Southern Storm: Sherman's March to the Sea

by Noah Andre Trudeau

  Caught in the ebb and flow of these cavalry actions was Bellevue plantation, home of Judge John Wright Carswell and his wife, Sarah Ann. A brief skirmish around the house between Yankee and Rebel troopers shattered some windows and left a bullet crease in the hand-carved mantel in the parlor. The Confederates were driven off, giving the Federals a brief window of opportunity to forage the farmstead. Several tied their animals to Sarah Ann’s beloved rosebush, which stretched along the side of the main house. While the raucous Union men carried out their searches, the horses, growing restless, increasingly pulled at the bush. Knowing that he could not stop the depredations, the judge determined to do something to protect what his wife held dear. He went outside, quietly untied the reins, and held the horses in place until the invaders finally took their leave. From that time on, the living token that he preserved for his wife became known as Sherman’s rosebush.

  Once the head of Kilpatrick’s column reached a crossroads about thirteen miles south of Waynesboro,* it turned west toward Buckhead Church, near where a bridge carried traffic across Buckhead Creek. Here the 5th Ohio Cavalry and 10th Wisconsin Battery were detailed to provide security until the entire column had cleared the choke point. Trooper Jacob A. Gilberg of Company D was among those assigned to hold it. Recollecting events afterward, he wrote that the bridge planks were wet and would not burn, so the cavalrymen loosened the flooring but left everything in place until the last minute. “As company after company passed over the bridge we could see evidences of the struggle in which they had been engaged,” Gilberg wrote. “A Colonel came riding by, and in a loud voice exclaimed: ‘Any one who says the First Brigade is demoralized is a———liar!’”

  The firecracker sounds of the stern chase drew closer and closer. (In one of those free-for-all melees, Wheeler’s chief of staff, Brigadier General Felix H. Robertson, was shot in the arm but still managed to kill his assailant with a sword blow to the head.)* Finally, a weary squad clattered over the bridge. “Is this the rear guard?” they were asked. Said one of them: “Yes, we are the last, and the Johnnies will be on you in a moment.” The Ohio boys scrambled onto the span to begin flipping the loosened floorboards into the water, until only the stringers remained. “Company D, fall back!” barked an officer, while the Wisconsin gunners pumped some shells into the fringing woods on the other bank to cover them.

  Kilpatrick decided to make a stand about three miles west of Buckhead Church, on the grounds of a plantation owned by a family named Reynolds. To a squad of 8th Indiana cavalrymen he said, “Boys, make you some coffee, we are not going away from here until after supper.” As the general later reported, “I…took up a strong position and constructed a long line of barricades, with my flanks thrown well to the rear.” Not mentioned was that Kilpatrick, according to Indiana trooper Fallis, “put about 100 negroes to work” building it.

  More information was provided by a member of the 92nd Illinois Mounted Infantry, who wrote: “By the side of the road stood a large house, and around the house, in circular shape, were constructed rail barricades, [Colonel Eli H.] Murray’s [First] brigade on the left, and [Colonel Smith D.] Atkins’s [Second] Brigade on the right of the road, dismounted. In front, on the right of the road, was an open field, and the ground was, for twenty steps, rising, so that the Yankee barricades could not be seen any distance off. The barricade…furnished an excellent protection against musketry, and a complete barrier to a cavalry charge, as no horse could leap it, or throw it down by impact from the outside.”

  Kilpatrick’s men had time to build the defensive work, since the dismantling of the Buckhead Creek bridge forced Wheeler to locate a ford for his men, a process that chewed up the better part of an hour. Ironically, even as his horsemen began wading through the stream, others had managed to repair the bridge using pews taken from Buckhead Church. A few bold Confederates scouted the enemy position, one of whom was seen well off to the right by the commander of the 92nd Illinois Mounted Infantry. He borrowed trooper William Black’s carbine to pot away at the distant observer, who showed no signs of being under fire. The enlisted man finally snatched back his weapon, exclaiming, “Colonel, you are disgracing my gun; give it to me.” The regimental history continues: “Will took his gun—one quick glance along the barrel from his dark eye, and the rifle cracked; the Rebel fell, and away went the horse, riderless.”

  In his after-action report, Major General Wheeler noted that “night was fast approaching” before he launched his attack against Kilpatrick’s fortified position. His plan was to turn the enemy’s right flank while pressing ahead with the bulk of his force, which he estimated at 1,200 riders, though a later (friendly) writer set the figure at 1,900.*

  Once again, the turning effort failed to achieve its objective, leaving those attacking head-on to bear the brunt of the Yankee firepower. “Reaching the open,” recalled a Tennessee cavalryman, “our bugler…sounded the charge, and at our foe we went like an avalanche, but our entire line was driven back in defeat. Retiring and re-forming, a second assault was made with the same result, we both times sustaining fearful loss in men and horses in a hand-to-hand encounter across the breastworks.” One of the Yankee boys on the receiving end recorded that the Confederates had attacked “with great fierceness and boldness,” while another stated that “they made charge after charge.” During a short lull in the action, the Federals found a dead Rebel officer “shot in seven different places.”

  Tuesday, November 29, 1864

  Dusk was obscuring everyone’s vision as Wheeler regrouped for another lunge at the Union line, while Kilpatrick, satisfied that he had sufficiently punished his opponent, continued his trek toward Louisville. When it was finally launched, a third Confederate attack overwhelmed the barely manned barricades, leaving Wheeler in control of Reynolds’s plantation. “The rebels seemed somewhat discouraged,” observed trooper Fallis. “Although they followed us they kept at a respectful distance, while the 8th Ind. Cav., bringing up the rear, would blaze away when the rebels came within range of their Spencers.”

  Wheeler himself stopped for the night at 9:00 P.M. to send a situation report to his superiors: “We fought General Kilpatrick all night and all day, charging him at every opportunity. Enemy fought stubbornly, and a considerable number of them killed. We stampeded and came near capturing Kilpatrick twice, but having a fleet horse he escaped bare headed, leaving his hat in our hands. Our own loss about 70, including the gallant General Robertson, severely wounded. Our troops all acted handsomely.”

  Kilpatrick continued another six miles before camping for the night. Louisville, and the protection of the main column, was about ten miles distant. In the words of one Ohio trooper, “It was a night of anxiety.”

  The extremely fluid nature of this day’s engagements allowed each side to claim the advantage, with each reporting having inflicted casualties on the other that, if true, would have crippled them. Since neither was put out of action, the figures reported as suffered by each will have to do: 70 for the Confederates and losses of “over 100” for the Federals. The fact was that few on either side were much interested in counting bodies once the firing died down this night. Speaking for himself, but reflecting every man, a trooper in the 8th Indiana Cavalry closed his diary entry for November 28: “We are very tired to-night.”

  TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 1864

  Cavalry

  The thrill-seeking staff officer Major James A. Connolly was getting some much-needed sleep in his tent outside Louisville when he was abruptly awakened by a voice calling his name. As Connolly later related, “It proved to be one of Kilpatrick’s staff officers, and he was very much excited. He told me in broken sentences that they had been fighting day and night for the past three days; that Wheeler’s cavalry was all around them with a vastly superior force; that they were out of ammunition, and men and horses were utterly worn out; that Kilpatrick didn’t know where our infantry was but had started him off at midnight last night to try and make his way to some infantry column and
beg for support or they would all be lost.”

  Like most infantrymen, Connolly did not hold the mounted arm in especial esteem (“their stories of hard fighting are cut after Baron Munchausen’s style”); however, knowing that the Federal cavalry was out on a raid, he surmised that the relatively light opposition his men had faced thus far lent some plausibility to the supposition that the enemy’s main force was targeting Kilpatrick. The major took the messenger over to the tent of Brigadier General Absalom Baird, who commanded the division. After hearing him out, Baird agreed that this could be a serious matter.

  Even as one aide raced off to the headquarters of Colonel Morton C. Hunter with orders to have his brigade ready to march at a moment’s notice, another escorted the cavalry officer over to the camp of the Fourteenth Corps commander, Brevet Major General Jefferson C. Davis. After listening to a third telling of the tale, Davis approved the rescue mission for Hunter’s brigade.

  Not surprisingly, Major Connolly attached himself to the enterprise, which got under way just before sunrise. According to Kilpatrick’s officer, the cavalrymen were holed up some ten miles distant. The infantry column had trouped for about two hours when the pop-pop-pop of carbines ahead signaled danger. Hunter deployed his leading regiments, whose battle-wise veterans promptly built some light breastworks, threw forward skirmishers, and then waited for whatever would come next. It was Kilpatrick’s column.

  The cavalry officer passed over the rescue operation without comment in his report. Connelly’s recollection of the moment was more vivid. The instant that the troopers “saw the line of blue coated infantry drawn up in a line across the road, and extending off into the woods on either side, they knew that they were saved, and sent up such shouts as never before were heard in these ‘Piney Woods’ which our infantry responded to with right good will.” “This is one of the times when our cavalry was happy to see the infantry come to their relief,” bragged an Ohio soldier, an expression with which trooper Leroy S. Fallis had no argument. When they first sighted the grinning infantrymen, “I can assure you we were not sorry.” The small force that Wheeler had detailed to harry the Union cavalry reversed course at the sight of the barricaded infantry.

  Combined Left/Right Wings

  A cautious calculation marked Sherman’s troop moves this day. Enemy leaders knew with certainty that he had no designs on Macon, and they were growing more certain that Augusta would also be bypassed. The wide dispersion of Confederate forces that Sherman had used to his advantage during the first phase of his grand movement was no longer something he could factor into his schemes. A much more plausible assumption would be that his opponents were actively concentrating all their available military assets in front of him. The delay he had suffered at Ball’s Ferry underscored the danger that a determined force in the right position posed to his hitherto steady progress.

  There was also the disquieting reality that Sherman had no clear picture of the enemy’s deployments. Wheeler and his cavalry were out there along with an unknown number of Georgia militia, and, if various Southern newspaper reports were to be believed, veteran troops who were brought in from the Atlantic coast as well as other parts of the Confederacy. Unconfirmed intelligence gathered by Major General Howard put an experienced corps from Virginia under Confederate lieutenant general Jubal Early standing fast at Millen.

  Sherman decided to hold back one of his corps from crossing over the Ogeechee in order to give him a mobile force capable of flanking any enemy effort to make a stand along the river’s east side. Orders sent to General Howard directed him to gather the Fifteenth Corps “about one day’s march ahead, ready to turn against the flank of any enemy who should oppose our progress.” As Sherman told Major Hitchcock, this was all he would do until he could “learn definitely the state of affairs north and east of the Ogeechee.”

  The General was likely mulling over such matters when he was spotted by passing soldiers from the Seventeenth Corps, one of whom never forgot the sight of Sherman “pacing to and fro in front of a large house with a cigar in his mouth.” Not long afterward, headquarters was packed and moving east toward Station No. 9½ (also called Burton)* on the Central of Georgia line.

  The group quickly passed along the artillery guns and wagons attached to Major General Blair’s corps. It was characteristic of Sherman that he was able to disconnect and relax once he had sifted through the variables to make his decisions. Catching sight of one of the battery officers, he rode over to the man to inquire how the foraging was going. They shared a laugh as his roving eye took in the pile of corn fodder stashed on one of the cannon caissons. After complimenting the officer on the excellent condition of the unit’s horses, Sherman continued down the marching column. He came upon a pair of gunners (one on horseback, the other on foot) who were talking about nothing in particular. Spotting the General, the mounted enlisted man pulled his own animal to a stop, just as his companion commented, “This is pretty good land here.” Not missing a beat, Sherman segued into the chatter. “Yes,” he answered, “it is very good land, only a little too sandy.” The marching gunner turned on the interloper, to find himself face to face with the general commanding, “looking as smiling as you please.” When telling this story later, the gunner confessed “that about that time he felt like getting into a very deep hole.”

  A ride of a few hours brought Sherman and his staff to the crossroads home of a Judge Tarver, where they decided to stop for lunch. The good magistrate had absented himself, but several women and children held the post. Sherman took a look at the fearful gaze of one of the older girls, counseled her to haul as many provisions into the house as she could manage, then assigned a guard to watch over the building. Major Hitchcock chatted briefly with the teenager, who contradicted her mother’s testimony by confirming that there had been some Rebels here just the other day. Hitchcock judged that if this girl had “been brought up in [a] city [she] would be very lady-like and refined looking.”

  He was snapped out of his reverie by a female slave who implored him: “Please, Sir, soldiers robbing me of all I got, clothes and everything.” The major followed the woman to her cabin where he found “four or five soldiers turning things over.” He ordered them out; “all obeyed at once,” one even volunteering that he had been against the scavenging raid and had tried to prevent his associates from entering the cabin. Hitchcock watched them depart without further comment. Perhaps drawn by his action, another slave, an older man, recounted that a number of Wheeler’s cavalrymen had passed through here just two days earlier, but not before confiscating all the mules and horses they could lay hands on.

  Hitchcock was still shaking his head as the group mounted to continue forward, eventually stopping for the night by Rocky Creek. The intelligence arriving was positive but still incomplete. There was no word about Kilpatrick, though from a black man Hitchcock learned that the Federal riders had fought with Wheeler’s cavalry about thirty miles outside Augusta. Major General Slocum had pushed a brigade south from Louisville toward Station No. 9½, where he expected to take control of the bridge from the north side. A late-arriving courier brought an update from Howard, necessitating Hitchcock wake Sherman, who dictated a response. The major had just finished writing the orders when he espied his boss taking a night constitutional and joined him.

  The General was anything but martial in appearance—“bare feet in slippers, and red flannel drawers…, woolen shirt, over which [he put] his old dressing gown, and blue cloth (½ cloak) cape.” As long as Hitchcock had known Sherman, he had never seen him sleep through an entire night. Other members of the staff guessed it was his neuralgia acting up, but Sherman just accepted it as the way of things. Chatting with Hitchcock, he said that he had come to appreciate the stillness at 3:00 or 4:00 A.M. It was, he claimed, the “best time to hear any movement at a distance.” As the two talked about nothing special, all around them the campfires of the great army flickered and dimmed.

  Even as Sherman’s headquarters moved from west to
east, the forces around him continued the choreography begun on November 28. Immediately south of the rail line the Seventeenth Corps closed on Station No. 9½. The men generally made good time until they got close to the river, where they encountered its bordering swamps, which caused delays while the pioneers laid down corduroy paths. An Iowa man with an eye for topography observed that the landscape had definitely changed. “The country from Atlanta to the Oconee [River] is high land with considerable range of hills, principally rocky, the streams clear,” he noted. “From the Oconee river the country becomes low, mostly sandy, the streams yellowish and turbid, the bottoms and banks of streams generally muddy, swampy and in some places nearly impassable.”

  Farther south marched the Fifteenth Corps, a portion of which unintentionally intersected with the Seventeenth, forcing it to chop a bypass through the pine thickets. This day’s marching was generally easy on the legs, but tougher on the soul. “All day in an awful pine forest, hardly broken by fence or clearing,” grumbled an Illinoisan. “I never saw such a lonesome place.” “Trees tall and stately, with no underbrush,” added another Midwesterner. “One can see the troops and trains moving along, beneath them like a huge reptile.” “Only saw three houses to-day and they were nothing but dilapidated log cabins inhabited by tall sallow complected Georgia damsels,” said an Ohio boy.