Southern Storm (43 page)

North of Wayne, at his camp along Rocky Creek, Major General Wheeler mulled over a dispatch from General Bragg’s adjutant that seemed to put the entire responsibility for stopping Sherman on his small command. Not only was the cavalry general expected to “cover the enemy’s front,” but he was also supposed to “retard his movements much, whatever may be his line of march.” In addition, Wheeler was tasked with spreading the word that “we are very largely re-enforced here [at Augusta] and at Savannah, and are preparing for any movement on us.”

This day had an emotional start for Sherman, who began it by biding farewell to “old Johnny Wells.” The General, recollected a staff member present, “took the trouble to go round by his house[,] shake hands & say good bye. The scene was quite affecting. The tears trickled down [Wells’s]…face and all he could say was God bless you and make you successful.”

Sherman accompanied the Seventeenth Corps, and likely stopped from time to time to proffer unsolicited advice on the proper way to
destroy a railroad. Camp for this night was at the Jones plantation, where Major Hitchcock had nothing but scorn for the master, a fire-breathing Rebel legislator who took himself off to safety in Savannah, while leaving his property in the care of his wife, “sick in bed; infant
four days old,
eight other children [present]…oldest only
ten or eleven
years old.” Sherman spoke to the invalid mistress to set her mind at ease, then arranged for supplies to be stocked in the house. He took no action to halt the foraging that was otherwise stripping the Jones holdings.

A Georgia citizen named Mallory visited with the General this evening. He did not impress Hitchcock, who thought him “rather hang-dog and cowed looking.” Mallory’s presence prompted another of Hitchcock’s moral self-examinations as he charted how far his feelings had changed in the course of the past weeks. “Evidently it is a material element in this campaign to produce among the
people of Georgia
a thorough conviction of the personal misery which attends war, and of the utter helplessness and inability of their ‘rulers,’ State or Confederate, to protect them. And I am bound to say that I believe more and more that only by this means the war can be ended,—and that
by this means it can.
”

Doing what was necessary to finish things was much on Sherman’s mind as he dictated a message this evening intended for Brigadier General Kilpatrick. Perhaps sensing in the cavalryman’s report a plaintive tone seeking approval, Sherman took care to assure him that his operations to date “have been entirely satisfactory to the general-in-chief.” He repeated his desire that Kilpatrick not hold back from giving the “enemy all he wants when he offers you battle.” Finally, Sherman felt compelled to address a subject raised by Kilpatrick: acts of terror against his troopers.

The cavalry officer recounted more instances of the murder and mutilation of his men after they had been taken prisoner. Sherman was not yet convinced by the anecdotal evidence he had been given, yet he could not ignore the increasing number of incidents. He wanted to be sure that Kilpatrick put Wheeler on personal notice that the atrocities had to stop. Once Kilpatrick had alerted Wheeler, should he obtain substantial proof that Rebel soldiers were committing the excesses, the cavalry general would receive official approval to retaliate. In such a circumstance, said Sherman: “You may hang and muti
late man for man without regard to rank.” The edge of a terrible abyss had been reached, and Sherman was fully prepared to cross it if the situation—according to
his
rules of war—justified such a course of action.

Friday, December 2, 1864

F
RIDAY
, D
ECEMBER
2, 1864

By the day’s order of march, Major General Joseph A. Mower’s First Division (Seventeenth Corps) had the lead following the railroad along the Ogeechee River. His division would be the first to reach Millen, which still wasn’t good enough for Captain Oscar L. Jackson, commanding a company in one of Mower’s regiments, the 63rd Ohio. Jackson, who also happened to be in charge of the regiment’s foragers, was determined to get into Millen before anyone else in order to secure the best supplies for his men. His brigade commander gave him the okay
to proceed, cautioning the captain to keep his group “well together and be cautious as…the enemy had been there a few hours previous and it was not yet known that they were gone.”

Jackson’s party arrived at the railroad bridge across Buckhead Creek several hours ahead of the main column. The floor planking had been thrown off and a feeble attempt made to torch the span, but, stepping gingerly, Jackson was able to get his “men across the creek in single file on the standing timbers.” To his great relief, there were no Rebel soldiers in the town. Posting a detail to watch the roads, the officer sent the remainder of his small command off to forage.

Besides the usual goodies, they found a lot of honey bee hives. “We would set a hive off the stand and split it open and brush the bees away and fill the heavy comb into vessels,” Jackson recollected. “It was warm and the bees [were] able to fly but seemed too much frightened to sting.” The Ohio boys had the town to themselves for only a short while before a patrol from the 1st Alabama Cavalry, on detached service with the infantry, ambled in to join the fun.

Jackson was comparing notes with the cavalry leader when one of his men came running over to report that a train that had come up the line from the south was stopped just outside the town. It must have been a scouting mission since its conductor was walking ahead to gauge the lay of the land. He paid for his boldness when he ran into Jackson’s picket line and was taken prisoner. Several of the cavalrymen galloped out to try to capture the train, but the alert engineer reversed gears in time to back out of danger.

When the head of the heavy column arrived at the creek by midafternoon, it was halted while engineers from the 1st Michigan repaired the bridge to handle bulk traffic. “Some of the boys had to get down and ‘coon it over,’” remarked a soldier in the 32nd Ohio. “One fellow fell off into the creek and came near losing his life.” Once the bridge had been restored, and the columns were passing through the town, serious attention was given to the legitimate targets of war. “The railroad and all government property destroyed,” commented an infantryman in the 43rd Ohio. The three divisions of the Seventeenth Corps camped this night in the Millen area.

South of the Ogeechee, the Fifteenth Corps marched in two columns operating roughly parallel to the river. Although the course of one was along what was grandly styled the Old Savannah Road, pas
sage was anything but routine. “We had to wade a great many swamps,” recorded an Ohio diarist. “The roads very bad and we was obliged to make corduroy [roads] across the swamps,” added a journal keeper in the 47th Ohio. The point where the road crossed Scull’s Creek posed a significant challenge, requiring the construction of a log bridge for the wagons and ammunition. A mile or so beyond the creek, the leading brigade reached Clifton Ferry on the Ogeechee, diagonally across from Scarboro. The 1st Missouri Engineers were on hand, and in a remarkably short time a pontoon bridge had been laid over the Ogeechee, allowing a large mounted party to go across, reach the Central of Georgia track, then scout southeast as far as Scarboro.

The Federals galloped into the small station town to learn that the last train to Savannah had departed not two hours earlier. The local post office yielded a fine selection of recent Savannah newspapers, which were forwarded to Major General Howard. A civilian telegraph operator named Jonathan Lonergan was riding with this group. Lonergan found that his enemy counterpart had thought to take his instrument with him, but when he hooked his own device to the wires, the circuit south was still functioning.

For the next fifteen minutes the Yankee listened as Confederate operators down the line exchanged chatter without any helpful context. Now and again Lonergan heard an interrogatory for operator “9,” and it finally dawned on him that it referred to the Scarboro station. Tapping an acknowledgment, he was rewarded with the query: “What is the news? What is going on?” Lonergan promptly replied: “The Yankees have not yet crossed the river, and all is quiet.” Hoping to glean some fresh intelligence, he continued: “What is the news from the East? How are things looking in Savannah?”

The distant operator, growing suddenly suspicious, demanded to know the identity of his correspondent. Fortunately, an officer with the scouting party had learned the Scarboro telegrapher’s name. Lonergan promptly identified himself as the man, but any hopes he had of reaping a harvest of information were dashed when the man himself broke into the circuit from the next station to the south and exposed his deception. With the ruse exposed, Lonergan exchanged ironic pleasantries with the distant operator, spiced with barbed comments and patently false information. “Darkness approaching and camp being some distance off, the conversation ended,” reported Lonergan.

Across the Ogeechee from where he was sitting, the Fifteenth Corps settled into camp, the northern wing near Scull’s Creek, the two divisions to the south in Bulloch County. An Illinois veteran resting near the Right Wing headquarters scribbled in his diary: “While soul stirring music is being dispensed by Gen. Howard’s band—A warm day & pleasant evening,—Have heard the news from a Rebel paper today—They pretend to think that Sherman’s army is surrounded & about to be captured.”

North of the Seventeenth Corps’ line of march, the columns constituting all of the Twentieth Corps and two-thirds of the Fourteenth merged at a crossroads about two miles northeast of Birdsville, with the former having the right-of-way. The roads posed no exceptional problems, so the foragers were especially active. One incident this day offered a case study in how soldiers drawn from different regiments could work together for their own defense and self-interest.

It began with a decision by Sergeant Lyman Widney to undertake an unofficial foraging expedition with his messmate. The two set off at sunrise, hoping to prove the childhood adage that the early bird gets the worm. They encountered their first house after a tramp of several miles, only to find that it had just been visited by a five-man foraging party, so the pair trudged on. As they approached a small woods, they heard several shots. Soon two Federal soldiers came running toward them, exclaiming that their group of five had been ambushed by Rebel cavalry.

“We now considered ourselves in a predicament,” related Widney, “five miles ahead of our army and almost face to face with the enemy.” Looking over their shoulders, they saw not a relief column, but scattered clumps of men—other foraging parties like themselves. A bit of frantic signaling brought many to them on the run; before very long there were fifty or more soldiers on hand from perhaps a half-dozen regiments. A skirmish line was organized, and the group, representing several units and without any officers present, moved aggressively into the woods. The extended skirmish line pushed through the little forest, locating the bodies of the ambushed foragers as well as the remains of the Rebel cavalry’s night camp. Popping out of the belt of trees, the Yankees found themselves on the edge of a clearing, with mounted Rebels formed along the opposite side.

Neither group seemed anxious to press the issue, which worked to
the advantage of the Federals, for more and more foragers joined them until the size of the battle line was imposing enough to scare away the enemy riders. With the danger removed, the impromptu formation dissolved as the soldiers picked up where they had left off. When Sergeant Widney and his messmate rejoined their regiment that night with their spoils, they were welcomed as lost souls, since their comrades “had heard just enough of our encounter to believe that the worms had caught the early birds.”

After dispersing a few Rebel pickets near Buckhead Church, the combined Twentieth/Fourteenth Corps column settled in for the night, a short march from the rail line connecting Millen with Augusta through Waynesboro. Just to their north was the flying column of infantry and cavalry, which had itself had a very busy day.

The formation—aligned like yesterday, infantry in the middle, cavalry watching the flanks—set off shortly after sunrise. “Commenced skirmishing with the enemy before we had gone a mile,” noted the enterprising staff officer, Major James Connolly. Brigadier General Baird, in overall charge of the expedition, wasn’t one to take chances. Connolly noted that “our movement was slow and extremely cautious, the ground ahead being well reconnoitered by our advance parties and skirmishers.” The enemy made every effort to justify Baird’s caution. “We have had sharp skirmishing with the rebels all day,” recorded an Indiana trooper. “They would take advantage of every creek, swamp, or any place they could retard our march.”

Brigadier General Baird, a Pennsylvanian, was something of an abolitionist. He made it a point to personally question as many slaves as possible, even allowing one named Jerry to tag along as a guide. Major Connolly thought him “a lively, rollicking, fun loving fellow, with a good deal of shrewdness.” Jerry and Baird had been riding together chatting amicably for the entire morning when the black man suddenly erupted in a loud laugh. “Golly,” he said in response to Baird’s questioning look, “I wish old massa could see me now, ridin’ wid de Ginrals.”