GLORY II Chapter 13

Chapter 13

  Will was becoming extremely concerned.  He had spent over two full days at Brice's Crossroads without a word from Sergeant Major Stiehl.  He wasn't worried about Monday being able to look after himself, but he was beginning to feel guilty for all the peaceful and wonderful time he had been spending with Laura and the Brice family.

  He had just about made up his mind to head for Tupelo when he spotted the unmistakable odd form of Monday's horse, old Ugly Ape, slowly trotting up the hill towards the store.  As Monday reigned in and slowly dismounted from the gangly animal, Will spoke up.  "Nice to see you remembered I was here."  His voice was heavy with sarcasm and pretend hurt.

  "Best get saddled and ready to ride boy.  We gotta get back to Bedford as soon as we can."

  "Then you found out where the federals are heading?" Will asked, suddenly serious and concerned.

  "Need some tabackey," The Sergeant Major replied, pushing past Will and entering the store.  "Could use a hot cup of coffee, too."

  Will followed him into the store.  Mr. Brice was standing near a small counter tallying up figures on a yellowed piece of butcher paper.  He glanced up and smiled as they entered.  After ordering a bag of chewing tobacco and helping himself to a cup of coffee from the ever-present pot sitting on an old pot belly stove, he finally turned to Will and stated.  "The Yanks ain't goin' to reinforce Billy Sherman, they're after Bedford."  He took a sip of the strong brew leaving them in eager suspense.  After half-a-minute of complete silence, Bill Brice spoke.  "You mean they’re going after old Bedford on purpose, no other reason?"

  "Billy Sherman's worried that Bedford will get behind his lines in Tennessee and cut off his supply trains.  If that happens, Joe Johnston has a good chance to whip him.  If he gets pushed outta Georgia, Sam Grant will have to send reinforcements.  He ain't got reinforcements to send on account of he's facing Bobby Lee up in Virginie.  The answer, get rid of Forrest or keep him so busy he can't afford to leave for Tennessee."

  Mr. Brice looked thoughtful for a minute then his eyes lit up.  "General Forrest is down in Tupelo.  That means the Yankees will have to pass through here to get to him, won't it?"

  "Got word from a patrol from the 8th Mississippi that Bedford is heading for Baldwyn," Monday replied, "and the answer to your question is, ‘yes.’  The Union cavalry is already heading in this direction with the infantry not far behind them.  Reckon they'll make it to old man Stubb's place before dark tomorrow; be through here by Friday morning at the latest."

  Will looked suddenly sick at the news.  His voice was halting and cracked as he asked.  "Is that Yankee General Sturgis in command of this expedition or some other general officer?"

  "Sturgis," Monday answered, aware of Will's concern, "an he's got General Ben Grierson with him, the same one who raided down at Union Station, and also two regiments of nigra infantry under a Colonel Bouton.  Likely the same nigras that you and Laura met up with."

  "Then it's not safe for Laura to remain here.  If they discover her here, there's no telling what they will do.  They already burned her family's home and killed her ten-year-old brother.  No telling what those animals will do!"

  "Most likely they'll pass on through real quick," Monday mused, "If she keeps outta sight, odds are a million to one that anyone will recognize her.  If they camp at Stubbs Plantation tomorrow, they'll push on to Guntown or maybe Baldwin before they camp on Friday."

  "I don't like the odds, Sergeant Major.  Once General Forrest learns of their intended route of march he'll probably hit them as soon as he can."

  "Further south, probably Tupelo would be more likely," Monday stated, in an effort to calm the young lieutenant.  "Old Bedford's pretty spread out right now and it'll take time to pull in enough force to challenge this large expedition.  Stephen will want to pull them further south away from their supply base in Memphis."

  "You and I both know that General Forrest has never been concerned about odds," Will emphatically stated.  "And the further south they go, the more damage they can do to the countryside."

  "They could just as easy turn west towards New Albany couldn't they?" Mr. Brice cut in.  "That way, they could force General Forrest into chasing them further and further away from Tennessee."

  "Point is," Monday replied, “don't matter which way you try to send Laura, she could very well wind up smack dab in the middle of the Yankee expedition.  Best thing to do is have her stay here well-hidden until the federals pass through."

  At a loss for words, Will looked at Monday with a helpless expression.  He finally shook his head acknowledging Monday's common sense thinking.

  Half an hour later, they rode out in the direction of Baldwin, located about six miles to the east.  Laura had made the decision to stay with the Brice family against the hope that the federal expedition would quickly pass through without taking time to plunder the locals.

  Shortly after noon, they arrived at General Forrest's headquarters in Baldwin, set up inside the railroad station.  They were both surprised to see General Lee's staff lounging just outside the headquarters and were told that he'd ridden down by rail that morning to confer with Forrest.

  As usual, Monday disregarded the angry stares of the sentries posted to keep intruders out of the building, and pushed his way inside with Will snuggled close behind him.  Glancing up from his seat around a large field table, General Forrest spotted them and motioned for them to make their way through the large crowd of senior officers and join him at the conference table.

  "You smell like a damn brewery," General Forrest barked, as Monday took a seat next to him.  Monday grinned then replied with a loud laugh, "Them damn Yankees still think I'm a worthless old drunk.  What they don't know is that this worthless old drunk knows who they are, where they're headed, and exactly what they got to fight with."

  General Stephen Lee looked at him with a surprised expression, then, realizing just who it was he was listening too, smiled and stated.  "I reckon you even know the names of their kids and wives Monday, is it old A.J. Smith's Corps like we figured?"

  "Naw, Steve," Monday drawled, surprising a large number of the senior officers present with his unmilitary like familiarity with General Lee's first name.  "There's a Brigadier by the name of Samuel Sturgis in charge, same fellow Bedford ran into up at Bolivar about a month ago.  Don't know much about his background.  He might be one of those federal wonder boys or the friend of some high muckey-muck.  Old Ben Grierson's with him with about three thousand cavalry troopers riding his flanks and throwing out an advance guard."

  "Ben Grierson," Forrest mused, remembering how last year, then Colonel Grierson, had cut a path all the way through Mississippi to Baton Rouge, Louisiana.  "I was up in Tennessee during his famous raid.  Always hoped I'd get a shot at him some day."

  "Yankee newspapers made him into quite the hero," Monday spat.  "He didn't look much like a hero to me; ugly critter if you get a good gander at him, damn music teacher to boot."

  "What kind of infantry support does he have?"

  "Got an infantry division under the command of that old sot, Bill McMillen," Monday replied, "but his three brigades have veteran officers commanding them.  There's Alex Wilkin, George Hoge, and a new Colonel by the name of Bouton commanding a nigra Brigade."

  At the mention of Negro troops, most of the officers present looked around with expressions of disgust.

  "They got a lot of veteran Illinois units under men like Colonel Humphrey, McKeaig, Eaton and Brumback from Ohio, Thomas from Indiana, an’ lots of others I recognized."

  "They heading east to reinforce Sherman?" General Forrest asked.

  Monday looked hard at his friend then replied in a cold calculating manner.  "Nope!  Their orders, directly from Billy Sherman hisself, is, and I quote, "get that damn Forrest at all cost."  Their sole purpose is to get your scalp Bedford.  Even heard that Sturgis promise to bring back a lock of your hair. Course, wouldn't hurt none if they burned the country-side a mite in the process."

  "This kind of throws a new light on the situation," General Lee stated looking directly at Monday.  "What route do you think they plan on using?"

  "They're moving slower than my 95-year-old granny, iffen I had a granny.  They'll likely stop before South Hatchie Bottom tonight and with luck, they'll make it to the Stubb's place by tomorrow night. From there they could cut through Brice's Crossroads and head east towards us or south towards Guntown, even west towards New Albany, but not likely.  They get word of you and Bedford in this area, Steve, you can bet they'll head east."

  "Their combined strength would be about how many?" Forrest asked, most of his attention on the wall across from them.

  "I'd put their entire force around 8,500 men and I counted 22 field artillery pieces and over 200 loaded down supply wagons.  A good size force just to get one ornery Confederate General."

  For more than an hour, they pulled every detail out of Monday that he could remember, which was considerable when they realized he had nearly a photographic memory.  Plans had already been made to move to Booneville, about twelve miles north of Baldwyn, so as soon as the conference ended, the entire command saddled up and headed north.

  Since Will had a relatively fresh mount, General Forrest sent him to find General Buford and have him hasten to Booneville.  Another senior staff officer was dispatched to find Colonel Johnson's Alabama Brigade with orders to head for Baldwin.

  Will found General Buford a few miles south of Baldwin and briefed him on the General's plans to meet up in Booneville.  Pushing on through Baldwin, they made good time until they hit the Twenty-mile Creek crossing where the bridge had been washed out.  Buford ordered Colonel Barteau to start felling trees to make a bridge and sent a detachment of the 16th Tennessee Cavalry a few miles north to do the same over the swollen Wolf Creek.

  In his usual exuberant style, Will had dismounted and was helping the pioneers and men fell trees, when he heard a loud commotion back up on the high ground.  Turning around, he saw that General Buford was obviously chewing out his staff.

  "Git off your high horses," Buford yelled.  "You ain't no better than any of these men.  Get in there and help with that bridge.  I want to see every single one of you wet."  Buford then grabbed a major by the arm and led him to a tree.  "George, you start cutting," he ordered, returning to his staff to grab a captain by the sleeve.  He took the captain over to a pile of cut saplings and told him to start trimming off the limbs.  The rest of the men turned to their labors with a smile and renewed effort.  Although they had to cross both swollen streams in water up to their waists, by night fall they finally made it to Booneville.  Will was dog tired but happy to be back in the swing of things.

  The next morning, June 9th, General Forrest sent Colonel Clark Barteau's 2nd Tennessee north to see if the Yankees had sent a force east towards Rienzi or Corinth.  Colonel Bell was ordered to join up with Barteau and act as a blocking force in the event Barteau ran into an unexpected large number of Union troops.  However, as Monday had predicted, the Federals were steadily heading southwest towards the Stubbs Plantation.

  Will was barely out of his bedroll when he heard someone heading towards the command tent cursing up a blue storm.  Naturally, it was Sergeant Major Stiehl in a foul temperament for some unknown reason.  If anyone in the camp was still sleeping, within seconds they were wide awake, and anyone near General Forrest's tent wisely headed in another direction as soon as the bellowing Sergeant Major cut loose.

  "He's only a gall darn baby!" Monday yelled, "Won’t even be able to shave for another five years."

  "He's a deserter!" Forrest yelled back.  "A damn deserter!  Won't have that!"

  "The other two know what they did was wrong Bedford, they deserve their punishment.  But this youngin was just taggin along like a scared pup.  Hell!  He ain't got sense enough to know what the word deserter even means."

  "Time he grew up, Sergeant Major, time for him to take his punishment like a man."

  "Dammit Bedford, that's what I'm tryin' to tell ya!" Monday yelled.  "The boy ain't no man and how in Sam Hill is he gonna grow up if you shoot him?"

  For another ten minutes or more, everyone, including the senior staff officers and commanders, purposely avoided the headquarters tent as Monday and General Forrest continued to bellow like two angry bulls.  Finally, both men left the tent and headed in the direction of Colonel Lyon's Kentucky brigade.

  Monday signaled for Will and several staff officers to follow.  By the time they reached Lyon's headquarters, quite a large number of men and officers were following.  General Forrest and Monday both entered the tent and another round of bellowing started, but with three voices this time.

  "What's going on?" Will asked an acquaintance by the name of Lieutenant G.A. Hanson.

  "Caught three deserters yesterday," Hanson replied.  "Colonel Lyon plans on shooting them this morning as an example to the rest of the brigade."

  "They spent the night with a preacher in one of the railroad boxcars," an artillery sergeant by the name of Frank Reid added.  "Heard them a prayin' and hymn singing all night long."

  "Why is Sergeant Major Stiehl so upset!"

  "Seems as how one of them's only ‘bout sixteen-years-old," Hanson answered.  "Reckon the Sergeant Major figures he's too young to die."

  "Most of the men feel the same way," Sergeant Reid added.  "Boy didn't really unnerstand that he can't just up and quit and go home just cause cousin Jethro has a mind to."

  Before Will could formulate a thought on the subject, the tent flap opened and the elder men left with red faces, heading in the direction of the rail yard.  Colonel Lyon gave the command to form the brigade and regimental commanders hastened to comply.

  A single boxcar sat on a side spur away from the main track, two sentries guarding it with rifles at shoulder arms.  They came to attention as the three senior men approached them.  Colonel Lyon ordered one of them to open the boxcar.

  As the sliding door was pushed open, four men looked down upon the assembled officers and men.  One man carrying a dog eared Bible, obviously a preacher, looked at General Forrest and sadly nodded.  Two other men, both in their mid-twenties, both with red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked faces, stared towards the ground.  The third man, a boy actually, tears streaming down his filthy face, moaned and muttered, "I don't wanna die.  Please Jesus, I don't wanna die.  Oh Gauwd, please!"

  "Hush up, boy!" Colonel Lyon ordered.  "You don't want to meet your maker crying like a baby do you?"

  "Oh Lordy! Lordy!" the boy cried again.  "Lord have mercy.  I didn't know I couldn't go home.  I miss my momma.  I don't wanna die.  I don't want nobody to die.  Lord God above help me!"

  The three men were escorted to an open field where three fresh graves had been dug the night before.  The entire Kentucky brigade had been formed up in a three sided square.  A small twelve-man firing squad stood facing the opening.  Each of the three men were placed standing at the open end of a grave, hands untied, no covering to hide their faces.

  "Lord God, Father in heaven, we send to you the souls of these men who have faltered in their sworn oath to protect and defend their homes, their country, and their fellow soldiers," the preacher began.  "Have mercy on their souls.  Look kindly upon them as they stand before you in final judgment."  The preacher continued on for what seemed like an eternity.

  One of the men dropped to his knees in prayer, the other stood glaring at the firing squad as if he truly believed it was all a joke.  The young boy continued to sob and mutter unintelligible words, his steady gaze on the wet ground.

  As soon as the preacher finished he nodded to General Forrest, then walked over to stand with the staff officers a few paces down from where Will stood.  Colonel Lyon glanced at General Forrest who returned his stare with a blank face.  He then looked at the Sergeant Major's angry red face, at the fury barely held in check, then at the sobbing youngster.

  "Damn!" Colonel Lyon blurted, signaling for Monday to go to the sobbing boy.  "Damn! Damn! Damn!"

  With a grin of triumph, Monday slowly walked over to the young man and placed his hand on the boy's sobbing shoulder.  "Come with me, boy," he whispered, "God has seen fit to spare you this day."

  Much to his relief and the relief of many of those present, Will watched as the grisly Sergeant Major half carried the youngster from the field of terror and held him like a long lost son.  The boy sobbed continuously against Monday's shoulder.  Looking around, Will saw moisture in the eyes of many of the men standing around, most trying to hide it.

  "Bear witness to what fate awaits those who would turn coward and desert their fellow soldiers!" Colonel Lyon yelled, so that everyone assembled in the early morning mist could plainly hear.  He then signaled the commander of the firing squad.

  A sudden volley of musketry and two men's lives were snuffed out like worthless tallow candles.  The one kneeling in prayer died instantly, the man standing, jerked and twitched for fully five minutes before finally giving up his final breath.  His was a hard, lingering death.

  The remainder of that day was a somber one.  While every man detested cowardice and desertion was the highest crime a soldier could commit against his fellows, to end the lives of one-time patriots still hung heavily on their minds and choked the throats of most of the men.  General Lee left for Okolona in the early afternoon, taking an artillery battery and large number of supplies with him.

  That evening, General Forrest held a staff meeting.  Those present including Monday and Will, was General Buford, Colonel Lyon, Colonel Rucker, and young Captain Morton, commander of the remaining artillery.

  General Forrest opened the meeting in a somber and serious mood.  "Sergeant Major Stiehl was correct as usual," he stated.  "A patrol just in said the Federal expedition is camped at Stubbs Plantation about eight miles north of Brice's Crossroads.  It looks as if they've committed themselves to bringing sword and fire to our black prairie region.  General Lee thinks it's best if we try to pull them further south in order to give us time to bring more forces in for the fight.  He's ordered General Chalmers to rush from Montecello to Columbus, and he's sending for reinforcements from Mobile and Jackson.  Lee thinks if we hit them down around Okolona we might be able to destroy them.  I am to send a force in to harass them, but, if I see fit to hit them sooner, I have been given the nod to do so."

  "They have over eight thousand men and a couple-dozen artillery pieces sir," Captain Morton pointed out.  General Forrest looked at him as if catering to a young student.  He turned and asked a staff officer, "What forces do we have available?"

  "Colonel Johnson's Alabama Brigade of 500 is at Baldwyn," the captain replied.  "Colonel Lyon's Kentucky Brigade of 800 and Colonel Rucker's 700-man brigade are both here at Booneville.  Captain Morton's two artillery batteries of eight guns are here.  Combined, we have a total force of approximately 2,100 men sir, including escort and staff.  We could add Colonel Bell's large brigade if we can pull him back here in time from Rienzi."

  "So," Forrest said, "If we put a blocking force south and east of Brice's Crossroads we'll have approximately 2,100 men to handle any possible engagement.  If we pull out of here by 4 a.m., we could possibly beat the Federals to the crossroads; at least get there before their infantry does.  It may take Colonel Bell most of the day to get there, but his brigade would strengthen us to about 3,300."

Will's heart skipped a beat at the mention of placing a blocking force at Brice's Crossroads.  He hoped the General meant simply to shadow the Federal advance.  It would be suicide to hit eight thousand Union troops with a mere two thousand tired and saddle sore men.

  "That's correct, Sir," the aide replied, "Shall I send for Colonel Bell's brigade up at Rienzi?"

  "Well, gentlemen," Forrest stated, nodding his head to the aide, "We march at dawn tomorrow, June 10th.  Issue rations for three days march.  General Buford, please send a rider to Colonel Bell and tell him to march down and join us as soon as possible.  You'll wait here at Booneville with Captain Morton and his artillery until Bell arrives.  By that time we should know the disposition of both forces.  I will go with Hylan Lyon and Ed Rucker and head down the Wire Road towards Brice's.  Are there any questions?"

  "I'll send a dispatch to Colonel Johnson at Baldwyn and have him meet you at the crossroads sir," the aide asked, again seeing the positive nod Forrest gave him.

  After the meeting had broken up, Monday stayed in the headquarters tent until everyone had left.  When the last man departed, he turned to General Forrest and said, "Fess up Bedford, I done seen that gleam in your eyes before.  What's on that scheming mind of yourn?"

  "I know the Federals greatly outnumber the troops we have available," Forrest replied, sitting down and running his fingers through his thick hair and looking at Monday with a worn out expression.  "But the road along which they will march is narrow and muddy, they will make slow progress.  The country is densely wooded and the undergrowth so heavy that when we strike them, they will not know how few men we have.  Their cavalry will move out ahead of the infantry and should reach the crossroads three hours in advance.  We can whip their cavalry in that time."

  "That's Grierson's command," Monday cut in.  "He had the guts to ride all the way through Mississippi.  Could be you'd be grabbin' the head of a rattlesnake Bedford."

  "Don't see it that way Monday.  Grierson's a raider, and Yankee cavalry can't stand against Confederate infantry.  Never have."

  "Reckon you’re right there," Monday said, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

  "Way I see it, as soon as the fighting starts, Grierson will send back word for the infantry to be rushed up.  The rain's finally stopped and it's gonna be hot as hell, and coming on a run for five or six miles over those deep muddy roads, their infantry will be so tired out, we'll ride right over them."

  "Don't forget Bedford, you'll have at most around 1,200 men to start the dance with and old Ben Grierson will have over three thousand troopers, with them repeating rifles to boot.  They also have artillery that we won't have until Morton can get there; probably no sooner than noon at the earliest."

  "The key will be the unknown," Forrest persisted.  "They don't know how few we are.  As far as Grierson's concerned, he may think he's been stopped by an entire corps of infantry.  They've given us enough time to bring men in from all over, and they won't be able to tell how many we have in those thick black jacks."

  "A big gamble Bedford, but it just might work.  But if we allow the infantry time to come up and deploy, heaven help us.  We'll need buckets to catch the lead they'll be throwing at us."

  "I'll just have to convince the cavalry that we're a much larger force than they realize," Bedford sighed.  "And the best way to do that is to take the offensive."

  Monday glanced at his friend with a look akin to sympathy.  Forrest was a tired man.  He lived on less than four hours sleep a day, very often none at all.  It had to catch up with him some day.  "Well you got one thing going for you Bedford," he finally stated.  "The Federals are scared of you.  Old Billy Sherman wouldn't have sent out such a large force if he didn't fear the damage you could do to him.  There's many a Union officer who shudders when the name of Nathan Bedford Forrest is mentioned, and rightly so.  Hell!  You done got 29 horses shot out from under you.  This General Sturgis might be all bluster, one of those stuffed shirt generals who won a minor engagement by accident and thinks he's God's gift to the Union.  He might just learn the hard way not to butt horns with an ornery old cuss like you."

  "Do me a favor, Monday," Forrest asked, suddenly deadly serious.  "Keep your eye on Lieutenant Welch.  He's too promising an officer to lose him in a skirmish like this.  That boy will be someone someday; I can see it in him now."

  "Don't reckon you knew his girl is stayin' at the Brice's place?" Monday replied.  "Hell of a place to be right now."

  "Yes, I did know."

  "You could send him chasin' off to Okolona with bull shit messages for Steve."

  "Couldn't do that.  I'd never forgive an officer who did it to me.  We will simply have to hope for the best.  Hylan Lyon was kinda upset ‘cause you pulled that boy from the clutches of death," Forrest continued, on a different subject.  "Had his mind set on shootin' all three."

  "The devil with Hylan," Monday replied.  "Every damn man in the camp wanted to see that green kid spared.  Nobody had the balls to stand up to Hylan, though."

  "Youngster kind of reminded me of my son, William Montgomery," Forrest muttered, "a good boy with a lot of learning still to do.  I thank you for doin' the right thing by him."

  "Funny thing, Bedford," Monday replied, looking deep into his cooling cup of coffee.  "Colonel Lyon pulled me aside back by the outhouse of all places, and said might near the same thing.  Said his officer's pride would’ve kilt the boy.  Thank the good Lord I ain't no damn officer."

  "What happened to him, the boy I mean?"

  "He done took up with that preacher man, swore an oath to live for the Lord and all.  Wants to go to the seminary to become a preacher."

  "The Lord works in mysterious ways, Monday.  Who knows, the youngin might grow up to be another John the Baptist or Daniel, even a wise Solomon.  By the way, what was his name?"

  "That's the spooky part Bedford, called hisself Nathan Lyon."

  General Forrest looked shocked until Monday added, "No kin to Hylan that we know of, though.  Would’ve been right fittin' iffen he was. On another note though, Bedford, as I told you, that colored brigade supposedly got down on their knees and swore to give us no quarter in this fight.  Figure the boys may get their dander up if they hear about it.  Could get right nasty."

  "I'll write an official protest through channels," Forrest replied.  "There's no way we can keep it from the men, not if you found out so quickly.  Keep a sharp eye, Monday; we don't need a repeat of what happened up there at Fort Pillow."