In the book, "Annals of the 57th Regiment of Indiana Volunteers", it describes their role in the Battle of Franklin at the "point" of the Confederate attack.

"About 4 o'clock in the afternoon, our forces quietly withdrew inside the line of earth-works, extending from the river above town to the same below, except two bridges, which were posted in front, to develop the force of the enemy. With our flanks thus protected by the river, and the line of defenses encircling the town in a semi-circular shape, the position was one of great strength. The troops that were posted on the main line, in order to make the position still stronger, cut down and carried out the locust trees with which the streets were shaded, and placed them in front of the works, as an abatis, to obstruct the approach of the enemy.

Four hundred yards in front was the 2nd Brigade, commanded by Col. Lane, of the 97th Ohio, and the 3d Brigade, commanded by Col. Liebold, of the 15th Missouri. Our command was posted on the west of the pike; and the only chance for cover was a succession of short rifle-pits, which had been thrown up for pickets. They were several rods apart, and afforded protection to but a small number of the men. In front of us, the ground was open--a grassy common extending some distance, when it was joined by a corn-field. The ground was slightly undulating as far back as the ridge heretofore mentioned, on which our troops made the display earlier in the day, and from which Hood was now viewing our position, and making his disposition for the attack.

It will be remembered that more then one half of the men now composing the 57th were new soldiers--raw recruits, who were never under fire except at Spring Hill, and were never drilled an hour. At Columbia, these men were furnished with arms, accoutrements, and shelter-tents. The order we received was to hold our position--to "stay right there". The only place of entrance to the main works, except over the thorny abatis, was where the pike went through a space barely wide enough to admit a single platoon. In plain view from our position were the columns of the rebel army, forming to commence the attack.

Such was the situation and condition of the two contending armies less than half an hour before the solemn stillness was broken by the noise of as bloody a battle as was fought during the late war.

Before ordering his troops into the bloody conflict, Hood rode along his lines and told his men that Schofield was there with 17,000 men, and if they would only break that line and drive us into the river, the way would be open to Louisville--that we could raise no more troops to resist their advance, and victory would be theirs. It required only this final charge from their leader to fire their passions, and make them willing to march to the fatal strife.

As the last lingering rays of departing light glanced athwart hill and dale, it disclosed the serried columns of Confederate grey, marching to the attack of our strong position. A deep and awful silence reigned, interrupted only by the pattering rifle-shots of our retreating skirmishers. The voice of command from the rebel officers, or the words "steady, boys", on our lines, preceded the first roar of the engagement. Destruction inevitable seemed to await our little command, as we stood before the irrestible 40,000 who were bearing down upon us. "Steady, boys!" Reserve your fire!" came in slightly tremulous tones, from men who knew we must be swept away like chaff before the devouring flames. Nearer and nearer came the hostile forces, until one hundred yards are all that separate us. "Steady, boys; fire!" and the deadly strife begins. Volley after volley greets the enemy, as they attempt to penetrate our lines. In a few minutes, their lines have reached around, overlapping our left flank, and already the brigade on the left of the pike has given way. "Rally behind the works!" is the only order that can be heard above the noise and confusion. A moment more and the line is broken, and we are rushing pell-mell to escapte the unfriendly clutches of our pursuers.

Four years have passed away, and I shudder to recall that scene. Rebel artillery was planted to sweep the pike, and here our men were mowed in perfect widrows. Hundreds were captured and taken to the rear, by the enemy. Our troops in the works dare not fire, for fear of hitting our own men outside. A rebel column approached the works, and several regiments stationed nearest the pike turned to run. A panic seemed inevitable. Our gunners commenced drawing off the artillery, and the infantry rushed in confusion toward the river. For a moment, it seemed that all would be lost. The rebel columns had penetrated our lines. At that moment, Opdyke's brigade, massed in column, and lying in reserve, charged the rebel column in the flank, compelling them to surrender. This restored the line, and it was never again broken. The rebel force moved on to the river, as prisoners; and the enemy, exasperated at their loss, rushed headlong against our lines, but all in vain.

Darkness had closed the scene. Double charges of grape and canister blazed from the muzzles of our guns, while deafening volleys of musketry poured like a sheet of flame from behind the works. Occasionally, the noise of battle would almost cease, as the enemy prepared to renew his unsuccessful assault. Then, as we peered through the darkness, to hear the rebels yell, and watch the fire of their guns, the groans of the wounded and dying could be distinctly heard. It was after 10 o'clock P.M. before the enemy ceased to hurl their columns against us. Not until the loss of six thousand men paid the sacrifice--which they could lttle afford to give--did they give up the struggle, and allow the mortal combat to cease. For the fourth time, the plain and simple truth had come home to the minds of Hood and his army, that we were sent down there to fight. About midnight, our army silently withdrew across the river, and started to Nashville. The most of our wounded fell into the hands of the enemy. Many were still on the field, and those we had collected in hospitals were left behind. Our ambulances were loaded with those who could be hauled, and taken to Nashville. Near noon, on the 1st of December, we reached the vicinity of Nashville, well nigh exhausted by a march of forty miles and the labor of two engagements in forty-eight hours, with no sleep and but one cup of coffee. But we had saved Nashville.