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

by Davis, William C.

  Other changes caught more attention. Old Bob Johnson, after suffering for more than a year with dysentery, offered his resignation on September 30, 1863. Seeing “no prospect of relief” from his malady, he chose to resign “to make way for the promotion of Gallant officers now on duty.” As a result, Jim Moss took command of the old 2d Kentucky permanently, winning with it his colonelcy.3

  But one change that every Orphan met with gladness occurred on November 3, for on that day the 41st Alabama was transferred out of the brigade and into another. In its place Bragg assigned Hiram Hawkins’ 5th Kentucky. After nearly two years of separation the “sang diggers” rejoined their comrades of Camp Boone. “Our brigade is now composed entirely of Kentuckians,” wrote a well-pleased Johnny Jackman. Hawkins and his Orphans had seen a much different sort of war than their fellow Kentuckians. Following organization in Tennessee, it went to the eastern part of Kentucky and joined in General Humphrey Marshall’s operations there and in eastern Tennessee. It was inglorious duty, with only little battles at places like Middle Creek, Kentucky, and Princeton, Virginia. At the latter place the 5th Kentucky did play the major role in the Confederate victory, but larger events in the East so overshadowed the affair that it was quickly forgotten. Worse so far as Hawkins was concerned was what happened when “Cerro Gordo” Williams won promotion to brigadier. Instead of moving up a grade to lieutenant colonel, Hiram Hawkins, as next in line, saw some obscure captain named Caldwell given the rank instead. That hurt. “I was among the first to raise the standard of rebellion in eastern Ky,” Hawkins complained to the War Department, and he had never taken a leave. Yet now the position he should rightfully assume went to a man not even a member of the 5th Kentucky nor of the brigade to which it belonged. Indeed, no one had ever heard of him. Hawkins hoped there had been a mistake made. “But for these convictions I should have retired in disgust at the gross and unheard of injustice.” He advised Richmond to take care of the situation, or it would have to do without the services of Hiram Hawkins. “I cannot and will not remain in the service under conditions so dishonorable to myself.” It was, he said, simply too much to be thus “overslaughed.” The War Department did err, and corrected the mistake. Lieutenant Colonel Hiram Hawkins stayed with the regiment.

  The 5th Kentucky reorganized in November 1862, the twelve months’ men mustering out or re-enlisting for three years or the war. Now, when they elected their officers, Hawkins was made colonel, ambition rewarded once more. Still there was no glory duty for these Orphans until July 1863, when Richmond transferred them to Knoxville and into a brigade commanded by that father figure who so often appeared momentarily to look after his Orphans, Simon Buckner. With Buckner the 5th Kentucky joined Bragg for the Battle of Chickamauga and its first reunion with the other Kentucky regiments, and now, in a move that seemed only natural, it took its place in the 1st Kentucky Brigade. Hereafter for the remainder of the war, the brigade organization would remain as it now stood at Tyner’s Station: the 2d, 4th, 5th, 6th, and 9th Kentucky infantries, and Cobb’s battery.4

  A few other minor internal changes took place, and familiar faces of men once captured or wounded reappeared. One of the most welcome was that of Ed Porter Thompson. Taken prisoner after his wounding at Stones River, he spent several months in prison before being taken to City Point, Virginia, for exchange the following spring. Then, on May 23, 1863, he and thirty-five other prisoners were forced to draw lots to select eighteen who would be shot in retaliation for Confederate execution of a like number of federal prisoners. Thompson selected a fortunate straw, and joined those who went ahead with their exchange. Now, though disabled for field duty, he voluntarily rejoined his old comrades in the 6th Kentucky and took a position as captain in the Quartermaster’s Department.

  Of course, the Orphans resumed their sinful ways. The day after moving to Tyner’s Station Lewis felt the mortification of seeing several of his men walking under guard after arrest for theft and pillaging in the neighborhood. He had to send a survey party into the country to estimate the damage done by the Orphans and find people who could identify the guilty men. To the entire brigade he declared, “The fair name of this brigade won by so much fortitude under privation, hardship and suffering, and so much bravery on the battlefield shall not be sacrificed by vandalism.” That did not sit very well with a number of the boys. “He is a brave, kind man,” Green wrote of Lewis, “but we feel that no one can fill our Ben Hardin Helm’s place.” That would change.

  Indeed, some of the Orphans even unknowingly stole from themselves. Part of their duty at Tyner’s Station was to act as guard over quartermaster and commissary supplies stored there. Since rations formed a large part of the material they were to oversee, the Orphans made no objection to the otherwise ignoble guard duty. What did aggravate them, however, was seeing a large number of packages arrive for some Alabama troops who shared the guard duty with them. As a result, quite a few boxes that came under the eye of a Kentuckian before it reached its intended recipient, never went any farther. One evening a man of the 41st Alabama—this prior to its removal from the brigade—approached some friends in the 4th Kentucky and told them he had found an unclaimed box and removed its address label in the dark. If they would help him carry it away, they could share in the contents. Off they went and carried the treasure chest into the woods for the division of booty. It proved rich—hams, pickles, preserves, peanuts, socks, shoes, underwear, and a complete suit of “butternut” gray. Eagerly the men grabbed their spoils, then melted into the night.

  After breakfast the next morning the Alabama “Yellowhammer” looked rather down at the jowls and called together his partners in the night’s foray. It seems there were letters in the box and, since it came from Alabama, he took them as part of his share, hoping for news from his home state. Not until light that morning could he read them. Imagine his surprise to discover them addressed to him. He had led an expedition to steal his own box of goodies, and now begged the Orphans to return their gains. They politely declined, leaving one sad Yellowhammer to ponder the tricks of fortune. The story went the rounds of the brigade that that very next night the Alabamian led another raid on the station to recoup his loss, and found an even bigger box but, upon getting it to safety and opening it, found that it contained the body of a soldier being sent home for burial. The whole episode so appealed to the Orphans that in later years several versions of the midnight theft appeared, with men of the 2d and 9th Kentucky claiming it was their box that was looted, not the Alabamian’s.5

  The rest of their time the Orphans spent drilling for an hour twice daily, serving their details, and occasionally picketing the front to feel the enemy. A bright spot was the discovery that now at last they could write home with some assurance that letters would be received, thanks to the establishment of a more efficient North—South delivery by flag of truce. Winstead was elated. “You must not be astonished at the frequent receipt of letters from me since I have learned the source of communication,” he wrote Mollie. The two Johnnies, Jackman and Green, tore down an old outhouse and began building for themselves a “house” from the boards, complete with fireplace. The work occupied several days, and when done Jackman lay contentedly by his fireside reading a volume of Robert Burns. Thomas Owens of the 4th Kentucky, Company I, had surely the most unusual experience of all, though. Sent to parlay with the Federals on some minor business, he found his own brother in the enemy Army. Sergeant Owens’ brother also happened to be a sergeant. His regiment was the 4th Kentucky, Company I, United States Army!6

  The lull did not last any longer than it took the Union high command to replace Rosecrans with that old nemesis of the Orphans, U. S. Grant. He broke the blockade on supply, and by late November had the federal Army ready to begin its breakout from Chattanooga. As a result, on the evening of November 23 orders came directing the 6th Kentucky to stay at Tyner’s Station, while the rest of the brigade proceeded to Missionary Ridge. They got there well after dark and went into position just to the
right of Breckinridge’s headquarters. D. H. Hill had been relieved of his command, and now Breckinridge led his corps, such as it was. His men occupied the left half of the Confederate line on Missionary Ridge, yet were so thinly spread that a space of five or six feet separated one man from another. Their hope and confidence lay in the ruggedly steep slope up which the Federals would have to attack.

  Jackman and Green saw thousands of campfires when they crested the ridge. “A belt of fires encircled Chattanooga,” said Jackman. He and Green, with no blankets, huddled on another grass bed under their overcoats and tried to sleep as a light rain turned into snow. It did not work, so they sat nodding around a fire instead. With the dawn the Orphans began fortifying their position, though their main interest came in looking to their left, to where the Federals successfully assaulted Bragg’s left flank on Lookout Mountain. “The flash of the guns made a beautiful sight,” said Green, “but it saddened us to see the yankees had gotten so high up the mountain side.” The Orphans themselves were not engaged, but early the next morning, at 2 A.M., Bragg sent orders for them to rise and move to the far right of his line where he expected the major attack in the morning. Leaving Cobb’s guns behind, they marched along the top of the ridge. “A deep silence prevailed,” said Jackman, “the only noise being the tramp of the soldiers as the column moved steadily on.” The moon went into total eclipse.

  Dawn found them placed in reserve for Cleburne’s division near Tunnel Hill. It was a clear, frosty morning, bright in the late-autumn sun. The Orphans heard hundreds of axes ringing in the crisp air as Cleburne’s veterans felled trees for defenses. The Kentuckians themselves had little to do, however, except bring one panicked green regiment of Georgians back to the main line after the sound of guns frightened them. Then Cleburne brought the 9th Kentucky into his front to fill a gap. At 10 A.M. the Federals commanded by William T. Sherman attacked Cleburne. The Orphans would see more of Sherman in the days ahead, but for now they gave him a volley or two and in twenty minutes’ fighting repulsed the attack. The 9th Kentucky suffered but three casualties. And that was the only fighting done by men of the Kentucky brigade in the entire day.

  Elsewhere disaster befell Bragg. When the federal Army moved out of its lines and assaulted Missionary Ridge, a panic previously unknown seized the Confederates all along the line. With only brief resistance, they turned and ran in the face of this magnificent Army in blue. Breckinridge was nearly killed trying to hold his corps on the ridge, and lost his son Cabell and Major Wilson as prisoners. In the center were Cobb’s guns, two of them bestowed with the pet names “Lady Buckner” and “Lady Breckinridge.” Cobb, now replacing Graves on Breckinridge’s staff, put Lieutenant Frank Gracey in command of the Orphan battery. When the enemy came up the slope, Gracey battled manfully to defend his guns until nearly surrounded, then sullenly retired long after the infantry supposedly supporting him melted to the rear. The Orphans never entirely forgave those who did not die defending the Kentucky guns. “Where’s our battery?” they said whenever sighting the infantry that abandoned Gracey. “What did you do with our battery?”7

  The Orphans on the right of the line did not know what took place on Missionary Ridge. Indeed, Johnny Green said, “At our part of the line we thought the battle had all gone our way.” At about 7 P.M., however, orders came for them to fall back quietly. As they did, the Kentuckians met with a straggling Confederate who told them of Bragg’s disaster. Breckinridge and General William B. Bate, now commanding the Kentuckian’s old division, managed to rally enough of their commands to provide a rear guard and enable the rest of the Army to withdraw. Bate, too, retired, and Cleburne took his place, the Orphan Brigade still with him. That night, as on so many nights before, the 1st Kentucky was the rearmost command of a retreating Confederate Army. They bivouacked late in the evening near Chickamauga Station with the whole demoralized Army there for them to see. Around a campfire the men of the 6th Kentucky discussed Bragg and his campaigns. One, apparently in an ill-advised attempt to bolster the general’s character, averred that Bragg was at least a member of the Church. “What the devil’s the use of that?” shouted Sergeant Jim Lee. “If Bragg were now safe in heaven, he’d fall back in less than three days for a better position!”

  The next morning the Army had all disappeared toward Dalton, leaving the Orphans to cover the withdrawal. Breckinridge rejoined them now, and remained with them until they, too, reached Dalton, Georgia. The Federals made a show of pursuing, but not much more, only occasionally testing the Kentucky skirmishers. They nearly captured Johnny Jackman, though, when he proved too slow in retiring from a position. He escaped only “by strategy, and fast running.” When he looked back over his shoulder he saw the place he had been blue with the enemy. Running hard behind him came a portly messmate, Tom Berry, burdened with a big sack of hardtack. The Federals yelled after him, “Run, you damned fat Rebel, run!” Berry shouted back to them, “I’ll do it,” and made his escape while the laughing enemy held their fire.

  As darkness fell, the Orphans marched in silence, for they feared the enemy might be close to, and in front of them. Company H of the 9th moved as flankers on the right of the brigade during the night, and after a time came to a junction of two roads. Almost at once they found themselves in the midst of a large body of soldiers, “but in the darkness could not be positive whether friend or foe.” Since no one challenged them, Lieutenant Henry Buchanan kept his company moving, and marched straight through, leaving the mystery soldiers behind. Only then did he tell the men they had just passed a regiment or so of the enemy.

  They reached Ringgold late that night and, pressed by the enemy, marched on to Dalton on November 28. The 9th Kentucky nearly lost Caldwell that last day. The Orphans laid a trap for the enemy skirmishers at one point, but the firing frightened the colonel’s horse. With his wounded arm he could barely manage as it was, but when the horse bolted he had his pistol in his good hand and the reins in the other. The horse raced toward the Federals in the midst of a fire directed at Caldwell. Only within a few yards of some Union skirmishers did Caldwell regain control of his mount. Then he coolly emptied his pistol into a bush concealing some of the enemy, and returned to his regiment.8

  And so the Orphans began another war winter, their third. It would be perhaps the worst for discomfort, for much of their baggage was lost or destroyed in the rout from Missionary Ridge. Indeed, even axes for chopping firewood were in such short supply that Bate rationed them. Yet the usual spirit of the Orphans did not lag. As soon as they reached their winter quarters, Jackman and Green began building another “house.” They used their tent fly—the rest of the tent long gone—and arranged it with a weatherboard wall at the back and sides, and the canvas fly for a roof. “Jack is pretty good at such work,” wrote Green, “if he was not so lazy. At home he was first a carpenter, then a school teacher & now a rather lazy soldier, but a christian gentleman. I have to keep at him though to get him to do any of the dirty & hard work.” Well, that is how Johnny Green told the story to his diary. “Jack” Jackman gave an entirely different version to his. He told it how he helped chop trees for logs when they enlarged their house, and how he rolled up his sleeves and daubed the outside with mud to windproof it. When done, he thought it “quite a comfortable mansion for two to inhabit.” And it served them well that winter. On New Year’s Day he and Green luxuriated in their homey comfort. With a bitter wind raging outside, whistling through the branches of the oak that overhung their house, they sat inside with “a fire kindled on the earthen hearth, its convivial glow lending a perfect air of coziness to the little tenement.”9

  Most of Dalton’s residents departed when the Army came. Consequently the soldiers were left to their own ingenuity to fill the long hours and days of the winter ahead. Those who could wrote letters home now that a more efficient means of getting them to Kentucky was available. They sent words of comfort. “I have been in seven engagements, but the hand of God has protected me in them all.” They expressed
their homesickness. “I sigh for the comforts of bygone days and regret the day I left you.” They told of their camp life, trying where possible to minimize the hardships they suffered. “I have just finished a snug cabin, 10 by 12 feet square. I am well fixed for winter. I wish you could step in and see me getting dinner. I am almost an excellent cook.” They affirmed their hope that “our National difficulties will soon be settled and we will all be permitted to return to our homes,” but declared they would never come home until victorious or beaten. Taking the oath of allegiance to return home was unthinkable. “I can never take an oath to support a Government that I have fought eight Battles against.” And into their letters crept a lurking fear for the safety of their loved ones at home. Kentucky, under the mailed hand of federal occupation, suffered some of the most cruelly inept commanders in the Union Army. Of course, any occupation would be unthinkable, and therefore abominable, to a Kentuckian, but stories of outrages against persons and property by the Union element in the state filtered into the camps at Dalton, and more than one Orphan felt first worry, and then vengeance. “If what I have heard proves to be true when I come to Ky. he may expect trouble with me … I will soon settle with him … I have sworn by the immaculate God that gave me birth that I will avenge every wrong you have sustained in my absence, it matters not to me on whom my vengeance falls.” More than one soldier promised his wife or mother or father that those who wronged them “will not live long … after my return to Ky.” Never was the separation from home more painful for the Orphans, and now with Tennessee entirely lost to the enemy, their longing grew ever greater.