GLORY II Chapter 12

Chapter 12

At Russellville, Alabama late on June third, General Forrest and his staff were flagged down by a courier pushing his worn out mount up the side of a small rise to their position.  The tired officer saluted the General and said, "Captain Burdette reporting, Sir, I have an important dispatch from General Lee."

  After reading the message, Forrest turned to his staff.  "General Lee wrote that a large federal expedition left Memphis on the first and was camped near Salem as of last night.  He firmly believes they are conducting either an invasion of the Mississippi breadbasket to destroy vital food supplies, or they have been ordered east to reinforce Sherman north of Atlanta.  Their estimated strength is vague, but believed to be around fourteen thousand cavalry, infantry, and artillery.  In the event their plans are to lay waste the black prairie region, General Lee has ordered us to return to Tupelo immediately."

  When General Forrest said immediately, he meant just that.  Halting only long enough to send Captain D.C. Kelley to relay a message to General Roddey to have Colonel Johnson bring his Alabama Brigade to the town of Baldwyn with all due haste, Forrest and the rest of his command headed back toward the southwest. Traveling most of that night and all day and night of the fourth, they arrived in Tupelo saddle sore and dog tired on Sunday, the 5th of June.

  Monday was so hungry he could have eaten at least half of one of the dozens of horses they had lost during the forced march, and it wouldn't have been the first time he'd resorted to eating horseflesh.  In fact, he was rather fond of it.

  While General Forrest went directly to General Stephen Lee's headquarters, Monday took a detail and paid a visit to the local quartermaster.  They had traveled so fast, that they had outdistanced their supply train, which probably wouldn't reach Tupelo for another few days.  Within an hour, he had fresh supplies and hot food cooking over a blazing fire, even a few extra plugs of chewing tobacco.

  General Forrest learned that General Lee was down in Meridian.  However, after reading the latest dispatches at the train station, it was clear that very little verifiable information was known about the present location or direction of travel of the Union force.  He did learn that Colonel Rucker had been ordered to New Albany with his brigade of Tennessee and Mississippi cavalry.  Immediately upon returning to camp, he asked Captain Anderson to have Will report to him.

  Will was just as tired as the rest of the staff, but upon hearing that Forrest needed him for courier duty, he hastened to the new tent that Monday had provided for the General's comfort.  General Forrest had removed his battered boots and was sitting on a field cot, massaging his sore feet when he reported.

  "Lieutenant Welch to see you, Sir," Captain Anderson stated, throwing open the tent flap for Will to enter.

  "Need you to get a message to Colonel Rucker up at New Albany, right away," Forrest stated, glancing up at Will then returning his attention to his sore feet.  "Tell Ed to throw some of his men between the Yankees and Memphis and try to capture part of the federal train and if possible some of their couriers.  We need information on the size and intentions of this expedition.  Tell him to keep his main force on the right flank of the Union advance.  I know you belong to Colonel Duff, who's riding with Rucker, but I still need you back here.  So, after you've delivered the message, get some rest then high tail it back as soon as you can.  Expect you'll probably return some time tomorrow."

  "On my way, Sir," Will replied, turning to leave the tent.  However, after hearing General Forrest clear his throat as if he had more to say, he hesitated until the General said what was on his mind.

  "Wouldn't hurt anything if you happened to go through Brice's Crossroads on your way back," he finally stated, a serious expression on his face.

  "Yes, Sir!" Will replied, a broad smile breaking out on his previously rigid features.  "Will that be all, Sir?"

  By way of reply, General Forrest saluted him with a wave of his hand and returned to the serious task of massaging his sore toes.

  The way Will figured it, he should be in New Albany by two in the afternoon, and, giving himself plenty of time to find Colonel Rucker and deliver the message, he could be at Brice's Crossroads by five p.m. at the latest.  Laura would be very surprised to see him.  She probably thought he was still in route to Tennessee for the lengthy expedition behind Sherman's lines.  The thought of seeing her again excited him.

  When John Philip had ridden through and told them of the family home being burned by the Yankees and of the sudden unexpected death of little George, she had been devastated, blaming herself for everything that had happened.  That news, compounded with the fact that he was leaving for a very dangerous assignment behind enemy lines, had almost torn apart her resolve, throwing her into a seriously depressed mood.

  As he was saddling Squirrel and throwing provisions into his saddlebags, his friend and mentor, Sergeant Major Stiehl strolled up, leading his horse.  Monday had a wide smirk on his face as if he knew something Will did not.

  Will had learned more from this man in a few weeks than he'd learned from his entire book reading on tactics and logistics.  The Sergeant Major was a gold mine of trivial information, most of it geared towards survival and wilderness lore, things a man never really knew he needed until it just happened to save his life or the life of his men.

  He spent as much time with Monday as he could, often times wondering why such a man even gave green horn pups like him the time of day.  But, for some unknown reason, the grisly Sergeant Major had taken a liking to him, a fact for which Will was eternally grateful.

  "Git a move on, boy," Monday barked, "we got miles to cover and things to do before dark."

  "You're going with me. Sir?" Will asked, happy but curious.

  "Don't be callin’ me no damn ‘sir’ done told you I ain't no damn officer."

  Will enjoyed the blunt way Monday talked.  He knew that he even talked to General Forrest that way, something no other man, regardless of rank or status, would ever dare to do.  He had even been shocked one day to see Monday and the general fighting like two schoolboys, and to top it off, the General walked away with a shiner and a grin.

  "Bedford needs information," Monday stated.  "Figured I'd mosey up that way and find out just what them blue bellies is up to.  Got ways of finding out that you eastern folk’s kinda frown on."

  Will knew that Monday could and would do precisely what he said.  He also knew that he would not hurt the man or men he got that information from, but, he would scare them half to death.  He wondered if pure fear could kill a man?  Perhaps not, but even then the Sergeant Major would probably bring him back to life.  Will often wondered whom he was more in awe of, the grisly Sergeant Major or the unbeatable Nathan Bedford Forrest.

  He noticed that Monday was taking his mule horse, the one he called Ugly Ape.  The animal was supposedly part mule, part horse, and some even said part ghost.  He had more endurance than any mule, was faster than any horse around, and was quiet as a savage Indian.  It was almost as if the animal had the intelligence of a human being, able to spot anything on the ground that may make noise and step over or around it.

  The mule/horse had cut marks on his flanks, places where the Sergeant Major had nicked the animal to drink his blood.  "A man needs a little horse blood on occasion to keep the little spirit demons from gettin’ him," Monday had remarked one day, as if it was as common as waking up in the morning.  Everyone knew that it was due to the Sergeant Major's belief that small unseen bugs caused disease, and cleanliness and bleeding was a way to fight them, a fact he had learned from some crackpot European doctor.

  Pushing the animals as hard as they could, by one-thirty in the afternoon they entered the Confederate camp at the small town of New Albany, about seventeen miles south of Ripley.  Colonel Rucker had situated the camp on a small hilltop overlooking a broad flat plain to the north of town.

  Edward Rucker was well known for his stubborn tenacity and never-quit philosophy, traits he had picked up from old Bedford himself and nurtured with a passion.  It was said among the Tennessee boys that he was like an old snapping turtle, once he got his dander up in front of the enemy, he refused to let go.  If attacked, he refused to budge regardless of the odds coming at him.

  As they approached the headquarters tent, they noticed several officers lounging in front, sitting near a field table, sipping steaming coffee or tea.  One officer Will easily recognized was his own unit commander, Colonel Duff, the other he assumed to be Colonel Chalmers, commander of the 18th Mississippi Battalion, while the third was none other than Colonel Duckworth of the 7th Tennessee Cavalry.  Rucker himself, a handsome man of medium height, stood next to the tent bracing himself against the sturdy center pole.

  Will dismounted and came to attention in front of the sitting officers then executed a sharp salute.  "Lieutenant Welch reporting," he said, looking at Colonel Rucker.  "I have urgent dispatches from General Forrest, Sir."

  "At ease, Lieutenant," Colonel Rucker replied, reaching for the dispatch case Will offered.  He took less than a minute to read the orders then turned to the other senior officers.  "The information your scouts brought in yesterday seems to be accurate," he stated, addressing Colonel Duckworth.  "That large Union force is slowly moving east.  Bedford and Lee still don't know where they're headed, but it is assumed they are heading for Chattanooga to reinforce Billy Sherman.  We have orders to intercept their supply train and try to capture one of their couriers.  We need to determine their overall strength and if possible learn their intentions."

  "I've had scouts on their flanks ever since they left Lafayette," Colonel Duckworth replied.  "They have nigra troops guarding the wagons and have sent only one dispatch back to Memphis since they began their march and that rider was escorted by a full troop of cavalry."

  "I want you to place men wearing civilian clothing in Ripley and ahead of their projected route of march," Colonel Rucker ordered, "and keep in constant contact with our regular informants.  "Colonel Chalmers, I want you to send several companies to cover their back trail , talk to the locals in the areas they camped, and try to capture any Memphis-bound couriers, if possible.  On the seventh, we'll move north towards Ripley and see which direction they take from
Ruckersville.  That'll give our scouts plenty of time to report their findings."

  Unaccustomed to being among senior officers as operations plans were made, Will politely cleared his throat to remind Colonel Rucker of his presence.  "I have orders to return to Tupelo, Sir, should I wait for any return message to General Forrest?"

  "No, Lieutenant.  Just tell Bedford we'll send word to him as soon as we have anything worth reporting."

  "Then, with your permission, Sir, I will head back," Will stated, coming to attention and saluting.  Colonel Rucker noticed that Sergeant Major Stiehl had remained in the saddle, idly cleaning his fingernails throughout the entire report.  "Where you heading, Monday?" he asked with a smile, knowing full well the Sergeant Major was on one of his hunting missions.  He also noted that his jacket had been replaced with a well-worn civilian shirt.

  "Figured I'd mosey on up to Ripley and hang around for a spell Ed," Monday casually remarked.  "Never know what a simple old codger like me might uncover.  Besides, I'm awful tired of camp chow, reckon Mrs. Falkner or Mrs. Walton will tolerate me for a few home cooked meals."

  "Then you both be careful.  Can't afford to lose men to the federals, damn near down to half strength as it is."

  A few miles north of camp, they hit a dirt road angling off towards the northeast.  This was the cutoff that ran towards Baldwyn and through Brice's Crossroads.  With a warning to be careful, Will turned to the right as Monday continued on north towards Ripley.  Before he had gone far, Monday yelled to him, "Stay at Brice’s until I get word to you on the Yankee movements."  By five in the afternoon both had reached their destinations.

  Monday was well-known in Ripley and welcome in just about any home around town.  He chose to stay with Mrs. Walton because she was one of the half-dozen or so locals who were normally obliged to billet senior Union officers when the federals were occupying the town.  She did so not from any sense of altruism, but to learn what secrets she could to pass on to the Confederate high command.

  Posing as a Mexican War veteran with debilitating wounds, he would be able to garner enemy information at a fast rate.  There was nothing like sharing war stories to bond old soldiers together, both Union and Confederate, and Monday knew most of the senior Union officers who had served in Mexico.  He also had more than his share of old war stories to cry over and very few Union officers knew he was an active duty Confederate soldier.

    The closer he got to the crossroads the faster his heart beat.  The very thought of seeing Laura again so soon sent shivers of warmth tingling down his back.  He did not know what quirk of fate or god of fortune had canceled their raid into Tennessee, but he would be forever grateful for this unexpected intervention and timely respite.  Like most soldiers, he was well aware that the South was nearing its end in the long bitter struggle for independence.  He also knew that survival under a harsh Union military occupation would be difficult and chancy at best.

  There were even rumors of a large number of Southerners committed to moving to some South American country in order to preserve their culture and way of life.  He considered this too drastic a measure, though.  He was born a Mississippian and would forever stay in Mississippi.  Whatever the government of Mississippi was forced to contend with after this terrible conflict was over, he would stand by his government and his people, even under the bitter yoke of federal occupation.

  When he arrived at the junction of the Ripley, New Albany Roads, he hesitated.  To bear left would take him to the Agnew's estate a few miles north; right would take him directly to the Brice's house.  Laura had indicated that she and Rebecca Ann were moving in with the Brice family in order to help with the children and the store, but he wasn't certain if they had made the move yet.

  No problem, he thought, scanning the overcast sky.  It was partly sunny after three days of steady rain and drizzle.  Most of the high spots in the road had dried but there was still plenty of pasty mud in the low lying areas.  Squirrel’s barrel and legs were covered with a thick red coat of the goop.

  As he passed over the small wooden bridge spanning Tishomingo Creek, he was awed by the deep raging torrent of muddy water pushing its way south mere inches from the bottom of the bridge.  The open fields on both sides of the stream were flooded, the young shoots of corn drooping in a foot or more of standing water.  If the wet weather didn't change, the local farmers would have a poor harvest in the fall.

  The ride up the narrow incline to the Brice's house was a treacherous one, Squirrel slipped and slid half the way up.  There was no one present in front of either the house or the store, but a small column of white smoke could be seen snaking its way above the roof from behind the house.

  Looping the reigns around a hitching post, Will headed in the direction of the curling smoke.  As he rounded the corner of the building, he caught sight of Laura and Mrs. Brice standing near a large cast iron kettle which was resting on a bed of hot coals.  A recently killed and dressed-out hog hung by its leg tendons from the limb of a small tree.  It had already been gutted and shaved clean of hair.  Evidently, they were in the process of rendering out the lard, for the smell of fresh cooking pork saturated the air.

  Most animals were killed during the late fall months to take advantage of the cool weather; they were probably getting this one ready for smoking.  Nothing in a hog was ever thrown away.  As his mother had once stated, "The only thing you throw away on a hog is the squeal," which was pretty much the truth.  The thought of eating a fresh pork roast with new potatoes, cornbread, and green beans, made his mouth water.

  He could have stood there and watched the comforting scene forever.  His beautiful Laura sweating over a hot fire, her wet sleeves rolled up, a tendril of golden hair tickling her nose and falling into her eyes, a dazzling smile covering her features as she shared some words of humor with Mrs. Brice.

  Laura finally caught sight of him standing near the corner of the house.  Her eyes opened wide and her hand flew to her mouth to suppress a startled intake of breath.  Suddenly, she launched herself at him with a squeal of delight almost knocking him down as she flew into his open arms.

  "How?" she choked, smothering him with kisses, not even allowing him time to reply.  "You left for Tennessee."

  "We were called back," he finally answered, holding her at arm’s length in order to catch his breath.  Out of the corner of his eye he could see the broad grin on Mrs. Brice's face as he continued.  "There's a Yankee expedition somewhere up around Salem and we don't know where they're headed yet.  Just to be safe, General Lee pulled us back to Tupelo."

  Mrs. Brice's smile turned into a serious frown as she asked, "You don't think they're coming down here, do you?"

  Picking up on the worried tone and concern in her voice, Will replied, "General Lee and General Forrest think it's a large expedition on its way to reinforce the federals north of Atlanta.  But, to be totally honest with you ma’am, they could very well be on their way south to destroy the black prairie region, which would put their line of march through this direction or over towards Baldwyn."

  In order to arrest some of the worry he saw in her face, he decided to pass on a small tidbit of information that he'd overheard while in Colonel Rucker's camp.  "A large force of Union cavalry was spotted heading east towards Rienzi early this morning.  It stands to reason that they're probably scouting the advance for their infantry.  If so, their goal has to be to reinforce Sherman.  Even the Yankees are smart enough to know that General Lee can bring enough forces to bear to crush them if they go too far south."

  "How long can you stay?" Laura asked, hope in her eyes.

  "The General asked that I return by tomorrow morning, but Sergeant Major Stiehl ordered me to stay here until he gets word to me from Ripley on the Yankee movements."

  "Can a Sergeant Major countermand a General's orders?"

  "Not normally," Will laughed, "a Sergeant Major can't even give orders to a Lieutenant.  But Monday isn't just another Sergeant Major.  He'd just as likely tell old Jeff Davis what to do as anyone else, and get away with it too."

  "At least I have you for now," Laura stated, snuggling up against him.

  All day long on June 6th, Monday shadowed the slow moving union columns as they made their wet, miserable way along the muddy road in the direction of Ruckersville.  He had already spotted the standards of a good number of professional Union Regiments he could identify.  Colonel Waring, Winslow, old Ben Grierson, and many others were among the pack.  He thought of taking a prisoner to see what information, if any, he could gather, but decided to wait and see which way the main body went when it hit the Ripley, Saulsbury Road.

  If they continued east towards Ruckersville their mission was probably to reinforce Sherman.  But, if they turned south towards Ripley that would offer an entirely different scenario.  Their cavalry was already camped just outside of Ruckersville.

  Around nine the next morning, his thoughts were confirmed.  As soon as the expedition hit the Saulsbury, Ripley Road junction they turned south.  Monday had a gut feeling that old Billy Sherman had put two and two together and came up with Bedford Forrest.  He'd bet ten-to-one odds that this formidable expedition was sent out for the sole purpose of harassing ol’ Bedford in order to keep him out of Tennessee.  It was a move that Ulysses Grant would make and Uncle Billy Sherman was just like him.

  He spent the night in guilty comfort under warm, clean sheets and blankets with a belly full of delicious chicken and dumplings and hot cornbread, in the home of his old friend, Mrs. Henry Walton.

  No more than ten feet from him, in an adjoining bedroom, slept the commander of the federal expedition, a man by the name of General Sam Sturgis.  Monday had never met the man, but vaguely remembered an officer by the name of Sturgis at the Battle of Antietam.

  He had gone out of his way the evening before to impress upon the general that he was nothing more than a dirty old drunk, a western mountain man , who had the good fortune to know the Walton’s as friends.  The interesting exploits he told about the war with Mexico and his personal friendship with U.S. Grant, was enough to defuse any suspicions about him in the eyes of General Sturgis.  He put on such a good act, that the general's aide, a Captain Beldin, had allowed his whiskey-soaked body to remain in the one room next to where the senior Union officers held their decisive conference on the morning of the eighth.

  Unknown to them, a completely sober Monday had overheard every word spoken during that brief conference.  He had quickly poured whiskey over himself like aftershave and joined Mrs. Walton in the kitchen when the conference broke up.

  General Sturgis entered the kitchen, and after drawing coffee and wrinkling his nose up at Monday, boastfully proclaimed to Mrs. Walton that he was on his way to teach Mister Nathan Bedford Forrest a lesson.  As he left, they gave each other a knowing smile, and Monday staggered from the house to make his drunken way out of town.  Once safely hidden from any Union troops, he put the spurs to old Ugly Ape and headed cross-country in the direction of Brice's Crossroads.