Rebels at the Gate: Lee and McClellan on the Front Line of a Nation Divided (30 page)

Over on “Flood Mountain,” a cold, gray dawn found General Donelson's brigade glaring down on the unsuspecting Federals at Camp Elkwater. Fearful that the storm had dampened their powder enough to cause a “flash in the pan,” Donelson's Confederates attended to their weapons. “Of all the picking, hammering, rattling of ramrods, rubbing, twisting out bullets and wet powder from old muskets ever witnessed,” reflected a member of the Eighth
Tennessee, “perhaps the occasion here presented was never surpassed. The wet loads had to be drawn from the guns and the guns thoroughly dried before they could be reloaded. To do this much noise and confusion existed. The popping of caps, the shooting of blank cartridges, intermingled with the Babel-like confusion existing at the time, all contributed to a general ‘hoodlum’ on the mountain.”
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Their clamor drew the attention of General Lee. He had followed Donelson's brigade on the evening of September 11, believing they had advanced too far. Darkness and the terrible storm had forced Lee and his small escort to bivouac against some haystacks near Becky Creek, less than a mile from Flood Mountain—well behind enemy lines.

Lee was back in the saddle at dawn. He had scarcely emerged from the woods when a large troop of Federal cavalry thundered along the Becky Creek road in his front. Those horsemen spotted Donelson's infantry and galloped away, but aide Walter Taylor shuddered at the close call. General Lee “came very near” being captured!
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“Just as the scattering rays of the morning sun began to make their appearance over the eastern hills,” recalled one of Donelson's men, “to the great surprise of the whole command, Gen. Lee and staff rode to the head of the brigade.” Soldiers rose to present arms, but Lee waved off the tribute, offering sympathy to those “who had lain out all night in such a drenching storm.” Confederates jostled to get a glimpse of their leader. “He looked like a hero,” thought one as Lee sat erect “on his fine white horse, half hid in the bushes…. Grand and dignified he sat there…seeming to grasp the situation and to hold it in the hollow of his hand.”
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Lee climbed to a point on the ridge overlooking Camp Elkwater. “I could see the enemy's tents on Valley River, at the point on the Huttonsville road just below me,” he wrote. “It was a tempting sight. We waited for the attack on Cheat Mountain, which was to be the signal, till 10 A.M.; the men were cleaning their unserviceable arms. But the signal did not come.”

Lee found the men of Donelson's brigade in no condition to fall upon the Federals at Elkwater. The storm had destroyed their scant provisions and sapped their will. The enemy had been alerted. The chance for surprise was lost. Reluctantly, Lee ordered Donelson to withdraw.
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As the Tennesseans followed a narrow path down the ridge to Becky Creek, they came upon sixty Federal scouts from Cheat Fort under Captain John Coons of the Fourteenth Indiana Infantry. Coons had been sent to picket the important bridle path to Elkwater. Here a sharp skirmish broke out. Hidden by dense undergrowth, both sides fired wildly at the smoke of enemy guns. Confederate regiments swarmed down the slope, forming lines of battle near the creek. Captain Coons's little band was nearly overwhelmed by a bayonet charge before he broke off the fight and retreated.
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Nearly two miles west of Cheat Fort, Confederate General Anderson's brigade held the Staunton-Parkersburg Turnpike in dense fog. “I was well soaked,” recollected Dr. Charles Quintard, chaplain of the First Tennessee Infantry, “my fingers were corrugated and my whole body chilled through. I was very hungry also, but all I could get to eat was one tough biscuit that almost defied my most vigorous assaults.” So quiet had been their approach that at least two well-mounted Federals rode unwarily into the line and were taken. One of them, Lieutenant William Merrill—a member of General Reynolds's staff—was so astonished to see Confederate soldiers that he muttered, “Did you men come from the clouds?”

The First Tennessee Infantry moved cautiously up the turnpike. “Pop, pop, pop, pop, went several guns and then a tremendous volley shook the mountain sides,” recalled a Tennessean. They had met a detachment of ninety Federals sent from the fort to aid Captain Coons. “The balls whistled in a way that can never be appreciated by one who has not heard them,” asserted Dr. Quintard. Pouring on the musketry, the Federals, led by Captain David Higgins of the Twenty-fourth Ohio, soon realized they were badly outnumbered and fell back.
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Captain Coons's little band of Federals now rejoined the fray. Emerging from the fog, Coons's skirmishers poured three quick volleys into General Anderson's rear guard, mostly slaves and quartermasters, causing the Tennesseans to scatter. Coons found the mountaintop swarming with Rebels. Vowing to cut his way through or die, the beleaguered captain barked “right face” and led his band in single file through the woods, finally reaching the fort at sunset.
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“After the fighting was over, where, O where, was all the fine rigging heretofore on our officers?” reflected Sam Watkins of the First Tennessee. “They could not be seen. Corporals, sergeants, lieutenants, captains, all had torn all the fine lace off their clothing. I noticed that at the time and was surprised and hurt. I asked several of them why they had torn off the insignia of their rank, and they always answered, ‘Humph, you think that I was going to be a target for the Yankees to shoot at?'

“You see, this was our first battle, and the officers had not found out that minnie as well as cannon balls were blind; that they had no eyes and could not see. They thought that the balls would hunt for them and not hurt the privates. I always shot at privates. It was they that did the shooting and killing, and if I could kill or wound a private, why, my chances were so much the better.”
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The Confederates had no swagger. Meeting the enemy at every turn, their courage melted away. “ I had expected an open field and a fair fight,” complained Dr. Quintard, “but this bushwhacking was entirely out of my line.” In the dense forest, small roving bands of bluecoats looked like whole regiments. Anticipating mere scouting parties of the enemy, the Federals pitched in with vigor. Success against overwhelming numbers only made them bolder. “By this time, we felt that we could whip the whole rebel army,” declared one of Captain Coons's men.
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On the turnpike east of Cheat Fort, Confederate General Henry Jackson's brigade also grew nervous. Peering through the fog, Jackson's men shot into their advance guard by mistake—killing and wounding a number of fellow Georgians. Those disheartened Confederates remained in front of the enemy fort, listening for the sound of Colonel Rust's guns. But no signal came from the big Arkansas colonel. The few shots that morning from Rust's quarter had been muffled by the dense forest and the fog.

As the day wore on, from every position could be heard, “What has become of Rust? Why doesn't he attack? Rust must have lost his way.” General Jackson's men wondered why more Federal soldiers weren't visible in the fort. “We thought Reynolds had given us the slip,” fretted Isaac Hermann, “and that we would find him in our rear and in our camp before we could get back.” Morale plummeted as General Lee's plan unraveled. “Would Rust
never
attack?” agonized Walter Taylor. “Alas! he never did!”
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Union General Reynolds was distracted by events in the Tygart Valley. On the afternoon of September 12, skirmishers in front of Camp Elkwater kept up a bickering fire. Reynolds watched the drama from an outpost one mile in front of the fortifications. General Loring's Confederate infantry rested on their arms, clearly awaiting a signal. General Reynolds rode forward and swept the enemy position with a telescope. Rebel gunners lobbed a twelve-pound shot in his direction. Reynolds ordered up a cannon to hurl a few shots in reply. Darkness settled in, and with it a conviction that Loring would not attack. The Confederates were on their heels. “Detached, discovered, without knowledge of the cause of Rust's silence,” wrote Walter Taylor, “the other commands were powerless for good.”
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While Reynolds faced down Loring in the Tygart Valley, General Lee spent much of September 12 extricating Donelson's
brigade from Federal pursuit on Becky Creek. Late that afternoon, the Confederates reached the safety of an isolated mountain farm and collapsed in a meadow, famished and utterly exhausted. Lee followed them up the trail on horseback. Word passed among the troops of how he learned of their critical position, how he had ridden for miles and placed himself in great peril to rescue them from the “jaws of death.” As Lee's horse ambled through the reposing brigade, someone raised a yell. Every man picked up the cheer, and for a few moments, the mountaintops echoed with wild cries in honor of the general.

“Yes, shout after shout rang out on the mountain wilderness,” recalled a Tennessean of Lee's appearance. “With a grand and noble heart, he lifted his hat, and with a smile on his face, and bowing to the men on the left and on the right, he rode off and by many of us was never seen again.”
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Donelson's Confederates soon discovered a browsing herd of cattle, making their deliverance complete. Hungry Tennesseans dispatched the entire herd. Huge chunks of raw meat soon dangled from ramrods over sputtering fires. Every man ate his fill—one swore the meal was savored “as no king or potentate ever relished his most sumptuous banquets or feast.” Confederates fondly remembered the spot as “Jubilee” or “Beef” Mountain.
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