrade.

The firing party was in command of a young lieutenant, upon whose bright, manly face there was a determined look, somewhat softened by that lack of luster about the eyes, which always proclaim the pride of an officer when in the discharge of a natural military duty.

Burkhardt’s face was ghastly, but he walked with a firm tread and the bearing of a soldier to the spot where his coffin lay. Here he was halted, with the chaplains, while the firing squad marched ten paces forward, and by a right about faced the unfortunate man. There the prisoner (page 304, and page 305 with artist‘s rendering, titled “Died for Discipline” of the moment when “Burkhardt“ was shot and falling backward toward the coffin.)

Stood for the last time in the presence of his comrades--those comrades who were for the first time to witness one of the horrors of war, the severest punishment that could be meted out to a soldier guilty of one of the gravest of military crimes.

Major Hall, of the Twenty-fourth Ohio Infantry, read the general orders for Burkhardt’s execution. He possessed a big, manly voice, and his enunciation reached the ear of every one in that vast assembly of twelve thousand silent, sorrowful soldiers. When he reached the final words of Burkhardt’s doom, “To be shot to death,” there was in them such solemn import, that while every one knew the sentence, according to military law, to be just, there were but few whose deepest sympathy did not go out to the pale prisoner, who stood with folded arms, taking his last view of the beautiful world and the bright sun that was shining upon him.

As Major Hall finished reading the order for execution, the chaplains in turn addressed words of comfort and consolation to the condemned. He listened earnestly to their remarks, replying that the sentence was righteous and that he was prepared to meet his fate. A short but fervent prayer was then offered, in which the soul of the condemned was commended to the mercy of the Grand Commander above.

At a signal, a soldier advanced to bandage his eyes to shut out the sight of his executioners. At this moment Burkhardt’s gaze swept calmly over the lines formed by his comrades, and at the firing party, for which in another moment he was to be the target. And this youth, who entered the service of his country to face the balls and bullets of its enemies, was denied the right to look death in the face. For a single instant he glanced upward as if in mute appeal and then turned his eyes upon the firing party. There was no reproach in his look as he pointed significantly to his heart. The white bandage was gently bound about his eyes, thus shutting out the light of earth forever, and the foot of his coffin was placed immediately at his feet, appearing for the moment like a shadow of the mortal standing exactly before it.

Those who had been near him then withdrew, and at a subdued command the entire line changed from “parade rest” to “attention.” The lieutenant in command of the firing party brought his detail to a shoulder.

“Take aim,” was the next command, and there was an instant of painful silence, during which thousands of hearts throbbed in sorrow.

“Fire!” came the order, and a discharge from ten muskets rang out upon the quiet air simultaneously.

Just as the last command was uttered the condemned raised his right hand and again pointed to his heart. He fell without a convulsion and without a sigh into the coffin, and in this manner poor Burkhardt forever passed the sentinel line of life.

While his fault was great, his blood poured out as a libation to discipline and as a warning to his comrades.

(Page 306) END

Source: Overland Monthly, October 1895, vol. 26, no. 154

Editor's note: This story is a real incident. Only the name of the executed soldier was fictionalized. Although a soldier in the 24th Ohio Infantry Regiment by the name of Burkhart Martz did exist, he survived the Civil War. This story instead is about Private Michael Connell of Company E, 24th O.V.I. While trying to return absent without leave while drunk, Private Connell fired five pistol shots at Corporal Alonzo Pocock, the unfortunate non-commissioned officer on guard duty at the time Connell returned. Private Connell was taken into custody, tried, and later sentenced and executed at Nashville in March, 1862.

Return to the Company E Page.
Return to the 24th OVI Main Page.