By July, 1864, the storms were beating heavily and mercilessly upon the Confederacy. The power of numbers was beginning to tell. The resources of the South, month by month, were more and more impaired. Munitions of war and supplies of food became the controlling elements, and in these the Confederates fared most grievously. The arsenals and manufactories were worked to their utmost limit, and one of the most marvelous things connected with the Confederate war was the ability of its people to supply the necessities of the fighters. The disparity of fighting men was tremendous, and the difference in resources and supplies was to the South appalling. That the war lasted so long is a most magnificent tribute to the loyalty and the patience of the people of the Confederate states. Few nations ever continued so fierce a struggle with such inadequate resources for so lengthened a period. The closest scrutiny of the conditions under which the South made the contest only adds wonder to the spirit and valor of those who thus hampered by adversity and inadequate resources faced so resolutely the losses, privations and sacrifices of so many battles through such lengthened years.

Most of the adversities, as well as much of the severest fighting, marked the campaigns in Tennessee, Kentucky, Alabama, Mississippi and Georgia. These states covered a vast boundary and into their very heart flowed many navigable streams. The Mississippi, the Ohio, Cumberland, Barren, Tennessee and Yazoo Rivers penetrated or skirted the regions this army was required to defend, and rendered defense not only more difficult, but made the movements of the armies more hazardous.

No such disaster as at Fort Donelson or Vicksburg was possible save in the territory defended by the Army of Tennessee.

The Virginia campaigns were pressed into very narrow limits and comparatively few miles of navigable water affected its strategic movements. Indeed, the James River was the only stream up which to any great extent gunboats could float.

The Army of the Tennessee was to defend the line from Pound Gap to the Mississippi River, a distance of about five hundred miles. It was vulnerable at many points, and the Mississippi, Ohio, Tennessee and Cumberland not only brought legions of troops to important military positions in this boundary, but also gave strongholds from which operations at many points, for a thousand miles, might be inaugurated. It was a long distance from Paducah to Vicksburg. On the navigable streams that bounded the western lines of this army, forts and stations could be at various points successfully established, and Paducah, Nashville, Memphis, Chattanooga and Vicksburg were centers from which forays could be successfully made for nine months in the year. There was nothing but bad roads and the Confederate cavalry to defend this territory from invasion or occupation.

Atlanta was evacuated on the 1st of September, 1864. General Joseph E. Johnson had been relieved on the 17th day of July, 1864, and General Hood assumed command. The enemy were close to the coveted situation. Slowly, but surely, the cordon were closing around Atlanta; and, as the flanks of the Federal Army stretched far out, east and west of the doomed city, the Federals began to employ their cavalry in harassing the rear of the Confederates and in destroying railroads south of General Hood’s position, rendering not only its occupancy difficult, but the feeding of his armies almost impossible.

The Federals never lacked for serviceable horses. True, they were not up to the standard which the Southern cavalry had taken into the war in 1861 and ’62; but well-fed, they could carry their riders, at a moderate rate of speed, a long distance in the day. Month by month, the Federal cavalry began to be better disciplined and better drilled, and became a great force in destroying the Southern armies. It required months, many months, for the Federals to learn successfully the plans under which the Confederate cavalry operated and along which they had so often disturbed and destroyed their communications; and now, at least, when Hood was at bay in Atlanta, the Federals, using their experience and the experience of the Confederates to the best advantage, began their raids. General Johnston had turned over to General Hood, according to Johnston’s statement, forty-one thousand infantry and ten thousand cavalry.

General Joseph Wheeler’s marvelous courage and enterprise had greatly endeared him to all the soldiers of the army of Tennessee. There was no service he would not accept. There was no risk he would not assume. On July 26th, 1864, with his limited command, he had relieved Hardee’s corps, and taken the place of the infantry in the breastworks. While thus occupied, General Wheeler was informed that large cavalry forces had started in the small hours of the night, with ten days’ rations, marching eastwardly, westwardly, southwardly from the rear of Sherman’s army. Sherman’s front covered a space along the Chattahoochee for twenty-five miles. It became apparent to General Wheeler than an extremely formidable cavalry raid was being inaugurated, and one which had most important bearings on the maintenance of Hood’s army about Atlanta. He chafed with the knowledge that his dismounted men were in the infantry breastworks, while the Federals were going out to forage and desolate the country south of Atlanta, and wreck the railroads upon which Atlanta relied alone for food.

On the morning of July 27th General Wheeler was directed to still hold the breastworks from which Hardee had been removed, and to send such force as he could spare in pursuit of the Federal cavalry raiders. He could only put into this service, immediately, fifteen hundred men, and he could only hope that they would be able to delay and harass and not destroy the enemy. The Federal raiders had begun their march at daybreak, on the 27th, and by nightfall had covered twenty-five miles to the south. All through July 27th, at two o’clock, at five o’clock and at six o’clock, Wheeler was interchanging despatches with General Hood. Wheeler was longing to go after the Federal raiders, but he was denied, by General Hood, this opportunity. At length the menace became so portentous that General Hood dare not ignore its consequences. Realizing that unless the Federal expedition was stayed, Atlanta must fall, with reluctance and many misgivings, he consented to turn General Wheeler loose, to try his hand upon the numerous, vigorous and aggressive foe. At nine o’clock at night came the order that General Wheeler himself might go in pursuit of the enemy. A great strategist himself, General Wheeler figured in his mind about where the Federals would strike the Macon railroad, which he foresaw and calculated would be either at Jonesboro, fifteen miles, or Lovejoy Station, twenty miles south of Atlanta.

General Sherman had passed the Chattahoochee River. Atlanta was eight miles south of this stream. Sherman had intrenched his forces east of Atlanta about nine miles. Near Peach Tree Creek, the Confederates had erected a strong line of fortification, and against this Sherman was day by day forcing his volunteers. At this time two railroads entered Atlanta from the south. The Georgia Railroad, toward Augusta, had already been occupied by Sherman and destroyed, so as to be useless even if the Confederates should drive him back across the Chattahoochee. For several miles south of Atlanta, the two railroads now operated ran into Atlanta over a common entrance. One of these railroads, running southwest, reached the Alabama line at West Point; the other ran due south, leading to Macon, eighty miles distant. The Chattahoochee River swung to the south as it passed west from Atlanta.

General Sherman determined to start three cavalry forces to break up these two railroads, upon which the Confederates in Atlanta relied for transportation of ammunition, food, supplies and troops. If these could be destroyed, Atlanta must be evacuated. So long as the Confederates could hold the fortifications around Atlanta, and these two railroads, Atlanta was invincible.

General Sherman directed his subordinates to start a cavalry force twelve miles due west of Atlanta, on the Chattahoochee River, crossing at a place called Campbellton. When over the river, this force, under General E. M. McCook, was to move southeastward, and strike the Macon Railroad at Jonesboro or at Lovejoy. Two other forces of cavalry, under Generals Stoneman and Garrard, were to leave General Sherman’s lines east of Atlanta, at Decatur, to meet at Lithonia, nine miles southeast from Atlanta, and thence to tear up the railroad between Macon and Atlanta.

Up to this time, General Sherman had great faith in General George Stoneman. This officer was born in Chautaugua County, New York, in 1822. He graduated at West Point in 1846, and entered the First Dragoons. In 1855 he became a captain in the 25th United States Cavalry, and was in command of Fort Brown when the Civil War broke out. He refused to surrender Fort Brown to General Twiggs. In a little while he became chief cavalry commander of the Army of the Potomac. Transferred to infantry, he became conspicuous in many of the great battles of Virginia, and in 1863 became a leader of raids in Virginia. One of his chief ambitions was to release the Federal prisoners at Andersonville. He had been given authority, under certain conditions, by General Sherman, after destroying the railroad south of Atlanta, to march through to Andersonville. Stoneman, after the war, became colonel of the 21st Infantry of the United States Army. In 1871 he retired and returned to California. He was elected governor by the Democrats, in 1883, and held this office for four years. With his splendid record and his wide military experience, much was expected of him in this ably-planned onslaught that General Sherman had projected on the Confederate lines.

General Edward M. McCook, who was to figure so prominently in this expedition, was born in Steubenville, Ohio, in 1835. He came of a family known as the “fighting McCooks,” and fully measured up to the family record. He was senior major of the 2d Indiana Cavalry at Shiloh; then colonel at the Battle of Perryville and Chickamauga. He commanded the cavalry of the Army of the Cumberland during the Atlanta campaign. Brave, self-reliant, with a lengthened service, with his many successes in the past, both Generals Grant and Sherman were confident that he would give a most excellent account of himself at this important juncture.

GENERAL KENNER GARRARD

General Kenner Garrard, the third man, was born in 1830 in Cincinnati, and was a great grandson of James Garrard, once governor of Kentucky. He graduated from the United States Military Academy in 1851, and entered the Dragoons. While on the Texas frontier, in April, 1861, he was captured and afterwards released on parole, but was not exchanged until 1862. During this period, he was commandant of cadets at West Point. After successful service in the Rappahannock and Pennsylvania campaigns, he was promoted to command a cavalry division of the Army of the Cumberland.

It was not unreasonable for General Sherman to expect much of these three dashing and brave commanders. With more than nine thousand cavalrymen, General Sherman believed that they could march into any part of the South, and that no force the Confederates could muster could even greatly delay and surely not defeat them.

General Wheeler had under him, in his defensive operations, men who had done much fighting, and, wherever tried, had never failed.

General Alfred Iverson was born in Clinton, Georgia, on February 14th, 1829. He graduated from a military school and served in the Mexican War when only seventeen years old. For distinguished service, he was made first lieutenant of the United States Cavalry. He was in Kansas during the troubles in 1856, and was with the expedition against the Mormons, and also in that against the Comanches and the Kiowas, in which he made much reputation. He resigned when Georgia seceded, and went to Wilmington, North Carolina. Later, he became colonel of the 20th North Carolina Infantry. He won distinction at Gaines Mill, and was wounded during a seven days’ fight around Richmond, and added to his laurels at South Mountain and Sharpsburg. He was made brigadier general in 1862. At Chancellorsville and Gettysburg, he acquitted himself with great credit, and later he was sent to Rome, Georgia to command the state forces, and became brigadier general of the Georgia Cavalry. He was attached to Martin’s division, under General Wheeler.

GENERAL WILLIAM WIRT ALLEN

General William Allen was born at Montgomery, Alabama. He was made a captain of the 1st Alabama Cavalry, and then its colonel. He was in the Kentucky campaigns, and was wounded at Perryville in 1864. He was made colonel of the 6th Alabama Cavalry Regiment, then commissioned a brigadier general. In the closing days of the war, in Georgia, North and South Carolina, he evidenced great skill as a leader. Always cheerful, patient and brave, he did much to inspirit his men, when, to his foreseeing mind, it was a hopeless fight against heaviest odds.

GENERAL ROBERT H. ANDERSON

General Robert H. Anderson, who also took a prominent part in these stirring campaigns, was born at Savannah, Georgia, in 1835. He graduated from West Point in 1857. He was on the frontier from 1857 to 1861, and was with the Georgia troops at Fort McAllister. His pluck and courage won him the command of the 5th Georgia Cavalry. After a little while, he proved himself so competent that he was advanced to a brigade commander; and, in the dark hours—from November, 1864, to April, 1865—in the closing scenes and in front of Sherman in his march to the sea, he bore a most conspicuous and valorous part.

GENERAL JOHN H. KELLEY

General John H. Kelley was born in Pickens County, Alabama, in 1840. At the age of seventeen, he entered West Point. Within a few months of his graduation, Alabama seceded, and he went to Montgomery, enlisted in the government service and became second lieutenant in the regular army. He was sent to Fort Morgan; and, in October, 1861, became aide to General Hardee, with the rank of captain and assistant adjutant general. Later, he was made major, in command of an Arkansas battalion. Fearless, enterprising and courageous, he was promoted to colonel of the 8th Arkansas Regiment. He was then just twenty-two years of age. Conspicuous at Perryville, Murfreesboro and at the Battle of Chickamauga, he became commander of a brigade of infantry, under General Buckner. At Chickamauga, his brigade suffered a loss of three hundred men out of eight hundred and seventy-six. His great merit was recognized; and, on the 16th of November, 1863, he was made brigadier general, when only twenty-three and one-half years old. Almost immediately, he was assigned to the duties of major general. At the beginning of the Georgia campaign, he became one of the division commanders, under General Wheeler. His division was composed of Allen’s, Dibrell’s and Hannon’s brigades. He was doomed to die just one month after this raid, at Franklin, Tennessee,—a spot three months afterward consecrated by the sublime heroism of the Army of the Tennessee, in its last great call to duty, where it met practical annihilation.

GENERAL LAWRENCE SULLIVAN ROSS

General Lawrence Sullivan Ross was Iowa born. His father moved to Texas during his early life. He entered a college at Florence, Alabama, but engaged in the Indian war and was wounded at the Battle of Wichita. In this battle, he rescued a white girl who had been with the Indians eight years, adopted her as his own child, giving her the name of Lizzie Ross. His courage was so pronounced and his skill so evident, that General Van Dorn and General Scott urged him for a place in the army. Not of age, he went back to the University and graduated, when he returned to Texas and enlisted as a private in the 6th Regiment. He became its colonel in 1862. At Corinth, he played the part of a hero—acting as a forlorn hope—he held the Federals at bay until the balance of the army escaped. For this great service, General Joseph E. Johnson recommended his promotion as brigadier general, and this came to him in December, 1863. He was always at the front, and had five horses shot under him. He became governor of Texas in 1886 and again in 1888, and was elected by one of the largest majorities ever given any man—a hundred and fifty thousand.

Colonel W. C. P. Breckinridge, on account of the illness of General John S. Williams, was assigned the command of the Kentucky brigade. In these days of depletion, brigades were not very strong in numbers. They very frequently had as few as five hundred men. This little brigade, however, was well seasoned, and though two-thirds of its original members were dead or disabled, the small remnant had lost none of that courage and valor which was regarded as the unfailing inheritance of men who left Kentucky to fight for Southern independence. A sketch of Colonel Breckinridge will be found in another part of this volume.

These were the leaders who, in this momentous hour, were to stand for the Confederate and Federal operations. Rarely, during the war, did so many West Pointers come into collision, or men so trained and so resourceful meet in battle or engage in maneuvering, when a mistake would mean so much to contending forces.

The Chattahoochee River was to play an important part in this historic cavalry movement. Rising in the Appalachian Mountains of Northern Georgia, it flows west, passing within eight miles of Atlanta; then, traversing almost the entire state of Georgia, it strikes the Alabama boundary at West Point. For one hundred miles, it becomes the boundary between Alabama and Georgia, and at the Florida line unites with the Flint River and forms the Appalachicola River, which empties into the Gulf of Mexico.

The expedition was worthy of General Sherman’s splendid military genius. It was thoroughly discussed, wisely planned and ably conceived, and the men that he assigned were not only the best officers, but they had also under them the best regiments then in the three divisions of the army that he was directing against Atlanta.

General Kelley was designated by General Wheeler, with his brigade, to follow General Garrard, whose division was the first of the Federal forces to concentrate at Jonesboro and Lovejoy. Garrard seems to have failed in his part of the undertaking. He got as far as Flat Rock, and there he waited for General Stoneman; but Stoneman seemed to have forgotten his promise and Garrard stayed at Flat Rock until the 28th, waiting for Stoneman, and then marched to Covington. He there found that Stoneman had passed through Covington two days before and had gone south. Garrard then returned from whence he had come. Harassed, opposed and vigorously pursued by General Kelley, he accomplished no real service; he saved his forces and suffered but little loss, but he won no praise; he deserved none for anything he accomplished. He attempted to place the blame for his failure on General Stoneman. In his report to headquarters, he said: “On the 27th, the division was placed under General Stoneman, who ordered it to Flat Rock and abandoned it to its fate. After being surrounded by a superior force for over twelve hours, and contending against every disadvantage in hopes of benefiting General Stoneman in his attempt to destroy the railroad, it extricated itself from its perilous situation.” Had he followed on after General Stoneman, in General Iverson’s rear, he might have won for both a superb victory. Instead of being surrounded by a superior force, General Kelley, who opposed him, had less than one-third of the men General Garrard led. If General Sherman later read General Wheeler’s reports, he would have wondered where the superior Confederate forces came from.

General Iverson, being thoroughly familiar with the territory where General Stoneman was to operate, was assigned to the pursuit of that officer. General Wheeler, who had so furiously chafed at being cooped up with infantry in the breastworks along Peach Tree Creek, decided to follow General McCook, who he seemed to fear most, and whose past was a sure indication that where he went, trouble would be raised for the Confederate outposts, railways and storehouses.

When General Wheeler got away from Hood’s breastworks, at nine o’clock, in the night of the 27th, he needed no signal of the officers or scouts to tell him the purpose or design of the enemy. His military instincts told him that these skillful Federal generals would strike the railroad somewhere south of Atlanta, and at a point just sufficiently away to escape from the attacks of the Confederate infantry. In his breast most conflicting emotions arose. Released by General Hood, only when his pleading became well nigh irresistible, he was not only anxious to meet General Hood’s expectations, but he was also well aware that his failure to stop the progress of the Federal cavalry meant the immediate evacuation of Atlanta, and with this, the crushing of the hopes of his countrymen for ultimate success in the war. It is also highly probable that, calm and self-possessed though he was, recent criticism had given a deep touch of sorrow to his heart. Envy had not been idle, and this had raised a horde of heartless slanderers, who were doing all they could to belittle his services to his country: to minimize the successes of his campaign and to destroy his reputation as a leader.

General Wheeler at this moment assumed a task at which any soldier might hesitate. Many Confederate cavalry leaders had faced Federal raiding forces; but generally the invaders had long lines to follow and could not set out three divisions, all numerically superior to those opposing, and all converging to a single point by different roads—all within ten hours’ march of the place where it was proposed to strike the heaviest blow. Whatever was to be done must be done instantly and with fiercest determination. He could not count upon more than two-fifths as many men as those he was to fight. If he whipped one, the other two might unite, accomplish the purposes of the expedition, and then together might crush him; and this meant untold disaster to General Hood. There was no sleep for General Wheeler that trying night: its hours were long. His staff and the few troopers following behind might, by a cat-nap in the saddle, gain a momentary relief; but, for the leader, the man who was to checkmate the Federal plans, there could not be a single instant of unconsciousness. He weighed then less than a hundred and twenty-five pounds, but he was a great soldier all the same. In the mind and soul of this man, small of stature, was now centered the destiny of Hood’s army.

Plan after plan suggested itself to the brave man, who, at a rapid trot, in the darkness, was leading his followers to the scene of danger. Those who rode behind him could not understand the conflicting emotions that passed through his mind. They knew but little of the dangers ahead—they did not fully comprehend what this forced march meant; but they all knew there was trouble somewhere to the front, and possibly before dawn, but surely at dawn they realized that a foe would be found and that a battle would be joined. It was yet too early for any well-defined plan to take shape in the mind of the Confederate leader. Of only one thing he was absolutely sure, and that was when he found his enemies, he would give them no rest or peace until they were driven back behind the Federal fortification. It is difficult for a cavalry commander to always conceal from his followers the purpose or plans of an expedition. Those riding behind General Wheeler disturbed him with no questionings or suggestions. They sympathized with him in the stress and turmoil that filled his soul in this period of anxious foreboding and planning. The hours now passing were fraught with ever-present dangers. The ninety days that preceded the experiences of this night had been the most eventful of any ninety days any cavalry commander had ever faced, but now was to come the hardest of all.

From May 8th to September 5th, 1864, covering the retreat from Dalton to Atlanta, there had been imposed upon the cavalry of the Army of the Tennessee, a service, which for length, sacrifice, constant exposure, varied experiences and extent of losses, was never experienced by the same number of horsemen who followed the Confederate colors in an equal number of days.

General Wheeler pressed onward with great rapidity, to overtake the fifteen hundred men who had been sent forward on the morning of the 27th, and by a rapid ride of thirty miles, he caught up with the troops that had gone before. Through prisoners and scouts, he there learned that the force which had crossed at Campbellton was commanded by General McCook. General Wheeler at this time fully realized the difficult task before him, and its responsibilities, to a less great man, would have been appalling. Had he been left alone to face General McCook, there would have been no disturbing element in his work, but from couriers and other means of communication, it became necessary for him to divide the men he could use in this crisis, so that no one of the three Federal divisions could, for any considerable period, march unmolested. It was of the greatest importance to leave neither Stoneman, Garrard nor McCook unopposed for even half a day. This also meant that in all three cases the men pursuing must be vastly inferior in numbers to the command they were to endeavor to defeat or drive away.

He could only give Iverson fourteen hundred men; Kelley six hundred men; while he himself took the brigades of Hume and Anderson—counting, all told, eight hundred riders. With this limited force, General Wheeler vigorously assaulted the Federals at Flat Shoals. In disposing his forces as the necessity of the moment suggested, he was extremely generous to his subordinates. He gave Iverson the most; Kelley the second largest command; while he himself, with fragments of two brigades, undertook the destruction of General McCook. To do this, he had in the beginning less than eight hundred men as against three times that number.

When General Wheeler arrived at Flat Shoals, it was not yet light; day was just breaking. It was bright enough to see the enemy and that was enough for General Wheeler. He instantly ordered an attack upon the flanks of the Federals. He had managed, during the night, to get a portion of his command in front of the enemy, and with the forces in front and Wheeler in the rear, the Federals soon realized that they had gone upon an expedition in which there would be more than marching and burning. General Wheeler dare not waste a single moment. The Federals had secured strong and favorable positions; but he had no time to reconnoiter for position. He knew where the enemy was, and that was all that he desired to know just then. He had come to defeat them, and defeat them he must. Although his forces were inadequate, he advanced boldly to the attack. The Federal forces withstood the assault for a brief while. These responses from the enemy only caused General Wheeler to renew the attack more viciously, and shortly the enemy began to retreat. Their rearguard was not disposed to run, and they fought over every inch of ground. In this first conflict, General Wheeler captured three supply wagons and a number of prisoners, and from these he discovered that Stoneman had gone to Covington, and that the men he was now fighting were McCook’s division. He was fortunate enough to learn from the captured prisoners that Macon was the real point of attack, and that Stoneman, Garrard and McCook were supposed to unite at that point and destroy Macon with its precious stores and manufactories, which were so essential to the preservation of Hood’s army; then march to Andersonville and release thirty thousand prisoners, and in Stoneman’s wagons were guns to arm these prisoners.

General Hood was not disposed to let Wheeler get very far from him. He relied with absolute confidence upon his invincible courage and indomitable will. He felt stronger when Wheeler was near. In a little while, after Wheeler had left on his night ride, General Hood sent him a message, by a trusted courier, to say that if the enemy’s course was not such as to require all his men, to detach some officer to continue the pursuit, and he himself should come back to the front. He wisely added, by way of parenthesis, that he would rely on General Wheeler’s judgment as to what would be the wisest thing to do. General Hood had not caught the real import of this cavalry expedition. He did not know the thorough preparations General Sherman had made to render this movement a decisive one; he did not know the vast force engaged in the campaign, nor did he at once take in what its success meant to his beleaguered army in and around Atlanta. He had not yet fully comprehended what faced General Wheeler in the work assigned him, nor how much depended on his success.

Wheeler’s one oft-reiterated command was, “Attack! Attack! Assault! Assault!” wherever an enemy could be found.

General Wheeler quickly discovered that General McCook’s men, something over twenty-five hundred, had gotten in their work on the railroad, four miles below Jonesboro. He knew at once that he alone was in a position to discomfit McCook. He resolved to trust Iverson with Stoneman, while he would assault and crush McCook. General McCook had found it necessary to stop and rest at Fayetteville. The strain on man and beast became unbearable and General McCook submitted to nature’s inevitable decree for rest. This halt did much towards his undoing.

General W. H. Jackson had done some skirmishing with McCook during the day, and he had informed General Wheeler that if he would take care of the enemy’s rear, he would gain their front and secure their capture. General Wheeler could not rely much upon Jackson. He was now fifteen miles behind, and Hume’s brigade of only five hundred men was the chief ground of General Wheeler’s hope in the pursuit. When Line Creek was reached, the bridge was gone—the Federals had destroyed it and had barricaded the opposite bank. Fights had no terror for General Wheeler. He boldly marched up to the banks and managed to get a position that enfiladed the barricades on the opposite shore. The attack was furious. In a little while it caused the enemy to yield. Within an hour the bridge was rebuilt, and General Wheeler’s troops had passed over. The night was intensely dark: objects could only be seen at a very limited distance. General Wheeler, taking the extreme advance, courageously and vigorously pushed forward. Almost every half hour the enemy had barricaded the road, and the first notice the Confederates had of their presence was a volley from their guns.

With the dawn of another day, General Wheeler became even more persistent and pressed the charge against the enemy with ever-increasing vigor. He knew that now he only had about seven hundred men. He sent one column around their flank, while he led the other upon the Federal center. Breaking through McCook’s lines, he routed their horses and captured more than three hundred prisoners, with their arms and equipment. The Federals were diligent in taking advantage of the various positions which the country afforded, and met each charge with stout resistance; and during the running fight, hand-to-hand encounters were frequent—more than fifty Federals were killed in these face-to-face struggles. Nothing could stay the impetuous advance of Wheeler and his men. Barricades, hills and rail fortifications had apparently no terror for the pursuers. They were after the enemy, and as long as they saw the enemy, they followed him with unfailing vigor.

Human nature had nearly reached its limit with General Wheeler’s troops when he was reinforced with Colonel Cook’s two squadrons, of the 8th Texas; these hard-riding Texans had followed in the wake of the conflict—the dead soldiers, broken-down horses and wrecked wagons told them where they were needed. They could see that savage work had gone on a little while before, and General Wheeler’s followers appeared to be calling, with earnest pleas, for them to hasten and help destroy the fleeing and vanquished foe. They were few in number, but they rushed on, for they well knew how much their presence was needed at the front.

General Ross also came on with two fragments of regiments, making General Wheeler’s available command now seven hundred men.

Jackson and Anderson were still fifteen miles in the rear, and they could bring no help to Wheeler at this time, in the very throes of the combat that was to determine the mastery in this expedition.

Like Forrest in pursuit of Streight, Wheeler and his followers were absolutely relentless. They marched seventy miles in twenty-four hours. Hunger and fatigue seemed to have fled from the minds and bodies of the ragged pursuers, and a strength and endurance above human animated and encouraged them in the work war had at this hour put upon them. They were ready and willing to fight and harass the Federal forces so long as a single man was left. The beasts, many of them, were dropping by the roadside. They could not stand the intense strain that was being put upon them. The long marches, the incessant galloping and heavy burden in transporting the men and ammunition, had tremendously told upon the helpless horses; but a great issue was at stake, and horse flesh was not to be considered. Colonel Ashby, with two hundred men, was directed to gallop forward, and, if possible, to get in front of General McCook. He was further ordered, if an enemy was found, not to consider the disparity in numbers, but to go at them promptly and remorselessly. Scouts were sent in every direction to look for the enemy. Out on the LaGrange Road, about three miles away, the Federal cavalry was found, dismounted, in a dense wood. Colonel Ashby, who always put himself in front, informed General Wheeler that he had struck the head of the advancing Federals, and that they were then forming a line of battle. The only answer General Wheeler made to Ashby was to make the attack, and do the best he could with the means at hand.

General Wheeler now had less than four hundred men in the column. The long trail of killed and wounded that lay along the line of pursuit told what had depleted his following. The first advance upon McCook was checked, and for a moment Wheeler’s forces were stayed; but, in an instant, General Wheeler directed all bugles to sound the charge, and the brave little Confederate general, at the head of the advance, bade his men to follow and he would lead. The rebel yell was the response to this heroic call. No man hesitated for an instant or desired to get away. Wheeler was leading them and in front was the enemy. General Wheeler drove his column through the Federal lines and crumpled them up into a confused mass. Up to that time, only two of General McCook’s brigades had taken part. There was yet a reserve brigade some distance away.

In less than three-quarters of an hour General Wheeler had captured three hundred prisoners, two hundred men had been killed or wounded, and best of all, he captured six hundred fresh horses for the tired Confederates to mount.

In the fierceness of this struggle, General Wheeler had almost forgotten himself and his own safety. He was recalled to the real situation by the heavy firing in the rear, and there he beheld McCook’s reserve brigade attacking the Confederate lines. General Wheeler turned about and quickly faced this new danger. By voice and example, he pleaded with his soldiers to stand firm and meet the coming shock. They responded as he asked; they boldly charged the new foes, broke their lines, captured over a hundred prisoners and sent this reserve brigade in search of General McCook, to seek safety.

General McCook had gotten his breath and was organizing his forces again for battle. Unexpectedly to Wheeler, he charged with fierceness on the Confederates, who were now beginning to yield. General Humes had been taken a prisoner, and it looked like the thin Confederate line would be swept away, and McCook would avenge the damage that had been inflicted upon him a few moments before.

At this critical period, while looking, listening and hoping, rapid riding was heard, and then in a little while, some riders clad in gray galloped to the front. General Anderson’s men had come to relieve the plight into which General Wheeler’s daring had brought him. General McCook, like all the McCooks, was dead game, and so he barricaded himself in an impassable ravine, against which General Wheeler at once realized it was useless to go. But the flank was the point where General Wheeler frequently struck home, and he instantly turned his men in that direction. Here General Wheeler was able to cut off two of McCook’s regiments. When these were separated, they became scattered, a majority of them surrendered, bringing to General Wheeler a battery, a wagon train, a pack mule train and much needed arms and ammunition.

Among the captured was something that was very pleasing to General Wheeler—that was three hundred and fifty Confederate officers, who had been picked up by McCook in convalescent camps along his route. Gratifying as was the recapture of these Confederate officers, General Wheeler had no time to waste and no season for congratulations. Turning about, he charged at McCook’s troops, again cutting them in two, and drove both fragments before him in a rout. After fighting so bravely, the Federals, in this last conflict, did not measure up to the splendid standard they had set in the earlier fighting, and by a sort of common consent and agreement, every command began to look out for itself. General Roddy, with a few dismounted men, appeared upon the scene. This was counted as Confederate infantry, and this destroyed all hope of victory in the minds of the Federals.

Night now came on, and the darkness was so intense that it was impossible to keep trail of the fleeing enemy. They were traveling by stars or blindly following the roads. Confederate patrols were sent out in every direction, and before daylight four hundred prisoners were caught.

This campaign was one of the most skillful efforts on General Sherman’s part in his fight for Atlanta. General Wheeler’s courage, genius and indomitable will won success for the Confederates. And no general, with such inadequate means at his command, could accomplish more against such vast odds.

On the 26th of July, General Sherman telegraphed that he had sent around by his right, three thousand five hundred cavalry, under McCook; and by the left, five thousand, under Stoneman. He believed that McCook and Garrard would destroy the railroad to Macon and that they would be able to march to Andersonville, and release the Federal prisoners, but he had forgotten the manner of men who were across the Federal path.

Not for a single moment did General Kelley lose his grip on Garrard. Nor did Iverson ever hesitate in his pursuit of Stoneman.

Stoneman had caught the real greatness of this campaign, which General Sherman and General Grant believed would be fatal and final to the defense of Atlanta. Ambitious and enthusiastic, he suggested to General Sherman that after traveling ninety miles to Macon, and destroying the immense stores and the great manufactories there, he should then pursue his way to Andersonville, forty miles southwest of Macon. Here were thirty thousand Federal prisoners. Stories of their sufferings and privations moved Stoneman to not only vigorous but patriotic effort. He was so hopeful of capturing not only Macon and all in it, according to General Sherman’s instructions, but he felt equally sure of undisputed success and victory, and he took along with him guns to arm the prisoners at Andersonville, when they should be released. This numerous array of men, armed, and this great multitude of prisoners, turned loose, would have not only brought tremendous desolation, but would have terrorized the people of Georgia outside the armies of General Hood and the garrison at Macon and a few important points. It was a noble ambition. It was a splendid design, but in the end it turned out that Stoneman did not have the nerve, the dash and the grit necessary to consummate the splendid conception. He made a rapid and unmolested march through Covington, Monticello, Hillsboro and Clinton, down to the very gates of Macon. He got so close to the city that some of his artillery threw shells into its suburbs.

Macon, at that time, happened to have a sagacious and experienced soldier in its boundaries. General Joseph E. Johnston, after being relieved of command of the army of Tennessee, at Atlanta, had gone to Macon to rest and recuperate, and in dignified quiet to await another call from his country, to stand for the defense of its liberty. There were large numbers of prisoners at Macon as well as at Andersonville. When at Macon, the story of the approach of Stoneman and his associates became known, the prisoners were speedily moved to points further south. The garrison, and the convalescents and all, however old or young, that were able to bear arms, were hastily summoned and organized, to resist the coming of the invaders. Breastworks and fortifications were erected under the direction of General Johnston, and every possible effort was made to prepare for sternest defense, the city with its rich stores.

General Stoneman was to have had the co-operation of General Garrard, and incidentally of General McCook, but he had gone southward for ninety miles without opposition, and the march had been so easy and so little opposed, and he had been able to burn so many stores and trains, that he felt he had the world in a sling, and that there was nothing could stay his progress or interfere with his success. He was only a little more than twenty miles from Jonesboro when he passed Covington; Garrard could have reached him, by an easy march, in eight hours. Had he waited for McCook or Garrard, with whom he was directed to co-operate, he would have largely increased his chances for success and victory; but it looked so feasible, and he was able to move with such rapidity, that he cast prudence to the winds, and he rode forward without even the suggestion of doubt crossing his mind. He thought he surely saw the beckonings of greatness. He was certain he heard the voices of fame whisper in his ears: “Forward! Forward!” He did not know what was behind him, nor did he care. He knew as well as the Confederates themselves that the exigencies around Atlanta would permit of the removal of not more than four thousand cavalry, and he was certain all these would not dare follow him, and let Garrard and McCook roam at will around and south of Jonesboro and Lovejoy. Sherman had some reserve horsemen, and these must be guarded against.

No Confederate cavalryman ever faced graver responsibilities or greater difficulties than General Wheeler in this expedition. His mounts were thin, wearied and worn. His men were only fairly armed. Stoneman had fresh, well-fed mounts, and he could out-march and out-ride anything that Wheeler and his associates could put behind him. The men in gray were hardier and better seasoned, but their means of transportation were very much limited.

General Wheeler put into Iverson’s mind all that the success of the Federals meant. Iverson knew it all, but the defiant and hopeful spirit of the brave Confederate leader helped him to greater effort and firmer resolves. He bade him pursue Stoneman, fight him wherever he found him, and hang on to his flanks and rear with a savage grip, and never give him a moment’s rest until he had run him to bay.

Stoneman could ride faster than Iverson. He bade him do with Stoneman what he would do with McCook. Iverson had some Georgians and Kentuckians, all told, thirteen hundred men, but they were veterans. Many of these had been long trained in General Wheeler’s school and some of them in Forrest’s, and that meant that wherever they met an enemy there would be real, sure enough fighting. When Stoneman reached Macon he was surprised to find such intense opposition. He had expected to ride into the city with little ado, but when he saw the organized troops and temporary fortifications, and guns behind them, and men behind these, he appears to have lost his nerve. Between Stoneman and his subordinates there was not that sympathy and confidence that such an occasion as this demanded. Had Stoneman pushed on to Andersonville, he could have done the Confederacy tremendous and irreparable damage, but he hesitated and lost. He then realized that he had made a great mistake to ride away without McCook or Garrard. He had hoped and trusted that one or the other would follow him, and with forty-five hundred men, before the gates of Macon, there would have been little question of its capture. He understood now that his ambition had led him to disregard the plainest dictates of military prudence, and instead of going on and swinging around Macon to Andersonville, and then into Alabama, if necessary, on which line he could always keep ahead of the Confederates who were pursuing him, he resolved to retrace his steps and go back from whence he had come. The coming had been easy, but the going back was to be a far different and more difficult job. Iverson’s men, although handicapped by the bad condition of their horses, had been enabled, during the time Stoneman had lost around Macon, to come up with a strong vanguard. General Iverson was experienced, brave, vigorous and enterprising. He had not hitherto had the opportunities and confidence that a separate command gives, but he realized his responsibilities now, and he knew that continuous and savage attack was the only method with which he could win. He had kept himself well in touch with Stoneman’s movements. The people along the line were friendly to him, and there was no difficulty in his learning where Stoneman was and what Stoneman had.

When Stoneman turned about, he had only gone a few miles when he found the gray-coated men athwart his path. He had lost his head. He was brave, but he was not his greatest in disaster, which is a most important qualification in a cavalry general. He assaulted Iverson’s forces with moderate vigor. He found them unyielding. They met assault with assault. They returned shot for shot. They had artillery, and they knew how to use it, and General Stoneman quickly realized that he was now to have the fight of his life, and not only the fight of his life, but a fight for life.

Through the morning of September 1st, the battle was kept up, but in the afternoon the Confederates became more aggressive, and they assaulted Stoneman’s left flank, and drove it in, and from that moment Stoneman’s troops seemed to have parted with their courage and their faith of ultimate victory.

Colonel Silas Adams, with a brigade, went one direction; and Colonel Capron, with another brigade, went another, both riding hard and striving furiously to get away from their pursuers. Stoneman gathered a portion of his advisers around him and communicated to them his judgment. They unanimously agreed that he had lost. He made a heroic but very foolish resolve to fight with six hundred men, long enough to enable Adams and Capron to get the start of Iverson’s troops, and through this to make their escape.

It would have been more soldier-like to have let Capron or Adams fight in the last ditch while the leader rode away. It looked and sounded heroic for the commander to make such a sacrifice, but Federal generals like Pleasanton, Sheridan, Wilson or Buford, nor Confederate, like Forrest, Wheeler, Shelby, Morgan, Marmaduke, Stuart or Hampton, would never have entertained such a proposition. They would have kept all their forces together and fought it out in the last ditch. When the Confederates cut Stoneman’s command into two parts, they had won the victory, and turned his forces into scattered bands, whose chiefest aim was personal safety and escape.

Separated from Stoneman, Adams and Capron began a rapid retreat. They rode as fast as their horses could carry them, and only fought when there was no escape from battle.

It did not take long to arrange the details of General Stoneman’s surrender. He made it with tears in his eyes, and he was oppressed and humiliated at this sad and untoward ending of a campaign, which at its commencement opened to him vistas of glory and renown. It required but a brief while to conclude negotiations for Stoneman’s capitulation, and the ink was not dry upon the paper which set forth the terms, until General Iverson, with his powers quickened and the hopes of his men enhanced by the surrender of Stoneman, started Breckinridge and his Kentuckians in pursuit of the fleeing Federals, who, every moment, became less capable of resistance or battle. He marched his prisoners to Macon under escort. These had expected to enter the city as conqueror; instead, they came as dejected captives. Their dreams of glory turned into fixed visions of failure and despair.

Adams and Capron, in order to avoid those behind them, swung to the right, leaving the track which they had traveled from fifteen to twenty-five miles west of them, and through Eatonton and Madison and Athens they hurried with all possible haste to find safety. These raiders returned far more quickly than they had come. By their detours they increased the distance, but they increased their speed. Their tired horses were exchanged for the mules or horses of the people of Georgia, along the path, and they rode with exceeding haste. Familiar with the country and spurred to highest effort, with a desire to punish these invaders, Breckinridge, with the Kentucky brigade, rode hard after the fleeing Federals. A brief sleep here and there, and with cat naps on their horses, they pushed on with almost boundless energy, and the rearguard of the fleeing Federals, neither night nor day, was free from the assaults of the ragged Kentucky riders.

The bravest men, under such circumstances, become more or less demoralized. These Federal soldiers felt the depressing effect of the rout and defeat of Stoneman, and they dropped out, sometimes in companies and sometimes in squads, forgetting that their only safety lay in keeping together and presenting a bold and defiant rear to the advancing pursuers. So rapid was the march and so fierce the pursuit that the horses of the Confederates, even with the swapping they were able to do along the road for fresher mounts, either mules or horses, made their progress comparatively slow and tedious.

Adams made a shorter run and escaped with half his command. Capron veered more to the east. They united south of Athens. On the 31st day of August they rode with fiercest energy. Their tired steeds were spurred and belabored to the limits of mercy. The object was to get a few hours and some miles between them and the men who were following, so that they could lie down and take part of a night’s rest, preparatory to their final spurt into Sherman’s lines. At a little place called “Jug Tavern,” fifteen miles out from Athens, they felt that their labors had been rewarded, and they had enough space between them and their pursuers to enable them to make it safe to enjoy brief repose.

Colonel W. C. P. Breckinridge, who was commanding General Williams’ Kentucky brigade, and was foremost in pursuing Capron, realized his entire force could not ride with such speed as would enable him to overtake Adams and Capron. He had hung savagely upon their rear, and also kept the inner line to Atlanta, to drive the Federals as far east as possible; but his horses had limitations, and Colonel Breckinridge, with grief and apprehension, saw man after man drop out. He beheld steed after steed with the white frost upon its skin, which betokens the failure of its physical vigor, lie down upon the road and refuse to move further. Hastily assembling his entire brigade, now numbering less than five hundred men, for review, he had his inspector general ride down the line and order out from the several regiments and battalions the men who had the hardiest and freshest horses. When these were counted they numbered only eighty-five. He placed these under command of Lieutenant Robert Bowles, one of his trustiest officers, and bade him ride hard and follow the trail of Adams and Capron, and attack them wherever and whenever found. These eighty-five men caught the inspiration of a great opportunity, and so cheering and yelling and waving adieu to their comrades, whose going had been prevented by the weariness of their mounts, they rode away. Those left to come on by easier stages groaned in spirit as they saw their more fortunate comrades ride away. They cursed the fate that deprived them of the chance to win glory in this pursuit.

Colonel Breckinridge told Lieutenant Bowles that he would follow him with the remainder of the brigade, with all possible haste; thus the eighty-five men set out to run down their demoralized enemies.

Capron and Adams had finally gone to sleep on the bank of a small stream known as Mulberry River, which was crossed by a wooden bridge. Out in the woods and timber the animals were tethered, and the men laid down anywhere and everywhere, if they only might catch a few moments’ rest. Five hundred and fifty Federals comprised all who were left of these two brigades. Many were dead and wounded. Scores had been captured, as wearied they fell from their horses, on the rapid marches they had made since leaving Macon. Just before daybreak, on the morning of the 3d of September, they heard the rebel yell and the sharp crack of the revolvers resounding through their camp. Around the outskirts of the camp a number of the negroes, who were riding the mules and horses they had taken from their masters, were asleep. At the first charge of the Confederates, the mules immediately stampeded, and with the terror-stricken negroes rushed through the camp of the sleeping Federal soldiers. The cries of the frightened negroes, combined with the shouts of the attacking forces, added to the confusion and discomfiture of the Federals. Thus rudely aroused from their slumbers, they mounted their tired steeds and started in a wild rush and dashed across the bridge, along the road they believed would lead to safety. The galloping of the steeds and the crowding of the animals onto the wooden bridge caused it to give way and dropped those who were passing over it into the river below, and cut off the escape of those who were behind. The eighty-five Confederates were busy everywhere. The Federals were completely demoralized. They gladly surrendered when called, and asked for protection. They had not realized in the darkness how small the force that had assailed and scattered them, but without arms they were helpless, and they were so completely exhausted that their powers of resistance had vanished.

In his report Colonel Capron said, “Just before daylight, the morning of the 3d instant, a body of the enemy’s cavalry came up in my rear, and, as near as I can ascertain, passed around the main body of the pickets on both flanks, striking the road where the negroes lay. The negroes became panic-stricken and rushed into the camp of my men, who were yet asleep (we having been in camp about one hour and a half), throwing them into confusion. The enemy now charged into my camp, driving and scattering everything before them. Every effort was made by the officers to rally the men and check the enemy’s charge, but it was found impossible to keep them in line, as most of them were without arms and ammunition. Partial lines were formed, but, owing to the confusion which ensued in the darkness, they soon gave away. A stampede now took place, a portion of the men rushing for the woods and the balance running down the road and attempting to cross a bridge over the Mulberry River, in our front. The enemy still continued to charge my men, killing, wounding and capturing a large number. In their rush across the bridge it gave away, precipitating many of them into the river. The men now scattered in every direction. I became separated from my command, and made my escape through the woods, arriving at this place on the morning of the 7th instant.”

This combat at Jug Tavern was always held by those who participated in it to be, considering numbers, one of the really great victories of the war.

There was no chance to pass Mulberry River, into which the bridge had fallen, and the early hours of the morning were spent in gathering the fugitives up and down the bank, and those hiding themselves out in the woods, hoping to escape imprisonment. Finally some three hundred were gathered together, and hardly had they been corralled, when General Breckinridge, with those who had been left behind, rode up to help their comrades who had been able to ride on before and achieve such a great victory. Their prisoners were marched to Athens. A great feast was prepared. The townsfolk and country folk gathered to thank the Kentuckians who had punished the Federal raiders. Congratulation and gratitude were the order of the hour. Capron, escaping on foot, found his way to the Federal lines, but a large proportion of his force were made prisoners, and there was hardly an organized squad from his command left to ride the thirty miles that intervened between them and safety, behind Sherman’s fortifications around Atlanta.