| " I was a Southern Man at the start. I am yet,and will die a Rebel. I believe I was right in all I did. I dont think I have done anything wrong at anytime. I committed my deeds in a cool and deliberate manner. I have killed a good many men, of course; I dont deny that, but I never killed a man whom I did not know was seeking my life. It is false that I never took prisoners. I took a great many and after keeping them awhile paroled them.... I had always heard that the Federals would not take me prisoner, but would shoot me down, wherever found. That is what made me kill more than I would otherwise have done. They never got a man that belonged to my company or Bledsoe's company but that they killed him, and of course they might expect that I would not miss doing the same thing with their men. I repeat that I die a Rebel out and out, and my last request is that my body be removed to White County, Tennessee, and be buried in good Rebel soil...." Champion Ferguson on the morning of his execution October 20, 1865 |
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The following article is from the Confederate Veteran,
Vol. VII, No. 10 Nashville, Tenn., October, 1899.
CHAMP FERGUSON
By B. L. Ridley, Murfreesboro, Tenn.
A typical mountaineer-such was Champ Ferguson. The times in which
he lived called forth physical energy, egged on by passion. The acts of
his adversaries prompted his motives, and raging war made his career in
the strife of 1861-65 an epitome of blood.
Champ was at his home, a citizen, when the tocsin was sounded, and
stayed there until his own precincts were invaded. A rabid fire
eater-passed his house with a troop of Blues. Champ Ferguson's little
three-year old child came into the porch waving a Confederate flag.
One of the men in blue leveled his gun and killed the child. O anguish!
how that father's heart bled. His spirit welled up like the indomitable
will of the primitive Norseman. In a moment of frenzy he said that the
death of his baby would cost the "bluecoats" a hundred lives. And it
did. One hundred and twenty is believed to be the number he put to
death.
He took to the woods, and for four years his war upon them was
unrelenting and vengeance was never appeased. It increased with the
raging torrent as his family and friends were much vilified and abused.
In the Cumberland Mountains clans formed and terrorized the section
by petty warfare until the caldron of fear and apprehension invaded
every home. It grew with the years, and Champ became the terror of
the Northern side, while Huddleston and Tinker Dave Beatty were that
to the Southerners. The acts of the latter, because they belonged to the
victorious side, are buried in the tomb, and the government perhaps
honors their memory; but the acts of Champ Ferguson, because of the
misfortunes of war, are bruited as the most terrible in history.
If the sea could give up its dead, and the secrets of men be made
known, Champ Ferguson's actions as bushwhacker, in comparison,
would excite only a passive and not an active interest. Champ was a
mountaineer; rude and untrained in the refinements of moral life, he had
entertained that strict idea of right that belongs to the mountain
character. His nature had instilled into him the strongest incentive of
wreaking vengeance for a wrong. His method was indiscreet, his
warfare contemptible; but, in palliation, how was it compared to the
open murder of starving out our women and children, burning our
houses, and pillaging our homes? Champ Ferguson was well to do in
this world's goods when the war began. Had he been let alone, a career
of good citizenship would have been his portion. Had he lived in the
days of the Scottish chiefs, the clans would no doubt have crowned his
efforts; but now, since his flag has fallen, history marks his career as
more awful than that of John A. Murrell, and caps it with a hangman's
noose. The times in which he acted must be considered! the
provocation, the surroundings, and then let history record Champ's
actions.
In his zeal for the South to win he became hardened; and the more
steeped in blood the more his recklessness increased until irritability
occasioned by treatment of his home folk drove him to maniacal
desperation.
In encountering these mountain bushwhackers it became the armies of
both sides to help them when called upon to wage the war of
extermination. A comrade has given me an account of the killing of
Huddleston, the Federal hushwhacker, whose company was afterwards
commanded by Tinker Dave Beatty. I mention it to show the madness
of these mountaineers toward each other. This soldier friend says:
"My recollection is that we traveled around Lebanon, Ky., on the night
of December 25, 1862, and the next day we went to Columbia, Ky.,
and it was then that Capt. Ferguson went to Gen. Morgan and asked
for two companies to scout with him that night, having heard that they
were going to bushwhack Morgan's rear the next day. I did not know
that Capt. Ferguson was with us until we had traveled several hours
and we went into a house where they were having a Christmas dance.
This was a short distance from Capt. Huddleston's house. When he
reached it he was upstairs shooting at us. The house was a new log one
and not completed. It had no floor upstairs, but a few plank on the
joists. I thought that it was an outhouse where no one was living, and
that he had gone there for protection. One of-my companions got
Capt. Huddleston's horse after they had run him to the house from a
thicket near by. The animal was a splendid bay mare and could run
very fast. While Huddleston was shooting out of the window upstairs,
and we were responding, some one ordered the house burned; but I was
close behind a small meat house, and told him to come down-that we
would give him quarter. He replied that he was true blue himself and
would not come down. Then the house was set on fire, and some one
in it put it out with water. About this time Capt. Huddleston was
shot, and fell between the joists downstairs. He was brought out of the
house, and Capt. Ferguson shot him afterwards. At the time
Huddleston was shot some one in the house said: 'You killed him.'
There was but one other man in the house, and he claimed to be sick.
Ferguson killed him. We then went about three or four miles farther to
a house, where two bitter enemies of Ferguson were in bed in a room
by themselves. Capt. Ferguson went in advance to this house and into
the room, pulled his dirk out of his boot leg and felt in bed with them
and commenced cutting them. He killed one in bed and shot one as he
went out the door, and our company captured the third man after he
came out of the house. One of my companions was guarding the
prisoner, when some one told him that he would guard him, and took
him off. In a few minutes Capt Ferguson came up and asked where the
prisoner was, and said that he would have the man shot who turned
him loose. This seemed to frighten the guard, and he asked me what to
do and said that he thought Capt. Ferguson was the man who took the
prisoner from him. I told him I had no doubt of it, and that I thought he
had killed him and was then talking for effect. We then went to
Creelsboro, on the Cumberland River, reaching there about daylight
after the hardest, coldest night of our lives, and joined the command
near Burkesville."
In the "History of Morgan's Cavalry" Gen. Duke says: "The great
opponent of Champ Ferguson in the bushwhacking business was
Tinker Dave Beatty. The patriarchal old man lived in a cove
surrounded by high hills. at the back of which was a narrow path
leading to the mountains. Surrounded by his clan, he led a pastoral life
which must have been fascinating, for many who entered into the cove
never came away again. The relentless ferocity of all that section made
that of Bluebeard and the Welch giants in comparison sink into
insignificance. Sometimes Champ Ferguson, with his band, would enter
the cove, carry off old Dave's stock, and drive him to his retreat in the
mountains, to which no man ever followed him. Then, when he was
strong enough, he would lead his henchmen against Champ and slay all
who did not escape. He did not confine his hostility to Capt. Ferguson.
There were not related of Beatty so many stories illustrative of his
personal courage as of Ferguson. I heard of the latter, on one occasion,
having gone into a room where two of his bitter enemies lay before the
fire, both strong men and armed, and throwing himself upon therm he
killed both, after a hard struggle, with a knife. Beatty possessed a
cunning and subtlety which Ferguson, in a great manner, lacked. Both
of the men were known to have spared life on some rare occasions.
Champ caused a Union man to be released, saying that he did not
believe him to be a bushwhacker. Subsequently, after a fit of silence,
Ferguson said: 'I have a good notion to go back and hunt that man. I am
afraid I have done wrong, for he is the very best shot in this part of the
country; and if he does turn bushwhacker, he will kill a man at every
shot.'"
Such is the story, in part, of the feats of Champ Ferguson, a
bushwhacker of the mountains of Kentucky and Tennessee. He was
hanged by the Federals at Nashville after the war.
Tinker Dave Beatty and Champ Ferguson's men were the terror of
either side throughout Eastern Kentucky and Tennessee until the close
of the war.
The Republican Banner, published at Nashville, edited by Henry
Watterson and Albert Roberts, dated October 21, 1865, contains the
charges against Ferguson read at the gallows. The war had ceased, and
Ferguson had been promised his life to surrender; but passions were
up, and bad faith led him to his doom.
"Col. Shafter read aloud the charges, specifications and findings of the
court. Ferguson listened intently, his head askance and his eyes fixed
musingly on his boots. The list was long and bloody! embracing
twenty-three separate cases-how the prisoner about to be executed had
cut the throats of the wounded soldiers. Again, how he had murdered
an old father whilst the arms of his daughter were Hung about his neck;
how he had pursued a victim and killed him, saying, 'That's
ninety-seven of the Yankees gone and I'll go and kill three more to
make it an even hundred;" how he had mangled wounded men with
knives; how he had murdered citizens as well as soldiers, running
through four years of desperate cruelty and wrong-were clearly read by
Col. Shafter, embracing over one hundred and twenty human beings.
Champ nodded approval to ten of the charges. To one he said: 'I could
tell it better than that.' Col. Shafter replied 'No doubt you could, for
you saw it.'
"When he had finished reading the charges Col. Shafter said: 'Well,
Champ, you hear what these say, and I am about to carry them out and
execute you. I hope you bear me no malice for the discharge of my
duty.' Champ replied: 'Not the least-none in the world.' The Colonel
then said: 'Do you want to say anything?' 'No,' replied the prisoner,
'That is, I can't say what I want to say here, and maybe it's no matter
anyway.' 'Have you no last request to make?
'Well, I don't want to be cut up by anybody; and when you've done
with me I want you to put my body in that coffin and give it to my
wife. She'll take me home to White County, on the Calf Killer. There I
wish to be buried-not on such soil as this. There is a little graveyard
near my house (she knows it), and I want to lie there. If I had my own
way, I'd be there now, and not here. I wish you would wipe my face
before I go.'
"The Colonel did as requested. The wife and daughter remained near
by. Almost unconsciously, the daughter said after the execution: "I
hope they are satisfied, and that now we will be let alone.'"
The article thus winds up: "That Champ Ferguson's career was an
epitome of blood seems evident, but he possessed the nerve, if he did
not the magnanimity, of manhood; and the same courage, fortitude, and
purpose, directed by education and good intent, might have crowned a
noble life instead of a death upon the gallows tree."
Capt. S. J. Johnson, of the Confederate army, in sending me the picture
of Ferguson, says: "This picture was taken in Nashville just before
Ferguson was hanged. My farm and home were once owned by Champ
Ferguson. He is buried near my home, in White County, Tenn., on the
Calf Killer. I can stand on my front piazza and see the tall gray
tombstone, that was cut from rock in the mountain not over a mile
from his grave."
"The dead should be sacred-in peace let him rest---
Nor trample in scorn o'er the prayer hallowed sod;
The green turf is holy that covers his breast;
Give his faults to the past, leave his soul with his God."
Vol. VII, No. 10 Nashville, Tenn., October, 1899.
CHAMP FERGUSON
By B. L. Ridley, Murfreesboro, Tenn.
A typical mountaineer-such was Champ Ferguson. The times in which
he lived called forth physical energy, egged on by passion. The acts of
his adversaries prompted his motives, and raging war made his career in
the strife of 1861-65 an epitome of blood.
Champ was at his home, a citizen, when the tocsin was sounded, and
stayed there until his own precincts were invaded. A rabid fire
eater-passed his house with a troop of Blues. Champ Ferguson's little
three-year old child came into the porch waving a Confederate flag.
One of the men in blue leveled his gun and killed the child. O anguish!
how that father's heart bled. His spirit welled up like the indomitable
will of the primitive Norseman. In a moment of frenzy he said that the
death of his baby would cost the "bluecoats" a hundred lives. And it
did. One hundred and twenty is believed to be the number he put to
death.
He took to the woods, and for four years his war upon them was
unrelenting and vengeance was never appeased. It increased with the
raging torrent as his family and friends were much vilified and abused.
In the Cumberland Mountains clans formed and terrorized the section
by petty warfare until the caldron of fear and apprehension invaded
every home. It grew with the years, and Champ became the terror of
the Northern side, while Huddleston and Tinker Dave Beatty were that
to the Southerners. The acts of the latter, because they belonged to the
victorious side, are buried in the tomb, and the government perhaps
honors their memory; but the acts of Champ Ferguson, because of the
misfortunes of war, are bruited as the most terrible in history.
If the sea could give up its dead, and the secrets of men be made
known, Champ Ferguson's actions as bushwhacker, in comparison,
would excite only a passive and not an active interest. Champ was a
mountaineer; rude and untrained in the refinements of moral life, he had
entertained that strict idea of right that belongs to the mountain
character. His nature had instilled into him the strongest incentive of
wreaking vengeance for a wrong. His method was indiscreet, his
warfare contemptible; but, in palliation, how was it compared to the
open murder of starving out our women and children, burning our
houses, and pillaging our homes? Champ Ferguson was well to do in
this world's goods when the war began. Had he been let alone, a career
of good citizenship would have been his portion. Had he lived in the
days of the Scottish chiefs, the clans would no doubt have crowned his
efforts; but now, since his flag has fallen, history marks his career as
more awful than that of John A. Murrell, and caps it with a hangman's
noose. The times in which he acted must be considered! the
provocation, the surroundings, and then let history record Champ's
actions.
In his zeal for the South to win he became hardened; and the more
steeped in blood the more his recklessness increased until irritability
occasioned by treatment of his home folk drove him to maniacal
desperation.
In encountering these mountain bushwhackers it became the armies of
both sides to help them when called upon to wage the war of
extermination. A comrade has given me an account of the killing of
Huddleston, the Federal hushwhacker, whose company was afterwards
commanded by Tinker Dave Beatty. I mention it to show the madness
of these mountaineers toward each other. This soldier friend says:
"My recollection is that we traveled around Lebanon, Ky., on the night
of December 25, 1862, and the next day we went to Columbia, Ky.,
and it was then that Capt. Ferguson went to Gen. Morgan and asked
for two companies to scout with him that night, having heard that they
were going to bushwhack Morgan's rear the next day. I did not know
that Capt. Ferguson was with us until we had traveled several hours
and we went into a house where they were having a Christmas dance.
This was a short distance from Capt. Huddleston's house. When he
reached it he was upstairs shooting at us. The house was a new log one
and not completed. It had no floor upstairs, but a few plank on the
joists. I thought that it was an outhouse where no one was living, and
that he had gone there for protection. One of-my companions got
Capt. Huddleston's horse after they had run him to the house from a
thicket near by. The animal was a splendid bay mare and could run
very fast. While Huddleston was shooting out of the window upstairs,
and we were responding, some one ordered the house burned; but I was
close behind a small meat house, and told him to come down-that we
would give him quarter. He replied that he was true blue himself and
would not come down. Then the house was set on fire, and some one
in it put it out with water. About this time Capt. Huddleston was
shot, and fell between the joists downstairs. He was brought out of the
house, and Capt. Ferguson shot him afterwards. At the time
Huddleston was shot some one in the house said: 'You killed him.'
There was but one other man in the house, and he claimed to be sick.
Ferguson killed him. We then went about three or four miles farther to
a house, where two bitter enemies of Ferguson were in bed in a room
by themselves. Capt. Ferguson went in advance to this house and into
the room, pulled his dirk out of his boot leg and felt in bed with them
and commenced cutting them. He killed one in bed and shot one as he
went out the door, and our company captured the third man after he
came out of the house. One of my companions was guarding the
prisoner, when some one told him that he would guard him, and took
him off. In a few minutes Capt Ferguson came up and asked where the
prisoner was, and said that he would have the man shot who turned
him loose. This seemed to frighten the guard, and he asked me what to
do and said that he thought Capt. Ferguson was the man who took the
prisoner from him. I told him I had no doubt of it, and that I thought he
had killed him and was then talking for effect. We then went to
Creelsboro, on the Cumberland River, reaching there about daylight
after the hardest, coldest night of our lives, and joined the command
near Burkesville."
In the "History of Morgan's Cavalry" Gen. Duke says: "The great
opponent of Champ Ferguson in the bushwhacking business was
Tinker Dave Beatty. The patriarchal old man lived in a cove
surrounded by high hills. at the back of which was a narrow path
leading to the mountains. Surrounded by his clan, he led a pastoral life
which must have been fascinating, for many who entered into the cove
never came away again. The relentless ferocity of all that section made
that of Bluebeard and the Welch giants in comparison sink into
insignificance. Sometimes Champ Ferguson, with his band, would enter
the cove, carry off old Dave's stock, and drive him to his retreat in the
mountains, to which no man ever followed him. Then, when he was
strong enough, he would lead his henchmen against Champ and slay all
who did not escape. He did not confine his hostility to Capt. Ferguson.
There were not related of Beatty so many stories illustrative of his
personal courage as of Ferguson. I heard of the latter, on one occasion,
having gone into a room where two of his bitter enemies lay before the
fire, both strong men and armed, and throwing himself upon therm he
killed both, after a hard struggle, with a knife. Beatty possessed a
cunning and subtlety which Ferguson, in a great manner, lacked. Both
of the men were known to have spared life on some rare occasions.
Champ caused a Union man to be released, saying that he did not
believe him to be a bushwhacker. Subsequently, after a fit of silence,
Ferguson said: 'I have a good notion to go back and hunt that man. I am
afraid I have done wrong, for he is the very best shot in this part of the
country; and if he does turn bushwhacker, he will kill a man at every
shot.'"
Such is the story, in part, of the feats of Champ Ferguson, a
bushwhacker of the mountains of Kentucky and Tennessee. He was
hanged by the Federals at Nashville after the war.
Tinker Dave Beatty and Champ Ferguson's men were the terror of
either side throughout Eastern Kentucky and Tennessee until the close
of the war.
The Republican Banner, published at Nashville, edited by Henry
Watterson and Albert Roberts, dated October 21, 1865, contains the
charges against Ferguson read at the gallows. The war had ceased, and
Ferguson had been promised his life to surrender; but passions were
up, and bad faith led him to his doom.
"Col. Shafter read aloud the charges, specifications and findings of the
court. Ferguson listened intently, his head askance and his eyes fixed
musingly on his boots. The list was long and bloody! embracing
twenty-three separate cases-how the prisoner about to be executed had
cut the throats of the wounded soldiers. Again, how he had murdered
an old father whilst the arms of his daughter were Hung about his neck;
how he had pursued a victim and killed him, saying, 'That's
ninety-seven of the Yankees gone and I'll go and kill three more to
make it an even hundred;" how he had mangled wounded men with
knives; how he had murdered citizens as well as soldiers, running
through four years of desperate cruelty and wrong-were clearly read by
Col. Shafter, embracing over one hundred and twenty human beings.
Champ nodded approval to ten of the charges. To one he said: 'I could
tell it better than that.' Col. Shafter replied 'No doubt you could, for
you saw it.'
"When he had finished reading the charges Col. Shafter said: 'Well,
Champ, you hear what these say, and I am about to carry them out and
execute you. I hope you bear me no malice for the discharge of my
duty.' Champ replied: 'Not the least-none in the world.' The Colonel
then said: 'Do you want to say anything?' 'No,' replied the prisoner,
'That is, I can't say what I want to say here, and maybe it's no matter
anyway.' 'Have you no last request to make?
'Well, I don't want to be cut up by anybody; and when you've done
with me I want you to put my body in that coffin and give it to my
wife. She'll take me home to White County, on the Calf Killer. There I
wish to be buried-not on such soil as this. There is a little graveyard
near my house (she knows it), and I want to lie there. If I had my own
way, I'd be there now, and not here. I wish you would wipe my face
before I go.'
"The Colonel did as requested. The wife and daughter remained near
by. Almost unconsciously, the daughter said after the execution: "I
hope they are satisfied, and that now we will be let alone.'"
The article thus winds up: "That Champ Ferguson's career was an
epitome of blood seems evident, but he possessed the nerve, if he did
not the magnanimity, of manhood; and the same courage, fortitude, and
purpose, directed by education and good intent, might have crowned a
noble life instead of a death upon the gallows tree."
Capt. S. J. Johnson, of the Confederate army, in sending me the picture
of Ferguson, says: "This picture was taken in Nashville just before
Ferguson was hanged. My farm and home were once owned by Champ
Ferguson. He is buried near my home, in White County, Tenn., on the
Calf Killer. I can stand on my front piazza and see the tall gray
tombstone, that was cut from rock in the mountain not over a mile
from his grave."
"The dead should be sacred-in peace let him rest---
Nor trample in scorn o'er the prayer hallowed sod;
The green turf is holy that covers his breast;
Give his faults to the past, leave his soul with his God."
A muster roll of Champ Ferguson's company was
"captured" near Ferguson's White County home
in August of 1864 by a Union force commanded by
Captain Rufus Dowdy. After the war, at Ferguson's
trial, Dowdy testified, "I got hold of some blanks in
form of a muster roll and payroll with some names
written on it. I got it out there in the woods near
Ferguson's house... It was in a box packed up in the
hollow of a chestnut tree. The box was held up by
some poles punched up the hollow of the tree, and
when the boys pulled the poles out the box fell down...
I found three sheets or I and some others did." Dowdy
did not know who got the other two sheets, but now
having made his own peace with Ferguson, Dowdy
gave his sheet to Ferguson's lawyers. This muster roll,
labeled, "Document 'P'", is attached to the trial case file
at the National Archives. According to the roll, all
members of the company were enlisted on Nov. 19th
'62 in Overton Co. for a period of 3 years; Ferguson
was enlisted by John H. Morgan and all others by
Ferguson. The handwritting, which is not Ferguson's,
is difficult to decipher, and some of the names have
been obliterated by folding and deterioration:
Name Rank Remarks
Champ Fergerson Capt.
H. W. Sublet 1st Lieut.
A. H. Foster 2nd Lieut.
W. R. Latham 3rd Lieut.
G. W. Twiford O.S.
R. H. Philpott 2nd Serg.
- F--t--- 3rd Serg.
F. Burchet 4th Serg.
E. Crabtree 1st Corp.
W. W. Parker 2nd Corp.
J. Holsopple 3rd Corp.
A. Heldreth 4th Corp.
Ard, R. S. Private
Aberson, John "
Braswell, H. D. "
Burchett, R. A. " Killed in Wayne Co., Ky. Jan. 21, 1863
Barnes, W. "
Barnes, J. M. " Killed in Wayne Co., Ky. Jan. 21, 1863
Barnes, Francis "
Barton, B. P. "
Berry, B. W. "
Boston, G. W. " Killed in Wayne Co., Ky. Jan. 21, 1863
Barnes, James M. "
Brooks, John "
Bellen[w?], A. "
Burk, John "
Bradley, S. I. "
Cogher, W. H. " Killed in Jackson Co., Tenn. Decmb. 1st,
1862
Cowain, J. T. "
Denton, John "
Elder, John "
Franklin, Jeff "
Frost, F. "
Franklin, I. M. "
Franklin, Sheby "
Gregry, John "
Grayham, Durham "
Grisham, O. H. "
Guinn, S. T. "
Horsup, John " Killed in Overton Co., Tenn. Feb. 1st,
1863
Hickey, B[enson?] "
Haynes, John "
Holsopple, W. "
Johnson, H. " Killed in Wayne Co., Ky. Jan. 21, 1863
Jones, John "
Jones, T. S. "
Kelly, Thomas "
McGinas, J. H. "
Moles, Hansel "
Marchbanks, C. "
McGee, J. M. "
Orness[?], Silvers "
Owens, J. B. "
Pruet, Henry "
Pagett, S. M. "
Potter, M. A. "
Petage, W. W. "
Ritchinson, R. H. "
Rumen[?], I. "
Rigney, G. W. "
Russel, Fount "
Shelton, T. A. "
Smith, J. T. " Killed in Wayne Co., Ky. Feb. 12th, 1863
Singleton, J. S. "
Sharp, D. E. "
Talent, I. "
Taylor, John "
Taylor, C. N. "
Taylor, A. J. "
Turpin[?], E-------"
Troxdale, Granvill "
Vaughn, G. B. "
Vann, T. C. "
Wheeler, Silas "
Wade, John "
"captured" near Ferguson's White County home
in August of 1864 by a Union force commanded by
Captain Rufus Dowdy. After the war, at Ferguson's
trial, Dowdy testified, "I got hold of some blanks in
form of a muster roll and payroll with some names
written on it. I got it out there in the woods near
Ferguson's house... It was in a box packed up in the
hollow of a chestnut tree. The box was held up by
some poles punched up the hollow of the tree, and
when the boys pulled the poles out the box fell down...
I found three sheets or I and some others did." Dowdy
did not know who got the other two sheets, but now
having made his own peace with Ferguson, Dowdy
gave his sheet to Ferguson's lawyers. This muster roll,
labeled, "Document 'P'", is attached to the trial case file
at the National Archives. According to the roll, all
members of the company were enlisted on Nov. 19th
'62 in Overton Co. for a period of 3 years; Ferguson
was enlisted by John H. Morgan and all others by
Ferguson. The handwritting, which is not Ferguson's,
is difficult to decipher, and some of the names have
been obliterated by folding and deterioration:
Name Rank Remarks
Champ Fergerson Capt.
H. W. Sublet 1st Lieut.
A. H. Foster 2nd Lieut.
W. R. Latham 3rd Lieut.
G. W. Twiford O.S.
R. H. Philpott 2nd Serg.
- F--t--- 3rd Serg.
F. Burchet 4th Serg.
E. Crabtree 1st Corp.
W. W. Parker 2nd Corp.
J. Holsopple 3rd Corp.
A. Heldreth 4th Corp.
Ard, R. S. Private
Aberson, John "
Braswell, H. D. "
Burchett, R. A. " Killed in Wayne Co., Ky. Jan. 21, 1863
Barnes, W. "
Barnes, J. M. " Killed in Wayne Co., Ky. Jan. 21, 1863
Barnes, Francis "
Barton, B. P. "
Berry, B. W. "
Boston, G. W. " Killed in Wayne Co., Ky. Jan. 21, 1863
Barnes, James M. "
Brooks, John "
Bellen[w?], A. "
Burk, John "
Bradley, S. I. "
Cogher, W. H. " Killed in Jackson Co., Tenn. Decmb. 1st,
1862
Cowain, J. T. "
Denton, John "
Elder, John "
Franklin, Jeff "
Frost, F. "
Franklin, I. M. "
Franklin, Sheby "
Gregry, John "
Grayham, Durham "
Grisham, O. H. "
Guinn, S. T. "
Horsup, John " Killed in Overton Co., Tenn. Feb. 1st,
1863
Hickey, B[enson?] "
Haynes, John "
Holsopple, W. "
Johnson, H. " Killed in Wayne Co., Ky. Jan. 21, 1863
Jones, John "
Jones, T. S. "
Kelly, Thomas "
McGinas, J. H. "
Moles, Hansel "
Marchbanks, C. "
McGee, J. M. "
Orness[?], Silvers "
Owens, J. B. "
Pruet, Henry "
Pagett, S. M. "
Potter, M. A. "
Petage, W. W. "
Ritchinson, R. H. "
Rumen[?], I. "
Rigney, G. W. "
Russel, Fount "
Shelton, T. A. "
Smith, J. T. " Killed in Wayne Co., Ky. Feb. 12th, 1863
Singleton, J. S. "
Sharp, D. E. "
Talent, I. "
Taylor, John "
Taylor, C. N. "
Taylor, A. J. "
Turpin[?], E-------"
Troxdale, Granvill "
Vaughn, G. B. "
Vann, T. C. "
Wheeler, Silas "
Wade, John "