HOLLY SPRINGS RAID
At Grenada—Scouting—Engagement at Oakland—Chaplain Thompson’s
Adventure—Holly Springs Raid—Jake—The Bridge at Wolf River—I Am
Wounded—Bolivar—Attack on Middleburg—Christmas.
WINTER weather came on us very early for the climate, snow having
fallen to the depth of two or three inches before the middle of
October, while the forests were still green, and the weather was
intensely cold all during the fall months. While in this part of the
field we had to be active and vigilant without having much fighting to
do, and we enjoyed life fairly well.
General Washburn was sent out from Memphis with a force, estimated to
be 10,000 men, and crossing Cold Water he came in our direction. The
brigade in command of Lieutenant-Colonel John S. Griffith, of the Sixth
Texas, moved up northwest to the little town of Oakland to meet him.
Starting in the afternoon we marched through a cold rain which benumbed
us so that many of us were unable to tie our horses when we stopped
to camp at night. Next morning we passed through Oakland about ten
o’clock and met the enemy a mile or two beyond and had a lively little
engagement with them, lasting, perhaps, half an hour, in which our men
captured a baby cannon, somewhat larger than a pocket derringer.
As we advanced in the morning, Major John H. Broocks, of the Legion,
commanded the advance guard composed of a squadron of which our company
was a part. About a half mile out of the little town, when we came to
where the road forked, he halted and ordered me to take five men and
go on the left-hand road a half or three-fourths of a mile, get a good
position for observation, and remain there until he ordered me away. We
went on and took our position, the main force moving on the right-hand
road. Very soon they met the enemy and got into an engagement with them
across a field nearly opposite our position. After awhile the firing
having ceased, we heard our bugle sound the retreat, heard the brigade
move out, and soon the Federals advanced until they had passed the
forks of the road, when a battery began throwing shells at us. But no
orders came from Major Broocks. Our position becoming untenable, and
knowing we had been forgotten, and being unable to regain the road,
we struck due south through the woods and rode all night, in order to
rejoin the command. Finding it next morning, Major Broocks was profuse
in his apologies for having forgotten us.
In the fight at Oakland we had about ten men wounded, Chaplain R. W.
Thompson, of the Legion, voluntarily remaining to take care of them
and dress their wounds. He had gotten them into a house and was very
busy dressing the injury of one of them when a Federal soldier, with
a musket in his hand, walked in and purposed making him a prisoner.
Mr. Thompson was very indignant and stormed at the fellow in such a
manner as to intimidate him, and he walked out and left him, and
Thompson went on with his duties. Presently he was again accosted, and
straightening himself up, he looked around to confront an officer and
gaze into the muzzle of a cocked revolver. The officer asked, “Who are
you?” “I am a Confederate soldier,” said Thompson. “Then,” said the
officer, “I guess I’ll take you up to General Washburn’s quarters.”
“I guess you will not,” replied Thompson. “Well, but I guess I will,”
said the officer. By this time Thompson was very indignant and said:
“Sir, just take that pistol off me for half a minute and I’ll show you
whether I will go or not.” “But,” said the officer, “I am not going to
do that, and to avoid trouble, I guess you had better come on with me.”
So Rev. Mr. Thompson went, and was soon introduced to the general, who
said to him, “To what command do you belong, sir?” Thompson answered,
“I belong to a Texas cavalry brigade.” “Are you an officer or private?”
inquired the general. “I am a chaplain,” said Thompson. “You are a
d——d rough chaplain,” said the general. “Yes,” replied the chaplain,
“and you would say I was a d——d rough fighter if you were to meet me
on a battlefield with a musket in my hands.” “How many men have you in
your command, sir?” asked the general, meaning the force he had just
met. Mr. Thompson replied, “We have enough to fight, and we have enough
to run, and we use our discretion as to which we do.” The general
stamped his foot in anger and repeated the question, and got the same
answer. “You insolent fellow!” said the general, stamping his foot
again. “Now,” said Thompson in return, “let me say to you, General,
that if you wish to gain any information in regard to our forces that
will do you any good, you are interrogating the wrong man.” “Take this
insolent fellow out of my presence and place him under guard!” said
the general. This order was obeyed, when a crowd soon began to gather
around Thompson, growing larger and larger all the time and looking
so vicious that Thompson was actually afraid they were going to mob
him. Casting his eyes around he saw an officer, and, beckoning to him,
the officer made his way through the crowd and soon dispersed it.
Thompson’s “insolence” cost him a long march—from there to the bank of
the Mississippi River, where they released him, with blistered feet, to
make his way back to his command.
Mr. Thompson was indiscreet, perhaps, in his manner, which was, no
doubt, detrimental to himself; but he felt conscious that they had no
right to detain him as a prisoner, or to interfere with his duties,
and their manner irritated him. He was a good, whole-souled man, bold
and fearless, and the best chaplain I knew in the army. What I could
say about army chaplains, so far as my observation went, would not
be flattering and, perhaps, had better be unsaid. But the Rev. R. W.
Thompson, as chaplain of Whitfield’s Texas Legion, was a success, and
he was with us in adversity as well as in prosperity. When at leisure
he preached to us and prayed for us; when in battle he was with the
infirmary corps, bearing the wounded from the field, or assisting the
surgeons in dressing their wounds and ministering to their wants. We
all loved him, and thank God he was spared to do noble work for his
Master and his church for many years after the Civil War was over, and
I believe he is still living.
This Oakland affair occurred December 8, 1862. We had 1264 cavalry with
a battery of four guns. Brigadier-General C. C. Washburn had 2500 men
and two batteries. The engagement lasted about fifty minutes.
* * * * *
In the meantime General Grant had organized a fine army of about
75,000 men, including infantry, artillery, and cavalry, and was slowly
moving down the Mississippi Central Railway. His front had reached as
far south as Coffeeville, his objective point being Vicksburg, and he
intended to co-operate with the river forces in taking that Confederate
stronghold. General Pemberton’s small army was gradually falling back
before him. As the general depot of Federal supplies was at Holly
Springs, and to destroy Grant’s supplies might turn him back, or at
least would cripple him more than the best fighting we could do in his
front, this was determined on.
General Earl Van Dorn, who was known to be a fine cavalry officer,
was just then without a command. Lieutenant-Colonel John S. Griffith,
commanding a brigade, joined by the officers of the regiments composing
the brigade, about the 5th of December petitioned General Pemberton to
organize a cavalry raid, to be commanded by General Van Dorn, for the
purpose of penetrating General Grant’s rear, with the idea of making an
effort to destroy the supplies at Holly Springs, and to do any other
possible injury to the enemy. In due time the raid was organized. We
took Holly Springs, captured the guards, destroyed the supplies, and
General Grant was compelled to abandon his campaign.
From this time General Van Dorn commanded us until his untimely death
at the hands of an assassin. A more gallant soldier than Earl Van Dorn
was not to be found, and as a cavalry commander I do not believe he had
a superior in either army. What I may say about this, however, here
or elsewhere, I know is of little worth, as most people have formed
and expressed an opinion—some in favor of Forrest, some Stuart, and
some Joe Wheeler; but any man who was with us on this expedition and
at other times, and who watched General Van Dorn’s maneuvers closely,
studied his stratagems and noted the complete success of all his
movements, would have to admit that he was a master of the art of war
in this line of the service. At the head of an infantry column he moved
too rapidly, too many of his over-marched men failed to get into his
battles; but place him in front of good men well mounted, and he stood
at the head of the class of fine cavalry commanders.
With three brigades, ours, General W. H. Jackson’s and Colonel
McCulloch’s, aggregating about 3500 men in light marching order,
without artillery, we moved from the vicinity of Grenada early after
dark, about the 18th of December, and marched rapidly all night. We
passed through Pontotoc next day, when the good ladies stood on the
street with dishes and baskets filled with all manner of good things
to eat, which we grabbed in our hands as we passed rapidly through the
town. After passing Pontotoc a command of Federal cavalry dropped in
on our rear, fired a few shots and picked up some of our men who had
dropped behind. Among those picked up was our Indiana man, Harvey N.
Milligan. Somehow the boys had come to doubt Milligan’s loyalty, and
suspected that he had fallen behind purposely to allow himself to be
captured. When the rear was fired on the colonel commanding the rear
regiment sent a courier up to notify General Van Dorn. The fellow came
up the column in a brisk gallop. Now, to pass from the rear to the
front of a column of 3500 cavalry rapidly marching by twos is quite
a feat, but he finally reached General Van Dorn, and with a military
salute he said: “General, Colonel —— sent me to inform you that the
Yankees have fired on his rear!” “Are they in the rear?” inquired the
general. “Yes, sir,” answered the courier. “Well, you go back,” said
the general, “and tell Colonel —— that that is exactly where I want
them.” It was interesting to note how adroitly he managed to keep in
our rear on the entire expedition all their forces that attempted in
any way to interfere with our movements. Their scouts were, of course,
watching us to determine, if possible, our destination.
In going north from Pontotoc, General Van Dorn, instead of taking the
Holly Springs road, passing east of that place, headed his command
towards Bolivar, Tenn. Their conclusion then was, of course, that we
were aiming to attack Bolivar. Stopping long enough at night to feed,
we mounted our horses and by a quiet movement were placed on roads
leading into Holly Springs, dividing the command into two columns, so
as to strike the town by two roads. We moved slowly and very quietly
during the night, and while we were moving directly towards the town
guards were placed at the houses we passed lest some citizen might
be treacherous enough to inform the enemy of our movements. The road
our column was on was a rough, unworked, and little used one. At the
first appearance of dawn, being perhaps three miles from town, we
struck a gallop and, meeting no opposition, we were soon pouring into
the infantry camps near the railroad depot, situated in the eastern
suburbs. The infantry came running out of the tents in their night
clothes, holding up their hands and surrendered without firing a gun.
Our other column encountered the mounted cavalry pickets, and had a
little fight with them, but they soon galloped out of town, and on
this bright, frosty morning of December 20, A. D. 1862, the town,
with its immense stores of army supplies, was ours. Standing on the
track near the depot was a long train of box cars loaded with rations
and clothing only waiting for steam enough to pull out for the front.
This was burned as it stood. Leaving the Legion to guard the prisoners
until they could be paroled, the Third Texas galloped on uptown. The
people, as soon as it was known that we were Confederates, were wild
with joy. Women came running out of their houses, to their front gates
as we passed, in their night robes, their long hair streaming behind
and fluttering in the frosty morning air, shouting and clapping their
hands, forgetting everything except the fact that the Confederates were
in Holly Springs! On every hand could be heard shouts—“Hurrah for
Jeff Davis! Hurrah for Van Dorn! Hurrah for the Confederacy!”
A mere glance at the stores—heaps upon heaps of clothing, blankets,
provisions, arms, ammunition, medicines, and hospital supplies for the
winter, all for the use and comfort of a vast army—was overwhelming
to us. We had never seen anything like it before. The depot, the depot
buildings, the machine shops, the roundhouse, and every available space
that could be used was packed full, and scores of the largest houses
uptown were in use for the same purpose, while a great number of bales
of cotton were piled up around the court-house yard. One large brick
livery stable on the public square was packed full, as high as they
could be stacked, with new, unopened cases of carbines and Colt’s
army six-shooters, and a large brick house near by was packed full of
artillery ammunition.
For about ten hours, say from 6 A. M. to 4 P. M., we labored
destroying, burning, this property, and in order to do this effectually
we had to burn a good many houses. Riding out in the afternoon, to the
yard where the wagons were being cut down and burned, I found numbers
of mules and horses running at large, some of our men turning their
lean horses loose and taking big fat captured horses instead. Just then
it occurred to me that I had no horse of my own in Mississippi, my
mount having been killed at Iuka. John B. Long being in prison when the
horses came, I was using his. Now, if I only had some way of taking one
of these horses out. Starting back uptown, puzzling over this problem,
I met a negro boy coming out of a side street, and hailed him. In
answer to my inquiries he said his name was Jake, and belonged to
Mr. —— down at Toby Tubby’s ferry on the Tallahatchie. “What are you
doing here?” I inquired. “Dese Yankees has bin had me prisoner.” After
a little further colloquy he readily agreed to go with me. “Cause,”
said he, “you-all done whipped de Yankees now. Dey bin braggin’ all de
time how dey could whip de rebels so fast, and when you all come in
here dis mornin’ dey went runnin’ everywhere, looking back to see if
de rebels was comin’. I done see how it is now. I don’t want nothin’
more to do with dese Yankees. I’se bin hid under de floor all day.” I
took one of the abandoned horses, procured a mule for Jake to ride,
with saddle, bridle and halter, and taking the outfit uptown said to
Jake: “Now, when we start you fall in with the other negroes, in the
rear, and keep right up, and when we camp you inquire for Company C,
Third Texas Cavalry—and hold on to the horse at all hazards.” I had no
further trouble with Jake. He carried my instructions out all right.
About 4 P. M., having finished our day’s work, we moved out of the
northeast part of the town, and looking back we saw the Federal cavalry
coming in from the southwest.
In this raid we captured about 1500 prisoners, according to General Van
Dorn, and General Grant said the same. They were commanded by Colonel
R. C. Murphy of the Eighth Wisconsin Infantry. Poor Murphy! he was
peremptorily dismissed from the service without even a court martial.
General Grant estimated their loss in supplies destroyed at $400,000,
while General Van Dorn’s estimate was $1,500,000. Doubtless one was
too low and the other one too high. We marched out a few miles and
camped for the night, and all the evening we could hear the artillery
cartridges exploding in the burning buildings.
The next day early we were on the march northward. That morning when I
awoke I felt a presentiment that if we had to fight during that day I
would be wounded, and no effort of mine was sufficient to remove the
impression, even for a moment. As the weather was quite cold, visions
of the horrors of going to prison in midwinter troubled me, since a
wound that would put me past riding my horse would mean that I would be
left to fall into the enemy’s hands. Near noon we came to Davis’ Mill,
near the Tennessee line, not far from Lagrange, Tenn., where we made
an effort to destroy a railroad bridge and trestle on Wolfe River. It
was guarded by 250 troops, commanded by Colonel William H. Morgan of
the Twenty-fifth Indiana Infantry. We were fooling about this place
three hours perhaps, and it was late before I understood the meaning
of our maneuvers. Our brigade was dismounted, double-quicked here and
double-quicked there, double-quicked back to our horses, remounted,
galloped off to another place, double-quicked again somewhere else
and back to our horses. Then, remounting, we took another gallop and
double-quicked again to the only tangible thing I saw during the day,
and that was to charge a blockhouse or stockade.
The enemy was in what they called a blockhouse, constructed by
taking an old sawmill as a foundation and piling up cotton bales and
cross-ties, and throwing up some earthworks. Approaching this by a
wagon road we came to a bridge across a slough perhaps two hundred
yards from their fort. We met their first bullets here, as part of
their fire could be concentrated on this bridge. Crossing a little
river bottom, entirely open except for a few large white oak trees,
we came to a bridge across Wolfe River about seventy yards from their
works. To charge in column across this bridge under their concentrated
fire was the only chance to get to them, but coming to this bridge we
found that the floor was all gone, leaving only three stringers about
ten inches square, more or less, on which we could cross. Running
along the bank up the river to the right was a levee some three feet
high. The men in front, five or six impetuous fellows, running on to
the stringers, one of them fell as he started across, and the others
crossed the river. When I reached the bridge the command was deploying
behind the levee without attempting to cross. I remained near the
bridge. By this time I was more fatigued, I thought, than I had ever
been, with the perspiration streaming off my face, cold as the day
was. Here we kept up a fire at the smoke of the enemy’s guns, as we
could not see anything else, until a courier could find General Van
Dorn, inform him of the situation and ascertain his wishes as to the
advisability of our attempting to cross the river. Anxious to know what
had become of the men that went onto the bridge, I rose up and looked
over the levee. One of them had been killed and was lying in the edge
of the water, and the others were crouched under the opposite bank
of the river out of immediate danger. While this observation only
required a moment of time and a moment’s exposure above the levee,
I distinctly felt a minie ball fan my right cheek. While I had not
doubted for a moment that I was going to be shot somewhere sometime
during the day, this narrow escape of having a minie ball plow through
my cheek was very unpleasant. The thought of the ugly scar such a wound
would leave flashed into my mind, and wondering where I was to be
wounded I settled down behind the levee and continued firing my Sharps’
rifle without exposing myself. Finally we were ordered to fall back.
As soon as we were on our feet, and while crossing the little bottom,
we would again be exposed to the enemy’s fire, so the command fell
back at double-quick. I rose and started, and, looking around, I saw
Lieutenant Germany fall, and turned back to assist him, supposing he
was shot; but as I approached him he jumped up and passed me, laughing,
having merely stumbled and fallen. This threw me behind everybody. I
soon found I was so fatigued that I could not double-quick at all, so
I slowed up into an ordinary walk. The command, in the meantime, to
avoid the fire that could be concentrated on the slough bridge, had
flanked off to the left some distance above, and crossed on chunks and
logs that had fallen in the slough. Very soon I was the only target for
the men in the blockhouse, and they shot at me for sheer amusement. At
last a ball struck me on the right thigh. Thinking it was broken, I
stopped, bearing all my weight on my left foot, and, selecting a large
white oak near by, intending, if I could not walk to manage somehow to
pull myself behind this to shield myself, I waited for “something to
turn up.” Soon learning, however, that my thigh was not broken, I moved
on. Rather than lose time in going up to where the command had crossed
and run the risk of being left behind, supposing that on reaching the
horses they would mount and move off, I determined to cross on the
bridge, which I did in a slow walk, and am sure there was no less than
a hundred shots fired at me. Somehow I felt that I was not going to be
shot more than once that day, so even after I got across the bridge
and lay down to drink out of a little pool of water in the road, their
bullets spattered water in my face. I managed to get off with the
command, and while my wound was slight it bled freely and caused me a
good deal of pain, as I had to ride constantly for several days, and
was unable to dismount to fight any more on this trip.
We camped not far from Davis’ Mill, and crossed the Memphis &
Charleston Railroad early next morning, cutting the telegraph wires,
tearing up the track, burning cross-ties, and bending and twisting
the rails. Leaving, we struck a gallop towards Sommerville, Tenn.,
and galloped nearly all day. Entering Sommerville unexpectedly, we
created a little consternation. There was a Union mass meeting in
the town, and, there being no thought that there was a Confederate
soldier in a hundred miles of them, they were having an enthusiastic
time. Some of the old gentlemen, pretty boozy on good Union whisky,
stood on the streets and gazed at us with open mouths. I heard one
old fellow yell out, “Hurrah for Sommerville!” Another one standing
near him yelled out, “Oh, d——n Sommerville to h——l; I say hurrah
for the soldiers!” The good ladies, however, when they learned who we
were, began bringing whatever they had to eat, handing it to us as we
passed along. Camping a few miles out, next morning we took the road
leading to Jackson, Tenn., a road which passes west of Bolivar. In the
afternoon, however, we changed our course, traveling by roads leading
eastward, and camped several miles north of Bolivar.
Next morning, December 24, by making demonstrations against Bolivar,
General Van Dorn induced the enemy to gather all his forces in the
vicinity for its defense, including 1500 cavalry under Colonel
Grierson, sent by General Grant in pursuit of us. We moved down a main
road leading into Bolivar from the north, formed fours, driving in
their cavalry scouts and infantry pickets to the very suburbs of the
town, where the column was turned to the right through alleys, byways,
and vacant lots until we were south of the town, when moving quietly
out southward, we thus again had all our opposition in our rear. Moving
down the railroad seven miles, Middleburg was attacked. As our troops
dismounted and formed a line, Ed. Lewis, of Company B, was killed. I
remained mounted, with the horses. The command moved up into the town
and found the enemy in a brick house with portholes, through which they
fired. This was not taken. Of Company C, A. A. Box was killed here.
After staying for two hours, perhaps, we moved off just as the enemy’s
cavalry from Bolivar came up and fired on our rear.
The next point threatened was Corinth, in order to concentrate the
forces in that neighborhood. Leaving Middleburg, we passed through
Purdy, took the Corinth road, and moved briskly until night, went into
camp, fed, and slept until 1 A. M., when we saddled up, mended up the
camp-fires and moved through neighborhood roads, into the Ripley road.
Reaching Ripley at noon we rested, fed, and ate our Christmas dinner.
In about two hours we moved out, and looking back we could see the
enemy’s cavalry from Corinth entering the town. They fired a piece of
artillery at us, but as they were in our rear we paid no attention to
them. Crossing the Tallahatchie at Rocky Ford we camped on the banks of
the stream. Here General Van Dorn waited for the enemy until noon the
next day, but Colonel Grierson, who was pretending to follow us, never
put in an appearance. In the afternoon we moved to Pontotoc and camped
there that night in a terrible drenching rain. We then moved leisurely
back into our lines, with “no one to molest us or make us afraid.”