It wasn’t long after 6:00 A.M. when a column of armed men—perhaps 400 altogether—marched eastward from Macon, the soldiers new to their job and moving quickly to keep warm, even as light snow swirled around them. They constituted a pair of local defense battalions: one recruited from the workmen of the Cook and Brother Armory in Athens, Georgia; the other drawn from the laborers employed at the Augusta, Georgia, powder works. All were under the command of Major Ferdinand W. C. Cook, an Englishman who also managed the Athens arsenal. Cook was operating according to Lieutenant General Hardee’s instructions by following the Macon-Gordon road alongside the railroad until he and his men could pick up a train to carry them into Augusta. In their wake, spotted across the city’s fairgrounds, the camps for three brigades of Georgia militia were also stirring as these citizen-soldiers prepared to march according to those same orders.
Major General Peter J. Osterhaus and his staff picked their way along the meager Georgia road, the morning ice making passage difficult. Osterhaus was a genuine Prussian officer, having received a military education as a youth in the German state. He emigrated to the United States after picking the wrong side in one of the European revolutions of 1848. Settled comfortably amid the Teutonic community in Saint Louis, Osterhaus went to war as a major in 1861, adding general to that title three years later. He was a serious officer who was enjoying his new command—he was a last-minute replacement to direct the Fifteenth Corps when its regular commander proved unable to return to Atlanta in time for its departure.
Last evening Osterhaus had been instructed by Major General Howard to send his First Division (Brigadier General Charles R. Woods) to block the roads running northeast out of Macon, and, further, to push one of that division’s brigades toward Macon to keep the enemy occupied even as the lumbering wagons completed their journey to Gordon. While Woods’s First Brigade (Colonel Milo Smith) barricaded itself around Mountain Springs Church,* his Second Brigade (Brigadier General Charles C. Walcutt) was picked to advance. Osterhaus decided to tag along.
Walcutt was not a West Pointer, but as a graduate of the Kentucky Military Institute he knew his job. By the time Osterhaus arrived at Walcutt’s headquarters, the brigade’s bivouac had nearly completed its transformation from a tent city into a marching column. In short order the brigade—about 1,500 strong—was en route to Griswoldville, perhaps three miles distant.
Cavalry engagements by their nature are mercurial affairs. Formal lines of battle, established defensive strong points—all are of but slight importance in a fast-moving mounted action. An adept attacker can almost always expect a quick success, but the advantage gained is only momentary. An offensive force tends to lose cohesion as it advances, while the defenders are often falling back toward a reserve or even the main body, which has been fully alerted and is expecting trouble.
The Union pickets scrambling rearward before Wheeler’s morning attack were from the 9th Pennsylvania Cavalry. When Colonel Oliver L. Baldwin of the nearby 5th Kentucky Cavalry rode over to help, he was assured by the 9th’s acting commander, Major Charles A. Appel, that matters were well in hand. Even as Baldwin watched, the Pennsylvanians in reserve mounted a noisy counterattack that drove back the Rebel spearhead.
At 8:00 A.M. a heavy column of Georgia militia tramped eastward from Macon, just as Major Cook’s two battalions had two hours earlier. This force consisted of three brigades of militiamen, two regiments of the Georgia State Line, and a four-gun battery of the 14th Georgia Light Artillery. Town residents were grateful for the protection these men had provided for the city, but were equally glad to see them go. Facing a cold night and no supplies, the soldiers had helped themselves to whatever was handy. “All the fire we could get was by tearing up stair steps so you can judge what a nice time we had,” confessed a militiaman.
Major General Gustavus W. Smith, a Kentuckian who graduated from West Point, was in overall command of these troops, but not with the column. Smith was a nervous man who, earlier in the war, had been physically prostrated by what doctors diagnosed as mental excitement. Ignored for further promotion by Jefferson Davis, he had found a home in Georgia, where a bad mark from the Confederate president was considered by some in authority to be a good thing.
Smith had commanded Georgia’s state troops during the Atlanta Campaign, where, if they weren’t manning trenches, they were digging them. He was the kind of officer who preferred administration to the rough-and-tumble of field operations. Smith opted to remain behind in Macon to complete his paperwork this day, considering the movement as merely a troop transfer operation. Responsibility for the forces departing the city devolved to the senior militia officer present, Brigadier General Pleasant J. Philips.*
A onetime banker and a military veteran courtesy of brief service in Virginia in 1862, Philips owed his seniority to the time spent in the militia. This put him over several other brigadiers in his ranks who had actually seen more combat. Smith’s orders to Philips were “to halt before reaching Griswoldville and wait for further orders.” There were no cheering crowds or official fanfares to mark the departure of the chilled citizen-soldiers. Philips estimated his marching time to Griswoldville to be about four hours.
The counterattack by the 9th Pennsylvania Cavalry at Griswoldville was short-lived. Hardly had Colonel Baldwin of the supporting 5th Kentucky Cavalry been assured that his help wasn’t needed when the officer observed “fugitives…dashing down the road and word was brought me that the Ninth [Pennsylvania] was being driven.” A Keystone State trooper, who termed this action “severe skirmishing,” stated that the “9th lost, in a short time, five killed, twenty-one wounded and forty-two missing.” Colonel Baldwin ordered a battalion from his regiment into line across the road “for the double purpose of reassuring the men of the Ninth and of charging the enemy [should he reach that point].”
Richard Taylor enjoyed his breakfast with Howell Cobb, who was a practiced conversationalist with stories reaching back to the administration of James Buchanan, whom he served as secretary of the treasury. As they were eating, an aide brought in the morning intelligence reports, indicating that the Yankee columns were turning to the east, away from Macon. “Cobb was delighted,” Taylor recounted. “He pronounced me to be the wisest of generals.” Another aide brought less pleasant news: Governor Brown was in town and wanted to meet the pair right away. “Cobb remarked that it was awkward,” Taylor recalled, “for Governor Brown was the only man in Georgia to whom he did not speak.” Nevertheless, the urgency of the moment overrode personal concerns, so Cobb agreed to see the governor.
The infantry column of Walcutt’s brigade, accompanied by Major General Osterhaus, had proceeded about a mile on its diversionary mission when the leading elements reached the 5th Kentucky Cavalry’s defensive line, strung across the road. Sizing up the situation, Osterhaus did not hesitate. “General Walcutt was ordered at once to relieve the cavalry, and the advance was sounded,” he later reported. Skirmishers hustled forward from the 97th Indiana and 103rd Illinois, backed by the 46th Ohio. Said one of the Hoosiers: “Found Rebel Cav’y at once.”
The Macon military elite was now gathered around Richard Taylor. In addition to Howell Cobb and Governor Brown, there were Brigadier General Robert Toombs, advising Brown, and Major General Smith. Taylor knew that Toombs and Smith had seen service with the regular Confederate army. Following the introductions, the group began to review the current situation.
Smith indicated that per Hardee’s last instructions before departing for Savannah, the bulk of the militia was heading “east toward Savannah, taking the direct route along the railway.” Taylor blanched. Looking at the same data that Hardee had considered, he did not conclude that the enemy had sheared off to the northeast. Taylor saw no reason why Sherman would not keep a sizable portion of his force on the railroad. “I told the Governor that his men would be captured unless they were called back at once,” Taylor related.
Brown looked over to Major General Smith, who got the message and h
urried from the room.* Able administrator that he was, Smith went to his headquarters to draft the necessary instructions, which he would then send by courier to Brigadier General Philips. As Smith remembered the new orders, Philips “was instructed not to engage the enemy, but, if pressed, to fall back to the fortifications of East Macon.” In actuality, his orders were not all that clear-cut.
Faced with the greater numbers and heavier firepower of a full infantry brigade, Major General Wheeler’s cavalry gave ground before the advance of Walcutt’s men. As one of the Rebel troopers termed the yin-and-yang of this encounter: “We drove back their cavalry but soon the infantry was deployed & advanced against us & we were forced back.” “We…drove them back through the timber and across an old farm, through another skirt of timber and through the little town of Griswoldville,” recollected an Illinoisan on the firing line. Once the village had been cleared, a picket line was established on its western outskirts, allowing the skirmishers to take a breather, while the bulk of Walcutt’s command held position to the east just short of the place.
Recognizing that his horsemen had done all that could be done, and that tackling a full Yankee infantry brigade was not a good idea, Major General Wheeler faced a decision. At 8:15 A.M., he sent a message off to Macon, where he believed that Lieutenant General Hardee still commanded: “After finding all the roads leading to Milledgeville occupied by the enemy I wrote you last evening asking if I should move towards Oconee bridge. I have not yet heard from you but have started on my command in that direction and shall move on myself in a very short time. I wait a few minutes to see if any dispatches from you may come.”
When none arrived, Wheeler rode off southward, effectively removing his cavalry force from the area. His goal was now to get his brigades around in front of Sherman to help defend Augusta. Wheeler was acting impulsively, but since his troopers weren’t tied into any region-wise command structure, he was largely free to operate on his own.
Before they all vacated the area, a few of his troopers encountered Major Cook, leading the two local defense battalions, in time to warm him of the trouble waiting ahead in Griswoldville. Immediately halting his march, Cook put his men into a line of battle. Fortunately, the Yankees weren’t showing any aggressive signs. Cook knew that only an hour or two behind him was Brigadier General Philips with a lot more men, so after sending a courier to Macon with a situation report, he settled down to wait.
Major General Osterhaus was a decisive but prudent man. Once he learned that Wheeler’s troopers had been brushed away from Griswoldville, he decided that the object of his mission had been accomplished. Furthermore, there was no purpose in keeping Walcutt’s men exposed to hit-and-run attacks from the always unpredictable Rebel cavalry. He remembered that earlier they had crossed what he later called “an open prairie,” about a mile and a half east of the Griswoldville crossroads. It was a good place to post a brigade—not only did it block the main wagon road and the railroad, it had a slight rise on its eastern side that offered a fine field of fire, with rough or swampy ground off either end to help anchor the flanks. Osterhaus gave orders for Walcutt to pull his brigade back to the timber’s edge and dig in. Then, satisfied that all proper arrangements had been made, the division commander rode off to Gordon to report in person to Major General Howard. Behind him, Walcutt’s men reversed course, the skirmishers falling back through the town to set up a new screen in the woods on its eastern outskirts.
Riding in advance of his column of militia and state troops, Brigadier General Pleasant J. Philips came up to Major Cook’s deployed battalions “at 12 or 1 o’clock within about one mile of Griswolville.” Philips learned for the first time that the road forward was not clear, as advertised back in Macon, but blocked by enemy troops. From some of the cavalrymen still hanging around Philips got an estimate of Federal strength at “800 to 1,200 strong.”
Not wanting to be caught in marching formation by any sudden attack, the militia brigadier ordered his columns into line of battle. This took the better part of an hour, and when it was completed Philips instructed Lieutenant Colonel Beverly D. Evans, commanding two regiments of the Georgia State Line, to push a skirmish line through Griswoldville. Evans did as ordered, finding, to Philips’s great relief, that the Yankees were gone. With no cavalry on hand to advise otherwise, Philips concluded that the route to Gordon was open once more.
The Confederate military force now holding station just west of Griswoldville was a composite division whose constituent parts were emblematic of the different phases of Governor Brown’s manipulation of the state’s military manpower. Three brigades’ worth were Georgia militia, their ranks containing white males between sixteen and sixty years old not in Confederate service.* Called to serve a term defined by the current emergency, they could be only appended to regular Confederate forces on a temporary basis. (In this capacity, several units had operated with Hood during the latter phase of Sherman’s Atlanta Campaign.) Another segment of the provisional force were two regiments designated as the Georgia State Line. These men were virtual regulars, enlisted for the war’s duration. Their allegiance, however, was to the state of Georgia. Then there were the two local defense battalions, whose membership came from men exempt from the Confederate draft because of their war industry employment. The cannoneers were the real combat professionals, their four smooth-bore Napoleon cannon having seen active field service in Tennessee and Virginia.
Although Brigadier General Philips had authority over the militia and State Line, the local defense battalions reported to another chain of command, which soon created a problem. Once Griswoldville had been swept clear, Philips was informed by Major Cook that his orders (direct from Lieutenant General Hardee) were to proceed along the tracks to pick up transportation to Augusta, which he intended to do. Lacking any plan of his own, Philips agreed to move everyone through the town. They would march together as far as Griswoldville’s east side, where he would halt to seek fresh instructions from Macon.
The slight ridge along which Walcutt’s brigade deployed was bisected by a road stretching east to Mountain Springs Church. Walcutt had used the passageway to split his brigade, placing three regiments south of it (left to right: 46th Ohio, 100th Indiana, 40th Illinois) and three on the north side (left to right: 6th Iowa, 103rd Illinois, 97th Indiana).* A two-gun section from the 1st Michigan Light Artillery, Battery B (Captain Albert F. R. Arndt commanding a pair of smooth-bore Napoleons), was posted along the lane, tucked into a hastily constructed lunette. Walcutt established his headquarters in an abandoned farmhouse located just north of the cannon. Although owned by Samuel Griswold, the property was known locally as the Duncan farm after a previous resident.
Some Union skirmishers spooked by Philips’s advance scooted out of the far woods to scamper across the broad open field to where Walcutt’s brigade was resting. Major General Osterhaus’s injunction to erect defensive works had been halfheartedly implemented at best. Word that a sizable body of Rebel infantry was approaching Griswoldville provided much-needed motivation. “We gathered rails, logs and anything we could get for protection,” recalled an Iowan. “We were getting dinner, not dreaming of a fight,” seconded an Illinoisan.
The skirmishing gunfire crescendoed in the timber; after a few minutes the field was abruptly dotted with scurrying, hunching figures as the rest of the Federal skirmishers broke cover to skitter toward the Duncan Farm ridge. Now the barricade-building got going in earnest. Said a private in the 103rd Illinois: “We used everything that would check a ball.”
The passage of the Georgia state troops through Griswoldville presented the men with disquieting images of the shape of things to come. At its peak of operation, the neat village was something of a showcase for the South’s future. Beside the cotton gin manufacturing plant converted to revolver production, the town had boasted brick, soap, and candle factories, a saw-and gristmill, and various shops and quarters for white and black workers. Of the forty-odd structures, now only the two-story
wood-frame Griswold mansion and a few other dwellings remained intact. All the others were burned or wrecked to a significant degree. It was a sobering vision of what might happen to Georgians’ homes if the Yankee marauders were allowed to operate unchallenged.
There was gunfire near the head of his column, causing Brigadier General Philips to ride forward to meet once more with Major Cook, who informed him that his men had bumped into another line of Yankee skirmishers. These too had been easily driven, chased through the woods across a large fallow field into what looked like a defensive position. The officers and their staffs eased up to the timber’s edge, where Cook pointed off to the east. Philips saw, as he later reported, “the enemy posted on the opposite eminence in line of battle behind some temporary intrenchments and fortifications.” The militia brigadier decided to bring his command up in battle formation. Counting everyone—militia, State Line, local defense units, and artillery—he had 2,300 to 2,400 men on hand.
Major Cook’s battalions of local defense troops, at the head of the column, formed the right flank. In the center Philips put his steadiest infantry, the two Georgia State Line regiments. A pair of militia brigades made up the left flank, with a third held in reserve. The four-gun battery (Captain Ruel W. Anderson in charge of 130 men, with Lieutenant Henry Greaves handling the cannon) was sent to “an eligible site on the railroad on the north side.” Almost immediately after getting into position, the veteran gunners began shelling some Yankee cannon they could see on the far side of the fallow field, where the road reentered the woods.
Southern Storm: Sherman's March to the Sea Page 23
