The Lone Star Defenders 16

The Lone Star Defenders 16

After we left the vicinity of the bridge and after the skirmishing

ceased, there was no time for order in marching, unless it was with the

rear-guard; no time to wait for the trains to stretch out into the road

and to follow it then in twos. We fell into the road pell-mell, and

moved in any style we wished to, in among the wagons, or any way just

so we moved along and kept out of the way of those behind us. During

the afternoon, in the middle of the road, I stumbled upon a small pile

of corn meal, half a gallon, maybe, that had sifted out of a commissary

wagon, and gathered part of it into my haversack, mixed with a little

dirt. I crossed the bridge away along, I suppose, about 11 P. M., after

which I stopped and watched General Price’s maneuvers and the crossing

of the wagons until after midnight.

 

In the meantime I hunted around and found an old castaway tin cup,

dipped up some river water and made up some dough, and then spreading

it out on a board, I laid it on General Price’s fire until it was

partially cooked. Surely it was the most delicious piece of bread I

have ever tasted, even to this day.

 

When a good portion of the Third Texas had come up we moved on into the

Ripley road and were sent northward for a mile or two, where we lay

in line of battle in ambush, near the road until the trains had all

passed.

 

After daylight we moved on towards Ripley, being again permitted

to march at will, as we had marched the night before. Approaching

Ruckersville my heart turned again toward my good cousin, Tabitha

Crook. Taking little David Allen with me, I made haste to find her

home. Arriving there a short time before dinner, I said to her,

“Cousin, I am powerful hungry.” “Oh, yes,” she said, “I know you are,

Willis came by home last night, nearly starved to death.” Soon we were

invited into her dining-room and sat down to a dinner fit for a king.

Here I met her brother, George Cotten, whom I had never seen before.

After dinner Mrs. Crook insisted that we rest awhile, which we did,

and presently she brought in our haversacks filled up, pressed down,

and running over with the most palatable cooked rations, such as fine,

light biscuits, baked sweet potatoes, and such things, and my mess

rejoiced that night that I had good kins-people in that particular part

of Mississippi, as our camp rations that night were beef without bread.

 

We then moved on to Holly Springs and rested for some days, after a

fatiguing and disastrous campaign, which cost us the loss of many brave

soldiers, and lost General Van Dorn his command, as he was superseded

by General J. C. Pemberton.

 

The battle of Corinth was fought October 3 and 4, 1862. I do not know

the number of troops engaged, but our loss was heavy. According to

General Van Dorn our loss was: Killed, 594; wounded, 2162; missing,

2102. Total, 4858. The enemy reported: Killed, 355; wounded, 2841;

missing, 319. Total, 3515. But if General Rosecrans stated the

truth, our loss was much greater than General Van Dorn gave, as he

(General R.) stated that they buried 1423 of our dead, which I think

is erroneous. Company C lost our captain, James A. Jones, mortally

wounded; John B. Long and L. F. Grisham, captured. As Captain Jones

could not be carried off the field, Long remained with him and was

taken prisoner, being allowed to remain with Captain Jones until he

died. They were sent to Louisville, Ky., and then to Memphis, Tenn.,

where Captain Jones lingered for three months or more. After his death,

Long, aided by some good women of Memphis, made his escape and returned

to us.

 

It was at the battle of Corinth that the gallant William P. Rogers,

colonel of the Second Texas Infantry, fell in such a manner, and

under such circumstances, as to win the admiration of both friend and

foe. Even General Rosecrans, in his official report, complimented

him very highly. The Federals buried him with military honors. It

was at Corinth, too, that Colonel L. S. Ross, with the aid of his

superb regiment, the Sixth Texas Cavalry, won his brigadier-general’s

commission.

 

The evening before reaching Holly Springs we had what in Texas would

be called a wet norther. Crawling in a gin-house I slept on the cotton

seed, and when we reached Holly Springs I had flux, with which I

suffered very severely for several days, as the surgeon had no medicine

that would relieve me in the least. In a few days we moved south to

Lumpkin’s Mill, where we met our horses and were remounted, the Third,

Sixth, Ninth and Whitfield’s Legion composing the cavalry brigade,

which organization was never changed. The army was soon falling back

again, and continued to do so until it reached Grenada, on the south

bank of Yalabusha River.

 

As we were now in the cavalry service we did the outpost duty for the

army north of the Yalabusha.

 

[Illustration: JOHN GERMANY

 

Fourth and last Captain Company C, Third Texas Cavalry]

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER IX

 

HOLLY SPRINGS RAID

 

At Grenada—Scouting—Engagement at Oakland—Chaplain Thompson’s

Adventure—Holly Springs Raid—Jake—The Bridge at Wolf River—I Am

Wounded—Bolivar—Attack on Middleburg—Christmas.

 

 

WINTER weather came on us very early for the climate, snow having

fallen to the depth of two or three inches before the middle of

October, while the forests were still green, and the weather was

intensely cold all during the fall months. While in this part of the

field we had to be active and vigilant without having much fighting to

do, and we enjoyed life fairly well.

 

General Washburn was sent out from Memphis with a force, estimated to

be 10,000 men, and crossing Cold Water he came in our direction. The

brigade in command of Lieutenant-Colonel John S. Griffith, of the Sixth

Texas, moved up northwest to the little town of Oakland to meet him.

Starting in the afternoon we marched through a cold rain which benumbed

us so that many of us were unable to tie our horses when we stopped

to camp at night. Next morning we passed through Oakland about ten

o’clock and met the enemy a mile or two beyond and had a lively little

engagement with them, lasting, perhaps, half an hour, in which our men

captured a baby cannon, somewhat larger than a pocket derringer.

 

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.