THE CIVIL WAR: THE TRUE STORY BOOK 1

Battle of Thompson's Station

The Battle of Thompson's Station was a battle of the American Civil War, occurring on March 5, 1863 in Williamson County, Tennessee.

In a period of relative inactivity following the Battle of Stones River, a reinforced Union infantry brigade, under Col. John Coburn, left Franklin to reconnoiter south toward Columbia. Four miles from Spring Hill, Coburn attacked with his right wing, a Confederate Army force composed of two regiments; he was repelled. Then, Maj. Gen. Earl Van Dorn seized the initiative. Brig. Gen. W.H. "Red" Jackson's dismounted 2nd Division made a frontal attack, while Brig. Gen. Nathan Bedford Forrest's division swept around Coburn's left flank, and into his rear. After three attempts, characterized by hard fighting, Jackson carried the Union hilltop position as Forrest captured Coburn's wagon train and blocked the road to Nashville in his rear. Out of ammunition and surrounded, Coburn surrendered, along with all but two of his field officers. Union influence in Middle Tennessee subsided for a while.

Van Dorn and Forrest received help with their victory from an unlikely participant. Miss Alice Thompson, age 17 at the time, was visiting the residence of Lieutenant Banks. The 3rd Arkansas Cavalry Regiment was advancing through the yard, lost their Colonel (Samuel G. Earle) and their color bearer, and the regiment was thrown into disorder. Miss Alice Thompson rushed out, raised the flag and led the regiment to victory. The enemy lauded her action

Dedicated to Roderick the amazing war horse of Nathan Bedford Forrest that was killed in this battle.

In the annals of American history, no war has produced as many famous horses as the Civil War: Traveller, Little Sorrel and Rienzi are among the best known, but there are others. Confederate Lt. Gen. Nathan Bedford Forrest, for example, rode several great mounts, including his loyal horse Roderick.

At the March 1863 Battle of Thompson's Station, Tenn., Roderick had been shot three times and removed froEE the front, but he jumped three fences to return to his master's side, where he suffered a fourth and fatal wound and Nathan Bedford Forrest knelt and wept beside his dying steed.

Today, a new statue of Roderick marks the chestnut gelding's final resting place. The memorial was dedicated this spring as part of the town's commemoration of the 145th anniversary of the Thompson's Station battle. In addition, the town's mayor, Leon Heron, announced the creation of the Roderick Award of Courage, which will be presented each March, starting in 2009, to an individual who exhibits bravery in the face of adversity.

Outside the world of horse racing—which has erected statues for such famous chargers as Seabiscuit and Secretariat—it is uncommon for a horse to be so honored without his famous rider depicted as well.

The Roderick statue, therefore, is a unique and fitting way to celebrate Civil War history. As historian Eric Jacobson said at the monument's unveiling. "We may all live for the future," he noted, "but all of us are products of our past."

T h e G e n e r a l 's M o u n t

by

J a c k K n o x

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THE BLOOD from deep inside
Began to color flecks of foam about the bit.
And pink the moisture in his heavy breath.

And yet the pain,
Sharp and searing hot,
Appeared to make no difference in his stride..
For this great chestnut gelding,

Dark with sweat,
Was all a war horse;
In his pace
And in his sinew,
Bone and blood . . . and in his heart.

The towering General, light-reined horseman
-- Light in the saddle too --
Felt the shot
That hit the horse beneath him.

There is
Some indescribable communion
Between a man and horse
Who've shared the roughest roads,
The longest hours,
The hardest battles;
A singleness of spirit, faith unflagging.

The General felt the pain
As though the gelding's wound was in himself;
It tightened muscles in his jaws and throat.

AND then the second shot
Struck hard the chestnut's side.
And then the third.
Stunning.
Staggering.

His powerful and easy stride
Became a labored lunge,
Steadied only by the General's balanced weight
And sure band.
The war horse gathered-
With every ounce of courage in his heart-
To carry on,
To fight the mission through
Calmingly, .
The General reined him in.
And stepping down
He loosed the girth
THE GENERALS young lieutenant,
Aide de camp-
His son- Reined up,
Dismounted;
Took the General's horse and gave his own.
Scarcely a word was passed,
No orders given-
None bad to be-
As the General,
With one backward glance, rode on.
And Willie led
The wounded war horse from the field
And to the rear.
Away from powder smoke
And battle strain.
Into the chill of early March,
Into the quieter countryside
In Tennessee.
To the horse holders beyond the second hill.

AND in the cutting chill
The war horse ached
Ached under his drying sweat
And drying blood.
A once alert,
Clearheaded "General's mount,"
Stunned and trembling
From the shock and pain.
Jaded.
Limping to the holders In the rear.
No bugles
And no drumbeats here,
Only fading sounds across the field.

THE HOLDERS slipped the bridle
From his lowered head,
Wiped the sweat marks
From his cheeks and neck.
Bathed the blood-red foam
From mouth and nostrils,
Sponged his wounds,
Applied a stinging ointment.
They washed his knees
And hocks
And pasterns.

"It's Roderick! The General's mount!
Bring the water bucket to him."

Roderick,
The General's mount,
Trained in his master's ways.
Trained to jump
A fence or wall or gulley,
To back and wheel,
To follow where the General went,
To follow closely,
Ready for an instant need.
And he followed him from training,
But he followed, too,
From love.

THE stinging ointment touched a spark of feeling.
The water gave refreshment
To his spirit.
He raised his head a little,
Cocked an ear,
And listened . . .
In the distance
There was shooting
And it echoed in the hills.
The General always rode
To the shooting.
HE TURNED to face the sound.
His ears were up and pointing.
His head was clearing now.
He moved a little,
Toward the sound,
The holders started to him.
Shouting "whoa"

He moved a little faster,
stiff and aching
Toward the shooting.
"WHOA" they shouted,
"Head 'im!"
He broke into a trot.
To a painful, labored gallop
To the General.

THE GALLOP warmed his blood
Loosened stiff and aching muscles.
Ahead,
A fence,
He cleared it
With a mighty surge of effort.
He was warm
And he was running,
A painful, awkward stride,
But running hard
To the General.

THE next fence-
Up and over-
He almost lost his footing;
But he could smell the powder now.
The General smelled of powder.

NOW he could see the men and horses,
Nervous horses,
Ready for the charge.
Now he could see the General.
One last fence before him
And the field.
He cleared it as the bugles blasted "CHARGE!"

HE was racing with the shouting horsemen now.
He was straining hard
To reach the General's side,
Five good strides ahead.
Bleeding.
Straining hard.
Three good strides . . .
When the killing bullet hit him in the chest.

THE keen ear of the General caught a sound;
Inaudible, almost, against the din.
Half a plaintive nicker,
Half a choking scream;
Like the scream of horses "bad hit" on the field.
Amid the shouting and the shrieking and the fire
The General heard it.
He stiffened,
Half turning in his saddle.
And there behind him
In the charge,
Stumbling, plunging, dying,
His war horse
-On his feet, but dying
In the charge.

THE feared
And fearless,
Battle-hardened General
Spurred ahead;
To fight more awesome battles for his cause.
But the man-the horseman-
Underneath his honored uniform
-Bedford Forrest-
Died a little there
On the field near Spring Hill,
March the fifth,
1863.

Rest In Heaven Roderick.