EAST TENNESSEE CAMPAIGN.
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.
The service was very arduous; besides the picketing alluded to above,
foraging became very laborious. The country along the streams is quite
fertile and produced abundantly of food for man and beast, but cavalry
troops consume rapidly, and the valleys were soon exhausted. So we had
to go away out into the mountains for supplies. Often wagons could not
go the roads and we had to bring supplies on our horses over mountain
trails for ten or fifteen miles. These expeditions were not without
danger, for these rude mountaineers were good shots, and lying in the
woods, did not see their bread and meat taken with kind feelings. They
sometimes fired on these foraging parties, but at long range from
mountain crag or other secure position, and I believe injured no one.
As I am not relating these things in chronological order, this will be
a good place to set down the facts concerning the night alarm on the
banks of Pigeon river. We were in camp for several days on the banks of
this stream which, though small to be called a river, was yet rather
deep at that place; though it could be forded, as will be seen.
Across from our encampment, some two or three hundred yards from the
banks, was a stately mansion, the home of a wealthy and refined family.
I think the people’s name was Smith, but I am not sure. The name will
do anyhow. The head of the family, a general or colonel, was away from
home, with the army no doubt. The family at the house consisted of
the mother and three or four daughters, all charming ladies. They had
secured a house guard to protect them from insult. Joe Rogers, being a
little indisposed, was duly installed as guard. This meant good times
for Joe; a bed to sleep in, three meals a day with plate, knife and
fork, a stable for his black horse Nig, of which, by the way, he was
very fond.
It was not long before the society men of the regiment acquired the
habit of slipping out after evening roll call to enjoy a game of cards
at General Smith’s. One night several of them, a lieutenant, a clerk
of the quartermaster’s department, and one or two others, crossed
the river in a small skiff and were soon pleasantly engaged in the
fascinating game of euchre with the young ladies. Suddenly there was
a cry of “Halt! Halt!” and pistol shots rang out on the night air.
Out went the lights, and the visitors rushed for doors and windows,
knocking over chairs, tables, and even the young women. They rushed to
the river, plunged in and across, and made for their companies. The
first alarm was plainly heard in the camp. Sharp orders to “saddle
up” were given and repeated from company to company, and the brigade
was soon in line. Colonel Harrison sent Tom Gill and a small party to
ascertain the cause of the row. Tom passed General Smith’s, where all
was dark, and went on to the picket stand. Pickets reported all quiet;
no enemy had passed their post. Tom returned to the house, where he
met Joe Rogers. It appeared that Joe had not run with the others at
the first alarm. He had gone out the back way to look after Nig and
his equipment. While getting these he heard voices, accompanied with
laughter, and the voices seemed somewhat familiar. Peeping around the
house he soon ascertained that the alarm had been caused by three or
four Rangers. He reported the cause of the disturbance to Gill and his
scouting party, and Gill reported it to Colonel Harrison.
“The old man” was furious at first, for a false alarm in war is a
serious matter and a grave offense. However, after some reflection, he
concluded to drop the matter, as he thought the incident would have a
wholesome effect on the guilty parties. The men did not so easily let
it drop. Frequently at night for some months afterwards someone would
call out:
“Who waded Pigeon?”
From some other part of the camp the answer would come:
“Murray! Brownson!”
The story got into the comic papers and caused some amusement and some
mortification to the victims of the joke. John Haynie, one of the best
soldiers in the regiment, was the leader of the alarmist jokers. If I
ever learned the names of the others I have forgotten them.
We had now been in the service for considerably over two years, and
there had been no general system of furloughs. Our regiment might have
fifteen if they would re-enlist, but as we had already enlisted for the
war we could hardly perform this condition. However, it was demanded
that we make declaration of our intention to continue in the service.
Some of us considered this a reflection on our honor, and decided to do
without the coveted furloughs. Then some of the boys got together, made
a speech or two, passed a preamble and resolutions, declaring we would
never--no never--quit as long as an armed foe trod our sacred soil.
This was considered satisfactory at headquarters, and the furloughs
were ordered. Lots were drawn for the three assigned to Company D.
These fell to D. S. Combs, I. V. Jones and J. F. McGuire, who left at
once to visit their homes.
At that time the enemy was at the mouth of the Rio Grande. They
evidently intended to invade the country far enough to break up a most
profitable trade between the States west of the Mississippi and the
outside world by way of Mexico. This traffic was carried on by means
of wagons, hundreds of which went in a constant stream to the Rio
Grande, loaded with cotton, and brought back supplies of all kinds. The
people feared the enemy would penetrate the interior, as the State had
been stripped of its defenders. Every persuasion was used to prevail
on these men to remain on this side, and they finally agreed to stay.
The lieutenant general commanding the department readily agreed to the
arrangement, and thus Company D lost three good soldiers. We could not
blame them, for, given the opportunity, every one of us perhaps would
have done the same thing.
It was during this winter that one of the saddest events of all our
career happened; the hanging of E. S. Dodd by the enemy. He was a
member of Company D. He was of a good family and well educated. For
many years he kept a diary, setting down at night the happenings of
the day. He was taken prisoner with this diary in his pocket. On that
evidence alone he was condemned and executed as a spy.
Spring was now approaching. Those masters of the art of war--Grant and
Sherman--were preparing to strike the final blows at the tottering
Confederacy. Longstreet went to Virginia. Our cavalry went to Georgia
to our old commander, General Joseph Wheeler. Our way was up the
French Broad river, through western North Carolina and South Carolina,
marching leisurely where there were abundant supplies. We reached
Georgia as Sherman was preparing to move. On the 9th day of May, just
north of Dalton, we were ordered to charge a force of the enemy, which
proved to be our old acquaintance, La Grange’s brigade of Indiana
cavalry. We went at them in our usual style, at top speed, every fellow
yelling as loud as he could. They broke and retreated precipitately.
We took more than sixty prisoners, including the brigade commander,
Colonel La Grange. His horse was wounded and fell, pinning his rider to
the earth just at a large farm gate. John Haynie, quick as a flash, was
at his side, securing the prisoner, evidently an officer. Addressing
his captor, the prisoner said:
“You have a prize indeed. I am Colonel La Grange. I did not know that
you boys had got down here from East Tennessee. I knew you as soon as I
saw you coming.”
With the help of some of the prisoners he was released from his
fallen horse, mounted on another, and escorted by his captor to
Colonel Harrison. This incident came under my own observation. For the
interview which followed his presentation to Harrison I am indebted to
that officer himself, who related it to me several years after the war.
La Grange said:
“I was in command of the brigade, and was anxious for the commission
of brigadier general. Had some influential friends who were helping
me. My division commander told me to go out, run in the rebel pickets,
skirmish a little and send in a report, which he would forward with
strong recommendations for my promotion. I came out, ran into the Texas
Rangers, and am a prisoner.”
“Only the fortune of war, my young friend,” said Harrison. “Only the
fortune of war.”
Our loss was quite heavy. Among the killed were Charles T. Pelham of
Company D, an educated young man, of good family and fine promise, a
civil engineer by profession; D. F. Lily, a young lawyer, who fell
almost in sight of his mother’s home, and W. H. Bigelow, a native
of Canada; both of these last were of Company G, and both educated
gentlemen.