The Lone Star Defenders 4

The Lone Star Defenders 4

CHAPTER II

 

OFF FOR THE FRONT

 

Organization of Regiment—Officers—Accouterment—On the March—Taming

a Trouble-maker—Crossing the Red River—In the Indian Territory—The

Indian Maid—Fort Smith—The March to Missouri—McCulloch’s

Headquarters—Under Orders—Preparation for First Battle.

 

 

AFTER the companies were mustered into the service the regiment was

organized. Colonel Elkanah Greer was commissioned by the Confederate

War Department. Walter P. Lane was elected lieutenant-colonel, and

George W. Chilton, father of United States Senator Horace Chilton,

was made major. M. D. Ecton, first lieutenant of Company B, was made

adjutant, Captain —— Harris, quartermaster, Jas. B. Armstrong, of

Henderson, commissary, and our Dr. W. W. McDugald, surgeon.

 

Thus was organized the first regiment to leave the State of Texas, and

one of the best regiments ever in the Confederate service. I would

not say that it was the _best_ regiment, as in my opinion the best

regiment and the bravest man in the Confederate Army were hard to

find. That is to say, no one regiment was entitled to be designated

“the best regiment,” as no one of our brave men could rightly be

designated “the bravest man in the army.” Napoleon called Marshal Ney

“the bravest of the brave,” but no one could single out a Confederate

soldier and truthfully say, “He is the bravest man in the army.” It was

unfortunately true that all our men were not brave and trustworthy,

for we had men who were too cowardly to fight, and we had some men

unprincipled enough to desert; but taken all in all, for gallantry

and for fighting qualities under any and all circumstances, either in

advance or retreat, the regiment deservedly stood in the front rank in

all our campaigning.

 

The regiment was well officered, field staff, and line. Colonel Greer

was a gallant man, but unfortunately his mind was too much bent on a

brigadier’s stars; Major Chilton, whenever an opportunity offered,

showed himself to be brave and gallant; but Walter P. Lane, our

lieutenant-colonel, was the life of the regiment during our first

year’s service. A more gallant man than he never wore a sword, bestrode

a war horse, or led a regiment in battle. He was one of the heroes of

San Jacinto, and a born soldier. In camps, in times when there was

little or nothing to do, he was not overly popular with the men, but

when the fighting time came he gained the admiration of everyone.

 

At last the long-looked-for train came—United States wagons drawn

by six-mule teams, poor little Spanish or Mexican mules, driven by

Mexicans. They brought us tents, camp kettles, mess pans and such

things, and for arms, holster pistols. We were furnished with two

wagons to the company and were given Sibley tents,—large round tents

that would protect sixteen men with their arms and accouterments,—a

pair of holster pistols apiece, and a fair outfit of “cooking tricks.”

We were then formed into messes of sixteen men each, and each mess

was provided with the Sibley tent, the officers being provided with

wall tents. Fairly mounted, we were pretty well equipped now, our chief

deficiency being the very poor condition of the mules and the lack

of proper arms, for the men, in mustering, had gathered up shotguns,

rifles, and any kind of gun obtainable at home, many of them being

without a firearm of any kind. A large number had had huge knives made

in the blacksmith shops, with blade eighteen to twenty-four inches

long, shaped something like a butcher’s cleaver, keen-edged, with a

stout handle, a weapon after the order of a Cuban machete. These were

carried in leather scabbards, hung to the saddle, and with these deadly

weapons the boys expected to ride through the ranks of the Federal

armies and chop down the men right and left. Now, however, to this

equipment were added the pair of holster pistols. These very large,

brass-mounted, single-barreled pistols—with barrels about a foot

long—carried a large musket ball, and were suspended in holsters that

fitted over the horn of the saddle, thus placing them in a convenient

position for use. In addition to all this, every fellow carried a grass

rope at least forty feet long and an iron stake pin. These latter were

for staking out the horses to graze, and many was the untrained horse

that paid dear for learning the art of “walking the rope,” for an

educated animal would never injure himself in the least.

 

All things being ready, we now started on our long march, accompanied

by Captain J. J. Goode’s battery, which had been organized at Dallas,

to join General Ben McCulloch in northwestern Arkansas, where he,

with what forces he had been able to gather, was guarding our Arkansas

frontier. Leaving Dallas on the—day of July, we moved via McKinney and

Sherman, crossing Red River at Colbert’s ferry, thence by the overland

mail route through the Indian Territory to Fort Smith, Ark., and

beyond. We made moderate marches, the weather being very warm, and we

then had no apparent reason for rapid movements.

 

When near McKinney we stopped two or three days. Here our man from

the State of Maine began to give us trouble. When sober, Buxton

was manageable and a useful man to the company, but when he was in

liquor, which was any time he could get whisky, he was troublesome,

quarrelsome, and dangerous, especially to citizens. One afternoon

Captain Taylor and myself rode into McKinney, where we found Buxton

drunk and making trouble. The captain ordered him to camp, but he

contumaciously refused to go. We managed to get him back to the rear of

a livery stable, near a well, and Captain Taylor forced him down across

a mound of fertilizer—holding him there. Then he ordered me to pour

water on Buxton, which I did most copiously. I drew bucket after bucket

of cold water from the well and poured it upon Buxton’s prostrate,

soldierly form, until he was thoroughly cooled and partially sobered,

when the captain let him up and again ordered him to camp—and he went,

cursing and swearing vengeance. This man, after giving us a good deal

of trouble from time to time until after the battle of Elkhorn in the

spring of 1862, was jailed in Fort Smith for shooting a citizen in the

street, and here we left him and crossed the Mississippi River. He made

his escape from jail and followed us to the State of Mississippi, when

Lieutenant-Colonel Lane ordered him out of camp. He afterwards returned

to Rusk, where he was killed one day by a gunshot wound, but by whom no

one seemed to know.

 

We passed through Sherman early in the morning, and I stopped to

have my horse shod, overtaking the command at Colbert’s ferry in the

afternoon, when they were crossing Red River. The day was fair, the

weather dry and hot. The river, very low now, had high banks, and in

riding down from the south side you came on to a wide sandbar extending

to a narrow channel running against the north bank, where a small

ferryboat was carrying the wagons and artillery across. A few yards

above the ferry the river was easily fordable, so the horsemen had all

crossed and gone into camp a mile beyond the river, as had most of the

wagons. I rode to the other side and stopped on the north bank to watch

operations.

 

All the wagons but one had been ferried over, and this last one had

been driven down on the sandbar near the ferry landing, waiting for

the boat’s return, while two pieces of artillery were standing near

by on the sandbar. Suddenly I heard a roaring sound up the river,

as if a wind storm was coming. I looked in that direction and saw a

veritable flood rushing down like a mighty wave of the sea, roaring

and foaming as it came. The driver of the team standing near the water

saw it and instinctively began turning his team to drive out, but,

realizing that this would be impossible, he detached his mules and

with his utmost efforts was only able to save the team, while every

available man had to lend assistance in order to save the two pieces of

artillery. In five minutes’ time, perhaps, the water had risen fifteen

to eighteen feet, and the banks were full of muddy, rushing water, and

remained so as long as we were there. The wagon, which belonged to

the quartermaster, was swept off by the tide and lost, with all its

contents. It stood in its position until the water rose to the top of

the cover, when it floated off.

 

After camping for the night, we moved on. As we were now in the Indian

Territory, the young men were all on the look-out for the beautiful

Indian girls of whom they had read so much, and I think some of them

had waived the matter of engagement before leaving home until they

could determine whether they would prefer marrying some of the pretty

girls that were so numerous in this Indian country. We had not gone

far on our march when we met a Chickasaw damsel. She was rather young

in appearance, of medium height, black unkempt hair, black eyes,

high cheekbones, and was bare-headed and barefooted. Her dress was

of some well-worn cotton fabric, of a color hard to define, rather

an earthy color. In style it was of the extreme low neck and short

kind, and a semi-bloomer. Of other wearing apparel it is unnecessary

to speak, unless you wish a description of another Indian. This one

was too sensible to weight herself with a multiplicity of garments in

July. She was a regular middle of the roader, as she stuck close to

that part of the Territory strictly. As we were marching by twos we

separated and left her to that part of the highway which she seemed to

like best. She continued her walk westwardly as we continued our march

eastwardly, turning her head right and left, to see what manner of

white soldiers the Confederate Government was sending out. This gave

all an opportunity to glimpse at her charms. Modestly she walked along

without speaking to any of us, as we had never been introduced to her.

Only one time did I hear her speak a word, and that was apparently to

herself. As Lieutenant Daniel passed her with his long saber rattling,

she exclaimed, in good English: “_Pretty white man!_—got big knife!”

 

As we went marching on the conversation became more general; that is,

more was said about the beautiful country, the rich lands and fine