Confederate wizards of the saddle /

by Bennett H. Young

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.

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.”