THE ENGAGEMENT AT THOMPSON’S STATION

January, 1863—Jake Arrested—Detailed—My Brother Visits Me—Elected Second Lieutenant—Battle of Thompson’s Station—Duck River—Capture of the Legion—The “Sick Camp”—Murder of General Van Dorn.

“The Holly Springs raid,” never to be forgotten by the participants therein, having now become a matter of history, we rested for a time. January, 1863, came, and with it a great deal of rain, making mud very abundant and the roads very bad. During one of these cold rainy days, who should come pulling through the mud nearly half a leg deep, but the “aforesaid Harvey N. Milligan, late of Indiana.” He had made his escape from the enemy, and, minus his horse, had made his way back to us through the rain and mud afoot. “I told you Milligan was all right,” was a remark now frequently to be heard. A day or two after this, word came around that there were a half dozen horses at regimental headquarters to be drawn for by the companies. I went up to represent Company C, and drawing first choice, I selected a horse and gave him to Milligan. During that same year he deserted on that very horse, and rode him into the Federal lines.

My boy Jake having brought my horse out of the enemy’s lines, of course I expected he would wish to return home, and I proposed to give him the mule and let him go to his master. But no, he begged me to allow him to stay with me, to feed and attend to my horse, do my mess duties and such work. Of course I could not drive him off. This boy, eighteen or nineteen years old, perhaps, became a splendid servant, and as much devoted to me, apparently, as if I had raised him. Some months after this we were passing through Columbus, Miss., one day, and his owner, happening to be there, saw him, arrested him and sent him home. When I heard of it that night of course I supposed I would never see Jake any more, but to my surprise he came back in a short time, mounted on a splendid mule. When I started back to Texas in February, 1865, Jake was anxious to go with me, but I gave him a horse and saddle, and told him to take care of himself.

The severe horseback service we had had since the battle of Corinth, and our diet, principally sweet potatoes, had restored my health completely, my wound had healed, and I was in good condition to do cavalry service. At this time, too, I was detailed to work in the regimental quartermaster’s department. We were ordered to middle Tennessee, and started through the cold mud. My present position put me with the trains on a march, and we had a great time pulling through the mud, and in some places we found it almost impassable. Crossing the Tennessee River a short distance below the foot of Mussell Shoals we struck the turnpike at Pulaski, Tenn., proceeding thence to Columbia, and then, crossing Duck River a few miles below that place, we moved up and took position near Springhill in front of Franklin, and about thirteen miles south of that place.

One evening soon after we went into camp on the turnpike some ten miles below Columbia, two men rode into the camp inquiring for me. I soon learned that it was my brother, accompanied by “Pony” Pillow, who had come for me to go with them to Colonel Billy Pillow’s, who lived on a turnpike three or four miles west from the one we were on. Obtaining permission, I then accompanied them. My brother had been sick for some time, and had been cared for by the Pillows, first by Granville Pillow’s family and then by Colonel Billy’s family. He had now recovered and was about ready to return to his command, which was on the right wing of General Bragg’s army, while we were camped on the extreme left.

I found Colonel Billy Pillow to be a man of ninety-four years, remarkably stout and robust for a man of his age. His family consisted of a widowed daughter, Mrs. Smith, who had a son in the army; his son, “Pony” Pillow; and his wife. This old gentleman was a cousin to my grandmother Cotten, and had moved with her family and his from North Carolina when they were all young people. They told me of my grandmother’s brother, Abner Johnson, who had lived in this neighborhood a great many years, and died at the age of 104 years. The next day we visited Colonel Pillow’s sister, Mrs. Dew, a bright, brisk little body, aged ninety-two years, and the day following we spent the day at Granville Pillow’s. Granville Pillow was a brother of General Gideon J. Pillow, and nephew of Colonel Billy. He was not at home, but we were welcomed and well entertained by Mrs. Pillow and her charming young married daughter, whose husband was in the army. Mrs. Pillow inquired to what command I belonged, and when I told her I belonged to a Texas command, she asked me if I was an officer or private? When I told her I was a private, she said it was a remarkable fact that she had never been able to find an officer from Texas, and that the most genteel, polite and well-bred soldier she had met during the war was a Texas private. She added that while Forrest’s command had camped on her premises for several weeks, and many of them had come into her yard and into her house, she never had found a private soldier among them. This was in keeping with the “taffy” that was continually given the Texas soldiers as long as we were in Tennessee.

In the afternoon, bidding my brother farewell, I left him, overtaking my command, as it had finished crossing Duck River and was camped on the north bank.

Franklin is situated on the south bank of Big Harpeth River, being fortified on the hills north of the river overlooking the town. General Van Dorn established his headquarters at Spring Hill, about thirteen miles south of Franklin, on the Franklin and Columbia turnpike. Brigadier-General W. H. Jackson was assigned to duty as commander of a division composed of Whitfield’s Texas brigade and Frank C. Armstrong’s brigade. Many of the Texas boys were very indignant, at first, that General Jackson, a Tennessean, should be placed over them—so much so that they hanged him in effigy. He was sensible enough to pay no attention to this, but went on treating us so kindly and considerately that we all learned to respect him and like him very much.

Some time in the early part of this year, 1863, Colonels J. W. Whitfield and Frank C. Armstrong were appointed brigadier-generals. Near the end of February, I think, John B. Long returned to us, and reported the death of our captain, James A. Jones, having remained with him until he died in Memphis, after which J. B. made his escape. First Lieutenant John Germany now being promoted to captain, and Second Lieutenant W. H. Carr promoted to first lieutenant, this left a vacancy in the officers, which was filled by my election by the company as second lieutenant. So I gave up my position with the quartermaster and returned to the company, quitting the most pleasant place I had ever had in the army, for Captain E. P. Hill, our quartermaster, was one of the best and most agreeable of men, my duties were light, and my messmates and associates at headquarters good, jolly fellows.

Our duties in front of Franklin were quite active, as we had several important roads leading southward to guard, and frequent skirmishes occurred, as the pickets usually stood in sight of each other on the hills that were crossed by the turnpike roads, especially on the main Columbian pike. In addition to the Columbia pike, running directly south from Franklin, there was Carter’s Creek pike, leading southwest, and the Lewisburg pike, leading southeast. Still no considerable fighting was done until the 4th day of March, which culminated in the battle of Thompson Station on the 5th. On the 4th, Colonel John Coburn of the Thirty-third Indiana Volunteers was ordered out by General Gilbert, with a force of nearly 3000 men, including infantry, cavalry, and about six pieces of artillery, to proceed to Spring Hill and ascertain what was there. About four miles from Franklin they were met by a portion of General Van Dorn’s command, and pretty heavy skirmishing resulted, when both armies fell back and camped for the night. Our forces retired to Thompson’s Station, nine miles south of Franklin, and went into camp south of a range of hills running across the pike just south of the station. This is a very hilly country, and the Nashville & Decatur Railroad runs through a little valley between two ranges of hills, and the station is in the valley a short distance west of Columbia pike.

On the morning of the 5th the enemy was found to be advancing again, and leaving our horses behind the hill, we crossed over to the north side, and near a church just south of the station we were formed behind a stone fence—that is, Whitfield’s brigade, other troops to our right and left, our artillery being posted to our right on the hill near the pike. The enemy advanced to the range of hills north of the station, on which was a cedar brake. From our position back to the hill and cedar brake was an open field with an upgrade about half a mile wide, the station, with its few small buildings, standing in between the lines, but much nearer to us. The Federal artillery was posted, part on each side of the pike, directly in front of ours, and the batteries soon began playing on each other. Colonel Coburn, not seeing our line of dismounted men behind the stone fence, ordered two of his infantry regiments to charge and take our batteries, and they came sweeping across the field for that purpose. When they came to within a short distance of our front, Whitfield’s brigade leaped over the fence, and, joined by the Third Arkansas, of Armstrong’s brigade, charged them, and soon drove them back across the open field, back to the hill and cedar brake, their starting point. Here they rallied, and being re-enforced they drove our forces back to the station and stone fence, where, taking advantage of the houses and stone fence, our forces rallied and, being joined by the remainder of General Armstrong’s brigade, drove them back again. This attack and repulse occurred three successive times. In the meantime General Forrest, with two regiments of his brigade, had been ordered to move around to the right and gain their rear, and as they retired to their hill and cedar brake the third time, Forrest opened fire on their rear, and they threw down their guns and surrendered—that is, those that were still upon the field. Their artillery, cavalry, and one regiment of infantry had already left.

The engagement lasted about five hours, say from 10 A. M. to 3 P. M. Our loss was 56 killed, 289 wounded, and 12 missing; total, 357. The enemy’s loss was 48 killed, 247 wounded, and 1151 captured; total, 1446. Among the captured were seventy-five officers, including Colonel Coburn, the commander, and Major W. R. Shafter, of the Nineteenth Michigan, who is now Major-General, and one of the heroes of the Spanish-American war.[3]

Company C lost Beecher Donald, mortally wounded. Among the killed of the Third Texas of my acquaintances I remember Drew Polk (alias “Redland Bully”), of Company E, and Sergeant Moses Wyndham, a friend of mine, of Company A. From the day of the Oak Hill battle up to this day we had never been able to get T. Wiley Roberts into even a skirmish, but to-day he was kept close in hand and carried into the battle, but ran his ramrod through his right hand and went to the rear as related in this chronicle. Among the losses was Colonel S. G. Earle, of the Third Arkansas, killed; and my friend H. C. Cleaver, an officer in the same regiment, was wounded. Rev. B. T. Crouch of Mississippi, a chaplain, was killed while acting as aide-de-camp to General Jackson. Captain Broocks, brother of Lieutenant-Colonel John H. Broocks, was also killed.

The dwelling houses in the vicinity of Thompson’s Station were situated in the surrounding hills overlooking the battlefield, but out of danger, and from these houses a number of ladies witnessed the battle. When they saw the enemy being driven back they would clap their hands and shout, but when our forces were being driven back they would hide their eyes and cry. Thus they were alternately shouting and crying all day, until they saw nearly twelve hundred of the enemy marched out and lined up as prisoners, and then they were permanently happy.

Here we lost the beautiful flag presented to us in the Indian Territory, the staff being shot in two, while in close proximity to the enemy. The bearer picked it up, but as he had to make his escape through a plum thicket the flag was torn into narrow ribbons and left hanging on the bushes.

General Van Dorn had four brigades under his command at this time—Forrest’s brigade of four regiments and a battalion, Martin’s brigade of two regiments, Armstrong’s brigade of two regiments, one battalion, and one squadron, and Whitfield’s brigade of four Texas regiments. All these participated, more or less, in the battle, but as Jackson’s division was in the center the brunt of the battle fell on them, as the losses will show. Whitfield lost 170 men, Armstrong, 115, Forrest, 69, and Martin, 3.

General Gordon Granger took command at Franklin immediately after the battle of Thompson Station. He and General Van Dorn were said to be classmates at West Point, and good friends personally, but it seemed that they made strenuous efforts to overreach or to out-general each other.

About March 8 another expedition was sent out by the enemy apparently for the purpose of driving us out of the neighborhood. Skirmishing began on the Columbia and Lewisburg pikes, some three or four miles south of Franklin, and was continued on the Columbia road for about three days, until we fell back across Rutherford Creek and took a strong position behind a range of hills south of the creek, destroying the bridges. In the meantime heavy rains were falling, the creek rising so that General Granger’s forces were delayed about two days in their efforts to cross, and all that could be done was to skirmish across the creek. Duck River, just behind us, rose so high and ran so swift, that pontoon bridges could not be maintained across it. A battle could not be risked with only a small ferryboat in such a stream. Still the skirmishing went on, until the trains and artillery were ferried across, when, leaving skirmishers on the hill to deceive the enemy, we moved up the river through cedar brakes to White’s bridge, twenty miles, crossed to the south side of the river, and when the enemy crossed Rutherford Creek they found no rebels in their front. We moved down through Columbia, and five or six miles down the Mount Pleasant turnpike and went into camp.

“Pony” Pillow’s wife had been kind enough to knit me a pair of fine yarn gauntlets, and having heard that we had crossed Duck River, she sent them to me, by her husband, who came up soon after we struck camp. While he was there I was ordered to take a squad of men whose horses needed shoes, go into the country and press one or two blacksmith shops, and run them for the purpose of having a lot of shoeing done. I got my men and went home with Pillow, took charge of shops in the neighborhood, and was kept on duty there about eight days, staying with my old grand-cousin’s family every night. I enjoyed this opportunity of talking with the old gentleman very much, as he had known my maternal grandparents when they were all children in Guilford County, North Carolina, before the Revolutionary War. He, himself, had been a soldier for eight years of his life, and had been shot through the body with a musket ball. In these war times he loved to talk about his exploits as a soldier. While I was there he mounted his horse and rode several miles through the neighborhood, to the tanyard and the shoe shop, to procure leather and have a pair of boots made for his grandson, who was in the army.

The work of shoeing the horses having been completed, and Duck River having subsided, we crossed back to the north side again, taking up our old position near Spring Hill, and resumed our picketing and skirmishing with General Granger’s forces. It is unnecessary, even if it were possible, to allude to all these skirmishes. The picket post on Carter’s Creek pike, eight miles from Franklin, was regarded as important for some reason, and an entire regiment from our brigade was kept there. One regiment for one week and then another regiment for the next, and were sent there with strict orders to have horses saddled and everything in readiness for action at daybreak in the morning. The Third Texas had been on the post for a week, and was relieved by the Legion under Lieutenant-Colonel Broocks. The Legion had been there two or three days, and had grown a little careless, as nothing unusual had ever happened to any of the other regiments while on duty there. Just at daybreak one morning in the latter part of April Granger’s cavalry came charging in upon them and completely surprised them in their camps, before they were even up, and captured men, horses, mules, wagons, cooking utensils—everything. Colonel Broocks and some of his men made their escape, some on foot and some on horseback, but more than a hundred were captured, their wagons cut down and burned, their cooking utensils broken up, and their camp completely devastated. One of the escaped men came at full speed to our camps, some three miles away, and as quick as possible we were in our saddles and galloping towards the scene of the disaster—but we were too late. We galloped for miles over the hills in an effort to overtake the enemy and recapture our friends, but failed.

We all felt a keen sympathy for Colonel Broocks and his men, for no officer in the army would have felt more mortification at such an occurrence than the brave, gallant John H. Broocks. It was said that he was so haunted by the sounds and scenes of the capture of his regiment that he was almost like one demented, and that for days and days afterwards he would sit away off alone on some log, with his head down, muttering, “Halt! you d——d rebel, halt!”

At one time during April General Van Dorn, with a goodly number of his command, made a demonstration upon Franklin, drove in all their outposts, and, selecting the Twenty-eighth Mississippi Cavalry and leading it himself, he charged into the heart of the town.

The night following the race we made after the Broocks’ captors, my horse fell sick and became unfit for service. In consequence I was ordered to send him to the pasture in charge of the command, a few miles below Columbia, and take command of “the sick, lame, and lazy camp” on Rutherford Creek, a temporary camp made up of slightly disabled men, and men with disabled horses or without horses. I was on duty here two weeks, with about as little to do as could be imagined. It was while I was on duty here that General Van Dorn’s death occurred at his headquarters at Spring Hill. He was assassinated by one Dr. Peters, who was actuated by an insane jealousy. Dr. Peters was an elderly man, with a pretty young wife; General Van Dorn was a gay, dashing cavalier. Dr. Peters was in the general’s office when he came in from breakfast, and asked the general to sign a pass permitting him to pass through the picket lines. As General Van Dorn was writing his signature to the paper, Dr. Peters stood behind him. When Van Dorn had given the last stroke with the pen, the doctor shot him in the back of the head, and, having his horse ready saddled, he mounted and galloped up to our pickets, passed through, and made his escape. As soon as the crime was known a number of the general’s escort mounted their horses and gave chase, but they were too late to stop the doctor.

In a few days after this very sad occurrence General Jackson’s division was ordered to Mississippi by rapid marches, and about the middle of May we reluctantly bade adieu to this beautiful, picturesque middle Tennessee.