The Lone Star Defenders 19

The Lone Star Defenders 19

Our duties in front of Franklin were quite active, as we had several

important roads leading southward to guard, and frequent skirmishes

occurred, as the pickets usually stood in sight of each other on the

hills that were crossed by the turnpike roads, especially on the main

Columbian pike. In addition to the Columbia pike, running directly

south from Franklin, there was Carter’s Creek pike, leading southwest,

and the Lewisburg pike, leading southeast. Still no considerable

fighting was done until the 4th day of March, which culminated in

the battle of Thompson Station on the 5th. On the 4th, Colonel John

Coburn of the Thirty-third Indiana Volunteers was ordered out by

General Gilbert, with a force of nearly 3000 men, including infantry,

cavalry, and about six pieces of artillery, to proceed to Spring Hill

and ascertain what was there. About four miles from Franklin they

were met by a portion of General Van Dorn’s command, and pretty heavy

skirmishing resulted, when both armies fell back and camped for the

night. Our forces retired to Thompson’s Station, nine miles south of

Franklin, and went into camp south of a range of hills running across

the pike just south of the station. This is a very hilly country, and

the Nashville & Decatur Railroad runs through a little valley between

two ranges of hills, and the station is in the valley a short distance

west of Columbia pike.

 

On the morning of the 5th the enemy was found to be advancing again,

and leaving our horses behind the hill, we crossed over to the north

side, and near a church just south of the station we were formed behind

a stone fence—that is, Whitfield’s brigade, other troops to our right

and left, our artillery being posted to our right on the hill near the

pike. The enemy advanced to the range of hills north of the station,

on which was a cedar brake. From our position back to the hill and

cedar brake was an open field with an upgrade about half a mile wide,

the station, with its few small buildings, standing in between the

lines, but much nearer to us. The Federal artillery was posted, part

on each side of the pike, directly in front of ours, and the batteries

soon began playing on each other. Colonel Coburn, not seeing our line

of dismounted men behind the stone fence, ordered two of his infantry

regiments to charge and take our batteries, and they came sweeping

across the field for that purpose. When they came to within a short

distance of our front, Whitfield’s brigade leaped over the fence,

and, joined by the Third Arkansas, of Armstrong’s brigade, charged

them, and soon drove them back across the open field, back to the hill

and cedar brake, their starting point. Here they rallied, and being

re-enforced they drove our forces back to the station and stone fence,

where, taking advantage of the houses and stone fence, our forces

rallied and, being joined by the remainder of General Armstrong’s

brigade, drove them back again. This attack and repulse occurred three

successive times. In the meantime General Forrest, with two regiments

of his brigade, had been ordered to move around to the right and gain

their rear, and as they retired to their hill and cedar brake the third

time, Forrest opened fire on their rear, and they threw down their guns

and surrendered—that is, those that were still upon the field. Their

artillery, cavalry, and one regiment of infantry had already left.

 

The engagement lasted about five hours, say from 10 A. M. to 3 P. M.

Our loss was 56 killed, 289 wounded, and 12 missing; total, 357. The

enemy’s loss was 48 killed, 247 wounded, and 1151 captured; total,

1446. Among the captured were seventy-five officers, including Colonel

Coburn, the commander, and Major W. R. Shafter, of the Nineteenth

Michigan, who is now Major-General, and one of the heroes of the

Spanish-American war.[3]

 

Company C lost Beecher Donald, mortally wounded. Among the killed

of the Third Texas of my acquaintances I remember Drew Polk (alias

“Redland Bully”), of Company E, and Sergeant Moses Wyndham, a friend of

mine, of Company A. From the day of the Oak Hill battle up to this day

we had never been able to get T. Wiley Roberts into even a skirmish,

but to-day he was kept close in hand and carried into the battle, but

ran his ramrod through his right hand and went to the rear as related

in this chronicle. Among the losses was Colonel S. G. Earle, of the

Third Arkansas, killed; and my friend H. C. Cleaver, an officer in

the same regiment, was wounded. Rev. B. T. Crouch of Mississippi, a

chaplain, was killed while acting as aide-de-camp to General Jackson.

Captain Broocks, brother of Lieutenant-Colonel John H. Broocks, was

also killed.

 

The dwelling houses in the vicinity of Thompson’s Station were situated

in the surrounding hills overlooking the battlefield, but out of

danger, and from these houses a number of ladies witnessed the battle.

When they saw the enemy being driven back they would clap their hands

and shout, but when our forces were being driven back they would hide

their eyes and cry. Thus they were alternately shouting and crying all

day, until they saw nearly twelve hundred of the enemy marched out and

lined up as prisoners, and then they were permanently happy.

 

Here we lost the beautiful flag presented to us in the Indian

Territory, the staff being shot in two, while in close proximity to

the enemy. The bearer picked it up, but as he had to make his escape

through a plum thicket the flag was torn into narrow ribbons and left

hanging on the bushes.

 

[Illustration: JESSE W. WYNNE

 

Captain Company B, Third Texas Cavalry]

 

General Van Dorn had four brigades under his command at this

time—Forrest’s brigade of four regiments and a battalion, Martin’s

brigade of two regiments, Armstrong’s brigade of two regiments, one

battalion, and one squadron, and Whitfield’s brigade of four Texas

regiments. All these participated, more or less, in the battle, but as

Jackson’s division was in the center the brunt of the battle fell on

them, as the losses will show. Whitfield lost 170 men, Armstrong, 115,

Forrest, 69, and Martin, 3.

 

General Gordon Granger took command at Franklin immediately after the

battle of Thompson Station. He and General Van Dorn were said to be

classmates at West Point, and good friends personally, but it seemed

that they made strenuous efforts to overreach or to out-general each

other.

 

About March 8 another expedition was sent out by the enemy apparently

for the purpose of driving us out of the neighborhood. Skirmishing

began on the Columbia and Lewisburg pikes, some three or four miles

south of Franklin, and was continued on the Columbia road for about

three days, until we fell back across Rutherford Creek and took a

strong position behind a range of hills south of the creek, destroying

the bridges. In the meantime heavy rains were falling, the creek rising

so that General Granger’s forces were delayed about two days in their

efforts to cross, and all that could be done was to skirmish across

the creek. Duck River, just behind us, rose so high and ran so swift,

that pontoon bridges could not be maintained across it. A battle could

not be risked with only a small ferryboat in such a stream. Still

the skirmishing went on, until the trains and artillery were ferried

across, when, leaving skirmishers on the hill to deceive the enemy,

we moved up the river through cedar brakes to White’s bridge, twenty

miles, crossed to the south side of the river, and when the enemy

crossed Rutherford Creek they found no rebels in their front. We moved

down through Columbia, and five or six miles down the Mount Pleasant

turnpike and went into camp.

 

“Pony” Pillow’s wife had been kind enough to knit me a pair of fine

yarn gauntlets, and having heard that we had crossed Duck River, she

sent them to me, by her husband, who came up soon after we struck camp.

While he was there I was ordered to take a squad of men whose horses

needed shoes, go into the country and press one or two blacksmith

shops, and run them for the purpose of having a lot of shoeing done.

I got my men and went home with Pillow, took charge of shops in the

neighborhood, and was kept on duty there about eight days, staying with

my old grand-cousin’s family every night. I enjoyed this opportunity of

talking with the old gentleman very much, as he had known my maternal

grandparents when they were all children in Guilford County, North

Carolina, before the Revolutionary War. He, himself, had been a soldier

for eight years of his life, and had been shot through the body with

a musket ball. In these war times he loved to talk about his exploits

as a soldier. While I was there he mounted his horse and rode several

miles through the neighborhood, to the tanyard and the shoe shop, to

procure leather and have a pair of boots made for his grandson, who was

in the army.

 

The work of shoeing the horses having been completed, and Duck River

having subsided, we crossed back to the north side again, taking up

our old position near Spring Hill, and resumed our picketing and

skirmishing with General Granger’s forces. It is unnecessary, even if

it were possible, to allude to all these skirmishes. The picket post

on Carter’s Creek pike, eight miles from Franklin, was regarded as

important for some reason, and an entire regiment from our brigade was

kept there. One regiment for one week and then another regiment for the

next, and were sent there with strict orders to have horses saddled

and everything in readiness for action at daybreak in the morning. The

Third Texas had been on the post for a week, and was relieved by the

Legion under Lieutenant-Colonel Broocks. The Legion had been there two

or three days, and had grown a little careless, as nothing unusual

had ever happened to any of the other regiments while on duty there.

Just at daybreak one morning in the latter part of April Granger’s

cavalry came charging in upon them and completely surprised them in

their camps, before they were even up, and captured men, horses, mules,

wagons, cooking utensils—everything. Colonel Broocks and some of his

men made their escape, some on foot and some on horseback, but more

than a hundred were captured, their wagons cut down and burned, their

cooking utensils broken up, and their camp completely devastated. One

of the escaped men came at full speed to our camps, some three miles

away, and as quick as possible we were in our saddles and galloping

towards the scene of the disaster—but we were too late. We galloped

for miles over the hills in an effort to overtake the enemy and

recapture our friends, but failed.

 

We all felt a keen sympathy for Colonel Broocks and his men, for no

officer in the army would have felt more mortification at such an

occurrence than the brave, gallant John H. Broocks. It was said that he

was so haunted by the sounds and scenes of the capture of his regiment

that he was almost like one demented, and that for days and days

afterwards he would sit away off alone on some log, with his head down,

muttering, “Halt! you d——d rebel, halt!”

 

At one time during April General Van Dorn, with a goodly number of

his command, made a demonstration upon Franklin, drove in all their

outposts, and, selecting the Twenty-eighth Mississippi Cavalry and

leading it himself, he charged into the heart of the town.

 

The night following the race we made after the Broocks’ captors,

my horse fell sick and became unfit for service. In consequence I

was ordered to send him to the pasture in charge of the command, a

few miles below Columbia, and take command of “the sick, lame, and

lazy camp” on Rutherford Creek, a temporary camp made up of slightly

disabled men, and men with disabled horses or without horses. I was on

duty here two weeks, with about as little to do as could be imagined.

It was while I was on duty here that General Van Dorn’s death occurred

at his headquarters at Spring Hill. He was assassinated by one Dr.

Peters, who was actuated by an insane jealousy. Dr. Peters was an

elderly man, with a pretty young wife; General Van Dorn was a gay,

dashing cavalier. Dr. Peters was in the general’s office when he came

in from breakfast, and asked the general to sign a pass permitting him

to pass through the picket lines. As General Van Dorn was writing his

signature to the paper, Dr. Peters stood behind him. When Van Dorn had

given the last stroke with the pen, the doctor shot him in the back of

the head, and, having his horse ready saddled, he mounted and galloped

up to our pickets, passed through, and made his escape. As soon as the crime was known a number of the general’s escort mounted their horses and gave chase, but they were too late to stop the doctor.