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  The Rangers rode screaming to within twenty yards, halted, and blasted the formation with buckshot and carbine fire. Emptied, those weapons were slung on their high pommels, and the bloody work was finished with pistols.

  The box broke. Joined now by the astounded Colonel Forrest and his Tennessee horsemen, the Rangers chased the tattered remainder back to its supporting force. Forrest fought his way to the head of the charge and was briefly surrounded and wounded, but cut his way out. As he rode by Major Harrison, he said, “Well done, sir. Very well done. Let’s us go and re-load, before their cavalry finds us.”

  Harvey volunteered ‘C’ Company to cover the withdrawal. As soon as the rest were out of sight, he yelled, “Check the dead. Leave the wounded be. You’re looking for money, carbines, pistols, watches, ammunition, boots, socks. Move quick, boys. They might actually have some cavalry.”

  As they searched, Melton caught up with Jones. “What you think of our Major now, Jonesy?”

  “Hell, I’d follow him anywhere. He plumb startled me.”

  “You don’t look so good.”

  “Swallowed that tobacco, when we charged.”

  ***

  The summer of 1862 bled over into 1863. The regiment fought in over forty engagements during this time, but only took thirty casualties. Murfreesboro, Tennessee. Perryville, Kentucky. Murfreesboro again. They earned a reputation for ferocity and competence.

  Drawn up on line with the 1st Georgia Cavalry, they faced a fresh Union cavalry brigade near Stone’s River, across fairly open ground. Bugles blared, sabers flashed, and the Yanks began their drill: trot, gallop, charge.

  “Steady, boys. Pay attention. The bluecoats are going to show us how to do a charge. Bugles, swords, by the numbers. Damn, that’s impressive.” McConegly and Harvey rode up and down behind ‘C’ Company, calming them. When the Union cavalry closed to within thirty yards, the entire line lit up as those shotguns roared once, then again. Hundreds of them, plus the First Georgia’s Enfields.

  Horses and blue-coated men went down, en masse, and the brave charge floundered. Pistols finished it.

  ***

  Nathan Bedford Forrest was now a general, and had earned his nickname: The Wizard. Whenever he could get them, he took Terry’s Rangers into his brigade.

  In January, he took them on a raid into western Tennessee. The spring was spent patrolling the despised General Bragg’s line along the Duck River, then screening his next retreat, to Chattanooga in June and July.

  Dobey, now a sergeant, rode with Melton on the retreat. “I don’t know how much longer we can stand Bragg as a Commander. The whole Army of Tennessee must be demoralized.”

  “Ever’ time we’ve whupped somebody, Bragg has run from ‘em. I wouldn’t cross the road to piss on him, if he was laying in the ditch, on fire.”

  ***

  ‘C’ Company was down to forty men, mainly due to sickness. The Eighth Texas, eleven hundred strong one and one half years earlier, was now composed of four hundred and twelve troopers. The armament changed, too. A few Spencers, lots of captured Sharps, a few Colt carbines. Shotguns, however, were still their forte. Every veteran had two or more revolvers.

  In September, they routed the Union right wing at Chickamauga, taking twenty casualties, while inflicting over one hundred and thirty. Once again, their latest regimental commander was one of the wounded, shot while leading a charge.

  Dobey, McConegly, and Jones had each been wounded twice, Melton three times, Harvey killed. Captain Dave Hunter now commanded ‘C’ Company and Melton took over as his first sergeant, when McConegly became the regimental sergeant major. Dobey and Jones were section leaders. They were all tired.

  In November, they caught a break. Terry’s Texas Rangers were detached to participate in the siege of Knoxville. Stuck in that failed effort, they weren’t able to rejoin the Army of Tennessee until the spring of ’64.

  In April, the Wizard asked for the Eighth Texas again, and with two brigades, took them to a small community forty miles north of Memphis, on the Mississippi River. It was called Fort Pillow.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The eleventh of April 1864 ended in a miserable drizzle for the garrison of Fort Pillow, Tennessee. The weather was not their greatest source of misery, however. Rumors abounded that the Wizard himself, General Nathan Bedford Forrest, had decided to cook their hash. He was especially upset, allegedly, that of the five hundred and thirty-six Union soldiers in the fort, over three hundred were Negro artillerymen, serving the fort’s six cannons. To make things worse, the remaining soldiers were “homegrown Yankees,” from the 13th Tennessee Cavalry (U.S.A.), who had, allegedly, committed untold numbers of unspeakable depredations on nearby southern sympathizers.

  Except for perhaps three men, the Negro artillerymen were all former slaves, who’d run or been freed from Tennessee and Mississippi plantations. Some of the 13th Tennessee were former Confederates, who’d deserted or been captured and changed sides. Forrest, a former successful slave trader, was determined to return the slaves to their owners and punish the 13th Tennessee, for “encouragement of the others.”

  When the word spread that the depredations were actually by the black artillerymen, and against the local flowers of southern womanhood, Rebel temperatures went off the scale. The fact that the artillerymen were trapped in Fort Pillow without horses, unable to get out to do the evil deeds, didn’t emerge until it was much too late.

  ***

  The morning of the 12th was worse. At 0530 hours the “Missouri Mongols” of Black Bob McCulloch’s 2nd Brigade killed several Union pickets and drove the others in. By 0600, it was apparent that another twenty men had deserted from the garrison, leaving 516 men to face the Wizard.

  Fort Pillow’s gun emplacement, about seventy-five yards square, sat on a high bluff overlooking the juncture of Coal Creek and the Mississippi River. Half-moon shaped, the fort’s six gun embrasures faced away from the river, to the south and east. A dry moat encircled its parapet, six to eight feet deep and about fourteen feet wide. Beyond that were some rifle pits for skirmishers, and the trees were cleared for half a mile or so.

  Just south of the fort itself were three rows of barracks, perhaps forty yards from the moat. One hundred fifty yards southwest of the gun positions was the camp of the 13th Tennessee Cavalry, on a low bluff. One hundred yards south of that were the boat landing, the ‘town,’ and a hospital. At the landing were several coal barges, and the Union gunboat New Era.

  Seven small hills surrounded the fort from one hundred to two hundred yards distant. The Rebels occupied these, and sharpshooters began firing on the gunboat and the gun positions. By eight a.m., most of the Union cavalrymen had joined the black artillerymen inside the parapet. At nine a.m., the fort’s commander, Major Lionel Booth, was shot dead standing beside Gun Number Two. His replacement, Major Bradford of the 13th Tennessee, immediately ordered the last of his cavalry skirmishers out of the rifle pits and into the fort.

  The New Era, ordered to take refugee non-combatants to safety, began towing the coal barge they’d occupied to a point upstream. At mid-morning, the Wizard himself arrived. Told that the fort could not be taken without heavy cost, Forrest immediately rode out for a personal reconnaissance of the entire perimeter. During this one hour ride, two horses were killed under him, and the third wounded.

  He then ordered his 3rd Brigade under Colonel Tyree Bell to close on the fort from the north and east, and sent Black Bob McCulloch’s 2nd Brigade up from the south to take the barracks near the parapet. Terry’s Rangers were part of McCulloch’s Brigade.

  ***

  “‘Nother Black-Hearted Bob, huh, Dobey? Like ol’ Captain Morrison?” Jones, Captain Hunter, First Sergeant Melton and Dobey were waiting for the regimental commander behind one of the captured barracks.

  “Goddamit, Jones, you call him ‘Dobey’ one more time and I’ll break your jaw. He’s been a lieutenant again for over a month.” Melton’s ferocity surprised them all.

&
nbsp; “Jesus, Top, I’m sorry. Sir.” Jones nodded contritely to Dobey.

  Jones had two of his troopers firing Enfields around each end of the barracks, in slow aimed fire. The rest of his twenty-man section sat around their leaders, in relative safety. The cannon in the fort could not be depressed enough to engage them, and the Wizard’s three rifled cannons had arrived at noon and driven off the Yankee gunboat. Now they waited for food, ammunition resupply, and orders.

  ‘C’ Company, down to fifty-one men, had eight Spencers, eleven short Enfields, twenty-four Sharps carbines and rifles, and eight men still carrying shotguns. The other nine companies of the Eighth Texas looked about the same. But each company had to leave ten men with their horses.

  A runner came dodging around the last row of barracks and jogged up to them. “The colonel wants the officers back there behind the last row. And you can send a couple of men from each section for food and bullets.”

  The runner waited until Dobey and Captain Hunter left, then turned to whisper to Melton. “Second Missouri found a bunch of liquor and food in them Yankees’ camp back there.” He nodded toward the former camp of the 13th Tennessee (U.S.A.). “In case you wanna send a runner there, too.”

  Melton put his finger in the man’s face. “Don’t say another word about that to no one. No one. You do, I’ll hurt you. Clear enough?”

  “Clear. But, shit, Sergeant, them niggers up there is already drunk Ain’t you heard ‘em?”

  “I heard ‘em. We want them drunk. But I see a man drinking in ‘C’ Company before we take that fort, I’ll kill him.” Melton looked around at the nearby Rangers. “Any of you boys been listening to us, you just focus on that last part.”

  Jones stretched and glared at his men. “These girls know they don’t drink afore I do. They know I’ll kill ‘em.”

  “He would, too, First Sergeant.” Corporal Marcus Skipper giggled. “He’d do it. He’s crazy as hell.”

  ***

  “We’re gonna have a truce. Wizard wants to give ‘em a chance to give up, since they ain’t got no other chance.” Captain Hunter stopped to take a bite of cold chicken. “Long as the truce flag flies, we ain’t supposed to move up. ‘Less, of course, they start cheating.”

  “How can they, Captain? We got ‘em circled.”

  “We don’t neither, Jones. The river. They can reinforce from boats behind the fort, or start to slip out by boat. You can see smoke down river. Means more boats is coming. Wizard’s gonna give ‘em one chance, but we got to finish this this afternoon.”

  “What do we do, if we ‘spect they is cheating?”

  “We’ll move through the smoke of them barracks burning in front of us, get in that ditch, right under ‘em. When the general sounds the charge, we’ll be on top of ‘em ‘fore they know it. All right. Check guns and water. And stay clear of them drunk bastards from Missouri on our left.”

  ***

  As more men from the Eighth Texas moved up to join ‘C’ Company behind the barracks, they saw General Forrest ride into plain view of the negotiators, on their left. He was also seen and recognized inside the little fort. Bluecoats, black and white alike, began taunting him. Butts were exposed, challenges shouted. In no way did those actions please the Wizard, or his men.

  Dobey rejoined Jones, Melton, and Captain Hunter.

  “What’s a chicken-shit rear echelon staff officer doing way up here? Lost again?” Hunter asked, grinning. Dobey, the new Regimental Intelligence Officer, had actually led the regiment on their march here the previous night.

  “Colonel says I can go in with you. I told him you were a mess, and needed help. Sir.” Dobey grinned back. “He did say to pass the word: General Forrest don’t want us to kill any of those contraband that we don’t have to. He thinks they’ll surrender, but if they don’t by four o’clock, we’re going in.”

  Captain Hunter stood. “How much time we got?”

  “It’s after 3:30 now.”

  “I’ll be happy to have you with us, if we go in. You and Melton take his old section, and I’ll go with Jonesy. Right now, I think you and me better split up and pass that word about the contrabands. The other companies probably ought to hear that from an officer.”

  As they jogged off, Jones stood and yelled “Hey—there’s the Wizard hisself again.” Forrest galloped up to their left flank, beyond the barracks, to the second meeting at the truce flag. For all to hear, he shouted “That gives you twenty minutes to surrender. I am General Forrest.”

  At ten minutes to four, the regimental commander joined ‘C’ Company. “Now, Forrest has changed his mind. He don’t think they’re gonna quit. They been signaling those boats. They think they’re gonna be rescued; either by slipping out to them boats, or having a whole bunch of fresh Yankees come run us off. Ain’t neither one gonna happen. We got sharpshooters covering both sides of the back of their hill. Now listen. We got a deserter, says there’s a ditch just under the wall. Maybe six feet deep. Then, there’s a ledge right under their wall. When the ‘Charge’ is sounded, get our boys in that ditch with no yelling or shooting. Forrest will have sharpshooters sweeping the wall. Half the men squat down, other half steps on ‘em, gets up on the ledge, then pulls up the other half. Soon as we’re set, we wave off the sharpshooters and go in among ‘em. Questions?”

  “The general still don’t want us to kill the contraband?”

  “No, he don’t. Nor do I. But when we go over that wall, you blister everything, everybody in sight. They throw down and quit, let ‘em. What we want is them cannons, turned around and pointed at them riverboats, before they bring us mischief.”

  ***

  At four p.m. the fort’s commander refused the surrender offer, and within seconds Forrest signaled the charge. Minutes later six hundred Rebel cavalrymen hunkered unseen below the lip of the parapet, and on a signal two hundred and fifty sharpshooters stopped firing.

  The six hundred Rebels in the first wave stood and fired, point-blank, into the shocked defenders; perhaps four hundred and eighty of them were still packed into the small fort. Thirty-five or forty had already been wounded or killed, and been sent down the back of the hill to the river.

  When the Rebels emptied their shotguns, carbines, and rifles, they drew their revolvers and blazed away with them. Most of the defenders were hit in those first few minutes. About a hundred were killed; a hundred, wounded, tried to surrender. The others, wounded, began to flee over the back wall. As they did, the second wave of Confederates came over the front walls, fired into the retreating mass, and dove into the melee. In less than ten minutes after the charge was sounded, Fort Pillow was overrun. Dead men were strewn everywhere, and the moaning of the wounded filled the air.

  As the Texans consolidated and began rounding up prisoners, two things happened. Someone on the left, maybe in the 5th Mississippi, yelled, “No quarter. General Forrest said kill ‘em all.” This regiment had lost several officers, including its commander, as they rushed the ditch. They had also been drinking. At the same time, on the other side, Colonel Barteau’s 22nd Tennessee found the 6th Colored Artillery’s open liquor.

  The mixture was now complete. A lack of leadership in some units, with hatred, racism, fear, blood lust, vengeance, vile challenges, rage, and liquor, set the stage. The lie of “no quarter” capped it.

  The second slaughter, the indefensible one, began. Every Rebel unit, including the Texans, began robbing the survivors, as was normal. Perhaps one hundred and fifty of the fifteen hundred-man assault force began shooting the prisoners, the wounded, and those trying to surrender.

  Several Rebel companies charged over the back wall, chasing those who had fled to the river. Many of the survivors continued fighting and firing at the attackers from the bottom of the hill. Some acted from drunkenness, others in sheer desperation.

  Whatever their reasons, their actions allowed some of the Rebels to continue firing, long after the fort’s flag was lowered.

  ***

  In the center of the fo
rt, a white sergeant from the 6th Colored Artillery knelt and calmly picked his targets. Twice wounded himself, he didn’t expect to be treated well by these southerners. No one serving with colored troops ever was.

  Captain Dave Hunter, standing on the parapet, took a bullet in his thigh and tumbled into a gun emplacement. The Henry barked again, and Sergeant Jeff Jones was hit in the face. He fell back into the moat.

  ***

  Dobey, scanning the interior of the fort for resistance, saw the flash of the brass Henry as the artillery sergeant levered it again. They fired simultaneously. The sergeant missed, and was knocked over a box of fuses. Dobey jumped off the parapet, retrieved the Henry, and as the second wave came over the wall, went looking for Jimmy Melton.

  “Lieutenant Walls. Hey—you all right?” Melton limped up, his left leg bleeding.

  Dobey nodded, and pointed at Melton’s leg.

  “Yeah. Contraband gunner stuck me with a bayonet when I jumped in his pit.” Melton grimaced. “You seen Captain Hunter? We got over thirty contraband prisoners, and maybe fifteen whites. The cannons is all secured.”

  Hunter hobbled up, using a captured Springfield as a crutch. “Put the prisoners in the moat, and put a good guard on ‘em. Them drunk bastards from Missouri and Mississippi is shouting ‘no quarter’ and shooting prisoners left and right. The Wizard ain’t here yet.” As Melton moved off, Hunter winced and sat on some ammo boxes. “I guess we better try to get some of these guns turned around.”

  “I’d help, Captain, but the colonel told me to collect whatever information I could, quick, in case we get chased off.”

  “Information?” Hunter was a fighter, with no formal military training. He didn’t care who he was fighting.

  “Yessir. What units were here, how many men and horses, size of the guns, like that. I’m looking for documents, maps, and officers to question.”

  “Oh. Damn, this hurts. Well, you better get on with it. I’ll send Melton to help you, soon as he’s back. I seen some tents there toward the back.” He stood suddenly. “Here comes the general.”