GLORY II Chapter 11

Chapter 11

  "That's Yankee cavalry all right," Lieutenant Witherspoon whispered, turning around in his saddle to glance at Sergeant Perkins, the color bearer for the 7th Tennessee Cavalry.  His small patrol had been posted about a half-mile north of the small town of Ripley on the road leading towards Ruckersville.  Previous reports had indicated a large Union force heading east from Salem, so Colonel Rucker, their Brigade Commander, ordered pickets out to cover all the roads leading into and out of Ripley.  Prior estimates listed the size of the force to be around twelve to fourteen thousand federals.

  "That lead unit is the 3rd Iowa Cavalry," Sergeant Perkins whispered, pointing at the enemy standard blowing in the gentle breeze.  Immediately behind them rode the 4th Iowa Cavalry, followed by the 7th Illinois Cavalry.

  Colonel Duckworth, the commander of the 7th Tennessee Cavalry, would have a fit if he knew Perkins had sneaked off to join the reconnaissance patrol.  Although Perkins had repeatedly proven himself to be one of the best men in the unit, that's why he was Color Sergeant, he was also widely known as Perkins the Unlucky.  He had a very bad habit of racing to the front where the most action was taking place.  Consequently, he had been wounded four times in the leg but, had been fortunate enough to fully recover after each incident, with his leg still in place.

  "We've seen enough," Lieutenant Witherspoon stated, "there's no doubt in my mind that the yanks are headed this way in force."  He motioned for Sergeant Perkins to pull back into the thick brush and signaled to the other men in his patrol to fade back and head for town.  Naturally, Perkins backed his mount into a sharp limb, which jabbed the horse's rump and sent the animal careening out into the open.  He was spotted immediately by troopers from the Iowa cavalry who dug in their spurs in hot pursuit.

  "Tarnation!" Sergeant Perkins yelled, yanking his mount around.  All surprise lost, the small patrol hightailed it back towards Ripley with the Iowans in hot pursuit.  Down the main street of town, they rode, scattering people and chickens in every direction, the Union troopers slowly falling behind because of the mess stirred up by the fleeing rebs.  They were chased about two miles south of town, where they ran into the men of the 18th Mississippi Cavalry, Colonel Rucker's advance guard.  The Iowans immediately gave up pursuit and raced back towards Ripley.

  "What'n hell Perkins?" Colonel Rucker yelled, as the small patrol slowed to a halt.  Looking sheepishly at his brigade commander, Lieutenant Witherspoon replied.  "Yankees sir, lots of them, just north of town."  Still glaring at the quiet Sergeant Perkins, Colonel Rucker gave a command for the 18th Mississippi to deploy into a skirmish line across the Ripley Road and held the rest of the brigade in reserve.

  "That was a damn fool thing to do," Colonel Duckworth muttered to Witherspoon as he organized his forces in preparation for the Union attack, which was sure to come.  "You know better than to take Sergeant Perkins out with you on patrol.  That fool ain't got no common sense; he'd just as likely attack a troop of federal cavalry all by himself."

  "Sorry sir," Witherspoon replied, hurrying to organize his men for battle.  He knew that Colonel Duckworth thought the world of Sergeant Perkins, even if the Sergeant was somewhat battle crazy.

  "Our job here is to test the Yankees, not defeat them," Colonel Rucker yelled to his troops.  "As soon as we have determined their strength and resolve, we will pull back and head for Baldwin.  General Forrest needs all the information he can get on their size and disposition."


                                                 *****


  "Rebs, Sir," Lieutenant Hamilton stated, absentmindedly saluting his brigade commander.  "Hit them just north of Ripley and chased them about two miles south of town.  We ran into a large force of reb cavalry, so I ordered my men to pull back to a defensive position on the outskirts of town."

  Colonel Winslow regarded the eager young officer with a casual glance then asked, "How many, Lieutenant."

  "At least a regiment, possibly more, Sir."

  Turning to a staff officer, Colonel Winslow ordered him go and get Lieutenant Colonel Noble and Major Pierce of the third and fourth Iowa cavalry regiments.  As soon as the officers arrived, he ordered them south to block the Confederates.  As soon as they left, General Grierson rode up and halted next to Winslow.

  "What's up, Ed?" he asked, curious as to the reason for halting the column.

  "Rebs a few miles south of town, Sir, at least a regiment of cavalry, possibly more."

  "Post your brigade on the other side of town on the right side of the road," Grierson ordered, "I'll bring up George's brigade and post them on the other side of the road to your left.  You might want to throw several companies forward to draw out the rebs so we can have a look at what they have."

  Without replying, Colonel Winslow saluted and put the spurs to his horse, his staff following close behind him like the wake from a large ship.  In a broad, flat field on the southern outskirts of Ripley, he pulled out his field glasses and scanned the Confederate force about a half mile south of his position.  He could see only one unit flag, but did not recognize the standard.  To his trained eye, there could be no more than a regiment deployed before him, but the thick woods further south could hide almost anything.  Summoning Colonel Noble, he ordered him to assault the rebel position with four companies of cavalry.

  Although the terrain was flat and muddy from the constant rain, most of it was covered with dense, blackjack oak and briar patches, rough ground for a cavalry engagement.  The Union troopers rode in like Cossacks, yelling, screaming and raising hell.  For a while, the rebs held their ground, but soon started filtering back into the thickets.

  "Lookit them cowardly rebs run," a captain on Winslow's staff yelled, barely able to keep his horse under control.

  "No damn rebs can stand up to the third Iowa," another officer remarked, his voice full of eagerness and pride.


                                                           *****


  "Here they come, boys!" yelled Colonel Chalmers, commander of the 18th Mississippi Battalion.  "Hold your fire until they get close, and then aim for their horses,” The Union cavalry bore down on them like wild Indians attacking a wagon train.  As soon as they were within a hundred yards, the Confederate cavalry opened up with their rifles, tearing wide gaps in the Union assault lines, horses going down by the score.  The Yankee charge was slowed but not stopped.

  Colonel Chalmers ordered his men to retreat a few hundred yards, then draw their pistols and hit them again.  Once again the Yankees staggered with two Union companies continuing the push.  Glancing to his rear, Colonel Chalmers saw Colonel Duckworth forming up the 7th Tennessee Cavalry in a defensive line.  He gave his men the command to fall back and reform just behind the Tennesseans.  The Union cavalry continued pursuit, but as soon as they encountered the strong Tennessee cavalry they came to an abrupt halt.  The 7th Tennessee was not about to give ground and the Mississippi cavalry had merely been bait to pull them in like fish in a net.


                                                           *****


  "Looks like our boys ran into a brick wall," a staff Captain remarked, watching as the Union assault line struck against the determined Tennessee cavalry.

  "Sound the recall," Colonel Winslow ordered, turning his mount and galloping back to a high knoll where General Grierson sat quietly watching the action.  "Do we send in reinforcements, General?" he asked, pointing back across the field to the stalled assault.

  "No, Ed, I don't believe so.  Be dark soon, pull your men back and form a perimeter here.  We'll see if the rebs are still there in the morning."


                                                           *****


  That night, Albert was invited to dine with the boys of the 72nd Ohio, because Private Halsey had taken an odd liking to her.  He told her they still had some good beef left over along with some new potatoes and fresh green beans they'd stolen from a farmer's garden.  Albert declined because she felt that the loud mouth was becoming entirely too friendly and possibly suspicious of her secret.

Colonel DeWitt Thomas was a happy and contented man.  He'd just spent the night in a warm, soft bed after several miserable wet, soaked days and nights.  And, the breakfast he'd just finished was beyond doubt one of the finest, if not the finest breakfast he'd ever enjoyed.  His stomach was complaining after the mountains of pancakes, eggs, fresh ham, grits, hot biscuits and gravy, jam, fresh butter, and hot coffee he'd forced into it.  These southern women could really cook up a good meal and Mrs. Falkner was a prime example of how truly gracious southern hospitality could be, and what a good and intelligent conversationalist she was.

  Although Mrs. Falkner's political leanings were very much in favor of southern independence, the polite way she presented her issues and her smooth logic and dogmatic perseverance was almost enough to give him second thoughts about his own political convictions.

  He wasn't certain if he should even bring up the information he'd gleaned from her about the location and supposable strength of General Forrest's forces.  No doubt a campaign of misinformation was running in full strength among these Confederate loyalists.  All Forrest had to do was send a few men into any given area in civilian clothing and he'd know every move the Federal forces made, even down to the closest detail of who they were, what weapons and artillery they possessed, even their likely target or targets.

  When he'd asked her if she knew General Nathan Forrest and where he might presently be, Mrs. Falkner had replied.  "Of course I know Mr. Forrest, everyone in Ripley knows old Bedford."  And then she'd shrewdly smiled and said, "The last I heard he left for Georgia to reinforce General Johnston with a large force, but had been recalled by General Lee because there were entirely too many Yankees messing around in northern Mississippi.  I dare say sir; you Yankees will have plenty to do in a few days."  When he'd asked her if she knew how many men Forrest had, she'd quickly replied, "Some twenty-eight thousand I believe, sir, definitely more by now."

  This information had at first alarmed him, but, remembering where he was and with whom he was talking, he very quickly discounted its truth and validity.

  One of his young staff officers was waiting at the front door to direct him to General Sturgis' command post for an early morning briefing.  General Sturgis was billeted in the home of Mrs. Henry Walton, not far from the Falkner residence.  Upon entering the house, he immediately ran into Colonel McMillen who was tilting a flask of whiskey for an early morning libation.  After saluting the whiskey-smelling Colonel with a sloppy hand salute and look of disdain, he joined his Brigade Commander, Colonel George Hoge, and General Grierson in the foyer to await the arrival of General Sturgis.  He couldn't understand why there were no other officers present, until General Grierson politely informed him that Sturgis had changed his mind and asked that only brigade level commanders attend the briefing.
Colonel Thomas quickly related the information he had learned from Mrs. Falkner to Grierson and happily left the small gathering.

  "Colonel Wilkins has been detained, Sir," Captain Belden stated, helping General Sturgis with his jacket.  "General Grierson, Colonel Hoge and Colonel McMillen are waiting in the parlor for you."

  "Thank you, Scott," Sturgis replied, gently patting his full stomach.  "I'd like for you to remain during the briefing and keep notes, please."

  As soon as General Sturgis emerged they were conducted to a small room just off the parlor, which Captain Belden had been assured would be secure from prying eyes or ears.  General Sturgis generously spiked his coffee with a splash of whiskey from Colonel McMillen's flask before commencing the meeting, then began in a contented but serious voice.

  "Gentlemen, I asked for this meeting that we might decide our next course of action.  As you are aware, the weather has been miserable, the roads near impassable, and adequate forage for our starving animals almost impossible to find.  It has taken us seven days to travel a mere seventy-five miles.  Ridiculous!  The horses are exhausted and the men are almost as bad.  There is no doubt in my mind that the enemy is watching every move we make, and with all these
delays, they know our direction of travel and that we are obviously heading for the black prairie region.  By the time we get to the Tupelo area, General Lee will have pulled every unit within several hundred miles to meet us.  We could be facing as many as thirty or forty thousand well-rested and well-organized Confederates, while our own men will be tired and our animals exhausted.  If we meet such a force, we may be obliged to surrender our train and our artillery if we are repulsed.  We are in a very precarious situation gentlemen, and I need not point out that General Forrest will be leading many, if not most, of these enemy forces and Forrest is a mad devil who doesn’t know when to quit.  What do you think, Ben?" he asked General Grierson.

  "Well, Sir, we know for a fact that it was Colonel Rucker's brigade we hit south of town last night.  We also know part of General Buford's division hit Colonel Karge at Rienzi, and Karge learned that units from Corinth have been ordered to Tupelo.  Colonel Thomas, commander of the 93rd Indiana told me in the foyer that a Mrs. Falkner said that Forrest had around twenty-eight thousand men.  We can naturally assume she's either lying or exaggerating, but there's the off chance she may not be.  I think, based on the horrendous weather and the poor condition of the roads and the fact that the train is slowing us down; to go any further would be extremely hazardous.  But, if you decide to continue on, I highly recommend you leave the train here in Ripley with a security force."

  "A very astute observation," General Sturgis stated, "however, as you said, those enemy forces may or may not be waiting for us at Tupelo.  The information we have thus far managed to obtain is not only unsatisfactory but highly questionable at best.  What do you make of the situation, Bill?"

  Colonel McMillen took a healthy swig of his spiked coffee before replying.  "Well, Sam," he drawled, smacking his lips as if exasperated.  "I think we ought to stick with the orders General Washburn gave you, at least until we find the damn rebs, even if finding them means we get whipped.  If we go back now without having found or fought the rebs, for a second time mind you, we will be disgraced and will never command another unit, not in the Union Army at least."

  He was extremely emotional in his quick and forceful appeal to push on with the expedition.  "If you remember, Sam," he continued, "a month ago you quit chasing Forrest because of the lack of forage for the horses and returned to Memphis with your tail between your legs.  The men who assigned this expedition knew they were sending us into the very same territory, with the very same problems that caused you to abort the last mission.  I firmly believe they will not condone another withdrawal.  Sherman expects us to keep Forrest occupied or to put him out of action permanently.  He simply can't afford to have a man like Forrest interrupting his vital supply lines when he's getting ready to take on perhaps the best and largest army ever put together by the Confederacy."

  "Thanks, Bill," General Sturgis replied.  "Anything you want to add Colonel Hoge?"

  "I concur with Colonel McMillen sir.  Once we get further south, there should be plentiful forage for the animals; after all, we are heading into the breadbasket of the South.  Even if we don't catch Forrest, we can strike a blow at the Confederate Army by destroying vital food resources they'll need in order to feed their Army near Atlanta.  I say continue on."

  "How's the morale of the men, Bill?"

  "Typical," McMillen replied.  "If they didn't have something to complain about they wouldn't be happy.  Quite a large number are upset that you cut the food to half rations yesterday, some gripe about the inability to forage or steal from the locals, others simply complain about the incessant rain and muddy roads.  I think if called on for action, they're veterans enough to put up a good fight.  After all, we do have some of the best units in the Union Army on this expedition."

  What's this I hear from the locals about the nigra troops stealing food and tools and other civilian property?  I was even told they beat a local man with a buggy whip and struck a woman, a Mrs. Doxey, sister of Confederate Major General Tom Hindman?"

  "Base lies," McMillen quickly answered.  "Colonel Bouton's brigade was intentionally camped four miles from Ripley last night and they'll be camped several miles east of town by tonight.  My Provost Marshall has posted sentries at each private home to prevent looting or pillaging.  To the best of my knowledge, the nigra troops have kept to themselves and have done an admirable, if not unenviable, job of keeping the supply wagons moving."

  General Sturgis took time to drain his coffee cup then announced his final decision.  He looked like a defeated man, forced into doing something he had no desire or ambition to do.

  "I agree with General Grierson.  If we continue on, it will be hazardous in the extreme.  But, I also agree with you, Bill.  We were sent out on this mission with the full knowledge of how barren the forage was in this region and that it would be near impossible to keep our mules and horses properly fed.  However, in ordering out this expedition, it was well understood the severity of the need, which is to stop General Forrest.  If we return now, without having found
Forrest, not only will it offer him the opportunity to get behind Billy Sherman's lines and create havoc, the morale of our men will suffer for having marched so hard with nothing to show for it."

  "Not to mention the damage it will do to our careers," Colonel McMillen muttered.

  "True," agreed Sturgis.  "If we continue on, we will at the least accomplish our mission by keeping that damn Forrest occupied and way from Sherman's line of supplies."

  "What about the rumor of a possible Confederate Corps waiting for us?" General Grierson asked, concern and apprehension in his voice.

  "That information, or possible misinformation, does not sufficiently justify our abandoning the mission," Sturgis replied.  "Even if we happen to encounter the enemy, our losses will be so few that they will offset the vital importance of our holding Forrest in this region.  We will, therefore, continue on in our original assignment.  I caution you though, keep your units as compact as you can and be ready for action at a moment’s notice.  You never know when that devil Forrest will hit us."

  "May I make a suggestion, Sir?" General Grierson asked, receiving a nod of approval.  "My scouts indicate that the road to Ellistown is in very bad shape.  I recommend we take the Guntown Road instead.  The terrain is higher and much dryer and the road also leads in the direction of Tupelo, and the forage will likely be better."

  "I strongly agree," General Sturgis replied.  "Keep your cavalry well out in advance, General.  I want steady reports on any enemy activity whatsoever.  The further we go into rebel-held territory, the more dangerous it will become.  If there are no further items to discuss, this meeting is adjourned."

  As soon as his commanders left, General Sturgis walked into the kitchen to pour himself another cup of the excellent coffee.  How these secessionist sympathizers managed to have coffee, flour, sugar, and an abundance of food stuffs after three years of war and a full naval blockade he'd never figure out.  Mrs. Walton and a half drunk friend, who smelled like a busted still, were sitting at the kitchen table snapping green beans and thoroughly engrossed in conversation.  While pouring his coffee, he casually asked, "Do you know General Forrest, Mrs. Walton?"

  "Why, yes General, I have known him most of my life."

  "Well, I am going after him," Sturgis boasted, "and if I meet up with him, I will bring him back as my prisoner."

  With a sudden burst of laughter, Mrs. Walton replied, "He may fool you, General.  Your people have tried many times to capture Bedford Forrest and all of them have failed."

  Undaunted by her quick and confident answer, Sturgis boldly replied as he left the room, "Well, don't be too surprised if I bring him back."  He tipped his hat in courtesy as he left.

  Mrs. Walton and her friend looked at each other with agreeable thoughts and smiles, both quite certain that the boastful Yankee general would return empty handed.  It would take a much better man than this self-serving general to capture the wizard of the saddle.  As soon as the General had left the building, her drunken guest quietly sneaked out the back door.  He was staggering, but he was not drunk.


                                                           *****


  Throughout the remainder of the day, most of the Union forces marched and counter marched.  Because of Sturgis' orders to take the Guntown Road, many units, which had already pushed out on the Ellistown Road had to turn around and cut cross-country in order to get back into the new line of march.  Naturally, being soldiers, many of the men protested these seemingly asinine moves.  Private Halsey was heard to say in his usual loud voice, "These damn officers don't even know where in Sam Hill they're going."  His casual remarks were picked up and relayed from soldier to solider, most of who fully agreed with him.

  Due to that turmoil, the entire infantry division camped a short five miles east of Ripley on the night of June 8.  As expected, the rain continued to steadily beat down all day pushing morale to its lowest level.  That evening, Colonel McMillen called the three Brigade Commanders to his headquarters for an important meeting.  He advised them that the information thus far gathered about the disposition of the enemy forces was very sketchy, unreliable, and at best faulty.

  "Maintain strict discipline in your units," McMillen ordered.  Keep them tight and closed up; don't allow them to spread out too far.  Maintain your march as if the rebels are behind every bush.  This deep into enemy territory, we can't afford to be caught off guard.  Forrest or Lee may have a division or even a full corps waiting to hit us.  They could be just about anywhere in this God awful country, so keep a tight formation and be ready to fight at a moment’s notice."

  The rain continued to pour down all through the night.  The troops were wet and hungry, despite plenty of food in the supply wagons, and miserable.  That evening, in his diary, Private Halsey wrote, "<italic>Rations for today are two hardtack and two inches square of sowbelly and wormy at that."</italic>

  The next morning, in order to consolidate the command and cull out the sick and lame, General Sturgis ordered that rations be issued for five days to each soldier.  The regimental and battery commanders assembled their units and had the surgeons pull out the sick and injured, along with the worn out mules and lame horses.  Private Halsey tried his best to be counted among those to be sent back, but his company First Sergeant knew Halsey too well to allow him to shirk.

  Around ten o'clock in the morning, four hundred officers and men along with forty-one empty wagons and scores of worn out animals headed back towards Ripley on their long journey to Memphis.  The remainder of the expedition continued southeast down the muddy narrow road towards Guntown.  There was little forage for the animals to crop and in the low-lying spots the road turned into a quagmire of mud and water.

  One such place was called Hatchie Bottom, or Little Hatchie by the locals.  The bog was so bad it took a supreme effort by the pioneers to fill it in with brush and dry earth.  They finally had to cut trees and resort to corduroying the road, which consumed time and effort.

  On the evening of the 9th of June, the entire expedition halted on dry high ground on a ridge near a place called Stubbs Farm, the same place where Laura and Rebecca Ann had stopped for help, about eight miles north of Brice's Crossroads.

  They were all in good spirits because a cavalry scout had passed the word that plenty of high ground lay before them, for at least ten or fifteen miles, and it looked as if the miserable rain had finally stopped.  Even with the return of the sick and injured, their large command had over eight thousand men and 22 artillery pieces, a very formidable army of veterans.  They were certain it would take a considerable force of the enemy to pose any threat to them.