The Orphan Brigade: The Kentucky Confederates Who Couldn't Go Home

by Davis, William C.

  One of the best watchdogs on camp discipline was Hanson. “Old Flintlock,” the men called him or, in reference to his stiff limb, “Bench-leg.” His methods were, to say the least, unorthodox. Believing that there were too many malingerers on the sick list trying to avoid duty, he published an order that henceforward there would be only two sick men at a time in each company. Just how well he was able to enforce the order is conjecture, but he tried in his way. Almost every day he visited the 2d Kentucky’s hospital. “His insight into character was extraordinary,” wrote a Kentuckian at Bowling Green. Hanson despised dissimulation and sham. It aroused in him an ire that had bizarre consquences upon his features. The individual parts of his face seemed to work without concert, his head moving in quick, jerking contrast to his otherwise heavy, “inactive manner.” He had, said a friend, “a German face with all the Irish expressions.”

  “Sick! sick!” he exploded to a malingerer. “Why, I was twelve months with the Army in Mexico, and wasn’t sick a day.” He used the same tactic on those begging furloughs. “What, sir! Furlough? Now, I was twelve months in Mexico, and never had a furlough.” And so it went. Perhaps the men took him seriously on these issues. For sure, it did not work when it came to drinking.

  A Kentuckian was, almost by definition, a man with a powerful interest in Bourbon, the more so in the boring routine of camp life at Bowling Green. With the ingenuity of soldiers, many of them found liquor where their superiors thought there was none. Finally, Basil Duke of Morgan’s company confiscated the entire stock of the “article” from a nearby store that had been selling it to the men. He put it under guard inside the camp, but of course could not keep its presence long a secret. Soon one of the guards exhibited signs of having had commerce with the prisoner, and before long others were drunk as well. Duke reluctantly took the whisky back to the store owner, feeling it was safer there, but of course the merchant immediately began selling it again, and Duke narrowly escaped arrest for the unauthorized confiscation.

  “Bench-leg” Hanson’s remedy proved no more effective. His own fondness for whisky was well known. Consequently, when one day he found a drunken soldier in camp, a number of men gathered round for the inevitable reminiscence of the days in Mexico. Sure enough it came.

  “Drunk here, eh? Drunk!” said Hanson. “I was twelve months in Mexico, and in all that time …” He paused for a moment, reflecting, and then the men laughed. Without another word he turned abruptly and walked away.26

  Not all breaches of discipline by these Kentuckians could be laughed away, and there were many. “Give them officers that they love, respect, and rely on,” Duke said of Kentucky soldiers, “and any thing can be accomplished with them.” But they were “almost irrepressibly fond of whisky,” incorrigible about straggling and escaping camp when not on active campaign, and “always behaving badly” when there was time to fill. Many of their transgressions were in the name of good fun, like the time that men of the 4th Kentucky stole a valuable piece of camp cookery from the 9th, and the latter retaliated by purloining every camp utensil belonging to the other regiment in one masterful night raid.

  Other pranks were not so easily overlooked. Men of Morgan’s command broke into a church, apparently seeking shelter, and Breckinridge ordered them arrested and punished. To protect the citizens of Bowling Green—whose feelings toward all these soldiers in their midst were mixed—Breckinridge canceled all leaves on December 1 and restricted the entire command to the camps. Yet there were still a few, men who learned the magical passwords, who got into the town. There they drank and whored. Not a few of them, like poor George Allen of Hanson’s Company G, came back to camp with gonorrhea.

  On November 8 alone, thirty-eight men of the brigade sat under arrest. For that month there was a daily average of nineteen men in the guardhouse, and it went higher in December. Interestingly, the 2d Kentucky, eldest of the regiments, acted the part of unruly older child by providing the majority of offenders. Indeed, on some days the guardhouse was in fact little more than a bivouac for the 2d Kentucky. In the last two months of 1861, 75 per cent of the men arrested came from Hanson’s command. It is small wonder that “Old Flintlock” made a habit of visiting the guardhouse every day to lecture its inmates on their sins. The Kentucky men took their punishment cheerfully, so long as they did not feel it degrading.

  There were those, of course, who would not stay long enough to be punished. The number reported as absent without leave took a sharp jump in early December, many of them, too, from the 2d Kentucky. Fortunately, most returned, but not all. There were desertions, two in December from the ranks of “Bench-leg,” and another just after the New Year. The 5th Kentucky lost six at least from Bowling Green. Guards apprehended many, but fortunately the war was too young yet to warrant making them examples by execution. The time would come, however.27

  The officers, too, had much to learn, including discipline. Some just could not count, or did not think to. Hodge had to be instructed by Colonel Hunt to keep better track of the details he ordered for police and camp duty, having ordered more in details than the 5th Regiment had in men. Officers lagged in forwarding their reports to brigade headquarters, often embarrassing Breckinridge with his superiors.

  “I think I am under one of the Best Captains in the world,” said a recruit in Lewis’ regiment of his company officer. Yet occasionally they abused the men, and here lay real danger when dealing with Ken-tuckians. Major John R. Throckmorton, cantankerous at any time, gave one man a terrible time when the offender merely remarked on the size of his horse’s lower lip. “What in the hades is that to you?” shouted Throckmorton. “What have you got to do with it? Am I responsible for his lip? Did I make it? Every blamed fool I meet has something to say about this horse’s lip. I believe there are more blamed fools in this army around Bowling Green—especially among the Kentucky troops—than anywhere else in the world.” In response to apologies Throckmorton added, “You’ve got too much lip yourself.” A few minutes later he turned and shouted, “See here, I’ve thought this thing over, and have come to the conclusion that I ought to shoot the next man who alludes to this horse’s lip.”

  Jealous of the dignity of his Kentuckians, Breckinridge would not allow officers to degrade them. When Lieutenant Thomas Steele of Company E, 4th Kentucky, did “wantonly maltreat abuse and oppress” Private Ed Bishop of the 6th Infantry, Breckinridge ordered the officer publicly reprimanded in a general order, and furthermore directed him to apologize to Bishop’s colonel. Even more pointed was the episode of an officer who told a private to sweep his tent for him. The private promptly responded that the captain might “go to hell.”

  The officer arrested the soldier immediately and sent him to the guardhouse, thinking nothing more of it. Breckinridge learned of the incident, mounted at once, and rode to the captain’s tent, whipping his horse with his hat in his haste.

  “Sir,” said the breathless general, “I understand you have ordered a private to sweep about your tent, and he has refused, and you sent him to the guardhouse.”

  “I did, sir.”

  “I want you to understand that when a private refuses to voluntarily sweep out my tent I will do it myself. They are not menials in [this] brigade. They are all gentlemen, and you have no right to command one of them to do a menial service. Now you go to the guardhouse and apologize to the soldier you have insulted and sweep about your own tent, or you will take his place.”

  It is small wonder that the men of the 1st Kentucky Brigade came to form such an unusual attachment for this general. Not only would he protect them from harm without, but also from bullying within.28

  The advancing winter only added to the boredom of garrison life in and around Bowling Green. “The severity of the winter,” wrote a Mississippian, “exceeded anything I had ever known.” The snow lay on the ground for weeks, freezing everything. Icy winds raged through the camps. Orders from brigade headquarters prohibited using farmers’ fence rails for firewood but, as Johnny Green sa
id, “we were actually freezing & had no axes to cut fire wood.” Colonel Hunt, realizing the plight of his men, gave them a way around the prohibition by telling them they must only refrain from burning “whole rails.” Soon there were roaring fires made from pieces of rails. “The truth is,” wrote Green, “it was but little time before every rail in that fence had been converted into pieces.”

  The men built rude fireplaces of sod in their tents, used more “pieces” of rails and other lumber to floor them, and found straw to soften their beds. “It is wonderful how comfortable we made ourselves,” Green recalled. There were a few camp entertainments. The 4th Kentucky had the beginnings of a regimental band, and in the 2d, Private Bob Chapman, a Pennsylvanian by birth, entertained the men with his violin. “Shoot-the-cat,” they called him. There were political diversions here, as well. The Provisional Government of Kentucky having formed at Russellville on November 20, the camps at Bowling Green swarmed with minor politicians. Many of them enlisted in the brigade immediately after signing their so-called ordinance of secession. Their new “governor,” Breckinridge’s cousin by marriage, George W. Johnson, established himself in the town both to conduct state affairs with Richmond and to help look after the interests of the 1st Kentucky Brigade. Here and there a wife, like Mrs. Phil Lee, made her way to Bowling Green to look after a husband. Company B of the 2d Kentucky did not have wives to entertain them, but they did have a mascot dog, Frank. And there was always discussion of events in the North, particularly federal debate on raising Negro soldiers. Should that happen, decided men of the 6th Kentucky, then they were “in favor of the South hoisting the black flag,” neither asking nor giving quarter, and shooting anyone found advocating the use of black troops.

  On celebratory occasions a little whisky was permitted, though it was always more plentiful in the camps of regiments from other states. Reuben Davis of Mississippi kept a full barrel of “Kentucky shuck,” obtained chiefly as a medicinal for his men with measles. Yet every few days Breckinridge himself stopped by Davis’ tent for a taste. “He was a goodly sight,” wrote Davis, “sitting on stool or table, with a glass of old shuck in his hand, and that grand voice of his vibrating through the tent like a deep-toned bell.” The Kentuckian asked how Davis came by such a luxury, and Davis said it was because General Johnston, commanding the Army, favored his Mississippians and relied on their antiquated shotguns to save his Army when danger came. Breckinridge laughed and said Johnston surely was right. “Men armed with those guns ought to have everything possible to support their spirits, even genuine old Kentucky shuck.” Whenever Breckinridge left Davis he usually produced a small demijohn “artfully concealed somewhere,” and as the Kentuckian put it, “loaded up for emergencies.” Davis always remembered those good days. “I fancy I can see him laughing and merry,” he wrote of the Kentuckian. “He was not only a most elegant gentleman, but genial and full of spirit, and ready to meet the worst of days with a sort of gay courage that sat well upon his stalwart manhood.”29

  Finally Christmas came. Breckinridge had challenged the commander of the 1st Missouri Infantry to drill against the 2d Kentucky on Christmas Eve but, learning how good the Missourians were, he wisely backed out. It was just as well. This was the first Christmas of the war, the first away from home. The men of the brigade needed the time to themselves. It was a cold Christmas, but they ate well. Johnny Green’s mess bought a turkey and he made biscuits. “We thought we had a sumptuous dinner for soldiers,” he wrote. Others made eggnog and cakes and bought pies. Shipments of chickens, eggs, apples, butter, bread, cakes, hams, and turkeys arrived from Kentucky to enliven the holiday.

  That evening an anonymous soldier of the 4th Kentucky wrote in the clothing account book of Company C his verdict on the day, and the war: “Dec 25th 1861, The birth day of Christ our redeemer finds our country Struggling in the holy cause of liberty with the vile horde of Robbers & assasins sent to burn and destroy by their master Abraham Lincoln who occupies the chair at Washington.” The 1st Kentucky Brigade was trained now, armed in a fashion, and ably led. The coming New Year would show them the test. The writer and all his fellow Kentuckians would have their chance to fight in “the holy cause of liberty.” How they would stand in battle, and where they would be on Christmas next, none had the prescience to foretell.30

  FOUR

  “The War Is About Over for Us”

  COLONEL JOSEPH H. LEWIS of the 6th Kentucky Infantry already knew that his men would stand and fight. At least, fourteen of them would. As far back as October 10, 1861, his men shed first blood in Kentucky when the stalwart fourteen, guarding the home of a southern sympathizer in Barren County, fired on a party of Federals, killing one and wounding several more. Thereafter nearly two months passed before another Kentuckian fired his rifle in anger. Breckinridge’s brigade divided its time between training in Bowling Green and occupying Russellville, the Green River crossing, and parts in between.

  While “Old Joe” Lewis inflicted the first casualties, it was “Uncle Tom” Hunt’s 5th Kentucky that felt the first pain of battle, modest though it was. Hunt occupied Russellville early in November, and on December 1 retired to Bowling Green, leaving a detail of thirteen behind to guard the crossing of the Louisville & Memphis Railroad at Whippoorwill Bridge. On December 5 a body of about ninety Home Guards approached, intent upon destroying the bridge. Its defenders made a gallant stand until surrounded, when they surrendered, but not before George Campbell and Hatch Jupin were killed, and Joe Wilson severely wounded. Ironically, theirs was the only blood that the Kentucky Brigade would ever shed on its native soil. The remaining Kentuckians were taken as prisoners, not to be released for nearly a year.1

  Since the episode at Whippoorwill Creek, the only action seen by the Kentuckians was an occasional march to meet reported enemies who did not materialize. Nothing could be more debilitating to their martial ardor, particularly when this winter marching was so exhausting and cold. On December 21 Breckinridge received a report that an enemy column was actually moving toward Bowling Green. He was ordered to move the next day to meet it. Early on December 22 the regiments formed to march twenty-five miles east toward Skeggs Creek. The men hoped this was to be the start of a campaign to move on Louisville and liberate the state, and cheer after cheer rang from their icy breath. They struck their tents and started the march, soon realizing that they were not on their way to Louisville. The mood turned more gloomy when the muddy road started clinging to their feet and the ice-cold rain that fell all day soaked their uniforms. By afternoon the rain froze as it fell, and a north wind drove the sleet into their faces. Hunt, riding at the head of the 5th Kentucky, looked back constantly to see his men shivering in the cold, often wading through swollen creeks only to have their soaked trousers freeze stiff around their legs. Finally he dismounted from Old Pomp, threw the bridle over his arm, and henceforward marched on foot through the mud and streams with his men. They made only ten miles that day, bivouacking at a place called Merry Oaks. There was little merriment. “We pitched our tents that night over the grass which was covered with sleet,” wrote Gervis Grainger of the 6th Kentucky. The next morning they awoke to find the ground frozen and a layer of snow over their camp. Then came word that the enemy was not approaching after all. There was nothing to do but return whence they came. Along the way they passed the debris of their march of the day before. Some men, for whom this had been the first real trek of the war, burdened themselves with up to fifty pounds and more of food and clothing, extra shoes, even slippers. “We also carried knives from eighteen to twenty inches long,” said Grainger, “with which we expected to hack the Yankees up on sight.” Now they left much of this excess by the roadside in lightening their heavy loads. “A Soldier has a hard road to travel,” complained Private Ferguson. Ever after the Kentuckians spoke with sobriety of the “Merry Oaks march.” It was one of the “hard times” they would as soon forget.2

  If the Kentuckians themselves enjoyed relative inactivity, however, other events
taking place in Kentucky and Tennessee soon changed that. General Albert S. Johnston had established a defensive line that ran from Cumberland Gap at the southeast corner of the state, through Bowling Green, to Columbus on the Mississippi. On January 19, 1862, at Logan’s Cross Roads eighty miles east of Bowling Green, a small federal army defeated Confederate defenders led by Brigadier General George B. Crittenden—son of the senator—and thus pierced the right of Johnston’s line. A few days later a Union army led by U. S. Grant joined with gunboats in moving against Fort Henry on the Tennessee River just a few miles south of the Kentucky line. Midway between Columbus and Bowling Green, this fort and neighboring Fort Donelson on the Cumberland River blocked two waterways that provided a virtual highway into the heart of Confederate Tennessee. Lloyd Tilghman commanded at Fort Henry. Surrounded, he had no choice but to surrender the fort on February 6. The very next day Grant moved on Fort Donelson. Should that bastion fall, then Johnston’s center at Bowling Green would be dangerously exposed and he would have no choice but to abandon it, and Kentucky.

  On January 20 Johnston ordered 8,000 men from Bowling Green to be sent under Brigadier General John B. Floyd to Clarksville, Tennessee, within supporting distance of Donelson. Floyd took his own brigade and, to fill out the required strength, Buckner added to it the 2d Kentucky and Rice Grave’s battery. Floyd left the Kentuckians at Russellville until February 8 when, with Fort Henry gone, he had to bring every available man to Donelson. That day Buckner put Hanson and Graves on trains and sent them south to Clarksville, while in Bowling Green those left behind grumbled. “Buckner’s pets,” the other Kentuckians called Hanson’s men. “Our regiment envied the Second,” wrote a man of the 4th Kentucky, “and thought General Buckner displayed a great deal of partiality in selecting it.” Buckner himself accompanied the trains to Clarksville. There the men boarded a steamer for Dover, Tennessee, remained there until February 10, and then marched into their places in line at Donelson. It would be a long time before their comrades in Bowling Green heard from them again.3