Terry's Texas Rangers

CHAPTER VIII

Just who conceived this wild-goose chase, I am not informed. For suffering, hardships, and barrenness of results, it is only exceeded by Napoleon’s Russian campaign. On the 25th of January, General Wheeler, in command of the brigades of Wharton and Forrest, took up the line of march for Dover, or Fort Donelson. I do not know how to describe the weather, except in the language of the grammar on the comparison of adjectives: cold, colder, coldest. We crossed one little stream fifteen or twenty times in one day. The water froze on the legs of our horses until they were encased in ice above the knees; their tails were solid chunks of ice, while we had to walk to keep warm. Men and horses suffered intensely.

When we reached the vicinity of Dover, Forrest reported to Wheeler that he had but a scant supply of ammunition; and investigation disclosed the fact that Wharton’s brigade was little better off in this regard. Forrest did not hesitate to advise withdrawal of our forces without attempt at action, but Wheeler determined to proceed.

Forrest attacked from the north and east, carried the enemy’s outer works, and drove them into the redoubts, but with great loss of life. His ammunition was now exhausted, and he was compelled to fall back. Wharton attacked from the Donelson side, and captured one brass field gun, but he, too, was compelled to retire because his ammunition was running low. The Rangers had been sent out on the Fort Henry road before these operations were begun and so had no part in the assault.

Jordan, in his “Life of Forrest,” says:

“The Confederate losses were heavy. Forrest had one-fourth of his force, or 200 of his officers and men killed, wounded and captured, and Wharton’s casualties did not fall short of sixty killed and wounded.”

Now the retreat began. All the command, except the Rangers, practically out of ammunition. The weather did not moderate. The second or third night a report reached Wheeler that a heavy column of the enemy, cavalry and infantry, under General Jeff C. Davis, had left Nashville to head him off. About midnight we were ordered to saddle up. It was so cold that if we touched a gun-barrel or bridle bit our hands stuck to the metal, and we had to put those bits into the mouths of our poor horses.

We reached Duck river about daylight, and found it bank full, the surface covered with floating ice. After some search a ford was found and we crossed to the south side. As Davis’ command did not show up, we went into camp and warmed ourselves a little. After a rest of a day or two we moved leisurely back to our old position.

I do not know what could have been accomplished by this expedition beyond the capture of a small garrison. Certainly the suffering and the losses of men and horses were very great. For a long time when the men wanted to reach the superlative of suffering they spoke of the Donelson trip.

In April we moved over to the right and camped a few days at Sparta. The regiment captured a mail train between Murfreesboro and Nashville, getting about a dozen officers. The men rifled the mail sacks and amused themselves reading the letters of the Yankees. They obtained also a considerable amount of greenbacks; also a silver-mounted pistol, said to belong to General Rosecrans. My horse was lame and so I missed this expedition – and my share of the greenbacks.

Toward the last of June the Federal army, having received reinforcements, including heavy additions to its cavalry force, began another forward movement. The Rangers were dismounted to skirmish with the advance. During this action a heavy rainstorm came up; we thought this would suspend the affair, but when the rain ceased we found the Yankees had advanced their lines considerably. Regarding this as a violation of the rules of the game, we mounted and rode off.

Their cavalry now showed unusual spirit and audacity, pressing us pretty close. On the 4th of July, at the site of the present University of the South, the Rangers had to charge and drive them back. The retreat was continued across the mountains and the Tennessee river to Chattanooga.

The Rangers took position at Rome, Georgia. There we had a few weeks’ needed rest and recruited our jaded horses. Roasting ears were in season, fruit was beginning to ripen, and so we feasted on good things. The runabouts – “pie rooters” we called them – made the best of their opportunities. Bill Arp said they found every road in the county, and then some.

Dr. Bunting, our chaplain, started a series of meetings, and many embraced the opportunity to pledge themselves to the better life. The boys, from their scant pay, contributed money to buy a horse for General John A. Wharton. The presentation speech was made by John B. Rector, Wharton replying. Both speakers pledged the last drop of their blood, etc. Same old story, but a trifle stale by this time.

CHAPTER IX

Rosecrans maneuvered Bragg out of Chattanooga. He now seemed to have a contempt for his adversary, and divided his army into three columns in an effort to bring ours to bay. One crossed the mountains and took position at Alpine, forty miles south of the center, evidently to gain the rear of the Confederates.

We were sent to look after this column. Lieutenant Baylor of the Rangers reported to Wharton that a heavy force of infantry was at Alpine. Wharton reported this to Bragg with a note vouching for Baylor’s reliability. Bragg broke out:

“Lieutenant Baylor lies: there is no infantry south of us!”

In a day or two, however, he became convinced that the report was true, and made some feeble effort to attack them in detail. Nothing came of it except that Rosecrans, who now discovered that his enemy was not retreating so precipitately, took the alarm and began to concentrate his widely separated columns. The force at Alpine had to cross the mountains. It took them two days to get to the center, now menaced by the Confederates. Imagine Stonewall Jackson in Bragg’s place!

Of the larger events of the battle of Chickamauga I shall treat very briefly. It has been truthfully called the soldiers’ battle. Whatsoever of strategy or generalship there had been had miscarried and the two armies stood face to face for a trial of strength: a test of manhood. The numbers were about equal, not far from 70,000 on a side. The Federals had the advantage of position, which they had fortified. The Confederates had to attack. Never was fiercer attack and defense. Never was shown greater courage.

The enemy were driven from their works, but with frightful loss to the Confederates. Their killed numbered 2389. The wounded 13,412; while the Federals’ loss in killed was 1656, wounded, 9769. It was such dearly bought and fruitless victories as this which finally defeated the South.

The Terry Rangers were on the extreme left of the line and were ordered to drive the enemy from their front. This order was executed in handsome style. The enemy proved to be our old antagonists, the Third Ohio Cavalry. After the charge a message was brought to Lieutenant Dechard, of the Rangers, that a wounded Federal officer wished to see him. He rode to the spot and dismounted. When he saw the wounded man, he said:

“Why, it’s my old friend, Major Cupp. I am sorry to see you thus.”

“Lieutenant Colonel Cupp,” replied the other, “but I’ve had my last promotion. You people have got me this time.”

More than a year before, these officers, each a lieutenant in command of an escort for a flag of truce, had met. They met again, a few weeks later, under the same circumstances, but Cupp was now a captain. After the fight in Bardstown Dechard was in command of the guard for the prisoners, and recognized his former acquaintance. “Captain Cupp, I am glad to see you,” said he.

“Major Cupp,” corrected the prisoner, “but I can not say that I am glad to see you under the circumstances.”

As the cartel was still in force, he was soon exchanged, and as we have seen when he fell, Dechard was near. These facts were related to me by Dechard himself, and he was known to be perfectly reliable. These incidents confirm the old adage, “Truth is stranger than fiction.”

The dying officer desired Dechard to take his watch and other belongings and send them to his relatives in Ohio, which was done a few days later by flag of truce.

Wheeler and Forrest followed the discomfited Federals up to Chattanooga. Here it was remembered that two detachments under Lieutenants Friend and Batchelor had been left on picket in gaps of the mountain away to the left of the battlefield, and I was ordered to go to them at once and direct them to join the command, which would be found on the Athens road.

There was about an hour of daylight, and I hoped to pass the ground of the terrible struggle before night, knowing that there was nothing for me or my horse until I did so. In this I was disappointed. Darkness came on shortly after I reached the scene of that awful carnage. Many of the Federal dead and wounded still lay where they had fallen. The air was freighted with a horrible odor, the battlefield’s commentary on war. The wounded hearing my horse’s footfalls, began calling me to give some assistance. Dismounting I picked my way to the first one. He desired to be turned over. Another wanted his canteen. The poor fellow had struggled while there was strength, and now unable to move further, was out of reach of his canteen. These were relieved and others not specially remembered here. It seemed that hundreds were calling. I was ever a coward in the presence of suffering, besides duty required that I should proceed on my journey. So I asked:

“Are you aware that your own surgeons with their details and ambulances are here uncontrolled on the field?”

“Oh, yes,” was the answer, “they come around every day and leave us water, a little food and medicine, but it is awful to lie here this way.”

I mounted and rode off, feeling sad at the fate of these men dying unattended hundreds of miles from home and loved ones, but I steeled my heart by the thought that if they had stayed at home with their loved ones they would not be thus dying.

I was now lost. It was dark and my horse could not follow any road, for roads were everywhere. Artillery wheels make many roads on a battlefield. After a while I saw a light and went to it. It was the camp fire of the details for the care of the wounded. These men sat around. The ambulances and mules were near. There was a little house, too. On the porch I saw some officers in uniform. Surgeons they were. I inquired for some resident. A slender girl came to the door and in reply to my request directed me to Lee and Gordon’s mill.

The moon was now rising. I was on that part of the field from which the dead and wounded had been removed, but there was wreck and ruin everywhere. Maimed and groaning horses, and no one to waste a load of ammunition to end their suffering; broken gun carriages, the debris of a battlefield.

I crossed and watered my horse in the stream at the mill. As I rode up the hill I met two of my own company, who had been at the wagon camp cooking for the company. When they learned how far it was to the command and the horrors of the battlefield, they readily agreed to camp, for it was now late. So I had supper, for my comrades had sacks of bread and bacon, but my poor horse had nothing. We lay down and slept under the shining moon, although but a few miles away hundreds of human beings lay dying.

On the morrow I proceeded on my journey. When I reached the first detachment under Lieutenant Friend and delivered my message, he kindly sent one of his men on to tell Batchelor: gave me some forage for my horse, and all gathered around anxious for news of the battle. Here they had been in sound of the mighty struggle, the boom of the great guns, even the rattle of small arms, while their comrades were in dire peril, but denied the privilege of sharing in their danger or triumph. They had heard that the enemy had been driven from the field, but had heard nothing from their own command. They were hungry for news from the Rangers. What part they took, and who were killed or wounded? For they knew if the Rangers had been engaged somebody was hurt.

These occurrences took place nearly forty-eight years ago, and yet their memory is clear in my mind, and when I think of my lonely ride in Chickamauga’s gloomy woods, of the dead and dying, the wreck and ruin of that awful night, I am convinced that there is no more expressive definition of war than General Sherman has given.

When Batchelor’s squad came up we started to overtake the command, joining it on the following day, as well as I remember. It was then well on its way to the Federal rear in middle Tennessee.

CHAPTER X

Our march was up the Holston river to find an unguarded ford, but the pickets were everywhere. We halted in a field at night, and Company D, armed with picks and spades, was directed to go to the river bank and there make a way for the artillery. A guide from the vicinity showed us a way across, by a ford unknown to the Yankees. We captured a few pickets.

Wheeler now divided his forces, himself leading a column into Sequatchie valley, where he captured and burned 2000 wagons. He then overtook the remainder of the command as we descended the mountains. Our route was by McMinnville and Murfreesboro, and the way was sufficiently familiar to us, since we had traveled it so often under Forrest the year before.

When we reached the vicinity of Murfreesboro, Captain Kyle with his squadron, consisting of Companies D and F, was ordered to ride around the place, reach the railroad leading to Nashville, and try to capture a train. We came to the railroad a little before daylight, but there were no trains running; the enemy had learned that the “rebels” were in the country. Captain Kyle heard of a lot of wagons down toward Nashville and decided to take them in. This he did without resistance. The teams had been engaged in hauling wood to the garrison at Nashville, and the wagons were drawn by oxen, the only instance of this kind that we saw during the war. The oxen being fat, and also too slow of foot to go with us in any other form, were converted into beef.

We crossed over to Shelbyville pike, the scene of some of our operations in the spring. Learning that a small force of cavalry held Shelbyville, General Wharton ordered the Rangers to attempt their capture. We saddled up early, and rode briskly, reaching there about daylight, but the enemy had left. There were several stores in this place, established by some enterprising Yankees, and stocked with clothing and dry goods. Rather than have their doors broken down, the owners opened them. Winter was coming on, we were a long way from home and nearly naked, and here was our chance for winter supplies. Some of the boys got a black “Prince Albert” coat. This was presented to the chaplain, who wore it a long time.

The line of march led by Farmington. Here the enemy had taken a strong position in a cedar thicket. Over the ground were scattered large boulders. The enemy, armed with Spencer rifles, were lying behind these stones. The Rangers were ordered to charge this position. We got up pretty close; in fact, into the edge of the thicket; but they poured such a destructive fire into us that it did not take us long to discover that we had more than we could handle. We took some prisoners. We also got some of these rifles, the first of the kind I had ever seen; they would shoot seven times without reloading. The casualties are not remembered, except that Major Christian and Lieutenant Blackburn were wounded. Love, of Company C, was killed.

That night at headquarters they were discussing the incidents of the day. Wharton said the Rangers had done all that any soldiers could do; that it was impossible for mounted troops to drive brave men, armed as were the enemy, from such a position. General Wheeler said they had done all that he expected; had held the enemy engaged while our artillery and wagons ran by through a field, thus saving the command from a bad situation. Then Colonel Harrison spoke:

“It was no fight at all! I’m ashamed of them! If they can not do better than that I’ll disown them!”

A staff officer put in:

“I always thought that regiment somewhat overrated anyhow.”

This aroused “old Tom,” who got up, shook his finger in the fellow’s face and broke out furiously:

“Who the – are you? There is not a man in that regiment who can not kick you all over this yard, sir!”

As he strode off to his horse, he was heard to say:

“By – I’ll curse them all I want to; but I’ll be – if anybody else shall do it in my presence!”

Moving on to the Tennessee river, we crossed that stream at one of the fords along the Mussel Shoals. From there, in a more leisurely manner, we went back to the army, still besieging the Federals at Chattanooga.

CHAPTER XI

Bragg felt so sure that Rosecrans would be starved into surrender that he dispatched Longstreet to Knoxville to take in the garrison stationed there. Our division, commanded by General Martin, was sent along with him. Longstreet laid siege to the place. We were transferred from one side of the river to the other, fording the freezing water at night. We had a little skirmish on College hill; details not remembered, except that Lieutenant Black was wounded.

It was reported that the “loyal” people up the river were in the habit of loading small boats with provisions, setting them adrift to float down the river for the use of the garrison in Knoxville, the boats being caught by a boom across the stream. Someone conceived the brilliant idea that if trees were cut down and rolled into the river above, they would float down and break the boom. Our regiment, placed temporarily under the command of somebody’s staff officer anxious to distinguish himself, was detailed for this service. A worse selection could hardly have been made for the performance of such work. Probably not one man in twenty was possessed with any skill with the ax. Young men raised on the prairies, professional men, boys from the stores, sons of planters, who had slaves to do their chopping, composed this force of axmen. Night, a very dark night at that, was the time selected for the exploit. A light drizzle was falling. Imagine anybody trying to cut down trees under such circumstances! The staff colonel in command stopped at a house where there was a blazing fire, dismounted, and took a comfortable seat. The regiment went up on the hillside and hacked away for hours. I believe some trees were actually felled, chopped into convenient lengths, and rolled into the stream and appeared to sink in the water. All suffered from the cold. It was such foolish services as this that tended to demoralize the Confederate soldier and sap a man’s courage and patriotism as nothing else will. There is something inspiring in a charge, albeit there is danger, too, with comrades falling all around; but spirited troops would choose a charge every time rather than such imbecile business as that midnight tree-cutting exploit.

When the Confederate army was driven from Missionary Ridge, Longstreet was compelled to raise the siege of Knoxville. He retired to the eastward, taking position on the East Tennessee and Virginia railroad, near Morristown, if I remember correctly, the cavalry guarding his front.

The cold was intense. The people, in sympathy with the enemy, furnished them with excellent guides to any exposed position of ours. Hence we had to be exceedingly vigilant. Imagine going on picket at 2 a. m. with temperature at zero or below; but the army must sleep, and the cavalry must guard the outposts. We had also numerous skirmishes, but I can not remember the details of them.

A letter written by me to my parents dated January 4, 1864, enumerates six fights during November and December in which the regiment lost twenty-seven killed and wounded; one on the road to Cumberland Gap. This was early in November. We chased some cavalry several miles, taking a dozen or more prisoners and wounding a few without a single casualty on our side, unless someone’s ears were frost bitten, for it was a very cold morning and a biting wind raged.

We had three or four skirmishes near Mossy creek. In one of these, on December 26, 1863, Captain G. W. Littlefield was badly wounded by a large fragment of a shell which lacerated his left hip for a space five or six inches by twelve or thirteen. It looked like a mortal hurt. A strong constitution pulled him through, yet he was compelled to retire from the service, and even now (1911) suffers from the wound.

On the 29th of December we were ordered to drive a force of the enemy who were dismounted and lying behind a large brick residence and the outbuildings. We had to break down the garden fence, which we did by forcing our horses against it. We drove them all right, took a few prisoners, but sustained serious losses ourselves. In Company D, N. J. Allen was killed outright. Richard Berger was shot through the face, losing the sight of one eye, and William Nicholson had a slight scalp wound. There was another on the 24th, near the same place, and one near Dandridge, but I am unable to recall the incidents, although the letter referred to says that I participated in all of them. In all we sustained serious loss, and so far as I can see without any appreciable effect on the campaign; but as Forrest said, “War means fight, and fight means kill.” Besides our blood was up and life held cheaply.

One little engagement, all one-sided, and as far as we were concerned, was more amusing than serious. Our brigade under Colonel Harrison, and an Alabama brigade commanded by General John T. Morgan, so long a Senator from Alabama after the war, were out on separate roads which, however, came together some distance in the rear of our position. The Alabama brigade, attacked by the enemy, gave way. We were called back, and when we reached the junction of the roads the enemy was passing in hot pursuit. In columns of fours we took them in flank, killed a few, took several prisoners and scattered the remainder, for they were so completely surprised that they made no resistance. They were Brownlow’s brigade of East Tennessee Cavalry and rather shabby soldiers. We had no casualties.