Confederate wizards of the saddle /

by Bennett H. Young

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.