Confederate wizards of the saddle /

by Bennett H. Young

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.

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.