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

by Davis, William C.

  Finally those not stopped by the gully or the enemy bullets reached the federal line, and there for a few brief seconds the Orphans battled with the bluecoats of Brigadier General Charles Walcutt’s brigade. Walcutt himself was a graduate of Kentucky Military Institute, alma mater to more than one of the Orphan officers now facing him. Lewis could not stand the fire and found the attempt hopeless. After only brief fighting, he ordered his now disorganized brigade to retire. As the Kentucky regiments fell back, they left many of their own behind. Walcutt captured three officers and twenty-five men almost at once, and in addition to them he took a mortally wounded Colonel Moss. Now, for the fifth time, the 2d Kentucky was orphaned once more. And, almost as predictable as the dawn, John Mahon was hit again. “As good a soldier as ever shouldered a musket,” his captain said of him. “Was hit with a bullet in every battle.”

  As Lewis rode to the rear observing his broken lines, he saw Father Blemill bending over a wounded man. He lifted his hands in prayer for the dying soldier, and at once an enemy cannon ball carried away the priest’s head. The poor 4th Kentucky just could not keep a preacher. “He was with us such a short time,” said Captain John Weller, “that I never knew his name.”

  By the time the bulk of the brigade reached the relative safety of their own lines, many Orphans remained in that gully some distance in advance. The color bearer of the 6th Kentucky buried the regimental flag in the dirt for the remainder of the day, only resurrecting it after dark when he and Grainger and others silently groped their way to their comrades in the rear. Green, too, returned in safety to his regiment, carrying a wounded man of his regiment with him. All that afternoon and evening after the charge the Federals kept up their shelling of the Confederate line. In the ground between the opposing forces lay all too many wounded and dying Kentuckians, many of them screaming for help in their agony. Finally the sound became too much for some of the Orphans. Johnny Green, John Slusser of the 6th Kentucky, and Tom Young of the 9th leaped over their own works and rushed unarmed onto the field, each running to a wounded man. “The minnie balls were singing in our ears,” said Green, “& raising a cloud of dust about our feet.” Each reached his man and, picking him up, started back for their breastworks. As soon as the Federals saw what the Orphans were about, they stopped firing and raised a cheer, followed by a volley in the air as a salute. The three men made several trips more until all the wounded they could find were in the hospital, the chivalrous bluecoats withholding their fire all the time, and substituting for it their applause.

  That night those who could visited the hospitals to look for wounded friends. Among the dying lay Robert Lindsay, color bearer of Thompson’s 4th Kentucky, a great hole shot in his right chest. In his delirium he whispered to a friend, “We are to be mounted and Captain John [Weller] has promised to get me a horse. If he forgets, won’t you attend to it?” His friend listened in sadness. “I would have promised him a continent.” This night, too, the faithful members of Father Blemill’s little congregation laid him to rest in a shallow grave.14

  The next morning Hardee realized that he could not prevent the enemy from taking the railroad, and began pulling his corps out of Jonesboro while sending the other corps with him back to Atlanta to aid Hood in the evacuation. Hardee ordered Lewis to put the Kentucky brigade aboard cars at the Macon depot, but the Orphans waited there most of the day without further instructions. Then in the afternoon, Bate sent them to the extreme right of the now thin Confederate line and ordered them to dig in and prepare to receive an attack. They must hold on for one more day to give Hood the time he needed for a successful evacuation of Atlanta. Lewis found so much ground to guard that he was forced to place his men in a single line, with each soldier three feet from his neighbor. Not since Missionary Ridge had Confederates been spread so thin. It was a weak position, as Hewitt and others soon discovered and revealed to Hardee. Yet when the general asked if the Orphans could hold their position, Hewitt said they could, though the place was perilous. Hardee gave him two field pieces for support, and some Orphans began intrenching as best they could with a broken ax, an old shovel, and several frying pans.

  They barely started the work when the federal artillery sent its first shells toward them. As the Orphans scurried into their rifle pits, occasional shells rolled in after them. William Steenberger took a bad wound at Dallas and could not use his arms to load a gun, so two comrades loaded for him. And when a shell hopped into his pit, he still managed to pick it up and calmly shove it out again. Another shell, its fuse sputtering as it approached the charge inside, fell beside Johnny Green in his rifle pit. Walker Nash of his regiment had just joined him after filling his canteen, and now coolly poured the water over the fuse until it smothered.

  As the barrage continued, the Federals massed their infantry for the assault, and then came charging out of the woods toward the Kentuckians. The Orphans met them with a sure and steady fire that halted the advance before it reached their rifle pits, but soon the enemy re-formed for another attempt. This proved more successful, and before long the Federals captured most of the brigade on Lewis’ left, though his own men once more repulsed the bluecoats in their front. But now the Yankees came at the Orphans from front and flank, and their third assault could not be stopped. Caldwell wanted to withdraw, but just then came word that reinforcements were on the way and he must hold the works at all hazard.

  The fire was furious, and Kentuckians fell all along the line. Flashes of drama sped before the Orphans’ eyes, forming a montage in their memories even as they fought for their lives. Bill Fourqueran of the 9th Kentucky trying to pull a bullet from his forehead … an enemy rifle poking through the breastwork and firing a shot that killed both Sam Butcher and Jim Adams … a Yankee lying just the other side of the earthwork shouting “Surrender, you dam Rebels” … Booker Reed on the opposite side replying “The H—–I you say” as he shot the bluecoat … Johnny Green arising to look straight into an enemy gun barrel that fired in his face … a mildly injured Green placing his own rifle’s muzzle against his antagonist’s side and blowing “a hole through him big enough to have run my fist through” … the enemy turning the 9th Kentucky’s left flank and ordering its surrender … half of the regiment giving up while Leander Applegate coolly walked away with the unit’s colors … several of the 6th Kentucky falling prisoner to the Federals surrounding them … Gervis Grainger being hurried to the rear by his captors … the colors of the 6th Kentucky captured and the men of the 2d hurriedly tearing theirs to shreds to prevent that humiliation … a shell taking the arm off Ed Hagan and spurting blood over his comrades … and finally the remnant of the brigade jumping from their pits and dashing for safety to the rear. The Battle of Jonesboro was over, and so was the infantry service of the 1st Kentucky Brigade.

  Even their enemies admitted to the fury with which the Orphans contested their ground. “The troops met were confessedly among the best of the rebel army,” wrote the commander of one federal brigade that assaulted Lewis. “They fought with the greatest desperation.” A Yankee officer said a few days later that these Kentuckians were “the most infernal set of devils that the Army of the Cumberland had ever caught or ever encountered.” General Jefferson C. Davis, commanding the division that fought the Orphans for two days at Jonesboro, commended their bravery and personally took an interest in the welfare of the Kentucky wounded and prisoners in his care.

  Most eloquent of all were the losses. They told the story not only of Jonesboro, but also of the tragedy of the whole campaign. The brigade lost 320 out of its 833 engaged in the battle. Since the campaign began back in May, Lewis’ losses totaled 999, his strength reduced by constant fighting from 1,512 to a mere 513 by September 6. On this day the entire complement of the 2d Kentucky numbered 69! Cofer’s 6th Kentucky reported 74 present for duty. With a mere 156 men, Thompson’s 4th was the largest regiment in the brigade. Three years before, the 2d Kentucky numbered 833. Its remnant now would not have made enough for a company by 1861 st
andards. The whole number of Kentuckians answering roll call on September 6, 1864, were half what the War Department would have required to form a regiment three years before.

  Yet, in the 120 days since the Orphans marched out of Dalton 1,512 strong, their hospitals recorded 1,860 cases of death or wounds, 23 per cent more than there were men in the command. Fewer than 50 men were reported as having passed through the entire campaign unblooded. Yet as quickly as they recovered from their wounds—and often before—the Kentuckians rejoined their fellow Orphans at the front, often only to be wounded again. In years ahead several Social Darwinists in America, seeking examples to establish the natural superiority of American blood, settled upon the performance of the 1st Kentucky Brigade in the Atlanta campaign to prove their claims. “A search into the history of warlike exploits,” wrote one, “has failed to show me any endurance to the worst trials of war surpassing this.” The record of the Orphans, said another, “has never been surpassed.”15

  TWELVE

  “The Blackest Day of Our Lives”

  WILLIAM J. “POLK” STONE of Company H, 4th Kentucky, did not believe that finally the Kentuckians were to be mounted. “Boys,” he said, “I’ll bet the war don’t last three weeks; it is certain to stop now the Orphan Brigade has got a good thing.”1

  There were those in the brigade who thought him right. When the order to proceed to Griffin for mounting was repeated on September 4, many of the men stood first incredulous, then jubilant. “There was great rejoicing when this fact became known,” said Weller. “The trench-stained veterans were wild with delight.” Three days later they left Bate for the last time and tramped down the road to Griffin, then on to Barnesville, where their first lot of horses awaited. “Hopes of seeing home again once more abided on the bronzed features, and the few hearts swelled with unspeakable joy.” Some felt sad to leave their comrades in the other brigades of the Army, and many a veteran lamented seeing the Orphans leave. “Men, I am sorry to part with you,” Hardee told them. “I hate to give you up.”2

  But part with them he did. Even as the Orphans marched, Lewis went immediately to work trying to find them saddles and equipments. He had agents scour the countryside for horses abandoned by Sherman’s cavalry during their frequent raids, and soon put a detail of men from the brigade itself to work making saddles. What he found when the Orphans reached Barnesville was hardly encouraging. Only 200 horses stood ready, “and such horses,” said Weller. He believed they had been abandoned as useless first by Confederate cavalry, then the same by the Federals, used for a while to pull plows, and finally given back to the Army. A fair number of mules mingled with them as well, and many of the men actually preferred these, as they were in better condition than most of the horses.

  Here for over a month Lewis worked to rebuild his shattered brigade and get them horsed. In the month of October 216 saddles were supplied to the brigade, many of them manufactured by the detail of saddlers led by Captain Christian Bosche. “It was remarkable what good texas saddles he turned out,” said a Kentuckian. Bosche even made some fancy saddles for the officers, using saplings and pine planking for the frame, and pigskin for the covering. Yet for all the saddles they supplied, Lewis could get only 88 saddle blankets, and 97 bridles. This insufficiency plagued him for the rest of the war. Many of the Orphans rode bareback.

  Putting the men on the horses was another matter. Some of the tall soldiers drew short horses, their feet almost dragging the ground. Others who never learned to ride, could not, and remained dismounted. Thanks to a special exchange effected with Sherman, many of the prisoners taken at Jonesboro—Johnny Green among them—rejoined Lewis in mid-September. A phenomenon also occurred as soon as word of the brigade’s mounting spread. Slowly men who in some cases had been missing and presumed captured since Shiloh walked into camp and asked for a horse. Many who before deserted the infantry service, decided now that a horse’s back offered the best opportunity of returning to Kentucky. More than once a haggard, seedy soldier walked into camp only to hear old comrades exclaim that they were sure they buried him back in Corinth.

  The poor corps of sharpshooters traded their coveted Kerr rifles now for Enfields, and did so grudgingly, but the prospect of mounted service eased the loss. “It was almost like commencing the war over to start at it on ‘critter back,’ ” said Weller. “As for myself, I felt very uncertain and uncomfortable, perched on a horse.” Training the men to care for their horses proved something of a problem. Johnny Green claimed, “Our boys were so glad to get horses, even poor as these were, that they treated them like they were frail & tender brothers.” In fact, Lewis and the other officers had to warn the men against misusing their animals for fun, and issued an order that any man who abused or neglected his animal would have it taken from him and given to an unmounted soldier.3

  Thanks to the exchange and the numbers of returning wounded and those mysterious dead who now seemingly came back to life, the Orphan Brigade rapidly regained a measure of its strength. By the middle of September it numbered 634, by October 1 it totaled 880, and on the first day of November 1864, Lewis counted 945, this despite the loss of 25 deserters in the past two months, probably men who despaired of ever getting a horse. That problem plagued Lewis to the end. His best efforts to the contrary, he never got horses for about 200 of his brigade. As a result, for much of the remainder of the war there would be in effect two commands, the mounted men led by Lewis, and the dismounted contingent, largely doing guard duty under Wickliffe.4

  Once Lewis had a respectable number of the men on horseback, he took them toward the Chattahoochee for picket duty to the south and west of federal-held Atlanta. Then, under orders from Brigadier General Alfred Iverson, commanding the cavalry division to which the Orphans now belonged, Lewis repaired to Stockbridge, eighteen miles south of Atlanta. Iverson was establishing a picket line on all the routes leading south from the city, and at Stockbridge Lewis was to guard an important bridge against federal advance. He sent Weller and a detachment of the 4th Kentucky several miles in advance, and gave Hawkins orders to take a detail east of Atlanta to harass foraging parties believed to be operating there. On November 15, Sherman began his advance toward the Atlantic, and at once Hawkins found himself cut off from Stockbridge. In attempting to rejoin his command he spent several days in the federal rear grabbing stragglers and gathering information. His own little force increased continually, and when finally he did rejoin Lewis late in September, Iverson ordered him to take the entire 5th Kentucky and picket along a line about twenty miles west of Savannah. Weller, too, was cut off by Sherman’s advance, as well as perhaps by his own inclination to indulge himself. He established his detachment in comfortable quarters and promptly began enjoying the company of a lovely young lady in the vicinity. He visited her every morning at 10 A.M., and found her singing and conversation so enchanting that he frequently did not do his duty of inspecting his vedettes until well after lunch. “Our pleasures were only too brief,” he lamented. One morning while talking with her, Weller received news of Sherman’s advance. He left at once, finding his horse so unmanageable that it nearly took him right into Sherman’s advancing columns until he checked the animal. Shortly Thompson arrived from Stockbridge with the balance of the 4th Kentucky, and after a brief defense the Orphans withdrew only to find more Federals in their rear. Like Hawkins, Thompson and Weller had to follow a circuitous route to rejoin Lewis.5

  By this time, Lewis, too, was in trouble. It was late on November 15 when the Federals approached Stockbridge and he sent his skirmishers forward. Greatly outnumbered, he could only pull back, burning the bridge behind him. The enemy was not so impressed with the Orphans this time, though they overestimated Lewis’ numbers by double. “He yielded it after a very feeble show of resistance,” said the federal general commanding the XV Corps, noting that Lewis kept his troops “at a very discreet distance.” It was a neat bit of bravado for a general who faced less than five hundred Confederate cavalry with three full divisions
of Federals.

  “It was now our duty to hang on the flank of the enemy & annoy him all we could,” said Johnny Green. Lewis fell back to Griffin, then beyond to the Oconee River near Milladgeville. Here “Old Joe” sent Thompson and the 4th Kentucky to guard a railroad bridge over the river not far from Ball’s Ferry. There they met Major General Henry C. Wayne of the Georgia Militia. “He was arrayed in a brilliant uniform, and had his staff about him in fine style,” said Weller. But all the soldiers he had were some boy cadets and convicts from a penitentiary. For two days Thompson helped Wayne hold the bridge before the federal pressure became too forceful for them. Elsewhere on the Oconee Lewis, too, was pressed by the enemy, and he too had to fall back, but not before the gallant Virginius Hutchen, after taking a wound and being billeted in a nearby house, evaded capture for several days in a row when the Federals visited that very house. He finally escaped to rejoin the brigade. Surely there could be no question that this Orphan more than redeemed himself for his little personal mutiny so long before.6

  By early December Lewis and his brigade headquartered near Waynesborough, ninety miles north of Savannah, still picketing roads and bridges along Sherman’s route of advance. “I think, with my brigade in its present disposition, that I can hold the enemy in check for some time,” he reported to Major General Joseph Wheeler, commanding Confederate cavalry in Georgia. But, of course, the enemy was too strong. It was the same story everywhere in Georgia now. Lewis numbered only 590 effectives mounted, and that included a small Georgia regiment briefly operating with him. Then on December 15, 165 of his brigade were called into the defenses of Savannah to help prepare it against Sherman. Even in its depleted condition this almost legendary brigade figured in high Confederate planning. Hood was moving into Tennessee again, toward Nashville, and hoping as always to push into Kentucky to rally that state’s mythical support for the Confederacy. But to do so, he said, “It is very important that the two Kentucky brigades, of Lewis and Williams, should be sent to this army.” They were not sent, of course, and rightly so, yet the southern people—like Hood—somehow believed that their presence would have made a difference. When Hood suffered disastrous defeat in battles at Franklin and Nashville, the Confederate press emphasized that the Orphans had not been in the battle. “Had the Kentucky Brigade been there,” said a Mobile paper, “all would have been safe.”7