The Lone Star Defenders

by S. B. Barron

As we advanced in the morning, Major John H. Broocks, of the Legion, commanded the advance guard composed of a squadron of which our company was a part. About a half mile out of the little town, when we came to where the road forked, he halted and ordered me to take five men and go on the left-hand road a half or three-fourths of a mile, get a good position for observation, and remain there until he ordered me away. We went on and took our position, the main force moving on the right-hand road. Very soon they met the enemy and got into an engagement with them across a field nearly opposite our position. After awhile the firing having ceased, we heard our bugle sound the retreat, heard the brigade move out, and soon the Federals advanced until they had passed the forks of the road, when a battery began throwing shells at us. But no orders came from Major Broocks. Our position becoming untenable, and knowing we had been forgotten, and being unable to regain the road, we struck due south through the woods and rode all night, in order to rejoin the command. Finding it next morning, Major Broocks was profuse in his apologies for having forgotten us.

In the fight at Oakland we had about ten men wounded, Chaplain R. W. Thompson, of the Legion, voluntarily remaining to take care of them and dress their wounds. He had gotten them into a house and was very busy dressing the injury of one of them when a Federal soldier, with a musket in his hand, walked in and purposed making him a prisoner. Mr. Thompson was very indignant and stormed at the fellow in such a manner as to intimidate him, and he walked out and left him, and Thompson went on with his duties. Presently he was again accosted, and straightening himself up, he looked around to confront an officer and gaze into the muzzle of a cocked revolver. The officer asked, “Who are you?” “I am a Confederate soldier,” said Thompson. “Then,” said the officer, “I guess I’ll take you up to General Washburn’s quarters.” “I guess you will not,” replied Thompson. “Well, but I guess I will,” said the officer. By this time Thompson was very indignant and said: “Sir, just take that pistol off me for half a minute and I’ll show you whether I will go or not.” “But,” said the officer, “I am not going to do that, and to avoid trouble, I guess you had better come on with me.” So Rev. Mr. Thompson went, and was soon introduced to the general, who said to him, “To what command do you belong, sir?” Thompson answered, “I belong to a Texas cavalry brigade.” “Are you an officer or private?” inquired the general. “I am a chaplain,” said Thompson. “You are a d——d rough chaplain,” said the general. “Yes,” replied the chaplain, “and you would say I was a d——d rough fighter if you were to meet me on a battlefield with a musket in my hands.” “How many men have you in your command, sir?” asked the general, meaning the force he had just met. Mr. Thompson replied, “We have enough to fight, and we have enough to run, and we use our discretion as to which we do.” The general stamped his foot in anger and repeated the question, and got the same answer. “You insolent fellow!” said the general, stamping his foot again. “Now,” said Thompson in return, “let me say to you, General, that if you wish to gain any information in regard to our forces that will do you any good, you are interrogating the wrong man.” “Take this insolent fellow out of my presence and place him under guard!” said the general. This order was obeyed, when a crowd soon began to gather around Thompson, growing larger and larger all the time and looking so vicious that Thompson was actually afraid they were going to mob him. Casting his eyes around he saw an officer, and, beckoning to him, the officer made his way through the crowd and soon dispersed it. Thompson’s “insolence” cost him a long march—from there to the bank of the Mississippi River, where they released him, with blistered feet, to make his way back to his command.

Mr. Thompson was indiscreet, perhaps, in his manner, which was, no doubt, detrimental to himself; but he felt conscious that they had no right to detain him as a prisoner, or to interfere with his duties, and their manner irritated him. He was a good, whole-souled man, bold and fearless, and the best chaplain I knew in the army. What I could say about army chaplains, so far as my observation went, would not be flattering and, perhaps, had better be unsaid. But the Rev. R. W. Thompson, as chaplain of Whitfield’s Texas Legion, was a success, and he was with us in adversity as well as in prosperity. When at leisure he preached to us and prayed for us; when in battle he was with the infirmary corps, bearing the wounded from the field, or assisting the surgeons in dressing their wounds and ministering to their wants. We all loved him, and thank God he was spared to do noble work for his Master and his church for many years after the Civil War was over, and I believe he is still living.

This Oakland affair occurred December 8, 1862. We had 1264 cavalry with a battery of four guns. Brigadier-General C. C. Washburn had 2500 men and two batteries. The engagement lasted about fifty minutes.

In the meantime General Grant had organized a fine army of about 75,000 men, including infantry, artillery, and cavalry, and was slowly moving down the Mississippi Central Railway. His front had reached as far south as Coffeeville, his objective point being Vicksburg, and he intended to co-operate with the river forces in taking that Confederate stronghold. General Pemberton’s small army was gradually falling back before him. As the general depot of Federal supplies was at Holly Springs, and to destroy Grant’s supplies might turn him back, or at least would cripple him more than the best fighting we could do in his front, this was determined on.

General Earl Van Dorn, who was known to be a fine cavalry officer, was just then without a command. Lieutenant-Colonel John S. Griffith, commanding a brigade, joined by the officers of the regiments composing the brigade, about the 5th of December petitioned General Pemberton to organize a cavalry raid, to be commanded by General Van Dorn, for the purpose of penetrating General Grant’s rear, with the idea of making an effort to destroy the supplies at Holly Springs, and to do any other possible injury to the enemy. In due time the raid was organized. We took Holly Springs, captured the guards, destroyed the supplies, and General Grant was compelled to abandon his campaign.

From this time General Van Dorn commanded us until his untimely death at the hands of an assassin. A more gallant soldier than Earl Van Dorn was not to be found, and as a cavalry commander I do not believe he had a superior in either army. What I may say about this, however, here or elsewhere, I know is of little worth, as most people have formed and expressed an opinion—some in favor of Forrest, some Stuart, and some Joe Wheeler; but any man who was with us on this expedition and at other times, and who watched General Van Dorn’s maneuvers closely, studied his stratagems and noted the complete success of all his movements, would have to admit that he was a master of the art of war in this line of the service. At the head of an infantry column he moved too rapidly, too many of his over-marched men failed to get into his battles; but place him in front of good men well mounted, and he stood at the head of the class of fine cavalry commanders.

With three brigades, ours, General W. H. Jackson’s and Colonel McCulloch’s, aggregating about 3500 men in light marching order, without artillery, we moved from the vicinity of Grenada early after dark, about the 18th of December, and marched rapidly all night. We passed through Pontotoc next day, when the good ladies stood on the street with dishes and baskets filled with all manner of good things to eat, which we grabbed in our hands as we passed rapidly through the town. After passing Pontotoc a command of Federal cavalry dropped in on our rear, fired a few shots and picked up some of our men who had dropped behind. Among those picked up was our Indiana man, Harvey N. Milligan. Somehow the boys had come to doubt Milligan’s loyalty, and suspected that he had fallen behind purposely to allow himself to be captured. When the rear was fired on the colonel commanding the rear regiment sent a courier up to notify General Van Dorn. The fellow came up the column in a brisk gallop. Now, to pass from the rear to the front of a column of 3500 cavalry rapidly marching by twos is quite a feat, but he finally reached General Van Dorn, and with a military salute he said: “General, Colonel —— sent me to inform you that the Yankees have fired on his rear!” “Are they in the rear?” inquired the general. “Yes, sir,” answered the courier. “Well, you go back,” said the general, “and tell Colonel —— that that is exactly where I want them.” It was interesting to note how adroitly he managed to keep in our rear on the entire expedition all their forces that attempted in any way to interfere with our movements. Their scouts were, of course, watching us to determine, if possible, our destination.

In going north from Pontotoc, General Van Dorn, instead of taking the Holly Springs road, passing east of that place, headed his command towards Bolivar, Tenn. Their conclusion then was, of course, that we were aiming to attack Bolivar. Stopping long enough at night to feed, we mounted our horses and by a quiet movement were placed on roads leading into Holly Springs, dividing the command into two columns, so as to strike the town by two roads. We moved slowly and very quietly during the night, and while we were moving directly towards the town guards were placed at the houses we passed lest some citizen might be treacherous enough to inform the enemy of our movements. The road our column was on was a rough, unworked, and little used one. At the first appearance of dawn, being perhaps three miles from town, we struck a gallop and, meeting no opposition, we were soon pouring into the infantry camps near the railroad depot, situated in the eastern suburbs. The infantry came running out of the tents in their night clothes, holding up their hands and surrendered without firing a gun. Our other column encountered the mounted cavalry pickets, and had a little fight with them, but they soon galloped out of town, and on this bright, frosty morning of December 20, A. D. 1862, the town, with its immense stores of army supplies, was ours. Standing on the track near the depot was a long train of box cars loaded with rations and clothing only waiting for steam enough to pull out for the front. This was burned as it stood. Leaving the Legion to guard the prisoners until they could be paroled, the Third Texas galloped on uptown. The people, as soon as it was known that we were Confederates, were wild with joy. Women came running out of their houses, to their front gates as we passed, in their night robes, their long hair streaming behind and fluttering in the frosty morning air, shouting and clapping their hands, forgetting everything except the fact that the Confederates were in Holly Springs! On every hand could be heard shouts—“Hurrah for Jeff Davis! Hurrah for Van Dorn! Hurrah for the Confederacy!”