Bugle Blasts
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…A full and true history of the late war has never been written—never will be. But little links can be picked up—even as we pick up battered bullets on old battle-fields—and these may be welded together to make a completer chain. And this is, perhaps, our duty, the duty of those who are permitted to enjoy the present. Let us also make it a pleasure.
I call this paper “Bugle
Blasts” simply because that seems as appropriate as anything. It refers to some incidents and experiences
in the cavalry; exciting and sometimes thrilling to those engaged, if not
interesting to him who hears the tale told.
William Crane
Late in the
winter of ’62, when the movement on Fort Donelson was begun, Buell began his
movement on Bowling Green. The Third
Division had the advance and was commanded by General O. M. Mitchell, or “Star
Mitchell” as he was called in those days.
February 10th Mitchell broke camp at Bacon Creek, Kentucky,
made a forced march to Bowling Green, driving the rebel Hindman before him, and
on February 22nd started for Nashville. The Fourth Ohio Calvary, his advance regiment, was before
Nashville on the evening of the 23rd, and received from the Mayor
the surrender of the city. The Third
Division went into camp and the Fourth Ohio Calvary was placed eight miles
in the front, at the outposts, on the Murfreesboro pike.
The cavalry of
Buell’s army had not received that attention requisite for the most efficient
service, and the Fourth Ohio was no exception.
There were no carbines in the regiment—only sabers and some unreliable
revolvers. One
company, however (that of the writer’s), was armed with Colt’s revolving
rifles. These had been secured, some
weeks before, while the company was on special duty at Upton, Ky., by
requisition on Louisville, accompanied by considerable diplomacy, etc.—the
“etc.” to be literally translated, and not given too liberal a
construction. I say the company was armed
with this formidable weapon. Perhaps it
were better to say loaded. The
horse certainly was loaded when the trooper mounted with this instrument slung
on his back, clanking saber at his side, and pistol in holster. It was cruelty to add the canteen and
haversack! But in those days we had no “S.P.C.A.”
About three o’clock
in the afternoon of March 8th the Colonel came to our company
headquarters and said he wanted the company to mount and go in pursuit of a
body of rebel cavalry said to be in the neighborhood. Just as the order was issued an Orderly from Mitchell’s headquarters
rode up excitedly and reported that John Morgan had
captured the regimental wagon-train, on its way out to camp with supplies,
burned the wagons and taken off teamsters, horses, and mules. And this only one mile from camp—almost under
our noses! Our Colonel’s blood
was up in an instant, and in stentorian voice he shouted, “Company C, turn out
with your rifles!” This “with your
rifles” had a flavor of business about it, and the response was not only quick,
but nearly unanimous. Evidently, there
was to be “music in the air,” and there was anxiety to have the rifles come in
at the right moment with the Bass. Four
other companies were ordered out. Then
came the command, “Company C, forward with the rifles!” and we dashed forward
up the pike toward Nashville. The
report received was not a “grape-vine.”
Something near two miles from camp, in the middle of the pike, were the ruins of our wagon-train—some wagons still burning and
some already in ashes. The
teamsters and animals were gone and no signs of friend or foe.
As afterward
learned, the attacking party were Lieut.-Col. Wood with a body of Mississippi
cavalry and John Morgan’s command. They
had first quietly taken the pickets and then made a dash, from the woods, on
the train, capturing, with the teamsters, Capt. Braiden, an Aide of Gen. Dumont’s. Gen. Mitchell
himself barely escaped capture, having ridden along the pike about the same
time. A halt was called and the
road examined to ascertain which way the enemy had gone. The trace was found leading east through the
woods. One Company was sent back to get
re-enforcements, and with them, to strike into the timber from the regimental
camp to try and intercept the raiders.
The original party, headed by Col. Dennett, dashed into the woods, and
then occurred a chase the parallel to which has seldom been seen. “Forward!” was the word and forward it
was. The woods became a thicket,
sometimes apparently impassable; but the horses, spurred by their riders,
dashed at headlong speed through the trees, through the underbrush, under
branches—thorns scratching the face and hands, projecting limbs tearing clothes
and bruising bodies. Down hill and up
hill, through marsh and bog, over logs and across streams, leaping obstacles,
shouting, yelling, screaming, and hurrahing, away we went—mud and leaves flying
and dead limbs crushing beneath horses’ feet.
Now the trail is lost and there is a halt to look for footprints. How much of a start the raiders have cannot
be known, but the trail must be fresh.
Soon it is found and the horses gallop on as full of spirit as their
wildly excited riders. When the tracks disappear in the forest leaves, the rebel
course is now marked by plunder lost or cast aside—overcoats, canteens,
saddles, blankets, the woods are full of them. Now and then an abandoned horse is seen. Finally, we strike a narrow pike, follow it
a mile or so and learn that Morgan and Wood have
divided their force, only the smaller part having taken the course we
are pursuing. We were after Morgan and
the main body, so turned back. It was
precious time lost but the trail was again struck, where they had crossed the
pike, and once more a plunge was made into the timber and cedars.
For miles the trees were so thick, and the foliage so dense,
that it became impossible to ride other than single file: but, retarded,
as was our speed, the chase became hotter and more exciting than ever. The Yankee blood of the hunters was at fever
heat and they determined to run the game to cover. The sight of an abandoned horse (and the hard-pressed enemy was
now leaving his own as well as our animals) was the signal for a yell that the persuaded
might have heard and trembled at miles away.
Then spurs were clapped into horses’ flanks to urge them still faster
on; and thus the column—if column that could be called which column was none—swept,
dashed, plunged onward. Occasionally a projecting limb dismounted a trooper,
and as he clambered out of the way, the sympathetic cry was wafted back from
some comrade, “Say, what infantry regiment does you’ns belong to?”
Now the Colonel’s voice rings shrilly through the forest with the same old talismanic “forward!” The refrain is taken up, sent back along the column until the rearmost rider hears and shouts a returning echo, “We are coming, father Abraham!” No cowardice there. No lagging behind from choice. Every man was straining nerve and muscle to get ahead. We were fast gaining on the enemy and they knew it, trembling at every shout wafted to their ears. They grew desperate, dug the rowels into their horses, cursed their prisoners, threatened them, shot at them to make them keep up, and wounded one poor fellow to the death. These facts were gleaned afterward.
We had gained
rapidly and thought them almost within grasp.
But “the best laid plans of mice and men, etc., etc.” Desperation nerved them and they flew down
the pike, scattering the stones behind.
But we ran them into the net prepared. The detachment that had gone out later from
camp struck the pike opportunely and received the enemy warmly as we drove him in
their arms. A brisk engagement
followed, partly hand to hand. The
fight was soon over, the enemy being routed, scattered and driven in every
direction, at the onset Morgan, with his staff and a
lot of blooded horses, broke away and escaped across Stone River. Our command being united and ready to move
an inventory of affairs and effects was taken.
The enemy left four dead on the field, four
sound captives in our hands and two wounded.
Of the ninety-four horsed taken we recaptured seventy-five; of the forty-eight
teamsters, thirty-one and also Capt. Braiden. A number of rebels were wounded, but not seriously, and
escaped. One of the two wounded
prisoners-Warfield by name-was related was one of the most prominent
and wealthy families of Cincinnati. The other was a Mississippian, by the name
of Love. The writer visited the two in
the regimental hospital that night.
Love had a terrible wound, and knew it was mortal, but this last breath
was expended in cursing and execrating the “Yankees” in the most horrible and
vile language tongue could utter.
The chase
being over, the command returned-all except the Company with the rifles, who
were to continue the pursuit. Pushing
on again we struck the Murfreesboro pike near Lavergne, and got on the heels of
one detachment, but these, knowing the country, broke for the cedars and
escaped. We saw no more of them and returned
to camp at 8:00 P.M., after a ride of about thirty miles, part of this on a
keen run.
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The author then
relates how the Upton guns helped capture Huntsville, Alabama, the “Queen city
of the Mountains” and the taking of 800 prisoners, 17 locomotives and a large
number of cars without a casualty or loss of any kind on the Union side.
**********
Kilpatrick’s Raid
was the last story related by Mr. Crane, in which Union soldiers were sent
below Atlanta to break the Macon railroad supply line to Confederate General
Hood at Atlanta.