by R. E. Thomas
Finally, he contemplated his own fate in the event of defeat and capture, growing sicker with worry as he turned the matter over in his mind. Everywhere he went in this war, Milroy took it as his righteous duty to punish slave owners and traitors. In retaliation, the Rebels had labeled him a criminal and put a price on his head.
Milroy doubted he would be afforded the treatment due his rank if he were captured. Instead, he was liable to find himself on trial for capital crimes. By nightfall, he had changed his mind about holding Fortress Rosecrans, and had instead decided to break out under cover of darkness.
“Begging your pardon, General Milroy,” Van Cleve protested, “but that course of action is most unwise. Needlessly desperate. We were taught at the Academy that night actions are prone to great confusion and can only be made by well-disciplined troops with the proper training, which I imagine is why they are so rarely undertaken in this war. Half our troops, including the coloreds, are green. I’d count on them to stand behind the walls, but in the open field and at night…”
Milroy said impatiently, “Your concerns are noted” as he watched his cavalry, his regiment of U.S. Colored Troops, and two cannons mustered at the sally port between Lunettes Granger and Rousseau.
Van Cleve grew more alarmed as Milroy refused to be budged. “Yes, sir. Even if you should break out… most of the convalescents are fit enough to man the walls, but not to make a rapid march. We would be abandoning those men to certain capture, and we don’t need to! We can still pull back behind Stones River in the dark, concentrate the garrison and make a stand.”
Milroy turned and snapped, “Enough, General Van Cleve! I will lead the sally. You will command the fort in my absence, and when we have forced through the Rebel cordon, you will follow. Those are your orders, understood?!”
Van Cleve stood to attention and saluted. “Yessir. I’ll see to my men, sir.” He turned on his heels and stalked away.
At half past midnight, Milroy struck out to the north for Castlewood Farm and the Lebanon Pike, his cavalry providing strong detachments of advance guards and flankers. They marched quietly in the dark, moonless night, creeping forward so stealthily that the first Confederates knew of the breakout attempt was when Milroy’s advanced riders stumbled right over the rifle pits of the dismounted Southern pickets.
Hearing the shots and seeing the orange flashes in the black up ahead, Milroy ordered his cavalry forward and his infantry to shake out a line. To the colonel leading the colored troops, he said, “Once the cavalry locates the Rebel main line, you pin it. I’ll bring up the guns, and we’ll tear a hole through the Rebel scum.”
Milroy placed himself between the foot soldiers and his cannons, and watched with satisfaction as they moved up to support his troopers. From the scattered stabs of fire up ahead, he could see the Rebel cavalry had little more than a skirmish line up ahead. He grinned when his colored soldiers tore loose with a massed volley, instantly smothering the flashes of Rebel musketry with smoke.
Riding behind the men, who were busy reloading, Milroy cried, “That’s it, boys! Keep at it! Keep at it! Drown them with balls, and then sweep them aside. Lieutenant, bring up the guns!”
Then Milroy heard a chorus of hundreds of yips and yells. Turning to the source of the noise, he saw dozens of muzzle flashes on his left flank, and then watched with horror as Rebel cavalry charged into the flank of his infantry. The scene dissolved into a confused murk of darkness, powder smoke, and thrashing horses, punctuated by the nearer bursts of flame.
Above the screams of men and horses, Milroy thought he heard cries of “Darkies! Kill all the damn darkies!” Then he heard his own horse scream, felt it buck, and was sent flying back through the air. Milroy felt the dim awareness that he was on the ground, and then nothing.
June 19
Early Morning
Headquarters, Forrest’s Cavalry, CSA
Hickey Farm
Murfreesboro, Tennessee
Jackson came thundering down the Franklin Road at the head of several dozen riders. He would have preferred a smaller and less obtrusive entourage, but Sandie insisted that, if he was riding ahead of the vanguard of Stewart’s Corps, he go with an entire company of escorting cavalry. Since Sandie was coming as well, there was no way to refuse him.
He looked over at his chief of staff, galloping beside him. Still just a boy, he thought, even with the years of war and all the responsibility he bore. Sometimes I look upon him as family, as if he were my nephew, but sometimes the boy is just a plain nuisance, a clucking, bothersome mother hen.
They came to a halt upon encountering a camp, where the smell of horses vied for notice with the aroma from the many mess fires cooking up almost a thousand breakfasts. There they were directed down a country lane to the Hickey farmhouse and Forrest’s headquarters and found Forrest himself in his shirtsleeves, sitting just outside the house in a rocking chair.
Forrest rose to meet Jackson as he rode up at a walk. Grinning, he offered a salute and called out “Good morning, General. I trust you enjoyed a pleasant ride?”
Jackson came to a stop before him, and returned the salute. “Very pleasant. Invigorating even. Your report, General Forrest?”
“I blockaded the fort, concentrating on the roads and Murfreesboro. General, we’ve only 6,000 men here, give or take, and I have to hold a perimeter of, oh, I reckon about eight miles. We’re stretched mighty thin. The enemy made a stab at busting out, and I must tell you, we repulsed them only because they was stupid enough to try it at night. If they try again this morning, I ain’t sure I can stop them.”
“You needn’t worry,” Jackson replied. “We just left Clayton’s Division. They are on the Salem Pike, and only four miles away. Now tell me about this fight.”
“I weren’t there myself. Yankees came out with a strong force of cavalry and infantry, I’m told, over by the Lebanon Road, just a ways north of Murfreesboro. I went around and told every regiment to prepare for them to come out that night myself, so they was ready. Them Yankees came onto one of my patrols, and the shooting brought Lyon’s Kentuckians coming up from town, who fell on their flank.”
Forrest’s expression hardened. “General Jackson, I regret to tell you that one of the Federal outfits were all colored. Darkies in the blue suit, sir. Well, once they got started, the boys didn’t stop. With the killing. I heard this morning they killed hundreds of them, hundreds. Only took two dozen prisoners, and half of them were white officers.”
Jackson’s expression soured, his feelings mixed. He felt a Christian duty to tend to the welfare of the negroes, but at the same time knew divine Providence sanctioned the institution of slavery, at least in this time and place. The North’s practice of turning negroes into soldiers was merely a gilded form of slave insurrection. Even so, he wanted no part of any massacre. Such false retribution was not only lawless, but sinful, the sin of wrath.
As Jackson said nothing in response to this Forrest looked at him and said “We also captured Major General Robert H. Milroy, sir.”
“Milroy?” Jackson recalled from the name from the Battle of McDowell. “Is he not a wanted man?”
Forrest smirked. “A regular black abolitionist villain, sir. He’s a bit beat up, his horse shot out from under him and all, but he ain’t too badly hurt.”
“Milroy can wait. Have we heard from the fort yet?”
“No.”
“Then I suggest we open the parlay.” Jackson twisted in his saddle to look back at Sandie. “Colonel Pendleton, go with a few members of the escort and inform the enemy commander of my arrival. Tell him that if he does not surrender his post before noon today, I will attack him. To avoid the unnecessary effusion of blood, I call upon him to surrender, etcetera, etcetera. Then invite him out for a word.”
Almost two hours later, Pendleton returned with Van Cleve, whose blindfold was undone only once he was within the Hickey farmhouse.
Sandie made the introductions. “General Van Cleve, it is my honor to present Ge
neral Thomas J. Jackson and Major General Nathan B. Forrest, Confederate States Army. Gentlemen, this is Horatio Van Cleve, Brigadier General of Volunteers, commander of Fortress Rosecrans, United States Army.”
Van Cleve shook hands with first Jackson, and then Forrest. “General Jackson, it is an honor. Truly, sir.”
Jackson said “General, I will be brief, as you have only two hours, twelve minutes before my deadline of noon arrives, and I assault your lines.”
“Before you begin threatening me, General Jackson,” smirked Van Cleve, “may I inquire as to the fate of General Milroy and his expedition?”
Jackson stammered, “We have prisoners, including General Milroy. But there was much loss of life.”
“I see. Please, commence with the threatening.”
Forrest chuckled, amused with Van Cleve’s sarcastic style of bravado. Jackson shot Forrest a look to shut him up before speaking.
“General Van Cleve, Stewart’s Corps is here, so I have four full divisions at my disposal. My intelligence informs me that you do not have the strength adequate to hold such a large fortress against a serious assault. Even if I should fail in my first attempt at noon today, my entire army will be here by this afternoon. My second attempt will succeed. I will have Fortress Rosecrans before nightfall. And we all know full well what happens inside a stormed, taken fortress. After what occurred last night, I warn you, I will not be responsible for the untold bloodshed that will result if you should force me to breach your works.”
Van Cleve felt queasy and struggled to keep his composure. He was putting on a brave show, but he left Fortress Rosecrans knowing he had no choice but to surrender it. Milroy’s folly had cost him a quarter of his strength. Oh, if only Milroy had sent me the reinforcements and stayed in Tullahoma, Van Cleve thought. I would be sitting behind fat earthen walls, flanked by big, black cannon, and thumbing my nose at Stonewall Jackson, Forrest, and the whole damned lot of them!
“What terms do you propose?”
“If you turn over the entire contents of the fort to me, undamaged, I offer to parole every white prisoner taken in lawful arms. After they are properly booked, naturally. Officers may keep their side arms, but all mounts and flags are to be surrendered.”
“I see. And what of the officers from the colored regiment, and the colored soldiers themselves? And General Milroy?”
Jackson placed his one arm behind his back. “General Milroy is already in my custody, and I have no intention of negotiating with you regarding his status. As for the colored soldiers and their officers…” Jackson paused for a time, to give the appearance of thinking things over, but his mind had been made up on the issue before Van Cleve’s arrival. “I will parole them as well.”
Van Cleve nodded slowly. “Very well. I accept. If you will write up and deliver those terms, I will surrender the fort to you at… noon?”
“Good, good. Sandie, see General Van Cleve back to the fort.”
As Jackson watched Van Cleve being blindfolded and led away, he felt satisfied with the day’s events. With Fortress Rosecrans surrendered, he could turn all his force against the Army of the Tennessee. As for the parolees, his plan had always been to disencumber himself of any prisoners, and that was exactly what he would do, with the exception of Robert H. Milroy. Milroy would go back to Richmond.
“Providence has blessed us with an easy victory on this, his day,” Jackson whispered. Then more audibly, he said, “General Forrest, you are familiar with the area, are you not?”
“Yep, I am.”
“I would be pleased if you would show me the ground west of Murfressboro.”
June 19, 1864
Northern Georgia
While Jackson and Sherman built up their strength in Middle Tennessee through May and into mid-June, George Thomas and his Army of the Cumberland had not lain idle in Chattanooga. Thomas’s infantry labored for weeks repairing railway tracks and beds, improving old roads, and cutting new roads through the forest, while his cavalry reconnoitered east of the Confederate defensive position on Rocky Face Ridge and their base at Dalton.
Thomas also kept his three infantry corps busy by shifting their positions, always on the move, which posed a problem for William Hardee, commander of the Confederate Army of Georgia. Between the rough, mountainous terrain and the lack of direct contact with his enemy, Hardee had to rely on the reports of scouts, spies, and the occasional foray by Wheeler’s cavalry to provide him with information on Federal movements. Hardee’s knowledge of the whereabouts of Thomas’s infantry was soon rendered unreliable.
As per Sherman’s orders, Thomas set his plans into motion on Wednesday the 15th. While feinting to the east of Dalton, the Army of the Cumberland probed Buzzard’s Roost Gap and Mill Gap on the Confederates’ main defensive position of Rocky Face Ridge. Behind this activity and the thickly forested hills of northern Georgia, Thomas sent John Palmer’s XIV Corps south to Snake Creek Gap, an opening in the mountains situated some dozen miles south of Dalton. Palmer’s column was spearheaded by John Wilder’s Lightning Brigade, a crack mounted infantry force armed with Spencer carbines.
Hardee had ordered Wheeler, his 28-year-old cavalry chief and an old crony of Braxton Bragg’s, to defend Snake Creek Gap and vigorously patrol its approaches. Wheeler posted Humes’ Division to defend an area that stretched almost 30 miles, from Resaca to Rome, and then ignored Hardee’s order to “vigorously patrol its approaches,” preferring to spare his horses the wear of frequent rides over the rugged landscape. Neither Hardee or Wheeler bothered to inspect Humes’ arrangements in person, both of them focused on the Army of the Cumberland’s actions to the north and east of Dalton.
Although suffering from dysentery and lingering typhoid, Colonel Wilder had lost none of the fire in his belly, and his men were full of fight. When the Lightning Brigade arrived at the western side of Snake Creek Gap, they found a single regiment of Arkansans dug in there, and promptly chased them out of their rifle pits and lunettes. After plunging through the four-mile defile of the Gap, Wilder’s men emerged on the other side, ran headlong into Harrison’s Brigade of Confederate cavalry, and easily swatted the butternut troopers aside. Palmer marched his infantry through the gap and onto Resaca without firing a shot, and was astride the Confederate railroad line by mid-afternoon.
Here Thomas’s plan went astray. Palmer, whose XIV Corps had almost as much infantry as Hardee’s entire army, was ordered to advance on the Rebel’s left flank “if practicable.” Palmer decided it wasn’t practicable, despite having more than five hours of daylight left in the day. He assumed a defensive position and thus one of Thomas’s pincers became an anvil instead.
Hardee withdrew overnight, using the inferior roads to the southeast. Peremptorily ordered by Thomas to march north at dawn, Palmer completely missed the bulk of the Army of Georgia, then on roads several miles east of Resaca. Thomas’s pincer movement caught only the Rebel rear guard, Kelly’s Division of cavalry. Kelly took a hard drubbing, but Hardee’s infantry and wagon train escaped unmolested. Both armies were slowed by the muddy, rain-sodden roads. Hardee didn’t stop retreating until he was across the Etowah River, some 55 miles south of Dalton, on the morning of June 20th.
June 20, 1864
Midday
41st Tennessee Infantry, CSA
Stewartsboro Road
11 miles west of Murfreesboro
Nathan removed his slouch hat and wiped his brow clear of sweat and road grime, put the damp hat back on, and took a drink from his canteen. Water was the only amenity he had a full supply of. The three-day supply of corn meal, bacon, and salt they were issued four days ago was gone, and the regiment had marched more than a hundred miles over those four days. He was sore, tired, hungry, and caked with sweat and road dust, just like every other foot slogger in the regiment.
The bugle trumpeted “Halt!” while the Sergeant Major called out, “10 minutes! 10 minutes boys!”
They were near a crossroads, although what the other road was Nath
an had no idea, nor did he care. He trudged off the road with his brother Willie for the regulation 10 minute rest given them every hour. Avoiding the smooth, flat patches of limestone that pock marked the ground, Nathan laid down on the rich, early summer grass with the rest of the company. Some smoked, some chatted, but most doffed their gum blanket rolls and lay spread eagle on the ground.
A few minutes later a column of cavalry came up that other road at the walk, heading west, and stomping up a dust cloud that spawned groans from the resting foot sloggers.
Nathan sat up and shouted, “Hey, who ever seen a dead cavalryman?”
The horsemen laughed. One stopped and shouted back, “Had enough of that walking? Ready to join the cavalry and have yourself a good time?”
Nathan grinned. “What do you hear, buttermilk boy?”
The trooper drawled, “Well, Mr. Web Foot, we captured Fortress Rosecrans yesterday. Reckon we’ll all be on Yankee rations again before long. And we got that rat bastard Milroy too.”
Nathan’s stomach growled at the mere mention of food. “I’d rather have me hoecakes and sow belly any day. Good Southern food. But I reckon I am ready for some more of that Yankee coffee!”
“Me too. You take care there, blister boy.”
“You too, saddle sore.”
The mood of the whole regiment brightened, the air full of animated chatter and no one caring about the thick cloud of dust tramped up by hundreds of horses riding by. Fortress Rosecrans captured! Between Jackson and Forrest, that was four victories in a row: Holly Grove Crossroads, Lawrenceburg, Ringgold Mill, and now Fortress Rosecrans.
The men were soon up and marching again, skipping the customary halt for dinner. With no rations to cook, there was little point. After another four hours of marching north, stopping for the regulation 10 minutes every hour, the regiment and the rest of Walker’s Brigade arrived at the crossroads, turned east, and went over a wooden bridge crossing Stewart’s Creek.