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.”