OUR FIRST ENGAGEMENT
We now took up our line of march for Ritters, a point on the Louisville
& Nashville Pike, between Cave City and Woodsonville, with Hindman’s
Brigade of infantry and a battery of four pieces, camped at Cave City, a
few miles in our rear, and established our permanent camp, for the
purpose of scouting and picketing. This camp at Ritters in winter proved
to be a very trying one to us, raised in Texas in a mild and genial
climate. We had a great deal of snow and rain and the exposure on scouts
and picket duty soon developed pneumonia, measles and other troubles,
necessitating our patients to abandon camp life. They were sent to the
hospital at Nashville, where the ladies of Nashville were daily awaiting
trains. They would not permit patients to be carried to the hospital but
would take them to their private homes for personal care and treatment.
They showed a partiality for the Texas Rangers, no doubt largely through
sympathy, as we had left our distant, comfortable homes, burning all
bridges behind us, to fight for them and their country. Our regiment
soon dwindled down from a membership of one thousand to not more than
about four hundred for duty; many of the sick were permanently rendered
unable to return, while a great many died.
After serving nearly a month in the capacity of picket and scouts,
General Hindman, anxious to bring on an engagement with the enemy, who
were camped on Green River at Woodsonville and Mumfordsville, conceived
the idea of moving his camp. Instead of avoiding a collision, as he had
orders to do, he moved right toward the enemy’s lines, ordering Colonel
Terry, with our regiment, to move about a mile in his advance.
I was on picket duty, with part of a company, at Horse Cave, about three
miles south of the main pike from Bowling Green to Louisville, when
Captain Ferrell of the regiment, with part of his company, came by and
took us along, moving towards Woodsonville on a dirt road running
parallel with the pike on which were Hindman’s Brigade of infantry; with
the Louisville & Nashville Railroad running between the two. Just as we
came in sight of Rowlett Station, a point on a high ridge this side of
Woodsonville, we discovered the regiment, with Colonel Terry and General
Hindman about fifty feet in advance, moving in the direction of Rowlett
Station. Colonel Terry and General Hindman then discovered a Federal
line of infantry lying down behind a rail fence in front of them.
Hindman’s infantry were at least a mile behind, coming on, when they
discovered the enemy. General Hindman ordered Colonel Terry to withdraw
the regiment and let him bring up the artillery and infantry, and
dislodge them from their position. In the meantime, Captain Ferrell, in
command of the party I was with, had discovered the enemy in our front,
which was just across a railroad cut, spanned by the pike bridge.
Colonel Terry, in place of obeying the order of General Hindman to
withdraw, answered, “General Hindman, this is no place for you; go back
to your infantry,” and called on Captain Walker, who was in the rear
with the balance of the regiment, to come on, form into line and charge.
Simultaneously with his charge on the west side of the railroad, we,
under Ferrell, charged the enemy in front of us, behind the rail fence.
As soon as we moved forward, other Federals, behind trees and rocks, on
small hills on both sides, opened fire on us. Their troops behind the
fence held their fire until we got within fifty yards of them, then
turned loose. In less time than it takes to tell it, we charged them,
delivering our fire of double-barreled shotguns, breaking down the fence
and getting among them with our six-shooters. In a few minutes we had
run over them, although they numbered two to one, and to save themselves
many of them “possumed” on us, and feigned being dead, and by that means
saved their lives, though the main portion of them fled towards
Woodsonville, where, down in the edge of the timber, they were met by
heavy reinforcements. In this charge we lost a number of our best men,
killed and wounded. Among the killed was Colonel Terry, which proved an
irreparable loss, as no doubt, considering his fearlessness and dash, as
also his ability as a commander, he would have proven another Forrest, a
Napoleon of cavalry. General Hindman brought up his infantry and
artillery, a battery of four pieces, with which he opened on their fort
at Mumfordsville, and also on their line of infantry in the woods about
a half mile below us. The fort responded, but largely overshot us and
our battery. This proved our first baptism by fire. General Hindman was
notified by a scout that the enemy was crossing Green River in very
heavy force, near the Mammoth Cave, moving in our rear, which
necessitated falling back to Cave City. We brought off the bodies of our
dead and wounded, the remains of Colonel Terry being sent to Texas in
charge of Captain Walker, who was wounded, and the balance of the
wounded were sent to hospitals at Nashville.
The enemy we fought at this point proved to be the Thirty-second Indiana
Regiment, under Colonel Wilich, a German regiment, said to be the best
drilled regiment in Rousseau’s Army.
We next established our camp at Bell Station, a few miles in advance of
Cave City, where we continued scouting and picketing for the army. Both
armies now remained quiet for several months, collecting reinforcements
for a final clash; the rigors of the winter affecting our army perhaps
more than it did the Federal army, as they were used to a colder
climate. Our regiment was especially affected.
While encamped at Bell Station, I had a messmate by the name of
McDonald, who was taken sick with pneumonia and was unwilling to be sent
to the hospital at Nashville. He insisted on being taken to some good
private family in the neighborhood. I succeeded in finding the family of
Isaac Smith, an old gentleman who had six sons in Breckenridge’s Brigade
of infantry, and living about three miles from our picket stand with his
wife and two daughters. These good people were willing to take McDonald
and nurse him, our own surgeon attending him and myself assisting in
nursing him, frequently spending the night there. The oldest daughter
was also very sick, attended by a citizen doctor in the neighborhood,
who also took a deep interest in McDonald.
One day I received orders to report to the command; that Bowling Green
was being evacuated. We were ordered to join the army as quickly as
possible, Hindman’s Brigade having already arrived at Bowling Green.
This information proved to be bad news for McDonald, who was already
convalescent, but still very weak. He begged and pleaded to be taken to
Bowling Green and Nashville, saying he did not want to be captured. Old
Mr. Smith, then perhaps fifty-five years old, decided to hitch up his
wagon, as he had no buggy or hack, and haul McDonald to Bowling Green in
a wagon, as he wanted to refugee and stay with his boys in the army; he
feared to stay at home, surrounded by ugly Union neighbors.
We now put a mattress in the wagon, with plenty of bedclothing. We put
McDonald in the wagon, well protected from the cold, and, after a sad
parting with the family, proceeded to the Bowling Green pike, the old
man driving the wagon and I following on my horse. We reached Bowling
Green near night, just in time to witness the last cannon shot striking
one of the main pillars of the railroad bridge, which was an iron
extension, and saw it drop into the river. We crossed on a covered
wooden pike bridge.
On our arrival in town, we inquired for a good place to leave McDonald
for the night, which we were unable to find, but were recommended to go
out about two miles to a Mr. Roe’s, who had a large flouring mill. This
we did, and found excellent quarters for McDonald and myself for the
night; old Mr. Smith driving back to town and taking the Nashville pike
to try to find Breckenridge’s Brigade of Infantry, with which his sons
were connected.
During the night we had a very heavy snow. Mr. Roe had his buggy hitched
up and drove McDonald to the railroad station in town, myself following.
Roe was unable to remain with us, as we were expecting the enemy to
cross the river any moment and enter the town, hence left us by the side
of the track and returned home.
After a while, Colonel Wharton, with about fifteen or twenty men out of
our regiment, was ordered to destroy the depot and proceeded to fire it.
A train with a few passenger coaches and an engine to pull it, was
standing on the track on the outside, waiting for orders to move. A good
many convalescent soldiers from the hospital, including my friend
McDonald, squatted down by the roadside, waiting for the coaches to be
opened. As soon as the fire started in the station, the enemy opened a
battery on the place, using shells, which exploded all around us. The
engineer got scared, uncoupled his engine and pulled out, leaving our
train at the mercy of the artillery fire. Looking around for some kind
of a vehicle to take McDonald out of there, as he was too feeble to
attempt to ride my horse, I rode up town and found a two-horse wagon,
loaded with hams, flush to the top of the bed, which the driver had
taken from our commissary building and was hauling home. I stopped and
told him that I had a sick friend down at the station; that I wanted him
to go down there and haul my friend away. He said he wouldn’t go down
there for anything in the world. I pulled out my gun and told him to go;
and he went.
Arriving at the place, we cut open some infantry baggage that had
blankets tied to the knapsacks and put about a half dozen blankets on
top of the hams, lifting McDonald and laying him on top, covering him
with more blankets. In the meantime, the station was about consumed and
the artillery had ceased firing. After getting up on the square and
finding our troops had all left, I told this man that he would have to
drive on the Nashville Pike until we could catch up with our command,
which he did most reluctantly and only under the persuasion of my gun.
About a mile and a half below town we found our regiment drawn up in
line of battle. I sent for our surgeon, who examined McDonald and said
to the driver, “You will have to drive on down the road until we catch
up with my ambulances.” The driver said that he wouldn’t go any further;
said I, “If you don’t, we will have to hold on to this team until we
unload; I am going to save these hams for our regiment.” They were meat
that belonged to our commissary. He said that he wouldn’t go any
further, that we could take his team and wagon and go to —— with it.
The fellow was evidently afraid that we would force him into the army;
he thereby lost his team and wagon, which we had no idea of taking, and
he could have saved them by continuing with us.
Our army now took up its long line of retreat for Nashville; our
regiment covering the rear without any engagements, or the firing of a
single gun. On reaching Nashville, crossing the Cumberland River on the
suspension bridge about midnight, we got information that Port Donaldson
had surrendered, which made it necessary for our troops to leave
Nashville in great haste, which they did; protected in the rear by our
regiment. The army continued to Shelbyville, while we were ordered to
Fort Donaldson, to cover the escape of many men of the Fort Donaldson
army, whom we met scattered all along the road. The weather was most
severe.
The winding up of this winter I had a sad experience. About midnight,
the second night out, we pulled into a cedar grove by the side of the
road, the ground of which was soft and muddy. We tied our horses to the
trees around us, and arranged as best we could, to get a little rest and
sleep, putting down our oilcloths next to the mud, then our saddle
blankets and each having a good blanket and overcoat for cover. My
messmate, John Cochran, laid by me, and we soon dropped into a sound
sleep, being tired and worn out, and without having had a bite of
anything to eat that day and no forage for our horses.
Waking up some time during the night, I felt a curious feeling about my
head. Putting my hand to my head I found my hair clotted with blood. I
woke up Cochran, my companion, and told him that some one had struck me
over the head with a gun, which proved a mistake. Our horses being tied
in the cold, without any feed, had pulled the length of the rope and
commenced pawing, when one of them pawed me on the head with a sharp
shoe, which caused a deep cut of my scalp. We then decided we would move
through the woods until we could strike some house, and soon struck a
country road. After traveling perhaps a mile, we discovered a little log
house by the side of the road and through the cracks of the batten door,
we saw a bright fire burning on the inside. We knocked on the door,
which was answered by a very old gentleman, whom we told that we wanted
to come in and dress my wounds. He asked who we were. We told him we
were Confederate soldiers, camped near there and the cause of my hurt.
He received us very kindly, invited us into his main room, which
contained a double bed where his old wife was sleeping. As soon as she
saw my bloody condition, she jumped up, dressed, heated some water and
with nice clean towels, commenced bathing my head and dressing my
wounds. She then went to work, put some clean sheets and pillowcases on
the bed and insisted on our lying down and taking a good nap, while she
prepared breakfast for us.
While we told them that it was dangerous for us to sleep in a bed, as we
were not used to it and it would give us a cold, we were compelled to
take the bed on their refusal to listen to anything else.
When we awoke next morning after daylight, the old lady had a splendid
breakfast of fried chicken prepared for us, fine biscuit and good
Confederate coffee—made of rye and parched sweet potatoes; everything
on the table was neat and spotlessly clean and I do not think we ever
enjoyed a meal during the whole war better than we did this.
When we prepared to leave, we asked the old gentleman for our bill; he
seemed to feel hurt, and said, “The idea of charging a Confederate
soldier for anything he had!” This was out of the question with him; all
he asked, if we ever happened in that neighborhood, in twenty miles of
him, to be sure to make him another visit, for he hoped to meet us
again. Thanking them for their exceeding kindness, we then walked back
to camp, where we found many of our comrades still in deep sleep, with
no forage for the horses.
In the course of a few hours the bugle called to saddle up, and we
resumed our march to Shelbyville, and caught up with a good many of our
retreating infantry. Here we spent two days and had our first taste of
an attempt at discipline by Major Harrison, who was then in command;
Colonel Wharton being sick somewhere on the line of our retreat.
It seems that Major Harrison met a couple of our men in town without
permission and ordered them to return to camp immediately, which they
refused to do. When he returned to camp he ordered these men arrested by
the camp guards and placed on the pike, marking time. A Mr. Sam Ash of
Company B (now still living in Houston) went to these men and led them
back to camp, telling them that no such disgraceful punishment should be
inaugurated in the regiment. The infantry were passing frequently and we
considered it a disgrace to the Texas Ranger to submit to such
punishment. Major Harrison finally yielded and passed the incident, but
to a great extent, lost the respect of the command.
The army now continued its retreat through Shelbyville, Huntsville,
Decatur to Corinth, Mississippi, without incidents of note, except the
burning of bridges behind us. We also destroyed the magnificent bridge
across the Tennessee River at Decatur.
It may be not out of place, before going further, and to give the reader
a better idea of the character of the Texas Rangers, to mention an
expression of Hardee’s. While passing through Huntsville, Alabama, some
ladies, in company with General Hardee, were standing on the sidewalk,
watching us pass, cheering and waving their handkerchiefs at us, when
one of them remarked to General Hardee, saying “General, the Rangers are
the best soldiers you have; are they not?” He told them no, he was not
stuck on them, saying that they would not submit to any discipline or
drill; but he was willing to say that in a battle, or when called on to
meet a forlorn hope, the Rangers always responded. General Hardee was
one of the strictest disciplinarians in our army and wrote the military
tactics that were used by both sides.
We soon arrived at Corinth, where we were assigned a camp ground about
two miles from the place, near a spring and we here witnessed new
additions to the main army. Occasionally scouting parties from the
regiment were sent out in different directions towards the Tennessee
River, which duties were always performed to the satisfaction of the
commanding officers.