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Rated: 18+ · Chapter · Military · #1522628
The story of the 55th & 59th US Colored Regiments.
Chapter 18

  Captain Randle took Lieutenant Black's warning seriously.  He placed his squadron on a skirmish line and told them to advance very slowly towards the crossroads.  Private Harris and Private Thorn were in the center of the road about fifty yards ahead of the rest of I Company.  Just as they crested the top of a small rise, Private Harris reigned in his mount and galloped back towards Captain Randle.

  "Blue bellies, Sir," he muttered, “’bout a hundred yards down the road.  Almost before he got the words out, a few rounds of rifle fire sounded in the distance.  Private Thorne came galloping back over the rise, his left hand holding his stomach, blood pouring out from between his tightly clinched fingers.  "Damn Yankees done shot Billy," Harris yelled, kicking his mount to go to his friend’s aid.

  "Pass the word!" Captain Randle yelled, "fall back to the road.  We're going back to report to the Colonel."  Holding the wounded Thorne between them, Captain Randle and Private Harris turned and trotted back east.  Less than ten minutes later, they ran into the head of Colonel Lyon's staff.  General Forrest was riding well to the forefront with the Colonel as Captain Randle pulled up and halted.  He sent Harris on with Thorne to find the surgeon.

  "Federals about half-a-mile back, Sir," he reported, uncertain whether to report to his colonel or to the general.  "Don't know how many."

  "Good work, Captain," Colonel Lyon replied, turning to look at General Forrest.  "You may deploy here until Colonel Sherrill comes up."

  As Captain Randle saluted and left, Bedford signaled to one of his aids.  "Go halt the brigade and ask Major Tate to send up Captain Tyler and a couple companies from the 12th," he ordered.  "Could be the Federals have set up an ambush ahead," he continued, turning back to Colonel Lyon.

  "They know that Lieutenant Black has had plenty of time to report their location," Colonel Lyon pointed out.  "Could be you're right, Bedford."

  Captain Tyler, a small man who looked more like a teenager, but was well-known and admired for his daring and sometimes reckless bravery, rode up with a smile on his face.  "You asked for me, General, Sir?"

  Bedford smiled back at the brash young officer.  "Captain Randle reports there are Yankees about a half-mile down that road.  I would like for you to charge their position and find out how many there are.  Do you feel that you can do that, Captain?"

  "Give me time General and I'll count the blisters on their butts for you," Tyler replied with a wide youthful grin and sharply turned his mount to the left.  "Company A to the fore, Company C trailing," he commanded.  "At a gallop, advance."

  As the two companies disappeared down the undulating road, Colonel Lyon turned to see how far back the rest of his brigade was.  It was still two miles distance but from the rising dust cloud, closing in fast.

  Just before spotting the Federal advance forces, Captain Tyler placed both companies on an assault line.  Satisfied that the men were in good spirits and eager to meet the enemy, he signaled for the bugler to sound the charge.  As the thrilling sounds of the bugle shattered the early morning quiet, the two companies spurred their mounts and crested the rise of a small hill.

  In front of them, spread out in a long line on both sides of the road, hundreds of Union cavalrymen sat stoically on their mounts casually awaiting the small advancing line of Confederates.  Before they could slow their adrenaline-charged horses, the Union line let go with a volley of rifle fire.  Lucky for the small Confederate force, the thick shrubs and undergrowth stopped the worst of the deadly fusillade.  The only two men lost were Privates Casey and Norman of A Company.

  The Confederate force continued until it broke through the Union line, scattering men and mounts in every direction.  Satisfied that he had done his job and that his small force could do no serious damage to the massive Union force, Tyler gave his bugler the signal to sound retreat.  They retreated back over the rise faster than they had charged over it because the two mountain howitzers had gone into action sending deadly shrapnel among them.

  "At least a brigade, possibly more," Tyler yelled to General Forrest, trying to calm his excited mount down.  "They didn't follow when we retreated, Sir.  I saw two regimental flags, the 2nd New Jersey and the 7th Indiana, and way back upon a hill I saw several more but the distance was too far to recognize them, Sir."

  "Excellent Captain," Colonel Lyon replied, signaling for Captain Randle to come forward.  "I want you to dismount your companies and form a skirmish line about fifty yards up, just in case the Yankees follow."  He glanced over at General Forrest who quietly sat patting the shoulder of his latest mount, "Prince Phillip."  He didn't know why the General even took the time and effort to name each horse he rode.  Latest estimates were that 29 or 30 had been shot out from under him already.  "Looks like you found you’re Federals, Bedford," he stated, "and stirred up a hornets nest to boot."

  Reckon we did, Hylan, reckon we did."

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