Waxing Poetic about Chickamauga: Lines from the Lightning Brigade

Wilder’s Lighting brigade secured its place as one of the best fighting units of the Army of the Cumberland during the Chickamauga campaign. Wilder’s men helped save the Federal left on the afternoon of September 19th and plunged into the left flank of Longstreet’s assault column at midday on the 20th with spectacular results. Wielding their seven-shot Spencer repeating rifles, Wilder’s men were among the best-armed on the field, repeatedly serving as shock troops and turning the tide of battle.

Among those taking part in those actions was Sergeant Major Brainard M. Thompson of the 72nd Indiana Infantry. A farm boy from Boone County, Indiana, Thompson joined the ranks of the 72nd Indiana in July 1862 and became the regimental sergeant major. Apparently, he was also something of a poet as shown in his following verses about Chickamauga.

His poem, entitled “Storms of Chickamauga,” first appeared in the January 20, 1864, edition of the Mattoon Gazette published in Mattoon, Illinois. It is speculation on my part, but I believe that Thompson’s poem was published as a bit of a tribute to Sergeant Major Rufus W. Haughton of the 123rd Illinois (also of Wilder’s Brigade) who had gone missing at Chickamauga and was later presumed dead. Haughton was co-editor of the Mattoon Gazette before he went of war with the 123rd Illinois in the summer of 1862.

 

Private John Munson of the 72nd Indiana poses with two of the crucial elements which made the Lighting Brigade such a formidable force: their horses gave the unit great mobility, and their Spencer repeating rifles gave them tremendous firepower. Unseen but just as important was unit morale; the Hoosiers and Illinoisans of the brigade grew increasingly confident in their abilities which perhaps reached its zenith during the Chickamauga campaign. 

“Storms of Chickamauga”

Saturday, September 19, 1863

The low’ring cloud of battle hung,

O’er Chickamauga red-

Its heaving bosom widely flung,

Mad billows o’er the dead


On either side the stream accurs’d

Long lines of battle stood,

While deadly missiles loudly burst,

All through the leafy wood.

 

Soon deadly volleys hotly poured,

Through smoke sulphuric there,

While deadly cannon loudly roared,

Out on the autumn air.

 

At 5 p.m. the scene was wild,

Our dashing lines combined,

While on the dead the dying piled,

In gory heaps behind.

 

Blood-saturated was the ground,

With Longstreet’s stubborn corps,

And ev’ry living thing around,

Was drunk with human gore.

 

Tom waved the flag, by peril tried,

And gave a thrilling cheer;

His dying brothers, side by side,

Shed him the farewell tear.

 

Now reigns a silence like the grave,

Portentious as the storms,

Then came the battle’s sweeping wave,

From deadly Vandal arms.

 

‘Twas nearly night- the sunset glow,

Looked wondrous tranquil then.

But Longstreet moved upon us slow,

With 30,000 men.

 

Brave Wilder swept the Rebel van,

And mowed a thousand down,

The smile upon his lips was wan,

And blended with a frown.

 

Brave Miller near the center fought,

And waved a rally there;

The revolution flame was caught,

Then cheering rent the air.

 

Stern Longstreet’s bleeding army there,

Of hundreds were bereft,

While Lilly’s cannon rent the air,

Near Miller’s bleeding left.

 

Now Colonel Jordan’s might waves,

Sweep the Rebel right,

While brave Monroe the center saves,

All through the bloody fight.

 

Funkhouser breaks the Rebel left,

Loud yells with thunder blend;

Poor Longstreet’s right and center cleft,

Now met a fameless end.

 

Thus bravely fought the “Spencer” ranks,

In battle’s dreadful flame,

And turning Longstreet’s heavy flanks,

Won laurels and a name.

 

And when the bloody work was done,

Soft evening shadows spread,

Where glowed the general setting sun,

So gently on the dead.

 

The came the moon, so pale and wan,

All Heaven wept I ween,

And soon the stars to veil began,

From all the bloody scene.

 

Captain Eli Lilly, 18th Indiana Battery which was attached to Wilder's Brigade

Sunday, September 20, 1863

 

Still smoke of battle o’er the dead,

Hung like a heavy pall,

So bright the sun arose and shed,

His welcome glow on all.

 

That Sabbath dawn, serenyl bright,

Soon desecrated was

By human slaughter on the right,

Where Thomas made no pause.

 

When storms of deadly missiles tore,

Dense forest widely ope,

And fell McCook’s reluctant corps,

Brave Thomas was the hope.

 

He bled at every pore, and saw

His potent center cleft,

He held destruction’s bloody jaw,

As Wilder charged the left.

 

The center into chaos thrown,

Ran bleeding from the fight;

Stern Wilder held the left alone,

And Thomas held the right.

 

Now louder grew the thunders dread,

The mountains shook convulsed,

While every pore of Thomas bled,

Who fearful odds repulsed.

 

Soon far athwart the darkened sky,

Loud thunders northward pealed,

Now deadly volleys hotly fly,

Across the gory field.

 

Now storms of fury madly sweep,

All o’er the bloody plain,

While flames of battle madly leap,

Through smoke intense again.

 

Long-ridden steeds, with nostrils wide,

The bloody battle smell;

They would not cross the gory tide,

But, madly pitching, fell.

 

The battle steeds and riders fair,

Looked smiling and relieved,

When darkness hushed the yelling there,

And triumph was achieved.

 

Now requiems so mournful soft,

Through olive branches swell,

Whose falling leaves remind me oft,

How fast my brothers fell.

 

The lifeless oak no faster sheds,

His cherished leaves away,

Then fell my brothers, wounded-dead,

That cold and bloody day.

 

Spencer repeating rifle that belonged to one of Thompson's comrades, Private George Brown of Co. K, 72nd Indiana. The swing swivel above the trigger allowed the soldier to attach his weapon to a strap, freeing up both hands. 

Brainard M. Thompson was born in 1839 in Maysville, Kentucky and by 1860 was living with his parents on the family farm near Thorntown in Boone County, Indiana. On July 21, 1862, he enlisted as a corporal in Co. D of the 72nd Indiana Volunteer Infantry and rose to the rank of regimental sergeant major before mustering out with the regiment July 24, 1865, at Nashville, Tennessee.

After teaching a term of school back home in Indiana, he re-enlisted in the U.S. Army general service on June 13, 1866, in Springfield, Illinois. He served for three years at Fort Columbus in New York harbor where he was discharged June 13, 1869, as a corporal.

The Big Apple must have been to his liking as Thompson would spend the rest of his life living there, serving for years with the New York Police Department and retiring from the force by 1910. He married Catherine, an Irish immigrant around the time of his discharge in 1869 and they had a large family of at least 7 children.

Sergeant Major Thompson died June 14, 1927, at his home on 314 E. Tremont Ave. in the Bronx and is buried at Gate of Heaven Cemetery in Hawthorne, New York. Interestingly, this same cemetery is also the final resting place of famed Yankee slugger Babe Ruth; makes me wonder if Thompson, being a resident of the Bronx just a few blocks from Yankee Stadium, cheered Ruth during his playing days...  

To learn more, about the Lighting Brigade, please check out these posts:

How Wilder's Brigade Got Their Lighting 

Colonel Wilder Discusses Chickamauga

Source:

“Storms of Chickamauga,” by Sergeant Major Brainard M. Thompson, 72nd Indiana Volunteer Infantry, Mattoon Gazette (Illinois), January 20, 1864, pg. 1

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