The Iowans had covered 20 to 25 miles in their ride north toward Tennessee on April 22 and continued on toward Tupelo on April 23. The longer they lingered along the railroad, however, the greater the danger. Hatch gained information that Confederates from General Chalmers’s command in northwestern Mississippi were moving to cut him off. That made sense because the various Union raids sent out of Memphis and La Grange to keep Chalmers occupied were over (unbeknownst to Hatch, Gen. Sooy Smith’s and Col. George Bryant’s commands had returned to the Memphis vicinity by April 23), and the men and horses were back in their respective camps. Chalmers was free to focus his attention elsewhere, but contrary to Hatch’s intelligence, he had not yet moved east to intercept the Iowans.15
Hatch, however, was not in a position to risk Chalmers striking him in front and Barteau (and perhaps other Confederates) in the rear. He destroyed the bridges over the formidable Chiwapa Creek between Okolona and Tupelo to keep the pursuing enemy at bay and moved to Tupelo, where his tired Iowans made camp.16
As Hatch was dodging his pursuing Confederates while making his way north to Tennessee along the Mobile and Ohio Railroad, Grierson’s main body was quickly and quietly moving south. If Hatch regretted playing the role of bait while Grierson continued with the main raid, he said nothing about it to his Iowans. As far as he knew, the overall plan was still operational and working. If the number of Confederates converging on him was any indication, there should be few left to go after Grierson.
***
While Hatch was luring Confederates northward, Grierson was entering the final phase of his approach to the Southern Railroad of Mississippi. He was 70 miles north of Newton Station when his Illinoisans awoke on April 22. They were almost within striking distance, and the fact that they had made it this far with little to no opposition was nearly miraculous. If Grierson’s fortune held, he would reach the railroad and surely surprise whatever enemy he found there. Now was the time to push hard. Perhaps he could make longer, harder rides each day and cover the distance in as little as two days.17
Grierson had his men up early on April 22, ready to cross the various watercourses in the Noxubee River bottom on his way to the rail line. Heavy rainfall the night before, however, had swelled the creeks almost to capacity and turned the roads and byways through the swampy terrain into ribbons of mud. The brigade followed the main road through Webster, but the sticky ground and deep water were difficult to traverse. A portion of the column tried to bypass this danger by detouring through Whitefield (present-day Sturgis). The valley was “a dense, overflowed swamp,” recalled Adjutant Woodward. “No road was discernable, and the column was simply following the ‘blazing’ on the trees.” Grierson agreed, noting he and his men rode “for miles belly-deep in water.” Ammunition was lifted from artillery limbers and distributed to the men to carry above the water. At times, the Illinoisans had no choice but to swim their horses across flooded waterways. After one was crossed, however, another appeared in the distance. The route mandated the crossing of six major streams in addition to numerous swollen tributaries. The Noxubee River channel curved just east of Louisville, forcing the Illinois troopers to cross it twice during their approach to the high ground upon which the town was situated. Their introduction to Winston County, Mississippi, was wet, cold, and miserable.18
A fortunate opportunity greeted the exhausted column struggling across the soaked valley, recalled Woodward, when “a young doctor of the neighborhood appeared.” Although it took some convincing because he was afraid his neighbors would accuse him of assisting the enemy, the Federals finally convinced him to act as a guide. The local “guided the column around the heads of some deep sloughs and ravines, into which it would have otherwise marched blindly, and probably have drowned men and horses,” admitted the adjutant. Fortunately for everyone involved, the column broke through to higher and drier ground before anyone discovered the doctor helping them. He was sent on his way with a better horse, although it later dawned on Woodward that “the original owner of the mount” might one day find his horse in the doctor’s possession and accuse him of theft.19
It had been a slow start to a very long couple of days—exactly what Grierson had been hoping to avoid. There was nothing to do about it, however, except to slog onward. It was clear the raiders were still well ahead of any news. The few civilians encountered moving through this area of northern Winston County knew nothing of their pending arrival, and they were surprised when hundreds of Union horsemen suddenly appeared this deep in Mississippi. “The inhabitants through this part of the country generally did not know of our coming,” wrote a relieved Grierson, “and could not believe us to be anything but Confederates.”20
The same phenomenon occurred when the tired troopers finally reached the high ground and approached Louisville. Because of the difficult trek across the river bottoms and the fact that Louisville was nearly 30 miles south of Starkville, it was nearly dark by the time the Illinoisans approached the town. If any of the troopers thought they might rest in Louisville, as they had at other towns, they were sorely disappointed. Grierson intended to keep on moving.21
To better facilitate the move through Louisville, Grierson sent ahead a battalion of the 6th Illinois Cavalry under Maj. Matthew Starr “to picket the town and remain until the column had passed.” Starr’s troopers performed as ordered, although word broke out in Louisville of the pending Federal arrival just minutes before Grierson and his men thundered into the place. “Many had left,” observed the brigade commander, “taking only what they could hurriedly move.”22
Matthew Starr. Major Matthew Starr of the 6th Illinois Cavalry was a solid officer who often led detachments on the raid. Randy Beck
“The column moved quietly through the town without halting,” Grierson reported, “and not a thing was disturbed.” Civilians who had stayed put “acknowledged that they were surprised,” he continued. “They had expected to be robbed, outraged, and have their houses burned. On the contrary, they were protected in their persons and property.” The destruction of personal property was not uncommon in the Civil War, and the practice would become more destructive as the war dragged on. Yet Grierson had made it clear that destroying personal property was against his wishes. Besides, he had other, more important things on his mind than sacking an insignificant Mississippi village.23
None of Louisville’s civilians knew any of this. Years later a young girl penned her vivid recollections of the day the Yankees came to town. “Louisville had one wide street, with stores and public buildings on either side,” she wrote, “and my home was on a side street just off of Main Street, with a road separating it from the Old Masonic Building surrounded by a large oak grove.” Many people buried their silver and valuables. “This time my people,” she continued, “accompanied by several other families, fled to a small place we owned about a mile from town and off the main road. I still remember how branches of trees were piled over the road after we passed to show no trace of another road. We carried food.”24
Some Louisville residents resisted any way they could. According to one account, a Union cavalryman, perhaps one of Surby’s scouts, demanded the keys to a smokehouse in which Sara Jane Johnston, whose husband was in the Confederate army, had hidden her fine horse. She refused. When the trooper came to take it by force, the brave woman stood in the doorway and wielded a butcher knife until the Federal left without either ham or horse. Another citizen hid his food and horses except for one “old blind mule named Pompey, which was so feeble the men did not want it.” Trickery also helped. At the Corley homestead, two fine gray mules had wallowed so long in the mud that they looked haggard. The children yelled to the approaching soldiers that they were simply “broken down stock.” The soldiers let them be and passed by.25
Other notable Louisville natives fled quickly. William Bolling, one of Winston County’s pair of delegates to the secession convention two years earlier, had been extremely vocal about his support for the Confederacy and his intent
to fight the enemy. “His voice was heard on nearly all occasions,” one county history read, “rallying the patriotic and chivalrous sons of Winston County, to arms. He proclaimed with vehement asseverations that he would be with them in their marches and drink all the blood that was spilt and pay for all the powder that was burnt.” Bolling had his opportunity to live up to his words when Grierson’s troopers arrived. Instead of bravado, however, he was among the first to flee, “hid[ing] himself among the rocks in the mountains of Alabama.” The town doctor, Dr. J. B. Covington, made his getaway in a rather macabre fashion. With a trusty slave in tow, he escaped to an old cemetery outside town, where the slave lifted “one of the box tombs while he crawled in and stayed there until the soldiers passed through Louisville.”26
All the effort and fear went for naught as the Federals simply moved through the town without stopping. While the residents wondered what was happening, Major Starr’s battalion of the 6th Illinois Cavalry continued guarding the town until the lengthy column passed through. Once out of town and riding south, Grierson relieved the 6th Illinois provosts with a similar battalion from the 7th Illinois under Major Graham, whose duty it was to remain in town about one hour to keep any citizens from moving south to alert anyone in advance of the Federal column and to make sure no enemy followed. A pursuing enemy from Louisville was unlikely, because Grierson had not seen any Confederates since leaving New Albany. Still, there was much at stake and he was a careful soldier. Graham’s orders were to “remain until we should have been gone an hour, to prevent persons leaving with information of the course we were taking, to drive out stragglers, preserve order, and quiet the fears of the people.” Once Graham’s Illinoisans finished their task, they rejoined their comrades as they continued their ride toward the Southern Railroad of Mississippi.27
The same civilian confusion witnessed at Louisville repeated itself as the column advanced farther south. The muddy terrain also played to Grierson’s advantage by covering their blue uniforms so thoroughly it was difficult for anyone to recognize them as Federal cavalry. (Grierson was also careful to keep their colors encased most of the time.) After passing through the swamps around Louisville “and reaching the rolling country beyond,” recalled Grierson, “the troops were taken for Van Dorn’s rebel cavalry and complimented on their appearance.”28
The confusion was at least partially understandable. The people in this portion of Mississippi never imagined a heavy Union column of cavalry could have ridden this deeply into the state. Even when the blue uniforms were recognizable, many locals assumed they were Confederates wearing captured Union clothing. A good example of how the mind plays such tricks occurred while clattering past a schoolhouse. The teacher allowed the pupils outside to watch the procession. According to Grierson, “They flocked to the roadside, hurrahing for Beauregard, Van Dorn, and the Confederacy. One little girl thought she recognized one of the men and, running up, asked him how John was, and if her uncle was along with the soldiers.” On another occasion, ladies picked roses and presented them to the passing soldiers. As one Illinois man admitted, “We enjoyed ourselves very much at the expense of the deluded citizens.”29
When the column stopped at a mill to procure grain for the horses, “the old miller grumbled loudly” when told the soldiers would be taking the grain. The fact that he would receive a receipt did not help soothe his disgust. This particular miller, who had been on the short end of Confederate receipts before, knew they were essentially worthless. “Yes, I’ve met your sort before,” he chastised Grierson. “You always say you’ll pay and you give receipts, but they ain’t worth a damn. I wish the Yankees would come along and clean you out. They might give a fellow something. But you,” he continued angrily, “you eat up everything in the country without keeping them out. . . . Yes, I know you. You say you’ll pay, but I never got a cent for what I gave you before. The yanks might as well have it as you.” The old man was not finished. “Why don’t you go after Grierson instead of hanging around here?” he asked. By leaving “the impression that we were Confederates,” Grierson noted, “we readily gained much valuable information, besides misleading the enemy into many contradictory reports as to our force and movements.” According to Woodward, “The men were instructed that in their intercourse with citizens they should convey the idea that we were Confederates en route to Vicksburg.”30
Leaving the humorous exchange behind them, Grierson and his troopers continued through the darkness. Unfortunately, wrote a rider, the head of the column struck what he thought was “another swamp.” In reality they had come up against Tallahaga Creek, a major tributary and part of the headwaters of the Pearl River system that began in the highlands southeast of Louisville, flowed southwest toward the state capital at Jackson, and then on to the Gulf of Mexico. The Pearl River ran between Louisville and Philadelphia, and Grierson’s column would have to cross it and other major tributaries. It would be hard enough to do so in daylight, but Grierson did not have the luxury of waiting hours for the sun to rise. Instead, he plunged ahead into the boggy land around Tallahaga Creek, where the Federals “lost several animals drowned, and the men narrowly escaped the same fate,” Grierson reported. Another observer complained that “the marshes were swamp, and swamps were ponds. The roads, of which they were utterly ignorant, were like rivers, the water being in many places three or four feet in depth.” Fortunately for Grierson’s men, Surby’s scouts directed them along the best route “unmarked by a beacon post or guide” and provided fresh horses captured along their journey. The fresh mounts were especially valuable because they allowed those troopers who had lost a mount in the bottomland to continue. One observer detailed the problems they faced there:
On each side of the road were enormous trees, and the water was every where from three to four feet deep, with every few hundred yards a mire hole, in which frequently, for a few moments, man and horse were lost to view. The Seventh Illinois being in the rear found these holes impassable, from the action of the large body of cavalry which had preceded them, and they were compelled to leave drowned some twenty noble animals, whose strength was not equal to such an emergency. The men so dismounted removed their saddles, placed them on some other led beasts, and pushed onward cheerfully.
Grierson kept his exhausted men in the saddle until the column reached the Estes plantation just north of Noxapater. There and at the nearby Payne plantation, 10 miles south of Louisville, he finally called a halt and ordered his troopers to go into camp. It was about midnight. After riding at least 30 miles that day (and perhaps as many as 40), the Illinois troopers were tired and sore, and any chance of a respite was welcomed. Only Grierson knew their rest would be brief. He was rapidly approaching his major objective. Lingering in camp would not help them achieve it.31
Charner Estes and his son, W. E. W. Estes, were South Carolina natives. In 1857 the 50-year old Charner moved to Mississippi with his children and their families and purchased acreage north of Noxapater and southwest of Tallahaga Creek. By 1860 Charner’s land was valued at $12,000 and he owned 15 slaves. His 30-year-old son owned 4. With many of the Estes men off to war, Charner and his wife remained behind to care for 2 of their grandchildren. Son W. E. W., who served in the 35th Mississippi Infantry, was severely wounded at Corinth in May 1862.32
The men dismounted at the small plantations and made sure their horses were well cared for before turning to themselves. The mixture of long rides, unreliable provisions, and potential enemy action was beginning to catch up with the troopers. As an Illinois man in Prince’s 7th regiment recalled, “We traveled so much after night that we were so sleepy we could hardly keep our eyes open.” The troopers had eaten only one meal that morning at breakfast, so the lack of quality food also affected them. “We some times would mix up dough & bake on boards & very often we would go to bed without supper,” grumbled the same Illinoisan. “Twice I went two days without eating any thing except some sugar & raw sweet potatoes.”33
Rest was what the men wanted
and needed, but Grierson disappointed them by calling his troopers back into the saddle after just two or three hours since they had stopped. He wanted to get the column on the road by daybreak on April 23. After securing a carriage from Estes to carry one of the cannons whose carriage had broken down, Grierson and his saddle-sore troopers rode south once more, moving quickly to take advantage of whatever opportunities Hatch was giving them as his Iowans moved along the Mobile and Ohio Railroad some 85 miles to the north.34
***
Thus far, Grierson had been able to ride deep into Mississippi without having to cross any major rivers except the Tallahatchie, which he crossed easily, and then skirted the head of the Big Black River near Starkville. Ironically, the smaller rivers and streams were giving him the most trouble. Now, however, Grierson was coming up against a major river system, and there was no way to ride around it. If the crossing of one of its tributaries the previous night was any indication, the Pearl River and its deep and swampy tentacles posed a major problem. They were now entering bottomland, observed one trooper, and it was “considerably flooded with water, making progress slowly.”35
Fortunately, Grierson knew a bridge spanned the river on the main road to Philadelphia, a route that jogged west to Pearl Valley. The brigade commander received a steady stream of reports from his scouts about the route and other information from captured Confederate mail. One mail coach taken near Louisville the day before contained, oddly enough, letters written mostly in French. Sergeant Major Augustus LeSeure of the 7th Illinois Cavalry, who was fluent in French, read them for whatever helpful information they might contain, but there was little in the missives of military interest. Unfortunately for the raiders, they had no way of knowing whether the critical bridge was still standing. If word of their presence preceded them, they feared the structure “would be destroyed by the citizens to prevent our crossing.” Its destruction would force Grierson to make a difficult crossing of a major waterway. If their presence this deep into Mississippi was still a surprise, as it had been in Louisville, there was a chance the troopers could reach the bridge and cross without incident. Thus, the faster they rode, the better their chances of finding the span intact. Grierson urged his men on, the 7th Illinois Cavalry taking the advance. “We were all well aware of the necessity of gaining the bridge at all hazards, and no time was lost in reaching it,” Grierson wrote. The bridge, he continued, “must be captured before it could be set on fire or destroyed, as its destruction would be fatal to our progress.”36
The Real Horse Soldiers Page 18