Rufus King Cooper and Wife, Mary Ellen Mullins Cooper
The winter of 1931-32 was very bad. It rained so much, all the
small rivers and creeks were flooded and there was a lot of ice.
We never had a lot of snow in that section of Texas, but we did
have a lot of ice storms. In January and February, 1932, it was
really bad -- cold and rainy every day.
In the middle of this very bad weather, we received word that my
great-grandfather, Rufus King Cooper, had died. Travel was
almost impossible. Since we did not live very far from him, as
the crow flies, my mother decided she would go to see her
grandfather for the last time. The only way this could happen
was for her to ride a mule across country, so she did just
that.
Grandpa died on February 18, 1932, just three months short of
his ninetieth birthday. My mother did see him before he was
buried, but the weather was still so bad, that only a few men
were able to get out long enough to open his grave and bury him.
None of his family, except his son (my grandfather), could even
get to the cemetery.
When he died, Grandpa was still almost six feet four inches tall
and weighed almost 190 pounds. He was a giant of a man, was my
great-grandfather, and I loved him dearly.
Grandpa Cooper was a "rebel" in the true sense of the word. He
was a teenager in 1860-61, when the Civil War started. When he
turned twenty on May 24, 1862, he decided to enlist in the
Confederate Army -- and, on June 16, 1862, at Salem Church in
Arkansas, he signed up for three years. He was recruited by a
W. W. Frazier. He fought the remaining years of the war and
was slightly wounded twice.
As I said before, Grandpa was a very big man. When I was about
six or seven, he let me go with him a few times when he took his early
morning walks. He was so tall, however, I had to run to keep up
with him. His natural stride was something in excess of three
feet!
A few times when we returned from our walk, he would sit in his rocking
chair and tell me stories of the Civil War. How I wish I could
remember more of what he told me then! I do remember that I
always wanted to see his serial number. I do not recall the
actual number, but it was three digits and was tattooed on his
left forearm. At least he told me it was his serial number.
Like most youngsters, I was in awe of my great-grandfather and
his war stories. I remember asking him whether he was shot
during the war. He showed me a long scar over his right ear.
It ran from just above the corner of his eye, through his hair,
and ended about four or five inches behind the ear.
In those days of muzzle-loading rifles, the infantry would form
lines of rifles and lead the attack. Behind them would be at
least two more lines, one behind the other. As they closed
ranks in combat, the first line of rifles, depending upon the
situation, would assume a kneeling position. The lines behind
remained standing. As the enemy came within range, the first
line fired, dropped to the ground, and reloaded. Then the
second line fired and dropped down to reload. If there was a
third line, they followed suit. By the time they had fired and
dropped to the ground, the front line was up and firing. So
there was almost a continuous stream of firepower. That is how
my great-grandfather explained their procedure.
He said that, one day, he happened to be in the very front row
of rifles. As the enemy came forward, he fired, fell to the
ground to reload, and suddenly felt a thump directly on top of
his head -- he said it felt like someone tapped him with a
hammer. He instantly put up his hand to rub the pain away and
felt a big knot.
After investigating, he realized what had happened. When he
fell to the ground, his head came to rest against a dead tree
log, and a bullet, or minnie ball (as he called it), penetrated
the log before hitting him just enough to give him a headache.
It had barely broken the skin.
The time he got the wound over his right ear was during an
attack when his unit was on the offensive and firing on the run.
His commanding officer happened to be directly behind him on
horseback, and his entire force was in a slow run, going
downhill. The Northern forces were firing uphill and were
moving toward the Confederate lines also. He told me that, as
he went down the hill, he suddenly felt a sharp pain on the
right side of his head and stumbled. I believe he said he fell
to the ground from the strike of the bullet. When he looked
around, he saw his commanding officer on the ground. He had
been hit directly in the forehead and killed by the same bullet
that grazed my great-grandfather's right temple.
Two times when he might have been killed were avoided when fate
intervened.
During the last days of the war, the Confederate forces would
many times go days without food. He said that, on this one
occasion, he and his buddies were so hungry that the entire
unit refused to move until they had something to eat. They so
advised the commanding officer, and he set out to force them to
move. My great-grandfather and his comrades suspected this
would be the case, so when the officer returned with another
company of men to carry out his order, they were ready. They
had organized themselves into a battle-ready force with all
levels of leadership well established. As the officer arrived
with his fighting unit, they were met with a starving bunch of
men prepared to die for something to eat. The fight was avoided
when cooler heads prevailed and food was provided. After they
had their meal, they went willingly into battle as ordered.
The only other incident was an occasion when a soldier had been
arrested for either desertion or cowardice, and was sentenced to
death. He had been made to dig his own grave. They stood him
at the end of the grave and brought up a firing squad to carry
out the sentence. After the order to fire was given, he was
supposed to fall into the grave.
As I remember the story, when the firing squad was given the
order to fire, they either refused to fire or deliberately
missed. I do remember that he was not shot and his life was
spared.
There were many interesting stories my great-grandfather told
but, unfortunately, after his death in 1932, most of them went
with him.
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