The Lone Star Defenders

by S. B. Barron

For the remainder of the night we moved as best we could down such roads as we could find parallel to Kilpatrick’s line of march—so near, in fact, that we could distinctly hear the clatter of their horses’ hoofs, the rumbling of their artillery, and the familiar rattle of sabers and canteens. Soon after daylight we came in sight of his column crossing the railroad at Fairburn, charged into it and cut it in two for the time. They halted, formed a line of battle, and we detained them in skirmishing until we managed to effect our object,—the gaining their front,—and during the day, until late in the afternoon, detained them as much as possible on their march.

Below Fairburn Kilpatrick’s main column took the Jonesboro road, while a small column took the road leading to Fayetteville, a town about ten miles west of Jonesboro. Ross’ brigade, continuing in front of the main column and that of Armstrong, followed the Fayetteville road. Just before night we passed through Jonesboro, which is ten or twelve miles from Fairburn, and allowed Kilpatrick to occupy the town for the night. Ross’ brigade occupied a position south of the town near the railroad, while Armstrong was west; General Ferguson, whose brigade was numerically stronger than either of the others, being directed to go out on a road leading east. As we afterwards learned, they failed to find their road, or got lost, and, so far as I remember, were not heard from for a day or two. Thus posted, or intended to be posted, the understanding and agreement was that we should make a triangular attack on Kilpatrick at daylight the next morning.

Our brigade moved on time and marched into the town, only to learn that, with the exception of a few stragglers who had overslept themselves, not a Federal soldier was to be found. The brigade followed them eastwardly from Jonesboro, and in due time came up with their rear-guard at breakfast behind some railworks near Lee’s Mill, and from this time until along in the afternoon we had a pretty warm time with their rear. They were moving on a road that intersects the McDonough and Lovejoy road, and when they struck this road they turned in the direction of Lovejoy Station.

We finally came up with the main force ensconced behind some heavy railworks on a hill near a farmhouse a short distance east of the station. We had to approach them, after leaving the timber, through a lane probably three-quarters of a mile in length. The farm was mostly uncultivated, and had been divided into three fields by two cross-fences, built of rails running at right angles with the lane, and these were thrown right and left to admit of the free passage of cavalry. In the eastern cross fence, however, a length some twenty or thirty yards, and but a few rails high, was left standing, when a ditch or ravine running along on the west side was too deep to be safely crossed by cavalry. In this lane the command dismounted, leaving the horses in the hands of holders, and deployed in line in the open field, to the left or south side of the lane, and a section of Croft’s Georgia battery was placed on an elevation to the right of the lane.

I had been sent back to Lee’s Mill to hurry up a detail left to bury one of our dead, so was behind when the line was formed. Having, on the day we fought McCook, picked up a mule for my boy Jake to ride, I now had him leading my horse to rest his back, while I rode the mule. I rode up and gave my rein to a horse-holder, and was hurrying on to join the line when they charged the railworks, and when I got up with them they had begun to fall back. The brigade, not having more than four hundred men for duty, was little more than a skirmish line. During the day General Hood had managed to place General Reynolds’ Arkansas brigade at Lovejoy Station, which fact Kilpatrick had discovered, and while we were showing our weakness in an open field on one side, General Reynolds managed to keep his men under cover of timber on the other. Thus Kilpatrick found himself between an unknown infantry force in front and a skirmish-line of dismounted cavalry and a section of artillery in his rear. He concluded to get out of this situation—and he succeeded. Being repulsed in the charge on the railworks, by a heavy fire of artillery and small arms, we fell back and re-formed our line behind the first cross fence. Three regiments of the enemy then rapidly moved out from behind their works, the Fourth United States, Fourth Michigan, and Seventh Pennsylvania, and charged with sabers, in columns of fours, the three columns abreast. As they came on us at a sweeping gallop, with their bright sabers glittering, it was a grand display. And Ross’ brigade was there and then literally run over, trampled under foot, and, apparently annihilated. Just before the charge they had shelled our horses in the lane, which, consequently, had been moved back into the timber.

What could we do under the circumstances? If we had had time to hold a council of war and had deliberated over the matter ever so long, we would probably have acted just as we did; that is, acted upon the instinct of self-preservation, rather than upon judgment. No order was heard; not a word spoken; every officer and every man took in the whole situation at a glance: no one asked or gave advice: no one waited for orders. The line was maintained intact for a few seconds, the men emptying their pieces at the heads of the columns. This created a momentary flutter without checking their speed, and on they came in fine style. There was no time for reloading, and every one instinctively started for the horses a mile in the rear, a half mile of open field behind us, and all of us much fatigued with the active duties performed on the sultry summer day. Being very much fatigued myself and never being fleet of foot, I outran only two men in the brigade, Lieutenant W. H. Carr, of Company C, and W. S. Coleman, of Company A, of the Third Texas, who were both captured, and I kept up with only two others, Captain Noble and Lieutenant Soap, also of the Third Texas. We three came to the ravine already described, at the same instant. Soap dropped into it, Noble jumped over and squatted in the sage grass in the corner of the fence. I instantly leaped the ravine and the rail fence, and had gone perhaps ten or fifteen steps when the clatter of horses’ hoofs became painfully distinct, and “Surrender, sir!” rang in my ear like thunder.

Now, I had had no thought of the necessity of surrendering, as I had fondly hoped and believed I would escape. Halting, I looked up to ascertain whether these words were addressed to me, and instantly discovered that the column directly in my wake was dividing, two and two, to cross the ravine, coming together again just in front of me, so that I was completely surrounded. This was an emergency. As I looked up my eyes met those of a stalwart rider as he stood up in his stirrups, his drawn saber glittering just over my head; and, as I hesitated, he added in a kind tone: “That’s all I ask of you, sir.” I had a rifle in my hand which had belonged to one of our men who had been killed near me during the day. Without speaking a word, I dropped this on the ground in token of my assent. “All right,” said he, as he spurred his horse to overtake some of the other men.

Just at this time our artillery began throwing shells across the charging columns, and the first one exploded immediately above our heads, the pieces falling promiscuously around in my neighborhood, creating some consternation in their ranks. Taking advantage of this, I placed my left hand above my hip, as if struck, and fell as long a fall as I could towards the center of the little space between the columns, imitating as best I could the action of a mortally wounded man,—carefully falling on my right side to hide my pistol, which I still had on. Here I lay, as dead to all outward appearances as any soldier that fell during the war, and remained in this position without moving a muscle, until the field was clear of all of Kilpatrick’s men who were able to leave it. To play the rôle of a dead man for a couple of hours and then make my escape may sound like a joke to the inexperienced, and it was really a practical joke on the raiders; but to me, to lie thus exposed on the bare ground, with a column of hostile cavalry passing on either side all the time, and so near me that I could distinctly hear any ordinary conversation, was far from enjoyable. I am no stranger to the hardships of a soldier’s life; I have endured the coldest weather with scant clothing, marched day after day and night after night without food or sleep; have been exposed to cold, hunger, inclement weather and fatigue until the power of endurance was well-nigh exhausted, but never did I find anything quite so tedious and trying as playing dead. I had no idea of time, except that I knew that I had not lain there all night. The first shell our men threw after I fell came near killing me, as a large piece plowed up the ground near enough to my back to throw dirt all over me. Their ammunition, however, was soon exhausted, the guns abandoned, and that danger at an end.

As things grew more quiet the awful fear seized me that my ruse would be discovered and I be abused for my deception, and driven up and carried to prison. This fear haunted me until the last. Now, to add to the discomfort of my situation, it began to rain, and never in my life had I felt such a rain. When in my fall I struck the ground my hat had dropped off, and this terrible rain beat down in my face until the flesh was sore. But to move an arm or leg, or to turn my face over for protection was to give my case completely away, and involved, as I felt, the humiliation of a prison life; than which nothing in the bounds of probability in my life as a Confederate soldier was so horrible, in which there was but one grain of consolation, and that was that I would see my brother and other friends who had been on Johnson’s Island for some months.

The last danger encountered was when some dismounted men came near driving some pack mules over me. Finally everything became so quiet that I ventured to raise my head, very slowly and cautiously at first, and as not a man could be seen I finally rose to my feet. Walking up to a wounded Pennsylvania cavalryman I held a short conversation with him. Surveying the now deserted field, so lately the scene of such activity, and supposing as I did that Ross’ brigade as an organization was broken up and destroyed, I was much distressed. I was left alone and afoot, and never expected to see my horse or mule any more, which in fact I never did, as Kilpatrick’s cavalry, after charging through the field, had turned into the road and stampeded our horses.