Transcriber’s Note
  Italic text displayed as: _italic_




[Illustration: Bennett H. Young (signature)

  _Commander-in-Chief_ U. C. V.
]




  Confederate Wizards
  of the Saddle

  _Being Reminiscences and
  Observations of One Who Rode
  With Morgan_

  By

  BENNETT H. YOUNG

  Commander-in-Chief of the
  United Confederate Veterans Association

  [Illustration: Decoration]

  BOSTON
  Chapple Publishing Company, Ltd.
  1914




Copyright, 1914, by Bennett H. Young




Dedicated

to the

Women of the South


  IN THE DAYS OF PEACE
  The Creators of Chivalry and Gallantry

  IN THE DAYS OF BATTLE
  The Inspiration of Faith and Courage

  IN THE DAYS OF BLOOD
  The Angels of Comfort and Mercy

  IN THE DAYS OF DEFEAT
  The Spirits of Hope and Help




CONTENTS


                                                                  PAGE

  CHAPTER I                                                          1

  FORREST AT BRYCE’S CROSS-ROADS, JUNE 10TH, 1864


  CHAPTER II                                                        42

  GENERAL HAMPTON’S CATTLE RAID, SEPTEMBER, 1864


  CHAPTER III                                                       60

  KENTUCKY CAVALRY FIGHTING WITH ROCKS, DUG CREEK
  GAP, MAY 8-9, 1864


  CHAPTER IV                                                        82

  GENERAL JOSEPH WHEELER’S RAID INTO TENNESSEE,
  FALL OF 1863


  CHAPTER V                                                         95

  GENERAL JOHN H. MORGAN’S RAID INTO KENTUCKY,
  JULY 4-28, 1862


  CHAPTER VI                                                       126

  FORREST’S RAID INTO WEST TENNESSEE, DECEMBER, 1862


  CHAPTER VII                                                      155

  TEXAS HORSEMEN OF THE SEA, IN GALVESTON HARBOR,
  JANUARY, 1863


  CHAPTER VIII                                                     171

  COLONEL ROY S. CLUKE’S KENTUCKY RAID, FEBRUARY-MARCH,
  1863


  CHAPTER IX                                                       195

  SHELBY’S MISSOURI RAID, SEPTEMBER, 1863


  CHAPTER X                                                        222

  BATTLE AND CAPTURE OF HARTSVILLE BY GENERAL JOHN
  H. MORGAN, DECEMBER 7TH, 1863


  CHAPTER XI                                                       248

  WHEELER’S RAID INTO TENNESSEE, AUGUST, 1864


  CHAPTER XII                                                      270

  JOHNSONVILLE RAID AND FORREST’S MARINE EXPERIENCES,
  NOVEMBER, 1864


  CHAPTER XIII                                                     296

  CAVALRY EXPEDITION OF THE TEXANS INTO NEW MEXICO,
  WINTER, 1861-62


  CHAPTER XIV                                                      316

  GENERAL J. E. B. STUART’S RIDE AROUND MCCLELLAN’S
  ARMY—CHICKAHOMINY RAID, JUNE 12-15, 1863


  CHAPTER XV                                                       337

  BATTLE AND CAMPAIGN OF TREVILIAN STATION, JUNE 11TH
  AND 12TH, 1864


  CHAPTER XVI                                                      367

  MORGAN’S RIDE AROUND CINCINNATI, ON “THE OHIO
  RAID,” JULY, 1863


  CHAPTER XVII                                                     391

  RICHARDS WITH MOSBY’S MEN IN THE FIGHT AT MT.
  CARMEL CHURCH, FEBRUARY 19, 1864


  CHAPTER XVIII                                                    416

  MORGAN’S CHRISTMAS RAID, DECEMBER 22, 1862, TO
  JANUARY 2, 1863


  CHAPTER XIX                                                      452

  FORREST’S PURSUIT AND CAPTURE OF STREIGHT, APRIL 28-MAY
  3, 1863


  CHAPTER XX                                                       498

  BATTLE OF FLEETWOOD HILL, JUNE 9TH, 1863


  CHAPTER XXI                                                      532

  GENERAL J. E. B. STUART’S CHAMBERSBURG RAID, OCTOBER
  9, 1862


  CHAPTER XXII                                                     537

  GENERAL JOHN B. MARMADUKE’S “CAPE GIRARDEAU
  RAID,” APRIL, 1863


  CHAPTER XXIII                                                    564

  GENERAL WHEELER’S PURSUIT AND DEFEAT OF GENERALS
  STONEMAN, GARRARD AND MCCOOK, JULY 27-AUGUST
  5, 1864


  CHAPTER XXIV                                                     601

  FORREST’S RAID INTO MEMPHIS, AUGUST 21, 1864




ILLUSTRATIONS


  GENERAL BENNETT H. YOUNG      _Frontispiece_
  _Commander-in-Chief, U. C. V._

                                                           FACING PAGE

  MAP OF BRYCE’S CROSS ROADS                                         8

  PORTRAITS OF GENERAL ABRAM BUFORD,
  CAPTAIN MORTON AND GENERAL LYON                                   24

  FIGHTING AT BRYCE’S CROSS-ROADS                                   40

  PORTRAIT: GENERAL WADE HAMPTON                                    56

  KENTUCKY CAVALRY FIGHTING WITH
  ROCKS                                                             72

  WHEELER BURNING FEDERAL WAGON
  TRAINS, SEQUATCHIE VALLEY, JULY, 1862                             88

  PORTRAIT: GENERAL JOHN H. MORGAN                                 104
  _In the early part of the War_

  MAP OF FORREST’S RAID INTO TENNESSEE,
  DECEMBER, 1862                                                   132

  PORTRAIT: GENERAL NATHAN BEDFORD
  FORREST                                                          150

  PORTRAIT: GENERAL JOHN B. MAGRUDER                               166

  PORTRAIT: GENERAL BENNETT H. YOUNG                               182
  _What fifty years have done for the Commander-in-Chief_

  PORTRAIT: GENERAL J. O. SHELBY                                   198

  MAP OF SHELBY’S MISSOURI RAID                                    202

  MAP OF CAVALRY EXPEDITION INTO NEW
  MEXICO                                                           304

  PORTRAITS OF CAPTAIN JOSEPH SAYERS
  AND GENERAL TOM GREEN                                            306

  MAP OF STUART’S RIDE AROUND McCLELLAN                            322

  PORTRAIT: GENERAL WADE HAMPTON                                   354

  MAP OF MORGAN’S RIDE AROUND CINCINNATI                           376

  PORTRAIT: MAJOR A. E. RICHARDS                                   400
  _Commanding Mosby’s men at Mt. Carmel fight_

  MAP SHOWING APPROXIMATELY MORGAN’S
  CHRISTMAS RAID                                                   434

  PORTRAIT: GENERAL JOHN H. MORGAN                                 446

  PORTRAIT: GENERAL STARNES                                        462

  MAP SHOWING LINE OF FORREST’S PURSUIT
  AND CAPTURE OF STREIGHT, AND
  WISDOM’S RIDE                                                    474

  PORTRAIT: EMMA SANSOM                                            476

  EMMA SANSOM MONUMENT, GADSDEN,
  ALA., AND SANSOM HOME                                            484

  PORTRAIT: JOHN H. WISDOM                                         492

  THE BLACK CREEK BRIDGE                                           492

  MAP OF BATTLEFIELD OF FLEETWOOD
  HILL                                                             524

  PORTRAIT: GENERAL J. E. B. STUART                                532

  PORTRAIT: GENERAL MARMADUKE                                      556

  PORTRAIT: GENERAL JOSEPH WHEELER                                 572
  “_Fighting Joe_”

  MAP OF WHEELER’S PURSUIT OF GARRARD
  AND McCOOK, AND IVERSON’S PURSUIT
  AND CAPTURE OF STONEMAN                                          578




FOREWORD


Forty-eight years and a half have passed, since the last drum-beat
of the Confederate States was heard and the furling of their flag
forever closed the most wondrous military tragedy of the ages.
Numbers and character considered, the tribute the South paid to War
has no equal in human records.

Fifteen hundred years ago on the Catalaunian Plain, where Attila,
King of the Huns, styled “The Scourge of God,” joined battle with the
Romans under Oetius, and the Visigoths led by Thorismund, tradition
has it that hundreds of thousands of dead were left on the field.
The men who followed the cruel and remorseless Attila were a vast
horde, organized for war, with plunder as the highest aim of a
soldier’s life, and the Romans and Visigoths were men who followed
war solely for the opportunity it afforded to enslave, rob and
despoil those they conquered. On both sides the men who filled the
ranks had neither intelligence nor patriotism, and with each, war was
a profession or pastime, devoid in most cases of any exalted purpose,
even the dream of a conviction, or the faintest gleam of a principle.

If the dead on that fatal field were numbered by the hundreds of
thousands, their demise was a mere incident in the conflicts which
were carried on for no truth, and in their loss the world suffered
but little more than if as many beasts of burden had been sacrificed
on some heathen altar to appease the God of War.

The American war, in the middle of the nineteenth century, dealt
on both sides with far different materials. Christianity, liberty,
education, culture and refinement had reached a very high limit
on the human scale. When the North and South faced each other,
moved by patriotism and principle, the legions drawn from the very
best materials that the race could offer, with inherited courage,
quickened by personal and social pride, and with memories and
traditions of great military achievements, and ennobled by ancestral
escutcheons of exceeding splendor, there met for battle such men as
the world had never before seen, aligned for conflict.

Half a century gives time to gather data, to measure losses, to
calculate sacrifices, to weigh difficulties, to figure results, and
to look calmly and justly at the history and the conduct of what must
ever be classed as one of the great wars of the ages.

The very fact that the South lost lends pathos and sentiment to
the story of what her sons accomplished. As time, aided by the
scrutinizing finger of Truth, points out with impartial fairness what
each did in this gigantic grapple between two Anglo-Saxon armies, we
are enabled, even now, while thousands of participants remain, to
judge, recount and chronicle with accuracy the most important events
that marked this mighty struggle.

Cavalry played a most important part in the Civil War. In fact,
without this arm of the service, the Confederacy could not have
so long maintained the unequal contest; nor the Federal Army have
prevailed as quickly as was done. The story of the campaigns of
Stuart, Wheeler, Morgan, the Lees, Forrest, Hampton, Ashby, Mosby,
Green, Van Dorn, Shelby and Marmaduke, and their associates, gave
war a new glamour, opened to chivalry a wider field for operation,
painted to adventurous genius more entrancing visions, and made the
service of men who rode to battle a transcendent power of which
warriors had hitherto not even dreamed.

So far as has been historically made known, there is no similar
service performed by the cavalry of any period. General Morgan, with
his command, made two distinct marches of one thousand miles each
into a hostile country. Shelby is reported to have ridden fifteen
hundred miles when he raided into Missouri in September, 1863. There
were times, probably, when Stuart and Hampton and their associates
had fiercer conflict, but the strain was never so long drawn out
and the calls on nerve and muscle and brain were never so severely
concentrated as in these marches of Morgan and Shelby.

General Wheeler, in his raid around Rosecrans, was twenty-five
days in the rear of the enemy, menaced on every side, and his men
fought with a courage that was simply transcendent. His marches
were characterized by fierce fighting and covered a more limited
territory, but his captures and his destruction of property have few
counterparts.

No fair man, reading the story of General Dick Taylor’s exploits,
in the spring of ’64, can come to any other conclusion than that he
and his men were heroic, of abundant patience and exhibited almost
unlimited physical endurance.

The same can be said of Forrest. He did not ride so far as Morgan,
Marmaduke or Shelby on a single expedition, but what he lacked in
distance he made in overcoming difficulties and in the extent and
constancy of conflict, and in the tremendous losses inflicted upon
his enemy’s property and troops.

Shelby’s Raid into Missouri in September, 1863, which lasted
thirty-six days and involved marching fifteen hundred miles, an
average of thirty miles per day, is a story of extraordinary skill
and endurance.

Stuart’s Chickahominy raid around McClellan’s army, his march to
Chambersburg and return, and the Battle of Fleetwood Hill will ever
command the admiration of cavalry students.

Hampton’s Trevilian campaign, his cattle raid, and the management of
General Lee’s cavalry before Petersburg point to him as a leader of
wondrous enterprise, a soldier of unbounded daring and a strategist
of great ability.

The cavalry generals who have been chosen as the chief subjects of
this book all possessed, in a remarkable degree, the power of winning
the confidence of their followers and their loyal support under all
circumstances. With Hampton, men followed wherever he led, they never
reasoned why they should go, they only asked that they be informed as
to the will of their leader. And so it was true of Morgan, Stuart,
Forrest, Shelby and Wheeler. They all had the absolute trust of
their followers. No man beneath them in command ever questioned
their wisdom or their judgment in battle or march. But when it came
to inspiring men with the spirit of absolute indifference to death
and relentlessness in the pursuit of the enemy, few would deny that
Nathan Bedford Forrest did this more effectively than any leader who
was engaged in the struggle. Generals Lee, Stonewall Jackson, Albert
Sidney Johnson, Joseph E. Johnston always commanded the respect,
devotion, love and admiration of their soldiers to such an extent
that at any time they would have marched into the very jaws of death,
under their leadership; but those who study the life and the extent
of Nathan Bedford Forrest’s achievements will generally agree that
in inspiring his soldiers to fierce, persistent battle and absolute
indifference in conflict, few, if any, equalled him, none surpassed
him. The conduct of his soldiers at Bryce’s Cross-roads, where he
fought first cavalry and then infantry, sometimes mounted, most
generally on foot, would show that he could exact from men as superb
service as any soldier who ever led his followers into battle.

This suggestion as to Forrest does not detract from the glory of any
other Confederate leader. We meet this almost hypnotic influence in
many phases of life other than military. Those who study the actions
and characteristics of General Forrest and who looked upon the faces
of the men following him could but realize that by his bearing,
example and dash he got the best and bravest that it was possible for
human nature in war to give.

Romance, patriotism and love of adventure inspired the cavalry of
the Confederacy to follow their renowned leaders. No man who has
calmly read the stories of the conflicts and marches of the Army of
Northern Virginia, or the Army of Tennessee, or of the Army of the
Trans-Mississippi Department can fail to be filled with wonder at the
duties the soldiers of these armies so cheerfully and so willingly
performed. Without pay, illy clad and poorly fed, yet they were
always brave. Though hungry in battle they were always courageous;
and in conflict they had only one aim, and that was to defend their
country and destroy its enemies.

There was much in the narratives of the South’s past to inspire
cavalrymen with Lighthorse Harry Lee valor. Their fathers and
grandfathers had ridden with Marion and Sumpter, had fought with
Shelby, Preston, Sevier and Campbell at King’s Mountain, or had gone
with Isaac Shelby and General Harrison into Canada to fight the
Battle of the Thames, or composed the dragoons who had gone with
Scott and Taylor to Mexico. The boys and young men of the South had
read and reread the accounts of what these horsemen of the long ago
had accomplished, of the dangers they had faced and the laurels they
had won, and these records of a splendid past filled their hearts
with deepest love of their country, and fired their souls to make
achievements the equal of those of their renowned ancestry. The
most romantic and chivalrous side of both the Revolutionary War and
the War of 1812 had their happenings with horsemen, and the most of
those were either on the Southern soil or came from the states which
sympathized with the South.

It was this antecedent history that gave such impetus to the
Confederate youth to find, if possible, a place in the cavalry. The
men of the South were not only familiar with the use of firearms,
but a majority of them were skilled horsemen, and these two things
combined brought to the Confederate cavalry volunteers, active,
adventurous, daring, reckless, vigilant, chivalrous soldiers that
were bound to perform the highest type of military work.

In the American war, cavalry was to change its arms, the sabre was to
be almost entirely eliminated. In its place was to come the revolver
and the repeating rifle, the magazine gun and the short Enfield.
The holsters were to be abandoned. Instead, the belt with the six
shooters and the sixty rounds of ammunition. These new cavalrymen
were not only to serve as scouts, but to act as infantry, to cover
military movements, to destroy the lines of communication, to burn
stores, to tear up lines of railway, to gather supplies, to fight
gunboats, capture transports; all these without any equipment of
any kind, except their horses, their arms and some horse artillery
of limited range. In a large part, they were to feed in the enemy’s
country, rely upon their foes for arms and ammunition. They were
to have no tents; no wagons, except for ammunition; no cooking
utensils, other than a wrought iron skillet. These, with canteens
and food found on the march, were to prove their only means of
subsistence. They were to be trained to ride incessantly, charge
stockades, capture forts, take their place alongside of the infantry
on the battle line, and to build or defend hastily constructed
fortifications. No cavalry before had performed these services and
none will ever perform them again. The newer conditions of warfare
will change altogether the work that will be required of cavalry. The
improvement in firearms, particularly in the artillery, would render
the oldtime cavalry superfluous and its use, under the past methods,
a simple slaughter without benefit.

These men, carried by horses with great celerity from place to place,
were to perform a distinct and different service in war; sometimes in
a single night they would march fifty miles. Sometimes in a day they
would march seventy-five to ninety miles. They would destroy stores
of supplies, wreck railroads, burn water stations, demolish trestles,
attack and burn wagon trains. Their best living was to be obtained
by victory and the popular application to the fortunes of war the
maxim—“That they should take who have the power, and they should keep
who can.”

To fit them for such service, a new system of drill was instituted;
half cavalry and half infantry, fighting on foot, in open rank;
the charge on infantry on horseback was to become practically
obsolete. They were, if occasion demanded, to be dismounted, fight
in entrenchments alongside infantry, and charge batteries and
abattis, the same as the infantry. With boundless energy, unlimited
enthusiasm and a measureless love of adventure, the horseman was
to meet these new requirements and frequently do all that infantry
could do and, in addition, do what cavalry had never done before. In
the West, this combined and new call for cavalry obtained its birth
and hold and received its first and most successful development. It
is urged that to General John H. Morgan and his followers ought to
be accredited the application and successful demonstration of these
new methods, which were to add such immense value to cavalry work.
No commander ever before undertook to commit such tasks to horsemen.
But the Southern soldier, who first developed all these qualities and
performed these varying tasks, was to open for the Southern cavalry
service an unlimited field for harassing, delaying, starving and even
destroying opposing armies.

The marvelous endurance of the men who followed Forrest and Stuart
and Morgan and Wheeler and Hampton and Shelby and Green and
McCullough and Price has never been equalled. Storms and floods had
no terror for these. No enemy was safe from their avenging hand and
no vigilance could defy their enterprise. There were no alarms in
any work for these brave and tireless riders. Single riders and even
small troops of cavalry had made marches of a hundred miles in a day,
but it remained for generals like Wheeler and Morgan and Forrest and
Stuart and Hampton and Shelby and Marmaduke and Green to demonstrate
the potency and tremendous value of cavalry in war, and lengthen the
possibility of a day’s march.

For the first two years of the conflict, the Confederate cavalry
were practically supreme. Their enemies were slow to absorb these
new methods and to apprehend the advantages of this new system.
Stuart’s Chickahominy raid, his march from Chambersburg; Morgan’s
two marches of a thousand miles each; Forrest’s pursuit of Streight
and his raid into Kentucky and Tennessee, under the most adverse
physical difficulties, in midwinter or early spring, and his ride
into Memphis, read more like fairy stories than the performance of
men composed of flesh and blood. Wheeler’s raid in Rosecrans’ rear,
his expedition into East Tennessee and the endurance of his men are
almost incredible. These do not read like the performance of real
soldiers, but more like the make-up of a military dreamer. One may
call over the names of the great battles of the war, either east
or west of the Mississippi River, and while the account of these
engagements lose none of their brilliancy in comparison with those
of any war, yet they cannot surpass, nor in some respects equal,
the work performed by the cavalry. Fleetwood Hill (Brandy Station),
Trevilian Station, Hanging Fork, Chambersburg, Hartsville, Cynthiana,
Shiloh, Mt. Sterling, Bryce’s Cross-roads, Parker’s Cross Roads
and Dug Creek Gap. Marmaduke’s and Shelby’s Missouri raids and the
pursuit of Stoneman, Garrard and McCook, during the Atlanta siege,
are stories of valor, endurance and sacrifice that lose nothing in
comparison with the deeds of any other organization of the armies
of the Confederate States. In exposure, in daring, in physical
privations, in patience, in cheerfulness under defeat, in willingness
to do and dare, the horsemen of the Confederacy must always command
the admiration of those who study military records.

An unusual proportion of the Confederate cavalry came from eight
states,—Virginia, Kentucky, Missouri, Tennessee, Texas, Alabama,
Mississippi and South Carolina. When we call the cavalry roll, its
names awaken memories of some of the most heroic deeds known among
men. Every Confederate state furnished a full quota of horsemen, and
none of them failed to make good when the crucial test came.

Alabama sent into this branch of service Generals William Wirt Allen,
James Hogan, Moses W. Hannon, John Herbert Kelley, Evander M. Law,
John T. Morgan and P. D. Roddy.

Kentucky furnished Generals Abram Buford, George B. Cosby, Basil
W. Duke, Charles W. Field, James N. Hawes, Ben Hardin Helm, George
B. Hodge, Joseph H. Lewis, Hylan B. Lyon, John H. Morgan, John S.
Williams, W. C. P. Breckenridge and R. M. Gano.

Missouri brought as part of her offering Generals John S. Marmaduke,
Joseph O. Shelby and John G. Walker.

Tennessee gave Frank C. Armstrong, Tyree H. Bell, Alexander W.
Campbell, Henry B. Davidson, George G. Dibrell, Benjamin J. Hill,
W. Y. C. Humes, W. H. Jackson, John C. Vaughn, Lucius M. Walker and
Nathan Bedford Forrest.

Mississippi sent Generals Wirt Adams, James H. Chalmers, Samuel G.
Gohlson, W. T. Martin, Peter B. Stark and Earl Van Dorn.

Georgia, Generals Robert H. Anderson, Charles C. Crews, Alfred
Iverson, P. M. B. Young.

Florida, General G. M. Davis and Colonel J. J. Dickinson.

South Carolina, M. C. Butler, Thomas F. Drayton, John Dunnovant,
Samuel W. Ferguson, Martin W. Geary, Thomas M. Logan, Wade Hampton.

North Carolina gave Lawrence S. Baker, Rufus Barriger, James B.
Gordon, Robert Ransom, William Paul Roberts.

Maryland, Bradley T. Johnson and Joseph Lancaster Brent (the latter
only an acting brigadier).

West Virginia, William L. Jackson, Albert Gallatin Jenkins, John
McCausland.

Virginia, Turner Ashby, Richard L. T. Beale, John Randolph Chambliss,
James Dearing, John D. Imboden, William E. Jones, Fitz Hugh Lee, W.
H. F. Lee, Lumsford L. Lomax, Thomas Taylor Munfod, William Henry
Fitzhugh Payne, Beverly H. Robertson, Thomas L. Rosser, J. E. B.
Stuart, William C. Wickham.

Louisiana, Daniel W. Adams, Franklin Gardner, Thomas M. Scott.

Arkansas, William N. R. Beall, William L. Cabell, James F. Fagan,
James McQueen McIntosh.

The Indian Territory, Stand Watie.

Texas, Arthur Pendleton Bagby, Hamilton P. Bee, Xavier Blanchard De
Bray, Thomas Green, W. P. Hardemen, Thomas Hamson, Ben McCulloch,
James P. Major, Samuel-Bell Maxey, Horace Randal, Felix H. Robertson,
Lawrence Sullivan Ross, W. R. Scurry, William Steele, Richard
Waterhouse, John A. Wharton, John W. Whitfield.

This one book must, in the very nature of things, be limited to a few
hundred pages.

It does not and cannot undertake to tell all that was glorious
and courageous in the service of the men who led and composed the
Confederate cavalry. There will doubtless be some who will ask why
certain battles and experiences were omitted. The author may have
selected, in some instances, what would appear to many critics and
readers not the most notable events in the Confederate cavalry work.

He may have inadvertently left out names that ought to have been
mentioned, campaigns that were of vast importance, and battles that
were full of sublime sacrifice and marked by the _superbest_ skill.

The book is written with the bias of a cavalry man. It is written
by a man who knows, by personal experience only, some of the things
that happened where Forrest, Wheeler and Morgan fought. He only knew
personally three of the men whose leadership and skill are detailed
in the book. He never saw Stuart but once, and Forrest a few times,
but he loves the fame of all these splendid men and has endeavored to
do each the fullest justice.

There were one hundred and four Confederate generals, from brigadier
up, who at various times led the horsemen of the South. A volume
could be written of the services of each. A majority of them were
equally brave and valiant, but fate decreed some should pass under
the fiercest light, and win from fame its most generous awards. It
may be that hereafter other volumes will be written to tell, if not
who, what the Confederate horsemen were. One of the chiefest aims
of this volume is to give Confederate cavalry leaders and their
followers their just place in the history of the great war. There is
neither purpose nor desire to take aught from any other branch of
the service. The Confederate infantry, artillery and navy have each
a distinct place in the struggle of the South for its national life.
Every Confederate loves every other Confederate and glories in all
that he did to win the immortality of the Confederate armies. The
cavalryman asks that his work may be recognized and that his proper
place shall be assigned him in the phalanxes of the brave who stood
for Southern independence. He covets none of the fame that justly
belongs to his comrades in other lines. He only seeks that what he
did may be honestly told, and his achievements be truly recorded. He
feels that he did the best that he could and that he is entitled to
a complete narrative of that which he did and endeavored to do for
his country. He does not claim that he was braver or more patriotic
than his comrades who fought in other departments. He only asks that
the world may know the dangers he had faced, the difficulties he
overcame, the sacrifices he made, the sufferings he endured and the
results his work accomplished. A true account is his only demand, and
all the world will feel that this is his right.

The writer may not always be literally accurate in the things he
undertakes to recount in this book about Southern cavalry. He may
here and there have made slight mistakes in the description of
the marches and battles he has essayed to describe. Relying upon
books and participants, he could not always get the things just as
they occurred. Eye witnesses often differ in discussing the same
occurrence. There are hundreds of dates and names recorded in these
pages. Error must have crept in, but in the main the history is what
really happened, and these happenings alone will give Confederate
cavalry fame and renown in all ages and amongst all nations.

They make up a great history of great leaders and valiant soldiers,
and they must surely add something to the store of human heroism.

There is no desire to depreciate what men on the other side did.
In the later years of the war, the Federal cavalry apprehended
the tactics and the methods of Confederate horsemen, and they
became foemen worthy of any steel. The third year of the struggle,
the mounts of the Southern cavalry became less efficient and the
disparity in arms and supplies more and more depressing amongst the
Confederates. The Federal generals undertook then to cut Confederate
lines of communication, and to destroy their commissary depots and
to disrupt railway transportation. In such work, in 1864 and 1865,
they laid heaviest burdens on the Confederate cavalry; and in many
instances the jaded and starving horses, the illy-fed men, their
scanty supply of ammunition put them at great disadvantage, but they
were, in face of all these difficulties, game, vigilant, aggressive,
enterprising and defiant to the end; and from April, 1864, to April,
1865, there was nothing more brilliant nor historic than the work
of the Confederate horsemen, performed under the most unfavorable
conditions, to stay the tide of Federal advance and success and to
maintain to the end their nation’s hope and their nation’s life.

If the sketches these pages contain shall add one leaf to the
Confederate Laurel Wreath, or bring to Confederate fame fuller
recognition, the author will be many times repaid for the labor,
expense and time expended in their preparation.

  BENNETT H. YOUNG.

  Louisville, Kentucky.
  1914.




CHAPTER I

FORREST AT BRYCE’S CROSS ROADS, JUNE 10TH, 1864


The spring and summer of 1864 in Virginia, Tennessee, Mississippi,
Georgia and in the Trans-Mississippi Department proved one of the
most sanguinary periods of the war.

During this time, Joseph E. Johnston made his superb retreat from
Dalton to Atlanta, regarded by military historians as one of the
ablest strategic movements of the campaigns from ’61 to ’65, and
General Robert E. Lee, in his famous defensive campaign culminating
in the decimation of Grant’s armies at Cold Harbor, had killed or
wounded more than eighty thousand of General Grant’s followers,
twenty thousand more effective men than Lee’s whole army numbered!

In the Trans-Mississippi, between April and August, ’64, General Dick
Taylor at Mansfield and Pleasant Hill gained glorious victories in
attempting to stay the advance of General Banks into the heart of
Louisiana; and Kirby Smith, Price, Shelby and Marmaduke in Arkansas
still maintained a courageous front to the foe. After three years
of constant fighting, their soldiers were more thoroughly inured to
the hardships of war, better trained to face its dangers, and men on
both sides exhibited a recklessness in facing death which marked the
highest tide of courage.

Early in the war the cavalry became one of the most effective arms
of the agencies of the Confederates. With the vast territory in the
West defended by the Confederacy, with a frontier line twenty-five
hundred miles in extent, the marching speed of which mounted men are
capable, the cavalry of the South, at this period, enabled them to
do more, man for man, than any arm of the South’s defenders. They
proved not only the best allies of the Confederate cause, but later
developed some of the most renowned cavalry leaders of the world.

There were many cavalry battles during the fifteen hundred and twenty
days of the war—Trevilian Station, Fleetwood Hill, sometimes called
“Brandy Station,” Harrisburg, Hartsville, Okolona, Murfreesboro,
Shiloh, Parkers Cross Roads, Reams Station, all of which gave
resplendence to the fame of the Confederate horsemen. Over and above
these cavalry battles, there was Bryce’s Cross Roads, designated by
the Federals as the Battle of Tishomingo Creek. Measured by losses,
it stands pre-eminent; along strategic lines it is amongst the first,
and counted by results to the defeated foe, it has no counterpart in
any engagement fought entirely on one side by cavalry.

On the Federal side, two thousand officers and men, including the
wounded, were made prisoners, and more than twelve hundred dead
were left on the battlefield or in close proximity thereto, if
Forrest’s contemporary reports be correct. The Confederates lost a
hundred and forty killed and three hundred wounded. General Forrest
held the battlefield. His forces buried the dead, and his count was
based upon the fullest knowledge of the tremendous mortality of this
sanguinary engagement. There were differing statements concerning
the casualties. The numbers here given are from men who saw the havoc
on the field.

At Fleetwood Hill, the Confederates lost five hundred and
twenty-three killed and wounded, and the Federals nine hundred
and thirty-six killed and wounded. At Trevilian Station, a purely
cavalry engagement, June 11th, 1864, Hampton carried into battle
four thousand seven hundred men against nine thousand Federals.
After the battle and in ten days’ subsequent fighting, his losses
in killed, wounded and prisoners were less than seven hundred.
He captured six hundred and ninety-five Federals, including one
hundred and twenty-five wounded. Hampton’s killed numbered less than
seventy-five. In the Trevilian campaign, continuing fifteen days,
Hampton’s losses did not exceed seven hundred and fifty killed,
wounded and missing, while the Federals report a loss of one thousand
five hundred and twelve, more than twice that of the Confederates.
At Hartsville, the Confederates lost a hundred and twenty-five
killed and wounded, and the Federals four hundred and thirty, with
eighteen hundred captured. At Harrisburg, Mississippi, one thousand
two hundred and eighty-seven Confederates were killed and wounded. At
Bull Run the Federals lost in killed and wounded one thousand four
hundred and ninety-two, with one thousand four hundred and sixty
missing. The Confederates lost one thousand eight hundred and seven.
On both sides approximately fifty-six thousand men were engaged.
At Shiloh, April 6th and 7th, 1862, the Federal death roll was
seventeen hundred and that of the Confederates seventeen hundred and
twenty-eight, and yet on both sides ninety thousand men were engaged
in the struggle. At Wilson’s Creek, the Federal loss was one thousand
three hundred and seventeen, the Confederate loss one thousand two
hundred and eighteen. There the forces were nearly evenly matched,
and there were about ten thousand in the struggle. Accepting General
Forrest’s report to be true that more than twelve hundred men were
killed and wounded in the six hours of fighting at Bryce’s Cross
Roads, then more men were killed and captured on that day than in any
two other purely cavalry engagements of the war.

By June, 1864, Forrest had reached the full tide of his fame. He had
improved every opportunity to develop his genius, and he never failed
to make use of all the fighting opportunities that came his way. He
did not always get the best the quartermaster had, and he had been
hampered by interference from headquarters. He had long since ceased
to rely upon his government for his mounts, clothing, arms and food.
He had months before learned from actual experience that the Federals
had better supplies than it was possible for the Confederacy to
distribute, and that capture from his enemies was a quicker and surer
way of getting what he wanted than to risk the red tape and poverty
of Confederate quartermaster regulations.

Beginning as a private, Forrest had reached most distinguished rank.
Both friends and enemies awarded him a high place among the great
commanders of the war, whether in infantry or cavalry. Fort Donelson,
Shiloh, Nashville, Murfreesboro, his raid into West Tennessee, his
capture of Streight, and conflicts at Brentwood, Harper’s Bridge,
Chickamauga, his raid into middle Tennessee, West Point, Mississippi
and the capture of Fort Pillow, had woven about him and his work a
crown of romance and glory, and had justly, on his absolute merits,
made him one of the most renowned leaders of the Confederacy.

His enemies feared and hated him as they did no other general of the
South. War with Forrest was not only “hell,” but savagest hell. His
idea of war was to fight and kill and destroy with fiercest energy.
It has been said that he considered the raising of the black flag as
the most economical and merciful way of ending the war. His methods
were not calculated to impress his foes with admiration. The many
reverses they had suffered at his hands, the wholesome fear of his
presence, his desperate courage, boundless resources, rapidity of
movement, rapidity of onslaught, recklessness in facing death, and
insensibility to fatigue made failure practically unknown in his
campaigns, and he became a terror to his foes and a tower of strength
to his comrades.

There was no Federal commander that did not count Forrest as a power
to be considered, or a potent factor against which it was wise
to calculate. General Grant and other Federal commanders did not
hesitate to declare that Forrest had the Federal forces in Tennessee,
Alabama and Mississippi hacked. They called him “scoundrel” and
“devil,” and put a price on his head, but this did not drive fear
out of their hearts, or prevent some degree of tremor when they knew
of his presence in the places where they were going, or where they
thought he might happen to come.

Prior to and shortly after the battle of Bryce’s Cross Roads, all the
Federal generals were devising ways and means for the destruction of
Forrest. On June 24th, 1864, General Sherman sent President Lincoln
the following despatch:

“I have ordered General A. J. Smith and General Mower to pursue and
kill Forrest, promising the latter, in case of success, my influence
to promote him to Major General. He is one of the gamest men in
our service. Should accident befall me, I ask you to favor him, if
he succeeds in killing Forrest.” Signed, William T. Sherman, Major
General.

This was the highest price put on any Confederate officer’s life
during the war, and there is no other instance in American military
history where one general found it necessary, in order to destroy an
opposing major general, to offer a premium for his life and to openly
declare that his death was the highest aim to be sought.

It will be observed that the offer was not for dispersing Forrest’s
forces; it was not for his capture; but “to pursue and kill.” General
Sherman did not want Forrest alive, else he would have framed his
murderous suggestion in a different form. The idea of a possible
surrender was ignored. Sherman seems to have proceeded upon the idea
that dead men cease to fight or destroy communications. He told Mower
to take no chances, but to “kill.” This is the only instance among
the Confederate or Federal commanders where a superior incited a
subordinate to murder. He said once before in speaking of Forrest,
“That devil Forrest must be eliminated, if it costs ten thousand
lives and breaks the treasury.” See despatch. Twice, in his telegram
to President Lincoln, he lays stress upon the word “kill.” First he
says, “if he pursues and kills I promised him a major generalship;”
second, “if he succeeds in killing Forrest, and aught happens to me
so that I cannot make good, I ask you to favor him and give him the
promotion which is the price of Forrest’s death.”

How transcendent Forrest’s success must have been in his operations
along the Federal lines to have produced this degree of fear in
General Sherman’s mind! Sherman was a brave and skillful general, but
he seemed to consider that General Forrest’s ability to injure the
Federal armies was greater than that of any other living man, and
with malignant hate, extreme fear, and almost barbarous cruelty, he
offered a major generalship to an ambitious young brigadier general,
if he would pursue and kill the Confederate leader. War amongst
civilized nations is carried on against commands or organized bodies,
not individuals. General Sherman reversed this well-recognized
principle and declared war on an individual and offered a price
for his destruction. He asserted that he had better sacrifice ten
thousand of his countrymen and expend all its treasury contained than
to let one man live to fight. The pressing exigencies invoked by
Forrest’s campaigns silenced the traditions and usages of war, and
made his destruction, in Sherman’s mind, justifiable by any means,
foul or fair, and at any cost, however extravagant or hurtful, to rid
his department of a brave and aggressive foe.

This proposition to reward General Mower was not to General
Sherman’s credit. He declared “war was hell,” but at no period of
the war’s history and by no other Federal general was the death of
any one man made a patriotic duty, or recommended and encouraged in
the service of the Federal army. The South never had any reason to
love General Sherman. He and Sheridan never respected as did other
Union generals the rights of non-combatants. His subsequent burning
of Columbia created in Southern breasts the harshest memories, but
the incitement to killing Forrest, as the surest means of promotion
and success for his subordinate added much to the grounds of the
South for the bitterest hate. With half a century to calm passion, to
still prejudice and restore reason, it is difficult to realize what
a frenzy of fear and hate Forrest had aroused in the hearts of his
enemies.

After failures, not necessary to recount, one last effort was made
to run Forrest down and to annihilate or cripple his command.
Forrest had been transferred to the Mississippi and West Tennessee
Department. It was known as Forrest’s Department. General C. C.
Washburn, in command at Memphis, was ordered to send six thousand men
in a final effort to rout General Forrest. Instead, he says he sent
eight thousand, but he really sent ten thousand five hundred. Colonel
George E. Waring, who commanded one of the Federal brigades, says,
“We were a force of nine thousand infantry and artillery sent as a
tub to the Forrest Whale.” Captain Tyler, who operated in Sturgis’
rear, captured the returns made out for the day. These showed ten
thousand five hundred present for duty.

[Illustration: MAP OF BRYCE’S CROSS-ROADS]

Other Federal generals had been tried out and found wanting, and
in this last effort General Sherman called an experienced soldier,
General Samuel Davis Sturgis, who had won great reputation in other
departments. He had seen service under Lyon in Missouri, and after
the death of that general, succeeded to command at the Battle of
Wilson’s Creek. Assigned to the Army of the Tennessee, later he was
ordered to the command of the Department of Kansas. In 1862 he was
summoned to Washington and given charge of the defense around the
city, and he commanded a part of the 9th Army Corps at the Battles
of South Mountain, Antietam and Fredericksburg. For nearly a year he
was chief of the cavalry in the Department of Ohio, and there he did
most effective work for his country’s cause. He was counted as “dead
game,” a man of great force and energy and of extended experience. He
was born in Shippensburg, Pennsylvania, on the 11th of June, 1822,
and was forty-two years old at the time of the Battle of Bryce’s
Cross Roads. With him was assigned General B. H. Grierson, who was
just thirty-seven years of age. As early as 1862 he had been placed
in the command of a cavalry brigade, and had been conspicuous in
skirmishes and raids in North Mississippi and West Tennessee. Under
General Grant’s eye he had made what was considered a particularly
fortunate raid from La Grange to Baton Rouge. In June, ’63, he was
brevetted a brigadier general of Volunteers, and was regarded as a
most stubborn fighter.

To these brigadier generals was added Colonel George E. Waring.
At twenty-eight he became major of the 39th New York Volunteers.
In August he was sent West as a major of cavalry, and shortly
afterwards he became colonel of the 4th Missouri Cavalry. In 1863
he was in command of the cavalry brigade in South Missouri and North
Arkansas. In 1863 he had command of sixty-five hundred men, mainly
cavalry. He had gone with Smith and Grierson, and was now to go with
Sturgis. His experience was wide and his courage of the very highest
order. He was a gallant, good-natured and fierce fighter, and was
not ashamed to admit the truth when he was fairly defeated. It was
said by General Forrest of Colonel Waring, that his cavalry charge at
Okolona, Mississippi, some time previous to this date, was the most
brilliant cavalry exploit he had ever witnessed.

It was unfortunate for the Confederates that General S. A. Hurlburt
was not added to this trio. In one of his reports, found in the
Official Reports, Volume 31, Part 1, Page 697, after failing to
capture General Forrest, he said, “I regret very much that I could
not have the pleasure of bringing you his hair, but he is too great a
coward to fight anything like an equal force, and we will have to be
satisfied with driving him from the State.” General Hurlburt studied
the results of Bryce’s Cross Roads and learned that, after all the
abuse heaped upon him by his enemies, Forrest occasionally enjoyed a
fight even though he was compelled to try out conclusions with his
foes with an odds against him of more than two to one.

This boastful soldier, more bloodthirsty even than his associates,
not only proposed to kill Forrest, but after death to scalp his
fallen foe and lay at the feet of his superior a savage trophy like
the Indians of old, in the pioneer days of Kentucky and Tennessee.

In addition to this array of distinguished and experienced officers,
the most careful provision was made in arming of the troops that were
to undertake the expedition. They were given Colt’s five-chambered,
repeating rifles or breech-loading carbines, and were also supplied
with six-shooters.

Two cavalry brigades and three brigades of infantry made up the force
which was deemed capable of coping with Forrest under all conditions.
Curiously enough, there was added a brigade of colored infantry. The
events at Fort Pillow, on the 12th day of April, 1864, sixty days
before, had been used to arouse the animosity and fiercest hate of
the colored troops. It was claimed that General Forrest had refused
to allow the colored forces quarter and had shot them down after
they had surrendered. While this was amply disproved by overwhelming
testimony, it served a good purpose to make the colored troops
desperate in any fighting which should fall to their lot, and to
make them unwilling to surrender to Forrest’s men under any possible
circumstances.

Correspondence between General Washburn and General Forrest brought
out mention of no quarter, and it was claimed that General Washburn,
in dispatching these troops, had suggested to this colored contingent
to refuse quarter to Forrest’s command. If not actually advising,
he certainly acquiesced in their wearing some badges pinned upon
their lapels, upon which had been printed these fateful words: “No
quarter to Forrest’s men.” To a man of Forrest’s successes and with
his wonderful record in the capture of Federal prisoners, this was
a most unfortunate declaration for those who were to pursue him,
considering the uncertainty that attended those who might engage him
in battle.

The object of this expedition was to drive Forrest from Western
Tennessee and fully restore communication from Memphis down the
Mississippi River.

The Federal commander did not take into account the heat of a
Mississippi summer nor the torrential rains that so frequently
inundate that portion of the South in June and July. On the day of
the battle, the thermometer rose to one hundred and seven degrees;
not a ripple stirred the air; the leaves were as still as death
itself; men panted for breath.

The thicket was so dense that no eye could penetrate its recesses for
twenty feet, and vision was so circumscribed that foes were almost
invisible. In its impenetrable and pathless precincts, black jack and
small oak trees had grown up into a jungle, and the men entering this
gloomy and perplexing battlefield were unable to even conjecture what
a minute would bring forth. Every nerve was strained; every muscle
tense. No one cared for a second to avert his gaze from the front.
At any instant a foe might spring up and fire in the face of the man
who was advancing. A single step might reveal a line of battle, and
the flash of gun or crack of a rifle was momentarily expected. A
movement of the branches and rustling of the leaves might draw fatal
volleys from carbines, rifles or revolvers, and here and there the
crash of shells and the roar of cannon added to the fearfulness of
the situation. The dangers and dread of every step were accentuated
by the harassing uncertainty of the surroundings.

The western Confederate cavalry at short range always found the
revolver the most effective weapon. Enfield rifles were good enough
up to three hundred feet, but closer than that Forrest’s and Morgan’s
and Wheeler’s men relied upon their six-shooters. The men under
Stuart and Hampton loved “the white arm,” the knightly sabre; they
found that it helped at Fleetwood Hill and Trevilian Station. Mosby’s
greatest reliance was on “Colt’s Navies,” and there were but few
swords ever found with the cavalry of the Army of Tennessee. To
the western Confederate horsemen, their heavy revolver was a great
equalizer. The Federal soldier, when it came to short range, had no
better weapon. At close quarters, with a firm grip on a six-shooter,
a Confederate soldier felt he was the equal of any foe from any
place, and thus armed when it came where he could see the color
of the other soldier’s eyes, he considered the Navy revolver the
choicest weapon man could make. It was a destructive weapon in the
hands of brave, calm soldiers. The bayonet lost all terrors to those
who possessed this effective pistol. No advancing antagonist could
hope to safely reach a man of nerve with a pistol, amidst this black
jack and heavy foliage. There, ears sharpened by battle’s dangers,
and eyes made brighter by hidden foes, gave great zest to the game of
war.

Leaving Memphis on the 1st of June, the approach of Sturgis and
his command was slow and careful, surrounded with every possible
precaution against surprise. The leaders knew the character of the
enemy they must face, and they resolved to leave nothing undone which
should prepare them for his furious onslaughts.

Bryce’s Cross Roads, or Guntown, was seventy-six miles from Memphis.
Nine days were consumed in the march. On the night of the 9th,
Sturgis and his forces encamped on the Stubbs farm, about six
miles from Bryce’s Cross Roads. At this point was a blacksmith’s
shop and a store, and two roads crossed each other, one running
southeast and the other almost directly south. A mile and a half
away was Tishomingo Creek, a slimy and almost currentless stream
at this period, although it had been replenished by the rains two
days before. The soil of the road was the friable bottom land of
Mississippi, which churns quickly into slush and then soon dries out.

About the time that Sturgis left Memphis, Forrest had started on a
raid in middle Tennessee to break up the railroad connection south of
Nashville. At the same time General Sherman was trying to fight his
way to Atlanta, and it was deemed important to destroy the railroads
between Chattanooga and Nashville.

Forrest had only gone a short distance when he was notified by
General Stephen D. Lee to give up his raid and return to face Sturgis
and his command, which had left Memphis a few days before.

There has been a good deal of discussion as to whether General Lee
was willing for Forrest to fight at Bryce’s Cross Roads. Certainly
General Lee hoped that Sturgis would be permitted to march farther
down into Mississippi before the contact should be forced. It seems,
however, from what General Forrest told General Buford that he had
made up his mind to bring on the engagement just where it occurred.
And yet his troops were not in position to justify his engaging in a
great battle.

Lyon, with his eight hundred men from Kentucky, Johnson, with a small
brigade of Alabamians, were six miles away from the scene of battle
at Baldwin; the artillery was at Booneville, eighteen miles away.
It rained heavily on the 8th and 9th. General Forrest had said to
General Buford, “They outnumber me, but I can whip them; the cavalry
will be in advance, and we can defeat the cavalry before the infantry
can march to their relief. It is going to be as hot as hell. The
infantry will come on the run into the battle, and with the muddy
roads and hot weather, they will be tired out, then we can ride over
them. I will go ahead with Lyon and my escort and open up the fight.”
The wily Confederate general knew that soldiers never do their best
when they enter battle after great physical punishment.

Sturgis knew that Forrest was around, and he felt sure that if he
did not find Forrest, Forrest would find him. The night before the
battle, Sturgis had intuition of disaster. Caution warned him to go
back, and the temptation was very strong, but he had promised General
Washburn and General Sherman much before he had started. He had
boasted what he could do, or would do, and the instinct of courage
prevailed over his instinct of fear and bade him go on.

At break of day Forrest’s forces were all moving. They were
converging to Bryce’s Cross Roads. Grierson, in command of the
Federal column, had left Stubb’s farm to march toward Bryce’s Cross
Roads. The Federal infantry cooked their breakfast in a leisurely
way, and were not ready to march until seven-thirty. Experienced and
faithful scouts were bringing to Lyon, who was in the Confederate
front, the accurate information of the movements of General Waring,
who led the Federal advance with his brigade.

On the road, a mile and a half away from Tishomingo Creek, General
Lyon had placed a strong picket. Two videttes were at the bridge that
spanned Tishomingo Creek. These were not particular upon the order of
their going. They fled southward, pursued by Waring’s advance guard,
which was followed by his entire command, and also by the other
brigade of Federal cavalry. Lyon needed no commander to tell him what
to do. To him belongs the credit of having opened the greatest of
all cavalry battles, and to have done more than any one Confederate
officer, other than Forrest, to win the crushing defeat of the Union
forces on that historic field.

Forrest, with his men all counted, had only forty-seven hundred
cavalry. This was the most he could rely on when more than half of
them should gallop eighteen miles. Deducting horseholders, one in
four, and the men who could not keep up in the mad pace necessary
to get into position, Forrest could not have more than thirty-two
hundred fighters in any period of the battle. Against these were
Sturgis’ cavalry and infantry and twenty-six pieces of artillery—all
told, over ten thousand effectives. At the opening of the engagement,
Forrest had eight hundred men with Lyon, eighty-five men as escort,
and fifty men in Gartrell’s company, making a total of nine hundred
and thirty-five.

Forrest resolved to have what he called “a bulge” on the enemy. In
his plain, untutored way he had said “bulging would beat tactics.”
Forrest had with him leaders who knew their business, and who
understood his methods. They had been apt scholars in his school of
war, and they were now going to put their teaching into practical
effect, and under his eye and leadership win applause and glory for
centuries to come.

One of Forrest’s favorite maxims was, “Keep your men a-going.” With a
fierce feint, he undertook to deceive General Grierson, the Federal
cavalry leader, as to his real strength. He had two-thirds less men
than Grierson, and he was afraid that Grierson would attack him and
rush his line, which he could have done, and scattered his forces.

With his limited numbers, he made the greatest possible show. Lyon
had entrenched his men behind brush heaps, rail fences and logs. This
was very warm, but it was much safer than out in the open. Finally
Forrest ordered his soldiers to cross the open ground, and doubling
his skirmish line, boldly marched out. They were widely overlapped
by Waring and Winslow with their brigades, and for an hour Lyon
bravely and fiercely kept up his feint, and then retired behind his
entrenchments. A great burden was on Lyon’s mind, but when it was
most oppressive, the glad sound of the rebel yell fell upon his ears
and then appeared horses flecked with foam, with their mouths open,
breathing with stentorious sounds, panting as if ready to fall.
Rucker and his tired troops, after a ride of fourteen miles, were
on the ground, and quickly dismounting they went into line. Haste
was the order of the hour. Lyon, to be saved, must be strengthened.
Alone he had faced the thirty-two hundred Federal cavalry, and while
he maintained his ground, no idea of running away had ever come into
his mind. Three and one-half to one man had no terrors for Forrest
with these Kentucky men. They were mostly mounted infantry, who had
often heard the storm of battle.

Forrest patted Lyon on the back, and commended him for the splendid
stand which he had made. Rucker, brave, gallant, chivalrous, had
heard the roar of cannon, and although his tired horses were supposed
to have reached their limit, he pleaded with his men to force them to
still greater effort. He could hear through the cannon’s roars the
voices of comrades calling. He knew they were outnumbered nearly four
to one and were being hardly pressed, and that he was their only hope
of rescue.

The scene changes! They are now only two to one, and Forrest again
advances and presses his lines close up to the Federal position.
Before, he was afraid his enemies might realize his inferior numbers
and rush him; now, with Johnson and Rucker, he had one to two.
Before, nine hundred men had constituted his fighting force; now,
sixteen hundred were hurried to the front. The lines of anxiety
disappeared from Forrest’s face; he never doubted when he could count
one to two. At eleven, the fighting had been going on an hour and a
quarter. Time was precious. The Federal infantry, struggling through
the heavy mire and panting under that awful heat, were pressing on
as fast as human strength and endurance would permit. General Bell
was not yet in reach; he had to ride twenty-one miles to get on the
ground and join in the fray. If Waring and Winslow could be swept
out of the way, Forrest felt sure he could take care of the infantry
when Bell came. Prudence might have dictated delay until Bell was on
the scene, but the exigencies of the moment called for instant and
decisive action. Morton, with his invincible artillery, was slashing
his horses and with almost superhuman energy was urging his beasts to
the highest tension to join in saving the day, but the longing eyes
of Forrest, Lyon, Johnson and Rucker could not detect his coming, and
no sign of Bell’s shouting riders came through the murky air to tell
them that succor was nigh at hand.

The time for feinting was past. Forrest understood that the crisis
was upon him, and he always grasped the crucial moment. Riding
swiftly in front of his forces through the jungles, he told his men
that the time had come to win, that when the bugle sounded every man
must leave cover, cross the open space, where it was open, and charge
through the thickets where they prevailed, and rush their enemies.
He rode like a centaur, giving his orders along the line. The
comforting, encouraging word, the hardly pressed soldiers speaking
bravely together, was ended now. Action, sharp and decisive, was the
watchword. The clear, sharp tones of the bugle cut the murky air; the
sound waves drove its inspiring notes across the battle front and,
like a crouching beast springing upon its prey, every Confederate
bounded forward. The sharp rebel yell filled the surrounding space
and fell ominously upon the expectant ears of their foes.

The men of Waring and Winston braced themselves for the coming
assault. Their fire was reserved to the last moment, and then the
repeating rifles with their unbroken volleys, increasing in volume
every moment, created a din that was appalling. The Confederates had
only one fire, and that they reserved to the end. Their enthusiasm
was at fever heat, and rushing on to close with their foes, fear
was cast aside. The enemy was in front; tiger-like, the men in
gray sprang forward. The keen, sharp whistle of the carbine balls
and the buzz of the bullets filled the air in their passage, and
cut the leaves and branches from the trees so that they fell like
showers of dew upon the rushing Confederates. The Federals hurled
their deep-toned battle-cry across the narrow space. They had come
so close that they could now see face to face, and each line shouted
defiance at the other. The blue and gray rushed upon each other with
the ferocity of uncaged lions. The single shots from the Confederate
Enfields, so long held, were now by pre-arranged command fired, and
then the Confederates were ordered to draw their six-shooters and
rush upon their foes. And quick as thought, the sharper sound of the
six-shooters filled the air.

The Confederates had momentarily recoiled before the first terrific
fire so unexpectedly poured into their ranks, but the Federals, in
the face of the six-shooters, began to waver. One or the other must
yield. The Confederates were pushing the conflict. Waring ordered
up two new regiments to halt the advancing tide. The contest was
short, but it was vehement. At close range, nothing could equal the
six-shooter. The sword and carbine could not stay its murderous
effect in the hands of the brave and determined Confederates.

Hand to hand, the conflict went on, but flesh and blood could
not withstand such an assault. The Federal line began to yield.
Lyon, Rucker, Johnson and Forrest urged their brave men to supreme
effort. The tide was still for an instant, but only an instant. The
reinforcements of Waring were brushed away, his lines broken. The
apparent yielding of the Union cavalry encouraged and emboldened the
men of the South, and now they drove forward with increasing energy
and ferocity to the death grapple. Ammunition failing, the men used
the empty rifles and carbines as clubs. A hand to hand fight cannot
last long. Decimation of numbers soon weakens its intensity, but the
proximity of men, looking each other in the eye, shouting defiance
into the very faces of their foes, proves a tremendous strain upon
any soldiers, and such fearful tension weakens enthusiasm and one
side or the other begins to consider yielding. Rucker, Lyon, Hall
and Johnson of Alabama were terrific fighters; they had caught
Forrest’s spirit and they advanced with such vehemence that it was
almost impossible for any line to withstand them. The moment Waring’s
men began to give way, victory deserted the Federal standards. The
piercing of the Union lines, the loss of its initial position, gave
the Confederates added impetuosity and intensity in their advance.
Nature was adding renewed difficulties to the conflict. The fierce
summer sun was almost scalding. Perspiration burst from every pore.
Men, under the intense heat, panted for breath. Forrest’s men knew
they must win at once or fail in the struggle. Not waiting even to be
called, they pressed forward over the bodies of their fallen comrades
and enemies. The Southern troopers seemed imbued with an insatiate
thirst for the blood of their opponents. They remembered what Forrest
had told them to do when the bugle blast brought them out from cover,
and bade them press the fighting, and drive the Federals back. Thus,
impelled by the necessity of immediate victory, answering the summons
of their well-beloved commander, and thrilled by the memory of their
past glorious achievements, they became almost a line of demons. They
cared nothing for wounds or death; they were bent only on the defeat
and destruction of their foes, and for the accomplishment of this
were ready to win or fall, as fate should cast the die.

Forrest, within fifteen minutes of the time when the first shot
was fired, had sent one of his most trusted staff officers to meet
General Tyree H. Bell and bid him “move up fast and fetch all he’s
got,” and to this he added a word to his beloved boy artillery man,
Captain Morton, to stay not his coming but to bring up his horses at
a gallop. Forrest’s keen eye was watching with deepest anxiety to
catch some sight of the coming ones, his ears attuned to catch the
echo of the cheers of Bell’s men or the rushing tramp of the tired
steeds; but nothing was heard of his allies, needed so badly at this
crucial moment.

He knew that Sturgis with his infantry would soon be on the ground,
and that his tired and powder-grimed men could not withstand this new
ordeal, when four thousand fresh infantry would change the alignments
and render resistance of their impact impossible. A thousand
conflicting emotions filled Forrest’s heart, but Forrest was not to
be stayed. “Forward, forward!” he cried to his men. Slowly, then
quickly, the Federal cavalry yielded, and then Forrest pressed them
back in disorder.

The spirit of resistance was broken. Waring and Winston could
not, with all their courage and skill, stay the work of Forrest’s
battalions. They rushed from the front, giving to the men in gray
complete possession of the coveted battlefield.

General Sturgis, in advance of his panting infantry, had arrived at
the scene of the struggle. Message after message of emergency had
come to him by swift-riding couriers. His infantry were forced all
that nature would allow. These Federal soldiers were weighted down
with their accoutrements, and suffering the almost resistless heat of
the burning rays of a fierce summer sun and an atmosphere so sultry
and humid that human lungs inhaling it were weakened rather than
refreshed.

The Federal cavalry were glad to ride away, and, hurrying from such
scenes of carnage and woe, disorganized and beaten, they tried to
reform behind the upcoming infantry. It was with a profound sense
of relief that they gave over the field to the footmen and let them
face, in the bushes and jungle, the Confederate cavalrymen, who with
such devilish fury had worsted them in the fighting of the past
three hours and thinned their ranks by killing and wounding a large
percentage of their number.

The Federal cavalry, in this brief struggle, had pushed their
magazine guns and carbines to the highest pressure. Their ammunition
was gone, and without bayonets they could not halt the Confederate
assailants, who behind their six-shooters let no obstacle, even for
an instant, stay their progress.

Forrest’s prediction that he would whip the Federal cavalry before
the infantry could get up was verified, but unless Bell with his
reserves and Morton with his artillery were quickly at hand, his
success would avail nothing.

The Federal infantry was quickly put in line, and even Forrest felt
for an instant a sense of doubt, as he surveyed his tired followers,
and scanned their faces, worn and sharply drawn by the harrowing
experiences of the past three hours.

However resourceful, he could not immediately reach a conclusion as
to what was best. His soul abhorred yielding now that he had won
glorious victory, and the thought of abandoning it all at last and
leaving his dead and wounded followers on the field and the triumph
of his hated foes, filled his soul with keenest anguish. For himself,
he would rather die a thousand deaths than to do this hateful thing.
At his command, by superhuman courage, his boys (as he called them)
had discomfited and driven away their foe, and as he looked down into
the pale faces of the dead, who lay amidst the bushes and debris of
the torrid forest, as he heard the groans of his gallant wounded and
dying, burning with thirst and fever, as they pleaded for water, he
dared not forsake them. The whistle of the rifle balls, the screech
of the shrapnel again beginning to play upon his position urged him
to speediest decision.

[Illustration: GENERAL ABRAM BUFORD]

[Illustration: CAPTAIN MORTON]

[Illustration: GENERAL LYON]

At this critical moment, while the firing on his side was spasmodic
and occasional, he heard cheers and shouts. A moment later, from
the woody recesses of the thicket, he caught sight of the face of
Tyree H. Bell. The message he had sent two hours before had been
heard. Bell had “moved fast and fetched all he’s got” and Morton had
“brought on his artillery at a gallop.” True, many of the artillery
horses had dropped dead by the wayside, overcome by the terrific
punishment they had received in hastening to the scene of action, but
as the dropping beast breathed his last, the harness was snatched
from his dead body and flung upon another beast who had galloped
or trotted behind the guns. These brutes had seen their fellows
belabored with whips to increase their speed to the utmost, and if
they reasoned at all they reluctantly assumed the burdens of their
dead brothers and regretfully and sullenly took their places in front
of the guns, made so heavy and so oppressive by the heat and by mud
of the slushy roads.

When the supply of horses, in this mad rush of nineteen miles, gave
out, cavalry men were dismounted and despite their protest, their
horses were harnessed to the guns and caissons, which now at the
highest possible speed were being dragged and hauled to the front,
where Forrest was holding his foes at bay, or driving them in
confusion from the field.

The first act of the grim drama had come out as Forrest had expected,
and now the second was begun. He had vanquished the Federal cavalry
and now he must destroy the Federal infantry. Bell had brought him
two thousand men who, although wearied by a twenty mile ride during
the past seven hours, had fired no guns and faced no foes. He had
tried these newcomers in the past, and he did not fear to trust them
in this supreme moment.

The Confederate chieftain did not long hesitate. He knew whatever
was done must be done quickly. The Federal cavalry would soon be
reorganized; the clash with the infantry (if they withstood the
onslaught from the Confederates) would give the defeated horsemen new
courage, and they would come back into the struggle far fiercer than
before, for as brave men they would long to wipe out the memories and
avenge their humiliating defeat with final victory.

The Federal infantry did not reach the battlefield until 1 p. m. They
came under the most trying circumstances; the roads and the weather
together were against them. The human body has its limitations. The
Federal infantry did all men could have done; a majority of them were
unaccustomed to the dreadful heat of the Mississippi thickets and
swamps; they had been forced to the very highest efforts on the way;
the sounds of battle were ringing in the ears of their leaders—the
sultry air did not conduct the sound waves distinctly, but they
heard enough to know that a desperate struggle was already on, and
they were soon to participate in its dangers and its experiences.
Aides came riding in hot haste from where the noise of strife was
heard; the messages were delivered to the advance guard, but the
hard-riding couriers were hastily escorted to the Federal leaders,
and the solemnity of their faces and the seriousness of their visage
unmistakably proclaimed that sternest business was being enacted at
the place from which they had in such haste so furiously ridden.

The Federal cavalry, in squads and disorganized masses, was
retreating from the front. No shout of victory or cheers had come
from the horsemen to urge the infantry forward to the conflict, which
had gone sorely against those who rode. Here and there an ambulance
bearing wounded officers and privates told in unmistakable terms what
losses were awaiting those who were pressing toward the conflict, and
bandaged heads and bloody faces, and wounded arms and legs told the
story of carnage where these sufferers had been.

Regimental and company officers were commanding more rapid marching.
These men in blue had suffered, on the way, dreadful punishment from
the sultry heat, still they were bidden with loud and vociferous
orders to press forward. They were now beginning to catch sight of
the wreckage, an overturned ambulance, a dead horse, streams of
disabled men, broken wagons, fleeing teamsters, riding detached
animals with the harness swinging about their legs, all made a
depressing scene.

The Federal infantry were of good stuff. When within half a mile
of the Confederate lines, they vigorously responded to the command
“double quick march” and ran forward to meet a foe of which they
could see but little. The buzz of the rifle balls they heard on every
side, and the defiant yells, which came from the bushes and recesses
of the thickets, into which the men in blue were being hurried to
find somebody to fight, were no pleasant sounds.

As the Federal infantry swung into line, yells and cheers from
the Confederate forces came across the short space between them.
Something important was happening. Some relief and mitigation was at
hand. The shouts were of gladness and not those of grief or even of
battle. The Confederate artillery was swinging out to the front. The
Confederate cavalry always had good artillerists, Pelham, Chew, Cobb,
Rice, Morton, Thrall and Freeman were men whom any commander might
covet and in whose services they might glory.

Forrest had two wonderful qualities. He made all his associates
recklessly brave. They absorbed the touch of strange and
ever-masterful courage that came oozing from his every pore. He was,
besides, a wonderful judge of men; all his staff were men not only of
intrepid spirit but of quick intelligence and infinite patriotism.
They knew Forrest’s limitations, but they understood his marvelous
greatness. That Forrest was sometimes harsh, even cruel and bitter
in his judgment and in his words and acts, none knew better than the
superb men on his staff; but his transcendent genius, his matchless
courage and his immeasurable loyalty overshadowed his faults, so that
the light which came from his greatness so magnified his presence and
power as to dwarf and blot out that which in many men would have been
hateful deformities.

The battle line was not an extended one. Well for the Confederates
that this was so. With no reserves and outnumbered two to one, the
shorter the range of action the better, for the smaller force.

Three thousand six hundred fresh infantry were now thrown into the
whirlpool of battle. The Federal cavalry cowered behind their allies,
who had walked and then ran in that dreadful summer heat to help them
in their extremity. The heavy fire of the infantry, the constant
peal and boom of the artillery notified Forrest that the best
reliance of the Federal general was at hand. It looked gloomy for the
Confederate commander, but while the character of men and the fire
on the Federal side had changed, General Forrest also had a present
help in this trouble. Brave, gallant Tyree H. Bell had come. True,
his troopers with jaded steeds had trotted or galloped for nineteen
miles under the blaze of the torrid sun, but the poor beasts who had
carried the men could calmly rest while the fighting part of the
outfit were now ready to take their place in the freshening fray.

Bell had a noble record. He had been from the first captain of the
12th Tennessee Infantry. He had acted as colonel at Belmont, and on
the bloody field of Shiloh again commanded this splendid regiment.
Made its colonel, he had won fresh laurels at Richmond, Kentucky,
in the great victory there under Kirby Smith, and still later he
had become commander of a cavalry regiment, and at Murfreesboro and
Chickamauga had furiously hammered the Federal flanks. In January,
1864, Forrest, who knew good fighters by instinct, gave Bell a
brigade with five regiments. The most of these on this glorious
day at Bryce’s Cross Roads were to give another good account of
themselves. At Fort Pillow, Bell with the rifle and revolver had
assailed and won a very strong position, and now again in this
conflict, and in many afterwards, he was to win his great commander’s
admiration and trust.

The pace set by the Federal infantry was fierce, but Bell’s men made
it fiercer. General Buford had come to join in the battle. Forrest
trusted this Kentucky general as probably he trusted no other man
under him. With an immense body, weighing three hundred pounds,
he had a sharp, quick, active mind, a fearless soul and splendid
military instincts. A West Point graduate, he won a brevet at Buena
Vista and was in the Santa Fe expedition in 1848. He gave up a
captaincy in the First United States Dragoons in 1854, and settled
on a splendid blue-grass farm in Woodford County, Kentucky, the
asparagus bed, as Tom Marshall called it, of the blue-grass. Made a
brigadier in 1862, he led a few hundred Kentucky boys from the State
with Bragg, and with General Joe Wheeler had thoroughly demonstrated
his great ability as a cavalryman.

Those who kept pace with Wheeler and Forrest must not only be great
fighters, but they must be great cavalrymen. He placed great store by
three Kentucky regiments of infantry, whose longing to ride was at
last gratified by the War Department at Richmond, and on mules and
broken down artillery horses, they had come to fight with Forrest.
These men with Buford had passed through the roughest military
training as infantry, and when the romance and glamor of cavalry
service came their way, with abounding gratitude for being allowed to
become cavalrymen, they had the manliness and appreciation to show
their government that they fully deserved the great favor that had
been bestowed upon them.

The Federal men were sturdy Westerners. They were as brave as the
bravest. They had trotted three miles, double-quicked another mile
and marched four miles; and they had borne this severe punishment
without a murmur. They longed for victory. To defeat Forrest would
give them the approval of their government and the applause of
their comrades; and they were very anxious to crown the conflict
with one crushing blow at the hated Confederate chieftain who, with
his followers, had not only evaded the Federal forces sent for his
capture, but very often had dashed their hopes of victory and driven
them discomfited from many fields of strife. These men in blue
trusted that fate would now deliver him into their hands, and though
they feared, they hoped, and this gave firmer tone to their onslaught.

There was no cleared space for maneuvering. Men who fought in this
battle must go into thickets and through underbrush to find the foe
they sought.

Forrest was too wary a general to allow the Federals to rest
sufficiently long to recover from the depressing effects of their
heated and wearying march. He well knew that in immediate and
decisive attack lay his only hope of defeating his assailants, who so
greatly outnumbered him. He had genius for finding the places where
the fiercest fray would take place. Grierson’s cavalry had, like
worsted gladiators, sought refuge behind the men whom they jocularly
called “webfeet.” They had borne the brunt of the battle from ten to
two, had been worsted, and were glad enough to let the walking men
test the mettle of the foes they had failed to defeat.

Lyon, Johnson and Rucker had fought with the men under them,
with vigor, against Waring and Winston, and they had longed for
a breathing spell, but as Bell’s brigade, after their twenty-one
mile ride, swung into line, tired though they were, they were yet
indisposed to unload on the newcomers, and so gathering themselves
together, they resolved not to be outdone by their comrades who had
on that dreadful morning not felt battle’s grievous touch nor hunted
through the heated thickets for those who sought their undoing.

Buford was ordered to slowly press the Federal right. Fronting
Forrest and Bell the Federals were massing, and here Forrest realized
must come the “tug of war.”

Cautiously, but quickly, Bell’s men sought the newly aligned Federal
infantry under Colonel Hoge. As Bell’s men advanced, with acute
vision, born of expected danger, they could not even see the men in
blue as they stood with their guns cocked, waiting for a sight of
those who so fearlessly were seeking them in the recesses of the
jungle. They heard the silent, stealthy approach of the Confederates.
The rustle of the leaves, the pushing aside of the bushes told
them the Southern soldiers were coming. In an instant, without a
single note of warning, the murderous, blazing fire of a thousand
rifles flashed in their faces. Many brave men fell before this
terrible discharge. The dead sank without noise to the earth and
the unrepressed groans of the wounded for an instant terrorized the
Confederate line. The instinct of safety, for a brief moment, led
them to recoil from this gate of death, and a portion of Bell’s brave
men gave way. The Federal officers quickly took advantage of the
situation and made a strong and valiant rush upon the broken line.
With a shout of victory upon their lips, they fixed their bayonets
and rapidly pushed through the thicket to disorganize those who,
under the dreadful shock of an unexpected fire, had momentarily
yielded to fear. This was Forrest’s time to act. The expected had
come. Tying his own horse to a tree, he bade his escort do likewise,
and he and Bell, calling upon their men to follow, revolvers in
hand, rushed upon the vanguard of the Federal line. Quick almost as
thought itself, the Tennesseeans came back to the front. Wisdom,
with two hundred and fifty of Newsom’s regiment, leaped also to the
rescue, and those who for a brief space recoiled now turned with fury
upon the line that had dealt them so sudden and so grievous a blow.
Rucker, hard pressed, bade his men kneel, draw their trusty revolvers
and stand firm. It was now brave infantry with bayonets against brave
cavalry with revolvers. No charge could break such a line, and the
men of the bayonet drew back from impact with this wall of revolver
fire. Hesitating for a brief space, they recoiled before the charge
of the gallant Confederates. Hoge’s men crumbled away in the face of
the short range and effective aim of the Southern cavalry. A fierce
dash of Forrest, Bell and Rucker completed their demoralization,
and the men with the bayonets, vanquished, pulled away from further
conflict with these revolver-firing cavalrymen.

At this moment, war’s sweetest music fell upon the ears of General
Forrest. Away north he heard the sound of conflict. Miles away from
the scene of battle, Forrest had ordered Barteau’s regiment to
proceed west and strike the rear of the Federal forces. The Federal
commanders deemed it wise to hold the colored brigade in reserve.
They were about the wagon train. Forrest was again to astonish his
enemies by a flank and rear attack. This was unexpected, but it
was none the less decisive. No Federal cavalry could be spared to
reach the front. Whipped in the morning, they were not even now,
in the middle of the afternoon, ready for a second tussle with
those who had vanquished them. Barteau had been well trained by
his chieftain, for whom he had aforetime made daring assault under
similar circumstances. The wagon train guard sought safety in flight,
and the colored troopers began to tear from their breasts the badges
printed with those fateful words, “Remember Fort Pillow. No quarter
to Forrest’s men.” These boastful exhibits were good enough at
Memphis on June 1st, but they became most unsatisfying declarations
at Bryce’s Cross Roads on June 10th. It made a great difference where
they were shown.

A stampede began among these black-skinned warriors. Vigorously they
pulled the badges from their stricken breasts and trampled them in
the dust, ere Barteau and his furious horsemen could reach their
broken phalanxes. The Federal front was still stubborn and sullenly
refused to yield further ground. To win it was necessary that this
front be broken. With startling rapidity, Forrest again mounted his
horse, rode the entire length of his line, declaring that the enemy
was breaking, and that the hour of victory was at hand. Two hours
of carnage and conflict had passed since Bell came. Finding his boy
artillerist, Morton, he ordered him, at a signal, to hitch his horses
to four guns, double shot the pieces with grape and canister, rush
them down close to the enemy’s line, and deliver his fire. There were
no reserves to protect the artillery, and Morton and Buford spoke
a word of caution as to this extraordinary movement, but Forrest
was firm in his resolve to test out the movement, if it cost him
one-third of his artillery.

Tyler, with his two companies of the brave 12th Kentucky, Forrest’s
escort and Gartrell’s company of Georgians, were to go west and
charge around the Federal right, forcing their way to the Federal
rear, on Tishomingo Creek, and engage with pistols any Federal force
that might resist their progress.

Barteau, further east, was pounding the Federal rear, while Tyler,
Jackson and Gartrell with great fury were hammering the Federal
right. One-sixth of Forrest’s fighting men were now in the Federal
rear. Morton, doubtful, but brave, drove his four guns into the
very face of the enemy, advancing upon them amidst a storm of fire.
His men, leaving their horses behind, as a small measure of safety,
pushed the guns along the narrow, muddy road with their hands, firing
as they moved. They seemed the very demons of war, courting death or
capture in this grapple for mastery. The roar of the guns quickened
the hopes of the Confederates, and all along the entire Confederate
line a furious rush was made upon the Federal position. So close
were the opposing forces to each other that they exchanged words of
challenge, and at every point the Confederates forced the fighting
and doubled up the Federal advance. The game was too fierce to last
long. The brave and daring men in the rear, with Tyler and Barteau,
were riding with a vengeance in every direction, and with their
revolvers were doing deadly work upon the fleeing foes. This charge
was aimed chiefly at the colored troops, who, with visions before
their eyes and echoes in their ears of Fort Pillow, were ready to
flee away, without standing upon the order of their going.

Of this eventful moment, General Sturgis said, “I now endeavored
to get hold of the colored brigade which formed the guard of the
wagon train. While traversing the short distance to where the head
of the brigade should be formed, the main line gave away at various
points, order soon gave way to confusion and confusion to panic.
The army drifted toward the rear and was beyond control. The road
became crowded and jammed with troops; wagons and artillery sank
into the deep mud and became inextricable. No power could check the
panic-stricken mass as it swept towards the rear. The demoralization
was complete.” Even General Sturgis proposed to take the 19th
Pennsylvania Cavalry as an escort, and through the cross roads of the
country, to seek shelter in Memphis. The bridge across Tishomingo
Creek became blocked by overturned wagons, the fleeing Federals
found climbing over the wagons too slow, and waded or swam the
Creek. Impeded in their flight, great numbers were shot down as they
attempted to pass the stream. Morton’s artillery rushed to the bank,
and hundreds of the Federals, still exposed to fire, were cut down
at this point. Forrest was as relentless in pursuit as he had been
furious in battle.

As the closing scenes of the battle were concluded, the sunset came
on. Now was the hour of the greatest triumph. The foe was fleeing,
and the horse-holders, mounted upon the rested beasts, were rushed
forward to gather up the fruits of the splendid victory. There was
to be no let up even in the coming darkness, and the Confederates
who were able, cheerfully hurried to the front. The Federals formed
line after line, only to see them crushed and broken, while weary
fugitives, driven by increasing fear, pushed on with all their
remaining strength, to find some place of safety and rest. The
Federals dared not stop for an instant during the lengthening hours
of the dark, dark night. With sad hearts they kept up their flight,
and when the sun dawned they had reached Ripley, twenty-two miles
from the dreadful scene which long haunted the memories of the
vanquished men in blue.

At 3 a. m., Buford, a few miles from Ripley, came upon the remnant of
the Federal wagon train and the last fourteen pieces of artillery.
General Grierson, at earliest dawn had attempted to stay the pursuit
until he could reorganize his beaten battalion, but Forrest and
his escort, with the 7th Tennessee, closed in upon them, and they
dispersed in the by-roads and through the plantations. All semblance
of order was gone. No genius could evolve a complete organization
that would for one moment resist the foe.

The Confederates seemed as demons, relentless and insatiable. All
through the day and night of the 11th of June, the tired Confederates
followed, and, with boundless energy, pursued the fleeing foes.

The retreat began at 4 p. m., June 10th. The next morning the
Federals were at Ripley, twenty-five miles away, and the night of
the same day, they reached Salem, forty-eight miles from Bryce’s
Cross Roads. Nineteen pieces of their twenty-six cannon had been
captured with twenty-one caissons, two thousand men, including the
wounded and captured, and twelve hundred lay dead on the field of
battle and along the ways by which the Federals had retreated. It
took nine days to march from White Station near Memphis to Bryce’s
Cross Roads. The fleeing Federals had traveled the same road in one
day and two nights. No pursuit was ever more vigorous or effective.
Forrest gave the fugitives no rest or peace. Changing his pursuing
column from time to time, he made every moment count, the Federals
scattered through the fields and forests and the Confederates scoured
the country to take in those, who, forgetting the first principles of
a deserting and defeated army to keep together, fled into the byways
and through the wooded country, in their mad effort to hide from
Forrest and his avenging huntsmen.

There was no reasonable explanation of the stupendous victory.
General Sturgis tried to excuse it by saying the Confederates had
twelve thousand men, including two brigades of infantry, but the only
infantry there were, were Lyon’s troopers, who for more than a year
had fought on foot in the campaigns of the Army of Tennessee.

General Sherman frankly said, “Forrest had only his cavalry, and I
cannot understand how he could defeat Sturgis with eight thousand
men.”

Later he said, “I will have the matter of Sturgis critically
examined, and if he should be at fault, he shall have no mercy at
my hands. I cannot but believe he had troops enough, and I know I
would have been willing to attempt the same task with that force;
but Forrest is the devil, and I think he has got some of our troops
under cower. I have two officers at Memphis who will fight all the
time, A. J. Smith and Mower. The latter is a young brigadier of fine
promise, and I commend him to your notice. I will order them to make
up a force and go out to follow Forrest to the death, if it costs ten
thousand lives and breaks the treasury. There will never be peace in
Tennessee until Forrest is dead.”

The Kentucky brigade opened the battle, bore its brunt for more
than three hours, and this gave to five Kentuckians a prominent and
important part in battle on that day. First came General Hylan B.
Lyon. Born in Kentucky in 1836, he entered West Point in 1852 and
graduated in 1856. He first saw service against the Seminole Indians
in 1856 and 1857, and after frontier work in California was engaged
in the Spokane Expedition and in the battle of September 5th-7th,
1858. On April 3rd, 1861, he resigned his commission in the United
States Army and was appointed First Lieutenant of Artillery in the
Confederate Army. He organized and became captain of Cobb’s Battery,
but in ten months was made lieutenant colonel of the 8th Kentucky
Infantry. He led this regiment at Fort Donelson, surrendered and was
exchanged; and became colonel of the 8th Kentucky. At Coffeeville,
Mississippi, he acquitted himself well. In 1864, he was promoted to
be brigadier general and assigned to the corps of General Forrest,
his brigade consisting of the 3rd, 7th, 8th and 12th Kentucky
Regiments. They were brave, seasoned, fearless soldiers, and were
prepared with their distinguished brigadier general on that day to
give a good account of themselves.

Edward Crossland, Colonel of the 7th Kentucky Cavalry, did not go
to the front in this great battle. Lawyer and legislator, he was
one of the first men in Kentucky to organize a company for service
in the Confederate Army, and for a year was in the Army of Northern
Virginia. A lieutenant colonel for one year, he became colonel of the
1st Kentucky Infantry in May, 1862. He was at Vicksburg and Baton
Rouge and Champion’s Hill with Breckinridge. He was with Forrest to
the end. He had the unfortunate habit to stop the flight of a bullet
in almost every conflict in which he was engaged. Wounded again and
again, he survived it all, and was with Forrest at the surrender.
Upon his return, he was made judge, then congressman, and then judge
again.

He had been wounded at Paducah, and if he had been at Bryce’s Cross
Roads, he would surely have drawn another wound. It always grieved
him that he was not present at this greatest triumph of his idolized
leader. This day found Colonel Crossland’s regiment under command of
Henry S. Hale. In the blood-stained thickets, Major Hale won deserved
distinction. On one occasion his men hesitated, but he seized the
colors and ran forward, flaunting them in the face of the enemy. No
soldier could run away after such an exhibition from his commander,
and they returned with exceeding fierceness and cheerfully followed
their valiant leader.

This and like intrepid conduct on this glorious day added another
star to Major Hale’s rank, and he became lieutenant colonel of the
7th Kentucky Regiment, a just tribute to a gallant soldier. Kentucky
sent none braver or truer to fight for the Southland.

[Illustration: FIGHTING AT BRYCE’S CROSS-ROADS]

Among the officers who proved themselves heroes on that day, none
deserved higher honor than Captain H. A. Tyler, of the 12th Kentucky
Cavalry. His assault on the flanks and his charge on the rear of
the enemy were noble and superb exhibitions of the highest courage.
He played havoc with the colored reserves who were protecting the
wagon train. His voice was heard above the din of firearms and at
the head of his squadron; he descended upon the black soldiers with
such furious war-cries as to chill their blood and set in motion the
retreat, which soon developed into an uncontrollable rout.




CHAPTER II

GENERAL HAMPTON’S CATTLE RAID, SEPTEMBER, 1864


General Wade Hampton, in the history of the Civil War, must ever be
acknowledged to be one of the really great leaders. Of distinguished
ancestry and high personal character, and endowed with sublime
courage, he early entered the contest, and it was not long before
his aptitude for cavalry service was so developed and amplified as
to induce the War Department to confine his talents entirely to that
branch. As the second of J. E. B. Stuart, he not only earned renown
for himself, but was also one of the potent factors in helping his
chief to carry out his cherished plans and to win the conspicuous
place he occupied in the annals of the great war. To succeed so
brilliant a leader and so thorough a cavalryman as General Stuart,
imposed upon General Hampton most perplexing tasks and placed him in
a position which would thoroughly try out the metal that was in him.
It may justly and truly be said of General Hampton that he met all
the conditions which surrounded him in the arduous work which his
talents had won for him.

By the summer and fall of 1864, the obstacles which confronted the
Confederate cavalryman had been largely augmented. Living upon the
enemy had become practically impossible. Raids, in which wagon
trains, provisions, army ammunition and clothing had hitherto been
so successfully captured, were now seldom successful, and outpost
duty and the punishment of the Federal cavalry, which undertook to
destroy the transportation agencies south of Petersburg, engaged all
the time and the energies and more completely developed the genius of
the Confederate cavalry leaders of the Army of Northern Virginia.

Supplies of food had now become one of the most important, as
well as the most difficult, of all the problems which faced with
unrelenting grimness the armies of the Confederacy. The Federal raids
west and north of Richmond, and frequent interruption of lines of
communication about Petersburg and Lynchburg and up the Shenandoah
Valley, had rendered the food supply uncertain. Three and a half
years of war overwhelming the agricultural sections tributary to the
Capital of the Confederacy, had greatly cut down the necessary quota
of provisions.

For neither infantry nor cavalry was there much chance during that
period to forage upon the enemy. The lines of investment and defence
between Petersburg and Richmond kept the cavalry too far south to
foray for supplies north of Richmond. The Atlantic Ocean—free to the
Federals, but blockaded to the Confederates—formed a water route ever
open and impossible of closure, giving the Federals perfect safety
in moving food and supplies upon the currents of the mighty deep,
where there could be no chance for the men of the gray to attack or
appropriate them.

General Wade Hampton, always resourceful, had learned that on the
James River, five miles east of City Point, the Federal army had
corralled a large herd of cattle, kept upon such pastures as had
been left by the environments and demands of war. Fortunate in the
possession of most trustworthy scouts, who were entirely familiar
with the topography adjacent to the James River and the Confederate
and Federal lines at Petersburg, General Hampton knew with absolute
exactness the place where these beeves were being fed and kept ready
for Federal slaughter. He well understood that in any dangerous and
hazardous undertaking, the men who followed him would never hesitate,
but would cheerfully go where he led. These men were always well
assured if he carried them into the midst of danger, he had genius to
extricate them with masterful skill, and their cheers, when ordered
to advance, were the best response which a commander could receive
from the loyal hearts of his followers, and nerved his arm and
quickened his brain for great exploits.

To succeed in this unique and difficult cattle raid, it was necessary
to make an incursion to the rear of the Federal army within a very
short distance of City Point, the headquarters of General Grant and
his subordinate commanders. City Point had become the center of
operations as well as the base of supplies of the Union forces, and
even the most sagacious and cautious Federal soldier hardly deemed
it possible that Confederate cavalry could march in the rear of the
great army that then lay beside the James, or could, with impunity,
pierce the lines covering Federal headquarters and drive off the
large supply of beeves which had been gathered for army use.

On September 4th, 1864, General Hampton set out on this perilous
undertaking. He took with him men who were tried and true, men who
feared to take no risk, to brave no danger and who were capable of
achievements deemed wellnigh impossible by those unaccustomed to the
daring enterprises of war. He had with him General W. H. F. Lee’s
division, Rosser’s and Dearing’s brigades, and a hundred men from
General P. M. B. Young and General Dunnovant. W. H. F. Lee’s division
was composed of three brigades: General Beale’s, General Barringer’s
and General Dearing’s—the last named having only one regiment and one
battalion! There could be little choice among those who composed the
cavalry of the Army of Northern Virginia. They were all and always
to be depended upon. In this extraordinary expedition, those who
were chosen were measured not so much by the individual courage they
possessed above their fellows, as by the condition of the animals to
be subjected to such extreme hardship as awaited the expedition.

The three thousand men mustering for this foray were told only that
the service was both daring and important. These men did not deem
it necessary to inquire where they were going and what the service
was. They knew that Hampton planned, that Lee and Rosser, Beale,
Young, Dunnovant, Barringer and Dearing aided their chivalrous
commander, and they had sublime faith in the skill, as well as the
courage, of these intrepid leaders. There is something in the cavalry
march that exhilarates men, stirring and stimulating the spirit of
adventure. Visions of glory give quickened powers to the men who
ride to war. Those who composed the long line behind General Hampton
were cheerful, patient and hopeful, and inspired by patriotism and
courage, they rode out southeastwardly with the confidence born of
chivalry and implicit belief in the ultimate success of their cause.

After a march of thirty miles southeastwardly, the little army
bivouacked at what was known as Wilkinson’s Grove. Undiscovered,
they had now traveled eastwardly far enough to steer clear of the
extended lines of the Federal army which lay between them and the
ocean. With the break of day, the march was resumed. The heads of
the horses were now turned north, and before daylight had receded
the adventurous command had reached the Black Water River. These
movements had brought General Hampton entirely around the left flank
of the Federals, and he had now come close to the place where he
had intended to force the enemy’s lines. The bridges had long since
been destroyed, and it was necessary to erect temporary structures.
There was no rest for the engineers or their assistants. They had
ridden all day, but now they must work all night. A torch here and
there was occasionally lighted to help the men adjust a refractory
timber, but in the velvety darkness of the still night, cheerfully
and heroically, these brave men hurriedly erected a rude bridge
across the stream, whose currents flowed between the narrow banks,
as if to defy or delay these patriots in their efforts to provide
food for their hungry comrades, who, in their beleaguered tents
around Petersburg, were longing and watching for supplies which would
give them strength to still withstand the vigorous assaults of an
ever-watchful and aggressive foe.

Leaving only the pickets on watch, the command bivouacked upon the
ground, and horses and men in mingled masses—side by side—slept until
midnight. Cooked rations had been brought with them, and no camp
fires were kindled which might reveal their presence. No trumpet or
bugle sound was used to wake the soldiers, the low-spoken commands
of the officers instantly aroused the slumbering troopers whose ears
were quick to hear the low but stern orders of those who called them
to renew their wearying march. Long before the darkest hours that
precede the dawn, the men mounted, and before the sun had risen had
ridden the nine miles which lay between the bridge and the largest
detachment of the enemy’s cavalry, which guarded the pasturing
cattle. The coveted beeves were feeding just two miles farther on.

North and south, there were several bodies of Federal horsemen, but
General Hampton believed that if he could distance the larger force
it would prevent the small detachments from having any base upon
which to concentrate. To General Rosser, always spirited, gallant
and aggressive, was assigned the duty of making an assault upon this
force, and he was ordered immediately after the dispersal of the
Federals to corral and drive the cattle away.

The march from the bivouac where the Confederate cavalry had rested
and obtained a few hours’ sleep, consumed five hours, but before the
sun had well risen, Rosser attacked with fiercest energy. To General
Lee was assigned driving in the videttes. A cavalry regiment from the
District of Columbia, as soon as attacked, entrenched itself behind
barricades and gave notice that they proposed to dispute Rosser’s
right of way and to resist him to the last. The coming of light
had renewed the enthusiasm of the horsemen, and with the rising
sun, their courage rose to the sublimest heights. This feeling of
determination to win at all hazards permeated the entire Confederate
commands, and when Rosser called for sharp, impetuous, decisive,
gallant service, his men rode and rushed over all obstacles, and in a
very few moments defeated the Federal command opposing them, all that
were not killed or captured riding off in wild dismay.

General W. H. F. Lee and General Dearing were directed to disperse
and ride down everything which wore a Federal uniform wherever met
with. Pickets, troops, regiments, whatever opposed, and wherever
opposing, they were to assault and drive away. Particularly were
they to look after couriers, who might bear any messages to Federal
commanders of the presence of these headlong and apparently reckless
Confederates. In fact, a courier was captured and a dispatch taken
from him, giving the exact location of the herd, which had been moved
only the day before.

As soon as General Rosser had dispersed the detachments of Federals
which he was ordered to destroy, he immediately dispatched a portion
of his command to secure the cattle, which was done without either
delay or difficulty. The guards, panic-stricken by the presence of
enemies whom they thought were forty miles away, were overpowered
and made prisoners before they realized that Confederates were in
their midst. A few horses and all the beeves, numbering 2,486, were
corralled. There was no time for parley, delay, congratulations or
cheers. Safety required an immediate movement southward and away
from the presence of the numerous Union forces, who would soon learn
of this bold and aggressive raid and set about the punishment of the
audacious aggressors. But the spirit of war and destruction could
not be stilled. Dangers could not deter the cavalry from proceeding
to burn camps, to destroy great quantities of supplies, and immense
storehouses of clothing and provisions. There was many times more
than enough to meet all the wants of the foraging troopers. They were
quick to appropriate such of the enemy’s goods as met their needs,
and then the torch did its destructive work and rendered useless the
immense stores of food, clothing and munitions of war which Federal
foresight had garnered and gathered for the use of the troops and
camps south of the James River.

The campaign was so mapped out and planned that each man fully
understood the duties he was to perform. The secret of the marvelous
success which had so far attended the expedition was the result of
perfect orders communicated to the men who had ridden fast and far
on this splendid adventure. The Confederate troops were necessarily
scattered, the cattle had been rounded up, couriers had been
intercepted, videttes had been driven away. These movements covered
a large territory, but it was all done so systematically and so
thoroughly that it looked as if some machine had been adjusted and
set for this task. There had been no mistake in the distribution
of the orders, and no officer or man failed to carry them out. The
troops were elated by their superb success. Their victory lifted
them to the greatest heights of enthusiasm, and its glory seemed
to fill the very air and yet, amid all the fascination of their
splendid success, prudence told everybody that now was the hour of
their extremest peril, and that the greatest task of all, that of
driving away this splendid herd of cattle and delivering them to the
Confederate commissary, was yet to be accomplished.

It was a trying work to which these soldiers were now subjected, but
one which the experience and courage of these men had fully trained
them to perform.

In the later months of the war, the sphere of action of the cavalry
became very much broadened. Earlier, raiding and scouting had been
their chief business, but now in emergencies they were used, not only
as cavalry, but as infantry; and their lengthy military training
fitted them to perform their part as soldiers in any enterprise and
in any line of service. Extraordinary scenes were now witnessed, for
the situation was weird in the extreme. The beeves, alarmed by the
shouts of the soldiers and the firing, had become frightened and
unmanageable, for their new masters were not only strangely garbed
but acted in a way that they had never before witnessed. To quiet
the beasts in this emergency, the Federal herders were called upon,
whom the terrified animals recognized as their former masters and
keepers, while they looked with fear and suspicion upon the noisy and
dust-stained cavaliers who now claimed them as their property.

The Confederates soon found that if the cattle were driven in one
herd, the difficulties of moving them would be much increased, their
speed would be much lessened and the animals in great crowds might
become panic stricken, and so with the help of the herders and
captors, three or four hundred cattle were placed in one bunch or
detachment; these were surrounded by the horsemen and forced forward
as rapidly as the condition of the beasts would permit. Celerity
of movement was one of the important elements in this splendid
enterprise. No one understood this better than General Hampton and
General Robert E. Lee, and even down to the youngest private this
knowledge quickened the movements and steadied the arms and braced
the hearts of every soldier who composed the command. Within three
hours from the time General Rosser fired the first gun, General
Hampton had accomplished all his purposes and was ready to withdraw.
With the self-possession and calm of a great leader and without
semblance of fear or apparent solicitude, he began the task of
extricating himself from the dangerous and hazardous conditions into
which the necessities of General Lee’s army and his energetic zeal
had involved him.

No Federal general or soldier had dreamed that such a campaign could
or would be undertaken. Even had it been thought of, the hazard and
the danger of it would have convinced the most cautious Federal
officers that nobody could or would essay to enter upon such a
perilous and reckless expedition.

General Hampton, though, had friends who knew of this brilliant
undertaking. General Lee counted the hours which intervened from the
time Hampton formed his lines and marched away. He knew that only
vastly disproportioned numbers could stay the men who rode behind his
adventurous cavalry associate. He could not hear Hampton’s guns,
but a soldier’s instinct, the telepathy of genius, had whispered
to him that Hampton had done his work. He felt that failure was
almost impossible; that Hampton might be annihilated by overwhelming
forces, but General Lee knew the men who followed the man, and so
when Hampton began his march southward the Confederate commander,
behind his lines at Petersburg, began a demonstration upon the entire
Federal front. With fierce assault, pickets were driven in, troops
at double-quick were moved from position to position; the whole
Confederate forces were under arms, and so far as military foresight
could discern, everything indicated that General Lee was preparing
to make a strenuous assault upon every vulnerable Federal position.
The cavalry, left behind with General M. C. Butler, also began to
skirmish with the enemy’s pickets and outlying posts, and between
the movements of the cavalry and infantry, the Federal officers were
firmly impressed that a crisis in the defense of the Capital of the
Confederates was on and that General Lee was now going to force a
battle which would decide the fate, not only of the Army of Northern
Virginia, but of the Confederacy itself.

Fortunately for General Hampton and General Lee, General Grant
was absent. He had gone to Harper’s Ferry to consult with General
Sheridan about a movement down the Shenandoah Valley. Telegram after
telegram began to pour in upon him; he had hardly time to read one
before another was forced into his hands, and they all bore tidings
which disquieted his calm. The Federal cavalry, which had been
completely scattered, brought in with them marvelous stories of
the overwhelming forces that had attacked and dispersed them. Their
distorted imaginations had increased the numbers of Confederate
troops until it appeared to them that every man in General Lee’s
army had been mounted and was charging down upon the lines about
City Point with a fierceness that indicated that the furies had
been turned loose and that the unleashed dogs of war were ready to
attack all that could oppose them. The communications which had
passed between General Meade and General Grant and the Federal
subordinates during this period are most amusing. The quick and
unexpected onslaught had completely dismayed the Federal Army. Its
officers believed that so much ado being made along the lines in
front could not possibly have occurred, unless General Lee really
intended some important and decisive movement. Along the wires were
flashed the stories from the fleeing cavalry that the Confederate
forces counted more than fourteen thousand men. Those who were
sending these messages did not stop to figure that this was more
cavalry than General Lee had in his army. Hour by hour quickened
these fancies born of fear, and each fleeing horseman painted in more
lurid terms the pursuing foes, which they declared were close behind.
The gunboats were ordered to cover City Point for the defense of the
immense supplies there stored. Reserved troops were quickly pushed
forward, and a universal spirit of alarm and uncertainty prevailed
throughout the Federal camps.

In a few hours, the results of General Hampton’s incursion dawned
upon the Federal leaders. Chagrined and surprised at the success of
the Confederates, and determined to punish and resent their temerity,
vigorous measures were taken to release the cattle and disperse or
annihilate their captors. They understood that the march and drive of
the cattle would be difficult and slow, that the Confederates had the
long line and their pursuers the short one.

The Federal cavalry, under Generals Kautz, Gregg, Davies, all
ambitious and restive under the just criticism of their superiors for
permitting such a coup, with fierce resolution and quickened energy,
set their followers in motion and hunted their receding foes.

General Rosser had the cattle and could protect the narrow line along
which he was passing. His brigade was a wall of fire in his immediate
rear, but the converging pursuers from the north and west, quickened
at every step by the appeals of their officers to avenge what they
regarded as an affront, must be held back by Generals W. H. F. Lee
and Dearing. Those who followed these officers always gave a good
account of themselves, and General Lee, while active in his retreat
(an activity strictly limited by General Rosser’s ability to move
the cattle), while not seeking battle, stood with iron will between
their hot pursuit and the coveted droves, which were forced to their
utmost speed by the whips of the captive drovers and the shouts and
belaboring of the bold horsemen whose every stride was haunted by the
fear of the following Federal cavalry, now galloping to punish the
audacity of the Confederate raid.

With eager eyes and ears, General Lee and General Dearing scanned
every angle of the horizon, and every sound that passed southward,
every cloud of dust that rose heavenward, every object that dimmed
the perspective was scrutinized with earnest gaze. Eyes and glasses
united in finding the position of every coming foe, and the quick
ears of these trained horsemen were turned to catch each breeze, and
to detect if possible the earliest tidings of those who were bent
upon their destruction.

General Hampton rose to the call of the hour. Anxious well he might
be, but despite the throbbings of a heart aroused to mightiest
effort, he bore himself with the calmness of a skilled leader and
fearless soldier. To him and those he led, the issues were momentous.
Capture, imprisonment, the humiliation of defeat and the loss of
prestige, were grievous burdens to carry, but behind him there was a
splendid past and before him a future big with patriotic hope, and he
waited the orderings of fate with sublimest confidence.

Along his lines he rode with words of encouragement and cheer,
and none could discern in his demeanor the tumult of dread that
disquieted his soul. No word or act of his was necessary to tell
the men who with unquestioning loyalty were ready to do his bidding
the grave dangers of the hour. Intelligent and watchful they shared
with their leader the knowledge that the situation was fraught with
utmost peril and that nothing short of the noblest courage, quickest
perception and unfailing steadiness could avert threatening disaster.

Hampton, Lee, Rosser and Dearing were splendid leaders, they had with
them great soldiers, and combined they wrested from fate a great
victory. General Davies was the only Federal cavalryman that was
able to force any sort of a battle, but General Lee was quick to
resist his interference. Halting to feel General Lee’s line, Davies
and Gregg sent a flanking detachment to strike the retreating columns
five miles away, but when they came the Confederates were gone and
this proved the last real attempt to stop the march of Hampton’s
forces.

General Hampton, the master mind of this splendid movement, by
the aid of his faithful scouts and ever alert guides, kept fully
in touch with each part of the ever-changing field. Self-reliant,
confident of his soldiers, and a believer in his ability and destiny,
nothing escaped his oversight and care. If he feared, none knew
it. If his brave heart ever trembled, there was no external sign
of his apprehension, and his unruffled countenance was a constant
inspiration to those who, if needs be, would follow to death at his
call, and who had not even a momentary doubt of his ability to safely
deliver them from the tremendous risks of the hour and the terrifying
difficulties of their hazardous expedition.

[Illustration: GENERAL WADE HAMPTON]

Uncertainty as to the number of men engaged in this movement dampened
the ardor of the attacking Federal cavalry. They did not know
really what to expect. They could hardly believe that a force so
small would have dared strike their rear, and if it was as large as
military science suggested, they had no real taste for grappling a
foe equal in numbers to their own. Lee and Rosser were fighting the
Federal cavalry and holding them at bay. The cattle, now divided,
with soldiers and herdsmen pressing them forward, were traveling
farther and farther south. The hours no doubt seemed long to
the Confederate horsemen, but the excitement of the battle and the
presence of the enemy had sustained them through all the experiences
of the day. With such mental surroundings, minutes had greatly
lengthened, and all the Confederates were glad when they saw a little
ahead of them Nottoway River and recognized that Freeman’s Ford,
where they were to pass that stream, was safe from the enemy’s grip.
As the lowing beasts, the shouting drivers, the tired riders and the
weary horses took the stream and passed safely over to the other
side, to a point where they were safe from attack, generals, line
officers and privates took renewed strength and all congratulated
each other that a kindly providence had guided their feet and brought
them safely under the protecting wing of the legions of infantry and
artillery, for whose sustenance they had endured such tremendous
suffering and faced such extraordinary dangers.

Hampton, with his matchless courage, felt that his full task had not
been performed, and leaving the beasts to browse and later under
lessened guards to pursue their journey leisurely towards General
Lee’s fortified camp, he, himself, summoning such of his followers as
were yet able to ride to still greater tasks, recrossed the stream
and began, now tigerlike, to hunt his pursuers. He felt that these
men, who had had the temerity to pursue him and his great commissary
stores, should be punished for their audacity, and so, turning
northward, he set out to search for the enemies who had attempted
to take from him the rich prizes which his superb intrepidity and
magnificent daring had won for the Confederate army.

The Federal cavalry, far from their infantry supports and with
magnified ideas of the strength of the Confederate forces, were not
impatient to try conclusions with the Confederate troopers who had so
audaciously possessed themselves of their cattle, and so Hampton’s
weary men, with more weary and tired horses, turned their faces in
pursuit of the Federal cavalry. They found that those who had pursued
were now ready to retreat, and the Federal cavalry was willing to
leave them alone to enjoy the spoils of victory and the splendid meat
supply which they had so courageously won.

General Hampton and his men had marched a hundred miles in three
days, part of this time encumbered with twenty-five hundred beeves;
he was far removed from the support or help of his friends, except
so far as General Lee, by his movements in the face of the Federal
lines, could intimidate the army which was opposing him and which was
creeping hour by hour closer and closer to Petersburg and endeavoring
day by day to find the vital and weakest points in the wasted
Confederate lines. The infantry and artillery who were keeping at bay
the besiegers who were pushing forward to throttle the Confederacy
and wrest its Capital from its control and to drive Lee and his army
from Virginia soil, upon which had flowed such torrents of the best
blood of the South and on which had been won such laurels by the Army
of Northern Virginia, heard strange rumors that day, as the first
couriers brought the tidings of Hampton’s Raid.

Fatigued men and jaded beasts mutely appealed for rest and sleep, and
so when General Hampton found that his foes, unwilling to hazard a
battle, rode away northward as he appeared from the south, he gave
the command to face about, and by easy stages he led his troopers
across the river where they might, for a brief while, enjoy the rest
they had so richly earned and receive the plaudits of their comrades,
to whom they had brought such needed and healthful supplies in their
extremity and hunger.

For a little while, it was impossible for the Confederate army
to realize what General Hampton had done. The cavalry, always
sufficiently boastful, were not slow to tell of the difficulties
and dangers of the march, of the excitement and adventure which
attended every hour from the advance until the retreat. They were
real heroes, and there was no reason for them to be modest about
their exploits, and to the amazed infantry they repeated, probably
oftentimes with more or less exaggeration, the experiences and events
of this strange, successful and wonderful expedition. Here and there
the infantry had questioned the steadiness and courage of the trooper
under fire, but as this famished army enjoyed, with gratitude and
satisfaction, the delicious steaks which their cavalry friends had
brought them from the Federal depot, they assigned this commissary
achievement to a high place in war’s annals, and accorded to Hampton
and his troopers in this raid unsparing and unmeasured praise. If
General Hampton had done nothing else than inaugurate, organize and
successfully promote this marvelous raid, he would be entitled to
high rank among the cavalry leaders, not only of the Civil War, but
of the ages.




CHAPTER III

KENTUCKY CAVALRY FIGHTING WITH ROCKS, DUG CREEK GAP, MAY 8-9, 1864


General Joseph E. Johnston had one of the most varied and eventful
careers of any general officer in the Confederate service. General
Robert E. Lee was born January 19th, 1807; General Johnston was born
February 3d, of the same year, making a difference in their ages of
fifteen days. They were both Virginians, and graduated from West
Point in the same class.

General Johnston held the highest rank of any officer in the United
States army, who resigned to take service with the Confederate
government. Of the really great leaders of the men who wore the
gray, he was perhaps criticized more than any other. Whatever were
the charges against General Johnston, he was always able to defend
himself with forceful ability, and with extreme plausibility to
present both his theories and the conduct of his campaigns in a
strong and vigorous way. Oftentimes, a student of the history of
military operations will question, in his own mind, whether General
Johnston was really a great soldier, or an unfortunate victim of
jealousy, or a brilliant leader, against whom fate had a bitter
and lasting grudge. Whatever critics may say, he maintained to a
wonderful degree the confidence and esteem of his men, and his
Atlanta campaign will attract attention through all ages and demand
admiration for the man who successfully planned and carried it out.
It unquestionably takes high place among the great campaigns which
were conducted from 1861 to 1865. The seventy-four days that Johnston
passed in the immediate presence of the opposing army were days of
incessant fighting, great mortality and immeasurable toil; and of
such a character as to hold to the highest tension the nerves and
hearts of his followers. Probably no officer who followed the stars
and bars ever had a more difficult task assigned him than that which
was given to General Johnston in northern Georgia, in the spring and
summer of 1864. General Bragg’s failures, whether justly or unjustly,
had called forth the sharpest criticism, and while a great soldier,
he did not retain in defeat the love and faith of the men he led. In
these matters, General Johnston never failed.

General Johnston was placed in command of the Army of the Tennessee,
by the authorities at Richmond, with the distinct understanding and
positive order that he must advance and stay the tide of invasion
which was slowly but surely moving southward and sapping the sinews
and the life of the Confederacy. All knew that if the Army of
the Tennessee should be destroyed, and the Federals should take
possession of Alabama, Mississippi and Georgia, with the Mississippi
River as a base, it would not be very long until whatever may have
been General Lee’s resources, he would be taken in flank and rear and
his armies annihilated.

General Johnston, while confessedly a man of genius, was also
extremely tenacious of his rights, and resented what he considered
a slight; and he did not hesitate in the most emphatic way to
criticize that which his knowledge as a general condemned.

The Confederate government, on two occasions, at least, was forced
over the judgment of its executives, by popular clamor, to give to
General Johnston most important commands. Twice removed, he was
subsequently reassigned to the positions from which he had been
retired. In each case, and whenever removed failure followed, he
calmly and with the most abundant reasons was enabled to tell those
who deposed him, “I told you so.”

It may be that General Johnston frequently asked of the War
Department what it was helpless to give. He was wise and experienced
enough to see the overwhelming needs of the armies. He was sagacious
enough to fully estimate the power and strength of the enemy. He
loved the cause of the South so thoroughly that he hesitated to
stake its destiny on one battle, the outcome of which was extremely
doubtful. He refused to risk the life of his country on a single
throw “of the wild, grim dice of the iron game.” Those in authority
charge that he was over-cautious and afraid to take the chances that
the surrounding exigencies and dangers demanded, and that he put his
own judgment over and above the orders of his superiors. He never
realized that they fully appreciated and understood the needs of the
situation, and he never fully recognized that those above him had
the right to demand that he should subordinate his judgment to the
authority from which he derived his power. He felt that he had closer
and more complete view of the entire field; that he knew better than
those five hundred miles away of the desperate chances they called
upon him to assume, and he believed that the South could not afford
to take such forlorn risks when by the caprices of fate the life of
the Confederacy was hanging by a most delicate thread.

General Johnston had personal reasons which caused him to distrust
the fairness and justness of the War Department in the treatment of
himself. The order in which the generals were named, whereby he was
made the fourth in rank, was extremely distasteful to him, and he did
not hesitate to say that he felt he had been wronged.

His conduct of the Army of Northern Virginia had given him much
reputation, but in the momentous struggle around Richmond, the cruel
destiny, which appeared to overshadow him, brought him a wound on the
31st of May, 1862, when, humanly speaking, victory was within his
grasp.

He was succeeded on that day by General Robert E. Lee, and from
that time, General Johnston’s connection with the Army of Northern
Virginia ended. During the term of his service, he was wounded ten
times. He was brave to a fault, but never to such an extent as
unnecessarily to imperil the life of a commander.

Many opportunities came, but the fair-minded student must admit that,
with the exception of Bull Run and Seven Pines, he never had an equal
chance.

The correspondence between General Johnston and the authorities at
Richmond shows that the government had good reasons to feel that
General Johnston was not a very obedient commander. And while he may
have known better than those who gave the orders, they considered it
was his business to obey rather than to question or complain.

From May, 1861, to June, 1862, General Johnston was in active and
constant service. He was often charged with over-caution, but his
admirers say this resulted from his great loyalty to the South and
his eager desire to see it win its independence.

After his wound, on the 31st of May on the James River, he was forced
to remain inactive until the summer of 1863, when Vicksburg was in
peril—again his country called, and he responded cheerfully and
promptly.

His campaigns in Mississippi and his failure to relieve Vicksburg
have been widely and sharply discussed. That the operations in behalf
of Vicksburg and for the defense of Mississippi failed, could not,
by those unbiased, be attributed solely to any fault on the part
of General Johnston. He protested that disobedience of his orders,
by inferiors, marred his plans, and on December 18th, 1863, he was
directed to turn over the army of Mississippi to General Leonidas
Polk. He was naturally not sorry to be relieved from a situation that
had been associated with so many embarrassments, and in which there
were so many unfortunate misunderstandings.

The Confederate government again called him a second time to take
command of the Army of the Tennessee; but he was relieved on the 22nd
day of July, 1863; and on the 3d of December, 1863, he was again
instructed to lead the forces which were attempting to stem the
advance of the invaders towards Atlanta, and the further progress of
which, into the heart of Georgia, was regarded as an impending death
blow to Confederate hopes.

General Johnston, with his knowledge of equipment, realized how
inferior were those of his men to the armies that wore the blue, and
most earnestly and insistently pleaded for better equipments and more
troops. It must be said that he knew better than any living man the
condition of the forces, which he was called to command. The failures
of his predecessors only quickened his desire and hope, out of the
wreck, to win victory, and it may be that a patriotic spirit, united
with ambition, also pointed out to him in an attractive form the fact
that he was to save Atlanta from the grasp of the Federal forces, and
become the leader in the West that General Lee was in the East.

There must have been a feeling of intense satisfaction to General
Johnston in the resolution of the Confederate government to appoint
him anew to the second and most important command in the Confederate
armies.

Those who put themselves in General Johnston’s place are bound to
admit that he had some ground of justification for his feeling
towards the Confederate authorities. We can look at these conditions
more clearly after a lapse of nearly fifty years, and even the
friends of the men who composed the War Department, and the friends
of General Johnston, are forced to the conclusion that there were two
sides to the controversy.

When, on December 27th, 1863, he assumed command of the Army of the
Tennessee, General Johnston undertook a Herculean task. From all the
reports of those connected with the department, it is shown that
General Johnston made the best of the situation when matters were
turned over to him. General Johnston had assumed a burden which would
press hard upon his shoulders. Persistently and even fiercely, he
called for more troops, more horses, more guns, more feed, more men
in the infantry. It was his desire to be able to stop the invasion.
He was not satisfied with the meagre resources of the government
at Richmond, but asked more. When called to the command of the
defeated army, it was with the understanding that he should make an
offensive campaign. The authorities felt that a Fabian policy was the
forerunner of ruin, and that Napoleonic methods, with even desperate
odds and chances, was the only plan which suggested or held out the
least show of victory. He had a right to expect such resources as
would give him some sort of chance in the desperate battle which his
country had called upon him to wage. He was facing an army twice
as large as his own, probably the best equipped army that ever
marched on the American continent, commanded by a general who, as
even those who disliked him admitted, was a great soldier, who had
behind him practically unlimited resources, against which General
Johnston was to go with comparatively few and badly provided men,
and he constantly and with increasing emphasis made demands on his
government for more troops. The people at Richmond felt the crucial
moment was at hand and the chances of battle must be risked even
though the chances were very largely against the Confederate troops.
They said, in substance, to the leader of the Army of the Tennessee:

  He either fears his fate too much
    Or his desert is small,
  Who does not put it to the touch
    And win or lose it all.

So soon as the rains of the spring had ceased and the roads had
dried, the Federal general set out with a force of eighty-five
thousand men to force his way down through Georgia to Atlanta; he
had already gone through Chattanooga, he was well on his way from
Chattanooga to Atlanta, and between him and his destination only
stood Johnston with as brave men as ever faced a foe; men who were
ready and willing to die, if needs be, to save their country. The
fierce campaigns of the winter which had been imposed upon the
cavalry had weakened their force, many of them were dismounted, and
many more of them were poorly mounted, and in that depleted condition
were not equal to the tasks that this important march was now to lay
upon them.

Forrest and Wheeler and their subordinates had done all that men
could do. They had pushed their columns to the limits of endurance.
Their presence now became necessary to protect the flanks of General
Johnston’s army and stand off Federal raids. They were too busy at
home to justify attacks upon the enemy’s rear.

In the first few days of May, General Sherman began to feel his way
towards the Confederate position. The Army of the Tennessee had
wintered at Dalton, a place that General Johnston could not see was
of any strategic importance, but its surrender would mean another
disappointment of the national hopes, and a further impairment
of confidence in the Confederate forces to resist the apparently
relentless destiny that was pursuing the decimated legions that had
so long and fearlessly challenged a further advance into a state, the
possession of which was vital to the nation’s life.

Among the forces composing the cavalry of General Johnston’s army
was Grigsby’s Brigade, composed of the 9th Kentucky, led by Colonel
W. C. P. Breckinridge, and Dortch’s and Kirkpatrick’s battalions.
These soldiers were among the best that Kentucky furnished. They
were largely young men from the Bluegrass, few of them exceeding
twenty-five years in age. They had come out of Kentucky in July,
1862, and October, 1862; had now received more than a year’s
seasoning, and were by their military experiences fitted for the
hardest and fiercest conflicts. They had left Kentucky well mounted.
Grigsby had been on the Ohio raid and escaped the catastrophe which
met General Morgan’s command in July, 1863, at Buffington Island.
A portion of his regiment and a part of the 10th Kentucky Cavalry
alone came back from that fatal ride. The 9th Kentucky, under
Colonel Breckinridge, had not gone upon the Ohio raid. Grigsby was
one of the best of the Kentucky cavalry colonels. He was born in
Virginia, September 11th, 1818. He was just forty-four years old when
he entered the Confederate service; brave, determined, fearless,
enterprising, he established a splendid reputation, and when the Army
of the Tennessee was before Chattanooga, he was given command of a
brigade by General Wheeler, including the 1st, 2nd and 9th Kentucky
Cavalry and later Dortch’s and Kirkpatrick’s battalions. In the
retreat from Missionary Ridge, General Bragg designated Grigsby and
his Kentuckians to cover the rear, and they did it with preeminent
valor and intrepidity.

Later on, General Wheeler became so much attached to General Grigsby
that he made him chief of staff; and in Tennessee, Georgia and the
Carolinas, during the darkest and closing scenes of the nation’s
struggle, he won superb commendation and became one of General
Wheeler’s most trusted and vigilant lieutenants.

The 9th Kentucky Cavalry was essentially a central Kentucky product.
It was recruited partly during General Morgan’s raid of 1862, in
Kentucky, and was completed during Bragg’s occupancy of the state,
in the summer and fall of 1862. It was commanded by Colonel W. C. P.
Breckinridge who, when a mere lad at college, won a reputation as one
of the most eloquent of the young men Kentucky had ever known.

He had been practicing law four years when the war began. In July,
1862, he recruited a company that became part of the 2nd Kentucky
Cavalry, under General John H. Morgan.

When the Confederates returned to Kentucky, under Bragg, Captain
Breckinridge was enabled to recruit a battalion, and this was
subsequently consolidated with Robert G. Stoner’s battalion and
became the 9th Kentucky Cavalry Regiment, of which Breckinridge
became colonel.

By December, 1862, he was in command of a brigade in General Morgan’s
famous Kentucky raid, which covered the Christmas of 1862 and New
Year of 1863. Saved from the wreck of the Ohio raid, his regiment
was part of the brigade commanded by Colonel Grigsby in Kelly’s
Division of Wheeler’s Cavalry Corps.

The Kentucky brigade was engaged in many brilliant operations in
Tennessee and Georgia. Part of it rode with Wheeler in his raid
through Tennessee, in Sherman’s rear. General Wheeler, in his
reports, was generous in the praise of the distinguished young
colonel, afterwards known as the “Silver-Tongued Orator of Kentucky,”
and representative of the Henry Clay district for a number of years
in the United States Congress.

Two of the services rendered by the Kentucky brigade are to be
sketched in this book. First, the brilliant fight at Dug Creek Gap,
at the opening of the Atlanta campaign, and, second, its work in
capturing General Stoneman, some weeks later.

The Kentucky brigade, at the Dug Creek Gap, did much to give
inspiration to the army under General Johnston, which, while
generally retreating, was always cheerful and, even though constantly
retiring, never lost its courage or its fortitude.

This brigade was not overly fond of discipline, against which there
was always a silent protest; notwithstanding which they were always
ready to grapple with any foe that fate brought across their path.
They bore the hardships of every campaign without a murmur or
complaint. In July, September, October, November and December, no
raids, however trying, had been able to bring from these splendid
cavalrymen a sigh of regret or a murmur at the arduous work that
their country and general had assigned them. When General Johnston,
with complete reliance upon their courage and fidelity in the face
of the most imminent danger, designated them for a difficult and
hazardous service, they accepted it with great joy, and marched out
with defiant shouts and enthusiastic cheers to obey his commands and
fulfill his expectations.

While General Johnston, through January, February and March of 1864,
was appealing for more men, more guns and more equipments, Sherman
had orders from General Grant to “move against Johnston’s army,
break it up, and to get into the interior of the enemy’s country as
far as he could, inflicting all the damages possible on their war
resources.” General Johnston had directions to strike the Federal
army in the flank, attack it in detail, or do anything that, by a
bold and aggressive forward movement, would inspire the people of the
Confederacy with yet more patience and more willingness to make still
further sacrifices for Southern independence.

As to how many men Johnston and Sherman each had at this particular
time, there has been much calculation and superabundance of figuring.
General Johnston said that on the 30th of April, up to which time no
serious losses had been inflicted upon his forces, he had forty-two
thousand eight hundred and fifty-six men. Some Federal writers insist
that the Confederates had eighty-four thousand.

By the 1st of May, 1864, the roads had dried sufficiently to warrant
an earnest advance, and on the 5th of May, General Thomas, under
direction of General Sherman, made a movement on Tunnel Hill. On May
7th, the Confederate forces were withdrawn, and then commenced the
famous Dalton-Atlanta campaign.

Four miles southwest of Dalton, on the great road from Dalton to
Lafayette, a little distance away from Mill Creek Gap and Snake Creek
Gap, was Dug Creek Gap, a mere road cut out of the mountain side, and
the steeps rising up beside the road provided splendid opportunities
to resist those who might undertake to force a passage over the
mountain by this narrow precipitous defile. It was not a place to
deal much with artillery, but it was a spot where close range or
hand-to-hand fighting alone was to settle the conflicts of the day.
Oftentimes, the Confederate soldiers had marched through Dug Creek
Gap, and in February, preceding Sherman’s advance in May, it had
been seized by an Indiana regiment, which held it until the gallant
Cleburne drove it away and repossessed it for the Confederacy.

Dug Creek Gap had not been fortified and when, on May 5th, General
Sherman began his famous march, it was guarded by a small number of
Arkansas troops under Colonel Williamson, numbering not more than
two hundred and fifty. General Sherman was constantly and cautiously
pushing his way southward. He had three armies, under three skillful
and experienced generals: Thomas, with sixty thousand; McPherson,
with twenty-four thousand five hundred; and Schofield, with fifteen
thousand five hundred. These, like the waves of the sea, were slowly
but surely spreading and reaching southward along the highway to
Atlanta.

[Illustration: KENTUCKY CAVALRY FIGHTING WITH ROCKS]

Starting at Bowling Green, not more than a year before, it had
gradually advanced fifty miles into the heart of Georgia, all this
while pushing the Confederates before its victorious marches and
incessant attacks. It, as yet, had not reached its goal, and more
than one hundred thousand men had, by wounds or death, paid the
penalty of its fortitude and endurance. Composed largely of men from
the West, who were made of stern stuff, the rebel yell had no terror
for its legions. When the rebel yell was given, there was always a
response, sharp, quick, defiant, which meant, “We are not afraid, and
we are ready to grapple with you in deadliest combat.”

On the night of the 7th of May, Grigsby’s brigade, after having been
driven through Mill Creek Gap, had gone into camp. The marching,
fighting and riding of the day had wearied all its troopers, now so
far removed from their Kentucky abodes. As they laid down upon the
soil of Georgia, tired and weary, they had visions of their homes,
and were reveling through dreamland, in joyous anticipations of some
day joining those they loved in the far North. War’s sorrows, its
deaths, its dangers, its sufferings were lost in the peace of sleep.
These dreams were rudely awakened by the harsh, shrill tones of the
bugle. Turning over on their hard beds on the ground, a number of
them asleep on rails and brush, they essayed to believe that the
call was only a fancy of weary brains and pulled their blankets more
tightly about their heads. They tried to hope that the sound of the
trumpet was only a delusion and not a real command to rise and ride.
They rubbed their eyes and wondered why this untoward night summons.

War, relentless, cruel and pitiless, turned a deaf ear to nature’s
pleadings for rest for her exhausted children. Hesitation was only
for a moment. The worn animals were quickly saddled, the Kentucky
troopers mounted, and out through the darkness of the night they
trotted, not knowing whither they were bound. Their commanders had
orders that they were to defend Dug Creek Gap, eight miles away, but
they kept the secret of their destination hidden in their own hearts.

McPherson, young, brave, vigorous, was leading the Federals; he was
hunting for Snake Creek Gap, some miles south and west of Dug Creek.
A corps of the Army of the Cumberland were covering these movements
and marching forward down the railroad. Hooker was ordered to seize
Dug Creek Gap, and then push south, so as to protect McPherson, who,
marching west, then south, then east, was to pass through Snake Creek
Gap and strike the railroad in the rear of Johnston.

The position at Dug Creek once taken would necessitate an immediate
retreat from Dalton, and with this Gap in the mountains held by the
Federals, Gen. Johnston’s left flank would be severely exposed.

Before the break of day of the morning of the 8th, scouts of the 9th
Kentucky Cavalry had told the story of McPherson’s flank movement and
of Hooker’s advance on Dug Creek Gap. To the experienced eyes of the
cavaliers of the Kentucky brigade, the large infantry forces being
massed along the line left no doubt that serious work was ahead, and
that Dug Creek Gap was an important point and the key to the present
situation, and for its possession the Federals had begun a vigorous
movement.

Across Dug Creek, at the foot of the mountain, the Kentucky cavalry
had advanced north and picketed the road against the enemy. Eight
hundred Kentucky cavalrymen and two hundred and fifty Arkansas
infantry were to hold this now important position. It was a difficult
and a dangerous task, but these men in gray felt they were able to
answer the summons and hold the defile.

Later, when it was dark (full moon), Granbury’s Texan footmen would
come up, but in May, in Georgia, it was a long while from two o’clock
in the afternoon until the shades of night should cover the sides of
the mountains, and the sun would hide its face behind the western
slopes of the eminences through which nature had cut the gap for the
passage of man. So strategic had this position become that it was now
well settled in the minds of the Confederates that it was one of the
doors into Dalton, and these thousand and fifty fighting men were to
hold it against four and a half times their number, composing Geary’s
division of Hooker’s corps.

The Federal forces seemed impressed with the idea that they would
take the Confederates unawares. They had not calculated the sort of
stuff that made the men who held the Gap. The Federal signal corps,
at the dictation of an assistant adjutant general, flagged General
Sherman, “The infantry has just formed and started to attack the Gap.
The artillery is in position and I hope to be able to send you word
within half an hour or an hour that the Ridge is taken.” General
Geary admitted that he was assaulting with forty-five hundred men,
four and a half to one, without counting his batteries.

The advance guard and picket line of the Kentuckians that had
crossed the creek were slowly but surely driven in. They retired
sullenly, and at each favorable opportunity stopped, turned and
showed that they were not disposed to run away, and with fierce
volleys disputed every inch of ground. The Federals had not supposed
that any important force would be there to oppose their march, and
when the thin line of skirmishers receded from the advancing wave of
blue-coated marchers, they felt that the conflict was practically
ended, and that Dug Creek was theirs. Crossing the creek and up the
mountain side, the Confederate cavalry retreated, until at last they
found their comrades and backers, the remainder of the brigade,
awaiting the final grapple on the mountain crest. The gray line was
thin, very thin, but what it lacked in numbers, it made up in grit,
and now that the limit of retreat was reached, they set about the
more serious business of teaching the enemy of what material the
defenders were made.

The brave infantry from Arkansas and the chivalrous cavalry from
Kentucky stood side by side, and no sooner had the head of the
Federal column come within reach of the cavalry Enfields than a hot
and incessant fire was poured in upon the advancing line. All through
the day, these cavalrymen had been hard at work, but as the shadows
of evening were falling, they were less prepared for the vigorous and
lusty attack that was now to be made.

Up and up the mountain side came the men clad in blue; above them the
weary Southrons, long without food, either for man or beast, were
waiting their onslaught. The Confederates had largely the best of
the position, and they improved it to the fullest. It soon dawned
upon the Federals that, instead of having undertaken an easy task,
they had assumed a most arduous work, and that their progress would
be resisted with great skill, unyielding tenacity and dauntless
persistence.

A sense of danger and strategic instinct had brought General Hardee
and General Cleburne to aid, by their counsel and their presence,
in the defense of this valuable position. Intently and eagerly they
watched the Kentucky cavalry and Arkansas infantry face the superior
forces, but it was not their presence that made the fighting spirit
of these Confederates rise to the highest plane—it was the fact that
they knew they were holding a stronghold of importance and that
General Johnston, over at Dalton, was expecting and believing that
they would beat back the foe.

Again and again the infantry assaulted the Confederate line, but
each time they were driven off with loss. When probably the struggle
was more than half over, the ammunition began to grow scarce in
the cartridge boxes of the Confederates; in a spirit of more
dare-deviltry than intention to do any great damage to their foe,
some of the Kentuckians began to hurl stones down the mountain side
into the midst of the Federals. It took a few minutes to catch the
import of this new style of warfare, but as the great stones began
to rush down steep declivities, gathering impelling forces from
every foot of descent, tearing the tops of trees and breaking limbs
and cutting down saplings, the men on the hill began to take in the
effectiveness of these improvised engines of war. It is true, they
had no catapults, like the Romans of old, with which to fling them
far down the mountain, but they had strong arms, guided by brave and
fearless hearts. They caught, with soldierly impulse and sagacity,
the effectiveness of this new plan of defence, and stone after stone
was seized and sent crashing below, until along the whole line went
up the shout, “Throw down the rocks, throw down the rocks,” and a
great hail of stones began to fly from the heights and sides of the
eminence into and through the ranks of the ascending Federal legions.

General Geary, under whose immediate order the assault was made, in
his report, said, “Hand to hand encounters took place, and stones as
well as bullets became elements in the combat.”

For a little while, the Federals thought that these stones were cast
down by accident, that some soldier by a misstep had turned them
loose. But quicker and faster and fiercer fell the stone storm, and
with terror they realized that their enemies above them were turning
loose these strange emissaries of death, and their souls and hearts
were shadowed with a touch of panic at this new method of defending
the pass, adopted by their enterprising foes.

With diminishing ammunition, but yet without decreasing courage,
the fierce and unequal contest was maintained. Those who had no
cartridges threw down the stones. Those who had cartridges sent
bullets below to stop the advance of the brave and adventurous
assailants.

In a little while, the gloom of night began to brood over the baleful
scenes around Dug Creek Gap. As darkness finally set in, the
stone-throwing cavalry and infantry heard the rebel yell creeping up
the southern mountain side. In their rear, closer and closer, the
inspiring voices sounded. They wondered from whence the gladdening
sound came, and who were these assailants, from whose vigorous lungs,
were speeding messages of help and cheer, and bidding them still
longer defy their foes. They heard the tramp of horses, the rush of
horsemen, and the cry of battle. And, in a little while, up from the
mountain on the southern slope emerged Granbury’s Texan Infantry.
These men were born horsemen. They had all their lives ridden across
the prairies of Texas, and they were at home in the saddle.

Under orders from General Cleburne and General Hardee, the infantry
had been rushed forward to carry encouragement and bring succor to
these valiant Kentuckians and Arkansans who, with such superb courage
and unlimited patience, were defending the Gap with unfaltering vigor.

As the Texans at double-quick speeded to the scene of the conflict,
at the foot of the slope they saw, in charge of the horse holders,
the steeds of the cavalry, who had dismounted to go forward on the
mountain height to battle. With a wild whoop, the astonished horse
holders were commanded to turn their bridles loose, and upon the
steeds, waiting now through the long day for their riders to come, at
once sprung these sturdy, brave and resolute Texans. Mounted in the
saddle once more, they felt war’s delirium and seemed to catch the
spirit of the chainless winds that swept across the prairies of their
state, and shouting and yelling they galloped forward at a breakneck
speed to the succor of their hard-pressed comrades on the mountain
top.

For a little while, the dismounted cavalry could not understand the
changed situation. They looked upon the animals and knew they were
theirs, but they had strange riders, the saddles were filled with
soldiers they had never seen before, whose names they could not
call, whose regiment they could not distinguish. But the Texans had
come for war and, quickly dismounting, they turned over the steeds
of the Kentucky men to their rightful but tired owners, and took
position in the battle line in Dug Gap to defend its now renowned
and blood-stained heights. They had come to succor and to relieve
these Kentucky and Arkansas soldiers, who for twenty-four hours
had known neither rest nor food. They had come to tell them to go
down the mountain side, and in sleep recuperate their wasted and
tired energies, while they watched and defended the place now made
illustrious by their valor. Granbury’s Texan Brigade came ready to
share all the danger of the place and hour, but the assaults were
over and the victory had been won ere they had in such startling
fashion appeared on the scene. In the darkness of the night, the
men who so splendidly and so patiently had stood throughout the day
against great odds, to save the destruction of the left flank of
General Johnston’s army, marched down into the plain below. They had
fought a great fight with the help of their Texas allies. They had
set a splendid example of noblest endurance and heroic gallantry.
They had given the first notice to General Sherman that the way he
was to march would be a path of blood, and that if he won, it would
be at a tremendous sacrifice of his best and bravest troops, and that
in facing the oft-defeated, but not dejected, Army of the Tennessee,
he was to encounter men worthy of any cause and whose defense of
their homes and firesides would dot the mountains and valleys of
northern Georgia with many thousands of Federal graves, and if he
did reach Atlanta, it would only be when his losses would equal even
those his soldiers had witnessed at Shiloh, Murfreesboro, Perryville,
Chickamauga and other fields upon which already fearful sacrifices
had been the price of victory. It was a success that declared that
the Army of the Tennessee had lost none of its courage and that in
the coming seventy days more than sixty thousand Union men, in death
or with wounds, should fall by the way, on the road to Atlanta.

The Kentucky brigade and the two hundred and fifty Texans had set the
standard. Their comrades would accept the measure. They had outlined
the manner of conflict that Sherman’s army must expect. It was to be
a series of battles where “Greek would meet Greek,” and there would
not be a single mile of the entire distance to Atlanta traversed
without the copious shedding of the blood of brave and true men.




Chapter IV

GENERAL JOSEPH WHEELER’S RAID INTO TENNESSEE, FALL OF 1863


General Joseph Wheeler’s raid into Tennessee in October, 1863, has
few parallels in cavalry campaigns. Removed from the excitement and
delirium of war, many of its happenings appear incredible, and were
it not for official reports of both sides, the account of it when
read would be declared unbelievable, and deemed the result of highly
wrought imaginings, or the Munchausen stories of some knight errant,
whose deeds could not measure up to the creations of his ambitious
fancy.

Half a century between these occurrences and their narration only
increases our wonder and admiration at the exploits of these
courageous horsemen, who seemed to have known neither fatigue nor
fear in the pursuit and punishment of their country’s foes. Viewed
from either a strategic point, or considered in relation to the
losses inflicted upon those who opposed them, this raid stands out
in military history as one of the wonders of war, and assigns its
masterful leader and its no less masterful men a very high place
among the world’s cavalry heroes. Hard riders, fierce fighters,
insensible to fear, they hesitated at no undertaking assigned them,
and they never questioned, but were glad to go where their gallant
leader bade them march.

Wheeler, himself, seemed immune from death. Engaged in two hundred
battles and in six hundred skirmishes or smaller conflicts, he
escaped injury. Like Forrest, he led wherever he was present, and he
never hesitated to charge any line or assail any force that came his
way.

A partisan cavalry leader can never know fear or doubt. His chiefest
hope of success is based on the surprise of his foes, and quick,
reckless dash and bold onslaughts make up oftentimes for lack of
numbers. A soldier, who at twenty-five years of age had risen to be
a brigadier general, at twenty-six, a major general and commander of
a corps, and a lieutenant general at twenty-eight, and achieved such
great success and renown as General Wheeler, could neither be the
product of favoritism nor the output of accidental promotion. Behind
such rapid advancement, there must have been magnificent genius,
coupled with the fullest improvement of every opportunity that
crossed his path. He had no real failure in his career. Victory after
victory came to him as if sent by a biased fate; and a calm review of
his life by a just and impartial critic must force to the conclusion
that he was one of the most remarkable men of the wonderful period in
which he acted.

The Battle of Chickamauga, one of the fiercest of the great conflicts
of the war, was marked by an unyielding courage, a sullen and intense
obstinacy on both sides. That engagement again proclaimed the
determination of both sides to fight out the issues which the war
involved, until one or both antagonists, in the awful destruction of
men and resources, should be unable to longer continue the struggle.
The results, beyond the immediate relief from pressing invasion,
certainly did not compensate the Confederate armies for the dreadful
loss Chickamauga involved. Whether the Confederate leaders thoroughly
improved the partial advantages gained will remain an open question,
but the outcome imposed upon the Confederate cavalry new and greater
labors, which all history will declare were met with a courage and
enterprise, which added new laurels to their hitherto nobly earned
fame.

With Chattanooga still in possession, and with the Tennessee River
behind them, the Federal armies now were to face one of war’s most
dreadful foes. Hunger is a most potent general that no antagonist
chieftain can ignore. Supplies for the Federal armies were to reach
them either by the Tennessee River, or by the wagon trains starting
from points on the railroad, operated from the territory north in
Tennessee, and against these slow and tedious methods of feeding an
army, the Confederate cavalry were now turned loose, to burn, scatter
and destroy.

General Wheeler was given the entire command of the Southern horsemen
operating in this territory. Barely twenty-seven years of age, wisely
or unwisely, he was given prominence over Forrest and other cavalry
leaders, who had on many fields demonstrated dazzling genius and
exhibited sublime courage. Brave and patriotic as were the armies
of the Tennessee Department, yet as always where human ambitions
and services are involved, jealousy is bound to arise, and no sixty
thousand men can be aligned under a flag for any cause, where some
differences will not occur and where in leadership and assignments
some animosities will not arise. Some men are born to lead and some
to follow, and neither in Virginia, Tennessee, nor in the farther
West were the soldiers of the Confederacy exempt from those ills that
ever attend army organizations. This was somewhat intensified in the
army of Tennessee, which by the summer of 1863 had developed three
great cavalry leaders, Wheeler, Morgan and Forrest. General Wheeler’s
youth made against him in the consolidation of the cavalry by General
Bragg. His real virtues were obscured by the suggestion that his
almost unparalleled advance over the older men was the result of
official partiality, and not the just outcome of military skill
and his achievements. For a long while, this unfortunate condition
hampered both Generals Forrest and Wheeler. General Bragg saw the
solution of this most serious problem later and removed it so far
as he could, but there are those who think he unduly delayed action
in so critical a period and where transcendent opportunities were
at hand. With such a leader as General Forrest, at the time of the
October raid (which was led by General Wheeler), also turned upon the
enemy’s line of communication, it appeared to the men of that time
that only one result could have come to Rosecrans’ army, and that
would have been practical starvation and annihilation.

These personal differences were at the most acute stage when General
Wheeler was assigned a difficult and almost impossible task. It
is but fair to General Wheeler to say that, under these trying
circumstances, he acquitted himself with most commendable modesty
and delicate tact and, except in so far as he was required by
unpleasant orders, he did nothing to add to the seriousness of the
complications then existing. He was to accomplish a Herculean task,
one involving supreme risks to his own command and to General Bragg’s
entire army. The capture of General Wheeler’s cavalry at that time
meant calamitous results to the cause of the Confederacy,—reckless
courage, untiring work and supreme daring, with quickest perception
and thorough comprehension of surrounding conditions, made the call
upon the young general such as had never come to a man of his age
before.

The events succeeding the Battle of Chickamauga had placed upon
all the cavalry, under General Bragg, demands that were wellnigh
insupportable and which involved personal privations and soldierly
effort, which few men could endure. Both men and beasts had felt the
burden of these tremendous exactions during this brief but important
period. Less than two weeks had elapsed since that great engagement,
and from the horror of its closing scenes the cavalry, led by
Generals Forrest and Wheeler, had known neither rest nor release from
diligent and vigilant service.

Horses, unshod and broken down, driven to the limit of endurance;
men, illy fed and emaciated by the demand of those horrible
hours, were allowed no season of quiet, so necessary for physical
recuperation. Pity for their beasts, rendered dear to them by common
sacrifice and common danger, had a depressing effect upon the minds
of even those brave soldiers, now well trained to the difficulties
which war brings to every brave soul.

It was under these circumstances that General Bragg called upon
General Wheeler to cross the Tennessee and destroy the wagon trains,
which in long white lines dotted every road north of Chattanooga and
upon which, for food and ammunition, the Union forces were compelled
to rely. Calling his subordinates, and explaining to them the work
that General Bragg had mapped out, almost without exception they
pleaded for mercy to man and beast and for a brief season of rest
before such arduous and difficult tasks were assumed. Not a few
declared that it was impossible to meet such demands and that to
require such service, under existing circumstances, was not only
unwise but inhumane.

One of General Wheeler’s marked characteristics was absolute
obedience to orders, and he never permitted anything short of the
impossible to prevent their fulfillment. The quick answer to all
these objections was a general order to his command to prepare for
the raid and to cross the Tennessee River at once. In the early dawn,
with less than two thousand men, he forced a passage of the river
at Cottonport, thirty miles east of Chattanooga, in the face of a
force twice as large as his own, and with such vigor did he press the
enemy, who stood in his pathway, that he captured more than a hundred
prisoners and brushed them aside from his chosen line, as the wind
drives straw from its path.

Before the shades of night came on, two brigades under peremptory
orders joined him. They promptly followed in the path that he had
opened, and now, with three thousand eight hundred jaded horses and
tired men and a limited supply of ammunition, he stood alone, defying
a great army both in his rear and his front, and with a mighty river
flowing between him and his supports and comrades.

No soldier heart ever faced more difficult conditions or assumed
greater responsibility, and none ever met them with calmer courage or
more cheerful complacence. His men measured up to the demand of their
leader. In the past they had always taken care of themselves when
beset by enemies and danger, and now, under the valiant leadership of
General Wheeler, sustained by their indomitable will and unfailing
gallantry, they believed that in the end all would be well.

[Illustration: WHEELER BURNING FEDERAL WAGON TRAINS, SEQUATCHIE
VALLEY, JULY, 1862]

If there were hesitation and doubt, these were immediately flung to
the winds. There was no time to scan the darkening horizon. Gloomy
enough was the outlook if they listened to fear, but fear these
gallant men had never known. Some spoke of disaster, but the orders
of their superior stood out before the mind, and misgivings were
quickly drowned by the prospect of vigorous action. The brave man,
seeing danger, braces himself to face it and with resourceful powers
lays his plans to avoid it. General Wheeler’s pessimistic advisers
pointed out the consequences of failure and gave expression to
their serious fears of the result of so hazardous and so uncertain
a movement. Caution suggested to turn back while the way was open,
but General Roddy, with his brigade, had crossed the river some
miles below, and if all the enemy should concentrate upon him, they
would annihilate his command. The cavalry leaders of the Confederacy
were always faithful in the succor of their comrades, and no danger
could deter them from going to the help of those who were sorely
pressed. Stuart, Morgan, Forrest, Wheeler, Marmaduke, Shelby and
Hampton never forgot this cardinal principle of cavalry faith; and
Wheeler declared that he would not desert Roddy in this emergency
because of any risk that was open before his vision, and bidding
fears begone, he ordered a forward march through darkness of the
night in a drenching rain. He had encountered a Federal regiment of
cavalry and, pushing these aside, the appetites of his men, like
tigers tasting blood, were whetted for still fiercer work. On the
morning of October 2nd, hours before daylight came, he started out
in search of richest prey. One hour’s ride revealed the presence of
thirty-two wagons and two hundred mules and horses. There was nothing
General Wheeler’s command needed more than horses, and those welcome
additions to his mounts were to his troopers sure omen of greater
victories. This capture was concluded before the full orb of day had
come to cheer the victorious marchers. As the sun in glory rose over
the mountain tops, from a lofty elevation, there burst upon the view
of Wheeler and his followers a panorama of beauty and joy. Twelve
hundred wagons, with their covers whitened as snow, spread like a
gleam of silver down through the valley and across the hillsides and
over the mountain ridges, were crawling along the highway, laden with
supplies of the most tempting kind and weighted down with ammunition,
designed to take the lives of the men in gray, brothers of Wheeler’s
followers, who across the Tennessee were holding in check the Federal
army invading the Southland.

To many starving men, with but scant supplies in their cartridge
boxes, and still scanter in their haversacks, and now already aware
of the but short delayed breaking down of the steeds they were
astride, this scene presented an enrapturing vision.

But this glowing perspective had in it a gruesome and darkening
setting. A brigade of Federal cavalry marched in its van and another
in its rear, and to make the work still more repellent, a brigade of
infantry marched alongside its huge serpentine body and behind the
infantry rode a third brigade of cavalry, all intent upon the safe
delivery of this precious cargo to the Federal army, a few miles
away, camped beside the Tennessee River.

These Confederates had come out to hunt the tiger, and it was no
unreasonable or traitorous thought to fear that the conditions
might be reversed and at the end, the tiger might hunt them. What
Wheeler had searched for, Wheeler had found. The game was tempting
if dangerous to play, and when Wheeler, in the past, had come upon
the object of his search, he had never before in all his marches
and campaigns let it escape without a fight. There was neither time
nor occasion for arguing with fear. True, he was outnumbered two to
one, but he had never before counted that too great odds to grapple,
and so without even hesitation, he bade his following go in. It was
a long space, and many times the Federal guard could not protect
at every point—it measured at least twelve miles. Three columns
simultaneously broke in upon the slender line. The teamsters, never
very brave, terrified by the shout of battle and the din of rifle
and pistol shots, sought safety amidst the cargoes of the wagons, or
springing from the mules, ensconced themselves in the depth of the
surrounding hills and mountains and, from behind stones and trees,
watched the struggle for the ownership of the huge train they had
believed to be safe from any onslaught. Contact with the foe had
been so quick and so unsuspected that neither they nor their soldier
friends had opportunity for introspection, to figure out just what
was best to be done under the supreme scare that had without warning
pressed upon their minds. The Federal guards were not disposed to run
away without a fight. They had no time to mass and General Wheeler
gave them no opportunity of combining, so as to get the fullest
advantage of numbers, and in hammer and tong style both sides went
at each other, by gage of battle, to determine who should have
the immensely valuable train. The Confederates were a real hungry
lot, and their supply of horses greatly limited. They much desired
bread and steeds to ride, and the need of something with which to
shoot gave vigor to their every movement. Hunger and the possible
contingency of walking are a great incentive to a horseman’s fighting
qualities, and for two hours the contest went vigorously on. In this
case the hungriest were the gamest. They had also before their minds
a well-defined fear of languishing in northern prisons, in case they
failed to win, and with all this flood of thoughts coursing through
their minds, the men in gray fought with a desperation that presaged
victory, and after two hours the Federal guards gave up the contest
and retreated from the scene of struggle. With a thousand prisoners
in the hands of the ragged, hungry, reckless Confederate soldiers,
the whole wagon train was at their mercy. The victory won, the
savage work of destruction was now at hand. War, always dreadful, was
now to witness most distressful scenes. The imagination of countrymen
and frightened teamsters magnified the number of wagons composing
this immense train. Some said three thousand, some two thousand,
but it certainly contained more than one thousand, not counting the
sutlers, who, under the protection of this numerous military convoy,
were seeking the front to realize large profits from hunger and want
which depleted army supplies would pour into their capacious and
avaricious coffers.

As General Wheeler had not much more than two men to each wagon to
be destroyed, the burning of these became a gigantic task. The story
of the engagement would soon be noised about. Swift-riding couriers
would carry the details of the disaster and in a short while, Federal
reinforcement would be at hand to punish these adventurous and daring
horsemen, who in apparent disregard of both prudence and wisdom had
journeyed so far from their supports and so recklessly undertaken to
operate in the rear of a great army, which had two and a half times
as much cavalry as those bold raiders numbered and enough infantry
to watch and guard every ford across which they might undertake,
in their return to their own army, to reach the south bank of the
Tennessee. Needed supplies were quickly pulled from the horseless
wagons, rifles and ammunition were seized from prisoners or hunted in
the depths of the “Prairie Schooners,” and then the torch began its
baneful work. Wagons, mules and mounts for the victorious horsemen
were safely corralled. Mules, now as the engines for handling
supplies, had become contraband of war. The dumb, helpless creatures
were ready to adopt the victors as their masters and, without raising
constitutional question of the relation of the States to the Federal
government, would patiently take upon themselves the tasks and hunger
that the new ownership would demand. They could help the enemy, they
meant loss to the Federal treasury, they looked with their innocent
and inoffensive eyes into the faces of the powder-grimed captors
and seemed in their docility to plead for life and toil beyond the
Tennessee River, in the wagon train of the army that had risked so
much in the change of their ownership. Selecting the strongest, the
largest and best fed for use, the remainder were doomed to death.
All things, animate and inanimate, which could help the foe must be
destroyed. The supply wagons were all fired, the ammunition wagons
were reserved for later action. The smoke of burning timbers, cotton
covers and harness sent up a huge signal that betrayed the presence
of an adventurous foe and wrote upon the very heavens that fiercest
destruction was turned loose. This warning could not be stayed and
so, if escape was meditated, quick work must go on. The helpless
brutes were led aside, and those which were not to serve the new
master were condemned to a speedy death. A rifle ball at close range
was driven into the hearts of the beasts, or, held by the bridle,
a sharp bowie knife was drawn across their throats. The command
withdrew to a safe distance. A few chosen messengers were sent to
fire the wagons containing the ammunition. A feeble, flickering flame
started as the Confederate destroyers ran to each wagon and touched
its inflammable tops and sides, and then, with a speed quickened
by the fear of a fierce explosion, the torch bearers fled in haste
from the coming dangers, inevitable from a combustible outbreak.
General Rosecrans, when the huge column of smoke stood out against
the sky, seeming to pierce its very battlements, promptly sent out
reinforcements to help the guards who had in their custody treasures
of food, more valuable to his armies than a treasury filled with
gold. The Confederate horsemen stood these off until eight hours had
elapsed from the time of capture. The whole earth seemed to feel the
vibration of the millions of cartridges that were exploding with
the fierce heat, and the bursting of thousands of shells filled the
atmosphere with their hissing tongues of fire and shook the earth
with their ceaseless detonations.

Ere the sun, which rose in splendor upon the mighty train, as it
wound its way to the relief of its friends and owners, had set
behind the mountain height on its western side, the savage work of
destruction was accomplished. Its defenders were scattered. Its
beauty had vanished, only ashes and carcasses told the story of its
greatness and its destruction, and darkness closed in about the weird
surroundings, and the fateful events of the day were ended; and
Wheeler and his men, happy in victory, well supplied, and with a new
crown of laurels, in the stillness of the night rode away in search
of other and new adventures and in quest of more glory and increasing
fame.




CHAPTER V

GENERAL JOHN H. MORGAN’S RAID INTO KENTUCKY, JULY 4-28, 1862


At Huntsville, Alabama, John H. Morgan was born on the 28th of June,
1825. He was descended from Virginia ancestry, his father having
moved from Virginia to Alabama in early manhood. His father married
a daughter of John W. Hunt, of Lexington, Kentucky, a man of wealth
and high standing. The father moved to Kentucky in 1829 and purchased
a farm close to Lexington. At that time his son, John H., was four
years of age. The young Morgan grew up proud spirited, brave, manly,
enjoying and rejoicing in the best things of life. He became a very
companionable man. He distributed kindness wherever he went, and none
ever came to him in need and went away empty handed. He was extremely
generous in his judgment of men and sincere in all his friendships.
In military dress, he was among the handsomest of men, six feet tall,
weighing about one hundred and eighty-five pounds, erect, handsome,
graceful. In uniform he attracted attention wherever he went. He was
a lieutenant in a Kentucky cavalry regiment in the Mexican war.

In 1857 John H. Morgan organized a militia company in Lexington
called the “Lexington Rifles.” Later, they became a part of the
Kentucky State Guard. This company was thoroughly drilled and
comprised many of the best young men of the State. Its uniform was
handsome and striking.

It was not until near the end of September, 1861, that General
Morgan undertook service in the armies of the Confederacy. He would
have been earlier in the conflict but for the serious illness of
his wife, who died in the summer of 1861. The authorities suspected
the loyalty of the State Guard and an order had been issued for its
disarmament. This was resented by many of the companies and led
a majority of its men of military tastes to take sides with the
South. After concealing the guns of the Lexington Rifles, early in
the evening of September 21st, General Morgan left Lexington with
two-thirds of his company, and passing through Anderson County,
camped at Lawrenceburg, twenty-two miles away. John Crepps Wickliffe,
later lieutenant colonel of the 9th Kentucky Infantry, also had a
company of State Guards, and these resolved to take service in the
Confederate army. Wickliffe had captured a few Home Guards in Nelson
County, and this put him in conflict with the Federal authorities.
He united his men with those of Morgan and together they numbered
three hundred. The interference with the Home Guards rendered further
stay in Kentucky dangerous. After two days’ hard marching, this
force came to Green River, which was then the dividing line between
the Federal and Confederate forces, and here the newcomers were
enthusiastically welcomed. Captain Wickliffe attached his company to
the 9th Kentucky infantry, then being organized by Colonel Hunt. Half
of Morgan’s infantry had come out mounted. The remainder managed to
find mounts, and there were numerous horsemen scattered around the
Confederate camps who quickly took service with Morgan. In order to
employ his men and to give them experience and steadiness, he used
them as scouts, sometimes, on such expeditions, reaching fifty miles
into territory occupied by the Federals. During the winter two other
companies came to Morgan, under command of Captain Thomas Allen of
Shelbyville and James W. Bowles of Louisville. These made Morgan’s
original squadron, which by the daring and genius of its commander
quickly won fame and renown.

In 1859 a railroad was completed from Louisville, Kentucky, to
Nashville, Tennessee, a distance of one hundred and eighty-six miles.
Its chartered name was the Louisville & Nashville Railroad. All the
streams in Kentucky run northward into the Ohio River. The Louisville
& Nashville passed southwestwardly, and in pulling away from the
Ohio, of necessity it ran perpendicular to the course of the streams,
all of which entered the Ohio or were tributaries of streams that
did. Salt River, Rolling Fork, Green River, Nolin, Barren, Cumberland
and numerous smaller streams all traversed the pathway of this
railroad. The topography of the country through which the Louisville
& Nashville Railroad was constructed naturally demanded many bridges
and trestles of great length. Few railroads were ever built that
offered better facilities for destruction by cavalry raids.

A man of General Morgan’s boldness, intense activity and prevalent
courage could not long remain idle. The enemy in front of him were
the people he had come to fight. All who wore blue were his foes. To
destroy lines of communication and harass and kill these men was the
purpose for which Morgan had enlisted, and he was never idle when he
could get permission to assail and punish them.

In December, 1861, when he was a captain, he won reputation by the
destruction of the bridge over Bacon’s Creek, twenty miles south of
Elizabethtown. At that time the immediate command of the Confederate
troops on the south side of Green River was held by General Thomas
C. Hindman. He and Morgan were kindred spirits and he aided the
cavalryman in many ways in these incursions. General Morgan was
overjoyed when he received permission from General Hindman to
undertake the destruction of the bridge over Bacon’s Creek. In this
enterprise, he was compelled to march for fifty miles in a country
well garrisoned by Federal soldiers. His squadron at that time
numbered two hundred. Apprehending serious work, he took all his men
with him who had mounts that would pass inspection. Nobody could tell
what moment Morgan would be compelled to fight, and he aligned every
available man. The Confederate forces, by this time, were south of
Barren River and it was thirty miles from the Barren to the Green
River. Morgan camped the first night a few miles away from Green
River, and concentrated his forces in a forest on the top of a hill.
He waited until night to resume his march. He crossed the river just
above Woodsonville, in Hart County, and riding until midnight reached
Bacon’s Creek and was glad to find that there were no guards. His
followers at that time were not as experienced in the destruction
of bridges as they became later, but after kindling the fires and
doing all in their power to aid its destructive agencies, in three
hours the bridge crumbled into ruins and its burning timbers told the
story of his success. The results from a military standpoint were
not great. It delayed the advance of the Federals a few days, but to
Morgan and his men it was a great object lesson. They now began to
realize how easy it was by these long marches to do immense damage to
the means of transportation on which the Federals relied to supply
their forces, now slowly but surely making their way southward.

On the 20th of January, 1862, General Morgan undertook a still
more perilous task. With five men he left Bell’s Tavern in Barren
County, found a ferry where he could cross the Green River, and rode
into Lebanon, sixty miles distant, with this small force. Several
hundred Federal troops were encamped near Lebanon and there were
many blue-coated stragglers in town. Morgan rode furiously up and
down through the streets, destroyed supplies and paroled a number
of prisoners. Far within the Federal lines, it became necessary
for him to resort to strategy. He took from the Federal prisoners
their blue overcoats, and he and his soldiers donned these and this
enabled him to pass where, if his identity had been known, he would
have been captured or killed. Unwilling to return empty-handed after
this hazardous journey, he decided to bring with him five prisoners.
Mounting them on horses, he added to his trophies some flags. He made
a vigorous forced march. This was his only hope of escape from the
dangerous situation into which he had fearlessly come.

Pursued by two companies of cavalry he brought his prisoners and
trophies to the banks of the Green River and crossed it and turned
the ferryboat loose, as the Federals arrived on the opposite shore.
These two expeditions, so successful and accomplished under the most
difficult surroundings, not only tried the mettle and the courage
of Morgan’s followers, but gave their leader a wide reputation for
daring. Morgan thus early acquired a taste for such work, which he
afterwards carried out on a much larger scale, and with such success,
which in a little while would mark him as a great partisan leader.

Between the Green River and the Nolin River, or Creek, was twenty-one
miles. Morgan and his scouts had become thoroughly familiar with
every foot of ground, and frequent dashes were made by them into
this territory. There is nothing can create so much enthusiasm in a
soldier as activity and success. The entire command became confident
and courageous in such undertakings, and were impatient for their
constant repetition.

General Albert Sidney Johnston evacuated Bowling Green on the 14th
of February, 1862, and on the 16th of February, Fort Donelson was
captured and fifteen thousand Confederate soldiers and a large amount
of supplies were surrendered to General Grant. A few days later
Nashville, Tennessee, was evacuated. This transferred the operations
of the Confederates south and east of Nashville. From the ruins of
Fort Donelson, General Nathan Bedford Forrest had brought out his
command, and the Confederate cavalry, under Forrest and Morgan,
became a part of the garrison at Nashville, immediately preceding
its evacuation. When Nashville fell the Confederates moved back to
Corinth, Mississippi, and from thence General Johnston advanced
against General Grant and on the 6th of April, 1862, fought the
Battle of Shiloh. At the termination of this struggle such a ratio
of mortality was exhibited as the world had never before seen. At
Shiloh two hundred and eighty men in every thousand were struck, and
twenty-four thousand dead and wounded was the dreadful echo which
came from this scene of havoc, to tell the world the earnestness of
the purpose which moved and led the men who had entered into the
Civil War.

Change of locality brought no cessation of activity to Morgan and
his men. Two days before the Battle of Shiloh he was commissioned
a colonel and given authority, which was to him far more pleasing
than rank,—to act independently. He had now attained his chiefest
ambition. He had a squadron of brave, chivalrous, dashing young men
who would follow wherever he led the way and go wherever he told
them to go, and he could use them where in his own judgment he could
do the most damage to the enemies of the Southland. In the Battle
of Shiloh General John C. Breckinridge, so wonderfully beloved by
Kentuckians, commanded a division. To this division Morgan’s squadron
was now attached. In this battle there was little for the cavalry to
do, but they performed every service bravely and cheerfully. Morgan’s
losses were slight.

A little while after Shiloh, Morgan received permission to make an
expedition into Tennessee. His force had increased to three hundred
and twenty-five men; marching with a swiftness that his enemy had
not time to calculate, he captured Pulaski, Tennessee, and took four
hundred prisoners. Later he made an effort to capture the city of
Murfreesboro. Here he met reverses and it required some time for him
and his men to recover from the shock of this defeat. Later he made a
raid through Tennessee, reaching as far north as Cave City, Kentucky.
Early in the spring, Captain John B. Castleman of Lexington brought
a company of eighty men, and in May, 1862, two cavalry companies,
commanded by Captains Gano and Huffman, came to Morgan. With intense
joy he saw his command now increased to five hundred men.

Prior to June, 1862, no really striking cavalry raid had been
made. Small forces had succeeded in limited forays, but they had
accomplished very little, and the panic produced by the appearance
of such squadrons was mild compared with what such expeditions would
later develop.

On the 13th of June, 1862, Stuart had ridden around McClellan’s
Army, making what was known as the Chickahominy Raid. Before Morgan
had heard of this he had secured data for making an expedition into
Kentucky, which in the length of march, in the terrorizing of the
enemy and in the destruction of property was to be one of the famous
cavalry expeditions of the war. A partisan ranger regiment from
Georgia, under Colonel A. A. Hunt, had been assigned to Morgan’s
command, and he now had, all told, eight hundred and sixty-seven men.
A few more than half of this force were Kentuckians. Hope beat high
in the bosom of the Kentucky contingent when, on the 4th of July,
1862, they rode out of Knoxville, Tennessee, and took the highway for
Sparta, one hundred miles northwest. The portion of Tennessee then
compassed by the command was not in sympathy with the Confederacy.
It was mountainous, sparsely settled and full of bushwhackers, who
improved their skill as marksmen by firing from behind rocks and
trees into Morgan’s followers. On the 7th of July they encamped
a few miles from Livingston, Tennessee, and by the middle of the
day following, the Cumberland River was forded near the village of
Selina. Tompkinsville, the county seat of Monroe County, Kentucky,
was only eighteen miles distant and here was a portion of a battalion
of the 9th Pennsylvania Cavalry. Morgan thought this would prove
easy of capture. His presence was unsuspected by the enemy. Sending
forward his scouts to investigate, he held his troops on the banks of
the Cumberland until darkness came. This gave his men a few hours’
rest and at midnight he resumed the march. He calculated that he
could make three miles an hour over the roads, which were extremely
rough. A short distance from Tompkinsville, Morgan detailed Gano’s
company and a company of Mississippi rangers, under Captain Harris,
to take the road to the right and get in the rear of the enemy on
the main road which led from Glasgow to Tompkinsville. Just after
daybreak he found his enemies. They had intimation of his approach
and had made preparations to give him a warm reception. A few volleys
were fired, and the 2nd Kentucky regiment, dismounted, assaulted the
enemy’s position. In a little while it was all over. Twenty of the
enemy were killed and thirty wounded. Some prisoners were taken,
but Gano and Harris were in the rear and put themselves across the
pathway of the fugitives and Major Jordan, Commandant, and a portion
of his command were made captives. Curiously, only one Confederate
was wounded. Colonel Hunt, commanding the Georgia regiment, was shot
in the leg and the bone shattered. He was left behind and died in
a few days. Wagons, arms, munitions of war, the very things Morgan
wanted, were found in abundance. As General Morgan set out with two
hundred unarmed men, this was a great windfall. Saddles and cavalry
equipments were found for many of those who were in want of these
essentials.

[Illustration: GENERAL JOHN H. MORGAN

_In the Early Part of the War_]

It took some hours to destroy the property, parole the prisoners,
and at three o’clock in the afternoon General Morgan set out for
Glasgow. At one o’clock at night he reached that city. These night
marches were hard on his men, but they mystified and terrorized the
enemy. The roughness of the road reduced the speed to three miles an
hour. Captain Bowles’ company, of the 2nd Kentucky, had been largely
recruited at Glasgow. This made a glad and happy reunion between a
portion of the command and their friends. Marching ten miles to Bear
Wallow, General Morgan rested until his telegraph operator, George
A. Ellsworth, could ride to the Louisville & Nashville railroad near
Cave City and attach his pocket instrument to the wires and get the
necessary information as to the disposition of the Federal forces
in front. Heavy storms of rain beat down, and the men as well as
the mounts were drenched to the skin. Riding all night, by eleven
o’clock next morning the command camped within fifteen miles of
Lebanon. For military purposes a railroad had been constructed to
Lebanon from the main line of the Louisville & Nashville at Lebanon
Junction. Detachments were sent out to destroy bridges along this
line. This delayed the march a little while, but at ten o’clock in
the night Morgan surrounded Lebanon, and of the garrison, two hundred
surrendered. The forces sent out to burn the bridges between Lebanon
and Lebanon Junction had no easy sailing. They stopped a train
bearing a large number of soldiers which had been sent to the relief
of Lebanon, and this brought on a battle, in which nobody on either
side was seriously hurt. At Lebanon great treasures were found.
Hundreds of Enfield rifles had been stored there, and buildings
filled with cartridges and ammunition of all kinds which had been
stored away. The two little brass pieces that had received such
rough usage over the narrow and uneven roads, in order to keep pace
with the cavalry, were supplied with all the ammunition they could
need. The hungry were fed and the badly clothed received unlimited
supplies and the tired horses, which had now marched something like
two hundred miles, were replaced, where necessary, with fresh steeds
belonging to the United States Government.

Colonel Morgan issued a stirring proclamation calling upon the young
men of Kentucky to rally to his standard. These were sent forward
by scouts and placed where they thought they would do the most
good. Reaching up to Springfield, ten miles away, another march in
darkness was determined upon, and after tramping all night, at nine
o’clock on Sunday morning Morgan appeared in Harrodsburg. It made
but little difference to these men following Morgan if night was
turned into day. The moon and stars were bright enough for their
guidance and the well-graded and smoothly-packed turnpikes made
plain the paths they were to follow and gave their horses, which had
suffered so severely on the rocky, mountain roads, some rest after
the harassing experiences of the five days before. Here was plenty
of southern sentiment and southern sympathy. A number of Morgan’s
men had come from Harrodsburg, and the people were glad to see a
Confederate force. No time could be allowed for reunions with loved
ones. Marching part of the night, the command reached Lawrenceburg,
where it was necessary to gather more information. Three hundred and
twenty miles had now been put behind these adventurous horsemen. It
was eight days since they left Knoxville. They had averaged forty
miles a day. Ordinarily this terrific strain would have affected the
men seriously, but the pleasure and delight of home-coming to the
Kentuckians and the excitement of those who had never been in the
State kept all the men as fresh and bright as the day, when, with
quickened pulses, they rode out of Knoxville. Stables along the line
supplied some mounts, and the Federal Government had supplied more.
Captures had given arms and ammunition, a few recruits had come in,
and full of hope and full of courage, there were now nine hundred
soldiers; and there was no nine hundred men on the other side that
could have stopped the victorious advance of this daring column. The
three and a half weeks allowed for this journey was so brief that
extended sleep was not considered, and at the dawn of day, the next
morning, stock had been fed and breakfast cooked and the column was
in line on the road from Lawrenceburg to Versailles. Four miles from
Lawrenceburg was the Kentucky River. At the ferry where the turnpike
crossed it was not fordable. The ferryboat had been sunk; the men
quickly raised and repaired it. The whole country was thoroughly
demoralized and frightened by reports of the number of men Morgan had
with him, and the sending out of detachments in many directions had
multiplied in the Federal minds many times the number of his command.
Kentucky was full, at the time, of Home Guards, citizens who had been
armed for the purpose of intimidating the southern sympathizers.
These Home Guards made haste to seek safety and refuge in cities like
Frankfort and Lexington. Every town was looking out for itself. The
country people would make no opposition, for the larger portion of
them were sympathizers, and so Colonel Morgan gave his men a good
rest at Versailles until ten o’clock the next day.

Eight miles from Versailles was the town of Midway, the halfway point
between Lexington and Frankfort, through which a railroad had long
been operated. This railway was used to run trains from Lexington
to Louisville, through Frankfort, a distance of eighty-three miles,
to carry soldiers to impede Morgan’s march. The authorities at
Frankfort and Lexington did not know exactly where Morgan was and so
the advance guard rapidly entering Midway, captured the telegraph
operator. No cavalry commander ever had a more skillful telegraphist
than George A. Ellsworth, and he was a most important factor in
Morgan’s success on these expeditions. He thus tells the story of his
operations at this place:

“At this place I surprised the operator, who was quietly sitting on
the platform in front of his office, enjoying himself hugely. Little
did he suspect that the much-dreaded Morgan was in his vicinity. I
demanded of him to call Lexington and inquire the time of day, which
he did. This I did for the purpose of getting his style of handling
the ‘key’ in writing dispatches. My first impression of his style,
from noting the paper in the instrument, was confirmed. He was,
to use a telegraphic term, a ‘plug’ operator. I adopted his style
of telegraphing and commenced operations. In this office I found
a signal book, which proved very useful. It contained the calls
of all the offices. Despatch after despatch was going to and from
Lexington, Georgetown, Paris and Frankfort, all containing something
in reference to Morgan. On commencing operations, I discovered that
there were two wires on the line along this railroad. One was what we
term a ‘through wire,’ running direct from Lexington to Frankfort,
and not entering any of the way offices. I found that all military
messages were sent over that line. As it did not enter Midway office,
I ordered it to be cut, thus forcing Lexington onto the wire that
ran through the office. I tested the line and found, by applying the
ground wire, it made no difference in the circuit; and, as Lexington
was headquarters, I cut Frankfort off. Midway was called, I answered,
and received the following:

  “‘Lexington, July 15th, 1862.

  “‘To J. W. Woolums, Operator, Midway:

  “‘Will there be any danger in coming to Midway? Is everything right?

  “‘Taylor—Conductor.’

“I inquired of my prisoner (the operator) if he knew a man by the
name of Taylor. He said Taylor was the conductor. I immediately gave
Taylor the following reply:

  “‘Midway, July 15th, 1862.

  “‘To Taylor, Lexington:

  “‘All right; come on. No sign of any rebels here.

  “‘Woolums.’

“The operator in Cincinnati then called Frankfort. I answered and
received about a dozen unimportant dispatches. He had no sooner
finished than Lexington called Frankfort. Again I answered and
received the following message:

  “‘Lexington, July 15th, 1862.

  “‘To General Finnell, Frankfort:

  “‘I wish you to move the forces to Frankfort, on the line of the
  Lexington railroad, immediately, and have the cars follow and
  take them up as soon as possible. Further orders will await them
  at Midway. I will, in three or four hours, move forward on the
  Georgetown pike; will have most of my men mounted. Morgan left
  Versailles this morning with eight hundred and fifty men, moving in
  the direction of Georgetown.

  “‘Brigadier-General Ward.’

“This being our position and intention exactly, it was thought
proper to throw General Ward on some other track. So, in the course
of half an hour, I manufactured and sent the following dispatch,
which was approved by General Morgan:

  “‘Midway, July 15th, 1862.

  “‘Morgan, with upward of one thousand men, came within a mile of
  here, and took the old Franklin road, marching, we suppose, for
  Frankfort. This is reliable.

  “‘Woolums—Operator.’

“In about ten minutes Lexington again called Frankfort, when I
received the following:

  “‘Lexington, July 15th, 1862.

  “‘To General Finnell, Frankfort:

  “‘Morgan, with more than one thousand men, came within a mile of
  here, and took the old Frankfort road. This dispatch received from
  Midway, and is reliable. The regiment from Frankfort had better be
  recalled.

  “‘Brigadier-General Ward.’

“I receipted for this message, and again manufactured a message to
confirm the information General Ward received from Midway, and not
knowing the tariff from Frankfort to Lexington, I could not send a
formal message; so, appearing greatly agitated, I waited until the
circuit was occupied, and broke in, telling them to wait a minute,
and commenced calling Lexington. He answered with as much gusto as I
called him. I telegraphed as follows:

  “‘Frankfort to Lexington:

  “‘Tell General Ward our pickets are just driven in. Great
  excitement. Pickets say force of enemy must be two thousand.

  “‘Operator.’

“It was now 2 P. M., and as Colonel Morgan wished to be off for
Georgetown, I ran a secret ground connection, and opened the
circuit on the Lexington end. This was to leave the impression that
the Frankfort operator was skedaddling, or that Morgan’s men had
destroyed the telegraph.”

General Morgan was the only cavalry commander who extensively or
successfully used the telegraph to learn the plans and position of
his enemies and to thwart their arrangements for disturbance of his
progress, or to place troops in his front. The country through which
he operated did much to aid him in this respect, but it was also due
in great part to the marvellous skill of his operator, George A.
Ellsworth. The story of how he misled his foes, and deceived them
as to his intentions and line of march, is not only one of the most
amusing but one of the most surprising of the war’s happenings. He
passed through four years of war, followed telegraphy and died in
Texas about 1910.

The Federals were so thoroughly alarmed that they were unwilling to
risk engines and cars and men on the road. Reports of atrocities
and barbarities of Morgan’s command were circulated through the
country. They were called murderers and thieves and assassins and
horse thieves. Bad names did not worry Morgan’s followers. They
cared little what they were called if they could harass their foes.
They settled down to a feeling of pride that they had been able to
excite in the minds and hearts of the enemy such bitter and malignant
hate. Neither Morgan’s nor Forrest’s command were much troubled over
Federal abuse. They knew that if their foes cussed them, their foes
must have suffered to arouse such maledictions, and they rode on and
fought on, oblivious of what reports were circulated about their
doings. Those who did not have southern sympathies escaped hurriedly
from the contemplated line of march and hastened to Lexington and
Frankfort for protection. Having obtained all the information that
was necessary, at sundown Morgan appeared at Georgetown, the county
seat of Scott County, twelve miles from Midway. With Lexington
demoralized and Frankfort terrorized and with the Federal commanders
at both places afraid that Morgan was going to attack them, he sat
down at Georgetown to have a really good rest. A detachment had been
left at Midway to delay operations between Lexington and Frankfort,
and Captain John B. Castleman of Company D was sent to destroy the
bridges between Lexington and Paris on the Kentucky Central Railroad.
Captain Castleman did thorough work. He was ordered to proceed up
and down the railroad, tear up the track, and burn the bridges.
The country outside of the cities was now completely dominated
by Morgan. Lexington and Frankfort were too fully garrisoned to
justify their assault. Captain Castleman, after fully carrying out
his orders, marched to Winchester. These were ready heroes when the
highest daring was demanded, and the young men who served under
Morgan were equal to any emergency. On reaching Winchester, after
the destruction of the Kentucky Central Railroad, Captain Castleman
would pass near the home of his parents. He had secretly entered
Lexington in disguise and obtained full information as to the numbers
and position of the enemy. Safely performing this hazardous work, he
rejoined his command.

On the way to Winchester he ran afoul of the advance guard of
Metcalf’s brigade. Without a moment’s hesitation he ordered his
eighty men to charge the three thousand Federals. The boldness and
fierceness of this assault demoralized the enemy. They judged that
no sagacious leader with such odds against him would undertake such
reckless work, and they receded before the assault, leaving their
dead and wounded behind. The valiant young captain, not satisfied
with the morning’s experience, returned to Horeb Presbyterian Church,
a few miles away. Here his family had worshipped for many years.
Behind the structure his command were hidden when a company of
Federal cavalry came down a cross road. These also outnumbered the
company which had, with such reckless valor, dispersed their comrades
a few hours before. With the recollection of their previous splendid
success, they did not hesitate to assault this new column. Waving
their hats and filling the air with the rebel yell, they rode at the
advancing foe. Visions of Morgan’s entire regiment flashed before
their surprised minds, and not waiting for the moment of impact, they
turned and rode away, leaving as testimonials of the fierce courage
of the Confederate assailants a number of dead and wounded.

With these thrilling experiences attesting the intrepidity of
his boys, a large proportion of whom were born and reared in the
neighborhood, the youthful commander withdrew his company and pushed
on to Winchester, where later Colonel Morgan found him awaiting his
arrival.

Morgan was now alone in the face of his foes. He could depend upon no
aid from his fellows. Insofar as help was concerned, he had “burned
the bridges” behind him. There were none upon whom he could fall
back. He was as far from all supports as it would be from Richmond
to New York. The supreme audacity of such a campaign had never
been known before. In no country, in no war, had any leader ever
undertaken such a hazard or invited such peril. There were Federal
troops three hundred miles south of him and thousands around him. The
way he had come was lined with Federal garrisons, and urgent calls
were made for Federals to face him and equally as urgent for those
behind him to prevent his escape and crush the little company he had
brought with him so far into the Federal lines. He was smashing all
military precedents. The books written for the guidance of soldiers
contained nothing like the history this bold rider was making, and
there was, in all military annals, no parallel to what he had now
accomplished. This new soldier Daniel had come to judgment, and there
were none who could fathom or interpret his decrees. Later, others
would rise up to emulate him in the pathway he had blazed. He was the
pioneer, and the first cavalryman who had undertaken such marvellous
marches, or defied the formulas and maxims that military authors
had written for the guidance of those who went to war. Sage generals
decreed him reckless, rash, heedless and prophesied destruction,
capture, failure. They reread the books generals read and in all
these there was nothing, they said, for this knight errant, but sure
and certain disaster. But Morgan’s great mind had taken in all the
chances he must face. He knew the country and the people whither he
had come. He knew the courage and almost superhuman endurance of the
youths who rode behind him, and so he bade defiance to axioms and
precedents and pushed on where his genius and daring told him he
would win victory and discomfit his foes, make new records for his
horsemen, show others the effects of bold, dashing movement, and give
to cavalry a power and efficacy of which the soldiery of the world
had not hitherto written or prophesied.

With Federal forces about in every direction, in Frankfort,
Lexington, Falmouth, Danville, Winchester, Cynthiana, it looked as
if escape was well-nigh impossible. Morgan had now fully carried out
his plans and so he turned his eyes toward Cynthiana, the county seat
of Harrison County. It was twenty-two miles distant from Georgetown
over a beautifully-graded macadam road. It was sixty-six miles from
Cincinnati, and if Morgan could reach Cynthiana and capture it, this
would still further disquiet and disturb Lexington and alarm the
people of Cincinnati.

A force was sent to drive in the pickets at Lexington. This was
promptly done, and the outposts went scurrying back to proclaim
the near approach of these desperadoes, and while Lexington was
vigorously defending itself from a present foe, Morgan was marching
on Cynthiana.

The Federal authorities at Nashville, three hundred miles away, were
frantic with fear, and Cincinnati was in the throes of chaos and
fright. General J. T. Boyle was then in command of Kentucky with
headquarters at Louisville, and he kept the wires burning, telling
the story of Morgan’s performances. On the 10th of July he wired
General Buell: “The rebels under Starnes, over two thousand, with
three pieces of artillery, crossed from Sparta, Tennessee, into
Kentucky, cut to pieces Major Jordan at Tompkinsville, and are moving
on Glasgow.” General Buell, calmer, tried to allay the fears, and
so he wired General Boyle: “Force of the enemy doubtless greatly
exaggerated. A regiment of your cavalry, properly managed, will
force him to cross the Cumberland or destroy him.” General Buell at
this time did not seem to be acquainted with Morgan’s ways of doing
things. By the 12th of July the situation appeared much more serious
to General Boyle and so he wired General Buell: “Morgan has fifteen
hundred men. His force is increasing. All the rebels in the State
will join him if there is not a demonstration of force and power
sent in cavalry. The State will be desolated unless this matter
is attended to. The city is so endangered that I am bound to keep
force here. Send me cavalry and other reinforcements. I know more
of Kentucky than you can possibly know, and unless it is proposed
to abandon Kentucky, I must have the force.” On the 15th of July he
telegraphed General Buell: “The secessionists have lied for Morgan
and magnified his forces. He has divided them up and is burning
bridges on the Central Railroad between Paris and Lexington. Only
the low and evil will join him.” On the 12th of July he telegraphed:
“The whole State will be in arms if General Buell does not send me
force to put it down. Morgan is devastating with fire and sword.” On
the 13th of July Mr. Lincoln telegraphed General Halleck at Corinth,
Mississippi: “They are having a stampede in Kentucky. Please look
to it. A. Lincoln.” On the 13th of July Mr. Lincoln telegraphed
General Boyle: “I have telegraphed him (Halleck) that you are in
trouble.” On July 15th Richard Smith, at Cincinnati, telegraphed:
“Danger of serious trouble here, external if not internal. Men
enough for emergencies but no arms, no head. Military commander
should be appointed for this post. Press this upon Stanton at once.”
On the 19th of July General Boyle telegraphed: “The boldness of
Morgan’s raid gives reason to believe that he has been reinforced
and that they will fall upon Kentucky in her helpless condition.”
The mayor of Cincinnati telegraphed that he had called a public
meeting. He wired on July 18th: “Cynthiana surrounded at 5:30 P. M.
Boyd Station, this side of Cynthiana, expects to be attacked any
moment. Morgan reported to have twenty-five hundred men. We have no
organized forces here.” On the 19th of July General Boyle, still
more excited, wired the Secretary of War: “There is a concerted
plan between the traitors at home and the rebels in arms. Morgan’s
force has increased. It is estimated at from twenty-five hundred to
three thousand. I do not believe it is so large. Every species of
falsehood is being circulated by the traitors at home, producing
consternation among the people to get the people to rise. Morgan
proclaims Breckinridge is coming with thirty thousand men. Traitors
throughout the State circulate it.” On July 24th Buell telegraphed
General Boyle: “I approve of punishing the guilty, but it would not
answer to announce the rule of ‘no quarter’ even for guerrillas.
Neither will it be judicious to levy contributions on secessionists
for opinions alone.... I approve of your preventing any avowed
secessionist from being run for office,” and then so as not to show
disregard of the military situation, with a touch of sarcasm, General
Buell telegraphed the same day: “Is it true your troops surrendered
to Morgan at Cynthiana?”

It was impossible for any command with the limited number of men
composing General Morgan’s diminutive brigade to maintain itself
much longer, surrounded as it was, not only by garrisons but
pursuing forces on every side, and from Nashville, Munfordsville and
Bowling Green, troops might be sent to cut off his escape through
Southwestern Kentucky. These home-comers would have been glad to
have pitched their tents around the Bluegrass and remained there
forever, but dangers rose thick, fast, plenteous on every side and
the question of escape now began to loom up as the greatest problem
of the hour. As if to defy fate and to show his enemies the extent to
which he could go, General Morgan determined to capture Cynthiana,
thirty-two miles north from Lexington and twice that distance from
Cincinnati. When he should once reach Cynthiana, if the game became
too strong for him to return along the direction through which he
had come, he might go around by Pound Gap, or up along the Big Sandy
and reach Virginia, and then march down to the place from whence
he had started. Several hundred men under Colonel Landram of the
7th Kentucky cavalry and a number of Home Guards were defending
Cynthiana. The Confederate commander was anxious to give the Federals
once more a touch of his skillful and avenging hand and let them
feel once again the impress of his power and he rapidly marched to
Cynthiana. The guards of the town had a twelve pound brass howitzer.
This had been sent out from Cincinnati in charge of a company of
firemen. Morgan thoroughly understood the topography of Cynthiana.
The Federal pickets were attacked a mile and a half from the town and
an advance guard chased them to the edge of the city.

To get into Cynthiana, troops would have to cross the Licking River.
An old-time, narrow, covered wooden bridge led over the stream, but
by its side there was a ford waist-deep. Above and below, one mile
each way, there were fords. Gano’s battalion was sent up and the
Georgian regiment down, with the command to attack the town from the
directions along which they were ordered to move. The 2nd Kentucky,
deemed the steadiest of those with Morgan, was to enter the town
by the Georgetown road. The Federals had, with great skill, placed
their men on the opposite bank of the river, and no sooner had the
regiment come in sight than they opened a brisk fire. One thousand
feet from the bridge the little Confederate howitzers were placed and
they opened their fire upon the houses which had been occupied by
the enemy. The Federals’ one piece of artillery had been fixed to
sweep the bridge. Two companies marching up the banks of the river
opened such fierce fire across the stream that the Federal troops
at that point were glad to throw down their guns, and it was one of
the curious episodes of war that their captors made them wade across
the river to complete surrender. As the space through the bridge
was in the line of the Federal guns and the approach protected by
sharpshooters, it became apparent that to proceed in that direction
would entail a large loss, so without further ado Company A of the
2nd Kentucky, raising their guns and ammunition above their heads,
waded the stream and established themselves behind houses on the
opposite side and poured in heavy volleys upon the Federal column.
The “bull pups” were brought forward, but as the lines were then
not more than one hundred and twenty-five feet apart, the fire from
the sharpshooters was so fierce that it drove the gunners from the
pieces. The bullets of the Federals, striking the horses, attached
to one of the limbers, they ran away carrying it within the Federal
lines. A game so tense could not last long, and Company C, of which
Captain James W. Bowles, ever valiant—and at that moment thought
reckless—was in command, charged across the bridge and up the main
street. However reckless the movement, it turned the scale for the
Confederates.

In a few moments the Federals were driven from their positions and
forced back to the center of the town. The Texans under Gano and the
Georgians under their lieutenant colonel now began to make themselves
felt, and all three assailing parties met at the same moment around
the piece of artillery which the enemy had fired with such rapidity
and with great effect, and all three claimed the honor of its taking.
The stream was passed, the Federals routed. The attack upon the depot
in which the Federals had taken refuge was effective, and Colonel
Landram, who was commander of the garrison, was chased ten miles on
the Paris road.

Before the victory was won the new recruits, picking up guns which
had been thrown down by the Federals, inspired by the courage of the
veterans, rapidly rushed to the front and received their baptism of
fire. Company A, which with such gallantry had waded the river to
get at the enemy’s head, suffered great loss. The captain, first
lieutenant and second lieutenant had been wounded and the command of
the company fell to the third lieutenant.

The day was filled with stirring incidents. The march of twenty-two
miles from Georgetown had been made to Cynthiana, and the first
act had been closed by its capture before noon. Morgan had wounded
and killed one hundred of his enemy; he had lost forty, killed and
wounded, and had captured four hundred prisoners. With sorrow and
grief he left a portion of the severely wounded behind, and the dead
were abandoned and remained in the hands of kind and sympathizing
friends, to be laid away in the cemetery on the hill.

If it had been difficult to get so far into Kentucky, the danger
of getting out was hourly increasing. By two o’clock the march
was begun for Paris, and Morgan turned his face Dixie-ward. It
was fourteen miles from Cynthiana to Paris. A long way out from
Paris, a deputation from the town met General Morgan, offering to
surrender the place. As the sun went down, the command went into camp
a short distance east of Paris. The day had been a vigorous one.
Twenty-two miles to Cynthiana, a fight, captures, destruction of
property, fourteen miles to Paris, was not a bad day’s work, and in
the beautiful Bluegrass woods, with an abundance of food for man and
beast, the hours of the night were passed. The bold riders had earned
sleep and no fears of the morrow disturbed their tranquility. They
had learned to let each day’s trouble care for itself. If they were
not sleeping the sleep of the just, they were enjoying the repose of
the worn and weary.

Early in the morning a large Federal cavalry force, estimated at
three thousand, commanded by General Green Clay Smith, drove in
Morgan’s pickets. These were not very hungry for Confederate work,
and they did not push the fighting. The prisoners had been paroled,
but a long line of buggies and carriages were sandwiched in between
the commands composing Morgan’s following, bearing away the wounded
who had met their fate at Glasgow, Cynthiana and other points along
the line. There was a sort of brotherhood oath among Morgan’s men
that the wounded would never be left, and it was only under extreme
circumstances that this obligation was voided. The failure to find
the usual number of wounded after a battle encouraged the belief that
Morgan had taken the lives of his wounded to prevent their being made
prisoners. If the Confederates could keep the Federals behind, there
was not much danger. Morgan’s force had been camped on the Winchester
road, and this was the way he intended to take on his march southward.

Well out on the Winchester Pike, Morgan waited for General Smith’s
force, two and a half times as numerous as his own. The Confederate
commander had no fear of those who should follow. He doubted not
that he could outride any pursuers. His chief concern was about
those who should get in front, not those who might come from the
rear. From Paris to Winchester was sixteen miles, and though he was
occasionally attacked by General Smith, he proceeded leisurely along
the macadam highway between the two places, and rested his men at
Winchester from twelve to four o’clock in the afternoon. A twelve
hour march, including the night, brought Morgan to Richmond. He here
found awaiting him a complete company of new recruits under Captain
Jennings. Half a day’s rest at Richmond and another night march
brought the Confederates to Crab Orchard.

Morgan had intended to remain for some time at Richmond and recruit
as large a number of new soldiers as possible, but Smith was behind
him, other detachments were converging toward his path, and the
Federal colonel, Frank Woodford, was collecting forces to intercept
his march southward and troops were being rushed by rail to Lebanon.
Notwithstanding all this, General Morgan exhibited neither fear nor
haste. He preserved the dignities of a complacent withdrawal from
scenes, though full of danger, not yet so imminent as to make him
rush away as if not willing, if necessary, to try out the wage of
battle. A few hours’ rest at Crab Orchard and at eleven o’clock the
march was commenced to Somerset, about twenty-eight miles distant. By
sundown the space had been covered. Here the Confederates again found
large quantities of stores, the telegraph office was open. More than
a hundred wagons were captured and burned, and ammunition, shoes,
blankets and hats, in great quantities, were stored in warehouses in
exceeding abundance. There was lavish appropriation. A few wagons
were loaded with the things which were most needed in Dixie, and the
torch was applied to the others and they were reduced to ashes.

At Stigall’s Ferry, six miles from Somerset, the Cumberland River was
passed, and that night the command camped at Monticello, twenty-two
miles southwardly. All need of hurry was now past. There was no
likelihood that the Federals would cross the Cumberland River. Morgan
had outmarched them and out-maneuvered them and he was safe. With
satisfaction and peace of mind born of noble achievement, he could
look back upon the events of the past twenty-four days. He summed it
up in these words: “I left Knoxville on the 4th of this month with
nine hundred men and returned to Livingston on the 28th inst. with
twelve hundred, having been absent twenty-four days, during which
time I have traveled over a thousand miles, captured seventeen towns,
destroyed all the government supplies and arms in them, dispersed
about fifteen hundred Home Guards, paroled nearly twelve hundred
regular troops. I lost in killed and wounded and missing of the
number that I carried into Kentucky, about ninety.”

At Somerset, Ellsworth, the operator, had telegraphed for Morgan
and himself several messages to the Federal leaders in Kentucky,
and concluded his telegraphic work with the following despatch:
“Headquarters Telegraphic Department of Kentucky, Confederate
States of America. General Order Number 1. When an operator is
positively informed that the enemy is marching on his station, he
will immediately proceed to destroy the telegraphic instruments and
all material in his charge. Such instances of carelessness as were
exhibited on the part of the operators at Lebanon and Midway and
Georgetown will be severely dealt with.—By order of G. A. Ellsworth,
General Military Superintendent, C. S. Telegraphic Department.”

The story of the successes, victories and strategies of this
wonderful expedition was quickly spread abroad throughout the entire
Confederate States. The minds of many of the young men were stirred
by the strange exploits of Morgan on this raid, and their hearts were
thrilled with the story of his adventures and his triumphs. Many who
had not enlisted were inclined to seek service under the Kentucky
chieftain. They longed to have experiences such as he and his
followers had enjoyed on this marvellous raid. What was accomplished
by General Morgan set other Confederate cavalry leaders to thinking
and inspired them with patriotic ambitions to emulate the tactics of
the Kentucky cavalryman.




CHAPTER VI

FORREST’S RAID INTO WEST TENNESSEE, DECEMBER, 1862


To the great Volunteer State, Tennessee, belongs the credit of having
produced, in many respects, the most remarkable cavalry leader in
the world—Nathan Bedford Forrest. He was born near Duck River, at a
little hamlet called Chapel Hill, then in Bedford County, Tennessee,
but now comprised within the boundaries of Marshall County.
Scotch-Irish and English blood flowed through the veins of this great
warrior. This strain rarely fails to produce courage, fortitude and
enterprise.

When Nathan Bedford Forrest was thirteen years of age, the financial
affairs of his father, William Forrest, had gone awry. Leaving
Tennessee with seven children, he entered a homestead in Tippah
County, North Mississippi, a region which had just been opened to
settlement through a purchase by the Federal Government from the
Chickasaw Indians. The magical hand of immigration had as yet done
little for this region. The Indians had hunted over the lands, but
civilization had not given it prosperity and fitted it for the homes
of peaceful agriculturists.

Death, with rude hand and pitiless dart, cut down the father, William
Forrest. His oldest boy, not sixteen years of age, became the head
of his family, including his mother, six brothers and three sisters,
and then four months after the father had passed away, there came
a posthumous boy, Jeffrey, who, on the 22nd day of February, 1864,
was to die a soldier’s death at Okolona, Mississippi, resisting Sooy
Smith’s raid. In the supreme moment of dissolution his valiant and
heroic brother pressed his dying form to his heart and imprinted upon
his cheek, now damp with the death sweat, a last kiss of affection
and love. The death of this young brother, upon whom Forrest lavished
an immeasurable wealth of tenderness, was the greatest blow the war
brought to his fearless heart.

Forrest, deprived of education by the calls of filial duty, secured
only such learning as could be obtained at a primary school in
Middle Tennessee and in Mississippi in 1836 and 1837, which was
scant enough, and which was won between the fall harvest and spring
planting seasons.

Within three years, by his indomitable will, his great industry,
his shrewd judgment and unceasing labor, he had won for his mother,
sisters and brothers agricultural independence.

Typhoid fever, with malignant fierceness, had stricken down two of
his brothers and his three sisters, one of these last being a twin
sister of Forrest himself.

When twenty years of age, the war spirit of Forrest was moved by
the struggles of the people of Texas in their contest with Mexico
for independence, and among the adventurous and gallant boys of the
South, who cast in their lot with the people of Texas, was this young
Tennessean. After reaching the scenes of war, lack of transportation
and of necessity for their services forced these young men to either
settle in the new republic or to return to their homes. Forrest was
penniless, but he split enough rails in a little while to pay his
passage to his home in Mississippi, which he reached after an absence
of four and a half months.

In 1845 Forrest involuntarily became an actor in a tragedy in
Hernando. Four men, grieved at some act of his partner and uncle,
Jonathan Forrest, undertook to kill him. Single-handed and alone,
Nathan Bedford Forrest severely wounded three of the assailants and
drove the fourth from the field. In the conflict, the uncle was
mortally wounded, although he had taken no part in the affray.

After reverses in business, Forrest left Hernando, in 1852, and
established himself as a broker in real estate and dealer in slaves
in Memphis.

In 1861, General Forrest was a cotton planter in Coahoma County,
Mississippi, growing a thousand bales of cotton per annum, and with
his fortune increasing every year.

He now stood high among the most successful and active business men
in Memphis. He had won a fortune by sagacity, integrity and sobriety,
and though lacking in education, there was something in his personnel
that impressed men with his right to be a leader. He was a born
captain, and nature wrote his right to command on his face.

In April, 1861, his foresight assured him that war was inevitable,
and he proceeded to arrange his affairs for the impending conflict.
His whole soul was centered in his desire to make the South free, and
the independence of the Confederate states, he firmly believed, was
the only guarantee for a permanent peace.

After a visit to Mississippi, he returned to Memphis and immediately
became a private in the Tennessee Mounted Rifles, under Captain
Josiah H. White. He sought no rank. His highest aim was to serve his
country, and, resolved upon the utmost effort to uphold her cause, he
was willing to face all dangers where duty pointed the way. The pupil
soon taught the master, and within a month Isham G. Harris, Governor
of Tennessee, and General Leonidas Polk urged and commissioned
Forrest to recruit a regiment of cavalry. A hurried visit to Kentucky
enabled him to purchase five hundred Colt’s navy pistols and a
hundred saddles with their equipments.

While in Louisville, he learned that a company of cavalry was being
organized for him by Captain Frank Overton, at Brandenburg, Meade
County. Hastening thither, he mustered in the Boone Rangers, ninety
stalwart sons of Kentucky, which became the first company of the
regiment.

Forrest was not long in reaching Bowling Green with his Boone
Rangers. A skirmish or two on the way demonstrated his marvelous
genius for war, inspired his men with absolute faith in his
leadership, and left behind him an ominous warning to those who later
in the struggle should be so unfortunate as to cross his path.

A company was organized in Memphis during Forrest’s absence, called
the Forrest Rangers, under Captain Charles May,—and the Boone Rangers
became the nucleus of Forrest’s famous regiment, which in a few
weeks grew to be a battalion of eight companies, and, which in a few
days by active operations, laid the foundations of their leader’s
astonishing reputation and success.

Two of Forrest’s companies were from Kentucky, one from Meade County
and one from Harrodsburg. Alabama contributed four, Texas one, and
Memphis one, so that as far as his fame was to become coextensive
with the South and West it would seem as if fate had spread over
Kentucky, Tennessee, Alabama and Texas a call for these men who were
to make their commander renowned.

In a little while, Alabama sent two more companies, and the regiment
became of sufficient numbers to make Forrest lieutenant colonel.
Alabama troops predominated in his own regiment.

Many skirmishes and marches marked the career of this active and
aggressive command prior to February, 1862, and then Forrest was
ordered to repair to Fort Donelson, where as senior officer, he
assumed command of the cavalry of the army here concentrated. The
cavalry consisted of Forrest’s regiment, Colonel Gantt’s Tennessee
Battalion, and three Kentucky companies under Captains Huey, Wilcox
and Williams, counting, all told, eight hundred men.

Twenty-five thousand Federals surrounded fourteen thousand
Confederates at the eventful siege of Fort Donelson. By the
exigencies of war these men were surrendered. Whose fault brought
about this unfortunate result has long been one of the most fiercely
discussed of Confederate military problems.

When a council of war had decreed that a surrender was inevitable,
Forrest entered an earnest protest; and at the suggestion of General
Pillow, he was allowed to effect his escape, upon condition that he
should do so before a flag of truce had communicated with the enemy.
The sequel shows upon what slight events human destiny hinges. Had
Forrest been less courageous or determined, his future would have
been entirely changed. His pluck and his pride revolted at a cavalry
soldier yielding without a vehement wrestle with the god of chance;
and his brave soul cried out against becoming prisoner without one
impetuous appeal to fate for a juster determination of the conflict
which raged at this crucial hour.

In the darkness and frost of a cold winter night, Forrest immediately
laid his plans to bring his horsemen out of the beleaguered fort.
By four o’clock in the morning, with five hundred men and officers,
he undertook to ride away. He could only conjecture as to what was
ahead. He had no time to send out scouts to reconnoitre as to the
presence or position of his foes. He was not so much concerned as to
who and where they were. The only anxious inquiry that crossed his
mind was how many they were and whether the waters that traversed
his path were too deep or too swift for him and his followers to
ford or swim in their struggle to find a way of escape from the
clutches of their enemies. He had no guides to point the road. He
knew that safety beckoned for a southward march. A great host was
encamped somewhere in the vicinity. He knew they were ready to
dispute his going. He had never traveled the road he was to follow.
His keen vision could only pierce a few feet into the blackness of
the night. He had only one plan and that was to fight and ride over
whatever obstructed his chosen track. With one hand to guide his
steed and the other grimly gripping his faithful revolver, he led
his followers cautiously and yet speedily amidst the oppressive
silence. Every slip of his floundering steeds amidst the gloom of
the cold and dreary night, seemed full of awful portent and danger,
and yet, amidst all these depressing conditions, the gallant leader
entertained no thought of a retreat and sternly ordered all to go
forward. It required an iron will and an invincible soul to thus
lead five hundred men on this desperate and difficult ride. A few
wounded Federal soldiers, crouching by the fires of the rails they
had kindled into flames to keep the warmth of life in their maimed
bodies until their comrades with the dawn of day should bring succor,
were the only sentinels that called to the riders to halt. These were
not disposed to question Forrest’s right to pass on into the outlying
darkness and he was glad to leave them alone in the cheerless hours
of that dread night, which the misfortunes of war had forced them to
face.

Once, back water seemed to stop the course of the gallant troopers,
but it was only for a moment. His advance guard hesitated, but
calling them to clear the way, he fearlessly crushed the ice with
his sword, and bade those behind to follow where he so promptly and
confidently led.

[Illustration: MAP OF FORREST’S RAID INTO TENNESSEE, DECEMBER, 1862]

This sally and escape of Forrest, in the face of almost
insurmountable obstacles, gave him a reputation for courage and
enterprise that betokened how great his future would be. That this
determined cavalryman marched safely away, was to the ambitious and
glory-seeking youth of the Southwest a special invitation to enlist
under his banners; and decided many of the bravest and most
patriotic men of middle Tennessee to enlist under the guidons of such
fame-winners as Forrest, Wheeler and Morgan. Succeeding events would
only magnify his promise and his skill. Forrest had already shown
himself in the briefest while to be a great cavalry leader, and his
genius, to those who watched and interpreted it ever so slightly,
shone with transcendent brilliance and indicated that he would win
renown and attain the highest rank.

On the 16th of March, 1862, two other Tennessee companies came to the
regiment; these gave it a full roster, and by acclamation he became
colonel; Kelly, lieutenant colonel; and a private, R. M. Balch, major.

When General Bragg marched into Kentucky in the summer of 1862, he
left Nashville behind him, under the control of the Federals. After
returning from Kentucky, in October, through Cumberland Gap, by
degrees he marched westward, and in early winter at Murfreesboro,
thirty miles south of Nashville, established his lines.

General Bragg, in December, deemed it important for General Forrest
to make a raid into West Tennessee, destroy connections with Memphis,
apparently threaten the Louisville & Nashville Railroad between
Louisville and Nashville, damage the railroads and break up, if
possible, the lines of transportation which enabled the Federals to
maintain themselves at Memphis and the adjacent territory.

General Wheeler had been promoted and assigned to the chief command
of the cavalry, with headquarters at La Vergne, and Forrest was
ordered to report to General Bragg in person. Thereupon, General
Forrest was assigned to the command of a brigade of about eighteen
hundred men, consisting of the 4th, 8th and 9th Tennessee Regiments,
Russell’s 4th Alabama and Freeman’s Battery. This promotion of
General Wheeler over Forrest and Morgan greatly disappointed both of
these leaders and excited much criticism amongst the rank and file.
Not only with the cavalry, but with infantry, was this action most
severely condemned. At this time General Wheeler had won neither
the record nor the fame which later excited the admiration of all
the men in the armies of the South. Morgan’s two Kentucky raids and
the Battle of Hartsville, one of the most brilliant achievements of
the war; Forrest’s escape from Donelson, his magnificent service at
Shiloh, and his assault on Nashville and capture of Murfreesboro, had
already made both marked men and given them the admiration and love
of the entire army, and there was much indignation at the apparent
subordination of Forrest and withdrawal from his forces of the men
who had been taught in his campaigns his methods of fighting, and who
had learned to believe in him as one of the most wonderful soldiers
of the Confederacy.

General Bragg received, with some degree of impatience, General
Forrest’s complaints as to either insufficient equipment or
undisciplined troops, and directed General Forrest to march westward,
to cross the Tennessee River, and operate north and west of Memphis,
up to the Kentucky line as far as Moscow, some hundred and sixty
miles away.

Taking his final orders on the 10th of December, 1862, and reviewing
his command, at the risk of being reprimanded for insubordination, in
writing he again called the attention of General Bragg to the lack
of ammunition and supplies, and proper arms for his men.

The soldiers under him were largely raw new levies, armed chiefly
with flintlock rifles, many without flints. They possessed ten caps
per man, and a very meagre and scanty supply of ammunition.

In response to his second demand for better guns and more ammunition,
he was curtly and peremptorily ordered to march without delay and
take his chances with what had been assigned him for the raid.

Forrest keenly felt this treatment. His best troops had been taken
from him. Only four old companies remained with him, men who had
already shown great aptitude for partisan work and knew his method of
fighting, and were prepared to follow him under all conditions.

To the untrained student General Bragg’s orders bordered on cruelty,
and Forrest fiercely resented in his heart the great wrong thus
inflicted upon him. He was proud, brave and profoundly patriotic,
and no man in the South was more deeply attached to the Southern
cause than he. For awhile he brooded over this injustice, but he
loved his country too much to falter or hesitate even if he felt and
believed that this treatment was indefensible. General Bragg, to him
it appeared, had sent him upon the most dangerous mission of the war,
and as if to render the task doubly hazardous, had taken from him
the men he so much needed for the work he was required to do, and
had given him instead men whose inexperience and lack of drill and
discipline would render his success full of uncertainty and well-nigh
impossible.

He was commanded to undertake and possibly to force the passage of
the Tennessee River, when it was swollen by the winter rains, and
without even the semblance of a pontoon bridge, he was expected to
cross his men, horses, artillery and supplies as best he could. He
was either to construct ferry boats, or raise those that had been
sunken to hide them from Federal eyes; to search in the creeks or
thickets for a few skiffs, or to fashion them from the boards he
might pick up in a country already impoverished by the ravages of
war. He was to cross the river in face of a vigilant and expectant
foe whose garrisons were ordered to be upon the alert for his coming;
and were a long time before urged to watch for the presence of
the man whose fear was in every heart and whose desperate courage
and resistless onslaught had made him a very terror to the peace
and quiet of those who were to prevent his coming, or expected to
punish his appearance in the country, the holding of which was an
essential to the safety of their operations on the Mississippi River
below Memphis. Thereafter, he was to move into a region filled with
large Federal garrisons, all thoroughly armed, very many times more
numerous than his own force, and to ride over roads softened by
the winter rains, which by the travel of his horses and guns, were
churned into slush, reaching above the knees of the animals, and
through which his artillery could only be drawn at an average speed
of less than a walk. The conditions of these highways would not only
disspirit his followers, but subject them to such physical strain
as would possibly render them unable to perform the duties that the
campaign necessitated.

He had eighteen hundred troops and four guns. Baggage was reduced to
a minimum. Marching westward from Columbia, Tennessee, he reached
a place called Clifton, on the Tennessee River. An old, leaky
ferryboat, “a tub,” raised from the bottom of the stream where it had
been sunk to save it from Federal destruction; a hastily constructed
similar craft made from hewed logs, and a half dozen skiffs, were
his only means of transportation across the deep stream. The boats
were either rotten or leaky, and all dangerous. Horses and mules
were driven into the stream and forced to swim, while the men with
their saddles, blankets, frying pans, guns, cannon caissons and
ammunition wagons, were with the constant fear of Federal gunboats,
Federal cavalry and infantry ever in their minds and with constant
apprehension of resistance, as speedily as possible, under these
adverse conditions, ferried to the western bank of the swollen river.

Only a great soldier and a great leader could have maintained his
own equanimity with such adverse surroundings, or could have kept
his followers under control with destruction every moment staring
them in the face. On the shore, now on the western bank, now in the
turgid waters, again on the eastern side, he calmly directed every
movement, and his presence gave his followers hope when hope seemed
absurd, and imbued them with a sublime courage they themselves could
not fathom or understand. That he was there quieted every impulse
to fear, and that his eye was upon them spurred every man to the
noblest endeavors. Before him, every thought of cowardice became a
retreating fugitive, and his example taught every trooper in the
brigade that no foe was invincible and no task impossible. Morgan and
his men crossing the Cumberland to reach Hartsville, Wheeler and his
men forcing a passage of the Tennessee to destroy Rosecrans’ trains,
were full of sublime heroism, but Forrest’s passage of the Tennessee
River at Clifton, on December 16th and 17th, 1862, will long live as
one of the most persistently courageous achievements of cavalry in
any age or war.

The strain on man and beast was almost unbearable. Forrest had with
him many officers as brave as he but less experienced; but Starnes,
Dibrell, Russell, Jeffrey Forrest, Freeman, Morton, Biffle, Woodward,
William M. Forrest, Cox, Gurley and many others in this command held
up the hands of their beloved leader and aided him in giving even the
humblest private a spirit of devotion that made every man who wore
the gray jacket an intrepid hero, and a soldier who was without fear,
even unto death.

Scouts above and below, ever vigilant, watched for coming gunboats.
Pickets, hastily sent out on the western side of the stream, guarded
every road that led to the ferry, and eager eyes, quickened by
impending danger, scanned every hilltop and watched every avenue
of approach. Two nights and a day were consumed in this arduous
undertaking. The gunboats could not safely travel at night and
Forrest availed himself of this to further his difficult work. He
was crossing, with most inadequate means, the fifth largest stream
in the United States. The distance from shore to shore was more than
half a mile, the current was rapid, and while poling flatboats is
a slow and tedious process by day, by night the difficulties were
much enhanced. Forrest and his men successfully defied and overcame
these natural obstacles, and by the morning of the 17th his men and
equipments were all over, the boats were poled back to the western
shore, sunk, committed to the care of a few guards, who protested
at being left behind for what they esteemed an inglorious task, and
with a questioning gaze, Forrest looked across the stream, wondering
if he could later repass its currents, and with a wave of his sword,
launched forth on his hazardous mission. Aligning his small command,
he bade them go forward, not doubting that even with such odds
against him, fate would lend a helping hand and safely bring him back
from sure yet unknown dangers and fierce battles to his own, again.

This tremendous task accomplished and his scattered forces united, he
marched eight miles to Lexington, Henderson County, and encamped for
a little while, to allow his wet, hungry and tired soldiers to dry
their clothes, inspect their guns, and to relieve their minds as well
as their bodies of the great strain to which they had been subjected
in the extraordinary and eventful experiences of the past forty-eight
hours.

On examination, it was found that the greater part of the ammunition,
in crossing the Tennessee River, had become wet and consequently
unserviceable, and while this loss of the slight supply of ammunition
which had been assigned to his command was being considered, a
blockade-runner who had been sent through the lines, appeared with
fifty thousand caps.

Forrest had sent forward his agents to secure this supply of
ammunition. Already the Federals had had warning of Forrest’s coming,
and he had barely advanced a mile until he had encountered squadrons
of the Federal force moving along the same road to check his farther
advance. Prepared or unprepared, Forrest had come to fight. He
viciously assailed the Federals and quickly captured or routed one,
a Federal Tennessee regiment, and the other the 11th Regiment of
Illinois Volunteers, in which last Robert G. Ingersoll became a
Confederate prisoner.

Refreshed and strengthened by Federal supplies, and new and better
mounts, he pursued the fugitives furiously, and three days after
crossing the river reached Jackson, Tennessee (fifty miles away). He
had rested only a day, and his march was never without opposition
from his foe.

The Federals quickly concentrated troops at Jackson from the North
and South. The railroads from the north were immediately torn up,
isolated stations were captured, and guns and ammunition provided
for thoroughly arming the Confederates. Forrest was not slow and by
the removal and bending of the rails, he cut off further succor or
supplies to the garrison at Jackson from the north.

At this time, the force at Jackson was estimated at fifteen thousand.
Maneuvering so as to create the impression of an army of a larger
force than was really at his call, and with only one regiment
apparently in front of Jackson, he started northwest to Humboldt,
and here found his richest booty. Two hundred prisoners, four gun
caissons, five hundred standard muskets and three hundred thousand
rounds of ammunition, and equipments of all sorts here fell into
Forrest’s hands.

Reserving the best for himself, the torch was applied to the
remainder and the insatiable flames ate up the property that Federal
foresight had collected to feed the garrisons that now filled every
town of any importance in the adjacent country. His force, had now
become steadied by the influence of his example and by his brilliant
success. The experiences of a few days had made them veterans, and
taught them the ways and genius of their resourceful leader and he
too now began to realize that even these new and hitherto untried men
were dependable soldiers in any crisis that his daring might invoke.

Five days out from the Tennessee River, General Forrest reached
Trenton, and prepared for its capture. A man of intensive action,
he quickly surrounded the town. It did not take long to drive the
enemy into their breastworks. A charge from Forrest and his escort
completed the work. With two hundred and seventy-five men, some
of them inexperienced volunteers, General Forrest had captured
four hundred prisoners of war, including two colonels, many field
officers, a thousand horses and mules, wagons and ambulances, and
ammunition, and two hundred thousand rations of subsistence, all
worth a half million of dollars.

Flintlock muskets and shotguns were now thrown away. Enfield rifles,
the best possible Confederate arm of that period, were issued to his
entire command, and with an equipment, the same in most respects
as that of their foes, the new soldiers caught the true spirit
of war and were eager to meet their adversaries upon more equal
terms. Recruits had more than made up for the losses which Forrest
had suffered, and well-equipped and well-armed, he still numbered
eighteen hundred men and officers.

With the exception of the Tennessee Federal Regiment, all other
prisoners were paroled, required to march to Columbus, Kentucky,
under an escort, and there turned over to the Federal commander.

The way was now clear, and General Forrest marched toward Union
City, on the line between Kentucky and Tennessee. Stockade after
stockade was taken, and the real and greatest work of the expedition
was now begun. He had come to destroy the railroads. A few of his
companies had done such work before, and with eagerness and spirit
they gleefully set about the pleasing task. Spikes were drawn, rails
were stacked on piles of logs, and the fiery flames assisted in
the work of demolition. The iron rails, under the influence of the
savage glow, began to twirl and twist and, bent in all directions
by the increasing heat furnished by renewed giant piles of wood,
they seemed almost alive in their strange contortions; and curved,
crooked and ill-shapen lengths of iron were soon all that remained
of the tracks that were so essential to transport food supplies for
the armies which encamped toward the south, who were dependent upon
these rails for their daily bread. He followed the line of the Mobile
and Ohio railroad and destroyed it, and tore up its track for fifteen
miles, burning down trestles, removing cattle guards, and inflicting
tremendous losses upon the line.

In the meanwhile, the forces at Jackson had gotten their second
breath. They undertook now to intercept Forrest and prevent his
recrossing the Tennessee River. Short work was made of Union City;
two hundred and fifty officers and men entrenched, surrendered with
their arms and supplies. Here three hundred more prisoners were
paroled.

General Forrest had now reached the northern limit of the lines of
his expedition, at Moscow, a few miles over the Kentucky border.
Several days were spent in demolishing the heavy trestles on the
north and south forks of the Obion River.

Twelve thousand Federal soldiers had now been concentrated at
Trenton. Forrest had not been out from his crossing of the Tennessee
River nine days. Marching twenty-six miles to Dresden, and realizing
the work that was before him, he resolved to give his animals and his
men a day’s rest to prepare them for the well-nigh superhuman tasks
which were before them.

The Federal commanders resolved to prevent General Forrest from
recrossing the Tennessee River, and to this end, they applied all
the means at their command. They had plenty of men, but the trying
problem was to anticipate Forrest’s track and to cope with his
wonderful methods for outwitting his foes.

With the keen mind of the great cavalry soldier, it did not
take General Forrest long to understand that his enemies were
concentrating their forces to prevent his re-passage of the river. He
fully understood that it was impossible for him to escape south, that
he must go east, and in going east, he must get over the Tennessee
River. Before he could start well upon his return, it was necessary
for him to cross the Obion River, which empties into the Tennessee,
but this was now full with winter floods. All the bridges but one
had been destroyed. Across this dangerous and uncertain stream,
the bridge had been partially torn out, and it was left undefended
because it was regarded as impassable.

Within an hour, the men were at work getting together timber with
which to repair the bridge, so as to admit of the passage of
artillery. The seemingly hopeless task was accomplished in the
briefest period. Within an hour, the causeway was made passable.
It was a cold, dark midnight, and a sleeting, drizzling rain was
falling, chilling the bones but not the hearts of the Confederate
command.

General Forrest, in order to nerve his soldiers for the dangers of
slipping from the tottering bridge, himself mounted the saddle horse
and drove over the first wagon. Catching the inspiration of their
great leader’s courage, two teamsters attempted to follow. They
slipped or fell from the bridge and plunged into the deep stream and
freezing mud, from which they were with difficulty released.

Men, who had hitherto looked on with undisturbed hearts, now began to
question if the crossing of the stream could be made, whether in the
gloom of the dark hours which precede the dawn, and the dawn was far
off, it would be possible to carry over his sixteen hundred soldiers
now present with their equipments. But there was no difficulty or
danger that could quail the heart of Nathan Bedford Forrest. The
muddy, slushy roads made the passage more dangerous. Conscious of
the lack of supplies in the territory into which he must return,
Forrest was endeavoring to carry a number of wagon loads of flour,
coffee and sugar. The safety of his command and the lives of his
soldiers rose higher than all thoughts of the commissary, and the mud
and chuck holes were filled with sacks of flour and coffee, and along
these and over these the wagons passed.

The trains, by three o’clock, had been gotten over the bridge, but
the muddy, sloppy condition rendered it impossible for the artillery
horses to draw the guns and caissons. The horses were knee deep in
mud, and the men waded in slush half way up their limbs. Fifty men
were detailed with ropes to pull each piece of artillery, and only by
these superhuman efforts, at three o’clock in the morning, the Obion
was passed.

The only rest that could be allowed after the awful experiences of
the night was a short halt for food; and hardly had men and beasts
satisfied nature’s craving until the scouts informed General Forrest
that twelve miles away were several thousand men, converging upon his
small and valiant force.

General Forrest had no idea at this time of giving any intimation
where he would pass the Tennessee River. And he pursued his way
southward toward Lexington, over a wild, rough, hilly, rocky
road. The tramp of the horses and the cutting of the wheels of
the artillery and the wagons made the road a veritable bayou. The
friable soil, stirred and cut by cannon, caisson and wagon wheels,
and mixed by the six thousand hoofs of the cavalry horses, became
a canal of freezing slush. The animals and their equipments were
bespattered with this horrible material, and the clothing, necks,
faces, saddles, blankets and guns of the riders were covered with
mud, making the march extremely distressing. With grim courage, they
ceased endeavoring to wipe the disgusting slime from their faces
or clothing. They gritted their teeth, clenched their reins with a
stronger grip, and, uncomplaining, rode on in the dark stillness
of the awful night; they could at least, they believed, endure the
horrors of the situation until dawn of day. This, they hoped, would
bring some relief and somewhat assuage the dreadful punishment of
this night march. The scouts reported one brigade of the enemy within
six miles of General Forrest, another, six miles from this force.
Resting until four o’clock, his men were aroused, ordered to saddle
and prepare for the advance upon the Federal armies.

General Forrest determined to force the fighting, and he had only
a brief time to form a line of battle. Biffle, with his regiment,
had moved towards Trenton, but the soldierly instinct told him that
his chieftain was calling for him, and so he paroled his prisoners,
destroyed his supplies, and turned his face toward the battlefield
which was now to decide the fate of the command. General Forrest
believed he could destroy one brigade, under Colonel Dunham, before
the other, under General Sullivan, could march six miles over the
terrible roads along which it must advance, and he resolved to try
his fortunes with Dunham first.

The Federals were quite as eager for conflict as General Forrest, and
as soon as they felt the impact, pressed forward with great vigor.
General Forrest had six pieces of artillery and about fourteen
hundred available fighting men; he was hunting a fight, and he was to
get quite all that he desired.

Both sides felt the importance of the issue, and both were eager
to secure the advantage in positions. Forrest’s artillery, always
well placed, was now concentrated upon the Federal lines. The men in
blue advanced resolutely to within a hundred and eighty feet of the
artillery, but they only came to be repulsed with great slaughter.
The Confederate leader thought it was better to make this first an
artillery fight, and to reserve his small arms for the later period,
when the second force should try issues with him.

Colonel Dunham, in command of the Federals, showed himself to be a
fighter. Repulses did not weaken the courage of either himself or his
troops, and they renewed charge upon charge. At last his lines were
broken, and his men left their cover and ran across the field, where
many of them were captured and slain.

Colonel Starnes attacked the enemy in the rear. He had been detached
for making this kind of assault; always one of Forrest’s chief
maneuvers, who often declared that one man in the rear was worth two
in the front. On Starnes’ arrival in the field, white flags were
hoisted and Forrest and his troopers were masters of the situation.

While Forrest was congratulating himself upon his safety, Colonel
Carroll, a staff officer, rose up to inform him that a superior
number of Federals had come into action and were now in his rear.
This was a great surprise and an unlooked-for emergency. A full
brigade of fresh troops, now behind him, pressed on with remarkable
vigor and spirit, and the attack was so sudden and fierce that two
hundred and fifty of Forrest’s men were captured, four caissons and
two brass cannons were disabled in an attempt to withdraw from the
field, and these were abandoned, with a loss of a number of troopers
and some artillery.

The newcomers were quite as game as the men who had withstood
Forrest’s several assaults. They poured a heavy fire into the
Confederate line sustained by their artillery and fiercely and
furiously assailed the several Confederate positions. It looked as
if the wily Confederate leader had been caught napping, and that
favoring fortune, which had so often and so propitiously come to his
rescue, was about to desert his standard and give the victory to his
enemies.

With only a hundred and twenty-five men, Forrest made one of his
characteristic dashes upon the artillery of the enemy, which was
being served in such efficient manner as to inflict great loss.
Fortunately the horses attached to three of the pieces took fright
and ran in the direction of the Confederate lines, where they were
seized and driven away.

In the meantime, Colonel Starnes had attacked Dunham’s rear and this
halted him, and enabled General Forrest to capture General Dunham’s
wagon train with all his supplies, and this was skillfully carried
from the field.

General Forrest had now all the fighting he wanted for one day. He
had put in nine hours. Twenty-five officers and men had been killed,
seventy-five wounded and two hundred and fifty captured. Three
caissons, five wagons and mules and seventy-five thousand rounds of
ammunition had been left with his enemies.

The Federals had fared even worse than the Confederates. A colonel
and lieutenant colonel and one hundred and fifty rank and file had
been wounded; fifty dead lay on the ground.

Forrest, with twelve hundred fighting men, had whipped eighteen
hundred and then finally stood off a fresh brigade. It was not often
that General Forrest was taken unawares, and those who knew his
marvelous ability to get information wondered how General Sullivan
with a fresh brigade could approach his rear and attack it without
notice. Forrest, however, had not forgotten to look after this end
of the line. The directions were misunderstood by the officer. He,
hearing the guns, deemed it necessary to make a detour in order to
reach Forrest. Had this officer promptly reported the presence of
Sullivan, Forrest would have been able to destroy Dunham before the
arrival of fresh Federal forces, and then with his usual vehemence
turned upon the Federal reenforcements and chosen his battlefield
with his fresher foes. For once the Confederate chieftain was glad to
get out of reach of his enemies. He felt that he had fully enough of
conflict, and his best thoughts and energies were engaged in devising
ways and means to extricate his command from what even he, chief of
military optimists, must admit was a most difficult and dangerous
situation.

The engagement at Parker’s Cross Roads, where the commands of Dunham
and Sullivan felt that they had severely battered General Forrest,
gave the Federals some grounds for believing that even he was not
invincible, and encouraged them to seek another trial; and they were,
though with many precautions for safety, anxious to again fight out
the wager-of-battle.

Twelve miles away from the battlefield, Forrest halted to feed his
men and dress the wounds of his patient followers. They had passed
the highest physical tests and had come forth victorious, but even
Forrest’s followers had limitations and reached a point where nature
revolted and peremptorily called a halt.

The Confederate chieftain now determined to recross the Tennessee
at Clifton, the same point at which he had passed it fifteen days
before. In his hazardous position, this was the only hope of emerging
in safety. He had left his sunken boats to rescue him in a last
emergency. At no other point was there a substantial chance to find
even the crudest means of passing the swollen stream, which, like a
great spectre, stood out on the horizon to haunt his dreams and to
thwart his escape.

The Federals were glad to leave Forrest alone, and Forrest was glad
to leave them alone. With all the vigor and courage the Federals
had shown in the pursuit of the Confederates, their failure at the
last moment to pursue and attack him while crossing the river is one
of the strange and inexplicable delinquencies which now and then
appeared in the tactics of both armies, during the four years of the
struggle.

When close to the river, the scouts brought information that ten
thousand infantry and cavalry were moving from the direction of Purdy
and towards Clifton, and this gave General Forrest new cause for
apprehension and solicitude.

[Illustration: GENERAL NATHAN BEDFORD FORREST]

A few miles from Clifton, across Forrest’s only path leading to the
river, he found a regiment of Federal cavalry drawn up in battle
line. There was no time for maneuvering, and Dibbrell, always
gallant, was ordered to charge down the road across which the
Federals had been placed. Dibbrell, realizing the situation, was
quick to act, and furiously assaulted the line, cut the Federals
asunder, and then Starnes and Biffle, one on the right and the other
on the left, went after the detachments, and in a brief space they
were scattered and driven from the field.

Strange to say, twenty men were killed on the Federal side and fifty
prisoners taken, and only one man struck on the Confederate side.
This was General Forrest’s forage master, who was standing by his
side, and called his attention to some object. While speaking, he
was struck by a spent ball, which flattened on his forehead without
penetrating the skull, and the officer fell stunned, but soon revived
and only suffered the inconvenience of a severe headache.

Every nerve was now strained to reach the river. The sun was at its
meridian when General Forrest rode up and looked across the currents
that swirled between him and safety. The skiffs on the other side
of the Tennessee, and the flatboats which had been sunk after the
passage on the 15th, had been raised, under the direction of Jeffrey
Forrest, who, with the speed born of the extremities of the hour,
with a small following had galloped forward to put in readiness the
meagre flotilla with which the retreating Confederates might cross
the river and find safety from their numerous and aggressive foes.

When General Forrest arrived, the boats were ready to move, the
horses were detached from all the wagons and artillery, driven
into the river and made to swim across. The same process was gone
through with the cavalry horses. It was a wonderful sight to a
looker-on,—hundreds of horses struggling in a swollen stream. All
understood what even an hour’s delay might mean. The beasts could
swim, but no man could endure the freezing waters, or hope after half
a mile of immersion under its chilling currents to emerge on the
other side alive. Logs were searched for in the drift, fence rails
were hunted. These were lashed together with grape vines, halter
ropes or bridle reins, and on these improvised rafts, bushes and
drift were piled, and with poles or board paddles, pushed and pulled
across the stream.

The artillery and wagon horses and a majority of the cavalry mounts
were animals which had been captured from the Federals. The supreme
hour was at hand. Only the speediest action could hold out the
slightest hope of escape. One section of artillery, under Captain
Douglass, and one regiment were posted a mile away from the ferry.
These were directed to fortify their position as best they could,
to hold it in the face of all odds, under all circumstances, and to
fight even to annihilation. Only brave men, who have received such
a command, can realize how calmly human courage rises to its very
zenith under such conditions. No one detailed for this important duty
sought relief. Forrest himself told them they must stay and if need
be, die to save their comrades. They made no excuses, they asked no
exemption. They were ready to serve as told and, had the occasion
required, every man was ready to fall where his country, at that
hour, called him to stand.

The river was eighteen hundred feet wide, but it had banks which were
favorable for the escape of the animals from the stream.

From twelve o’clock until eight o’clock at night, the flatboats
pulled up stream half a mile and were then permitted to drop down
with the current, and were drifted and poled across, and after eight
hours the five pieces of artillery, six caissons, sixty wagons and
four ambulances, equipments of all kinds, and the whole command had
been carried over the swollen stream and were landed on the eastern
side of the river. Thirty-six hours out from Parker’s Cross Roads,
where Dunham and Sullivan and Fuller had raised such a rough-house
with Forrest, he had marched forty miles, and safely passed all
his forces with their horses and trains over the Tennessee. This
remarkable feat again demonstrated Forrest’s wonderful wealth of
resource, and served notice on his enemies that there was nothing he
would not dare and few feats that he could not accomplish.

Fourteen days had elapsed since the passage of the river, but what
marvelous experiences had Forrest and his raw levies passed. They
had traveled over three hundred miles, had been in three sternly
contested engagements, with daily skirmishing, had destroyed fifty
large and small bridges on the Mobile and Ohio Railroad, and had
burned trestles, so as to make it useless to the enemy; had captured
twenty stockades, captured and killed twenty-five hundred of the
enemy, taken and disabled ten pieces of artillery, carried off fifty
wagons and ambulances with their teams, had captured ten thousand
stands of excellent small arms and hundreds of thousands of rounds
of ammunition, had returned fully armed, equipped and mounted; had
traversed roads with army trains which at that season were considered
impassable, even by horsemen. Only one night’s rest in fourteen days
had been enjoyed, unsheltered, without tents, and in a most inclement
winter, constantly raining, snowing and sleeting; but these wonderful
men had endured all these hardships, neither murmuring, complaining
nor doubting, but always cheerful, brave and resigned to do any and
every duty that sternest war could bring.

This one campaign had made Forrest’s new troopers veterans. There
was now no service for which they were not prepared. They were ready
to follow their leader at any time and everywhere, and thereafter no
troops would perform more prodigies of valor or face a foe with more
confidence or cheerfulness; and yet before them were many of war’s
sacrifices, dangers, disasters, toils and trials, which would call
for the best that was in man.




CHAPTER VII

TEXAS HORSEMEN OF THE SEA, IN GALVESTON HARBOR, JANUARY, 1863


General John Bankhead Magruder was born in Winchester, Virginia, on
the 15th of August, 1810. He came of not only a distinguished but a
martial family. Singularly attractive in personality, he entered West
Point and graduated from that institution in 1830.

Thirty-six years of age when the Mexican War began, he was not
without a wide military experience, and on many battlefields had
exhibited the superb courage which marked his entire career as a
Confederate officer. He won fame at Palo Alto in the Mexican War, he
earned a brevet at Cerro Gordo, and at Chapultepec and in the City
of Mexico he added still more largely to his splendid reputation
for gallantry and dash. Imbued with all the patriotic state pride
and love of a native born Virginian, he early resigned his position
in the United States army and took service under the Confederate
government.

By March 16, 1861, he was colonel; ninety days later a brigadier
general; less than four months afterward he was a major general;
and, with probably one exception, when it was claimed he was tardy,
he justified the opinion of his friends and superiors that he was a
great soldier, an eminent strategist, with extraordinary aptitude for
all phases and departments of war.

In the Virginia-Yorktown campaign in 1861, he fought the Battle of
Big Bethel. He was then only a colonel, but there he ranked such men
as D. H. Hill and others of great future renown.

Big Bethel was not much of a battle after all, but it served to
stimulate and nourish Southern pride, and helped also to arouse
Northern patriotism. With one man killed and seven wounded, it is
with reluctance that it can be called a battle at all. The most that
General Magruder could enumerate as a loss on the Federal side (with
all the bias of a general anxious to promote hope in his countrymen),
was from twenty-five to thirty killed and a hundred and fifty wounded.

On this field fell the first martyr to the Southern cause. He was a
member of the 1st North Carolina Infantry, and volunteered with four
others to cross the firing line and burn a house, from which it was
supposed the Federals would have superior advantages in their assault
on the Confederate position. When he fell, his companions were
recalled.

North Carolina, with the noble impulses of a great state, and with
commendable pride in its magnificent reputation in the Confederate
War; has builded a monument to the first, not only of her sons, but
all the South’s sons, who laid down their lives for the life of the
Confederacy.

This young man was Henry L. Wyatt, only a private in the 1st North
Carolina Regiment, yet he won imperishable fame by his service,
which, while not more glorious than the thousands of others who
later made the great sacrifice for their country, became preeminent
because he was the first to shed out his blood for the Southland.

From this battle, so ably directed by General Magruder, comes North
Carolina’s claim, “First at Bethel.”

Not only in the United States army, but in the Confederate army,
General Magruder was known as “Prince John.” Careful of his person,
inclined to stylishness in dress, even before the war, at Newport,
Rhode Island, he was considered among the handsomest, as well as the
most courteous and gracious of American soldiers.

In the seven days’ battle around Richmond, and at the sad finality of
that wondrous campaign, Malvern Hill, Magruder bore a distinguished
and valorous part.

In the fall of 1862, matters had reached almost a crisis in Texas.
Jealousies, which calmer judgment now declares unfortunate though
not unusual, among proud and patriotic men, had seriously affected
the success of Confederate arms west of the Mississippi. A head was
needed, and so, of the general officers in the East, General Magruder
was selected by the government, not only as a successful soldier,
but as a high grade organizer, to assume charge of the affairs of
the great territory west of the Mississippi. This department had
boundless possibilities. It had material for great soldiers. Its men,
accustomed to hardships, trained to the highest physical endurance
by their daily surroundings, and accustomed to danger and adventure,
were ready to volunteer with readiest alacrity, and to fight without
fear. The splendid achievements of the trans-Mississippi volunteers
will stand the closest scrutiny, and the sharpest comparison
with any of those heroes, who by their courage and endurance won
renown for the armies of Tennessee and Northern Virginia. Their
deeds, though not yet justly and fully chronicled, will, when truly
recorded, add still more resplendence to the name of “Confederate
Soldier.”

It was believed that the generals, hitherto operating with separate
commands, would recognize General Magruder’s superior ability
and justly earned reputation, and that under his guidance, wide
experience and honorably won fame, would co-operate in the campaigns
in Arkansas, Louisiana, Texas and Missouri, and when massed under
a man of General Magruder’s genius and skill would stay threatened
Federal invasion and produce the results their fighting qualities
might reasonably be expected to evolve.

After starting upon his journey, circumstances arose which recalled
him temporarily; but toward the end of October, in 1862, he reached
Texas.

General Magruder early realized the necessity of holding the line
of the Rio Grande, which for more than twelve hundred miles was the
boundary between the Confederate states and the Republic of Mexico.
Along so many hundreds of miles of waterway, and a line which
presented a great many military difficulties, it was impossible for
the United States, without a base on the Gulf of Mexico, to interrupt
or prevent the transportation and sale of cotton and the return of
supplies through Mexico, which at that time were almost absolutely
necessary to maintain an organized army in Texas. The preservation
of this territory was a military necessity. It divided the Federal
forces and kept a great number of men engaged in defending the
flanks of the armies operating along the Mississippi River and the
Gulf of Mexico.

Up to the time of Magruder’s coming, those in command in Louisiana
and Texas had practically conceded that a full defence of the Texan
coast was impracticable. Galveston, by reason of its peculiar
topographical position, had been abandoned. A small Federal force was
quartered on the wharves, close to the limits of the city, while the
Federal fleet, outside, prevented egress and ingress to the harbor,
and only waited reinforcements to make a more permanent and extensive
occupation and by closing the avenues to Mexico, make complete the
blockade of the entire borders of the Confederacy.

General Magruder was considered one of the best strategists in the
Confederate army. By quick movements and the rapid disposition of
troops, he had delayed General McClellan’s march along the Yorktown
Peninsula several weeks, and he was now resolved to rid the coast of
Texas of Federal invasion and to restore Galveston to Confederate
control. He had but few of the more powerful resources of military
arts at his command; his artillery was limited; he had no gunboats
and no material from which to make a gunboat that could ride the
ocean storms; but his coming with a magnificent past of military
achievement, and his personal confidence and courage, quickly
inspired the people in the proximity of Galveston with the highest
opinions of his talents and gallantry, and created hope where the
surroundings declared there could be no hope.

It is fifty miles from Houston to Galveston, and the Brazos River,
together with the bayous, afforded communication with the Gulf,
through the harbor at Galveston to that city. Prompt in action and
resolute of purpose, General Magruder reconnoitered the situation at
Galveston, and determined to re-take the place. He only proposed to
make this attempt after a very careful survey and an equally careful
arrangement of his plans. The Federal fleet blockading Galveston was
not very extensive, yet was so out of proportion to anything that the
Confederates could bring to bear upon it, that an attack on it was
considered absolutely foolhardy.

General Magruder had brought with him from Virginia a few hundred
Enfield rifles. These proved of tremendous value in the operations
he was to undertake at Galveston. Shotguns and ordinary hunting
rifles were not very satisfactory, unless at very close range, and
while General Magruder may not have anticipated such service as they
should render at Galveston, it was deemed by his followers extremely
fortunate that he had the foresight to introduce, with his coming to
his new field of operation, these English guns.

Among Federal vessels blockading the port at Galveston was the
_Harriet Lane_, commanded by Captain Wainwright; she carried four
heavy guns and two twenty-four-pounders. The _Westfield_, mounting
eight guns, was a large propeller, and the flagship of Commodore
Renshaw, in command of the blockading fleet. The _Owasco_, another
propeller, carried eight heavy guns; the _Clifton_, a propeller with
four heavy guns and an armed schooner were among the vessels which
composed the fleet which General Magruder, with the most inadequate
means, proposed to attack and destroy, or put to flight.

As early as the beginning of 1863, the Confederate cavalry had been
taught to be ready for any service, whether in scouting, raiding,
assaulting infantry or defending forts. In the demands upon cavalry,
the Confederate authorities were no respecter of persons, and that a
man belonged to the cavalry gave him no exemption from any service
that infantry or artillery could perform.

By the 1st of November, 1862, General Magruder issued a call for
volunteers. Hand bills were distributed throughout the city of
Houston, calling for enlistments. It had been given out that Captain
Leon Smith would have charge of the operations by water. These
calls received few responses. Some said it was the hazard of the
expedition, others were unwilling to volunteer under Captain Smith,
a stranger. Call after call fell on deaf ears, and incredible minds
and unwilling hearts, so far as the citizens and the sailors about
Houston were concerned.

General Magruder’s plans seemed doomed to failure, when Lieutenant
Colonel Bagby of the cavalry suggested to General Magruder that
Colonel Tom Green was a man of boundless courage and also of
unlimited resources. The history of General Green’s intrepidity,
fortitude, and superior ability in extricating his brigade from New
Mexico a few months before had spread abroad through Texas, and after
this superb performance, many people thought there was nothing that
General Green could not accomplish.

General Magruder promptly sent for General Green and unfolded to
him his plan of attack on Galveston, and suggested to him to take
three hundred volunteers from his cavalry, and with these, on board
two steamboats under command of Captain Leon Smith, aid in General
Magruder’s attempt to recapture Galveston. But General Green,
conscious of his power and confident of his ability as a leader of
men, declined to embark on boats under the command of Captain Smith,
insisting that, as he was supreme on the land, he must also be
supreme on the sea; and then it was that General Magruder, pleased
with the spirit of the man, entrusted to Colonel Green the command
of the two river steamers, the _Bayou City_ and the _Neptune_, which
had been rudely converted into marine rams with a few cotton bales to
protect their wheels and engines.

It required immeasurable courage in such frail and unseaworthy boats
to pass out into the Gulf of Mexico, or into the harbor at Galveston,
and attack war vessels. General Green, now fifty-one years of age,
had led a most strenuous life, and it was too late for him to take
counsel of fear. He went back to his command full of the excitement
and glamour of glory’s calls and issued the following order:

“Soldiers, you are called upon to volunteer in a dangerous
expedition. I have never deceived you, I will not deceive you now. I
regard this as the most desperate enterprise that men ever engaged
in. I shall go, but I do not know that I shall ever return; I do not
know that any who go with me will, and I want no man to volunteer who
is not willing to die for his country and to die now.”

None could say that they misunderstood the purport of this laconic
but stirring and impassioned appeal. The 5th and 7th regiments had
been recruited to a full quota. Not five in a hundred had ever been
to sea; they knew nothing of the management of any sort of seagoing
vessel, but they did know that General Green wanted them to go and
they did go, largely because he was going with them. When the two
regiments were drawn up in line and volunteers called for, be it said
to the renown of Texas and to the honor of the Confederate soldier
that, without an instant’s hesitation, or a moment’s delay, every man
in these two regiments stepped forward and declared his willingness
to take the chances of war in an expedition of which they knew
nothing, except that their beloved commander told them that while
it might lead through the paths of glory, it also might lead to the
grave.

In all the history of the Confederate armies, so replete with the
highest and noblest heroism, there is no record of anything grander
or more inspiring than this act of the men of these two regiments,
offering, in the face of the warning of their beloved commander, to
go with him, if needs be, even unto present death, to serve their
country.

A cavalryman never likes to give up his horse. There is a sense of
safety, as well as a sense of pride in the cavalry mount. And when
those valiant Texans went away and committed their steeds to the
care of their comrades, it added a new radiance to their courage
and valor. Ready to leave their beasts to enter upon an element of
which they knew nothing and engage in an enterprise of which they
were profoundly ignorant, all because, through the voice of their
commander, they heard the call of country bidding them go to meet the
foes of the land they loved, was both an unusual and an extraordinary
exhibition of patriotism and of obedience to duty’s demands.

But, like those with Gideon of old, three hundred alone could assume
the dangers and win the honors of this peculiar engagement.

Some members of the 4th Regiment heard of the expedition, and these
hurried forward to offer their services, but they were reluctantly
denied the valued privilege, and ordered back to their command.
Satisfied to obey, they were filled with grief which later became
even more poignant when they understood the result of the splendid
victory of which they were denied a share.

It was a difficult task to determine who should go, in face of the
universal and intrepid desire manifested by these volunteers, to take
part in this desperate and dangerous enterprise.

With that abandon of courage that marks the really brave, these three
hundred soldiers, one-half from the 5th and one-half from the 7th
Regiment, marched down to the wharf at Houston, and took passage on
the _Bayou City_ and _Neptune_.

General Green remained with the _Bayou City_. The _Neptune_, the
faster boat, was commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Bagby, on which were
volunteers from two artillery companies. But the main fighters and
the great fighting machine, the real men behind the guns, were those
who handled the Enfield rifles which General Magruder brought over
from the far East.

With such unworthy seagoing vessels, protected with a few bales of
cotton, likely to be blown up by the first well-directed shell,
only the most valiant of men would have undertaken so hazardous
an enterprise. The remaining men of the 4th, 5th and 7th Cavalry,
composing Sibley’s brigade, had been dispatched to Galveston to
engage in the assault by land and the defense of the guns on the
beach.

General Magruder led the land forces in person. Along the wharves and
shores of the bay, all the Confederate artillery was put in position.
There was little, if any, protection to the guns or gunners. They
were coming out in the open to fight the men who were protected in
ships, and they were eager for the unequal fray.

General Magruder had announced that he would fire the first gun, and
that when this was heard, all the artillery should turn loose upon
the Federal fleet.

Under Colonel Cook, five hundred men plunged into water waist deep,
carrying upon their shoulders the scaling ladders, upon which to
climb upon the barricades held by the Federals on the remains of the
City Wharf.

Neither wind nor wave had aught of terror for these splendid knights
of the sea, who, in the darkness of the night, guided only by the
pale stars, encumbered with guns and ladders, were hunting for their
foes, who, safely barricaded, were waiting to send death-dealing
missiles into their ranks. On land, such an assault had terrifying
elements, but wading out into the sea, with neither beacons nor
torches to guide their steps, carrying or pulling scaling ladders, by
which alone they could hope to engage an enemy entrenched high above
them upon wooden wharves, reaches to the sublimest heights of human
courage.

The dismounted cavalry had been brought within a short distance of
Galveston, and when the first gun was fired, with brave and steady
heads and fleet of foot, they pressed forward to the front, on the
line held by the venturesome artillery.

The Federal ships were not slow to take their part in this
magnificent night pageant. Shells and bombs and shot plowed through
the walls and over the fortifications and played hide and seek
amongst the guns and caissons, that stood out on the land with
distinctness, when the flashes of the cannon lit up the weird scenes
of the fateful hour. The men in line on the shore were unable to
reach their enemies, who were safely anchored out in harbor. Though
their position was made uncomfortable by the fierceness of the fire,
none flinched and none sought to avoid the consequence of the unequal
affray.

So close were the combatants together that shells alternating with
grape and canister speeded forth from the Federal gunboats, and from
midnight until morn this contest was waged. From two o’clock until
the dawn of day, fierce and fast flew the shells; and the roar of
artillery and the flashes of the guns made the bay a scene of terror.

[Illustration: GENERAL JOHN B. MAGRUDER]

Magruder turned his eyes anxiously towards the direction from which
his navy should come. The men aboard the steamboats heard the sound
of artillery and, catching the inspiration of the hour, with illy
suppressed anxiety and impatience, urged that they push forward
into the midst of the conflict. They had waited from midnight until
four in the morning for the sign which would bid them to enter the
arena, and when at early morn they heard the call for them to come,
it was with difficulty that their commanders could restrain their
impatient ardor.

As they sailed down the Bayou, they caught sight of the flashes which
marked the place where the artillery duel was being fought out. The
clear starlight, with the moon gone down, was a splendid background
upon which was painted the illuminations created by rapidly firing
ordnance. This was more brilliant and more beautiful than any display
that fireworks might produce.

The roll of the cannon was sweet music to the patriots now afloat and
being propelled with quickening revolutions of the wheels into the
turmoil and excitement.

The Federal ship, _Harriet Lane_, being nearest the shore, was
the first to receive the attention of the Confederate navy. The
_Neptune_, the fastest of the flotilla, came quickly within range of
the Federal fleet, and in swinging around to the side of the _Harriet
Lane_, was struck amidships and quickly sank. The water was so
shallow that it did not reach the upper part of the vessel. Without
being deterred from the serious business in which they were engaged,
the cavalry mounted on the highest portion of the boat and with their
Enfield rifles poured a deadly fire upon every part of the _Harriet
Lane_, and practically drove her gunners from their posts.

The _Bayou City_, not so swift, but manned by none the less
determined soldiers and sailors, swung promptly into action.
Compared with the _Lane_, she was helpless in an artillery fight, but
those aboard of this frail ship had no dread of any danger that the
exigencies of the hour could precipitate. As she advanced into the
battle, her best piece of artillery burst and the valiant captain,
Wier, who had volunteered to direct the guns, fell dead by their side.

Disregarding all ideas of prudence, and casting to the winds or
the waters all fear, the _Bayou City_, with her improvised ram,
made straight for the _Harriet Lane_ and drove her iron nose into
her sides. The blow was given with such force that it disabled the
_Harriet Lane_; the vessels appeared as one forum of raging conflict.
With grappling irons, the Confederates held the two vessels fast
together, and then in obedience to the call of General Green, every
man from the _Bayou City_ sprang upon the deck of the unfortunate
_Lane_.

There were no words of parley, there were no calls for surrender, but
the brave Texans, under their valiant commander, with Enfield rifles
and their swords, made quick work of the crew of the Federal ship,
and in the briefest period the storm quieted to the stillness of
death.

The commander of the _Lane_, Captain Wainwright, was killed.
Lieutenant Lee, his junior officer, was mortally wounded. There was
nothing to do but ask for quarter. The Federal troops on the wharves,
who, by reason of the shortness of the Confederates’ scaling ladders,
had escaped capture, now surrendered, and fate with relentless and
pitiless edict, gave the Federals over to complete defeat.

When Captain Lee, a Confederate officer, one of those manning the
_Bayou City_, looked into the faces of the Federal prisoners, he was
shocked to see that the dying lieutenant on the _Harriet Lane_ was
his own son.

Commodore Renshaw, in command of the _Westfield_, was not disposed to
rush away and leave his comrades on the _Harriet Lane_ unsupported.
The shallowness of the water and the limited space in which these
vessels had maneuvered caused the _Westfield_, Commodore Renshaw’s
boat, to run aground. The _Mary Boardman_, one of the transports,
gamely essayed to help the _Westfield_, and the _Clifton_,
another propeller, tendered her assistance in her extremity. The
laurel wreath had been woven for the brow of the daring, fearless
Confederates, and no effort of the brave Federals could stay the
losses. When the enterprise was first considered, only hope stirred
the hearts of the men in gray. They scarcely calculated that, under
the most favorable conditions, any such consequence could come from
the expedition. Brave and fearless, they were not prepared for such a
wonderful result. True, they were guided by Magruder’s genius, aided
by Smith’s skill, led by Green’s immeasurable courage, helped by
Bagby’s experience, impelled by Scurry’s valor, encouraged by Cook’s
dauntless bravery, and inspired by McNeill’s calm and imperturbable
gallantry; but none dared to believe that so much could be
accomplished in so brief a period, or such transcendent success crown
even the bravest of men, facing such difficulties with such splendid
reward. The Federal vessels which escaped sailed away. They left
Galveston a Confederate possession. The survivors were glad to go
beyond the reach of horsemen, who were as reckless and enterprising
on the sea as they had proven themselves on the land.

It was a great victory. It cost the Confederates twenty-six killed
and one hundred and seventeen wounded, but the success of the
enterprise and the flight of the Federal vessels from Galveston set
abroad a great wave of enthusiasm and patriotism. Few could realize
that such glorious results could be obtained by men, handicapped by
insufficient resources, even when sustained by the highest courage
and noblest spirit. What had been done stirred the hearts of all the
people of Texas. They recognized in General Magruder an illustrious
soldier, and in the Texas cavalry, whether on land or sea, an
invincible host, which had the apparent power to wrest from fate
victory under any conditions, however adverse or stormy.




CHAPTER VIII

COLONEL ROY S. CLUKE’S KENTUCKY RAID, FEBRUARY-MARCH, 1863


On the 14th of February, 1863, a small brigade of Kentucky cavalry
assembled at McMinnville, Tennessee. Seven hundred and fifty men
constituted the organization. The 8th Kentucky cavalry, of which Roy
S. Cluke was colonel, Major Robert S. Bullock commanding, was to
form the basis of the men to be used in an expedition into Central
Kentucky. Lieutenant Colonel Cicero Coleman of the regiment had
been seriously wounded at Hartsville on the 7th of December, and
still suffering, was unable to go. In addition to the 8th Kentucky
cavalry, the 9th Kentucky cavalry furnished two companies under the
command of Colonel Robert G. Stoner, who was one of the bravest
and most enterprising of Morgan’s men. These constituted the first
battalion. Companies C and I of Gano’s regiment and Company A of the
2nd Kentucky, under command of Major Theophilus Steele, constituted
the second battalion. Later, in Wayne County, Companies D and I of
Chenault’s (the 11th) regiment, were added to Stoner’s battalion.
Colonel Cluke was allowed a couple of brass cannon, howitzers,
affectionately called by Morgan’s men the “bull pups.” They never
did very great damage, but they made a loud noise. They looked to
an enemy much bigger than they were, and if they were not very
effective with their shots, they were oftentimes extremely forceful
with their “barking.”

No seven hundred and fifty men were ever more ably commanded. Colonel
Cluke was not only a brave but a brilliant officer.

General Morgan furnished his two brothers as part of the staff. The
best possible material was designated for this service. The men
chosen for this raid were thoroughly acquainted with most of the
territory through which Colonel Cluke would necessarily have to
pass. The companies of the 11th would know Madison and the adjoining
counties, Companies C and I of the 3rd Kentucky (Gano’s) would know
Scott and Franklin Counties. Company A of the 2nd would be familiar
with almost the entire Bluegrass, and Cluke’s own regiment would
know Kentucky from Maysville to Springfield and Somerset. He started
out with the advantage of men who had full and complete knowledge
of the country through which he was to operate. This added much to
the efficiency of the little brigade. Lieutenant Shuck, of the 8th
Kentucky, was given the command of the advance guard. The importance
of the advance guard in cavalry campaigns cannot be over-estimated.
It requires officers of great coolness, of much dash, dauntless
courage, and men who never counted the cost and who would follow in
the face of any danger wherever they were ordered to go. In such an
expedition scouts would also play a most useful and prominent part.
To Lieutenant Hopkins, of the 2nd, and S. P. Cunningham, of the 8th,
were given the choice and control of the scouts. Neither the advance
guard nor the scouts made a very large force. All told, they did not
exceed forty, but these were men upon whom any commander could rely
at any hour of day or night and in any place whither they might come.

At McMinnville a hundred rounds of ammunition were counted out and
six days’ rations were issued to the men upon the morning that
they marched away. Nature did not appear to be in harmony with the
purposes of this expedition. The weather was extremely inclement,
and, for that part of Tennessee, extraordinarily cold. Hardly had the
line been formed until sleet and rain and snow came violently down.
These, with the tramping of the horses’ feet, soon made veritable
sloughs of the dirt roads over which the march was progressing. The
line pursued ran through Sparta, Obey City, Jamestown, in Tennessee,
to the Kentucky border. This country presented a scene of universal
desolation. In times of peace it was not fully able to supply the
needs of its own inhabitants, and now that armies had traversed it
for more than a year, there was not sufficient forage at any one
place to feed one company of horsemen. The six days’ coarse rations
given the men in their haversacks at McMinnville would keep them from
want, but the horses, with hardest possible service in the midst of
fearfully disagreeable weather, could only hope for scantiest and
most insufficient provender. The entire one hundred and ten miles
from McMinnville to the Cumberland River had been, before this
period, practically eaten out of house and home, and there was little
left for the strangers who might pass these mountain ways.

The Cumberland River was the only real barrier to this small force
as it entered Kentucky. Once it was passed, there would be so many
roads for the invaders to take that it would be impossible for the
defenders to either stop their march or seriously impede their
journeyings. The banks of the Cumberland were full. The Federals
on the north side had taken all boats across to prevent passage by
an enemy. Luckily, a canoe was found hidden away, large enough to
convey Colonel Stoner and Lieutenant Hopkins and several men over
the stream. These silently and stealthily paddled across. Some
countryman, without the fear of “blue coats” before his eyes, had
stored this craft in the bushes along a small tributary. He had
probably used it in secret ferrying of goods to the south bank. With
plenty of everything on the north side, it was not treason to keep
a canoe hidden, with which, when no picket was present, or his eye
not open, to run across the boundary calico, sugar, coffee or other
necessities, so essential to the war-despoiled women and children on
the south side, upon whom starvation and want had laid heavy hand.

Colonel Stoner and his cavalry comrades were fortunate and shrewd
enough to surprise and capture the Federal pickets who were posted
to guard Stigall’s Ferry, a short distance north of Burnside, where
Colonel Cluke had proposed and now determined to cross. A couple
of flatboats and a coal barge were discovered amongst the Federal
possessions, and these were quickly brought over. Now, in the face
of vigorous foes, action was the watchword of the hour. With their
saddles and guns, the men hastily rushed into the flatboats and
poled and paddled over the stream. A more desperate mode of crossing
was assigned to the horses. It was still bitter cold, and the poor
beasts were forced into the river and compelled to swim its rapid
currents. They could not speak, and they hesitated to plunge in; but
the shouts and belaborings of their apparently cruel masters were
more potent than their fears, and with only their noses above the
water, and their bodies beneath the frigid waves, lapped into motion
by the piercing winds, they swam diagonally across to the opposite
shore. Already weakened by a trying march of more than a hundred
miles, so great was the shock to the animals that a number of them
were chilled to death and died upon the bank as they emerged from the
water.

The severity of the winter rendered very rapid marching impossible.
On the 19th of February, the little army reached Somerset, the
county seat of Pulaski. A strong Federal force was stationed there,
but alarmed by reports of an army of Confederates approaching from
Knoxville, they hurriedly retreated to Danville, forty-five miles
away and left a clear road for Colonel Cluke. Here a full supply of
stores had been collected. Their guardians were in such a great hurry
to ride to Danville that they forgot, or neglected, to destroy them.
This was a gracious windfall for the Confederates. The Government and
the sutlers had the very things these benumbed men and horses most
needed. After supplying his tired beasts and hungry soldiers with
all that was necessary to comfort, warm and feed them, and burning
the remainder, Colonel Cluke made a forced march of twenty-eight
miles to Mount Vernon. If he accomplished his work it was important
to surprise his enemies, and in such work Colonel Cluke was a master
hand. Finding nothing here, he pushed on to Richmond, Kentucky. The
roads were wet, sloppy, slushy, and still blinding snowstorms and
heavy rains with chilling currents, rushing down from the north,
attempted to bid defiance to these sturdy riders, to stay their
advance and render their march more harassing and tedious.

Lieutenant Cunningham, who was with Lieutenant Hopkins in command of
the scouts, was a man of almost superhuman courage and of a genius
and resource that entitled him to higher command. A few miles out on
the pike from Richmond, advancing with eight men, he found a picket
post of the Federals, consisting of four videttes. Challenged, he
declared that he and his followers were friends. Dressed in blue
coats, such as they were wearing, and which were a part of the
Somerset find, he persuaded the Federals that they were a detachment
of Woolford’s Federal cavalry which was returning from Tennessee
to Kentucky to assist in repelling the raid of Morgan’s men. He
told the questioning videttes that all the Federal forces were now
concentrating at Lexington, that General John C. Breckinridge, by way
of Cumberland Gap, had already entered the State with ten thousand
Confederate infantry. The sergeant quickly became communicative
and gave Cunningham a statement of the location and strength of
all the Federal commands, and finally invited the Confederates to
go to a house a short distance away, where the remainder of the
picket detail was stationed. Cunningham cheerfully accepted the
proffered hospitality of his new-made friends, but upon reaching the
house he was somewhat embarrassed to find that twenty-four soldiers
constituted this outpost. He persuaded the commander to send back one
of his men with two of the Confederates to get information about some
other of the Federal forces that were coming a short distance behind.
The Federal, thus despatched, when out of sight of the post, quickly
found himself a prisoner. Hopkins, Cunningham’s associate commander
of scouts, in a brief while, arrived on the scene with eight new
blue-coated riders. The Confederates, now two-thirds in number of the
Federal garrison, without parley or argument immediately announced
their identity and attacked their hospitable and surprised friends,
and killed one, wounded two, and made all the others prisoners. The
generosity of the course pursued by Cunningham was open to serious
criticism, but warriors do not carry copies of Chesterfield’s rules
in their pockets and find little use for their precepts and teachings
on cavalry raids.

No outpost was ever captured more cleverly or more completely
surprised, and few similar incidents reflect more credit on the
actors.

Ten miles away there were two hundred and fifty Federal cavalry. This
was just exactly what Cluke wanted. Fresh horses, cavalry saddles and
ammunition would be a great comfort to the men who rode with him,
but the story of Breckinridge’s coming had reached Richmond. Rumors
traveled in those days on the winds—and the Federal cavalry hastily
decamped. Major Steele, with three companies, pursued these fleeing
troops. He overtook them at Comb’s Ferry, on the Kentucky River,
twelve miles from Lexington, and, fighting and running, drove the
Federal column into the city. In attempting to capture some videttes,
who had indicated they would surrender, one of the Federals fired
his rifle at Steele’s breast, but a thick Mexican blanket folded
about his body saved his life and protected him from injury except
a broken rib. It was a serious misfortune that a man so brave and
enterprising, so thoroughly acquainted with the geography of the
territory over which the operations of the next thirty-five days
would extend, should at this critical moment, became incapacitated
for active service.

Colonel Cluke was now far into Kentucky. He was over two hundred
miles from where he started. He had been out nine days. He had no
easy job. He had worked his way, he had seen much of the enemy and
at every point had mystified and alarmed the Federal commands. He
and his subordinates had managed to escape from very serious battle.
Detachments were sent in every direction to increase the terror
of the Federal forces at Lexington, Mount Sterling, Paris. They
threatened, attacked and captured several important positions, and
his enemies, magnifying his forces, sat down inactive until they
should determine whether Breckinridge and the ten thousand infantry
behind this dashing cavalry advance were really coming, and until
they could count Cluke’s followers and figure up just what they would
go against if they might force him to battle.

Cluke’s men who lived in the immediate vicinity of Lexington, Mount
Sterling, Winchester and Richmond were granted temporary furloughs
in order to visit their friends, renew their wardrobes, and, if
desirable, replace their mounts, and enjoy the association with their
loved ones whom they had left four and a half months before. Only the
complete mystification and demoralization of his foes could justify
so astute a leader as Cluke in risking such a proceeding. Happy days
for these bold riders. The four and a half months of absence had been
full of excitement, adventures and war experiences. The march out of
Kentucky, the Battle of Hartsville, the Christmas raid, were stories
that sounded well in the telling and impressed those who stayed at
home with the courage and marvelous achievements of the narrators
who, in the partial eyes of home folks, at least, were transformed
into real heroes,—these boys who had gone away to fight for the South.

Ceaseless activity marked every hour of those who had not been
furloughed. Demonstrations on Paris confined the garrison there,
while Stoner, moving back to Mount Sterling, found a Federal Kentucky
cavalry regiment, which, with a small force, he promptly attacked and
drove away. He captured many prisoners and the road by which these
Federals retreated was strewn with overcoats, guns, haversacks and
wagons, which unmistakably demonstrated that some of those who were
hunting Cluke did not just now desire a formal introduction.

On the 24th of February Colonel Cluke had concentrated his command
at Mount Sterling, and the whole day was spent in collecting and
distributing horses, equipments and arms. By this time the Federals
had become somewhat doubtful and inquisitive about the strength
of the invaders. The ten thousand infantry did not show up from
Cumberland Gap, and they began to realize that the Confederate
detachment, which had given them all this trouble and hard riding
and had alarmed them so terribly, was probably not, after all, a
very great army. All sorts of dreams and visions came to the Federal
pursuers. Colonel Runkle of the 45th Ohio Regiment, Acting Brigadier
General, reported: “I was confident of cutting the enemy to pieces
between Richmond and the Kentucky River.” Of his march to Winchester
he wrote, “The inhabitants reported that they threw their dead into
the stream (Slate) and carried off the wounded.”

A Federal cavalry brigade made a dash at Mount Sterling, Cluke’s
headquarters. Only two hundred men of the command were on hand at
that particular moment. Furloughs had decimated Cluke’s forces and
they were glad to get out of the town, but they were gladder still
that the Federals did not pursue them. A Federal officer, reporting
the occurrence, wrote: “The rebels had a heavy guard out here and
made a show of fighting, but when we fired on them they rang the
bells in town and all went out in a huddle. The rebels burned
their wagons and threw everything away they had stolen.” He also
said, “We heard heavy firing yesterday below here in direction of
Jeffersonville. Suppose Miner has cut them off, which I ordered him
to do.” The cutting off was more imaginative than real.

The sound of the Federal guns had not died away before four hundred
of Cluke’s furloughed men hastened to the relief of their retreating
companions. The Federal cavalry established itself at Mount Sterling
but left Colonel Cluke in command of the surrounding country.

Oftentimes in partisan war, strategy is as important as men.
Lieutenant Cunningham was sent to threaten Lexington. Among the
scouts was Clark Lyle. Young, vigorous, brave and enterprising, he
now undertook a most perilous mission. Cunningham had sent a spy
disguised in Federal uniform to the headquarters of the officer
commanding at Mount Sterling, and this shrewd messenger was smart
enough to put in his pocket some blank printed forms which lay upon
the table of the commandant. One of these was filled up as an order
purporting to be from the commander at Lexington, Kentucky, directing
the commander at Mount Sterling to march instantly to Paris, twenty
miles north of Lexington to repel a raid which was impending by the
Confederates against the Kentucky Central Railroad, which connected
Cincinnati and Lexington.

Lyle, dressed in full Federal uniform, rode into Mount Sterling at
the top of his speed, lashing his horse at every step. The animal was
reeking with foam. He rushed to the headquarters of the commander,
Colonel Runkle, and delivered the orders. The bugles were instantly
sounded, and the Federal cavalry brigade moved out to Paris. Hardly
had the sound of the jingling sabres ceased along the macadam road
which led from Mount Sterling to Paris, before Cluke, with his
reorganized force, re-entered the town and captured the garrison
and the stores. He found Mount Sterling a most delightful place to
remain. It was only twenty miles from Winchester and only a few more
from Richmond. The predominating element was Confederate, and Colonel
Cluke remained for some eight days, enjoying the hospitality of his
people and feasting upon the good things with which the Bluegrass was
replete. The Federal commander, concerning this, said: “Found order
false on 27th. I received order to pursue Cluke and use him up, which
I proceeded to do.” A Federal major, not to be outdone in giving an
account of his past, said that he had received orders to find Cluke
and that he “moved forward like hell.” Somehow or other these active
and ferocious commanders never got where Cluke was. The Federals,
however, became dissatisfied with Cluke’s occupation and coming in
full force, they drove him across Slate Creek into the Kentucky
Mountains. Detachments with Stoner, coming past Middletown and around
Mount Sterling, were roughly handled by the Federals, but with small
loss they reached the main force, when Cluke, hearing that Humphrey
Marshall with three thousand soldiers was advancing into Kentucky,
fell back to Hazel Green, Wolfe County, thirty-five miles southeast.

[Illustration: GENERAL BENNETT H. YOUNG

_What Fifty Years have done for the Commander-in-Chief_]

Established for a few days at Hazel Green, an epidemic, a cross
between erysipelas and measles, appeared, and half of Cluke’s small
command were disabled with this dangerous and treacherous malady.
Had the Federals pursued him at this time they would have captured a
large portion of his command in bed or camp, and certainly they would
have made prisoners of the sick, and if hard pressed would surely
have either forced him to return to the mountains or be himself
made a captive. Though so many of his men were sick, Cluke sent
Colonel Stoner back to Montgomery County, in the vicinity of Mount
Sterling. This was done just to let the Federals know that he and
his men were around and if necessary would show fight. No better man
than Stoner could have been found for such a mission. The Federals,
getting increased courage from the Confederate retreat, began to
demonstrate themselves and advanced upon Hazel Green. Cluke, not
to be outdone, moved further east, thirty miles to Salyersville in
Magoffin County, still deeper into the mountains. The season was
unpropitious. The fountains of heaven seemed to open. Rains came down
in torrents. There were days when horses and men, with cold, chilling
rains, were almost incapacitated from service. On the 19th of
March, Cluke, through his scouts, discovered that he was apparently
entirely surrounded. Fifteen hundred Federals had marched by his
front and gained a position in his rear. Eastward, from Louisa, one
thousand men were rushing upon him, and westwardly, from Proctor,
on the Kentucky River, in Lee County, eight hundred more Federals
were moving to crush this bold and defiant Confederate raider. The
forces had not fully recovered from the attack of the disease at
Hazel Green, and at this time Cluke had not more than five hundred
effectives.

It was a bold thought, but with true military instinct, he concluded
that the only thing to do was to attack his enemy where he was least
expecting it. He was only sixty miles from Mount Sterling. The roads
were almost impassable, and these would render the march extremely
difficult, trying and laborious. He assumed wisely that the enemy
would not suspect that he would reappear at Mount Sterling. Rapidly
as possible, marching through slush and rain and across swollen
streams, he passed through and around his foes. The combination of
rain, cold and the spattering of men and horses by the slush created
by the tramp of the column, rendered the conditions surrounding this
march almost unbearable. Either of the three elements would have
been distressing, but combined they became well-nigh intolerable.
The author had many experiences of war’s hardships but, in common
with his comrades, he considered this ride from Salyersville to Slate
Creek the most arduous and disagreeable of all things that touched
the life of Morgan’s men. The ride around Lebanon in January, 1863,
on the Christmas raid, brought almost incomparable suffering. Those
who endured the cold of that dreadful night believed that they had
reached the limit of human endurance. There the awful freezing was
the chiefest element of suffering; but the men who rode with Cluke
from Salyersville to Slate Creek declared that the hardship was even
more terrible for man and mount than the ride around Lebanon.

Before leaving the sick men, Cluke’s men scattered out into the
mountains. A majority of the people of Wolfe County sympathized with
the South, and it was not difficult to find friendly homes for the
convalescent fugitives. The Licking River and all its tributaries
were full and in many places over the banks, but the horses could
swim and the men could go over in canoes and flatboats, and in a
real emergency they could and did swim with their mounts. Colonel
Cluke made a fierce and hard drive at Mount Sterling. On the morning
of the 21st of March he appeared before the town and demanded its
surrender. This was firmly declined. Heading one of the columns
himself, he charged into the very heart of the city. The Federal
garrison was driven back into the Court House. The Federals away
from the Court House had posted themselves in residences along the
streets, but the torch, the axe and the sledge hammer soon made a
passway up to a hotel which was occupied by a number of Federals with
the lower story used as a hospital. Here a flag of truce was run
up. Cunningham and Lieutenant McCormack and six men advanced under
the flag. Upon reaching the building, they were jeeringly informed
that it was the sick who had surrendered and not the well soldiers,
and these threatened to fire upon Cunningham and his comrades from
the upper rooms, if they undertook to escape from the building. The
outlook was extremely gloomy. Lieutenant Saunders suggested that each
Confederate take a sick Federal soldier and hold him up in front
while they escaped from the position into which their courage—and
some might say rashness—had brought them. Putting this plan into
immediate execution the retreat was begun. It was impossible for the
Federals to fire without killing their sick comrades, but Cunningham
and his friends were inconsiderate enough to set fire to the hospital
before they so unceremoniously left, and in a little while, through
charging and fighting, the men who had refused to surrender and
had threatened to fire on Cunningham, found themselves in a most
unfortunate predicament. The lower story was beginning to blaze. The
sick were carried out, but the well men who had declined to respect
Cunningham’s flag of truce, must either burn up, jump out of the
windows, or be shot down. No men ever more gladly surrendered, and
the captive Federals and the Confederates all united in a common
effort to save them from their impending doom. The Federal prisoners
and the Confederates together worked to quench the flames which had
been started under the hospital.

Time was of the very essence of victory. None could tell at what
moment the Federals, left behind at Salyersville, might put in an
appearance. Garrisons at Lexington, Paris and Winchester would soon
hear the news of Cluke’s coming and might ride to the rescue of their
friends. Every man caught the spirit of haste. True it was Sunday
morning, but war does not respect any day of rest. To have lost,
after the brilliant strategy of the dreadful march from Salyersville
would leave regrets that no future success could palliate. Every
Confederate was terribly in earnest, and no laggards on that
otherwise peaceful day of rest were found in Cluke’s following.
Captain Virgil Pendleton of Company D, 8th Kentucky, was mortally
wounded and died shortly afterwards. No braver soldier or more
loyal patriot ever gave his life for the South. Captain Terrill and
Lieutenant Maupin of Chenault’s regiment were seriously wounded. Both
brave officers, they fell at the front.

The work was short, sharp and decisive. In six hours the agony was
past. Two hundred and twenty wagons, five hundred mules and one
thousand stand of arms were the reward the captors had for their
heroic services. Three killed and ten or fifteen wounded was the
penalty paid by Cluke for his victory. The enemy lost a few more, and
three hundred and one were paroled.

The forces which had been sent to catch Cluke were not long in
finding that their enemy had evaded them and, rapidly leaving the
mountains, had gone down into the Bluegrass and won a victory. They
promptly followed on, searching for their agile foe.

Cluke’s successful work incited spirited criticism of the conduct of
the Federal commanders. Colonel Runkle and General Gilmore appear not
to have agreed about the work done in this campaign. Colonel Runkle,
with great complacency, reported: “As for my men, they have ridden
day after day and night after night, without sleep or rest, and have
pursued eagerly and willingly when so exhausted that they fell from
their horses.” On this report General Gilmore endorsed: “How his men
could have been without sleep and his horses without rest during the
two days he halted at Paris, I cannot understand.” Captain Radcliffe,
Company E, 10th Kentucky Cavalry, who capitulated at Mount Sterling,
was, by the department commander, dishonorably dismissed from the
military service, subject to the approval of the President, for his
disgraceful surrender of the place.

Later he was honorably acquitted by a Court of Enquiry and cleared of
all imputation upon his character as a soldier and restored to his
command. Somebody had blundered and a scapegoat must be found.

So far as written reports are concerned, Colonel Cluke made only one
return, which is as follows: “Rockville, Rowan County, Kentucky,
March 24th, 1863. I reached the above place last evening, just from
Mount Sterling. On the morning of the 21st I moved with my command
direct to Mount Sterling, where I learned there were between three
hundred and four hundred of the enemy guarding a large supply of
commissary and quartermaster’s stores, together with the good
citizens of the place. After crossing Licking River I found the road
in such condition that it was almost impossible to move my artillery.
I placed three companies to assist and guard it, with directions
to move on without delay to Mount Sterling. I then moved with my
command to Mount Sterling, which place I reached about daylight the
next morning, where I found the enemy quartered in the Court House
and adjoining buildings. I immediately demanded a surrender of the
place, which request they refused to comply with. I then gave them
twenty minutes to get the women and children from town. That they
refused to do also, and fired upon the flag of truce from the Court
House and several other buildings immediately around the Court House.
My artillery, not coming up in time, I was compelled to fire the
town to dislodge the enemy. After several houses had been burned,
they surrendered the place; but before surrendering, they kept up a
continual firing from the buildings upon my men, who were protected
by the fences, stables and outbuildings around the town. I paroled
two hundred and eighty-seven privates (14th Kentucky cavalry) and
fourteen officers. I paroled them to report to you within thirty
days, which I herewith send you. The property destroyed, belonging
to the enemy, will reach I think five hundred thousand dollars. I
occupied the town about six hours when my scouts reported a large
force advancing from Winchester. I immediately moved in the direction
of Owingsville. I had not proceeded more than five miles when they
made their appearance some two miles in my rear, numbering about
twenty-five hundred men, with several pieces of artillery. They would
not advance upon me and I quietly advanced on to Owingsville, without
pursuit, and from thence on to the above place. When I left West
Liberty for Mount Sterling, the enemy, numbering thirteen hundred men
with four pieces of artillery, were at Hazel Green, in pursuit of
my force. They reported and despatched a courier to Mount Sterling
stating that they had me completely surrounded, but I surprised
them by making my appearance where not expected. General Marshall
is within forty miles of this place, moving on with sixteen hundred
cavalry. He lost his artillery the other night. The guard placed
over it went to sleep and some Home Guards slipped in on him and
carried off the gun, leaving the carriage and caisson.... I send you
three prisoners of which you will take charge until you hear from me
again.... My command is elegantly mounted and clothed, in fact in
better condition than they have ever been. If your command was here,
you could clean the State of every Yankee.”

Marching over from Southwestern Virginia, General Humphrey Marshall
had driven the forces which had gone to capture Cluke at Salyersville
back into Central Kentucky. This left Cluke an open way for the
return to Monticello, Wayne County, Kentucky.

After maneuvering with his enemies for some days, he received orders
from General Morgan to march southward by way of Irvine, McKee,
Manchester and Somerset, to Stigall’s Ferry, where he had crossed
the river some weeks before. He had not been away more than seven
weeks; he had traveled, all told, eight hundred miles, almost
altogether within the line of the enemy. He was always operating with
an inferior force, but he was ever ready to fight. The history of
war furnished nothing superior to the skill and strategy of Colonel
Cluke in this expedition. He was campaigning over two hundred miles
from his supports; he had larger, active forces and many strong
garrisons about him, and these were threatening and covering at all
times the only way by which he could return to his starting place.
His daring and skill had braved his enemies at every turn. He played
with them as a cat with a mouse. Leading them far into the mountains,
he slipped away before they realized that he was gone, and in the
darkness of the night, amid storms, and over roads believed to be
impassable, he made a tremendous march and pounced down upon an
intrenched garrison more than half as great as the force he carried
into the fight, and then escaped in the immediate presence of a
Federal force five times as large as that which he was commanding. He
destroyed more than a million dollars’ worth of property. For weeks
he defied and evaded his pursuers and then crossed the Cumberland
River at the same point he had passed it, with his command well
equipped, and reported to his superior commander the brilliant
experiences without a serious mishap or defeat during his long stay
amidst his enemies.


POSTSCRIPT

Roy Stuart Cluke was born in Clark County, Kentucky, in 1824. His
mother died when he was only three weeks of age and he was reared
by the family of his grandfather, James Stuart. This grandfather
had served in the Revolutionary War under Washington. Allotted a
large tract of land for his revolutionary services, he settled in
Clark County and had for his homestead a thousand acre farm near
the junction of Clark, Bourbon and Montgomery Counties, by the side
of a great spring, known as “Stuart Spring.” In the early days of
Kentucky, water was even more valuable than rich land.

James Stuart had four sons, and all were soldiers from Kentucky in
the War of 1812.

After such education as the local schools of his period could give,
he was sent to a military school at Bardstown, Kentucky. Shortly
after attaining his majority he volunteered for service in the
Mexican war, and went with a company of Kentucky cavalry commanded
by John Stuart Williams, his cousin, afterwards brigadier general in
the Confederate army and United States Senator from Kentucky. The
company made a most enviable record in Mexico. Briefly before the
commencement of the Civil War, he organized and trained a company
of cavalry which was attached to the State Guard. This company was
noted for its thorough drill, its magnificent mounts, its splendid
equipment and its dashing riders. When General Bragg invaded the
State in 1862 he organized a regiment of cavalry composed largely
of men from the Bluegrass counties. More than eight hundred men
enlisted in this regiment, which was called the 8th Kentucky. When
only a portion of his regiment had been enlisted, he was sent to
harass General George W. Morgan, the Federal officer who was making
his masterly retreat from Cumberland Gap, through the mountains of
Kentucky. The 8th Kentucky subsequently became a part of General John
H. Morgan’s command. His regiment was actively engaged in service
from August, 1862, until his capture, July 26th, 1863. He was at
Hartsville on December 6th, 1862, on the Christmas raid, and led an
independent expedition into Kentucky in February and March, 1863.
He was captured on the 26th of July, 1863, with General Morgan,
at Salineville, Columbiana County, Ohio, and was conveyed to the
Ohio penitentiary with the other officers of the command, and kept
there for some months and subsequently removed to Johnson’s Island,
Sandusky, Ohio. He loved the excitement and din of war. He chafed
under his confinement in the penitentiary and at Johnson’s Island.
It was reported that he had been poisoned in prison. This, however,
was denied and later was discredited. He died under distressing
circumstances in December, 1863. There was an epidemic of diphtheria
among the Confederate officers at Johnson’s Island about the time of
Colonel Cluke’s death. A man of marvelously prepossessing physique,
he enjoyed the friendship of the officers of the prison. He had been
allowed to visit the office and read the newspapers. While thus
employed one morning, with his strong, silvery voice, with military
calmness, he said, “Gentlemen, I will be dead in a few minutes. I
have only one request to make of you as soldiers and gentlemen. Leave
my arms folded across my bosom like a warrior and tell them to place
my Mexican War sabre by my side. Telegraph my cousin and foster
brother, Samuel G. Stuart, of Winchester, Kentucky; request him to
come for my body and bury me next to my mother in the old Stuart
graveyard at home.” He folded his arms, the paper fell from his now
nerveless grasp, his head drooped on his breast. Even his enemies
were impressed at his calmness and courage in the presence of the
great enemy. They rushed to his side. The prison physician felt his
pulse and lifting his head from his chest, where he was listening for
the heart beats, he turned his face to those aside and said, “He is
dead.” The drama was ended and in pathetic gloom the curtain fell on
the brilliant and gallant soldier.

Six feet, four inches tall, splendidly proportioned, with a
magnificent suit of brown hair and whiskers, graceful as any man who
ever rode to war, as brave as the bravest, calm, cool, fierce in
danger, his presence was always an inspiration to his followers. He
was idolized by his men. He had won the confidence and admiration of
General Morgan and all who were associated with him in the division.
Had he escaped on the Ohio raid, he would have been made a brigadier
general. There was universal sorrow that so splendid a life should go
out with such darkened surroundings. His remains were brought to his
native State and deposited first where he asked, in the old Stuart
graveyard, and then later removed to the Lexington cemetery. In this
wondrously beautiful “City of the Dead” he rests close to his great
leader, Morgan, within a stone’s throw of the grave of General John
C. Breckinridge, just across the way a little bit from General Roger
W. Hanson and Colonel W. C. P. Breckinridge, and under the shadow of
Kentucky’s memorial to Henry Clay.

Those who loved and followed him have built a simple granite monument
on which is inscribed:

  “Roy Stuart Cluke. 1824-1863.
  Colonel of the 8th Kentucky Cavalry, C.S.A.
  Erected by his Comrades.”




CHAPTER IX

SHELBY’S MISSOURI RAID, SEPTEMBER, 1863


Certain parts of Missouri were settled, almost entirely, by
Kentuckians. In the earlier days there had been a tremendous
emigration from Kentucky to Indiana and Illinois, and when these
States had received a large quota of inhabitants from Kentucky, the
overflow from that State then turned to Missouri. Its counties and
towns were designated by Kentucky names which were brought over by
these new people from their home State. In and around 1850 this
tide of emigration flowed with a deep and wide current. Among those
who left their homes to find an abiding place in the new State,
marvelous accounts of the fertility and splendor of which were
constantly being carried back to Kentucky, was Joseph O. Shelby. He
was born at Lexington in 1831, and when only nineteen years of age
joined in the great march westward and found a home on the Missouri
River at Berlin, one hundred and fifty miles west of St. Louis.
These Missouri-Kentuckians carried with them one of the important
manufacturies of the State,—hemp, which for many years was chiefly a
Kentucky product. In the rich, loamy lands of Missouri, this staple
grew with great luxuriousness, and the introduction of hemp seed from
China both improved the quality and increased the production per
acre. Not only did the fertile land and the salubrious climate turn
these people westward, but a love of change also aroused this spirit
of emigration.

Young Shelby was fairly well educated. He was a born leader, and
no braver heart ever beat in human bosom. Warrior blood coursed
through his veins. His grandfather was a brother of Isaac Shelby.
This guaranteed patriotism and valor. He had great dash, a spirit of
unlimited enterprise, willing and ready to work, with a vigorous body
and a brave soul, he became a Missourian and was an ideal immigrant.
He had come from the very center of hemp manufacture in Kentucky.
This product was made into bagging and bound with hemp ropes. The
cotton country of the South was largely dependent upon Kentucky and
Missouri for these two things so essential in marketing cotton. It
was a most profitable and remunerative manufacture and was largely
carried on by the use of negro labor. Modern machinery had not then
been invented for the use of weaving the bagging or of twisting the
ropes. To produce these products so important in cotton growing, it
was necessary to rely upon the crudest implements.

Sixty miles east of Kansas City, Shelby selected a location at
Waverly, Lafayette County, and there began his operations as a
bagging and rope manufacturer. It was easy to ship the product down
the Mississippi and from thence to scatter it throughout the cotton
districts by the waterways over Arkansas, Louisiana, Mississippi,
Tennessee and Alabama. Shelby was successful from the very inception
of his new enterprise. He was hardly well settled in his new home
before the difficulties in Kansas began. Strongly believing in
slavery, his views as well as his interests and his proximity to the
Kansas line intensified his opinions. Loving adventure, brave in war,
he returned to Kentucky to recruit there for the Kansas imbroglio.
In these days it was not difficult to find in Shelby’s native State
men who loved adventure, who were always ready for war, and were
overjoyed at the chance to get into a fight. With Clark, Atchison and
Greene, Shelby did his full share in the Kansas fighting. It gave him
experience that was valuable to him a few years later in the great
war. He won reputation with his Kentucky fighters, and when the truce
was patched up he went back to the peaceful surroundings of his rope
walk in Waverly. This place was noted for its uncompromising Southern
sentiments. The anti-slavery settlers who went by it, ascending the
Missouri River, always steered away from it. They knew there was
neither comfort to be obtained nor security to be assured when they
passed this point. They could not buy anything they wanted there, and
they were likely to find trouble.

When the troubles of 1860 began to develop, no one was more
enthusiastic for the South or more willing to fight for its rights
than Joseph O. Shelby. There was no section, even in Confederate
States, more loyal to the South than the immediate territory about
Waverly. With sentiments fixed and embittered by the Kansas War,
the young men of that portion of Missouri were not only brave and
ambitious, but they were anxious to go to war. With his prejudices
quickened and enlarged by his nearness to Kansas, which was even then
a bitter State, in so far as slavery was concerned, Shelby organized
and equipped a company of cavalry at Waverly. It was easy to fill
up its ranks with enthusiastic, dashing young fellows who were only
too happy in taking the chances of battle, and they were charmed to
find a leader of Shelby’s experience, of his enthusiasm, and of his
intrepidity.

Independence, Missouri, the county seat of Jackson County, was only
twelve miles from Kansas City. A vast majority of its people were
intensely southern, and when Independence was threatened with the
presence of Federal dragoons, Shelby and his company lost no time in
marching forty miles from Lafayette County to see that their friends
and sympathizers at Independence had a square deal from the Union
soldiers. It soon was spread abroad that if the dragoons did come
there was trouble ahead and they stayed away. Shelby, now in for the
war, rode to join Governor Jackson and General Price in defense of
Missouri.

[Illustration: GENERAL J. O. SHELBY]

In these days it did not take long for fighting men in Missouri to
find people who were willing to fight them. The southern part of the
State was much divided in political sentiment, and the bitterness
of a civil war found full development in that territory. At the
Battle of Carthage, July 5th, 1861, Shelby and his men did splendid
service, and their excellent discipline, their superb courage, did
a great deal, not only to create, but to intensify the spirit and
steady the arms of the entire Missouri contingent. Beginning as a
captain, rising to brigadier-general in three years, Shelby had an
activity and experience that few enjoy. He fought in the Army of the
Tennessee, and he fought in the Trans-Mississippi Department, and
he was never more delighted than when fighting.

Wilson’s Creek, one of the sanguinary battles of the war, was fought
on the tenth day of August, 1861, and there Shelby again demonstrated
that the only thing necessary to make a reputation and fame as a
great cavalryman was the opportunity.

General John H. Morgan, in Kentucky, and Shelby were close friends.
They began their careers in much the same way. Morgan had his company
of Kentucky riflemen: Shelby his company of Missouri cavalrymen.
Morgan died in the struggle: Shelby lived thirty-six years after
the close and died in 1897. These two soldiers had grown up in
Lexington, and while Morgan was five years Shelby’s senior, they
were intimates. Shelby’s career did not close until May, 1865. At
the end, unwilling to accept the results of the war, he marched into
Mexico with five hundred of his followers and undertook to found an
American colony. This project soon failed. The wounds of the war
began to heal, and Shelby and his colonists were glad to come back
and live under the flag they had so bravely and tenaciously fought.
No man in the Confederate army marched more miles, and, with the
possible exception of General Joe Wheeler, fought more battles. His
activities were ceaseless as the seasons, and his capacity for riding
and fighting had no limit. The Trans-Mississippi Department had more
difficulties to face than any other part of the Confederacy. They
were styled “The Orphans.” They were the step-children in supplies
of provisions and munitions of war, and, but for the trade in cotton
which was arranged through Mexico, its conditions would have been
difficult and well-nigh hopeless. Far removed from Richmond, the
seat of the government, it was the scene of jealousies and disputes
as to the rank of officers. Covering a territory greater than the
remainder of the Confederate States, separated by the Mississippi
River from the armies of the East, assailable by the ocean on the
south, pierced by many navigable streams, with few manufactories, and
with contentions caused by conflicting claims, it was the theatre
of much mismanagement; but, through all, its soldiers were brave,
loyal and patriotic, and lose nothing in comparison with the best
the Confederacy produced. Considering the means at hand, the men in
Missouri, Arkansas, Texas, Louisiana and Indian Territory did much
to win the garlands with which fame crowned the brows of those who
immortalized the gray.

In 1862 and the beginning of 1863, when the call became more urgent
from the East, Shelby was among the Missourians and other soldiers
from the Trans-Mississippi who crossed the Mississippi River. Leaving
their own territory unprotected, these thousands of Arkansas,
Missouri and Texas men cheerfully and bravely took their lives in
their hands and went over to help their brethren in Mississippi
and Tennessee who stood with hands uplifted, crying, “Come over
and help us.” Shelby, with his company, gladly crossed the stream.
They left their horses behind them and went to aid Beauregard and
Bragg, Hardee, Van Dorn and Polk, who, with their armies, were so
sorely pressed by the descending avalanche, which, coming down
through Kentucky and Tennessee and along the Mississippi and up
the Tennessee River, was surely and quietly destroying the life
of the Confederacy. The pressure, in the absence of these men who
had been transferred into Mississippi and Tennessee, became so
tense in Missouri, Arkansas, Texas and Northern Louisiana, that
additional measures were taken to enlist soldiers who would prevent
the occupation of the western bank of the Mississippi, and among the
men commissioned to raise regiments, Shelby was the first named.
It was not much to do for a man to tell him that he might raise a
regiment when he was a thousand miles away from anybody he could hope
to enlist. He had a hundred trained, disciplined and gallant men,
and with these, hope made the future attractive. Difficulties in
those days did not discourage Shelby, and so, taking his one hundred
men—whose terms of enlistment had expired, they found their way by
railway and on foot to the Mississippi River, at a point opposite
Helena, Arkansas. At this time, that part of the Mississippi River
was under control of the Federals, except Vicksburg and Port Hudson.
It required an unusual man to meet the conditions that now faced
Shelby. He was a wonderful man, and by January, 1863, he had entered
the State of Missouri, then within the grip of Federal forces, and
almost entirely under Federal control with garrisons in every center
over the State. With fifty thousand Federal soldiers controlling
that Commonwealth, he passed through all these; he safely evaded
the enemies in the southern part of the State, carrying his one
hundred men for two hundred and seventy-five miles through territory
thoroughly occupied by his enemies, In a very brief while, he was
not only able to get together a regiment, but a brigade. He was
unwilling to take any more chances on twelve months’ enlistments,
and he swore his recruits in for the war. The men who had been with
him gave him the best possible credentials among the young men along
the Missouri River. Threatened Federal conscription and persecution
by their foes had made them desperate, and they were only too glad
to find a leader who had come from Corinth, Mississippi, with fame
in battle, to organize and lead them. It was splendid material,
and Shelby’s success was not only surprising to him but to all the
commanders further south in Arkansas. Such an experience was an
unusual one in the life of any man, and only one of great resources
and iron will could have succeeded when going into the enemy’s
country garrisoned on every hand and made liable to arrest and even
death, and secure three regiments of a thousand men each and march
them three hundred miles into friendly territory. Having no arms,
except such as they could find at home, consisting of shotguns and
revolvers, they furnished their own mounts and gladly went where
Shelby asked them to go.

[Illustration: MAP OF SHELBY’S MISSOURI RAID]

Only a man who had the essential qualities of a cavalry leader
could have won in the face of such difficulties. Shelby improved
every opportunity that came his way. There were constant jealousies
which opposed his promotion. After he had organized and disciplined
his brigade, it was nearly twelve months before his commission
as brigadier-general came. This he was to win by his raid into
Missouri in September, 1863, but he got it later. Waverly, the most
northerly point which Shelby was to reach on this raid, was, as
the crow flies, two hundred and seventy-five miles from the Arkansas
line. From Arkadelphia, where Shelby started, it was two hundred
and fifty miles to the Arkansas line. He had been long teasing his
superiors to let him make a raid. There were many inducements for him
to take the chances of such an expedition. He felt sure in the first
place he could carry his men in and safely bring them out. He felt
extremely confident that he could enlist a large number of recruits,
and he was not devoid of ambition, so he longed to demonstrate his
power and his capacity as a leader. He had been a colonel for nearly
two years. He had self-confidence, he had marvelous resources, and
he always won the admiration of his associates. General Schofield
was in command of the department of Missouri. The State covered an
area of sixty thousand square miles. To defend this, he had fifty
thousand soldiers, and Missouri herself had enlisted many of these,
which, while in the employ of the State, were subject to Federal
jurisdiction.

On the 10th of September, 1863, Little Rock had been evacuated and a
few days later taken possession of by the Federals. This was a great
blow to the men of the Confederacy. Fort Smith also had fallen, and
these two towns on the Arkansas River gave control to the Federals
of one-half of the State. Through the White and Arkansas Rivers it
opened up means for transporting men and supplies four hundred miles
south of St. Louis. To Arkansas the loss of the Arkansas River was
what the loss of the Mississippi River was to the Confederacy. It
was yet, however, a great task for the Federals to move supplies
from the White River or the Mississippi River when the stages of
the Arkansas River prevented the passage of boats along its waters.
The loss of Little Rock and Fort Smith and the shutting off of
the Confederate troops from easy access to Missouri had done much
to depress the spirit of the men who, west of the Mississippi,
were struggling for Southern independence. For months Shelby had
entertained the idea that if he were but turned loose with one
thousand men he could ride to the banks of the Missouri River, do
much damage to the property of the Federals, and bring out a large
number of recruits. In Missouri the conditions had rendered it unsafe
for men who sympathized with the South to express their sentiments,
and anxious again to turn his face towards his adopted home and meet
his friends and family, and longing for the glory which he felt would
come to the successful prosecution of such an expedition, he pleaded
with Generals Holmes and Price and Governor Reynolds and the other
officials in the Trans-Mississippi to give him this permission. The
Confederate authorities looked at the thing more calmly than the
young military enthusiast. He assured them that recruits would be
abundant and that he could fill up his ranks, dismay his enemies,
and inflict severe loss in every way upon his foes. They felt that
he was taking a tremendous risk to make such an expedition. Some
suggested that he was hot-headed, that he lacked the experience as
well as the poise for so grave an undertaking. He had been a colonel
for twenty-two months. None could deny that he was courageous,
that he had faith in himself, that he was possessed of unlimited
enthusiasm. These were a splendid equipment for the work he essayed
to do. Shelby’s persistence at last availed, and on September 10th,
1863, consent was given for him to make the attempt to carry out his
plans. He was allowed eight hundred men, twelve ammunition wagons,
and two pieces of artillery. Only six hundred of his men started
with him from Arkadelphia, two hundred recruits he was to pick up
later further north. Arkadelphia, in Clark County, Arkansas, was one
hundred and fifteen miles south of Ozark, at which point Shelby had
determined to cross the Arkansas River. From Fort Smith, as well
as from Little Rock, scouting parties had gone sixty miles south
of Ozark, so that in fifty miles from where Shelby started it was
certain he would meet opposition, and that the Federals would attempt
to thwart his plans. Once permission was given, there was nothing
short of death could stop Shelby’s march. He had pleaded to go, and
no dangers, no opposition, could deter him from his purpose. It
was true that gloom and doubt had settled in the hearts and minds
of many of the leaders who at that time were gathered in and about
Arkadelphia, but this spirit, either of hesitation or fear, never
touched the soul of Shelby. The people who permitted Shelby to go had
forebodings of the outcome, and permission was only granted when it
became apparent that nothing would satisfy Shelby but an opportunity
to work out his plans. The limited number of soldiers allowed him
showed that the Confederate leaders were not willing to risk very
much on his undertaking. Marmaduke, always ready to take risks,
assented, but he gravely doubted the result. The men who were to go
with Shelby were as enthusiastic as he. It was “Home-going,” it was
an opportunity to try out chances with the militia over in Missouri,
whom Shelby and his men hated with greatest bitterness. The autumn
sun was shining brightly when Shelby aligned his small force, placed
himself at their head, and waved adieu to Governor Reynolds. The
other troops, watching the departure of these gallant and dashing
raiders, experienced deepest sorrow when they realized that they were
to be left behind. There was no man among the thousands who witnessed
the going of these brave boys who would not have willingly taken
chances with them. There were no fears of what the future would bring
forth. One man in every six of those who rode away would not come
back, when at the end of thirty-six days Shelby would return.

Two hundred men taken each from four regiments lacked in some
respects homogeneity, but all shouted and waved their hats and guns
as the command to march passed down the line. From that moment they
became brothers with a common purpose and common courage. The fact of
going had by some subtle telepathy, which always marked cavalrymen,
gone out among the entire brigade, and from that moment there was
universal eagerness to ride with Shelby, and when the assignments
were made and the columns formed there were two thousand disappointed
men who felt most keenly the dealings of fate which deprived them
of a place in the moving column. If the selection had been left to
Shelby he would most likely have taken his entire regiment. These
had become with him so dependable, and between themselves and
Shelby there had grown up not only affection but completest trust.
They believed in him and he believed in them, and they felt that no
emergency could arise and that he would make no call upon them that
was not demanded by duty. As these six hundred brave men mounted
into their saddles and the column started, cheer after cheer greeted
each company as it passed by. Governor Reynolds and General Price
forgot the formality of military etiquette, and with those who went
and those who stayed they joined in vociferous cheers. Benedictions
came from every heart as out into the unknown dangers and experiences
of the expedition these men rode, souls all aglow with patriotism,
joy and soldierly valor. When Shelby held the hand of Governor
Reynolds, the expatriated governor prayed him to be cautious, begged
him to save as far as possible the lives of the young heroes under
him and to be watchful even unto death. As this kindly admonition
ended the governor pulled the leader close to him and whispered into
his ear, “Joe, if you get through safely, this will bring you a
brigadier-general’s commission.”

An ugly wound received eighty days before at the assault upon
Helena, July 4th, still gave Shelby intense suffering. It was
unhealed and suppurating. A minie ball had struck his arm and passed
longitudinally through the part from the elbow down. It was still
bandaged and supported with a sling. With his free hand he gathered
up the reins of his bridle and ignoring pain and danger, he looked
more the hero, as thus maimed and yet courageous he started on so
long a ride and so perilous a campaign. With his great physical
handicap, the admiration was all the more intense, for the spirit and
the grit of the man who was undertaking one of the most dangerous
and difficult expeditions of the war. Shelby’s body was subordinated
to the beckonings of glory and the splendor of the opportunity which
had now come in obedience to his pleadings to serve his State, his
cause, his country. Other men, less brave or determined, would have
hesitated. Some men, possibly equally chivalrous, would have taken
a furlough rather than have sought new dangers and more difficult
service.

None of these boys marching away cared to peer into the future. Along
the roads and the paths of the ride and in the midst of battles
they were to fight, one in six was to find a soldier’s grave, or,
struck down by wounds or disease, might meet death under the most
distressing circumstances at the hands of the bushwhackers and home
guards who then filled the garrisons of Missouri towns. The joy of
home-going eliminated all thought of misery of the future. These men
were to ride two hundred and twenty-five miles to the Arkansas State
line and two hundred and fifty miles from the Arkansas State line
through Missouri to Waverly, in all four hundred and seventy-five
miles. The return made nine hundred and fifty miles, even if they
marched by an air line.

A little way out on his journey Shelby met Colonel David Hunter with
a hundred and fifty men, recruits who were coming out from Missouri
to join the Confederates in Arkansas. Hunter and Shelby were kindred
spirits. The persecution of some of Hunter’s family had rendered
him an intense fighter. He was considered one of the rising infantry
officers, but cavalry work suited him better, and so he gave up his
rank of colonel with a regiment of infantry in order to take the
chances of recruiting a cavalry command. Hunter was bringing out
with him several hundred women and children who had been driven
from their Missouri homes. Turning these over to a portion of his
command, he chose the more promising of his followers and fell into
line with Shelby. At Caddo Gap, on the fourteenth day, it was learned
that a company of Confederate deserters and Union jayhawkers were
in the mountains close by. With a horror and deepest hatred born of
the crimes of these men, outlaws from both armies, it was resolved
that the first work of the raid should be their extermination. Major
Elliott, commanding one of the battalions under Shelby, discovered
the lair of these men later in the afternoon, and as soon as it was
dark he attacked them with great vigor. Seventy-nine of them were
killed and thirty-four captured. Their leader was as brave as any
soldier in either army. Puritan blood coursed through his veins.
Condemned to death for his crimes, he was left with Major Elliott
while the remainder of the force marched forward. The captain of the
firing party with a small squad was left to finish up reckonings of
justice with this bloody robber and murderer. There had been no court
martial. These men were to be killed by common consent. They had
been taken in the act, and their crimes were known. The captain in
charge of the execution thought it would not be unreasonable to allow
any of those who were to be put to death a brief time for prayer.
Lifting up his voice, so that all his captors and executioners could
hear, the condemned captain prayed—“God bless the Union and all its
loyal defenders. Bless the poor ignorant rebels; bless Mrs. McGinnins
and her children; bless the Constitution which has been so wrongly
misinterpreted, and eradicate slavery from the earth.” The increasing
distance between the command induced the captain to cry out, “Hurry
up, hurry up, old man, the command has been gone an hour and I will
never catch up,” to which the captain, so soon to die, responded, “I
am ready, and may Heaven have mercy upon your soul.” The order was
given, and the death of twenty old men who had been murdered by this
man in the immediate neighborhood shortly before, was avenged, in so
far as human law could mete out punishment for horrible crimes. Both
sides hated these outlaws, and Federal reports are full of similar
condign punishment inflicted upon this class of marauders, who
plundered and killed without the least regard for the laws of God or
man.

When near Roseville, a short distance south of the Arkansas River,
Shelby encountered the 1st Arkansas Federal Cavalry. In northern
Arkansas, by the summer of 1863, Union generals had been able to
induce enlistments among the residents of that part of the State,
and naturally the feeling between these so-called renegades and the
Missouri and Arkansas Confederates was extremely bitter, and whenever
they faced each other in battle there was no great desire to hear the
cries or calls of surrender. These Federal Arkansians and a battalion
of the 3rd Illinois Regiment undertook to dispute Shelby’s right
of way. They were speedily ridden over and the road cleared of this
impediment. The river was forded near Ozark, and here again Shelby
found some old acquaintances of the 6th Kansas Cavalry. This regiment
had seen much service in southwest Missouri and northern Arkansas.
It had hunted Shelby and Shelby had hunted it, and neither avoided
an opportunity to measure swords with the other. Shelby disposed of
this new menace in short order. He had now gotten far up among the
mountains, and he traveled a hundred and forty miles, with two fights
to his credit, and concluded to give his men one day’s rest.

On the 21st of September, Shelby received authority to make the
expedition, and on the 22nd he promptly started on this tremendous
march of fifteen hundred miles. Cutting the telegraph wires north of
the Arkansas River, Shelby planned to enter the Boston Mountains,
from which, northwardly, no intelligence of his coming could be
disseminated. It did not take Shelby long to find Federal forces.
Within four days from the time he left Arkadelphia, he had learned
that his advance would be fiercely contested. His chief concern was
to pass the Arkansas River. He found it fordable, but treacherous,
and by the 29th, seven days after starting, reached Bentonville,
Arkansas. By the 4th of October, Shelby had marched two hundred
and fifty-five miles to Neosho, Missouri, where there were three
hundred Federal cavalry. These were quickly surrounded and forced
to surrender. Their equipment was tremendously valuable, but their
horses were a real godsend.

So soon as Shelby passed Neosho, his enemies were fully aware not
only of his presence but of his plans. They argued reasonably that
he would seek to reach his own home at Waverly and that he would
not diverge from a straight line more than twenty or thirty miles.
The Federal forces then in Missouri were concentrated at points
between Neosho and Waverly over a space twenty or thirty miles wide.
By this time, the passions of the war had been fully aroused. Life
became no longer a certain thing, the law having been suspended and
the southern part of Missouri having been greatly divided; hates
had been aroused, excesses committed, men killed, families driven
from their homes. McNeil’s disgraceful order for the deportment of
Southern sympathizers from a large portion of the State had been
savagely enforced, and so, on reaching Bower’s Mills, a place where
the militia had been particularly offensive, the town was sacked and
then burned. Along the route Shelby traveled the next day, after
leaving Bower’s Mills, every house belonging to a Southern family had
been burned and, in many instances, the inhabitants put to death.
On the 7th of October Shelby captured Warsaw in Benton County, far
up towards the point he was attempting to reach. Here, too, Federal
forces attempted to dispute his passage of the Osage River. By this
time a spirit of highest enthusiasm had taken deepest hold upon the
men. Nothing could chill their spirits. Soldiers dashed into and
across the river. Neither nature nor man could stay their progress.
At Warsaw vast quantities of all kinds of stores and supplies,
including horses, had been concentrated and these all fell prey to
the hungry raiders, and what they could not use were turned over to
the remorseless touch of the flames.

By the 10th of October, Tipton was reached. On an air line, this
left Shelby only fifty miles from Waverly, to which place, the abode
of his dearest friends, he purposed in his heart to go. From Tipton
for thirty miles in every direction rails were torn up, bridges
destroyed, wires cut, and cattle guards and water tanks obliterated.
When leaving Tipton, Shelby found opposed to him Colonel T. T.
Crittenden, a Kentuckian, whom Shelby had known in earlier days, and
who had a thousand well-armed and well-drilled mounted men. Shelby
had two reasons for destroying Crittenden: first, he hated him,
because he was a renegade Kentuckian, according to Shelby’s standard;
second, because he stood across his pathway to Booneville. The
artillery was brought into line with the cavalry, and Shelby’s whole
command, with his artillery in the center, made a galloping charge at
Crittenden’s regiment. The Federal regiment melted away, leaving the
killed and wounded behind and a few prisoners as hostages.

Booneville, on the south side of the Missouri River, had been a place
from which many expeditions had been sent out and from which many
orders had been issued for the persecution of the Southern people.
The town authorities, pleading for mercy, gladly surrendered. It
looked as if Shelby had disregarded all prudence and brought himself
into a trap from which it would be impossible for him to escape.

Hardly had Booneville been passed when General Brown, a Federal
commander, with four thousand men, came up. Brown was a vigilant
general, an impetuous fighter and a soldier of both renown and
courage. He was not afraid of Shelby. In this respect he was better
off than some of his associates. Game, ambitious and enterprising, he
thought it would be a splendid stroke to bag Shelby in his territory
and take him a prisoner to Jefferson City—Missouri’s capital. To
accomplish these ends, he carefully laid his plans and bent his
utmost energies. He well understood this meant real fighting. He lost
no time in assailing Shelby’s pickets. He resolved to push his foes
at every point, and fight whenever he could find a Confederate.

Shelby had broken an axle of his rifled gun. This he felt would
be extremely useful to him later on. He ordered Colonel Hunter to
hold the enemy in check until he made the necessary repairs on his
cannon. By ten o’clock at night, stores had been removed and the gun
repaired. The night before had been one of a great downpour of rain.
This prevented much sleep. Shelby, not unmindful of the tremendous
work that was immediately before him, determined to give his troopers
a night’s rest, so that they might be better prepared for the
strenuous experiences that the morrow and the next three days had in
store for them. General Brown was fiercely persistent and assailed
Shelby’s rear furiously and incessantly. The Federal authorities were
clamoring for Shelby’s destruction or his capture. At the crossing of
the Lamine River, Shelby ambushed the Federals and inflicted serious
loss and routed the assailants; but only momentarily, and then they
came back more savagely. To reach Waverly, it was necessary to pass
through Marshall, and, as Shelby approached that place, he found
four thousand more Federal soldiers under General Ewing, drawn up
ready for the gage of battle. With Brown in the rear and Ewing in the
front, it looked gloomy for the Confederates. Shelby was now five
hundred miles from any real hope of succor. General Sterling Price
and Governor Reynolds at Arkadelphia, Arkansas, however much they
might desire to help the dashing raider, could do naught for his
rescue. A few scattered companies far down in Missouri had neither
the will nor the chance to help him. He was four hundred miles inside
the enemy’s lines, and these enemies were hunting him with extremest
vigor. His capture meant fame for the captor, and his destruction
meant temporary peace in war-torn Missouri. Every available man was
being thrown across Shelby’s pathway, and every possible obstacle put
along the road he was of necessity compelled to travel. His march
from Marshall and Waverly, from a military standpoint, was both
audacious and reckless, and appeared to be the act of a man trifling
with fate. To his enemies, it seemed that Shelby’s impetuosity and
the longing for home-going had destroyed all sense of safety, and
they were congratulating themselves that he had gone into places from
which escape was impossible. Measured by the ordinary standards of
military prudence and foresight, Shelby had pursued a most unwise
course, and the omens were bad for him and his small brigade. Shelby
conceived the idea of destroying Ewing before Brown could come up
in his rear, and then take his chances with Brown, and so, with
his twelve hundred cavalry he attacked four thousand infantry.
In a short while Ewing had been roughly handled, and his rout was
inevitable. Fate seemed propitious, and hope rose high in Shelby’s
breast. The battle with Ewing was almost won, and with him out of the
way, with shouts of victory on their lips, Shelby would, he believed,
make short work of Brown. An evil destiny now intervened. Brown had
overwhelmed Shanks’ two hundred and fifty men left to delay his
crossing the Lamine River, and he had rushed on to help Ewing at the
moment when Shelby’s genius and vigorous attack had nearly completed
victory. Shelby needed no interpreter to tell him that; the firing in
his rear demonstrated that he had miscalculated the rate of Brown’s
approach and that six pieces of artillery and four thousand fresh
troops were upon him.

In such an emergency there was only one course left open and that
was to retreat. Shelby had left a valiant lieutenant to dispute the
crossing of the Lamine River with Brown, and to hold him while he
whipped Ewing. Well did this gallant soldier, Colonel Shanks, perform
this task. He stood the test as only a brave man could, but the storm
he faced was more than any two hundred and fifty men could withstand.
There was nothing left for Shelby but to cut his way through the
lines of Ewing. This was a dangerous undertaking. Even to so brave
a man as Shelby, it was a hazardous task. He looked and saw a weak
place in the Federal line. Only instantaneous action could save
him. A Federal regiment stationed in a corn field with skirmishers
well to the front, and safely ensconced behind corn shocks, seemed
to be the best chance for a hard drive and successful onslaught.
He was too far from his base to give up his ammunition. He hated to
abandon his meagre supply of cannon. If he stood still between the
two advancing Federal armies of four thousand men each, annihilation
or surrender was the only fate that could befall him and his men,
however brave they might be. The flash of the eye and the resolve
of a practiced warrior decided the course he would follow. Escape
he would or die in the attempt. Widening the front of regiments and
placing a rider on each horse of the ammunition wagons and artillery,
he dashed furiously at the Federal forces. The Federals met the
shock with courage and stout resistance, but the fierce riding
Confederates were too much: they yielded sufficiently to allow Shelby
to pass through with his wagons and his cannon. Hunter’s regiment,
becoming entangled in the thick woods, did not keep well closed
in, and the Federals rallied and cut off Hunter while Shelby rode
triumphantly away. Hunter, true to the necessities of the occasion,
turned squarely to the right and galloped through another part of the
Federal line and made his escape. Shelby’s force was now divided,
but it had left the enemy behind. It was impossible for any troops
to out-march them. Shelby, hoping against hope, waited two hours for
his separated forces to join him. Prudence told him longer waiting
meant destruction, and he retreated to Waverly. For eight miles the
Federals pressed his rear with relentless zeal. By three o’clock in
the morning Shelby passed through his home town. The desire of his
heart was gratified. A few moments were spent in greeting, and now
he was ready to find his own again, and so, turning squarely south,
he started on his long and ever-lengthening march to the place from
whence he had come.

A little way from Waverly, at Hawkins’ Mills, Shelby concluded that
his wagons and his artillery would be troublesome, and so he sunk
them in the Missouri River and reduced everything to the lightest
possible weight. It was of the highest importance that he should
safely pass the Osage River. It was a long march from Waverly to this
river. Sleep and rest were out of the question. The tired beasts
were allowed to feed a little and the men took an hour or two for
repose. Even an hour’s delay might bring disaster. Nature pleaded
for repose and rest, but safety pointed her finger forward, and
fate, willing to extricate the bold horseman, bade him stay not his
hand nor speed. Leaving Waverly, on the morning of the 14th, to the
evening of the 16th, he had marched more than one hundred miles. He
had gone through from the Missouri to the Osage River in two days.
This was a tremendous spurt. Nothing now, short of bad management,
could prevent Shelby’s escape, and so he began to move somewhat
more leisurely. Along by the road at Warrensville, there were two
thousand Federals waiting to hold him up; but he passed a few miles
west without alarming them, and proceeded on to Johnson County, to
which point they pursued him. One of the Federal commanders reported
that Shelby’s men were “running like wild hogs,” and another, that,
bareheaded and demoralized, they were making their escape in detached
parties through the woods, thickets and byways. Even though hard
pressed, and with no time to spare, Shelby could not refrain from
one effort to punish those who had so vigorously and so sorely
pressed upon him. He ordered a dash at his foes, and they, quickly
realizing that it was not wise to press Shelby, even if he was
running, fled at his coming. On the 17th, 18th and 19th of October,
men and horses were put to the utmost limit. The Federals were loth
to permit Shelby’s escape, and they hung on to the Confederate rear
with the grip of death. With such odds in their favor, they held it a
great misfortune to let him get away, and they judged that all sorts
of inquiries and criticisms would follow, if, with fifty thousand
Federal soldiers in Missouri, even so resourceful and dashing a
cavalryman as Shelby could march nearly through the entire State in
the face of so many pursuers, and then safely ride away. Energies
were redoubled, orders of concentration kept the wires warm; but
warm wires, circulating orders and relentless pursuit could not stop
the mad speed and the ceaseless tramp of Shelby and his men. They
had better reason to urge them escape than those who were following
had to run them down. On the 20th of October, he was safely on the
Little Osage River in Arkansas, and there, to Shelby’s gratification
and surprise, he found the remainder of his command under Colonels
Hunter, Hooper and Shanks. Reunited, their spirits rose to the
highest pitch of enthusiasm. They had been battered and hammered
and pursued, but they were all safe. One hundred and fifty of the
eight hundred men who started were either wounded or dead along the
line of march; but the expedition was completed, and the apparently
impossible was accomplished.

Fate dealt more generously with Hunter and Hooper and Shanks than
with Shelby. At Florence and Humansville and Duroc, on the Osage,
they had had their troubles with the First Arkansas cavalry. They had
a fight with McNeil’s two thousand men at Humansville, but he was
held in check. The Federal forces were fierce in their attacks, and
they marched with the greatest strenuosity to block the way these
men were taking to avoid capture. Artillery with cavalry in a forced
march is never a thing to be desired. Guns and caissons make heavy
pulling, and no horses can for many miles keep pace with horsemen
who are pushed to their highest speed. The help of the cannon had
now lost much of its value and as it might retard the speed in
some slight degree, it was destroyed and abandoned and the last of
Shelby’s battery went down before the aggressive pursuers. It was
abandoned at Humansville, and the fleeing horsemen were glad to get
rid of such a grievous burden.

The greatest sufferers on the tremendous march had been the horses.
They were goaded, tired and driven to the greatest effort. Half
starved, with reduced flesh, their speed was ever-decreasing. Mercy
was so incessant and so insistent in her appeals that the beasts were
given three days’ rest. Not a single soldier was willing to scout
except when absolutely necessary to keep in touch with the movements
of the enemy. The Federals, under John Cloud, hearing that Shelby had
escaped from Missouri, left Fayetteville and went out to hunt him,
but Cloud was not very anxious to find Shelby. He followed slowly and
at a safe distance and pursued Shelby to Clarksville on the Arkansas
River where Shelby crossed the stream twelve miles east of Ozark,
where he had passed thirty days before.

A great march was ended, and Shelby, in his reports, claimed that he
had in the thirty days killed and wounded six hundred Federals; he
had taken and paroled as many more; he had captured and destroyed ten
forts, about eight hundred thousand dollars’ worth of property and he
had captured six hundred rifles, forty stand of colors, three hundred
wagons, six thousand horses and mules, and destroyed a million
dollars’ worth of supplies. At one place in Arkansas he had dispersed
eight hundred recruits and destroyed fifty thousand dollars’ worth of
ordnance. At the time Shelby left Arkadelphia, Rosecrans was calling
for help, and one day after Shelby started, the Battle of Chickamauga
had been finished and Rosecrans, with his army driven back and
discouraged, was at Chattanooga, crying for help. Ten thousand men
were kept from reinforcing Rosecrans. All this was accomplished by
eight hundred men. Shelby’s superiors had led him to believe that
this was a forlorn hope. The young Confederate colonel had shown them
they were mistaken in their estimate of him and that he was worthy of
the wreath on his collar which would make him a brigadier-general.




Chapter X


BATTLE AND CAPTURE OF HARTSVILLE BY GENERAL JOHN H. MORGAN, DECEMBER
7TH, 1863


In October, 1862, General Braxton Bragg, after the campaign in
Kentucky, had brought his army out by Cumberland Gap, and, resting
a brief while in East Tennessee, moved his forces to Murfreesboro,
thirty miles southeast of Nashville. During General Bragg’s absence
on his Kentucky campaign, the Federals had a large garrison at
Nashville. General John C. Breckinridge, too late to enter Kentucky,
with General Bragg, had been stationed at Murfreesboro with a small
Confederate force to watch and hold this Nashville Federal contingent
in check. By the 12th of November, General Bragg had brought his
soldiers through from Knoxville to Murfreesboro. It then became
apparent that somewhere in and around Murfreesboro, or between that
place and Nashville, a decisive battle would be fought. The Nashville
garrison, reinforced by the return of General Buell’s army, would be
ready for aggressive warfare south of that city, and as Bragg’s army
now intervened between these Federals and their advance southward, it
required no wise military student to predict that a great struggle
would soon be on. At that time few understood how great that struggle
would be, or that when it was ended and the losses counted, it would
rank as amongst the most sanguinary battles of the war, with a loss
of two hundred and sixty men per thousand, making it, in ratio of
losses, according to reports, the second bloodiest field of the
Civil War. Forty days later this expected conflict took place at
Murfreesboro in the Valley of Stone River.

Perryville, Kentucky, where, on the 8th of October, 1862, a battle
had raged with such fierceness, had also proved a memorable conflict
to the men of the Army of the Tennessee. There the Confederate loss
was three thousand, two hundred and twelve, the Federal loss four
thousand, two hundred and forty-one. For the number of men engaged,
in proportion to the time the battle lasted, it stands in the very
forefront of mortalities. General McCook, of the Federal Army,
referring to it, said: “It is the bloodiest battle of modern times
for the number of troops engaged on our side.” On the Confederate
side one hundred and ninety-six in every thousand were killed or
wounded.

On the 20th of November, 1862, the army of Tennessee was organized
with General Braxton Bragg as commander. The three army corps were
officered respectively by Generals E. Kirby Smith, Leonidas Polk and
William J. Hardee. General Don Carlos Buell, on the Federal side, on
October 30th, 1862, had been relieved, and General W. S. Rosecrans
had been put in his place.

At this period of the history of the war in Tennessee, Sumner County,
of which Gallatin was the county seat, was one of the richest and
most productive of the agricultural districts of the State. Gallatin
was thirty-five miles from Nashville, northeast. Sumner County
adjoined Davidson County, of which Nashville was the county seat.
East of Gallatin, some fifteen miles, was Hartsville, a small town,
now the capital of Trousdale County, one and one-half miles north of
the Cumberland River. Lebanon, Tennessee, the county seat of Wilson
County, was due east of Nashville. A line drawn from Murfreesboro
a little east of north would pass through Hartsville a distance of
thirty-eight miles. Bragg’s army extended from Murfreesboro in the
direction of Lebanon. A portion of his infantry was at Baird’s Mills,
a village twenty miles away. Castalian Springs was between Gallatin
and Hartsville, nine miles from Hartsville and six miles from
Gallatin. At Castalian Springs, the Federals, under John M. Harlan,
had a force numbering six thousand men. At Hartsville was Dumont’s
Brigade, the 39th in the Army of the Cumberland, consisting of two
thousand one hundred men.

General Morgan always maintained a very warm love of Sumner County.
Some of the happiest hours of his military life were passed there. He
was ever glad of an opportunity to return to Gallatin. Quite a number
of his followers were residents of the county. His opportunities
for scouting and getting information in that section were most
excellent. He learned that the Federals had about thirteen hundred
troops at Hartsville, and he calculated that their capture was not
only possible, but easy, by a bold, quick dash. On August 17th,
1862, he had captured Gallatin, and with it two hundred prisoners,
including Colonel Boone and the other commanding officers of the 28th
Kentucky Federal Regiment. He had another remarkable experience
there, of which he wrote: “... thus ended an action in which my
command, not exceeding seven hundred men (one whole company being in
the rear with prisoners), succeeded in defeating a brigade of twelve
hundred chosen cavalry sent by General Buell to take me or drive me
out of Tennessee, killing and wounding some one hundred and eighty
and taking two hundred prisoners, including the brigadier-general
commanding and most of the regimental officers.”

The Federal generals were justified in the belief that it was
unreasonable for the Confederate troops to march northward from
Murfreesboro to Hartsville when there was a full garrison at
Nashville, as such a force would be exposed to a flank and rear
attack from that place. John H. Morgan, though not yet having a
commission of brigadier-general, was in command of a brigade composed
of five regiments and two battalions. He conferred with General Bragg
and mapped out a plan by which he assured General Bragg that with a
force of cavalry and infantry not exceeding eighteen hundred men,
it was practicable to cross the Cumberland River, attack Hartsville
and capture it before the Federal Army at Castalian Springs, which
was three times as strong as the force Morgan proposed to take
with him, could reach Hartsville and succor the garrison there.
After some discussion and prolonged consideration General Morgan’s
enthusiasm overcame not only the fears but the objections of the
Confederate commander, who did not fully appreciate the rapidity of
cavalry movements under leaders like Forrest, Morgan and Wheeler.
General Morgan devised the plan and assumed the responsibility for
its success. He was willing to stake his reputation and risk his
life on the outcome. He requested permission to select the force
which should accompany him, and for the infantry he chose the 2nd
and 9th Kentucky. These were part of what was known as the “Orphan
Brigade,” at that time under command of General Roger W. Hanson,
who twenty-four days later, was to die from wounds received on
the battlefield of Murfreesboro, where, with his last breath, he
pathetically exclaimed, “It is sweet and pleasant to die for one’s
country.” Colonel Thomas H. Hunt, who had made a splendid reputation
for his regiment at Shiloh, Corinth and Baton Rouge, was designated
commander of the infantry. The 2nd Kentucky, under Major James W.
Hewett, on this occasion carried into battle three hundred and
seventy-five men, and Captain James T. Morehead led the 9th Kentucky
with three hundred and twenty men, making the infantry all told six
hundred and ninety-five men. The cavalry consisted of Gano’s, the
3rd Kentucky, Bennett’s, the 9th Tennessee, and Cluke’s, the 8th
Kentucky, and part of Chenault’s, the 11th. Together they counted
close to fifteen hundred. Two Ellsworth rifled guns and two brass
howitzers comprised the artillery outfit.

At Hartsville was stationed the 104th Illinois infantry, the 2nd
Indiana cavalry, the 12th Indiana battery, Company E of the 11th
Kentucky cavalry, and the 106th and 108th Ohio infantry. The brigade
was commanded by Captain Absalom B. Moore, of the 10th Illinois,
who had come to Hartsville on the 2nd of December to relieve his
predecessor, Colonel Scott, of the 19th Illinois.

General Hanson’s brigade, from which parts of the two Confederate
regiments had been taken, was then at Baird’s Mills, twenty-three
miles from Hartsville.

Prior to this time the infantry and cavalry which composed this
expedition had not seen much of each other. At Baird’s Mills, on
December 6th, for the first time, they came in real contact. The
infantry looked a little askant at the cavalry. None of the horsemen
going with the infantry had seen very extended service. Cluke’s,
Chenault’s and Gano’s regiments and Stoner’s battalion were new and
had been largely recruited in August and September in Kentucky, and
Bennett’s regiment was not much better, but it was worse off so
far as discipline was concerned. Early in the morning of December
6th, the cavalry regiments were marched to Baird’s Mills, arriving
there at eleven o’clock. There was a macadam road from Lebanon to
Hartsville. The ground was covered with snow, and the temperature
was low. It was not a good day for infantry to march, and it was
not favorable weather for cavalry to ride. At eleven o’clock these
organizations, after a short rest, began the march out of Lebanon
for Hartsville. The cavalry rode in the van with celerity, but it
required three hours for the infantry to cover the eleven miles to
Lebanon. By way of encouragement to the infantry, they were told that
an arrangement had been made by which with the “ride and tie” system,
they would be mounted half the way. Under this method the cavalry
would ride five or six miles forward and leave their horses and then
march five or six miles on foot. In the meantime, the infantry would
come up on foot and mount the cavalry horses and then ride forward
several miles and leave the horses to await the coming of their
owners. Theoretically this seemed a reasonable proposition. At least
it looked fair. A short distance from Lebanon the infantry felt the
time had come for them to change their method of transportation. They
had patiently trudged along through the wet snow, and they were sure
if they could get out of the slush that the tread of the infantry and
the wheels of the artillery and the tramp of the horses had created,
they would be happier—at least more contented. The swap was made. The
shoes of the infantry were thoroughly soaked and the freezing cold
after they were mounted, benumbed their limbs. This was particularly
hard on their wet feet. Unaccustomed to the methods of cavalry, they
did not know how to keep warm, and in a little while they declared
they would rather walk. The cavalry had gotten their feet wet while
they were playing the infantry act, and slipping and sliding in the
slushy material which covered the pike, they were glad to remount,
but the same biting cold which so severely punished the infantry
seriously troubled them. To make matters worse, the horses got mixed,
and this set their owners to cursing and abusing everybody connected
with the expedition. The cavalry cussed the infantry, and the
infantry cussed the cavalry, and between them they cussed everybody
they knew anything about. The situation was so extremely ridiculous
that after awhile everybody lapsed into good humor. It was a gloomy
opening for so glorious a campaign. Nature, unpropitious, appeared
implacable, but the purpose and plans of the expedition soon leaked
out and the entire command became at once enthused with the prospect
of a fight and victory. In a brief while, with all the discomforts
which surrounded them, the horsemen and the “footmen” made up,
jollied each other, and swore they were glad they had come. They were
assured that with Morgan, Hunt, Duke, Chenault, Cluke, Gano, Bennett
and Stoner as their leaders, something really great was about to be
achieved, and triumph, glory and renown were in their grasp.

General Morgan had calculated to assault at daylight. He estimated
that his fighting force would be considerably larger than that of
the enemy he was to attack and attempt their capture, and as they
might be intrenched, he must not only take advantage of strategy, but
also of the opportunities which would come from sudden and vigorous
onslaught in the dark upon unprepared soldiers.

In marching the artillerymen had much the best of it, but when the
fighting began they got much the worst of it. The drivers were
riding, and the gunners, perched on the caissons, were removed from
all contact with the slush, and by rubbing and stamping they kept
their feet and hands warm enough to prevent them from getting down to
walk. They looked with complacency upon their less fortunate fellows
who were trudging the pike.

The Cumberland River in this locality was the dividing line between
the Federal and Confederate territory. General Morgan, through
his scouts, had managed to procure a few small leaky flatboats at
Puryear’s Ferry, several miles below Hartsville. Around ten o’clock
at night the advance guard and artillery reached the river. The
infantry, beginning their marching at eleven o’clock in the morning,
now, after eleven hours, had covered seventeen miles. They could
almost see the lights of the camp fires at Hartsville.

From the time of the reconnaissance of Morgan’s scouts, the
Cumberland River had made a material rise, and to put across the
artillery between ten o’clock and three o’clock, five hours, with
the inadequate equipment, was no light task. General Morgan was in
immediate command of the infantry and artillery, and Colonel Basil W.
Duke in charge of the cavalry. There was of necessity a great rush
to get over the river in order to enable the infantry to march five
miles quickly enough to strike Hartsville at daybreak, and every
energy was bent to accomplish this herculean task. Finally this was
safely accomplished and the infantry and artillery, full of hope,
and though naturally wearied from a long, difficult march of over
twenty-one miles, were inspired to new efforts when they realized
that only a short distance away was the game in search of which they
had come, and for the bagging of which they were undergoing such
severe physical punishment.

After recovering their horses as far as possible, the cavalry left
the pike and marched through the country to a ford several miles
below the ferry, where the infantry and artillery had been put
over. Haste and complete co-operation were equally essential in the
successful issue of this perilous undertaking. Generals Morgan and
Duke had calculated that the stream would be fordable, but fate
again seemed to intervene to protect the Federals, quietly sleeping
in their tents on the heights about Hartsville. The darkness, the
severe cold, the rapid currents and the leaky, inferior boats, the
difficult landings and still more difficult fords, all combined to
try out the courage and metal of the men now going upon one of the
most hazardous enterprises of the war. These obstacles did not shake
the determination of General Morgan or the patience or courage of his
men. They had come to win glory and punish their enemies. Prudence
may have suggested to turn back. Morgan, believing in his destiny
and relying upon the valor of his followers, resolved to go on and
succeed or meet direful defeat.

In this perplexing and uncertain hour, General Morgan measured up
to the highest standard of a great cavalry leader. Calm, fearless,
confident, undaunted, he supervised the troublesome crossing. With
Colonel Hunt of the infantry he appeared to be everywhere. His
valiant spirit chafed at the unavoidable delays, but a kindly word of
encouragement to his toiling, tired and half-frozen men warmed their
blood into a new glow and gave them quickened action and expanded
hope. The leader’s indomitable will stilled every doubt or fear
and made every man in the ranks an invincible hero. The darkness,
relieved only by a few flickering torches, made ghastly shadows on
the muddy, sloppy banks. Pickets, hastily sent in the piercing cold,
were in the silence watching for any foes who should be skulking at
these unseemly hours in search of enterprising enemies, and they
could hear in the Federal camps the commands spoken in relieving
guards who were unconscious of the presence of Confederate legions
which at earliest dawn were preparing to swoop down upon them with
defeat and capture, and who by the rising of the morrow’s sun would
bring death and wounds to many and captivity to all the sleeping
hosts for whose defense and protection they were, with ceaseless
tread, pacing the frozen and snow-clad earth.

By reason of recent rains further up the river, its currents were
increased and quickened, and when the advance guard of the cavalrymen
undertook to cross the river at the appointed ferry, to their dismay
they discovered it was impassable at that point. Nothing daunted,
however, by this unlooked-for obstacle, General Duke learned that
there was a ford farther down the stream, where it was likely he
could get his men and horses across, and rapidly and silently the
cavalry trotted through the fields to the new ford. When this was
reached it also presented most serious difficulties. It was an unused
crossing, and it was impossible to get to the river except by a
crooked bridle path along which the men could proceed only in single
file. When the river was reached, it was found that the descent into
the water was almost impossible. It was necessary to spur the horses
into the stream over a bank several feet high. As a result, both men
and horses were submerged in the water, and with the thermometer low
in the scale, in the night time, and in the gloom of the darkness
preceding the break of day, such a bath would have a fearfully
chilling effect upon the ardor of any patriot. With several hundred
horses tramping over the narrow path which led to the bank of the
stream, the slush was churned deeper and deeper. Wet to the skin,
with their clothes muddy and dripping, with their saddles, blankets
and saddle pockets in the same condition, as these horsemen emerged
from the stream on the north side, they found equal difficulties
there. The ascent was steep and slippery and the pathway rough, and
the shivering mounts with difficulty bore their riders to the open
land.

Even the horses, with the vision of the misfortunes to their fellows
ahead, were reluctant to make the plunge down into the river. The
brutes saw the sad plight of those who were just in front, and
watching them struggling in the water, they hesitated to follow in
such difficult role. Spurring, pushing, driving, belaboring drove
them one by one into the stream. The soldiers, shaking with cold,
almost wished they were back by their happy firesides in central
Kentucky, but they were game enough for any contingency war might
develop, and as the leaders rode into the stream none hesitated, but
all took the plunge. Those who were first over managed to build a
few fires by which they might create some heat for their soaked and
shivering bodies. So depressing was the temperature of the water and
so great the strain on the nervous system that, after the plunge,
quite a number of the command became so benumbed as to be unable to
go forward. Notwithstanding the untiring efforts of General Duke,
aided by the regimental officers, it was found impossible to get
all the command over in time to enable the approach to Hartsville
by daybreak. With part of the cavalry on one side and part on the
other, General Duke, who was always prompt, at four o’clock in the
morning took such men as had already passed the stream, consisting
of Cluke’s, Chenault’s and Bennett’s regiments, and rode with
accelerating haste to the appointed meeting place, a mile and a half
from the camp of the enemy. He picketed the line of march from the
ford to the junction point so that no Federal forces could prevent
the remainder of the column which had been left behind from reaching
those who had gone before. Six miles was between him and the spot
where he had agreed to meet General Morgan, and after this union
they would still be nearly three miles from Hartsville. The infantry
was over, the artillery was over, and three-fifths of the cavalry,
and when these were united, General Morgan decided that he could
wait no more for the other regiment (Gano’s), but must take his
chances with what men he had and rush the enemy. He knew full well
it would not take long for the Federals to march double quick from
Castalian Springs to Hartsville. This could be done under stress in
two and a half hours, and when this force should reach Hartsville,
General Morgan understood he would have an enemy in his rear three
times as strong as his fighting men, and a body in front largely
outnumbering the men he proposed carrying into the engagement. This
was a period of tremendous physical and mental strain. It required
supreme courage and unfailing nerve to enable even the greatest of
leaders to calmly face such an emergency. The seven hundred infantry
were now shut in by the river, which a short while before under great
difficulties they had passed. If Colonel Harlan at Castalian Springs
and the Hartsville garrison should unite, even the courage of the
“Orphan Brigade” would be severely tested to face such tremendous
odds. In a crisis, the cavalry might scatter and ride away, but the
infantry would have no chance of crossing the Cumberland, or marching
through the country on foot. Victory, and victory quick, was the only
solution of the grave problems of the hour. Boldness, promptness,
intrepidity, desperate courage might save the situation, and it
was not without serious, but silent misgivings that General Morgan
ordered the command forward. In his calm and unruffled countenance,
in his self-possessed and undisturbed demeanor, none could detect the
conflict and struggle that was filling his mind and heart. There were
no preliminaries that required a moment’s delay. Instant and fierce
fighting might win. Hesitation or doubt would bring certain disaster.
In the silence and gloom of the night, led by the guides, familiar
with every foot of the way, those who walked and those who rode
pressed on to find the sleeping foe. Few commands were necessary. The
column covered more than a mile, but the horsemen in front followed
hard upon the guides, and the infantry with quickened steps, kept
a pace that left no intervals between the mounted men who in the
vanguard held the place of danger and honor.

As the day was breaking, the cavalrymen in advance struck a strong
picket force half a mile south of the Federal camp. The outpost
fired and retreated. This awakened the sleeping Federals. Aroused,
they immediately got ready to receive these early, unwelcome morning
callers. General Morgan had not expected to capture the pickets.
He hoped the cavalry would capture most of the camp, ride down the
sentinels, and the infantry coming up would thoroughly finish what
the cavalry had begun.

In the incredibly short space of time that intervened between the
attack and the real fight, the surprised Federals formed a line of
battle. They had been taken unawares, but they were not disposed
to run away without a conflict. They were on an elevation which
slightly raised them above the surrounding fields through which the
Confederates must approach. The report brought to Morgan made the
numbers of the Federals at Hartsville somewhere around thirteen
hundred, but through the dim light of the morning, when he saw
twenty-one hundred men instead of thirteen hundred spring into
line, immediately it was suggested to his mind that maybe it might
have been wiser for him to have remained on the south side of the
Cumberland. As they rode into the line of battle, Colonel Duke
casually remarked to General Morgan that he had gotten more than he
had bargained for, to which Morgan quickly replied, “We must whip and
catch these fellows and cross the river in two hours and a half or
we will have three thousand men on our backs.” Then he did not know
how greatly the army under Harlan outnumbered the little force with
him, which his faith in them and in himself had led him to venture
into such perilous surroundings. Had he known all he might even have
hesitated and he would surely more strenuously have hastened the
destroying hands of his followers in burning and wrecking the stores
he had captured. If the men at Hartsville could hold off the attack
a sufficient length of time to enable the men from Castalian Springs
to reach the scene the seven hundred infantry and six hundred cavalry
in line would make the issue very uncertain. At that time, General
Morgan did not have more than twelve hundred men with which to go
after the enemy. Brave, defiant and hopeful, he had sent Bennett’s
regiment into the town to prevent the escape of the Federals. It
really looked for a moment as if nobody would have to look after the
escape of the Federals, but that Morgan would have to look sharply
after his own escape. The Federal officers could hardly believe that
so small a Confederate force would dare approach the position they
were now attacking, and the audacity of Morgan’s movement created the
impression of a very large force, and this did much to demoralize
the Federal garrison. In sight of each other the two opposing armies
formed their lines. The Federal force was composed of nearly all
infantry. They had only a small number of cavalry. The lines were
formed about twelve hundred feet apart, and the skirmishers from
these two armies filled the intervening space and promptly opened a
spasmodic fusillade.

Cluke’s and Chenault’s men, riding swiftly upon the scene, instantly
dismounted and gallantly sprang into the fight. Although they only
numbered four hundred and fifty men, they looked like several
thousand to the affrighted Federals who, rushing out of the tents,
were not in a frame of mind to calculate with mathematical exactness
the number of those who, intent on conflict, were rapidly and
fearlessly rushing into their camp. The skirmishers at once became
busy and annoying, but Cluke and Chenault double-quicked within three
hundred feet of where the Federal skirmishers were. The Federals
fired a volley and then retreated, but the dismounted cavalry
rushed on as if nothing had happened. One hundred and eighty feet
away another volley was fired, and still Cluke and Chenault were
advancing. As Cluke and Chenault got within close quarters the 104th
Illinois infantry fired at short range. They attempted to back and
reload their guns, but a second volley from the dismounted cavalry
caused them to break in great disorder. Within thirty minutes of
the time Cluke’s and Chenault’s men began to fire, they had cleared
their front of any organized resistance. In the meantime the enemy’s
artillery was hammering away at Cobb’s two pieces. He had only two
caissons, but one of these was blown up by an exploding shell from
the enemy and his battery had suffered a loss of more than twenty per
cent of its members. The Federal artillery was handled bravely and
skillfully and inflicted severe damage upon Cobb’s men and caissons.

The infantry had marched twenty miles over snow-covered, slushy
roads, along every step of which incisive cold had partially benumbed
their limbs. The warm work of battle gave them new physical energies.
As the 2nd Kentucky dashed across the space that separated them from
the Federals, somebody unfortunately gave the order to “Halt and
dress.” The enemy had been driven back before the impetuous charge
of the cavalry, and the infantry lost no time in finishing the brave
work of the horsemen. With victory just within their grasp, there
was no need for “dressing.” A number of officers sprang to the front
and countermanded the order, and Captain Joyce, seizing the colors,
waved them in the dim light of the early morning and bade the men to
follow where he would lead. At this juncture a concentrated fire of
the Federals resulted in great loss to the 2nd Kentucky Infantry.
For an instant the line swerved uncertainly, and then this regiment
with eager, resistless fury, rushed to the conflict again. The 9th
Kentucky infantry now wheeled into action. Stirred with the battle
sounds, they pressed upon their foes like lions released from their
cages. Fortunately, at the critical moment, one hundred of Gano’s
regiment, which had later crossed the Cumberland River, precipitated
themselves into the conflict. Their coming was timely. Their shouts
and reckless charge added new terrors to the already disturbed
garrison. The Federals, with the Confederates in the front and on
their flank, were driven into a narrow space and suffered severely
from the pitiless and well-directed fire of the men in gray. The
incessant thud of the minie balls told the story of the havoc. It
appeared to the affrighted Federals that there was no hope of escape.
In seventy-five minutes from the time the opening shot had been fired
the white flag was run up. The Federal garrison had surrendered, and
the first act of the drama had been finished.

For the length of time the Confederates were engaged the losses
were large. The 9th Infantry lost seventeen men, the 2nd lost
sixty-eight, the 11th Kentucky Cavalry, seventeen, Cobb’s battery,
ten, and Cluke’s regiment, thirty-two. More than half the entire
loss fell on the 2nd Kentucky Infantry. With two hundred and thirty
men engaged, Cluke’s regiment reported a loss of thirty-two,
making its casualties fourteen per cent of the men carried into
the fight. Gano, Chenault and Bennett had twelve killed, wounded
or missing. Lieutenant-Colonel Cicero Coleman, of the 8th Cavalry,
ever chivalrous and gallant, while nobly leading a section of his
regiment, was seriously wounded.

Two handsomer men than Colonel Cluke or Lieutenant-Colonel Coleman
could rarely be found in any organization. Both over six feet, both
splendid horsemen, always erect and graceful in their saddles, and
full of magnetism, they communicated by their superb presence and
their fearless conduct to the men of the regiment an enthusiasm in
war’s operations that was always inspiring and helpful, and made each
man believe that the result of the conflict was dependent upon his
personal valor.

To the Federals there came a heavy loss of killed and wounded.
Eighteen hundred prisoners were forced across the Cumberland and were
turned in to the Confederate headquarters at Murfreesboro.

Danger was now imminent on every side. One could breathe it in the
air. An attack from the forces at Castalian Springs was momentarily
expected, but General Morgan could not resist the impulse to destroy
wagons and stores, and these things were quickly reduced to ashes. A
large amount of clothing was seized in this fortunate capture. Boots
and shoes meant much to some of the cavalry regiments, especially the
8th and 11th, who in the march had to reinforce their worn boots and
shoes with pieces of blanket. In the face of impending and immediate
attack the work of destruction was thoroughly completed. It was
against the creed of Morgan’s men to leave anything undestroyed that
could aid a foe.

A suspicious firing was soon heard in the direction of Castalian
Springs. Quirk’s scouts were doing their best and bravest to hold
the Federals in check. They were retiring only because the numbers
of the enemy were overwhelming, but the Enfield rifles were speaking
defiance to their assailants, and if they were receding it was
only because prudence bade them go. Colonel Cluke and his regiment
were sent to aid in the show of resistance and the pressure, still
increasing, became so great that Gano’s regiment, which in the
meantime had arrived, was sent to their support.

Time was never more valuable to any army than to this little
Confederate brigade now leaving Hartsville. The Cumberland River,
difficult of fording, was in front, and an enemy three times as
strong was now pressing vigorously behind.

The artillery, which had been brought along, together with the
captured guns, was placed on the south bank to protect the crossing.
Courtesy to the conquered ceased to be the order of the hour. The
captured were urged and driven forward at the highest possible speed.
Some were hesitant about going, but war knows nothing of the law
of politeness and their captors demanded double quick march from
the crestfallen and distressed prisoners. The wagons were placed in
front. Two captured Parrot guns made splendid companions for the
“bull pups.” These remained with the Division until General Morgan’s
capture in Ohio, July 26th, 1863. One of these was called “Long
Tom” and was the object of great admiration and was held in truest
affection by the whole force.

As the Confederates approached the river, the infantry began to be
very chummy with the cavalry. At the highest possible speed and with
great haste they had marched away from the scene of their splendid
achievement. They had not been subjected to the bath which a few
hours before had been the fate of the horsemen and they had no fancy
to ford the icy stream, even under the Federal pressure behind them.
A glorious victory had been won, in the winning of which every part
of the brigade had borne a distinguished part. Heroes of a common
venture, they were alike jubilant over the brilliant work of the
morning, and when they got down to the stream it required neither
pleading nor threats for the infantry to secure seats behind the
horsemen, and so, two on each steed, with their legs lifted high out
of the cold water, the patient, gentle, useful horses carried the
victors to the south side of the stream.

Among the triumphs and congratulations, the cavalry was not
indisposed to be generous to the unfortunate prisoners, and after
the infantry had been delivered on the south side, where they might
defend any attack of the approaching Federals, now extremely annoying
and persistent, they recrossed the stream, and each horseman took a
prisoner behind him and thus ferried him over, but the pursuit became
fiercer and stronger, and as the cavalry, which were fighting the
advance from Castalian Springs approached the stream, the situation
became so emergent that the unfortunate prisoners who had not gotten
a seat behind the cavalry were forced into the stream, which reached
their waists, and required a wade through the rapid, cold current.
This was not done without some threats of violence, but the water was
to be preferred to bullets, and reluctantly, and with loud protests
against such violation of the laws of war, accompanied by all sorts
of “back talk,” the Federal prisoners were rushed through the water
and with a close line of horsemen on either side were hurried across
the stream. The victors had not thought of parole. Even if they
had, there was no time to carry out the details of such a process.
The eighteen hundred prisoners would look well in the column of the
returning heroes when they reached Baird’s Mills and Murfreesboro,
and with grim grip, the Confederates held on to their prisoners.
Here and there one dropped out, but almost the entire number was
gotten safely over the river and finally delivered to the guards at
headquarters.

The rear guard bravely defended every foot of the ground. They were
anxious to get away, but prudence and pride alike required that they
should make stubborn resistance, and with every expedient known to
cavalrymen, they delayed the approach of the Federal forces. The
Federal commander had some disquieting fears about the number of men
that were engaged in the expedition, and he did not press the pursuit
as savagely as he would have done had he known that less than seven
hundred men were standing in the pathway he must travel to reach his
adventurous foes, who were now divided by the rapid currents of the
icy stream.

A part of the Confederate dead who so gloriously had died were left
behind. Their enemies gave them burial. War destroys the tenderness
of sentiment. The safety of their own lives was more important than
the sepulture of the slain, however bravely they had gone down in the
struggle. Most of the wounded were placed in wagons and ambulances,
which were driven away from the scene of carnage and battle. The
infantry, in defense of their wounded comrades, had the call been
made, would have been extremely dangerous customers. The economics
of war are ruthless. The living, the fighters, are to be considered,
and then the maimed and dead. On the horsemen fell the burden of
the defense of the rear. During all the expedition, the web-footed
infantry had gotten the worst of the deal, and the cavalry, gay,
happy and mounted, were disposed to place no unnecessary work upon
their comrades who were trudging their way back to their comrades,
who were longing to hear the tidings of what battle had brought to
those who had been selected for so dangerous a mission.

If the infantry had looked with side glances at the cavalry when at
Baird’s Mills, they had now lost the recollection of such ungenerous
feelings in admiration for the horsemen who, dismounted, had
manifested a courage and valor equal to their own, and who, in the
charge and advance upon the enemy at Hartsville, and in standing
off the Federal pursuers, had displayed an intrepidity that was
not unworthy of any Kentucky Confederates, be they men who walked
or men who rode to battle. Whenever Hartsville was recalled or its
experiences were freshened in their minds, there was no distrust of
the steadfastness of the 3rd, 8th and 11th Kentucky Cavalry, and the
gallant 9th Tennessee, and by common consent the 2nd and 9th Kentucky
Infantry admitted these regiments which had been with them at
Hartsville into the full brotherhood of war’s heroes.

The captured guns and the four pieces brought by Morgan were pounding
away on the south bank of the river and hurling shot and shell at the
pursuers on the north bank, serving notice on the Federals that thus
far and no farther could they come. It never entered the minds of
the Federals that the Confederates were so few in number. They could
not understand how any commander with the slightest prudence would
expose his men to such risk as Morgan had dared. It would have been
questionable for even cavalry to have undertaken such a campaign,
but to jeopardize two of the best regiments of infantry in the army
of Tennessee by marching and fighting so far from their military
base, and with such liability to attack on the rear and flank, was
inconceivable to the Federals who were pursuing. They concluded that
there were at least three times as many in the battle as had captured
their comrades at Hartsville. Colonels Harlan and Moore estimated
Morgan’s fighting force at five thousand, and Federal officers
declared that they had seen several regiments of infantry and cavalry
standing across the river awaiting the return of their comrades who
had gone over the stream and won victory at Hartsville.

By eleven o’clock the agony was past. The pursuit was ended. Joy and
complacency filled the hearts of the infantry as they tramped back
to Baird’s Mills. They did not ask to ride any more. The cavalry
marched in the rear and stood guard and waited for approaching foes.
None came. After crossing the stream, courtesy and generosity
prompted kindness to the blue-coated prisoners. There was no word of
unkindness spoken.

Along the Confederate lines, they were received with surprise, and
wonder staggered credence to believe how few could have accomplished
so much or that any men in such rigorous weather could have so
quickly covered so great a distance, or against such odds have won so
marvelous a victory.

For a little while the Federal commanders were dazed. On December 7th
General Rosecrans wired General George H. Thomas as follows: “Do I
understand they have captured an entire brigade of our troops without
our knowing it, or a good fight?” And at one thirty o’clock the
same day there came from the President at Washington the following
message: “The President to Major General George H. Thomas: The
President demands an explanation of the Hartsville affair. Report in
detail exact position, strength and relative distances of your troops
between Gallatin and Hartsville, and causes of disaster as far as
known to you.”

On December 10th, the rage and indignation became more pronounced,
and General Halleck wired from Washington: “The most important
of the President’s inquiries has not been answered. What officer
or officers are chargeable with the surprise at Hartsville and
deserve punishment?” Later General Halleck wired the President: “I
respectfully recommend that Colonel Moore, 104th Illinois Volunteers,
be dismissed from the service for neglect of duty in not properly
preparing for the enemy’s attack on Hartsville, Tennessee.”
Afterwards Colonel Moore was allowed to resign on the ground of
disability after long imprisonment by the Confederates.

Meagre and exaggerated reports were spread among the Confederates
of the number of men that had reduced such a numerous company to
prisoners. The whole army with glad cheers along the line greeted the
return of the victors. Much was said of the cavalry, but the chiefest
and highest meed of praise was awarded to the infantry. In less
than thirty-six hours they had marched forty-five miles over trying
and difficult roads, had fought a battle, with their associates had
captured eighteen hundred prisoners and brought these back across an
almost impassable stream in the midst of fierce winter weather.

General Bragg, more or less phlegmatic, was moved to enthusiastic
praise. He tendered to General Morgan his thanks and assured him and
his troops of his unbounded admiration.

He said: “I take great pleasure in commending the endurance and
gallantry of all engaged in this remarkable expedition.” He predicted
that such valor and courage had before it higher and yet more
magnificent victories, and to appeal still more strongly to the pride
of those who had been engaged in this wonderful conflict, he ordered
that hereafter, upon the battle flags of all organizations which
had taken part in this battle, the name of “Hartsville” should be
emblazoned, to remind the world forever of the bravery, endurance,
enterprise and courage of those who had there won such great
distinction.




CHAPTER XI

WHEELER’S RAID INTO TENNESSEE, AUGUST, 1864


The tremendous exactions of the Confederate cavalry, in the summer
and fall of 1864, gave severest test of both their physical
resistance and their patriotism. Food for man and beast was reduced
to the minimum of existence. As food lessened, work increased, and
the dumb brutes felt more sorely than man the continual shortening of
rations.

In July official reports showed that for three days the cavalry of
General Wheeler received thirteen pounds of corn per horse. The
regular ration was ten pounds of corn and ten pounds of hay. As
against the amount experience had shown essential for maintaining
strength and vigor, the Confederate horsemen saw the beasts that
they loved even as their own lives cut to three and one-third pounds
of corn, just one-third of what nature demanded, outside of rough
provender, such as hay or oats. The horse could live, but that was
all. To put these starving beasts into active work, to exact of
them thirty miles a day, with an average of one hundred and eighty
pounds on their backs, was only to leave many of them stranded by the
roadside to die of starvation and neglect, or to be picked up by the
country folks with the hope that a ration of grass or leaves would,
in the course of months, bring them back to health.

The cavalryman often starved himself without complaint to help his
horse. When it comes to work with insufficient food, as between man
and brute, the man is the stronger. The spirit of the man, like
the air plant, extracts life from his surroundings and thus begets
a strength and virility to which the beast is a stranger. At this
period there was a little green corn found here and there, in the
patches planted by the women and children, who were fighting for life
in the rear of the army, where war’s relentless ravages had left for
beasts little but the air, a sprinkle of grass, the branches of the
trees, or the sprouts that had come up about the roots. These most
frequently were the largest part of the ration served the southern
cavalry horse. The men watched these animals grow weaker day by day,
and when corn was issued to the soldiers to be parched, they took a
small portion for themselves, and patting the noses of the mounts
with fondest touch, they would slip a part of their own food into the
mouths of the steeds they had learned to love as if they were human.

Western Confederate genius was now engaged in wrestling with the
destruction of Sherman’s lines of communication. It was one hundred
and fifty-two miles from Chattanooga, the real base of Sherman’s
supplies, to Atlanta. Bridges and trestles were numerous, and against
these again and again Confederate ingenuity exhausted its power and
its enterprise. Sherman was dreaming of a march to the sea. Hood,
who succeeded Johnston, was dreaming of flank movements and marches
to the rear, and while these leaders were figuring and counting the
cost, upon the cavalrymen was laid the heaviest burdens of conflict.
Former conditions had now been reversed. In the earlier stages
of the War, the Federals were chiefly solicitous to repel cavalry
incursions and raids, but now the Confederates were to swap jobs and
thwart Federal assaults on lines of communication. This put upon
the Confederates increased vigilance and demanded of them that they
should make military bricks without the straw necessary to their
manufacture.

The proper care of horses was now an important part of the martial
regime. If the men were thoughtless enough to overburden their
mounts, experience and necessity told the officers, responsible for
results, that these details must be watched, and higher authority
must intervene to protect the animals, now even as necessary as men
in the operations of the hour.

On August 9th, 1864, an order was issued looking to a most rigid
enforcement of this sane and wise regulation. No officer of any grade
or any soldier was allowed to carry any article outside of his gun
and his cartridge box, other than a single blanket and one oil cloth.
Naught but something to warm the body and protect the skin would be
tolerated, and once, every day on the march, inspection was a part
of every officer’s duty for the enforcement of this requirement.
Ordnance wagons, caissons and ambulances were subjected to the same
close scrutiny and the immediate destruction of all contraband was
the stern and irrevocable order of General Wheeler.

General Hood was feeling the constant and relentless pressure of
General Sherman around Atlanta. Wheeler and Forrest were his only
reliance to lessen the hold that was silently but surely throttling
the life of the Army of the Tennessee. Something must be done
to relieve this acute situation and to Wheeler and Forrest, Hood
appealed in the extreme hour asking if they could not cut off or
shorten Sherman’s supplies. If they could compel him to withdraw some
thousands of his men, there might yet be a chance. Without these, it
could only be a question of days, mayhap with good fortune, weeks.
No one could foretell what a brief span might bring forth, and so,
catching at faintest hope, these two wondrous cavalry soldiers were
to take another turn at the wheel.

It was believed by General Hood, and in this General Forrest
concurred, that if Wheeler could pass around Sherman’s army, tear up
the railroad north of Atlanta, then reaching to Chattanooga, force a
passage of the Tennessee River, swing around towards Knoxville and
thence down into Middle Tennessee and assail Nashville and wreck
the railroads between Nashville and Chattanooga, this, accompanied
by Forrest’s assailment of the lines in Western Tennessee and
Southwestern Kentucky, would, if it was within the lines of human
possibilities, loosen Sherman’s hold on Hood’s throat.

General Wheeler had concentrated four thousand men at Covington, Ga.,
forty miles south of Atlanta. The best horses were selected. They
were shod and fitted by every means at hand to enter upon one of the
most wearying marches of the War. They would perforce rely on some
captures of steeds. The Confederate cavalry never failed to count on
the United States government to supply a full share of their wants,
when thus in need. With the long, long tramps ahead, there were even
some dismounted men who resolved to go on this expedition, willing to
take the risk of capture, believing that the uncertainties of war and
the certainties of striking some loose Federal cavalry force would
stand them well in hand, and give them earth’s now richest treasure,
a horse. The warrior of old had cried out, “My kingdom for a horse,”
but these dejected and bereft horsemen were putting a higher value on
such a priceless gift, and were placing their lives in the balance,
to win, if mayhap they might win, the coveted prize.

General Hood had calculated that if Wheeler could safely trust to
capture food and ammunition, that surely he would break Sherman’s
line, and that inevitably Sherman must pay not only some, but much
heed to this active, devastating force in his rear.

No extended rations were allowed to go. A blanket and gum coat
blanket were all the baggage permitted except a loose horseshoe and
a frying pan. It required only the cooking of some water-softened
cornmeal, made into soggy bread, to supply immediate wants.

The Confederate horsemen had long since learned the full import
of the petition of the Lord’s prayer, “Give us this day our daily
bread.” He had shortened it up to say, “Give us one square meal”; and
he laid down on the wet or hard ground, covered his face with his
worn hat or tattered blanket, and let no thought of the next meal
disturb his dreamless sleep.

Starting on this long journey, General Wheeler swung eastwardly
to avoid, as far as possible, Federal interruption. In less than
twenty-four hours, he began to let his enemies know that he was in
the saddle. He struck the railroad near Marietta, Ga., and proceeded
to wreck it for miles. He and his followers were hungry. Their larder
was empty. They felt certain that Sherman’s supply trains were on
the march between Chattanooga and Atlanta. Their horses needed corn,
their bodies needed food, and they resolved to apply the old doctrine
of “He takes who may; he keeps who can.” A long train of cars was
captured, but men and their horses could not eat engines and cars.
Then came the comforting message, through friendly sympathizers,
that a long wagon train, well guarded, was on the highway a little
farther north. This glad news quickened hope and cheered body and
soul. A short distance away, a great vision crossed their gaze.
When it first stood out upon the horizon, the weary troopers rubbed
their eyes, pinched their tired limbs, to discover if they beheld a
mirage, or was it real things that loomed across their perspective.
The men first saw horses and mules, as if trees walking. The white
tops of the commissary schooners, led horses, trailing mules, and a
vast horde of driven beeves moving southward, headed for Sherman’s
headquarters, developed into a reality. The only drawback was men
in blue, some riding, many tramping alongside the wagons. All of
these carried guns, and they had special orders to kill all who
attempted to take these things from their custody. Necessity is a
great incentive, and the Confederates, with patriotism and hunger
impelling, without preliminary proceedings, made vigorous assault
on the custodians of what to those attacking was the equal of life
itself. The odds were against the Confederates, but these had so
much at stake that the issue could not long be doubtful. They went
after their enemies with such dash and determination that the guards
soon fled and left to them the possession of the wagons, the beeves,
the horses, the mules and great stores of good things to eat. The
cravings of nature were quickly met, but, as with hands full, riders
supplied their own bodies, bits were removed from the mouths of
the faithful steeds, and with greatest dispatch a bountiful supply
of shelled corn and oats was spread upon the ground before the
enraptured vision of the jaded steeds. The lowing, restless cattle
were corralled by the new masters. Doomed to an early death, it made
but little odds whether they fed men who were clad in blue or gray.

General Hannon, with a guard, soon herded the precious drove and its
course was promptly turned eastward to escape Federal interference.
The captors hoped to run the gauntlet of Federal pursuit and with
the glorious prize to bring gladness and relief to the hungry men
who, in and about Atlanta, with unfailing courage, were hanging on to
that citadel with the grim courage of a forlorn hope to save it from
capture and destruction.

These cattle and their guards, although vigorously pursued, with
favoring fortune escaped the imminent dangers about them and were
landed within the Confederate lines. They would yield more than
one million pounds of choice beef, thirty-five pounds for every
soldier in General Hood’s army. When these lowing beasts joined the
Confederate commissary, there was universal delight, and many joys
were added to those who so valiantly were defending the environed
citadel about which so much of Confederate faith was now centered.

Emboldened by his success, the Confederate chieftain now followed the
railroad, northward from Marietta. He was going over the ground with
which he became so familiar a few weeks before on Johnson’s retreat
from Dalton to Atlanta. No Federal foresight could stay the avenging
hand of the Confederate railway wreckers. Dalton, Sherman’s starting
point in the early days of May, was captured, and from Resaca to
that point, in many places the track was completely torn up. There
were Federals behind and Federals all about, but their presence did
not disturb the game little southern general and his men in gray.
Bridges, trestles, cattle guards, guns, ammunition, mules, horses,
were the things he had calculated to capture and destroy, and to this
work he bent all the energies of his willing and active followers. In
crossing the streams, the ammunition of every soldier was inspected
by officers and every man was compelled to tie his cartridge box
about his neck to prevent contact with water. The man, the horse, the
gun, the powder and ball must be kept in the best possible condition.
On these, combined, depended not only the safety of the command, but
the success of the campaign. A few sentences from General Wheeler’s
order of August 9th, 1864, will tell how stern was the demand for
the protection of the horses who were to carry their masters on this
strenuous march: “No soldier of any grade whatever will be permitted
to carry any article of private property, except one single blanket
and one oil cloth.” Officers and men alike were to share these
prevailing and bear these stringent exactions. There was no complaint
against these drastic regulations. Rarely, if ever, were these orders
disobeyed. With noblest patriotism and sublimest self-sacrifice, the
volunteers under Wheeler recognized the necessity of such a call and
there was no claim of self-denial and no call of physical privation
they were unwilling to face or endure, if they only might win their
country’s freedom and drive its enemies from its soil.

When marching out of Dalton, the Federal general, Steedman,
furiously assailed Wheeler’s command, but he was beaten off, and
a direct march was made on Chattanooga. This greatly alarmed the
Federal leader, and he hastened to the rescue of that stronghold;
and then General Wheeler, as if playing hide and seek, turned again
to Dalton, to which place he was in turn followed by Steedman,
only to find his wary enemy gone. These valuable days for Federal
repair of the railroad were thus consumed in fruitless marching
and countermarching, induced by General Wheeler’s strategy. This
interrupted the use of the railway for twelve days, and these two
hundred and eighty-eight hours meant much to Sherman’s one hundred
thousand followers, camped on the Chattahoochee. The exactions of
twelve months of war and alternate occupation of both armies had
depleted the country along the railway of all that could sustain man
or beast, and by the necessities for forage, General Wheeler was
compelled to leave this ravaged territory, and marched eastwardly
towards Knoxville. There he was sure of reaching supplies, and he
quickly turned his steps towards the valleys along the Tennessee
River above Chattanooga. Once before, he had crossed at Cottonport,
forty miles above that city; but when he came to the scene of his
former brilliant operations, floods filled the banks of the stream
and prevented a passage there. He resolved to follow the line of the
river towards Knoxville and search for some spot at which he might
swim or ferry over. Leaving six companies of thirty men each along
the railway to harass and alarm the Federals, with the remainder of
his troops he rode away. Those left behind gave a good account of
themselves. More than twenty loaded trains became victims of their
matchless daring, and it was some time before the enemy knew that
General Wheeler had moved his sphere of operations.

If one will take an enlarged map and start with a line beginning
at Covington, Georgia, forty miles south of Atlanta, where General
Wheeler concentrated his troops on August 10th, to begin this
expedition, and trace through all the journeyings of his command
for the next twenty-eight days, some idea can be obtained of the
tremendous energies and wonderful skill that marked this raid.
To make this ride without let or hindrance, within the period it
covered, with the animals and supplies possessed by Wheeler’s men,
would be considered a reasonable march; but encumbered with artillery
and ammunition wagons, the sick and wounded that always must follow
in the train of a cavalry incursion make the difficulties appalling.
Hidden dangers lurked on every side. The constant pursuit, as well
as the constant change in the Federal disposition of both cavalry
and infantry forces, rendered the game at all places and hours
distractingly uncertain, and only a leader of consummate energy,
combined with masterful skill, could hope to escape in safety
from such desperate and perilous complications. To make the most
conservative estimate of excursions from the main line of march would
require something like six hundred and fifty miles of riding on
this raid. No well-appointed commissary was present to feed man and
hungrier beast. These must live from hand to mouth and either take
food from the enemy or to impress it from people, loyal in most cases
to the South, and already so impoverished by war that starvation was
a real and ever present factor. In partisan warfare, soldiers do
not care much for the taking of even the necessaries of life from
those who oppose or do not sympathize with them; but to go into a
farmer’s barn lot and take his hay, corn and oats, shoot down his
hogs and cattle for food, and clean up his chicken coops, because you
are compelled to take these or starve yourself and your horse; and
knowing all the while the owner loves the cause and country for which
you are fighting, and probably his sons and relations are somewhere
out in the army contending for that which is dear to you and them, is
bound to create a profound sense of grief and sorrow and even shame
in any honorable soul. These takings of food from sympathizers often
leave in the hearts of true men bitter and more depressing memories
then the death and wounds on the battlefield, or the pathetic scenes
where comrades in the cheerless hospital are wrestling with disease
in a combat for life.

If General Wheeler and his men could not find and take from Federals
the things that were essential to life, then they were compelled to
despoil in the struggle for self-preservation their own friends and
countrymen.

There were but few soldiers in General Wheeler’s four thousand
men who rode out of Covington, Georgia, on August 10th, 1864,
who, as between the consequences of battle and the taking from
aged men, helpless women and dependent children their only food
supply, would not have gladly accepted the alternative of battle
with absolute cheerfulness and the chances it brought of death or
wounding. Two-thirds of the territory to be traversed was a friendly
country. In East Tennessee, Confederates found few supporters, or
well-wishers, and here the southern soldier was not disturbed about
discrimination; but Middle Tennessee and Northern Georgia were
almost unanimously loyal, and ever greeted the legions in gray with
smiles and benedictions, and so long as they had any surplus over
starvation’s rations, would gladly have shared it with the trooper
who followed Wheeler, Forrest or Morgan on their arduous rides.

In all this long march and hard campaign, there was not one day,
hardly one hour, in which there was not contact with the enemy.
The Federals appreciated, as well as the Confederates, what the
destruction of the railway between Atlanta and Chattanooga meant to
Sherman and his great army camped southward in Georgia. If forced by
lack of food and munitions of war to recede, it meant losing what had
cost a year’s vigorous campaigning and the waste of the thousands
of lives that in battle or by disease had been paid as the price of
winning the most important citadel of Georgia.

The twenty-four days, from August 10th to September 3rd, were
eventful days in the history of the army of the Tennessee. Sherman
sat down in front of Atlanta in July, and by slow degrees was
endeavoring by siege and starvation to drive General Hood away.
This proved a most difficult task. From Atlanta to Nashville was
two hundred and eighty-eight miles, and while Sherman might hammer
Hood’s lines south of Atlanta, Hood had most potential wreckers in
Forrest and Wheeler to operate on this three hundred miles, upon
one hundred and fifty-two of which, from Chattanooga to Atlanta, he
must rely for those things without which war could not be carried
on. Against this line of Sherman’s, the Confederate cavalry again
and again were hurled, always with tremendous effect. Now and then
they put Sherman and his men on half rations, and the ordnance
department counted their stores to calculate what might happen if
the pressure was not relieved. No phase of the war presented nobler
evidences of skill, great self-sacrifice or physical endurance, as
month after month, Wheeler and Forrest went out upon their errands of
destruction and waste. Over in Virginia, Stuart and Hampton grandly
met the conditions that faced them there. Across the Mississippi,
in Arkansas, Missouri and Texas, brave spirits were fearlessly
keeping up the conflict against ever-increasing odds; but along the
Mississippi, the Tennessee and the Cumberland were surroundings that
invoked a breadth of genius and a scope of operation that excited
wonder and admiration everywhere the story was told. The distance
here was so great, nature’s obstacles so pronounced, that those who
measured and calculated and mastered these, needed something almost
above the human to forecast and overcome.

The War, from 1861 to 1865, developed many problems that no soldier
in the past had ever faced. There were no experiences that the books
described that could fully guide the men in this department as to the
best means of harassing and defeating armies that came like Sherman’s.

For the special work that the time and place had cut out for the
South, Providence provided two men whose names must go down in human
history as superb examples of skill, daring, resource and patience,
which will always give them a proud place in the annals of war.
Whether we write Forrest and Wheeler, or Wheeler and Forrest, it
counts not. Different minds may gauge them differently, but at the
end, all who study what they did and how they did it, must set them
down as amongst the greatest soldiers of the world. Those who looked
upon their faces might not catch at once the splendor of their
powers. They were totally unlike in most of their physical makeup,
but when once the beholder looked into their eyes, the only safe
index to the soul and mind, there was in both of these remarkable
men something that at once challenged admiration and proclaimed
superiority. In both of their countenances, the Creator stamped
valor, intrepidity, self-confidence, individual force and genius
and power of achievement. To thus speak of these two extraordinary
men takes nothing from the achievements or talents of other great
southern cavalry leaders. Stuart, Hampton, Morgan, Marmaduke, Shelby
and many others filled their spheres with a luminosity that age
cannot dim. It may be that it is probably true that Forrest and
Wheeler would have failed when Stuart, Hampton and Morgan won. Each
takes, by his performance, an exalted place in the resplendent
galaxy of the South’s heroic world. One cannot be judged sharply by
the other. There was so much that was brave, skillful and intrepid
in them all, that the pen of criticism, by way of comparison,
falls paralyzed by the wonder, love and admiration for the various
achievements of these military prodigies.

Even during the last days of the War, men who wrote rather than
fought, attempted to draw comparisons between the cavalry leaders
and what they had accomplished; but the hour for this is now forever
gone, and they who love the South and its precious memories sit and
gaze in rapture and astonishment at what all and any of these men,
with such meager resources, were able to accomplish in those days
of darkness and trial, and what the men who followed the stars and
bars were doing and daring so constantly in their struggle with an
opposing destiny, to win a nation’s crown for the Confederate States.

Some say that Wheeler’s raid through Northern Georgia, into Middle
and Eastern Tennessee, in the last days of August and the first days
of September, 1864, is a performance so unique and marvelous that it
takes a place in history by itself.

Others point to Forrest’s raid into Middle Tennessee, which,
succeeding that of General Wheeler, sets a mark on such campaigns
that none other ever reached; but those who love Morgan, with the
pride of his great achievements, point to Hartsville and the
Christmas raid of 1862 as the most remarkable achievement of the
great performances of southern cavalry. Another voice speaks of
Stuart’s Chickahominy raid and of his ride from Chambersburg to
the Potomac, and the Battle of Fleetwood Hill (Brandy Station) as
overshadowing all other cavalry triumphs, while others call to mind
Hampton’s cattle raid, his Trevilian Station battle and campaign
with his jaded mounts, and cry out, “Here is the acme of cavalry
successes”; but when we recall what all of these men and their
chivalrous followers accomplished for the renown and glory of a
nation whose life span was only four years, the human mind is dazzled
with the wealth and extent of the glorious memories that gather about
the pages which tell of southern cavalry achievement, service and
fame.

When General Wheeler, on the 28th day of August, marched up almost
to the gates of Nashville and terrified its defenders, he carried
with him a motley crowd. The brigades of General Williams and General
Anderson had not returned to General Wheeler. They moved east and
did incalculable service for the cause in saving the salt works,
in Southwestern Virginia, upon which the people and the armies of
the Confederacy, west of the Mississippi River, depended for salt,
which, next to bread, was the staff of life. But the defection,
whether wise or unwise, reduced General Wheeler’s force, already
scant enough, to only two thousand men, and thereby imperilled the
success of the incursion and threatened the destruction of General
Wheeler’s entire command, which at that time would have proven an
irreparable loss to Hood’s army. The rise in the Tennessee River had
forced General Wheeler to extend his line far east of where he had
intended originally to go. These unexpected currents carried him
miles beyond Knoxville and out of his chosen path, and the detour
south and east of Knoxville to cross the rivers greatly stayed the
work of wrecking the railroads between Nashville and the South. Once
he was over the Tennessee and its tributaries, the Holston and the
French Broad, General Wheeler turned his face westward. The country
through which he was to march was in some parts unfriendly. At
Clinton, Kingston and other points on his way, he found scattered
Federal camps and supplies, but what he needed most now was horses.
He had come three hundred miles, and three hundred more must he
traverse before he could draw a long breath or be sure that he
could, without disaster, reach General Hood’s quarters. Day by day,
his beasts became more jaded. No animal, which could carry a man,
was left behind, and what could not be taken from the enemy must be
impressed from friend or foe along the road which he was passing. The
extra shoe or pair of horseshoes with which every prudent cavalryman
provides himself, where it is possible, when starting on these
marches, had in most cases been exhausted. The company farrier or
the comrade who could put on a horseshoe loomed up as the noblest
benefactor of the hour. Some were already dismounted. Love, money and
force were all beginning to be powerless to mount those who composed
the columns. Then, too, ammunition was getting very scarce, and the
few cartridges which now rattled in the partly emptied cartridge
boxes were constant warnings to the commander to seek his base of
operations. All these things spoke to General Wheeler with forceful
emphasis, but he also remembered his work was not fully done. The
long detour around Knoxville had changed his march, but it had not
changed his plan or his purpose, and he could not be satisfied
until he grappled again with the railroads which supplied Sherman
and put out of commission some more bridges, trestles and cars and
supply stations south of Nashville. The road by Sparta, McMinnville,
Lebanon, Murfreesboro and intervening places was long, rough and
rocky. It proved very trying to the speechless beasts who had now
marched, counting the detours, an average of over thirty miles a day.
The men had done the fighting, but the beasts had done the carrying,
and the beasts in these raids always got the worst of it. The way
home was not distressingly: beset with enemies until the vicinity of
Nashville would be reached, but there was a sufficient sprinkle of
foes to keep the southern riders aware that they were engaged in war,
and no twenty-four hours passed without some evidence of the presence
of the Federals. The march around Knoxville had mystified the Federal
leaders. They were as surprised as General Wheeler that he had gone
so far east, but now that he had turned north and westward, none
had wisdom enough to prophesy where he would turn up in the very
near future. General Wheeler had a wide, wide territory before him.
He might strike in north of Nashville and pass around through West
Tennessee, or he might follow the Louisville & Nashville Railroad
north and destroy that great artery of commerce. Whither he would
go, none could even guess, and when Grant at Washington, and Sherman
at Atlanta, pleaded for some tidings of the aggressive Confederate
and begged to know whither he had gone, the men watching Middle and
East Tennessee could only answer, “We cannot tell where he is or into
what place he will come.” As the posts became scarcer General Wheeler
traveled the harder, and he soon put in an appearance at Sparta and
then at McMinnville, the last only sixty miles from Nashville. He was
getting close to the danger line. At this juncture, General Wheeler’s
difficulties began to greatly enlarge. His fighting men, with the
loss of Williams and Anderson, had been cut down, even with several
hundred of recruits, to twenty-five hundred men.

On the 30th of August, he made a stirring patriotic appeal for every
able-bodied man to flock to his standard. He pointed out what Georgia
was doing in demanding the services of every male from seventeen to
sixty-five, and he pleaded with all who could fight or were willing
to fight, to gather under his standard and to go to the help of their
fellow-Tennesseans, who, down at Atlanta, were meeting every call
unreservedly and rendering every service to stay the tide of conquest.

This appeal did not fall on deaf or unresponsive ears. Two thousand
came to join Wheeler and hundreds more to take place with other
commands, and almost a mob followed his line of march. Some of them
brought guns, most all of them horses, but twenty-five hundred men
were to do the fighting for this unorganized host. Only twenty-five
hundred could fight, but they could and all must eat, and the
impoverished country could not maintain this hungry throng. A supply
for all of these could only find sustenance in Federal storehouses,
and to these General Wheeler turned his attention, ever keeping in
mind that under all the pressure about him, he had come to harass
and distress his foes, and this must not be omitted. Forcing his
way northwardly from McMinnville to Lebanon, thirty miles west of
Nashville, his enemies became almost desperate, and the commandant
at Gallatin, twelve miles from Lebanon, burned up a great supply
of stores and hastily decamped. Several other stations joined in
this move for safety. Of what was ahead of him, General Wheeler had
no accurate news. On a straight line, he was nearly three hundred
miles from Hood, and if the pace became desperate, Hood in the
end must become his best backer outside of his own gallant and
intrepid followers. Cutting in behind Murfreesboro, thirty miles
south of Nashville, with apparent indifference to consequences, he
turned sharply to the north again and came up within eight miles of
Nashville, and with his pickets in sight of the spires and smoke,
he began to wreck the railroad leading to Chattanooga. The Federals
did not appear to know just where the bold leader was and they did
not care where he went if he kept out of Nashville, but in the very
shadow of its domes, he set his wreckers to work demolishing the
line which meant so much to Sherman. These experienced destroyers
made haste in their work of ruin. Moving southward, they left savage
marks to tell of their presence, and the burning ties and twisted
iron informed the onlooker that experienced men were engaged in this
mission. General Wheeler had only occasion to keep out of the path
of large forces. Stockades were exempt, except where their occupants
had fled, and for seventy miles south of Nashville, the wrecking went
vigorously on. Rousseau, Steedman and Granger, who were managing the
watch for Sherman, either did not know where Wheeler actually was or
they did not appear overly anxious to stop his progress. Following
the Tennessee & Alabama Railroad for seventy miles with leisurely
movements, General Wheeler, seemingly regardless of his foes,
pursued his appointed way to a position north of Florence, Alabama.
General Wheeler’s audacity apparently paralyzed the efforts of his
pursuers. At Franklin, they had forced some sharp fighting, and here
the chivalrous major general, John H. Kelly, fell. Rarely did the
South, with its transcendent oblations on the altar of freedom, make
nobler offering than this gifted army officer. A graduate of West
Point, endowed with great military genius and burning with unbounded
patriotism, few men with his opportunities did more for the South
than he. In the full tide of a magnificent and brilliant career, he
died, leading his men on to battle. Trusted and loved by General
Wheeler, he had learned his leader’s methods and, like him, always
went to the front, and when it was necessary to inspire and enthuse
his command, he led them in every assault upon the lines of their
foes. It was in such work he fell.

Recruits, wagon trains, ambulances and wagons filled with wounded,
dismounted men and broken down steeds, were the constant reminder to
General Wheeler of the dangers of his perilous retreat. About him,
all these disturbing difficulties and dangers momentarily stared him
in the face. Behind him, vigorous foes were many times pressing his
rear guard. What forces might be moved by the Federals to block his
path, he could not foresee, but over and above all these disturbing
complications, the Confederate leader, weighing not more than one
hundred and thirty pounds, sat in his saddle, calm, self-possessed
and fearless, awaiting with a brave heart and an undisturbed soul all
that fate could bring across his path. He felt that with the brave
men about him, war could bring no conflict and present no experiences
from which he could not, with credit to his chivalrous command,
emerge without defeat and destruction, and in which he would not
punish his enemies and give them experiences that would cause them
to regret that they had ever assailed his followers or disputed his
pathway.

On this great raid, one hundred and twenty dead and wounded was all
toll that the God of War exacted of General Wheeler’s forces. He
compelled General Sherman to send more than twelve thousand men to
the help of his commands. He had destroyed the use of one of the
railroads on which the Federals relied for twelve days, the other for
thirty days, put General Sherman’s forces on half rations and created
in his army a dread and apprehension that did much to help depress
their activities and awaken doubts as to the final outcome of the
conflict for Atlanta.




CHAPTER XII

JOHNSONVILLE RAID AND FORREST’S MARINE EXPERIENCES, NOVEMBER, 1864


October and November, 1864, covered the most successful and
aggressive period of General Forrest’s remarkable exploits. Volumes
could be written describing the details of his marvellous marches
and his almost indescribable triumphs with the means and men at
his command. From August 23rd to October 15th, 1864, his capture
of Athens, Alabama, the expedition into middle Tennessee, the
destruction of the Tennessee and Alabama railway, the capture of
Huntsville, destruction of the Sulphur trestles, the battle at
Eastport, had presented an array of experiences and won victories
enough to make him and his men heroes for the years to come. Within
these fifty-three days the actual and incidental losses inflicted
upon the Federals cannot be fully estimated. He had killed and
captured thirty-five hundred men and officers of the Federal Army,
added nine hundred head of horses to his equipment, captured more
than one hundred and twenty head of cattle, one hundred wagons
and their supplies, and possessed himself of three thousand stand
of small arms and stores for his commissary ordnance and medical
supplies, which made glad the hearts of his hungry, ill-clad and
debilitated followers.

Six long truss bridges had fallen before his relentless destroyers,
one hundred miles of railroad had been completely wrecked, two
locomotives, with fifty freight cars, had been demolished, thousands
of feet of railway trestles, some of sixty feet in height, had been
hewn down and given over to flames, to say naught of hundreds of
thousands of other property essential to Federal occupation. He had
caught up one thousand men in Middle Tennessee for his own command
and enabled six hundred men who had either straggled or been cut off
from General Wheeler when he had raided the same territory a short
while before to come out to the commands. It had cost Forrest three
hundred men and officers, killed or wounded. Some of his bravest
and best had died on the expedition. Many of them were men whose
places could now never be filled, but according to the economics of
war, the price paid was not too great for the results obtained. He
had traversed over five hundred miles and left a savagely marked
trail of ravage and destruction wherever he had come. Not a day was
without some sort of contact with the enemy, and every hour was
full of danger and peril, demanding ceaseless vigilance and wariest
care. On January 13th, 1864, a new Department styled “Forrest’s
Cavalry Department” was organized out of West Tennessee and Northern
Mississippi. Hardly had the new year been ushered in when the Federal
Government, with ten thousand well-equipped and well-drilled cavalry,
undertook to force a way down from Memphis to Meridian, taking in
some of the Confederate strongholds like Pontotoc, Okolona, Columbus
Junction and Macon, a distance of two hundred and fifty miles, to end
at Macon. General Sherman was to move from Vicksburg with an army
of twenty thousand troops. Co-operation of the cavalry was deemed of
the greatest importance. To lead these horsemen, William Sooy Smith,
not only a great engineer, but a successful soldier, was placed in
command. Telegraphic communication had been opened between Vicksburg
and Memphis, so that it was hoped these forces, thus co-operating,
might keep in touch with each other. General Sherman made good his
march to Meridian, playing havoc with railroad connections and
other property in Mississippi. General Smith however failed to keep
his engagement. He had been delayed in starting, until the 11th of
February, from his rendezvous, Colliers Station, twenty-five miles
southeastward from Memphis. He waited here for Colonel George E.
Waring, who had been instructed to come from Columbus, Kentucky, with
another brigade, under orders to unite with General Smith. Waring
left Columbus with several thousand cavalry, and with the best arms
of that period, and what was considered at that time amongst the
most thoroughly furnished cavalry forces that had ever gone from
the Federal lines. General Smith had informed General Sherman that
Forrest would strike him somewhere in Northern Mississippi between
Cold and Tallahatchee Rivers. After his invasion of West Tennessee,
General Forrest had been enabled to get together four brigades under
General Richardson, Colonel McCullough, General Tyree H. Bell and
General Forrest’s brother, Jeffrey E. Forrest. The Confederates
were not inactive, and they prepared to offer strongest resistance
to General Smith. The State Militia, under General Gholson, were
brought into line. Smith marched for several days unhindered, and
the absence of Confederate forces impressed him that it would not
be long before he would come in contact with Forrest. Northwestern
Mississippi was a great prairie country, producing the most grain of
any section of the Southwest. When the Federals reached West Point,
Mississippi, there were unmistakable signs of battle. There General
Smith learned that three Forrests were about, General Nathan Bedford,
Colonel Jeffrey E., and Captain William, and investigation disclosed
that the number of men with Forrest was about two thousand. General
Smith had now traveled half way from Memphis to Meridian, and Sherman
was waiting and watching for Smith’s coming. General Forrest had
studiously circulated reports magnifying the number of men under his
command. By the 21st of February, Smith felt that the impending blow
was about to fall. He hesitated and was lost. He turned back, and
Forrest’s hour of advantage had come. Colonel Waring in his book,
“Whip and Spur,” of this moment speaks as follows: “No sooner had we
turned tail than Forrest saw his time had come, and he pressed us
seriously all day and until nightfall.” The retrograde movement was
just commenced when Jeffrey Forrest’s orders were to fall in after
Captain Tyler’s battalion and to assail the Federal rear at every
chance. Pursuit was vigorous and active, and General Smith’s retreat
became almost a stampede. It was in one of these charges that Colonel
Jeffrey E. Forrest, commanding a brigade, the younger brother of
General Forrest, was killed. For over sixty miles, night and day, a
relentless pursuit was kept up. Forrest had four thousand men that
were new troops. A majority of them had seen service less than six
weeks. They were hardy men but mostly untrained soldiers, but they
prided themselves that they were the equals of any veterans.

By the time General Smith reached Memphis he had more of a mob than
an army. There was practically no organization left and it was almost
a case of everybody for himself and devil take the hindmost. Not
two weeks had elapsed since, in the pride of strength and full of
ambitious hopes, they had set out to cripple and destroy Forrest,
and now, with less than fourteen days to their credit as avengers
and destroyers, they came, humiliated by reverses, scattered in
fright, and with no signs of victory on their colors. Their leaders
could make but little excuse for their ignominious failure, and the
only chance to palliate or mitigate defeat was to magnify General
Forrest’s army that had at first stood them at bay and then, with
pitiless pursuit, had driven them to the place from whence they had
started with such dazzling dreams of glory and triumph.

This expedition disposed of, Forrest began at once to cut out new
work. There were no furloughs for him. War in his mind was constant,
ceaseless activity. The scarcity of horses and ammunition as well as
clothing was a constant charge upon Forrest’s energies. He could not
get from the Confederate quartermaster or commissary what he most
needed, and far out on the front he could not wait for transportation
even if the Confederates had the essential things. In the Federal
Army and outposts he always found an unfailing supply of those things
his men must have to faithfully fight.

Three regiments of Kentuckians, about this period, were sent over to
help General Forrest, and they were fully up to his high standard of
fighters. They only numbered seven hundred men after the decimation
of three years in infantry, but they proved a most valuable asset.
None of his men were more dependable. Buford, Lyon, Faulkner, Hale,
Thompson, Tyler and Crossland could always be counted on for gallant
leadership, and the men under them were never averse to fighting
at the closest range. These men needed clothing. The Government
had given them poor mounts, some of them had rope bridles, with no
saddles. They used blankets as a substitute and now and then rode for
a while bareback, until they drew from the Federal commissary, by
force, what they needed. Up in Kentucky, if any good horses were left
after impressment from both sides, these Kentucky boys would surely
find them. As for clothing, that would come in far greater quantities
than would be desired, and sight of home faces and home places would
make them stronger for the subsequent work at Bryce’s Cross Roads,
Harrisburg and Johnsonville, and other conflicts, where only highest
courage could avail.

Then, too, the Tennesseans, who had come from the northwestern part
of the State, also needed mounts and uniforms, and they longed to see
what the sad ravages of war had done for their homes and kindred in
that part of the South where the cauldron of pillage and bloodshed
seemed ever to be seething.

General Forrest reorganized his command into four brigades, and on
the 12th day of April Fort Pillow was taken. A year before this,
General Forrest had penetrated a considerable distance into Kentucky
and had captured a number of posts and looked askance at Fort Pillow.
This was deemed a valuable possession, it was used not only for the
defense of the river, but as a recruiting place for fugitive slaves.
The story of Fort Pillow has been told so often that it need not be
repeated here. The loss of Federals was supposed to be five hundred
killed and an equal number captured. Forrest’s loss was twenty
killed and sixty wounded. Fort Pillow was considered remarkable
among cavalry achievements. Forrest, with a few untrained soldiers,
had accomplished and won this great victory and given his foes new
reasons for animosity. Much, very much has been written and spoken
about Fort Pillow. It became a name with which to conjure the colored
troops, and through it abuse was so heaped upon General Forrest as to
create the impression that he was a brutal, ferocious and merciless
monster. The Federal Congress set afoot an investigation, but
Forrest’s defense from the calumnies heaped upon him satisfied his
friends, if it did not convince his enemies.

The character and antecedents of the garrison had much to do with
the events of the histories connected with its capture. Renegade
Tennesseans and fugitive slaves comprised the larger part of its
defenders. The white men there had perpetrated many wrongs and
outrages upon the defenseless families of the Tennesseans under
Forrest. Great numbers of his men had come from the regions where
these hideous wrongs had been inflicted. Feeling was high on both
sides. Human passions had been thoroughly aroused in Confederate and
Federal hearts, and both sides were rejoiced at a chance to “have it
out.” Neither side went into the conflict looking for any signs of
surrender, and had the Confederates changed places, they would have
fared no better than those they defeated and captured. But the fall
of the Fort was a great windfall to General Forrest, and while it
increased the hate of his foes, it detracted nothing from his renown
and fame amongst his own people.

Many Federal generals had tried their hand with Forrest only to
meet failure. William Sooy Smith had lost, and General Stephen A.
Hurlbut had also failed. General C. C. Washburn had taken his place
and then Samuel D. Sturgis came and then Bryce’s Cross Roads. Later
followed the Confederate defeat at Harrisburg, which for awhile
saddened Forrest’s heart. Wounded shortly after this battle, General
Forrest was forced to ride in a buggy with his torn foot lifted up
so as to cause him the least pain. It was persistently rumored that
he had died of lockjaw, and there would have been no tears among
the Federals if this had turned out to be true. By the beginning of
August, General Forrest had recovered from his wounds sufficiently
to enable him to enter upon one of his greatest exploits. Riding
into the heart of Memphis, he caused Generals Washburn, Buchland
and Hurlbut to flee from their beds at night and seek safety in the
forts around the city. General Washburn’s uniform and effects were
captured, but he managed to escape. General Washburn sought to lay
the blame for this successful and marvelous feat upon General A. J.
Smith. Under all the circumstances, Forrest’s raid into Memphis was
admittedly amongst the most brilliant and daring cavalry exploits
of the war. That two thousand men should avoid the cities in which
the Federal garrisons were quartered, pass them by, travel a hundred
miles, and then rush into the city of Memphis, make good their escape
with an embarrassing contingent of supplies and prisoners, up to that
time had few if any parallels.

The tremendous power and efficacy of the methods of General Forrest
had at last been realized, and the Government at Richmond resolved to
turn Forrest loose upon Sherman, in connection with General Richard
Taylor, who had command of the department of the Mississippi. General
Taylor, sympathizing with Forrest in his style of fighting, on the
16th day of September, 1864, set him afloat for twenty-one days’
operations on the rear of the enemy. Forrest’s entry into Memphis had
caused A. J. Smith’s army to return to that city and had temporarily
withdrawn a large and threatening force from Mississippi. Up to
that time General Taylor had never seen Forrest. He described him
as a tall, stalwart man with grayish hair, kindly countenance and
slow of speech. Nature made General Forrest a great soldier. With
opportunities for the development of his marvelous genius, there
could have been no limit to his performances.

On the 16th day of September, Forrest started from Verona,
Mississippi, with three thousand five hundred and forty-two effective
men. He undertook to cross the Tennessee River at Newport, where
boats had been provided. The artillery, ordnance and wagons were
crossed at Newport, but Forrest waded the river at Colbert Shoals.
Chalmers commanded one division and Buford the other. Reinforcements
now joined Forrest, which made four thousand five hundred soldiers,
four hundred of which, however, were dismounted and were following
on foot with the expectation of capturing mounts during the raid.
These hardy men were glad, by walking and many times running, to be
allowed to join the expedition. A horse was the most desirable of all
earthly possessions. They were hesitant at no fatigue and hardship
which led them to a mount. Those who went with Forrest well knew they
would at some point be sure of a captured beast. They all had some
friend who would ride and tie with them. Here and there, on some
short stretch of good road, they might when nobody was looking get a
lift in an ammunition wagon. Then, too, they could escape the slush
and mud in the bespattered road, and trotting alongside the fences
or passway, they would find it no great task to keep even with the
artillery and heavily loaded horses, unless when the haste of battle
or the rush of pursuit quickened the pace of the advancing column.
Life was worthless to a cavalryman under the great leaders of the
Confederate troopers if he had no horse, and thus these nervy men
for days followed the expedition, with unfailing faith that in a
reasonable time General Forrest would at least give them a sufficient
chance with their enemies to enable them to forage upon the Federal
Government for the much needed steed. None who ever witnessed these
dismounted battalions marching on foot to the scenes of devastation
and battle could fail to be impressed with the power of the human
will or the strenuosity of the human body under the impulse of war’s
hopes and calls.

At this time there was a railroad which ran from Nashville,
Tennessee, to Decatur, Alabama, called the Alabama and Tennessee
Railroad. This had been a feeder for Federal commissary and
general supplies, and General Forrest undertook to destroy it.
The Confederates had not been expected. Athens, Alabama, was the
first Federal stronghold to fall. Forrest’s presence had never been
suspected until his troops were in sight of the place. It surrendered
without contest. Nine hundred prisoners were captured at Athens.
This invasion of Forrest stayed for a little while Sherman’s great
march to the sea. From Pulaski, Tennessee, General Forrest moved to
the Nashville & Chattanooga Railroad. He reported that the enemy had
concentrated at least ten thousand men on the 27th of September, and
on the 28th he began to play havoc with the railroad at Fayetteville
and Tullahoma. The Federal forces, under the direction of General
Sherman, were concentrated in the hope of capturing Forrest. General
Sherman telegraphed that he could take care of the line between
Atlanta and Chattanooga, but the line from Nashville to Chattanooga
must be protected by others. The rage of Forrest’s enemies was
evidence enough to convince the men of the South that he had done his
work well. At that time General Sherman telegraphed to General Grant
on the 29th of September, in which he said, speaking of Forrest, “His
cavalry will travel 100 miles in less time than ours will travel
10.” He also said, “I can whip his infantry, but his cavalry is to
be feared.” Again he telegraphed to General Elliott, chief of the
cavalry department of the Cumberland, “Our cavalry must do more, for
it is strange that Forrest and Wheeler should encircle around us
thus. We should at least make 10 miles to his 100.”

On the 1st of October, on this raid, Forrest reached Spring Hill,
twenty-six miles from Nashville. So far no reverses. The time had
come now for General Forrest to escape. On the 3rd of October, with
all possible speed, to avoid the Federal columns, he marched south,
reaching Florence, Alabama, where he had forded the river two weeks
before, but now it was swollen and could no longer be passed. At
this point, in what would be considered almost a crisis, Forrest was
compelled to carry a thousand of his men out to an island in the
Tennessee River, which was filled with an impenetrable growth of cane
and timber of all kinds, and hide his boats behind the island, while
the enemy was still watching to prevent his troops from crossing.
General Forrest, in speaking of this wonderful expedition, said, “I
captured 86 commissioned officers, 67 government employees, 1,274
non-commissioned officers and privates and 933 negroes, and killed
and wounded 1,000 more, making an aggregate of 3,360, being an
average of one to each man I had in the engagements.” He further
says, “I captured 800 horses, 7 pieces of artillery, 2,000 stands of
small arms, several hundred saddles, 50 wagons and ambulances with a
large amount of medical, commissary and quartermaster’s stores, all
of which have been distributed to the different commands.”

Now a still greater victory and a new departure in military work was
to mark the closing months of 1864, in which General Forrest acted
with an independent command. Towards the end of the war, Memphis
became a center of the most important operations. The Mississippi was
always open and it gave entrance into the grain fields of the West
and through the Ohio, the Missouri, the Wabash and the White Rivers,
and put at the service of the Federal Army abundant supplies of food
and raiment.

The Tennessee River, the fifth largest stream in the United States,
like the New River, is one of the marvels of nature. Rising far up
in the mountains, close to the Virginia line, it pushes its way
southwardly through Tennessee, swinging around into Alabama, as if by
some capricious fancy, it changes its direction and then turns north
about four hundred and fifty miles to its mouth, where it mingles its
waters with those of the Ohio, _sixty_ miles above its union with
the Mississippi. After leaving Alabama, pursuing its course within
fifty miles of the Father of Waters, it appears to be reluctant to
reinforce that stream with which it runs parallel for hundreds of
miles. It would appear according to reason and nature that it should
again have veered to the west and effected its connection with the
Mississippi, but as if wishing to defy this mighty stream, it still
moves onward and northward. It comes then within two miles of the
Cumberland, which is fed by the waters from the mountains close to
where the Tennessee River has its source, and then, as if running a
race with the Cumberland, it flows along parallel with that stream
and, at last, wearied by its tortuous journeys for nine hundred
miles, at Paducah it mingles its waters with those of the Ohio, and
these in turn pass westward and reach the Mississippi at Cairo.

About one hundred and fifty miles from Memphis, on the Tennessee
River, was a little town called Johnsonville, and at that time it was
at the head of the navigable part of the Tennessee River. To that
point the larger boats could most always come and it was a great
depot for supplies, and in an emergency these might be carried over
to Nashville or Memphis, as either one or the other might require.

Forrest was beginning now fully to recover from the effects of the
loss of the troops he trained in the earlier months of the war.
Successful beyond all question in cavalry service, he had again
gathered about him a corps of almost invincible men. His new recruits
and such soldiers as were reimbued with patriotic impulses, after
having left the army when it abandoned Tennessee, by Forrest’s coming
into West Tennessee, cheerfully returned to the post of duty and
under the impulse of Forrest’s success, and the love and courage with
which he impressed all who once saw him enter battle. The ranks of
depleted skeleton regiments were partially filled, and the commanders
of these new organizations had now, under Forrest’s eye and control,
learned how he deemed it wisest to fight, and they were ready to do
and dare all that his impetuous valor required, or his marvelous
skill as a leader pointed out as the true way to carry on war under
the conditions that then existed in his department.

He had now a division of more than four thousand men. He felt sure
he could trust them in all emergencies, and he was eager and willing
to put them to the highest test, and he undertook at this period
what will always be considered as a remarkable cavalry foray, the
expedition to Johnsonville, Tennessee.

Before undertaking this arduous work, Forrest had pleaded for a
furlough. This had been promised, but an emergency arose which
neither he nor General Taylor could foresee or control, and it became
impossible for him to be absent even for a brief while; and so
Chalmers and his division were directed to report to General Forrest
at Jackson, Tennessee, on the 16th day of October.

General Forrest and General Dick Taylor were kindred spirits. Their
relations were most happy and pleasant. They were men who fought
the same way and thought the same way, and Taylor recognized the
greatness of Forrest and fully understood that he did best when left
to his own devices.

On October 12th, 1864, Forrest telegraphed Chalmers, commander of
one division, “Fetch your wagons and the batteries with you. I will
supply you with artillery ammunition at Jackson.” Buford was ordered
to take up his line of march for Lexington, a short distance from
the Tennessee River, where Forrest had crossed in his December,
1862, expedition. Gun boats and transports were being moved along
the Tennessee River. These could go a little south of Chattanooga,
and the line of communication had been protected and held open from
the river to General Sherman and his men. Forrest had resolved to
destroy some of these gunboats and capture some of the transports. He
needed some new guns, the clothing, shoes, arms and ammunition of his
troopers needed replenishment and, too, he had a conviction that he
could enact such scenes on the Tennessee as would disquiet Sherman at
Atlanta and by imperiling the river transportation, and destroying
the railroads north of Chattanooga, he could bring Sherman, by sheer
starvation, out of Georgia. It was a splendid conception, and could
the Confederacy have sent Forrest on one line and General Wheeler on
the other, it would have stopped or delayed the march to the sea, and
prolonged the war another year. Optimists said, it might bring final
victory to the banners of the Southland.

On this Johnsonville raid, as often before, he marched with such
tremendous rapidity and covered his movements so thoroughly that the
enemy knew nothing of either his plans or his positions, until far
up in Tennessee they felt the touch of his avenging powers. He had
parked batteries at Paris Landing and Fort Heiman on the Tennessee
River, and his men began to wait for the unsuspecting Federals before
his foes had an inkling of what he really intended to do. He struck
the river about forty miles above Johnsonville. The two batteries
were five miles apart. He knew what all his enemies were doing,
but they caught naught of where he had gone, or was going. Like a
great beast of prey, he hid along the river banks in the cane and
undergrowth, watching and waiting for his victims to cross his path,
or to come his way. A vast majority of the people of West Tennessee
were intensely loyal to the South, and it was only here and there
that Federal persuasion could win from a native any facts about the
movements of any Confederate force. News about Federal movements was
always accessible to Forrest’s scouts, who knew accurately every
road and by-way of this entire region. It was one hundred and fifty
miles to Memphis where a large Federal force was stationed, but
none passed Forrest’s line to carry tidings of his doings, and when
Forrest’s guns opened on the transports and gunboats on the river,
north of Johnsonville, it was a most startling revelation to the
Federals of the ubiquitous movements of the Confederate chieftain.
The Federal generals knew he was loose somewhere, but they had
no power of divining where he might break out to terrorize their
garrisons and destroy their railroads or depots of supplies. Forrest,
Wheeler, Hampton, Stuart and Morgan had the most efficient scouts
that ever kept an army informed of an enemy’s movements. Forrest’s
territory for operation was larger than that of any of these other
leaders, and he never once failed, thanks to the courage, daring and
intelligence of his scouts to know just how many they were and just
where he would find his foes.

A grateful people will some day build a monument to these daring and
successful purveyors of information, who deserve a very large share
in the splendid victories and triumphs of the Confederate cavalry.
The South may never know their names, but the world will some day
fairly and justly measure what they were in the campaigns which will
live forever amongst the most brilliant of military exploits.

Forrest was playing a great game. He had taken big risks and was
figuring on tremendous stakes. In the night time he made all
necessary dispositions. His scouts had told him that boats were
coming and Forrest was glad, for he had come for boats. The
Confederates had waited both patiently and impatiently all the night
long. Patiently, because they felt sure of their prey; impatiently,
for they anxiously desired to feed upon the good things the vessels
contained, and also because they had made a long and trying march
and, tiger-like, they were ready to spring upon the victim. It
was chilly and raw. It had been raining heavily off and on during
the past week. The river bottoms, or even the hill tops, were not
comfortable places in October without fire, and these things, added
to the excitement that preceded great actions, made the Confederate
troopers long for the coming of the rising sun. There was something
in the very surroundings that gave portent of great deeds and
glorious triumphs on the morrow, when they should be sent forth on
their mission, and it was difficult to repress, even amidst their
depressing environments, the enthusiasm which they felt sure must
break forth in the inevitable happenings of the next twenty-four
hours.

Early in the morning of October 29th, the _Mazeppa_, a splendid
steamboat, laden with freight, and two barges which she was towing
to Johnsonville, came around the great bend of the Tennessee River.
The sections of artillery had been posted some distance apart on the
river. Passing the lower one, the boatmen discovered its presence
only to find themselves between the two hostile batteries. Both were
turned loose and in a few minutes the boat was crippled and the pilot
headed for the shore. She was abandoned, and the crew in wild dismay
found refuge in the woods along the banks. The immediate trouble was
that the Confederates were on the opposite side from the stranded
steamer. In this crisis, a valiant Confederate, Captain T. Gracy of
the 3rd Kentucky, came to the rescue, and although the water was
chilling and the current swift, he strapped his revolver around his
neck, mounted on a piece of driftwood, and with a board for a paddle,
propelled himself across the stream. Keeping true to the instincts of
the sailor, the pilot refused to desert his care, and he surrendered
to the naked captain who had so bravely crossed the stream. This was
probably, in some respects, the richest capture that Forrest had
ever made, and his soldiers began to unload the cargo and carry it
away from the river bank to a place where it might be watched and
preserved until it could be taken away.

The Federal gunboats got the range on the _Mazeppa_ and opened such
a heavy fire that its new captors were glad to consign the boat to
the flames, while they energetically packed and hauled its precious
contents to places so far inland that the guns of these sea fighters
could not find the places of hiding.

A little while and another large steamer, the _J. W. Cheeseman_,
approached the upper battery. It was allowed to pass in between the
two Confederate positions. No sooner had she gone well into the trap
than fire was opened upon her, both from the troops upon the shore,
and from the artillery, and her officers were glad to hasten the
surrender of this splendid steamer. The gunboat, _Undine_, had also
gone in between the batteries, but the Confederate artillery were
not afraid of gunboats, and so they pounded her so severely that
she was disabled and driven to the shore, and her crew and officers
hastily abandoned her and escaped through the woods, while she became
a prize to Confederate daring and marksmanship. In a little while,
the transport _Venus_ moved up the river. On this boat was a small
detachment of Federal infantry. This boat was attacked by Colonel
Kelley and his men, and so heavy was the iron hail upon her that she,
too, was glad to surrender and with the gunboat was brought safely to
the shore. Half the garrison were killed or wounded and all captured.

On this day it seemed to rain gunboats. Another one, the No. 29,
had probably heard the firing, and, coming down the river, anchored
within half a mile of the Confederate batteries and opened fire. This
was too slow a game for the Confederates, so General Chalmers took
the guns and his escort and a company of videttes, and going through
the cane and brush got nearer to the gunboat and soon drove it away.
The steamboat _Cheeseman_ could no longer be serviceable, her stores
were removed and flames lapped up what was left of her. The _Venus_
and the _Undine_ were slightly injured. The _Undine_ was one of the
largest gunboats that had been sent up the Tennessee river. She
carried eight twenty-four pound guns, and when she became a victim
to Confederate courage, her entire armament went with her. Her crew
attempted to spike the guns, but in this they were unsuccessful. In
all these captures the Confederate loss was one man severely wounded.
Five or six Federals were killed on the _Venus_, three killed and
four wounded on the _Undine_ and one wounded on the _Cheeseman_.

General Forrest, ever resourceful, and whose capacity for all
phases of war seemed unlimited, determined to begin a career as a
naval officer, and from the cavalry a volunteer crew was made up;
two twenty-four pounders were placed on the _Venus_, and Captain
Gracy placed in command. Gracy had shown himself to be a great land
fighter, but he was yet to make his reputation as a marine. The
captured gunboat was also put into commission. The new commodore
was directed to steam his boat up the river toward Johnsonville, a
few miles away, while the troops marched along the road parallel
to the river. The gunboats were put in charge of Colonel Dawson.
He evidently did not want to secure Forrest’s ill will, and so he
made a covenant with him that if he lost his fleet, Forrest was
not to “cuss” him. The boats got separated. The artillery were not
skilled so well on water as they were on land, and so when a Federal
commodore, with boats No. 32 and 29, got within range of the _Venus_,
they soon damaged her so badly that she was of no service, and was
run ashore and abandoned without even setting on fire. The _Undine_,
seeing the disaster to her companion ship, sought safety on the river
bank under the protection of the Confederate batteries. The Federal
gunboat soon closed in upon the _Undine_, and it was necessary to
abandon her, also, and set her on fire.

So far General Forrest had inflicted a great amount of damage upon
the Federals. He had captured the _Mazeppa_ with seven hundred tons
of freight, two other steamboats, two other gunboats, the transports
_Venus_ and _Cheeseman_, and another steamer over at Clarksville on
the Cumberland was also destroyed. It was not very far, something
like twenty-five miles, across to the Cumberland, and Forrest
undertook to operate upon both rivers. Johnsonville was on the east
side of the river.

On the 3rd day of November, Forrest reached the scene of action with
his chief of artillery, John W. Morton. Johnsonville, at this time,
appeared as a sort of heavenly resort, or a Commissary Utopia, to
the Confederates, and Forrest promptly undertook its destruction and
all that was gathered in it. The landing was filled with transports
and barges and gunboats. The great problem with the Confederates in
the later periods of the war was something to eat, wear, shoot and
ride, and the little town beside the Tennessee, with more supplies
than these oftentimes hungry and illy clad horsemen had ever dreamed
of, appeared to contain all the provisions in the world. On the
banks were houses filled to overflowing with valuable supplies,
and acres of army stores were piled around the warehouses. A new
battery had come up during the following night, under Captain Thrall.
This was placed just above the town, while the Morton and Hudson
batteries were placed just opposite and below the town. At two
o’clock Forrest opened with his artillery. He had kept his movements
so well concealed that the Federals at Johnsonville were unaware of
his presence until the Confederate guns announced the presence of an
enemy. Morton promptly opened fire upon the forts and gunboats. For
a little while the Federals had no apprehension that Forrest could
effect very much, but Morton, always skillful, soon obtained the
range and by cutting the fuses with precision, he put his shells
into the midst of the supply station. Flame and smoke soon began to
rise from many of the boats that lined the river, and from the goods
along the wharf and the warehouses. By nightfall, the boats and the
walls of the commissary were fired, and for three-quarters of a mile
up and down, the river presented a great forest of flame. Flames
illuminated the horizon for miles and huge volumes of smoke rose up
towards the heavens in glorious signals of a great consuming fire.
Some said that the Federal soldiers fired their own boats. Morton,
Thrall, Bugg, Zaring, Brown and Hunter, the men who directed the
artillery firing on this expedition, won splendid laurels by the
accuracy of their aim. Colonel Rucker had an extended experience in
artillery service in the Mississippi in the earlier stages of the
war; while General Lyon, who before his resignation from the United
States Army had served as an artillery officer, gave their assistance
in the important work of destroying the Federal boats and supplies.
The artillery were the chief instruments in this crowning act of
destruction, and all others in the other corps were glad to give
them due praise and plaudits for the splendid way in which they had
performed their part in this magnificent victory.

Forrest had now accomplished all he had come to do. He had burned
up millions’ worth of property. The Federals said he had thirteen
thousand men with twenty-six guns. Sherman, telegraphing General
Grant, said, “That devil, Forrest, was down about Johnsonville,
making havoc among the gunboats and transports.”

The roads had become well-nigh impassable, and the return march to
Corinth was slow and toilsome. On November 10th, however, he arrived
at Corinth in reasonably good order. He had been absent a little more
than two weeks. He had captured and destroyed four gunboats, fourteen
transports, twenty barges, twenty-six pieces of artillery, and six
million seven hundred thousand dollars’ worth of property. One thing
that particularly pleased the Confederates was the capture of nine
thousand pairs of shoes and one thousand blankets, and strange to
say, in all these operations and fourteen days’ fighting of the
Confederates, two were killed and nine wounded.

Forrest always was able to mystify his enemies. He had left enough
troops in the neighborhood of Memphis to keep the commanders there
busy and to fear an attack on the place. General Smith reported
from Memphis, on the 16th of October, that the houses had been
loop-holed for sharpshooters, and an inner line of cotton defenses
constructed, and told his commander that Forrest was at Grenada
on the Friday night before. Halleck, in Washington, wired Thomas
that Forrest was threatening Memphis. General Sherman was so
alarmed by this destruction of Johnsonville that he telegraphed to
General Grant, saying, “Sherman estimates that Forrest has 26,000
men mounted and menacing his communications.” The 23rd Corps was
despatched to Johnsonville, and up at Columbus, Kentucky, Sherman
had given orders that guns must be defended to death and the town
should be burned rather than that Forrest should get a pound of
provisions. The Federals seemed to be doing more telegraphing than
fighting and marching. While they were comforting each other or
alarming each other, Forrest’s soldiers, well dressed, well mounted,
thoroughly equipped, were pulling through the mud, trying to get out
of Tennessee. The mud and slush became such a menace that General
Forrest was required to use sixteen oxen to pull one gun. The teams
were doubled to carry the cannon, sixteen horses were hitched to a
single piece. The oxen would haul the guns ten or fifteen miles and
then were turned back to their owners, who were allowed to drive them
home.

On the 15th day of November, Forrest reached Iuka, and then by rail
from Cherokee Station, Forrest and his men were transferred to
Florence, Alabama. On this trip, horseshoes and nails became very
scarce. Many times Forrest was compelled to take the tires from the
farm wagons along the route and have these forged into shoes and
nails for the use of the horses.

This marvelous expedition was to close the really great destructive
career of General Forrest. The ink was hardly dry upon his letter
to General Dick Taylor, detailing a portion of the work under his
command, until orders were given for General Forrest to proceed at
once to Florence and there take command of the cavalry of the Army of
the Tennessee, under General Hood.

It was a sad mistake when the Confederate Government at Richmond had
failed, a year before, to invest General Forrest with command of the
cavalry of the Army of the Tennessee. He was not braver than General
Wheeler; he was not more patriotic than General Wheeler; but without
any reflection, it may be confidently said that from the same number
of men, General Forrest would get more fighting than any officer of
the Confederate Army, General Lee not excepted. When damage to his
enemies was to be calculated Forrest had no superior in the world. He
captured and destroyed more Federal military property than any other
officer of the war.

Forrest, like Wheeler, always went to the front. Both seemed destined
by miraculous interposition to be preserved from death. Many times
all those about them went down before the enemy’s fire. Both Forrest
and Wheeler were several times injured, but never very seriously. No
two men were more reckless or courageous on the battlefield, and no
two men with the means at their command ever did more for any cause
than Forrest and Wheeler. Of these two men many thousands of pages
might be written, and yet much would be left unsaid that ought to be
said in recounting their wonderful campaigns. With charmed lives,
with brave spirits, with courageous souls and intrepid hearts, they
seemed immune from death.




CHAPTER XIII

CAVALRY EXPEDITION OF THE TEXANS INTO NEW MEXICO, WINTER, 1861-62


Only three rivers escape from the American Desert—the Columbia,
Colorado and Rio Grande. The last of these, the Rio Grande, rises
far up amid the mountains of Colorado, close to the Montana line. It
was named by the Spaniards Rio Grande del Norte, or Grand River of
the North, because of its great length. It was sometimes called Rio
Bravo del Norte, “Brave River of the North.” Fighting its way amid
mountain gorges, through canyons, cutting channels deep down into
rocky defiles, it forces a passage over nature’s fiercest obstacles
and drives its currents through New Mexico and Colorado for seven
hundred miles. Then turning southwardly, it seeks a resting place in
the waters of the Gulf of Mexico. For more than eleven hundred miles
it is the boundary between Mexico and the United States.

Moved by love of conquest, or desire to spread the gospel, the
Spaniards followed the meandering course of the stream for hundreds
of miles, overcoming the barriers which nature had placed in the
pathway of those who sought to conquer the arid and inhospitable
wilderness, through which this great stream passed to its union with
the far off sea. Navigable for only four hundred and fifty miles
from the ocean, it held out no hope to those who might seek an easy
way to its source. The great trail which led from the settlements
on the Atlantic to the new-found lands on the Pacific required the
travelers to pass the Rio Grande near Santa Fe. There was no chance
to start at El Paso and travel northward by the Rio Grande to the
heart of New Mexico and thence find an outlet to the Pacific Ocean.
The men who pushed from the East to the Golden Gate preferred to mark
out a line from the Missouri River, overland from Missouri, Kansas
and Colorado, the Indian Territory and New Mexico. A southern trail
might have been shorter, but mountains intervened and nature forced
men to make their highway for wagon trains by Santa Fe from the East.
The pioneer spirit was strongest in the Missouri Valley, and the
population on the Mississippi was content to let those farther north
pursue the passage to the Pacific by the northern route. A thin line
of settlements had been established along the trail, but no large
population was willing then to endure the hardships which surrounded
those who lived in those isolated regions; and the white men refused
to pass southward by the Rio Grande or the Mexican border, for the
country was so inhospitable that it held out no inducements to
emigration, commerce or settlement.

When the war between the states began to stir the hearts of the
people of the South, after a brief delay, Texas, that great empire
with more than two hundred and sixty-six thousand square miles, but
thinly populated area, caught the patriotic spirit of the hour, and
cast herself, body and soul, into the struggle of the Southland for
liberty and independence.

In February, 1861, an ordinance of secession was passed, and nine
years later Texas was re-admitted to the Union. General H. H.
Sibley, a native of Louisiana, resigned from the United States Army
and entered the service of the Confederate States. Familiar with
the geography of New Mexico, he visited Richmond, Virginia, was
commissioned brigadier general and returned to Texas with authority
to lead a brigade up the Rio Grande to Santa Fe. Few believed, at
that early date, that war would last a year, and one of the reasons
impelling this expedition was to possess as much territory as
possible, so that when hostilities ceased, the territories of the
Confederacy would cover the largest possible space. General Sibley
reached San Antonio, where the troops raised to compose his command
were being mustered in. A statement of his plans aroused the zeal and
enthusiasm of those who were to engage in the adventure.

The conquest of New Mexico appeared feasible and important. It
would cut in twain the land route between the Atlantic and Pacific
coasts, and by reason of its supposed strategic importance, prove of
tremendous value to the Confederate states.

The project was bold, daring, but illy considered, and in the
end, while sustained by heroism and courage that certainly has no
superior in the great story of Southern manhood, yet proved a most
unfortunate and distressing failure. From El Paso, on the extreme
western boundary of Texas, to Santa Fe, by the route along the Rio
Grande, was something like six hundred miles. The Santa Fe railroad
of later days has rendered this journey easy and pleasant, but in
1861-62, the route was a vast wilderness, not producing enough
food to sustain the sparse number of people who had settled along
this trail. Venomous reptiles hid themselves in the recesses of the
sandy and rocky ways, or laid in wait for their victims amidst the
numerous crevices that marked every mile. The very shrubbery seemed
to defy the advance of civilization, and the thorns and thistles that
stood out on every bush appeared to enter fierce protests against
habitation by man or beast.

In the earlier days of the war, before experience had made men
deliberate, and to sit down and count the cost ere entering upon any
great military enterprise, it was only necessary for someone to cry
“Forward!” and chivalrous patriots were ready to follow wherever
any leader might bid them go. The 4th, 5th and 7th Texas mounted
regiments were mustered into the Confederate service for three years,
or during the Civil War. This enlistment took place October, 1861.
Colonel James Riley commanded the 4th. Later, at the head of his
regiment, he met a soldier’s death in Louisiana. Thomas Green became
colonel of the 5th, and William Steele, colonel of the 7th Regiment.
These formed a brigade under the command of Brigadier General H.
H. Sibley. Steele did not go with his regiment, which was led by
Lieutenant Colonel J. S. Sutton, who died heroically while leading
his men at the Battle of Val Verde near Fort Craig. Later, General
Thomas Green was promoted to the rank of brigadier general. These
regiments reorganized, then became known as Green’s Brigade. When the
true story of the war shall be fitly told, the world will realize
that no men who marched under the stars and bars did more to win
the admiration and applause of the entire Southland than those who
composed this wonderful organization.

At this early period of the war, arms were scarce. The fruits of
victory had not then given Federal equipments to Texas, and these
soldiers were supplied with shotguns and hunting rifles of varying
calibre and necessitating the preparation of each man’s ammunition by
himself. Many of these volunteers had mingled with the Mexicans and
heard their stories of the fiery charges of the Mexican Lancers and
of the deadly execution which they made with their shafted spears,
and following, unwisely, the suggestions of General Sibley, two
companies of the 5th Regiment were induced to exchange their guns for
that medieval arm, the Mexican lance.

The troops were enlisted and sworn in at San Antonio, and before
beginning the most difficult part of their journey up the Rio Grande,
marched from San Antonio to El Paso, seven hundred miles, in broken
detachments. At this point, the government had accumulated a small
supply of commissary stores. Between San Antonio and Santa Fe, there
was not a town or village which could have furnished, from its own
storage, a full day’s supply of rations and forage for the command.
The settlements were not only few in number, but very far apart,
and with small populations. It thus came about that the troops were
compelled to carry rations for the whole march. These were very
meagre, and were transported in wagons drawn by small Mexican mules.
Meat was provided through beeves that were driven on foot. No forage
of any kind was to be had other than the grass which grew upon the
plains. As if to make the journey still more difficult, water was
extremely scarce; and many parts of the journey, both men and beasts
were compelled to go on as long as thirty-six hours before relieving
their thirst. The men carried a day’s supply in their canteens, but
the poor beasts had no provision for quenching the burning of their
fevered throats. There was not then living in the entire territory
from El Paso to Santa Fe as many as three hundred sincere Southern
sympathizers. The great majority of the population were poor,
illiterate Mexicans, who had a traditional hatred of all Texans. The
secession of Texas from Mexico in 1835, the Santa Fe expedition in
1841 and the war between the United States and Mexico in 1846, had
planted in the minds of these rude frontiersmen bitter memories of
the Texans.

Almost everywhere, without exception, this brigade, when leaving
El Paso and ascending the great river, found itself in a hostile
country, a country so devoid of food that it was hardly able to
maintain its own people from want, and which with great difficulty
supplied them with the bare necessities of life. To make this journey
still more difficult for the Confederates, General Canby, then and
later on, showing himself to be a wise and sagacious officer, had
already, by force or purchase, secured for the support of the Federal
troops whatever the needs of these poor people could spare.

Most of the great marches of the war, made by cavalry, were through
countries that could at least supply food for a few hours for man
and beast. None of them undertook to haul their commissary stores
six hundred miles or to rely upon beef driven afoot to satisfy their
hunger. The great passion of the brigade was to be led forward. They
had gone too far to return without a fight and were anxious to find
somebody to engage in conflict. Practically no preparations had
been made to arrange for the wants of the soldiers. No foresight
had provided stores where food might be garnered, nor wells dug,
from which water, that greatest essential of long marches, might be
supplied. The brigade finally composing this expedition consisted
of the 4th and 5th and part of the 7th Texas mounted infantry, five
companies of Baylor’s Regiment, Tool’s light battery and Coopwood’s
independent company, aggregating twenty-five hundred men. One-sixth
of all these men were required for the protection of the supply train
and herd of beeves, and therefore could not be relied upon in case of
battle.

General Canby, through couriers, had full notice of the coming
expedition and its purpose, and he was not slow to avail himself of
the topographical as well as the physical condition of the country
in preparing for the emergency. About a hundred and fifty miles
north of El Paso, on the river, Fort Craig had been constructed,
years before, by the United States Government. The fortification was
situated on the west bank of the stream and within musket range of
the only road leading from El Paso to Santa Fe. Here General Canby
had concentrated over four thousand troops, regulars and volunteers,
including infantry, artillery and cavalry, with supplies of every
kind in abundance. As the Confederates could travel only one road,
the Federal general had only to sit down and wait and prepare for
their coming and had ample time to obstruct the narrow pathway along
which they must reach Santa Fe. This march was undertaken in the
midst of winter. Those who led and those who followed seemed to
feel that an hour’s time was of the most tremendous importance, and
neither want of preparation or danger could deter them from pushing
on to some point where they might meet a foe. Zeal and haste to fight
was universal with the southern soldiers in the earlier days of the
struggle. Without any disparagement of their splendid courage under
all conditions, it may be safely said that a few months’ experience
greatly lessened the intensity of this feeling.

Beyond Santa Fe, in the northeastern part of the territory, another
fortification, called Fort Union, had been built before the war.
This Post had been reconstructed and manned, and here again were
established large depots of supplies. Troops had come down from
Colorado, and the United States regulars had been hurried hither,
and still farther, from the West, the war-trumpets had called
volunteers from California who were hastening en route to the scene
of hostilities.

A march so carelessly considered and so inadequately provided for,
with weather becoming cold, demanded most strenuous sacrifices from
the devoted Texans who were engaged in this hazardous task. The
Confederates had no tents, their clothing supply was confined to the
uniforms that each wore, there was no covering at night except their
saddle blankets, and yet, while the fierceness of the climate and the
illy provided commissary spread disease and death among them, these
gallant Confederates went pushing forward with what would seem to
thinking men but little hope, yet without fear. It was not long until
disease began to grapple with its gaunt fingers numbers of these
chivalrous men. Pneumonia attacked many of the advancing heroes, and
under such conditions rarely allowed any of its victims to escape
with life.

By the 10th of February, 1862, the command came in sight of
Fort Craig. Surveys and reconnaissance soon convinced even the
inexperienced that the capture of the Fort by direct assault would
be practically impossible, and that it would be equally impossible
to follow the road which the Fort commanded, and to run such a
gauntlet simply meant great decimation, if not destruction of the
entire command. A council of war determined that the wise thing was
to turn the Fort by crossing to the east bank of the Rio Grande and
to march by it to a point called Val Verde (Green Valley), some nine
miles above Fort Craig. To carry out this plan required a tremendous
amount of courage and endurance, for there was no road nor even a
broken trail, and this way was almost impassable for wagons. It had
never been traveled, but lay across deep and wide gulleys and over
steep sand hills. There was not a single foot of made highway and
men and animals, beset by poisonous thorns, which infested well-nigh
every vegetable growth, and tramping over loose stones which rendered
almost every resting place for their feet insecure, struggled,
stumbled and toiled over the arduous way that the exigencies of the
hour forced them to follow. After such laborious, depressing and
dangerous effort, two days later, on the evening of the 20th, the
command had reached a point nearly opposite Fort Craig, only seven
miles from their starting place on the 19th. Here the weary troopers,
wearier mules and the thirsty cattle were encamped for the night. The
beasts had no water; the men only such as their canteens contained.
The conditions were enough to cower the hearts of any soldiers and to
dampen the ardor of any patriot, but everybody realized that the very
desperate conditions must be met by supreme valor.

[Illustration: MAP OF CAVALRY EXPEDITION INTO NEW MEXICO]

Long before the sun had risen above the mountain tops to illuminate
and brighten the plains with its cheering beams, the march was
begun, so as to reach, at the earliest moment possible, the river,
at some point above Fort Craig, and begin the advance again upon the
traveled highway, which, while rough, was delightful in comparison to
the two days’ march along the inhospitable ground over which these
brave soldiers had, with uncomplaining fortitude, forced their way
during the past forty-eight hours. The Federal commander did not sit
still in the fort. Thoroughly advised of this movement on the part
of the Confederates, he pushed his forces north along the road and
when the advance guard of the Confederates reached the river, their
enemy was there to dispute its passage. To provide against loss of
the cattle driven on foot, upon which they depended for meat, and
for the protection of the commissary train, a considerable portion
of the Confederate force was detailed. The very desperation of the
situation stirred the hearts of the Confederates with the noblest
courage. Only about two thousand fighting men were left available,
after details were provided for the protection of the cattle and the
train. These had been left behind at the camp from which they had
marched out in the morning to force the battle. There was nothing
for the Confederates to do but to win. The Federals were not averse
to fighting, and so they crossed the river with thirty-eight hundred
men, including a battery of six-pounders and two twenty-pounders. A
force sufficiently large to protect Fort Craig against the assault
had been left within its walls. These two thousand Confederates,
hungry and thirsty, were to oppose, in a position chosen by the
Federal commander, a force nearly twice as large as their own.
With a fierceness born of difficulty and of courage quickened
by the unpropitious surroundings, the conflict was short, sharp
and decisive. The Federals were driven back into the fort, with
considerable loss of officers and men, and their six-gun battery was
captured by the Confederates. The casualties on the Confederate side
in this Battle of Val Verde were less than those of the Federals, but
it included in the list several of the most promising and prominent
officers, who, at this time, were sorely needed. Colonel Green,
who commanded the 5th Regiment, owing to the illness of General
Sibley, was in immediate charge of the forces. He was a cheerful and
experienced soldier, and was later to demonstrate such great genius
as a commander, that when he died in April, 1864, at Blair’s Landing,
La., it was said of him by the Federal generals that the ablest man
west of the Mississippi had been lost to the Southern cause.

[Illustration: CAPTAIN JOSEPH SAYERS]

[Illustration: GENERAL TOM GREEN]

While the battle had been won and the enemy driven back to the fort,
it was not decisive; the Federals were safe in the fort, and the
Confederates, with their small number of fighting men, were not
sufficiently strong, nor did they have the necessary ammunition to
carry the fort by assault. The little Confederate army was not in
condition to sit down and hesitate and argue or even to delay action,
and a council of war determined that the wisest thing to do was to
push on to Santa Fe, in the hope of inducing the enemy at Fort Craig
to follow along the trail, come out into the open and risk the issue
of another contact.

The desperate condition of the Confederates was apparent to any
well-informed military man, and General Canby, with an army at Fort
Craig twice as large as that of the Confederates, with a still larger
force at Fort Union, northeast from Santa Fe, all well supplied
with food and ammunition, decided that he had only to bide his time
and wait. He perfectly understood the character of the country, the
antagonism of the people to the Confederate cause, and the limited
resources for providing maintenance for man or beast. He knew the
exact number of the Confederate command. He understood they would be
unable to carry out the Confederate plan and closely calculated the
difficulties which awaited these brave men, who seemingly violating
the laws of prudence and ignoring caution, were pushing themselves
forward without support, apparently indifferent to consequences.

In possession of Fort Craig, south of Santa Fe, and Fort Union,
north of Santa Fe, defending the well-known and traveled north and
south roads, which were the only passable exits from the territory,
with troops which largely outnumbered his foes, half of whom were
regulars, tried, well equipped and exceeding Confederates four
thousand in numbers, the Federal commander foresaw that the end could
not be very far off and that waiting was the wise and sagacious
course to pursue. No one needed to tell him that the Confederates
could have no hope of reinforcements. His spies had already assured
him of their meager supplies, the vast number of sick and of the
many graves along the road of the Confederate march. These told him
that disease and hunger would be efficient allies, and that only a
few weeks could possibly intervene before the Confederates would be
compelled to abandon the territory, and most probably be forced by
want and starvation to surrender as prisoners of war. With a force
twice as large as their own behind them and with a force twice as
large in front of them, with only one traveled route along which they
could pass, and that totally inadequate for the supply of food for
the invading Confederates, the condition of these brave men became
almost desperate. Though the conditions were so discouraging, General
Sibley and his subordinates advanced to Albuquerque and Santa Fe and
took possession of the immediate towns and villages.

On the 20th day of March, about sixteen miles north of Santa
Fe, a second battle occurred in Glorietta Canyon. Here the worn
Confederates came in contact with Federal troops which had been sent
forward from Fort Union. The Confederates held possession of the
field of battle, but something worse than loss of men had occurred.
On account of the smallness of the force, a sufficient rear guard
had not been detailed for the protection of the wagon train, and
their entire supplies had been captured by an attack of the Federal
forces. While the Federal soldiers had been defeated and fell back
to Fort Union, and the Confederates returned to Santa Fe, hunger was
now staring these brave invaders in the face. They were not afraid of
their enemies, but lack of food, ammunition and other necessities,
oftentimes more terrible than bullets, rarely fails to strike terror
into the hearts of the bravest soldiers.

The situation had been thoroughly tried out, the Confederates had now
been reduced to less than two thousand men. They were practically
destitute of provisions and ammunition. One regiment had been
dismounted, its horses were reduced, not only in flesh but in number,
and so, some walking and some riding, but all still stout at heart,
these Confederates now prepared to abandon the territory for which
they had risked and suffered so much. In a few days, the retreat to
El Paso was begun. Leaving strong forces at Fort Union and Craig to
protect them from any possible force the Confederates could bring
to their assault, all available Union soldiers were rushed forward
to contest the retreat of General Sibley and his men, and to cut
off every avenue of escape. The only thing General Canby failed to
fully comprehend was the supreme courage and valor of his foes, the
intrepidity and skill of their leaders, and the capacity of men and
officers for fatigue and their readiness, if needs be, to die, rather
than surrender as prisoners of war to their enemies.

Officers and men all understood the gravity of the situation. They
realized that safety lay not only in retreat, but to escape at all
necessitated the co-operation and courage of every survivor of the
depleted command.

At Peralto, a small town on the Rio Grande, below Albuquerque, the
Confederates occupied the town, but before them in battle array were
six thousand Federals, well armed, and this was the numerical problem
that faced the tired, half-clad and brave men of the South. There
was not the slightest disposition to yield or run away, and so all
day long the Confederates, with their ill-equipped forces, calmly
awaited the attack of the Federals. But there was something the men
who were following the stars and bars feared more than the men in
blue—starvation. This was now their most dreaded enemy, and this,
accompanied by the weather conditions, made a combination that would
strike terror into the heart of any ordinary man.

Along the Rio Grande River, the temperature arises during the day to
a hundred degrees and then by midnight, it has dropped sixty degrees,
alternating between summer’s heat and winter’s frost. These climatic
changes shatter even the rocks that so greatly abound in this dreary
region and accompanied by lack of warm and necessary clothing,
depleted the energies of the Confederates, but at the same time it
stirred them to renewed activities.

There was only one feasible route open to the retreating invaders.
This was down the Rio Grande, and across this single path was a Union
army numbering more than three times those who essayed to escape. The
Confederates forded from the east bank to the west side of the river,
and for several days, both forces, Union and Confederate, marched
southward along the stream on opposite sides. Now and then they
exchanged shots. It was soon discovered that to avoid an engagement,
which the Confederates were not prepared to risk, something must be
done to escape the presence of the enemy, so superior in numbers,
food and equipments. The thought of capture aroused the hearts of all
the men to heroic resolve to do and dare all that was possible to
avoid the humiliation and misfortune of a surrender.

From out of the conflict one thing had been brought, and these brave
men were desirous of bearing this back to Texas so that the great
march should not be without one trophy, and like grim death they hung
to the six-gun battery of twelve-pounders that they had captured
at Val Verde, a short while before. They were to haul these cannon
over the wilds safety had forced them to traverse. They were to push
and pull them to the crest of hills to find that they could only be
lowered with ropes to the depths below, and each hour of suffering
and companionship with the mute and inanimate guns would add renewed
purpose to save them, if their saving was to be compassed by human
determination and indomitable will.

In this campaign Joseph D. Sayers came to the front. He was destined
to play a distinguished part in the war, and later in the history of
Texas.

When the battery was captured at Val Verde, young Sayers was not
twenty-one years of age. His cheerfulness under trial, his valor and
dauntless courage attracted the attention of the leaders, and he was
designated by common consent captain of the battery which held so
dear a place in the hearts of all who survived this expedition. He
had enjoyed a brief season at a military school, but he was a born
soldier. He was authorized to select the members for the battery and
with them he clung to the guns with bulldog tenacity, and brought
them safely through the dangers that ever loomed up on the homeward
march.

Captain Sayers, while in command of the battery, was severely wounded
at Bisland, Louisiana; and also at Mansfield, Louisiana, while
serving on General Green’s staff with the rank of major. At General
Green’s death the young officer crossed the Mississippi River with
General Dick Taylor, upon whose staff he served until his surrender
in Mississippi in April, 1865.

On every field and in every sphere he met the highest calls of a
patriotic service and when paroled had won the commendation and
admiration of those who fought with him. His war experiences fitted
him for a splendid civil career. He became lieutenant governor,
and later governor of Texas. He served fourteen years in Congress,
and when he voluntarily retired, his associates in the House of
Representatives passed a resolution declaring that his leaving
Congress was a national rather than a party calamity. Amongst
Confederates, his career in the trans-Mississippi, and later in the
cis-Mississippi armies, gave him universal respect, and the good
opinion of the great state of Texas was manifested in the bestowal of
every honor to which he aspired.

He still lives, in 1914, at Austin, and there is no one who loves the
South but that hopes for lengthened years to the hero of Val Verde.

Councils of war were called, and it was resolved to leave the river,
march inland, over mountains and canyons and through forests that had
never been trodden by civilized man. The Spaniard, whether stirred
by religion or love of gold or gain, had never ventured to traverse
the country through which General Green and his men now undertook
to march. Half-clad, nearly starved, footsore, with both nature and
men rising up to oppose their escape, without water sometimes for
two days, except what was carried in their canteens, they hazarded
this perilous journey. Trees and vines and shrubbery with poisonous
thorns stood in their pathway. With axes and knives, they hewed them
down, and boldly and fearlessly plunged into the wilderness to escape
their pursuing and aggressive foes. Over this rough, thorny road they
traveled for one hundred and fifty miles; and then, guided largely
by the sun, moon and stars, and nature’s landmarks, they reached the
river highway along which they had marched in the early winter and
struck the Rio Grande, some distance below Fort Craig. With exuberant
joy, they realized that they had left their enemies behind. Nine
long and dreary days had been consumed in this horrible journey.
Man and beast alike had suffered to the very extreme of endurance.
The average distance for each twenty-four hours was sixteen and
two-thirds miles. Where the intrepid and exhausted column would
emerge, even the experienced and stout-hearted guide, Major Coopwood,
did not know. West, south, east, the gallant band must search for a
path, and down canyons, over precipitous cliffs, where the eye of
white men had never penetrated, these gallant Texans, half starved
and consumed for many hours with the fierce and debilitating burnings
of thirst, hunted for a path which would enable them to leave their
enemies behind and miles below emerge into the Rio Grande Valley, at
a point from which they could, unmolested, pursue their march to El
Paso.

One-fifth of their number had died in battle or from wounds and
sickness, and three-fourths of the survivors marched into San Antonio
on foot. Eight months had passed since the journey was begun. More
than three men each day, from either wounds or on the battle field
or through disease, had gone down to death, and along the march of
twelve hundred miles, on an average of every four miles beside this
devious and suffering road, was the grave of some comrade, to tell of
the ravages and sorrows of war.

Barring the battery which had been captured in the earlier periods
of the expedition, the brigade came back empty handed, but the men
who composed it brought with them a spirit of courage, a quickened
patriotism, a self-reliance, a steadiness of purpose, and a
conception of war that was to make them one of the most distinguished
and successful organizations of the world’s greatest war; and trained
for future services and succeeding triumphs and victories that would
endear them not only to the hearts of the people of Texas, but to all
who loved or fought for the independence of the South.

After a few months of rest, remounted and recruited, this splendid
command entered upon a new career of active service, and through
the campaigns of 1863 and 1864, they were to make honorable records
for themselves; at Bisland, Fordocho, Bortrich Bay, Lafourche, Fort
Butler, Donaldsville, Bourbeau; Opelousas, Mansfield, Pleasant Hill,
Blair’s Landing and Yellow Bayou. At Blair’s Landing, General Green
met the fate of a chivalrous, patriotic commander, dying as he had
fought, with his face to the foe. He and his command were second
to no horsemen who were enlisted on the Southern side. The sad and
unfortunate experiences of the march into New Mexico proved a great
education for these valiant and gallant soldiers. They have been
less fortunate than the cavalry commands east of the Mississippi in
having chroniclers to exploit their heroism, yet in their splendid
career they were never surpassed in the best elements of the cavalry
soldier, by any of those whose fame as champions of the Southland
and defenders of its glory and its honor has gone out into the whole
world.




CHAPTER XIV

GENERAL J. E. B. STUART’S RIDE AROUND McCLELLAN’S ARMY—CHICKAHOMINY
RAID, JUNE 12-15, 1863


General J. E. B. Stuart was born on the 16th of February, 1833. At
the commencement of the war he had just passed his twenty-eighth
year. His father had been an officer in the War of 1812. He was born
in Patrick County, Virginia, a few miles away from the North Carolina
line. In his veins there was the richest mingling of Virginia’s best
blood. In 1850 he was appointed a cadet at West Point, and graduated
thirteenth in a class of forty-six. At West Point he was not a very
great scholar, but an extremely good soldier. He had a splendid
physique, and was popular wherever he went. In his early youth he had
hesitated between the law and war, and finally concluded to remain in
the army. He was commissioned as second lieutenant in 1854 and served
in Texas. He saw a great deal of active service in Indian warfare and
in the early part of 1861 was at Fort Lyon. On the 7th of May, 1861,
he reached Wytheville, Virginia. His resignation was accepted by the
War Department on that day and he offered his sword to his native
state. On the 10th of May he was made lieutenant colonel of infantry
and directed to report to Colonel T. J. Jackson. His commission was
from the State of Virginia. Sixty days later he was commissioned a
colonel of Confederate cavalry, and on the 24th of September was
made brigadier general, and on July 25th, 1862, major general.

General Stuart, in the summer and fall of 1861, was busy on outpost
duty, harassing the enemy and continually active. His operations were
not on any extended scale.

General Joseph E. Johnston had a very high opinion of General
Stuart. As early as August 10th, 1861, he had written to President
Davis: “He—Stuart—is a rare man, wonderfully endowed by nature with
the qualities necessary for light cavalry. If you had a brigade of
cavalry in this army, you could find no better brigadier general to
command.”

He took an important part in the Williamsburg campaign, at the Battle
of Williamsburg in May, 1862, and at Seven Pines on the 31st of
May and June 1st. It was impossible at the last engagement to use
cavalry, but Stuart, always anxious and ready for a fight, was only
too happy to go to the front, and became General Longstreet’s aide.

In March, 1862, McClellan had brought his Army of the Potomac up to
two hundred and twenty-two thousand men, and with these undertook to
capture Richmond. He concluded it was wisest to take Richmond from
the rear and recommended that his forces should be transferred to
Fortress Monroe and he should proceed from there in a northwesterly
direction.

The forces under General Joseph E. Johnson and later under General
Lee were widely scattered. Some of them were a hundred miles apart.

From the valleys of Virginia, and from Norfolk down through
Fredericksburg, great armies were advancing with Richmond as the
converging point. Stonewall Jackson had played havoc with McClellan’s
forces in the Shenandoah Valley, and had inaugurated and won a
campaign which brought him world-wide fame. In three months Jackson
had fought three battles and marched five hundred miles, a feat which
was almost unsurpassed in the history of military movements. He held
a large Federal force over in the Valley. This was at that period the
most important factor in the preservation of the armies of Joseph E.
Johnston.

On the 16th of May, advancing from Fortress Monroe, McClellan had
taken possession of Whitehouse, on the Pamunky River, and here
established his army and reached out to Seven Pines, within eight
miles of Richmond. It appeared now as if, with the large forces at
his command, McClellan would crush Johnston and reach the coveted
capital of the Confederacy. Camped east and northeast of Richmond,
in a position chosen by himself, and to the acquisition of which the
Confederates made little resistance, McClellan sat down to wait for
the forty thousand men McDowell was to bring through Fredericksburg
and unite with him in his present camp. The Confederates were roughly
handled by the Federals at Hanover Court House on the 27th of May,
and General Joseph E. Johnston looked anxiously toward McDowell at
Fredericksburg, only fifty-two miles away. He resolved, if possible,
to crush McClellan before McDowell could come to his assistance. On
the 31st of May the Battle of Seven Pines was fought. Brilliantly
designed by Johnston, he claimed that he only failed to destroy
McClellan by the neglect of his subordinates to march as directed.
General Johnston was wounded on the 31st of May and was succeeded
by General Gustavus W. Smith, who commanded for a few hours. At two
o’clock on the 1st of June, President Davis rode out upon the field
with General Robert E. Lee and turned over to him the command of the
Army of Northern Virginia, which he was to hold until the shadows
of national death overtook and overwhelmed Lee and his army at
Appomattox, on May 9th, 1865.

A large part of McClellan’s army was now south of the Chickahominy
River. It was extremely important to know the situation of his
forces. He was getting so near to Richmond that the situation had
become intensely critical.

General Lee sent for General Stuart and in a private interview
explained that he desired to have full information about the exact
location of McClellan’s army. On the 12th of June he despatched
Stuart, with twelve hundred of the best cavalry that the Army of
Northern Virginia could furnish, to ride round McClellan’s camps and
get full facts concerning their several locations and movements. His
ride on this errand is known as the “Chickahominy Raid.”

Stuart did not wait a moment but instantly undertook this perilous
task. Prior to this time no great cavalry raids had been made.
Wheeler had not been developed, and Morgan and Forrest had only short
forays to their credit. At this period Mosby had not appeared in the
Virginia campaigns which he was later to brighten with many wonderful
performances, but rode with Stuart as his chief scout, guide and
adviser, and no general ever had abler aid. Stuart and Mosby were
the same age, were men of like courage and dash, between them was
mutual admiration and affection, and each believed implicitly in the
genius of the other.

Stuart had been vigilant on outpost duty, but no one had conceived
so bold a move as to ride in the rear of a great army of more than
a hundred and twenty-five thousand men at a time when the rivers
crossing the road were filled with the June rise. Figuratively taking
his life in his hand he cut loose from all communication with his
allies, and began the circuit of the opposing army, which then stood
north and east of Richmond. It was a great work, requiring masterful
genius, superb skill, highest courage and transcendent faith in
his destiny. He was to make history in cavalry service, set new
standards and a new pace for horsemen in war. The original letter
which General Lee wrote to General Stuart is still in existence.
General Lee informed General Stuart that his purpose was to get exact
intelligence of the enemy’s forces and fortifications, to capture his
forage parties and commissary depots and as many guns and cattle as
it was possible to bring away with him, and to destroy, harass and
intimidate the wagon trains which were then supplying McClellan’s
army.

General Lee was not as full of confidence in Stuart’s ability then
as he was later. He cautioned Stuart about going too far, staying
too long, attempting too much. He looked deeper into the situation
than Stuart possibly could. Twenty-six years more of life and his
lengthened military experience made him cautious where Stuart would
be reckless. It was well for Stuart that he was only twenty-nine
years old. Had he been fifty, he would have hesitated long before
undertaking such hazardous work. Faced by such desperate odds, the
youthful blood coursing with unstinted forces through his veins,
and his ambition to wrest early from fame its highest rewards,
subordinated prudence and caution to the promptings of glory and
success, had faith that no odds could defeat his plans and that
misfortune was impossible where he should go, with the chivalrous
horsemen who would follow in his lead.

It was easy to see that the primal object in General Lee’s sending
Stuart was to definitely locate the right wing of McClellan’s army,
to know how far it extended east, and whether Jackson could be
brought in strong pressure upon it.

Justly Stuart was allowed to pick out his command. He had a section
of artillery. This was under Lieutenant James Breathed. Wisely
concluding that if you do not want anybody to know your plans, you
had better not communicate them, Stuart told few of his associate
commanders his destination. The general outlines of his expedition he
communicated to Fitzhugh Lee, W. H. F. Lee and W. T. Martin.

The first day’s march was not a heavy one, twenty-two miles due
north brought General Stuart to Taylorsville. Having demonstrated
that McClellan’s right had not been extended east of a line north
of Richmond, General Stuart now turned due east and in a short
while marched southeast. He was singularly blessed with scouts who
had a full and complete knowledge of the whole country. These had
been despatched in various directions. It was beyond all things
essential for him to have accurate information regarding the roads
he was to travel. He began his movements at early dawn. He had a
great work before him; he was to take a march of forty miles, the
safety of which depended upon the absolute watchfulness and the
unfailing vigilance of his troopers. The eye of every soldier scanned
the horizon. None knew aught of what was ahead. Any instant might
develop a cavalry or infantry force across their pathway which would
bar their progress. No baggage delayed their speed. Stale rations
prepared before leaving would stay hunger until they could pounce
down upon a Federal wagon train and take from their enemies the food
necessary to sustain them upon their strenuous ride. The best horses
had been provided for the artillery, so that it could keep pace with
the rapidly moving horsemen. A rider was mounted on each of the
animals attached to the guns. It was necessary to move with extreme
rapidity, and all the preparations were made so that nothing should
delay or hinder the march.

[Illustration: MAP OF STUART’S RIDE AROUND McCLELLAN]

A force of Federal cavalry was found near Hanover Court House.
Failure to attack would indicate fear, and so General Stuart ordered
a charge. Fitzhugh Lee had been sent south to intercept their retreat
toward McClellan’s army. The enemy moved south of the Tunstall
Station road, and Stuart concluded that if they would let him alone
he would let them alone. A captured sergeant from the 6th United
States Cavalry showed that this force had been in position at Hanover
Court House. He had no time to pursue those who did not pursue him,
and taking a southeast course, almost parallel with the Pamunky
River, he spurred his column to the highest possible speed. A Federal
force had been stationed at Old Church, which was on the line of
the road Stuart had determined to follow. Moving with such great
rapidity and with his presence not expected, Stuart had no reason to
believe that the enemy would be able to know his purpose, his plans
and his place. A couple of squadrons of the 5th United States Cavalry
were stationed at Old Church. A part of the duty of this command
was to scout north towards Hanover Court House. Observing Stuart’s
force, the lieutenant in command of one of these companies saw the
Confederate cavalry at eleven o’clock. As he had only one company
he estimated that the Confederates had with them two squadrons of
cavalry; he concluded that he was not able to fight Stuart and so he
withdrew and avoided a conflict. Reporting his observation to his
superior officers, he was directed to fall back upon the main body at
Old Church. Stuart was now ten miles north of the rear of McClellan’s
infantry. Numerous detachments of cavalry were scattered about.
It would not take long for couriers to tell the story of Stuart’s
presence and to estimate his forces. Lieutenant Lee, who was in
command of the 5th United States Cavalry, had now fallen back toward
the bridge at Totopotomy Creek, and he had resolved, even though his
command was small, to give Stuart battle and test out the strength
of the invader. The bridge across the creek was intact. There was
nothing to do but fight. Captain Royal, who was in command of the
squadron, aligned his forces to receive Stuart’s attack. Two of the
companies of the 9th Virginia were sent to drive these Federals
out of the way. The onset was quick and furious. Captain Latane,
of Company F, of the 9th Virginia, rode to the charge. Royal was
severely wounded by Latane’s sabre, and Latane was killed by Royal’s
revolver. The Federal line was broken and fell back. Discipline,
however, asserted itself, and although fleeing, they wheeled into
line to receive the second assault, and then Captain Royal left the
field to the Confederates. Quite a number of the 5th Cavalry were
captured, and there Fitzhugh Lee met many acquaintances, pleased to
come in contact with an officer under whom they had served, even if
he now wore the gray. These men conversed freely with General Lee,
who was anxious to capture as many of the regiment as possible. He
received permission to follow the enemy to Old Church and, if he
could do so, make the entire squadron prisoners. He captured the
camp, but the soldiers had fled.

At this time Stuart might have retraced his steps. There was nothing
to prevent his returning by the road over which he had passed.
Anxious to get the most out of the expedition that was in it,
although he had told Fitzhugh Lee to follow the enemy back up the
road over which he had advanced, Lee now saw Stuart turn and face
southward. A less brave man would have hesitated. Dangers awaited
him upon every mile. He was traveling southward and with this line
perils increased with every step of his trotting squadrons. For a
moment uncertainty filled his mind, but it was only a moment, and
then without an expression of fear on his face or the feeling of a
doubt in his heart, he bade the column quicken its pace and into the
uncertainty of immeasurable and incalculable hazard of a dangerous,
unknown path, he hurled his little army.

Stuart now knew that the right wing of McClellan’s army had not
extended as far west as General Robert E. Lee thought it had. It
was important that General Lee should have this information at the
earliest possible moment. One and a half days had been consumed
in coming. Should he go back, or should he make the circuit of
the Federal army, and endeavor to reach General Lee south of the
Chickahominy River? The rivers in front and to the east were
unfordable. He must go north to find an easy way to escape and he
knew that the Federal infantry, south of him, was within five miles
of the road along which he must operate to reach his starting point
at Richmond. He must, in the nature of the case, take the long road.
His attack on the 5th United States Cavalry had aroused the enemy and
his presence would be communicated quickly to the Federals. These
could hardly believe that such a small force could be so far from
home. The daring of such a movement was incredible at this period
of the war. Later, many horsemen on both sides would be glad—even
anxious—to engage in such an expedition. To General Stuart with any
considerable Confederate force belongs the credit of the inaugurating
such enterprises. Twenty-one days later General John H. Morgan
conceived and executed his first raid into Kentucky and with twelve
hundred men marched a thousand miles in territory occupied by his
foes. The example of these two brilliant and successful commanders
would soon find many to follow their lead, but to them belongs the
credit of having successfully demonstrated that possibility of
such campaigns and the practical safety of a cavalry force in such
expeditions.

A Federal lieutenant reported that he had seen infantry along
with the cavalry, that he thought he had counted as many as five
regiments. Some put it as high as seven regiments. The rumored
presence of infantry in their rear alarmed the Federals, who were
afraid that a large force had reached in behind them, and so certain
were the Federals of the presence of infantry that General Porter
directed General Cooke not to attack the cavalry. This indecision on
the part of the Federals gave Stuart the advantage of several hours.
If he could pass Tunstall Station, twelve miles away, he would have a
wide territory in which to operate, and in which the Federals would
find it difficult to ride him down. Fortune was extremely generous
and propitious. Numerous wagon trains were coming along the road
to Tunstall Station, carrying supplies to McClellan’s army. The
Pamunky River was the base from which supplies were transported to
McClellan. It was navigable for quite a distance from the Bay. Many
trains were destroyed, two large transports at Putney’s Ferry on the
Pamunky River were burned. The railroad from the Pamunky River to
the Chickahominy, under McClellan’s forces, had been repaired. At
White House, on the Pamunky, tremendous quantities of supplies had
been collected. This was only four miles from Tunstall Station. Some
gunboats and six hundred cavalry protected this depot. Stuart was now
only five or six miles from McClellan’s camp, and the cavalry and
infantry might be despatched at any time to close the path he had
chosen for a return to Richmond. The idea suggested itself to Stuart
that he capture White House. He could have done this, even with the
small force under him, but General Lee had told him he must not do
all that he might desire to do, and he refrained from attempting this
brilliant achievement. Cars, teams, sutlers’ stores, rations were
destroyed, telegraph lines were torn down, and from four o’clock in
the evening until darkness came on them, Stuart’s men were engaged
in the grim work of destruction. A company from New Kent County
composed part of the 3d Cavalry, and Stuart had the advantage of
having numbers of men in his command who knew every path and by-way
of the country through which they must later pass. This fact gave him
great faith to ride away in safety should Federal pressure become
too tense. Detachments were sent out in all directions to destroy
as many wagons as possible. The Chickahominy was full, but it had
fords. Eleven o’clock at night, and the last of Stuart’s men had not
left Tunstall Station. The Federal infantry in large numbers began
to arrive, and some Pennsylvania cavalry as well. General Stuart had
calculated that he would cross at a ford near Forge Bridge. This was
ten miles from Tunstall’s. A young lieutenant, who had most accurate
knowledge of the country, was confident the ford of which General
Stuart spoke would give a safe and easy passage over the river. Alas,
when the river was reached, new perplexities arose and new dangers
angrily stood out to thwart Stuart’s plans. The rains had been more
copious than the guides had predicted or believed. The waters, with
pitiless currents rushing oceanwards, seemed to forbid the passage
of the Chickahominy. The storms, which had raged two days before
higher up the stream, had widened the volumes of water, and to the
imagination of the wearied horsemen, these increased in width every
moment they stood upon its banks.

Colonel W. H. F. Lee was unwilling to surrender the possibility of
passing the stream at this point. Boldly entering the water and
swimming his horse he reached the other side. The waters were so
deep that the horses’ feet became entangled in the roots of trees
and prevented a landing. These difficulties raised new doubts and
gave warning that some other ford must be found, or means other than
swimming must be discovered for reaching the south bank. In this
dire extremity there was no hesitation or alarm and all the gallant
squadrons felt sure that fate, hitherto gracious and helpful, would,
in the crisis, come to their rescue. Only heroes could be calm and
cheerful under these dispiriting conditions. Axes were hunted up
and trees were cut down in the hope that a temporary bridge might
be made, but the swift current, catching up the trees, swept them
down the stream like playthings and made the labor of the horsemen a
useless waste of energy and time. In these moments, for a moment now
appeared hours, everybody seemed anxious except General Stuart. It
was important for General Lee to know what Stuart had found out, and
calling upon one of his most trusted followers, he repeated in detail
to him what he had learned and bade him ride with all haste and tell
General Lee the story, and ask that an advance be made on Charles
City, to relieve his command of the difficulties with which they
were surrounded.

Every mind was now moved to the most vigorous action. The imminence
of danger quickened thought, and to think must be to act. Someone
under the pressure of extreme peril remembered that an old bridge one
mile below had not been entirely destroyed. Hope of escape quickened
every step and with unreined and highest speed, the troopers
galloped to the site of the ruined structure. Bents, stripped of
girders, stood out above the angry, muddy waters, but even they in
their desolation and isolation gave but scant promise of escape.
Warehouses close by, with the long planks that enclosed their sides,
were stripped of their covering. Laid from bent to bent, they made a
passway over the stream, but they held out no means of crossing to
the weary steeds or offered no prospect to avoid a plunge into the
water. The tired beasts were unsaddled and lashed and driven down the
banks. Their masters, bearing their equipments on their own backs,
with loosened bridle reins, walked along the narrow plankway, while
the horses, with their feet beating the water, struggled in its
turgid currents in their efforts to cross to the opposite side.

While one part in ever-quickening haste thus convoyed their mounts
across, the other with renewed energies strengthened the floors
of the tottering bridge and added braces to the timbers, which,
under the pressure, trembled and swayed and bade the men beware
lest they make too great calls upon the weakened bents. Time, more
time, was now the call. If money could have enlarged minutes, every
soldier would have given all his possessions to win from Providence
another hour of freedom from pursuing foes. Stuart was not willing
to abandon his artillery. He had saved his cavalry, but he did not
want to give up his guns. Orders for tearing more planks from the
warehouse and hunting longer and heavier lumber were sternly and
earnestly issued. Officers pleaded with the men to rush, as they had
never rushed before. They took hold themselves. No rank stayed the
exercise of every man’s energies. With one-half of the command on
the south side and the other half on the north side, anxious eyes,
reinforced by brave yet questioning hearts, watched with intensest
eagerness the roads upon which pursuing Federals might come. Attack
now meant capture or disaster. There was no escape, east or west. The
remnant on the north side might, if assailed, ride through and over
the attacking lines, but the artillery could have no chance to run
away, and scattered troops, with their lines broken, would have but
slender opportunities of escape should they essay to ride back along
the roads they had so successfully and rapidly traversed the two days
before. Couriers, wires and scouts would hunt out and reveal the
lines of retreat and their presence. Even the bravest hearts could
evolve naught but disaster, if the Federal cavalry should now, when
they were divided, force them to give battle. Those on the south side
had forty miles between them and Richmond. To reach this goal they
must pass within a few miles of large numbers of McClellan’s army.
Whether the troops were on one side or the other of the Chickahominy,
the moment was full of forebodings and presented difficulties
calculated to make even the bravest of men fearful of what even an
instant might bring forth. Sharp eyes scanned the roads along which
the enemy might come. The crossway was quickly patched and completed,
and by one o’clock the artillery was sent over. Strong, vigilant rear
guards had been stationed some distance away from the bridge. Two or
three times the enemy made their appearance, but unwilling to show
the least sign of hesitation or doubt, these Federal forces were
vigorously attacked.

When the difficulties of the Chickahominy had been surmounted, Stuart
recognized that great tasks were yet before him. He was forty miles
from Richmond, two-thirds of the distance lay within Federal lines.
He must follow the course of the James. His enemies were between
the James and the Chickahominy. There was no other route for Stuart
to travel. His courage and his orders had brought him into the
extremities of the situation. A small force of infantry, properly
disposed, could cut off his escape, and he knew nothing of what his
enemies were doing to thwart his plans and encompass his ruin. If
he calculated the dangers or doubted his courage and skill to meet
all emergencies, he would be overwhelmed with fear and misgivings.
Great legions of difficulties rose up before his vision to disturb
the quietude of his valiant soul. With a wave of his hand and with
a peaceful smile upon his compressed lips, he bade fear begone. He
answered doubts and quieted them with the response that the men who
followed him never wavered at duty’s call, and forward he moved,
calm, serene, and with not a shadow of distrust or misgiving hovering
in his heart.

Having used the bridge themselves, the torch was applied with willing
hands by the grateful troopers. They might not abuse the bridge that
had carried them over, but they joyfully burned it lest it might bear
relentless enemies over to the side to which they had so fortunately
come by reason of its succor and help in the hour of desperation and
uncertainty. In the gloaming of the evening, turned into flames, the
blazing timbers, so lately a rescue, rose up as a great beacon light,
which lit up the surrounding country. If the Federals saw these
flames, they understood that the daring raider with his tireless
followers had escaped from Federal toils and was temporarily safe
from their assaults. A fordless stream now rolled between them and
the men they were pursuing.

From the highest point which he touched on Newfound River to the
lowest point touched on Queen’s Creek, a tributary of the James
River, was forty miles, and from Richmond to the farthest point east,
a short distance from Tunstall Station, was only twenty miles. From
Richmond to the main force of McClellan’s army was eight miles, and
from the Chickahominy to the Pamunky at Tunstall Station was twelve
miles. South of the Chickahominy, five miles, was the largest force
of the Federal army; north of it, at Cold Harbor, was another strong
division and then five miles east at Ellyson’s Mill was another large
infantry Federal force.

At Ellyson’s Mill, down the Chickahominy, to Cold Harbor, at Fair
Oaks, McClellan had infantry forces practically covering the entire
territory which Stuart must pass. He traveled around the Federal
army one hundred and thirty miles, and at no point of his whole
journey was he removed from some Federal force as much as five
miles. With his small command, at several places he was less than
eight miles from large infantry commands. The inexperience of the
Federal cavalry was one of Stuart’s chiefest aids in carrying out his
splendid conception of this brilliant march. Two years later it would
have been impossible even for Stuart, with his seasoned and trained
soldiers, to have made such a movement. Stuart had knowledge of the
men who would oppose him, and particularly of the cavalrymen who
would pursue him, and this made him calmer and more confident than he
would otherwise have been. No enemy came. The artillery was saved.
United on the south side of the stream, their delivery from such
imminent danger gave them renewed and enlarged confidence. They did
not know what was ahead. The past was a sure guarantee of the future.
Hitherto they had come in safety, and they confidently believed that
fate would still be kind and helpful. The very uncertainty of what
might at any moment appear to prevent their escape or impede their
progress made them brave and cheerful. They rode swiftly along the
road which might at any moment prove to be thronged with vigilant
foes. The close call at the river, their triumph over apparently
unsurmountable difficulties, made them complacent and contented.
They pitied their weary and hungry beasts, and took little account
of what privations they themselves had endured, or from what great
danger they had so fortunately been delivered. General Stuart might
now breathe easier, but he could not yet breathe freely. On the
James River, along the banks of which he must pass on his route to
Richmond, were Federal gunboats; and Hooker, from White Oak Swamps,
five miles from the only course that Stuart could follow, could
within a couple of hours, under forced marches, place infantry in
the front. There was no time for rest or food; a splendid exploit, a
magnificent expedition, was now nearing completion, and no appeal of
tired nature could find response in the heart of the gallant leader.
With marvelous genius he had brought his men out of difficulties that
seemed unsurmountable, and so riding and riding and riding through
the long hours of the night and the day, with ever-watchful eyes and
ever-increasing vigilance, he pursued his journey to reach the place
from which, four days before, he had set out upon what was then the
greatest cavalry expedition of the war. He had lost one soldier, but
he was a soldier worthy of any cause. Captain Latane’s burial by
lovely Southern women, with the assistance of a faithful slave, has
become one of the most pathetic incidents of the war. Aided only by
the faithful negro, to whom freedom had no charms when associated
with the abandonment of those he had served and loved, they dug a
grave, folded his pale, brave hands over his stilled heart, and
alone and without the protection of the men they loved, they read
the burial service for the dead and committed the dust of the young
patriot to the care of the God they truly and sincerely worshipped.


THE BURIAL OF CAPTAIN LATANE

  A brother bore his body from the field
  And gave it unto strangers’ hands, that closed
  The calm blue eyes on earth forever closed,
  And tenderly the slender limbs composed.
  Strangers, yet sisters, who, with Mary’s love,
  Sat by the open tomb, and weeping, looked above.

  A little child strewed roses on his bier,
  Pale roses, not more stainless than his soul,
  Nor yet more fragrant than his life sincere,
  That blossomed with good actions, brief but whole.
  The aged matron and the faithful slave
  Approached with reverent feet the hero’s lonely grave.

  No man of God might say the burial rite
  Above the rebel, thus declared the foe
  That blanched before him in the deadly fight.
  But woman’s voice, with accents soft and low,
  Trembling with pity, touched with pathos—read
  Over his hallowed dust the ritual of the dead.

  “’Tis sown in weakness. It is raised in power.”
  Softly the promise floated on the air,
  While the low breathings of the sunset hour
  Came back, responsive to the mourners’ prayer.
  Gently they laid him underneath the sod
  And left him with his fame, his country and his God.

Stuart had left behind him, even when pressed by his enemies, but
one artillery limber. From sunset until eleven o’clock at night
these fierce raiders and their harried steeds slept. Awakened at
midnight, by dawn they reached Richmond. General Stuart turned over
the command of the brigade to Colonel Fitzhugh Lee, near Charles
City, at sunset on the night of the 14th, and taking with him one
courier and a guide, he hastily rode to report to General Lee the
result of his expedition. Once during the night the wiry trooper
stopped to refresh himself with a cup of coffee. For twenty miles of
his journey he was liable at any turn in the road to meet Federal
scouts. The hours of the night were long. Stuart both in body and
mind had borne tremendous burdens on his great march, but he felt
more than repaid for all he had suffered and endured when, as the
sun rose over General Lee’s headquarters, with his two faithful
companions he dismounted to tell the great chieftain what he and his
men had accomplished. He had captured one hundred and sixty-five
prisoners and brought them out with him. He had captured two hundred
and sixty horses and mules, which he was enabled to turn over to
the quartermaster’s department. He had destroyed not less than
seventy-five wagons, two schooners and great quantities of forage,
and to the Federals more trains were lost than were in the possession
of the brigade quartermaster, at the front, with McClellan’s great
army.

This exploit gave General Stuart a leading place among Confederate
cavalry leaders, which he ably and fully sustained until the end so
sadly came to him at Yellow Tavern, almost to an hour, two years
later, in his desperate defense of Richmond from the approach of
Sheridan and his raiders. He deserved all the world said and thought
about him. His genius, his daring, his unfaltering courage, his
cheerfulness and calmness in danger stamped him as a military prodigy
and gave him a renown that would increase and brighten, as, month by
month, fate was yet to open for him the paths of true greatness.




CHAPTER XV

BATTLE AND CAMPAIGN OF TREVILIAN STATION, JUNE 11TH AND 12TH, 1864


General Meade, notwithstanding his splendid service to the Federal
Army at Gettysburg, did not receive the promotion to which he and
many of his associates and friends felt that he was entitled. In
the fall of 1863 and in the early part of 1864 the failure of Meade
to meet public expectation induced President Lincoln to bring
General Grant from the West to direct the military movements around
Washington and Richmond. There had been so many disappointments
under the impetus of the cry, “On to Richmond,” that General Grant
determined, as he said, “to make Lee’s army my only objective point.
Wherever Lee goes we will go and we will hammer him continuously
until by mere attrition, if nothing else, there shall be nothing
left him but submission.” General Grant had many successes to his
credit, but he had never faced General Lee, and he had not yet fully
comprehended the character of the foe he was to encounter in the new
field to which he had come. He had before him a gigantic task. It
required several great battles to awake General Grant fully to the
burdens he must carry in the mission he had, with some degree of both
egotism and optimism, assumed.

These pronunciamentos of victory sounded well in orders and reports
to his superiors. The rulers and overseers in Washington were
gladdened by these expressions of confidence and assurance. True,
many here and there had thus spoken, but these had no such history as
General Grant, and could give no such reasons as he for the hope that
was within him.

During the first week of May, 1864, the roads and conditions were
such that an advance could be safely made by the Federal forces. On
the 2d of May General Lee ascended a high mountain in the midst of
his army and with a glass took in the situation. Around and about
him were scenes which his genius had made illustrious and which the
men of his army, by their valor, had rendered immortal. Longstreet
had come back from Tennessee and Georgia and the Army of Northern
Virginia had been recruited as far as possible, so as to prepare for
the onslaught which the springtime would surely bring, and which the
military conditions rendered speedy and certain.

Grant’s forces were well down in Virginia near Culpepper Court House,
forty-five miles from Washington. He had one hundred and fifty
thousand men under his command. This large army demanded vast trains
for supplies, and one-seventh of General Grant’s army was required to
take care of his wagon train. Grant had two hundred and seventy-five
cannon of the most improved kind, and he had Sheridan, then in the
zenith of his fame, as his cavalry leader. There were thirteen
thousand cavalrymen to look out for the advance and take care of the
flanks of this great array. It is calculated that if Grant’s supply
train had marched in single file, it would have covered a distance
of one hundred miles; and one of General Grant’s well-informed
subordinates said to him, “You have the best clothed and the best fed
army that ever marched on any field.”

About the first of May General Lee had sixty-two thousand men ready
for battle. He had two hundred and twenty-five guns; five thousand
artillerymen and eight thousand five hundred cavalrymen under the
renowned “Jeb” Stuart. Each of the great leaders realized, although
they gave no outward expression of their conclusion, that the month
of May would witness a mighty death grapple, the fiercest and most
destructive that the war had seen. Neither the men in gray nor the
men in blue would possibly have fought so vigorously had they known
what the days from May 4th to June 4th had in store for the legions
now ready to face and destroy each other. Day by day the calls of an
astounding mortality would be met. Day by day each would accept the
demands that duty made, with a fortitude that was worthy of American
soldiers, but only General Lee fully realized what these days would
bring forth. Not until twenty days later did General Grant grasp the
true extent of what this advance meant to the soldiers he had been
called to lead.

It was clear from General Grant’s telegrams that he had not expected
the sort of campaign that General Lee put up against him in this
march to Richmond. On the 4th of May, after he had crossed the
Rapidan, he wired to his superiors at Washington that “forty-eight
hours would demonstrate whether Lee intends to give battle before
receding to Richmond.” General Lee was in no hurry to throw down the
gage. He could afford to take his own time. He had met many Federal
generals before and he had out-generaled them all. His army was at
Orange Court House. Later, to protect his flank, it turned eastward
to Spottsylvania County. Gradually Lee was nestling his army between
Fredericksburg and the Pamunky River. Richmond was almost due south
of Washington, but the Potomac drove Grant westward and in sight of
Fredericksburg, where in days gone by Burnside had been crushed.
Grant had resolved to go to Richmond, but between him and Richmond
was General Lee with his matchless fighters, and hitherto these had
proved an unsurmountable barrier to all who undertook to travel this
road.

By the morning of the 5th the lines had been formed on the Wilderness
Road and it became apparent that every step that General Grant would
take on his southern advance was to be skillfully and savagely
contested.

On the 5th of May, when the first day of the battle was passed,
General Lee had suffered no reverse, and he telegraphed to Richmond:
“By the blessing of God we maintained our position against every
effort, until night, when the contest closed.” By five o’clock on
the morning of the 6th the armies were engaged again. In the midst
of a crisis at the front, long expected reinforcements came on the
field; General Lee advanced to meet them. The turning point was at
hand. The men of Texas were the first to reach the scene of action.
Hitherto General Lee had never lost his equipoise, and, riding in
the midst of the Texans, did what he rarely ever did before—gave an
immediate command on the battlefield. He exclaimed to the Texans:
“Charge! Charge! Charge, boys! Charge!” He was rushing amongst
them to the front where the storm of lead and iron was heavy and
momentarily increasing. When these devoted soldiers saw their great
commander exposed to the fire, with one accord they cried out: “Go
back, General Lee! Go back! Go back!” The brave artillerymen under
Poague shouted, “Come back, General Lee! Come back! Come back!”
Oblivious of these tender expressions of their solicitude, lifting
himself high up in his stirrups, on “Traveler,” and waving his hat
he headed the charge. Up to this moment there had been no firing
from the Confederate soldiers. From one end of the line to the
other there arose over the battlefield the cry, “Lee to the rear!
Lee to the rear!” The roar of artillery and the sharper crackling
of musketry could not drown this outburst of solicitude along the
Confederate ranks. No danger could quell this agony of his followers
or still their fear for his safety. His life was to them above all
other considerations, and their concern for him even in the midst
of greatest danger was an absorbing passion and consuming desire. A
brawny Texas sergeant sprang from the ranks and seized the bridle of
“Traveler” and turned him about. The Confederate column refused to
move until General Lee retired from the scene of danger. The love and
devotion of his followers forced him to go. No commander could, or
dare, resist such an appeal.

On the morning of the 10th of May General Grant felt that Washington
would like to know what had happened down in the Virginia hills, and
so out of the smoke and gloom of the firing line and the burning
summer sun he said: “We were engaged with the enemy all day both on
the 5th and 6th.... Had there been daylight, the enemy could have
injured us very much in the confusion that prevailed.” He confessed
that his loss in this battle had been twelve thousand. He quieted the
alarms at Washington by saying that the mortality of the Confederates
no doubt exceeded his, but he admitted, that was only a guess based
on the fact that they had attacked and were repulsed. He added: “At
present we can claim no victory over the enemy, neither have they
gained a single advantage.” General Grant had now discovered that
General Lee would give him battle “this side of Richmond,” and it had
cost him seventeen thousand men to reach this conclusion.

By the 8th of May General Grant began to take General Lee more
seriously, for he wired: “It is not demonstrated what the enemy
will do, but the best of feeling prevails in this army and I feel
at present no apprehension for the result.” He now resolved to go
east of the route he had chosen and so he despatched the following
to his superiors: “My exact route to the James River I have not yet
definitely marked out.” It was evident that General Lee had changed
General Grant’s plans.

General Grant now set his cavalry to raid General Lee’s trains.
Sheridan swung to the right and struck the highway to Richmond. The
contending forces had now reached Spottsylvania Court House. It had
been a slow march, and it was a death march. By the 10th General
Grant became still more uncertain, and he wired: “The enemy hold out
front in very strong force and evince a very strong determination
to interpose between us and Richmond.... I shall take no backward
steps but may be compelled to send back for further supplies. We can
maintain ourselves and in the end beat Lee’s army, I believe.”

On the 11th General Grant had still further reason to revise his
opinions. He wired General Halleck: “We have now ended the 6th day of
very heavy fighting. The result to this time is in our favor, but our
losses have been heavy as well as those of the enemy. We have lost to
this time eleven ... general officers killed, wounded and missing,
and probably twenty thousand men. I propose to fight it out on this
line if it takes all summer.”

Not sufficiently protected, twenty-eight hundred of General Lee’s men
had been captured. Artillery had not been ordered to their support
promptly enough, and twenty cannon were the prize of Hancock’s
valiant followers. General Lee heard the sounds of a fierce conflict
and rode to the scene of danger and advanced into a line of heavy
fire. He found himself in the midst of General John B. Gordon’s
men. General Gordon, with that voice that thrilled men in war and
peace, wherever it was heard, shouted: “General Lee to the rear!”
and flaming with courage and enthusiasm he rode to the Confederate
chieftain and exclaimed, “General Lee, these men are Georgians and
Virginians; they have never failed you. They will not fail you now.”
A soldier, moved by the spirit of the moment, rushed from the ranks
and seizing “Traveler” by the bridle turned his head to the rear and
led him away, and up and down the line came a mighty cry, “Lee to
the rear!” With a wild rush Gordon drove the enemy from his front,
but not a step did the soldiers advance until General Lee had obeyed
their peremptory order to find a place of safety.

General Lee, remaining close to the position where Gordon had left
him, attempted to lead the Mississippians under Harris. These again
took up the great heart cry of the Confederate hosts, and shouted,
“Lee to the rear! Lee to the rear!” The conflict became appalling.
Men from opposite sides of breastworks climbed to their tops and
fired into the face of their opponents. They grappled with each
other and drew each other across the breastworks. The trenches were
filled with blood, and nature sent a cold and dreary rain to chill
the life currents of the wounded men that lay on the field. It was
said by those who listened to the sound of musketry and the crash of
artillery at Spottsylvania and elsewhere, that it was the steadiest
and most continuous and deafening that the war witnessed.

By the 13th twenty-eight hundred of Lee’s men had been captured under
General Bushrod Johnson, but he had only lost eighteen per cent
of his army. Sixteen thousand of General Grant’s had been killed
and wounded. To this loss must be added the twenty thousand who
had already fallen bravely before the men of the Army of Northern
Virginia.

By the 12th General Grant had telegraphed: “The 8th day of battle
closed. The enemy obstinate. They seem to have found the last
ditch.” On the morning of the 13th General Grant’s subordinate
again telegraphed: “The proportion of severely wounded is greater
than either of the previous day’s fighting.” He further said in
the afternoon: “The impression that Lee had started on his retreat
which prevailed at the date of my despatch this morning is not
confirmed.... Of course, we cannot determine without a battle whether
the whole army is still here, and nothing has been done today to
provoke one. It has been necessary to rest the men, and accordingly
we have everywhere stood upon the defensive.”

It was on the evening of May 11th that along the wires came to
General Lee the startling and shocking intelligence that General
J. E. B. Stuart had fallen. For seven days Lee declined to
give any official announcement of this tragedy. He carried the
depressing secret in his bosom. A year before, Stonewall Jackson,
at Chancellorsville, had been stricken down in the midst of another
gigantic conflict. General Lee was unwilling to let his fighters know
that death had called the illustrious cavalry chieftain at the moment
when they most needed the inspiration of every Confederate leader.

Grant sat down to wait five days and in the meantime he added twenty
thousand fresh troops to his legions.

The hammering process had not proved such a wonderful success after
all, and so Grant had ordered Sigel down the Shenandoah Valley
to break Lee’s communication. In the meantime General John C.
Breckinridge came up from Southwestern Virginia and brought with him
some infantry and some cavalry, and on the 15th of May, while General
Grant was waiting, Breckinridge had crushed Sigel and captured six
of his guns as well as one-sixth of his men. On the 17th of May,
Halleck wired General Grant: “Sigel is in full retreat on Strasburg.
He will do nothing but run—never did anything else”; and there came
also to General Grant on this eventful day the news that Beauregard
over at Petersburg had driven General Butler back and bottled him up
on the James River.

On the 20th of May, Grant moved still further eastward at
Spottsylvania Court House. Since crossing the Rapidan on May 4th,
sixteen days before, he had suffered a loss of thirty-seven thousand
men. This was thirty per cent of all the fighting men that he had led
out from Culpepper Court House.

Grant was still moving eastward and Dana telegraphed: “Now for the
first time Lee prevented his southward march.” He seemed to have
forgotten what had been happening since the 4th of May.

Sigel disposed of, Breckinridge came to join in the conflict at Cold
Harbor. By the 26th of May General Grant had withdrawn from Lee’s
front, and pressing eastward and southwardly, attempted to find
another road to Richmond. He telegraphed to Washington: “I may be
mistaken, but I feel that our success over Lee’s army is already
insured,” but yet he directed that his supplies be brought up the
Pamunky River to the White House. He was looking for a base and he
was going to find the path that McClellan followed when he met defeat
from General Lee two years before.

By May 30th General Grant had again changed his views about General
Lee and so he despatched to General Halleck: “I wish you would bring
all the pontoon bridging you can to City Point to have it ready in
case it is wanted.” He found out that Lee might fight outside of
Richmond—and anywhere else in its defense.

The two armies were swinging around now to Cold Harbor. This place
was already known in history. The armies now facing each other had
met there before, in June, 1862. The results then to the Federals
were not encouraging. This time they were to prove far more
disastrous and exceedingly horrible.

On the morning of June 3d, 1864, at half past four o’clock, General
Grant opened a great battle—Cold Harbor—the greatest battle of
this campaign and the only battle he afterwards said that he ever
regretted having fought. Persisting in his policy of forcing his way
south to Richmond, he was unwilling to confess failure. Confident of
the power of the “hammering process,” committed by his boast to fight
it out on this line if it took all summer, he was too proud to admit
that he was mistaken. He hoped and believed that fate, hitherto so
propitious, would now come to his rescue and relief in the extremity
of the situation into which war’s surprises had brought him. Between
four and nine o’clock in the morning, assault after assault was made
and the whole front of Grant’s line was so decimated that his men
drew back from the scenes of conflict. At nine o’clock it became
so dreadful that even as brave men as Hancock refused to transmit
General Grant’s peremptory orders to his subordinates to renew the
attack. Each time it was transmitted, each time the men on the line
refused to obey the order, and officers who had never before quailed,
and who were strangers to fear, stood still and allowed their men
to stand still in the face of peremptory orders to advance. Ten
thousand men on the 1st and 3d of June were wounded and killed, and
then General Grant moved away from Lee’s front. It was impregnable,
and General Grant realized that the Army of Northern Virginia,
although only half as numerous as his own, would not be driven away
from their places. It cost thousands of dead and wounded, but it was
demonstrated to be a verity, and General Grant, with all his hitherto
indomitable will and with his tremendous pride of opinion, yielded
to the inevitable—that General Lee’s genius and the courage of his
followers had forced into his mind and set up in his path.

Seventeen thousand killed, wounded or sent away by reason of
sickness, were the tidings that came from this ensanguined field to
Washington, where thirty days before every heart was so full of hope.
General Grant had permitted his dead and wounded between the lines
to lie uncared for until the 5th of June, and then humanity with
fearful protest forced him at least officially to admit that he was
vanquished. He at last sought the right to succor the wounded and
bury the dead.

With the Army of Northern Virginia behind the breastworks, with their
courage and dogged determination to defend their capital, there
was no force of men and no legion however brave or intrepid that
could move these men in gray. The men under the Stars and Bars had
sufficient ammunition to keep their guns in use, and so long as it
was possible to fire these guns, no earthly foeman could break their
lines. True, for an instant, at one angle the line had been forced,
but quickly it was retaken and the Confederate front restored.

Grant had lost approximately seventy thousand men, killed or wounded.
General Lee had suffered a loss of twenty thousand, making a total
on both sides of ninety thousand, and from Culpepper to Cold Harbor,
covering a period of thirty days, the world had never seen such a
trail of blood. The life currents of valiant soldiers flowed almost
in a stream. These armies had traveled fifty miles. They had been
battling and killing all the way. This road was two hundred and
sixty-four thousand feet in length. Every three feet had witnessed
the sacrifice of a life or the infliction of a wound. Men looked
aghast at this loss of life and limb.

On the 11th of May, General Stuart had fallen at Yellow Tavern. He
died on the 12th. Universal sorrow filled every heart. A year before
Stonewall Jackson had died, and now came the death of Stuart, as a
sort of final stroke to the Confederate hopes. When Stuart died, on
May 12th, General Wade Hampton, as senior major general of cavalry
in the Army of Northern Virginia, took his place. Sheridan had gone
down to the west of Richmond and made the attack which resulted in
Stuart’s death, and after a repulse rode back to the shelter of
General Grant’s infantry.

Sheridan had reached the gates of Richmond, but there his course was
stayed and his raid ended and he turned about and came to the west
of Grant’s army and resumed his place with it on the 25th of May. He
had not suffered a very great loss, six hundred and twenty-five men,
but the Confederates had lost Stuart, and now Hampton was to come
to the front. He was forty-six years of age; he had passed through
three years of vigorous warfare and a wide experience. Under him
now were some of the best cavalry leaders the country had known.
He had M. C. Butler, with his South Carolinians; he had P. M. B.
Young, with his Georgians; he had Rosser, with his Virginians; he
had Wickham and Lomax, with their Virginians, under Fitzhugh Lee. He
had James B. Gordon, with the North Carolinians, and Chambliss, with
his Virginians, under W. H. F. Lee, son of Robert E. Lee. Dismounts,
wounds and casualties had reduced his forces to the point where they
could only do the necessary cavalry work for General Lee’s army.

The Federal cavalry, at this time, was commanded by General Sheridan.
He had three divisions under Torbert, Gregg and Wilson, and these
had between them fifteen thousand eight hundred and twenty-five
serviceable horses and men. For every horseman of Hampton, Sheridan
had two. A little while before there had come into use among the
Federals the Spencer & Hall magazine rifles. Each man not only had
one of these magazine rifles, but he had a revolver and a sabre.
The horses were always fed and they could be changed whenever the
exigencies of war demanded. After the experiences at Fleetwood
Hill, General Hampton realized that the methods of fighting must
be altered. He had read of what Morgan and Forrest and Wheeler had
done with dismounted men. He did not yield his mounted drill, but he
expanded and developed his dismounted drill.

General Grant had failed to break General Lee’s lines. He must
now resort to flank movements. General Hampton never for a moment
hesitated at the tremendous responsibilities which now rested upon
the cavalry. He was conscious of his power and the efficiency of
his followers, and was ready to do the best he could. He was the
successor of one of the most distinguished, brave and dashing cavalry
leaders of the war. It required genius and courage to rise to the
situation, but General Hampton, with calmness and intrepidity, was
willing to meet every call and face every emergency.

Over at Hawes’ Shop, on the 28th of May, Sheridan was trying to find
out the position of the Confederate infantry, and Hampton was trying
to find out the position of the Federal infantry. They fought seven
hours. Some of Hampton’s men had never heard the battle sound before.
They had been sandwiched in with the veterans, and they made good
soldiers even in their first conflict.

Custer and other Federal officers said that the fight at Hawes’ Shop
was the severest cavalry fighting in the war. Colonel Alger of the
5th Michigan says it was a hand-to-hand battle. The South Carolinians
bore the brunt of it, and they won new laurels. When the result of
the fighting at Hawes’ Shop was made known none doubted that Stuart’s
mantle had fallen upon a worthy successor. It was immediately
preceding the death of General Stuart that General Sheridan said
either to Grant or some of his commanders that he “could whip hell
out of Stuart”; to which General Grant laconically replied, “Why
in hell didn’t he go and do it?” He went, but he came back without
making good his boast, and he was now to take a turn with General
Hampton.

Next came Atlee Station, with its close, sharp contest and with its
victory.

After the Battle of Cold Harbor, on the 4th day of June, Grant began
to fortify and swing around to the east and north. Later he crossed
the James River and sat down for the siege of Petersburg. He had
not at first recognized General Lee’s true greatness. Here he was
to realize the stern, unyielding courage of the Army of Northern
Virginia. He had found it would do no good to “fight it out on that
line, if it took all summer,” and to save his army from annihilation
he must change his plan of campaign. At the Battle of Cold Harbor,
the ratio of loss had been for fifteen Federals, one Confederate.
Nothing had happened like this before. No man could deny the valor
and persistency of the Federal soldiers under Grant. They did not
flinch when the test came. They bared their breast to the awful
storm, and it swept more than seventy thousand either into the grave
or the hospital. We know now all that passed. The wonderful book
published by the Federal government, entitled “War of the Rebellion,
Official Record,” tells the whole story, and the reader can see by
the daily records and despatches of the actors on both sides, in
these days of tremendous conflict, what these two armies did in the
gigantic struggle for the possession of the Confederate capital.

On the morning of June 8th, General Hampton with his forces was out
near Atlee Station, eight miles north of Richmond. In the early hours
of that morning Sheridan marched away with a cavalry force of nine
thousand men. He had been ordered by Grant to march northwest, to
capture and destroy Gordonsville and Charlottesville, and then to
move down the valley and help Hunter, who was then on his way to
Lynchburg.

All the fury and storm of war now seemed to be turned loose on
General Lee’s army. Hunter had penetrated the valley and was setting
his face toward Lynchburg. The torch, with the horrors of hell behind
it, was reducing the beautiful and happy homes of Virginia to heaps
of ruins; piles of ashes and chimneys standing stark and lone were
the memorial to the savagery of the invasion of this once hospitable
and cultured country. Now Sheridan, later the “Scourge of God” in the
Shenandoah Valley, was to add new atrocities at Charlottesville to
war’s devastation and brutality.

The signal stations told the story of General Sheridan’s departure.
General Hampton divined where he was going. He conferred with General
Lee, and asked to follow Sheridan’s path and attempt the defense
of the valley. As greatly as General Lee needed men, he could not
allow Sheridan to march unmolested and destroy lines which were so
essential to the maintenance of the Confederate position in and
around Richmond.

Rations were light in these days. Quickly, three days’ food was
cooked and with a few ears of corn tied round with strings and
fastened to the saddles became the commissary equipment of Hampton’s
forces, which were to engage in one of the important cavalry
campaigns of the war. The cavalry under Hampton and Sheridan was to
be removed fifty miles from the infantry supports and the cavalry
alone was to fight out the issues of this campaign. Like mighty
wrestlers repairing to some desert to try out their skill alone,
these two cavalry forces marched away where none could see them
in their struggle, and where none could come to the rescue of the
vanquished.

Hampton could not take more than forty-seven hundred men. These were
all that Lee could spare. He had twelve pieces of artillery.

Sheridan had two divisions. They numbered nine thousand men. They
carried twenty-four pieces of artillery, and were the best the army
of the Potomac could send. Sheridan had the 1st, 2d and 5th United
States Regulars and there were no better trained cavalry than these.
He had Custer’s brigade, who had imbibed the dash and courage of
their leader, and he had New York, New Jersey and Maine regiments
that had won renown not only at Fleetwood Hill, but on many other
fields. These horsemen had witnessed the terrors of the march from
Culpepper to Cold Harbor. Its wrecks and its losses stood out before
their minds in sharpest lines. The horsemen had fared well, and the
infantry had borne the burden of the thirty-seven days’ decimation,
and with the instincts of brave men they were rather glad to be
sent to take a hand in any movement which should either avenge or
compensate for the defense of that terrifying campaign.

[Illustration: GENERAL WADE HAMPTON]

Few people knew of Sheridan’s going. He had marched away first
towards Washington, but he could not march out of sight of the skill
or the watchful eyes of General Hampton’s scouts. Hope beat high in
the breast of Sheridan. He had felt chagrined that he had failed in
his attack on Richmond a few days before and now he hoped to destroy
Gordonsville and Charlottesville and march down the valley to
Lynchburg and take Richmond from the rear, come in behind Petersburg,
and bring wreck and ruin to General Lee. It was a great plan of
campaign, laid out along broad lines. He had hoped to keep away from
his wily antagonist, but Hampton divined whither he was going, and it
turned out when Sheridan had reached the first objective point of his
campaign, he was to face a tired but vigorous and dauntless pursuer,
and one who never quailed or doubted even when nature was almost
pitilessly resistant.

Sheridan marched in three days sixty-five miles. It was hot, dusty
and water was scarce. He marched leisurely, because he felt that
his antagonist knew naught of his plans, and he was confident that
Hampton could not reach him where he was going. He was sure that he
had gotten away unobserved, and that he would have nothing to do but
burn, waste and destroy from Gordonsville to Lynchburg. He could see
in his mind’s eye the flames licking up the buildings that stood by
the path he was to march. A feeling of profound satisfaction filled
his heart, and on the terribleness of his work he felt sure he could
found a new reputation for victory and success.

On the night of the 10th Sheridan and his soldiers slept calmly in
the summer air. They did not know where Hampton was, but they felt
sure he was not where they were, and no dreams of danger or battle
disturbed the tranquility and quiet of their rest.

On the morning after Sheridan started north and then turned west,
Hampton set his forces in motion. He was sure that he knew where
Sheridan was going. He was staking his all on the correctness of
his instincts. He was confident he could march more rapidly than
Sheridan; he knew the road and he had the short line; but yet he must
march under tremendous difficulties. The temperature was torrid, the
dust was so thick that it almost could be cut with a knife. After
breathing it a few hours, the nostrils and eyes of the men became
inflamed, and the moisture of the body combining with the dust made
an oozy, slimy substance that half blinded their vision. Water was
scarce and food was scarce, but courage was still abundant.

By the night of June 10th Hampton had traveled something like fifty
miles. Sheridan had gone sixty-five miles, and as darkness came
on, Hampton’s forces reached Green Spring Valley, a few miles away
from Trevilian Station, an insignificant railway stop, from which
the battle on the morrow was to take its name. The two Confederate
divisions were a few miles apart. This hard marching, the cooked
rations, the corn upon the saddles, told the intelligent men that
constituted Hampton’s forces that they were after somebody and it did
not take them long to figure out that this somebody was Sheridan.
With their parched throats and swollen eyes, and suffering with
inflamed nostrils, they laid down to sleep, not worrying about the
morrow. Careless as to what it would bring for them, they were ready
to answer every call of duty, wherever that should lead them in the
day to come. As the streaks of light began to come over the mountain
sides from the east, every man in the Confederate line was up and at
his post, ready for action. The last of the corn that was brought on
their weary backs from Atlee Station was fed to the hungry brutes,
and the last of the soggy bread, which had been cooked for the men
before they had set out on this march, was eaten. General Hampton
knew that now he must be close to the Federal lines. The night
before his scouts had brought him back information that Sheridan was
near by. Some of these had looked into his camps, and the Federals,
unconscious of the presence of Hampton’s legions, had been sounding
their bugles and were quietly and leisurely making their morning’s
meal. They felt there was no need for haste. As there was no hostile
force near, they believed they might in safety enjoy a brief repose,
which they had fully earned by hardest service.

Hampton’s scouts knew the topography. They had described Sheridan’s
location. He formed his plans accordingly, and they were plans which
involved savage work. General Forrest’s quaint saying, “Get the bulge
on them,” had traveled to the east and fallen on Hampton’s ears. With
an inferior force he well understood that strategy and skill would
stand him well in hand, and that he must take fullest advantage of
all that chance might send his way. It was worth some hundreds of men
to get the drop on Sheridan. The first lick is oftentimes of great
value, and General Hampton was resolved if it was possible to strike
an unexpected blow. He hoped in this way to equalize the disparity
of numbers. He began his work early and he set about the business
of the day furiously. His orders were to assail the enemy wherever
and whenever found and not for a single moment to stay the tide of
battle.

The country had not been denuded of its wood. This would help to hide
from the enemy the full strength and position of the Confederates,
and at the same time it would make more effective the slower,
steadier and more accurate firing of the men in gray. The Federals
had sarcastically referred to General Hampton as a “woods fighter”;
in other words, he was afraid to come out in the open, but when he
had forty-seven hundred to nine thousand, he had a right to take
advantage of all that the surrounding conditions would give him in
the conflict.

Hampton had undertaken to intercept Sheridan’s march. He had
out-marched him. He had done in two days that which had taken
Sheridan three, and his men were as fresh and bright as those of
Sheridan. The journey had told on man and beast, but they had both
become used to the severest toil, and were willing and ready for any
fray that would pass that way.

Some picket firing was heard, but the Federals, not yet realizing
that Hampton was in their front and on their flank, supposed that the
desultory shots were from the guns of raw militia who had pressed
forward with more vigor than discretion.

Sheridan and his most dashing lieutenant, General Custer, no sooner
heard heavy firing than they comprehended the real situation. They
understood that the Confederates had followed them in heavy force,
that the clash would be serious, and that hard fighting was at hand,
and that if they were to continue their march down the valley, they
must discomfit the men who were now assailing their lines and drive
them out of their path. The Federals began to fight back with
spirit. It did not take them long to get ready for the grave task
that was forced upon them. While the Confederates were charging, the
men in blue were charging, too, and by good luck and by boldness
Custer passed between Fitzhugh Lee and Hampton’s two divisions and
was at the Confederate rear before anybody caught on to this serious
condition. When General Hampton, guided by the sound of firing,
rushed to the spot, he found that Custer was vigorously assailing
his rear. Custer had taken many of his caissons and wagons and led
horses, and he felt that victory was already within his grasp. In
this emergency, Rosser, who could always be depended upon for a
fierce, impetuous charge, was ordered to attack Custer. In a few
moments the crash of charging horses, the roll of revolver firing,
and the cuts of sabres demonstrated to Custer’s men that the people
they were fighting were not militia, but foemen worthy of their
steel. Nearly all that Custer had captured was retaken, and an entire
regiment made prisoners. Rosser fell wounded. The enemy, finding the
opportunity, pressed hard upon Butler’s and Young’s brigades. The
result of the battle hung in the balance. A mistake on either side
would be fatal. Hampton’s presence was always an inspiration, and he
rode from place to place on every part of the field. Outnumbered,
Hampton’s division under Lee was sorely pressed, and General Fitzhugh
Lee’s division was cut off and became so thoroughly separated that it
could be of no help or support for twenty-four hours.

Sheridan’s forces were now turned with severe impact upon Hampton’s
division, and gradually it was forced back toward Gordonsville,
but still protected that place and Charlottesville. Hampton quickly
took advantage of a railroad embankment, dismounted his men and put
them behind it, and against this, Sheridan, all during the afternoon
of the 10th, in vain hurled his forces. When the sun rose on the
morning of the 11th, Hampton, his men, his artillery and his horses
were still in position. Sheridan, strangely enough, waited until
three o’clock in the afternoon. By this he lost his chance to win.
Had he rushed the Confederate line with a real impetuous assault
he would have broken it. He waited without a good reason. Fitzhugh
Lee, with two-fifths of Hampton’s men, was marching to avoid Federal
interruption, and when he came, Hampton’s heart was gladdened and
his hopes lifted high. Fitzhugh Lee coming once more united the
Confederates, and now all of Hampton’s men faced all of Sheridan’s
men with Hampton protected by the railroad embankment. When this
barrier, as the battle front was lengthened, failed, fence rails
were pressed into service and such earth as the men could throw up
with their hands and plates and cups reinforced the rails. So far
little had been done or accomplished, and Sheridan moved up his men
close to the Confederate lines. They had plenty of ammunition, and
the roar from the constant discharge of the magazine rifles made a
terrific din. Again and again Sheridan’s men with supreme courage
assailed the Confederate breastworks, but each time they left their
dead and wounded and fell back from the scenes of slaughter. Chew
and Hart, with their artillery, poured deadliest discharges into the
Federal columns. At one time General M. C. Butler’s men exhausted
their ammunition. It looked as if all was lost. When despair seemed
to fill every heart in this brave command, an ammunition wagon, with
the horses lashed to a gallop, came dashing by, and the occupants of
the wagon flung out from its sides loose handfuls of cartridges, and
these the men joyously seized and returned to the fray. Seven times
Sheridan’s men advanced to the charge, and seven times they recoiled
from the tremendous fire that greeted them from the Confederate
lines. At the moment of the last assault a Confederate shell exploded
a Federal caisson. Somebody realized that this was the psychological
moment, and from over the breastworks the Confederates, moved by
instinct and valor, charged with the speed of racers upon the Federal
line. The rebel yell was heard from end to end, and the Federal
forces, disheartened by their many failures, were swept away by the
unexpected and impetuous advance of Hampton’s soldiers. The turning
point had come. The Confederates seized their opportunity and the
battle was won.

From three o’clock in the afternoon until ten o’clock at night
the contest had raged, and the record showed that it was a fierce
contest. Both sides had dismounted. On the ground they were assailing
each other with greatest energy and persistence. The Confederates
had the best of position, but the Federals had the most of men. All
through the afternoon and in the darkness of night neither side was
willing to give up the struggle. The stars came out with feeble
light to relieve the gloom and shadows that overspread the wreck
and suffering of the battlefield. Naught could stay the surging
tide of war, and in the darkness, as in the light, these soldiers
continued to wage the contest. There was no time to bear away the
dead or relieve the wounded. Orders had been given by General Hampton
to Fitzhugh Lee for rapid and fierce pursuit, and to intervene
between Sheridan and Carpenter’s Ford on the North Anna River, at
which he had crossed the day before; but the orders failed or were
not executed and Sheridan marched away, leaving the unfortunate
wounded behind, and returned by the same road over which he had
come. He left in the hands of the men of the South six hundred and
ninety-five prisoners and one hundred and twenty-five wounded. Again
was demonstrated the power of the single-firing guns. The Federals
claim to have carried away more than five hundred wounded, but they
abandoned their dead and a hundred and twenty-five wounded were left
with Hampton.

Little time was allowed for expressions of humanity. The
Confederates, with the possession of the battlefield, assumed thereby
responsibility for the care of those whose misfortunes left them
suffering and helpless in the fields and woods that had witnessed
the harvest of death on the two days of the struggle. When the storm
of battle had passed, Federal and Confederate wounded were placed in
improvised hospitals constructed of flat cars, thence conveyed to
some convenient hospital further south. The few people that were left
in this war-stricken country brought such food as they could spare
to feed Hampton and his men; but these, rising to the highest calls
of humanity, hungry and thirsty themselves, willingly made an equal
division of what had been brought with their wounded and captured
foes. This was a splendid demonstration of the noble and generous
instincts that ever dwell in the hearts of brave men and which
quicken and expand under the influence of opportunity. The bitterness
of a fratricidal war could not stay the exercise of benignity and
mercy.

General Sheridan endeavored to mitigate the unfortunate results of
this expedition upon which he had started with high and boastful
hopes. He had promised so much and accomplished so little that it
required no small genius and much of rhetorical skill to satisfy
those who had sent him on so important a mission. He had his own
choice of troopers. Those he took with him had shown that in any
contest they were ready to give a good account of themselves.
Equipped, armed and provided with all that money could bring, and
brought to a high degree of discipline, and already fully proved
as able to cope with their foes, General Sheridan had either to
exaggerate the number of men under Hampton, magnify the difficulties
he encountered or admit a complete defeat. He chose the former. He
claimed that he had attacked the Confederates in fortifications. He
reported that Hampton had been reinforced by infantry on the second
day of the fight, when in fact there was no infantry closer than
General Lee’s camps, eight miles from Richmond. The barren results of
this expedition temporarily shook General Grant’s faith in General
Sheridan’s capacity and fighting qualities, and this was only
restored, when later, in the Valley and around Petersburg, General
Sheridan repaired his shattered reputation, and with the experiences
of another four months demonstrated that he was both a brilliant and
aggressive cavalry leader.

He had hoped to do great damage to the railroad at Gordonsville
and south to Staunton, and yet he only disturbed two hundred feet.
General Torbert reported that the Confederates had a large brigade
of mounted infantry armed with rifle muskets. A Federal prisoner
had written in his diary on the last day of the fight—“Sunday, June
12th, ... fought on same ground and got whipped like the devil....”
Anyhow, whatever may have been the results as figured in General
Sheridan’s imagination, he made a night ride, crossed the North Anna
River, and marched back to Cold Harbor, from whence he had come. For
eight days Hampton was on one side of the river and Sheridan on the
other. If Sheridan wanted to fight he had pontoon bridges and he had
only to lay them and cross over. For at least a portion of the time
the two cavalry commands were within sight of each other and now and
then they exchanged shots. After fifteen days General Sheridan had
gotten back to where he left Grant’s army, from whence he started
out with such flattering hopes and alluring expectations. He now
found that Grant had determined to abandon his summer line, cross the
Chickahominy, ferry over the James River, and take up a position on
its south bank, from whence the long siege of Petersburg would begin,
and proceed by inches until it would culminate in the overthrow of
the Confederacy.

General Hampton had a second chance at General Gregg at Nance’s
Shop on the 24th of June, eleven days after the cessation of
hostilities at Trevilian. He came close to making a complete rout
of General Gregg’s forces. Attacking in the afternoon he harried
his lines,—pursued him until eleven o’clock at night, and a short
distance from Charles City Court House captured one hundred and
fifty-seven prisoners. So sorely was General Gregg’s division handled
in this affair that it required some time to recruit and mend up.

General Sheridan, in making his report, was bound by his backward
march to express his regret at his inability to carry out his
instructions. It was with much humiliation that he admitted failure.
In the campaign Sheridan lost, according to Federal reports, more
than fifteen hundred killed, wounded and taken prisoner, while
General Hampton’s forces lost less than eight hundred. This Trevilian
expedition was another test out of the spirit and power of Federal
and Confederate cavalry of the armies in Northern Virginia. It
demonstrated anew that the Confederate cavalry under Hampton was
just as enterprising, as valiant, as enthusiastic and as brave and
dauntless as when it fought under Stuart. Down to the very end the
horsemen of the Army of Northern Virginia maintained their proud
spirit and their indomitable will, and when the last call was made,
when the lines at Petersburg had been broken, and when General Lee,
in the vain hope of effecting a union with Johnston in Georgia, had
turned his face west and reached Appomattox, there to be met with sad
and appalling disaster, the cavalry was still ready and willing to
fight and give valiant response to the last call that their country
could make upon their fealty and their courage. Many of them marched
into North Carolina and Georgia to make one more stand under the
Stars and Bars, and once more offer their lives to win life for the
Confederate Nation.




CHAPTER XVI

MORGAN’S RIDE AROUND CINCINNATI, ON “THE OHIO RAID,” JULY, 1863


In June, 1863, General Banks was hammering Port Hudson, Louisiana,
where General Gardner, the commander of the Confederate forces, made
such gallant and fierce resistance. The fall of Vicksburg on July 4th
did not affect the valor of Gardner and his command. He fought until
his men from mere exhaustion could fight no longer. Without rest, in
constant battle for six weeks, flesh and blood could resist no more.
He inflicted tremendous loss upon his assailants, and he yielded only
when further resistance was physically impossible. These were very
dark days for the people of the Southland.

After the Battle of Murfreesboro at Stone River, December 31,
1862—January 1, 1863, General Rosecrans remained inactive for five
months. The mortality in this struggle measurably paralyzed the
energies of both Confederates and Federals. Each general sat down to
rest, renew hopes, recuperate and plead for reinforcements.

While Rosecrans had behind him almost unlimited resources, an ample
fighting force of trained men and abundant supplies, the experience
at Murfreesboro rendered him uncertain about grappling again with
General Bragg, and the latter, with the awful memory of that
struggle, was glad to wait for the other side to move.

That, in June, 1863, Bragg’s troops were at Shelbyville, Tennessee,
about twenty miles away from Murfreesboro, was convincing evidence
that Rosecrans was not eager for battle. The clamors of those in
authority at Washington indicated that Rosecrans must advance. It
was necessary for him either to go forward or resign, and in June he
undertook to force Bragg still farther south.

Fifty miles from Nashville, at Shelbyville, General Bragg decided
again to try the fortunes of war, but Rosecrans, with a larger army
than Bragg, was able to turn his flanks. On the 27th of June General
Bragg concentrated his army at Tullahoma, which was twenty miles
from Shelbyville. He had at first determined there again to risk a
battle. At this time, General Bragg was in extremely poor health.
With friction among his generals and with enemies in front, he had
suffered both mental and physical depletion, and General Hardee had
said of him that he “was not able to take command in the field.” His
corps commanders advised him to recede and retreat to Chattanooga,
where with his army he arrived on the 7th of July, 1863. The spirit
and courage of his men had suffered no depreciation. He had lost
no guns and no supplies, and the rank and file had no sympathy in
the movements which surrendered so much of Tennessee to Federal
occupation. A third of Bragg’s army were Tennesseeans, and they
looked upon a retreat to Chattanooga as little short of treason. Left
to these men thus expatriated by military necessities, they would
gladly have fought a battle every week.

Determined upon another trial of strength with Rosecrans, General
Bragg undertook, through General John H. Morgan, to threaten and
destroy the Federal lines of communication, to force the withdrawal
of men to defend wagon trains, railroad bridges and trestles.
Morgan was directed to enter Kentucky at or near Burksville on the
Cumberland River, proceed northward to the Ohio River, and then
retreat out of the state by the route which the exigencies of the
moment should suggest as the most feasible road for a return to the
army in Tennessee. For some days previous General Morgan’s division
had been concentrating in Wayne County, Kentucky, in and around
Monticello, its county seat, and he gradually worked his way towards
Burksville. Across the Cumberland, Federal cavalry were guarding the
paths into Central Kentucky and keeping a sharp lookout for Morgan
and his followers. They had stringent orders to be vigilant and under
no stress to allow the Confederate raider to steal by and start havoc
and ruin on the Louisville & Nashville Railroad, then essential for
feeding Rosecrans’ advancing legions.

Here, waiting for the moment which would be most critical in General
Bragg’s southward retreat, on the morning of July 2d, 1863, General
Morgan’s division, twenty-six hundred strong, crossed the Cumberland
River at Burksville and at Turkey Neck Bend, a few miles west of the
town. Nine-tenths of the men composing this division were Kentuckians
and all very young men. A thrill of joy stirred every heart and
quickened every body, when the order came which turned their faces
homeward. The men of Missouri, Maryland and Kentucky were the orphans
of the Confederacy, and to them home-going in army days gave a touch
of highest bliss. The First Brigade, under General Duke, crossed a
short distance above Burksville, while the Second Brigade, under
General Adam R. Johnson, crossed at Turkey Neck Bend, a few miles
below Burksville, some five or six miles apart. The First Brigade had
some flat boats, and the Second had one leaky flatboat and a couple
of canoes. All the horses and some of the men of the Second Brigade
must swim. There was no organized resistance to the crossing of the
stream, which was full from bank to bank and its currents running at
tremendous speed. The Federal watchers thought the great flood in the
Cumberland River would temporarily stop Morgan, and with the water
on their side, they did not believe it possible for the Confederates
to pass over with their artillery and ammunition and get lodgment on
the north side of the stream. They could not learn exactly where he
would try to ferry; they knew he could not ford, and so, trusting to
luck and high water, they securely waited in their camp for what the
morrow would bring forth.

In the Second Brigade the saddles, guns, ammunition, cannon and
clothing were placed in the ferryboat, and regiments one at a time
were brought down to the river. The horses with their bridles and
halters were driven into the stream and forced to take their chances,
not only with the rapid current, but with the driftwood, which was
very abundant and large. At some places it covered almost the entire
surface. The stream was five-eighths of a mile wide. Many of the men
clung to the ferryboat and thus swam across. Some held to the canoes
and floated by their side, while others swam with their horses,
holding to their manes or tails to prevent being swept down stream by
its fierce tides. As the first detachment crossed over, the Federal
pickets undertook to resist the landing. The part of the Confederates
who were in the ferryboat and canoe with their clothes on, rushed
into line, while those who swam, unwilling to be laggard, not halting
to dress, seized their cartridge boxes and guns and rushed upon the
enemy. The strange sight of naked men engaging in combat for a moment
amazed the enemy. They had never seen soldiers before clad only in
nature’s garb; they concluded that warriors, fully grown and armed,
just born into the world, were the men they must fight. Amid such
scenes as this was begun the thousand mile march which constituted
Morgan’s Ohio Raid. The animals were quickly corralled and saddled,
lines promptly formed, and the onslaught upon the Federals begun. It
did not take long for Morgan’s men to discover that their presence
was not only unwelcome, but was expected. In a little while dead
troopers, dead steeds, abandoned clothing, lost haversacks and
wrecked wagons along the highway gave mute but convincing proof of
war’s terrors and war’s exactions. The Southern raiders thus early
learned that the campaign would not be completed without much of
conflict and loss. It did not take long to drive Woolford’s Federal
cavalry out of Columbia. Nothing could stay the impetuous rush of
these riders towards the Bluegrass. The resistance was feeble, but
it was enough to show that enemies were abundant and alert. A few
dead and wounded were left by both sides in Columbia, but these
were remitted to the ministrations and care of non-combatants,
while the fighters rode forward to new conflicts. The enthusiasm
of homecoming lent renewed courage and ever-increasing vehemence
to the Kentuckians, and they were ready to ride over anything that
obstructed the way that pointed toward their friends farther up the
state.

At Green River Stockade was stationed the 25th Michigan Infantry,
commanded by Colonel O. B. Moore. The position of the stockade had
been selected with great skill and protected by an impassable line,
consisting of trees and rifle pits and sharpened pieces of wood
with some wires and fencing. Against this a couple of regiments
were hurled, but in vain. When surrender had been demanded of
Colonel Moore, the Federal commander, he returned the laconic
answer that “the Fourth of July was no day for me to entertain such
a proposition.” He was a brave, gallant and fearless foe, and his
patriotic response won the respect of his enemies. The tone of his
reply foreboded trouble. The Confederates were not long in finding
out that he was prepared in action to back up his words of eloquent
defiance. General Morgan was compelled in a little while to do what
his judgment now told him he should have done in the outset, that is
to leave the stockade and the infantry alone. They were really not in
his way, could do him no damage if left unmolested, and could join
in no pursuit when once he had passed them by. In thirty minutes’
fighting more than forty men were killed and forty-five wounded. Of
the enemy, nine were killed and twenty-six wounded. Colonel Chenault
of the 11th Kentucky, Major Brent of the 5th, Lieutenant Cowan of
the 3d, Lieutenants Holloway and Ferguson of the 5th were among the
valiant and gallant officers who laid down their lives on that day
for their country.

In any protracted war, all commands which extensively participate
have their dark days, and in some respects, outside the disaster at
Buffington Island, fifteen days later, the darkest day that ever
came to General Morgan’s division was this sad 4th of July. For a
little while it checked the enthusiasm and stilled the quickened
heartbeats of the returning exiles. On the morrow at Lebanon there
would be other sorrowful experiences and the hope of home-going would
temporarily vanish when at Lebanon the head of the column turned west
instead of continuing east.

On that grim day at Green River Stockade the 11th under Chenault and
the 5th under Colonel Smith were asked to do the impossible. They
stood until standing was no longer wise, or even brave. The Federal
commander reported that the fighting lasted three hours, but the
real fighting lasted less than three-quarters of an hour, and with
something less than six hundred men engaged, about forty-five were
killed and the same number wounded. This was a distressing percentage
of mortality under the circumstances of the battle.

Chenault, impetuous, gallant, died close up to the enemy with
his face to the foe. Major Brent, of the 5th Kentucky, so full
of promise, was killed as he rode up to salute Colonel James B.
McCreary, who succeeded Chenault in command of the 11th. Captain
Treble, of Christmas raid fame, was among the men who gave their
lives on this field for the Southland. As he rose to salute the
colonel, who had become such by the death of Chenault, and waved his
hand to let him know that he would be ready when the order came, he
fell, struck by a bullet that crushed through his brain.

None of those who saw these dead brought out under the flag of
truce, and the wounded carried in blankets from out of the woods and
from the ravines and laid along the turnpike road from Columbia to
Lebanon, will ever forget the harrowing scene. When they looked upon
the dead, with their pallid faces turned heavenward, and their pale
hands folded across their stilled breasts, poignant grief filled
every heart. It did not take long to bury or arrange for burial of
the dead. Humanity would care for the wounded, and war’s demands bade
the remaining soldiers press forward, and by midnight the division
camped a few miles out from Lebanon to rest for the conflict on the
morrow.

Colonel Charles Hanson, who commanded the 20th Kentucky Federal
Infantry, had prepared to make the best defense possible at Lebanon.
He placed his men in the brick depot and in the houses surrounding
it. General Morgan disliked to leave anything behind, and so he
resolved to capture this force. It was captured, but the cost did
not justify the losses. It was there that we saw General Morgan’s
youngest brother, “Tom,” as they familiarly called him, go down in
the storm. He was a first lieutenant in the 2d Kentucky and was then
serving on General Duke’s staff. With the fiery courage of youth,
backed by a fearless heart, in the excitement of battle he exposed
his person and was struck down by a shot from the depot. War allows
no time for partings. It permits no preparation for the great beyond.
Standing close to his brother, he could only exclaim, “Brother, I am
killed. I am killed,” and then fell into the grief-stricken brother’s
arms. He was a mere lad, but he died like a hero.

The taking of a brick depot with several hundred men inside, in war,
is not an easy job. It was to cost ten killed and thirty wounded.
Here I witnessed what appeared to be one of the bravest things I have
ever observed. The 8th Kentucky—Cluke’s—with which I was connected,
was ordered to charge the front of the depot. The men were advancing
through a field where the weeds were waist-high. It was difficult
marching. The thermometer stood over a hundred in the shade, and the
foliage of the weeds made the heat still more intense. It was this
regiment’s fortune to face the larger door of the depot. It was said
that somebody had blundered, but the charge was ordered and the men
enthusiastically and bravely obeyed. When within a few hundred feet
of the door, the order was passed along to “lie down.” The time in
which the “lying down” was done seemed many hours. The regiment was
subject to the stinging fire of the Federals in the depot. A number
of the men were hit by shots which struck the front of the body
and ranged downward through the limbs of the soldiers. Such wounds
produced excruciating tortures.

A man by my side was shot in the shoulder this way. He was a brave,
uneducated, but faithful mountain soldier. He came from around
Somerset and had been a cattle drover before he went away to war.
Why he had ever volunteered I never could fully fathom. He had no
property, he had no relatives in the Confederacy. He had made a few
casual acquaintances in his journeyings as a drover, but these could
hardly have influenced him to risk his life for the Southland. He was
not a man to seek war for the glory or excitement of campaigning.

Men of his calling are rarely communicative or confidential. Finally
one night, on a lonely scout through the mountains, he unburdened his
soul and told me why he had gone to war. There was something in the
isolation of our surroundings, the constant presence of danger, the
depressing shadows of the trees which shut out even the starlight,
that made the heavy-hearted man long for human sympathy, and in sad,
sad tones he told me his life’s tragedy. He was thirty-two years
of age and had fallen desperately in love with a young girl he had
met while driving stock along the Wilderness Road, having stopped
one night at her father’s house. At the end of each journey he had
purchased souvenirs for his sweetheart, small mirrors, plain rings,
garnet breastpins and plated bracelets and an occasional dress of
many colors, the equal of Joseph’s coat, and these conveyed in the
most delicate way to the young lady the great love that was being
enkindled in the heart of the silent, undemonstrative drover. He
could speak no words, but in deferential courtesy, through these
simple tokens, he endeavored to declare the turmoil raging in his
bosom.

[Illustration: MAP OF MORGAN’S RIDE AROUND CINCINNATI]

He had never the courage to tell her of his affection. He had
worshipped in this patient style at the shrine of her beauty and
forecast in his mind a happy, happy time when in a log cabin on the
mountain side he should claim her for his bride and set up his
household gods in a humble abode. He had in the past loved nobody
else, and he had persuaded himself that in the future he would never
love again, and at the end of each trip he carried back these homely
offerings, showing how, in his humble way, he worshipped her ruddy
face, her bright eyes and wavy hair, and dreamed as only lovers can
dream of the exquisite joy and happiness that would overshadow his
life if he might but make her his own.

Upon returning from one of his long drives, he found that she had
married another. He uttered no word of complaint, he gave expression
to no outcry of grief. He realized that his case was hopeless, that
the brightest dream of his life had been shattered, that he had lost
his first and only love. He nursed in the depths of his soul the
disappointment and sorrow that overwhelmed his joyous anticipations
of a blissful future. He could not bear to pass her home any more. He
had naught of this world’s goods but a few dollars in coin, a saddle,
bridle and an old bob-tailed black horse which had become his when
style and symmetry had put him below the more exacting standards of
the Bluegrass, and condemned him to spend the last years of his horse
life amongst the less fastidious fanciers of the mountains. He called
his steed “Bob-Tail.” He had been nicked in his youth, and now that
age had dignified his demeanor and slowed his speed, he made a hardy
and reliable mount for his steady-going owner, who loved him for his
kindly disposition and for his cheerful performance of every duty,
however severe. They seemed to have a common sympathy and fellowship
in that both had lost out in the struggle of life.

He gave up driving, and one day when Morgan rode through Somerset,
he mounted his old black steed, waved a kindly adieu to his few
acquaintances, and rode away to war, little caring whether he lived
or died.

He was always cheerful, brave, patient and well up at the front.
He insisted upon doing for me all possible services, caring for my
horse, keeping my saddle, bridle and arms in good shape. There was no
sacrifice he would not have made for me, and he had won my heart. He
clung to me because I knew his heart’s tragedy and because he must
love somebody now that his life was a ruin and blank.

The Enfield ball passed almost through his entire body and the
suffering was so horrible that his groans were agonizing. He begged
somebody to bear him off the field. The order had been issued to
shoot any man who arose. This was done to prevent the Federals
from getting the exact range of the regiment which was now lying
down with their heads toward the depot. While in this position, I
observed what was to me the bravest thing I had ever seen in the
war. I always thought it was the 5th Kentucky, but General Duke
says it was the 2d. The men from this regiment charged on the south
side of the depot with their pistols and guns and marched up to the
windows and put their weapons in through the openings and fired into
the mass of Federals inside. It required almost superhuman courage
to undertake this act, yet it was done with a calmness that would
thrill every observer, and those of us who were lying on the ground
and watching this splendid move and realized what it meant for our
relief, cheered and cheered the courage of these valiant warriors.
The groans of my wounded friend became so distressing and harassing
that finally I received permission to rise and take him on my back
and bear him from the field, where the bullets were still whizzing.
Wounded and suffering as he was, I had only time to commend him to
the surgeons and bid him good-bye. He took my hand and pressed it to
his now bloodless lips, and his great black eyes filled with tears
when he looked up at me and said that he would see my face no more.
After my return to Louisville in 1868, succeeding a three years’
exile, I observed in Cave Hill Cemetery the grave of my wounded
friend, Vincent Eastham. The stone which comrades had erected to
his memory was marked “5th Kentucky Cavalry,” but I pointed out the
mistake and put the proper endorsement on his marker, “Company B, 8th
Kentucky Cavalry.” Each Decoration Day, with those near to me, we
carry armfuls of flowers to make beautiful the mound where he sleeps,
and my children and my children’s children have been asked to keep
green the spot where my mountain friend so calmly rests amongst his
Confederate comrades in Louisville’s beautiful “City of the Dead.”

The next ten days were full of intensest excitement and harassing
marching. This marching was done in the midst of stifling dust,
intense heat and almost constant battle. On the 8th day of July the
command crossed the Ohio River at Brandenburg, capturing a couple of
steamboats and fighting off gunboats, until at last, on the evening
of that day, General Morgan and his division camped on northern soil.

No courtesies were expected, and certainly none were received from
the people of the “Hoosier State.” They harassed and distressed
Morgan’s march all they could. If they worried Morgan, he was more
than even with them. Absurd stories of the Confederate and his
followers had gone on before the line of his march, and fear and
dismay filled all hearts when they saw the dust clouds or heard the
shots that proclaimed his presence. These reports with each telling
became more gruesome and horrible and when they stole from behind
trees, or out of the thickets, for a sight of his riders, they
refused to believe that these men in gray were not real, sure enough
devils, horns, hoofs and all. Even rhyme was put under conscription
to help tell how awful they were, and words like these were carried
by speedy couriers in their dashes along the roads to prepare the
country folk for the dreadful catastrophe that was breaking upon the
innocent people of Southern Indiana:

  “I’m sent to warn the neighbors, he’s only a mile behind.
  He’s sweeping up the horses, every horse that he can find.
  Morgan, Morgan, the raider, and Morgan’s terrible men,
  With bowie knives and pistols are galloping up the glen.”

Each day was full of strenuous work, night marching, incessant
fighting, guerrilla firing, obstructions of roads, and on the night
of the 12th of July, General Morgan and his men were sixty miles
north of the Ohio River and far up into the State of Indiana. The
average march for all these days was forty miles, counting detours,
under difficulties that sorely taxed human powers.

On the 12th of July the command made thirty-eight miles, although
this was the eleventh day in the saddle.

Scattered along the fence corners for four miles, at a little town
called Milam on the line of the Ohio & Michigan Railroad, Morgan and
his command caught a few hours’ rest. Some subtle and mysterious
instinct came to them that the morrow would demand heroic work. They
seemed to breathe in the very air that something great was expected
of them. The beasts laid down in slumber and rest beside the tired
bodies of their persistent riders. Voices of unseen bodies seemed to
whisper to them that on the morrow they would attempt the longest
continued cavalry march ever said to have been made by twenty-five
hundred men in column. Stuart, when he started from Chambersburg,
was rested. For twelve hours he had slept. Forrest, when in pursuit
of Streight, had briefly halted at Courtland, Alabama, but these
Morgan’s men had been marching and fighting for ten days and yet fate
was to put up to them the task of excelling human records. Two and
a half miles away were twenty-five hundred Federal troops. Although
humanity would suggest that the saddles should be stripped from the
backs of the tired horses, the calls of the hour were such that mercy
could make no response and every man slept with his bridle rein over
his arm, and in his weary hand he held his trusted gun.

They were now over four hundred miles from the place where they began
their march, in territory held by the enemy. They were beset on every
side with forces sent for their capture. Guides were unfaithful, and
sometimes the main roads were blockaded and ambuscades frequent. The
column was three miles long and already there was a number of sick
and wounded in buggies and wagons. Under all these conditions, men
might well ask, “Can this great task be accomplished?”

Morgan felt that the men riding with him were thoroughbreds. They
were the grandsons of the pioneers given by Virginia, Maryland,
Carolina, in the savage work of wresting Kentucky from the Indians,
and the pioneers had given Kentucky men a name and fame wherever the
English tongue had been spoken. They were sons, or grandsons, of the
men who had fought the Battles of Blue Lick, Maumee, Fort Stevenson,
the Thames, of the Raisin, Tippecanoe, New Orleans, Cerro Gordo,
Buena Vista, and their great leader, with the knowledge of what they
had done and faith in what they could accomplish, already in his own
mind was asking, “Can this thing be done?”

These troopers had never failed him either in the march or on the
field. If it were possible for men to do it, he knew it would be
done. He knew that they would try, and if they failed it would be
only because the accomplishment of such a task was humanly impossible.

The command to mount was his answer to these curious questionings
which forced themselves into his brain, as in the dim light of the
early dawn he looked over their sleeping forms and found it hard in
his heart to rouse them from their death-like slumber.

Out into the dusty roads before the rays of the scorching July sun
should be felt, he bade them wake and ride.

By twelve o’clock thirty-two miles were done. Across the White
River into Harrison, Ohio, they rode. The torch was applied to
the great bridge that crossed White River and as the blazes lifted
hissing tongues high in the air, and while they watched the timbers
crumble under the conquering hand of fire, the advance guard of the
Federals exchanged shots over the stream with the rear guard of the
Confederates.

The men could manage a few hours without food. They had fared well
along the line in the plenteous and forsaken kitchens and dining
rooms of the frightened inhabitants, who, upon the advance of the
Confederates, left their tables loaded with well-prepared food and
fled into the woods and fields to escape the terrors of what they
called Morgan’s “murderers and horse thieves.”

The well-filled cribs and stables of the people of Harrison supplied
the tired horses with a good feed. This was the last stop they were
to make until they should end the march, and so the General allowed a
brief rest and time to satisfy appetites, quickened by the long and
tedious ride of the morning.

An hour was consumed in marching and counter-marching so as to
mislead General Burnside and his thirty thousand soldiers at
Cincinnati, only thirty-two miles away. These men at Cincinnati were
planning to create a wall of infantry which it would be impossible
for Morgan to pass.

Haste, haste, haste, was the watchword of the hour, and down the
valley toward the Big Miami River the Confederate column moved. At
dusk the long, wooden bridge across the Big Miami was struck. Bridges
and railroads were dangerous enemies to leave in the rear, and the
torch was called into requisition. As the red flames, created by
the great burning timbers, rose skyward, they illumined the entire
valley; and in the flickering shadows which they cast for several
miles around, in the gloaming of the evening, among the trees and
fences and buildings, huge, weird forms, born, it is true, of the
imagination, filled the minds and hearts of the invading horsemen for
the moment with apprehensive awe and depressing forebodings.

At midnight fifty-five miles had been marched by the ceaseless tramp
of the wearied steeds. A hundred and forty-four thousand steps they
had already taken, and still more than a hundred thousand were to be
required before they could rest their tired limbs, and well might
they inquire as their riders still spurred them onward, “Masters,
masters, be ye men or devils which exact from your beasts such
unseemly toil and fearful sufferings?” With the darkness of the
night the fears seemed to subside, if fears there were. The wearied
bodies called for sleep, sleep, yet there could be no staying for
“tired nature’s sweet restorer.” The early hours of the night were
filled with suffering, but as the intense darkness which preceded
the coming dawn enveloped the column, the strain became still more
terrible. Horses, unwilling and unable to go further forward, sank
down in death with their riders astride still urging them onward,
and under the dreadful physical burdens, strong men fell from their
beasts as if smitten with sudden death. Hundreds of the men lashed
themselves to their saddles while fighting the assaults of sleep.
Riders losing consciousness failed to close up, and by the time the
rear of the columns was reached, this closing up kept a large portion
of the column much of the time in a gallop. Once it became necessary
with lighted candles to crawl upon hands and knees and by the tracks
determine which road the vanguard had ridden. Comrades, dismounted by
the breaking down of their weakened steeds, walked beside the line,
keeping pace with the horses, while others, where possible, sprang
up behind their companions until a convenient stable by the roadside
would provide a new mount.

A common sense of danger told even the most careless rider that the
passage around Cincinnati was the moment of extreme danger, and as
the column came nearer and nearer to that line, the thought that the
supreme moment was at hand gave renewed strength and wakefulness to
the majority of the men now attempting an unprecedented march.

Three times during the night General Morgan changed guides, and each
time it was necessary by either open or covert threat to force an
enemy to lead the column. Guides were informed that the compass would
tell the story of their treachery and that death would be the sure
consequence of their bad faith.

There was no direct line along which the command could march, and
the change of direction did much to confuse the column. The crawl of
the artillery and a large number of buggies bearing sick and wounded
comrades over a hilly and woody country amidst almost absolute
darkness, with here and there an unfriendly shot, made an ordeal
which rarely if at all had come into soldier life.

By two o’clock in the morning the dead line at Glendale was
passed. The Federal commander, deceived by Morgan’s marching and
counter-marching, had carried a large body of troops too far north
and Morgan had slipped through at this neglected point, and his
strategy had foiled the Federal commander’s chances and efforts to
check the invader. This line was crossed at a high rate of speed. If
the passage of the troops had been obstructed, there was nothing to
do but to ride over those who attempted to stay the march, and so
every man rose in his stirrups, grasped his bridle reins with firmer
hold, unswung his gun from his shoulder and carried it on the pommel
of his saddle, and felt to be sure that his trusted revolvers were in
their appointed places in his belt at his side. If foe appeared, woe
be unto that foe unless he could present himself in such vast numbers
as to stay the charge of twenty-five hundred troopers upon whose
courage at this moment depended the escape of the division. The calls
of the hour were met with a cheerful response. Every man carried in
his bosom a firm resolve to sweep any foe from the appointed path and
to cut his way through any ranks that might oppose his going. The
intense emergencies of the moment made them almost hope that somebody
would get in their way. There came into their minds a desire to fight
rather than ride through, and a touch of pride made them anxious for
some sort of contest to show that after all the wear and tear of the
past twelve days they were quite as brave and virile as when in the
flush of the beginning they had forced a passage of the Cumberland
River. Fear seemed to vanish and prudence fled away, as these night
riders saw the people of Glendale rush out into the streets, or
from raised windows, with dreading apprehension, watch the strange
procession gallop through the streets. In the enthusiasm of the
moment, the dust-stained Confederates cheered for Jefferson Davis and
the Southern Confederacy and bade the alarmed onlookers tell General
Burnside and his bluecoats that Morgan and his men had come and gone.
Mind rose superior to the pain and weariness of body, and in these
words of good-natured badinage was a new evidence of the valor and
spirit of these bold raiders.

Though the line was passed, safety was not yet assured. The larger
bodies of infantry were close at hand. A great task had been
accomplished, and still there were thirty-eight miles ahead, and
this distance, now every moment growing longer and longer, the weary
horsemen knew must be covered before solid rest was attainable. In
a little while the sunshine came to brighten the earth and to cheer
as it always does cheer struggling humanity, but the record was yet
unbroken. Every mile seemed to grow into a dozen miles. Each step
brought increasing suffering. Skirmishes and contact with the militia
would arouse the men for a brief while, but with the cessation of the
excitement, nature would again lift its cry for mercy and plead for
sleep for man and beast.

And so on and on and on until the sun was about to hide its face
behind the western slopes, and at four o’clock in the afternoon, on
the 14th, the column, now struggling and oppressed with both hunger
and weariness, reached Williamsburg, Ohio, and camped for the night,
and the greatest single cavalry march of the world, composed of as
large a force as twenty-five hundred men, was ended.

Ninety-five and a quarter miles in thirty-two hours of marching!
Surely such work was not unworthy of what the Confederacy asked of
its sons.

As these hard riders dismounted they stood for a moment helpless
with fatigue. Leaning against a horse or a fence they would sleep
standing, and in taking food to recuperate their wearied bodies,
would sink into slumber. It was a great triumph for Confederate
cavalry, and amid all its terrors and horrors it was worth something
to realize that the record of human endurance had been lifted
several degrees higher. The future had yet in store for some of
these men much of hardship and much of renown—imprisonment in the
Ohio penitentiary, at Camp Chase, Camp Douglass, Johnson’s Island,
Fort Delaware, for many, death under the chafings, starvation and
cruelties of Northern prisons; but out of these there would come a
remnant who should, when others had capitulated, ride as an escort
for Jefferson Davis when Richmond and Columbia would be in ruins and
all hope for the nation’s life had fled.

There would yet come a time when to these still hoping men, hope
would fail, when the Confederate Armies would be shattered and
scattered, when Lee had surrendered and Johnson capitulated, when the
western army and the Army of Northern Virginia, its veterans paroled,
would turn their tear-stained faces toward their desolated homes and
take up anew the burdens of life; when all the mighty legions west of
the Mississippi, which had maintained for four years the mightiest
conflict of the ages, would stack their guns, sheath their swords,
and accept war’s decrees for surrender.

They were yet to see a time when the President of the Confederacy
should go forth from the seat of government, and in sadness and
gloom ride away from the Confederate capital to seek refuge south of
Virginia. There were some of these men who were here at this hour
destined and appointed still to cling to Jefferson Davis’ fortunes
and defend his person in the period of surpassing disaster and
sadness, when with a broken heart he would realize that his nation
was dead and he was without a country. There would come a time
when a pitying Providence should provide out of these soldiers for
the first and only Confederate President a depleted bodyguard, who
would go with him in his reverses and humiliation, and who were to
stand guard over him and his cabinet, to beat off pursuing foes at a
time when every man’s hand would be against him and them, when fate
would hide its face and give him over to a cruel, brutal mocking and
an imprisonment which would shock the world’s sense of mercy and
justice. There were men now closing this great ride who would be
present when the wretchedness of death would hover over and around
the Southern cause, and would look upon the last council of war. When
the greatness of the South should end in desolation and ruin, some of
these riders were, in the closing hours of the Confederacy, to offer
anew their lives and their all to the cause which they loved to the
end, and for which they had sacrificed their fortunes; and yet in the
blackness of death and the final agonies of their nation would again
cheerfully tender their all, to prolong even for an hour its hopes
and its existence. They were yet by their exalted courage to glorify
that cause for which the South had endured untold and immeasurable
suffering, and would by a crowning act of constancy take a deserved
place on the brightest pages of human annals that record patriotic
fortitude and valor.

A few hundred of these men now closing this wonderful march would
accompany Jefferson Davis in his last effort to avoid capture, and
would only leave him and those he loved, when he should plead that
their presence would only endanger his escape. They would only depart
when he commanded them to go, and urged them by their loyalty and
devotion to him to listen to his appeal—that they leave him alone in
the supreme hour of his political grief and distress.

Some of these men would also be present when the last sun that ever
shone on the Confederate States, as a nation, was lengthening its
rays on its western course, and sending forth a fading glow on the
sad scenes of national dissolution which would, if it were possible,
with nature’s shadings, make glorious and immortal the faces of the
heroes who, in anguish and awe, looked upon its death throes, a
nation that in its brief days of four eventful years was to make a
history that would win the admiration and love of all the people of
succeeding ages, who read the story of their suffering, their valor,
their loyalty and their devotion to principle and country.

Some of these riders were to be faithful unto death, and have a
full share of that glorious crown of immortality which fate would
hereafter decree to the men of the South as a compensation for a
victory, which, though deserved, should be denied.




CHAPTER XVII

RICHARDS WITH MOSBY’S MEN IN THE FIGHT AT MT. CARMEL CHURCH, FEBRUARY
19, 1864


In all military history, Colonel John S. Mosby and his command had
neither a counterpart nor a parallel. Man for man, Mosby and his men
did more, proportionately, to damage, to harass, to delay and to
disturb the Federal forces than any equal number of soldiers who wore
the gray.

John Singleton Mosby was born in Powhatan County, Virginia, in
December, 1833, fifty miles south of the scenes of his wonderful
military exploits. He came from refined, cultured and well-to-do
people, and as was the custom in those days amongst the better class
in that State, he was educated at the University of Virginia. His
courage early developed itself. Some trouble with a fellow-student
suspended his career in the University. He prepared himself for the
practice of law, and when the war broke out, he was engaged in his
profession at Bristol. He was among the very first men to offer for
the Confederate service for twelve months. War, especially partisan
war, had peculiar fascinations for this young lawyer. He had read
and re-read the history of Sumter and Marion, and he longed for
opportunity and occasion to engage in similar work. He knew every
detail of the things they had done in the struggle of the colonies
for liberty. While his eyes scanned the lines of Blackstone and
Story, dreams of military glory flitted before his vision. The
excitement, din, rush and fury of war appealed to his nature and
he sighed for a chance to see and know what real war was. He
shirked no duty, sought every possible opportunity for inflicting
loss upon his country’s enemies. Enlisted for twelve months, he
refused the furlough accorded men who served that length of time,
and he re-enlisted for the war. His enterprise and his daring won
him promotion, and by February, 1862, he was the adjutant of his
regiment. He resigned because of some misunderstanding between
Colonel William E. Jones and General Stuart, but the latter was quick
to note men of Mosby’s ability and military aptitude and he put him
on his staff as a scout and adviser. He held this position and rode
with Stuart on his Chickahominy raid in June, 1862. He was almost the
same age as his commander. He was quieter, but none the less brave.
He took service more seriously than General Stuart; war with him
was a passion, not a pastime. He loved war for the excitement and
experience it brought, for the opportunities it offered to his genius
for development, and devoid of fear, he was glad when chance brought
his way the legal right to fight.

It was only a brief period until his marvelous efficiency and his
masterful sagacity, as well as his extraordinary courage, caused
General Stuart to give him a small independent command. He used
this so effectively that his forces were quickly increased and the
area of his operations enlarged. He had men in his battalion from
almost all parts of the world, but the majority was composed of young
soldiers who came from Virginia and Maryland. There was so much that
was fascinating and attractive in the service in which Mosby was
engaged that there was no difficulty in finding recruits who were
the impersonation, not only of valor, but of dash. He enjoyed in the
highest degree the confidence not only of General Stuart, but of
General Lee, and the only criticism which General Lee ever passed on
Mosby was his ability to catch bullets and win wounds.

In 1863 he engaged in a successful exploit, which largely added to
his fame. With twenty-nine men, he penetrated the Federal lines and
captured General Stoughton in his headquarters in the midst of his
division, at Fairfax Court House, Virginia. This secured promotion
for Mosby. Nothing in the war was more skillfully or recklessly done
than this capture of General Stoughton. There are no mathematic
quantities by which the damage that Mosby inflicted upon the Federals
can be calculated. For every one man under his command, he kept
one hundred Federals from the front. Had Colonel Mosby enjoyed the
opportunities of other Confederate cavalry leaders, he would have
won a fame and rank equal to either Forrest or Wheeler or Morgan
or Stuart or Hampton. Had he gone to West Point and entered the
war with the experience and prestige which came to men who had
enjoyed military education, there would have been few officers
in the Confederate Army who would have surpassed him in military
achievement. At the period when Mosby first began his partisan
career, there was no other man in the armies of the South who, with
the means at hand, could have inflicted such damage on the enemy, or
have accomplished such great results for his country.

A number of books have been written about Mosby and his men, and
yet they can only touch a few of the wonderful things done by this
wonderful man with his wonderful followers. He had no equipment
of any kind. His men knew nothing about tents, and they had
substantially no commissary and no quartermaster. They lived largely
off their enemies and when not pursuing these, passed the time with
their friends.

Mosby operated in four Virginia counties. This country became known
as “Mosby’s Confederacy,” and the “Debatable Land.” However often
the Federals invaded it they never could feel that their title was
secure. This “Debatable Land” was not more than sixty miles long by
forty miles wide, and yet in this limited area Mosby and his men
subsisted, fought and disquieted the Federal army, in a way that
demoralized its trains and kept its soldiers in a state of constant
dread and apprehension. While the organization consisted of several
companies, never at any one time did Colonel Mosby have more than
four hundred men, and most of the time far less. These four hundred
men, or whatever their number may have been, destroyed more Federal
property than any other equal number of men in the Confederacy; and
it is truly said of them that they gave the Federal troops more
trouble than any five thousand men of any other command. Most of
their work was in the rear of their foes. In a fight, General Forrest
said one man in the rear was equal to three in the front, but in
Mosby’s operations, one man behind the Federal lines counted more
than twenty in front.

Mosby was cool, calm, fearless, dauntless. He inspired his men with
his own confidence, faith and hope. They all respected him—most of
them feared him—and all were glad to follow him. There was something
in his personality that created in the minds of his followers
absolute trust. They believed in him and they knew that he could
be relied upon in all emergencies and that whether in the storm of
battle, in the haste of retreat, or in the rush of the charge, Mosby
was always at himself, and he was sure to do the wisest and the most
sagacious thing under any contingency that might arise.

In Mosby’s command there was no room for cowardice and no place
for cowards. The men who went with him took their lives in their
hands. They knew that following him meant constant danger, ceaseless
activity, incessant watchfulness and reckless service, and they were
willing in exchange for the glory which they might gain, to assume
all the risks that were incident to the daily life of the adherents
of this silent, bold and fearless man.

Mosby’s operations were largely confined to Fauquier and Loudoun
County, Virginia. Occasionally he crossed the line into Prince
William County, and sometimes operated in Culpepper, but Fauquier
County was the chief scene of his operations. In the later months of
the war he was practically always within the enemy’s lines. He never
had a camp, except for a small number of his men, and then only for
a brief while. There was no place for Mosby to hide himself except
among those who loved the Cause in these counties. In cabins and
barns and in the forest and among the hills, his command found their
home. Rarely more than two or three of them ever remained together.
They scattered, as has been said, like the mist when the sun rose.
When the Federals undertook to pursue them, the pursuit became like
the chase after a phantom. If followed, they dispersed through the
country into the crossroads and by-ways and among their friends and
sympathizers. The exploits of Marion and Sumter become as a fading
light when compared with the glamour and splendor of the work of
Mosby and his men for the Confederacy. When they met, it was by
preconcerted arrangement, or in answer to the calls of couriers. Much
of their work was done at night. For the three years in which Mosby
was engaged in active operations, there was rarely a single day that
some of his men were not operating somewhere on the enemy’s line and
on the enemy’s forces. In the activity of his campaigning the death
rate was high, but there was always an abundance of daring spirits
that were ready to take the places of those who had fallen in this
desperate game of war.

Mosby taught his men to eschew sabres, to use no guns, but to rely
upon the pistol alone. This meant fighting at close range, hand to
hand combat. He and his men seemed to be everywhere; they were ever
the terror and dread of the Federal Army. The men who guarded the
wagon trains heard always with tremor the name of Mosby. With the
exception of General Forrest, Colonel Mosby was the most feared and
hated of all Confederate leaders. The writer of a history of his
command says: “He kept in a defensive attitude, according to their
own admission, thirty-five thousand of their troops which would
otherwise have been employed in the active theatre of war. But this
was not all. More than once, with his band, he compelled the invading
army to relinquish actual and projected lines of communication, to
fall back from advance positions, and, if we may credit the assertion
of the Federal Secretary of War, occasioned a loss of an important
battle.”

The things done by Mosby and his men were so out of the ordinary
that they simply challenge belief and surpass comprehension. In the
capture of General Stoughton, two of his staff officers and thirty
other prisoners, in the midst of the Federal division, and removing
them and their equipment and fifty-eight horses into Confederate
lines without the loss of a man, appears impossible.

With a small body of men, he passed the rear of Sheridan’s army in
the valley of Virginia, and after a brisk skirmish, captured and
brought away General Duffie of the Federal Army. With less than one
hundred men he made a forced march into the enemy’s lines at night,
captured many prisoners, derailed a train, destroyed it, and secured
as his prey two paymasters, who had in their possession one hundred
and sixty-eight thousand dollars in United States currency. Refusing
to take anything himself, he divided this money amongst his followers
and each one with him on this expedition received twenty-one hundred
dollars.

With three hundred men he rode to the rear of Sheridan’s army in
the valley of Virginia and attacked in broad daylight a brigade of
infantry and two hundred and fifty cavalrymen, guarding a wagon
train. He burned one hundred wagons, captured two hundred and eight
prisoners and brought away five hundred mules and horses and two
hundred head of cattle.

When all these amazing things have been told they would make any one
man great, but Mosby had to his credit dozens of other feats almost
equally as remarkable.

Colonel Mosby was wounded several times, and in December, 1864, he
was desperately injured and was compelled to take a long furlough.

In 1863 there came to Colonel Mosby’s command a young Virginian, A.
E. Richards. Beginning as a private, by his soldierly qualities he
rose to be major. Christened Adolphus Edward Richards, he became
known among Mosby’s followers as “Dolly.” When he succeeded Mosby he
was just twenty years of age, and no man in the Confederacy, twenty
years old, accomplished more or exhibited a nobler courage or more
remarkable skill and enterprise.

From December, 1864, until April, 1865, was one of the most strenuous
periods of Mosby’s command. The Federal Army was then engaged around
Richmond, and this left a hundred miles’ space for the operation of
these aggressive cavaliers. For months, while Mosby was off, wounded,
Major Richards not only took up but efficiently carried on his work.
Two of the fights in which he commanded were used by Colonel George
Taylor Denison, of Canada, in his work on “Modern Cavalry,” published
in 1868, to illustrate the superiority of the revolver as a weapon
for cavalry.

Just at this time, Colonel Harry Gilmor, who enjoyed a wide
reputation as a partisan leader in Northern Virginia and Maryland,
had been surprised and made prisoner. The Federals, encouraged by
this success, undertook to capture Major Richards and scatter Mosby’s
men.

General Merritt, then in charge of the Federal cavalry operating in
“Mosby’s Confederacy,” sent the same detail which had caught Gilmor
to hunt down Richards and his followers. The party comprising this
force numbered two hundred and fifty men and was in charge of Major
Thomas Gibson of the 14th Pennsylvania Cavalry. This officer, in the
past, had shown that he was not only brave but resourceful, and his
superiors hoped as well as expected that he would do great things
on this expedition. If he could catch Major Richards and a part of
his command, it meant peace in the Federal rear, and the release of
many thousands of men for action at the front. Promotion was sure
to follow success, and the Federal leader dreamed of becoming a
brigadier and winning a renown that would make him famous.

Attracted by the adventurous nature of the expedition and also lured
by the hope of success in the work, two of Merritt’s staff officers,
Captain Martindale and Lieutenant Baker, volunteered to aid in
this scout. This command crossed the Shenandoah River at night. A
few miles away from the river, at Paris, in Fauquier County, the
force was divided. Major Gibson took with him the men of his own
regiment, which comprised one-half of the command, and placed the
other half, from the 1st New York Cavalry, in charge of Captain
Snow. These forces separated with the understanding that they would
make wide circuits through the country, would gather prisoners and
seize horses, and meet at Upperville at daylight, six miles from
Paris. A couple of deserters from the 12th Virginia regiment acted
as guides for the two detachments. Through the report of a spy,
Captain Snow learned that Major Richards had come that night to his
father’s house, near Upperville, and the captain felt it would be
a great feather in his cap if he could make the leader of Mosby’s
command a prisoner. This was what Major Gibson had been chiefly sent
to do, and the Federal captain calculated if he could do this, he
would win the applause and gratitude of his countrymen. They reached
“Green Garden,” the Richards’ ancestral home, at one o’clock in the
morning. Without warning or signal of any kind the Federal soldiers
surrounded the house and the leader knocked for admittance at the
front door. Hearing was very acute in those days where Mosby’s men
slept, and the knock, although at first not very heavy, awoke Major
Richards, Captain Walker and Private Hipkins, who were together
spending the night under the hospitable roof. The moon was shining
with brilliance; not a cloud obscured its brightness. The ground
was covered with snow. When the Confederates looked through the
blinds, they saw the yard filled with Federal soldiers. On other
occasions, when the odds were not so great, Major Richards and some
of his companions had shot their way out, but he dared not try this
experiment this time, for it meant almost certain death. To meet such
emergencies, the Richards family had provided a trap door in the
floor of the family room. Major Richards had only time to seize his
pistols and his field glasses, and his companions hastily caught up
their arms, and all went scurrying down through the trap door into
the space under the sills. This trap door was in the lower floor
and covered with an oil carpet, over which a bed was rolled. The
Federals remained silent for a few moments, knocked again with more
fury, and upon forcing themselves into the house, the men in blue
found Major Richards’ uniform, his boots with the spurs attached,
his white hat with its black ostrich plume, and they chuckled and
said to themselves, “We have caught him at last.” Forcing the father
of Major Richards to furnish them candles they searched the house
over and over again. They went from cellar to garret and from garret
to cellar. One officer suggested that in order to make sure of
their game they burn the house, but another, with nobler instincts
and better impulses, protested so vigorously that this plan was
abandoned. For two hours they scrutinized every portion of the house,
the outbuildings, the stables, the cabins, but all in vain, and
they finally concluded that by some strange sport of chance their
victims had escaped; and they mounted their horses and rode away to
Upperville.

[Illustration: MAJOR A. E. RICHARDS

_Commanding Mosby’s Men at Mt. Carmel Fight_]

The hours of this search were moments of sore trial to the three
Confederates under the floor. A sneeze, a cough, would betray their
hiding place. Discovery meant prison—maybe death—and certainly
retirement from the work in which they delighted and which gave them
the consciousness of service to the country to which they had offered
their fortunes and their lives. Minutes lengthened into days. The
tread of the searching Federals echoed ominously into the silence
and darkness of their place of refuge. Their hearts beat strong and
fast—so furiously that they feared they might reveal their presence
to their enemies. Huddled close together, with a trusty pistol in
each hand, they waited for what fate might bring. They reviewed
over and over again in their minds what they should do, if found.
Should they open fire and sell their lives as dearly as possible,
or by sudden rush seek to run the gauntlet of their foes, and thus
bring ruin and the torch upon their family and friends, or accept
a long and baneful imprisonment. In the gloom and dread of their
prison, they could hear every word that was spoken. The curses and
threats to the father and mother cut deep into their hearts, and they
longed for a chance to resent the insults that were heaped upon the
inmates of the home. Only an inch of wood separated them from their
pursuers, and thus through two long hours they listened, watched—even
prayed—that they might not be found. The torture of body and mind
became almost unbearable, and they questioned if they should not rise
up, push the trap door ajar, open fire, and rush away in the din and
confusion such an attack was sure to bring. Each moment that passed
they realized added new chances for escape, and though moments seemed
years, with hearts for every lot, they bided the end.

Captain Snow and his men rode to the place of rendezvous. There,
fortunately or unfortunately, the Federals found a barrel of apple
brandy. It was a bitter cold night, and after taking a little brandy
they all took some more and a large number of the men became
intoxicated. Captain Snow decided that the best thing for him to do
was to hurry back through Paris and cross the Shenandoah, lest when
the sun rose, Mosby’s men might turn out in large numbers and destroy
him, with his force weakened by their potations.

Suspecting a ruse, the Richards family looked well in every direction
to see that all the Federals had gone, and that none were lurking in
the shadows of the farm structures. They waited, and then waited some
more, to be sure that there was no mistake about their departure,
and then the bed was rolled back, the trap door raised, and Major
Richards and his two companions, called by those above, hastily
emerged from their hiding place. Though their uniforms were carried
away by their enemies as a trophy, they felt that they were not
without some compensation. Their horses, which had been turned loose
in a distant pasture, had neither been seen or captured.

They greeted their steeds with affectionate pats on their noses and
sincerely congratulated themselves that these had been spared them
in the very close call which had passed their way. The Confederate
commander immediately sent Captain Walker and Private Hipkins in
different directions with urgent orders to all the men to follow in
the track of the enemy. This they could easily do by the moonlight.
All three rode at highest speed in different directions to tell the
news. The steeds were not spared. Haste was the watchword of the
call to comrades once found. Each was urged to spread the news in
the plain and on the mountain sides, and to let nothing stay them
in the ride for vengeance and retribution. The Federals had left
a well-marked trail, and this made pursuit sure and rapid. Those
following were told that it was the plan to strike the enemy before
they could recross the Shenandoah, and that they must ride fiercely,
halt not, and be prepared for onslaught, pursuit and battle.

Captain Snow rode hard and fast, and he got across the river before
the sun was up. Major Gibson was not so fortunate. With one hundred
and thirty-six men, when the Confederates under the urgent call of
the couriers that were sent in every direction began to get together,
Gibson was still on the turnpike leading through Ashby’s Gap across
the Blue Ridge Mountains. They had not gotten down to the foot of
the mountains and were just ahead of Major Richards and the men that
he and his companions had so quickly summoned. There was no time to
count or figure the odds. This incursion must be resented and few or
many, Richards resolved to attack wherever he found the foe. He had
fought as great odds before, and the extraordinary experience of the
night had quickened his taste for battle and blood. When he came in
touch with the Federals, he had only twenty-eight men. Five to one
had no terrors for these galloping cavaliers, and Major Richards
determined to make an attack, be the consequences what they would. In
the meantime, ten others came up, and now he had one to four.

The turnpike at Ashby’s Gap winds its way up the mountain side by a
succession of short curves. Major Richards arranged his men to press
an attack on the enemy while they were passing around these curves,
so that his real strength would be concealed. The Federal officer,
uncertain what might happen in this country, but sure that dangers
were lurking in every quarter, had increased his rear guard to forty
men, under the command of Captain Duff of the 14th Pennsylvania.
A sight of the bluecoats aroused every Mosby man to impetuous and
furious action. They longed to resent some rough handling that
had been given their comrades a few days before and they bitterly
remembered with indignation the treatment accorded their associates,
and above all they desired to serve notice on their invaders that it
was a risky business to hunt Mosby’s men in their chosen haunts. The
Confederates rode down in a furious, headlong charge around the bend
of the road and received a volley from the Federal rear guard. This
did no damage, but the Federals broke into a gallop; with disordered
ranks and shattered files they all scrambled away for safety, and
undertook to reach the main force. The Confederates, spurring and
whooping and yelling, dashed in among these retreating Federals and
used their six shooters with tremendous effect. The Federals could
not fire their longer guns. There was no chance to turn, and the rear
files felt the pitiless onslaught of the Confederate column, which
was riding so furiously and bent on destroying their fleeing foes.
The shooting was almost altogether on the side of the Confederates.

At the top of the mountains was Mt. Carmel Church. Here the Baptists
of the neighborhood hitherto were accustomed to come and worship
long before the war. Its peaceful surroundings and its memories
of God’s service were not in harmony with the rude and savage war
scenes enacted about it on this wintry morn. The men who rode at
that hour with Richards were not thinking of the dead, who in the
quiet and peace of the country churchyard were waiting Heaven’s call
for the resurrection. They were now dealing only with the living,
and those living who had invaded their country, ravaged their homes,
and sought to destroy their liberty. Courage nerved every arm, valor
moved every heart. They thought only of punishing their foes and
bringing ruin and destruction on these men who had oftentimes, with
ruthless barbarity, inflicted grievous wrongs upon their kinsmen and
countrymen.

The turnpike passed in front of the church. Upon the road Major
Gibson drew up his men in column. When they heard the firing and
saw the galloping cavalrymen, they did not at first understand the
situation, but as the surging crowd came closer they observed the
Federals and Confederates in undistinguishable confusion. As the
Confederates were riding toward the rear guard and these were in a
gallop, the latter could not use their carbines. At the gait they
were going it was impossible to aim and fire with the least assurance
of hitting anybody.

The pursuit was rapid and fierce. The fleeing enemy were helpless.
The Confederates were moved to savage onslaught and resolved to kill
and slay with all the abandon that war creates. There were few of the
Confederate riders that did not have some wrong to avenge, and to
these there was no better time than the present. There were at first
no calls for surrender. There was no chance for parley. War meant
fighting, and fighting meant killing those who opposed. The Federals
had no chance to turn and ask for their lives. The time in this
battle had not yet come for this cry. The Confederates rode into the
files of the Federals with their pistols in hand; they shot as they
rode, and they made no distinction among their foes. When one file
of the Confederates exhausted their shots another took their place.
There was no let up in punishing the fleeing Federals. When the
loads were all used, they reversed their revolvers and knocked their
foes from their steeds with the butt end of their weapons. The hotly
pursued rear guard, under Captain Duff, had no time to tell Major
Gibson of what had happened. The turnpike went down the mountain, and
that was open. If they turned aside they knew not what might come,
and when they saw Major Gibson’s men drawn up in line ready for the
fray, it came into their minds that he was better prepared than they
were to deal with these men in gray who were riding and firing with
devilish vehemence, so the rear guard galloped on by.

It was a perplexing sight to see these men of opposite sides thus
mingling in combat, and the soldiers in Major Gibson’s line looked
with amazement at the confusion, pursuit and flight.

The men of the rear guard had no time to inform Major Gibson of the
situation; the men with Major Richards were not disposed to pass
them by, and the thirty-eight Confederates responded to the command
to turn and attack the column waiting by the roadside. The men with
Richards veered to the right and galloped into the midst of Gibson’s
men, pushed their revolvers into the faces of the surprised Federals
and opened a furious and murderous attack.

The assault was so unexpected and so savage that it disorganized
Major Gibson’s line. Richards’ men broke through the column and
severed it in twain, and then a panic struck the Federal force. Its
men, demoralized, quickly followed the madly fleeing Federal rear
guard down the mountain side. Another chance was now opened up. It
was seven miles to the Shenandoah River, and the Federals, unless
they re-formed, could expect no respite or safety until this stream
was passed. It would require an hour for the Federals, in this race
for life, to reach the ford, and until then there was little hope of
escape from danger, capture and death.

The Federals could not use their carbines with one hand, while the
Confederates could hold their bridles with their left hands and fire
their revolvers with their right. Part of Major Gibson’s men were
shot down before they could even offer resistance or turn in flight.
In an instant, the Federals began to give way and started down the
side of the mountain, along which only two men could ride abreast.
The moment the retreat was begun it became headlong. Again and again
brave officers in blue attempted to stay the flight. A few men would
halt by the wayside, but the feeling of the hour with the Federals
was to escape, and it was impossible to get enough Federals together
to stop the stampede.

As the Confederate advance guard fired their revolvers into the backs
of the retreating foe, they would either drop back and reload their
weapon, or else those behind them who had full cylinders would ride
up and continue the fire into the fleeing enemy. In the wild chase
of the Federals the Confederates observed one on a dun horse. He
was brave and was fighting desperately to protect the rear of his
men, and urging them to halt and face their foe. When Major Richards
observed that the efforts of this Federal soldier were having some
effect upon his comrades, he called to two of his soldiers, Sidney
Ferguson and Charles Dear, to “kill the man on the dun horse.” This
person had not bargained for this singling out of himself as a target
for Confederate shots. When these ominous words fell upon his ears,
he put spurs to his horse and in a reckless frenzy forged his way
past his comrades and was not afterwards seen in the rout. The two
Confederates who were endeavoring to capture or kill the man on the
dun horse, at this point made Lieutenant Baker of General Merritt’s
staff a prisoner. This rapid and relentless following was continued
for seven miles down the narrow road, and it only ended on the banks
of the Shenandoah River. Scattered along the highway were wounded
and dead animals. Thirteen Federal troopers were still in death on
the roadside. Sixty-four prisoners were taken and more than ninety
horses captured. Captain Duff, the commander of the rear guard, was
among the wounded prisoners. Among the revolvers captured was one
with Colonel Harry Gilmor’s name carved upon the guard. Reading this
inscription, Major Richards asked Lieutenant Baker, his prisoner, how
the Federals happened to have this pistol, and he was then informed
for the first time that Colonel Gilmor had been captured.

Major Gibson, the Federal commandant, was among the few who escaped.
He reported his misfortune to General Merritt. It is published
in Series 1, Volume 46, Part 1, Page 463, of the Records of the
Rebellion. He said:

“I placed Captain Duff in charge of the rear guard, which consisted
of forty men. I made the rear guard so strong, in proportion to
the size of my command, owing to the enemy’s repeated and vigorous
attacks on it. I was at the head of the column, and turned around
in order to observe the condition of the column, and looking to the
rear, I observed several men hold up their hands and make gestures
which I supposed were intended to inform me that the rear was
attacked. I immediately ordered the command, ‘right into line.’

“No sooner had I issued these commands than I saw Captain Duff and
his party at the rear of the small party who marched in the rear of
the led horses. Captain Duff’s command was coming at a run. I saw
rebels among and in the rear of his party, charging. I ordered the
command forward, fired a volley and ordered a charge, which the men
did not complete. Captain Duff in the meantime was trying to rally
his men in the rear of my line. Before his men had reloaded their
pieces, I had fired another volley and ordered another charge....
The charge was met by one from the enemy and the command was broken.
The men had no weapons but their carbines, and these were extremely
difficult to load, and inefficient in the melee that ensued. I
made every effort, as did Captain Duff and Captain Martindale and
Lieutenant Baker, of the corps staff, to re-form the men, but our
efforts were fruitless. The rebels had very few sabres, but were well
supplied with revolvers, and rode up to our men and shot them down,
without meeting more resistance than men could make with carbines.
There was a small ridge overlooking both parties, through which
the path led. I rode up to the side of this and formed the advance
guard, which had returned to aid me. The enemy were amidst the men,
and both parties were so mixed up that it was impossible to get the
men in line. As fast as the men could force their horses into the
path, where many of the men were crowded together, they broke for
the river. I waited until I was surrounded, and only a half a dozen
men left around; the balance had retreated toward the river, or were
killed, wounded or captured. Captain Martindale, as he left, said
to me: ‘It is useless to attempt to rally the men here; we’ll try
it farther on.’ I tried to ride to the front. Men were crowded into
the path by twos and threes where there was really only room for
one to ride. Men were being thrown and being crushed as they lay on
the ground, by others; they were falling from their horses from the
enemy’s fire in front and rear of me. I rode past about twenty of
the men and again tried to rally the men, but all my efforts were
fruitless.

“... I was ordered to surrender, two of the enemy in advance
endeavoring to beat me off my horse with their pistols.... I reached
the river; my horse fell several times in it, but at last I got
across. Captain Martindale forced most of the men across to halt and
form here, and cover the crossing of the few who had reached the
river. Captain Martindale, myself, two scouts and twelve men were
saved. We waited to see if more would come, but none came; eight had
crossed and arrived at camp before us.”

Major Gibson, in accounting for his disaster, says that his men
being armed with carbines alone were “unable to engage in a melee
successfully with an enemy armed with at least two revolvers to the
man; also, I didn’t know of the attack until I observed the rear
guard coming in at full flight, mixed up with and pursued by the
enemy.” He concluded his report by asking for a “court of inquiry at
the earliest practicable moment.”

Colonel George Taylor Denison, who long held a leading commission
as a Canadian Cavalry officer, in his book on “Modern Cavalry,”
describes the results of this battle as one of the most remarkable in
the history of cavalry warfare. He asserts the fight of Mosby’s men
at Mt. Carmel Church demonstrated the superiority of the pistol and
revolver above all other weapons in cavalry combat, when these are in
the hands of men who know how to use them.

The Confederates pursued the fleeing foe right up to the Shenandoah
River. With his limited force Major Richards deemed it unwise to
cross that stream. He marched back with his followers over the
Blue Ridge Mountains to Paris, a little town in the northernmost
part of Fauquier County. In this immediate neighborhood, and about
Upperville, there had been many engagements between cavalry on both
sides. Some of the severest cavalry fighting of the war occurred in
this vicinity a few days after the Battle of Fleetwood Hill. Stuart
and Pleasanton were for three days in contact about Upperville,
Middleburg and Aldie, but none of these, considering the number
engaged, were so brilliant as this conflict between Major Gibson and
Major Richards. Only two Confederates were wounded and none killed.
This gallant fight was complimented by General Lee in a dispatch to
the War Department.

As the Federals left the home of Major Richards’ father, they took
with them his uniform and his other trappings. When he emerged from
the trap door there was nothing left for him to wear. The Federal
soldiers had taken everything that they could lay their hands upon,
hoping thereby to make the Major ride thereafter with a limited
wardrobe. They wished also to exhibit them as a trophy won from
Mosby’s men.

Searching around, Major Richards found an old-fashioned, high top,
black felt hat, badly worn and with many holes around the brim.
He managed to secure a suit of brown Kentucky jeans and a pair of
laborer’s boots which had been discarded by some farm hand. Lacking
an overcoat, his mother pinned her woolen shawl about his shoulders.
It was not a very attractive garb. It might have served in a pinch
for an infantryman, but it did not sit well upon a dashing cavalryman.

When Richards’ command reached Paris the Federal prisoners had
been corralled in an old blacksmith shop. While resting there the
Confederate commander was informed that one of the prisoners desired
to speak with him. When Major Richards arrived at the blacksmith
shop, the courier indicated a handsomely dressed young officer as the
one who had sent the message seeking an interview. The Confederate
commander asked why he had been sent for. The Federal officer,
surprised at the appearance of the Confederate, not then twenty-one
years of age, said to Major Richards: “I desire to speak to the
commanding officer.” Major Richards, in his pride of achievement,
forgot the sorry appearance he was making in the cast-off clothing
of the farm hand, and calmly looking the Federal in the eye, he said
to him: “I am the commanding officer.” The lieutenant, amazed, gazed
carefully at the stripling, so grotesquely clad. He was too astounded
to be able to speak. Waiting a brief time, Major Richards, in order
to relieve the embarrassment, said, “Well, what is it you want?” The
Federal lieutenant then informed the major that there was a captain
among the prisoners who was severely wounded, and he wished to know
if he could not be properly cared for. The solicitude of the wounded
man’s comrade appealed to the finer sentiments of the Confederate.
Learning the name of the Federal captain, he directed him to be
paroled and removed to the village hotel and placed under the care of
the neighborhood physician, and directed that the bills for medical
attention and board be sent to him for payment.

After this preliminary had been arranged, Major Richards turned to
the lieutenant and said, “I notice you are wearing a staff officer’s
uniform;” to which response was made: “Yes, I am a lieutenant on
General Merritt’s staff.” Then the Confederate commander asked, “How
did you happen to be in this command?” The Federal replied that he
had been sent with the orders under which Major Gibson was to make
this raid, and he asked General Merritt to permit him to go along
just for the fun of it; to which the Confederate replied: “I hope,
Lieutenant, you have enjoyed it more than your surroundings seem to
indicate.”

The wounded officer was Captain Duff, who had commanded the rear
guard. He speedily recovered and was permitted to return to his home.
In later years when statements were made that Mosby had mistreated
his prisoners, the grateful captain made a vigorous defense of Mosby
and his men, and extolled both their humanity and their mercy.




CHAPTER XVIII

MORGAN’S CHRISTMAS RAID, DECEMBER 22, 1862, TO JANUARY 2, 1863


The distance between Nashville and Murfreesboro is thirty miles. For
sixty days after assuming command of the Federal forces at Nashville,
General Rosecrans was making his preparations to advance south. The
Confederate Army was at Murfreesboro. The center, under General
Leonidas Polk, around the town; the right wing, under General McCown,
at Readyville, ten miles east of Murfreesboro; and the left wing at
Triune and Eaglesville, under General W. J. Hardee, ten miles west
of Murfreesboro. These comprised the entire Confederate Army called
the “Army of Tennessee.” It was in front of the Federal forces,
styled the “Army of the Cumberland,” and covered the lines around
Murfreesboro.

General Rosecrans took with him out of Nashville forty-seven thousand
men. He had seventy-five hundred at Nashville, thirty-five hundred
at Gallatin and four thousand at Bowling Green, Kentucky, and
Clarksville, Tennessee. General Bragg, all counted, had thirty-eight
thousand men to resist the Federal advance.

Between Murfreesboro and Nashville there was a macadam road. Along
this, Rosecrans advanced, and it took him four days to get close
enough to Murfreesboro to justify an attack on the part of the
Confederates. The outlook to the Federals was flattering. On the
afternoon of the 30th, General Palmer, who was commanding the Union
vanguard, telegraphed that he was “in sight of Murfreesboro and the
enemy was running.” On the next day, he discovered that this was a
great mistake, and when he felt the impact of the Confederates on the
31st, he realized that if “the men in gray were running,” they had
suddenly changed their mind and their ways. The four days consumed
by Rosecrans in making this twenty miles were full of intense
activities. Generals Wheeler and Wharton of the Confederate cavalry
were the potent factors in delaying and embarrassing the Federal
movements.

No one in the Confederate service knew better than General Wheeler
how to obstruct an advancing foe. On the 26th, 27th, 28th and 29th,
he harassed and assailed the Federals at every opportunity and made
them hesitant and extremely cautious.

At midnight, on the 29th of December, General Wheeler was ordered
by General Bragg to ride around the Federal Army. It was only a
thirty-five mile dash, but it had much of excitement, danger and
difficulty. On the morning of the 30th, Wheeler reported that he had
captured a brigade train and fifty prisoners. At Lavergne, a few
hours later, he took seven hundred prisoners and destroyed an immense
train. This carried with it a loss to the Federals in supplies and
munitions of many hundreds of thousands of dollars. Nearby, at Rock
Springs, he caught another train. At Nolensville he captured still
another and three hundred prisoners, and then without any disturbance
from his foes, he proceeded to take his place on the left wing of
the Confederate Army. In these brief hours he had swung the circle
and deeply impressed on his opponents that they might expect trouble
at every step of their way.

At dawn of the day following, General McCown opened the Battle of
Murfreesboro. General Wheeler, with his cavalry, joined in the attack
on the Federals and aided in driving them two miles. General Wharton,
with the other portion of the Southern cavalry, was ordered also to
ride to the rear of the enemy. He captured hundreds of prisoners, and
as if defying all rules of safety, he turned the head of his column
due north, in the direction of Nashville. He destroyed many wagons
and made numerous prisoners. A large majority of those he safely
delivered within the Confederate lines. The Federals had good guns;
Wharton, inferior ones. He immediately provided his two thousand
riders with the improved arms which had been taken from the Federals,
and then returned to the rear of the enemy, passing entirely around
the Federal forces. These successes inspired every man in Bragg’s
army with courage and hope. The example of these bold horsemen was
contagious, and the infantry were anxious to try their luck with the
invading columns.

Not satisfied with these adventures, on the 1st day of January,
General Wheeler with his own and Wharton’s cavalry, decided to return
to the rear of the Federal Army, where there was such rich reward for
his labors. Revisiting Lavergne, he attacked the garrison, burned
many wagons and captured a number of infantry and a splendid piece
of artillery. Fate was so propitious in all these expeditions and
the field for destruction so wide, the same night he again went to
Rosecrans’ rear, capturing a large number of wagons and horses and
prisoners, and by two o’clock the next morning was on the left flank
of the army. At nine o’clock on the night of the 1st, he made his
last expedition to the Federal rear, and, as before, found his foes
easily demoralized and ready to flee or surrender when vigorously and
promptly assailed. On the 4th of January, after these adventurous
and successful operations, he emerged from his Federal surroundings
to find that General Bragg had fallen back. No cavalry in any great
battle of the war played a more distinguished part than Wheeler’s
and Wharton’s men at Murfreesboro. Their audacity was only equalled
by their success, and it is difficult to comprehend how even the
greatest of leaders, with only twenty-nine hundred horsemen, could
make such havoc with foes, or move with such ease, celerity and
with freedom from disaster, in the rear of an opposing army, when
rarely was he at any time more than ten miles from the tents of
its commanders. A few hundreds of Federal cavalry properly led and
disposed, with such numbers of infantry close by, ought not only to
have obstructed Generals Wheeler and Wharton in their marches, but
should have forced or driven them discomfited within their own lines.
In the battle the Federal losses in killed and wounded was eight
thousand, seven hundred and seventy-eight and three thousand six
hundred and seventy-three captured, making a total of twelve thousand
four hundred and fifty-one. Rosecrans also lost twenty-eight pieces
of artillery. Bragg, with thirty-eight thousand men, had a loss of
ten thousand, two hundred and sixty-six, of which nine thousand were
killed and wounded, and about twelve hundred of them were left in the
hospitals at Murfreesboro, which later were taken possession of by
the Federal Army.

A third of the forces in this battle were from Tennessee. They
fought desperately on their native soil, contesting for their homes
and firesides, and they suffered a terrific decimation. Cheatham’s
division, composed entirely of Tennesseeans, had thirty-six per cent
wounded or killed. Cleburne’s division suffered a like mortality,
and Johnson’s and Palmer’s Tennessee brigades sustained a loss of
twenty-nine and a half per cent.

In order to prevent reinforcements at Clarksville, Nashville and
Bowling Green from coming to the assistance of Rosecrans, General
John H. Morgan was directed by General Bragg on the 22d of December,
1862, to make a raid along the Louisville and Nashville railroad into
Kentucky, and, as far as possible, destroy it, so as to break the
Federal communications.

Alexandria, in Wilson County, Tennessee, was forty miles east of
Nashville. The Federals did not spread out very far from Nashville
in this direction, and there was a neutral zone in and around
Lebanon, the county seat of Wilson County, to which the Federals and
Confederates each now and then came. It was necessary to protect this
line in order to prevent danger to Knoxville. It was still in the
nominal possession of the Confederacy. South and west of Nashville,
Wheeler, Wharton and Forrest were campaigning. Forrest’s December
raid into West Tennessee had not only demonstrated that he was one of
the most ferocious fighters in the Confederate service, but also the
tremendous power of cavalry when skillfully handled. He had largely
recruited his skeleton regiments, and when he came out, although he
had seen hard service, he numbered several hundred more men than when
he was ordered, against his judgment, by General Bragg to make the
raid, in the face of most inclement weather and with an ill-equipped
force. His personal pride had been subordinated to his patriotism,
and he was ready to give and do his best for the work now before
Bragg.

Morgan was now to be given a chance to try his hand in Kentucky. For
some months there had been no material interruption of the Louisville
and Nashville railroad, and Rosecrans was using it and the Cumberland
River to supply his army at Nashville. General Bragg was perfectly
familiar with the preparations that Rosecrans was making for the
advance of his army southward, and he knew that a decisive battle
could not be long delayed.

General Morgan’s name was now on every tongue. His July raid from
Knoxville into Kentucky, where he had marched a thousand miles,
destroyed millions of dollars worth of property, and terrorized a
district three hundred miles long and sixty miles wide, his services
during the invasion of Kentucky by General Bragg, and his splendid
exhibition of genius demonstrated in covering General Bragg’s retreat
from Kentucky in October, and the Battle of Hartsville had given him
not only a well-deserved but wide reputation. The things he had done
were along new lines and everywhere created wonder and admiration.
The Battle of Hartsville, one of the most brilliant exploits in
the history of the Confederacy, resulted in Morgan’s being advanced
to brigadier general. Seven days after the Hartsville expedition,
General Morgan was married to Miss Ready, of Murfreesboro, among
the most brilliant, charming and attractive women of the Southland.
There were those at the time who predicted that this marriage, under
the circumstances surrounding Morgan’s military career, would affect
his success. Be this as it may, this splendid woman enthusiastically
entered into the military hopes and ambitions of her now greatly
distinguished husband, and moved and inspired with the loyalty and
courage that filled the hearts of the women of the South, urged
rather than restrained the enterprise and activity of her companion.

Morgan always did best when he was allowed to act independently. When
operating his own way and managing his campaigns, he was one of the
most successful, dangerous and destructive of Confederate cavalry
leaders. Full of resource, glorying in adventure, he imbued his men
with his marvelous fervor and passionate ardor. Within a few days
after his promotion to brigadier general, his forces were materially
strengthened. Colonels W. C. P. Breckinridge and Robert G. Stoner
each recruited battalions in Kentucky in the fall of 1862. These were
now consolidated and thereafter known as the 9th Kentucky Cavalry,
with Breckinridge as colonel and Stoner as lieutenant colonel. Toward
the end of September Colonel Adam R. Johnson reached Murfreesboro
with a regiment which he had recruited in Western Kentucky, of about
four hundred men. It had been battered by service, and received
rough handling in the Federal lines, but had a splendid organization.
Its lieutenant colonel, Robert M. Martin, was confessedly one of
the most daring and dashing of the men who wore the Confederate
uniform. The brigade was now thirty-nine hundred strong. The
misfortunes of war had dismounted some of the troops, and part of
them were not fully armed, but all knew that the next raid would
remedy these deficiencies. Morgan divided his regiments into two
brigades, the first under command of General Basil W. Duke, Colonel
of the 2d Kentucky, and the second under command of Colonel W. C.
P. Breckinridge, of the 9th Kentucky. Colonel A. R. Johnson was at
this time considered the ranking colonel, and when offered by General
Morgan the command of the second brigade, declined it, preferring
to act as colonel of the 10th Kentucky. Later, however, he accepted
promotion to a brigadier.

Then, many believed that Colonel Roy S. Cluke, of the 8th Kentucky,
should have been made brigadier general, and it is said that his
raid into Kentucky, which followed in February and March, 1863, was
projected in order to equalize things on account of Colonel Cluke
being ranked at this time by Colonels Breckinridge and Johnson.
Both Cluke and Johnson hesitating, Morgan appointed Breckinridge
to command the second brigade. The first was composed of the 2d
Kentucky, Duke’s, the 3d Kentucky, Gano’s, the 8th Kentucky, Cluke’s,
with Palmer’s battery of four pieces. The second was composed of the
9th Kentucky, Breckinridge’s, the 10th Kentucky, Johnson’s, the 11th,
Chenault’s, and the 14th Tennessee under Colonel Bennett. These had
a Parrott gun and two mountain howitzers. By November, 1862, Morgan’s
forces had reached in equipment and numbers a very high grade of
efficiency. True, there were some unmounted and unarmed men, but
these could be used as horse holders, and as out of every four men,
one must hold horses, when four thousand cavalrymen should go into
battle, one thousand of them would have to remain at the rear with
the animals while the other three-fourths dismounted to fight.

For a few days preceding the 21st, the farriers were busy shoeing
the horses. Equipments were inspected with minutest scrutiny.
Ammunition was counted out, the mounts were carefully examined, as
only soldiers and horses that could stand a strenuous and long drawn
out expedition were to be taken. These men and beasts were to be
subjected to the rigors of storms, travel and cold that would try
out the highest resistance of flesh and blood to nature’s warfare.
These preparations the rank and file knew portended immediate and
intense activity. The division then comprised a remarkable body of
young men. It represented a full share of the chivalry and flower of
the states of Kentucky and Tennessee. Lawyers, physicians, farmers,
clerks, and here and there clergymen were either officers or in
the ranks. A large proportion of these were liberally educated.
Intelligent and patriotic and full of the spirit of adventure and
romance which attached to cavalry, they were ready for any service
and always would go without fear where duty called. They were proud,
and that made them brave. The vast majority of the men were under
twenty-five years of age, and youth always makes the best soldiers
if the material and leadership are good.

On the morning of December 22d, in and around the little town of
Alexandria, the lines of the divisions were formed. The Kentuckians
sat astride their horses most anxiously, longing for the command to
move. They looked and acted like men who understood that work was cut
out for them.

In a brief while a general order from their leader was read. There
was no longer any reason for concealment. In a few moments they knew
they were going into Kentucky, and the hope and promise of home-going
caused the blood to tingle in their veins and their hearts to beat
with quickened rapture and joy. These boys could guess the path
they would follow, and the confidence of their commander added new
courage to their hearts. He told them candidly where they were going;
he reminded them who they were, and he impressed upon them what was
expected of them. Prolonged and vociferous cheering was heard when
the order was read, and the hills and the woods were filled with
the glad shouts of these exiled youths who were now to turn their
faces homeward. With wild hurrahs they expressed their delight, and
with exultant outcries gave dauntless response to the call of their
chieftain. The one Tennessee regiment felt the spirit of the hour.
Though going from home, they caught the delirium of joy that thrilled
these horsemen, now commencing one of the great marches of a great
war.

From Alexandria for some distance there was a good road. In a little
over two hours the column had covered eight miles. Suddenly the
stillness of the march was disturbed. The men far up in front heard,
away to the rear, triumphant yells and tremendous cheering. They knew
what this meant. Morgan was coming. Alongside the column, with a
splendid staff, magnificently mounted, superbly dressed, riding like
a centaur, bare-headed, with plumed hat in his right hand, waving
salutations to his applauding followers, the general came galloping
by. Pride and happiness were radiated from every feature of his
joyous face. He was now a brigadier general, and new opportunity was
opened to add to his already superb fame. He had just been married
to one of the most beautiful and gracious women of the South. As he
released himself from her tender embrace and felt the touch of her
lovely lips upon his own and saw the tear-drops trickle down her
cheek, painted by the delicate touch of nature with most exquisite
colors, he caught an inspiration that lifted him up to the sublimest
heights of human heroism, and imbued him with a valor that stirred
every fibre of his soul, and made him feel that with him there must
be victory or death. He had with him four thousand Kentucky boys,
well armed, for so large a force well mounted, and there spread
out before his enraptured fancy scenes of conquest and glory that
filled his mind with ecstasy and delight. There was in such an hour
of splendor no omen of the gloom and darkness of the future, and no
signal came to warn of the time when, a few months later, by war’s
harsh and cruel edict, his hopes would be shattered, when his dead
body would be mutilated by his vengeful foes and the weeping wife
and an unborn babe would feel forever the rude shock of the awful
bereavement.

No time was now to be wasted. Every moment must count. To do the work
that he had undertaken and to do it well meant that he must ride
like the whirlwind and march like the storm. Biting cold, drenching
rains, chilling sleet, were not to be considered. Rapid night
rides, days without food, sleepless watchings, ceaseless vigils,
constant battle, fording or swimming rivers, and defiance of nature’s
protest and barriers, held out no terrors for these high-spirited
riders. All believed that leaders and men were invincible and that a
generous fate would protect and guard them in whatever dangers and
difficulties the fortunes of war would bring, on the campaign to
which their country and Cause had bid them come.

By the night of the 22d, the first brigade had forded the Cumberland
River at Sand Shoal, and at dawn the second had crossed the stream.
There were not enough rations to require long delays for feeding. The
horses ravenously munched the meagre supply of corn and fodder that
had been impressed to satisfy their hunger. By sundown the column had
covered thirty miles. There was heavy work ahead. They would meet and
attack Federal garrisons who were in stockades and forts. This made
it necessary to have the artillery; but the guns, however important,
slowed down the speed of the march.

By the 6th of May, 1862, Andrew Johnson had spoken savagely of Morgan
and his men. In writing to Horace Maynard, Member of Congress, he
said: “Morgan’s marauding gang should not be admitted to the rules
of civilised warfare, and the portion of his forces taken at Lebanon
should not be held as prisoners of war. I hope you will call
attention of Secretary Stanton to the fact of their being a mere
band of freebooters.” The seven months that had transpired since
this utterance had not increased the good opinion of the Federals
concerning Morgan’s brigades. The Union forces were so much afraid of
General Morgan and talked so much of his exploits and his expeditions
that they created in the minds of the public, who did not sympathize
with the South, a most exaggerated and ridiculous idea of him and
his men. They were singing and talking of “Morgan, Morgan and his
terrible men.”

By the 24th of December Morgan had reached up into Barren County,
five miles from Glasgow and ninety miles from the place where he had
started. Two companies were sent forward to secure information of
conditions at Glasgow. One of these was commanded by Captain William
E. Jones of the 9th Kentucky Cavalry. About this time the advance
guard of a battalion of the 2d Michigan Cavalry entered the place
upon the opposite side from that which Jones had come in. As both
parties were looking for trouble, it did not take long to bring on a
fight, and they met about the center of the town. Jones was mortally
wounded, and William Webb, of Breckinridge’s regiment, one of the
best men in Kentucky, fell in the conflict. In the melee Lieutenant
Samuel O. Peyton, of the 2d Kentucky, was wounded, having been shot
in the arm and hip. His foes, gathering around him, demanded his
surrender. He fired his revolver, killing one of his assailants,
grappled with the second, threw him to the ground and stabbed him
to death with his knife. The Federals were not expecting such a
reception or such resistance, and so within a very few minutes,
they were driven away. Twenty-two prisoners, including a captain,
were captured and paroled. The gage of battle had been thrown down
and conflict must be expected at any moment. The command was in a
territory where both garrisons and obstructing and opposing forces
would be vigilant and aggressive, and where every energy of the
Federal authorities was put under stern requisition to harass and
delay or destroy this Confederate force, which on mischief and
devastation bent, in the face of winter’s defiance, and far from
supports, was offering battle’s wage to those who stood in their
pathway of ruin and destruction.

The roads had now become better. There was a turnpike leading
from Glasgow toward Louisville. Mysteriously Morgan’s coming had
been known to the citizens. The entire length of the Louisville
& Nashville Railroad was thickly studded with stockades, and
every bridge of any importance had a full guard, and towns like
Elizabethtown and Munfordsville, Bowling Green and Shepherdsville
were all protected by strong garrisons. The great importance of the
Louisville & Nashville Railroad as a means of feeding and supplying
the Federal Army at Nashville and below, demanded that it should be
fully and thoroughly defended, and no small force could hope to avail
against this thorough preparation on the part of the Federals for the
guarding of this essential highway.

Captain Quirk, in command of the advance guard and the scouts, had
not gone very far until he found a battery across the road and
supports on either side. An impetuous attack was the answer to
this challenge, and it did not require very long to brush this
obstruction out of the Confederate path. Johnson’s regiment had been
sent in the direction of Munfordsville to threaten that place, but
General Morgan turned his forces south and east of the Green River,
which was not forded without much difficulty. The banks were steep
and muddy and the water high enough to give great inconvenience. As
there was a long railroad bridge at Munfordsville, a strong Federal
garrison had been gathered at that point to defend it. His force
was not large enough to assault the earthworks protecting this
structure. General Morgan had determined to destroy the trestles at
Muldraugh Hill, six miles north of Elizabethtown. The damage there
would more than equal any he could inflict at Munfordsville. It was
of importance that he should create upon the minds of the Federals
the impression that he would assail the garrison at Munfordsville
and force them to concentrate there, when his men should reach
the Louisville & Nashville Railroad between Munfordsville and
Elizabethtown, and bridges and culverts torn up, there need not be
any particular worry about the Federal forces in the rear. Infantry
would have to be moved along the railroad and they would stand a
slight chance to catch Morgan and his horsemen on lines removed from
the thoroughfare. Little sleep was allowed that night. On the morrow
General Morgan had mapped out great work. He intended to take the
stockades at Bacon’s Creek and Nolin River and destroy the bridges
there. During the night a tremendous rain had fallen, and all day it
still kept coming down in torrents. The cannon and caissons in the
mud and slush made slow progress and prevented very rapid movement.
A regiment had been despatched to Bacon’s Creek bridge, and at eleven
o’clock the cannonading there was distinctly heard. It was necessary
to reduce the stockade and capture the Federal garrison at that point
in order to prevent the Federals from sending new troops to Nashville.

The force sent thither not returning delayed the march, and it was
three o’clock before it got under way. General Morgan took the
reinforcements that had arrived from the feint toward Munfordsville,
and he went over with these to learn what was the cause of the
detention at Bacon’s Creek. Upon his arrival, peremptory demand was
made by him for surrender, and the Federal forces under Captain James
of the 19th Illinois promptly complied. The stockade was immediately
burned and the torch applied to the trestle. The garrison at Nolin
was less disposed to fight than those at Bacon’s Creek, and these
laid down their arms without resistance. The stockade and bridge were
consigned to the flames. Great fires were built along the tracks of
the Louisville & Nashville for several miles, the iron rails, torn
from the ties, were placed upon these and were warped and bent so as
to be unfit for use until carried to a rolling mill.

On the morning of December 27th General Morgan learned of the
presence of a considerable force at Elizabethtown, and moved over to
that place. When within a short distance of the town a most ludicrous
communication was sent out under a flag of truce. It ran somewhat
like this: “Elizabethtown, Kentucky, December 27th, 1862. To the
commander of the Confederate forces: I have you surrounded and will
compel you to surrender. I am, sir, your obedient servant, H. S.
Smith, Commander United States Forces.” General Morgan smiled and
chuckled. He informed the bearer of this extraordinary despatch that
he trusted he would convey the impression to his commander that the
positions were reversed, that it was the Federal forces that were to
surrender and not the Confederates, and he requested their immediate
capitulation, to which he received the rather unique reply that “it
was the business of a United States officer to fight and not to
surrender.” As nothing but a fight would satisfy the six hundred and
seventy men under command of Colonel Smith, General Morgan prepared
to give him what he wanted. Surrounding the town, skirmishers
were thrown forward and the position of the enemy developed. He
had taken position in brick houses on the outside of the town and
resolved to have a street fight. The Federals had no artillery, and
the Confederates had seven pieces. It was a very unequal contest.
The Confederates marched boldly in. They had seen street fighting
before. Colonel Cluke and Lieutenant Colonel Stoner, who later at
Mount Sterling in February and March were to win additional fame,
entered the town at the head of their men. A few well-directed shells
convinced the Federals of the folly of resistance. The gallant
Federal colonel still refused to surrender, but his men, rushing out,
displayed the white flag, and left him to his fate. Six hundred and
fifty-two prisoners, including twenty-five officers, were the result
of this fight.

The great prize for which the Confederates were contending was yet
six miles away. Two mighty trestles, one nine hundred and one a
thousand feet long and ninety feet high, were the means by which
the Louisville & Nashville Railroad climbed Muldraugh’s Hill and
debauched on the Elizabethtown side of that small mountain range. The
bridges and trestles heretofore destroyed were small in comparison to
these two immense structures. Both of these trestles were defended
by garrisons, and both were well fortified. These troops had been
especially ordered to fight to the last ditch. Seven hundred men had
been placed to guard these giant viaducts. They were the highest
and most valuable on the Louisville & Nashville Railroad, and the
Confederates had never been able to reach them before. Full stores
had been collected at this point. On this expedition Captains Palmer
and Corbett handled the artillery with consummate skill and bravery.
Their well-directed shots in a brief while brought both garrisons to
terms. The flames ascending high into the air told the story of the
victory and triumph of the Confederate forces, and the columns of
smoke lifting their shadows up toward the heavens proclaimed to the
pursuers that the dreaded calamity had overtaken the all-important
trestles which meant so much to the railway, and that they had gone
down before the avenging hand of enemies. Small forces were sent
out a few miles north toward Shepherdsville and destroyed some
unimportant structures. General Morgan had wrecked the road now for
something like fifty miles. Nothing inflammable had escaped the touch
of his destructive torch. Having accomplished all they had intended
to do, with Federal forces south and southeast and others in the path
in every direction, he now faced the problem of safely escaping from
these foes which beleaguered and beset him on every side. He had now
reached one hundred and seventy miles into the enemy’s territory.
He had destroyed twenty-three hundred feet of bridging and put the
railroad out of commission for many weeks.

In cavalry experiences it is sometimes easier to get in than to get
out. The whole country south and east of Morgan was aroused. The
Federal commanders at Washington and Nashville were beginning to
question with vehement pertinacity how Morgan had been allowed to
ride so far and do so much damage without serious interruption. It
was true that the defenders at Bacon’s Creek were not very numerous,
that those at Nolin were less so, and that those at Elizabethtown
and the Muldraugh trestles had no chance against the well-directed
artillery of the Confederates, backed by thirty-five hundred cavalry;
but up in Louisville, at Nashville, at Washington, Morgan seemed
to be going where he pleased and doing what he pleased. At these
centers, so far removed from the scene of his action, it appeared
that those who were opposing him, or following, were neither diligent
nor brave. The men at Washington, Louisville, or Nashville were not
marching in the cold, or riding through the mud and the rain. They
could not take in the surroundings of the men who were at work on
the spot, and so they became both inquisitive and critical. General
Morgan, however, was not underrating the efforts of his foes to
minimize the damage he might do or to prevent his escape. Great
soldier as he was, he foresaw what he must face and overcome when he
turned his face southward and undertook to break through the cordon
his enemies were establishing around him. He had before him for
outlet a territory sixty miles wide, filled with numerous highways.
Nearly all these were merely country roads, which when cut by his
artillery and churned by the sixteen thousand feet of the horses his
men were riding, would be only streams of mire.

[Illustration: MAP SHOWING APPROXIMATELY MORGAN’S CHRISTMAS RAID]

Mud and slush would face him along any line he should march except
one, and that was through Bardstown and Springfield, Lebanon and
Campbellsville. Lebanon was on the railroad and it could be promptly
and largely reinforced. The Confederate chieftain was too great a
leader to be trapped. He realized that he must go higher up the
Cumberland in the first place, and find another crossing, and in
the second place to get out of the line of those who were bent on
his destruction. The Federal leaders did not seem to be in a very
great hurry. He turned southeast and on the night of the 28th of
December camped on the Rolling Fork, a tributary of Salt River. This
was a deep and ordinarily a sluggish stream, with high banks. The
rain, a few days before, had filled its bed with angry currents and
good fords were infrequent, and particularly fords that would let
artillery over. There was a peculiar pride in part of the artillery
that made the command ready to fight savagely for them. One of the
pieces was a Parrott gun, a trophy of their valor at Hartsville.
It was called “Long Tom” because of its extreme length. Closely
associated with the victory at Hartsville, it became a great pet of
the division, and was treasured as a mascot.

In the midst of the exciting surroundings of the campaign, a court
martial had been sitting at intervals, as a little leisure could
be spared, upon Lieutenant Colonel Huffman, in command of Gano’s
regiment. General Morgan had given generous terms to those who
surrendered at Bacon’s Creek, and he was displeased with Colonel
Huffman’s apparent violation of these terms, and five regimental
commanders, Duke, Breckinridge, Cluke, Hutchinson and Stoner,
comprised this court. Marching all day and some nights, with an
average of forty miles every twenty-four hours, with an occasional
diversion of a fight, it was rather difficult for these judges to
apportion exact justice to the offending officer. An hour would be
taken at night and a little while during the rest of the day, but
on this particular morning a full session was held and Huffman was
acquitted. As the court martial was writing its finding, couriers
came scurrying from the rear with the information that a large
Federal force of infantry and cavalry was close at hand and had
opened fire. The firing of the pickets and skirmishers was already
audible. Some of the troops had crossed the Rolling Fork, but the
others were on the same side with the Federals. Cluke’s regiment
under Major Bullock had been sent to burn a railroad bridge, and
to hold the enemy in check, but the enemy did not seem willing
to be checked and they vigorously pressed his rear guard. If the
fording of the Rolling Fork had been practicable at every point, it
would be easy enough for those now defending it to ride across, but
when Cluke’s men got down to the stream it was found there to be
impassable. The fields and roads were full of bluecoats, and they
were coming where Morgan’s men were. They were not advancing very
eagerly, but all the same they were coming. The skirmishers along
the fences and in the woods were delaying their progress as much
as possible, but formalities seemed to be waived, and the Federals
were pressing down upon the men on their side of the stream in large
force. The Federal artillery, well managed, got the range of the ford
where the Confederates were crossing and was throwing shells with
accuracy and rapidity, which was splashing the water along the line
where the men in gray must pass. About seven hundred men, including
several companies of Cluke’s regiment, were on the west side of
Rolling Fork. The Federal Army, composed of infantry and cavalry, was
closing in upon them. With an enemy in front and the river behind
them it looked especially gloomy for the men under Cluke. This 8th
Kentucky Cavalry in camp, with a high type of soldierly pride, styled
themselves “Cluke’s War Dogs,” and it looked now as if the “war dogs”
were to get all the war that they could possibly desire.

At this moment General Duke was struck on the side of the head by
a fragment of a shell and rendered unconscious. A brave and agile
soldier sprang behind him and held him on his horse and carried him
over the stream. The skirmishers were plugging away at each other
at close range. One of the enemy’s batteries was proving especially
destructive, and Captain Virgil Pendleton of the 8th Kentucky was
ordered to charge this battery. He killed the cannoneers or drove
them from their guns, and this silenced these destructive agents for
a quarter of an hour. This brave captain was struck by an exploding
shell from other guns of the enemy and seriously and dangerously
wounded. Ninety days later he was killed while charging through the
streets of Mount Sterling.

Colonel W. C. P. Breckinridge assumed command of the Confederates on
the side with the Federals, and with great skill and gallantry helped
bring them out of the perils that were thick around them.

Seconds were lengthened into minutes. The strain was intense. It
was a critical moment for the Confederates not yet over the stream.
Another assault by the Federals meant capture or death or a plunge
into the deep, icy waters of Rolling Fork. At this juncture the
Federals suddenly retreated. No one has ever been able to explain
this let-up at this opportune time for the advancing hosts, nor been
able to guess why the men in blue failed to attack and scatter their
foes when victory was so easy and only needed the closing in to
insure its certainty.

Hope appeared to be departing, and when it looked darkest, some
of Cluke’s men, by riding into the stream, had found a possible
but difficult ford. This had been experimentally discovered. The
emergencies forced the men to ride out into the water. They had no
guides, and fortunately someone had found by testing that there was
a way of escape, and in the lull the rearguard of the Confederates
hurried across the stream. The bulk of the casualties fell to Cluke’s
regiment. They had sustained their reputation as “war dogs.” They
were proud that the enterprise of their leaders, their luck, and
their courage had brought them safely through.

General Morgan now turned detachments loose upon the bridges upon
the Lebanon Branch; some of these were destroyed. This would prevent
reinforcements from rapidly reaching Lebanon. The stockade at Boston
and other small structures were burned. On the night of the 30th
the division camped at Bardstown, and by three o’clock next day it
bivouacked at Springfield, nine miles from Lebanon. The fierce cold,
the long ride, the severe strain, physical and nervous, demanded
a brief halt. The leader realized that Morgan’s men were human.
He apprehended the seriousness of the situation. Over at Lebanon,
stretched far away along the pike up towards Campbellsville and
Muldraugh’s Hill, the Federals were waiting to contest the only good
road by which he could reach the Cumberland River. If he could get
around Lebanon to Campbellsville, he calculated that over the pike
from Campbellsville to Columbia he could make a forced march that
would enable him to outride the Federals, who were taking a short cut
from Glasgow and surrounding towns, to head him off from Burksville
on the Cumberland River.

The Federals had been massing forces at Lebanon. The glare of the
camp fires could be seen from Springfield, where Morgan was resting
for the great spurt. Enemies were there in such numbers that General
Morgan dared not attack the town. They were reported eight thousand.
Harlan, who had crossed swords with him at Rolling Fork, was in his
rear. Colonels Halisy and Hoskins and their eight thousand men were
in his front. The night was intensely dark, and the thermometer was
below zero. The turnpike between Springfield and Lebanon was full of
Federal pickets, backed up by infantry, that were double Morgan’s
numbers.

Early in the night Colonel A. R. Johnson of the 10th drove in the
pickets on the Lebanon road and attacked them with such fierceness
that a cavalry regiment which was stationed six miles from Lebanon,
on the Campbellsville road, was called in to help defend the town.
The withdrawal of this cavalry regiment opened up a possible way of
escape for Morgan without a fight. At Springfield there were many
friends and sympathizers. They were honest and safe advisers. Had
Morgan’s men been fresh and his horses not wearied, the situation
would have been less perplexing to the dauntless general. From every
direction enemies were fast approaching and, stirred deeply by the
criticisms of superiors, were closing in to destroy the Confederate
leader.

The hour had now come for Morgan again to demonstrate the force of
his genius and the extent of his resources. He saw that the best
way of escape was the longest way; that he could not whip the eight
thousand Federals at Lebanon and he must manage to get around them.
He determined to make a detour to the right of Lebanon, pass the
Federal Army there, then swing back on to the road which led from
Lebanon to Campbellsville and rush to the latter place with all
possible speed. He calculated that by outwitting the enemy and by a
forced march, he would reach Campbellsville before his escape would
be discovered and before the Federals could get in his front to
seriously interfere with his going.

An appalling night’s experiences were now to face the bold raider
and his hardy followers. They were without even hope of succor or
support. Here Morgan could rely only upon himself and those who were
with him to rid his path of the dangers, which, if he doubted or
hesitated, would be unsurmountable.

As the Federals at Lebanon did not come after him he decided to
remain at Springfield until eleven o’clock at night. This would give
time for sleep for the men and opportunity to rest and feed the
beasts. By the hospitable firesides of sympathizers, the Confederates
warmed their benumbed limbs and the patient brutes were allowed to
feed and munch to their fill. To multiply troubles, the temperature,
already cold, had become colder. Sharp, penetrating winds whistled
through the naked trees and whirled around the corners of the houses,
warning the wise to seek and keep shelter. Wintry blasts notified
the soldiers of what might be expected if they dared defy their
suggestion. The mercury in the thermometer nestled several degrees
below zero and hid far down in the tube as if afraid to expose itself
to the cold. Morgan’s enemies had not learned exactly where he was,
but they knew he was about and they knew that they were in his front.

General Boyle, commander of the Kentucky Department, telegraphed
Abraham Lincoln in Washington: “Morgan is fleeing precipitately. He
has paid dearly for what he has done.” The wires were kept busy by
the Federals, prophesying what would happen to the bold raiders.
Superiors were assured that disaster was bound to overtake Morgan
within a few hours. Fate had decreed that these prophecies were not
to be verified.

Everybody knew that really great work had been cut out for the night.
No order was required to tell the men of this. The long rest at
Springfield of eight hours was a sure augury that a furious night
march was in store. The men prepared themselves as best they could.
At the hospitable little town of Springfield, in cavalry parlance,
“square meals” were available. This meant that one could eat enough
at a sitting to tide over forty-eight to seventy-two hours without
hunger’s interference. A common sense of danger filled the minds of
all the soldiers at this resting place. They knew that heavy work
was expected, certainly a night’s ride, facing the winds that cut to
the marrow and cold that struck into the joints, and maybe a battle
or attack in the darkness. They had wrapped blankets about their
bodies and covered their feet with strips of cloth. The strain was
too great for a few, and here and there a man or so had succumbed to
the terrific pressure of the elements and had fallen out of line; but
in thirty-nine hundred men that such a small number were unable to
meet these difficulties was a great tribute to both the physical and
mental vigor of these horsemen. They warmed themselves and satisfied
their appetites to the limit, and with the bravado of true cavaliers,
they bade care flee away and fears begone as they mounted into their
saddles. They were not afraid to face any emergency, even all that
the dreadful night ahead had in store for man and beast.

The aid of the best available guides was secured. These bundled
themselves up as if they were in Lapland. At eleven o’clock on the
night of the 30th, General Morgan set out on his journey around his
enemies. He counted darkness as his best ally. It was nine miles from
Springfield to Lebanon and nine miles from Lebanon to St. Mary’s,
where he must pass the Federal trocha, and then it was fifteen
miles from St. Mary’s to the point where General Morgan could hope
in safety to strike the turnpike from Lebanon to Campbellsville.
This meant a loss of fifteen miles, with jaded horses and tired
men. Before General Morgan left Springfield he had a strong line
of skirmishers drive in the Federal pickets. These stacked rails
for a mile through the fields and then fired them. The reflection
of the flames on the sky caught the eyes of the Federal pickets.
The Union commanders came to the conclusion that no men would dare
march through the wind and cold of such a night and Morgan was where
the flames were blazing, and that on the morrow, to get by, he must
engage them in combat. The mud roads which the Confederates must
follow to St. Mary’s and to Newmarket were uneven, frozen, ragged.
The cold was so intense that it partially stupefied the beasts. The
men were compelled to dismount to keep themselves from being frost
bitten, and walk beside their stumbling steeds. It seemed as if
humanity could not stand the dreadful punishment that nature was
inflicting upon these intrepid men. The game was too fierce for a
few, and these by sheer exhaustion fell by the wayside. The horses in
sympathy with their masters hung their heads low. Icicles gathered
on their manes and breasts, covered their bridles and halters, and
dangled from their nostrils. Ice coated the beards and moustaches of
the men. Half the time they walked by their steeds, stamping their
feet, swinging their hands and beating their bodies to drive away
the stupor which extreme cold imposes upon flesh and blood. There
was no loud word spoken. Commands, if given, were uttered in soft
tones, and all were directed to ride, walk or march in absolute
silence. These things added much to the hardships of the night’s
work. If they could have jollied each other, or cheered or enlivened
the hours with badinage, it would have somewhat relieved the
oppressiveness of the continually lengthening miles. The men obeyed
the orders in patient submission to the severe calls of the moment,
and uncomplainingly bore the burdens that patriotism exacted of them
in the dire emergency that war’s fortunes had decreed they must
endure. Man and beast seemed to be well-nigh overwhelmed with the
chilling air. It was a long, long night, and one that no man who had
undergone its terrors would ever forget. Morgan’s men had suffered
many hardships and were yet to know many more, but with one voice
they declared that this march around Lebanon to St. Mary’s and back
to the Campbellsville Pike was the most fearful experience they had
ever suffered, except, when ninety days later, they rode the sixty
miles from Saylersville to Mount Sterling with Cluke, on March 20th,
1863.

At half past six o’clock day began to dawn. The guides were
bewildered or indifferent and had lost their bearings. When the
light enabled them to take in the surroundings, it came out that the
command had only made something like two miles an hour, and instead
of being well on the road towards Campbellsville, they were only two
and a half miles from Lebanon. The Federals in camp had laid upon
their arms all night. They could sleep and cover up their heads and
rest with some degree of comfort in their tents, but they were not
astir very early, and they had no accurate knowledge whither Morgan
had gone. It was a glad moment when light lifted the burdens from
the weary marchers. The sun riding from the east through the clouds
assured these nervy horsemen that the terrors of darkness no longer
overshadowed them. Once again on the macadam highway, the horses
seemed glad and quickened their pace. Increasing speed, with its
accelerated motion, brought warmth to their bodies and cheer to their
masters’ hearts. At nightfall the command was safe at Campbellsville.
They pondered over the terribleness of the past night’s experiences,
but the enemy was behind, and this repaid them for the sufferings and
agony they had endured.

On the march up the long hill where the turnpike, by constant
but easy and tortuous gradients, reaches the tablelands around
Campbellsville, the county seat of Taylor County, occurred one of the
real tragedies of the war. Colonel Dennis J. Halisy commanded the 6th
Kentucky Federal Cavalry. He had charge of the advance in pursuit of
Morgan. He was a bred fighter, young, ambitious, game to the core,
and as adventurous as he was game. Halisy was following Morgan’s rear
guard with the Federal horsemen, picking up the stragglers, if any
could be found, and pushing the Confederates as strongly as prudence
would allow. Captain Alex. Treble and Lieutenant George B. Eastin
were both officers of the 2d Kentucky Confederate Cavalry. These
lagged behind the rear guard in search of adventure, anxious to show
that nobody retreating was afraid, and not unwilling for a fight, if
favorable opportunities came their way.

The top of Muldraugh’s Hill, which overlooked the plain below, where
Lebanon, St. Mary’s and Springfield had been passed, was reached a
brief while after midday. Treble and Eastin were superbly mounted.
Both were over six feet tall, wiry, vigorous men, whose nerves and
muscles had been hardened by the exposure and training of severest
military experiences. Coming along an open stretch, a thousand feet
away, these two young soldiers observed Colonel Halisy and three
officers quite far advanced ahead of the Federal column. They were
both proud, born brave and dauntless, and they resented the idea that
two Kentucky Confederate cavalrymen would run away from a fight with
four Federals. Placing themselves behind a sudden turn in the road,
they waited for the pursuers to appear. Both skilled revolver shots,
they were confident that by a sudden onslaught they would kill two of
those following and then grapple with the remaining couple and win
out. If they had reasoned they would have, hesitated, but in that
period of the war, the courage and pride amongst the Kentucky boys
who went south did not consume time reasoning nor making many figures
in calculating the hazards and dangers of rencontres, and so they
resolved to stake their lives, or at least their liberties, on the
issue with these foes, who appeared equally indifferent to peril.

[Illustration: GENERAL JOHN H. MORGAN]

Curiously, as Halisy and his lieutenant came close upon Treble and
Eastin, their two companions fell back to the head of the column and
thus left the battle two and two.

Swinging out into the road as Colonel Halisy and his aide approached,
the two officers in gray fired at their opponents. They were greatly
surprised and disgusted that neither shot took effect. Four men, too
brave and too intrepid to run away from a foe, grappled on their
horses. They pulled each other from their mounts and fell, side
by side, to the ground. Treble seized his foe and pushed his head
into a pool or stream of water, from whence, half drowned, he asked
quarter. Eastin had Halisy underneath him, and with his pistol at his
head, forced him to surrender. The Federal colonel yielded but still
held his pistol in his hand. As he arose from the earth, quickly
cocking his revolver, he fired at his captor, but the bullet only
grazed the cheek of the Confederate, who in turn instantly fired his
weapon and killed Halisy. The conflict, the struggles, the shots,
attracted the attention of the advancing Federals, who rushed to the
rescue of their leader and comrade. Hastily taking the colonel’s
sword and the pistols of the two men, Treble and Eastin galloped
off to join the Confederate rear guard, which was now nearly out of
sight. The Federals claimed that Colonel Halisy had been shot without
provocation after he surrendered, but subsequent investigation showed
that such a charge was totally unfounded and that Eastin was fully
justified in the course he pursued. Just six months later, Captain
Treble, having been transferred to Chenault’s regiment, was killed
at Green River Stockade on July 4th, 1863, on the road between
Campbellsville and Columbia, twenty-two miles from the scene of this
conflict, as Morgan was commencing the Ohio Raid. In the assault on
the Federal fortification Colonel Chenault was killed, and Major
James B. McCreary, now governor of Kentucky, assumed command of
the regiment. He rode down the line to notify Captain Treble that
he was to act as lieutenant colonel, and in case he—McCreary—fell,
to take charge of the regiment. As Treble rose from the line and
waved his hand to salute his superior, to let him know the order was
understood, he was struck by a shot from a Federal sharpshooter and
fell dead at McCreary’s feet. Strangely enough, when Major Brent of
the 5th Regiment, sent by General Morgan to get information as to
how things were going, rode forward, as he lifted his hand to salute
Colonel McCreary, he was shot through the brain and fell dead at his
side.

Eastin, after a brilliant and highly adventurous war experience,
became a learned and distinguished lawyer in Louisville, a member of
the Kentucky Court of Appeals, and after a long and splendid career,
died in Louisville in 1896. He was beloved and honored wherever he
was known. He was courteous, gentle, brave and loyal in all phases
of life and was universally mourned when he died at the early age of
fifty-four.

The Federals, fortunately, had laid by large supplies of commissary
stores at Campbellsville, and in these captured goods there was
enough to satisfy, clothe and feed man and beast. Strong pickets
were ordered out on every road so that there could be no possible
surprise. The wear and tear of the day previous had been so dreadful
that General Morgan resolved to give his horses and men time to
recuperate. True, it was a risk, but the voice of humanity as well
as necessity appealed for a brief respite to those men who so
uncomplainingly had borne up under a physical strain that, in all
the great war, where cavalry had done what no other cavalry ever
did, had rarely been equalled and never surpassed. It was twenty-two
miles to Columbia. The artillery had good roads and fresh horses, and
they could keep any pace the cavalry might set. Caution spoke of a
night march, but mercy protested, and mercy prevailed, and for eight
hours riders and beasts slept as only the weary and cold could sleep.
The day had not broken when the call of the bugles bid the sleepers
rise and prepare for another struggle against nature and its adverse
forces. There were enemies who were bravely and vigorously marching
to thwart their escape from the state, and hem them in on their
homeward ride.

When the command ascended a hill on the Columbia Road, heavy
cannonading was heard. It was the sounds which were coming from the
far-off battlefield of Murfreesboro, Tennessee, ninety miles away,
and it fell like a pall upon the minds and hearts of these men far up
in the Kentucky mountains. These dull, rumbling tones proclaimed that
Bragg and Rosecrans on Stone River were grappling with each other in
gigantic conflict.

When at three p. m. the division rode into Columbia, the marchers
breathed more freely, as the first danger post was passed. Only a
couple of hours was given for rest and food. The Cumberland River,
the real line of safety, was thirty miles away. General Morgan, not
sure that his foes might not yet intercept him, bade the men get
ready for another all night ride. It was still bitter cold, the road
to be traveled was rough and broken, but the voice of safety was
whispering that over the Cumberland alone could absolute security
be found. The leader loved his men. He realized how loyal, brave
and patient they had been in the ten days since they had ridden
out of Alexandria. It was a hard order to issue, but everything
was at stake; he dare not, with all his love for his brave riders,
compromise his duty to the Cause he and they loved so well, and for
which they were placing their lives in constant jeopardy.

At night, in the darkness and bitter cold, the division rode into
Burksville on the Cumberland River. No enemy appeared. The spirits of
the men returned. Even the beasts seemed to catch the hopefulness of
the hour, and by the night of the 2d of January the Cumberland River
was crossed. The raid was ended. The expedition had been successful
and the command was safe. The pursuit was not resumed, and so,
leisurely marching down through Livingstone, they reached Smithville,
Tennessee, on the morning of January 5th. Here they rested for
several days to allow the men and horses to build up and to forget
the dreadful experiences of the terrific march. They had been absent
seventeen days. They had ridden five hundred miles, captured eighteen
hundred and seventy-seven prisoners and stores indescribable, and of
tremendous value. Twenty-six had been killed and sixty-four were
wounded and missing. A few had fallen out of the line of march around
Lebanon and been captured, but less than two and a half in every
hundred were lacking when, on the south bank of the Cumberland, an
inventory was taken and a roll call made. These thirty-nine hundred
horsemen had been roughly handled and battered both by their foes
and by the fierce elements, but they had borne it all with heroic
fortitude and were not only ready but anxious at the earliest moment
to try another issue with the enemies of their country.




CHAPTER XIX

FORREST’S PURSUIT AND CAPTURE OF STREIGHT, APRIL 28-MAY 3, 1863


The Battle of Murfreesboro closed on January 2d, 1863. The Army of
the Cumberland under Rosecrans and the Army of the Tennessee under
Bragg made no important moves or advances until late in the spring.
Both armies had suffered a tremendous shock and great decimation, and
it took them some time to recover from the effects of that frightful
conflict.

Among the most enterprising Federal officers in the Army of the
Cumberland was Colonel Abel D. Streight. Born in Wheeling, New York,
in 1829, he was at this time just thirty-four years of age. He had
recruited the 51st Regiment of Indiana Infantry, and his regiment had
been a part of the Army of the Cumberland for some months. The story
of success of the Confederate raids of Wheeler and Forrest and Morgan
and Stuart had kindled the desire among some of the Federals to carry
out similar operations.

During the time that Rosecrans and Bragg were waiting to get ready
for another great battle, Streight conceived the brilliant plan of
moving a cavalry brigade up the Tennessee River by boats to a point
near Tuscumbia, Alabama, and there disembarking, march a little south
of east to Rome, Georgia, a distance of a hundred and sixty miles.
Although an infantryman, he had pondered the marvelous raids of the
western cavalry and he longed to imitate the example of the horsemen.
He calculated that along the route of his march, both coming and
going, he could play havoc, and destroy at will all manufactories
and other property which could be, directly or indirectly, used for
the maintenance of the war. It required a man of great genius and
transcendent courage at that period of the war, who had no more
experience than Streight, to organize and carry out such a scheme.
He argued if Forrest in Mississippi, Wheeler in Tennessee, Alabama
and Georgia, and Morgan in Tennessee and Kentucky, could successfully
win out in their raids, he also might hope for equally good fortune.
It was as bold if not a bolder feat than any Confederate cavalryman
up to this time had undertaken. Streight deserved in this expedition
more than fate accorded him. There had been some Federal companies
recruited in the northern part of Alabama. Quite a portion of the
people in that part of the state were disloyal to the Confederate
cause. Frequent invasions of the Federals had developed this spirit
of resistance to the authorities of the Confederacy and also promoted
enlistments.

Streight had come in contact with these companies of cavalry which
had been recruited while refugeeing from Alabama. They would be
thoroughly familiar with the route Streight intended to travel.
Without the assistance of guides like these, such an expedition would
be impossible. He had heard of the disloyalty of these people, and he
was sure they would be glad to welcome his coming into their midst,
and would in considerable numbers flock to his standard.

In a little while, Colonel Streight, who in sleep or waking pondered
his plans, had so far worked out his project that he put it on paper
and submitted it to his superior officers. They were delighted
with the possibility of such an expedition, capable of doing such
tremendous damage to the Confederacy, and his superiors concluded if
Streight was willing to risk his life and his reputation, the Federal
government could afford to risk a couple of thousand troops, as many
mules and a cannon or two. His associates encouraged him in every way
possible, commended and applauded him, and told him the government
was ready to place at his disposal all the resources necessary to
conduct such a campaign.

He was regarded by his superiors as the most daring and enterprising
man of the hour, and not a word of caution was sounded in his ears.
No echo of possible failure, or faintest warning escaped the lips of
those with whom he counseled. If they questioned, naught of their
doubts came to him.

In order that Streight’s command might start fresh and be prepared to
make a great spurt, his brigade was organized at Nashville and it was
proposed to transport it from there on eight or ten large steamers,
down the Cumberland River to the Ohio, thence to the mouth of the
Tennessee River and up the Tennessee for several hundred miles to
Eastport, Mississippi, and from this point to enter upon the real
work of the expedition. The fact was emphasized that under this
system of transportation, men and horses would start on the campaign
absolutely fresh and ready for a headlong rush of ten days. It was
calculated that possibly even more time could be consumed in the
daring work which had been assigned for this adventurous command. In
these days, on both sides men were prepared to take boundless risks.
Their hopes and not their fears were their guides. It was decided
that Streight might choose his own troops. He selected his own, the
51st Indiana Regiment. He felt that it was reliable. To this he added
the 73d Indiana, under Colonel Gilbert Hathaway, hardly less brave
and resourceful than Streight, the 3d Ohio and the 80th Illinois, and
two companies of Alabama cavalry, with a small battery. They made
up a force of two thousand men. Nobody ever seemed to think it was
necessary to advise with cavalry officers. Streight wanted to make
the raid and he felt that he could accomplish what he had proposed
and he consulted only with infantrymen. These officers, who had had
no cavalry experience, decided that mules would be more reliable than
horses, that they could do better service in the mountainous country
through which the expedition would pass, in that they could live on
less and were hardier. When they came to this conclusion, they made
their great mistake. It was strange that men with the experience and
judgment of the Federal officers who were advising Colonel Streight
would permit him to start out with untrained animals. At Nashville,
they gave him a few hundred mules, some two years old, many unbroken,
and a number of them in the throes of distemper. As the expedition
was to be one of spoliation, the impressment of horses was to be an
essential for success. The troops and such mules as could be spared
were placed on steamers and brought down the Cumberland River, to
a landing called Palmyra, and there they marched through to Fort
Henry on the Tennessee River. This march ought to have been done in
a few hours, but it required four days. Streight’s men were sent out
in every direction in squads and singly to scour the whole country
and impress every mule that could be found. They spared nothing that
could walk or which could be saddled, and they took everything of
the horse or mule kind that was attainable in the territory through
which they forayed. With all this diligence and impressment they were
still short of mounts. They had saddles and bridles, but they had no
animals on which their equipment could be placed. After re-embarking
at Fort Henry, with a convoy of a brigade of marines, and several
gunboats, Streight reached East Port, Mississippi, where he put his
men ashore and dismissed the boats.

General Granville M. Dodge, in command of the Federals in that
locality, had been directed to give Streight every possible
assistance. Dodge was twelve miles away from where Streight landed,
but the leader of the expedition immediately rode over to where Dodge
was. The Federals numbered some seven thousand or eight thousand men.
Colonel P. D. Roddy, with a small brigade of Confederate cavalry,
intercepted the advance of Dodge’s troops. It was the plan that Dodge
should make a feint for a few miles into Alabama. This would protect
Streight until he got started on his march, and would also terrorize
the Confederates by threats of an invasion by a larger force.

At Eastport, the troubles of Colonel Streight began. Mules when
broken are patient workers, but they are very uncertain performers,
and when thirteen hundred had been corraled they all set up a loud
braying. For a while this puzzled and disturbed the Confederates,
but in those days Confederate cavalrymen were very quick-witted and
they took in the situation and stole across the picket lines covering
Streight’s men and mules, crawling in amongst them, and began hooting
and yelling and firing their pistols and guns. This was a new
experience for these long-eared military appliances; they immediately
stampeded, and at daybreak Streight found four hundred of his best
mules gone. This was precious time wasted. He spent thirty-six hours
in recovering his lost property, but more than half of the mules
never came back. They had been picked up by Roddy’s scouts, who
thanked God for this addition to their mounts.

Roddy and Colonel William A. Johnson, with three small Alabama
regiments, were plugging away at Dodge’s advance, and so thorough
were their efforts that it took practically four days to reach
Tuscumbia. Here Streight brought up his own men and mules, and
Dodge gave him six hundred mules and some horses, together with ten
thousand rations of bread and six wagons. The Federal leader realized
the tremendous task that he had undertaken. He looked over all those
who were to go with him, and saw to it that the faint-hearted and the
physically ailing dropped out of his column.

Colonel Streight, with all his courage, was afraid of one man. That
man was General Nathan Bedford Forrest. Dodge told Streight that
Forrest had crossed the Tennessee River, and Streight knew well
that if this was so, it meant trouble. The most precious hours of
Streight’s life were the 24th, 25th and 26th of April. The delays
made on those days were his undoing. The Confederates had not yet
apprehended the Federal purposes. They knew where Dodge was, and
they brought some cavalry down to impede his march, but they did not
know that Streight was behind Dodge and that in a few hours, like a
meteor, he was to be hurled down into their territory under orders
to make a raid of more than one hundred and fifty miles into the
very heart of the Confederacy, to destroy there what no money could
replace, and which was absolutely vital to the maintenance of the
Confederate armies at the front.

It was passing strange that the Federal government, with men wise
in so many military ways, and so many West Point men—like Sherman,
Halleck and Grant—would permit Streight’s enthusiasm to induce
authority to enter upon such an expedition without the most complete
preparation. Under the most favorable conditions, the odds were at
least even, and the Federal soldiers were certainly entitled, in view
of the risk they assumed, to the very best their government could
give. Instead, Streight got the worst. He started short of horses and
mules, and, although brave, intrepid and ambitious, he could not make
a raid without reasonably good mounts. Streight was anxious to go.
He felt that if he succeeded, he would become renowned, and forge at
once to the front as the greatest of Federal cavalry leaders.

Still lacking animals, it was decided that Streight should move out
in front of Dodge’s forces and pounce upon the unsuspecting planters
and farmers in contiguous territory. Several hundred of his men
were still unmounted. Russellville was the county seat of Franklin
County, Alabama—eighteen miles south of Tuscumbia. By swinging down
these eighteen miles, it would permit the scouts from his command
to penetrate ten miles farther, and impressment was driven to the
extremest limits. Some animals escaped, but many were taken. Turning
directly east, Streight moved up to Moulton—twenty miles distant.
This gave him still more territory for impressment and confiscation,
so that when he reached Moulton he had only a few men who had not
some sort of a beast to ride. Upon the day following, Streight left
Moulton, and on the morning of the 29th of April, Forrest was just
sixteen miles away at Courtland. By this time, Forrest had thoroughly
divined Streight’s plan. He hurried in behind him and resolved to
make escape impossible. Streight had left Moulton in the night, and
by the time Forrest reached Moulton his trail was a little cold.
Forrest told his soldiers that whatever else got wet, the cartridges
were to be kept dry. As he rode out of Courtland, a cold, drizzling
rain set in, but there was nothing could dampen the ardor and
enthusiasm of the pursuers. They were man-hunting, and that always
makes the drive furious. With hard riding, Streight had reached Sand
Mountain. He had bravely struggled to get on, but bad roads, bad
weather, inferior mounts, and the wagons and artillery held him up.
He was not sure that Forrest was behind. He earnestly hoped he was
not. Streight rested all night, while Forrest was riding most of the
night. He had only twelve hundred men and Streight sixteen hundred.
There was never a time when Forrest needed more faith in his men.
He had that faith, and he knew that if he could put his followers
to the test, they would be found always dependable. Nobody thought
about leadership or suggested anything to Forrest. The men who rode
with him believed that he knew everything, and all they asked was
to be allowed to follow where he led. Forrest, rushing his men all
the night of the 29th and the morning of the 30th, came close upon
Streight’s command without their knowledge. Both men had started just
at the dawn of day, and both were dreadfully in earnest. Streight’s
men were already marching up the tortuous road to the crest of Sand
Mountain. As the head of the column reached the summit, the bursting
of a shell at the bottom and the driving in of the pickets told
Streight that the man he feared was at his heels and had already
begun to harass and harry. No sooner had the sound of the guns been
heard than Streight, with the instincts of a soldier and the courage
of a warrior, rushed back to the rear. He wanted to be where the
danger was greatest and the conflict keenest. General Dodge had
promised Streight to hold Forrest in check; and, if he got away, to
pursue and nag him. He failed to keep his pledge.

In the beginning, Forrest underestimated both the courage and
resources of his antagonists. Up to this period in his career, he had
never struck anything that was so game and so wary as this intrepid
brigade of Streight’s. He had not then realized that they were
dauntless soldiers—led by a man as brave as the bravest. His first
idea that they would become a lot of fugitives who had neither skill
nor courage was soon dissipated. Captain William Forrest, brother of
General Nathan Bedford Forrest, was in command of the advance guards
and scouts. With a valor born of unlimited courage, he rushed up to
the fleeing Federals, now climbing the sides of the mountain. He
manifested neither fear nor discretion. He had absorbed his brother’s
genius for quick and fierce assault. In a little while he ran into
an ambuscade skillfully designed by Streight, who had left Colonel
Sheets of the 51st Indiana in the rear. A minie ball broke Captain
Forrest’s hip, and he fell in the midst of his enemies. Forrest had
been accustomed to reckless use of his artillery. It was not often
that his enemies disturbed him, but on this occasion he lost two of
his pieces, and, right or wrong, he felt that the young lieutenant in
charge of these pieces had not exactly measured up to his standard of
determination. He requested later that this young officer be assigned
to some other command. This brought about an altercation; the young
officer attacked Forrest and shot him—as was supposed to be—mortally.
Forrest, ferociously pursuing his antagonist, killed him. In death
they were reconciled: the patriotic young officer expressing joy that
his shot had failed of its purpose, that Forrest was to live and he
to die.

Fighting, fleeing, feinting, ambuscading, hammering was now the
order of the day. With his military experience and from fragmentary
statements of his captives, Forrest knew that Rome was the
destination of Streight. He understood what its destruction would
mean to his people and to his country, and he resolved first, that
Streight should never reach Rome, and second that he should never
escape from the Confederate lines into which he had so boldly and
fearlessly moved. At and about Rome, the Confederacy had unlimited
treasures—there were foundries and manufactories of arms and
munitions of war.

To his famous and gallant brother, Forrest gave only one command. He
assumed that he and his forty scouts would need no sleep—at least
they could have no rest—and so he told his brother to keep right
on down the road and get up close to see what the enemy was doing.
Streight made the mistake of ever taking any wagons at all. Climbing
these narrow mountain roads with these impediments, his speed was
greatly hindered. He had not gotten two miles from the top of Sand
Mountain when he saw he must fight. Forrest’s order to “shoot at
everything blue and keep up the scare” was driving his men with
the courage of demons to attack every blue coat, wherever it was
found. He had only one thousand men. He advanced them fearlessly and
recklessly. Streight’s men fought vigorously and viciously. For a
few moments they threw a considerable portion of Forrest’s forces
into disorder, and with a gallant and splendid charge, scattered the
advance guard of the Confederates. When Forrest was told that his
guns were lost, he was beside himself with rage. He had too few men
to use horse holders. He directed his men to tie their horses in the
forest, and then ordered every soldier to the front. The effect of
the loss of his guns upon his men he felt might destroy their morale,
and he assembled his entire force and led them in a charge on the
Federal rear. While Forrest was making these preparations to retake
his guns, Streight’s men were all ready to remount their mules and
ride in haste along the Blountsville Road. Streight had heard much
of Forrest, and he was pleased with this repulse and the capture of
Forrest’s guns. He congratulated himself that he could make a good
showing even if he faced Forrest’s veterans.

[Illustration: GENERAL STARNES]

Something like fifty of Streight’s men had been killed or wounded,
and he left his own lieutenant, Colonel James W. Sheets of the 51st
Indiana, mortally wounded on the field. There was no time for burial
services, regrets, tears or ceremonies. While Sheets was mortally
wounded, Forrest’s brother was desperately wounded. The Indiana
colonel was left in the hands of his captors, and his lifeless body
was consigned to a coffinless tomb. He died as brave men wish to
die—at the front, with his face to his foes.

Forrest had sent two of his regiments by gaps parallel with Day’s
Gap, to attempt to head off the Federals. In this, they failed
because of the long detours they were compelled to make. Forrest now
detached a portion of his command to ride parallel with Streight and
west of him, and to be sure that he would not be permitted to retrace
his steps toward Dodge’s protecting forces at Tuscumbia. It was well
into the day before Forrest and his escort and his two regiments were
able to overtake Streight again. He was once more repulsed. They
fought and battled with unstinted fury until ten o’clock at night,
and then Streight silently stole away. The Federals held their ground
with unflinching courage and far into the night, when their only
guide was the flash of their guns. Forrest had one horse killed and
two others wounded under him in this encounter. A flank movement
impressed upon Streight the danger of his position, and he hurried
away, leaving his dead and wounded in possession of his foes, and
Forrest retook his guns. They had been dismounted, spiked and the
carriages destroyed; but he had them, and, though useless, he had
regained them from his foes.

Streight had a great helper with him, a man who had not so much
experience, but he had as much courage. This was Colonel Gilbert
Hathaway, of LaPorte, Indiana. In August, 1862, he had recruited a
regiment which was mustered in at South Bend. He and his command had
been at Stone River, and there paid very heavy toll. His soldiers
were well drilled and seasoned. Colonel Sheets had gone down at
the front with the 51st, and since he fell, Streight laid heaviest
burden upon Colonel Hathaway. Streight had now behind him a man who
knew neither faintness nor fear, and when he rode away, Forrest and
his men rode savagely behind him. Two or three hours had elapsed,
when the impact in the rear was so fierce that Streight decided to
use another ambuscade to stop, if possible, until daylight, the
impetuosity of the pursuers.

With the obscurity of the night, Streight had used great skill and
genius. Forrest called for volunteers to ride into the Federal lines
and develop their fire, so that he might fix the position of his
foe. Lots of men volunteered, but three were selected. They rode in
knowingly to the death trap that had been arranged with such care and
cunning. All three came out of a storm of shot and shell untouched.
No sooner had the scouts informed General Forrest of the position
of the enemy, than he ordered forward a piece of artillery, filled
almost to the mouth with canister. Noiselessly, the artillery was
pushed up to the Federal position, and then by the moonlight, the
inclination of the gun was fixed so as to reach where Forrest had
been told the Federals were. It was three o’clock in the morning,
an hour that tries men’s nerves. A second piece of artillery was
brought into requisition. This disturbed Streight and his men, and
they were called in and hurried on to Blountsville. From Day’s Gap to
Blountsville was forty-three miles. It had been a march of fighting
and ambuscading, marked on both sides with noblest courage. At
Blountsville, there was yet hope for Streight. If he drove due north,
he was only thirty miles away from Guntersville, on the Tennessee
River. There he might be safe; but Streight had started out to go to
Rome, and to Rome he resolved to go at all hazards. Forrest felt that
the troops he had despatched from Sand Mountain to head Streight off
would meet him, if he veered from the line to Rome. Streight, true
to his plans and promises, kept on the road he had mapped out to
follow. Forrest had now been riding forty out of forty-eight hours,
and for more than a third of the time he had been fighting. Seeing
that Streight had now resolved to keep upon the direct course toward
Rome, Forrest did the wisest thing that any cavalry officer could do.
He concluded to rest his animals, and give his men two hours’ sleep.
The horses were unsaddled and fed the last shelled corn that they had
packed on their weary backs from Courtland.

Streight gave his men no rest, and at ten o’clock, upon the morning
of the first of May, he rode into Blountsville. Strange scenes
were enacted in that little town on that May Day. People from
the surrounding country had come into the village to enjoy the
festivities of such a holiday. They had driven or ridden their best
horses and mules. There was food enough in town for Streight’s men
to eat and enough fresh animals to assure every man in blue a mount.
The pleasures of the picnic were rudely shattered; robbed by hungry
Federals of baskets or lunches, they scattered like bird coveys, and
from the homes of friends, hidden behind fences, or peering from the
bushes with grief, rage and indignation, they witnessed their family
steeds unhitched or unsaddled, harnessed with cavalry equipments,
forced into the Federal column, and galloped away with the hated
soldiers on their back. Girls, with tears raining down their cheeks,
saw their pet saddle horses fade into the dim distance. The older men
groaned in spirit, and the young men writhed in anguish to realize
that the mounts which had long been their chiefest pride were thus
ruthlessly taken from their possession. This first of May was the
dreariest and saddest that ever came into the lives of Blountsville
folk.

Refreshed with food and a momentary rest, the Federal leader realized
that all impedimenta must be thrown away; that to escape Forrest, he
must march with quicker gait and move with longer strides. Rations
and ammunition were counted out to the men. A portion of the contents
of the wagons were packed upon mules. He parked his wagons and set
them afire. They had hardly begun to burn when the 4th Tennessee
Regiment, under Starnes, charged into the village and drove out
Streight’s rear guard. Streight had rested two hours, but he had
rested the wrong two hours. Forrest’s men were fresh from their two
hours’ sleep. Streight’s rear guard was constantly and vigorously
pursued and attacked. Federals concealed in the bushes fired into the
advancing column. Here and there a man fell wounded, maybe dead, and
dying or disabled horses were the markers that were revealing to the
pursued and the pursuers the savageness of war, but none of these
stayed the men who were harrying the Federal rear guard.

Blountsville was ten miles from the Black Warrior River. The road had
become wider and smoother, but Forrest’s pursuit became still more
aggressive. Protecting the crossing by heavy lines of skirmishers on
each side of the river and pointing his two howitzers westwardly,
a spirited resistance was made by Streight, but Forrest’s men,
seemingly never tiring, charging again and again, finally broke the
line. It was five o’clock in the afternoon of May 1st when the last
Federal forded the Black Warrior River. Men sleeping on their horses,
here and there dropping from their steeds by either fatigue or sleep,
reminded General Forrest that he had about reached the limit of human
endurance, that there were some things even his trained riders could
not do. Reserving one hundred men for pursuit, he now permitted his
soldiers to go into camp for three hours. Scant forage furnished his
horses a small ration, but his men preferred sleep to food, and they
laid down to profoundest slumber. This gave Streight surcease from
battle until nine o’clock next morning, but unwisely he drove his
men every moment of the night. He reached Black Creek, four miles
from Gadsden, but he reached it with his men fearfully worn and
depressed. Forrest, true to his instincts and his knowledge of the
powers of human resistance, let every man he could spare from picket
duty enjoy a brief undisturbed repose. He calculated that he could
release some from aggressive assault and sent one of his regiments to
the rear and told them to sleep. Streight had marched during all the
night. Forrest had rested three hours, and he was thereby enabled to
begin pursuit with increased vigor. Riding at the head of his men, he
spurred them on to supremest effort, to reach Black Creek and save
the bridge. He hoped to push Streight so hard that he would not find
time to wreck or burn the structure spanning that stream.

At Blount’s Farm, ten miles from Gadsden, one of the dismal tragedies
of the expedition was enacted. On the first day of May, at 4 p. m.,
Colonel Streight reached Blount’s Plantation. There were only fifteen
miles between him and Gadsden. This plantation furnished abundant
forage for his horses. While the horses fed, the soldiers ate; a
portion standing attentive in line ready to obstruct the advance of
the Confederates. This rear guard was again vigorously attacked by
Forrest. In resisting this advance, Colonel Gilbert Hathaway was
mortally wounded. Forrest had become wary of ambuscades, and was so
cautiously watching for them that Streight declined to waste his time
in further preparing them. The rear guard was under the direction
of Hathaway. This soldier Streight was now cherishing as his best
helper. This Federal hero, leading his men in a charge, fell with his
face to the foe, crying out, “If we die, let us die at the front,”
and there he went down, covered with the glory and honor which fame
always accords to the brave. There was only time for comrades to
request a decent burial for the brave Indiana colonel who had died so
far away from home, and had been cut down in the full pride of his
splendid career. These officers had known different experiences from
the Confederates. They had been accustomed, when men of rank were
killed, to handsome coffins and the consoling ornaments and trappings
which robbed death on the battlefield of some of its terrors. The
owner of the plantation was asked to provide a metallic case for
the remains of the dead soldier. He mournfully said, “There are no
metallic cases in this country.” “Then give him a plain pine coffin,”
pleaded the Federal officer, now exposed to and endangered by the
fire of the advancing Confederates. “We have no coffins,” replied the
man, sadly shaking his head. “Then take some planks and make a box
and bury him and mark his grave.” “You have burned all my planks,”
replied the man, “and I have nothing with which to make even a box.”
“Then,” he pleaded once again, with the bullets whistling around
his head and with the Confederates immediately in sight, “wrap his
body in an oil cloth and bury him, for God’s sake, where he may be
found,”—and this the magnanimous planter agreed to do. He faithfully
kept his pledge, and in the Alabama garden he gave sepulture to the
gallant soldier. The Federal officer, with his enemies at his heels,
and with the Confederate bullets buzzing about his person, waved the
dust of his comrade a last sad adieu, and putting spurs to his horse
galloped away and left the dead hero with his enemies to make and
guard his tomb.

Far down in Walton County in Southwestern Georgia, a plain,
hard-working farmer of Scotch-Irish descent, known among his
neighbors as Macajah Sansom, lived at a little town called Social
Circle. He heard of richer land in Alabama bottoms and decided to
migrate. The youngest child in the family was Emma Sansom, born in
1847.

The change was not propitious for the father, and in 1859, seven
years after his change of home, he died, leaving a son and two
daughters to the care of his widow. In 1861, the lad, Rufus, the
oldest of the family, heard the call of his country and went away
as a member of the 19th Alabama Infantry, to defend its rights. The
little farm was left to the oversight of the mother and her two
daughters. War’s ravages had not reached where they lived. The son
and protector had been away twenty months, and all this desolate
family knew of war was what Rufus had written of his campaigning and
the narratives brought back by an occasional furloughed neighbor, or
some who in battle had lost a leg or an arm, and returned disabled,
bearing in their persons memorials of how terrible was real war.

The father had settled on Black Creek, four miles west of Gadsden,
on the highway from Blountsville to Gadsden. On one side of his
farm was an uncovered wooden bridge, plain and unsightly, but
saved the passers-by from fording the deep, sluggish stream that
essayed to halt man and beast on their travels across this new and
thinly settled country. The dead father had built a small doubled,
one-storied frame house from lumber sawed out of the pine trees
that grew in luxuriance on the hills, a short distance back from
the Creek. These two girls and their mother had but little of
this world’s goods. Some cows, chickens, a few pigs and a horse
constituted all their possessions. They loved their country, and they
gloried in the courage of the young man who was so faithfully and
bravely fighting at the front. Joseph Wheeler was the first colonel
of the 19th. This regiment had been at Mobile and later at Shiloh,
where two hundred and nineteen of its members had been killed and
wounded. It had marched with Bragg into Kentucky and down through
Mississippi, and later in the valley of Stone River, at the Battle
of Murfreesboro, where one hundred and fifty-one of its members were
killed or received wounds. In his simple, guileless, homely way, he
had written the awful experiences through which he and the neighbor
boys had passed, and the mother and sisters were proud of him and
loved him for the dangers through which he had come, and what he had
done made them zealous for the cause for which they had sent him away
to endure and dare so much. Each mail day—for mails did not come
often into this isolated territory—they watched and waited for the
letter to tell what the brother was doing at the far-off front. A
fifth of the neighbors and friends who made up the Gadsden company
were filling soldier’s graves in Tennessee, Kentucky, Mississippi and
Alabama, and these defenseless women were afraid to open the letters
that were post-marked from the army lest there should come tidings
of the death of the one they so dearly loved.

By the afternoon of May 2d, the pressure of Streight and his men by
Forrest was at its fiercest tension. Guided by his two companies of
Alabama refugee horsemen, Streight had been told if he could only
cross Black Creek and burn the bridge, that he might hope for a few
hours’ respite, and if he could not feed his weary men and wearier
beasts, he could at least let them sleep enough to restore a part of
their wasted energy, and from a few hours’ repose get new strength
for the struggles and trials that yet faced them in this perilous
campaign upon which they had so courageously come.

The rear guard was the front of the fighting, and there the plucky
and indomitable Federal leader was pleading with his soldiers to
stand firm and beat off the pitiless onslaught of the relentless
Confederates, who seemed devilish in their vehement and impetuous
charges. He had chosen men of valor for this work, and they nobly
responded to his every call.

Sitting in their cottage, mayhap talking of the soldier brother,
there fell upon the ears of these defenseless home-keepers strange
sounds: the galloping of horses, the clanging of swords, frequent
shots, sharp, quick commands. They wondered what all this clamor
could mean, and rushing to the porch, they saw companies of men clad
in blue, all riding in hot haste toward the bridge over the creek.
They were beating and spurring their brutes, who seemed weary under
their human burdens, and in their dumb way resenting the cruel and
harsh measures used to drive them to greater and more strenuous
effort. The passers-by jeered the women, asked them how they liked
the “Yanks,” and told them they had come to thrash the rebels and run
Bragg and his men out of the country. They said “Old Forrest” was
behind them, but they had licked him once and would do it again.

The well in the yard tempted them to slake their thirst, and
dismounting, they crowded about the bucket and pulled from its depths
draughts to freshen their bodies and allay the fever that burned
in their tired throats. They asked if they had any brothers in the
army; and not to be outdone, the women said they had six, and all
gone to fight the Yankees. Two cannon went rumbling by. The men on
their horses were belaboring them with great hickory wythes, and were
driving at a mad pace to get over the wooden bridge. Some of the
blue-coated men came in and searched the house for guns, pistols, and
opened and pried through the drawers of the wooden bureau, and looked
in the closets and presses and under the beds; but they found nothing
but a side saddle; and one, more malignant than the others, drew his
knife from a sheath dangling by his side, and slashed and cut its
skirts into small pieces and threw them upon the floor at the feet of
the helpless women.

The line grew thinner. In double and single file some stragglers were
all that was left of the men in blue, and then the rear guard came,
and over the creek the women saw the cannon on the banks, the horses
unhitched, and the little Federal Army dismounted, scattered out
among the trees and bushes and standing with guns in their hands,
waiting for somebody else to come. They saw the men tear the rail
fence down, pile the rails on the bridge, and then one started into
the house; and, seizing a piece of blazing coal from the chimney
place, ran in haste to the bridge and set fire to the brush and
rails, and the flames spring high into the air. They looked down the
road and wished that some men in gray would come and drive away these
rude soldiers who had disturbed the peace of their home, ungallantly
destroying their property, and cutting into fragments their saddle
which had come as a gift from the dead father whose grave was out in
the woods near the garden gate. As they looked down the road, they
saw one single blue-uniformed man riding at highest speed, rushing
along the highway as if mad, waving his hands and beating his tired
mount with his sword. Just behind him, at full speed, came other
men, shooting at the fleeing Federals. In front of the humble home,
the single horseman suddenly stopped and threw up his hands, and
cried, “I surrender. I surrender.” Then up to his side rode with
rapid stride a soldier in gray. He had some stars on his collar and
a wreath about them, and he said to the women, “I am a Confederate
general. I am trying to capture and kill the Yankee soldiers across
the creek yonder.”

Standing on the front porch of the house, these women watched these
startling and surprising proceedings. The leader who was pursuing
this single soldier in blue sat on his panting steed at the gate.
The young girls knew that the gray uniform meant friends, rescue,
kindness, chivalry. They walked to the fence and outside the gate
touched the bridle of their deliverer’s steed and patted his
foam-covered neck, and looked up into the face of the stern soldier,
without fear or dread.

[Illustration: MAP SHOWING LINE OF FORREST’S PURSUIT AND CAPTURE OF
STREIGHT, AND WISDOM’S RIDE]

With tones as tender as those of a woman, the officer who had
captured the Federal vidette said, “Do not be alarmed. I am General
Forrest, and I will protect you.” Other men in gray came riding in
great haste and speedily dismounting left their horses and scattered
out into the forest on either side of the road. The youngest girl
told the Confederate general that the Yankees were amongst the trees
on the other side of the creek, and they would kill him if he went
down toward the bridge. She did not realize how little the man in
gray feared the shooting. Now the flames from the burning rails and
bridge timbers began to hiss and the crackling wood told that the
bridge was going into smoke and ashes and no human power could save
it from ruin and destruction.

The leader said, “I must get across. I must catch these raiders.
Can we ford the creek, or are there any other bridges near?” “There
is no bridge you can cross,” the younger girl replied, “but you and
your men can get across down there in the woods. If you will saddle
me a horse I’ll go and show you where it is: I have seen the cows
wade there and I am sure you, too, can cross it.” “Little girl,”
the general exclaimed, “there’s no time for saddling horses. Get up
behind me”; and, seeing a low bank, he pointed her there. She sprang
with the agility of an athlete upon the bank, and then with a quick
leap seated herself behind the grim horseman, catching onto his waist
with her hands. The soldier pushed his spurs into the flanks of the
doubly burdened horse and started in a gallop through the woods, by
the father’s grave, along the path indicated by his youthful guide.

The mother cried out in alarm, and with ill-concealed fear bade her
child dismount. General Forrest quietly said, “Don’t be alarmed; I’ll
take good care of her and bring her safely back. She’s only going to
show me the ford where I can cross the creek and catch the Yankees
over yonder before they can get to Rome.” There was something in the
look of the warrior that stilled fear for her child, and with eager
gaze, half-way consenting, she watched them as they galloped across
the corn field. They were soon lost to sight in the timbered ravine
through which the soldier man and the maiden so firmly seated behind
him now passed out of view. Following the branch a short distance,
General Forrest found that it entered Black Creek three-fourths of
a mile above the bridge. Through the trees and underbrush, as she
saw the muddy waters of the stream, she warned her companion that
they were where they could be seen by the enemy, and they had better
get down from the horse. Without waiting for the assistance of her
escort, she unloosed her hold from his waist and sprang to the earth.

[Illustration: EMMA SANSOM]

The soldier, throwing his bridle rein over a sapling, followed the
child, who was now creeping on her hands and knees along the ground
over the leaves and through the thicket. The enemy saw the two forms
crouching on the soil and began to fire at the moving figures in the
bushes. Fearing that she might be struck, the soldier said, “You
can be my guide; but you can’t be my breastwork,” and, rising, he
placed himself in front of the heroic child, who was fearlessly
helping him in his effort to pursue her country’s foes. Standing up
in full view of the Federals, she pointed where he must enter and
where emerge from the water. Her mission was ended. The secret of
the lost ford was revealed. Streight’s doom was sealed. The child
had saved Forrest in his savage ride, ten miles and three hours’
time, and now he felt sure that Rome was safe and that Streight and
his men would soon be captives in his hands. As they emerged into an
open space, the rain of bullets increased; and the girl, not familiar
with the sound of shot and shell, stood out in full view and untying
her calico sunbonnet, waved it defiantly at the men in blue across
the creek. The firing in an instant ceased. They recognized the
child’s heroic defiance. Maybe they recalled the face of a sister
or sweetheart away across the Ohio River in Indiana or Ohio. They
were brave, gallant men, the fierceness of no battle could remove
the chivalrous emotions of manly warriors. Moved with admiration
and chivalrous appreciation of courage, they withdrew their guns
from their shoulders and broke into hurrahs for the girlish heroine
who was as brave as they, and whose heart, like theirs, rose in the
tumult of battle higher than any fear.

Forrest turned back toward his horse, which was ravenously eating the
leaves and twigs from the bush where he had been tied. The bullets
began whistling about the retreating forms. She heard the thuds
and zipping of the balls; and, with childish curiosity, asked the
big soldier what these sounds meant. “These are bullets, my little
girl,” he said, “and you must get in front of me. One might hit you
and kill you.” Two or three went tearing through her skirt. General
Forrest was greatly alarmed for the safety of his protege. He covered
her more closely and placed his own body as a bulwark to defend her
from shot or shell. He trembled lest he might be compelled to carry
her back dead in his arms to her mother and sister, and he groaned in
spirit and thought what could he say to the stricken mother if her
child were killed. Death for himself had no terrors. He had faced
it too often to experience even a tremor, but the strong, brave man
shuddered lest harm should come to the child who had, with so stout
a heart, served him and his country. Riding with quickening speed,
he galloped back to the house. He tenderly placed his hand upon the
red cheeks of the girl, now glorified in his eyes by her wonderful
courage. He bowed to the mother and sister. He requested the daring
lass for a lock of her hair, and gave orders to instantly engage the
foe. He sent aids to direct the artillery to the newly-found ford,
and while they were moving with all haste into position, he drew from
his pocket a sheet of unruled paper and wrote on it:

  Headquarters in Saddle,
  May 2d, 1863.

  My highest regards to Miss Ema Sansom for her gallant conduct while
  my forse was skirmishing with the Federals across “Black Creek”
  near Gadisden, Allabama.

  N. B. FORREST,
  Brig. Gen. Com’d’g N. Ala.

In half an hour this simple-hearted, untutored country child had
won enduring renown. She had risen to the sublimest heights of
womanly courage—written her name on fame’s scroll in most brilliant
letterings, and taken company with the world’s noblest heroines. The
opportunity came her way, she took advantage of all it brought, and
reaped a harvest of immortality—the most generous award that fate
could bestow.

Emma Sansom married October 29th, 1864, C. B. Johnson, a private in
the 10th Alabama Infantry. She, with her husband, moved twelve years
later to Calloway County, Texas. Her husband died in 1887, leaving
her to care for five girls and two boys. She died in 1890 and sleeps
in the Lone Star State.

The Gadsden Chapter of the United Daughters of the Confederacy
erected a monument to her memory, which was dedicated in 1906. It
rests on a stone base, with a statue of General Forrest with Emma
Sansom riding behind. It was built on the banks of the Coosa River in
the city park and has carved on the base, these words:

  In memory of the Gadsden, Alabama, girl heroine, Emma Sansom, who,
  when the bridge across Black Creek had been burned by the enemy,
  mounted behind General Forrest and showed him a ford where his
  command crossed. He pursued and captured that enemy and saved the
  city of Rome, Georgia. A grateful people took the girl into their
  love and admiration, nor will this marble outlast the love and
  pride that her deed inspired.

The Sansom farm is now the site of Alabama City—a hustling, vigorous
cotton town. Gadsden has grown to be a flourishing city, the result
of the development of the Alabama iron and cotton trade, and an
electric line connects the two places. The Sansom house still
remains. The family have been widely scattered. A mill worker rents
the old home. The father’s grave, with its stone monument which was
erected to his memory, is in a cottage yard nearby; but these sad
changes cannot dim the glory of Emma Sansom’s fame, or depreciate the
love and admiration of the men and women of the Southland for the
patriotic courage of the mountain lass.

Within less than thirty minutes after the time that Forrest had
saluted Emma Sansom, his artillery was in place, and the Federals
on the east side of Black Creek were driven away. It was short work
to cross the stream. The guns, with ropes tied to the tongues, were
hauled down to the bank of the stream; the ropes were carried over
and hitched to two artillery horses; and, through the rough ford, the
cannon were pulled across.

These were covered with water; but that did not hurt the guns. The
ammunition was taken out of the caissons, handed to the soldiers who
rode across carrying it in their arms, and, when on the other side,
it was quickly replaced. No sooner was a portion of the advance guard
across than they took up a furious gait, pursuing the Federals into
Gadsden.

No time was given for Streight and his men to do damage there. It was
now well toward noon of May 2d. Forrest had kept well in touch with
the troops which were traveling parallel with Streight. They were not
up, but they were in reach. His escort, by wounds, fatigue and death,
had been reduced one-half. The brave Tennesseans, under Biffle and
Starnes, melted away until there were but five hundred left. Some had
fallen in fatigue and sleep from their steeds. Others were wounded
and died by the roadside. Streight now realized that there was no
escape for him to the west: he must go to Rome. He hoped still to
outride his relentless pursuers.

Gadsden, on May 2d, 1863, produced both a heroine and a hero—Emma
Sansom and John H. Wisdom.

The Federals reached Gadsden about twelve o’clock, m. They came into
the town on the main Blountsville Road, and they came with much
haste. The author had passed through the town five months before,
when on sick leave. It was an insignificant village and had little
to tempt an enemy or to feed a friend. He rode by the Sansom home,
stopped for a meal, a drink at the well, talked to the mother and two
daughters—little dreaming that the younger would, in less than half a
year, spring into a world-wide prominence.

The failure to stay Forrest and his followers at Black Creek had
disspirited some of Streight’s officers and men. These had lost
something of their buoyancy of march, and dark forebodings loomed
up in their minds. They rode as fast as their wearied mounts would
allow, the three and a half miles from the Creek to Gadsden. Emma
Sansom, by revealing the lost ford—the track the family’s cows so
long had used—saved Forrest much of time and ride. Hardly had the
men in blue dismounted in Gadsden before, a mile out, they heard
the clatter of Enfields and the shouts of conflict. They had long
hoped for a brief rest. They were confident Forrest would be delayed
at least three hours at Black Creek. They were now to learn that
Forrest’s delays were most uncertain quantities.

A small stock of provender for beasts and food for man had been
collected from the surrounding country by the Confederate
commissaries; but the country was illy provisioned and there was
but little to either impress or buy. The vigorous onslaught of the
Confederate vanguard soon drove the Federals out of the town and the
new-comers promptly extinguished the fires that Streight’s men had
kindled.

General Forrest, always well up to the front, rode rapidly into the
village. He divined that Streight might push on a detachment towards
Rome and mayhap do savage work there before he and Streight might
reach the river. He called for volunteers to ride to Rome, cover the
sixty miles’ space intervening between Gadsden and Rome, and prepare
the people there for the coming raid. The younger men had long since
gone to the front. The astute Confederate general was no mean judge
of human endurance. Amongst his wearied men and jaded steeds he
doubted if there was one who would cover the sixty miles in time to
save the town; but to Rome a messenger must go with all speed.

The weight of evidence seems to show that Forrest sent a messenger of
his own. There is no account of the route he traveled, and no report
ever came back to tell whether he reached Rome. There were men other
than Forrest who loved their country and who would nobly respond to
its call.

John H. Wisdom, familiarly known in that country as “Deacon Wisdom,”
because of his connection with the Baptist Church, owned the ferry
across the Coosa River at Gadsden. Here the river runs north and
south, and two roads lead to Rome—one on either side of the stream.
Streight chose the one on the west. The ferryman had gone out into
the country in his buggy early in the morning, and when he returned
at three o’clock in the afternoon, he proceeded to hunt for his boat,
which had disappeared. He could find no trace of this, and finally,
two neighbors shouted across the stream, telling him that the Yankee
raiders had come into Gadsden and turned his boat loose and sunk it,
and that they were headed for Rome.

The deacon had heard of the large foundries and manufactories at
Rome. He had never been there, but he knew their value to his country
was beyond count, and in an instant he caught the burden of a great
mission. He bade his neighbors tell his wife and children good-bye
and to say that he had gone to Rome.

He had read the story of Paul Revere’s Ride. “Now something greater
than that,” he said, “is passing my way. Revere rode eighteen miles,
I must ride sixty-seven and a half miles, and two-thirds of the
distance along roads of which I know nothing. I hear voices speaking.
They tell me it is my time now—that fate is beckoning me,” said
the bronzed, wiry ferryman. “I must show myself a real man.” With
the simple faith of a child of God, he turned his eyes heavenward.
He had heard what David has said of Jehovah, and he prayed thus:
“Now, God of Israel! Thou Who dost neither slumber nor sleep, in the
darkness of the coming night, keep me and help me do this thing for
my country and my people.” The humble ferryman in an instant had been
transformed into a hero.

He sprang into his buggy, and his horse, hitherto used to kindly
and gentle treatment, felt the cruel lash upon his sides, as with
relentless fury his master forced him along the rough highway.

Wisdom calculated that it would take twenty hours for Streight to
reach Rome. He believed that he could do it in half the time. He
knew the road for twenty-two miles. Beyond that he must trust to
the signboards, to the stars and to the neighbors. The darkness had
no terrors for his brave heart. There were no telegraph wires, no
telephones, and horses were the only means of rapid transportation.
Upon his steed, and such as he might borrow by the way, he must now
rely to save his nation from irreparable ruin. There was no time to
feed the beast that had already traveled twenty miles. He led him to
the river and let him drink. Moments were too precious for more. The
weather was propitious and the panting of the weary animal in the
wild dash showed how intent was the master in his purpose to thwart
his people’s foes. This steed had probably come from Kentucky, where
speed and endurance were part of a horse’s make-up, and now he must
demonstrate that blood will tell. Wisdom measured the powers of his
animal and exacted from him all that safety and prudence would admit.
There were not many houses on the wayside, but wherever the hurrying
messenger saw a man or a woman or a child, he cried out—“The Yankees
are coming, and they are on the way to Rome!” Some were incredulous.
Many took his warning words to heart and hid their horses and mules
in the forest and buried their treasures in the earth. The messenger
had no time for roadside talk. He felt that he was on the King’s
business and must tarry not by the way. His answer to inquiries was a
wave of his hand, then lashing his reeking steed, and, madman-like,
hurrying on.

[Illustration: (_Upper_) EMMA SANSOM MONUMENT, GADSDEN, ALA. AND
(_Lower_) SANSOM HOME]

By five forty-five he had covered just one-third of the distance. He
had made twenty-two and one-half miles. The detours he felt impelled
by safety to make had increased the distance. He had gone about ten
miles an hour. If he could find two horses as good as his own, he
could reach Rome before dawn. He looked at the sun and wished that,
like Joshua of old, he might bid it stand still.

At the little village of Gnatville, he endeavored to secure a change
of steeds. The best he could find was a lame pony belonging to the
widow Hanks. He unhitched his weary, foam-covered, panting horse and
led him into the stable. The buggy spindles were burning hot and it
must be abandoned. He must now ride if he would save Rome. Borrowing
a saddle and mounting the lame pony, he listened to the many appeals
from the widowed owner to go slow. He then started toward Cave
Spring. When out of sight of the pony’s mistress, he stirred him to
greater effort. Night was now coming on, and the way was exceedingly
lonely. He watched every crossroad, and now and then a fear passed
his mind that he might miss the way. In these days, in Northern
Alabama, there were few who traveled by the stars. Five miles of
vigorous riding and whipping brought the horseman with his limping
mount to Goshen, a little past sundown. Here he found a farmer and
his son returning from their daily toil with two plough horses. The
deacon pleaded with him for a horse, and the father finally saddled
the two and told the messenger he could ride one, but his boy would
go with him and bring them back. Darkness now overshadowed the way.
The boy looked upon the forced ride with distrust and counseled
a slower gait, but the more the lad protested, the fiercer Deacon
Wisdom rode. In the stillness and silence of the night, they dashed
along in a swift gallop for eleven miles. The riders exchanged but
few words. The jolting of the fierce gait allowed no waste of breath.
Here the messenger bargained with Preacher Weems for a fresh horse.
If he was to ride nine and one-third miles an hour, no animal that
could be picked up by the way would last very long. The boy returned
with the led horse, but he had an idea that his companion of the long
ride was an escaped lunatic.

Wisdom cared little for what those he passed thought of him. He had
a message and a vision. All else was now shut out of his mind. He
rode on to John Baker’s—eleven miles further—and here he got another
mount. No sooner was the messenger out of sight of the owner of the
horse than he rushed into a swifter gait, and going down hill at a
gallop, the horse stumbled and Wisdom was thrown violently over his
head, landing in the middle of the road. He lay for a few moments
unconscious, while the beast stood near, munching the bushes in the
fence corner. Thought came back, and, half dazed, he pleaded with God
to let him continue his journey. The thought that he might now fail
burdened his soul with profound grief. He rubbed his limbs, pressed
his temples, relaxed his hands, reached down and drew up his feet. In
a few minutes complete consciousness and motion returned. Crawling,
he reached the horse, and with his hand on the stirrup, he pulled
himself half way up and finally after much effort he managed to get
into the saddle again. Once again mounted, he held the reins with
firmer grip, but still relentlessly drove his steed.

Twelve miles more brought him within six miles of Rome. It was now
half past eleven o’clock at night. He told his errand and asked for
another horse. The farmer gladly granted his request, and whipping
into a gallop, Wisdom soon saw the lights of Rome. He anxiously
peered through the darkness to see if the great wooden bridge over
the Oostenaula was still standing. He could distinguish no flames or
beacon lights of destruction along Streight’s pathway, and he knew
then that he was the first to Rome. A great joy welled up in his
heart. He had not spared himself, and he had saved his country.

He had started late, but he started fresh. He had, as Forrest would
say, “gotten the bulge on the blue coats,” and had beaten them in the
game of war.

From three-thirty in the afternoon until twelve o’clock was eight and
one-half hours. He calculated that he had lost, in changing horses
and by his fall in the road, an hour and thirty minutes. That gave
him seven hours’ actual driving and riding time. He had made an
average of over nine and a third miles in every hour he had been in
the buggy and in the saddle. He had been faithful to his country’s
call.

There were no citizens to receive him. He trotted through the
deserted streets of Rome to the leading hotel, kept by G. S. Black,
and in impetuous, fiery tones made known the cause and reason of
his coming. He pleaded with the landlord that there was no time for
delay, that everybody must awake and get busy and drive back the
Yankees. The inn-keeper told him to ride up and down the streets and
tell the startling news. It was a strange sight and strange sound as
this weary horseman shouted in the highways of Rome, “The Yankees
are coming! The Yankee raiders are coming to burn up the town.” Some
believed, some doubted, but still the tired man cried out and with
shrill calls he yelled, “Wake up! Wake up! The Yankees are coming!”
Rome was not as big then as it is now. Half dressed, scurrying hither
and thither, old men and boys came rushing out on the sidewalk to
inquire the details of the startling story of the Federal invaders.
The women and children, slower of movement, soon joined the excited
throngs, and with speechless wonderment hung with breathless interest
upon every word that fell from Deacon Wisdom’s lips. The court
house and church bells rung out with dismal warnings. These sounds
terrified even brave hearts, but to the mothers and their clinging
offspring, they appeared as omens of woe and disaster. Rome was
stirred as never before, and for the moment there was dismay and
direful dread.

There were some in this appalling hour who knew what to do. One-armed
and one-legged soldiers and convalescents were there, and in a moment
they became the recognized leaders. Squirrel rifles, shotguns and old
muskets—such as were left—were pressed into use and a little railroad
from Rome to Kingston made rapid trips, bringing in all who were
willing to help defend the town.

A little way out from Rome was the bridge across the Oostenaula
River. It was the only gateway from the west into the city. Negro
teamsters were awakened, horses and mules were harnessed and hitched
to wagons, the warehouses were broken open and everybody began to
haul out cotton bales and pile them along the highway by which
Streight must ride to reach the bridge or the town. The sides of the
bridge were filled with straw, and great stacks were piled on the
roof. The straw was saturated with turpentine, so that when the test
moment came, if the soldiers could not beat back the assailants, a
flaming bridge would bar the way of the blue-coated invaders into
the city. At least, it would stay their coming until the implacable
Forrest, in their rear, might reach the scene of action.

Captain Russell, the Federal vanguard leader, had ridden as hard as
he could ride with his weary men and his tired steeds. A little after
sun-up, he approached the stream west of Rome, and when he looked
he saw cotton breastworks and soldiers with guns behind them. On
the hill outside the town he met an old negro woman and inquired if
there were any soldiers in Rome, and she answered, “Yes, Massa, de
town am full of sogers,” and then he knew that he had lost and that
the day ride and the long night ride, with all their suffering, had
been without avail; that, though he had done all that he and his
followers could do, fate had decreed that Rome should be saved. The
defenders began to exchange shots with the invaders. The men at the
bridge fired the cannon. The Federals answered with their carbines,
but the casualties were few. Russell, with his two hundred followers,
had done all men could do. They had come as fast as they could march;
they had acquitted themselves as intrepid heroes; but John H. Wisdom,
the brave, hardy Baptist deacon, in the language of Forrest, had
“gotten there first,” had beat them to the town and told them of
their coming. Fate had decreed that Streight must fail, and Russell,
with a heart full of sorrow and disappointment, faced about and rode
back to meet his chief. While Russell looked over the river at Rome,
Streight was fighting at the Black Creek Bridge. The people of Rome
presented Deacon Wisdom with a silver service, still preserved by his
descendants as a priceless treasure, and they sent to widow Hanks,
the owner of the lame pony, a purse of $400.

Darkness, Streight’s best friend, began to hover over his weary and
depleted brigade. He had directed Russell to ride over all barriers
and to let nothing deflect him on the road to Rome. If he failed, he
hoped Russell would succeed. Russell, through the long, long hours
of the night, faithful to his orders, rode and rode and rode. After
six hours of tireless effort, Russell reached the Chatooga River.
He found a small ferryboat and managed to get his men over; but he
forgot a most important thing. He failed to leave a guard to protect
the little craft so that his comrades could find some means of
crossing when they arrived. The citizens calculated the value of the
craft and poling it down the stream, hid it where Streight’s men, in
the dark, would never discover its whereabouts.

Streight rode all night and struck the Chatooga River where Russell
had crossed some hours before. He realized that he must go higher to
get over. He found a bridge above; but it cost him a weary, dreary
night’s march. Several times his detachments lost each other, and
it was not until daylight in the morning of the 3d of May that he
got his last man across the river. He burned the bridge. He made no
halts. He had marched twenty-eight miles from Gadsden under appalling
difficulties. Most men would have stopped and either surrendered or
died in the last ditch; but Streight had started to Rome, and to
Rome he was bound to go. In this last effort, he reached Lawrence. A
little way off, near the Georgia line, he ordered his men to halt;
but there was no use for an order to halt. Nature, the greatest of
captains, issued its command; and, while their ears were open, they
heard and heeded no voices, but sank down on the ground—unconscious
and powerless in sleep.

Streight had found some provender: his horses were as weary as his
men. Still brave and hopeful, with a few of his iron-hearted and
almost iron-bodied officers, he rode through the camp, picking
out here and there a man, who with a stronger physique than his
comrades had stood the pressure of the tremendous ride and incessant
fighting. These he directed to feed the horses of their less vigorous
companions. A little while before going into camp, Streight passed
another ordeal. A squad of his returning soldiers told him the story
of Captain Russell’s failure. There were no foes in front of Russell.
Streight was between him and the pursuers. He had hoped great things
from this vanguard, and when he learned that Russell had turned back,
even his brave soul began to question whether, after all he had dared
and suffered, he must at last fail.

The scouts told him that Russell had seen Rome, but as an ancient
negro said, “Dat Rome is plum full of sogers and dem big guns is a
p’intin’ down all de roads.”

Russell had lost out, and his mission, upon which he had gone with
high hopes and bright expectations, had failed, and with a heart
burdened with disappointment and chagrin, Streight’s messenger had
turned his face back to the west.

He understood how Russell might have ridden through to East
Tennessee, or marched north to the Tennessee River, but Streight was
glad he had not deserted his commander and had come back to face with
courage any disaster or ruin that the end might bring.

No thought of yielding came into Streight’s mind. If he had chosen to
map out the future, rather than surrender, he would have preferred
death on the field amid the carnage and storm of conflict. No call
of patriotism, no appeal of duty, no echo of glory could reach the
ears of his men, now dull with sleep, or bodies overwhelmed with
weariness. In the midst of these sad and harassing surroundings,
with two-thirds of his command asleep on the ground, his persistent
enemies again appeared on the scene. They looked to him to be
tireless, vindictive, and with a strength more than human. Streight,
still game, fearless, called upon his men to respond to the rifle
shots which came whizzing from the guns of the Confederate advance.
No order or pleading could move the men, now unconscious with sleep.
With a touch of mercy in this supreme hour, when they were put into
the line of battle, they had been told to lie down with their faces
to the foe. When the foe came, they were reposing prone upon the
earth, with their guns in their hands, cocked; but the motionless
fingers had no will power behind them to pull the triggers; and
thus, ready for battle; ready, if awake, to die—but unconscious and
silent, they lay immovable and helpless. Streight walked through the
ranks of his once valiant soldiers; and, pleading with tears in his
eyes, begged them once more to rise and defend themselves from the
foe—men, who, like mad devils, had relentlessly pursued them for one
hundred and twenty hours.

[Illustration: JOHN H. WISDOM AND THE BLACK CREEK BRIDGE]

In the midst of this direful extremity, Forrest appeared at the head
of his vanguard a few hundred feet away. He was surprised that only a
few shots were fired by the enemy, and that of those he was fighting
and pursuing, there rose up only here and there an isolated form.
He sent forward a flag of truce, demanding surrender. This Streight
refused; but consented to imparl with the Confederate chieftain.
These two brave men met between their lines. Forrest told Streight
he had him surrounded, and that therefore resistance was useless;
that it could only result in loss of life, and that, in view of the
experiences of the past few days, it might be that no prisoners would
be taken. Streight inquired how many men he had with him, to which
Forrest replied, “More than enough to whip you, and I have more
coming.” Fortunately, Forrest’s artillery appeared upon the scene.
They came slowly, lashing and slashing the exhausted beasts as they
dragged the heavy guns through the sand. Streight requested that they
should not come nearer; but out in the road they made the appearance
of more guns than Forrest really had. Streight, disturbed and still
defiant, but not despairing, rode back and called a council of war.
In saddened tones, rendered even sadder by fatigue and exhaustion,
his officers advised surrender. They were as brave as Streight,
but they had less to lose. They took a more rational view of the
desperateness of the surroundings, and without a dissenting voice
advised a capitulation. Fearlessly and dauntless of spirit, Streight
still urged a last conflict. He pled with them for one more fight,
telling them that Forrest’s men were as tired as they were and they
ought not to yield with fourteen hundred soldiers in line; but the
burdens of wearied nature depressed their brave spirits and they
said, “We had better yield.”

With a calmness and courage born of a spirit that knew not fear and
with grief depicted on every lineament, if not with tears streaming
down his cheek, he told his comrades that he yielded to their
judgment; but he would never vote to give up the fight. Forrest was
glad enough to get the surrender. He granted most honorable terms,
retention of side arms and personal property. The sleepers were
awakened and marched out into an open field and stacked their guns,
and Forrest’s weary, tired men, marched between them and their only
hope. Disarmed, there was nothing to do but accept the sad fortune
of a defeat. Defeat it was; but these men were glorious even in
defeat. Streight had only one request to make—that his men might give
three cheers for the Union, and this was done with lusty shouts and
enthusiasm in the Alabama forest. These brave men, valiant and loyal
even in defeat, flung into the faces of their triumphant foes hurrahs
for their cause and their country.

Streight says, “Nature was exhausted. A large portion of my best
troops actually went to sleep while lying in the line of battle under
a heavy skirmish fire.”

Confederates and Federals were marched into Rome. To the
Confederates, it was the greatest triumphal march of the western
war. Brave men pitied the misfortune of the Federal raiders. They
deserved, though they had not achieved, success.

War’s wrecks were yet to be collected: there were Federal and
Confederate wounded along the line of this remarkable march who were
witnesses to war’s savageness. The surgeons had hastily dressed
wounds and amputated limbs; but somebody must now go back and gather
up and care for these ghastly evidences of the horribleness of
battle; and, with these, ended one of the most remarkable of all the
experiences in cavalry service on either side from 1861 to 1865.

Streight was carried to Richmond and confined in Libby prison, and
with one hundred other officers escaped through a tunnel in February,
1864. Hid by friends for a week, he finally reached the Federal
lines; and, undaunted, returned to his regiment. He was offered
command of Chattanooga; but, still brave and active, he declined the
post and asked to be assigned to active service in the field. He was
yet to see more of war. He was at Dalton when it was besieged by
Wheeler. He was at the Battle of Nashville in the winter of 1864, and
commanded a brigade in that memorable conflict. He was mustered out
of the service in 1865, returned to Indianapolis, Indiana, and opened
a furniture manufactory, and afterwards developed a wholesale lumber
business. A man of such tremendous energy and physical endurance was
bound to be successful. Elected State Senator from Marion County,
of which Indianapolis is the county seat, he introduced a bill
for the erection of the magnificent capitol since constructed at
Indianapolis. In 1880 he was candidate for governor; but was defeated
by Albert G. Porter. He died at his home near Indianapolis in 1892,
in the 63d year of his age. He was never fully appreciated by his
countrymen; and, when the story of his raid shall be fully and fairly
told, he will take a high rank among Federal heroes.

General Joseph E. Johnson once said of Forrest that if he had
received a military education, he would have been the greatest figure
of the war. General Sherman declared Forrest was the greatest cavalry
genius in the world’s history. It was his judgment that if Forrest
had been educated at West Point, it would have spoiled him; that he
was greater as an untutored military genius than if he had received
the benefits of the most thorough martial education.

North and South, the story of Streight’s pursuit filled the people
with wonder. In the South, to wonder was added an admiration which
became almost idolatry. The men and women of the Confederacy might
well adore this marvelous soldier. They placed him on the highest
pedestal. He was so great and so brave that they saw none of the
defects of his character, and nothing could make them believe but
that he was all that was good and true and patriotic and grand. They
looked upon him as a fierce, intrepid, determined, successful cavalry
soldier, who was ever courageous of heart, in whose bosom fear never
found place, and before whom difficulties melted away whenever the
touch of his transcendent power passed their way.

  Harper Brothers, the publishers of Dr. John A. Wyeth’s “Life of
  General Forrest,” kindly granted permission for copying several
  illustrations from that splendid work.




CHAPTER XX

BATTLE OF FLEETWOOD HILL, JUNE 9TH, 1863


The Battle of Chancellorsville was fought on the 3d of May, 1863. It
stands in military history as one of the remarkable battles of the
world. It was a great victory in one sense for the Confederate Army,
but on that fatal field died Stonewall Jackson, one of the wonderful
soldiers of the ages.

Amidst the gloom of an unsuccessful campaign, and when defeat was
apparently impending about his hosts, a brave European general
gathered around him his several commanders and asked of them a
detailed enumeration of the forces that could be depended upon in the
approaching conflict. Conscious of the inferiority of numbers, the
reports were made, with countenances and words showing the profound
fear of misfortune on the coming day. Distressed by this despondence,
the unterrified leader rose and striking the table with his hands,
vehemently cried out: “How many do you count me?” Instantly the scene
changed. His courage restored the waning valor of his followers. In
all battles the Confederate soldiers in Northern Virginia, who came
in contact with General Jackson, counted him alone a mighty host.

In May and June, 1863, hope was still radiant in the hearts and minds
of the defenders of Southern independence. The superb defense of
Vicksburg, as well as Port Hudson, indicated that the possession
of the Mississippi was yet a debatable proposition, and that the
division of the Confederacy by the capture of that mighty stream
would be long delayed. The crushing of Hooker at Chancellorsville
demonstrated that none of the efficiency and power of the Army of
Northern Virginia was gone. Beyond the Mississippi, the position of
the army there made it certain that many months would come and go
before the Union forces would be able to get very far south of the
Arkansas River.

Soldiers as brave and self-reliant as the men of the Army of Northern
Virginia had grounds of hope that ordinary soldiers could not feel.
They were made of the best metal and fashioned in the finest mold,
and thus could hope when others might despair.

The first sting of the death of Stonewall Jackson had abated. General
Stuart had won honor when Jackson had fallen, and there were many,
many great soldiers in this army of Northern Virginia who felt the
uplift of faith in God, and these could but believe that in the end,
some way, another leader would be developed to help General Lee
in the future, and be to him what Jackson had been in the earlier
campaigns of that loved commander.

The Battle of Fleetwood Hill, sometimes called “Brandy Station,”
was almost entirely a cavalry contest. It was fought on the 9th of
June, 1863. Some of the most important as well as desperate scenes
of the battle were on what was known as “Fleetwood Hill.” This was
the center of a once beautiful estate. War had despoiled some of its
grandeur, but even in its ruin it was magnificent. The storm of
conflict raged from dawn to late in the afternoon, with unabating
fury. Men on both sides seemed immune to fatigue or fear, and for
fourteen hours, as if endued with supernatural energy and power,
struggled amidst dust, smoke, starvation and wounds and death with
unflagging fury, in the maddening work of ruin and destruction. This
hill was adorned by a colonial mansion. The ground about it rose
with gradual ascent until it reached the top of the eminence, from
which point there fell upon the gaze of the beholder one of the most
beautiful views in Virginia. This country had hitherto been rendered
famous by some of the greatest of military achievements known to men.
Later it would add new titles to historic greatness with the names of
Second Manassas, Spottsylvania and Cold Harbor, but on this day it
was to crown the cavalry of both the Army of Northern Virginia and
the Army of the Potomac with a glow that would never dim.

Culpepper Court House was the county seat of Culpepper County, and
within the limits of this county was situated Fleetwood Hill. It
was fifty miles from Washington, and Brandy Station was five miles
south of the north fork of the Rappahannock River. From Kelley’s
Ford on the Rappahannock River to Brandy Station was five and a
half miles; from Kelley’s Ford to Stevensburg was seven miles; from
Brandy Station to St. James Church was one mile and a half; and from
Brandy Station to Beverly’s Ford on the Rappahannock River was four
miles. From Fleetwood Hill to St. James Church was one mile, and from
Kelley’s Ford to Beverly’s Ford, three miles.


GENERAL ALFRED PLEASANTON

The Federal forces were commanded by General Alfred Pleasanton, who
was born in Washington City, June 7th, 1824. In 1844 he graduated
from the United States Military Academy and became second lieutenant
in the First Dragoons. He was at Palo Alto and at Resaca de La Palma.
He was in the Seminole war and in operations in Washington Territory,
Oregon and Kansas. In February, 1861, he became major of the Second
United States Cavalry and marched with his regiment from Utah to
Washington. He was in the Peninsula Campaign of 1862 and in July of
that year was appointed brigadier general of volunteers. By September
he was a division commander. He was at Sharpsburg, Fredericksburg and
at Chancellorsville. His friends claimed that he stayed the advance
of Stonewall Jackson on May 2d, 1863. He was at Gettysburg and
subsequently transferred to Missouri. He was made a brigadier general
in the regular army in 1865, for meritorious conduct, and mustered
out in 1866. He was a vigorous and daring leader and won a splendid
reputation by hard fighting. Later in the struggle he was transferred
to the West and won some signal victories in Missouri, and was at one
time offered the command of the Army of the Potomac.


JOHN BUFORD

General Pleasanton had with him as second in command John Buford,
who was born in Kentucky in 1825. He was graduated from the Military
Academy at West Point in 1848, and became second lieutenant in the
First Dragoons. He was in the Sioux expedition in 1855, in Kansas in
1856 and ’57, and in the Utah expedition in 1857 and ’58. In 1861 he
was promoted to be a major and was designated inspector general of a
corps in November, 1861. He was on General Polk’s staff in 1862. On
the 27th day of July he was made brigadier-general and given command
of a cavalry brigade composed of some of the very best of Federal
cavalry, the 1st Michigan, the 5th New York, 1st Vermont and 1st West
Virginia. He was wounded at the Second Manassas. In the Maryland
campaign he was acting chief of cavalry of the Army of the Potomac.
He was also at Antietam. Upon the organization of the cavalry of the
Army of the Potomac, General Stoneman became the ranking officer,
and Buford commanded the reserve cavalry. He was at Fredericksburg,
December 3d, 1862, in Stoneman’s raid on Richmond in May, 1863, at
Beverly Ford, June, 1863. He was at Gettysburg and his associates
felt that he did wonderful service there. At Fleetwood Hill, he
did some of the best fighting. He was not afraid of any sort of
clash with his enemies. He died in November, 1863, and a statue at
Gettysburg commemorates his work there.


GEORGE WESLEY MERRITT

General George Wesley Merritt was born in New York City, June 16th,
1836. He went to West Point in 1855, graduating in 1860, and was
assigned at once to the cavalry service. By April 5th, 1862, he was
captain of the 2d United States Cavalry. He served on the staff of
General Phillips and St. George Cooke; later, under General Stoneman.
By April 3d, 1863, he had attained to the command of the 2d United
States Cavalry. He saw the fighting at Gettysburg. He was at Yellow
Tavern, where Stuart received his fatal wound. By June 29th, 1863, he
had become a brigadier general. He was with Sherman in the Shenandoah
campaign and in 1864 was made major general. He was one of the
three Federal commissioners to arrange the terms of surrender at
Appomattox. In June, 1898, he was appointed military governor of the
Philippine Islands, and with an army of eight thousand men arrived at
Manila on June 25th. His active military career covered a period of
nearly forty years, and he witnessed some of the most desperate and
effective fighting of any soldier who served in the army to which his
life was devoted.


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN DAVIS

With General Pleasanton also on that day was Benjamin Franklin Davis,
who was born in Alabama in 1832, graduated from the United States
Military Academy in 1854, and served with great credit in both
infantry and cavalry in Mexico. In 1861 he sided against the state of
his nativity. In 1862 he became colonel of the 8th New York Cavalry
and was in command of a brigade of Federals in this engagement. With
Wesley Merritt, D. McM. Gregg and Colonel A. N. Duffie, this made a
splendid aggregation of cavalry experience and military genius.

General Pleasanton had under him ten thousand nine hundred and
eighty soldiers. The best the Federal Army had in cavalry at that
time was at Fleetwood. The generals in command were brave, able and
experienced. They had been prodded about what Stuart had been doing.
Their pride and courage were involved and aroused, and they were
longing for an opportunity, which had now come, to have a real test
of the spirit and grit of the Confederate cavalry.

The horsemen of the Union armies had now been taught both how to ride
and how to shoot. They were well mounted and well armed, and their
training made them formidable foes. The war had now been in progress
for two years and the Federal cavalry drill and training had been
brought to a very high standard. The Federal troopers had become
apt scholars. They were anxious to demonstrate their valor, their
discipline and their power.

On the Confederate side were nine thousand five hundred and
thirty-six men, and these constituted the best horsemen the Army of
Northern Virginia could send into battle—in fact, about all it could
offer. Stuart himself had long since established a reputation as one
of the most enterprising and successful of cavalry leaders, and he
had with him lieutenants who were as brave and as able as any who
could be found. The generals and men under him were superb horsemen
and accurate shots when the war began. To great pride they had added
wide experience in campaigning. Well educated, highly bred, and
intensely patriotic, they were foemen the most intrepid men might
justly fear.


WILLIAM HENRY FITZHUGH LEE

Major General William Henry Fitzhugh Lee was a son of Robert E. Lee
and was born on May 21st, 1837. Graduating at Harvard when he was
twenty years of age, he was appointed second lieutenant in the 6th
Infantry, and he served under Albert Sidney Johnson in Utah and
California. In 1859 he resigned his commission to operate his farm,
known as the “White House,” on the Pamunky River, which became not
only important as a strategic position, but famous in the history
of the war. At the beginning of 1861, he organized a company of
cavalry and later became a major in the new-made Confederate Army.
In West Virginia he was chief of cavalry for General Loring. In the
winter of 1861 and ’62, he was commissioned lieutenant colonel of
the 9th Virginia, and in less than two months became its colonel.
His regiment constituted a part of the brigade of General J. E. B.
Stuart. In the Chickahominy raid he was one of the three colonels
with Stuart, and his troops defeated the Federal cavalry on June
13th in this expedition. He suffered rough treatment at Boonsboro.
He was knocked from his horse and left unconscious by the roadside;
but reached Sharpsburg in time for the fight. He rode with Stuart
in the Chambersburg raid. His courage and intrepidity saved Stuart,
by protecting the ford at which he must cross. In November Lee
became brigadier general. He was prominent at Fredericksburg and
Chancellorsville, and at Fleetwood he was captured after being
severely wounded. He was carried to Fortress Monroe and subsequently
to Fort LaFayette and was exchanged in March, 1864. At this time
he was promoted to be a major general and commanded a division of
Confederate cavalry in the Army of Northern Virginia. He was with
General Lee, his father, to the end. After the war he returned to
his plantation. He was a member of the Fiftieth, Fifty-first and
Fifty-second Congresses from the Eighth Virginia District and died at
Alexandria in 1901.


WILLIAM CARTER WICKHAM

Another prominent leader on the Confederate side was William Carter
Wickham, who was born in Richmond, Virginia, in 1820. He graduated
at the University of Virginia in 1842. He was bitterly opposed to
the war and voted against the Ordinance of Secession. He recruited,
however, the Hanover Dragoons, was in the first battle of Manassas,
and in September, 1861, was made lieutenant colonel of the 4th
Virginia Cavalry, and in August, 1862, became colonel of that
regiment. He rendered valiant service at the Second Manassas, at
Boonsboro and at Sharpsburg. At Upperville he was wounded the second
time, and took part in the Battle of Fredericksburg, December 12th,
1862. Elected to Congress in 1863, he remained with his regiment
until the fall of 1864. He helped to stop Kilpatrick’s raid on
Richmond and Custer’s attack on Charlottesville. He was in the
Battle of the Wilderness and at Spottsylvania Court House, and was
with Stuart on May 11th, at Yellow Tavern. The last brigade order
issued by General Stuart was to General Wickham to dismount his
brigade and attack. Wickham was with Early in the valley. After the
reverse at Fisher’s Hill, he stayed the advance so as to allow the
reorganization of Early’s forces. On the 5th of October, 1864, he
resigned his commission in the army, transferring his command to
General Rosser, and took a seat in Congress. He died in Richmond,
Virginia, in 1888. The state of Virginia erected a statue to his
memory on the capitol grounds in Richmond.


BEVERLY HOLCOMBE ROBERTSON

Brigadier General Beverly Holcombe Robertson was a graduate of the
United States Military Academy in 1849, and became second lieutenant
in the Second Dragoons. By hard service in the West he was promoted
to first lieutenant in 1859, and was under Edgerton of the Second
Dragoons in the Utah campaign. He severed his connection with the
United States Army and became a colonel in the Virginia cavalry. He
was sent to take command of Ashby’s cavalry. In September, 1863, he
was assigned to the command of the Department of North Carolina,
and took charge of the organization and training of cavalry troops.
Immediately preceding the battle at Fleetwood, he was sent to
reinforce Stuart. He was at Gettysburg and in the raid through
Maryland. After returning from Gettysburg, the regiments comprising
his brigade were so reduced that he sought service in another field,
and was given command of the Second Division of South Carolina. His
cavalry forces were particularly prominent in the Battle of Charles
City Cross Roads, and in the battles with Sherman’s troops, on their
march to the sea, he bore a valiant and distinguished part.


JOHN RANDOLPH CHAMBLISS

General John Randolph Chambliss was born in Greenville County,
Virginia, in 1833, and graduated from the United States Military
Academy in 1853. In July, 1861, he was commissioned colonel of the
13th Virginia Cavalry, and was under the orders of General D. H. Hill
on the James River during the fall of that year. He was assigned to
General W. H. F. Lee’s cavalry brigade, and was regarded as one of
the most determined and intrepid fighters. After General W. H. F.
Lee’s wound and the death of Colonel Sol Williams, Colonel Chambliss
took command of the brigade. He was at Gettysburg and in the Bristoe
skirmish. In December, 1864, he was commissioned brigadier general.
In the cavalry battle at Charles City Cross Roads on the north side
of the James River, he was killed on the 16th of August, 1864. His
body was buried by his enemies, but was afterwards delivered to his
friends. General Lee, in speaking of his death, said: “The loss
sustained by the cavalry in the fall of General Chambliss will be
felt throughout the army. By his courage, energy and skill, he had
won for himself an honored name.”


WILLIAM E. JONES

General William E. Jones, another of the Confederate leaders, was
born in Washington County, Virginia, in May, 1824. He graduated from
West Point in 1848. He did splendid service in the West. At the
time of the passage of the Ordinance of Secession by Virginia, he
had organized a company of cavalry known as the Washington Mounted
Rifles. His company was part of General Stuart’s command. He became
colonel of the 1st Virginia Cavalry with Fitzhugh Lee as lieutenant
colonel. In 1862 he was displaced by regimental election, and was
assigned to the 7th Virginia regiment. He was at Sharpsburg and was
promoted on November 8th to be brigadier general and was assigned
to the command of the Laurel Brigade. In April and May, 1863, he
conducted a daring and successful raid on the Baltimore & Ohio
Railroad, west of Cumberland. From this expedition he joined Stuart,
and at Brandy Station no leader acquitted himself more splendidly. At
Boonsboro his command captured over six hundred Federal prisoners. In
1861 differences had begun between General Stuart and Colonel Jones.
This became so intense that it was necessary to remove Colonel Jones,
and he was sent to Southwestern Virginia. A man of splendid executive
ability, he organized an excellent brigade and was with Longstreet
in Tennessee. He prevented Averell from destroying the salt works in
Southwestern Virginia. On May 23d, 1864, he was placed in command of
the Department of Southwestern Virginia, while General Breckinridge
was absent in the valley. In the fight at Piedmont, Virginia, he
fell, leading his forces in the conflict, and his body was not
recovered until after the battle.


THOMAS TAYLOR MUNFORD

Another officer of deserved distinction was General Thomas Taylor
Munford, who was born in Richmond in 1831. He graduated from the
Virginia Military Institute in 1852. At the outbreak of the war he
was a planter. He became lieutenant colonel of the 30th Virginia
Mounted Infantry, organized in 1861. This was the first mounted
regiment organized in Virginia. It was subsequently designated as
the 2d Regiment of Cavalry, General Stuart’s regiment being the 1st.
In the re-organization under Stuart, Munford became colonel. He was
in the first fighting and the last fighting of the Army of Northern
Virginia. His career as a cavalry officer was brilliant and notable.
The discharge of all duties committed to him were performed with
absolute faithfulness. When General Ashby died, General Munford was
recommended by General Robert E. Lee as his successor. He received
two severe wounds at the Second Manassas. He was in the Maryland
campaign, was at Sharpsburg and commanded a division of cavalry that
confronted Hancock’s troops. Later he became commander of Fitzhugh
Lee’s brigade. He was at Gettysburg and in the valley campaign with
Early. In November, 1864, he was promoted to brigadier general. At
Five Forks and at High Bridge he maintained the splendid reputation
that he had won in the earlier days of the war. He was with Rosser at
High Bridge, and, in the retreat from Richmond, bore both a prominent
and valiant part. After Lee’s surrender, he endeavored to collect the
scattered Confederate forces and form a junction with Johnson’s army.
General Fitzhugh Lee commanded his excellent services as a division
commander. With large agricultural interests in Virginia and Alabama,
he still survives, full of honors and full of years, and occupies a
most exalted place in the hearts of his Confederate comrades.

At no other place in the war were such a large number of cavalry
engaged in a single conflict. It was practically forty per cent more
men than were engaged in any one cavalry battle during hostilities,
and in few battles were such a large proportion of the leaders West
Point graduates.

On the 22d of May General Stuart reviewed the brigades of Fitzhugh
Lee, W. H. F. Lee and Wade Hampton. He counted four thousand
troopers. This review occurred between Brandy Station and Culpepper
Court House, and a sense of pride and exaltation filled Stuart’s
heart as he looked over the chivalrous and intrepid legions. A few
days later there came over from the valleys of Virginia General
William E. Jones, who brought with him a brigade of fairly well
mounted and armed men. They were of splendid material. There also
came from North Carolina another brigade under General Beverly H.
Robertson. Stuart’s forces now numbered five brigades, constituting a
magnificent array of cavalrymen. Always proud, he announced a great
review for June 5th. He wanted himself and he wanted others to see
in array this grand body of horsemen, in every respect the equal of
any nine thousand men who ever aligned as cavalry. He asked General
Robert E. Lee to be present and to impress these troops with a sight
of his magnificent personality. These horsemen rode, and walked,
trotted and galloped, and salvos of artillery magnified the splendor
of the movements and thrilled the hearts of the riders. General
Lee could not come, but General Stuart had all that the pomp and
pageantry of war at that date in Virginia could present.

General Stuart, still anxious that General Lee should see his men and
that the men should see him, announced another review and parade for
the 8th day of June. Many of the horses were the worse for wear, the
men’s uniforms were worn, faded and many threadbare, but the sabres,
guns and pistols were bright, and if their equipment showed the
marks of heavy service, their hearts were true and loyal to their
beloved country and they were ready to respond to its every call.

The mind of the Confederate commander was revolving the scheme of
the invasion of Pennsylvania, which was to culminate three weeks
later at Gettysburg. He was prone to look at things more quietly than
General Stuart, and so he reviewed this important part of the army
of Northern Virginia, but he forbade the discharge of artillery, and
he only allowed them to pass by him at a walk and trot. He knew who
and what they were and he knew that when the testing moment came
they would be worthy of the Confederacy. Neither General Lee nor
General Stuart had any foreshadowing of what the next day would bring
forth, and General Lee returned to his headquarters in the midst of
his infantry. Stuart’s headquarters were at Fleetwood Hill. General
Pleasanton’s headquarters were across the Rappahannock River, eight
miles away. Neither seemed to know just what the other was doing.
Pleasanton had marched his men down the Rappahannock. He allowed
no fires. He had been sent by General Hooker to find out just what
General Lee was doing and where his army was encamped. Two fords were
accessible, Beverly’s Ford and Kelley’s Ford. General Pleasanton had
resolved to use both to force the fighting and to back up the cavalry
with infantry, to drive anything out of his way that might cross his
path. Stuart, unconscious of the large force of cavalry and infantry
that was ready to cross the Rappahannock, had his men at and about
St. James Church, over at Fleetwood Hill, and down at Beverly’s Ford.

Pleasanton had with him some splendid artillery, especially the 6th
New York Battery. At Chancellorsville, thirty-seven days before, it
had written history, and on the morrow it was to write history again
at Fleetwood. With thirty men beginning the day, it would bring out
unscathed only six; four-fifths were to go down in the storm.

New Jersey, New York, Maine, Pennsylvania and Rhode Island were
getting ready with their troops to try out the question of the
courage and endurance of the horsemen from Virginia, North Carolina,
Mississippi, South Carolina and Georgia.

There was to be an all-day fight, and it was to be a hand-to-hand
fight. It was to be a fight in which the sabre would be used. The
ever-handy revolver was to be an incident. The highest type of
courage was to play an important part. In this hard-fought contest
cowards would have no place. If there was cowardice hovering around
on that day it did not come to the surface. Valor oozed out from
the pores of the actors. The very atmosphere was full of courageous
inspiration. Death would lose its terrors on Fleetwood Hill, and fear
would be relegated to the rear. Smoke and dust would obscure the
sight but could not and would not affect the courage of those who
participated. It might hide the vision and obstruct the breathing,
but the men who were to fight at Fleetwood were to take no heed
of weather or atmospheres. It was to be a complete triumph over
all that nature could offer to impede, and a fight with an almost
supernatural fierceness that was apparently to be something more
than human.

With the dawn General Gregg, with Duffie, crossed at Kelley’s
Ford. Gregg traveled with Duffie to Stevensburg and then turned
north toward Brandy Station. Duffie went on farther and passed by
Stevensburg, and then turned north to Brandy Station; and Pleasanton
crossed at Beverly’s Ford, and he headed his columns toward Fleetwood
Hill, around which were to be woven wreaths of glory for the men on
both sides who here went to battle.

Stuart himself on the night of the 8th camped at Fleetwood Hill. This
position commanded a view of the entire country with the exception of
immediately westward, which was known as the Barbour place, which was
a little higher than Fleetwood Hill.

Telepathy, which frequently pervades the movements of armies, spoke
to the Confederates. Their slumbers were disquieted and they breathed
in the air that something important was close at hand. Stuart and
none of his men knew, for his scouts had not found it out, that less
than four miles away, indeed, in some places less than one mile
away, there were thousands of Federal cavalry ready to dispute the
question of supremacy. General Stuart was himself a mile in the rear
of his forces, which were at St. James Church, a third of the way
between Fleetwood Hill and Beverly’s Ford, on the road which ran from
Beverly’s Ford, and which led along the north bank to Duffin’s Run.

Pleasanton had crossed the Rappahannock in the early morning and was
starting on an expedition to break up Confederate communications
and find out where all the Confederates were. With twenty
thousand horsemen equally matched and in such close proximity,
all on the alert, battle could not be long postponed. General
Hooker had suspected a forward movement of General Lee’s army.
General Pleasanton had behind him Russell’s and Ames’ brigades of
infantrymen, and with real military skill had managed to conceal his
presence from his enemies, and the Confederates were surprised when,
at the dawn of day, Colonel Davis of the 8th New York Cavalry passed
the Rappahannock at Beverly’s Ford. The Federals had begun operations
very early, even before light. A company of the 6th Virginia Cavalry
was ready to dispute the passage of the river and these Virginians,
under command of Captain Gibson, persistently and skillfully delayed
the advance of the Federal forces. The pickets contested every inch
of ground, and for half a mile Davis’ brigade was fighting its
way—still pressing forward—and its men realized before the sun had
gotten up that the day’s work would be serious. After Davis and his
New York regiment had traveled half a mile, Major Flournoy, who
commanded the 6th Virginia Cavalry, collected one hundred men. It
was barely light, but he went after the 8th New York with vigor. A
third of the Confederates were either killed or wounded, but they
were not without recompense. Colonel Davis was killed in the fight.
Amongst those in the Confederate charge was Lieutenant R. O. Allen,
of Company D, 6th Virginia Cavalry. In the movement under Flournoy,
his horse was wounded and this induced him to remain in the woods.
Observing a Federal officer in the road, about two hundred feet in
front of his column, Lieutenant Allen advanced upon him. The Federal
commander’s attention was given to his men, and with his sword he
was waving them forward. Allen was upon him before he realized the
situation, and when Colonel Davis turned his head, he assaulted
Allen with his sabre. The fearless Virginian had only one shot in
his pistol; he was taking large risks. He reserved his single shot
for the crucial moment, and swinging himself upon the side of his
horse, he avoided the sword stroke of the Federal; and arising in
his saddle, he fired the one shot which he had reserved for the
emergency, and the Federal colonel fell dead.

Both Federals and Confederates advanced to the scene of this tragic
conflict. Losses were suffered on both sides. The Confederate
lieutenant hastily returned to his lines. The firing attracted the
attention of General Jones, who promptly ordered up the 7th Virginia
Cavalry. The men had been gathered in such haste that a number of
them were coatless, and some of them had pressed forward with such
impatience that they had not taken time to saddle their beasts. The
7th Virginia charged fiercely, but the Federals met the charge with
such courage that the Virginians were forced back and they passed two
guns, of Hart’s Battery, stationed in the road.

Early in the morning the artillery on both sides had given a
wonderful account of themselves. The 7th Virginia Cavalry, many
without their saddles, had rushed to stay the tide of Federal
advance from Beverly’s Ford. These, by sheer force of numbers,
were swept away, leaving the two guns of Hart’s Confederate Battery
unprotected. The Federals, animated by their success in scattering
the cavalry, believed they would find these guns an easy prey, but
the gunners were in no mood to yield their pieces or to run away from
their speechless companions, who, with them, had so firmly stood
in battle array for many months. They had learned to love the iron
and steel, cold and emotionless though it was, and the thought of
these long-time friends passing into the possession and use of their
enemies gave them keenest pangs of regret. Supports or no supports,
they resolved to fight out the right of ownership, and come what
might, to stand or fall by their beloved guns. They saw the advancing
foe. The vibration caused by the tramp of the rushing squadrons could
be felt, and to escape from capture or death seemed hopeless. Once
determined at all hazards to protect their cannon, all questions of
escape were dismissed and all fears banished. With haste quickened by
danger, they fired shot after shot into the advancing columns of the
assailants. Shells were discarded and the deadlier canister pushed
into the pieces, now warm by rapid firing, was sent crashing into
the front ranks of the foe. These dauntless files went down before
the withering currents of death that were starting every moment from
the two guns, and when at last they reached the pieces, their ranks
were shattered and their columns broken. Slowly the brave men by
hand moved their guns to places of safety, and at length they found
shelter behind the ranks of the forces disposed around the little
country church, and about which for five hours the storm of battle
had been raging with intense fierceness. The men who had stood for
these guns had risked much and dared everything without counting
cost, and as they rolled their guns and caissons into the Confederate
ranks, so gladly opened to receive them, their comrades greeted
them with shouts of admiration and approval. They had accomplished
more than they had even hoped. They had caught the contagion of
intrepidity that was in the air on that day. The conduct of the
men on both sides was such as to stir the hearts of brave people
everywhere in the world and to win for the American volunteer soldier
immortal acclaim.

At ten o’clock the din and turmoil had become appalling. Both sides
had changed positions, but fought with a courage like to that born
of despair. Wherever the men in gray found mounted or unmounted
bluecoats they rode at them with furious savagery, and likewise the
men in blue seemed to rise out of the earth fully armed and pressed
on to unrelenting conflict.

Some Confederate guns near St. James Church were especially
destructive and annoying to the 6th Pennsylvania Cavalry and a
regiment of United States regulars. Their officers concluded that
the quickest and most effective way to get rid of this battery was
to ride it down. The cavalry was twenty-four hundred feet from the
annoying artillery, and the way led across an open space. The bugles
were sounded, the guidons were lifted and the order to charge stirred
the souls of these brave soldiers. Aligning themselves, they burst
into the open space like a devastating cyclone. The earth trembled
beneath the tread of the galloping steeds. They were riding, many
of them, to death, but death in the excitement of the moment lost
all its terrors, and madly they rode forward. There was no organized
force in front of this magnificent column to oppose the ride. The
guns were to the front and stood out boldly in the perspective. The
men at the guns knew well their duty and understood the call. Not a
man flinched. The horses were behind, but the cannoneers had no use
for horses now. Something like five minutes was necessary to reach
the battery. Every man, with quickened movements, prepared to fight
to the death and to drive, with promptness and despatch, grape and
canister into the ranks of the approaching Federals. The men in blue
looked ahead; they saw the gunners with nimble movements loading
and ramming the missiles. These they knew must soon send havoc into
their ranks, but not a man swayed from his place in the line where
duty bade him ride. Starting with victorious cries, they galloped to
the muzzles of the thundering guns. They rode over the pieces, they
sabred the gunners who did not dodge under the wheels and limber
chests. They could not stop. The gait was too rapid to rein up at
the guns; they dashed around and over them. If a man in gray showed
himself, the swish of a sabre drove him to cover. Now, beyond the
guns, they saw moving, charging men. The Federals had cut in between
Hampton’s and Jones’ brigades, and the moment of reparation had
arrived. Hampton and Jones ordered an assault upon these intrepid
assailants. Orders rang out shrill and clear. The gunners who for
a moment had disappeared under the wheels and chests sprang up and
began to push more grape and canister into the throats of their
cannon. They hurled their guns about, stood at their appointed
stations ready to turn the storm loose once more against these brave
men in blue, who, though balked in their work, had no mind to give up
the contest.

With the Federal lines a little scattered, Hampton and Jones rushed
down with impetuous fury and the Federals were glad to ride away and
escape from the onslaught of these numerous, new-found foes. The guns
were saved, but as if by fire; and the artillery at Fleetwood had
won, if it were possible, greater fame for the horse artillery of the
Army of Northern Virginia.

The morning was well advanced when a single horseman from one of
Robertson’s North Carolina regiments, riding with the swiftness of
the wind, advised General Stuart that the Federals were advancing
from Kelley’s Ford, that they were now at Brandy Station, and
were immediately in the rear of the Confederate line. This looked
like a bad mix-up all round. The Federals were in the rear of the
Confederates and the Confederates were in the rear of the Federals,
and nobody seemed to know exactly where the other body was.

When this startling announcement was made, which appeared so
unreasonable to General Stuart, because he did not know the man
personally, he directed the scout to return and satisfy himself by
closest inspection if it could be possible that the troops in the
rear were Federal forces. In five minutes the man returned and with
confidence pointed General Stuart to the Federal lines, then within
less than half a mile of Fleetwood Hill; and there, sure enough,
General Stuart saw a long column of the enemy passing. They were the
men that had gone under Gregg and Duffie, down by Stevensburg, and
had changed their front. They had sought and found their foes. These
Federals were facing toward Brandy Station. It was apparent that in
a few minutes this place would be captured, and half a mile away was
Fleetwood Hill, and this was the key to the situation.

General Stuart, great commander though he was, now faced difficult
and perplexing problems that might have embarrassed a man less
experienced and less great.

A single gun of Chew’s Battery, because of its exhausted ammunition,
had been abandoned on the side of the hill. Some imperfect shells and
some shot had been left over in the limber chest and this one single
gun was pulled up on the hill and was opened upon the advancing
Federals. A courier in great haste was dispatched to General Stuart
to tell him of the gravity of the situation. Only three Confederates
were there, and they saw that if the Federals once gained Fleetwood
Hill and were enabled to plant their artillery on its heights that
it must be recovered or the day was lost. General Gregg and General
Buford were advancing up the hill, and expected to take it without
any fight. They were surprised to find artillery there. They had
intended to attack General Stuart in the rear, where they believed
there was no protection, and the stubborn defense with this gun
amazed and puzzled the Federal commander. He did not know that on the
hill there was only one gun and three men; one of these was Major
McClellan, Stuart’s adjutant general. It would not have taken long
for a charging squad to have gotten control of this important post.

General Gregg, deceived by this stout resistance, prepared to meet
artillery with artillery, and he lost some time in unlimbering the
three guns he had with him, and as soon as possible they opened
vigorously upon the gun and three men who were defending Fleetwood.

To the first courier General Stuart had been incredulous; when
the second came, the sound of the Federal cannonading announced
unmistakably that the report was true. The Confederates, had nothing
closer to Fleetwood Hill than the 12th Virginia under Colonel Harman,
and a few men under Colonel White. Major McClellan had done all he
could to get orders carried to General Stuart. To get the orders
delivered and have reinforcements returned seemed many hours to him
and his two companions, now maintaining a place, the retaking of
which was necessary to win the battle, and if retaken would cost many
lives. Riding in hot haste, with lines broken, Colonel Harman was the
first to reach the scene of danger. As he rode up, Major McClellan
urged upon Colonel Harman the emergency of the situation. He gave him
no time to form his regiment, but ordered him to go in pell mell.
Harman was brave and enterprising and he obeyed his orders and rode
at full speed to the top of the hill, as the brave cannoneers were
retiring, after firing their last cartridge from the lone gun that
was standing off Gregg and his men.

One hundred and fifty feet away the 1st New Jersey Cavalry, under
Colonel Windom, was advancing in columns of squadrons, with banners
flying and sabres drawn. Colonel Harman’s followers of the 12th
Virginia had reached the top of the hill at this critical moment,
but in columns of fours it went north westwardly of the summit.
The men behind their intrepid colonel rode hard to follow him and
save the situation. Harman, realizing that instantaneous action
was necessary, took the men he had and directed the artillery at
the Federals. General Stuart, now alive to the exigencies of the
situation, had ordered General Hampton and General Jones to leave the
position at St. James Church and concentrate on Fleetwood Hill.

Hampton himself was a good soldier, and he had the perception of a
sagacious leader, and when he heard firing he realized the danger
and he had already commenced withdrawing his forces to meet the new
situation.

The 12th Virginia under Harman, always gallant, at this time seemed
to have failed by reason of their inability to get into line in
time to make the charge. Harman notified Colonel M. C. Butler, of
the South Carolina Legion, that he must look out for enemies that
were in the rear, and now the Confederates set about the task of
holding Fleetwood Hill, the center of this great cavalry fight. All
the regiments of Jones’ brigade and Hampton’s brigade participated
in charges and counter charges, and both sides had now reached
the top of the eminence. The 1st New Jersey Cavalry had temporary
possession of the hill. Harman and White had failed in the first
attempt to prevent the 1st New Jersey from this movement. Harman now
re-formed his regiment and went on furiously to avenge his former
failure. Half way up the hill the gallant Confederate colonel was
wounded in an encounter with the Federal commander. Colonel White
re-formed his squadrons. He charged along the west side of the hill
and attacked the three guns which General Gregg unlimbered and with
which he had opened a fierce fire. He drove the Federal cavalry away
from the guns, but the gunners of the 6th New York Battery, though
the cavalry left them, were not disposed to give up their pieces. Of
the thirty-six men, thirty were killed or wounded. All were killed
or wounded beside their guns. The Confederates took possession of
the pieces, but this was only after a resistance and valor that made
this Federal battery famous for all time to come. The possession of
these pieces, however, was not to remain long with the Confederates.
The captors were quickly surrounded with superior numbers, and the
Confederate commander was compelled to cut his way out with heavy
loss. He was glad to get away with even a remnant of his brave
followers.

Hampton, Jones, Robertson were all now converging upon Fleetwood
Hill. No sooner had Flournoy, who had already been seriously
battered, arrived with the 6th Virginia Cavalry than he was ordered
by General Stuart to charge the Federals on the right flank, which
was to the east and south of Fleetwood Hill. The decimation of the
day had reduced Flournoy’s regiment to two hundred men. Disparity
of numbers had no terrors for these brave riders. They forced the
lines of the enemy and attacked and captured their battery, but they
were unable to hold it, as more than one thousand Federals attacked
this regiment in the rear. But the scenes, like a kaleidoscope, were
changing. Every turn of the wheel seemed to make new combinations.
In the midst of this confusion and uncertainty General Wade Hampton
appeared upon the scene. He entered upon their view at a gallop. As
he approached Fleetwood Hill he saw the plateau covered with Federal
cavalry. There was nothing to do but fight it out and so General
Hampton ordered a charge of his columns.

[Illustration: MAP OF BATTLEFIELD OF FLEETWOOD HILL]

This field was now to witness one of the most thrilling and stirring
incidents of the entire war. By the commands on either side, two
brigades of horsemen in column were to make an attempt to ride each
other down. Such scenes with small numbers had occurred many times,
but now it was to be tried out on a larger scale. Nearly evenly
matched, the contest was to put to severest strain the valor and the
grit of all who should enter the arena.

Neither dared await the shock that the charge of the other would
bring. Motion, rapid motion alone would counteract the impact from
either side. To stand still meant to be overwhelmed. To ride meant
overturning, mayhap going down under a great crash, and possibly,
if the sword and bullets should be escaped, then mangling or death
beneath the bodies or hoofs of the maddened or injured horses.

The spirit of the hour was doing and daring. The leaders thought
quickly and acted promptly. The day was well advanced when this event
occurred.

Fifteen hundred horses would weigh one million, six hundred and fifty
thousand pounds; fifteen hundred men would weigh two hundred and
forty thousand pounds, an aggregate of one million, eight hundred and
ninety thousand pounds.

One million, eight hundred and ninety thousand pounds of flesh and
blood to rush at the rate of seven feet per second against a moving
wall of like weight and material meant woe, ruin, desolation. It did
not require long to cover the intervening space. Each side moved
toward the other with grim determination, and two bodies thus in
motion were to clash in a brief interval.

The men were enthused by the cries of “Charge! Charge! Charge!” and
the excitement and exhilaration of battle and struggle made every
heart fearless, defiant and reckless. They plunged their spurs into
the sides of their steeds. Some drew their sabres, others their
revolvers. The men spurring, shouting, yelling, by their enthusiasm,
excited and aroused the dumb brutes, who seemed to feel the energy of
combat. Racing at their highest speed, with mouths open and distended
nostrils, madly and furiously they galloped to the onset.

Horses and men alike seemed to catch the animation of great deeds,
and, as if in sympathy with each other, men and beasts together were
willingly rushing onward to make destruction and wreck. Not a single
man hesitated. Here and there a horse fell and his master went down
to earth, but not one turned aside from the path of jeopardy and
peril. The surging crowd, from both directions, was now, at highest
speed, pushing relentlessly forward to overwhelm their foes. The
beasts seemed almost human in the exhilaration and dash of the rapid
charge, and appeared to apprehend the call that was being made upon
their spirit and powers. Neither side took time to count the cost or
figure the result. If either rode away or hesitated, they felt that
the last state of that soldier would be worse than the first. There
was nothing left but to fight out the issues that war at this moment
had thus joined. Its terrors, if they reasoned, would overwhelm
reason. Three minutes was all the time that was allowed to calculate
before the awful shock would come. The crash would be bad enough, but
on the eve of this, the deadly sabre loomed up before the eyes of the
actors, the flash of the revolver and then the crush and down-going
of stricken, maimed, dead brutes, and with them broken limbs and
maimed bodies of the daring riders stood, if only for an instant,
before the vision.

The fearful onset speedily came. Some horses passed their heads by,
but this meant the lifting of the riders from their saddles to take
their chances in the crush below. Horses’ heads met horses’ heads,
and these sprang high into the air, and then fell in a heap on the
ground. Others by the tremendous shock were killed and lay gasping
in agony. Some swept by only to be turned about and anew to dash at
their opposers. Of the men, some already pale in death lay beneath
the bodies of their gasping steeds. Others, with glistening sabres,
were cutting and slashing those who fell or lay by their side, or
stood in their front. Again, others with their revolvers or carbines
were firing at their foes and with savage determination fought
without mercy or pity.

A dense cloud of dust rose from the spot where the struggling men
and beasts had met. The smoke of firearms shut out the light of day.
Amid these scenes of horror, darkness and suffering, men fought to
the death. In a little while, from the dust and smoke, with blackened
and stained faces the fighters began to rise. Those who had escaped
returned to help those who had fallen. The passions of war seemed
for a brief while satiated. The men in blue singly and in squads,
glad to be relieved from the horrible surroundings, some walking
and some riding, turned their faces from the fearful scenes of ruin
and disaster that loomed up in ghastly horror before their eyes.
They realized that the men in gray had vanquished them, and without
a stain on their valor and courage, they marched away to cross the
river they had forded at the coming of the dawn, with highest hopes
and grandest expectations of victory.

Over toward the west was a part of the 1st New Jersey Cavalry. They
had fought much during the day and they had fought well, but they
were not dispirited and they were ready to fight some more. Young’s
charge had cut them off from their comrades. They examined the field
and saw that they must either surrender or cut their way through the
Confederate lines. The Confederate guns were on a narrow ridge. To
gain their friends, these New Jersey men must pass through or over
these batteries. These Federal horsemen were too brave to hesitate
at any danger, however appalling. What was to be done must be done
quickly. Delay only increased danger and risks. The coward dies a
thousand deaths, the brave man dies but one, and animated by the
loftiest impulses of courage, they resolved to take the one chance,
and if need be to face the iron storm they well knew must burst upon
them, if they made gallant attempt to ride down their foes. The
bugle blast ended all questionings, and forward they galloped to meet
whatever the moment should bring.

The artillerymen looked and saw a new danger looming up on the
horizon. With the speed of the wind the men in blue were riding down
upon them. The pieces were quickly changed to meet this advancing
foe. At this critical moment there were no Confederate horsemen to
help defend or support the guns. The brave artillerists, spurred to
sublime valor by the exigencies of the supreme test, resolved to
defend their holdings or die with their pieces.

The blue-clad assailants came dashing upon the flank of the
batteries. In a moment the guns were turned and hurling defiance and
destruction in the face of the foes. They unhorsed and destroyed
some, but they could not destroy all, and a remnant rushed in upon
the nervy gunners who awaited the crash. It was a hand-to-hand fight
between the men on horseback and the men on the cannons and on the
ground. The Federal colonel fell at the side of a caisson. Another
gunner fired a pistol ball into the heart of the Federal major. These
died gloriously, but they died in vain. The charge failed. The enemy
retreated and glory crowned the brave artillerists with new laurels.
They were alone, but their name was legion, and they fought with fury
and with success. The Confederates held the coveted hill. Gregg had
made a great fight. He and his men had lost, but they had won for
Federal cavalry great honor and had shown a valor that was worthy of
any cause, and which entitled them to the praise of their people
and their country. From the south, toward Culpepper Court House,
clouds of dust now rose on the horizon. Long lines of Confederate
infantry were seen advancing. They had come to help their cavalry
comrades, but their coming so long delayed was of no avail. The
horsemen, without help, had driven back their foes and these were now
recrossing the Rappahannock, over which at dawn they had passed with
sure and expectant hopes of a speedy and great victory.

Two men, who fell on the Confederate side, proved a great loss.
Colonel Sol Williams, of the 2d North Carolina Cavalry, active, brave
and gallant, observing that his regiment was inactive for a brief
while, volunteering to ride with the charging column, went down at
the front. His death was a great loss to his country and to the
cavalry service.

Colonel Frank Hampton, younger brother of General Wade Hampton,
discerning an emergency, placed himself at the head of a small squad,
and charged a Federal column to delay its advance until other troops
could be brought to resist it. With hardly one to fifteen of the
foe, he assaulted the Federal column with fiercest vigor. His small
company responded to duty’s call, but it was a forlorn hope. They
died as brave men are ever ready to die for the cause they love.
Colonel Hampton fell, mortally wounded, but he fell where all the
Hamptons were wont to fall—at the front.

The Federal cavalry lost the field. They left some guns in possession
of their foes, many banners, hundreds of prisoners and numerous dead.
They hesitated long about leaving these things behind them, and a
real grief filled their hearts at the thought that, after a day
of so much daring and such brilliant achievement, they must recede
before their foes and desert their wounded—remit them to the care and
mercy of their enemies, and their dead to sepulture by the hands of
those they had so valiantly fought.

These memories were depressing, but notwithstanding these sad
recollections, they carried some splendid assurances from the field
of carnage and ruin. They had met in an open field the best troopers
the army of General Lee could send to conflict. Against these brave
and experienced riders of the Confederates they had held their
own, and for fourteen hours they had fought with a courage and an
intrepidity that not even the Confederate legions could surpass. They
had demonstrated that the Federal cavalry, when the conditions were
equal, was not inferior to the men who rode with Stuart, and who had
rendered his name and theirs illustrious. This new-found realization
of power and courage gave Federal cavalry a pervading consciousness
of their strength as warriors, and created in their minds and hearts
a quickened courage that would bear them up and make them more
fearless and efficient in the service their country would expect
from them, in the twenty-two months that yet remained before the end
would come, and Lee and his legions be compelled by the decrees of a
pitiless fate to ground their arms and acknowledge Federal supremacy.




CHAPTER XXI

GENERAL J. E. B. STUART’S CHAMBERSBURG RAID, OCTOBER 9, 1862


On the 9th, 10th, 11th and 12th of October, 1862, General J. E. B.
Stuart performed his most brilliant military feat in the raid on
Chambersburg, Pennsylvania.

Fording the Potomac on the morning of the 10th, at early dawn, he
proceeded to Mercersburg and thence to Chambersburg. The crossing
of the river had been skilfully and bravely done, and the march of
forty miles to Chambersburg was no mean task in the fifteen hours
which had elapsed since morn. Fair weather marked the day’s ride, and
at 9 o’clock at night the brilliant cavalry soldier of the Army of
Northern Virginia housed himself and men in the quiet and quaint old
town, well up in the boundaries of the Quaker State.

It was a new experience for the loyal men of the North to find the
hungry Confederate raiders in their very midst and feeding themselves
in their pantries and their horses at their granaries.

But the romance of the raid was to end here.

The Potomac, never very sure in its movements, might rise, and
Stuart must then return some other way than the one he came. The
splashing of the rain, relentless and constant, during the night,
and the pattering of great drops as they drove against the window
panes, awakened in his bosom the most harassing uncertainty; and
throughout the long and (to him) almost endless hours of darkness,
came the harrowing thought that the streams fed by the torrents now
falling would swell the Potomac and thus cut off all possibility of
escape for his command.

[Illustration: GENERAL J. E. B. STUART]

His aides and guides, less troubled with responsibility, assured him
that his fleet troopers would outride the currents that flowed toward
the ocean; but the danger and the trials of the coming day and night
rose up in the heart of the dashing commander and disturbed the quiet
of his gay and chivalrous soul.

On the morning of the 11th he began his homeward march. Eighty miles
from the boundary, where he might pass it, far into an unfriendly
country, every resource of which was now placed under contribution
to effect his capture or the destruction of his force, and with
thousands of troops, both mounted and unmounted, converging to the
points where he must pass, rendered his situation acutely desperate
and such as to cause keenest apprehension and profoundest fear.

But with Stuart rode officers and men who never quailed. Hampton,
Lee, Butler, Robertson, Jones and Pelham, and 1,800 men, the pick of
Virginia, Maryland and the Carolinas, were in the saddle with him,
and there was no foe they feared and none who could whip them except
by brute force and superior numbers.

Forth from Chambersburg this splendid division began the march
homeward. Twelve hundred horses, the fruits of impressment, made up a
part of the train—for already the Confederacy felt the need of stable
recruiting—no stragglers nor laggards. A great work was ahead of a
great command, and no heart felt solicitude at any fate which awaited.

All day long the steady trot of the troopers was kept up, and when
the sun began to hide its face behind the Alleghanies the cavalcade
had been less than half the distance required of it for safety and
rest. A few minutes’ halt was all that could be allowed. The troopers
dismount and shake themselves; the wearied horses munch a little
feed, and the bugle-call again commands to saddle.

Thirty-one and a half miles since morn, and yet thirty-three and a
half more before dawn.

The knightly Pelham, later to shed his blood, rode all through the
night with the advance, and close behind the watchful commander and
his escort.

A full day’s work already done, but a fuller night’s work yet to be
done.

Peremptory orders are transmitted to ride over everything that
opposes the march; and so, trot, trot, trot, through the long hours
of darkness, and the wearied horsemen peer through the gloom, and in
silent and anxious wonder gaze at the spectres—the creation of their
fancy and imagination—which on parallel lines ride by their side;
and they scan the horizon with anxious longing to catch the first
appearance of the much-desired dawn, which might relieve the dismal
and oppressive foreboding of the lengthened night.

Sixty-five miles in twenty-four hours. No halt. Still sixteen miles
more.

Thousands of busy and eager enemies and uncalculated dangers beset
them. The bodies of these hard riders begin to feel the trying
effects of the rapid march, and nature raises a solemn protest
against war’s demands upon her children. But the order for the
swinging trot abates not, and man and beast, brightened by the rising
sun, are put under sterner tribute for stronger effort.

Wearied marchers: the crisis is now at hand.

Stuart and his riders had vanquished nature: Could they now vanquish
man? If Stuart crossed the Potomac to reach Chambersburg, he must
recross it to reach Virginia; and to prevent the latter, all the
skill, energy and genius of the Federal commanders were called forth.

Pleasanton, who with Federal cavalry was hard behind the Confederate
raiders, had marched seventy-eight miles in twenty-eight hours, but
this wonderful gait still left him in Stuart’s rear, and now that
the point at which Stuart was to cross was revealed, every Federal
soldier that could be reached was pressed forward to dispute the
passage. Whit’s Ford was guarded, but not sufficiently well to impede
the rush of the Confederates, and the Federals at the crucial moment
retired, and the way was opened for the escape and safety of the
valiant Confederate corps.

Twenty-seven hours and eighty-one miles. No sleep. No rest.

Galloping, fighting, scouting and ready to assail any enemy, with
human endurance tested to the greatest possible limit—what think you,
reader, of the conduct of these riders, when, out of those three
brigades, only two men, either by sleep, illness, hunger, weariness
or straggling, were missing when, at noon, on the 12th of October,
on Virginia’s soil, Stuart called his roll to calculate losses?

Measured by any human formula for patience or endurance, courage,
loyalty and chivalry, this service of Stuart and his command stands
with but few parallels in military history. They did all men could
do, and the Divine Judge himself requires nothing more than this at
man’s hands.




CHAPTER XXII

GENERAL JOHN B. MARMADUKE’S “CAPE GIRARDEAU RAID,” APRIL, 1863


General John B. Marmaduke was a thoroughly born and reared Southern
man. Descended from Virginia ancestry, he first saw the light on
March 14th, 1833, at Arrow Rock, Missouri. Possessed of a splendid
physique, with a common school education, he entered Yale. He was
there two years and one year at Harvard, and then he was appointed
to the United States Military Academy from whence he graduated when
twenty-two years of age. As a brevet second lieutenant he went with
Albert Sidney Johnston and aided in putting down the Mormon revolt
in 1858. He remained in the West for two years and at the opening of
the Civil War was stationed in New Mexico. Fond of military life,
it involved much sacrifice for him to resign his commission in the
United States Army, but he did not hesitate an instant and on the
17th of April, 1861, he severed his connection with the regular army
and at once raised a company of Missouri State Guards. His West
Point education gave him prominence at once and he was made colonel
of a Missouri military organization. Brave and proud-spirited, he
disagreed with his uncle, Claiborne F. Jackson, then governor of
Missouri, and left the service there and reported at Richmond, to
the Confederate government. He had five brothers in the Confederate
Army or Navy. His father, Meredith Miles Marmaduke, was governor of
Missouri in 1844.

With General Hardee, in Southeast Missouri, he was made colonel
of the 3d Confederate Infantry. Crossing the river to aid General
Albert Sidney Johnston destroy Grant’s army, he participated in the
Battle of Shiloh, and was signally honored by his grateful government
for his splendid service and was made a brigadier general while
he was yet an inmate of the hospital from wounds received on that
field. There was a great call at that time in the West for brave and
experienced men, and four months after the Battle of Shiloh he was
transferred to the trans-Mississippi Department, and from August,
1862, to January, 1863, he commanded the Confederate cavalry in
Arkansas and Missouri. Vigilant, active and enterprising, he made a
number of raids into Missouri. He was a fierce fighter, and never
hesitated to attack his enemy when prudence justified an assault.
Ordered to break Federal communication between Springfield and Rolla,
Missouri, he inflicted great loss upon his enemies, but after a most
valiant attack, through the failure of some of his troops to come on
time, he was compelled to withdraw and retreat. He held a conspicuous
place in the attack upon Helena, Arkansas, in July, 1863, and was
successful in capturing the Federal camps at Pine Bluff. In the
defense of Little Rock he played a notable part and covered General
Price’s retreat after the evacuation of the capital of Arkansas.

He fought a duel with General Lucien M. Walker which shadowed his
life. Under the terms arranged by the seconds, the two men were
placed ten feet apart. The weapons were revolvers, and they were
to advance and continue firing until the weapons were empty. Walker
was mortally wounded at the second shot. Marmaduke was placed under
arrest and relieved of his command. The exigencies of the hour made
his services so important that he was permitted to resume his command
during the pending operations. He was finally released by General
Holmes. All through Missouri and Arkansas and Louisiana he was in
many engagements, and for his magnificent service in 1864 in delaying
Steele and preventing his union with General Banks, and for his valor
in the Battle of Jenkins Ferry, he was made a major general. He was
with Price in his ill-fated campaign in the fall of 1864. Dauntless
and gallant in the protection of Price’s rear, while making vigorous
battle he was captured near Fort Scott, Kansas. He was carried to
Fort Warren and remained there until August, 1865, and when released
went abroad, but returned to engage in business in St. Louis. For
two years he was active in journalism. He served as secretary of the
Missouri Board of Agriculture, was railroad commissioner four years,
elected governor of Missouri in 1884, in which office he died in his
fifty-fourth year, in Jefferson City, on December 24th, 1887.

Brave, of great resource, intensely loyal, few men of the war had as
many wide experiences. The South had no more loyal son. His three
and a half years of military service were marked with incessant and
constant activities, and he had no rest, unless while in the hospital
recovering from wounds received in battle. Although connected with
the cavalry, in an engagement where some Missouri infantry were
falling back before a sudden and terrific fire, General Marmaduke,
with an aide-de-camp, William Price, rode in among the hesitating
infantry, and violently taking from two standard bearers their
colors, rushed into the midst of these troops and lifting the banners
aloft pleaded with the men to stand firm. His noble example restored
order to the line, and out of retreat they moved forward with
conspicuous gallantry, and won victory.

In March, 1863, General Holmes was relieved of the command of the
Trans-Mississippi Department, and General E. Kirby Smith, who had
made such a brilliant reputation in the Kentucky campaign with the
army of Tennessee, was assigned to the full charge of the territory.
He established his headquarters at Shreveport, Louisiana, and General
Holmes was placed in command of the district of Arkansas, which
included Arkansas, Indian Territory and the state of Missouri.

Early in April, 1863, General Price returned after his service in
the army of Tennessee and the Trans-Mississippi Department, and was
assigned to the command of an infantry division. In the northern
part of Arkansas there was nothing except Marmaduke’s division of
cavalry, and this was in and around Batesville. The Confederates
were loth to abandon the portion of Arkansas above the Arkansas
River, and endeavored to hold the enemy in check for eighty miles
north of that stream. The Confederates were not unaware that a most
determined effort would be made to capture Little Rock. By the aid of
the forces from Memphis and up the Arkansas River and down through
Missouri, combinations were made which it was believed would render
it impossible for the Confederates to hold that post.

The only really organized force operating in the territory northwest
of Arkansas was Marmaduke’s cavalry division, composed of Shelby’s
and Greene’s brigades. Anxious to do something to relieve the
pressure upon Little Rock, General Marmaduke felt that if he
should march northeastwardly to Cape Girardeau, Missouri, he might
accomplish two things: first, he might recruit quite a large number
of troops. Missouri was one of the best recruiting grounds for the
Confederate states. There was no time when an organized force entered
Missouri, when there was any sort of opportunity for the young men,
or even the middle-aged men to enter the Confederate service that
hundreds of them did not rush to the Confederate standard. Marmaduke,
Shelby, Price and all those who invaded Missouri were not only
gratified but astonished at the readiness with which recruits flocked
to join them.

General Marmaduke believed that he might stay the approach of the
Federals in their advance upon Little Rock. General Holmes was so
pleased with Marmaduke’s offer to do something that he not only
approved but encouraged him, and ordered forward to his support
Carter’s brigade of Texas cavalry, which was the possessor of a
four-gun battery and counted fifteen hundred men. The men of this
brigade were not experienced, but they had grit, endurance and
courage, and they were not long in measuring up to the standard of
veterans. This gave General Marmaduke a force of nearly five thousand
cavalry and eight pieces of artillery, but nearly one-fourth of them
were unarmed and one-fifth dismounted. This was a formidable array
to turn loose either in the rear or in the face of the enemy. It was
more than Morgan ever had under his command; it was more than General
Wheeler was ever able to take on a raid; and was greater than General
Forrest had hitherto been able to pull together.

Marmaduke also learned that there was a Federal officer at
Bloomfield, five miles south of Cape Girardeau, who had become
infamous in the eyes of the Confederates, and of all the men in the
Federal Army the Missouri troops would rather have captured General
John McNeil. He was known amongst the men of the South as “the
butcher.” This came from his brutality to prisoners and citizens,
and he was the most hated man in the Federal Armies west of the
Mississippi River.

The season of the year was fairly propitious for cavalry marches. The
country was denuded of corn and oats, but green stuff was abundant
and the grasses which grew with such luxuriousness in that section
furnished bountiful feed, such as it was, for the horses. The
scarcity of grain made raiding difficult unless grass was growing.
Colonel John F. Phillips, commanding a Federal Missouri cavalry
regiment, on July 30th, 1863, wrote of this section: “There is
nothing to eat in this country. It is the impersonation of poverty
and desolation.”

From Batesville, Arkansas, to Cape Girardeau was about one hundred
and eighty miles. Marmaduke had learned that McNeil had been ordered
to march northward from Bloomfield, Missouri, toward Pilot Knob.
This would be a distance of seventy miles. Marmaduke reasoned
correctly that McNeil would obey orders, and so he sent a force
toward Bloomfield to stir up McNeil, hoping that he would follow
the directions of his superiors and march toward Pilot Knob.
Frederickstown was ten miles southeast of Pilot Knob, and here
Marmaduke purposed to intercept McNeil, and with Carter behind him
and Shelby in front of him, it was calculated that short work would
be made of McNeil’s two thousand infantry.

In the beginning of the march there was warm work at Patterson,
a small town fifty miles from the Arkansas line. At this point a
Missouri Federal militia regiment, under Colonel Smart, and several
Home Guard companies had been stationed for quite a while. One of the
most offensive of these Home Guard companies was commanded by Captain
Leper. Neither Leper nor Smart stood well with the Confederates.
They had been aggressive, cruel and malignant, and General Marmaduke
had particular reasons for capturing both Leper and Smart. The
presence of the Confederates had not been known fully to Smart and
his associates, and General Marmaduke had made disposition of his
forces to surround Patterson and its garrison, which he intended
to capture at any cost. With his eight pieces of artillery he
felt sure that within a reasonable time he could batter down the
fortifications. Shelby was ordered to swing to the east, and a Texas
regiment was to move west; the Texas forces were to go east of the
place and close in from that direction, while Shelby came from the
other side. The Missourians caught all the pickets, and without alarm
were ready to assault the garrison. The officers in charge of the
Texas brigade were not familiar with the Missouri tactics. Instead
of capturing the pickets, they undertook to fight them and used the
artillery and opened a vigorous fire upon these isolated videttes.
Colonel Smart had been insistent that there was nothing but a few
militia in proximity to Patterson, but when he heard the sound of the
artillery, he realized that heavy forces were about to encircle him,
and he speedily and hastily fled. A small part of the garrison was
captured. The men the Confederates wanted, Smart and Leper, escaped.
These fired the houses containing the supplies, and a large part of
the town was burned. Later this was charged to the Confederates,
and after the war suits were brought against quite a number of
Confederate officers to make them responsible for the destruction of
the town. This was annoying, but it was not effective. The escape of
the hated men quickened desire to bag General McNeil.

A short while after this campaign McNeil still further increased
his reputation for bloodthirstiness. A Federal spy was captured and
disappeared near Palmyra.

Major J. N. Edwards in his splendid work, “Shelby and his Men,” gives
the following account of this terrible incident:

  Colonel Porter captured Palmyra late in the fall of 1863, and
  during his occupation of the town, one Andrew Allsman, an
  ex-soldier of the 3d Missouri Federal Cavalry, and a spy, informer,
  guide, traitor and scoundrel generally, was spirited away, no
  one ever knew how or where. McNeil re-entered Palmyra upon its
  evacuation by Colonel Porter, confined ten worthy and good men
  captured from Porter’s command, issued a notice to Porter dated
  October 8th, informing him that unless Allsman was returned
  within ten days from the date thereof, the prisoners then in his
  possession should be executed. W. R. Strachan was the provost
  marshal, and was just as cruel and just as bloodthirsty as his
  master. Allsman was not returned—indeed, Porter never saw this
  notice until the men were shot—and even had it been placed before
  him, the rendition of Allsman was an impossibility, for he knew
  nothing whatever of the men required to be produced. Deaf to all
  petitions, steeled against every prayer for mercy, eager and swift
  to act, McNeil ordered the execution at the end of the appointed
  time. Ten brave, good men—Willis Baker, Thomas Humston, Morgan
  Bixler, John Y. McPheeters, Herbert Hudson, Captain Thomas A.
  Snider, Eleazer Lake and Hiram Smith—were led out for the death
  shots. Fearless, proud and noble in their bearing, these innocent
  and excellent soldiers were sacrificed to the whim of a butcher,
  and to satisfy the cravings of a foreign and brutal soldiery. They
  met death without a shudder, willing to yield upon their country’s
  altar the lives that had been devoted to her service. A young
  Spartan—one of the abovementioned men—volunteered to take the place
  of an old man whose family was large and helpless, was accepted,
  and untouched by the heroism of the boy, and indifferent to one of
  the finest exhibitions of chivalry upon record, McNeil and Strachan
  ordered his execution with the rest, thus covering their names with
  everlasting infamy.

Colonel Carter, of Texas, commanding the brigade called by his name,
ambitious for distinction, solicited the leadership of the force
which was to attack McNeil, and drive him either to follow the line
of his orders or force him to Cape Girardeau. He was specially
directed under no circumstances to follow McNeil into Cape Girardeau.
That post was strongly fortified and was considered a position of
great value on the Mississippi River. Carter was given a force equal
to that of McNeil, so that there would be no question of McNeil’s
discomfiture if he disputed Carter’s right of way. The men who fought
in Missouri and Arkansas never hesitated about results if it was man
to man. McNeil’s courage had been hampered by a knowledge of the
fact that the Missouri troops had declared if he was ever taken they
would put him to death. His persecutions and atrocities had rendered
him so odious that nothing could stay the vengeful resolves which
filled the hearts of the Missouri and Arkansas Confederates. Carter
had orders if McNeil went to Cape Girardeau to rejoin Marmaduke.
Marmaduke with Shelby’s brigade and half of Greene’s reached
Frederickstown, and there waited for a sight of McNeil or for a
report from Carter. Neither came. Quickly marching his command to
Jackson, half way between Frederickstown and Cape Girardeau, General
Marmaduke there learned that McNeil had hastened to Cape Girardeau;
that Carter, pursuing him, had become so enthused that he had lost
sight of his positive orders from Marmaduke and had followed McNeil
up to and partially into the fortifications of Cape Girardeau.
McNeil’s reinforcing the garrison rendered the Federal forces at the
Cape impregnable. McNeil was inside the fortification and Carter was
outside and he was afraid to go away lest the Federals should rush
out and destroy him. Shelby was immediately despatched to extricate
Carter from his embarrassing situation. In order to do this, it was
necessary to attack the fortification, which Shelby promptly did,
and lost forty-five men, killed and wounded, among them some of the
very best in his brigade. Some were so seriously wounded that it was
impossible to remove them, and they were left in charge of a surgeon,
amongst their enemies. In those days of intense bitterness and
malignity, this was barely preferable to death.

These four days lost meant much to General Marmaduke. The exuberant
zeal of one of Carter’s colonels, coupled with his courage,
had changed the Confederate plan and destroyed its successful
accomplishment, and seriously affected the ultimate safety of
Marmaduke’s whole division. It was only thirty miles from Cairo to
Bloomfield, and from New Madrid, Missouri, to Bloomfield, Marmaduke
must almost of necessity pass this point, and this rendered the
Confederate Army assailable both in its front and in its rear.

Marmaduke, north of Cape Girardeau, started his army south on the
27th of April. General Vandever was north of Marmaduke, and McNeil
was south of him. McNeil, who had one day’s start and the shortest
road to travel, could easily have intercepted Marmaduke and blocked
his way of escape. Marmaduke, of course, might have ridden around
him, and doubtless would have attempted to do this, but this was
hazardous. McNeil became intimidated by the fear that he might be
captured, and that, he well understood, meant direful consequences,
and instead of pursuing the shorter road, it was charged that he
intentionally took the longer one and let Marmaduke pass the critical
point unopposed. This put the entire Federal force behind the
Confederates, where it had no chance either greatly to disturb or
arrest their march, unless the swelling currents of the St. Francis
River might hold them in check until the Federal pursuers could,
through such barrier, reach and overwhelm them.

General Curtis, from St. Louis, sent reinforcements to Cape
Girardeau, and he had ordered from Columbus, Kentucky, several
regiments through New Madrid, Missouri, to prevent or embarrass the
escape of Marmaduke.

McNeil, on the 26th of April, telegraphed from Cape Girardeau that he
was attacked by eight thousand men under Marmaduke.

General William Vandever, on April 29th, 1863, six miles from
Bloomfield, Missouri, speaking of Marmaduke, said: “I think we have
run him harder than he has ever run before.”

Of the men who went with Marmaduke, as before stated, twelve hundred
were unmounted and nine hundred unarmed. Some of the men had Enfield
rifles, some Mississippi and squirrel rifles. Practically no captures
had been made, and the opportunities for securing mounts in this
already war-cursed country were very slim. The unmounted men, with
hope stirring their hearts, half running, half walking, kept up with
their more fortunate comrades who had started with beasts that could
at least go a part of the way. If any of these walking troopers
picked up a mount, it was the occasion for special thanks to the God
of war. In the beginning General Marmaduke divided his forces over
large territory and scattered them, to create the impression that
he was moving northwardly instead of northeastwardly. He trusted in
this way to throw his enemies off their guard. This would enable
him to surprise, if not destroy them. McNeil heard of Marmaduke’s
coming and retired to Cape Girardeau. He was not willing to meet the
Confederates in the open field. The best that Marmaduke could count
on for fighting was thirty-five hundred men, a majority of them
inadequately armed. He was to face at Cape Girardeau and elsewhere
more than ten thousand men. When the Federals started southwardly,
after leaving sufficient men to garrison Cape Girardeau, they had
forty-five hundred cavalry, forty-five hundred infantry and fifteen
pieces of artillery to join in the pursuit.

On the night of the 21st of April Captain John M. Muse of the
Missouri division had been ordered with ninety men to Farmington,
Missouri, in order to attempt the destruction of the bridge of the
St. Louis & Iron Mountain Railroad. This was to terrify St. Louis and
hold in check the garrisons north of Frederickstown. He was to travel
through the woods until he reached Farmington. Enterprising, as well
as brave, Muse moved with the greatest celerity. The bridges were
all well guarded, and while he destroyed one bridge, the task was
performed under tremendous difficulties and with supreme danger. The
experiences of this force for four days in the work assigned them was
one of the most difficult as well as the most dangerous and heroic
happenings of the whole war.

In those days it was easy enough to get into Missouri, but sometimes
it was extremely difficult to get out. The Confederates were sorely
pressed by two commands, each of them outnumbering their forces.
Marmaduke and Shelby did not count the Federals real peril. They
believed they could, if necessary, fight and rout these. They could
not whip or outwit the elements, and these gave them deep concern.
Heavy rains fell, and as there was nothing but mud roads through
the territory it required but a few hundred cavalry to pass over
one of these to render it thereafter almost impossible to travel.
But there was something even worse than these rains and the roads.
That was the necessity of crossing swollen streams. Generals can
rely upon the fidelity and courage of their troops, but they cannot
control the weather. The heavy rains at this period came most
inopportunely for General Marmaduke. When he realized the necessity
of retiring, he was miles north of Cape Girardeau. General Vandever
was behind him, and McNeil over at Cape Girardeau had the shorter
route, and with diligence and energy could put himself at any time
across his front. The Federals were intensely aroused. They resented
this invasion and used the Mississippi and the Ohio Rivers in the
endeavor to put armies athwart the path that Marmaduke must travel.
The situation was full of discouragement. One could not look ahead
without seeing dangers, nor think without facing difficulties. The
ownership of horses under the exigencies of such a raid was never
seriously considered, and while each side would prefer to take from
their enemies, they were not unwilling, under the calls of necessity,
in the end to impress from their friends. Everything in the line
of march that could carry a man or that was better than some man’s
horse in the column was quickly appropriated. The heavy marching,
the muddy roads and the constant rain had impaired the vitality of a
majority of the mounts of General Marmaduke’s men. The horses sank to
their knees in the mud, and to carry the soldiers and their equipment
and be subject to so much that was injurious under foot not only
seriously tried the horses, but it laid grievous burdens upon the
men who marched in the rear. The Federal and Confederate artillery
had moved over these roads; Federal supply wagons had cut them full
of deep ruts, and jug holes and gullies had been washed out, making
the movement of artillery tedious and difficult. Three miles an hour
with such passways and surroundings would be rapid marching. Many
sought to escape the burdens and difficulties of the main road and
scattered along the woods or in the fields which lay alongside the
line of travel. No sooner would a third of the command pass over
any given part of the road than it was a lagoon of mud and slush.
Spattered in every direction by the horses’ feet, this disgusting
mixture was plastered upon the backs and hips of the beasts and the
bodies of the men. Their necks and their faces were encased with the
horrible substance. The sides of the horses were covered half an inch
deep with the mud, and the clothes of the men were so bespattered
that they looked as if they had been drawn through the disgusting
mixture. There were no farms, no stores, and few homes to supply any
food other than that carried in their haversacks, and this, by the
constant rains and the churning on the backs of the men, became so
unpalatable that it required fiercest hunger to force the men to eat
at all.

When once the question of return was presented and settled it became
the paramount thought of the hour. It would have been a tremendous
blow to the Confederacy to have had Marmaduke and his men captured.
The idea of surrender never entered the minds of these raiders. The
marching was to be rapid, and the tired and hungry beasts could not
expect much rest from their labors. The most they could have was to
browse upon the grass which during the spring season had grown up in
the woods and fields and pastures along the roads. The closest point
from Cape Girardeau at which Marmaduke could cross the St. Francis
River would be fifty miles. The size of the division did much to
lengthen the hours of the march. Few cavalry commands ever undertook
to ride through any worse country or to travel more difficult roads.
The highway was just broad enough for two soldiers to ride abreast,
and forty-five hundred men riding two abreast with eight pieces of
artillery makes a column from three to five miles. There was no
parallel road General Marmaduke could use. It was necessary to keep
the Confederates in supporting distance to each other. The men who
were pursuing not only had the best mounts, but they had complete
supplies of every kind for man and beast.

General Marmaduke dare not separate his forces lest he should be
attacked in detail by the forty-five hundred cavalry who were
following his train. It might, and probably would happen, that he
would need every man he could summon. It required a beast far less
time to eat a gallon of oats or corn than to satisfy its hunger by
browsing in the woods or fields and thereby secure a sufficiency
to meet its hunger and maintain its vitality. The Confederates’
ammunition was now much impaired. The horses for the artillery and
the ammunition wagons and the ambulance had been worn out by the
march of two hundred and fifty miles. Marmaduke resolved under no
circumstances to abandon his artillery. Among the cavalry, the horse
artillery was always to be saved, and only extraordinary emergencies
would justify any command in giving up its guns. The armies, East
and West, looked askance at cavalry who abandoned or permitted the
capture of their artillery. Only extremest reasons would excuse such
results. Cannon suitable for the artillery in Marmaduke’s Missouri
department was not over-abundant, and many requisitions and a good
many petitions had to be made before the meagre supply possessed
by the Missouri, Texas and Arkansas cavalry could be obtained, and
Marmaduke in conjunction with Shelby resolved that only a great peril
and severe disaster would justify them in leaving or destroying their
few guns.

No officer had a tent. All—of whatever rank—took pot-luck with the
men on the ground. Here and there a deserted stable, or an outhouse,
or an abandoned home might afford shelter for a small part of the
command. All were placed on a common level, in-so-far as conveniences
were concerned. No officer was willing to accept anything better than
that which the men obtained. Some brush or evergreen limbs, or—if
the ravages of war had spared them—a few rails, were laid upon the
soaked earth. Over these a gum or other blanket was spread, and these
constituted the couches upon which these brave and self-sacrificing
soldiers would find even a few hours of rest.

From Frederickstown to the St. Francis River was seventy-five miles.
Once the St. Francis was passed, safety was assured. Starting from
Frederickstown, on the 27th of April, Shelby, Marmaduke and Carter,
the last men to cross the St. Francis River, went over on the 1st
of May. This ninety-six hours was used to cover seventy-five miles.
This was an average of three-quarters of a mile per hour. There was
no human energy that could move a division at a much greater rate
of speed. Nature put every possible impediment in the way of these
tired, patient Confederate cavalry. Hour by hour, the officers and
the men watched the falling rain, and they all understood that these
meant increasing difficulties and added danger, and greater labor.
The bridges had all been destroyed. Either Federals or Confederates
had burned them before. Those who passed these streams must ford them
or provide temporary passways. Hours before, Marmaduke and Shelby had
been revolving in their minds what might occur when they reached the
St. Francis River. They needed no weather prophet to tell them what
was going to happen from the incessant rains which had fallen for
the last four or five days. The Confederates had no pontoon bridges
and no pontoon tackle. They had some axes, a few spikes, and the
pioneers a few augurs. With this limited equipment, they understood
that they must take what they could find on the banks of the stream
and construct something that would carry over the guns and caissons
and at least permit the men to walk (even though the bridge be partly
submerged) across the rapid currents. The pursuers well understood
the thoughts that were passing through the minds of the retreating
Confederates. If they were cornered, there could be no doubt that a
ferocious resistance would meet the men in blue. If the worst came
to the worst, Marmaduke and his men might ride through and over
the cavalry that was pursuing them and they could sweep aside the
infantry that, by easy stages, along the lands outside the traveled
road, were seeking to overtake them or at least to furnish backing
for the cavalry who were to do the aggressive and sharper work. There
were many anxious hearts among the forty-eight hundred Confederate
cavalry. The rank and file had supreme confidence in both Marmaduke
and Shelby. They were leaders who never ran away without good reason,
and few wished to run away on this expedition. There was no place
where they could find even reasonable hope if scattered. It was
necessary for them to hang together and to Shelby and his brigade
was largely committed the defense of the rear. They had been tried
in many difficult circumstances in the past and the three thousand
Confederates in front knew that they would discharge well all the
duties which might be committed to them in this hour of extremity.

A trembling, crazy bridge had been built across the St. Francis
River. This was full from bank to bank. Marmaduke, uneasy, had sent
an engineer forward to make provision for crossing his army when it
should reach the turgid stream. Shelby had ordered Major Lawrence,
his pioneer officer, to ride without let or hindrance and construct
the bridge, but Marmaduke had pre-arranged this and when Shelby’s
engineer reached the river, the bridge was ready for use. It was
a slow process to erect this structure. Only men could tread its
swinging lines. These were compelled to cross in single file. The
river was not cold enough to seriously chill the horses, and they
took their chances in the rapid currents. The artillery was the
real perplexity. Huge logs were cut down and fastened together, an
unwieldy raft was constructed, while an improvised barge helped hold
the mass in line, and a piece at a time was run upon the raft and
with great effort ferried over. It was a weird scene that night on
the banks of the raging stream. All horses can swim, they do not have
to be taught as men. With them it is an instinct. Fires were kindled
along the bank, and with some oaths and much belaboring the brutes,
in the darkness, were forced into the water. Some turned back, but
they were beaten over the head with brush and limbs, and then some
bold horsemen would plunge in and turn their heads southward across
the stream, and, like a long flock of wild geese, with a leader, the
horses would paddle themselves across the river. Eight hours of the
night were consumed in this dangerous undertaking. To cross four
thousand men in single file, and get eight pieces of artillery and
eight caissons on a square raft against a rapid current was no mean
task.

Two miles back on the road from the river was another weird scene.
There were no lights there. General Shelby and his brigade were
posted on each side of the battery which occupied the highway, and
then the word was passed along the line that come what might, not an
inch of ground was to be yielded. These orders are always portentous,
and yet they are not terrifying to brave men. A sense of duty comes
to the rescue of the human soul under such conditions, and this calms
fear and makes hearts unfaltering.

[Illustration: GENERAL MARMADUKE]

The spirits of the weary horsemen rose to the sublimest heights.
There was not a minute in these eight hours that a foe was not
expected. Far out on the roads, vigilant scouts were riding, and
far back on the way, for several miles, videttes and squads were
posted, so as to catch the first sound of an enemy’s approach. These
were all watching and waiting to bring the Confederate rearguard
warning of the coming of a foe. They had ridden hard every hour of
the day. There was neither corn nor hay nor oats to stay the pangs of
hunger which were felt by the half-famished beasts. In sheer pity at
first they were permitted, at the ends of the halter, to nibble the
grass which even the blight and ravages of war could not destroy, but
later this was denied. Their browsing might disturb the acuteness of
hearing, and more than that, at any moment they might be called to
bear their masters into a night charge. Hard as it looked, they were
saddled and bridled, and stood with their owners in line, waiting and
ready to fight any foe that might come.

There was no sleeping this night. It was a night of danger, a night
of extremest peril. Officers and men stood around in groups, and
attack was expected every instant. A sleeping picket, forgetful of
duty, at this momentous instant, a forgetful scout, tired out it may
be by lengthened and incessant marching, might imperil the safety of
the entire command. Men were not left alone to pass the fateful hours
and important labors of this crucial moment; they were placed two and
two, so that the strengthening of companionship would help them bear
the burdens and endure the hardships of the weary hours and heavy
tasks of the long, long night. A foe filled with vengeful desire
to capture and destroy Marmaduke and his men was behind, and the
deep, seething river was in front. No eye could penetrate far into
the forest through which the column reached. Horses were brought
close up to the line of battle. Here and there a horseholder might
steal a cat nap, or at some moment when he was not watched, might,
beside a tree, or a stump, enjoy a brief sleep, but it was only for
an instant, for everybody was on the lookout. A thousand men were to
do an heroic act for three thousand down at the river bank. Those
at the river bank might hear the sound of artillery and the rattle
of musketry, horses might be pushed into the stream and the riders,
stripped and holding to their manes and tails, might possibly cross
over the river, but these men who had been placed on the outpost with
orders to stand in the face of all attacks, if need be to die there,
found no time for sleep.

Shelby and Shanks, and Gordon, and Carter, were all there. They
understood and appreciated the importance of the work which had been
given them to do. The call of the impending crisis sounded in their
ears and filled their souls with sublime courage. The past of these
soldiers was a glorious and magnificent record. This lifted them up
into a frame of mind which nerved them, if need be, to despise death
and cheerfully to perish at the post when duty called. They waited
and waited and waited, and no foe came. A little while before the
gray streaks of light came coursing in long lines from the east,
they were still ready to do and die. A courier came to tell them
that all but they had passed the stream. The guns were limbered,
and the horses with the artillery in silence were turned toward the
St. Francis River, and Shelby and his men, with such horses as had
been retained for the use of the rearguard, slowly and complacently
rode down to the spot where their comrades had spent the night in
ferrying the stream. All did not come at once. The line was long
extended, and when the vanguard and the artillery reached the stream,
the needed preparations to cross had been made. Two trips put the
artillery on the south bank. The horses must take their chances in
the stream, and then the men in single file, with water to their
knees, slowly waded along the swaying bridge that the currents moved
to and fro and threatened to engulf those treading it at every step.

In this retreat and escape across the river, somebody had to be last,
and that somebody must take not only the chances of capture, but also
the risks of annihilation.

Upon Captain George Gordon, with one hundred and twenty Missourians,
this burden was laid. He had been marching and fighting and starving
for more than half a month. Shelby had told his men that, as the
rearguard, they must all stand together and if need be, fall, and
that he did not under any circumstances intend to allow his artillery
to be destroyed or captured. Upon Captain George Gordon was laid the
duty of holding the last outpost, and with his men constitute the
forlorn hope in defense of this little army in its passage of the St.
Francis River.

The artillery had been saved. The rearguard, mounted, was not yet
over. The sun was just rising when the raft made its last trip and
landed the last caisson on the southern bank of the stream. With the
sun came the Federal pursuers. They had not believed the Confederates
would be able in the night to cross the St. Francis, and so they
slept and waited, feeling assured that on the morrow capture would
be easy. The Federal sharp-shooters came pressing through the heavy
timber. They opened a severe fire, and the thud of a minie ball,
ploughing its way through the body of some member of the faithful
little rearguard, served notice that trouble was abroad in the land.
The pressure grew stronger and stronger. Only a hundred and twenty
men in gray were on the north side. All others were safely over the
unfordable stream. Federal cavalry riding in hot pursuit could be
seen galloping down the highway, and between them and the raging
river was only a small column of brave riders clad in gray. The
Confederates safely on the south bank looked across the water and
grieved at the fate of the one hundred and twenty comrades who stood
and held the pursuers at bay until all the others were safely over.
Their courage and their generosity appealed to the better instincts
of the courageous soldiers. Some offered to swim back and help and
rescue the gallant remnant who still remained on the north bank.
Sharp-shooters climbed the high trees on the south bank. Some found
cozy places on the hills close to the stream, and with deadly aim
warned the intruders to caution and reserve.

The water was too deep and the currents too swift to attempt
with saddles and bridles and guns to swim the weary beasts over,
encumbered as they must be, either in carrying or pulling their
riders. There were only three alternatives for these rearguardsmen.
One was to surrender; one was to swim, with the chance that more than
half would be drowned; and the other was to ride up the stream and
seek a more favorable locality for passing the river.

The Federal cavalry were in close and fierce pursuit. Twice this
gallant band attempted, when a shallower spot had been found, to
cross, but the Federals, angered by the escape of the main army, felt
that they were bound to take this rearguard, and so they pressed in
upon them with much vigor and determination, resolving to capture
them at all hazards.

At last a better swimming place was found, and the rearguard,
resolving to die or drown rather than submit to capture, forced
their horses into the water. A fusillade of shots was directed at
them as they swam across, and the bullets came quick and fast. These
spattered the water in the faces of the receding Confederates, and
here and there a fatal shot took effect and the lifeless body of a
Confederate floated a little way on the surface and then sank in the
current. Only a few were killed or wounded. More than nine-tenths of
these brave fighters reached the opposite bank.

Shaking the water from their soaked garments, the sharp-shooters
turned and fired upon their pursuers, and with steady and accurate
aim avenged the death and wounds of those who had suffered in this
retreat.

Shelby and Colonel Gordon and Carter were the last men to cross
the bridge. Unsightly, tottering, shaky, the bridge had served its
purpose. It was not much of a bridge, but it had saved four thousand
men and their equipment. Fastened with cables on the south side, when
Shelby and Carter stepped upon the shore, a ready knife was drawn by
one of his followers, the moorings were cut and the faithful bridge,
no longer required, was turned loose down the stream. As it floated
out upon the rapid currents, the Federals on the opposite side, in
rage and disappointment, opened a fusillade across the water, but
a few well-directed shots from the cannon drove them to cover, and
Marmaduke, Shelby and Carter and their followers, saved now from
pursuit, took up their journey to Jacksonport, sixty miles away. They
had no need now to hasten, there was no foe to disturb, alarm and
harass them. For four days they waded and rode through muddy, slimy
swamps. The experience in these sloughs was horrible in the extreme.

The troopers, willing to rest their faithful steeds, dismounted and
walked by their sides. Three times a day they were permitted to
graze upon the rich herbage that lined the roads to Jacksonport.
Separated along different highways, both men and horses were treated
with the greatest consideration and given easy journeys to the camp
at Jacksonport, where the wounded might mend, where the horses with
scalded backs might recuperate and permit their scars to be covered,
and the men might burnish their arms, repair their trappings, wash
their soiled garments, and be ready for some other expedition at
their country’s call.

For four days they had something to face worse than enemies. They
were compelled to wade and ride through the muddy, slimy swamps
south of the St. Francis. These sloughs, generating miasma in every
particle that composed their horrible mixture, rendered these
ninety-six hours excruciatingly trying. There was no escape from
the slightly elevated roads that had been cut through these forests
and swamps. Only a small portion of the cavalry and artillery could
pass along these roads until they became practically impassable.
The cannons were mired and the horses were tramping in mud and slush
above their knees. With the gait of a snail, Marmaduke’s men walked
and rode amidst these dreadful surroundings. Had they not been brave
men, they would have preferred to have laid down and died rather than
to have endured the horrors of this march. A common suffering made
them generous and helpful to each other. Food was scarce for man, and
there was practically none for the beasts, and all pulled and labored
through these quagmires. Longing for the sight of higher ground,
praying to escape from these hateful and depressing surroundings, the
terribleness of the conditions prevented the men from dismounting to
help their wasted and emaciated beasts. Here and there in the mud
and slush, the poor brutes, unable to move further, laid down in the
water and mud, and neither coaxing nor lashing could induce them to
rise. They preferred death to further torment on this God-forsaken
road, and all along the path through these swamps, the beholder would
constantly see horses either dying under fatigue or so burdened as
to be unwilling to rise. They simply died rather than take another
step forward. The constant riding by day and by night, the meagre
supply of food, the perils in conflict, the tremendous fatigue, the
long, long journey, all tried out their souls and their patience, but
the worst and hardest of all was the ninety-six hours consumed in
covering the horrible roads through these dismal swamps and gloomy
bayous.




CHAPTER XXIII

GENERAL WHEELER’S PURSUIT AND DEFEAT OF GENERALS STONEMAN, GARRARD
AND McCOOK, JULY 27-AUGUST 5, 1864


By July, 1864, the storms were beating heavily and mercilessly upon
the Confederacy. The power of numbers was beginning to tell. The
resources of the South, month by month, were more and more impaired.
Munitions of war and supplies of food became the controlling
elements, and in these the Confederates fared most grievously. The
arsenals and manufactories were worked to their utmost limit, and one
of the most marvelous things connected with the Confederate war was
the ability of its people to supply the necessities of the fighters.
The disparity of fighting men was tremendous, and the difference
in resources and supplies was to the South appalling. That the war
lasted so long is a most magnificent tribute to the loyalty and the
patience of the people of the Confederate states. Few nations ever
continued so fierce a struggle with such inadequate resources for so
lengthened a period. The closest scrutiny of the conditions under
which the South made the contest only adds wonder to the spirit
and valor of those who thus hampered by adversity and inadequate
resources faced so resolutely the losses, privations and sacrifices
of so many battles through such lengthened years.

Most of the adversities, as well as much of the severest fighting,
marked the campaigns in Tennessee, Kentucky, Alabama, Mississippi
and Georgia. These states covered a vast boundary and into their
very heart flowed many navigable streams. The Mississippi, the Ohio,
Cumberland, Barren, Tennessee and Yazoo Rivers penetrated or skirted
the regions this army was required to defend, and rendered defense
not only more difficult, but made the movements of the armies more
hazardous.

No such disaster as at Fort Donelson or Vicksburg was possible save
in the territory defended by the Army of Tennessee.

The Virginia campaigns were pressed into very narrow limits and
comparatively few miles of navigable water affected its strategic
movements. Indeed, the James River was the only stream up which to
any great extent gunboats could float.

The Army of the Tennessee was to defend the line from Pound Gap to
the Mississippi River, a distance of about five hundred miles. It
was vulnerable at many points, and the Mississippi, Ohio, Tennessee
and Cumberland not only brought legions of troops to important
military positions in this boundary, but also gave strongholds from
which operations at many points, for a thousand miles, might be
inaugurated. It was a long distance from Paducah to Vicksburg. On the
navigable streams that bounded the western lines of this army, forts
and stations could be at various points successfully established, and
Paducah, Nashville, Memphis, Chattanooga and Vicksburg were centers
from which forays could be successfully made for nine months in the
year. There was nothing but bad roads and the Confederate cavalry to
defend this territory from invasion or occupation.

Atlanta was evacuated on the 1st of September, 1864. General Joseph
E. Johnson had been relieved on the 17th day of July, 1864, and
General Hood assumed command. The enemy were close to the coveted
situation. Slowly, but surely, the cordon were closing around
Atlanta; and, as the flanks of the Federal Army stretched far out,
east and west of the doomed city, the Federals began to employ their
cavalry in harassing the rear of the Confederates and in destroying
railroads south of General Hood’s position, rendering not only its
occupancy difficult, but the feeding of his armies almost impossible.

The Federals never lacked for serviceable horses. True, they were
not up to the standard which the Southern cavalry had taken into
the war in 1861 and ’62; but well-fed, they could carry their
riders, at a moderate rate of speed, a long distance in the day.
Month by month, the Federal cavalry began to be better disciplined
and better drilled, and became a great force in destroying the
Southern armies. It required months, many months, for the Federals
to learn successfully the plans under which the Confederate cavalry
operated and along which they had so often disturbed and destroyed
their communications; and now, at least, when Hood was at bay in
Atlanta, the Federals, using their experience and the experience of
the Confederates to the best advantage, began their raids. General
Johnston had turned over to General Hood, according to Johnston’s
statement, forty-one thousand infantry and ten thousand cavalry.

General Joseph Wheeler’s marvelous courage and enterprise had greatly
endeared him to all the soldiers of the army of Tennessee. There
was no service he would not accept. There was no risk he would
not assume. On July 26th, 1864, with his limited command, he had
relieved Hardee’s corps, and taken the place of the infantry in the
breastworks. While thus occupied, General Wheeler was informed that
large cavalry forces had started in the small hours of the night,
with ten days’ rations, marching eastwardly, westwardly, southwardly
from the rear of Sherman’s army. Sherman’s front covered a space
along the Chattahoochee for twenty-five miles. It became apparent
to General Wheeler than an extremely formidable cavalry raid was
being inaugurated, and one which had most important bearings on
the maintenance of Hood’s army about Atlanta. He chafed with the
knowledge that his dismounted men were in the infantry breastworks,
while the Federals were going out to forage and desolate the country
south of Atlanta, and wreck the railroads upon which Atlanta relied
alone for food.

On the morning of July 27th General Wheeler was directed to still
hold the breastworks from which Hardee had been removed, and to
send such force as he could spare in pursuit of the Federal cavalry
raiders. He could only put into this service, immediately, fifteen
hundred men, and he could only hope that they would be able to
delay and harass and not destroy the enemy. The Federal raiders
had begun their march at daybreak, on the 27th, and by nightfall
had covered twenty-five miles to the south. All through July 27th,
at two o’clock, at five o’clock and at six o’clock, Wheeler was
interchanging despatches with General Hood. Wheeler was longing to go
after the Federal raiders, but he was denied, by General Hood, this
opportunity. At length the menace became so portentous that General
Hood dare not ignore its consequences. Realizing that unless the
Federal expedition was stayed, Atlanta must fall, with reluctance
and many misgivings, he consented to turn General Wheeler loose, to
try his hand upon the numerous, vigorous and aggressive foe. At nine
o’clock at night came the order that General Wheeler himself might
go in pursuit of the enemy. A great strategist himself, General
Wheeler figured in his mind about where the Federals would strike the
Macon railroad, which he foresaw and calculated would be either at
Jonesboro, fifteen miles, or Lovejoy Station, twenty miles south of
Atlanta.

General Sherman had passed the Chattahoochee River. Atlanta was eight
miles south of this stream. Sherman had intrenched his forces east
of Atlanta about nine miles. Near Peach Tree Creek, the Confederates
had erected a strong line of fortification, and against this Sherman
was day by day forcing his volunteers. At this time two railroads
entered Atlanta from the south. The Georgia Railroad, toward Augusta,
had already been occupied by Sherman and destroyed, so as to be
useless even if the Confederates should drive him back across the
Chattahoochee. For several miles south of Atlanta, the two railroads
now operated ran into Atlanta over a common entrance. One of these
railroads, running southwest, reached the Alabama line at West Point;
the other ran due south, leading to Macon, eighty miles distant.
The Chattahoochee River swung to the south as it passed west from
Atlanta.

General Sherman determined to start three cavalry forces to break up
these two railroads, upon which the Confederates in Atlanta relied
for transportation of ammunition, food, supplies and troops. If
these could be destroyed, Atlanta must be evacuated. So long as the
Confederates could hold the fortifications around Atlanta, and these
two railroads, Atlanta was invincible.

General Sherman directed his subordinates to start a cavalry force
twelve miles due west of Atlanta, on the Chattahoochee River,
crossing at a place called Campbellton. When over the river, this
force, under General E. M. McCook, was to move southeastward, and
strike the Macon Railroad at Jonesboro or at Lovejoy. Two other
forces of cavalry, under Generals Stoneman and Garrard, were to leave
General Sherman’s lines east of Atlanta, at Decatur, to meet at
Lithonia, nine miles southeast from Atlanta, and thence to tear up
the railroad between Macon and Atlanta.

Up to this time, General Sherman had great faith in General George
Stoneman. This officer was born in Chautaugua County, New York, in
1822. He graduated at West Point in 1846, and entered the First
Dragoons. In 1855 he became a captain in the 25th United States
Cavalry, and was in command of Fort Brown when the Civil War broke
out. He refused to surrender Fort Brown to General Twiggs. In a
little while he became chief cavalry commander of the Army of the
Potomac. Transferred to infantry, he became conspicuous in many of
the great battles of Virginia, and in 1863 became a leader of raids
in Virginia. One of his chief ambitions was to release the Federal
prisoners at Andersonville. He had been given authority, under
certain conditions, by General Sherman, after destroying the railroad
south of Atlanta, to march through to Andersonville. Stoneman, after
the war, became colonel of the 21st Infantry of the United States
Army. In 1871 he retired and returned to California. He was elected
governor by the Democrats, in 1883, and held this office for four
years. With his splendid record and his wide military experience,
much was expected of him in this ably-planned onslaught that General
Sherman had projected on the Confederate lines.

General Edward M. McCook, who was to figure so prominently in this
expedition, was born in Steubenville, Ohio, in 1835. He came of a
family known as the “fighting McCooks,” and fully measured up to
the family record. He was senior major of the 2d Indiana Cavalry at
Shiloh; then colonel at the Battle of Perryville and Chickamauga.
He commanded the cavalry of the Army of the Cumberland during the
Atlanta campaign. Brave, self-reliant, with a lengthened service,
with his many successes in the past, both Generals Grant and Sherman
were confident that he would give a most excellent account of himself
at this important juncture.


GENERAL KENNER GARRARD

General Kenner Garrard, the third man, was born in 1830 in
Cincinnati, and was a great grandson of James Garrard, once governor
of Kentucky. He graduated from the United States Military Academy
in 1851, and entered the Dragoons. While on the Texas frontier, in
April, 1861, he was captured and afterwards released on parole, but
was not exchanged until 1862. During this period, he was commandant
of cadets at West Point. After successful service in the Rappahannock
and Pennsylvania campaigns, he was promoted to command a cavalry
division of the Army of the Cumberland.

It was not unreasonable for General Sherman to expect much of these
three dashing and brave commanders. With more than nine thousand
cavalrymen, General Sherman believed that they could march into any
part of the South, and that no force the Confederates could muster
could even greatly delay and surely not defeat them.

General Wheeler had under him, in his defensive operations, men who
had done much fighting, and, wherever tried, had never failed.

General Alfred Iverson was born in Clinton, Georgia, on February
14th, 1829. He graduated from a military school and served in the
Mexican War when only seventeen years old. For distinguished service,
he was made first lieutenant of the United States Cavalry. He was
in Kansas during the troubles in 1856, and was with the expedition
against the Mormons, and also in that against the Comanches and the
Kiowas, in which he made much reputation. He resigned when Georgia
seceded, and went to Wilmington, North Carolina. Later, he became
colonel of the 20th North Carolina Infantry. He won distinction at
Gaines Mill, and was wounded during a seven days’ fight around
Richmond, and added to his laurels at South Mountain and Sharpsburg.
He was made brigadier general in 1862. At Chancellorsville and
Gettysburg, he acquitted himself with great credit, and later he
was sent to Rome, Georgia to command the state forces, and became
brigadier general of the Georgia Cavalry. He was attached to Martin’s
division, under General Wheeler.


GENERAL WILLIAM WIRT ALLEN

General William Allen was born at Montgomery, Alabama. He was made a
captain of the 1st Alabama Cavalry, and then its colonel. He was in
the Kentucky campaigns, and was wounded at Perryville in 1864. He was
made colonel of the 6th Alabama Cavalry Regiment, then commissioned a
brigadier general. In the closing days of the war, in Georgia, North
and South Carolina, he evidenced great skill as a leader. Always
cheerful, patient and brave, he did much to inspirit his men, when,
to his foreseeing mind, it was a hopeless fight against heaviest odds.


GENERAL ROBERT H. ANDERSON

General Robert H. Anderson, who also took a prominent part in these
stirring campaigns, was born at Savannah, Georgia, in 1835. He
graduated from West Point in 1857. He was on the frontier from 1857
to 1861, and was with the Georgia troops at Fort McAllister. His
pluck and courage won him the command of the 5th Georgia Cavalry.
After a little while, he proved himself so competent that he was
advanced to a brigade commander; and, in the dark hours—from
November, 1864, to April, 1865—in the closing scenes and in front
of Sherman in his march to the sea, he bore a most conspicuous and
valorous part.

[Illustration: GENERAL JOSEPH WHEELER

“_Fighting Joe_”]


GENERAL JOHN H. KELLEY

General John H. Kelley was born in Pickens County, Alabama, in 1840.
At the age of seventeen, he entered West Point. Within a few months
of his graduation, Alabama seceded, and he went to Montgomery,
enlisted in the government service and became second lieutenant in
the regular army. He was sent to Fort Morgan; and, in October, 1861,
became aide to General Hardee, with the rank of captain and assistant
adjutant general. Later, he was made major, in command of an Arkansas
battalion. Fearless, enterprising and courageous, he was promoted to
colonel of the 8th Arkansas Regiment. He was then just twenty-two
years of age. Conspicuous at Perryville, Murfreesboro and at the
Battle of Chickamauga, he became commander of a brigade of infantry,
under General Buckner. At Chickamauga, his brigade suffered a loss
of three hundred men out of eight hundred and seventy-six. His great
merit was recognized; and, on the 16th of November, 1863, he was made
brigadier general, when only twenty-three and one-half years old.
Almost immediately, he was assigned to the duties of major general.
At the beginning of the Georgia campaign, he became one of the
division commanders, under General Wheeler. His division was composed
of Allen’s, Dibrell’s and Hannon’s brigades. He was doomed to die
just one month after this raid, at Franklin, Tennessee,—a spot three
months afterward consecrated by the sublime heroism of the Army of
the Tennessee, in its last great call to duty, where it met practical
annihilation.


GENERAL LAWRENCE SULLIVAN ROSS

General Lawrence Sullivan Ross was Iowa born. His father moved to
Texas during his early life. He entered a college at Florence,
Alabama, but engaged in the Indian war and was wounded at the Battle
of Wichita. In this battle, he rescued a white girl who had been with
the Indians eight years, adopted her as his own child, giving her
the name of Lizzie Ross. His courage was so pronounced and his skill
so evident, that General Van Dorn and General Scott urged him for a
place in the army. Not of age, he went back to the University and
graduated, when he returned to Texas and enlisted as a private in the
6th Regiment. He became its colonel in 1862. At Corinth, he played
the part of a hero—acting as a forlorn hope—he held the Federals at
bay until the balance of the army escaped. For this great service,
General Joseph E. Johnson recommended his promotion as brigadier
general, and this came to him in December, 1863. He was always at
the front, and had five horses shot under him. He became governor
of Texas in 1886 and again in 1888, and was elected by one of the
largest majorities ever given any man—a hundred and fifty thousand.

Colonel W. C. P. Breckinridge, on account of the illness of General
John S. Williams, was assigned the command of the Kentucky brigade.
In these days of depletion, brigades were not very strong in
numbers. They very frequently had as few as five hundred men. This
little brigade, however, was well seasoned, and though two-thirds
of its original members were dead or disabled, the small remnant
had lost none of that courage and valor which was regarded as the
unfailing inheritance of men who left Kentucky to fight for Southern
independence. A sketch of Colonel Breckinridge will be found in
another part of this volume.

These were the leaders who, in this momentous hour, were to stand for
the Confederate and Federal operations. Rarely, during the war, did
so many West Pointers come into collision, or men so trained and so
resourceful meet in battle or engage in maneuvering, when a mistake
would mean so much to contending forces.

The Chattahoochee River was to play an important part in this
historic cavalry movement. Rising in the Appalachian Mountains of
Northern Georgia, it flows west, passing within eight miles of
Atlanta; then, traversing almost the entire state of Georgia, it
strikes the Alabama boundary at West Point. For one hundred miles, it
becomes the boundary between Alabama and Georgia, and at the Florida
line unites with the Flint River and forms the Appalachicola River,
which empties into the Gulf of Mexico.

The expedition was worthy of General Sherman’s splendid military
genius. It was thoroughly discussed, wisely planned and ably
conceived, and the men that he assigned were not only the best
officers, but they had also under them the best regiments then in the
three divisions of the army that he was directing against Atlanta.

General Kelley was designated by General Wheeler, with his brigade,
to follow General Garrard, whose division was the first of the
Federal forces to concentrate at Jonesboro and Lovejoy. Garrard
seems to have failed in his part of the undertaking. He got as far
as Flat Rock, and there he waited for General Stoneman; but Stoneman
seemed to have forgotten his promise and Garrard stayed at Flat Rock
until the 28th, waiting for Stoneman, and then marched to Covington.
He there found that Stoneman had passed through Covington two days
before and had gone south. Garrard then returned from whence he had
come. Harassed, opposed and vigorously pursued by General Kelley,
he accomplished no real service; he saved his forces and suffered
but little loss, but he won no praise; he deserved none for anything
he accomplished. He attempted to place the blame for his failure on
General Stoneman. In his report to headquarters, he said: “On the
27th, the division was placed under General Stoneman, who ordered it
to Flat Rock and abandoned it to its fate. After being surrounded by
a superior force for over twelve hours, and contending against every
disadvantage in hopes of benefiting General Stoneman in his attempt
to destroy the railroad, it extricated itself from its perilous
situation.” Had he followed on after General Stoneman, in General
Iverson’s rear, he might have won for both a superb victory. Instead
of being surrounded by a superior force, General Kelley, who opposed
him, had less than one-third of the men General Garrard led. If
General Sherman later read General Wheeler’s reports, he would have
wondered where the superior Confederate forces came from.

General Iverson, being thoroughly familiar with the territory where
General Stoneman was to operate, was assigned to the pursuit of that
officer. General Wheeler, who had so furiously chafed at being cooped
up with infantry in the breastworks along Peach Tree Creek, decided
to follow General McCook, who he seemed to fear most, and whose past
was a sure indication that where he went, trouble would be raised for
the Confederate outposts, railways and storehouses.

When General Wheeler got away from Hood’s breastworks, at nine
o’clock, in the night of the 27th, he needed no signal of the
officers or scouts to tell him the purpose or design of the enemy.
His military instincts told him that these skillful Federal generals
would strike the railroad somewhere south of Atlanta, and at a point
just sufficiently away to escape from the attacks of the Confederate
infantry. In his breast most conflicting emotions arose. Released by
General Hood, only when his pleading became well nigh irresistible,
he was not only anxious to meet General Hood’s expectations, but
he was also well aware that his failure to stop the progress of
the Federal cavalry meant the immediate evacuation of Atlanta, and
with this, the crushing of the hopes of his countrymen for ultimate
success in the war. It is also highly probable that, calm and
self-possessed though he was, recent criticism had given a deep touch
of sorrow to his heart. Envy had not been idle, and this had raised
a horde of heartless slanderers, who were doing all they could to
belittle his services to his country: to minimize the successes of
his campaign and to destroy his reputation as a leader.

General Wheeler at this moment assumed a task at which any soldier
might hesitate. Many Confederate cavalry leaders had faced Federal
raiding forces; but generally the invaders had long lines to follow
and could not set out three divisions, all numerically superior to
those opposing, and all converging to a single point by different
roads—all within ten hours’ march of the place where it was proposed
to strike the heaviest blow. Whatever was to be done must be done
instantly and with fiercest determination. He could not count upon
more than two-fifths as many men as those he was to fight. If he
whipped one, the other two might unite, accomplish the purposes of
the expedition, and then together might crush him; and this meant
untold disaster to General Hood. There was no sleep for General
Wheeler that trying night: its hours were long. His staff and the
few troopers following behind might, by a cat-nap in the saddle,
gain a momentary relief; but, for the leader, the man who was to
checkmate the Federal plans, there could not be a single instant of
unconsciousness. He weighed then less than a hundred and twenty-five
pounds, but he was a great soldier all the same. In the mind and soul
of this man, small of stature, was now centered the destiny of Hood’s
army.

[Illustration: MAP OF WHEELER’S PURSUIT OF GARRARD AND McCOOK, AND
IVERSON’S PURSUIT AND CAPTURE OF STONEMAN]

Plan after plan suggested itself to the brave man, who, at a rapid
trot, in the darkness, was leading his followers to the scene
of danger. Those who rode behind him could not understand the
conflicting emotions that passed through his mind. They knew but
little of the dangers ahead—they did not fully comprehend what
this forced march meant; but they all knew there was trouble
somewhere to the front, and possibly before dawn, but surely at dawn
they realized that a foe would be found and that a battle would
be joined. It was yet too early for any well-defined plan to take
shape in the mind of the Confederate leader. Of only one thing he
was absolutely sure, and that was when he found his enemies, he
would give them no rest or peace until they were driven back behind
the Federal fortification. It is difficult for a cavalry commander
to always conceal from his followers the purpose or plans of an
expedition. Those riding behind General Wheeler disturbed him with no
questionings or suggestions. They sympathized with him in the stress
and turmoil that filled his soul in this period of anxious foreboding
and planning. The hours now passing were fraught with ever-present
dangers. The ninety days that preceded the experiences of this night
had been the most eventful of any ninety days any cavalry commander
had ever faced, but now was to come the hardest of all.

From May 8th to September 5th, 1864, covering the retreat from
Dalton to Atlanta, there had been imposed upon the cavalry of the
Army of the Tennessee, a service, which for length, sacrifice,
constant exposure, varied experiences and extent of losses, was
never experienced by the same number of horsemen who followed the
Confederate colors in an equal number of days.

General Wheeler pressed onward with great rapidity, to overtake the
fifteen hundred men who had been sent forward on the morning of
the 27th, and by a rapid ride of thirty miles, he caught up with
the troops that had gone before. Through prisoners and scouts, he
there learned that the force which had crossed at Campbellton was
commanded by General McCook. General Wheeler at this time fully
realized the difficult task before him, and its responsibilities, to
a less great man, would have been appalling. Had he been left alone
to face General McCook, there would have been no disturbing element
in his work, but from couriers and other means of communication,
it became necessary for him to divide the men he could use in this
crisis, so that no one of the three Federal divisions could, for
any considerable period, march unmolested. It was of the greatest
importance to leave neither Stoneman, Garrard nor McCook unopposed
for even half a day. This also meant that in all three cases the men
pursuing must be vastly inferior in numbers to the command they were
to endeavor to defeat or drive away.

He could only give Iverson fourteen hundred men; Kelley six
hundred men; while he himself took the brigades of Hume and
Anderson—counting, all told, eight hundred riders. With this limited
force, General Wheeler vigorously assaulted the Federals at Flat
Shoals. In disposing his forces as the necessity of the moment
suggested, he was extremely generous to his subordinates. He gave
Iverson the most; Kelley the second largest command; while he
himself, with fragments of two brigades, undertook the destruction of
General McCook. To do this, he had in the beginning less than eight
hundred men as against three times that number.

When General Wheeler arrived at Flat Shoals, it was not yet light;
day was just breaking. It was bright enough to see the enemy and
that was enough for General Wheeler. He instantly ordered an attack
upon the flanks of the Federals. He had managed, during the night,
to get a portion of his command in front of the enemy, and with the
forces in front and Wheeler in the rear, the Federals soon realized
that they had gone upon an expedition in which there would be more
than marching and burning. General Wheeler dare not waste a single
moment. The Federals had secured strong and favorable positions; but
he had no time to reconnoiter for position. He knew where the enemy
was, and that was all that he desired to know just then. He had
come to defeat them, and defeat them he must. Although his forces
were inadequate, he advanced boldly to the attack. The Federal
forces withstood the assault for a brief while. These responses
from the enemy only caused General Wheeler to renew the attack more
viciously, and shortly the enemy began to retreat. Their rearguard
was not disposed to run, and they fought over every inch of ground.
In this first conflict, General Wheeler captured three supply
wagons and a number of prisoners, and from these he discovered that
Stoneman had gone to Covington, and that the men he was now fighting
were McCook’s division. He was fortunate enough to learn from the
captured prisoners that Macon was the real point of attack, and that
Stoneman, Garrard and McCook were supposed to unite at that point
and destroy Macon with its precious stores and manufactories, which
were so essential to the preservation of Hood’s army; then march
to Andersonville and release thirty thousand prisoners, and in
Stoneman’s wagons were guns to arm these prisoners.

General Hood was not disposed to let Wheeler get very far from him.
He relied with absolute confidence upon his invincible courage and
indomitable will. He felt stronger when Wheeler was near. In a little
while, after Wheeler had left on his night ride, General Hood sent
him a message, by a trusted courier, to say that if the enemy’s
course was not such as to require all his men, to detach some officer
to continue the pursuit, and he himself should come back to the
front. He wisely added, by way of parenthesis, that he would rely
on General Wheeler’s judgment as to what would be the wisest thing
to do. General Hood had not caught the real import of this cavalry
expedition. He did not know the thorough preparations General Sherman
had made to render this movement a decisive one; he did not know the
vast force engaged in the campaign, nor did he at once take in what
its success meant to his beleaguered army in and around Atlanta. He
had not yet fully comprehended what faced General Wheeler in the work
assigned him, nor how much depended on his success.

Wheeler’s one oft-reiterated command was, “Attack! Attack! Assault!
Assault!” wherever an enemy could be found.

General Wheeler quickly discovered that General McCook’s men,
something over twenty-five hundred, had gotten in their work on the
railroad, four miles below Jonesboro. He knew at once that he alone
was in a position to discomfit McCook. He resolved to trust Iverson
with Stoneman, while he would assault and crush McCook. General
McCook had found it necessary to stop and rest at Fayetteville.
The strain on man and beast became unbearable and General McCook
submitted to nature’s inevitable decree for rest. This halt did much
towards his undoing.

General W. H. Jackson had done some skirmishing with McCook during
the day, and he had informed General Wheeler that if he would take
care of the enemy’s rear, he would gain their front and secure their
capture. General Wheeler could not rely much upon Jackson. He was now
fifteen miles behind, and Hume’s brigade of only five hundred men was
the chief ground of General Wheeler’s hope in the pursuit. When Line
Creek was reached, the bridge was gone—the Federals had destroyed
it and had barricaded the opposite bank. Fights had no terror for
General Wheeler. He boldly marched up to the banks and managed to get
a position that enfiladed the barricades on the opposite shore. The
attack was furious. In a little while it caused the enemy to yield.
Within an hour the bridge was rebuilt, and General Wheeler’s troops
had passed over. The night was intensely dark: objects could only be
seen at a very limited distance. General Wheeler, taking the extreme
advance, courageously and vigorously pushed forward. Almost every
half hour the enemy had barricaded the road, and the first notice the
Confederates had of their presence was a volley from their guns.

With the dawn of another day, General Wheeler became even
more persistent and pressed the charge against the enemy with
ever-increasing vigor. He knew that now he only had about seven
hundred men. He sent one column around their flank, while he led the
other upon the Federal center. Breaking through McCook’s lines, he
routed their horses and captured more than three hundred prisoners,
with their arms and equipment. The Federals were diligent in taking
advantage of the various positions which the country afforded, and
met each charge with stout resistance; and during the running fight,
hand-to-hand encounters were frequent—more than fifty Federals were
killed in these face-to-face struggles. Nothing could stay the
impetuous advance of Wheeler and his men. Barricades, hills and rail
fortifications had apparently no terror for the pursuers. They were
after the enemy, and as long as they saw the enemy, they followed him
with unfailing vigor.

Human nature had nearly reached its limit with General Wheeler’s
troops when he was reinforced with Colonel Cook’s two squadrons, of
the 8th Texas; these hard-riding Texans had followed in the wake of
the conflict—the dead soldiers, broken-down horses and wrecked wagons
told them where they were needed. They could see that savage work
had gone on a little while before, and General Wheeler’s followers
appeared to be calling, with earnest pleas, for them to hasten and
help destroy the fleeing and vanquished foe. They were few in number,
but they rushed on, for they well knew how much their presence was
needed at the front.

General Ross also came on with two fragments of regiments, making
General Wheeler’s available command now seven hundred men.

Jackson and Anderson were still fifteen miles in the rear, and they
could bring no help to Wheeler at this time, in the very throes of
the combat that was to determine the mastery in this expedition.

Like Forrest in pursuit of Streight, Wheeler and his followers were
absolutely relentless. They marched seventy miles in twenty-four
hours. Hunger and fatigue seemed to have fled from the minds and
bodies of the ragged pursuers, and a strength and endurance above
human animated and encouraged them in the work war had at this hour
put upon them. They were ready and willing to fight and harass the
Federal forces so long as a single man was left. The beasts, many of
them, were dropping by the roadside. They could not stand the intense
strain that was being put upon them. The long marches, the incessant
galloping and heavy burden in transporting the men and ammunition,
had tremendously told upon the helpless horses; but a great issue
was at stake, and horse flesh was not to be considered. Colonel
Ashby, with two hundred men, was directed to gallop forward, and, if
possible, to get in front of General McCook. He was further ordered,
if an enemy was found, not to consider the disparity in numbers,
but to go at them promptly and remorselessly. Scouts were sent in
every direction to look for the enemy. Out on the LaGrange Road,
about three miles away, the Federal cavalry was found, dismounted,
in a dense wood. Colonel Ashby, who always put himself in front,
informed General Wheeler that he had struck the head of the advancing
Federals, and that they were then forming a line of battle. The only
answer General Wheeler made to Ashby was to make the attack, and do
the best he could with the means at hand.

General Wheeler now had less than four hundred men in the column. The
long trail of killed and wounded that lay along the line of pursuit
told what had depleted his following. The first advance upon McCook
was checked, and for a moment Wheeler’s forces were stayed; but, in
an instant, General Wheeler directed all bugles to sound the charge,
and the brave little Confederate general, at the head of the advance,
bade his men to follow and he would lead. The rebel yell was the
response to this heroic call. No man hesitated for an instant or
desired to get away. Wheeler was leading them and in front was the
enemy. General Wheeler drove his column through the Federal lines
and crumpled them up into a confused mass. Up to that time, only two
of General McCook’s brigades had taken part. There was yet a reserve
brigade some distance away.

In less than three-quarters of an hour General Wheeler had captured
three hundred prisoners, two hundred men had been killed or wounded,
and best of all, he captured six hundred fresh horses for the tired
Confederates to mount.

In the fierceness of this struggle, General Wheeler had almost
forgotten himself and his own safety. He was recalled to the real
situation by the heavy firing in the rear, and there he beheld
McCook’s reserve brigade attacking the Confederate lines. General
Wheeler turned about and quickly faced this new danger. By voice and
example, he pleaded with his soldiers to stand firm and meet the
coming shock. They responded as he asked; they boldly charged the new
foes, broke their lines, captured over a hundred prisoners and sent
this reserve brigade in search of General McCook, to seek safety.

General McCook had gotten his breath and was organizing his forces
again for battle. Unexpectedly to Wheeler, he charged with fierceness
on the Confederates, who were now beginning to yield. General Humes
had been taken a prisoner, and it looked like the thin Confederate
line would be swept away, and McCook would avenge the damage that had
been inflicted upon him a few moments before.

At this critical period, while looking, listening and hoping, rapid
riding was heard, and then in a little while, some riders clad in
gray galloped to the front. General Anderson’s men had come to
relieve the plight into which General Wheeler’s daring had brought
him. General McCook, like all the McCooks, was dead game, and so he
barricaded himself in an impassable ravine, against which General
Wheeler at once realized it was useless to go. But the flank was the
point where General Wheeler frequently struck home, and he instantly
turned his men in that direction. Here General Wheeler was able to
cut off two of McCook’s regiments. When these were separated, they
became scattered, a majority of them surrendered, bringing to General
Wheeler a battery, a wagon train, a pack mule train and much needed
arms and ammunition.

Among the captured was something that was very pleasing to General
Wheeler—that was three hundred and fifty Confederate officers,
who had been picked up by McCook in convalescent camps along
his route. Gratifying as was the recapture of these Confederate
officers, General Wheeler had no time to waste and no season for
congratulations. Turning about, he charged at McCook’s troops, again
cutting them in two, and drove both fragments before him in a rout.
After fighting so bravely, the Federals, in this last conflict,
did not measure up to the splendid standard they had set in the
earlier fighting, and by a sort of common consent and agreement,
every command began to look out for itself. General Roddy, with a
few dismounted men, appeared upon the scene. This was counted as
Confederate infantry, and this destroyed all hope of victory in the
minds of the Federals.

Night now came on, and the darkness was so intense that it was
impossible to keep trail of the fleeing enemy. They were traveling by
stars or blindly following the roads. Confederate patrols were sent
out in every direction, and before daylight four hundred prisoners
were caught.

This campaign was one of the most skillful efforts on General
Sherman’s part in his fight for Atlanta. General Wheeler’s courage,
genius and indomitable will won success for the Confederates. And no
general, with such inadequate means at his command, could accomplish
more against such vast odds.

On the 26th of July, General Sherman telegraphed that he had sent
around by his right, three thousand five hundred cavalry, under
McCook; and by the left, five thousand, under Stoneman. He believed
that McCook and Garrard would destroy the railroad to Macon and that
they would be able to march to Andersonville, and release the Federal
prisoners, but he had forgotten the manner of men who were across the
Federal path.

Not for a single moment did General Kelley lose his grip on Garrard.
Nor did Iverson ever hesitate in his pursuit of Stoneman.

Stoneman had caught the real greatness of this campaign, which
General Sherman and General Grant believed would be fatal and final
to the defense of Atlanta. Ambitious and enthusiastic, he suggested
to General Sherman that after traveling ninety miles to Macon, and
destroying the immense stores and the great manufactories there, he
should then pursue his way to Andersonville, forty miles southwest
of Macon. Here were thirty thousand Federal prisoners. Stories of
their sufferings and privations moved Stoneman to not only vigorous
but patriotic effort. He was so hopeful of capturing not only Macon
and all in it, according to General Sherman’s instructions, but he
felt equally sure of undisputed success and victory, and he took
along with him guns to arm the prisoners at Andersonville, when they
should be released. This numerous array of men, armed, and this
great multitude of prisoners, turned loose, would have not only
brought tremendous desolation, but would have terrorized the people
of Georgia outside the armies of General Hood and the garrison at
Macon and a few important points. It was a noble ambition. It was a
splendid design, but in the end it turned out that Stoneman did not
have the nerve, the dash and the grit necessary to consummate the
splendid conception. He made a rapid and unmolested march through
Covington, Monticello, Hillsboro and Clinton, down to the very gates
of Macon. He got so close to the city that some of his artillery
threw shells into its suburbs.

Macon, at that time, happened to have a sagacious and experienced
soldier in its boundaries. General Joseph E. Johnston, after being
relieved of command of the army of Tennessee, at Atlanta, had gone to
Macon to rest and recuperate, and in dignified quiet to await another
call from his country, to stand for the defense of its liberty. There
were large numbers of prisoners at Macon as well as at Andersonville.
When at Macon, the story of the approach of Stoneman and his
associates became known, the prisoners were speedily moved to points
further south. The garrison, and the convalescents and all, however
old or young, that were able to bear arms, were hastily summoned and
organized, to resist the coming of the invaders. Breastworks and
fortifications were erected under the direction of General Johnston,
and every possible effort was made to prepare for sternest defense,
the city with its rich stores.

General Stoneman was to have had the co-operation of General Garrard,
and incidentally of General McCook, but he had gone southward for
ninety miles without opposition, and the march had been so easy and
so little opposed, and he had been able to burn so many stores and
trains, that he felt he had the world in a sling, and that there was
nothing could stay his progress or interfere with his success. He was
only a little more than twenty miles from Jonesboro when he passed
Covington; Garrard could have reached him, by an easy march, in eight
hours. Had he waited for McCook or Garrard, with whom he was directed
to co-operate, he would have largely increased his chances for
success and victory; but it looked so feasible, and he was able to
move with such rapidity, that he cast prudence to the winds, and he
rode forward without even the suggestion of doubt crossing his mind.
He thought he surely saw the beckonings of greatness. He was certain
he heard the voices of fame whisper in his ears: “Forward! Forward!”
He did not know what was behind him, nor did he care. He knew as well
as the Confederates themselves that the exigencies around Atlanta
would permit of the removal of not more than four thousand cavalry,
and he was certain all these would not dare follow him, and let
Garrard and McCook roam at will around and south of Jonesboro and
Lovejoy. Sherman had some reserve horsemen, and these must be guarded
against.

No Confederate cavalryman ever faced graver responsibilities or
greater difficulties than General Wheeler in this expedition. His
mounts were thin, wearied and worn. His men were only fairly armed.
Stoneman had fresh, well-fed mounts, and he could out-march and
out-ride anything that Wheeler and his associates could put behind
him. The men in gray were hardier and better seasoned, but their
means of transportation were very much limited.

General Wheeler put into Iverson’s mind all that the success of the
Federals meant. Iverson knew it all, but the defiant and hopeful
spirit of the brave Confederate leader helped him to greater effort
and firmer resolves. He bade him pursue Stoneman, fight him wherever
he found him, and hang on to his flanks and rear with a savage grip,
and never give him a moment’s rest until he had run him to bay.

Stoneman could ride faster than Iverson. He bade him do with
Stoneman what he would do with McCook. Iverson had some Georgians
and Kentuckians, all told, thirteen hundred men, but they were
veterans. Many of these had been long trained in General Wheeler’s
school and some of them in Forrest’s, and that meant that wherever
they met an enemy there would be real, sure enough fighting. When
Stoneman reached Macon he was surprised to find such intense
opposition. He had expected to ride into the city with little ado,
but when he saw the organized troops and temporary fortifications,
and guns behind them, and men behind these, he appears to have lost
his nerve. Between Stoneman and his subordinates there was not that
sympathy and confidence that such an occasion as this demanded.
Had Stoneman pushed on to Andersonville, he could have done the
Confederacy tremendous and irreparable damage, but he hesitated and
lost. He then realized that he had made a great mistake to ride
away without McCook or Garrard. He had hoped and trusted that one
or the other would follow him, and with forty-five hundred men,
before the gates of Macon, there would have been little question
of its capture. He understood now that his ambition had led him to
disregard the plainest dictates of military prudence, and instead of
going on and swinging around Macon to Andersonville, and then into
Alabama, if necessary, on which line he could always keep ahead of
the Confederates who were pursuing him, he resolved to retrace his
steps and go back from whence he had come. The coming had been easy,
but the going back was to be a far different and more difficult
job. Iverson’s men, although handicapped by the bad condition of
their horses, had been enabled, during the time Stoneman had lost
around Macon, to come up with a strong vanguard. General Iverson was
experienced, brave, vigorous and enterprising. He had not hitherto
had the opportunities and confidence that a separate command gives,
but he realized his responsibilities now, and he knew that continuous
and savage attack was the only method with which he could win. He
had kept himself well in touch with Stoneman’s movements. The people
along the line were friendly to him, and there was no difficulty in
his learning where Stoneman was and what Stoneman had.

When Stoneman turned about, he had only gone a few miles when he
found the gray-coated men athwart his path. He had lost his head.
He was brave, but he was not his greatest in disaster, which is a
most important qualification in a cavalry general. He assaulted
Iverson’s forces with moderate vigor. He found them unyielding. They
met assault with assault. They returned shot for shot. They had
artillery, and they knew how to use it, and General Stoneman quickly
realized that he was now to have the fight of his life, and not only
the fight of his life, but a fight for life.

Through the morning of September 1st, the battle was kept up, but
in the afternoon the Confederates became more aggressive, and they
assaulted Stoneman’s left flank, and drove it in, and from that
moment Stoneman’s troops seemed to have parted with their courage and
their faith of ultimate victory.

Colonel Silas Adams, with a brigade, went one direction; and Colonel
Capron, with another brigade, went another, both riding hard and
striving furiously to get away from their pursuers. Stoneman gathered
a portion of his advisers around him and communicated to them his
judgment. They unanimously agreed that he had lost. He made a heroic
but very foolish resolve to fight with six hundred men, long enough
to enable Adams and Capron to get the start of Iverson’s troops, and
through this to make their escape.

It would have been more soldier-like to have let Capron or Adams
fight in the last ditch while the leader rode away. It looked and
sounded heroic for the commander to make such a sacrifice, but
Federal generals like Pleasanton, Sheridan, Wilson or Buford, nor
Confederate, like Forrest, Wheeler, Shelby, Morgan, Marmaduke, Stuart
or Hampton, would never have entertained such a proposition. They
would have kept all their forces together and fought it out in the
last ditch. When the Confederates cut Stoneman’s command into two
parts, they had won the victory, and turned his forces into scattered
bands, whose chiefest aim was personal safety and escape.

Separated from Stoneman, Adams and Capron began a rapid retreat. They
rode as fast as their horses could carry them, and only fought when
there was no escape from battle.

It did not take long to arrange the details of General Stoneman’s
surrender. He made it with tears in his eyes, and he was oppressed
and humiliated at this sad and untoward ending of a campaign, which
at its commencement opened to him vistas of glory and renown. It
required but a brief while to conclude negotiations for Stoneman’s
capitulation, and the ink was not dry upon the paper which set forth
the terms, until General Iverson, with his powers quickened and the
hopes of his men enhanced by the surrender of Stoneman, started
Breckinridge and his Kentuckians in pursuit of the fleeing Federals,
who, every moment, became less capable of resistance or battle. He
marched his prisoners to Macon under escort. These had expected to
enter the city as conqueror; instead, they came as dejected captives.
Their dreams of glory turned into fixed visions of failure and
despair.

Adams and Capron, in order to avoid those behind them, swung to the
right, leaving the track which they had traveled from fifteen to
twenty-five miles west of them, and through Eatonton and Madison
and Athens they hurried with all possible haste to find safety.
These raiders returned far more quickly than they had come. By
their detours they increased the distance, but they increased their
speed. Their tired horses were exchanged for the mules or horses of
the people of Georgia, along the path, and they rode with exceeding
haste. Familiar with the country and spurred to highest effort, with
a desire to punish these invaders, Breckinridge, with the Kentucky
brigade, rode hard after the fleeing Federals. A brief sleep here and
there, and with cat naps on their horses, they pushed on with almost
boundless energy, and the rearguard of the fleeing Federals, neither
night nor day, was free from the assaults of the ragged Kentucky
riders.

The bravest men, under such circumstances, become more or less
demoralized. These Federal soldiers felt the depressing effect of
the rout and defeat of Stoneman, and they dropped out, sometimes in
companies and sometimes in squads, forgetting that their only safety
lay in keeping together and presenting a bold and defiant rear to the
advancing pursuers. So rapid was the march and so fierce the pursuit
that the horses of the Confederates, even with the swapping they were
able to do along the road for fresher mounts, either mules or horses,
made their progress comparatively slow and tedious.

Adams made a shorter run and escaped with half his command. Capron
veered more to the east. They united south of Athens. On the 31st
day of August they rode with fiercest energy. Their tired steeds
were spurred and belabored to the limits of mercy. The object was
to get a few hours and some miles between them and the men who were
following, so that they could lie down and take part of a night’s
rest, preparatory to their final spurt into Sherman’s lines. At a
little place called “Jug Tavern,” fifteen miles out from Athens, they
felt that their labors had been rewarded, and they had enough space
between them and their pursuers to enable them to make it safe to
enjoy brief repose.

Colonel W. C. P. Breckinridge, who was commanding General Williams’
Kentucky brigade, and was foremost in pursuing Capron, realized his
entire force could not ride with such speed as would enable him to
overtake Adams and Capron. He had hung savagely upon their rear,
and also kept the inner line to Atlanta, to drive the Federals as
far east as possible; but his horses had limitations, and Colonel
Breckinridge, with grief and apprehension, saw man after man drop
out. He beheld steed after steed with the white frost upon its
skin, which betokens the failure of its physical vigor, lie down
upon the road and refuse to move further. Hastily assembling his
entire brigade, now numbering less than five hundred men, for review,
he had his inspector general ride down the line and order out from
the several regiments and battalions the men who had the hardiest
and freshest horses. When these were counted they numbered only
eighty-five. He placed these under command of Lieutenant Robert
Bowles, one of his trustiest officers, and bade him ride hard and
follow the trail of Adams and Capron, and attack them wherever and
whenever found. These eighty-five men caught the inspiration of a
great opportunity, and so cheering and yelling and waving adieu to
their comrades, whose going had been prevented by the weariness of
their mounts, they rode away. Those left to come on by easier stages
groaned in spirit as they saw their more fortunate comrades ride
away. They cursed the fate that deprived them of the chance to win
glory in this pursuit.

Colonel Breckinridge told Lieutenant Bowles that he would follow him
with the remainder of the brigade, with all possible haste; thus the
eighty-five men set out to run down their demoralized enemies.

Capron and Adams had finally gone to sleep on the bank of a small
stream known as Mulberry River, which was crossed by a wooden bridge.
Out in the woods and timber the animals were tethered, and the men
laid down anywhere and everywhere, if they only might catch a few
moments’ rest. Five hundred and fifty Federals comprised all who were
left of these two brigades. Many were dead and wounded. Scores had
been captured, as wearied they fell from their horses, on the rapid
marches they had made since leaving Macon. Just before daybreak, on
the morning of the 3d of September, they heard the rebel yell and the
sharp crack of the revolvers resounding through their camp. Around
the outskirts of the camp a number of the negroes, who were riding
the mules and horses they had taken from their masters, were asleep.
At the first charge of the Confederates, the mules immediately
stampeded, and with the terror-stricken negroes rushed through the
camp of the sleeping Federal soldiers. The cries of the frightened
negroes, combined with the shouts of the attacking forces, added to
the confusion and discomfiture of the Federals. Thus rudely aroused
from their slumbers, they mounted their tired steeds and started in a
wild rush and dashed across the bridge, along the road they believed
would lead to safety. The galloping of the steeds and the crowding of
the animals onto the wooden bridge caused it to give way and dropped
those who were passing over it into the river below, and cut off
the escape of those who were behind. The eighty-five Confederates
were busy everywhere. The Federals were completely demoralized. They
gladly surrendered when called, and asked for protection. They had
not realized in the darkness how small the force that had assailed
and scattered them, but without arms they were helpless, and they
were so completely exhausted that their powers of resistance had
vanished.

In his report Colonel Capron said, “Just before daylight, the morning
of the 3d instant, a body of the enemy’s cavalry came up in my rear,
and, as near as I can ascertain, passed around the main body of the
pickets on both flanks, striking the road where the negroes lay. The
negroes became panic-stricken and rushed into the camp of my men,
who were yet asleep (we having been in camp about one hour and a
half), throwing them into confusion. The enemy now charged into my
camp, driving and scattering everything before them. Every effort was
made by the officers to rally the men and check the enemy’s charge,
but it was found impossible to keep them in line, as most of them
were without arms and ammunition. Partial lines were formed, but,
owing to the confusion which ensued in the darkness, they soon gave
away. A stampede now took place, a portion of the men rushing for
the woods and the balance running down the road and attempting to
cross a bridge over the Mulberry River, in our front. The enemy still
continued to charge my men, killing, wounding and capturing a large
number. In their rush across the bridge it gave away, precipitating
many of them into the river. The men now scattered in every
direction. I became separated from my command, and made my escape
through the woods, arriving at this place on the morning of the 7th
instant.”

This combat at Jug Tavern was always held by those who participated
in it to be, considering numbers, one of the really great victories
of the war.

There was no chance to pass Mulberry River, into which the bridge had
fallen, and the early hours of the morning were spent in gathering
the fugitives up and down the bank, and those hiding themselves out
in the woods, hoping to escape imprisonment. Finally some three
hundred were gathered together, and hardly had they been corralled,
when General Breckinridge, with those who had been left behind, rode
up to help their comrades who had been able to ride on before and
achieve such a great victory. Their prisoners were marched to Athens.
A great feast was prepared. The townsfolk and country folk gathered
to thank the Kentuckians who had punished the Federal raiders.
Congratulation and gratitude were the order of the hour. Capron,
escaping on foot, found his way to the Federal lines, but a large
proportion of his force were made prisoners, and there was hardly an
organized squad from his command left to ride the thirty miles that
intervened between them and safety, behind Sherman’s fortifications
around Atlanta.




CHAPTER XXIV

FORREST’S RAID INTO MEMPHIS, AUGUST 21, 1864


General Forrest, like most soldiers, had special animosities, and
one of his was General Cadwallader Colden Washburn. It might be said
that they were men of such disposition that they would certainly have
instinctive dislike for each other. Both were brave and extremely
loyal to the Cause they espoused, and neither saw much of good in
those on the opposite side. As they came to face each other in
Western Tennessee and Northern Mississippi, many things occurred to
increase rather than lessen their antipathies.

General Washburn was born May 14th, 1818, at Livermore, Maine.
Beginning life on his father’s farm, he had a brief experience in a
country retail store, then as schoolmaster, then emigrated west and
studied law. In Milton, Wisconsin, in 1842, he began practice. The
law was slow in that section at that period, and he became an agent
for settlers desiring to enter public lands. He was in Congress from
1855 to 1861. Refusing re-election, he raised a regiment of cavalry
in Wisconsin, and in October, 1861, entered active service. He was
associated with Curtis in Arkansas, and was particularly valuable at
the Battle of Grand Coteau. In 1862 he was made brigadier general. By
November he was advanced to major general. He was prominent in the
siege of Vicksburg, became commander of the Department of the Gulf,
warred vigorously in Texas, and came to be commandant at Memphis in
1864.

He had been instructed by General Sherman as to the necessity of
destroying Forrest. General Washburn organized the expedition under
General S. D. Sturgis, which met such tremendous defeat at Bryce’s
Cross Roads on June 10th, 1864. He was cognizant of, and accessory
before the fact, of Sherman’s offer of promotion to General Mower
if he would pursue and kill General Forrest. What is known as the
assault of Fort Pillow had particularly aroused feeling on General
Washburn’s part. When charged by General Forrest with inciting the
negro soldiers in his department to refuse quarter to Forrest’s
men, he parried but did not explicitly deny what Forrest stated he
had done. Reading between the lines, it is easy to discover that if
General Washburn did not suggest or approve this declaration of his
colored troops, he was not unwilling for them to go forth with a
fixed purpose to kill without exception such of Forrest’s cavalry as
by the exigencies and fortunes of war fell into their hands.

The failure of General Forrest under General Lee, at Harrisburg
in July, 1864, had rendered General Forrest anxious to avenge his
losses, and apparent defeat there; and he resolved to give General
Washburn and his troops a real lesson in the uncertainties of war.
When A. J. Smith retreated after his victory at Harrisburg, Forrest
pursued him with his usual persistence. General Sherman, who did
a great deal of telegraphing and seemed to have had an accurate
knowledge of the conditions in West Tennessee, on the 16th of June
had wired E. M. Stanton, Secretary of War, in regard to General
Forrest, “We must destroy him if possible.” On the same day, he
telegraphed, “We must make the people of Tennessee and Mississippi
feel that although a bold, daring and successful leader, he will
bring ruin and misery on any country where he may pass or tarry. If
we do not punish Forrest now, the whole effect of our vast conquest
will be lost.”

In carrying out these instructions, a large part of the northern
portion of Western Tennessee was laid waste, and, like the Shenandoah
Valley, was reduced to the condition, over which it was boasted by
Generals Grant and Sheridan, that if a crow flew, he must take his
rations with him.

General Sherman also said, “I had previously written to General
Washburn that he should employ A. J. Smith’s troops and any others
that he could reach, to pursue and if possible destroy all of
Forrest’s men.” General Sherman seemed to think more of Forrest and
his operations than he did of those who were opposing him in his
march to Atlanta.

When, at this time, it was proposed to give Forrest command of all
the cavalry, operating with Johnston’s army, be it said to the
credit of General Joseph Wheeler that he endorsed General Johnston’s
recommendation, and thereby showed himself to be a man of the highest
patriotism, of transcendent nobility of character, and of almost
unparalleled devotion to the Southern Cause. General Wheeler offered
to serve under General Forrest in any capacity Forrest might suggest.
No one who now studies General Wheeler’s campaigns can doubt that he
was one of the greatest soldiers the war produced, and this proposal
to serve anywhere in any capacity under General Forrest demonstrated
that his manhood and patriotism were of the same standard as his
capacity for leadership. Ranking General Forrest, he waived all such
considerations and cheerfully proposed to become Forrest’s lieutenant
in the contemplated assault on Sherman, and follow where Forrest
would lead.

In the assault on General A. J. Smith’s rear, Forrest received a
severe and painful wound. He never thought of personal danger and
was ever absolutely indifferent to fear. Previous to the Battle of
Harrisburg, General Forrest had asked for a furlough and sought to
be relieved of his command, but this was denied him by reason of the
exigencies of the hour.

Harrisburg was a bitter memory to Forrest. In that battle, three
of his brigade commanders were wounded and all the colonels were
either killed or wounded. Four miles from Tupelo at Old Town Creek,
in pursuing A. J. Smith, Forrest himself was struck by a ball in
his right foot. It was reported that Forrest had been killed.
This created intense consternation among his own soldiers, and
inexpressible joy among his enemies. Forrest felt that in the Battle
of Harrisburg his troops had acted with supreme courage, and on
that battlefield that they did not have a fair chance. This deeply
rankled in his heart. The successes of his previous campaigns had
made him believe that with anything like an even show his troopers
were invincible, and he dreamed of and sighed for an opportunity to
blot out the sad and bitter memories of that dreadful day, when
he saw his bravest and best go down in a conflict which was not
fought according to his judgment, nor along the lines upon which he
was accustomed to operate. After the battle, he issued a statement
in which he said, “Future generations will never weary of hanging
garlands on their graves.” Who was responsible for Harrisburg has
been the source and cause of acute and extended criticisms. Some
have said that Forrest on that occasion failed to fight as he always
fought before and that he hesitated where hesitation was bound to be
fatal.

Forrest was a born leader. He had always done best where he was the
head. Subordinate, he was restive, and he could only do his best and
accomplish most when he was supreme.

General Washburn had sent these several forces after Forrest, and
Forrest resolved to teach General Washburn a lesson he would not soon
forget. The wound which General Forrest received at Old Town Creek
was one from which he never recovered fully. After this casualty he
was compelled to go in a buggy, a plank across the dashboard holding
his leg in an elevated position, but his power as a leader lost none
of its effect from the fact that he was riding in a dilapidated buggy
rather than astride a breathing, moving, chafing war-horse.

On the 20th of July, General S. D. Lee, between whom and General
Forrest there was, probably unconscious to both of these patriotic
men, some feeling, was transferred to the army under General Hood at
Atlanta, and with the departure of Lee came General Richard Taylor,
lovingly called by his friends and his soldiers, “Dick” Taylor. He
and Forrest were kindred spirits. They looked at war through the same
lenses. They were alike brave and aggressive and restless spirits
that enjoyed the dangers and excitement of campaigns and battles, and
were not averse to strife as strife. They were warriors by nature,
and the fury of battle and the storm of conflict had no terrors for
their valiant hearts.

General Sherman had told his superiors that if Forrest could be taken
care of, he could handle Johnston, and so on the 20th of July, he
telegraphed General Halleck as follows: “A. J. Smith has orders to
hang on to Forrest and prevent his coming to Tennessee.” It was at
this time that rumors came to the Federals of the death of General
Forrest. On the 2d of August, 1864, Washburn telegraphed to Sherman:
“I have a report that Forrest died some days ago of lockjaw.” This
news General Sherman reported to General Grant. It was then that he
wired Washburn, “Is Forrest surely dead? If so, tell General Mower I
am pledged to him for his promotion, and if ‘Old Abe’ don’t make good
my promise, then General Mower can have my place.” (Official Records,
Volume 39, Part 2, page 233.)

Though Mower had not killed Forrest, on the 12th of August, 1864,
he received his commission as major general, and Sherman said to
Stanton: “Please convey to the President my thanks for the commission
for General Mower, whose task was to kill Forrest. He only crippled
him; he is a young and game officer.”

Early in August Generals Washburn, A. J. Smith, Mower and Grierson,
by their joint effort, had concentrated a very large force at
Memphis, consisting of ten thousand infantry, four thousand cavalry,
three thousand colored troops, and three Minnesota regiments. The
infantry of this contingent was moved as far as possible by rail, the
cavalry was marched overland, and on the 9th of August had reached
the Tallahatchie River between Holly Springs and Oxford, Mississippi.
At that time Forrest had five thousand, three hundred and fifty-seven
men, but the tremendous mortality among his officers had seriously
impaired the efficiency of his force. Pathetically, General Chalmers
informed General Forrest, “Both of my brigade commanders are wounded,
also a brigade commander of General Buford’s division, and most of
the field officers of the command were either killed or wounded in
the late engagement.”

This advance looked formidable and sorely taxed the genius of General
Forrest to face. He was opposed by nearly three to one. It was
important to hold the prairie country of the Mississippi, for it was
prolific of supplies. Forrest was given carte blanche by General
Maury, who was then in immediate command of the territory to be
invaded. Forrest was still unable to ride horseback, but nevertheless
he resolved to meet his foes. General Chalmers was ordered to destroy
all the bridges on the railroad leading south from Holly Springs.
By the 14th of August, General Smith had reached a point nearly to
Oxford, Mississippi. The force in front of Forrest was thirteen
thousand infantry and four thousand cavalry. With his small force,
now inadequately mounted, there was no hope for him successfully in
the open to fight this great enemy. By the 18th of August Forrest had
sufficiently recovered to take to the saddle. He could only use one
foot in the stirrup. The other hung loose. The power of no commander
in the war was taxed to a greater tension than Forrest at this
moment. He dare not face and fight his foes on the field. No courage,
no alignment with the past experiences of the Federal commanders and
the caution and care engendered by their numerous failures could
avail to halt this great army, now organized and sent out to rout
and destroy Forrest. Numbers alone, in the field, could defeat this
well-armed, well-disciplined corps, but, alas for Forrest, he did
not have and could not get the numbers. With only one to three in
the coming expedition, the task to most men would have appeared
impossible. Had he taken counsel of fear and even of ordinary
prudence, he would sullenly have retired before the advance and have
been content with delaying his enemies and inflicting what loss he
could by way of unexpected assault and quick reprisal. Strategy,
skill, surprise, must now win, if winning were at all possible.

Forrest sat down to unravel the difficulties of the hour. Something
must be done outside mere resistance. The hour for that expedient
alone was gone. Forrest had something that oftentimes was better
than legions. Nature had lavishly bestowed on this untutored soldier
a something that could now and then defeat the greatest odds, and
out of apparent overwhelming adversity win superbest victory. The
thing Forrest had could not be bought. No education could supply
it. It could only come as nature’s gift and in this supreme hour it
came to the rescue of the Confederate leader. The moment called for
a transcendent military genius, and this gift nature had bestowed
without stint upon the unlearned but born soldier.

There was no lack among Forrest’s men of courage, and upon any
dangerous or difficult expedition which he was to enter, it was not
a question as to whether his men could fight, but a question as to
whether their beasts could carry them to the point to which their
great commander had decided to move. The selection of the best
horses was now begun. All the men were good enough, but on the work
Forrest had now mapped, a strong, dependable horse was as important
as a hard, courageous rider. Each man did his best to put his steed
upon his mettle. Every soldier was longing to go. None knew where,
save the general, but that was all they asked, to be allowed to
follow him. With sad hearts, hundreds of the brave troopers looked
on intently while their horses were examined and condemned, and
with ill-suppressed grief heard the depressing words, “Fall out.”
Danger surely, physical weariness certainly, mayhap death, was ahead,
but every soldier was burning to go, and when the sorrow-bringing
words came that shut out all but one in three of the corps, a wide
disappointment spread abroad in every regiment.

Forrest left Chalmers with four thousand men in front of the enemy.
He was ordered to persistently attack and oppose them in every
way possible, to delay their march and to assail their flanks and
communication. Incessant rains had fallen for some days. The roads
were muddy, and the streams were full to the banks. Forrest’s chance
in the expedition which he now undertook was dependent upon the
secrecy with which it should be consummated. If Smith knew that he
was not in front, he and Grierson and Hurlbut would run over the
small force commanded by Chalmers and march to Vicksburg. No sooner
had the sun gone down on the 18th of August than Forrest left Oxford
with his two thousand men, the best mounted that he could cull and
select. The word to mount was anxiously awaited. These chosen men
had gone with their leader before. It was raining furiously—had
been raining almost constantly for forty-eight hours previously.
With their soggy clothes hanging about their drenched limbs, they
were impatient to try out another conflict, and see what glory had
in stock for them in a new encounter. The darkness of night was
approaching when, amid the thunder and downpour, these Forrest
followers sprang into their saddles, gave rein to their steeds,
and with a long drawn-out rebel yell, set forth, defying weather,
to once again contest with their foes. Rain, floods, mud had no
terror for them where their general and duty pointed the way they
must go. Marching all night west and north, when the day dawned,
notwithstanding the conditions which faced him, he had swung clear
off the route of the Federal Army, and was miles away before any
Federal officer or commander dreamed that Forrest was gone. Traveling
all day on the 19th and part of the night, on the morning of the 20th
he had reached Senatobia. This was a long ride for Forrest and his
followers. One raging stream and insecure bridge were crossed, and by
courier he told Chalmers that he would soon cross another, and, like
Columbus, passing westward with only one command, westward, westward,
he was going northward, northward.

Forrest directed Chalmers again to “Hold the enemy and press them so
as to engage and hold their attention.” Chalmers was faithful to his
trust. He fought all day—all night—all hours, and no whisper came to
the Federal commander that Forrest was gone away. The aggressiveness
of Forrest’s lieutenant hid the mystery of his departure within the
Confederate lines.

General Forrest was too much of a leader not to know that this
extraordinary task which he had undertaken could only be accomplished
by rapid movement and by concealment of his plans. In the early part
of August, in Mississippi, usually copious rains fall. The streams
at that season are almost always full. This rendered them far more
difficult to bridge and made fording impossible. Forrest could ferry
his men and their accoutrements and ammunition and artillery, but
the horses must swim. In a pinch he might, by rafting and swimming,
get his men over the stream, but water was a deadly foe to powder,
and without powder Forrest and his men would ride and swim in vain.
This meant delay. Delay meant defeat. But above all, Forrest was a
practical man. There was no emergency to which his resourceful mind
could not rise. Fortunately for his plans on this occasion, the
grapevine life of Mississippi is extremely exuberant. These vines run
to the tops of the highest trees, sometimes one hundred and fifty
feet. Larger than a man’s arms, they would send out their tendrils to
the very top of the highest trees and swinging over some limb would
spread out their branches and cover the tree tops. These vines were
flexible, almost like ropes, very strong. Forrest undertook, as an
engineer, by sending forward his best and most intelligent troopers
under brave and energetic commanders, to find those grape vines and
use them as cables to span the river. Finding the trees convenient
to the banks of the stream, the vines were cut down, twisted around
the trees, tied as best they could be, carried across the river, and
attached to trees on the other side. A ferry boat was placed in the
middle of the stream and anchored. Cypress and other logs were cut
into proper lengths, floated into the stream and attached at certain
distances to these cables. At Hickahala Creek this novel bridge
was first inaugurated. Forrest was kept in close touch with his
engineers, who were constructing this strangely fashioned pontoon.
Within four or five miles from the stream, all the cabins, houses,
barns, stables and gin houses were stripped of the flooring and
shedding. Each horseman carried on his shoulder one of these planks.
Within an hour the planks were laid, the soldiers dismounted, each
man led his horse on the boards and crossed the stream in double
file. The cables began to stretch, and by the time all the command
had passed over, the planks had become submerged, the water was two
feet over the flooring and with difficulty the horses could be led
across. Nature seemed at this point to be piling up insuperable
obstacles in Forrest’s path. He had truly gone seven miles when
another stream, twice as broad and equally as deep stood out with its
currents and floods to bid the Southern men stay their march. No long
drawn out planning was necessary to figure out some way to outwit the
defiance of Cold Water River. If a sixty-foot span could be made of
grapevines, why not one of a hundred and twenty feet, and the answer
was a sharp command to the pioneers to unsling their axes and build
the required structure. One hundred and eighty minutes under the whip
and spur of necessity saw the new bridge completed, and the men,
houses, cannon and caissons speeding across the apparently unsafe
length. The horses were led two abreast, the guns were unlimbered
and willing hands and seasoned arms dragged them over to the side
where Forrest was pointing the way, it may be to danger, but where
glory they believed would crown their army and enterprise with a
deserved and splendid success. This circumstance so delayed him that
on the night of the 20th he was still at Hernando, Mississippi,
twenty-five miles from Memphis. The condition of the roads was almost
indescribable. The tramping of the horses made a foot of slush, and
the wheels of the ammunition wagons and the cannon caissons cut deep
ruts in the roads. The cavalry went at a slow walk, and ten horses
were hitched to each piece of artillery. Notwithstanding all of these
precautions, half of Forrest’s guns had to be left at Penola. It
became apparent that they would not be carried along with sufficient
rapidity to justify Forrest in running the risk their movement
involved. Still twenty-five miles away from Memphis, Forrest knew
he must travel all night. It was a task at which any leader might
hesitate, but now hesitation meant disaster, and the lionhearted
leader was undertaking amongst the greatest feats he had attempted
to perform. Tremendous issues were involved. To save at this period
Northern Mississippi Territory and to prevent the junction of
General Smith’s forces with those of General Sherman at Vicksburg
was vital to the hopes of the Confederate authorities. Rain, storm,
mud, floods, deep currents, accelerated by torrents, were the
contingencies Forrest must face, but he never had stopped for these
things before and through the darkness of the night there was only
one command, “Forward,” “Forward,” “Forward.” It was bad enough for
those who rode. The beasts who bore the men, weakened by the already
grievous burdens laid upon them, were spurred to speedier tramp, but
hard as were these pressed with their human loads, the awfullest of
the terrors of that terrorful night came to the dumb sufferers who
pulled the swaying gun carriages and heavy caissons through the ruts
and slush of the ever-lengthening pathway. No cry of mercy could
avail for these speechless creations. Slashed with hickory or oak
wythes, blood streamed from their mouths from the sawing of their
bits to keep them straight in the sunken depths of the muddy way,
they passed with indescribable suffering the horrible night. When the
limits of physical resistance they reached and no longer left with
strength or will to continue the impossible tasks that were being
laid upon them, with sullen indifference some of these creatures,
ready to die rather than proceed another step, with a determination
born of despair, refused to make another effort and bade defiance to
their pitiless riders and drivers, who were slashing, jerking and
beating in their seemingly mad efforts to urge forward these faithful
brutes who had done all they could to help in the effort to save the
land of those who, with apparently merciless hearts, called for such
terrible strain. Horses have wills as well as men, and defying their
owners, some stood still in their tracks and no cruel blows could
bring them to move a muscle or pull an ounce. The great crisis was
ahead. If the one horse would go down another would be harnessed, and
if the led horses had all been used, then a luckless trooper with a
strong or powerful mount was bade strip his steed, stow his equipment
on a gun carriage or caisson, and take his chances farther on to win
from his enemies a something to ride, which the exigencies of the
hour had taken away from him. The new team took up the burdens their
predecessors had laid down, and the sullen horse was led out into the
woods, or now and then, fearing that he might prove of value to the
enemy, a shot was fired into his heart to end his sufferings or to
destroy that which by some possibility might some day aid those who
were fighting the cause for which he had met so violent a death.

Forrest had intended to strike Memphis on Sunday morning. One-fourth
of all of his horses had broken down under the tremendous strain
to which they had been subjected. There were no horses left in the
country, the Federals and the Confederates had taken them all, and
the dismounted men, dejected, sad and disappointed, were compelled on
foot to retrace their steps along the paths which they had come.

There were three generals in Memphis that Forrest particularly
desired to capture, Generals C. C. Washburn, Stephen A. Hurlbut and
R. P. Buckland. They were scattered over different parts of the city.
By three o’clock General Forrest had reached the limits of the city,
called his troops around him, and gave to each commander accurate
and definite instructions as to what would be done. Scout after
scout returned to bring the details of the Federal positions, and
even citizens, to whom had been secretly and silently conveyed the
news of the coming, slipped by the Federal sentinels to tell Forrest
all he needed to know of his enemies’ whereabouts, in order to make
surprise and capture sure. Above all, it was earnestly impressed on
the squads who rode into the city that there was to be no shouting,
no cheering, no battle cry, and that not a gun must be fired under
any circumstances. The leaders were told that if they met any Federal
troops they were to ignore them, to be extremely careful, bring on no
battle and engage in no fighting, but to rush forward over all that
opposed.

Forrest’s brother, William H., had often rendered most valiant and
efficient service to his brother. He had selected with great care
forty scouts. These were as reckless and as brave as their captain.
They were to advance, capture the pickets, and without waiting for
the balance of the men to ride at full speed to the Gayoso hotel,
surround it and prevent the escape of General Hurlbut. Forrest had
learned accurately the position of the Illinois infantry. They were
stationed at a place close to the road along which Forrest must pass.

Colonel Longwood was to follow Captain William Forrest. Upon reaching
a prominent place in the city, he was to station a portion of his
troops as a reserve, and the balance were to proceed to the wharf and
capture any transports that might be there. To his younger brother,
Colonel Jesse Forrest, General Forrest assigned one of the most
important and difficult things to be accomplished. He was allowed
to choose his own associates. The service would be furious, fierce,
reckless, dangerous. He was to ride straight to the house of General
Washburn on Union Street, which had been located carefully by General
Forrest, who knew Memphis as well as he knew his plantation, and
Jesse Forrest was to effect the capture of General C. C. Washburn.
It makes one tremble almost half a century after this occurrence to
realize the sensation of these men, however brave, as they engaged
in this wonderful enterprise. Forrest decided with Colonel T. H.
Bell and detachments of Newsom’s, Russell’s and Barteau’s regiments,
and the two pieces of artillery under Lieutenant Sale, to remain in
the suburbs, believing that it would be necessary for these brave
and adventuresome spirits who had gone to the city on this reckless
mission to have support and backing when they returned. Forrest felt
that it was hardly possible for all of the three parties he had sent
into the city to successfully accomplish their respective missions
and then come out without much loss or possible defeat. He hoped that
the boldness of his movements and the recklessness of the execution
would terrorize and paralyze his foes, but even he doubted if all
could emerge without some failure.

The day was just beginning to break when the detachments all moved
forward. The morning was foggy and a pall of darkness hung over the
scene of operations. Captain William Forrest, with ten men well
in advance, rode along the line designated for his approach, and,
challenged by the Federal sentry, replied that he was a detachment
of a Missouri regiment with rebel prisoners. He was ordered to
dismount, but instead he rode up to the sentinel, who suspected
nothing when Captain Forrest had cried out, “All right,” and supposed
that he had dismounted. As soon as Captain Forrest could discern
the form of the picket, sticking his spurs into his horse’s flanks,
he caused him to spring forward, and then using his pistol as a
bludgeon, he knocked the Federal trooper unconscious to the ground.
Forrest directed his companions to follow him instantly, and charged
upon the reserve pickets, but one of these was enabled to fire his
gun before they were surrounded, and this one shot saved the Federals
great loss and deprived the expedition of some of its results.

There was nothing now left but to ride recklessly and rapidly into
the heart of the city. The Rubicon was crossed. The die was cast.
The thrill and enthusiasm of the dangerous work in which they were
engaged so stirred the hearts of the men that they forgot their
orders and instead of obeying the directions of their commander as to
complete silence, they began vociferously to give the rebel yell.

Near the Gayoso hotel, Captain Forrest came suddenly upon a Federal
battery of six pieces. This he charged, and the artillerists, driven
from their guns, sough refuge in buildings in proximity to the
battery. The Confederates were in such a hurry that they failed to
have done what would have afterwards been a very valuable thing—spike
the guns.

It did not take Captain William Forrest long to reach the Gayoso
hotel. He rode into the corridor, and his men were placed around the
building so as to prevent the escape of General Hurlbut. Fortunately
for General Hurlbut, that night he slept out and when Colonel
Chalmers battered upon the door, it was opened by a beautiful young
woman who pleaded for protection, but alas Hurlbut was gone.

Colonel Jesse Forrest rode with great celerity, but the unfortunate
discharge of the gun of the picket had given warning, and a Federal
cavalryman of the 6th Illinois regiment rode swiftly up to General
Washburn’s house, beat upon the door with his sabre, and cried out
that Forrest’s cavalry were in possession of the town and were in
sight of the house, moving for Washburn’s capture. General Washburn
did not even take time to dress, but fled away in his night clothes
through the alleys from the back door, across the garden, and running
half a mile found safety in the fort. A Federal lieutenant, W. H.
Thurston, in his official report, said, “The general ran away for a
safe place in the fort, which was fully a half mile from his home,
when he was but three squares away from the provost marshal’s office;
and all this without giving any orders or commands as to what should
be done by the troops.” All that Colonel Forrest got of the general’s
belongings was a uniform and some personal effects, which he brought
to his brother, the general, and which the next day were returned
with Forrest’s compliments under a flag of truce. That war is not
without its courtesies is shown by the fact that two or three weeks
later, General Washburn returned these compliments by sending to
General Forrest a full, complete, handsome uniform of a Confederate
major general.

The detachments which had been assigned to the capture of General
Buckland also arrived too late. The unfortunate enthusiastic yells
of the Confederates, and an occasional shot from rifles, alarmed the
sentinel who watched Buckland’s house, and the general, hastily and
negligently dressed, sought safety at some other point.

Memphis at this time was garrisoned by about five thousand men,
combining a mingling of cavalry, infantry and artillery. There was
little left to do but to search in the stables and get all the
horses and capture all the prisoners possible. The detachments which
had been scattered in the city now found it wise and prudent to
retreat. The battery which they had captured was again manned and
turned loose upon them. Without questioning whether it was wise or
unwise, the Confederates rode at the gunners and dispersed them,
killing or wounding twenty of their number, and thus were enabled
to avoid further trouble from this quarter. As there were no horses
convenient, they could not carry the pieces away. By this time they
were glad enough to get away themselves. Only when they came to
retire did they realize the hazard and peril of the enterprise in
which they had taken part. Its audacity appalled the participants
when they fully took in the extent of the dangers through which they
had passed and of the all nigh incalculable risks they had assumed.

General Forrest was now ready to retire. He felt sure his mission
had been accomplished. Smith in Mississippi did not want Forrest in
Memphis, one hundred miles in his rear. Sherman or no Sherman, the
capture of Memphis would be an immeasurable calamity. No commander
could safely forecast what Forrest would or could do. Rains, floods,
mud-filled roads, seemed no barrier to this wonderful man of war,
and to leave him alone in West Tennessee with two thousand daring
followers filled the minds of the Federal commander with apprehension
and his heart with dread. Twice he had an engagement to make a
junction with Sherman’s forces at Meridian, but when he made that
agreement, he had not dreamed that Forrest would turn on Memphis,
force the commanders there to flee in their night clothes into the
forts, and his horsemen ride through its streets capturing, killing
and destroying all that came in their paths from daybreak until nine
in the morning.

In the depths of their souls they cried out against the conditions
that made them face the ubiquitous and impossible Confederate leader.
No man’s reputation was safe who was sent against this redoubtable
chief. He came when he was not expected, he fought against any sort
of odds. Nature could pile up against him no obstacles that could
thwart his will, and to them he went and came as he planned, and no
human foresight could avail against his strategy or his onslaughts.

It was a humiliating thing for General Smith to do, but he was
stirred by this strange happening. If he went on, Forrest might undo
all a year’s planning and garrisoning had done and West Tennessee
again become Confederate territory. If he went back along the line
he had come, he must march on roads, the very sight of which made
cavalry wish they had never come to war. The Federal commander
debated earnestly and long. He talked with his associates and then
resolved to turn his face northward, forego the meeting at Meridian
and save what Forrest had left in his trail to Memphis.

When Forrest learned definitely what General Smith had determined
to do, he rejoiced with exceeding great joy. He felt that his work
was not in vain. He had not destroyed the army that was capable of
inflicting immeasurable injury upon his country, but he had caused it
to withdraw and stayed for a while the impending blow which, had it
fallen, would have brought down with it all hopes of maintaining any
great Confederate force between Atlanta and the Mississippi River.
The consciousness of having delayed the inevitable, if only for a few
weeks or months, was a source of profound satisfaction to the man who
in the past summer had done more constant, difficult fighting than
any officer who wore the gray.

As they marched away, a portion of the 6th Illinois Cavalry under
Colonel Starr viciously assaulted the Confederate rearguard. As
Forrest was always at the post of danger, he was on hand there.
They were so close together that in the charge Colonel Starr and
General Forrest engaged in a hand-to-hand encounter, and the Federal
commander was seriously wounded and rendered unfit for further
battle. A short distance away from Memphis, General Forrest sent back
a flag of truce, proposing the exchange of prisoners and telling
General Washburn that a number of his officers had been captured and
were without clothing, and informed General Washburn that he would
wait at Nonoonah Creek for a reply. When General Forrest arrived
there he found a note from General Washburn, stating that he had no
authority to exchange prisoners, but that he would be very glad if
General Forrest would allow his officers to have the clothing which
he sent with his note. General Forrest was ready to be humane. The
half-clad, bare-footed soldiers touched his sympathies. He had no
reason to love General Washburn and those he commanded, but he had
such profound satisfaction in the work of the night in Memphis that
it softened his animosities and he cheerfully did all that he could
to mitigate the woes of his unfortunate and dejected captives, who,
now six hundred in number, were encountering woes and hardships that
touched the hearts of even the foes, some of whom had urged negro
soldiers to give no quarter to Forrest’s men. Those least able to
travel were paroled and turned loose, while the stronger and best
clad were kept for yet another day of marching. It was during this
march that General Forrest skillfully and craftily managed to get
some supplies for his nearly famished men. In Memphis, the work was
too fierce for food contemplation, and when some miles from the
city, hunger began to assert its claims with no provisions to meet
its outcry, General Forrest then despatched a flag of truce to say
to General Washburn that if he would not accept Confederate parole,
he would at least feed those he was forcing him to carry away as
prisoners on a trying and debilitating march. Two wagon loads of
supplies were sent by the Federal commander in response to this
appeal, and it pleased General Forrest greatly to see that after
giving his prisoners all the rations they could consume or carry,
there was enough to shut out hunger in his command for at least
thirty-six hours.

Here, eager marching was the order of the day. There was nothing
now between Forrest and Smith. He had a wide country in which to
operate. The streams were full and the roads were bad, but these same
difficulties would face his enemies.

There was no telegraphic communication; Chalmers was anxiously
waiting news from Forrest and so, to relieve his anxiety and
distress, at Hernando he despatched a courier with a message stating,
“I attacked Memphis at four o’clock this morning, driving the enemy
to his fortifications. We killed and captured four hundred, taking
their entire camp, with about three hundred horses and mules.
Washburn and staff escaped in the darkness of the early morning,
Washburn leaving his clothes behind.”

The prisoners were cumbersome. Prisoners are not a good asset on a
trip like this, and so Forrest paroled them and proceeded on his
march to Panola, where he arrived on the 22d of August.

Forrest was not altogether without some apprehension as to what his
enemy might do in case they heard that Forrest had gone, and so from
Panola he sent the swiftest courier he could find with the following
message to Chalmers: “If the enemy is falling back, pursue them
hard. Send Buford to capture their foraging parties. Keep close to
their camp. Order Captain Henderson to scout well to their right to
ascertain if there is any movement this way.” Forrest told him in
addition that he would rest for two or three days at Grenada, if
possible.

By the 23d of August General Smith had paused in his advance into
Mississippi. Smith had turned around. The strategy and genius
of Forrest was too much for him and so he retreated north from
Mississippi and left Forrest a clear way to his friends and comrades.
Forrest was able to telegraph to General Maury on the 29th: “Enemy
left Holly Springs at two o’clock yesterday, marching rapidly in the
direction of Memphis and La Grange. They say they are ordered to
reinforce Sherman.”




EXPLANATORY NOTE


In the preparation of these sketches I have relied greatly upon
Dr. John Allen Wyeth’s “Life of General Forrest,” one of the most
entertaining war books ever published; General Basil W. Duke’s
“Morgan and His Men”; Major H. B. McClelland’s “Life and Campaigns
of Major General J. E. B. Stuart”; “Hampton and His Cavalry,” by
Colonel Edward L. Wells; “Shelby and His Men,” by Major John N.
Edwards; “Campaigns of Wheeler and His Cavalry,” edited by W. C.
Dodson, and published under the auspices of Wheeler’s Confederate
Cavalry Association; “Confederate Military History”; Captain John W.
Morton’s “Artillery of N. B. Forrest’s Cavalry,” and the compilations
of official records of the Union and Confederate Armies, published by
the United States Government.

This last work is one of the most remarkable of its kind ever issued
by any government. It contains all despatches, letters and reports
of every kind, bearing upon the conduct of the war. It tells, day by
day, in the words of the actors, the events which were taking place
in the four years’ struggle. In these contemporary writings, those
who were carrying on this mighty struggle speak for themselves,
and they furnish the historian with the most truthful and accurate
accounts of what those who were engaged in the bitter war were doing
or thought they were doing each day.

Governor Joseph D. Sayers and General W. T. Hart, of Texas, have been
most generous in giving me data concerning items dealing with Texas
troops. Dr. John A. Lewis of the 9th Kentucky Cavalry and Major A. E.
Richards, Second in Mosby’s Command, and General Theodore S. Garnett
of Virginia and Colonel J. Will Hall of Missouri have laboriously and
thoroughly perused copy and made many valuable suggestions. Captain
H. H. Mathews of Breathed’s Battery, Stuart’s Artillery, sent
accounts of many things that were new concerning the campaigns of
Stuart.

The principal agency used by General Hampton in securing information
for the cattle raid of September, 1864, was Colonel George D.
Shadburn. His courage, intelligence and energy secured the most
important facts necessary for the movements of General Hampton’s
forces, and in the pursuit his valor and intrepidity won the highest
commendation of his commander. Colonel Shadburn still survives, and
lives in San Francisco, California.

Captain O. F. Redd of Lexington, Kentucky, sent valuable data about
the campaigns of Shelby and Marmaduke. I am particularly indebted
to Rev. R. Excell Fry of Gadsden, Alabama, for investigations
and report about Forrest’s pursuit of Streight. Mr. W. P. Lay of
Gadsden, Alabama, has rendered the South his debtor for investigating
important matters concerning Forrest’s pursuit and capture of
Streight. He secured from John H. Wisdom the facts of his great ride
from Gadsden to Rome, in his effort to head off Colonel Streight.
Without his help, it would have been impossible to have secured the
facts of the wonderful performance of this patriotic Alabamian.
Colonel Henry George and General H. A. Tyler have furnished me much
new matter in regard to the Battle of Bryce’s Cross Roads.

In no case have I completed a chapter without referring it to one
or more soldiers who participated in the events undertaken to be
described. To General Basil W. Duke, Colonel William A. Milton and
General John B. Castleman, and to Governor James B. McCreary I
acknowledge my obligation, for not only facts but timely suggestions.

The preparation of this book has been a work of love. It has cost
immense labor and much of ease and time. But for the industry and
patience of my secretary, Miss Mary McNamara, I could not have
prepared the manuscript or made the investigation necessary to write
this book. I am deeply indebted to Mr. Logan N. Rock and Mr. S. G.
Tate, my associates in the practice of law, and to George T. and Mrs.
Settle for proofreading and correction.




INDEX


  PAGE


  Adams, Col. Silas, U. S., 593, 596, 598

  Alger, Gen. Russell A., 351

  Allen, Lieut. R. O., 6th Va., 515

  Allen, Brig. Gen. William W., C. S. Cav., 572

  Allen, Capt. Thomas, Ky., 97

  Anderson, Brig. Gen. Robert H., C. S. Cav., 572, 584, 587

  Anderson, Gen., 263, 266

  Ashby, Col., C. S. Cav., 585


  Bagby, Lieut. Col., 161, 164

  Baker, Lieut., 399

  Balch, Maj., 133

  Banks, Maj. Gen., 367

  Barringer, Gen., 45

  Barteau, Col., 33, 35

  Battle of Hartsville, 222, 247

  Baylor, Col., 312

  Bayou City, Steamboat, 164, 167, 168

  Beale, Gen., 45

  Beauregard, Gen., 346

  Bell, Gen. Tyree H., 19, 29, 32, 272, 617

  Bennett, Col., 226, 237, 424

  Biffle, Col., 151, 480

  Boone, Col., 224

  Bowles, Capt. James W., 97, 104, 120

  Bowles, Lieut. Robert, 597-600

  Boyle, Gen. A. T., 116, 118, 441

  Bragg, Braxton, 69, 86, 133, 134, 135, 222, 225, 247, 367-369,
        416-418,
        419, 421

  Breathed, Lieut., Art., 34

  Breckenridge, Gen. John C., 101, 222

  Breckenridge, Col. W. C. P., 68, 69, 422, 423, 436, 438, 574

  Brent, Maj., 6th Ky., 372, 373, 448

  Brown, C. S. Art., 292

  Brown, Gen., 213-215

  Bryce’s Cross Roads, Battle, 2-41

  Buckland, Gen., U. S., 615-619

  Buell, Maj. Gen. Don Carlos, 116, 118, 222, 223

  Buford, Gen. John, 14, 15, 34, 501

  Buford, Gen. A. S., 284

  Bugg, C. S. Art., 292

  Bull Run (1st Battle), 3

  Bullock, Maj., 436

  Burnside, Maj. Gen. Ambrose E., 383

  Butler, Maj. Gen. Benj. F., 346

  Butler, Gen. M. C., 52, 356, 361, 523


  Canby, Maj. Gen. E. R. S., 301, 302

  Capron, Col 594-598

  Carter, Brig. Gen., 541, 543, 545

  Castleman, Capt. John B., 102, 112

  Cavalry Expedition to New Mexico, 295-315

  Cavalry, Confederate Services, 1, 2
    Fighting With Rocks, 60-81

  Chalmers, Brig. Gen., 278, 284, 609, 610, 611, 624

  Chambliss, Col., 350, 507

  Cheatham, Maj. Gen., 420

  Cheeseman, J. W., U. S. Str. Captured, 289

  Chenault, Col., 11th Ky., 227, 237, 238, 373, 423, 424

  Chew, Capt., C. S. Art., 360, 361

  Cleburne, Gen. Patrick, 22, 77, 79, 420

  Clifton, U. S. Gunboat, Captured, 160

  Cloud, Gen. John, 226

  Cluke, Col. Roy S., 171, 191-194, 226, 227, 237, 238, 241, 423, 432,
        436, 437
    Kentucky Raid, 171-194

  Cobb, Capt. Bailey, 238

  Coleman, Lieut. Col. Cicero, 176, 240

  Colored Infantry, “No Quarter Badge,” 11

  Colt’s Revolvers vs. Rifles, 11

  Cook, Col., 165, 584

  Cooke, Gen., U. S., 326

  Coopwood, Capt., 302

  Corbett, Capt., 433

  Cowan, Lieut., 3d Ky., 373

  Cranbury, Col., 75, 79

  Crittenden, Col., 218

  Crossland, Col. Edw., 37, 275

  Cunningham, Lieut., 172, 176, 181

  Curtis, Maj. Gen., 547

  Custer, Brig. Gen., 357, 366


  Davies, Gen., 54, 55, 56

  Davis, Pres. Jefferson, 319

  Davis, Col., 515

  Dawson, Col., 290

  Dearing, Gen., 45, 47, 54, 55

  Dennison, Col. Geo. Taylor, Cav., 398

  Dibbrell, Col. G. G., 151

  Dodge, Gen. Granville M., 456, 460

  Dortch, Maj., 68

  Douglas, Capt., Art., 152

  Duff, Capt., 415

  Duffie, Gen., 397, 514

  Dug Creek Gap, 72

  Duke, Brig. Gen. Basil W., 230, 231, 232, 236, 370, 423, 436, 437

  Dumont, Brig. Gen., 224

  Dunham, Col., 146, 147, 149

  Dunnovant, Gen., 45


  Eastham, Vincent, 8th Ky., 379

  Eastin, Geo. B., 446, 447

  Elliott, Maj. ——, 209

  Ellsworth, Geo. A., Telegrapher, 108-110, 125

  Ewing, Gen. C. S. A., 215-217


  Faulkner, C. S. Art., 275

  Ferguson, Lieut., 5th Ky., 373

  Fleetwood Hill Casualties, 3
    Battle of, 498-531

  Flournoy, Maj., 515, 524

  Freeman, Capt., Art., 134

  Forrest, Maj. Gen. Nathan Bedford, 1-6, 420
    Sherman’s Order, 6, 7
    Atlanta Campaign, 67,100
    West Tennessee Raid, 126, 164
    Biography, 126-129, 250, 251
    Johnsonville Raid, 270, 295
    Pursuit of Streight, 452-497
    Memphis Raid, 601-625

  Forrest, Brig. Gen. Jeffrey, 127, 151, 272

  Forrest, Col. Jesse, 617, 618

  Forrest, Capt. William, 460, 461, 616, 617, 618


  Gano, Col., 102, 104, 120, 226, 227, 232, 423

  Gardner, Maj. Gen., 367

  Garrard, Gen. Kenner, 570, 571, 576, 590

  Gartell, Capt., 16

  Gantt, Edw. W., 130

  Gearey, Gen., 76

  Gholson, Gen., 273

  Gibson, Maj. Thomas, 399, 406, 407, 515

  Gilmor, Col. Harry, 399

  Gilmore, Gen., 187

  Gordon, Capt. Geo., 559

  Gordon, James B., 355

  Gordon, Gen. John B., 343

  Gracey, Capt., C. S. Cav., 288, 291

  Granger, Brig. Gen., 268

  Grant, Gen. U. S., 52, 70, 292, 237, 341, 349

  Green, Gen. Thomas, 161, 162, 299, 306, 312-314

  Gregg, Gen., 54, 56, 350, 364, 514, 520, 521, 529

  Grigsby, Col. J. Warren, 68, 69, 73

  Grierson, Gen. B. H., 9, 37, 610, 42, 56, 349-366, 519, 525


  Hale, Maj. Henry S., 40, 275

  Hall, ——, C. S., 21

  Halleck, Maj. Gen. W. H., 117, 246, 346

  Halisey, Col., 439, 445

  Hampton, Col. Frank, 530

  Hampton, Maj. Gen. Wade, Trevillian Station, 3
    Cattle Raid, 1864, 42-59
    With J. E. B. Stuart, 42, 56, 349-366, 519, 525

  Hancock, Maj. Gen. Winfield S., 3, 343, 347

  Hannon, Gen., 254

  Hanson, Brig. Gen. Roger W., 226, 227

  Hanson, Col. Chas., 63, 374, 416

  Hardee, Gen. Wm. J., 77, 79, 273, 567

  Harlan, Gen. John M., 224, 234, 245, 439

  Harman, Col., 522

  Harriet Lane, U. S. N., Capture of, 100, 167

  Harris, Gov. Isham G., 129

  Harris, Gen., 103, 104, 344

  Harrisburg, Casualties, 3

  Hart, Capt., C. S. Art., 360

  Hartsville, Tenn., Casualties, 3

  Hathaway, Col. Gilbert, 455, 464, 468, 469

  Hewett, Maj. James W., 226

  Hindman, Gen. Thos. C., 98

  Holloway, Lieut., 5th Ky., 373

  Holmes, Maj. Gen., 540

  Hood, Gen., 250

  Hood, Maj. Gen., 566, 568

  Hooker, Gen. Joe, 74

  Hooper, ——, 219

  Hopkins, Lieut., 172, 174

  Hoskins, Col., 439, 445

  Huey, Capt., 130

  Huffman, Capt., 102, 436

  Hunt, Col. Thos. H., 226, 231

  Hunter, Col. A. A., 102, 104, 353

  Hunter, Col. Daniel, 208, 217, 218, 292

  Hurlbut, Gen. S. A., 10, 272, 611, 616

  Hutchinson, Col., 436


  Ingersoll, Robt. G., 140

  Iverson, Brig. Gen. Alfred, 571, 575, 577, 589, 591, 593


  Jackson, Gen. (Stonewall), 318

  Jackson, Brig. Gen. W. H. H., 583, 584

  James, Capt., 479

  Jennings, Capt., 125

  Johnson, Gen. Adam, 15, 370, 420, 423, 440

  Johnson, Andrew, 427

  Johnson, Gen. Bushrod, 341

  Johnson, Col. Wm. A., 457

  Johnsonville Raid, 1865, 270-295

  Johnston, Gen. Albert Sidney, 100, 101

  Johnston, Gen. Joseph E., 1, 60, 61, 70, 71, 496, 566, 590

  Jones, Gen. Wm. E., 428, 508, 511, 516, 570

  Jordan, Maj. ——, 104

  Joyce, Capt., 238


  Kautz, Gen., 54

  Kelly, Gen. John H., 70, 133, 268, 573, 574


  Latane, Capt., 9th Va., 324, 334

  Lawrence, Maj., 555

  Lee, Lieut., U. S. N., 168

  Lee, Lieut., U. S. Cav., 323

  Lee, Capt., C. S. Art., 168

  Lee, Gen. Fitzhugh, 321, 324

  Lee, Gen. Robert E., 1, 51, 52, 60, 319, 320, 321, 340-349, 605

  Lee, Gen. Stephen D., 14

  Lee, Gen. W. H. F., 46, 47, 54, 55, 56, 321, 328, 350, 339, 504, 511

  Leper, Capt., 543

  Lincoln, Abraham, 117, 246, 337

  Longstreet, Gen., 338

  Longwood, Col., 616

  Lyle, Clark, 181

  Lyon, Gen. Hylan B., 15-18, 39, 275, 28


  Magruder, Maj. Gen. John B., 155-170

  Marmaduke, Gen. John B., 1

  Marmaduke’s Cape Girardeau Raid, 536-561

  Marshall, Gen. Humphrey, 189

  Martin, Col. Robt. M., 423

  Martin, W. T., 321

  Martindale, Capt., 399, 411

  Maupin, Lieut., 186

  Maury, Gen., 607

  May, Capt. Charles, 129

  Mazeppa, U. S. Str., Captured, 290

  McClellan, Gen. Geo. B., 13, 317

  McClellan, Maj. H. B., 522

  McCown, Gen. C. S., 416, 418, 569, 570, 580, 583, 586, 587

  McCook, Gen. E. M., 223

  McCreary, Col. James B., 373, 448

  McCulloch, Col., 272

  McNeill, Brig. Gen., U. S., 220, 522-547

  McPherson, Maj. Gen., 12, 74

  Meade, Gen. Geo. G., 52, 337

  Merritt, Brig. Gen. Geo. W., 399, 502

  Morehead, Capt. James T., 226

  Moore, Col. Absalom B., 226, 245, 246

  Moore, Col. O. B., 23d Mich., 322

  Morgan’s Cincinnati Raid, 1863, 367-390

  Morgan’s Christmas Raid, 416-451

  Morgan, Gen. John H., 69
    Kentucky Raid, 96-125, 190, 420, 424, 426-451
    Hartsville Raid, 222-247, 325, 369, 390

  Morgan, Lieut. Thomas, 374

  Morton, Capt. Jno. W., 19, 25, 34, 36, 291

  Mosby, Col. John S., 391-415

  Mower, Gen., 6, 7, 606

  Munford, Brig. Gen. Thomas T., 510

  Muse, Capt. John M., 549


  Neptune, C. S. Str., 164-167


  Overton, Capt. Frank, 129


  Palmer, Gen., U. S. A., 417

  Palmer, Brig. Gen., C. S. A., 420

  Palmer, Capt., C. S. Art., 423, 433

  Pendleton, Capt. Virgil, 186, 437

  Peyton, Samuel O., 428

  Phillips, Col. John F., 542

  Pillow, Gen., 130

  Pleasanton, Maj. Gen. Alfred, U. S., 501-531, 535

  Poague, Capt., Art., 341

  Polk, Gen. Leonidas K., 64, 129, 223, 416

  Porter, Gen., U. S. A., 326

  Porter, Col., C. S., 544, 545

  Price, Capt., 540

  Price, Gen. Sterling, 1, 540


  Quirk, Capt., 241, 429


  Radcliffe, Capt., 187

  Renshaw, Commodore, U. S. N., 160, 169

  Reynolds, Gov., Mo., 1862 207

  Richards, Maj. Adolphus E. With Mosby’s Men, 391, 415

  Richardson, Gen., 272

  Riley, Col. James, 299

  Robertson, Brig. Gen. Beverly F., C. S., 507, 511

  Roddy, Brig. Gen. P. D., 88, 489

  Rosecrans, Maj. Gen. W. S., 94, 222, 246, 367, 416, 419

  Ross, Brig. Gen. L. S., C. S., 574, 584

  Rosser, Gen., 45, 47, 55, 56, 350, 359

  Rousseau, Gen., 268

  Royal, Capt. U. S. Cav., 323, 324

  Rucker, C. S. Cav., 17, 33

  Runkle, Col., 45th Ohio, 180, 181, 187

  Russell, Col., 134

  Russell, Capt., U. S., 489


  Sale, Lieut., C. S., 617

  Sansom, Emma, 470-479

  Sayers, Capt. Art., Joseph D., 311

  Shank, Col., 219

  Sheets, Col., 461, 462

  Shelby, Col., C. S., 543, 547

  Shelby’s Missouri Raid, 195, 221

  Shelby, Brig. Gen. Joseph C., 196-203

  Sheridan, Maj. Gen. Philip, 338, 343, 349-366

  Sherman, Gen. Tecumseh W., 260, 261, 272, 280, 292-294, 496, 568, 570,
        588, 602, 603, 604, 606

  Shuck, Lieut., 172

  Sibley, Gen. H. H., 298

  Sigel, Maj. Gen. Franz, 345

  Smart, Col., U. S., 543, 544

  Smith, Gen. A. J., 6, 277, 602

  Smith, Gen. E. Kirby, 1, 222, 545

  Smith, Gen. Green Clay, 122

  Smith, Gen. Gustavus W., 319

  Smith, Col. Howard, 5th Ky., 373

  Smith, Col. H. S., 432

  Smith, Capt. Leon, 161

  Smith, Gen. Sooy, 272, 293

  Stanton, Sec., 428, 603

  Starnes, Col., 147, 148, 151, 467, 480

  Starr, Col., U. S., 623

  Steedman, Gen., 256, 268

  Steele, Maj. Theophilus, 171, 177

  Steele, Col. William, 299

  Stoneman, Brig. Gen. George, U. S., 569-600

  Stoner, Col. Robert G., 171, 174, 183, 422, 432, 436

  Stoughton, Gen., 397

  Stuart, Gen. J. E. B., 316, 330, 345, 393, 394, 511

  Stuart’s Chambersburg Raid, 532-536

  Streight, Col. Abel D., 452-497

  Sturgis, Gen. Samuel D., 9, 13-15, 23, 38

  Sullivan, Brig. Gen., 146

  Sutton, Lieut. Col., 299


  Taylor, Gen. “Dick,” 1, 279, 605

  Terrill, Capt., 186

  Thomas, Maj. Gen., 71, 72, 246

  Thrall, Capt., Art., 91

  Thurston, Lieut., U. S., 619

  Tool, Capt., Art., 302

  Torbert, Brig. Gen., 350, 365

  Treble, Capt. Alex., 11th Ky., 373

  Trevilian Station, 3, 337-366

  Tyler, Capt. H. A., C. S., 8, 35, 41, 273


  Undine, U. S. Str., Captured, 288-290


  Vandever, Gen. William, U. S., 548

  Venus, U. S. Str., Captured, 289, 290


  Wainwright, Capt., U. S. N., 160, 168

  Ward, Brig. Gen., 109

  Waring, Col. Geo. E., 8-10, 16, 19, 272, 273

  Washburn, Gen. C. C., 8, 15, 277, 601, 603, 605, 606, 617, 619,
        622, 623

  Webb, Wm., 428

  Westfield, U. S. Str., 160

  Wheeler, Gen. Joseph, 67-70, 417, 418
    Defeat of Gen. Stoneman, 564-600
    Tennessee Raid, 1863, 82-94, 133
    Tennessee Raid, 1864, 238-258, 269

  White, Col., 129, 523, 524

  Wickham, Col., C. S. Cav., 350, 506

  Wickliffe, Capt. John C., 96

  Wilcox, Capt., 130

  Williams, Col. Solomon, C. S., 530-563

  Williamson, Brig. Gen., 72, 130, 266

  Wilson, Brig. Gen., 350

  Wilson’s Creek Casualties, 4

  Windom, Col., U. S., 522, 523

  Winslow, Brig. Gen., 17, 19

  Wisdom, Capt., C. S. Cav., 33

  Wisdom, “Deacon” John H., 482-489

  Woolford, Col. Frank, 123, 371

  Wyatt, Henry, Private, Killed at Big Bethel, 156


  Young, Gen. P. M. B., 45, 350, 359




  Transcriber’s Notes

  pg vii Changed: Forrests’s Raid into West Tennessee
              to: Forrest’s Raid into West Tennessee
  pg ix Removed comma after: CAPTAIN MORTON AND GENERAL LYON,
  pg 24 Changed: had discomfitted and driven away their foe
             to: had discomfited and driven away their foe
  pg 31 Changed: hopes of victory and driven them discomfitted
             to: hopes of victory and driven them discomfited
  pg 75 Changed: Later, when it was dark (full moon), Cranbury’s
             to: Later, when it was dark (full moon), Granbury’s
  pg 116 Changed: command of Kentucky with headquarters at Lousiville
              to: command of Kentucky with headquarters at Louisville
  pg 160 Changed: He only purposed to make this attempt
              to: He only proposed to make this attempt
  pg 166 Added period after B in: GENERAL JOHN B MAGRUDER
  pg 173 Changed: dirt roads over which the march was progresisng.
              to: dirt roads over which the march was progressing.
  pg 179 Changed: Only the completemy stification and demoralization
              to: Only the complete mystification and demoralization
  pg 231 Changed: go on and succeed or meet direfuldefeat.
              to: go on and succeed or meet direful defeat.
  pg 251 Changed: then reaching to Chattannoga
              to: then reaching to Chattanooga
  pg 370 Two sentences after: “The First Brigade” were switched by
                  the book printer and rearranged.
  pg 371 Changed: campaign would not be completed wthout
              to: campaign would not be completed without
  pg 371 Changed: It did not take long to drive Wolford’s
              to: It did not take long to drive Woolford’s
  pg 413 Changed: Federal prisoners had been corraled
              to: Federal prisoners had been corralled
  pg 416 Changed: The center, under General Leonidas Pope,
              to: The center, under General Leonidas Polk,
  pg 421 Changed: inclement weather and with an illy-equipped
              to: inclement weather and with an ill-equipped
  pg 425 Changed: and the hope and promise of homegoing
              to: and the hope and promise of home-going
  pg 426 Changed: filled his mind with ecstacy
              to: filled his mind with ecstasy
  pg 439 Changed: by three o’clock next day it bivouaced
              to: by three o’clock next day it bivouacked
  pg 497 Added period after: his transcendent power passed their way
  pg 500 Changed: from Kelley’s Ford to Beverlys’ Ford
              to: from Kelley’s Ford to Beverly’s Ford
  pg 502 Changed: He was on General Pope’s staff
              to: He was on General Polk’s staff
  pg 503 Changed: and be witnessed some of the most desperate
              to: and he witnessed some of the most desperate
  pg 532 Added period after letter B in: GENERAL J. E. B STUART
  pg 547 Changed: NcNeil, who had one day’s start
              to: McNeil, who had one day’s start
  pg 550 Changed: tried the horses, but it laid grevious
              to: tried the horses, but it laid grievous
  pg 571 Changed: served in the Mexican War when olny seventeen
              to: served in the Mexican War when only seventeen
  pg 582 Changed: success meant to his beleagured army
              to: success meant to his beleaguered army
  pg 594 Changed: When the Confederates cut Stomenan’s
              to: When the Confederates cut Stoneman’s
  pg 606 Changed: of August, 1864, he received his commision
              to: of August, 1864, he received his commission
  pg 619 Changed: uniform of a Confederate major genreal.
              to: uniform of a Confederate major general.
  pg 630 Changed: Grainger, Brig. Gen., 268
              to: Granger, Brig. Gen., 268
  Corrected punctuation where necessary in the Index.
  Many hyphenated and non-hyphenated word combinations left as written.