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THE LONE STAR DEFENDERS


[Illustration: DECORATION]

[Illustration: BATTLE-FLAG OF THE THIRD TEXAS CAVALRY REGIMENT]



THE LONE STAR DEFENDERS

A Chronicle of the Third Texas Cavalry, Ross’ Brigade

by

S. B. BARRON

Of the Third Texas Cavalry







[Illustration: LOGO]


New York and Washington
The Neale Publishing Company
1908




                                  TO
                              MY COMRADES
              SURVIVORS OF ROSS’ BRIGADE OF TEXAS CAVALRY
                                  AND
                   TO OUR CHILDREN AND GRANDCHILDREN
                       I AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATE
                             THIS VOLUME.




                               CONTENTS


                                                                    PAGE

  INTRODUCTION 11


  CHAPTER I

  THE OUTBREAK OF THE WAR

  Journey to Texas—John Brown’s Raid—My Secession
  Resolution—Presidential Election—Lincoln Elected—Excitement in
  the South—Secession Ordinances—“The Lone Star Defenders”—Fort
  Sumter Fired On—Camp Life—The Regiment Complete—Citizens’
  Kindness—Mustered In—The Third Texas Cavalry—Roster              15


  CHAPTER II

  OFF FOR THE FRONT

  Organization of Regiment—Officers—Accouterment—On the
  March—Taming a Trouble-maker—Crossing the Red River—In the
  Indian Territory—The Indian Maid—Fort Smith—The March to
  Missouri—McCulloch’s Headquarters—Under Orders—Preparation for
  First Battle                                                        26


  CHAPTER III

  OUR FIRST BATTLE

  On the March—Little York Raid—Under Fire—Our First
  Battle—Oak Hill (Wilson’s Creek)—Death of General
  Lyon—Our First Charge—Enemy Retires—Impressions of First
  Battle—Death of Young Willie—Horrors of a Battlefield—Troops
  Engaged—Casualties                                                 39


  CHAPTER IV

  THE WAR IN MISSOURI

  Personal Characteristics—Two Braggarts—Joe Welch—William
  Hood—We Enter Springfield—Bitter Feeling in Missouri—Company
  Elections—Measles and Typhoid—Carthage, and My Illness
  There—We Leave Carthage—Death of Captain Taylor—Winter
  Quarters—Furloughed—Home Again                                    52


  CHAPTER V

  THE WAR IN MISSOURI—_Continued_

  I Rejoin the Command—Sleeping in Snow—Ambushed—Battle
  of Elkhorn Tavern (Pea Ridge)—Capturing a Battery—Deaths
  of Generals McCulloch and McIntosh—Battle
  Continued—Casualties—Keetsville—Official Reports—March
  Southward—Foraging—Lost Artillery—Illness Again                  63


  CHAPTER VI

  THE SIEGE OF CORINTH

  Leave Winter Quarters—The Prairies—Duvall’s Bluff—Awaiting
  Transportation—White River—The Mississippi—Memphis—Am
  Detailed—En Route to Corinth—Corinth—Red Tape—Siege of
  Corinth—“A Soldier’s Grave”—Digging for Water—Suffering and
  Sickness—Regiment Reorganized—Evacuation of Corinth               79


  CHAPTER VII

  BATTLE OF IUKA

  Camp at Tupelo, Miss.—Furloughed—Report for Duty—Camp
  Routine—“The Sick Call”—Saltillo—Personnel of the
  Brigade—Baldwin “Contraband”—On to Iuka—Iuka—Battle of
  Iuka—Casualties—Retreat                                           96


  CHAPTER VIII

  BATTLE OF CORINTH

  Captain Dunn, the “Mormon”—Paroles—Baldwin—On to
  Corinth—Conscription—Looking for Breakfast—The Army
  Trapped—A Skirmish—Escape—Holly Springs—Battle of
  Corinth—Casualties—Cavalry Again                                 111


  CHAPTER IX

  HOLLY SPRINGS RAID

  At Grenada—Scouting—Engagement at Oakland—Chaplain Thompson’s
  Adventure—Holly Springs Raid—Jake—The Bridge at Wolf River—I
  Am Wounded—Bolivar—Attack on Middleburg—Christmas               127


  CHAPTER X

  THE ENGAGEMENT AT THOMPSON’S STATION

  January, 1863—Jake Arrested—Detailed—My Brother Visits
  Me—Elected Second Lieutenant—Battle of Thompson’s Station—Duck
  River—Capture of the Legion—The “Sick Camp”—Murder of General
  Van Dorn                                                           143


  CHAPTER XI

  THE SURRENDER OF VICKSBURG

  Moving Southward—I Lose My Horse—Meet Old Huntsville
  Friends—A New Horse—In Mississippi—“Sneeze Weed”—Messenger’s
  Ferry—Surrender of Vicksburg—Army Retires—Fighting at
  Jackson—After Sherman’s Men—A Sick Horse—Black Prince—“Tax in
  Kind”—Ross’ Brigade—Two Desertions                               156


  CHAPTER XII

  BATTLE AT YAZOO CITY

  Midwinter—Through the Swamps—Gunboat Patrols—Crossing
  the Mississippi—Through the Ice—Ferrying
  Guns—Hardships—Engagement at Yazoo City—Harrying
  Sherman—Under Suspicion—A Practical Joke—Battle at Yazoo
  City—Casualties—A Social Call—Eastwood—Drowning Accident—A
  Military Survey                                                    173


  CHAPTER XIII

  UNDER FIRE FOR ONE HUNDRED DAYS

  Corduroy Breeches—Desolate Country—Conscript Headquarters—An
  “Arrest”—Rome, Ga.—Under Fire for One Hundred Days—Big and
  Little Kenesaw—Lost Mountain—Rain, Rain, Rain—Hazardous
  Scouting—Green Troops—Shelled—Truce—Atlanta—Death of
  General MacPherson—Ezra Church—McCook’s Retreat—Battle near
  Newman—Results                                                    190


  CHAPTER XIV

  KILPATRICK’S RAID

  Kilpatrick’s Raid—Attack on Kilpatrick—Lee’s Mill—Lovejoy’s
  Station—The Brigade Demoralized—I Surrender—Playing ’Possum—I
  Escape—The Brigade Reassembles—Casualties                        205


  CHAPTER XV

  UNION SOLDIER’S ACCOUNT OF KILPATRICK’S RAID

  Kilpatrick’s Raid—Ordered to the Front—Enemy’s Artillery
  Silenced—We Destroy the Railroad—Hot Work at the Railroad—Plan
  of Our Formation—Stampeding the Horses—The Enemy
  Charges—Sleeping on Horseback—Swimming the River—Camped at
  Last                                                               216


  CHAPTER XVI

  CLOSE OF THE ATLANTA CAMPAIGN

  Sherman Changes His Tactics—Hood Deceived—Heavy
  Fighting—Atlanta Surrenders—End of the
  Campaign—Losses—Scouting—An Invader’s Devastation—Raiding
  the Raiders—Hood Crosses the Coosa—A Reconnaissance—Negro
  Spies—Raiding the Blacks—Crossing Indian Creek—A Conversion     228


  CHAPTER XVII

  MY LAST BATTLE

  Tories and Deserters—A Tragic Story—A Brutal Murder—The
  Son’s Vow—Vengeance—A Southern Heroine—Seeking Our
  Command—Huntsville—A Strange Meeting—We Find the Division—The
  Battle in the Fog—My Last Battle                                  245


  CHAPTER XVIII

  ROSS’ REPORT OF BRIGADE’S LAST CAMPAIGN

  Ross’ Report—Repulse a Reconnoitering Party—Effective
  Fighting Strength—Advance Guard—The Battle at
  Campbellsville—Results—Thompson’s Station—Harpeth
  River—Murfreesboro—Lynville—Pulaski—Sugar Creek—Losses
  During Campaign—Captures—Acknowledgments                         254


  CHAPTER XIX

  THE END OF THE WAR

  Christmas—I Lose All My Belongings—The “Owl Train”—A
  Wedding—Furloughed—Start for Texas—Hospitality—A Night in the
  Swamp—The Flooded Country—Swimming the Rivers—In Texas—Home
  Again—Surrender of Lee, Johnston, and Kirby Smith—Copy of Leave
  of Absence—Recapitulation—Valuation of Horses in 1864—Finis     267




ILLUSTRATIONS


  Battle Flag of the Third Texas Cavalry                  _Frontispiece_

                                                             FACING PAGE

  Lieutenant-Colonel P. F. Ross, Sixth Texas Cavalry                  24

  Jiles S. Boggess, Captain, Major; Lieutenant-Colonel Third Texas
  Cavalry                                                             50

  Captain D. R. Gurley, Sixth Texas Cavalry, A. A. G. Ross’ Brigade   76

  F. M. Taylor, first Captain of Company C, Third Texas Cavalry      100

  John Germany, fourth and last Captain Company C, Third Texas
  Cavalry                                                            126

  Jesse W. Wynne, Captain Company B, Third Texas Cavalry             150

  Captain H. L. Taylor, Commander Ross’ Brigade Scouts               176

  Leonidas Cartwright, Company E, Third Texas Cavalry; Member of
  Taylor’s Scouts, Ross’ Brigade                                     200

  G. A. McKee, Private Company C, Third Texas Cavalry                226

  Lieutenant S. B. Barron, Third Texas Cavalry                       250




INTRODUCTION


AS my recollections of the war between the States, or the Confederate
War, in which four of the best years of my life (May, 1861, to May,
1865) were given to the service of the Confederate States of America,
are to be written at the earnest request of my children, and mainly for
their gratification, it is, perhaps, proper to preface the recital by
going back a few years in order to give a little family history.

I was born in what is now the suburbs of the town of Gurley in Madison
County, Alabama, on the 9th day of November, 1834. My father, Samuel
Boulds Barron, was born in South Carolina in 1793. His father, James
Barron, as I understand, was a native of Ireland. My mother’s maiden
name was Martha Cotten, daughter of James Cotten, who was from Guilford
County, North Carolina, and who was in the battle of Guilford Court
House, at the age of sixteen. His future wife, Nancy Johnson, was
then a young girl living in hearing of the battle at the Court House.
About the beginning of the past century, 1800, my Grandfather Cotten,
with his wife, her brother Abner Johnson, and their relatives, Gideon
and William Pillow, and their sister, Mrs. Dew, moved out from North
Carolina into Tennessee, stopping in Davidson County, near Nashville.
Later Abner Johnson and the Pillows settled in Maury County, near
Columbia, and about the year 1808 my grandfather and his family came on
to Madison County, Alabama, and settled at what has always been known
as Cave Springs, about fifteen miles east or southeast from Huntsville.
In the second war with Great Britain (the War of 1812) my Grandfather
Cotten again answered the call to arms, and as a captain he served his
country with notable gallantry.

It is like an almost forgotten dream, the recollection of my paternal
grandmother and my maternal grandfather, for both of them died when I
was a small child. My maternal grandmother, however, who lived to the
age of eighty-seven years, I remember well. In my earliest recollection
my father was a school-teacher, teaching at a village then called “The
Section,” afterwards “Lowsville,” being now the town of Maysville,
twelve miles east of Huntsville. He was well-educated and enjoyed the
reputation of being an excellent teacher. He quit teaching, however,
and settled on a small farm four miles east of Cave Springs, on what is
known as the “Cove road,” running from Huntsville to Bellefonte. Here
he died when I was about seven years of age, leaving my mother with
five children: John Ashworth, a son by her first husband; my brother,
William J. Barron, who now lives in Huntsville, Alabama; two sisters,
Tabitha and Nancy Jane; and myself. About nine years later our mother
died. In the meantime our half-brother had arrived at man’s estate and
left home. Soon after our mother’s death we sold the homestead, and
each one went his or her way, as it were, the sisters living with
our near-by relatives until they married. My brother and myself found
employment in Huntsville and lived there. Our older sister and her
husband came to Texas in about the year 1857, and settled first in
Nacogdoches County. In the fall of 1859 I came to Texas, to bring my
then widowed sister and her child to my sister already here. And so, as
the old song went, “I am away here in Texas.”




The Lone Star Defenders




CHAPTER I

THE OUTBREAK OF THE WAR

 Journey to Texas—John Brown’s Raid—My Secession
 Resolution—Presidential Election—Lincoln Elected—Excitement in
 the South—Secession Ordinances—“The Lone Star Defenders”—Fort
 Sumter Fired On—Camp Life—The Regiment Complete—Citizens’
 Kindness—Mustered In—The Third Texas Cavalry—Roster.


NO, I am not going to write, or attempt to write, a history of the
war, or even a detailed account of any campaign or battle in which I
participated, but only mean to set forth the things which I witnessed
or experienced myself in the four years of marching, camping, and
fighting, as I can now recall them—only, or mainly, personal
reminiscences. Incidentally I will give the names of my comrades of
Company C, Third Texas Cavalry, and tell, so far as I can remember,
what became of the individuals who composed the company. I will not
dwell on the causes of the war or anything which has been so often
and so well told relating thereto, but will merely state that I had
always been very conservative in my feelings in political matters, and
was so all through the exciting times just preceding the war while
Abolitionism and Secession were so much discussed by our statesmen,
orators, newspapers, and periodicals. I had witnessed the Kansas
troubles, which might be called a skirmish before the battle, with
much interest and anxiety, and without losing faith in the ability
and wisdom of our statesmen to settle the existing troubles without
disrupting the government. But on my journey to Texas, as we glided
down the Mississippi from Memphis to New Orleans, on board the _Lizzie
Simmons_, a new and beautiful steamer, afterwards converted into a
cotton-clad Confederate gunboat, we obtained New Orleans papers from
an up-river boat. The papers contained an account of John Brown’s raid
on Harper’s Ferry. I read this, and became a Secessionist. I saw, or
thought I saw, that the storm was coming, that it was inevitable, and
it seemed useless to shut my eyes longer to the fact.

The year 1860, my first in Texas, was a memorable one in several
respects, not only to the newcomers but to the oldest inhabitant. The
severest drouth ever known in eastern Texas prevailed until after the
middle of August. It was the hottest summer ever known in Texas, the
temperature in July running up to 112 degrees in the shade. It was
a Presidential election year, and political excitement was intense.
The Democrats were divided, while the Abolitionists had nominated
Abraham Lincoln as their candidate for President, with a good prospect
of electing him by a sectional vote. Several towns in Texas being
almost destroyed by fire during the extreme heat of the summer, an
impression became generally prevalent that Northern incendiaries were
prowling through the State burning property and endeavoring to incite
the negroes to insurrection. The excitement, apprehension, unrest,
and the vague fear of unseen danger pervading the minds of the people
of Texas cannot be understood by persons who were not in the State
at that time. The citizens organized patrol forces and armed men
guarded the towns, day and night, for weeks. Every passing stranger
was investigated and his credentials examined. The poor peddler,
especially, was in imminent danger of being mobbed at any time on mere
suspicion.

At the November election Abraham Lincoln was elected President. This
was considered by the Secessionists as an overt act on the part of
the North that would justify secession. I was out in the country when
the news of the election came, and when, on my return, I rode into
Rusk the Lone Star flag was floating over the court-house and Abraham
Lincoln, in effigy, was hanging to the limb of a sweet gum tree that
stood near the northwest corner of the court yard. From this time
excitement ran high. Immediate steps were taken by the extreme Southern
States to secede from the Union, an act that was consummated as soon as
practicable by the assembling of State conventions and the passage of
ordinances of secession. Now, too, volunteer companies began organizing
in order to be ready for the conflict which seemed to be inevitable.

We soon raised a company in Rusk for the purpose of drilling and
placing ourselves in readiness for the first call for troops from
Texas. We organized by electing General Joseph L. Hogg, father of
Ex-Governor J. S. Hogg, as captain. The company was named “The Lone
Star Defenders,” for every company must needs have a name in those
days. Early in 1861, however, when it appeared necessary to prepare for
actual service, the company was reorganized and the gallant Frank M.
Taylor made captain, as General Hogg was not expected to enter the army
as captain. Several of the States had already seceded, the military
posts in the South were being captured by the Confederates and Fort
Sumter, in Charleston Harbor, was fired upon by our General Beauregard
on the 12th day of April, 1861. The dogs of war were turned loose. War
now became a stern reality, a war the magnitude of which no one then
had any conception. President Lincoln’s first call for volunteers was
for ninety-day men, and the Confederate volunteers were mustered in for
one year.

Having learned that Elkanah Greer, of Marshall, had been commissioned
colonel and ordered to raise a regiment of Texas cavalry, we lost no
time in reporting ourselves ready to make one company of the regiment,
and soon received instructions to report at Dallas, on a certain day in
June, when a regiment would be formed. So on Monday morning, June 10,
in the year of our Lord, 1861, we were to leave, and did leave, Rusk
for Dallas—and beyond, as the exigencies of the war might determine.
The population of the town, men, women, and children, were on the
streets, in tears, to bid us farewell. Even rough, hard-faced men whose
appearance would lead one to believe they hadn’t shed a tear since
their boyhood, boo-hoo’d and were unable to speak the word “good-by.”
This day of leave-taking was the saddest of the war to many of us.

After we had mounted our horses we assembled around the front of the
old Thompson Hotel, which stood where the Acme Hotel now stands, when
our old friend, General Hogg, standing on the front steps, delivered
us a formal and a very tender farewell address. War was not unknown to
him, for he had been a soldier in the early days of Texas, as well as a
member of the Texas Congress in the days of the republic. He was a fine
specimen of the best type of Southern manhood—tall, slender, straight
as an Indian, and exceedingly dignified in his manner. As brave as
“Old Hickory,” he often reminded me of the pictures I had seen of
General Jackson, and he certainly had many similar traits of character.
We venerated, admired, and loved him, and he was warmly attached to
the company. In his address he gave us much good advice, even to the
details of mess duties and the treatment of our messmates. Among other
things, he said, “Don’t ever jeer at or mock any of your comrades who
cannot stand the fire of the enemy. Some of you, perhaps, will find
yourselves unable to do so. Some men are thus constituted without
knowing it, until they are tried. So you should be charitable towards
such unfortunates.” Later I found these words of our old soldier friend
to be true. This ceremony ended, we sadly moved off by twos, over the
hill, and up the street leading into the Jacksonville road.

As we marched forward sadness was soon succeeded by merriment and good
cheer. Some of the boys composed a little song, which was frequently
sung by I. K. Frazer and others as we went marching on. It began:

  “The Lone Star Defenders, a gallant little band,
  On the tenth of June left their native land.”

Before leaving home we had spent two weeks in a camp of instruction,
and learned something of the duties of camp life and the necessary art
of rolling and unrolling our blankets. We camped the first night near
Jorial Barnett’s, between Jacksonville and Larissa. Two of the Barnett
boys were going with us, and several from Larissa. When we reached
Larissa next morning we there found a young man, Charley Watts, who was
a bugler, and had been in the Federal Army, he said. He was willing and
anxious to go with us, and we wanted him, as he was young and active,
but he was afoot, and seemed to own nothing beyond his wearing apparel.
So we appealed to the citizens, as a goodly number had gathered into
the little village to see the soldiers pass, and in little more time
than it takes to tell it, we had him rigged with horse, bridle, saddle,
and blankets. Charley proved to be a fine bugler, the finest bugler I
ever heard in either army, and he was a most gallant young fellow. We
moved on, bidding farewell to Captain Taylor’s noble and patriotic old
mother, as we passed her residence.

Fearing we might be left out of the regiment, we dispatched Captain
Taylor and one or two others well-mounted men to go ahead and secure
and hold our place for us. The ladies of Cherokee County having
presented us with a beautiful flag, this we unfurled and marched
through the towns and villages along the way in great style and
military pomp. At Kaufman we received quite an ovation. Arriving
there about ten o’clock in the morning, we were met by a deputation
of citizens, who invited us to dine at the hotel at the expense of
the town. This was very reluctantly declined, for we were afraid of
losing time. Poor fellows, we often regretted missing that good dinner,
and we really had plenty of time, if we had only known it. To show
our appreciation of their hospitality we marched around the public
square, displaying the flag and sounding the bugle. When we had arrived
in front of a saloon we were halted and all invited to dismount and
drink, without cost to us. We here spent perhaps an hour, during which
time numbers of the boys entered stores to purchase small necessary
articles, and in every instance pay was declined.

In due time we went into camp in a post oak grove two miles east of
Dallas, a locality, by the way, which is now well within the city
limits. And here we remained for some time.

Eight other organized companies were soon camped in different
localities in the neighborhood, but we were still one company short.
However, as there were many men, including a large squad from Kaufman
County, some from Cherokee and other counties, on the ground wishing to
go with us, and who could not get into the organized companies because
they were all full, they organized themselves into a tenth company,
which completed the necessary number for the regiment.

We spent about four weeks in Dallas County, a delay caused in good part
by the necessity of waiting for the arrival of a train from San Antonio
carrying United States wagons and mules captured at that post by the
Confederates. The time, however, was well spent in daily drills, in
feeding, grazing and attending to our horses; and then, too, we were
learning valuable lessons in camp life. While here we had plenty of
rations for ourselves and plenty of forage for the horses.

The citizens of Dallas County, as far as we came in contact with them,
were very kind to us. Our nearest neighbor was a German butcher by the
name of Nusbauman. We used water from the well in his yard and were
indebted to him and his family for many acts of kindness.

On one occasion Mrs. Nusbauman complained to Captain Taylor that one of
his men had borrowed her shears to cut hair with, and would not bring
them back. No, she did not know the name of the offender. The captain
then said, “Madame, do you know the man when you see him?” “Oh, yes.”
“Well, when he comes to draw water again you sprinkle flour on his back
and I will find your shears.” In a few hours one of the men came out
from the well with his back covered with flour—and the shears were
promptly returned.

Our next nearest neighbors were a family named Sheppard, who lived a
few hundred yards south of our camp, and whose kindness was unbounded.
Their house was our hospital for the time we were in their vicinity,
and the three young ladies of the family, Misses Jennie Wood, Maggie,
and another, were unremitting in their attentions to the sick. On one
damp, drizzly day when I had a chill they heard of it somehow, and in
the afternoon two of them drove up in a buggy and called for me to go
home with them, where I could be sheltered, as we yet had no tents.
I went, of course, recovered in one day, convalesced in about three
days, and reluctantly returned to camp. In an effort to do some washing
for myself, I had lost a plain gold ring from my finger, a present from
Miss Cattie Everett of Rusk, and Miss Jennie Wood Sheppard replaced it
with one of her own. This ring was worn by me continually, not only
during the war, but for several years after its close.

I do not remember the date, but some day near the end of June “The Lone
Star Defenders,” that “gallant little band,” were formally mustered
into the service of the Confederate States of America, for one year. We
were subjected to no physical examination, or other foolishness, but
every fellow was taken for better or for worse, and no questions were
asked, except the formal, “Do you solemnly swear,” etc. The company was
lettered “C,” Greer’s Regiment, Texas Cavalry—afterwards numbered and
ever afterwards known as the Third Texas Cavalry. We were mustered in,
officers and men, as follows:

Officers—Frank M. Taylor, captain; James J. A. Barker, first
lieutenant; Frank M. Daniel, second lieutenant; James A. Jones, second
lieutenant; Wallace M. Caldwell, orderly sergeant; John D. White,
second sergeant; S. B. Barron, third sergeant; Tom Petree, fourth
sergeant; William Pennington, first corporal; Thomas F. Woodall, second
corporal; C. C. Acker, third corporal; P. C. Coupland, fourth corporal;
Charles Watts, bugler; John A. Boyd, ensign.

Privates—Peter Acker, John B. Armstrong, David H. Allen, James M.
Brittain, R. L. Barnett, James Barnett, Severe D. Box, A. A. Box,
William P. Bowers, John W. Baker, C. C. Brigman, George F. Buxton,
Jordan Bass, Carter Caldwell, William P. Crawley, A. G. Carmichael, A.
M. Croft, James P. Chester, Leander W. Cole, James W. Cooper, William
H. Carr, W. J. Davis, James E. Dillard, F. M. Dodson, John E. Dunn, O.
M. Doty, H. H. Donoho, B. C. Donald, Stock Ewin, John J. Felps, I. K.
Frazer, John Germany, Luther Grimes, E. M. Grimes, J. H. Gum, L. F.
Grisham, W. L. Gammage, W. D. Herndon, J. R. Halbert, W. T. Harris, D.
B. Harris, Thomas E. Hogg, John Honson, Warren H. Higginbotham, R. H.
Hendon, William Hammett, James B. Hardgrave, Felix G. Hardgrave, R. L.
Hood, William Hood, James Ivy, Thomas J. Johnson, J. H. Jones, John
B. Long, Ben A. Long, George C. Long, R. C. Lawrence, John Lambert,
J. B. Murphy, William P. Mosely, John Meyers, Harvey N. Milligan,
W. C. McCain, G. A. McKee, W. W. McDugald, Dan McCaskill, Samuel W.
Newberry, William A. Newton, George Noland, Baxter Newman, J. T. Park,
T. A. Putnam, Lemon R. Peacock, W. T. Phillips, Lemuel H. Reed, T.
W. Roberts, Cythe Robertson, Calvin M. Roark, John B. Reagan, A. B.
Summers, John W. Smith, Cicero H. Smith, Rufus Smith, Sam E. Scott, J.
R. Starr, James R. Taylor, Reuben G. Thompson, Dan H. Turney, Robert
F. Woodall, Woodson O. Wade, F. M. Wade, E. S. Wallace, R. S. Wallace,
John R. Watkins, C. C. Watkins, Joe L. Welch, Thomas H. Willson, N. J.
Yates.

Total rank and file—112 men.

In addition to the above list of original members, the following named
recruits were added to the company after we had lost several of our men
by death and discharge:

[Illustration: PETER F. ROSS

Major and Lieutenant-Colonel Sixth Texas Cavalry]

A. J. Gray, Charles B. Harris, J. T. Halbert, John E. Jones, Wm. H.
Kellum, W. S. Keahey, S. N. Keahey, J. D. Miller, T. L. Newman, T. L.
Nosworthy, John W. Wade, Wyatt S. Williams, Eugene W. Williams.

Total—125 men enlisted in the company.

  Of these the killed numbered                       14
  Died of disease                                    16
  Discharged                                         31
  Commissioned officers resigned                      3
  Missing and never heard of                          2
  Deserted                                            7
  Survived (commissioned and non-commissioned
  officers, 12; privates, 40)                        52
                                                     ——
                                                    125

Of these recruits, six, the first on the list, came to us in February
and March, 1862; the next three joined us in April, 1862; the remaining
four joined us in 1863, while we were in Mississippi.

The company consisted mainly of natives of the different Southern
States, with a few native Texans. Aside from these we had Buxton, from
the State of Maine; Milligan, from Indiana, and three foreigners,
William Hood, an Englishman; John Dunn, Irish, and John Honson, a
Swede. Milligan was a printer, and being too poor to buy his outfit
when he joined us, he was furnished with horse and accouterments by our
friend, B. Miller, a German citizen of Rusk.




CHAPTER II

OFF FOR THE FRONT

 Organization of Regiment—Officers—Accouterment—On the March—Taming
 a Trouble-maker—Crossing the Red River—In the Indian Territory—The
 Indian Maid—Fort Smith—The March to Missouri—McCulloch’s
 Headquarters—Under Orders—Preparation for First Battle.


AFTER the companies were mustered into the service the regiment was
organized. Colonel Elkanah Greer was commissioned by the Confederate
War Department. Walter P. Lane was elected lieutenant-colonel, and
George W. Chilton, father of United States Senator Horace Chilton,
was made major. M. D. Ecton, first lieutenant of Company B, was made
adjutant, Captain —— Harris, quartermaster, Jas. B. Armstrong, of
Henderson, commissary, and our Dr. W. W. McDugald, surgeon.

Thus was organized the first regiment to leave the State of Texas, and
one of the best regiments ever in the Confederate service. I would
not say that it was the _best_ regiment, as in my opinion the best
regiment and the bravest man in the Confederate Army were hard to
find. That is to say, no one regiment was entitled to be designated
“the best regiment,” as no one of our brave men could rightly be
designated “the bravest man in the army.” Napoleon called Marshal Ney
“the bravest of the brave,” but no one could single out a Confederate
soldier and truthfully say, “He is the bravest man in the army.” It was
unfortunately true that all our men were not brave and trustworthy,
for we had men who were too cowardly to fight, and we had some men
unprincipled enough to desert; but taken all in all, for gallantry
and for fighting qualities under any and all circumstances, either in
advance or retreat, the regiment deservedly stood in the front rank in
all our campaigning.

The regiment was well officered, field staff, and line. Colonel Greer
was a gallant man, but unfortunately his mind was too much bent on a
brigadier’s stars; Major Chilton, whenever an opportunity offered,
showed himself to be brave and gallant; but Walter P. Lane, our
lieutenant-colonel, was the life of the regiment during our first
year’s service. A more gallant man than he never wore a sword, bestrode
a war horse, or led a regiment in battle. He was one of the heroes of
San Jacinto, and a born soldier. In camps, in times when there was
little or nothing to do, he was not overly popular with the men, but
when the fighting time came he gained the admiration of everyone.

At last the long-looked-for train came—United States wagons drawn
by six-mule teams, poor little Spanish or Mexican mules, driven by
Mexicans. They brought us tents, camp kettles, mess pans and such
things, and for arms, holster pistols. We were furnished with two
wagons to the company and were given Sibley tents,—large round tents
that would protect sixteen men with their arms and accouterments,—a
pair of holster pistols apiece, and a fair outfit of “cooking tricks.”
We were then formed into messes of sixteen men each, and each mess
was provided with the Sibley tent, the officers being provided with
wall tents. Fairly mounted, we were pretty well equipped now, our chief
deficiency being the very poor condition of the mules and the lack
of proper arms, for the men, in mustering, had gathered up shotguns,
rifles, and any kind of gun obtainable at home, many of them being
without a firearm of any kind. A large number had had huge knives made
in the blacksmith shops, with blade eighteen to twenty-four inches
long, shaped something like a butcher’s cleaver, keen-edged, with a
stout handle, a weapon after the order of a Cuban machete. These were
carried in leather scabbards, hung to the saddle, and with these deadly
weapons the boys expected to ride through the ranks of the Federal
armies and chop down the men right and left. Now, however, to this
equipment were added the pair of holster pistols. These very large,
brass-mounted, single-barreled pistols—with barrels about a foot
long—carried a large musket ball, and were suspended in holsters that
fitted over the horn of the saddle, thus placing them in a convenient
position for use. In addition to all this, every fellow carried a grass
rope at least forty feet long and an iron stake pin. These latter were
for staking out the horses to graze, and many was the untrained horse
that paid dear for learning the art of “walking the rope,” for an
educated animal would never injure himself in the least.

All things being ready, we now started on our long march, accompanied
by Captain J. J. Goode’s battery, which had been organized at Dallas,
to join General Ben McCulloch in northwestern Arkansas, where he,
with what forces he had been able to gather, was guarding our Arkansas
frontier. Leaving Dallas on the—day of July, we moved via McKinney and
Sherman, crossing Red River at Colbert’s ferry, thence by the overland
mail route through the Indian Territory to Fort Smith, Ark., and
beyond. We made moderate marches, the weather being very warm, and we
then had no apparent reason for rapid movements.

When near McKinney we stopped two or three days. Here our man from
the State of Maine began to give us trouble. When sober, Buxton
was manageable and a useful man to the company, but when he was in
liquor, which was any time he could get whisky, he was troublesome,
quarrelsome, and dangerous, especially to citizens. One afternoon
Captain Taylor and myself rode into McKinney, where we found Buxton
drunk and making trouble. The captain ordered him to camp, but he
contumaciously refused to go. We managed to get him back to the rear of
a livery stable, near a well, and Captain Taylor forced him down across
a mound of fertilizer—holding him there. Then he ordered me to pour
water on Buxton, which I did most copiously. I drew bucket after bucket
of cold water from the well and poured it upon Buxton’s prostrate,
soldierly form, until he was thoroughly cooled and partially sobered,
when the captain let him up and again ordered him to camp—and he went,
cursing and swearing vengeance. This man, after giving us a good deal
of trouble from time to time until after the battle of Elkhorn in the
spring of 1862, was jailed in Fort Smith for shooting a citizen in the
street, and here we left him and crossed the Mississippi River. He made
his escape from jail and followed us to the State of Mississippi, when
Lieutenant-Colonel Lane ordered him out of camp. He afterwards returned
to Rusk, where he was killed one day by a gunshot wound, but by whom no
one seemed to know.

We passed through Sherman early in the morning, and I stopped to
have my horse shod, overtaking the command at Colbert’s ferry in the
afternoon, when they were crossing Red River. The day was fair, the
weather dry and hot. The river, very low now, had high banks, and in
riding down from the south side you came on to a wide sandbar extending
to a narrow channel running against the north bank, where a small
ferryboat was carrying the wagons and artillery across. A few yards
above the ferry the river was easily fordable, so the horsemen had all
crossed and gone into camp a mile beyond the river, as had most of the
wagons. I rode to the other side and stopped on the north bank to watch
operations.

All the wagons but one had been ferried over, and this last one had
been driven down on the sandbar near the ferry landing, waiting for
the boat’s return, while two pieces of artillery were standing near
by on the sandbar. Suddenly I heard a roaring sound up the river,
as if a wind storm was coming. I looked in that direction and saw a
veritable flood rushing down like a mighty wave of the sea, roaring
and foaming as it came. The driver of the team standing near the water
saw it and instinctively began turning his team to drive out, but,
realizing that this would be impossible, he detached his mules and
with his utmost efforts was only able to save the team, while every
available man had to lend assistance in order to save the two pieces of
artillery. In five minutes’ time, perhaps, the water had risen fifteen
to eighteen feet, and the banks were full of muddy, rushing water, and
remained so as long as we were there. The wagon, which belonged to
the quartermaster, was swept off by the tide and lost, with all its
contents. It stood in its position until the water rose to the top of
the cover, when it floated off.

After camping for the night, we moved on. As we were now in the Indian
Territory, the young men were all on the look-out for the beautiful
Indian girls of whom they had read so much, and I think some of them
had waived the matter of engagement before leaving home until they
could determine whether they would prefer marrying some of the pretty
girls that were so numerous in this Indian country. We had not gone
far on our march when we met a Chickasaw damsel. She was rather young
in appearance, of medium height, black unkempt hair, black eyes,
high cheekbones, and was bare-headed and barefooted. Her dress was
of some well-worn cotton fabric, of a color hard to define, rather
an earthy color. In style it was of the extreme low neck and short
kind, and a semi-bloomer. Of other wearing apparel it is unnecessary
to speak, unless you wish a description of another Indian. This one
was too sensible to weight herself with a multiplicity of garments in
July. She was a regular middle of the roader, as she stuck close to
that part of the Territory strictly. As we were marching by twos we
separated and left her to that part of the highway which she seemed to
like best. She continued her walk westwardly as we continued our march
eastwardly, turning her head right and left, to see what manner of
white soldiers the Confederate Government was sending out. This gave
all an opportunity to glimpse at her charms. Modestly she walked along
without speaking to any of us, as we had never been introduced to her.
Only one time did I hear her speak a word, and that was apparently to
herself. As Lieutenant Daniel passed her with his long saber rattling,
she exclaimed, in good English: “_Pretty white man!_—got big knife!”

As we went marching on the conversation became more general; that is,
more was said about the beautiful country, the rich lands and fine
cattle, and not so much about beautiful Indian girls. But every fellow
kept his eye to the front, expecting we would meet scores of girls,
perhaps hundreds, but all were disappointed, as this was the only
full-blooded Indian we met in the highway from Colbert’s ferry to Fort
Smith. The fact is, the Indians shun white people who travel the main
road. Away out in the prairie some two hundred yards you will find
Indian trails running parallel with the road, and the Indians keep
to these trails to avoid meeting the whites. If they chance to live
in a hut near the road you find no opening toward the road, and, if
approached, they will deny that they can speak English, when, in fact,
they speak it readily and plainly.

One day I came up with one of our teamsters in trouble. He needed an ax
to cut down a sapling, so I galloped back to an Indian’s hut near by,
and as there was no enclosure, rode around to the door. The Indian came
out and I asked him to lend me an ax a few minutes. He shook his head
and said, “Me no intender,” again and again, and this was the only word
I could get out of him until I dismounted and picked up the ax, which
was lying on the ground near the door. He then began, in good English,
to beg me not to take his ax. I carried it to the teamster, however,
but returned it to the Indian in a few minutes.

There are, or were then, people of mixed blood living along the
road in good houses and in good style, where travelers could find
entertainment. Numbers of these had small Confederate flags flying over
the front gateposts—and all seemed to be loyal to our cause. Two young
Choctaws joined one of our companies and went with us, one of them
remaining with us during the war, and an excellent soldier he was, too.

At Boggy Depot the ladies presented us with a beautiful flag, which was
carried until it was many times pierced with bullets, the staff shot in
two, and the flag itself torn into shreds. Arriving at Big Blue River,
we lost one or two horses in crossing, by drowning. But finally we
reached Fort Smith, on a Saturday, remaining there until Monday morning.

While in the Choctaw Nation our men had the opportunity of attending an
Indian war dance, and added to their fitness for soldiers by learning
the warwhoop, which many of them were soon able to give just as real
Indians do.

Fort Smith, a city of no mean proportions, is situated on the south
bank of the Arkansas River, very near the line of the Indian Territory.
Another good town, Van Buren, is situated on the north bank of the
river, five miles below Fort Smith. While we were at Fort Smith orders
came from General McCulloch, then in southwest Missouri, to cut loose
from all incumbrances and hasten to his assistance as rapidly as
possible, as a battle was imminent. Consequently, leaving all trains,
baggage, artillery, all sick and disabled men and horses to follow us
as best they could, we left on Monday morning in the lightest possible
marching order, for a forced march into Missouri. Our road led across
Boston Mountain, through Fayetteville and Cassville, on towards
Springfield. Crossing the river at Van Buren, we began the march over
the long, hot, dry, and fearfully dusty road. As we passed through Van
Buren I heard “Dixie” for the first time, played by a brass band. Some
of the boys obtained the words of the song, and then the singers gave
us “Dixie” morning, noon, and night, and sometimes between meals. This
march taxed my physical endurance to the utmost, and in the evening,
when orders came to break ranks and camp, I sometimes felt as if I
could not march one mile farther. The first or orderly sergeant and
second sergeant having been left behind with the train, the orderly
sergeant’s duties fell upon me, which involved looking after forage and
rations, and other offices, after the day’s march.

On Saturday noon we were at Cassville, Mo. That night we marched nearly
all night, lying down in a stubble field awhile before daylight, where
we slept two or three hours. About ten o’clock Sunday morning, tired,
dusty, hungry, and sleepy, we went into camp in the neighborhood
of General McCulloch’s headquarters, in a grove of timber near a
beautiful, clear, little stream. The first thing we did was to look
after something to eat for ourselves and horses, as we had had no food
since passing Cassville, and only a very light lunch then. The next
thing was to go in bathing, and wash our clothes, as we had had no
change, and then to get some longed-for sleep. In the meantime Colonel
Greer had gone up to General McCulloch’s headquarters to report our
arrival. I was not present at the interview, but I imagine it ran
something like this, as they knew each other well. Colonel Greer would
say “Hello, General! How do you do, sir? Well, I am here to inform you
that I am on the ground, here in the enemy’s country, with my regiment
of Texas cavalry, eleven hundred strong, well mounted and armed to the
teeth with United States holster pistols, a good many chop knives, and
several double-barreled shotguns. Send Lyons word to turn out his Dutch
regulars, Kansas jayhawkers and Missouri home guards, and we’ll clean
’em up and drive ’em from the State of Missouri.”

“Very well, very well, Colonel; go back and order your men to cook up
three days’ rations, get all the ammunition they can scrape up in the
neighborhood, and be in their saddles at eleven o’clock to-night, and I
will have them at Dug Springs at daylight to-morrow morning and turn
them loose on the gentlemen you speak of.”

Any way, whatever the interview was, we had barely stretched out our
weary limbs and folded our arms to sleep when the sergeant-major, that
fellow that so often brings bad news, came tripping along through
the encampment, hurrying from one company’s headquarters to another,
saying: “Captain, it’s General McCulloch’s order that you have your men
cook up three days’ rations, distribute all the ammunition they can get
and be in their saddles, ready to march on the enemy, at eleven o’clock
to-night.”

Sleep? Oh, no! Where’s the man who said he was sleepy? Cook three days’
rations? Oh, my! And not a cooking vessel in the regiment! But never
mind about that, it’s a soldier’s duty to obey orders without asking
questions. I drew and distributed the flour and meat, and left the men
to do the cooking while I looked after the ammunition. Here the men
learned to roll out biscuit dough about the size and shape of a snake,
coil it around a ramrod or a small wooden stick, and bake it before the
fire.

This Sunday afternoon and night, August 4, was a busy time in our camp.
Some were cooking the rations, some writing letters, some one thing,
and some another; all were busy until orders came to saddle up. We were
camped on the main Springfield road, and General Lyon, with his army,
was at Dug Springs, a few miles farther up the same road. We were to
march at eleven o’clock and attack him at daylight Monday morning.
There already had been some skirmishing between our outposts and his
scouts. We had never been in battle, and we were nervous, restless,
sleepless for the remainder of the day and night after receiving the
orders.

Some of the things that occurred during the afternoon and night would
have been ludicrous had not the whole occasion been so serious. In my
efforts to obtain and distribute all the ammunition I could procure I
was around among the men from mess to mess during all this busy time.
Scores of letters were being written by firelight to loved ones at
home, said letters running something like this:

  CAMP ——, Mo., Aug. 4, 1861.
  MY DEAR ——:

 We arrived at General McCulloch’s headquarters about 10 A. M. to-day,
 tired, dusty, hungry, and sleepy, after a long, forced march from Fort
 Smith, Ark. We are now preparing for our first battle. We are under
 orders to march at eleven o’clock to attack General Lyon’s army at
 daylight in the morning. All the boys are busy cooking up three days’
 rations. I am very well. If I survive to-morrow’s battle I will write
 a postscript, giving you the result. Otherwise this will be mailed to
 you as it is.

  Yours affectionately,
  —— ——

Numbers of the boys said to me: “Now, Barron, if I am killed to-morrow
please mail this letter for me.” One said: “Barron, here is my gold
watch. Take it, and if I am killed to-morrow please send it to my
mother.” Another said: “Barron, here is a gold ring. Please take
care of it, and if I am killed to-morrow I want you to send it to my
sister.” Another one said: “Barron, if I am killed to-morrow I want you
to send this back to my father.” At last it became funny to me that
each seemed to believe in the probability of his being killed the next
day, and were making nuncupative wills, naming me as executor in every
case, without seeming to think of the possibility of _my_ being killed.

During the remainder of our four years’ service, with all the fighting
we had to do, I never again witnessed similar preparations for battle.




CHAPTER III

OUR FIRST BATTLE

On the March—Little York Raid—Under Fire—Our First Battle—Oak
Hill (Wilson’s Creek)—Death of General Lyon—Our First Charge—Enemy
Retires—Impressions of First Battle—Death of Young Willie—Horrors of
a Battlefield—Troops Engaged—Casualties.


WELL, eleven o’clock came, we mounted our horses and rode out on the
road to Dug Springs, under orders to move very quietly, and to observe
the strictest silence—and, when necessary, we were not even to talk
above a whisper. The night was dark and we moved very slowly. About
three o’clock in the morning an orderly came down the column carrying a
long sheet of white muslin, tearing off narrow strips, and handing them
to the men, one of which each man was required to tie around his left
arm. From our slow, silent movement I felt as if we were in a funeral
procession, and the white sheet reminded me of a winding sheet for the
dead. As we were not uniformed these strips were intended as a mark of
the Confederate soldiers, so we might avoid killing our own men in the
heat and confusion of battle.

At daylight we were halted and informed that General Lyon’s forces had
withdrawn from Dug Springs. After some little delay our army moved on
in the direction of Springfield, infantry and artillery in the road and
the cavalry on the flank,—that is, we horsemen took the brush and
marched parallel with the road, in order to guard against ambush and
surprises. We moved slowly in this manner nearly all day without coming
up with the enemy—at noon we took a short rest, and dinner, and here
many of us consumed the last of our three days’ rations.

Along in the afternoon, as we were considerably ahead of the infantry,
we filed into the road and were moving slowly along, when suddenly we
heard firing in our rear. Of course every one supposed the infantry
had come up with the enemy and they were fighting. We were immediately
halted, and Lieutenant-Colonel Lane came galloping back down the column
shouting, “Turn your horses around, men, and go like h——l the other
way.” Instantly the column was reversed, and the next minute we were
following Colonel Lane at full speed. For two or three miles we ran
our tired horses down the dusty road, only to learn that some of the
infantry, who had stopped to camp, were firing off their guns simply to
unload them.

We then retraced our steps and moved on up the road to Wilson’s Creek,
nine miles from Springfield, and camped on the ground that was to be
our first battlefield. We came to the premises of a Mr. Sharp, situated
on the right hand or east side of the road. Just beyond his house, down
the hill, the creek crossed the road and ran down through his place,
back of his house and lot. On the left hand or west side of the road
were rough hills covered with black jack trees, rocks, and considerable
underbrush. Before coming to his dwelling we passed through his lot
gates down in the rear of his barn and premises, and camped in a strip
of small timber growing along the creek. In the same enclosure, in
front and south of us, was a wide, uncultivated field, with a gradual
upgrade all the way to the timber back of the field. Here we lived on
our meager rations for several days. In the meantime the whole army
then in Missouri, including General Sterling Price’s command, was
concentrated in the immediate vicinity.

One day during the week we heard that a company of Missouri home
guards, well armed, were at Little York, a small village six or
seven miles west from our camps. Now, the home guards were Northern
sympathizers, so one afternoon our company and another of the regiment,
by permission, marched to Little York on a raid, intending to capture
the company and secure their arms. We charged into the town, but the
enemy we sought was not there, and we could find but four or five
supposed members of the company. Anyway, we chased and captured every
man in town who ran from us, including the surgeon of the command, who
was mounted on a good horse, being the only man mounted in the company.
Several of the boys had a chase after him, capturing his horse, which
was awarded to John B. Long, who, however, did not enjoy his ownership
very long, for the animal was killed in our first battle. We then
searched for arms, but found none.

In one of the storehouses we found a large lot of pig lead, estimated
at 15,000 pounds. This we confiscated for the use of the Confederate
Army. In order to move it, we pressed into service the only two
wagons we could find with teams, but so over-loaded one of them
that the wheels broke down when we started off. We then carried the
lead on our horses,—except what we thought could be hauled in the
remaining wagon,—out some distance and hid it in a thicket of hazelnut
bushes. We then, with our prisoners and the one wagon, returned to
camp. When the prisoners were marched up to regimental headquarters
Lieutenant-Colonel Lane said, “Turn them out of the lines and let them
go. I would rather fight them than feed them.”

This raiding party of two companies that made the descent upon
Little York was commanded by Captain Taylor, and the raid resulted,
substantially, as I have stated. Nevertheless, even the next day wild,
exaggerated stories of the affair were told, and believed by many
members of our own regiment as well as other portions of the army, and
in Victor Rose’s “History of Ross’s Brigade,” the following version
of the little exploit may be read: “Captain Frank Taylor, of Company
C, made a gallant dash into a detachment guarding a train loaded
with supplies for Lyon, routing the detachment, taking a number of
prisoners, and capturing the entire train.” And “the historian” was a
member of Company A, Third Texas Cavalry! From this language one would
infer that Captain Taylor, alone and unaided, had captured a supply
train with its escort!

On Friday, August 9, the determination was reached to move on
Springfield and attack General Lyon. We received orders to cook
rations, have our horses saddled and be ready to march at nine o’clock
P. M. At nine o’clock we were ready to mount, but by this time a slight
rain was falling, and the night was very dark and threatening. We
“stood to horse,” as it were, all night, waiting for orders that never
came. The infantry, also under similar orders, slept on their arms. Of
course our men, becoming weary with standing and waiting, lay down at
the feet of their horses, reins in hand, and slept. Daylight found some
of the men up, starting little fires to prepare coffee for breakfast,
while the majority were sleeping on the ground, and numbers of our
horses, having slipped their reins from the hands of the sleeping
soldiers, were grazing in the field in front of the camp.

Captain Taylor had ridden up to regimental headquarters to ask for
instructions or orders, when the enemy opened fire upon us with a
battery stationed in the timber just back of the field in our front,
and the shells came crashing through the small timber above our heads.
And as if this were a signal, almost instantly another battery opened
fire on General Price’s camp. Who was responsible for the blunder that
made it possible for us to be thus surprised in camp, I cannot say.
It was said that the pickets were ordered in, in view of our moving,
at nine o’clock the night before, and were not sent out again; but
this was afterwards denied. If we had any pickets on duty they were
certainly very inefficient. But there is no time now to inquire of the
whys and wherefores.

Captain Taylor now came galloping back, shouting: “Mount your horses
and get into line!” There was a hustling for loose horses, a rapid
mounting and very soon the regiment was in line by companies in the
open field in front of the camps. It was my duty now to “form the
company,” the same as if we were going out to drill; that is, beginning
on the right, I rode down the line requiring each man to call out his
number, counting, one, two, three, four; one, two, three, four, until
the left was reached. This gave every man his place for the day, and
every man was required to keep his place. If ordered to march by twos,
the horses were wheeled to the right, number 2 forming on the right of
number 1; if order to for fours, numbers 3 and 4 moved rapidly up on
the right of numbers 1 and 2, and so on. This being done in the face of
the aforesaid battery, with no undue haste, was quite a trying ordeal
to new troops who had never before been under fire, but the men stood
it admirably.

As soon as we were formed we moved out by twos, with orders to cross
the Springfield road to the hills beyond, where General Ben McCulloch’s
infantry, consisting of the noble Third Louisiana and the Arkansas
troops, some three thousand in all, were hotly engaged with General
Lyon’s command. General Lyon was personally in front of General
Sterling Price’s army of Missouri State Guards, being personally in
command of one wing of the Federal Army (three brigades), and Sigel,
who was senior colonel, commanded the other wing (one brigade). General
McCulloch was in command of the Confederate troops and General Price of
the Missourians.

We moved out through Mr. Sharp’s premises as we had come in, but
coming to the road we were delayed by the moving trains and the
hundreds of unarmed men who were along with General Price’s army,
rushing in great haste from the battlefield. The road being so
completely filled with the mass of moving trains and men rushing
pell-mell southward, it cost us a heroic effort to make our way across.
In this movement the rear battalion of the regiment, under Major
Chilton, was cut off from us, and while they performed good service
during part of the day, we saw no more of them until the battle ended.

By the time we crossed the road the battle had become general, and the
fire of both artillery and musketry was constant and terrific. The
morning was bright and clear and the weather excessively warm, and as
we had been rushed into battle without having time to get breakfast
or to fill our canteens, we consequently suffered from both hunger
and thirst. After crossing the road we moved up just in the rear of
our line of infantry, and for five hours or more were thus held in
reserve, slowly moving up in column as the infantry lines surged to
the left, while the brave Louisiana and Arkansas troops stood their
ground manfully against the heavy fire of musketry and artillery. As
our position was farther down the hill than that occupied by the line
of infantry, we were in no very great danger, as the enemy’s shot and
shell usually passed over us, but, nevertheless, during the whole time
the shots were passing very unpleasantly near our heads, with some
damage, too, as a number of the men were wounded about the head. One
member of Company C was clipped across the back of the neck with a
minie ball. After hours of a most stubborn contest our infantry showed
some signs of wavering. Colonel Greer at this critical moment led us
up rapidly past their extreme left,—had us wheel into line, and then
ordered us to charge the enemy’s infantry in our front. With a yell
all along the line, a yell largely mixed with the Indian warwhoop, we
dashed down that rough, rocky hillside at a full gallop right into the
face of that solid line of well-armed and disciplined infantry. It was
evidently a great surprise to them, for though they emptied their guns
at us, we moved so rapidly that they had no time to reload, and broke
their lines and fled in confusion. The battery that had been playing
on our infantry all day was now suddenly turned upon us, otherwise
we could have ridden their infantry down and killed or captured many
of them, but we were halted, and moved out by the left flank from
under the fire of their battery. Their guns were now limbered up and
moved off, and their whole command was soon in full retreat towards
Springfield. During the engagement General Nathaniel Lyon had been
killed, and the battle, after about seven hours’ hard fighting, was at
an end. The field was ours.

Thus ended our first battle. Would to God it had been our last, and the
last of the war! General McCulloch called it “The Battle of Oak Hill,”
but the Federals called it “The Battle of Wilson’s Creek.”

This first battle was interesting to me in many ways. I had been
reading of them since my childhood and looking at pictures of
battlefields during and after the conflict, but to see a battle in
progress, to hear the deafening roar of artillery, and the terrible,
ceaseless rattle of musketry; to see the rapid movements of troops,
hear the shouts of men engaged in mortal combat, and to realize the
sensation of being a participant, and then after hours of doubtful
contest to see the enemy fleeing from the field—all this was grand and
terrible. But while there is a grandeur in a battle, there are many
horrors, and unfortunately the horrors are wide-spread—they go home to
the wives, fathers, mothers, and sisters of the slain.

After the battle was over we were slowly moving in column across
the field unmolested, but being fired on by some of the enemy’s
sharpshooters, who were keeping up a desultory fire at long range,
when young Mr. Willie, son of Judge A. H. Willie, a member of Company
A, which was in advance of us, came riding up the column, passing us.
I was riding with Captain Taylor at the head of our company, and just
as Willie was passing us a ball from one of the sharpshooters’ rifles
struck him in the left temple, and killed him. But for his position the
ball would have struck me in another instant.

After all the Federals capable of locomotion had left the field, we
were moved up the road on which Sigel had retreated, as far as a mill
some five miles away, where we had ample witness of the execution
done by our cavalry—dead men in blue were strewn along the road in a
horrible manner. On returning, late in the afternoon, we were ordered
back to the camp we had left in the morning. As we had witnessed
the grandeur of the battle, Felps and myself concluded to ride over
the field and see some of its horrors. So we rode leisurely over the
field and reviewed the numerous dead, both men and horses, and the few
wounded who had not been carried to the field hospitals. General Lyon’s
body had been placed in an ambulance by order of General McCulloch,
and was on its way to Springfield, where it was left at the house of
Colonel Phelps. His horse lay dead on the field, and every lock of
his gray mane and tail was clipped off by our men and carried off as
souvenirs.

Further on we found one poor old Missouri home guard who was wounded.
He had dragged himself up against a black jack tree and was waiting
patiently for some chance of being cared for. We halted and were
speaking to him, when one of his neighbors, a Southern sympathizer,
came up, recognized him and began to abuse him in a shameful manner.
“Oh, you d——d old scoundrel,” he said, “if you had been where you
ought to have been, you wouldn’t be in the fix you are in now.” They
were both elderly men, and evidently lived only a few miles away, as
the Southerner had had time to come from his home to see the result of
the battle. I felt tempted to shoot the old coward, and thus put them
on an equality, and let them quarrel it out. But as it seemed enough
men had been shot for one day, we could only shame him and tell him
that if he had had the manliness to take up his gun and fight for what
he thought was right, as his neighbor had done, he would not be there
to curse and abuse a helpless and wounded man, and that he should not
insult him or abuse him any more while we were there. We continued our
ride until satisfied for that time, and for all time, so far as I was
concerned, with viewing a battlefield just after the battle, unless
duty demands it.

Our train came up at night, bringing us, oh, so many letters from
our post office at Fort Smith, but the day’s doings, the fatigue,
hunger, thirst, heat, and excitement had overcome me so completely
that I opened not a letter until the morning. Reckoning up the day’s
casualties in Company C, we found four men and fifteen horses had been
shot; Leander W. Cole was mortally wounded, and died in Springfield a
few days later; J. E. Dillard was shot in the leg and in allusion to
his long-leggedness it was said he was shot two and one half feet below
the knee and one and one half feet above the ankle; T. Wiley Roberts
was slightly wounded in the back of the head, and P. C. Coupland
slightly wounded. Some of the horses were killed and others wounded.
Roger Q. Mills and Dr. —— Malloy, two citizens of Corsicana, were
with us in this battle, having overtaken us on the march, and remained
with us until it was over, then returning home. Roger Q. Mills was
afterwards colonel of the Tenth Texas Infantry. Dr. Malloy was captain
of a company, and fell while gallantly fighting at the head of his
company in one of the battles west of the Mississippi River.

I will not attempt to give the number of troops engaged, as the
official reports of the battle written by the officers in command fail
to settle that question. General Price reported that he had 5221
effective men with 15 pieces of artillery. General McCulloch’s brigade
has been estimated at 4000 men, with no artillery, and this officer’s
conclusion was that the enemy had 9000 to 10,000 men, and that the
forces of the two armies were about equal. The Federal officers in
their reports greatly exaggerated our strength, and, I think, greatly
underestimated theirs, especially so since, General Lyon being killed,
it devolved upon the subordinates to make the reports. Major S. D.
Sturgis, who commanded one of Lyon’s brigades, says their 3700 men
attacked an army of 23,000 rebels under Price and McCulloch, that their
loss in killed, wounded, and missing was 1235, and he supposed the
rebel loss was 3000. Major J. M. Schofield, General Lyon’s adjutant,
says their 5000 men attacked the rebel army of 20,000. General Frémont,
afterwards, in congratulating the army on their splendid conduct in
this battle, says their 4300 men met the rebel army of 20,000. They
give the organization of their army without giving the numbers. General
Lyon had four brigades, consisting, as they report, of six regiments,
three battalions, seven companies, 200 Missouri home guards and three
batteries of artillery, many of their troops being regulars. Their army
came against us in two columns.

[Illustration: LIEUTENANT-COLONEL JILES S. BOGGESS

Third Texas Cavalry]

General Lyon, with three brigades and two batteries, Totten’s six
pieces, and Dubois, with four, came down the Springfield road and
attacked our main army in front. Colonel Franz Sigel, with one brigade
and one light battery, marched down to the left, or east of the road
and into our rear, and attacked the cavalry camp with his artillery, as
has already been stated. Poor Sigel! it would be sufficient to describe
his disastrous defeat to merely repeat their official reports. But I
would only say that his battery was lost and his command scattered
and driven from the field in utter confusion and demoralization in
the early part of the day and that it was followed some five miles by
our cavalry and badly cut up, he himself escaping capture narrowly by
abandoning his carriage and colors and taking to a cornfield. It was
said by the Federals that he reached Springfield with one man before
the battle was ended. But the forces led by the brave and gallant Lyon
fought bravely. The losses are given officially as follows: Federals:
killed, 223; wounded, 721; missing, 291. Total, 1235. Confederates:
killed, 265; wounded, 800; missing, 30. Total, 1095.




CHAPTER IV

THE WAR IN MISSOURI

 Personal Characteristics—Two Braggarts—Joe Welch—William
 Hood—We Enter Springfield—Bitter Feeling in Missouri—Company
 Elections—Measles and Typhoid—Carthage, and My Illness
 There—We Leave Carthage—Death of Captain Taylor—Winter
 Quarters—Furloughed—Home Again.


A BATTLE—or danger—will often develop some characteristics that
nothing else will bring out.

One Gum was a shabby little man, mounted on a shabby little mustang
pony; in fact his horse was so shabby that he would tie him, while
we were at Dallas, away off in the brush in a ravine and carry his
forage half a mile to feed him rather than have him laughed at. Gum
was a Missourian, and got into the company somehow, with his fiddle,
and aside from his fiddling he was of little use in camps. During the
time we were kept slowly moving along in the rear of our infantry,
engaged mainly in the unprofitable business of dodging balls and
shells that were constantly whizzing near our heads, Captain Taylor
was very anxious that his company should act well under fire and
would frequently glance back, saying: “Keep your places, men.” Gum,
however, was out of place so often he finally became personal, “Keep
in your place, Gum.” At this Gum broke ranks and came trotting up on
his little pony, looking like a monkey with a red cap on, for, having
lost his hat, he had tied a red cotton handkerchief around his head.
When opposite the captain he reined up, and with a trembling frame
and in a quivering voice, almost crying, he said: “Captain, I _can’t_
keep my place. I am a coward, and I can’t help it.” Captain Taylor
said, sympathetically: “Very well, Gum; go where you please.” It so
happened that a few days later we passed his father’s house, near
Mount Vernon, and the captain allowed him to stop and remain with his
father. And thus he was discharged. At this stage of the war we had
no army regulations, no “red tape” in our business. If a captain saw
fit to discharge one of his men he told him to go, and he went without
reference to army headquarters or the War Department. I met Gum in
November, fleeing from the wrath of the home guards, as a man who had
been in the Confederate Army could not live in safety in Missouri.

One of our men, in the morning when I was forming the company, was so
agitated that it was a difficult matter to get him to call his number.
During the day a ball cut a gash about skin deep and two inches in
length across the back of his neck, just at the edge of his hair. As a
result of this we were two years in getting this man under fire again,
though he would not make an honest confession like Gum, but would
manage in some mysterious way to keep out of danger. When at last we
succeeded in getting him in battle at Thompson’s Station in 1863, he
ran his iron ramrod through the palm of his right hand and went to the
rear. Rather than risk himself in another engagement he deserted, in
the fall of that year, and went into the Federal breastworks in front
of Vicksburg and surrendered. This man was named Wiley Roberts.

Captain Hale, of Company D, was rather rough-hewn, but a brave,
patriotic old man, having not the least patience with a thief, a
coward, or a braggart. While he had some of the bravest men in his
company that any army could boast of, he had one or two, at least, that
were not among these, as the two stalwart bullies who were exceedingly
boastful of their prowess, of the ease with which Southern men could
whip Northerners, five to one being about as little odds as they cared
to meet. This type of braggart was no novelty, for every soldier had
heard that kind of talk at the beginning of the war. While we were
moving out in the morning when Sigel’s battery was firing and Captain
Hale was coolly riding along at the head of his company, these two
men came riding rapidly up, one hand holding their reins while the
other was pressed across the stomach, as if they were in great misery,
saying, when they sighted their commander: “Captain Hale, where must we
go? we are sick.” Captain Hale looked around without uttering a word
for a moment, his countenance speaking more indignation than language
could express. At last he said, in his characteristic, emphatic manner:
“Go to h——l, you d——d cowards! You were the only two fighting men
I had until now we are in a battle, and you’re both sick. I don’t care
when you go.” Other incidents could be given where men in the regiment
were tried and found wanting, but the great majority were brave and
gallant men who never shirked duty or flinched from danger.

An instance of the opposite character may be told of Joe Welch. Joe
was a blacksmith, almost a giant in stature. Roughly guessing, I would
say he was six feet two inches in height, weighing about 240 pounds,
broad-shouldered, raw-boned, with muscles that would laugh at a sledge.
Joe had incurred the contempt of the company by acting in a very
cowardly manner, as they thought, in one or two little personal affairs
before we reached Missouri. But when we went into battle Joe was there,
as unconcerned and cool, apparently, as if he was only going into his
shop to do a day’s work; and when we made our charge down that rough
hillside when the enemy’s bullets were coming as thick as hailstones,
one of Joe’s pistols jolted out of its holster and fell to the ground.
Joe reined in his horse, deliberately dismounted, recovered the pistol,
remounted, and rapidly moved up to his place in the ranks. Those who
witnessed the coolness and apparent disregard of danger with which he
performed this little feat felt their contempt suddenly converted into
admiration.

Another one of our men was found wanting, but through no fault of his
own, as he was faithful as far as able. This was William Hood. Hood was
an Englishman, quite small, considerably advanced in years, destitute
of physical endurance and totally unfit for the hardships of a
soldier’s life. He was an old-womanish kind of a man, good for cooking,
washing dishes, scouring tin plates, and keeping everything nice
around the mess headquarters, but was unsuited for any other part of a
soldier’s duty. Hood strayed off from us somehow during the day, and
for some part of the day was a prisoner, losing his horse, but managed
to get back to camp afoot at night, very much depressed in spirits. The
next morning he was very proud to discover his horse grazing out in the
field two or three hundred yards from the camp. He almost flew to him,
but found he was wounded. He came back to Captain Taylor with a very
sad countenance, and said: “Captain Taylor, me little ’orse is wounded
right were the ’air girth goes on ’im.” The wound was only slight and
as soon as the little ’orse was in proper traveling condition little
Hood was discharged and allowed to return home.

As already stated, we returned late in the evening to the camp we
had left in the morning to rest and sleep for the night, for after
the excitement of the day was over bodily fatigue was very much in
evidence. Our train came up about nightfall, but as I was very tired,
and our only chance for lights was in building up little brush fires,
the opening of my letters was postponed until the bright Sunday
morning, August 11, especially as my mail packet was quite bulky.
One large envelope from Huntsville, Ala., contained a letter and an
exquisite little Confederate flag some ten or twelve inches long.
This was from a valued young lady friend who, in the letter, gave me
much good advice, among other things warning me against being shot in
the back. And I never was. During the day the command marched into
Springfield, to find that the Federal Army had pushed forward Saturday
night. They had retreated to Rolla, the terminus of the railroad, and
thence returned to St. Louis, leaving us for a long time in undisputed
possession of southwest Missouri, where we had but little to do for
three months but gather forage and care for our horses and teams and
perform the routine duties incident to a permanent camp.

From Springfield we moved out west a few miles, camping for a few days
at a large spring called Cave Spring. Here several of our men were
discharged and returned home. Among them James R. Taylor, brother of
Captain, subsequently Colonel, Taylor of the Seventeenth Texas Cavalry,
who was killed at the battle of Mansfield, La.

Southwest Missouri is a splendid country, abounding in rich lands,
fine springs of pure water, and this year, 1861, an abundant crop of
corn, oats, hay, and such staples had been raised. Nevertheless, a
very unhappy state of things existed there during the war, for the
population was very much divided in sentiment and sympathy—some being
for the North and some for the South, and the antagonism between the
factions was very bitter. Indeed, so intense had the feeling run,
the man of one side seemed to long to see his neighbor of the other
side looted and his property destroyed. Men of Southern sympathy have
stealthily crept into our camps at midnight and in whispers told us
where some Union men were to be found in the neighborhood, evidently
wishing and expecting that we would raid them and kill or capture,
rob, plunder or do them damage in some terrible manner. Such reporters
seemed to be disappointed when we would tell them that we were not
there to make war on citizens, and the Union men themselves seemed to
think we were ready to do violence to all who were not loyal to the
Southern Confederacy. When we chanced to go to one of their houses
for forage, as frequently happened, we could never see the man of the
house, unless we caught a glimpse of him as he was running to some
place to hide, and no assurance to his family that we would not in
any manner mistreat him would overcome the deep conviction that we
would. This bitter feeling and animosity among the citizens grew to
such intensity, as the war advanced, that life became a misery to the
citizen of Missouri.

We moved around leisurely over the country from place to place,
foraging and feeding a few days here and a few days there, and in the
early days of September, passing by way of Mount Vernon and Carthage,
we found ourselves at Scott’s Mill, on Cowskin River, near the border
of the Cherokee Nation. At Mount Vernon we witnessed a farce enacted
by Company D. Dan Dupree was their first lieutenant, and a very nice,
worthy fellow he was, too, but some of his men fell out with him about
some trivial matter, and petitioned him to resign, which he did.
Captain Hale, supposing possibly they might also be opposed to him,
and too diffident to say so, he resigned too, and the other officers
followed suit, even down to the fourth and last corporal, and for
the time the company was without an officer, either commissioned or
non-commissioned. At this early stage of the war, for an officer to
resign was a very simple and easy thing. He had only to say publicly
to his company, “I resign,” and it was so. The company was now formed
into line to prepare for the election of officers, and the mode of
procedure was as follows: The candidates would stand a few paces in
front of the line, their back to the men. The men were then instructed
to declare their choice, by standing behind him, one behind the other,
and when all votes were counted the result was declared. The outcome
on this occasion was that Captain Hale and all the old officers were
re-elected, except Dupree. Later in the year members of Company A
petitioned their captain to resign, but he respectfully declined,
and though many of his men were very indignant, we heard no more of
petitioning officers to resign.

While we were camped on the beautiful little Cowskin River measles
attacked our men, and we moved up to Carthage, where we remained
about eight weeks, during which time we passed through a terrible
scourge of measles and typhoid fever. As a result Company C lost
five men, including Captain Taylor. Fortunately we were in a high,
healthy country, and met in Carthage a warm-hearted, generous people.
In addition to our competent and efficient surgeon and his assistant
during this affliction, we had a number of good physicians, privates in
the regiment, who rendered all the assistance in their power in caring
for the sick. The court house was appropriated as a hospital, and,
soon filled to its capacity, the generous citizens received the sick
men into their houses and had them cared for there. How many of the
regiment were sick at one time I do not know, but there were a great
many; the number of dead I never knew. Our surgeon went from house to
house visiting and prescribing for the sick both day and night, until
it seemed sometimes as if he could not make another round.

The day after we reached Carthage I was taken down with a severe
case of measles, and glided easily into a case of typhoid fever. Dr.
McDugald went personally to find a home for me, and had me conveyed to
the residence of Mr. John J. Scott, a merchant and farmer, where for
seven weeks I wasted away with the fever, during all of which time I
was as kindly and tenderly cared for by Mrs. Scott as if I had been one
of her family; and her little girl Olympia, then about eleven years
old, was as kind and attentive to me as a little sister could have
been. My messmate and chum, Thomas J. Johnson, remained with me to wait
on me day and night during the entire time, and Dr. McDugald, and also
Dr. Dan Shaw, of Rusk County, were unremitting in their attention. A.
B. Summers took charge of my horse, and gave him better attention than
he did his own. Captain Taylor was also very low at the same time, and
was taken care of at the house of Colonel Ward. The fever had left me
and I had been able to sit up in a rocking chair by the fire a little
while at a time for a few days, when General Frémont, who had been
placed in command of the Federal Army in Missouri, began a movement
from Springfield in the direction of Fayetteville, Ark., and we were
suddenly ordered away from Carthage. All the available transportation
had to be used to remove the sick, who were taken to Scott’s Mill. A
buggy being procured for Captain Taylor and myself, our horses were
hitched to it and, with the assistance of Tom Johnson and John A. Boyd,
we moved out, following the march of the command into Arkansas. The
command moved south, via Neosho and Pineville, and dropped down on
Sugar Creek, near Cross Hollows, confronting General Frémont, who soon
retired to Springfield, and never returned. At Sugar Creek we stole
Ben A. Long out of camp, and made our way to Fayetteville, where we
stopped at the house of Martin D. Frazier, by whose family we were most
hospitably treated. Here Captain Taylor relapsed, and died.

Captain Francis Marion Taylor was a noble, brave, and patriotic man,
and we were all much grieved at his death. He had been at death’s
door in Carthage, and Dr. McDugald then thought he was going to die,
telling him so, but he rallied, and when we left there he was much
stronger than I was, being able to drive, while that would have been
impossible with me. When he relapsed he did not seem to have much
hope of recovering, and after the surgeon, at his own request, had
told him his illness would terminate fatally, he talked very freely
of his approaching death. He had two little children, a mother, and a
mother-in-law, Mrs. Wiggins, all of whom he loved very much, and said
he loved his mother-in-law as much as he loved his mother. He gave
me messages for them, placed everything he had with him (his horse,
gold watch, gold rings, sword, and his trunk of clothes) in my charge,
with specific instructions as to whom to give them—his mother, his
mother-in-law and his two little children.

I continued to improve, but recovered very slowly indeed, and remained
in Fayetteville until the early days of December. The regiment was
ordered to go into winter quarters at the mouth of Frog Bayou, on
the north bank of the Arkansas River, twelve miles below Van Buren,
and when they had passed through Fayetteville on their way to the
designated point, I followed, as I was now able to ride on horseback.
Cabins were soon erected for the men and stalls for the horses, and
here the main command was at home for the winter. I was furloughed
until March 1, but as the weather was fine I remained in the camp for
two weeks before starting on the long home journey to Rusk. Many other
convalescents were furloughed at this time, so finally, in company
with Dr. W. L. Gammage, who, by the way, had been made surgeon of an
Arkansas regiment, and two or three members of Company F who lived in
Cherokee County, I started to Rusk, reaching the end of my journey just
before Christmas.

My first night in Cherokee County was spent at the home of Captain
Taylor’s noble mother, near Larissa, where I delivered her son’s last
messages to her, and told her of his last days. The next day I went
on to Rusk and delivered the messages, horse, watch, etc., to the
mother-in-law and children. Mr. Wiggins’s family offered me a home
for the winter, and as I had greatly improved and the winter was
exceedingly mild, I spent the time very pleasantly until ready to
return to the army. Among other things I brought home the ball that
killed Leander Cole, and sent it to his mother.




CHAPTER V

THE WAR IN MISSOURI—_Continued_

 I Rejoin the Command—Sleeping in Snow—Ambushed—Battle of Elkhorn
 Tavern (Pea Ridge)—Capturing a Battery—Deaths of Generals McCulloch
 and McIntosh—Battle Continued—Casualties—Keetsville—Official
 Reports—March Southward—Foraging—Lost Artillery—Illness Again.


IN the latter part of February, 1862, I left Rusk in company with Tom
Hogg, John Germany, and perhaps one or two more of our furloughed men,
for our winter quarters on the Arkansas River. We crossed Red River and
took the road running along the line between Arkansas and the Indian
Territory to Fort Smith. After crossing Red River we began meeting
refugees from Missouri and north Arkansas, on their way to Texas, who
told us that our army was moving northward, and a battle was expected
very soon. This caused us to push on more rapidly, as we were due to
return March 1, and were anxious to be in our places with the command.
When we reached Van Buren we learned that our whole army was in motion,
that a battle was imminent and might occur any day. By this time the
weather had grown quite cold, and leaving Van Buren at 9 A. M., we had
to cross Boston Mountain, facing a north wind blowing snow in our faces
all day. Nevertheless, we slept fifty miles from there that night,
camping with some commissary wagons on the road, a few miles from
Fayetteville. Here we learned that the army was camped along the road
between there and Fayetteville. The next morning we started on at a
brisk gait, but before we could pass the infantry they were filing into
the road. We took to the brush and galloped our horses about six miles
and overtook the Third Texas, which was in the advance, now passing out
of the northern suburbs of Fayetteville, and found Company C in the
advance guard on the Bentonville road.

We advanced slowly that day, without coming in contact with the enemy,
and camped that night at Elm Springs, where the snow fell on us all
night. Of course we had no tents, but slept on the ground without
shelter. This seemed pretty tough to a fellow who, except for a few
fine days in December, had not spent a day in camp since September,
during all that time occupying warm, comfortable rooms. Up to this time
I had never learned to sleep with my head covered, but finding it now
necessary, I would first cover my head and face to keep the snow out,
stand that as long as I could, then throw the blanket off, when the
snow would flutter down in my face, chilling me so that I could not
sleep. So between the two unpleasant conditions I was unable to get
any rest at all. Some time before daybreak we saddled up and moved on,
the snow being three or four inches deep, and early in the morning we
passed the burning fires of the Federal pickets. By nine o’clock the
storm had passed, the sun shining brightly, and about ten o’clock we
came in sight of Bentonville, a distance said to be two miles. We could
plainly see the Federal troops moving about the streets, their bright
guns glistening in the sunshine, afterwards ascertained to have been
Sigel’s column of General Curtis’ army. We were drawn up in line and
ordered to prepare for a charge. To illustrate what a magic influence
an order to charge upon the enemy has, how it sends the sluggish blood
rushing through the veins and livens up the new forces, I will say that
while we were standing in line preparing to charge those fellows, I was
so benumbed with cold that I could not cap my pistols. I tried ever
so hard to do so, but had my life depended upon it I could not have
succeeded. We were thrown into columns of fours and ordered to charge,
which we did at a brisk gallop, and before we had gone exceeding
one-half mile I had perfect use of my hands, was comfortably warm, and
did not suffer in the least with cold at any time during the rest of
the day.

We charged into the town, but the enemy had all moved out. I suppose it
was the rear of the command that we had seen moving out. That afternoon
we were ambushed by a strong force, and were fired on in the right
flank from a steep, rough hill. We were ordered to charge, which order
we attempted to obey by wheeling and charging in line up a hill so
steep and rough that only a goat could have made any progress, only to
find our line broken into the utmost confusion and under a murderous
fire of infantry and artillery from an invisible enemy behind rocks
and trees. In the confusion I recognized the order “dismount and fall
into line!” I dismounted, but when I fell into what I supposed was
going to be the line I found Lieutenant J. E. Dillard and J. B. Murphy,
“us three, and no more.” While glancing back I saw the regiment was
charging around on horseback, while the captains of companies were
shouting orders to their men in the vain endeavor to get them into some
kind of shape.

In the meantime the bullets were coming thick around us three
dismounted men, knocking the bark from the hickory trees in our
vicinity into our faces in a lively manner. Finally concluding we could
do no good without support, we returned to our horses, mounted, and
joined the confusion, and soon managed to move out of range of the
enemy’s guns. Brave old Captain Hale, very much chagrined and mortified
by this affair, considered the regiment disgraced, and said as much
in very emphatic, but not very choice, English. I do not remember the
precise language he used, but he was quoted as saying: “This here
regiment are disgraced forever! I’d ’a’ rather died right thar than to
a give airy inch!” I do not know how many men we lost in this affair,
but Vic. Rose says ten killed and twenty wounded. I remember that
Joe Welch was wounded in the thigh, but I do not remember any other
casualty in Company C. This was reckoned as the first day of the three
days’ battle of Elkhorn Tavern, or Pea Ridge.

General Earl Van Dorn had taken command of the entire army on March
2, and conducted the remainder of the campaign to its close. General
Price’s division consisted of the Missouri troops. General McCulloch
was placed in command of the infantry of his old division, consisting
of the Third Louisiana, commanded by Colonel Louis Hebert (pronounced
Hebair), and the Arkansas infantry, and General James Mcintosh, who
had just been promoted to brigadier-general, commanded the cavalry.
Brigadier-General Samuel R. Curtis, who commanded the Federal Army in
our front, was concentrating his forces near Elkhorn Tavern and Pea
Ridge, near the Arkansas and Missouri line.

After the ambush and skirmish alluded to above, General Sigel moved on
northward with his command and we moved on in the same direction, and
near nightfall camped by the roadside. Here, as we had neither food
for man nor forage for beast, I started out to procure a feed of corn
for my horse, if possible, riding west from camp, perhaps five miles,
before I succeeded. For a while at first I searched corncribs, but
finding them all empty I began searching under the beds, and succeeded
in obtaining fifteen or twenty ears. Part of this I fed to my horse,
part of it I ate myself, and carried part of it on for the next night.

We were now near the enemy. Leaving camp about two hours before
daylight, we made a detour to the left, passed the enemy’s right
flank, and were in his rear near Pea Ridge. General Price, accompanied
by General Van Dorn, passed around his left and gained his rear near
Elkhorn Tavern, where General Van Dorn established his headquarters.
About 10.30 A. M. we heard General Price’s guns, as he began the
attack. Our cavalry was moving in a southeasterly direction toward
the position of General Sigel’s command, and near Leetown, in columns
of fours, abreast, the Third Texas on the right, then the Sixth and
Ninth Texas, Brook’s Arkansas battalion, and a battalion of Choctaw
Indians, forming in all, five columns. Passing slowly through an open
field, a Federal light battery, some five hundred or six hundred yards
to our right, supported by the Third Iowa Cavalry, opened fire upon
our flank, killing one or two of our horses with the first shot. The
battery was in plain view, being inside of a yard surrounding a little
log cabin enclosed with a rail fence three or four feet high. Just at
this time one of General McCulloch’s batteries, passing us on its way
to the front, was halted, the Third Texas was moved up in front of it,
and were ordered to remain and protect it. Lieutenant-Colonel Walter
P. Lane rode out to the front, facing the enemy’s battery, and calling
to Charley Watts, he said: “Come here, Charley, and blow the charge
until you are black in the face.” With Watts by his side blowing the
charge with all his might, Lane struck a gallop, when the other four
columns wheeled and followed him, the Texans yelling in the usual style
and the Indians repeating the warwhoop, dashing across the field in
handsome style. The Federal cavalry charged out and met them, when a
brisk fire ensued for a few minutes; but, scarcely checking their gait,
they brushed the cavalry, the Third Iowa, aside as if it was chaff,
charged on in face of the battery, over the little rail fence, and were
in possession of the guns in less time than it takes to tell the story.
In this little affair twenty-five of the Third Iowa Cavalry were killed
and a battery captured, but I do not know how many of the gunners were
killed. The Choctaws, true to their instinct, when they found the dead
on the field, began scalping them, but were soon stopped, as such
savagery could not be tolerated in civilized warfare. Still a great
deal was said by the Federal officers and newspapers about the scalping
of a few of these men, and it was reported that some bodies were
otherwise mutilated. Colonel Cyrus Bussey of the Third Iowa certified
that he found twenty-five of his men dead on the field, and that eight
of these had been scalped.

General McCulloch’s infantry and artillery soon attacked General
Sigel’s command in our front, and the engagement became general all
along the line. The roar of artillery and the rattle of musketry were
terrific all day until dark, with no decisive advantage gained on
either side. The Third Texas was moved up behind Pea Ridge, dismounted,
and placed in line of battle just behind the crest of the ridge, to
support our infantry, a few hundred yards in front of us, with orders
not to abandon the ridge under any circumstances. Here we remained
until late in the afternoon without further orders, in no particular
danger except from the shells from the enemy’s artillery that came over
the ridge and fell around us pretty constantly. Generals McCulloch
and McIntosh had both been killed early in the day, and Colonel Louis
Hebert, who was senior colonel and next in rank, had been captured. All
this was unknown to us, and also unknown to General Van Dorn, who was
with General Price near Elkhorn Tavern, two or three miles east of our
position. Late in the afternoon Colonel Greer sent a courier in search
of General McIntosh or General McCulloch, to ask for instructions, or
orders, and the sad tidings came back that they were both killed; nor
could Colonel Hebert be found.

The firing ceased at night, but we remained on the field, uncertain as
to the proper thing to do, until a courier who had been sent to General
Van Dorn returned about 2 A. M., with orders for all the forces to
move around to General Price’s position. When this was accomplished it
was near daylight, and we had spent the night without sleep, without
rations, and without water. General Curtis, perhaps discovering our
movement, was also concentrating his forces in General Price’s front.

The Confederates made an attack on the enemy early in the morning,
and for an hour or two the firing was brisk and spirited, but as our
men were starved out and their ammunition about exhausted, they were
ordered to cease firing. As the Federals also ceased firing, the forces
were withdrawn quietly and in an orderly manner from the field, and we
moved off to the south, moving east of General Curtis, having passed
entirely around his army.

The number of forces engaged in this battle were not definitely given.
General Van Dorn in his report stated that he had less than 14,000 men,
and estimated the Federal force at from 17,000 to 24,000, computing
our loss at 600 killed and wounded and 200 prisoners, a total of 800.
General Curtis reported that his forces engaged consisted of about
10,500 infantry and cavalry, with 49 pieces of artillery, and his
statement of losses, killed, wounded, and missing adds up a total of
1384. The future historian, the man who is so often spoken of, is going
to have a tough time if he undertakes to record the truths of the war.
When commanding officers will give some facts and then round up their
official reports with fiction, conflicts will arise that, it appears
to me, can never be reconciled. A private soldier or a subordinate
officer who participates in a battle can tell little about it beyond
what comes under his personal observation, which is not a great deal,
but he is apt to remember that little very distinctly.

In reference to the close of the battle, General Curtis among other
things said: “Our guns continued some time after the rebel fire ceased
and the rebels had gone down into the deep caverns through which
they had begun their precipitate flight. Finally our firing ceased.”
Speaking of the pursuit he says: “General Sigel also followed in this
pursuit towards Keetsville.... General Sigel followed some miles north
towards Keetsville, firing on the retreating force that ran that way.”
Then adds: “The main force took the Huntsville road which is directly
south.” This is true. Now, I dare say, there never was a more quiet,
orderly, and uninterrupted retreat from a battlefield. The Third Texas
was ordered to cover the retreat, and in order to do this properly we
took an elevated position on the battlefield, where we had to remain
until our entire army moved off and everybody else was on the march
and out of the way. The army moved out, not precipitately, but in a
leisurely way, not through “deep caverns,” but over high ground in
plain view of the surrounding country. Company C was ordered to take
the position of rear guard, in rear of the regiment. The regiment
finally moved out, Company C waiting until it had gone some distance,
when the company filed into the road and moved off. And then James E.
Dillard and the writer of this remained on the field until the entire
Confederate army was out of sight. During all this time not a Federal
gun was fired, not a Federal soldier came in view. Nor were we molested
during the entire day or night, although we moved in a leisurely way
all day, and at night Company C was on picket duty in the rear until
midnight.

Keetsville is a town in Missouri north of the battlefield. Sigel, it
was stated, “followed some miles north towards Keetsville, firing on
the retreating force that ran that way.” There were about twenty-four
pieces of our artillery that got into the Keetsville road through
mistake; they were without an escort, entirely unprotected. After we
had gone about three days’ march, leaving Huntsville to our left and
Fayetteville to the right, the Third Texas was sent in search of this
artillery, and, after marching all night and until noon next day,
passing through Huntsville, we met them, and escorted them in. They
had not been fired on or molested in the least. The Federal officers,
however, were not chargeable with all the inaccuracies that crept into
official reports.

General Van Dorn in his report of this campaign, says: “On the 6th we
left Elm Springs for Bentonville.... I therefore endeavored to reach
Bentonville, eleven miles distant, by rapid march, but the troops
moved so slowly that it was 11 A. M. before the leading division
(Price’s)—reached the village, and we had the mortification to see
Sigel’s division, 7000 strong, leaving it as we entered.”

Now, as I have already stated, the Third Texas was in advance, and
we saw Sigel leaving Bentonville long before 11 A. M., and Price’s
division never saw them in Bentonville nor anywhere else that day.
General Curtis reported that two of his divisions had just reached his
position, near Pea Ridge, when word came to him that General Sigel, who
had been left behind with a detachment of one regiment, was about to
be surrounded by a “vastly superior force,” when these two divisions
marched rapidly back and with infantry and artillery checked the rebel
advance, losing twenty-five men killed and wounded. So this was the
force that ambushed us, and according to this account, Sigel moved out
of Bentonville in the morning with one regiment, instead of 7000 men.
So the reader of history will never know just how much of fiction he is
getting along with the “history.”

Leaving the battlefield in the manner stated, we moved very slowly all
day. In fact, fatigue, loss of sleep, and hunger had rendered a rapid
movement impossible with the infantry. Our men were so starved that
they would have devoured almost anything. During the day I saw some of
the infantry men shoot down a hog by the side of the road, and, cutting
off pieces of the meat, march on eating the raw bloody pork without
bread or salt. The country through which we were marching was a poor,
mountainous district, almost destitute of anything for the inhabitants
to subsist upon, to say nothing of feeding an army. Stock of any kind
appeared to be remarkably scarce. J. E. Dillard managed to get a small
razor-back pig, that would weigh perhaps twenty-five pounds, strapped
it on behind his saddle and thus carried it all day. When we were
relieved of picket duty and went into camp at midnight, he cut it up
and divided it among the men. I drew a shoulder-blade, with perhaps as
much as four ounces of meat on it. This I broiled and ate without salt
or bread.

We continued the march southward, passing ten or twelve miles east
of Fayetteville. About the fourth day we had been resting, and the
commissary force was out hustling for something to eat, but before
we got any rations the Third Texas was suddenly ordered to mount
immediately and go in search of our missing artillery. This was in the
afternoon, perhaps four o’clock. Moving in a northeasterly direction,
we marched all night on to the headwaters of White River, where that
stream is a mere creek, and I do not think it would be an exaggeration
to say that we crossed it twenty times during the night. About 10 A. M.
we passed through Huntsville, county seat of Madison County, a small
town having the appearance of being destitute of everything. By this
time the matter of food had become a very serious question, and we
appeared to be in much greater danger of dying from starvation in the
mountains of northern Arkansas than by the enemy’s bullets. Our belts
had been tightened until there was no relief in that, and, as if to
enhance my own personal suffering, the tantalizing fact occurred to me
that I was treading my native heath, so to speak, for I am a native
of Madison County, and Huntsville had been my home for years, where
to enjoy three squares a day had been an unbroken habit of years. But
to-day I was literally starving in the town of Huntsville, County of
Madison, aforesaid, and not a friendly face could I see, nor could
a morsel of bread be procured for love or patriotism. Passing onward
two or three miles, and having learned that the guns were coming, we
rested, and privately made details to scour the country and beg for a
little food “for sick and wounded men.” Tom Johnson went out for our
mess, and the sorrowful tales that were told in behalf of the poor
sick and wounded soldiers we were hauling along in ambulances, with
nothing with which to feed them, would have melted a heart of stone.
The ruse was a success, as the details came in at night with divers
small contributions made from scant stores for “the poor sick and
wounded men,” which were ravenously consumed by the well ones. The
artillery shortly afterwards came up and was escorted by us to the
command. Camping that night a few miles from Huntsville, the artillery
had taken the wrong road as it left the battlefield, had gone up into
Missouri, and had had a long circuitous drive through the mountains,
but otherwise they were all right.

After we returned with the guns, the army moved on southward. When we
were again in motion, as there was no further apprehension of being
followed by the enemy, hunger having nearly destroyed my respect
for discipline, I left the column by a byroad leading eastwardly,
determined to find something to eat. This proved a more difficult
errand than I had expected, for the mountaineers were very poor and
apparently almost destitute of supplies. I had traveled twelve or
fifteen miles when I rode down the mountain into a little valley, at
the head of Frog Bayou, coming to a good log house owned and occupied
by a Mr. Jones, formerly of Jackson County, Alabama, and a brother of
Hosea, Allen, William, and Jesse Jones, good and true men, all of whom
I knew. If he had been my uncle I could not have been prouder to find
him. Here I got a good square meal for myself and horse, seasoned with
a good hearty welcome. This good, true old man was afterwards murdered,
as I learned, for his loyalty to the Confederate cause. After enjoying
my dinner and a rest, I proceeded on my way, intending to rejoin the
command that evening; but, missing the road they were on, I met the
regiment at our old winter quarters. Thus about the middle of March
the Third Texas Cavalry was again housed in the huts we had erected on
the bank of the Arkansas River. I do not know the casualties of the
regiment, but as far as I remember Company C had only one man, Jos.
Welsh, wounded, and one man, Orderly Sergeant W. M. Caldwell, captured.
But as the prisoners were exchanged, our captured men soon returned to
us.

Thus ended a short campaign which involved much suffering to me, as
well as others, and was the beginning of trouble which nearly cost
me my life, a trouble which was not fully recovered from until the
following winter. When I was taken with measles in Missouri, the
disease affected my bowels, and they became ulcerated, and all through
the long spell of typhoid fever and the very slow convalescence this
trouble was very hard to control. When I left Rusk to return to the
army I was apparently well, but having been comfortably housed all
winter was not in proper condition to enter such a campaign at this
season of the year. Before leaving winter quarters the men were ordered
to prepare ten days’ rations, and when we overtook the command at
Fayetteville they had been out nearly that length of time, and rations
were already growing scarce. We furloughed men and a number of recruits
who had accompanied us to join the command were not here to draw or
prepare rations, and our only chance for a living was to share rations
with our comrades, who were as liberal and generous as they could be,
but they were not able to do much.

[Illustration: CAPTAIN D. R. GURLEY

Sixth Texas Cavalry, A. A. G. Ross’ Brigade]

From the time I overtook the command until we got back to winter
quarters was about ten days, and the few days we were in winter
quarters were spent in preparing to cross the Mississippi River. For
the first four or five days I managed to procure, on an average, about
one biscuit per day; for the other five days we were fortunate to get
anything at all to eat, and usually got nothing. We were in the snow
for two days and nights, and in a cold, drenching rain one night. On
the 7th it was impossible to get a drink of water, to say nothing of
food and sleep, and from the time the firing began in the morning until
the next morning we could get no water, although we were intensely
thirsty. While at winter quarters I had a chill, and started down grade
in health, a decline in physical condition that continued until I was
apparently nearly dead.

In December parts of our cavalry regiments went with Colonel James
McIntosh into the Indian Territory to suppress Hopothlaohola, an
ex-chief of the Creek nation, who, with a considerable band of
disaffected followers, was making trouble, and part of the Third Texas
went on this expedition. They had a battle with the Indians in the
mountains on the headwaters of Chustenala Creek, defeated and scattered
the warriors, captured their squaws, ponies, and negroes, scattering
them so effectually that we had no further trouble with them.




CHAPTER VI

THE SIEGE OF CORINTH

 Leaving Winter Quarters—The Prairies—Duvall’s Bluff—Awaiting
 Transportation—White River—The Mississippi—Memphis—Am Detailed—En
 Route to Corinth—Corinth—Red Tape—Siege of Corinth—“A Soldier’s
 Grave”—Digging for Water—Suffering and Sickness—Regiment
 Reorganized—Evacuation of Corinth.


CAPTAIN FRANK M. TAYLOR having died, First Lieutenant J. J. A. Barker
was promoted to captain and Private James E. Dillard was promoted to
second lieutenant. After remaining at our winter quarters for a few
days, resting and feeding up, we started on our long eastward journey,
leaving the wounded and sick in charge of Dr. I. K. Frazer. We moved
down on the north side of the Arkansas River, stopping two or three
days opposite Little Rock. During our stay here I availed myself of
the opportunity of seeing the capital of the State. From Little Rock
we crossed the country to Duvall’s Bluff on White River, where the men
were requested to dismount, send their horses back to Texas, and go
afoot for a time. This they agreed to without a murmur, on the promise
that, at a proper time, we should be remounted.

On this march from Arkansas River to White River we crossed grand
prairie, and, though I had often heard of these great stretches of dead
level country, had never seen them. I do not know the distance that
we marched in this grand prairie, but it was a good many miles, as we
entered it early in the morning one day and had to camp in it that
night, and for almost the whole distance water stood on the ground to
the depth of about two or three inches, and it was a difficult matter
to find dry ground enough to camp on at night.

Men having been detailed to take our horses back to Texas, the animals
were prepared for the journey, each detailed man having to manage a
number of horses; and to do this they tied the reins of one horse to
the tail of another, each man riding one horse and guiding the leader
of the others, strung out in pairs behind him. As they were recrossing
the grand prairie the buffalo-gnats attacked the horses, stampeding
them and scattering them for many miles over the country, and were with
much difficulty recaptured.

We waited several days at Duvall’s Bluff for transportation to Memphis,
Tenn., on our way to Corinth, Miss. General Joseph L. Hogg, who had
been commissioned brigadier-general, accompanied by his staff, came
to us here, with orders to take command of a brigade, including the
Third Texas Cavalry at Memphis. General Hogg’s staff was composed of
civilians who had never seen service in the army, and this proved to
be an unfortunate time of the year for men not inured to camp life
to go into active service. His staff consisted of William T. Long,
quartermaster; Daniel P. Irby, commissary; H. H. Rogers, of Jefferson,
usually called General Rogers, ordnance officer; in addition there were
E. C. Williams, John T. Decherd, and H. S, Newland.

After several days’ waiting a steamboat came up the river, landing at
the Bluff, and we were crowded upon it for our journey down White River
into the Mississippi and up to Memphis, and it was hard to realize
that the booming, navigable river we were now on was the same stream
we had forded so many times in the mountains of northern Arkansas on
the night we went in search of our lost artillery. When we got on the
Mississippi we found it very high, numbers of houses along the banks
being surrounded by water up to the front doorsteps, where numerous
small skiffs could be seen moored. These skiffs furnished the residents
their only means of going from house to house.

Arriving at Memphis, we marched away up Poplar Street to the suburbs,
and camped in a grove, where we remained several days, spending the
time in preparation for the move to Corinth, Miss. Here General Hogg
took formal command of his brigade, and, having told me that he wanted
Tom Johnson and myself at his headquarters, he had us detailed,—Tom to
the ordnance department and me in the quartermaster’s department, while
John A. Boyd was detailed to work in the commissary department.

Word having finally come for us to proceed to Corinth, we were crowded
into a train on the Memphis & Charleston Railroad, en route to that
city. On this train, as conductor, I found my former friend and
schoolmate, William Wingo. The trip to Corinth was a very slow and
tedious one, the train being loaded down with troops and supplies, and
unfortunately had lost so much time it had to be run very carefully
and make numerous stops. In consequence of this, some of our
over-suspicious “patriots” went to General Hogg and implied that the
enemy had forces but a short distance north of us and that the slow
running and the many stoppages of the train was done evidently through
treachery, and that the plan apparently was to give the enemy an
opportunity to capture the train with the men and munitions on board.

I had been riding on a rear platform, conversing with Mr. Wingo, when I
proceeded to General Hogg’s coach, and found him considerably excited.
In answer to my inquiry he told me what had been intimated and said
the suggestion, he thought, was a plausible one, and that he had about
determined to order the train forward at all hazards. He was rather an
irritable man, and his suspicions were easily aroused. I endeavored
to quiet him, and did so for a time, by explaining the situation, and
pointed out the danger we would be in of colliding with some other
train unless the utmost caution was used, as was being done; and
finally told him that I had known the conductor since he was a small
boy, had gone to school with him, and was sure there was no treachery
in him. It was not a great while, however, before others came around
with similar evil suspicions, until the general was wrought up to such
a pitch that he peremptorily ordered the train run through to Corinth,
regardless of consequences, else some dire calamity would overtake
every person in charge of it. Well, we made the rest of the journey
in very good time, at the risk of many lives, but fortunately without
accident. For this our friend and new brigadier-general was on the next
day ordered under arrest by General Beauregard. But nothing more ever
came of it.

After dragging along for more than thirty hours over a distance
ordinarily made in six or seven, we finally disembarked, in the middle
of the night, on the north side of the railroad, about two miles
west of Corinth. So here we were, without horses, to confront new
conditions, under new commanders, constrained to learn the art of war
in a different arm of the service, and to drill, to march, and fight as
infantry.

The next morning after our arrival I mounted the quartermaster’s horse,
and rode into town, which was my duty as the quartermaster’s right-hand
man, to procure forage for our stock—that is, for the regimental and
brigade headquarters horses, artillery horses and the wagon teams. I
found the road leading from our camp to town almost impassable owing to
the mud, impassable even for a good horse and rider, and utterly and
absolutely impassable for a wagon at all, as the best team we had could
not have drawn an empty wagon over the road.

I found Corinth all aglitter with brass buttons and gold lace, the
beautiful Confederate uniform being much in evidence everywhere. I
never had seen anything like it before.

The Battle of Shiloh had been fought while we were on the steamer
between Duvall’s Bluff and Memphis, General Albert Sidney Johnston had
been killed, and the army under General Beauregard had fallen back to
Corinth, and the town was literally alive with officers and soldiers.
There were more headquarters, more sentinels, and more red tape here
than I had ever dreamed of. I had not seen uniformed officers or men
west of the Mississippi River, and had known nothing of red tape in
the army. Knowing nothing of the organization of the army beyond our
own brigade, I had everything to learn in reference to the proper
quartermaster, forage master, and master of transportation, as I must
needs have railroad transportation for my forage.

So beginning at the top, I made my way to General Beauregard’s
headquarters; from there I was directed to division headquarters;
thence to a quartermaster; and from one quartermaster to another,
until I had about done the town—and finally found the right man. One
lesson learned not to be gone over. Finding there was no difficulty in
getting forage delivered in Corinth, I had now to hunt up the master
of transportation and satisfy him of the impossibility of hauling
it on wagons. Owing to the immense business just then crowding the
railroad and the scarcity of rolling stock, it was really a difficult
matter to get the transportation; but by dint of perseverance in the
best persuasive efforts I could bring to bear, I succeeded in having
one day’s rations sent out by rail. The next day the same thing as to
transportation had to be gone over, and the next, and the next, and
each succeeding day it became more difficult to accomplish, until a day
came when it was impossible to get the forage hauled out at all.

I rode back to camp and notified the battery and the different
headquarters that I would issue forage in Corinth, which would have to
be brought out on horseback. All accepted the situation cheerfully
except Rogers, who didn’t seem to like me, and I suppose it was because
I called him _Mr._ Rogers, instead of General Rogers, as others did.
He went directly to General Hogg and said: “I think that fellow Barron
should be required to have the forage hauled out.” General Hogg said:
“I do not think you should say a word, sir; you have been trying for a
week to get a carload of ammunition brought out and have failed. This
is the first day Barron has failed to get the forage brought out; if
you want your horses to have corn, send your servant in after it.” I
had no further trouble with Mr. Rogers.

I cannot remember exactly the time we spent at Corinth. It was from
the time of our landing there until about the 29th day of May, say six
or seven weeks; but to measure time by the suffering and indescribable
horrors of that never-to-be-forgotten siege, it would seem not less
than six or seven months. From the effects of malaria, bad water, and
other combinations of disease-producing causes, our friends from home
soon began to fall sick, and, becoming discouraged, the staff officers
began to resign and leave the service. Rogers, I believe, was the first
to go. He was soon followed by the quartermaster and commissary, and
soon all the gentlemen named as coming to the front with General Hogg
were gone, except John T. Decherd, who had been made quartermaster
in place of William T. Long, resigned. I bought Long’s horse and
rigging, and Decherd and myself continued to run that department for
a time, and Tom Johnson was made ordnance officer in place of Rogers,
resigned. General Hogg, being stricken down with disease, was removed
to the house of a citizen two or three miles in the country, where he
was nursed by his faithful servant Bob, General W. L. Cabell meantime
being placed in command of the brigade. General Hogg died a few days
later—on the day of the battle of Farmington.

The following “pathetic story of Civil War times” having been published
in the Nashville (Tenn.) _Banner_, _Youth’s Companion_, Jacksonville
(Tex.) _Reformer_, and perhaps many other papers, I insert it here in
order to give its correction a sort of permanent standing:


A SOLDIER’S GRAVE

 A pathetic story of Civil War times is related to the older people of
 Chester County in the western part of Tennessee by the recent death
 of ex-Governor James S. Hogg of Texas. Some days after the battle of
 Shiloh, one of the decisive and bloody engagements of the war, fought
 on April 6-7, 1862, a lone and wounded Confederate soldier made his
 way to a log cabin located in the woods four miles west of Corinth,
 Miss., and begged for shelter and food. The man was weak from hunger
 and loss of blood, and had evidently been wandering through the woods
 of the sparsely settled section for several days after the battle. The
 occupants of the cottage had little to give, but divided this little
 with the soldier. They took the man in and administered to his wants
 as best they could with their limited resources. They were unable to
 secure medical attention, and the soldier, already emaciated from the
 lack of food and proper attention, gradually grew weaker and weaker
 until he died. Realizing his approaching end, the soldier requested
 that his body be buried in the wood near the house, and marked with a
 simple slab bearing his name, “General J. L. Hogg, Rusk, Texas.”

 The request was complied with, and in the years that passed the
 family which had so nobly cared for this stranger moved away, the
 grave became overgrown with wild weeds, and all that was left to
 mark the soldier’s resting-place was the rough slab. This rotted by
 degrees, but was reverently replaced by some passer-by, and in this
 way the grave was kept marked; but it is doubtful if the few people
 who chanced to pass that way and see the slab ever gave a thought to
 the identity of the occupant of the grave, until after the election
 of Hon. James S. Hogg to the governorship of the State of Texas. Then
 someone of Chester County who had seen the grave wrote Governor Hogg
 concerning the dead soldier. In a short time a letter was received,
 stating that the soldier was Governor Hogg’s father, and that he
 entered the Confederate army when the war first broke out, and had
 never been heard of by relatives or friends.

 After more correspondence Governor Hogg caused the grave to be
 enclosed by a neat iron fence, and erected a handsome plain marble
 shaft over the grave. This monument bears the same simple inscription
 which marked the rough slab which had stood over the grave of one of
 the South’s heroic dead.

 Conceding the truth of the statement that General J. L. Hogg, of Rusk,
 Texas, died at a private house four miles west of Corinth, Miss., in
 the spring of 1862, was buried near by, and that his grave has been
 properly marked by his son, ex-Governor James S. Hogg, not a word
 of truth remains in the story, the remainder being fiction pure and
 simple, and the same may be refuted by a simple relation of the facts
 and circumstances of General Hogg’s brief service in the Confederate
 army and his untimely death—facts that may easily be verified by the
 most creditable witnesses.

 Joseph L. Hogg was appointed brigadier-general by the Confederate War
 Department in February, 1862. When his commission came he was ordered
 to report for duty at Memphis, Tenn., where he would be assigned to
 the command of a brigade of Texas troops. After the battle of Elkhorn
 a number of Texas regiments were ordered to cross the Mississippi
 River, among them the Third and Tenth Texas Cavalry—Company C of the
 Third and Company I of the Tenth were made up at Rusk. General Hogg’s
 oldest son, Thomas E. Hogg, was a private in Company C, and these two
 regiments formed part of the brigade.

 General Hogg met the Third Texas at Duvall’s Bluff on White River,
 where we dismounted, sent horses home, and went by steamer to Memphis,
 accompanied by General Hogg. (The battle of Shiloh was fought while we
 were on this trip.) After the delay incident to the formation of the
 brigade, getting up necessary supplies, etc., we were transported by
 rail, in command of General Hogg, to Corinth, or rather we were dumped
 off on the side of the railroad some two or three miles west of that
 town. Here General Hogg remained in command of his brigade until he
 was taken sick and removed by the assistance of our very efficient
 surgeon, Dr. Wallace McDugald, attended by his negro body servant,
 Bob ——, than whom a more devoted, a more faithful and trustworthy
 slave never belonged to any man.

 General Hogg was taken to a private house some two miles west of our
 camp, where he had every necessary attention until his death. The
 faithful Bob was with him all the time. Dr. McDugald turned his other
 sick over to young Dr. Frazer, his assistant, and spent the most of
 his time with the General,—was with him when he died,—giving to him
 during his illness every medical care known to the science of his
 profession.

 Thomas E. Hogg also was frequently with his father—was there when he
 passed away. I visited General Hogg only once during his illness, some
 two or three days before his death. I was kept very busy during this
 time, and owing to a change in our camps I had to ride six or seven
 miles to see him, and only found one opportunity of doing so. I found
 him as comfortably situated as could be expected for a soldier away
 from home, and receiving every necessary attention.

 I will state that General Hogg came to us neatly dressed in citizen’s
 clothes—never having had an opportunity of procuring his uniform, so
 that in fact he never wore the Confederate gray. He was not wounded,
 was not under fire of the enemy; neither was his brigade, until the
 battle of Farmington, which occurred the day that General Hogg died.
 After his death and after the army was reorganized, “for three years
 or during the war,” Dr. McDugald,—who afterwards married General
 Hogg’s daughter,—Dr. I. K. Frazer, Thomas J. Johnson, one of the
 General’s staff, Thomas E. Hogg, and the ever-faithful Bob all came
 home, and of course related minutely to the widow, the two daughters,
 and the three minor boys, John Lewis, and James Stephen, all the
 circumstances of the sickness, the lamented death and burial of the
 husband and father, Brigadier-General Joseph Louis Hogg.

Our camp was moved to a point about three miles east of Corinth.
Decherd, the quartermaster, resigned and W. F. Rapley was appointed
quartermaster by General Cabell. The rate at which our men fell sick
was remarkable, as well as appalling, and distressing in the extreme.
The water we had to drink was bad, very bad, and the rations none of
the best. The former we procured by digging for it; the earth around
Corinth being very light and porous, holding water like a sponge.
When we first went there the ground was full of water, and by digging
a hole two feet deep we could dip up plenty of a mean, milky-looking
fluid; but as the season advanced the water sank, so we dug deeper, and
continued to go down, until by the latter part of May our water holes
were from eight to twelve feet deep, still affording the same miserable
water. My horse would not drink a drop of the water the men had to use,
and if I failed to ride him to a small running branch some two miles
away he would go without drinking. The rations consisted mainly of
flour, made into poor camp biscuit, and the most unpalatable pickled
beef.

As fared General Hogg and his staff, so fared all the new troops who
saw their first service at Corinth. While many of the old troops were
taken sick, it was much worse with the new. We had one or two new Texas
regiments come into our brigade, whose first morning report showed 1200
men able for duty; two weeks from that day they could not muster more
than 200 men able to carry a musket to the front. The sick men were
shipped in carload lots down the Mobile & Ohio Railroad, some dying on
the trains, and hundreds of others succumbing at the different towns
and stations where they were put off along down that road south of
Corinth. It seemed impossible for the surgeons and their assistants
properly to care for the number of sick on their hands. Day after day
as I passed the Mobile & Ohio depot, I saw scores of the poor sick
fellows on the platform waiting to be hauled off. On the day we left
Corinth I passed Booneville, a station ten miles below Corinth, and
here were perhaps fifty sick men lying in the shade of the trees and
bushes. One of the attendants with whom I was acquainted told me he had
just returned from a tramp of two or three miles, after water for a
wounded man. At every house he came to the well buckets had been taken
off and hid, and he finally had to fill his canteen with brackish pond
water. Why these sick men had been put off here in the woods, when the
station was the only house in sight, where they could not even get a
drink of water, I do not know. The mere recollection of those scenes
causes a shudder to this day. I was told that two dead men were lying
on the platform at Booneville, and a Federal scouting party burned the
station during the day. If it was true, they were cremated.

As for myself, I was sick, but was on duty all the time. I performed
all the active duties of the brigade quartermaster, being compelled
to go to Corinth and back from one to three times daily, looking
after forage and other supplies; carried all orders and instructions
to the regimental quartermasters; superintended the moving of the
trains whenever and wherever they had to be moved; and, in fact, almost
lived in my saddle. But, with the exception of two or three nights
spent with the troops at the front, when the day’s duties were over, I
was comfortably situated at headquarters, having a good wall tent, a
cot, and camp-stool, and was kindly treated by General Cabell and the
members of his staff. Dr. S. J. Lewis of Rusk was our brigade surgeon,
and did everything he could for my comfort and, had I been well, my
position would have been as pleasant as I could have desired in the
army, as my duties mainly involved active horseback exercise, while
my personal surroundings were very agreeable. Nevertheless, I lost my
appetite so completely that I was unable to eat any of the rations that
were issued to the army. I could no more eat one of our biscuits than I
could have eaten a stone, and as for the beef, I could as easily have
swallowed a piece of skunk. The mere sight of it was nauseating. Had I
not been at headquarters doubtless I would have starved to death, since
there we were able to get a ham or something else extra occasionally,
and I managed to eat, but barely enough to keep soul and body together.
Dr. Lewis saw me wasting away from day to day, and advised me to take
a discharge—and quit the service; but this I declined to do. I paid
General Hogg a short visit one afternoon during his illness, and
another afternoon I rode over to Colonel Bedford Forrest’s camp, to
see my brother and some other Huntsville, Ala., friends. I found that
my brother had gone, on sick leave, with Wallace Drake, one of his
comrades, to some of Drake’s relatives, down the railroad. With these
exceptions I was not away from my post at any time. I must have gained
some reputation for efficiency, as the quartermaster of our Arkansas
regiment offered to give me half his salary if I would assist him in
his office.

All the time we were at Corinth Major-General Halleck, with a large
army, was moving forward from Pittsburgh Landing, on the Tennessee
River, near the Shiloh battlefield, by regular approaches. That is, he
would construct line after line of intrenchments, each successive line
being a little nearer to us. Hence our troops were often turned out
and marched rapidly to the front, in expectation of a pitched battle
that was never fought, sometimes being out twenty-four hours. On one
occasion an active movement was made to Farmington in an effort to cut
off a division of the enemy that had ventured across Hatchie River,
and the move was so nearly successful that the enemy, to escape, had
to abandon all their camp equipage. On one of the days when our troops
were rushing to the front in expectation of a battle, I came up with an
old patriot marching along through the heat and dust under an umbrella,
while a stout negro boy walking by his side carried his gun. This was
the only man I saw during the war that carried an umbrella to fight
under. As the battle failed to come off that day, I had no opportunity
of learning how he would have manipulated the umbrella and gun in an
engagement.

After General Hogg’s death and the promotion of Colonel Louis Hebert
to brigadier-general, the Third Texas was transferred to Hebert’s
brigade, and I was temporarily separated from it. On May 8 our year’s
enlistment having expired, the men re-enlisted for three years, or
during the war, and the regiment was reorganized by the election of
regimental and company officers, when all the commissioned officers
not promoted in some way returned to Texas. Captain Robert H. Cumby,
of Henderson, was elected colonel, Captain H. P. Mabry, of Jefferson,
lieutenant-colonel, and our Captain J. J. A. Barker, major. James A.
Jones was elected captain of Company C, John Germany, first lieutenant,
William H. Carr and R. L. Hood, second lieutenants. I was not present
at the election. Dr. Dan Shaw, of Rusk County, was made surgeon of the
regiment.

Finally, on May 28, we received orders to strike tents and have the
trains ready to move. General Cabell came to my tent and advised me to
go to the hospital, but I insisted that I could make it away from there
on horseback. The next morning the trains were ordered out. Dr. Lewis,
having procured about eight ounces of whisky for me, I mounted my horse
and followed, resting frequently, and using the stimulant. About noon I
bought a glass of buttermilk and a small piece of corn bread, for which
I paid one dollar. This I enjoyed more than all the food I had tasted
for several weeks.

On the day of the evacuation of Corinth, May 29, the Third Texas,
being on outpost, was attacked by the enemy in force, and had quite
a sharp battle with them in a dense thicket of black jack brush,
but charged and gallantly repulsed them. Our new colonel and
lieutenant-colonel not being able for service, Major Barker had asked
our old Lieutenant-Colonel Lane to remain with us for the time, so the
regiment was commanded by him and Major Barker. The regiment sustained
considerable loss in this affair, in killed and wounded. Among the
killed was my friend, the gallant young Major J. J. A. Barker; our
orderly sergeant, Wallace Caldwell, was mortally wounded, and John
Lambert disabled, so that he was never fit for service again. For the
gallant conduct of the regiment on this occasion, General Beauregard
issued a special order complimenting the Third Texas, and specially
designating a young man by the name of Smith, from Rusk County. Smith
in the charge through the brush found himself with an empty gun
confronting a Federal with loaded musket a few feet from him. The
Federal threw his gun down on him and ordered him to surrender. Smith
told him he would see him in Hades first, and turned to move off when
the fellow fired, missed his body, but cut one of his arms off above
the elbow, with a buck and ball cartridge. This was the kind of pluck
that General Beauregard admired.[1] On that day the entire army was
withdrawn and moved out from Corinth and vicinity. The manner and
complete success of this movement of General Beauregard’s has been very
highly complimented by military critics.




CHAPTER VII

BATTLE OF IUKA

 Camp at Tupelo, Miss.—Furloughed—Report for Duty—Camp
 Routine—“The Sick Call”—Saltillo—Personnel of the
 Brigade—Baldwin—“Contraband”—On to Iuka—Iuka—Battle of
 Iuka—Casualties—Retreat.


IN the early days of June our command halted and went into camp
near Tupelo, Miss., where it remained for several weeks. Here, as I
was physically unfit for service, I voluntarily abandoned my place
at General Cabell’s headquarters and returned to my own regiment.
Obtaining, without difficulty, a thirty days’ furlough, I called on Dr.
Shaw for medicine, but he informed me that he had nothing but opium,
which would do me no good. But he added, “You need a tonic; if you
could only get some whisky, that would soon set you up.” Mounting my
horse I went down into Pontotoc County, and, finding a good-looking
farmhouse away from the public roads, I engaged board with Mr. Dunn,
the proprietor, for myself and horse for thirty days. Mr. Dunn told me
of a distillery away down somewhere below the town of Pontotoc, and
finding a convalescent in the neighborhood I sent him on my horse to
look for it, with the result that he brought me back four canteens of
“tonic.”

Now Mr. Dunn’s family consisted of that clever elderly gentleman, his
wife, and a handsome, intelligent daughter, presumably about twenty
years of age. I soon realized that I had been very fortunate in the
selection of a boarding house and that my lot for the next thirty
days had been cast in a pleasant place, for every necessary attention
was cheerfully shown me by each member of the family. They had lost
a son and brother, who had wasted away with consumption, and in my
dilapidated and emaciated condition they said I favored him, so they
were constantly reminded of a loved one who had gone to his grave in
about the same manner I seemed to be going, and they felt almost as if
they were ministering to the wants of one of the family. They lived in
a comfortable house, and everything I saw indicated a happy, well-to-do
family. Their table, spread three times a day, was all that could be
desired. We had corn bread, fresh milk and butter, fresh eggs, last
year’s yam potatoes, a plentiful supply of garden vegetables and other
good things, everything brought on the table being well prepared. At
first I had little or no appetite, but thanks to Miss Dunn’s treatment,
it soon began to improve. She, using the “tonic,” gave me an egg-nog
just before each meal, and, blackberries being plentiful, she gave me
blackberries in every form, including pies and cordial, all of which,
for one in my condition, was the best possible treatment.

So I improved and gained strength, not rapidly, but steadily, and
though the thirty days was not as much time as I needed for a complete
convalescence, it was all I had asked for. Mr. Dunn manifested a great
deal of interest in my welfare; he did not think I could recover my
health in the service, and urged me most earnestly to go back to camp,
get a discharge, and go to Cooper’s Well, a health resort down in
Mississippi, and I was almost compelled to promise him I would do so,
when in truth I had no such intention. The thirty days having expired,
I bade farewell to these good people who had taken in a stranger and so
kindly cared for him, and returned to camp, not strong or well by any
means, but improved, especially in the matter of an appetite.

Going up to regimental headquarters upon my return to the command I let
out my horse for his board, procured a rifle and at once reported to
our company commander for duty. The strictest military discipline was
maintained by General Louis Hebert in every particular, and one day’s
duty was very much like the duties of every other day, with a variation
for Sunday. Of course the same men did not have the same duties to
perform every day, as guard duty and fatigue duty were regulated by
details made from the alphabetical rolls of the companies, but the
same round of duties came every day in the week. At reveille we must
promptly rise, dress, and hurry out into line for roll call; then
breakfast. After breakfast guard-mounting for the ensuing twenty-four
hours, these guards walking their posts day and night, two hours on and
four hours off. Before noon there were two hours’ drill for all men not
on guard or some other special duty; then dinner. In the afternoon it
was clean up camps, clean guns, dress parade at sundown; then supper,
to bed at taps. On Sunday no drill, but, instead, we had to go out for
a review, which was worse, as the men had to don all their armor, the
officers button up their uniforms to the chin, buckle on their swords,
and all march about two miles away through the dust and heat to an old
field, march around a circle at least a mile in circumference, and back
to camps. All that, including the halting and waiting, usually took up
the time until about noon.

With the understanding and agreement that I would be excused from the
drill ground when I broke down, and when on guard be allowed to rest
when I had walked my post as long as I could, I went on duty as a
well man. For quite a while I was compelled to leave the drill ground
before the expiration of the two hours, and when I found I could not
walk my post through the two hours some one of my comrades usually took
my place. It was necessary for me to muster all my courage to do this
kind of soldiering, but the exertion demanded of me and the exercise
so improved my condition that soon I no longer had to be excused from
any part of my duties. We had men in the command afflicted with chronic
diarrhea who, yielding to the enervating influence of the disease,
would lie down and die, and that was what I determined to avoid if I
could.

Among other bugle calls we had “the sick call.” Soon after breakfast
every morning this, the most doleful of all the calls, was sounded,
when the sick would march up and line themselves in front of the
surgeon’s tent for medical advice and treatment. Our surgeon, Dr. Dan
Shaw, was a character worthy of being affectionately remembered by all
the members of the Third Texas Cavalry. He was a fine physician, and
I had fallen in love with him while he was a private soldier because
he so generously ex-erted his best skill in assisting Dr. McDugald to
save my life at Carthage, Mo. He was a plain, unassuming, jolly old
fellow, brave, patriotic, and full of good impulses. He was the man who
indignantly declined an appointment as surgeon soon after the battle of
Oak Hills, preferring to remain a private in “Company B, Greer’s Texas
regiment,” to being surgeon of an Arkansas regiment.

Knowing that he had no medicine except opium, I would go up some
mornings, through curiosity, to hear his prescriptions for the various
ailments that he had to encounter. He would walk out with an old
jackknife in his hand, and conveniently located just behind him could
be seen a lump of opium as big as a cannonball. Beginning at the head
of the line he would say to the first one: “Well, sir, what is the
matter with _you_?” “I don’t know, doctor; I’ve got a pain in my back,
a hurting in my stomach, or a misery in my head, or I had a chill last
night.” “Let me see your tongue. How’s your bowels?” He would then
turn around and vigorously attack the lump of opium with his knife,
and roll out from two to four pills to the man, remarking to each of
his waiting patients: “There, take one of these every two hours.” Thus
he would go, down the line to the end, and in it all there was little
variation—none to speak of except in the answers of the individuals,
the number of pills, or the manner of taking. And what else could he
do? He had told me frankly that he had nothing in his tent that would
do me any good, but these men had to have medicine.

For water at Tupelo we dug wells, each company a well, using a sweep
to draw it. In this hilly portion of the State good water could be
obtained by digging from twenty to twenty-five feet.

[Illustration: FRANK M. TAYLOR

First Captain of Company C, Third Texas Cavalry]

From the time of the reorganization at Corinth up to the middle of July
Company C had lost a number of men. Some, as McDugald and Dillard, were
commissioned officers, and did not re-enlist; some were discharged on
applications, and others under the conscription law then in force,
a law exempting all men under eighteen and over forty-five years of
age. Among those discharged I remember the two Ackers, Croft, I. K.
Frazer, Tom Hogg, Tom Johnson, W. A. Newton, William Pennington,
and R. G. Thompson, all of whom returned to Texas except William
Pennington, who remained with us a considerable time, notwithstanding
his discharge. In the regimental officers several changes had been
made. After the death of Major Barker, Captain Jiles S. Boggess, of
Company B, from Henderson, was promoted to major; Colonel R. H. Cumby
resigned, and Lieutenant-Colonel Mabry was made colonel. J. S. Boggess,
Lieutenant-Colonel, and Captain A. B. Stone, of Company A, from
Marshall, promoted to major. About the first of August we moved up the
railroad to Saltillo, about fifteen miles north of Tupelo, established
camps, dug wells, and remained about three weeks. Here the Fortieth (?)
or Mississippi regiment joined the brigade. This was a new regiment,
just out from home, and it seemed to us, from the amount of luggage
they had, that they had brought about all their household goods along.
This regiment is remembered for these distinct peculiarities. Aside
from the weight and bulk of its baggage they had the tallest man and
the largest boy in the army, and the colonel used a camel to carry
his private baggage. The tall man was rather slender, and looked to be
seven feet high; the boy was sixteen or eighteen years old, and weighed
more than three hundred pounds.

The brigade now consisted of the Third Texas, Whitfield’s Texas Legion,
the Third Louisiana, the Fourteenth and Seventeenth Arkansas, and the
Fortieth Mississippi.[2] The army here, commanded by General Price, was
composed of two divisions commanded by Generals Little and D. H. Maury.
Many of the troops that came out of Corinth with General Beauregard had
gone with General Bragg into Kentucky. At the end of three weeks we
moved farther up the railroad to Baldwin. Here we dug more wells, and
it was my fortune to be on the second day’s detail that dug our company
well. The first detail went down some eight feet, about as deep as they
could throw the earth out. The next morning four of us, including C. C.
Watkins and myself, the two weakest men, physically, in the company,
were detailed to continue the digging. We arranged means for drawing
the earth out, and began work, two at the time, one to dig and one to
draw. At quitting time in the evening we had it down twenty-one feet,
and had plenty of water. But we were not to remain long at Baldwin, as
preparations for moving on Iuka were soon begun. As commissary supplies
were gathered in for the approaching campaign they were stored in the
freight department of the depot. One R. M. Tevis, of Galveston, was
acting as commissary of subsistence, and Charlie Dunn, of Shreveport,
was his assistant. They occupied a small room, the station agent’s
office, in the building during the day. A good many fatigue men were
usually about the place during the day, to handle the stuff that was
brought in.

One day, while I was on the platform, a country wagon drove up.
Tevis and Dunn seemed to have expected its arrival, as they were
soon out looking after the unloading. Among the rest was a barrel, a
well-hooped, forty-gallon barrel, and instead of being sent in with
the other stores it was hurriedly rolled into the private office of
the commissary. This proved to be a barrel of peach brandy. Now, peach
brandy was “contraband.” The character and contents of the barrel
were shrewdly guessed by the bystanders as it was hurried into its
hiding-place, and its locality, after it had been stowed away, was
clearly observed and mental note made thereof. The depot building was
located at the north end of a cut and was elevated fully three feet
above the ground, platforms and all. The Third Texas was camped along
on the east side of the cut, say one hundred yards below the depot. The
supplies were guarded day and night, the guards walking their beats,
around on the platform. The next morning the guards were seen pacing
the beats all right enough, but in the bottom of that barrel was an
auger hole, and there was an auger hole through the depot floor, but
there was not a gill of brandy in the barrel. At dress parade that
morning it was unnecessary to call in an expert to determine that the
brandy, when it leaked out, had come down the railroad cut. The two
gentlemen most vitally interested in this occurrence dared not make
complaint, but bore their sad bereavement in profound silence, and no
one else ever mentioned it.

This brief stay at Baldwin terminated our summer vacation and our study
of Hardie’s infantry tactics. The constant all-summer drilling and the
strict discipline we had been subjected to had rendered our dismounted
cavalry the most efficient troops in the army, as they were good in
either infantry or cavalry service, as was afterwards abundantly proved.

All things being ready, the march to Iuka was begun under General
Price, with his two divisions. Up to this time the only infantry
marching I had done, beyond drilling and reviews, was the two moves,
Tupelo to Sattillo and Sattillo to Baldwin. As we were furnished
transportation for cooking utensils only, the men had to carry all
their worldly effects themselves and the knapsack must contain all
clothing, combs, brushes, writing material and all else the soldier
had or wished to carry, in addition to his gun, his cartridge box with
forty rounds of ammunition, his cap box, haversack, and canteen. The
weather was extremely hot, and the roads dry and fearfully dusty. While
I had been on full duty for some time I was very lean, physically weak,
and far from being well, and starting out to make a march of several
days, loaded down as I was, I had some misgivings as to my ability to
make it; but I did not hesitate to try. As the object of the expedition
was to move on Iuka and capture the force there before General Grant
could reinforce them from Corinth, a few miles west of that place, the
troops were moved rapidly as practicable, the trains being left behind
to follow on at their leisure. Unfortunately for me, I was on guard
duty the last night before reaching our destination, and as we moved on
soon after midnight I got no sleep.

Next morning after daylight, being within six or seven miles of Iuka,
the Third Texas and Third Louisiana were placed in front, with orders
to march at quick time into Iuka. Now, literally, this means thirty
inches at a step and 116 steps per minute; practically it meant for us
to get over that piece of road as rapidly as our tired legs could carry
us. To keep up with this march was the supreme effort of the expedition
on my part. I do not think I could have kept up if Lieutenant Germany
had not relieved me of my gun for three or four miles of the distance.
We found the town clear of troops, but had come so near surprising them
that they had to abandon all their commissary stores, as they did not
have time to either remove or destroy them. At the end of the march my
strength was exhausted, and my vitality nearly so. The excitement being
at an end, I collapsed, as it were, and as soon as we went into camp I
fell down on the ground in the shade of a tree where I slept in a kind
of stupor until nearly midnight.

We remained about a week in and around Iuka, in line of battle nearly
all the time, expecting an attack by forces from Corinth; and as it was
uncertain by which one of three roads they would come, we were hurried
out on first one road and then another. One afternoon we were hurriedly
moved out a mile or two on what proved to be a false alarm, and were
allowed to return to camps. On returning we found a poor soldier lying
in our company camp with a fearful hole in his head, where a buck and
ball cartridge had gone through it. A musket was lying near him, and
we could only suppose he was behind in starting on the march, and had
killed himself accidentally.

On the night of September 18 we marched out about four miles on the
Corinth road, leading west, and lay in line of battle until about
4 P. M. the next day, when a courier came in great haste, with the
information that the enemy was advancing on the Bay Springs road from
the south, with only a company of our cavalry in front of them. We
had then to double quick back about three miles in order to get into
the road they were on. We found them among the hills about one and a
half miles from the town, a strong force of infantry, with nine or
ten pieces of artillery, and occupying a strong position of their own
selection. We formed on another hill in plain view of them, a little
valley intervening between the two lines. Our fighting force consisted
of General Little’s division of two brigades, Hebert’s, and a brigade
of Alabama and Mississippi troops commanded by Colonel John D. Martin,
and the Clark battery of four guns, Hebert’s brigade in front of their
center, with two of Martin’s regiments on our right and two on our
left. We began a skirmish fire, and kept it up until our battery was
in position, when we began a rapid fire with canister shot. We then
advanced in double line of battle, slowly at first, down the hill on
which we had formed, across the little valley and began the ascent of
the hill on which the enemy was posted, General W. S. Rosecrans in
command. As we ascended the hill we came in range of our own artillery,
and the guns had to be silenced. The entire Federal artillery fire was
soon turned on us, using grape and canister shot, and as their battery
was directly in front of the Third Texas, their grape shot and musketry
fire soon began to play havoc with our people, four of our men, the two
files just to my right, being killed. We charged the battery, and with
desperate fighting took nine pieces and one caisson. The horses hitched
to the caisson tried to run off, but we shot them down and took it, the
brave defenders standing nobly to their posts until they were nearly
all shot down around their guns,—one poor fellow being found lying
near his gun, with his ramrod grasped in both hands, as if he were in
the act of ramming down a cartridge when he was killed. The infantry
fought stubbornly, but after we captured their guns we drove them back
step by step, about six hundred yards, when darkness put an end to a
battle that had lasted a little more than two and a half hours, the
lines being within two hundred yards of each other.

I cannot give the number of Federal troops engaged in the battle,
but General Rosecrans, in giving his casualties, enumerates eighteen
regiments of infantry, three of cavalry, one detached company, and
four batteries of artillery. The cavalry was not in the engagement,
and I think he had but two batteries engaged. One of these, the
Eleventh Ohio Light Battery, lost its guns and fifty-four men. The
total Federal loss, reported, was 790, including killed, wounded, and
missing. Hebert’s brigade, that did the main fighting, was composed
of six regiments, reporting 1774 for duty, and lost 63 killed, 305
wounded, and 40 missing; total, 408. Colonel Martin had four regiments
(1405 men), and lost 22 killed and 95 wounded; total, 117. We had two
batteries with us, the Clark battery and the St. Louis battery, but
they only fired a few shots. The Third Texas had 388 men, and lost 22
killed and 74 wounded; total, 96. Company C lost W. P. Bowers, Carter
Caldwell, W. P. Crawley, and W. T. Harris killed; and J. J. Felps
severely wounded. Crawley had a belt of gold around his waist, but only
four or five of us knew this, and I presume, of course, it was buried
with him. General Maury’s division was not engaged. General Henry
Little, our division commander, was killed. Lieutenant Odell, of the
Third Texas, who was acting regimental commissary, and who was mounted
on my horse, was killed, and the horse was also killed. Colonels Mabry
and Whitfield, and, I believe, all our other colonels were wounded. The
captured artillery was drawn by hand into town that night, where the
guns were left next morning, after being spiked, as we had no spare
horses to pull them away. Spiking guns means that round steel files
were driven hard into the touch-holes, giving the enemy the trouble of
drilling these out before the guns can be of any use again.

As General Ord was marching rapidly with a strong force from Corinth
to reinforce General Rosecrans, General Price concluded to retreat.
Putting the trains in the road some time before daylight, early in
the morning the troops marched out southward, leaving our wounded
men in Iuka and sending a detail back to bury the dead. As General
Hebert’s brigade had stood the brunt of the battle the evening before,
we were put in front and, to clear the road for the other troops, we
had to move at double quick time for six miles. This used me up, and I
obtained permission to go as I pleased, which enabled me to outgo the
command and to rest occasionally while they were coming up. We made a
march of twenty-five miles that day on our way back to Baldwin. But
oh, how my feet were blistered! They felt as if I had my shoes filled
with hot embers. Late in the afternoon, when I was away ahead of the
command I came to Bay Springs. This little village stands on a bluff
of a wide, deep creek, and is crossed by a long, high bridge. At this
time, when the creek was low, the bridge was at least twenty-five feet
above the mud and water below. I climbed down under the bluff, just
below the bridge, to a spring, where I slaked my thirst, bathed my
burning feet and sat there resting and watching the wagons cross the
bridge. Presently a six-mule team, pulling a wagon heavily loaded with
ammunition in boxes, was driven onto the bridge, and as it was moving
slowly along one of the hind wheels, the right one, ran so close to the
edge that the end of the bridge flooring crumbled off and let the wheel
down. Gradually this wheel kept sliding until the other hind wheel was
off. This let the ammunition go to the bottom of the creek, followed by
the wagon bed. Soon off came one fore wheel. This pulled off the other
one, then the wagon tongue tripped the offwheel mule and he dangled by
the side of the bridge, and soon pulled the saddle mule off, and this
process gradually went on, until the last mule started, and as he fell
off his hamestring caught on the end of the bridge flooring, and for an
instant the whole outfit of wagon and six mules hung by the hamestring,
when it broke and down went the wagon and the six mules atop of it. The
driver had seen the danger in time to make his escape.

We soon arrived at Baldwin, our starting point. Our wounded left at
Iuka fell into the hands of the enemy and were kindly treated and well
cared for. The good women of the town and surrounding country came to
their rescue nobly, and they received every necessary attention.




CHAPTER VIII

BATTLE OF CORINTH

Captain Dunn, the “Mormon”—Paroles—Baldwin—On to
Corinth—Conscription—Looking for Breakfast—The Army Trapped—A
Skirmish—Escape—Holly Springs—Battle of Corinth—Casualties—Cavalry
Again.


CAPTAIN DUNN, of Company F, was one of our badly wounded men, one of
his legs having been broken by a grape shot. Captain Dunn was a unique
character. He was a lawyer by profession, a very bright fellow, and
lived at Athens, Tex. The first I ever knew of him he came to Rusk just
before the war, to deliver an address to a Sunday-school convention.
He was a very small man. In fact, so diminutive in stature that he
was almost a dwarf. He was a brave, gallant soldier, a companionable,
pleasant associate, and much of a wag. He was a great lover of fun, so
much so that he would sacrifice comfort and convenience and risk his
reputation in order to perpetrate a joke.

The ladies who came to nurse and care for our wounded soldiers at
Iuka were like other women in one particular respect, at least,—they
were desirous to know whether the soldiers were married or single,
religious or otherwise, and if religious, their church relationship,
denominational preferences and so on, and would converse with the boys
with a view of learning these particulars. The usual questions were
put to Captain Dunn by one of these self-sacrificing attendants. He
made no effort to deny that he was married and, with some hesitation,
frankly acknowledged that he was a member of the church of the Latter
Day Saints, usually called Mormons, which was enough information
for one interview. With the exclamation, “Why, _you_ a Mormon!” the
woman retired. In whispers she soon imparted to all the other ladies
who visited the hospital the astounding information that one of the
Texas soldiers was a Mormon. They were incredulous, but after being
vehemently assured by the interviewer that she had it from his own
lips, some believed it was true, while others believed it was a joke
or a mistake. To settle the question they appointed a committee
of discreet ladies to ascertain the truth of the matter, and the
committee promptly waited upon Captain Dunn. Without loss of time in
preliminaries, the spokeswoman of the committee said: “Captain Dunn, we
have heard that you are a Mormon and have come to you, as a committee,
to learn the truth of the matter. Are you a Mormon?” “Yes, madam,”
said Captain Dunn. “Have you more than one wife?” “Yes,” said Captain
Dunn, “I have four wives.” “Captain Dunn, don’t you think it awful
wrong? Don’t you think it’s monstrous to be a Mormon?” “No, madam,”
said Dunn, “that’s my religion, the religion I was brought up in from
childhood. All of my regiment are Mormons. All of them that are married
have two or more wives. The colonel has six; some have four, and some
five, just as they may feel able to take care of them.” A meeting of
the ladies was then called, an indignation meeting, and indignation was
expressed in unmeasured terms. The very idea! that they had scraped
lint, torn their best garments into bandages, had cooked and brought
soups and all the delicacies they could prepare to the hospital—done
all they could, even to the offering up their prayers, for a detestable
Mormon, with four wives! It was unanimously resolved that it could be
done no longer. From that good hour, in passing through the hospital
ministering to the wants of all the other wounded, they gave Dunn not
even as much as a look, to say nothing of smiles, cups of cold water,
soups, cakes, pies, and other more substantial comforts.

This neglect of Captain Dunn was eventually noticed by the other
soldiers, talked of, and regretted by them and its cause inquired into.
They earnestly interceded with the ladies in his behalf, and urged
them that whatever Captain Dunn’s faults might be, he was a brave
Confederate soldier, and had been severely wounded in an attempt to
defend their homes, that he was suffering greatly from his wounds; that
if he was a Mormon he was a human being, and for humanity’s sake he
deserved some attention and sympathy, and should not be allowed to die
through neglect. This argument finally prevailed, the resolution was
rescinded, and the captain fared well for the rest of the time, even
better than he had before the matter came up.

One day one of the ladies asked Captain Dunn how it happened that he
got his leg so badly crushed. In the most serious manner he said to
her: “Well, madam, I am captain of a company, and when we got into the
battle the Yankees began shooting cannonballs at us, and to protect my
men I got out in front of them and would catch the cannonballs as they
came and throw them back at the Yankees; but when the battle grew real
hot they came so fast I couldn’t catch all of them, and one of them
broke my leg.”

As soon as our men thought they were able to travel they were paroled
and allowed to go free. When Captain Dunn was paroled he went to Texas
for a rest, until he supposed he might be exchanged. On his return,
he was traveling through Arkansas when a woman on the train asked him
where he was going? He replied, “Madam, I am going to Richmond in the
interest of the women of Texas. I am going to make an effort to induce
the Confederate congress, in view of the great number of men that are
being killed in the war, to pass a law providing that every man, after
the war ends, shall have two wives.”

When paroling our people their paroles were filled out by a Federal
officer and presented to them for their signatures. The majority of the
men cared little about the form, but only of the fact that they were to
be allowed to go free until they were exchanged. But when they came to
Colonel Mabry he read the parole over very carefully. He was described
as H. P. Mabry, a colonel in the “so-called Confederate States Army.”
Mabry shook his head and said, “Sir, can you not leave out that
‘so-called?’” He was informed that it could not be done. “Then,” said
the colonel, “I will not sign it.” “In that case,” said the officer,
“you will have to go to prison.” “Well,” Mabry replied, “I will go to
prison and stay there until I rot before I will sign a parole with
that ‘so-called Confederate States’ in it.”

Captain Lee, of the Third Texas, was of the same way of thinking, and
they both went to prison and remained there until they were exchanged,
being sent to some prison in Illinois. Some months after they were
exchanged and came back to us we captured some prisoners one day. One
of them inquired if the Third Texas was there, and was told that it
was. “Then,” said he, “take me to Colonel Mabry or Captain Lee, and
I’ll be all right.” This man was a “copperhead” whose acquaintance they
had made while in prison. He didn’t want to serve in the army against
us, but had been drafted in, and was glad of an opportunity of changing
his uniform.

At Baldwin about two days was spent in preparation for a march to
Ripley, there to join General Van Dorn’s command for a move on Corinth.
I was on fatigue duty while at Baldwin, and had no time to recuperate
after the hard campaign to Iuka and back, having been on guard duty the
night before arriving at Ripley. We camped at that town one night and
started next morning, September 29, 1862, for Corinth, General Van Dorn
in command. On that morning I found myself with a fever, and feeling
unequal to a regular march I obtained permission to march at will, and
found Lieutenant R. L. Hood and F. M. Dodson in the same condition and
having a like permit. We joined our forces and moved up the hot, dusty
road about six miles. Being weary, footsore, and sick, we turned into
the woods, lay down and went to sleep under some oak trees and did not
wake until the beef cattle were passing us in the afternoon. This
meant that we had slept until the entire army was ahead of us—cavalry,
infantry, artillery, and wagon train. We moved on until night without
overtaking our command. Nearing the village of Ruckersville it occurred
to me that many years ago this had been the post office of Peter
Cotten, my mother’s brother. Stopping at a house to make inquiries, I
learned that Willis Cook, his son-in-law, lived only three-quarters of
a mile west of the village. We turned in that direction, and soon found
the place without difficulty. My call at the gate was answered by my
uncle at the front door. I recognized his voice, although I had not
heard it since I was a small boy. Going into the house I made myself
known to him and his daughter, Mrs. Crook, and received a cordial
welcome, such a welcome as made me and my comrades feel perfectly at
home. My good cousin, Tabitha, whose husband, Willis Crook, was in the
cavalry service, and in the army then on its way to Corinth, soon had
a splendid supper ready for us and in due time offered us a nice bed.
We begged out of occupying the beds, however, and with their permission
stretched our weary limbs under a shade tree in the yard and enjoyed a
good night’s sleep.

Next morning one or two of the party had chills, and we rested for the
day. We soon learned that a Federal cavalry command had dropped in
behind our army, and so we were cut off. Had we gone on in the morning
we would probably have been captured during the day. Learning how we
could find parallel roads leading in the direction we wished to go,
late in the evening we started, traveled a few miles and slept in the
woods. The next morning we moved on until ten o’clock, and meeting a
ten-year-old boy on a pony in a lane, we asked him if he knew where we
could get something to eat. He said there was a potato patch right over
there in the field. We asked him to whom it belonged, and he answered:
“It belongs to my uncle; but he is laying out in the brush to keep out
of the army;” and told us that his uncle lived up on the hill a short
distance ahead of us. We did not go into the potato patch, but went
up to the uncle’s house. The house was a fairly good one, and in the
front were two good-sized rooms with a wide, open hall. As we marched
up to the rail fence in front of the house a woman came out into the
hall, and we could see that the very looks of us aggravated and annoyed
her. By way of getting acquainted with her, Dodson said: “Madam,
have you got any water?” In a sharp, cracked voice, she answered: “I
reckon I have. If I hain’t, I would be in a mighty bad fix!” Having it
understood that Dodson was to do the talking, we marched in and helped
ourselves to a drink of water each, from a bucket setting on a shelf
in the hall. During the next few minutes silence of the most profound
sort prevailed. We stood there as if waiting to be invited to sit down
and rest, but instead of inviting us to seats she stood scowling on us
as if she was wishing us in Davy Jones’ locker or some similar place.
Hood and myself finally moved a little towards the front of the hall,
and the following dialogue took place between Dodson and the woman:
Dodson: “Madam, we are soldiers and are tired and hungry. We have
been marching hard, and last night we slept in the woods and haven’t
had anything to eat. Could we get a little something here?” “No, you
can’t. I don’t feed none of your sort. You are just goin’ about over
the country eatin’ up what people’s got, and a-doin’ no good.” “Why,
madam, we are fighting for the country.” “Yes, you are fightin’ to keep
the niggers from bein’ freed, and they’ve just as much right to be free
as you have.” “Oh, no, madam; the Bible says they shall be slaves as
long as they live.” “The Bible don’t say no sech a thing.” “Oh, yes, it
does,” said Dodson, gently; “let me have your Bible and I’ll show it to
you.” “I hain’t got no Bible.” “Madam, where is your husband?” “That’s
none of your business, sir!” “Is he about the house, madam?” “No, he
ain’t.” “Is he in the army, madam?” “No, he ain’t. If you _must_ know,
he’s gone off to keep from bein’ tuk to Ripley and sold for twenty-five
dollars.” “Why, madam, is he a nigger?” “No, he ain’t a nigger; he’s
just as white as you air, sir.” “Well, madam, I didn’t know that they
sold white men in Mississippi.” “No, you don’t know what your own
people’s a-doin’.” During the conversation I kept my eye on the lowest
place in the fence. What she said about being sold for twenty-five
dollars was in allusion to a reward of that amount offered by the
conscript authorities for able-bodied men who were hiding in the brush
to keep out of the army.

That night we lodged with a good old Confederate who treated us the
best he could. Next morning Dodson bought a pony from him, which we
used as a pack-horse to carry our luggage. We then moved much easier.
Late in the evening we crossed Hatchie River on the bridge over which
the army had passed on its way to Corinth. Here we found Adam’s Brigade
and Whitfield’s Legion guarding the bridge, that it might be used in
the event of the army’s being compelled to retreat. This bridge was
only a short distance south of the Memphis & Charleston Railroad, and a
few miles west of Corinth. We took the railroad and followed it nearly
all night, turning off to sleep a little while before daylight. Early
in the morning we struck across into the main-traveled road, and pushed
on in an effort to rejoin our command. About nine or ten o’clock we
came to a house, and determined to try for some breakfast, as we were
quite hungry. We afterwards learned that a poor old couple occupied the
house. Walking up to the front door we asked the old lady if we could
get some breakfast, telling her we had been out all night and were
hungry, and so on, the usual talk. She very readily said, yes, if we
would wait until she could prepare it. She then invited us to come in
and be seated, and said she would have the meal ready in a few minutes.

In a little while she came back and invited us in to breakfast in a
little side room used for a kitchen and dining-room. As we started in
I was in front, and as we entered the little dining-room and came in
sight of the table she began to apologize because she was unable to
give us anything more. I glanced at the table and saw a small, thin
hoe-cake of corn bread and a few small slices of bacon, “only this
and nothing more.” I asked her if that was all she had. She answered
that it was. Then I said, “Where are you going to get more when that
is gone?” She did not know. Not doubting the truth of her statements,
I said: “Madam, while we are hungry and do not know when we will get
anything to eat, we could not take all you have. While we are just as
thankful to you as if you had given us a bountiful breakfast, we are
soldiers, and can manage to get something to eat somewhere, and will
leave this for you and your husband,” and we bade her good-by without
sitting down to the table or tasting her scanty offering.

This poor old woman, who must have been sixty or more years old, had
said, without a murmur and without hesitation or excuse, that she would
prepare us some breakfast, and gone about it as cheerfully as if she
had had an abundance, cooking us all the provisions she had, and only
regretted she could not do more for us,—this, too, when not knowing
where she would get any more for herself.

After leaving this humble abode we soon began to meet troops,
ambulances, and so on, and from them we learned that our army was
falling back. Instead of going farther we stopped on the roadside and
waited for our command. Noticing a squad of soldiers out some distance
from the road engaged apparently about something unusual, my curiosity
led me out to where they were. To my surprise I found they were Madison
County, Alabama, men, most of whom I knew. They were burying a poor
fellow by the name of Murry, whom I had known for years, and who lived
out near Maysville. They had rolled him up in his blanket and were
letting him down into a shallow grave when I approached, and they told
me that some of the boys that I knew were wounded—in a wagon just
across the road. I soon found my old friends, John M. Hunter and Peter
Beasley, of Huntsville, Ala., in a common, rough road-wagon. Poor
Hunter! he was being hauled over the long, rough road only that he
might die among his friends, which he did in a few days. Beasley was
not dangerously wounded.

We soon after joined our command and marched westward toward Hatchie
bridge. But long before we got there Generals Ord and Hurlbut had
come down from Bolivar, Tenn., with a heavy force of fresh troops,
had driven our guards away, and were in undisputed possession of the
crossing. Whitfield’s Legion had been on the west side and had been so
closely crowded, with such a heavy fire concentrated on the bridge,
that they had to take to the water to make their escape.

Here was a problem confronting General Van Dorn, a problem which must
be speedily solved, otherwise a dire calamity awaited his whole army.
These two divisions of fresh troops were in front of an army of tired,
hungry, worn-out Confederates, with General Grant’s victorious army
only a few miles in our rear. What was called the boneyard road ran
some miles south of us and crossed the river on a bridge at Crum’s
Mill; but this bridge, as a precautionary measure, had just been
burned, and even now its framework was still aflame. The route we were
on led west from Corinth parallel with, and but a little south of, the
Memphis & Charleston Railroad, crossing Hatchie only a short distance
south of Pocahontas. After crossing the river we would turn south on
the main Ripley road, and this road ran parallel with the river,
passing not far, three or four miles perhaps, west of Crum’s Mill, so
that a force might move rapidly from Corinth, on the boneyard road,
cross at Crum’s Mill and strike us in the flank and possibly capture
our trains. Hence the precaution of burning this bridge. Everything of
our army, whether on wheels, on foot, or on horseback, was now between
Ord and Hurlbut in front and Grant and Rosecrans in the rear, without a
crossing on Hatchie. The trains were parked, with a view, as I was told
at the time, to burning them, leaving the troops to get out as they
could, and we already had visions of swimming the stream. Personally I
was wondering how much of my luggage I could get over with, and whether
or not I could make it with a dry gun and cartridge box. General Price,
in this dilemma, undertook to get the trains out, and he succeeded
notably.

We had a pretty heavy skirmish with the forces at the bridge, with
infantry and artillery, but only to divert attention from the trains
as they moved out to gain the boneyard road. General Price went to the
mill and, pulling down the gable end, cast it on the mill dam, and
thus made a temporary bridge over which the trains and artillery were
driven. Then that gallant old man, who had just proved himself to be
as much at home acting as chief wagon master as when commanding his
army corps, sat on his horse at the end of his unique bridge nearly
all night, hurrying the wagons and artillery across. On the west bank
of the stream he kept a bonfire alight, which threw a flickering glare
across the bridge. As each teamster drove on to the east end of the
queer bridge he would slow up his team and peer through the dim light
for the proper and safe route. Just as he would slow up one could hear
the loud, distinct voice of “Old Pap” shouting: “Drive up there! Drive
up! Drive up! Drive up!” And thus it continued until every wheel had
rolled across to the west side of the Hatchie.

After we left the vicinity of the bridge and after the skirmishing
ceased, there was no time for order in marching, unless it was with the
rear-guard; no time to wait for the trains to stretch out into the road
and to follow it then in twos. We fell into the road pell-mell, and
moved in any style we wished to, in among the wagons, or any way just
so we moved along and kept out of the way of those behind us. During
the afternoon, in the middle of the road, I stumbled upon a small pile
of corn meal, half a gallon, maybe, that had sifted out of a commissary
wagon, and gathered part of it into my haversack, mixed with a little
dirt. I crossed the bridge away along, I suppose, about 11 P. M., after
which I stopped and watched General Price’s maneuvers and the crossing
of the wagons until after midnight.

In the meantime I hunted around and found an old castaway tin cup,
dipped up some river water and made up some dough, and then spreading
it out on a board, I laid it on General Price’s fire until it was
partially cooked. Surely it was the most delicious piece of bread I
have ever tasted, even to this day.

When a good portion of the Third Texas had come up we moved on into the
Ripley road and were sent northward for a mile or two, where we lay
in line of battle in ambush, near the road until the trains had all
passed.

After daylight we moved on towards Ripley, being again permitted
to march at will, as we had marched the night before. Approaching
Ruckersville my heart turned again toward my good cousin, Tabitha
Crook. Taking little David Allen with me, I made haste to find her
home. Arriving there a short time before dinner, I said to her,
“Cousin, I am powerful hungry.” “Oh, yes,” she said, “I know you are,
Willis came by home last night, nearly starved to death.” Soon we were
invited into her dining-room and sat down to a dinner fit for a king.
Here I met her brother, George Cotten, whom I had never seen before.
After dinner Mrs. Crook insisted that we rest awhile, which we did,
and presently she brought in our haversacks filled up, pressed down,
and running over with the most palatable cooked rations, such as fine,
light biscuits, baked sweet potatoes, and such things, and my mess
rejoiced that night that I had good kins-people in that particular part
of Mississippi, as our camp rations that night were beef without bread.

We then moved on to Holly Springs and rested for some days, after a
fatiguing and disastrous campaign, which cost us the loss of many brave
soldiers, and lost General Van Dorn his command, as he was superseded
by General J. C. Pemberton.

The battle of Corinth was fought October 3 and 4, 1862. I do not know
the number of troops engaged, but our loss was heavy. According to
General Van Dorn our loss was: Killed, 594; wounded, 2162; missing,
2102. Total, 4858. The enemy reported: Killed, 355; wounded, 2841;
missing, 319. Total, 3515. But if General Rosecrans stated the
truth, our loss was much greater than General Van Dorn gave, as he
(General R.) stated that they buried 1423 of our dead, which I think
is erroneous. Company C lost our captain, James A. Jones, mortally
wounded; John B. Long and L. F. Grisham, captured. As Captain Jones
could not be carried off the field, Long remained with him and was
taken prisoner, being allowed to remain with Captain Jones until he
died. They were sent to Louisville, Ky., and then to Memphis, Tenn.,
where Captain Jones lingered for three months or more. After his death,
Long, aided by some good women of Memphis, made his escape and returned
to us.

It was at the battle of Corinth that the gallant William P. Rogers,
colonel of the Second Texas Infantry, fell in such a manner, and
under such circumstances, as to win the admiration of both friend and
foe. Even General Rosecrans, in his official report, complimented
him very highly. The Federals buried him with military honors. It
was at Corinth, too, that Colonel L. S. Ross, with the aid of his
superb regiment, the Sixth Texas Cavalry, won his brigadier-general’s
commission.

The evening before reaching Holly Springs we had what in Texas would
be called a wet norther. Crawling in a gin-house I slept on the cotton
seed, and when we reached Holly Springs I had flux, with which I
suffered very severely for several days, as the surgeon had no medicine
that would relieve me in the least. In a few days we moved south to
Lumpkin’s Mill, where we met our horses and were remounted, the Third,
Sixth, Ninth and Whitfield’s Legion composing the cavalry brigade,
which organization was never changed. The army was soon falling back
again, and continued to do so until it reached Grenada, on the south
bank of Yalabusha River.

As we were now in the cavalry service we did the outpost duty for the
army north of the Yalabusha.

[Illustration: JOHN GERMANY

Fourth and last Captain Company C, Third Texas Cavalry]




CHAPTER IX

HOLLY SPRINGS RAID

 At Grenada—Scouting—Engagement at Oakland—Chaplain Thompson’s
 Adventure—Holly Springs Raid—Jake—The Bridge at Wolf River—I Am
 Wounded—Bolivar—Attack on Middleburg—Christmas.


WINTER weather came on us very early for the climate, snow having
fallen to the depth of two or three inches before the middle of
October, while the forests were still green, and the weather was
intensely cold all during the fall months. While in this part of the
field we had to be active and vigilant without having much fighting to
do, and we enjoyed life fairly well.

General Washburn was sent out from Memphis with a force, estimated to
be 10,000 men, and crossing Cold Water he came in our direction. The
brigade in command of Lieutenant-Colonel John S. Griffith, of the Sixth
Texas, moved up northwest to the little town of Oakland to meet him.
Starting in the afternoon we marched through a cold rain which benumbed
us so that many of us were unable to tie our horses when we stopped
to camp at night. Next morning we passed through Oakland about ten
o’clock and met the enemy a mile or two beyond and had a lively little
engagement with them, lasting, perhaps, half an hour, in which our men
captured a baby cannon, somewhat larger than a pocket derringer.

As we advanced in the morning, Major John H. Broocks, of the Legion,
commanded the advance guard composed of a squadron of which our company
was a part. About a half mile out of the little town, when we came to
where the road forked, he halted and ordered me to take five men and
go on the left-hand road a half or three-fourths of a mile, get a good
position for observation, and remain there until he ordered me away. We
went on and took our position, the main force moving on the right-hand
road. Very soon they met the enemy and got into an engagement with them
across a field nearly opposite our position. After awhile the firing
having ceased, we heard our bugle sound the retreat, heard the brigade
move out, and soon the Federals advanced until they had passed the
forks of the road, when a battery began throwing shells at us. But no
orders came from Major Broocks. Our position becoming untenable, and
knowing we had been forgotten, and being unable to regain the road,
we struck due south through the woods and rode all night, in order to
rejoin the command. Finding it next morning, Major Broocks was profuse
in his apologies for having forgotten us.

In the fight at Oakland we had about ten men wounded, Chaplain R. W.
Thompson, of the Legion, voluntarily remaining to take care of them
and dress their wounds. He had gotten them into a house and was very
busy dressing the injury of one of them when a Federal soldier, with
a musket in his hand, walked in and purposed making him a prisoner.
Mr. Thompson was very indignant and stormed at the fellow in such a
manner as to intimidate him, and he walked out and left him, and
Thompson went on with his duties. Presently he was again accosted, and
straightening himself up, he looked around to confront an officer and
gaze into the muzzle of a cocked revolver. The officer asked, “Who are
you?” “I am a Confederate soldier,” said Thompson. “Then,” said the
officer, “I guess I’ll take you up to General Washburn’s quarters.”
“I guess you will not,” replied Thompson. “Well, but I guess I will,”
said the officer. By this time Thompson was very indignant and said:
“Sir, just take that pistol off me for half a minute and I’ll show you
whether I will go or not.” “But,” said the officer, “I am not going to
do that, and to avoid trouble, I guess you had better come on with me.”
So Rev. Mr. Thompson went, and was soon introduced to the general, who
said to him, “To what command do you belong, sir?” Thompson answered,
“I belong to a Texas cavalry brigade.” “Are you an officer or private?”
inquired the general. “I am a chaplain,” said Thompson. “You are a
d——d rough chaplain,” said the general. “Yes,” replied the chaplain,
“and you would say I was a d——d rough fighter if you were to meet me
on a battlefield with a musket in my hands.” “How many men have you in
your command, sir?” asked the general, meaning the force he had just
met. Mr. Thompson replied, “We have enough to fight, and we have enough
to run, and we use our discretion as to which we do.” The general
stamped his foot in anger and repeated the question, and got the same
answer. “You insolent fellow!” said the general, stamping his foot
again. “Now,” said Thompson in return, “let me say to you, General,
that if you wish to gain any information in regard to our forces that
will do you any good, you are interrogating the wrong man.” “Take this
insolent fellow out of my presence and place him under guard!” said
the general. This order was obeyed, when a crowd soon began to gather
around Thompson, growing larger and larger all the time and looking
so vicious that Thompson was actually afraid they were going to mob
him. Casting his eyes around he saw an officer, and, beckoning to him,
the officer made his way through the crowd and soon dispersed it.
Thompson’s “insolence” cost him a long march—from there to the bank of
the Mississippi River, where they released him, with blistered feet, to
make his way back to his command.

Mr. Thompson was indiscreet, perhaps, in his manner, which was, no
doubt, detrimental to himself; but he felt conscious that they had no
right to detain him as a prisoner, or to interfere with his duties,
and their manner irritated him. He was a good, whole-souled man, bold
and fearless, and the best chaplain I knew in the army. What I could
say about army chaplains, so far as my observation went, would not
be flattering and, perhaps, had better be unsaid. But the Rev. R. W.
Thompson, as chaplain of Whitfield’s Texas Legion, was a success, and
he was with us in adversity as well as in prosperity. When at leisure
he preached to us and prayed for us; when in battle he was with the
infirmary corps, bearing the wounded from the field, or assisting the
surgeons in dressing their wounds and ministering to their wants. We
all loved him, and thank God he was spared to do noble work for his
Master and his church for many years after the Civil War was over, and
I believe he is still living.

This Oakland affair occurred December 8, 1862. We had 1264 cavalry with
a battery of four guns. Brigadier-General C. C. Washburn had 2500 men
and two batteries. The engagement lasted about fifty minutes.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the meantime General Grant had organized a fine army of about
75,000 men, including infantry, artillery, and cavalry, and was slowly
moving down the Mississippi Central Railway. His front had reached as
far south as Coffeeville, his objective point being Vicksburg, and he
intended to co-operate with the river forces in taking that Confederate
stronghold. General Pemberton’s small army was gradually falling back
before him. As the general depot of Federal supplies was at Holly
Springs, and to destroy Grant’s supplies might turn him back, or at
least would cripple him more than the best fighting we could do in his
front, this was determined on.

General Earl Van Dorn, who was known to be a fine cavalry officer,
was just then without a command. Lieutenant-Colonel John S. Griffith,
commanding a brigade, joined by the officers of the regiments composing
the brigade, about the 5th of December petitioned General Pemberton to
organize a cavalry raid, to be commanded by General Van Dorn, for the
purpose of penetrating General Grant’s rear, with the idea of making an
effort to destroy the supplies at Holly Springs, and to do any other
possible injury to the enemy. In due time the raid was organized. We
took Holly Springs, captured the guards, destroyed the supplies, and
General Grant was compelled to abandon his campaign.

From this time General Van Dorn commanded us until his untimely death
at the hands of an assassin. A more gallant soldier than Earl Van Dorn
was not to be found, and as a cavalry commander I do not believe he had
a superior in either army. What I may say about this, however, here
or elsewhere, I know is of little worth, as most people have formed
and expressed an opinion—some in favor of Forrest, some Stuart, and
some Joe Wheeler; but any man who was with us on this expedition and
at other times, and who watched General Van Dorn’s maneuvers closely,
studied his stratagems and noted the complete success of all his
movements, would have to admit that he was a master of the art of war
in this line of the service. At the head of an infantry column he moved
too rapidly, too many of his over-marched men failed to get into his
battles; but place him in front of good men well mounted, and he stood
at the head of the class of fine cavalry commanders.

With three brigades, ours, General W. H. Jackson’s and Colonel
McCulloch’s, aggregating about 3500 men in light marching order,
without artillery, we moved from the vicinity of Grenada early after
dark, about the 18th of December, and marched rapidly all night. We
passed through Pontotoc next day, when the good ladies stood on the
street with dishes and baskets filled with all manner of good things
to eat, which we grabbed in our hands as we passed rapidly through the
town. After passing Pontotoc a command of Federal cavalry dropped in
on our rear, fired a few shots and picked up some of our men who had
dropped behind. Among those picked up was our Indiana man, Harvey N.
Milligan. Somehow the boys had come to doubt Milligan’s loyalty, and
suspected that he had fallen behind purposely to allow himself to be
captured. When the rear was fired on the colonel commanding the rear
regiment sent a courier up to notify General Van Dorn. The fellow came
up the column in a brisk gallop. Now, to pass from the rear to the
front of a column of 3500 cavalry rapidly marching by twos is quite
a feat, but he finally reached General Van Dorn, and with a military
salute he said: “General, Colonel —— sent me to inform you that the
Yankees have fired on his rear!” “Are they in the rear?” inquired the
general. “Yes, sir,” answered the courier. “Well, you go back,” said
the general, “and tell Colonel —— that that is exactly where I want
them.” It was interesting to note how adroitly he managed to keep in
our rear on the entire expedition all their forces that attempted in
any way to interfere with our movements. Their scouts were, of course,
watching us to determine, if possible, our destination.

In going north from Pontotoc, General Van Dorn, instead of taking the
Holly Springs road, passing east of that place, headed his command
towards Bolivar, Tenn. Their conclusion then was, of course, that we
were aiming to attack Bolivar. Stopping long enough at night to feed,
we mounted our horses and by a quiet movement were placed on roads
leading into Holly Springs, dividing the command into two columns, so
as to strike the town by two roads. We moved slowly and very quietly
during the night, and while we were moving directly towards the town
guards were placed at the houses we passed lest some citizen might
be treacherous enough to inform the enemy of our movements. The road
our column was on was a rough, unworked, and little used one. At the
first appearance of dawn, being perhaps three miles from town, we
struck a gallop and, meeting no opposition, we were soon pouring into
the infantry camps near the railroad depot, situated in the eastern
suburbs. The infantry came running out of the tents in their night
clothes, holding up their hands and surrendered without firing a gun.
Our other column encountered the mounted cavalry pickets, and had a
little fight with them, but they soon galloped out of town, and on
this bright, frosty morning of December 20, A. D. 1862, the town,
with its immense stores of army supplies, was ours. Standing on the
track near the depot was a long train of box cars loaded with rations
and clothing only waiting for steam enough to pull out for the front.
This was burned as it stood. Leaving the Legion to guard the prisoners
until they could be paroled, the Third Texas galloped on uptown. The
people, as soon as it was known that we were Confederates, were wild
with joy. Women came running out of their houses, to their front gates
as we passed, in their night robes, their long hair streaming behind
and fluttering in the frosty morning air, shouting and clapping their
hands, forgetting everything except the fact that the Confederates were
in Holly Springs! On every hand could be heard shouts—“Hurrah for
Jeff Davis! Hurrah for Van Dorn! Hurrah for the Confederacy!”

A mere glance at the stores—heaps upon heaps of clothing, blankets,
provisions, arms, ammunition, medicines, and hospital supplies for the
winter, all for the use and comfort of a vast army—was overwhelming
to us. We had never seen anything like it before. The depot, the depot
buildings, the machine shops, the roundhouse, and every available space
that could be used was packed full, and scores of the largest houses
uptown were in use for the same purpose, while a great number of bales
of cotton were piled up around the court-house yard. One large brick
livery stable on the public square was packed full, as high as they
could be stacked, with new, unopened cases of carbines and Colt’s
army six-shooters, and a large brick house near by was packed full of
artillery ammunition.

For about ten hours, say from 6 A. M. to 4 P. M., we labored
destroying, burning, this property, and in order to do this effectually
we had to burn a good many houses. Riding out in the afternoon, to the
yard where the wagons were being cut down and burned, I found numbers
of mules and horses running at large, some of our men turning their
lean horses loose and taking big fat captured horses instead. Just then
it occurred to me that I had no horse of my own in Mississippi, my
mount having been killed at Iuka. John B. Long being in prison when the
horses came, I was using his. Now, if I only had some way of taking one
of these horses out. Starting back uptown, puzzling over this problem,
I met a negro boy coming out of a side street, and hailed him. In
answer to my inquiries he said his name was Jake, and belonged to
Mr. —— down at Toby Tubby’s ferry on the Tallahatchie. “What are you
doing here?” I inquired. “Dese Yankees has bin had me prisoner.” After
a little further colloquy he readily agreed to go with me. “Cause,”
said he, “you-all done whipped de Yankees now. Dey bin braggin’ all de
time how dey could whip de rebels so fast, and when you all come in
here dis mornin’ dey went runnin’ everywhere, looking back to see if
de rebels was comin’. I done see how it is now. I don’t want nothin’
more to do with dese Yankees. I’se bin hid under de floor all day.” I
took one of the abandoned horses, procured a mule for Jake to ride,
with saddle, bridle and halter, and taking the outfit uptown said to
Jake: “Now, when we start you fall in with the other negroes, in the
rear, and keep right up, and when we camp you inquire for Company C,
Third Texas Cavalry—and hold on to the horse at all hazards.” I had no
further trouble with Jake. He carried my instructions out all right.
About 4 P. M., having finished our day’s work, we moved out of the
northeast part of the town, and looking back we saw the Federal cavalry
coming in from the southwest.

In this raid we captured about 1500 prisoners, according to General Van
Dorn, and General Grant said the same. They were commanded by Colonel
R. C. Murphy of the Eighth Wisconsin Infantry. Poor Murphy! he was
peremptorily dismissed from the service without even a court martial.
General Grant estimated their loss in supplies destroyed at $400,000,
while General Van Dorn’s estimate was $1,500,000. Doubtless one was
too low and the other one too high. We marched out a few miles and
camped for the night, and all the evening we could hear the artillery
cartridges exploding in the burning buildings.

The next day early we were on the march northward. That morning when I
awoke I felt a presentiment that if we had to fight during that day I
would be wounded, and no effort of mine was sufficient to remove the
impression, even for a moment. As the weather was quite cold, visions
of the horrors of going to prison in midwinter troubled me, since a
wound that would put me past riding my horse would mean that I would be
left to fall into the enemy’s hands. Near noon we came to Davis’ Mill,
near the Tennessee line, not far from Lagrange, Tenn., where we made
an effort to destroy a railroad bridge and trestle on Wolfe River. It
was guarded by 250 troops, commanded by Colonel William H. Morgan of
the Twenty-fifth Indiana Infantry. We were fooling about this place
three hours perhaps, and it was late before I understood the meaning
of our maneuvers. Our brigade was dismounted, double-quicked here and
double-quicked there, double-quicked back to our horses, remounted,
galloped off to another place, double-quicked again somewhere else
and back to our horses. Then, remounting, we took another gallop and
double-quicked again to the only tangible thing I saw during the day,
and that was to charge a blockhouse or stockade.

The enemy was in what they called a blockhouse, constructed by
taking an old sawmill as a foundation and piling up cotton bales and
cross-ties, and throwing up some earthworks. Approaching this by a
wagon road we came to a bridge across a slough perhaps two hundred
yards from their fort. We met their first bullets here, as part of
their fire could be concentrated on this bridge. Crossing a little
river bottom, entirely open except for a few large white oak trees,
we came to a bridge across Wolfe River about seventy yards from their
works. To charge in column across this bridge under their concentrated
fire was the only chance to get to them, but coming to this bridge we
found that the floor was all gone, leaving only three stringers about
ten inches square, more or less, on which we could cross. Running
along the bank up the river to the right was a levee some three feet
high. The men in front, five or six impetuous fellows, running on to
the stringers, one of them fell as he started across, and the others
crossed the river. When I reached the bridge the command was deploying
behind the levee without attempting to cross. I remained near the
bridge. By this time I was more fatigued, I thought, than I had ever
been, with the perspiration streaming off my face, cold as the day
was. Here we kept up a fire at the smoke of the enemy’s guns, as we
could not see anything else, until a courier could find General Van
Dorn, inform him of the situation and ascertain his wishes as to the
advisability of our attempting to cross the river. Anxious to know what
had become of the men that went onto the bridge, I rose up and looked
over the levee. One of them had been killed and was lying in the edge
of the water, and the others were crouched under the opposite bank
of the river out of immediate danger. While this observation only
required a moment of time and a moment’s exposure above the levee,
I distinctly felt a minie ball fan my right cheek. While I had not
doubted for a moment that I was going to be shot somewhere sometime
during the day, this narrow escape of having a minie ball plow through
my cheek was very unpleasant. The thought of the ugly scar such a wound
would leave flashed into my mind, and wondering where I was to be
wounded I settled down behind the levee and continued firing my Sharps’
rifle without exposing myself. Finally we were ordered to fall back.
As soon as we were on our feet, and while crossing the little bottom,
we would again be exposed to the enemy’s fire, so the command fell
back at double-quick. I rose and started, and, looking around, I saw
Lieutenant Germany fall, and turned back to assist him, supposing he
was shot; but as I approached him he jumped up and passed me, laughing,
having merely stumbled and fallen. This threw me behind everybody. I
soon found I was so fatigued that I could not double-quick at all, so
I slowed up into an ordinary walk. The command, in the meantime, to
avoid the fire that could be concentrated on the slough bridge, had
flanked off to the left some distance above, and crossed on chunks and
logs that had fallen in the slough. Very soon I was the only target for
the men in the blockhouse, and they shot at me for sheer amusement. At
last a ball struck me on the right thigh. Thinking it was broken, I
stopped, bearing all my weight on my left foot, and, selecting a large
white oak near by, intending, if I could not walk to manage somehow to
pull myself behind this to shield myself, I waited for “something to
turn up.” Soon learning, however, that my thigh was not broken, I moved
on. Rather than lose time in going up to where the command had crossed
and run the risk of being left behind, supposing that on reaching the
horses they would mount and move off, I determined to cross on the
bridge, which I did in a slow walk, and am sure there was no less than
a hundred shots fired at me. Somehow I felt that I was not going to be
shot more than once that day, so even after I got across the bridge
and lay down to drink out of a little pool of water in the road, their
bullets spattered water in my face. I managed to get off with the
command, and while my wound was slight it bled freely and caused me a
good deal of pain, as I had to ride constantly for several days, and
was unable to dismount to fight any more on this trip.

We camped not far from Davis’ Mill, and crossed the Memphis &
Charleston Railroad early next morning, cutting the telegraph wires,
tearing up the track, burning cross-ties, and bending and twisting
the rails. Leaving, we struck a gallop towards Sommerville, Tenn.,
and galloped nearly all day. Entering Sommerville unexpectedly, we
created a little consternation. There was a Union mass meeting in
the town, and, there being no thought that there was a Confederate
soldier in a hundred miles of them, they were having an enthusiastic
time. Some of the old gentlemen, pretty boozy on good Union whisky,
stood on the streets and gazed at us with open mouths. I heard one
old fellow yell out, “Hurrah for Sommerville!” Another one standing
near him yelled out, “Oh, d——n Sommerville to h——l; I say hurrah
for the soldiers!” The good ladies, however, when they learned who we
were, began bringing whatever they had to eat, handing it to us as we
passed along. Camping a few miles out, next morning we took the road
leading to Jackson, Tenn., a road which passes west of Bolivar. In the
afternoon, however, we changed our course, traveling by roads leading
eastward, and camped several miles north of Bolivar.

Next morning, December 24, by making demonstrations against Bolivar,
General Van Dorn induced the enemy to gather all his forces in the
vicinity for its defense, including 1500 cavalry under Colonel
Grierson, sent by General Grant in pursuit of us. We moved down a main
road leading into Bolivar from the north, formed fours, driving in
their cavalry scouts and infantry pickets to the very suburbs of the
town, where the column was turned to the right through alleys, byways,
and vacant lots until we were south of the town, when moving quietly
out southward, we thus again had all our opposition in our rear. Moving
down the railroad seven miles, Middleburg was attacked. As our troops
dismounted and formed a line, Ed. Lewis, of Company B, was killed. I
remained mounted, with the horses. The command moved up into the town
and found the enemy in a brick house with portholes, through which they
fired. This was not taken. Of Company C, A. A. Box was killed here.
After staying for two hours, perhaps, we moved off just as the enemy’s
cavalry from Bolivar came up and fired on our rear.

The next point threatened was Corinth, in order to concentrate the
forces in that neighborhood. Leaving Middleburg, we passed through
Purdy, took the Corinth road, and moved briskly until night, went into
camp, fed, and slept until 1 A. M., when we saddled up, mended up the
camp-fires and moved through neighborhood roads, into the Ripley road.
Reaching Ripley at noon we rested, fed, and ate our Christmas dinner.
In about two hours we moved out, and looking back we could see the
enemy’s cavalry from Corinth entering the town. They fired a piece of
artillery at us, but as they were in our rear we paid no attention to
them. Crossing the Tallahatchie at Rocky Ford we camped on the banks of
the stream. Here General Van Dorn waited for the enemy until noon the
next day, but Colonel Grierson, who was pretending to follow us, never
put in an appearance. In the afternoon we moved to Pontotoc and camped
there that night in a terrible drenching rain. We then moved leisurely
back into our lines, with “no one to molest us or make us afraid.”




CHAPTER X

THE ENGAGEMENT AT THOMPSON’S STATION

 January, 1863—Jake Arrested—Detailed—My Brother Visits Me—Elected
 Second Lieutenant—Battle of Thompson’s Station—Duck River—Capture
 of the Legion—The “Sick Camp”—Murder of General Van Dorn.


“THE Holly Springs raid,” never to be forgotten by the participants
therein, having now become a matter of history, we rested for a time.
January, 1863, came, and with it a great deal of rain, making mud very
abundant and the roads very bad. During one of these cold rainy days,
who should come pulling through the mud nearly half a leg deep, but
the “aforesaid Harvey N. Milligan, late of Indiana.” He had made his
escape from the enemy, and, minus his horse, had made his way back to
us through the rain and mud afoot. “I told you Milligan was all right,”
was a remark now frequently to be heard. A day or two after this,
word came around that there were a half dozen horses at regimental
headquarters to be drawn for by the companies. I went up to represent
Company C, and drawing first choice, I selected a horse and gave him
to Milligan. During that same year he deserted on that very horse, and
rode him into the Federal lines.

My boy Jake having brought my horse out of the enemy’s lines, of course
I expected he would wish to return home, and I proposed to give him
the mule and let him go to his master. But no, he begged me to allow
him to stay with me, to feed and attend to my horse, do my mess duties
and such work. Of course I could not drive him off. This boy, eighteen
or nineteen years old, perhaps, became a splendid servant, and as much
devoted to me, apparently, as if I had raised him. Some months after
this we were passing through Columbus, Miss., one day, and his owner,
happening to be there, saw him, arrested him and sent him home. When I
heard of it that night of course I supposed I would never see Jake any
more, but to my surprise he came back in a short time, mounted on a
splendid mule. When I started back to Texas in February, 1865, Jake was
anxious to go with me, but I gave him a horse and saddle, and told him
to take care of himself.

The severe horseback service we had had since the battle of Corinth,
and our diet, principally sweet potatoes, had restored my health
completely, my wound had healed, and I was in good condition to do
cavalry service. At this time, too, I was detailed to work in the
regimental quartermaster’s department. We were ordered to middle
Tennessee, and started through the cold mud. My present position put
me with the trains on a march, and we had a great time pulling through
the mud, and in some places we found it almost impassable. Crossing the
Tennessee River a short distance below the foot of Mussell Shoals we
struck the turnpike at Pulaski, Tenn., proceeding thence to Columbia,
and then, crossing Duck River a few miles below that place, we moved
up and took position near Springhill in front of Franklin, and about
thirteen miles south of that place.

One evening soon after we went into camp on the turnpike some ten
miles below Columbia, two men rode into the camp inquiring for me. I
soon learned that it was my brother, accompanied by “Pony” Pillow,
who had come for me to go with them to Colonel Billy Pillow’s, who
lived on a turnpike three or four miles west from the one we were on.
Obtaining permission, I then accompanied them. My brother had been
sick for some time, and had been cared for by the Pillows, first by
Granville Pillow’s family and then by Colonel Billy’s family. He had
now recovered and was about ready to return to his command, which was
on the right wing of General Bragg’s army, while we were camped on the
extreme left.

I found Colonel Billy Pillow to be a man of ninety-four years,
remarkably stout and robust for a man of his age. His family consisted
of a widowed daughter, Mrs. Smith, who had a son in the army; his
son, “Pony” Pillow; and his wife. This old gentleman was a cousin
to my grandmother Cotten, and had moved with her family and his
from North Carolina when they were all young people. They told me
of my grandmother’s brother, Abner Johnson, who had lived in this
neighborhood a great many years, and died at the age of 104 years. The
next day we visited Colonel Pillow’s sister, Mrs. Dew, a bright, brisk
little body, aged ninety-two years, and the day following we spent the
day at Granville Pillow’s. Granville Pillow was a brother of General
Gideon J. Pillow, and nephew of Colonel Billy. He was not at home, but
we were welcomed and well entertained by Mrs. Pillow and her charming
young married daughter, whose husband was in the army. Mrs. Pillow
inquired to what command I belonged, and when I told her I belonged to
a Texas command, she asked me if I was an officer or private? When I
told her I was a private, she said it was a remarkable fact that she
had never been able to find an officer from Texas, and that the most
genteel, polite and well-bred soldier she had met during the war was a
Texas private. She added that while Forrest’s command had camped on her
premises for several weeks, and many of them had come into her yard and
into her house, she never had found a private soldier among them. This
was in keeping with the “taffy” that was continually given the Texas
soldiers as long as we were in Tennessee.

In the afternoon, bidding my brother farewell, I left him, overtaking
my command, as it had finished crossing Duck River and was camped on
the north bank.

       *       *       *       *       *

Franklin is situated on the south bank of Big Harpeth River, being
fortified on the hills north of the river overlooking the town. General
Van Dorn established his headquarters at Spring Hill, about thirteen
miles south of Franklin, on the Franklin and Columbia turnpike.
Brigadier-General W. H. Jackson was assigned to duty as commander of a
division composed of Whitfield’s Texas brigade and Frank C. Armstrong’s
brigade. Many of the Texas boys were very indignant, at first, that
General Jackson, a Tennessean, should be placed over them—so much
so that they hanged him in effigy. He was sensible enough to pay no
attention to this, but went on treating us so kindly and considerately
that we all learned to respect him and like him very much.

Some time in the early part of this year, 1863, Colonels J. W.
Whitfield and Frank C. Armstrong were appointed brigadier-generals.
Near the end of February, I think, John B. Long returned to us, and
reported the death of our captain, James A. Jones, having remained
with him until he died in Memphis, after which J. B. made his escape.
First Lieutenant John Germany now being promoted to captain, and Second
Lieutenant W. H. Carr promoted to first lieutenant, this left a vacancy
in the officers, which was filled by my election by the company as
second lieutenant. So I gave up my position with the quartermaster and
returned to the company, quitting the most pleasant place I had ever
had in the army, for Captain E. P. Hill, our quartermaster, was one
of the best and most agreeable of men, my duties were light, and my
messmates and associates at headquarters good, jolly fellows.

Our duties in front of Franklin were quite active, as we had several
important roads leading southward to guard, and frequent skirmishes
occurred, as the pickets usually stood in sight of each other on the
hills that were crossed by the turnpike roads, especially on the main
Columbian pike. In addition to the Columbia pike, running directly
south from Franklin, there was Carter’s Creek pike, leading southwest,
and the Lewisburg pike, leading southeast. Still no considerable
fighting was done until the 4th day of March, which culminated in
the battle of Thompson Station on the 5th. On the 4th, Colonel John
Coburn of the Thirty-third Indiana Volunteers was ordered out by
General Gilbert, with a force of nearly 3000 men, including infantry,
cavalry, and about six pieces of artillery, to proceed to Spring Hill
and ascertain what was there. About four miles from Franklin they
were met by a portion of General Van Dorn’s command, and pretty heavy
skirmishing resulted, when both armies fell back and camped for the
night. Our forces retired to Thompson’s Station, nine miles south of
Franklin, and went into camp south of a range of hills running across
the pike just south of the station. This is a very hilly country, and
the Nashville & Decatur Railroad runs through a little valley between
two ranges of hills, and the station is in the valley a short distance
west of Columbia pike.

On the morning of the 5th the enemy was found to be advancing again,
and leaving our horses behind the hill, we crossed over to the north
side, and near a church just south of the station we were formed behind
a stone fence—that is, Whitfield’s brigade, other troops to our right
and left, our artillery being posted to our right on the hill near the
pike. The enemy advanced to the range of hills north of the station,
on which was a cedar brake. From our position back to the hill and
cedar brake was an open field with an upgrade about half a mile wide,
the station, with its few small buildings, standing in between the
lines, but much nearer to us. The Federal artillery was posted, part
on each side of the pike, directly in front of ours, and the batteries
soon began playing on each other. Colonel Coburn, not seeing our line
of dismounted men behind the stone fence, ordered two of his infantry
regiments to charge and take our batteries, and they came sweeping
across the field for that purpose. When they came to within a short
distance of our front, Whitfield’s brigade leaped over the fence,
and, joined by the Third Arkansas, of Armstrong’s brigade, charged
them, and soon drove them back across the open field, back to the hill
and cedar brake, their starting point. Here they rallied, and being
re-enforced they drove our forces back to the station and stone fence,
where, taking advantage of the houses and stone fence, our forces
rallied and, being joined by the remainder of General Armstrong’s
brigade, drove them back again. This attack and repulse occurred three
successive times. In the meantime General Forrest, with two regiments
of his brigade, had been ordered to move around to the right and gain
their rear, and as they retired to their hill and cedar brake the third
time, Forrest opened fire on their rear, and they threw down their guns
and surrendered—that is, those that were still upon the field. Their
artillery, cavalry, and one regiment of infantry had already left.

The engagement lasted about five hours, say from 10 A. M. to 3 P. M.
Our loss was 56 killed, 289 wounded, and 12 missing; total, 357. The
enemy’s loss was 48 killed, 247 wounded, and 1151 captured; total,
1446. Among the captured were seventy-five officers, including Colonel
Coburn, the commander, and Major W. R. Shafter, of the Nineteenth
Michigan, who is now Major-General, and one of the heroes of the
Spanish-American war.[3]

Company C lost Beecher Donald, mortally wounded. Among the killed
of the Third Texas of my acquaintances I remember Drew Polk (alias
“Redland Bully”), of Company E, and Sergeant Moses Wyndham, a friend of
mine, of Company A. From the day of the Oak Hill battle up to this day
we had never been able to get T. Wiley Roberts into even a skirmish,
but to-day he was kept close in hand and carried into the battle, but
ran his ramrod through his right hand and went to the rear as related
in this chronicle. Among the losses was Colonel S. G. Earle, of the
Third Arkansas, killed; and my friend H. C. Cleaver, an officer in
the same regiment, was wounded. Rev. B. T. Crouch of Mississippi, a
chaplain, was killed while acting as aide-de-camp to General Jackson.
Captain Broocks, brother of Lieutenant-Colonel John H. Broocks, was
also killed.

The dwelling houses in the vicinity of Thompson’s Station were situated
in the surrounding hills overlooking the battlefield, but out of
danger, and from these houses a number of ladies witnessed the battle.
When they saw the enemy being driven back they would clap their hands
and shout, but when our forces were being driven back they would hide
their eyes and cry. Thus they were alternately shouting and crying all
day, until they saw nearly twelve hundred of the enemy marched out and
lined up as prisoners, and then they were permanently happy.

Here we lost the beautiful flag presented to us in the Indian
Territory, the staff being shot in two, while in close proximity to
the enemy. The bearer picked it up, but as he had to make his escape
through a plum thicket the flag was torn into narrow ribbons and left
hanging on the bushes.

[Illustration: JESSE W. WYNNE

Captain Company B, Third Texas Cavalry]

General Van Dorn had four brigades under his command at this
time—Forrest’s brigade of four regiments and a battalion, Martin’s
brigade of two regiments, Armstrong’s brigade of two regiments, one
battalion, and one squadron, and Whitfield’s brigade of four Texas
regiments. All these participated, more or less, in the battle, but as
Jackson’s division was in the center the brunt of the battle fell on
them, as the losses will show. Whitfield lost 170 men, Armstrong, 115,
Forrest, 69, and Martin, 3.

General Gordon Granger took command at Franklin immediately after the
battle of Thompson Station. He and General Van Dorn were said to be
classmates at West Point, and good friends personally, but it seemed
that they made strenuous efforts to overreach or to out-general each
other.

About March 8 another expedition was sent out by the enemy apparently
for the purpose of driving us out of the neighborhood. Skirmishing
began on the Columbia and Lewisburg pikes, some three or four miles
south of Franklin, and was continued on the Columbia road for about
three days, until we fell back across Rutherford Creek and took a
strong position behind a range of hills south of the creek, destroying
the bridges. In the meantime heavy rains were falling, the creek rising
so that General Granger’s forces were delayed about two days in their
efforts to cross, and all that could be done was to skirmish across
the creek. Duck River, just behind us, rose so high and ran so swift,
that pontoon bridges could not be maintained across it. A battle could
not be risked with only a small ferryboat in such a stream. Still
the skirmishing went on, until the trains and artillery were ferried
across, when, leaving skirmishers on the hill to deceive the enemy,
we moved up the river through cedar brakes to White’s bridge, twenty
miles, crossed to the south side of the river, and when the enemy
crossed Rutherford Creek they found no rebels in their front. We moved
down through Columbia, and five or six miles down the Mount Pleasant
turnpike and went into camp.

“Pony” Pillow’s wife had been kind enough to knit me a pair of fine
yarn gauntlets, and having heard that we had crossed Duck River, she
sent them to me, by her husband, who came up soon after we struck camp.
While he was there I was ordered to take a squad of men whose horses
needed shoes, go into the country and press one or two blacksmith
shops, and run them for the purpose of having a lot of shoeing done.
I got my men and went home with Pillow, took charge of shops in the
neighborhood, and was kept on duty there about eight days, staying with
my old grand-cousin’s family every night. I enjoyed this opportunity of
talking with the old gentleman very much, as he had known my maternal
grandparents when they were all children in Guilford County, North
Carolina, before the Revolutionary War. He, himself, had been a soldier
for eight years of his life, and had been shot through the body with
a musket ball. In these war times he loved to talk about his exploits
as a soldier. While I was there he mounted his horse and rode several
miles through the neighborhood, to the tanyard and the shoe shop, to
procure leather and have a pair of boots made for his grandson, who was
in the army.

The work of shoeing the horses having been completed, and Duck River
having subsided, we crossed back to the north side again, taking up
our old position near Spring Hill, and resumed our picketing and
skirmishing with General Granger’s forces. It is unnecessary, even if
it were possible, to allude to all these skirmishes. The picket post
on Carter’s Creek pike, eight miles from Franklin, was regarded as
important for some reason, and an entire regiment from our brigade was
kept there. One regiment for one week and then another regiment for the
next, and were sent there with strict orders to have horses saddled
and everything in readiness for action at daybreak in the morning. The
Third Texas had been on the post for a week, and was relieved by the
Legion under Lieutenant-Colonel Broocks. The Legion had been there two
or three days, and had grown a little careless, as nothing unusual
had ever happened to any of the other regiments while on duty there.
Just at daybreak one morning in the latter part of April Granger’s
cavalry came charging in upon them and completely surprised them in
their camps, before they were even up, and captured men, horses, mules,
wagons, cooking utensils—everything. Colonel Broocks and some of his
men made their escape, some on foot and some on horseback, but more
than a hundred were captured, their wagons cut down and burned, their
cooking utensils broken up, and their camp completely devastated. One
of the escaped men came at full speed to our camps, some three miles
away, and as quick as possible we were in our saddles and galloping
towards the scene of the disaster—but we were too late. We galloped
for miles over the hills in an effort to overtake the enemy and
recapture our friends, but failed.

We all felt a keen sympathy for Colonel Broocks and his men, for no
officer in the army would have felt more mortification at such an
occurrence than the brave, gallant John H. Broocks. It was said that he
was so haunted by the sounds and scenes of the capture of his regiment
that he was almost like one demented, and that for days and days
afterwards he would sit away off alone on some log, with his head down,
muttering, “Halt! you d——d rebel, halt!”

At one time during April General Van Dorn, with a goodly number of
his command, made a demonstration upon Franklin, drove in all their
outposts, and, selecting the Twenty-eighth Mississippi Cavalry and
leading it himself, he charged into the heart of the town.

The night following the race we made after the Broocks’ captors,
my horse fell sick and became unfit for service. In consequence I
was ordered to send him to the pasture in charge of the command, a
few miles below Columbia, and take command of “the sick, lame, and
lazy camp” on Rutherford Creek, a temporary camp made up of slightly
disabled men, and men with disabled horses or without horses. I was on
duty here two weeks, with about as little to do as could be imagined.
It was while I was on duty here that General Van Dorn’s death occurred
at his headquarters at Spring Hill. He was assassinated by one Dr.
Peters, who was actuated by an insane jealousy. Dr. Peters was an
elderly man, with a pretty young wife; General Van Dorn was a gay,
dashing cavalier. Dr. Peters was in the general’s office when he came
in from breakfast, and asked the general to sign a pass permitting him
to pass through the picket lines. As General Van Dorn was writing his
signature to the paper, Dr. Peters stood behind him. When Van Dorn had
given the last stroke with the pen, the doctor shot him in the back of
the head, and, having his horse ready saddled, he mounted and galloped
up to our pickets, passed through, and made his escape. As soon as the
crime was known a number of the general’s escort mounted their horses
and gave chase, but they were too late to stop the doctor.

In a few days after this very sad occurrence General Jackson’s division
was ordered to Mississippi by rapid marches, and about the middle of
May we reluctantly bade adieu to this beautiful, picturesque middle
Tennessee.




CHAPTER XI

THE SURRENDER OF VICKSBURG

 Moving Southward—I Lose My Horse—Meet Old Huntsville Friends—A New
 Horse—In Mississippi—“Sneeze Weed”—Messenger’s Ferry—Surrender of
 Vicksburg—Army Retires—Fighting at Jackson—After Sherman’s Men—A
 Sick Horse—Black Prince—“Tax in Kind”—Ross’ Brigade—Two Desertions.


I NOW disbanded my important command on Rutherford Creek, and telling
my men that every fellow must take care of himself, I joined the
movement towards Mississippi. Leaving in the afternoon, we camped
on the north bank of Duck River opposite Columbia. That night while
walking into a deep gully I sprained an ankle very badly. Next morning
my foot and ankle were so swollen I could not wear my boot, so I
exchanged it for an old rusty brogan shoe found in an ambulance, and
shipped all my luggage in the ambulance. I made my way to the pasture
eight miles below, mounted my horse and joined the command.

Before reaching camp that night my horse was taken with a peculiar
lameness in one of his hind legs. Next morning soon after starting
he became lame again, and grew rapidly worse, so much so that I fell
behind, being unable to keep up. Soon I had to dismount and lead him,
driving him and urging him along in every possible way, spending the
day in that manner, and walking most of the time. In the afternoon
I saw that contingent called stragglers. One man rode up and said to
me, “Hello, Barron! you are gone up for a horse. You’ll have to have
another. Have you got any money?” “Not much,” I replied. Pulling out a
one hundred dollar bill, he said: “Here, take this; it will do you some
good.” During the afternoon another, and after a while still another
passed me, saying and doing precisely the same thing. Crossing Elk
River just before dark, I stopped to spend the night at the first house
on the road. The next morning my horse was dead. I had expected to
trade him, but now I was completely afoot, encumbered with my rigging,
fifteen miles behind the command, which had gone on the Athens, Ala.,
road.

After visiting the lot I went back to breakfast, feeling that I was a
good many miles from home, but not particularly daunted. I had all the
time believed that a soldier who volunteered in the Confederate army
in good faith and was honestly doing his duty would come out of all
kinds of difficulties in good shape. After breakfast I watched the road
until noon. At last a man of our brigade came along leading a horse,
and I inquired to whom he belonged. “One of the boys that was sent to
the hospital.” I then explained to him my situation. “All right,” said
he, “you take this pony, find you a horse, and leave the pony with
the wagon train when you come to it.” “The pony” was a shabby little
long-haired mustang with one hip bone knocked down, but I was mounted
for the time.

It was now Saturday afternoon. I was only thirty miles from Huntsville
and might find a horse there, so it occurred to me, but I had no
desire to go there at this time. In the condition circumstances had
placed me, I only wished to procure a horse suitable for my necessities
and follow my command. I mounted the mustang and took the Huntsville
road, inquiring for horses along the way. I stayed all night at Madison
Cross roads, and was not recognized by the man at whose house I spent
the night, although I had been acquainted with him for several years. I
went out next morning, Sunday as it was, and examined and priced one or
two horses in the neighborhood, but found I could not pay for one even
if I had fancied him, which I did not. So I continued my course towards
Huntsville, jogging along very slowly on my borrowed horse, as the
weather was quite warm. When within two or three miles of town I left
the Pulaski road and turned in through some byways to the residence of
Mr. Tate Lowry, a friend of mine who lived near the Meridianville pike,
a mile or two out of town. I rode up to his place about noon, just as
he had returned from church. He extended me a very cordial welcome to
his house, which was only occupied by himself, his good old mother,
and little boy. We soon had a good dinner. Out in the office I enjoyed
a short sleep, a bath, and began dressing myself, Mr. Lowry coming in
and placing his entire wardrobe at my service. I was soon inside of a
nice white shirt and had a pair of brand new low-quartered calfskin
shoes on my feet. He then brought me a black broadcloth frock coat, but
there I drew the line. Having a neat gray flannel overshirt, I donned
that, buckled on my belt and felt somewhat genteel. As there were to
be religious services at the Cumberland church in the afternoon, we
agreed to go into town. We walked in, however, as I had no disposition
to show the mustang to my friends in town, and when we arrived at the
church we found the congregation assembled and services in progress. I
went quietly in and seated myself well back in the church, and when the
services ended everybody, male and female, came up to shake hands, all
glad to see me, among them my home folks, Mrs. Powers (“Aunt Tullie”),
and Miss Aggie Scott, her niece. I accompanied them home, and met Mr.
W. H. Powers, with whom I had lived and worked for several years,
and who was my best friend. I found it a delightful experience to be
here after an absence of more than three and half years. Of course I
explained to them why I was in Huntsville and how I became lame. On
Monday morning Mr. Powers called me in the parlor alone, and said to
me, “Do you need any money?” “That depends,” I said, “on the amount a
horse is going to cost me.” “Well,” he said, “if you need any, let me
know, and at any time that you need any money, and can communicate with
me, you can get all the Confederate money you need.” During the day our
L. H. Reed came in from the command, bringing me a leave of absence to
answer my purpose while away from the command.

Here I met my friend (Rev. Lieutenant-Colonel W. D. Chadick), who said
to me upon learning my purpose in this neighborhood: “I have a good
horse I bought very cheap, to give my old horse time to recover from a
wound. He is about well now, and as I cannot keep two horses you can
have him for what he cost me.” “How much was that?” “Three hundred
dollars.” “All right,” said I, “the three one hundred dollar bills
are yours, and the horse is mine.” This animal was a splendid sorrel,
rather above medium size, about seven years old, sound as a dollar, and
a horse of a good gaits. When I had gone forty miles from Huntsville
one thousand dollars of the same currency would not have bought him. On
Tuesday I had him well shod, mounting him the next morning, and while
I was sorely tempted to remain longer, I started for Mississippi. I
really had a very bad ankle, and could have called on an army surgeon
and procured an extension of my leave and spent a few days more in this
delightful way, but hoping to be well enough to perform the duties that
came to my lot by the time I reached the command, I pulled myself away.

I went out and got the pony, left the borrowed articles of clothing,
and crossing Tennessee River at Brown’s Ferry, I laid in corn enough
before I left the valley to carry me across the mountains where
forage was scarce. I strapped it on the pony and made good time to
Columbus, Miss. Here I was detained several hours by Captain Rice, the
post commander, much against my will. He claimed that he was ordered
by General Jackson, in case he found an officer in the rear of the
command, to detain him until he gathered up a lot of stragglers, who
were to be placed in charge of the officer, to be brought up to the
command. After worrying me several hours, he turned me over a squad of
men, and I started out with them. As soon as I crossed the Tombigbee
River I turned them all loose, and told them I hoped they would go to
their commands; as for me, I was going to mine, and I was not going to
allow a squad of men to detain me for an instant.

I passed through Canton about dark one evening, and learning what road
the command was probably on, having left my pony as per instructions,
I rode into our camp just at midnight. The next morning we moved to
Mechanicsburg, loaded, capped, and formed fours, expecting to meet
the enemy, which, however, did not prove to be the case. I therefore
was able to be at my post by the time the first prospect of a fight
occurred.

On my way down one day, I passed where the command had camped on a
small creek, and noticing several dead mules I inquired into the cause,
and was told they were killed from eating “Sneeze weed,” a poisonous
plant that grows in middle and southern Mississippi. I learned to
identify it, and as we had several horses killed by it afterwards, I
was very careful when we camped, to pull up every sprig of it within
reach of my horse.

On the long march from Spring Hill, Tenn., to Canton, Miss., Company C
had the misfortune to lose four men—Dunn, Putnum, and Scott deserted,
and McCain was mysteriously missing, and never heard of by us again.

       *       *       *       *       *

General U. S. Grant had swung round with a large army through Jackson,
Miss., fought a battle with General Pemberton at Raymond and another at
Baker’s Creek, Champion Hill, where General Pemberton was driven back,
having General Loring’s division and twenty pieces of his artillery
cut off. Pemberton was compelled to fall back across Big Black River
at Edward’s Depot into Vicksburg with the remainder of his army, and
General Grant had thrown his army completely around Vicksburg on the
land side, and that city was besieged. We were sent down here to hover
around the besieging army, to see that they “‘have deyselves, and keep
off our grass.” The large gunboats in the river, above and below, with
their heavy ordnance were bombarding the city. These huge guns could
be heard for many miles away, from early morning until night. When I
first heard them I inquired the distance to Vicksburg, and was told it
was a hundred miles. During the siege we had active service, driving
in foraging parties, picketing, scouting, and occasionally skirmishing
with the enemy.

About the first of July we drove the enemy’s pickets from Messenger’s
Ferry, on Big Black River, and held that crossing until the 5th.
Vicksburg was surrendered on the 4th, and on the evening of the 5th
our pickets were driven from the ferry by a large force under General
Sherman, who began crossing the river and moving east. General Joseph
E. Johnston was in command of our army outside of Vicksburg, and at the
time the city was surrendered he was down on Big Black, with his forces
and a train loaded with pontoons—everything indicating his intention
to attempt a cut through the enemy’s line to relieve General Pemberton.
As soon as the surrender occurred General Johnston began falling back
towards Jackson, and we fought the advancing enemy several days while
he was making this retrogressive movement. We fought them daily, from
early in the morning until late in the afternoon, holding them in
check, though some days they advanced several miles and others only
two or three, owing to the nature of the ground and the more or less
favorable position afforded us. This detention gave General Johnston
time to move his trains and infantry back at leisure and to get his
army in position in front of Jackson. Finally falling back to Jackson,
we passed through our infantry lines in front of the city and took our
position on the extreme right wing of our army, beyond the northern
suburbs of the city. Jackson, it may be well to state, is located on
the west bank of Pearl River. General Sherman’s right wing rested on
Pearl River south of the city, and his lines extended in a semicircle
around the west of the city. Here we fought more or less for about
a week, with some pretty severe engagements, directly in front of
the city. In passing through the northern portion of the city to the
position assigned to us we passed the State Lunatic Asylum. After we
formed a line and everything was quiet, there being no enemy in our
front, Joe Guthery, of Company B, sauntered out and reconnoitered a
little and upon his return he approached Captain Jesse Wynne and said:
“Captain, you ought to see General Johnston’s fortifications down by
the asylum. He’s got a great big swiege gun planted there that demands
the whole country around.”

One afternoon our works were assaulted by a brigade of General Lauman’s
division, who were almost annihilated. For this move he was promptly
superseded, as it was claimed he acted without orders. After some heavy
fighting in front of the city I chanced to pass our field hospital
where the surgeons were at work, and just behind the hospital I looked
into an old barrel about the size of a potato barrel and discovered it
was nearly full of stumps of arms and legs, bloody and maimed, just as
they had fallen under the knife and saw. This to me was so ghastly a
sight that I never remember it without a shudder.

As we had heretofore been dismounting to fight, I had not had an
opportunity of trying my new horse under fire until now. We had a
long line of skirmishers in extension of our line to the right in
front of us and three or four hundred yards from a line of the enemy’s
skirmishers. They were in the brush not exposed to view, so a desultory
fire was kept up all along the line. I was sent up the line to deliver
some orders to our men, and as I had to ride up the entire line and
back, the enemy’s skirmishers soon began firing at me, and kept it up
until I made the round trip, the minie balls constantly clipping the
bushes very near me and my horse. This completely demoralized him, and
he would jump as high and as far as he possibly could every time he
heard them. Some horses seem to love a battle, while others are almost
unmanageable under fire. The first horse I rode in the army was lazy
and had to be spurred along ordinarily, but when we were going into
a battle and the firing began he would champ the bits, pull on the
bridle, and want to move up.

After some four days in front we were sent to the rear of Sherman’s
army, where we captured a few wagons and ambulances and destroyed some
cotton, and upon returning encountered the enemy’s cavalry at Canton.
While we were on this enterprise General Johnston had retired from
Jackson and fallen back to Brandon, and General Sherman, after a few
days, returned to Vicksburg. Our brigade now moved out into Rankin
County for a rest. Here orders were issued for thirty-day furloughs to
one officer and three men of the company. As Lieutenant Hood was away
on sick leave, I proposed to Lieutenant Carr that we would concede
Captain Germany the first leave. No, he would not do that; he was as
much entitled to it as Captain Germany. “All right,” said I; “then
we’ll draw for it, and I will be sure to get it.” The drawing turned
out as I had prophesied, and I presented the furlough to Captain
Germany. The furloughs those days had a clause, written in red ink,
“provided he shall not enter the enemy’s lines,” and that meant that in
our case our men should not go to Texas.

In this “Siege of Jackson,” as General Sherman called it (July 10-16,
1863), the enemy’s reported losses in killed, wounded and missing
numbered 1122. I am unable to give our losses, but in the assaults they
made we lost very few men. General Sherman had three army corps on this
expedition.

Our rest near Pelahatchie Depot was of short duration, as we were
soon ordered back to guard the country near Vicksburg on the Big
Black and Yazoo Rivers, with headquarters at Bolton Station. During
Sherman’s occupation of Jackson he had destroyed miles of railroad
track, bridges, and depots, and had also destroyed rolling stock,
including passenger cars, flat cars, and locomotives. Now in August a
force of their cavalry came out from Memphis and undertook to steal
all the rolling stock on the Mississippi Central Railroad. They came
down about as far as Vaughan’s Station and gathered up the rolling
stock, including a number of first-class locomotives, intending to
run them into Memphis or Grand Junction. We were sent after them and
had a lively race. As they were about twenty-four hours ahead of us
they would have succeeded, doubtless, had not some one burned a bridge
across a small creek opposite Kosciusko. As may be imagined, we gave
them no time to repair the bridge. We moved about a hundred miles in
two days, with no feed for men or horses except green corn from the
fields.

Reaching Durant very late at night in a drenching rain we were turned
loose to hunt shelter in the dark as best we could, and we had a great
time getting into vacant houses, under sheds, awnings, in stables or
any available place that we might save our ammunition. At Old Shongolo,
near Vaiden, the good ladies had prepared a splendid picnic dinner for
us, but as we could not stop to partake of it they lined up on each
side of the column as we passed, with waiters loaded with chicken,
ham, biscuit, cake, pies, and other tempting viands and the men helped
themselves as they passed, without halting.

One evening we stopped just before night to feed, for the horses were
hot and tired, and our men hungry and in need of sleep. The horses were
hastily attended to, that we might get some sleep, as we were to remain
here until midnight, then resume the march. At starting time I found
my horse foundered. Groping my way through the darkness to General
Whitfield’s headquarters, I told him I could not go on, for my horse
was foundered. “Old Bob’s in the same fix,” he said. “Cross Big Black
River as soon as you can, and go back to the wagon train, and tell that
fellow that has got old Bob to take good care of him.”

As the command moved off I started in the opposite direction. I had
only gone a short distance when I came up with Lieutenant Barkley of
the Legion, in the same sad condition. After daylight we stopped to
breakfast at a house on the road, then crossed the Big Black, and, as
our horses grew worse, we made a short day’s travel and spent the night
with Mr. Fullylove, a generous old gentleman. Next morning the horses
traveled still worse. About 10 A. M. we came to the residence of Hon.
Mr. Blunt, of Attalah County, and decided that, with the permission of
the family, we would remain here until morning. Consulting Mrs. Blunt,
she said: “Mr. Blunt is not at home. The only persons with me are my
daughter and a young lady visiting us; but if I knew you were gentlemen
I would not turn you off.” We told her we were Texans, and claimed
to be gentlemen—and we remained there until the next morning. After
caring for our horses we were invited into the parlor or sitting-room
and introduced to the young ladies. The visitor was Miss Hattie Savage,
who lived only a few miles away. Soon the usual interrogatory was
propounded. “Are you gentlemen married?” Barclay answered: “Yes, I am
married. I have a wife and baby at home,” and exhibited the little
one’s picture. I told them I was not so fortunate as to be married.
Soon we had a good dinner and spent quite a pleasant day. The next
morning, with many thanks for the generous hospitality we had enjoyed,
we said good-by to the three ladies.

I found that my horse’s condition grew constantly worse, so that now
he could scarcely get along at all. After traveling about three miles
we came to the house of Mr. Leftwich Ayres, who proved to be a very
excellent man. Seeing the condition of our horses, he invited us to
remain with him until morning, which we did. At this time and ever
afterward I received only kind and generous treatment from all the
members of this family, which consisted of Mr. Ayres, his wife and her
grown daughter, Miss Joe Andrews. A Mr. Richburg owned and operated
a tanyard and boot shop near the Ayres place. I visited his shop and
left my measure for a pair of boots, and found Mr. Richburg to be a
most excellent man. He made me several pairs of boots afterwards. Next
morning Mr. Ayres said to me: “Your horse cannot travel. Old Arkansaw
is the only horse I have; take him and ride him, and I will take care
of your horse until he is well.” I accepted the proposition, and
Barclay and myself returned to our commands.

General Whitfield followed the Federals to Duck Hill, near Grenada,
without overtaking them, and returned to Canton, and to Big Black and
Yazoo Rivers.

When I supposed from the lapse of time that my horse had recovered, I
obtained permission and went after him. Reaching Mr. Ayres’ home about
ten o’clock one morning, he met me at the gate and told me that my
horse was about well, that he had just turned him out for the first
time to graze. I immediately felt uneasy, and being anxious to see
him we walked around his inclosure and soon found him; but as soon as
I came near him I saw the effects of the deadly sneeze weed, and in
spite of all we could do for him in a few hours he was dead. Mr. Ayres
was very much grieved and said, “I would not have had your horse die
at my house under the circumstances for a thousand dollars. There’s
old Arkansaw; take him and make the best you can of him—ride him,
trade him off, or anything.” I therefore returned to the command on Old
Arkansaw, a pretty good old one-eyed horse.

It is not possible now to remember all the movements made by us during
the next two or three months, the number of foraging parties we drove
back or the number of skirmishes with the enemy. As I have said I
returned to the command mounted on Old Arkansaw, but did not keep him
long, as I traded him for a pony, and traded the pony for a mule, a
splendid young mule, good under the saddle, but not the kind of a mount
I desired. Awaiting for a favorable time, I obtained leave to go to
Huntsville, where I could obtain money to buy another horse. I soon
made the distance over the long road at the rate of forty miles per
day on my mule. Passing through Tuscaloosa one morning, after a travel
of thirty-two miles, I put up with Mr. Moses McMath, father-in-law of
General Joseph L. Hogg. Here I found General L. P. Walker, our first
Secretary of War, who had started to Huntsville. We traveled together
as far as Blountsville, he relating to me many interesting facts about
the early days of the Confederate army, and here we learned that a
division of Federal cavalry was then in Madison County.

At Warrenton, in Marshall County, I met Hop Beard, son of Arthur Beard,
who had lost one of his hands in Forrest’s cavalry, and had a horse
which he was now willing to sell. From Warrenton I went to Lewis’ Ferry
on Tennessee River, fifteen miles below Huntsville. Here I found my
half-brother, J. J. Ashworth. Crossing the river at this place I went
up on the Triana road as far as William Matkin’s, about seven miles
from Huntsville. Here I found Miss Aggie Scott, of the household of my
friend, W. H. Powers, and was advised that it was unsafe to go to town.
I therefore sent a message to Mr. Powers by Dr. Leftwich, who lived in
the neighborhood, and he brought me seven hundred dollars. With this
I returned to Warrenton and purchased a splendid black horse of Mr.
Beard, really the best horse for the service that I had owned. I called
him Black Prince. With the horse and mule I returned to Mississippi. I
had met several Huntsville people at Warrenton, among them my friend
Tate Lowry. He insisted that when I got back to Noxubee County,
Mississippi, that I stop and rest at his plantation. I reached there
about ten o’clock one rainy day, and remained there until next morning.
I found his overseer a clever, agreeable man, and the plantation a
very valuable property, and was shown the fine stock and everything
of interest on the place. Noticing a long row of very high rail pens
filled with corn, I remarked on the fine crop of corn he had made.
“Oh,” said he, “that is only the tax in kind where I throw every tenth
load for the Government.” And that was really only one-tenth of his
crop! Our government claimed one-tenth of all produce, which was called
“tax in kind.”

As I passed through Macon I was offered five hundred dollars for my
mule, but I had determined to carry it back and give it to Mr. Ayres
in place of Old Arkansaw. I rode up to Mr. Ayres’ house about three
o’clock in the afternoon, presented him with the mule, and remained
there until morning. While there Mrs. Ayres gave me enough of the
prettiest gray jeans I ever saw, spun and woven by her own hands, to
make a suit of clothes. I sent to Mobile and paid eighty-five dollars
for trimming, such as buttons, gold lace, etc., and had a tailor make
me a uniform of which I justly felt proud.

In September, perhaps it was, General Whitfield, on account of failing
health, was transferred to the trans-Mississippi department, and the
Rev. R. W. Thompson, the Legion’s brave chaplain, also left us and
recrossed the Mississippi. The brigade was commanded alternately by
Colonel H. P. Mabry, of the Third Texas, and Colonel D. W. Jones, of
the Ninth, until Colonel L. S. Ross, of the Sixth Texas, was appointed
brigadier-general and took permanent command of us, and the brigade was
ever after known as Ross’ Brigade. Colonel Mabry was given command of a
Mississippi brigade and sent down on the river below Vicksburg.

Early in December we attempted to capture a foraging party that came
out from Vicksburg. Starting early in the night, Colonel Jones was sent
with the Ninth Texas around to intercept them by coming into the road
they were on near the outside breastworks. The command moved slowly
until morning, when coming near the enemy we gave chase, galloping ten
miles close at their heels. When they passed the point Colonel Jones
was trying to reach he was in sight. We ran them through the outer
breastworks and heard their drums beat the long roll. When we turned
about to retire two of our men, Milligan and Roberts, fell back and
entered the enemy’s breastworks and surrendered.




CHAPTER XII

BATTLE AT YAZOO CITY

 Midwinter—Through the Swamps—Gunboat Patrols—Crossing the
 Mississippi—Through the Ice—Ferrying Guns—Hardships—Engagement
 at Yazoo City—Harrying Sherman—Under Suspicion—A
 Practical Joke—Battle at Yazoo City—Casualties—A Social
 Call—Eastwood—Drowning Accident—A Military Survey.


THE early days of January, 1864, found us floundering through the
swamps in an effort to deliver to the trans-Mississippi department
a lot of small arms, rifles, and bayonets. General Stephen D. Lee,
commander of the cavalry in our department, wrote General Ross that
there had been two or three unsuccessful efforts to put two thousand
stands of arms across the Mississippi, and asking whether he thought
his command could put them over. General Ross replied, “We will try.”
So the brigade started with several wagons loaded with the arms and a
battery of four pieces. This January proved to be the coldest month of
the war, and for downright acute suffering from exposure and privation
probably no month of our campaigning equalled this.

We crossed Yazoo River at Murdock’s ferry, and pretty soon were in
Sunflower Swamp, about eight miles across. A slow rain was falling
and the weather very threatening. With all the teams we had and all
the oxen that could be procured in the vicinity, an all-day’s job,
we reached Sunflower with one lone piece of artillery, every other
wheeled vehicle being hopelessly bogged down in the swamp from two
to five miles in our rear. While the command was crossing the river
a blizzard swooped down upon us. By the time we reached a camp two
miles beyond, icicles were hanging from our horses, and everything we
possessed that was damp was freezing. The cold continued to increase,
next morning everything was frozen stiff, and it would have been
possible to skate on the ponds near the camps. In this state of affairs
General Ross said to us: “What shall we do, give up the expedition or
take these guns on our horses and carry them through?” The boys said:
“Carry them through.” We mounted and rode back to the river, left the
horses on the bank and crossed in a ferryboat, where ensued a grand
race for the wagons across the rough, frozen ground and ice, for on
a fellow’s speed depended the distance he would have to go for the
load of guns he was to carry back to the horses. Warren Higginbothom,
an athletic messmate of mine, passed me, and I asked him to save me
some guns at the first wagon, which he did, and I returned to camp
with other fortunate ones; but some of them were late in the night
returning. So we remained in the same camp for another night. Many of
the men were thinly clad and poorly shod for such a trip in the bitter
cold weather, I myself being clad in a thin homespun gray jean jacket,
without an overcoat; and having hung my gloves before the fire to dry
and gotten them burned to a crisp, I was barehanded as well.

The next morning every man, including General Ross himself, took his
quota of the guns, usually four apiece, and started to Gaines’ ferry,
on the Mississippi, about fifty miles distant. Passing through Bogue
Folio Swamp about seven miles, crossing the stream of that name and
passing through the Deer Creek country, the garden spot of Mississippi,
we came to within about three miles of the river and camped in a dry
cypress swamp. As the river was closely patrolled by gunboats our aim
was to cross the guns over at night. As no craft that a man could cross
the river in was allowed to remain in the river, we found a small
flatboat and dragged it with oxen over the frozen ground to the river,
walking with loads of guns to meet it. The river here was running
south and the cold north wind was coming down stream in almost a gale.
The water was low and we approached it on a wide sandbar. Having slid
the boat into the water, John B. Long, Nathan Gregg, of Company A, Si
James, the Choctaw, and one other of the command volunteered to row
it over. After it was well loaded with guns the boat was pushed off,
but the strong wind drifted them down the river some distance, and,
returning, they drifted down still farther, so that it was nine o’clock
next morning when they returned to camp, with their clothes from their
waists down covered with a sheet of ice so thick that they could not
sit down. The first gunboat that passed destroyed the little flat. We
then built another small boat, but before we could get it ready for use
all the eddy portion of the river near the bank was frozen over and the
current a mass of floating ice, so that it was impossible to cross in
such a craft at night. Procuring two skiffs in addition to the boat, we
crossed the remainder of the guns over in daylight, pushing through
the floating ice with poles, the guns being delivered to Colonel
Harrison’s command on the west bank of the river. For the days and
nights we were engaged in crossing these guns we lived on fresh pork
found in the woods, eating this without salt, and a little corn parched
in the ashes of our fires. The weather continued to grow colder, until
the ice was four inches thick on the ponds. The guns being disposed of,
the piece of artillery was run down to the bank of the river, when soon
a small transport came steaming up the river. It was given one or two
shots, when it blew a signal of distress and steamed to the opposite
shore and landed, and was soon towed off by a large boat going up the
river. With some of our men barefooted and many of them more or less
frost-bitten we returned to Deer Creek, where we could get rations
and forage. As for forage there were thousands of acres of fine corn
ungathered, and we only had to go into the fields and gather what we
wanted. The Federals had carried off the able-bodied negroes, and the
corn was still in the fields, and along the creek and through the farms
there were thousands and thousands of wild ducks. I am sure I saw more
ducks at one glance than I had seen all my life before. We retraced our
steps through the swamps and the canebrakes and recrossed the Yazoo
River in time to meet a fleet of twelve transports, loaded with white
and black troops, escorted by two gunboats, ascending that river,
evidently making for Yazoo City.

[Illustration: CAPTAIN H. L. TAYLOR

Commander Ross’ Brigade Scouts]

The Third Texas was sent out to meet a detachment of the enemy moving
up the Mechanicsburg and Yazoo City road, and drove them back towards
Vicksburg, the rest of the brigade, in the meantime, fighting the river
force at Satartia and Liverpool. The Third rejoined the brigade at
Liverpool, but being unable to prevent the passage of the enemy, we
moved rapidly up the river and beat them to Yazoo City. Placing our
artillery in some earthworks thrown up by Confederates in the early
part of the war, we formed a line of riflemen down at the water’s edge.
The fleet soon came steaming up the river, and when the front gunboat
came opposite to us the battery began playing upon it, while the rifles
kept their portholes closed so that they could not reply. It was not
long before they abandoned the effort to land, dropped back and were
soon out of sight down the river. Later in the day, from the smoke, we
could see that they were steaming up Sunflower River, west of us.

When the people of Yazoo City saw that we had saved their town from
occupation by negro troops, their gratitude knew no bounds, and this
gratitude was shown practically by as great a hospitality as was ever
extended by any people to a command of Confederate soldiers. In the
evening a squadron, including Company C, was left on picket below the
city for the night, at the point occupied during the day, while the
command moved out on the Benton road to camp. To the pickets during the
evening the citizens sent out cooked provisions of the nicest and most
substantial character, sufficient to have lasted them for a week.

The next morning the brigade returned and as everything remained
quiet, with no prospect of an early return of the enemy’s fleet, I
rode uptown to take a view of the city. Numbers of others had done the
same, and as the hour of noon approached we began to get invitations
to dinner. Meeting a little white boy, he would accost you thus: “Mr.
Soldier, Mamma says come and eat dinner with her.” Next a little negro
boy would run up and say: “Mr. Soldier, Mistis say come and eat dinner
with her.” And this manner of invitation was met on every corner, and
between the corners. I finally accepted an invitation to dine with the
family of Congressman Barksdale.

We were not allowed to enjoy the hospitality of this grateful city
long on this visit, as General Sherman, who had planned a march to
the sea, moved eastwardly out from Vicksburg, with a formidable force
of infantry and artillery, and we were ordered to follow him. This
we did, and kept his infantry closed up and his men from straggling.
His cavalry, moving out from Memphis, was to form a junction with
his main force at Meridian. Reaching that place, he halted, and we
camped in the pine wood three or four miles north of the town. General
Forrest was between us and the enemy’s cavalry, and our object was to
prevent a junction, thus defeating the purpose of the expedition, and
if Forrest was unable to drive the cavalry back we were to go to his
assistance—that is, Jackson’s division was to do this.

One very cold, cloudy evening near sundown I was ordered to report to
General Ross, mounted. When I reached headquarters I received verbal
orders to proceed to Macon with the least possible delay, take charge
of some couriers already there, use the telegraph, ascertain General
Forrest’s movements, and report from time to time by courier. The
distance to Macon was, say, forty-five or fifty miles, and the way
led mainly through forests, with a few houses on the road. Clad in my
gray jean jacket, without overcoat or gloves, but well mounted and
armed, I started, alone. Soon after dark a light snow began to fall
and continued all night. About midnight I reached DeKalb, the county
seat of Kemper County, where I spent half an hour in an effort to rouse
somebody who could put me on the road to Macon. At daylight I was
several miles from my destination. Stopping at a house for breakfast
I lay down before the fire and slept while it was being prepared, and
after breakfast finished my journey.

Approaching Macon from the south I crossed Noxubee River, spanned by
a splendid covered bridge, and noticed that it was so filled with
tinder that it easily might be fired if the Federal troops should come
in sight. As I rode into the town and halted to make some inquiries,
quite a number of citizens gathered around me to learn who I was,
and ask for the news. One sympathetic old gentleman, seeing that my
hands were bare and cold, stepped up and presented me with a pair of
gloves. I found that the citizens were scared and excited, as they were
situated between Sherman and his cavalry. I endeavored to allay their
uneasiness, and advised them not to burn the bridge, even if the enemy
should appear, as that would only cause a temporary delay, and would be
a serious loss to the town and country. From this they concluded I was
a spy in the interest of the enemy, as I learned later, and for a day
or two my every movement was closely watched.

I now put up my horse, found my couriers, repaired to the telegraph
office, and informed the operator of my instructions. I spent most of
the time in the telegraph office, when late at night the operator told
me of the suspicion that I was a spy, and that he had cleared it up by
asking General Jackson over the wires who I was. After this, while on
this duty, I was treated with great kindness.

General Jackson now moved up to re-enforce General Forrest, and
I rejoined the command as it passed Macon. We moved up as far as
Starkville, but, learning that the enemy’s cavalry had been driven
back, we returned to the vicinity of Meridian. As was expected, General
Sherman began falling back towards Vicksburg, we following him.
Arriving at Canton, Sherman, taking an escort, returned to Vicksburg,
leaving his army to follow in command of General MacPherson. Under
his command the Federal army moved without straggling and without
further depredations. We learned from this improved condition of army
discipline to respect MacPherson, and regretted to learn of his being
killed in battle in front of Atlanta in July.

It was as the enemy returned on this trip that a battalion of Federal
cavalry passed through Kosciusko, and their commander played a
practical joke on the Union merchants there. These merchants, when they
learned the Federals were coming, closed their doors and met them in
the outskirts of town, and were loud in their assertions of loyalty to
the Union. The officer asked them if they had done anything for the
Union they loved so much. “No,” said they, “we have had no opportunity
of doing anything, being surrounded by rebels as we are.” “Well,” said
the officer, “we’ll see. Maybe I can give you a chance to do a little
something for the Union.” Moving on uptown he found the rebels with
open doors, and, in riding round, he would ask them why they had not
closed up. They answered that they were so-called rebels, and were at
the mercy of him and his men, and if their houses were to be plundered
they did not wish the doors broken, and so they would offer no
resistance. He placed guards in all the open doors, with instructions
to permit no one to enter; then turning to his men, he told them if
they could find anything they wanted in the houses that were closed, to
help themselves, which they did. And thus an opportunity was given the
“loyal” proprietors to do something for the Union.

Ross’ brigade returned to Benton on the 28th of February, and was in
the act of going into camps at Ponds, four miles down the plank road
towards Yazoo City, when a squadron of negro cavalry from the city came
in sight. General Ross ordered detachments of the Sixth and Ninth Texas
to charge them. The negroes after the first fire broke in disorder and
ran for dear life. The negro troops, a short time previous to this,
had caught and murdered two of the Sixth Texas, and as these fellows
were generally mounted on mules very few of them got back inside the
breastworks, these few being mostly the white officers, who were better
mounted than the negroes. Among the killed along the road was found a
negro that belonged to Charley Butts, of Company B, he having run away
to join the First Mississippi Colored Cavalry.

On the evening of March 4 Brigadier-General Richardson, with his
brigade of West Tennessee Cavalry, joined General Ross for the purpose
of assisting in driving the enemy from Yazoo City, which is situated
on the east bank of Yazoo River. The city with its surroundings was
occupied by a force of about 2000 white and negro troops, commanded
by Colonel James H. Coats, supported by three gunboats. About eight
o’clock on the morning of March 5, 1864, the city was attacked by Ross’
and Richardson’s brigades, Brigadier-General L. S. Ross in command.
Our fighting strength was about 1300 men, with two or three batteries;
but as we dismounted to fight, taking out the horse-holders, every
fourth man, this would reduce our fighting strength to about 1000 men.
The enemy had the advantage of several redoubts and rifle-pits, the
main central redoubt being situated on the plank road leading from
Benton to Yazoo City. We fought them nearly all day, and at times the
fighting was terrific. With the Third Texas in advance we drove in
their pickets and took possession of all the redoubts but the larger
central one. This one was in command of Major George C. McKee, of the
Eleventh Illinois Regiment with nine companies: about four companies of
the Eighth Louisiana negro regiment; Major Cook, with part of his First
Mississippi negro cavalry, the same that had murdered the two Sixth
Texas men; and one piece of artillery. The Third and Ninth Texas and
Fourteenth Tennessee cavalry found themselves confronting this redoubt.
Two of our batteries were placed so as to obtain an enfilading fire
at easy range, and threw many shells into the redoubt, but failed to
drive the enemy out. In the meantime General Richardson, with the rest
of his brigade, the Sixth Texas and the Legion, drove the remainder
of the enemy’s forces entirely through the city to the protection of
their gunboats, and gained possession of the entire place except one
or two brick warehouses near the bank of the river, behind which their
troops had huddled near the gunboats. The Sixth Texas and Legion took
position on the plank road in rear of the large redoubt, and thus at
four o’clock in the afternoon we had it entirely surrounded, we being
in front some 150 yards distant. At this juncture General Ross sent
Major McKee a flag of truce and demanded an unconditional surrender.
The firing ceased and the matter was parleyed over for some time. The
first message was verbal, and Major McKee declined to receive it unless
it was in writing. It was then sent in writing, and from the movements
we could see, we thought they were preparing to surrender. But they
refused, owing perhaps to the fact that General Ross declined to
recognize the negro troops as soldiers; and how they would have fared
at the hands of an incensed brigade of Texas troops after they had
murdered two of our men in cold blood was not pleasant to contemplate.
As for the negro troops,—well, for some time the fighting was under
the black flag—no quarter being asked or given. Retaliation is one of
the horrors of war, when the innocent are often sacrificed for the
inhuman crimes of the mean and bloodthirsty.

The parley in reference to surrendering being at an end, little more
firing was indulged in, as both parties seemed to have grown tired of
shooting at each other. The troops were under the impression that we
were to assault the redoubt, but instead of doing so we quietly retired
just before nightfall, and returned to our camp on the Benton road.
This was explained by General Ross in his report in this way: “To have
taken the place by assault would have cost us the loss of many men,
more, we concluded, than the good that would result from the capture
of the enemy would justify.” Our loss in this engagement was: Ross’
brigade, 3 killed and 24 wounded; Richardson’s brigade, 2 killed and 27
wounded; total, 56. The enemy reported: 31 killed, 121 wounded, and 31
missing; total, 183.

Among our severely wounded was John B. Long, of Company C. Early in the
day, ten o’clock perhaps, he was shot down on the skirmish line and was
carried off the field and the word came down the line: “John B. Long
is killed.—John B. Long is killed.” This was heard with many regrets,
as he was a favorite soldier in the command. This report was regarded
as true by all of us at the front, until we returned to our camp. The
next morning I found him in Benton, wounded in the head; unconscious,
but not dead, and he is not dead to this day (August, 1899). The next
morning all the enemy’s forces left Yazoo City, and again Ross’ brigade
was regarded as an aggregation of great heroes by these good people.

One morning while we were camped in this neighborhood, one of the
boys came to me with an invitation to visit a lady residing between
our camps and Benton. She wished to see me because I had lived in
Huntsville, Ala. When I called I found Mrs. Walker, daughter-in-law of
General L. P. Walker, of Huntsville. She was a beautiful young woman,
bright, educated and refined, easy and self-possessed in manner, and
a great talker. She lived with her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Simpson, her
husband being in the army. Mrs. Walker was an enthusiastic friend of
the brigade, and would not admit that they had ever done anything
wrong, and contended that, inasmuch as they had defended the city
and county so gallantly, anything they needed or wanted belonged to
them, and the taking it without leave was not theft. And this was the
sentiment of many of these people.

For the remaining days of March we occupied practically the same
territory we had been guarding from the fall of Vicksburg. On or about
the last of March General Ross sent Colonel Dudley W. Jones, in command
of the Third and Ninth Texas regiments, to attack the outpost of the
force at Snyder’s Bluff, destroy Yankee plantations, etc., etc. I did
not accompany this expedition, I am sure, as I have no recollection of
being with it; nor do I now remember why I did not do so. The Yankee
plantations alluded to were farms that had been taken possession of
by Northern adventurers, and were being worked under the shadow of
the Federal army by slaves belonging to the citizens. Cotton being
high, they expected to avail themselves of confiscated plantations
and slaves to make fortunes raising cotton. Colonel Jones captured and
destroyed at least one such plantation, captured one hundred mules,
some negroes, and also burned their quarters.

Early in April we started east, with the ultimate purpose of joining
General Joseph E. Johnston’s forces in Georgia, moving by easy marches.
There was some dissatisfaction among the men on account of heading our
column toward the rising sun, as they had been promised furloughs on
the first opportunity, and this looked like an indefinite postponement
of the promised boon. Arriving at Columbus, Miss., we rested, and here
Lieutenant-General Leonidas Polk, then commanding the department,
made a speech to the brigade, alluding to the fact that they had been
promised furloughs, postponed from time to time, and assured us that as
soon as the present emergency ended Ross’ brigade should be furloughed.
He assured the men that he had the utmost confidence in their bravery
and patriotism, and though it had been hinted to him, he said, that if
he allowed these Texans to cross the Mississippi River they would never
return, he entertained no such opinion of them.

We now moved from Columbus to Tuscaloosa, Ala., the former capital of
that grand old State. The good people of this beautiful little city
on the banks of the Black Warrior had never before seen an organized
command of soldiers, except the volunteer companies that had been
organized here and left the city and vicinity, and their terror and
apprehensions when they learned that a brigade of Texans had arrived
was amusing. They would not have been in the least surprised if we
had looted the town in twenty-four hours after reaching it. As we
remained here several days, and went in and out of the city in a quiet
orderly manner, they soon got over their fears. There were numbers of
refugees here from Huntsville, Florence, and other north Alabama towns,
and some of us found acquaintances, especially General Ross and his
adjutant-general, Davis R. Gurley, who had been in college at Florence.
During our stay the ladies gave several nice parties for the benefit
of the brigade. While we were here a great many fish were being caught
in a trap above the city, and the men would sometimes go at night in
skiffs up to the trap and get the fish. On one occasion Lieutenant
Cavin, Harvey Gregg, and a man named Gray, of Company A, went up, and
getting their boat into a whirlpool, it was capsized and the men thrown
out into the cold water, with overcoats and pistols on. Gregg and Gray
were drowned and Cavin was barely able to get out alive.

After several days we moved some miles south of the city, where forage
was more convenient. In the meantime General Loring, with his division,
had come on from Mississippi. Receiving an invitation through Captain
Gurley to attend a party given by a Florence lady to him and General
Ross, I went up and spent two or three days in the city. While there
I visited my friends in Loring’s division, and also visited the State
Lunatic Asylum, where I found in one of the inmates, Button Robinson,
of Huntsville, a boy I had known for years. I also attended a drill of
the cadets at the university. Friends of the two young men that were
drowned had been here dragging the river for their bodies for some
days, and finally they got one of General Loring’s batteries to fire
blank cartridges into the water, and their bodies rose to the surface,
when they were taken out and buried.

The mountainous country lying north of Tuscaloosa and south of the
Tennessee valley was at this time infested with Tories, deserters,
“bushwhackers,” and all manner of bad characters, and it was reported
that the Tories in Marion County were in open resistance. So on the
morning of the 19th of April Colonel D. W. Jones, of the Ninth, was
sent with detachments of the Sixth and Ninth Texas and a squadron
from the Third, under Captain Lee, amounting in all to about 300 men,
up into that county to operate against these Tories. On the same
morning I was ordered to take fifteen men of Company C and accompany
Lieutenant De Sauls, of the Engineers’ Corps, from Tuscaloosa, up
the Byler road to Decatur, on the Tennessee River, and return by way
of the old Robertson road, leading through Moulton and Jasper to the
starting point, for the purpose of tracing out those roads to complete
a military map then in preparation. Applying to the quartermaster and
commissary for subsistence for my men and horses, I was instructed
to collect “tax in kind.” We moved out in advance of Colonel Jones’
command. Our duties on this expedition necessitated our stopping at
every house on the road to obtain the numbers of the lands,—that is,
the section, township, and the range,—ascertain the quarter section on
which the house stood, learn the names of all creeks, note all cross
roads, etc., etc. I subsisted the men and horses on tax in kind, which
I had to explain to the poor people in the mountains, as they had never
heard of the law. There was not much produced in this country, and
there were so many lawless characters in the mountains that the tax
collectors were afraid to attempt to collect the impost. The people
offered me no resistance, however, and to make the burden as light as
possible I would collect a little from one and a little from another.
I had the horses guarded every night, but really had no trouble. I met
with one misfortune, much deplored by me, and that was the killing of
James Ivey by Luther Grimes, but under circumstances that attached no
blame to Grimes in the eyes of those who saw the occurrence, as Ivey
made the attack and shot Grimes first, inflicting a scalp wound on the
top of his head. I reported the facts when I reached the command, and
there was never any investigation ordered.




CHAPTER XIII

UNDER FIRE FOR ONE HUNDRED DAYS

 Corduroy Breeches—Desolate Country—Conscript Headquarters—An
 “Arrest”—Rome, Ga.—Under Fire for One Hundred Days—Big and Little
 Kenesaw—Lost Mountain—Rain, Rain, Rain—Hazardous Scouting—Green
 Troops—Shelled—Truce—Atlanta—Death of General MacPherson—Ezra
 Church—McCook’s Retreat—Battle Near Newnan—Results.


WE reached General Roddy’s headquarters near Decatur, on Saturday, and
rested until Monday noon. Starting back we passed through Moulton, were
caught in a cold rain, sheltered our horses under a gin-shed, and slept
in the cotton seed without forage or rations. Next morning I instructed
the men to find breakfast for themselves and horses, and meet me at
Mr. Walker’s, down on the road. Taking DeSauls and one or two others,
I went on to Mr. Walker’s, a well-to-do man, who owned a mill, where I
hoped to get breakfast and some rations and forage to carry us across
the mountain. Arriving at Walker’s, he came out to the gate and I
asked him first about forage and rations to take with us, and he said
we could get them. Leaving DeSauls to question him about his land, I
sought the lady of the house to arrange for breakfast. I found her
very willing to feed us, as we were from eastern Texas, and knew of
her father, who lived in Rusk County. Now DeSauls was a resident of
New Orleans, was dressed in a Confederate gray jacket and cap, and
wore a pair of corduroy trousers. Soon after the lady left the front
room to have breakfast prepared, DeSauls came in with a fearful frown
on his face and said to me: “Barron, don’t you think that d——d old
scoundrel called me a Yankee?” “Oh,” said I, “I guess he was joking.”
Just at this time Mr. Walker came up, looking about as mad as DeSauls,
and said, “No, I am not joking. I believe you are _all_ Yankees; look
at them corduroy breeches! There hasn’t been a piece of corduroy in the
South since the war began, without a Yankee wore it.” I treated the
matter as a joke at first, until finding that the old gentleman was in
dead earnest, I undertook to convince him that he was wrong, but found
it no easy matter. Finally I asked him the distance to Huntsville?
Forty miles. Then through my familiarity with the people and country in
and around Huntsville I satisfied him that he was wrong, and then we
were treated kindly by him and his family.

After leaving Tennessee valley we passed through the most desolate
country I ever saw. For more than a day’s march I found but one or two
houses inhabited, and passing through the county seat of Winston County
I was unable to find any person to tell me the road to Jasper. Arriving
at Tuscaloosa I learned that Colonel Jones had returned and that the
brigade had gone to Georgia, and I followed it, passing through Elyton,
Blountsville, Talledega, and Blue Mountain. Camping one night at
Blountsville, I met my friend Bluford M. Faris, formerly of Huntsville.
Arriving at Talledega, I determined to spend one day, Saturday, there
in order to have some shoeing done. This was conscript headquarters
for a large area of country, with a major commanding, and there was
post-quartermaster, commissary, a provost marshal, and all the pomp and
circumstance of a military post. I thought at one time I would have
some trouble, but fortunately I came out all right.

In the first place I camped in a grove of timber convenient to water,
but soon received a message from the commander that I had camped near
his residence, and would I move somewhere else? He did not want men to
depredate upon his premises. I replied that I would make good every
depredation my men committed, and that it was not convenient for me to
move. I was busy for some time in procuring rations, forage, and an
order for horseshoeing, and about the time I had these matters arranged
I got a message requesting me to come to the provost marshal’s office.
On my way I saw my men out in line of battle near the court-house, with
guns loaded and capped. Calling one of them to me, I learned that one
or two of them had gone into the provost’s office and he had cursed
them as d——d stragglers belonging to a straggling brigade, and they
gave him back some rough words, whereupon he had threatened to arrest
them, and they were waiting to be arrested. Coming to the office I
found the man in charge was a deputy. Introducing myself, I inquired
what he wanted. He said some of my men had been to his office and
cursed him, and he had threatened to arrest them and wished to know
if I could control them. I told him I could control them as easily as
I could control that many little children, but if he wished to arrest
any of them, the men were just out there and he might send his men
out to attempt it—if he could. I asked him what provocation he had
offered, and made him acknowledge that he had called them “stragglers.”
I then told him they were not stragglers, but good soldiers and,
besides, they were all gentlemen, and if he had not first insulted them
they would have treated him in a gentlemanly way; that if he wished to
deal with them to proceed, otherwise I would take charge of them. Oh,
no, he did not wish to have any trouble. If I was willing for my men
to take a drink, I had his permission, and the poor fellow was more
than willing to turn the “stragglers” over to me. I called them all
up, accompanied them to a saloon, and told them that those who wished
it could take a drink. We then went about our business without further
trouble.

From Talladega I proceeded to Blue Mountain, intending to go from there
to Rome, but learning that our army was gradually falling back, and
being unable to learn its position or when I could safely calculate on
striking it in the flank, I turned my course southward, passed through
Carrolton, crossed the Chattahoochee River, followed the river up to
Campbellton, recrossed it and found my command fighting near new New
Hope church on the —— day of May, 1864.

       *       *       *       *       *

A detailed account of this campaign would make a large volume, and
of course cannot be undertaken in these brief recollections. Our
division of cavalry reached Rome, Ga., about the middle of May, and
fought the Federal advance the same day, and then for one hundred
days were under fire, with the exception that on two occasions we were
ordered to follow cavalry raids sent to our rear. But for this brief
respite we were under constant fire for this period, each day and
every day. We were assigned a position on the extreme left of General
J. E. Johnston’s army, a position occupied by us during the entire
campaigning, while General Joe Wheeler’s cavalry was on the extreme
right.

To give one day’s duty is practically to give the duties of many other
days. We always fought on foot. Sometimes behind breastworks, sometimes
not, sometimes confronting infantry and sometimes cavalry. We would
be up, have our horses equipped, form a line, detail horse-holders,
and march to the front by daybreak, and take our position on the
fighting line. About nine o’clock our cooked rations, consisting of
one small pone of corn bread and three-eighths of a pound of bacon,
was distributed to each man as we stood or lay in line of battle.
While these rations would not have made a good hearty breakfast, they
had to last us twenty-four hours. The skirmishing might be light or
heavy, we might charge the enemy’s works in our front, or we might be
charged by them. Usually the musket-firing, and often artillery-firing,
would be kept up until night, when leaving a skirmish line at the
front, we would retire to our horses. We often changed position after
night, which involved night marching, always changing in a retrograde
movement. Sometimes the fighting would become terrific, for at times
General Sherman would attack our whole line, miles and miles in length,
and, under General Johnston these attacks were made with heavy loss to
Sherman’s army. Particularly was this the case in front of Big Kenesaw,
Little Kenesaw, and Lost Mountain.

In this campaign the cavalry service was much harder than the infantry
service. When night came on the infantry could fall down and sleep all
night unless they had to change their position, while the cavalry were
burdened with their horses. Marching back to our horses we hustled for
all the forage the Government could furnish us, which was usually about
one quart of shelled corn, and we were compelled to supplement this
with something else, whatever we could find; sometimes it was oats,
often green crab grass from the fields, and later, green fodder or pea
vines. Often this gathering of horse feed lasted until ten or eleven
o’clock, when the horses would be stripped and we could sleep, provided
we were not to move.

Early in June it began to rain, and continued raining day and night
for about twenty-five days, until the country was so boggy that it was
almost impossible to move artillery or cavalry outside of the beaten
roads. Sometimes when the rain was pouring down in torrents the enemy
would be throwing shrapnels at us, and hundreds, perhaps thousands, of
them without exploding, plunged into the soft earth and are doubtless
there yet. During the rainy season there was a great deal of thunder
and lightning, and artillery duels would occur either day or night, and
sometimes it was difficult to distinguish between the thunder of heaven
and the thunder of cannon and bursting shells. On one of those very
rainy days we were in some timber south of a farm, while the enemy was
in the timber north of it, only a few hundred yards distant, and had
been firing at us in a pretty lively manner. General Ross sent for me
and told me to go ascertain how far the enemy’s line extended beyond
our left. I mounted my horse and rode off, conning over in my mind the
perplexing question as to how I was to gain the desired information, as
the enemy in the thick woods could not be seen, and I could think of no
other method than to ride into the field in view of their skirmishers,
draw their fire and move on until the end of their line was apparent.
Accordingly I rode into the open field and moved along some distance
without being shot at; looking across the field near the opposite
fence, I fancied I saw a line of skirmishers just inside of it, and
tried in vain to attract their attention at long range. I rode back and
forth, getting nearer to them all the time, until I got close enough
to discover that the fancied pickets were black stumps, an illusion
occasioned by the fact that a man in dark blue uniform on a rainy day
looks black at a distance of two or three hundred yards. I was then
worse puzzled than at first, for to go back and tell General Ross that
I could not learn anything about their lines would never do. After
a little hesitation I threw down the fence and rode into the thick
undergrowth, expecting every minute to meet a volley of bullets. Going
on some little distance I heard the word “Halt!” I halted, and was soon
gratified to learn that I was confronting a small Confederate scouting
party. Informing them of my object, they proposed showing me what I
was looking for, and I was therefore able to return and report to my
general, sound in body and much easier in mind.

During this long rainy spell we rarely slept two nights on the same
ground and never had a dry blanket to sleep on. On the 3d day of
July we fought General Schofield’s Corps nearly all day, fighting
and falling back (as they were pushing down a road leading to Sand
Town, a crossing on the Chattahoochee River), passing through a line
of breastworks on the crest of a ridge crossing the road at right
angles, erected and occupied by the Georgia Militia, about the middle
of the afternoon. As we passed into the breastworks one of our men was
killed by a long-range ball. The militia had never been under fire
and had never seen a man killed before. We were instructed to form a
line immediately in their rear and rest, and to support them if the
enemy should come; but beyond throwing a few shells over the works and
skirmishing at long range, we had no farther trouble with the enemy
that afternoon. Our men were very much amused at the sayings and doings
of the militia at this time, but subsequently the Georgia militia were
commanded by General G. W. Smith, an experienced officer, and after
this they acted very gallantly in battle. They retired at night and we,
leaving skirmishers in the works, went into camp. The next morning the
Third Texas went into these breastworks, and while Captain Germany and
myself were out in front deploying skirmishers he was severely wounded
just below the knee, and was unfit for duty for several months.

General Schofield’s Corps advanced in solid line of battle, and were
allowed to take the works while we fell back a short distance into
the timber and heard them give three cheers for Abe Lincoln, three
cheers for General Sherman and three cheers for General Schofield! We
then fought them again back through the timber until we came to a lane
leading between farms across a little valley nearly a mile wide. On
the hill beyond was our infantry in breastworks, and just beyond the
breastworks was the narrow river bottom and Sand Town crossing, and
down in this little bottom were our horses. As we entered the lane the
enemy ran a battery up to the edge of the timber and shelled us every
step of the way as we pulled through the long lane, tired and dusty,
about noon, that hot 4th of July. Passing through the breastworks we
mounted our horses in a shower of shells and crossed the river. Here we
rested for twenty-four hours.

I went into Atlanta on the morning of the 5th, and skirmishing across
the river again began in the afternoon. Here for some days we had a
comparatively easy time, only picketing and skirmishing across the
river. As this seemed void of results, the men on the north and south
side of the river would agree upon a truce and go in bathing together.
They would discuss the pending race for President between Lincoln
and McClellan. The Confederates would trade tobacco for molasses and
exchange newspapers, and when the truce was at an end each side would
resume its respective position, and the firing would be renewed.

There continued to be more or less fighting north of the river until
July 9, when General Johnston fell back into the defenses immediately
in front of Atlanta. General Sherman’s army also crossed the river and
confronted General Johnston’s lines near the city. On or about the 19th
General Johnston was superseded by General John B. Hood, and then began
a series of hard battles around Atlanta, which were continued on the
20th, 21st, 22d, and other days, in which the losses on both sides were
heavy. The Federal general, James B. MacPherson, was killed on the 22d.
On the 28th was fought the battle of Ezra Church. On this day Companies
C and D of the Third Texas were on picket in front of our command, and
in the afternoon were driven back by overwhelming numbers, John B.
Armstrong being slightly wounded and R. H. Henden very severely wounded.

We were soon met with orders to mount and move out to Owl Rock church
on the Campbellton and Atlanta road, to assist Colonel Harrison, who
was understood to be contending with General McCook’s division of
cavalry. General McCook had crossed the river near Rivertown, not far
from Campbellton, for the purpose of raiding in our rear, and General
Stoneman, with another division, had simultaneously moved out around
the right wing of our army. The purpose was for these two commands to
co-operate and destroy the railroad in our rear. General Wheeler’s
cavalry was sent after Stoneman. As General McCook had at least twelve
hours the start of us we were unable to overtake him until afternoon
of the next day. In the meantime, before daylight, he struck the wagon
train belonging to our division, burned ninety-two wagons and captured
the teamsters, blacksmiths, the chaplain of the Third Texas, and the
inevitable squad that managed under all circumstances to stay with the
train. We came up with McCook’s command near Lovejoy Station, which
is on the railroad thirty miles below Atlanta. We learned with joy
that General Wheeler had overtaken Stoneman, captured him and a large
portion of his command, and was able to come with a portion of his
troops to assist in the operations against McCook. McCook now abandoned
all effort to destroy railroad property, and began a retreat in order
to get back into the Federal lines. We followed him until night when,
as we had been in our saddles twenty-eight hours, we stopped, fed on
green corn and rested a few hours. Some time before daylight next
morning we mounted and moved on briskly. Early in the day we came close
upon the enemy’s rear and pressed them all day, during which time we
passed scores of their horses, which from sheer exhaustion had been
abandoned. Many of our horses, too, had become so jaded that they were
unable to keep up.

[Illustration: LEONIDAS CARTWRIGHT

Company E, Third Texas Cavalry; Member of Taylor’s Scouts, Ross’
Brigade]

About the middle of the afternoon, when near Newnan, the Federals
stopped to give us battle. They had chosen a position in a dense skirt
of timber back of some farms near the Chattahoochee River bottom, and
here followed a battle which I could not describe if I would. I can
only tell what the Third Texas did and sum up the general result. We
were moved rapidly into the timber and ordered to dismount to fight. As
many of our men were behind, instead of detailing the usual number of
horse-holders, we tied the horses, leaving two men of the company to
watch them. Almost immediately we were ordered into line, and before we
could be properly formed were ordered to charge, through an undergrowth
so dense that we could only see a few paces in any direction. As I was
moving to my place in line I passed John Watkins, who was to remain
with the horses, and on a sudden impulse I snatched his Sharpe’s
carbine and a half dozen cartridges. On we went in the charge, whooping
and running, stooping and creeping, as best we could through the
tangled brush. I had seen no enemy in our front, but supposed they
must be in the brush or beyond it. Lieutenant Sim Terrell, of Company
F, and myself had got in advance of the regiment, as it was impossible
to maintain a line in the brush, Terrell only a few paces to my right.
Terrell was an ideal soldier, courageous, cool, and self-possessed in
battle. Seeing him stop I did likewise, casting my eyes to the front,
and there, less than twenty-five yards from me, stood a fine specimen
of a Federal soldier, behind a black jack tree, some fifteen inches in
diameter, with his seven-shooting Spencer rifle resting against the
tree, coolly and deliberately taking aim at me. Only his face, right
shoulder, and part of his right breast were exposed. I could see his
eyes and his features plainly, and have always thought that I looked at
least two feet down his gun barrel. As quick as thought I threw up the
carbine and fired at his face. He fired almost at the same instant and
missed me. Of course I missed him, as I expected I would, but my shot
had the desired effect of diverting his aim and it evidently saved my
life.

Directly in front of Terrell was another man, whom Terrell shot in the
arm with his pistol. The Federals both turned around and were in the
act of retreating when two or three of Terrell’s men came up and in
less time than it takes to tell it two dead bodies lay face downwards
where, a moment before, two brave soldiers had stood. I walked up to
the one who had confronted me, examined his gun, and found he had fired
his last cartridge at me. Somehow I could not feel glad to see these
two brave fellows killed. Their whole line had fallen back, demoralized
by the racket we had made, while these two had bravely stood at their
posts. I have often wondered what became of their remains, lying away
out in the brush thicket, as it was not likely that their comrades ever
looked after them. And did their friends and kindred at home ever learn
their fate?

We moved forward in pursuit of the line of dismounted men we had
charged, and came in sight of them only to see them retreating across
a field. Returning to our horses we saw them stampeding, as Colonel
Jim Brownlow, with his regiment of East Tennesseans, had gotten among
them, appropriated a few of the best ones, stampeded some, while the
rest remained as we had left them. We charged and drove them away from
the horses and they charged us three times in succession in return,
but each time were repulsed, though in these charges one or two of the
best horses in the regiment were killed under Federal riders. These
men were, however, only making a desperate effort to escape, and were
endeavoring to break through our lines for that purpose, as by this
time General McCook’s command was surrounded and he had told his
officers to get out the best they could. In consequence his army had
become demoralized and badly scattered in their effort to escape. The
prisoners they had captured, their ambulances, and all heavy baggage
were abandoned, everything forgotten except the desire to return to
their own lines. General Stoneman had started out with 5000 men and
General E. M. McCook had 4000. Their object was to meet at Lovejoy
Station, on the Macon Railroad, destroy the road, proceed to Macon and
Andersonville and release the Federal prisoners confined at those two
places. This engagement lasted about two hours, at the end of which we
were badly mixed and scattered in the brush, many of the Confederates
as well as Federals not knowing where their commands were.

General Ross summed up the success of his brigade on this expedition
as follows: Captured, 587, including two brigade commanders, with
their staffs; colors of the Eighth Iowa and Second Indiana; eleven
ambulances, and two pieces of artillery. General Wheeler’s men also
captured many prisoners. Our loss on the expedition was 5 killed and
27 wounded. Among the wounded I remember the gallant Lieutenant Tom
Towles, of the Third. The command now returned to its position in
General Hood’s line of battle, the prisoners being sent to Newnan,
while I was ordered to take a sufficient guard to take care of them
until transportation could be procured to send them to Andersonville.
I had about 1250 enlisted men and 35 officers, who were kept here for
several days. I confined them in a large brick warehouse, separating
the officers from the privates by putting the officers in two rooms
used for offices at the warehouse. I made them as comfortable as I
could, and fed them well. I would turn the officers out every day into
the front porch or vestibule of the warehouse, where they could get
fresh air. They were quite a lively lot of fellows, except one old man,
Colonel Harrison, I believe, of the Eighth Iowa. They appreciated my
kindness and made me quite a number of small presents when the time
came for them to leave.

This Newnan affair occurred July 30, 1864. General Hood had apparently
grown tired of assaulting the lines in our front, and resumed the
defensive. Our duties, until the 18th of August, were about the same
as they had been formerly—heavy picketing and daily skirmishing. The
casualties, however, were continually depleting our ranks: the dead
were wrapped in their blankets and buried; the badly wounded sent to
the hospitals in Atlanta, while the slightly wounded were sent off
to take care of themselves; in other words, were given an indefinite
furlough to go where they pleased, so that a slight wound became a boon
greatly to be prized. Many returned to Mississippi to be cared for by
some friend or acquaintance, while some remained in Georgia.




CHAPTER XIV

KILPATRICK’S RAID

 Kilpatrick’s Raid—Attack on Kilpatrick—Lee’s Mill—Lovejoy’s
 Station—The Brigade Demoralized—I Surrender—Playing ’Possum—I
 Escape—The Brigade Reassembles—Casualties.


ON the night of August 18 Ross’ brigade was bivouacked a short distance
east of the road leading from Sand Town, on the Chattahoochee River, to
Fairburn, on the West Point Railroad, eighteen miles west of Atlanta,
thence to Jonesboro, on the Macon Railroad, some twenty miles south of
Atlanta. This latter was the only railroad we then had which was of any
material value to us, and we knew that General Sherman was anxious to
destroy it, as an unsuccessful effort in that direction had been made
only a few days previous.

We had a strong picket on the Sand Town and Fairburn road, and, as all
was quiet in front, we “laid us down to sleep,” and, perchance, to
dream—of home, of the independence of the Confederate States, and all
that was most dear to us. It was one of those times of fair promises,
to the weary soldier, of a solid night’s rest, so often and so rudely
broken. Scarcely had we straightened out our weary limbs and folded
our arms to sleep, when we were aroused by the shrill notes of the
bugle sounding “boots and saddles.” Our pickets were being driven in
rapidly, and before we were in our saddles General Judson Kilpatrick,
with a force of five thousand cavalry, with artillery, ambulances,
pack mules and all else that goes to constitute a first-class cavalry
raiding force, had passed our flank and was moving steadily down the
Fairburn road. The Third Texas were directed to move out first and gain
their front, to be followed by the other regiments of the brigade.

For the remainder of the night we moved as best we could down such
roads as we could find parallel to Kilpatrick’s line of march—so near,
in fact, that we could distinctly hear the clatter of their horses’
hoofs, the rumbling of their artillery, and the familiar rattle of
sabers and canteens. Soon after daylight we came in sight of his column
crossing the railroad at Fairburn, charged into it and cut it in two
for the time. They halted, formed a line of battle, and we detained
them in skirmishing until we managed to effect our object,—the gaining
their front,—and during the day, until late in the afternoon, detained
them as much as possible on their march.

Below Fairburn Kilpatrick’s main column took the Jonesboro road, while
a small column took the road leading to Fayetteville, a town about ten
miles west of Jonesboro. Ross’ brigade, continuing in front of the
main column and that of Armstrong, followed the Fayetteville road.
Just before night we passed through Jonesboro, which is ten or twelve
miles from Fairburn, and allowed Kilpatrick to occupy the town for the
night. Ross’ brigade occupied a position south of the town near the
railroad, while Armstrong was west; General Ferguson, whose brigade
was numerically stronger than either of the others, being directed to
go out on a road leading east. As we afterwards learned, they failed
to find their road, or got lost, and, so far as I remember, were not
heard from for a day or two. Thus posted, or intended to be posted, the
understanding and agreement was that we should make a triangular attack
on Kilpatrick at daylight the next morning.

Our brigade moved on time and marched into the town, only to learn
that, with the exception of a few stragglers who had overslept
themselves, not a Federal soldier was to be found. The brigade followed
them eastwardly from Jonesboro, and in due time came up with their
rear-guard at breakfast behind some railworks near Lee’s Mill, and from
this time until along in the afternoon we had a pretty warm time with
their rear. They were moving on a road that intersects the McDonough
and Lovejoy road, and when they struck this road they turned in the
direction of Lovejoy Station.

We finally came up with the main force ensconced behind some heavy
railworks on a hill near a farmhouse a short distance east of the
station. We had to approach them, after leaving the timber, through
a lane probably three-quarters of a mile in length. The farm was
mostly uncultivated, and had been divided into three fields by two
cross-fences, built of rails running at right angles with the lane,
and these were thrown right and left to admit of the free passage of
cavalry. In the eastern cross fence, however, a length some twenty or
thirty yards, and but a few rails high, was left standing, when a ditch
or ravine running along on the west side was too deep to be safely
crossed by cavalry. In this lane the command dismounted, leaving the
horses in the hands of holders, and deployed in line in the open field,
to the left or south side of the lane, and a section of Croft’s Georgia
battery was placed on an elevation to the right of the lane.

I had been sent back to Lee’s Mill to hurry up a detail left to bury
one of our dead, so was behind when the line was formed. Having, on
the day we fought McCook, picked up a mule for my boy Jake to ride, I
now had him leading my horse to rest his back, while I rode the mule.
I rode up and gave my rein to a horse-holder, and was hurrying on to
join the line when they charged the railworks, and when I got up with
them they had begun to fall back. The brigade, not having more than
four hundred men for duty, was little more than a skirmish line. During
the day General Hood had managed to place General Reynolds’ Arkansas
brigade at Lovejoy Station, which fact Kilpatrick had discovered,
and while we were showing our weakness in an open field on one side,
General Reynolds managed to keep his men under cover of timber on the
other. Thus Kilpatrick found himself between an unknown infantry force
in front and a skirmish-line of dismounted cavalry and a section of
artillery in his rear. He concluded to get out of this situation—and
he succeeded. Being repulsed in the charge on the railworks, by a
heavy fire of artillery and small arms, we fell back and re-formed our
line behind the first cross fence. Three regiments of the enemy then
rapidly moved out from behind their works, the Fourth United States,
Fourth Michigan, and Seventh Pennsylvania, and charged with sabers,
in columns of fours, the three columns abreast. As they came on us at
a sweeping gallop, with their bright sabers glittering, it was a grand
display. And Ross’ brigade was there and then literally run over,
trampled under foot, and, apparently annihilated. Just before the
charge they had shelled our horses in the lane, which, consequently,
had been moved back into the timber.

What could we do under the circumstances? If we had had time to hold
a council of war and had deliberated over the matter ever so long,
we would probably have acted just as we did; that is, acted upon the
instinct of self-preservation, rather than upon judgment. No order
was heard; not a word spoken; every officer and every man took in
the whole situation at a glance: no one asked or gave advice: no one
waited for orders. The line was maintained intact for a few seconds,
the men emptying their pieces at the heads of the columns. This
created a momentary flutter without checking their speed, and on they
came in fine style. There was no time for reloading, and every one
instinctively started for the horses a mile in the rear, a half mile
of open field behind us, and all of us much fatigued with the active
duties performed on the sultry summer day. Being very much fatigued
myself and never being fleet of foot, I outran only two men in the
brigade, Lieutenant W. H. Carr, of Company C, and W. S. Coleman, of
Company A, of the Third Texas, who were both captured, and I kept up
with only two others, Captain Noble and Lieutenant Soap, also of the
Third Texas. We three came to the ravine already described, at the same
instant. Soap dropped into it, Noble jumped over and squatted in the
sage grass in the corner of the fence. I instantly leaped the ravine
and the rail fence, and had gone perhaps ten or fifteen steps when the
clatter of horses’ hoofs became painfully distinct, and “Surrender,
sir!” rang in my ear like thunder.

Now, I had had no thought of the necessity of surrendering, as I had
fondly hoped and believed I would escape. Halting, I looked up to
ascertain whether these words were addressed to me, and instantly
discovered that the column directly in my wake was dividing, two and
two, to cross the ravine, coming together again just in front of me,
so that I was completely surrounded. This _was_ an emergency. As I
looked up my eyes met those of a stalwart rider as he stood up in his
stirrups, his drawn saber glittering just over my head; and, as I
hesitated, he added in a kind tone: “That’s all I ask of you, sir.” I
had a rifle in my hand which had belonged to one of our men who had
been killed near me during the day. Without speaking a word, I dropped
this on the ground in token of my assent. “All right,” said he, as he
spurred his horse to overtake some of the other men.

Just at this time our artillery began throwing shells across the
charging columns, and the first one exploded immediately above our
heads, the pieces falling promiscuously around in my neighborhood,
creating some consternation in their ranks. Taking advantage of this,
I placed my left hand above my hip, as if struck, and fell as long a
fall as I could towards the center of the little space between the
columns, imitating as best I could the action of a mortally wounded
man,—carefully falling on my right side to hide my pistol, which I
still had on. Here I lay, as dead to all outward appearances as any
soldier that fell during the war, and remained in this position without
moving a muscle, until the field was clear of all of Kilpatrick’s
men who were able to leave it. To play the rôle of a dead man for a
couple of hours and then make my escape may sound like a joke to the
inexperienced, and it was really a practical joke on the raiders;
but to me, to lie thus exposed on the bare ground, with a column of
hostile cavalry passing on either side all the time, and so near me
that I could distinctly hear any ordinary conversation, was far from
enjoyable. I am no stranger to the hardships of a soldier’s life; I
have endured the coldest weather with scant clothing, marched day after
day and night after night without food or sleep; have been exposed
to cold, hunger, inclement weather and fatigue until the power of
endurance was well-nigh exhausted, but never did I find anything quite
so tedious and trying as playing dead. I had no idea of time, except
that I knew that I had not lain there all night. The first shell our
men threw after I fell came near killing me, as a large piece plowed
up the ground near enough to my back to throw dirt all over me. Their
ammunition, however, was soon exhausted, the guns abandoned, and that
danger at an end.

As things grew more quiet the awful fear seized me that my ruse would
be discovered and I be abused for my deception, and driven up and
carried to prison. This fear haunted me until the last. Now, to add
to the discomfort of my situation, it began to rain, and never in my
life had I felt such a rain. When in my fall I struck the ground my
hat had dropped off, and this terrible rain beat down in my face until
the flesh was sore. But to move an arm or leg, or to turn my face over
for protection was to give my case completely away, and involved,
as I felt, the humiliation of a prison life; than which nothing in
the bounds of probability in my life as a Confederate soldier was so
horrible, in which there was but one grain of consolation, and that was
that I would see my brother and other friends who had been on Johnson’s
Island for some months.

The last danger encountered was when some dismounted men came near
driving some pack mules over me. Finally everything became so quiet
that I ventured to raise my head, very slowly and cautiously at first,
and as not a man could be seen I finally rose to my feet. Walking up to
a wounded Pennsylvania cavalryman I held a short conversation with him.
Surveying the now deserted field, so lately the scene of such activity,
and supposing as I did that Ross’ brigade as an organization was broken
up and destroyed, I was much distressed. I was left alone and afoot,
and never expected to see my horse or mule any more, which in fact I
never did, as Kilpatrick’s cavalry, after charging through the field,
had turned into the road and stampeded our horses.

I now started out over the field in the hope of picking up enough
plunder to fit myself for service in some portion of the army. In
this I succeeded beyond my expectation, as I found a pretty good,
completely rigged horse, only slightly wounded, and a pack-mule with
pack intact, and I soon loaded the mule well with saddles, bridles,
halters, blankets, and oil cloths. Among other things I picked up a
Sharp’s carbine, which I recognized as belonging to a messmate. While I
was casting about in my mind as to what command I would join, I heard
the brigade bugle sounding the assembly! Sweeter music never was heard
by me. Mounting my newly-acquired horse and leading my pack-mule, I
proceeded in the direction from which the bugle notes came, and on
the highest elevation in the field, on the opposite side of the lane,
I found General Ross and the bugler. I told my experience, and heard
our gallant brigadier’s laughable story of his escape. I sat on my
new horse and looked over the field as the bugle continued to sound
the assembly occasionally, and was rejoiced to see so many of our men
straggling in from different directions, coming apparently out of the
ground, some of them bringing up prisoners, one of whom was so drunk
that he didn’t know he was a prisoner until the next morning.

Near night we went into camp with the remnant collected, and the men
continued coming in during the night and during all the next day. To
say that we were crestfallen and heartily ashamed of being run over
is to put it mildly; but we were not so badly damaged, after all. The
horse-holders, when the horses stampeded, had turned as many as they
could out of the road and saved them. But as for me, I had suffered
almost a total loss, including the fine sword that John B. Long had
presented me at Thompson’s Station, and which I had tied on my saddle.
My faithful Jake came in next morning, and although he could not save
my horse, he had saved himself, his little McCook mule and some of my
soldier clothes. My pack-mule and surplus rigging I now distributed
among those who seemed to need them most.

Including officers, we had eighty-four or eighty-five men captured, and
only sixteen or eighteen of these were carried to Northern prisons.
Among them were seven officers, including my friend Captain Noble, who
was carried to Johnson’s Island, and messed with my brother until the
close of the war. Captain Noble had an eye for resemblances. When he
first saw my brother he walked up to him and said, “I never saw you
before, but I will bet your name is Barron, and I know your brother
well.” The other prisoners who escaped that night and returned to us
next day included my friend Lieutenant Soap, who brought in a prisoner,
and Luther Grimes, owner of the Sharp’s carbine, already mentioned, who
had an ugly saber wound in the head. I remember only two men of the
Third Texas who were killed during the day—William Kellum of Company
C, near Lee’s Mill; and John Hendricks, of Company B, in the charge on
the railworks. These two men had managed to keep on details from one
to two years, being brought to the front under orders to cut down all
details to increase the fighting strength, and they were both killed on
the field the first day they were under the enemy’s fire.

Among the wounded was Captain S. S. Johnson, of Company K, Third Texas,
gunshot wound, while a number of the men were pretty badly hacked with
sabers. Next day General Ross went up to General Hood’s headquarters
and said to him: “General, I got my brigade run over yesterday.”
General Hood replied, “General Ross, you have lost nothing by that,
sir. If others who should have been there had been near enough to the
enemy to be run over, your men would not have been run over.” This
greatly relieved our feelings, and the matter became only an incident
of the campaign, and on the 22d day of August Ross’ brigade was back in
its position ready for duty.




CHAPTER XV

UNION SOLDIER’S ACCOUNT OF KILPATRICK’S RAID

 Kilpatrick’s Raid—Ordered to the Front—Enemy’s Artillery
 Silenced—We Destroy the Railroad—Hot Work at the Railroad—Plan of
 Our Formation—Stampeding the Horses—The Enemy Charges—Sleeping on
 Horseback—Swimming the River—Camped at Last.


AFTER the war ended I made a friend of Robert M. Wilson of Illinois,
who served in the Fourth United States Cavalry, and he kindly wrote out
and sent me his account of this raid, and by way of parenthesis I here
insert it, as it may be of interest.

       *       *       *       *       *

“The following is an account of the Kilpatrick raid, made in
August, 1864, written partly from memory and partly from a letter
written August 28, 1864, by Captain Robert Burns, acting assistant
adjutant-general of the First Brigade, Second Cavalry Division, I
acting as orderly for him part of the time on the raid. I was detailed
at brigade headquarters as a scout during the Atlanta campaign and
until General Wilson took our regiment as his escort. On the 17th of
August, 1864, at one o’clock, A. M., ours and Colonel Long’s Brigade
(the First and Second), of Second Cavalry Division, all under the
command of Colonel Minty, left our camp on Peach Tree Creek, on the
left of our army northeast of Atlanta, at seven o’clock next morning;
reported to General Kilpatrick at Sand Town on the right of our army,
having during the night passed from one end or flank of our army to
the other. We remained at Sand Town until sundown of the 18th, when we
started out to cut the enemy’s communications south of Atlanta. Two
other expeditions, Stoneman’s and McCook’s, well equipped, before this
had been ruined in attempting the same thing. We, however, imagined
we were made of sterner stuff, and started off in good spirits. The
command consisted of Third Cavalry Division (Kilpatrick’s), under
Colonel Murray, about 2700 men, and two brigades of our division (the
Second), under command of Colonel Minty, about 2700 men also—the whole
commanded by Kilpatrick (or Kill Cavalry, as we always called him).

“Away we went, Third Division in advance. The night was a beautiful
moonlight one, and we would have enjoyed it more if we had not been up
all the night preceding. We did not go more than three miles before we
ran into the enemy’s pickets, when we had to go more slowly, driving
them before us, dismounting to feel the woods on both sides, etc., etc.
Consequently it was morning when we reached the Atlanta & West Point
Railroad near Fairburn. At Red Oak we had torn up about half a mile of
the track when the rear battalion of Seventh Pennsylvania Cavalry was
suddenly attacked by a force of dismounted men and artillery. Just back
of where our column was struck were the ambulances, the darkies leading
officers’ horses, pack-mules, etc., etc. Several shells dropped among
them, and they thought the kingdom had come, sure. The Fourth United
States Cavalry, being in rear of the ambulances, soon drove the enemy
away. All this time the head of the column kept moving on, as time was
precious and we could not stop for slight scrimmages.

“General Kilpatrick, not being satisfied with the progress made by his
advance, ordered our brigades to take the front and Murray the rear.
(We had learned before starting that it was expected we, our division,
would do all the fighting.) Long’s brigade, in advance, had not gone
more than half a mile when he found a strong force of the enemy in his
front. He had to dismount his men to drive the enemy from the rail
barricades they had made, but he would find them in the same position
half a mile farther on. Long kept his men dismounted, having number
four lead the horses. I was close up with the advance with Colonel
Minty. We drove the enemy steadily but slowly back, until we came to
the valley through which Flint River runs, when they were reinforced
by Ferguson’s brigade of cavalry (we had been fighting Ross’ brigade
thus far), and opened on us sharply with artillery when we commenced
descending the hill, the shells and bullets rattling lively around us.
Two guns of our battery—we had with us four guns of Chicago Board of
Trade which belonged to our division, and Murray had with him four guns
of the Eleventh Wisconsin Battery—were soon brought up and succeeded
in silencing the enemy’s artillery, the first striking an artilleryman
and blowing him to pieces. Our division were then all dismounted and
moved forward at the double-quick under fire of our eight guns, and
drove the enemy clear through Jonesboro, crossing the bridge on the
stringer. Our brigade (First) had the advance, being nearly all
deployed as skirmishers. We then seized the railroad for which we had
started, and we commenced to smash things generally. The track was torn
up for about two miles, the depot and public buildings burned, and
destruction was let loose. While this was going on the enemy returned
to the attack, and our division was sent to meet them, the Third
Division turning the rails. The enemy were driven southward and we were
pushed that way, to shove them farther back. Before was darkness and
death, behind the burning buildings and smoking ruins, and now it also
began to thunder, lightning, and pour down rain in torrents. All this
time General Kilpatrick had one of his bands behind us playing ‘Yankee
Doodle’ and other patriotic airs. It appeared as if defeat was coming,
for we could hear the whistle of the cars in front of us and knew that
the enemy were being reinforced from below. We then determined to flank
them, so about midnight our brigade, followed by the Third Division,
moved in a southeasterly direction about seven miles, Long’s brigade
being left to cover the rear.

“When seven miles out we stopped to feed, close to 6 A. M., about a
mile from Murray’s Division, but were little protected, as both hills
were cleared and the valley had but few trees in it. Our brigade was
ordered to mount and move forward when Colonel Long’s brigade was
attacked by the cavalry that followed us from Jonesboro. The enemy’s
forces consisted of the brigades of Ross, Ferguson, and Armstrong,
about 4500 men. Our brigade moved on and turned sharply to the right,
in a southwesterly direction, to strike the railroad again about eight
miles below Jonesboro. I stayed on the hill with Captain Burns, for a
short time, to witness the skirmishing between Long and the enemy. From
where we were all our maneuvers could be distinctly seen, as also the
enemy, who would advance upon our men, only to be driven back. It was
a beautiful sight. ‘By Heaven, it was a noble sight to see—by one who
had no friend or brother there.’

“Captain Burns, myself following, now galloped off to overtake our
brigade, which we soon did. Colonel Long had orders to follow as
quickly as possible, Colonel Murray to come after. We (our brigade)
pushed for Lovejoy Station. When within a mile and a half of the
railroad we halted for the rest of the command to join us. About a mile
from the railroad the road forks, the two prongs striking the railroad
about a half a mile apart. A few hundred feet in front of and parallel
to the railroad another road ran. The Fourth Michigan was sent by the
right-hand road to the railroad, which it reached without any trouble;
the rest of the brigade took the left-hand prong of the road, having
for the last mile or two been driving off about a dozen cavalrymen. As
we neared the railroad the firing became hotter and hotter. The Seventh
Pennsylvania Cavalry was dismounted and sent forward to the woods—one
battalion, four companies, of it had been advance guard. Hotter grew
the firing, and the horses of the advance who had dismounted came
hurrying back. The Fourth United States (Regulars) were then dismounted
and sent in. Captain Burns was sent back to hurry up two of Long’s
regiments, but before this could be done the Seventh Pennsylvania
and Fourth Regulars were driven from the woods in some confusion. We
had run on a brigade of infantry who were lying in the woods behind
barricades at the side of the railroad, and a force of the enemy was
also pushed in on the right, where the Fourth Michigan were at work.
Long’s brigade was put in position to check the advancing Confederates,
and our battery brought up, as the woods in front and on our left
were swarming with the enemy, and the Fourth Regulars and Seventh
Pennsylvania were placed in support of the battery. Poor fellows, they
were badly cut up!

“One of Long’s regiments was formed near the fork of the road, the
Fourth Michigan was being placed there, and the enemy tried again
and again to take our battery. It fought magnificently, and the guns
were made to radiate in all directions and did splendid work, our men
supporting them well. One of the guns, by the rebound, had broken its
trail off short, so that it could not be drawn from the field. When the
rest of the pieces had been withdrawn Colonel Minty called for men to
draw off the piece by hand. Captain Burns took about twenty men of the
Fourth Michigan Cavalry down and helped pull it off, though the enemy
were very close to us. While this was taking place, heavy firing was
heard in our rear, for the cavalry with which we had been fighting had
followed us, and had us in a pretty tight box, as follows: a brigade of
infantry in our front and partly on our left; a division moving on our
right and but a short distance off; three brigades of cavalry in our
rear. Stoneman and McCook threw up the sponge under like circumstances.
We decided we must leave the railroad alone, and crush the enemy’s
cavalry, and consequently withdrew from fighting the infantry, who now
became very quiet, probably expecting to soon take us all in.

“The command was faced to the rear as follows: Our brigade was formed
on the right hand side of the road, each regiment in columns of fours
(four men abreast); the Fourth Regulars on the left; Fourth Michigan
center; Seventh Pennsylvania on the right, Long’s brigade formed in
close columns with regimental front, that is, each regiment formed in
line, the men side by side, boot to boot, thus:

  MINTY’S BRIGADE

  FOURTH    FOURTH    SEVENTH
   U. S.     MICH.      PENN.

  o o o o   o o o o    o o o o
  o o o o   o o o o    o o o o
  o o o o   o o o o    o o o o
  o o o o   o o o o    o o o o
  o o o o   o o o o    o o o o


  LONG’S BRIGADE

  FIRST OHIO

  o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

  THIRD OHIO

  o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

   OHIO

  o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

“The last regiment was deployed in rear of the others so as to take in
a large space of ground and pick up prisoners and trophies. You see,
we were to break through the enemy, smashing them, and Long was to
sweep over the ground and pick them up. This was soon determined on,
for there was no time to lose. A few of our men were in front of us,
dismounted, skirmishing with the enemy, and they were told to throw
down the fence where they were. The enemy all this time was keeping
them engaged as much as possible, while a large force of them were
building rail barricades. We were formed just below the brow of the
hill, skirmishers on the crest of it, the enemy’s artillery to our left
and front playing over us, and bullets and shells flying thick over our
heads. We drew saber, trotted until we came to the crest of the hill
and then started at a gallop. Down the hill we went, the enemy turning
canister upon us, while the bullets whistled fiercely, and the battery
away on our right threw shells. We leaped fences, ditches, barricades,
and were among them, the artillery being very hot at this time. You
could almost feel the balls as they passed by. The Fourth Michigan and
Seventh Pennsylvania went straight forward to the woods, the field over
which they passed being at least a half a mile wide, with three fences,
one partially built barricade, and a number of ditches and gullies,
some very wide and deep. Of course many of the men were dismounted, and
upon reaching the woods they (our men) could not move fast, and they
turned to the right and joined the main column in the road about one
and a half miles from the start. The Fourth Regulars (my regiment, as
I joined it when the charge was ordered) could not keep parallel with
the rest of the brigade on account of high fences in our front, and
seeing an opening in the fence we turned to the left, and struck out on
the main road, coming upon the enemy in the road near their battery,
and sending them flying. We were soon among the led horses of the
dismounted men in their rear and among the ambulances, and a perfect
stampede took place, riderless horses and ambulances being scattered in
all directions, we in the midst of them, shooting and cutting madly.
A part of our regiment, with some of the Fourth Michigan and Seventh
Pennsylvania, dashed at the battery, drove the men from the pieces, and
captured three of the guns. Private William Bailey, a young Tennessean
from near McMinnville, who belonged to Fourth Michigan Cavalry (he was
associated with me at headquarters as scout), shot the captain. We
brought away the guns, and the charge continued for about two miles,
when we halted for the command to close up. Colonel Long’s brigade did
not charge in line as it was intended, for, finding that the ground was
impracticable, it formed in column and followed the Fourth Regulars.
Colonel Murray’s command, instead of sweeping all to the left, as we
supposed they would do, turned to the right and followed Long. Had
Murray done what was expected, both sides of the road would have been
cleaned out.

“Immediately after the charge and while we were pushing through the
woods it commenced to rain, and poured in torrents. The command was
now started for McDonough, but before the whole of it had moved off,
Long’s brigade, which had been moved to cover the rear, was fiercely
attacked by the infantry of the enemy. Colonel Long fought them for
about two hours, when, his ammunition giving out, he was obliged to
retire. (Here Long was wounded twice.) The Fourth Michigan and Seventh
Pennsylvania were formed in the rear, Long behind rail barricades which
had been hastily thrown up. The Fourth United States Regulars being
out of ammunition were sent on to McDonough, where the Ninety-second
Illinois Mounted Infantry divided ammunition with some of us near this
town. One of Long’s regiments assisted the Fourth Michigan and Seventh
Pennsylvania. Long passed his men through when the enemy came on us.
Then we had it hot and heavy, the enemy charging several times, but
were repulsed. All this fighting here was done dismounted, and was for
the purpose of holding back the enemy until our main column could get
out of the way. Our battery (three pieces) during this fight burst
one gun and wedged another, getting a shell part way down it, so it
could not be moved either way, so we had one gun only, but that was
used with effect, the enemy meanwhile playing their artillery into our
columns all along the road. You see our two brigades had to do all the
fighting, lead the charge, and cover the retreat. As soon as our men
had passed on about a mile, our rear-guard followed, and we were not
molested again. We pushed slowly on to McDonough, crossed Walnut Creek,
and near morning lay down in the mud for sleep. How tired we were I
cannot tell, and men would tumble prone from their horses, and it was
next to impossible to awaken them. Frequently two or three men would
fall asleep upon their horses, who would stop, and the whole column
behind them would naturally do the same, too, supposing that there
was obstruction ahead. Hundreds of men were sometimes asleep in that
way upon their horses in the mud for an hour or so at a time. During
this time I fell asleep for about two hours, and awoke drenched to the
skin, for it was raining, and fearfully dark and very disagreeable.
About two o’clock we found a place to stop. I never before that knew
what fatigue meant, for I had not slept a wink for the nights of the
17th, 18th, 19th, and 20th until the morning (about 2 A. M.) of the
21st, except what I had when riding along. We had had but three meals,
and but little time to eat them, had fought seven pretty hard fights,
besides skirmishing, etc., etc. At daybreak the next morning we started
on again. At Cotton River the bridge was gone, the stream much swollen
by rain, so that it could not be forded and the horses were obliged to
swim it. As the current was very swift, we had a terrible time crossing
it. We, our brigade, lost one man and about sixty horses drowned here,
and nearly all our pack-mules also. We could not get the wagon with the
two disabled guns across at all, and rumor said they were buried here,
and the site marked as the graves of two soldiers of the Fourth United
States Cavalry. It was terrible to see the poor wounded carried across,
some fastened on horses, while others were taken over in ambulances.
We all finally got over, but if the enemy had pushed us here most of
the command would have been captured. We were now nearly all out of
ammunition, and many an anxious glance I gave to the rear, it being a
relief when all were over. We then crossed South River bridge, burning
all the bridges for ten miles each side, and camped that night at
Lithonia. The next day we returned to our camp at Peach Tree Creek,
having made a complete circuit of the two armies of Hood and Sherman.
We did not do all we hoped we could when we started, but _we did all we
could_. Notwithstanding what we had suffered, General Sherman was much
dissatisfied with us, expecting more from us than lay in our power (or
his either) to accomplish.

[Illustration: G. A. MCKEE

Private Company C, Third Texas Cavalry]

“In the above narrative I have drawn very largely from a letter written
August 28, 1864, by Captain Burns (as stated before), printed in a
work called ‘Minty and the Cavalry,’ though about all I have written
occurred under my own observation. We captured three stands of colors
claimed to belong to the Third Texas Cavalry,[4] Zachariah Rangers, and
Benjamin’s Infantry.

 “Our aggregate loss in First and Second Brigades, killed, wounded, and
 missing, was 14 officers, 192 men.”[5]

  “ROBERT M. WILSON,
  “Company M, Fourth United States Cavalry.”




CHAPTER XVI

CLOSE OF THE ATLANTA CAMPAIGN

 Sherman Changes His Tactics—Hood Deceived—Heavy Fighting—Atlanta
 Surrenders—End of the Campaign—Losses—Scouting—An Invader’s
 Devastation—Raiding the Raiders—Hood Crosses the Coosa—A
 Reconnoissance—Negro Spies—Raiding the Blacks—Crossing Indian
 Creek—A Conversion.


GENERAL SHERMAN had been impatient and dissatisfied that his cavalry
was unable to destroy the Macon or Brunswick Railroad, and now changed
his tactics. He had been in front of Atlanta, since General Hood had
been in command, a period of about five weeks. In a few days after
Kilpatrick’s return, he began withdrawing his forces from the front of
that beleaguered city, crossed to the north side of the Chattahoochee,
marched his main force down to Sand Town, recrossed the river, and
moved directly on Jonesboro, some twenty miles below Atlanta.

I do not believe, and never have believed, that General Hood understood
this maneuver until it was too late to save even his stores, arms,
and ammunition in Atlanta. His infantry scouts, it was understood and
believed at the time, watched the enemy’s movements, to the point of
their crossing to the north side of the Chattahoochee, and reported
that they were retreating, while our cavalry scouts reported that they
were recrossing at Sand Town, in heavy force in our front.

We, that is, our cavalry, began fighting the head of their column
as soon as they crossed the river, and fought them for detention and
delay, as best we could, all the way to the Flint River Crossing
near Jonesboro, just as we had fought Kilpatrick’s force a few days
before. General Hood, being advised that a heavy force of infantry
and artillery was moving on Jonesboro, sent a portion of his army
down there, and they fought the enemy most gallantly, but it seemed
to me that our army should have been in their front long before they
crossed Flint River. As it was, General Sherman threw his army across
the railroad, on the first day of September, between us and Atlanta,
and, while the fighting was terrific, we were unable to drive them
off. A terrible battle, in which there were no breastworks, was fought
late in the evening, and General Cleburne’s division was cut in two,
for the first time during the war, when General Govan of his division
was captured and Colonel Govan killed. We were in line, dismounted,
just on General Cleburne’s right, forming a mere skirmish line, in
order to cover the enemy’s front. The welcome shades of night soon
gathered around us, and the fighting ceased when the opposing lines
were almost together. I was on picket two or three hundred yards back
of the enemy’s line until one or two o’clock in the morning. All
this time they were felling timber and strengthening their position
for the fighting they expected in the morning. During the evening
Lieutenant-Colonel Berry of the Ninth Texas Cavalry was killed.

Soon after midnight a courier from General Hood passed us and informed
us that Atlanta was given up. As soon as he reached our headquarters
a courier was sent to order us to fall back. And thus ended the
last battle of the long campaign about Atlanta, a campaign involving
continuous fighting for three and a half months.

Very soon after General Hood’s courier passed us we began to hear
the artillery ammunition exploding in Atlanta. All was burned that
could not be carried away on the march, as we now had no railroad
transportation. After burning the arms, ammunition, and stores that
could not be transported, General Hood moved out with his army, and
the Federals took undisputed possession of the city the next day.
General Hood, after burning his supplies, had moved out during the
night eastwardly and by a circuitous march joined his other forces
near Lovejoy Station. General Sherman soon abandoned Jonesboro, moved
his army into and around Atlanta and two tired armies rested. Sherman
reported his loss in this campaign at 34,514, quite a large army in
itself.

Our army settled down for the time being near Jonesboro, Ross’ brigade
doing outpost duty. The ranks of the brigade had become very much
depleted by the losses in killed, wounded, and captured during the
Atlanta campaign, and the companies were temporarily consolidated. This
caused the regiments of the brigade, except the Third Texas, to have
on hand a number of supernumerary company officers. The Third having
more officers in prisons and hospitals than the others, only had about
enough officers after consolidation. These officers, with consent of
the commanders, agreed to organize themselves into a scouting party. I
had permission to join them, and as this offered some recreation, or
at least a diversion, I did so, being the only member from the Third.
They were all gallant and experienced officers and jovial companionable
fellows.

We organized by selecting Captain H. W. Wade of the Sixth Texas
commander. I cannot now recall all of them, but among them were
Captains O. P. Preston, Reuben Simpson, Cook, and Broughton, and
Lieutenants W. J. Swain, Thompson Morris, W. W. McClathie, Bridges,
and Park. We were joined by the gallant Captain Reams, of Missouri,
whose command had surrendered at the fall of Vicksburg, and who, having
gone to Missouri to recruit his command, was captured and imprisoned,
but had escaped into Canada, and from there made his way back to
General Hood’s army. We were sent on duty in the country lying north
of the West Point Railroad and south of the Chattahoochee River, west
and northwest of Atlanta—this being a large scope of country not
occupied by either army and liable to be depredated upon by the enemy.
Campbellton, the county seat of Campbell County, was a town of some
importance situated on the south bank of the Chattahoochee River, some
thirty miles northwestwardly from Atlanta. The Federal outpost in this
direction was twelve or fifteen miles out from the city.

Our duties were performed for several weeks without incident worthy of
mention. We were sometimes in the territory over which we had fought
during the summer, and a more desolate country I never saw; not a
domestic animal or fowl, and scarcely a bird, could be seen; the woods,
where we had fed our horses shelled corn, had grown up in green corn
more than knee high, and there were no animals to crop it down; the
fences had all been torn down to build barricades, and the crops had
been without cultivation or protection since the early summer; the corn
had made small ears and the sorghum had grown up into little trifling
stalks, and the people who lived hereabouts were subsisting on corn
bread made of grated meal and syrup made in the crudest manner. Oh, the
devastation and horrors of war! They must be seen to be realized.

One morning we met Lieutenant Bob Lee, with his scouts, and it was
agreed that we would spend the day together on a trip towards the river
between Campbellton and Sherman’s outpost. Bob Lee was a fine scout, a
member of the Ninth Texas Cavalry who had been promoted from the ranks
to first lieutenant for his efficiency. Lee’s scouts numbered twenty,
while we numbered twenty-one, all well armed with Colt’s revolvers and
well mounted. On our way we picked up Pem Jarvis, of Company K, Third
Texas, who was glad to join us. Pem had the only gun in the company,
and no pistol.

We moved north by any road or trail found to lead to the right
direction, until about noon, when we struck the rear of a farm lying
in a little valley. Along the opposite ridge ran the “ridge road” from
Atlanta to Campbellton, probably half a mile distant. Near the road,
in a strip of timber, stood a farmhouse. Near the house we heard a gun
fire and a hog squeal. Throwing down the fence we rode in and moved
across cautiously, so as not to be seen from the house. Passing out
through a pair of draw-bars, three or four of the men galloped up to
the house and into the yard, where they found two Federal soldiers in
the act of dressing a hog they had just killed. From them we learned
that a party of about sixty cavalrymen, in charge of an officer, and
having with them two four-mule wagons, had just passed, going in the
direction of Campbellton. We started off, leaving the hog killers in
charge of two of our men, and filed into the road. At the first house
on the road, supposed to be Dr. Hornsby’s, two ladies were in the act
of mounting their horses at the gate. They were crying, and told us
that some Yankee soldiers had passed there and insulted them, and that
they were going to headquarters to ask for protection. They estimated
the number at about sixty, with two wagons. This was about five miles
from Campbellton.

We sent two of our scouts ahead to look for them, as there is also
a road from Campbellton to Atlanta called the river road. If they
returned by the ridge road we would meet them, if by the river road we
would miss them. The scouts were to ascertain this matter and report.
We moved on to within about two miles of the town and formed a line in
the brush, a few steps south of the road and parallel with it, where,
with bridles and pistols well in hand, we patiently waited the return
of our scouts. The road from our position, towards town as far as we
could see it, ran on a rough down grade and was lined with thick black
jack brush. From here it was impossible for a horseman to get into the
river road without going into town. The intention was, if they came our
way, to wait until their column came up in our front and charge them in
flank.

In due time we heard our scouts coming at a gallop, and looking up
we saw they were being pursued by two Federals. One of the Federals
reined up and stopped before he got in our front, while the other rode
along nearly the entire front of our line, fired his gun at our scouts,
cussed the d——d rebels, then stopped, and stood as if waiting for the
column, which was then slowly moving up the hill. We could hear them
driving milch cows, which they had taken from citizens, and accompanied
by wagons loaded with the fruits of their day’s robbery, such as
tobacco, chickens, and turkeys. The fellow in our front furnished
such a tempting target that one of our men fired, and the Federal
dropped from his horse. This was sufficient to spoil the ambush, and
we instantly spurred our horses into the road, gave a loud yell, and
charged at full speed down the rough road, into the head of their
column. As we approached them they seemed almost to forget the use of
their seven-shooting rifles in an effort to reverse their column, and
before they could accomplish this we were in among them, and they ran
for dear life back to gain the river road. We went along with them to
town, and they fired back at us vigorously, and powder burned some
of our men in the face, but no one of our men received as much as a
scratch. We were better armed for such a contest than they were, for
though they had good rifles, their pistols were few, while we carried
from two to four Colt’s revolvers apiece.

Jarvis’ horse became unmanageable in the excitement and ran under some
black jack, and knocked Jarvis’ gun out of his hand and plunged in
among the enemy, passing by several of them while Jarvis had nothing
to defend himself with. Some of them were in the act of shooting him
in the back, but invariably Bob Lee or someone else would save him by
shooting his assailant in the back of the head. The foremost and best
mounted men, about twenty in number, with one wagon, got through the
town. We followed them a few hundred yards and turned back. We had
twelve prisoners unhurt, and going back over the road we found fourteen
dead and fifteen wounded. We had in our possession one wagon and team,
thirty or forty rifles, a few pistols, and a number of horses with
their rigging.

As I was going back on the road I came to an elderly wounded man just
outside of the road. I reined up my horse, and as I did so he reached
out a trembling hand, in which he held a greasy leather pocketbook, and
said: “Here, take this, but please don’t kill me.” I told him to put
up his pocketbook; that I would neither take that nor his life; that I
only wanted his arms.

The slightly wounded men, who would likely be able to fight again
very soon, we put into the wagon, and mounting the unhurt ones on the
captured horses we paired off with them, and thus started for our own
lines. I rode with one of the prisoners, who was quite a talkative
fellow. Upon asking him why it was that so many of their men refused to
surrender, and allowed themselves to be shot, he said: “Our officers
have told us that Ross’s brigade never shows prisoners any quarter, but
will rob and murder them; and we knew it was Ross’s brigade as soon
as you yelled that way.” I told him that was a great slander on the
brigade; that no men would treat prisoners more kindly; that sometimes
we were hard up for clothes and would take an overcoat, or blanket, or
something of the kind from a fellow that was well supplied. “Oh,” said
he, “that’s nothing; _we_ do that.” I then said to him: “I believe your
boots will fit me, and these brogans of mine will do you just as well
at Andersonville.” He said, “All right,” and instantly he dismounted
and pulled his boots off. We traded, and I had a good pair of kip boots
that fit me, and he had brogan shoes, and was apparently happy. He
asked me how it was that we were so much better mounted than they were.
I explained that we furnished our own horses, and we must keep them or
go to the infantry, and that made our men good horsemasters; while the
United States Government furnished them with horses and they knew that
when they rode one to death they would get another.

We continued our scouting duties in the same section of country until
the early days of October, when General Hood moved around in General
Sherman’s rear, and began destroying his communications, capturing
supplies and provisions. Sherman moved out of Atlanta and followed Hood
until the latter came to the vicinity of Rome. General Hood unwilling
to risk a battle in the open field, crossed the Coosa River, moving
by way of Gadsden, Ala., towards Guntersville on the Tennessee River.
When General Sherman discovered this movement he turned back towards
Atlanta, devastating the country and despoiling the citizens as he went.

With General Hood’s movement across the Coosa River he began his last
campaign, and the last campaign for the Army of the Tennessee. His
intention was to cross the Tennessee at Guntersville and march on
Nashville, but he changed his mind and moved down the river to near
Decatur, Tuscumbia, and Florence, Ross’s brigade being in front of
Decatur, then occupied by the Federals. General Sherman returning to
Atlanta, that city was burned, and leaving the smoking ruins behind
him, he entered upon his grand march to the sea, with none of General
Hood’s army, save General Wheeler’s cavalry, to molest him in his work
of devastation.

A day or two after we got to Decatur General Ross ordered our scouting
party back up the river to ascertain, if we could, what the enemy was
doing in the rear of that place. We moved up on the south side of the
river and stopped between Triana and Whitesburg. These towns were
garrisoned and the river patrolled by gunboats. We remained in this
neighborhood without any further instructions for some weeks. Here I
found my half-brother, J. J. Ashworth, who lived on the south bank of
the river about fifteen miles from Huntsville, and about three miles
above Triana. In this neighborhood were a number of my acquaintances
from Madison County, refugeeing, as Huntsville, Brownsboro, and
other towns were also garrisoned by the enemy. Several of us crossed
the river afoot and remained some days in Madison County. But for
the negroes we could have had a pleasant time, as every negro in
the country was a spy who would run to report anything that looked
suspicious to them, to one of the near-by garrisons, so we dared not
allow them to see us. I knew the white people, and knew that they were
loyal to our cause, but they could not allow their own negroes to know
that they did anything for us, so that we, and they, too, had to be
exceedingly careful.

In crossing the river we had to watch for gunboats, make the passage
during the night in a canoe, which must be drawn out and hidden, else
the first passing gunboat would destroy it. Some three miles north
of the river, in the bottom, lived Alexander Penland, a Presbyterian
minister, a true and loyal friend to the Confederacy, and three or four
miles further on, towards Huntsville, lived William Lanier, Burwell
Lanier and William Matkins, the two latter on the Huntsville and Triana
road. Dr. William Leftwich also lived in the same neighborhood. All
were good, trustworthy men, whom I knew well. Since some of them had
taken the non-combatant’s oath they were allowed to go in and out
of town at will, and from them I could learn of any movements along
the M. & C. Railroad. We crossed the river after night, and being
in possession of Mr. Penland’s countersign, we found our way to his
house, late at night, after the household was all asleep. I went to a
certain front window, tapped lightly and whistled like a partridge.
Soon Mr. Penland thrust his head out and in a whisper inquired who
we were and what was wanted. I explained to him briefly, and retired
to a brush thicket near by, where early next morning he brought us
cooked provisions. In order to do this he had to get up and cook for
us himself before any of his negroes were awake. The next night we
slept in William Lanier’s farm and were fed by him in the same way.
We crossed the Triana road and went to the top of a small mountain,
from which we could see Huntsville. A rainy season set in and we found
shelter in Burwell Lanier’s gin-house, where he fed us. When we thought
of recrossing the Tennessee we found that Indian Creek, which we had
to cross, was outrageously high, spreading away out over the bottom.
We spent a good part of an afternoon in constructing a raft by tying
logs together with vines to enable us to cross that night. Just east
of William Lanier’s farm there was a large negro quarter, where idle
and vicious negroes were in the habit of congregating, and inasmuch as
their system of espionage upon the white people of the neighborhood was
very annoying, upon the suggestion of some of our friends we determined
to raid this place before we left, carry off some of these meddlesome
blacks and send them to some government works in south Alabama.

Accordingly after dark we visited the quarter under the guise of
recruiting officers from Whitesburg, told them we had been fighting
for their freedom for about three years, and the time had now come for
them to help us, and we had come for every able-bodied man to go with
us to Whitesburg and join the army. I had our men call me Brown, for
fear some of them might know me. It was laughable to hear the various
excuses rendered for not going into the service. A lot of Confederate
conscripts could not have thought up more physical ailments. We finally
gathered up six that we decided were able for service, promising they
should have a medical examination, and if they were really unfit for
service they would be excused. Among them was a powerful, large,
muscular black fellow that belonged to Jink Jordan. He had joined the
army and, tiring of his job, was now a deserter, and we could see that
he was greatly scared and very much opposed to going with us.

Upon leaving the negro houses we went through the field and the woods
directly to our raft on the creek and had a great time getting across.
The clouds were thick, it was intensely dark, and our means of crossing
very poor. We had to make a number of trips, as we could only float
three or four men, including the two that used the poles, at one time.
In the confusion and darkness two of the prisoners had escaped, and
two had just crossed, including the big deserter, when it became my
duty to guard them with a short Enfield rifle belonging to one of the
men. Having their hands tied with a cord and then tied together back to
back, I was not uneasy about keeping them, but before I realized what
they were doing they had slipped their hands through the cord and were
running through the brush. When the big deserter had gone some twelve
or fifteen steps I shot him. He fell at the fire of the gun, but before
I could get to him he scrambled up and went crashing through the brush
like a stampeding ox. I learned afterwards that he went into Huntsville
to a hospital for treatment, and that the ball had gone through the
muscle of his arm and plowed into his breast, but not deep enough to
be fatal. We finally reached the bank of the river about one or two
o’clock in the morning, with two of our prisoners. We then had to hoot
like an owl until some one on the other side should wake up, and,
hearing the signal, would bring us a canoe, which was finally done, and
we crossed over in safety.

We crossed the river several times during our stay in the neighborhood,
particularly one very cold night, when several of us passed over, at
the request of Mr. Penland, to transfer his pork to the south side. He
had killed a lot of hogs, and was afraid the meat might be taken from
him, or that he would be ordered out of the Federal lines as others
had been, and he wished to place it in the hands of a friend south of
the river for safety. We managed to get an old rickety canoe opposite
his place, and crossed early in the night, and again played the rôle
of Federal soldiers, as no one on his place but himself must know our
real mission. Mrs. Penland had known me from childhood, but as she had
lost her mind I did not fear recognition, and while Nancy, their negro
woman, also had known me, she failed to recognize me, as I was Mr.
Brown of the Federal army. We marched up and called for the man of the
house, and when Mr. Penland came forward we told him we were rather
short of rations down in Triana, and were out looking for meat, and
wished to know if he had any. He acknowledged that he had just killed
some meat, but only enough for his family use, and had none to spare.
We were bound to have meat, and agreed to leave him one hog, and then
yoked up a pair of oxen and hitched them to a wagon. While we were in
the smokehouse preparing to take the meat out, Mr. Penland’s two little
girls, about nine and eleven, came crying around us, and in a most
pitiful manner begged us not to take all of papa’s meat; and poor Mrs.
Penland came to the door and said: “Men, please don’t take my little
boy’s pony.” When we had hauled all the meat to the river bank and
returned the wagon, it was nearly midnight, and we compelled the woman
Nancy to get up and prepare us a warm supper. After supper we returned
to the river and floated the hogs across in our old canoe.

At this time my brother’s son, George Ashworth, a gallant boy about
sixteen years old, who had taken his father’s place in General Roddy’s
command, was at home on furlough. One day a thief, believed to be
a straggler from General Wheeler’s command, took his horse from a
lot some distance from the house, and carried him off. Lieutenant
McClatchie and myself mounted a pony and a mule of my brother’s and
attempted to overtake him. We followed him as far as Atlanta, but
failed to catch him, and then went into the city and viewed the wreck
that Sherman had left behind him: thirty-six hundred houses were in
ruins, including the best part of the city. This was Saturday, and
being tired we went down to the neighborhood of Jonesboro and remained
with some of McClatchie’s acquaintances until Monday morning. We were
hospitably entertained at the home of Colonel Tidwell, and enjoyed a
quiet rest in the company of Miss Mattie Tidwell and Miss Eva Camp.

One evening we passed through the town of Cave Springs, a locality with
which I had become familiar while we were campaigning here. On the road
we were to travel, at the first house after leaving town, two or three
miles out, there lived a tall dignified old gentleman and his handsome
young married daughter whose husband was in the army. They lived in
a large two-story house, and a large commodious barn, with all other
necessary out houses for comfort and convenience, had stood on his
premises when I was there before—the barn filled to overflowing with
wheat, oats, and corn. Just across the road in front of the house, and
stretching across the valley, was his large productive farm, covered
with a heavy crop of ungathered corn. While this was the condition, I
had come to this house at night, traveling in the same direction, and
talked myself almost hoarse without being able to procure from this old
gentleman a single ear of corn for my horse or a morsel of food for
myself, although he knew I must go eight miles to the next house on the
road. I didn’t ask, nor did I wish, to enter his house, but only wanted
a feed of corn and a little bread and meat. As we approached the house
McClatchie proposed halting, to stay all night—provided we could. I
related my earlier experience, but we stopped nevertheless.

Upon seeing us halt, the old gentleman came stepping down to the gate
and spoke very kindly, and we asked him if we could spend the night
with him. He said such accommodations as he could offer us we would be
welcome to, adding: “I have no stables for your horses. Sherman’s army
passed this way and burned my barn, with its contents, my stables, and
in fact carried off or destroyed everything I had to eat or feed on,
and left me and my daughter without a mouthful of anything to eat. They
carried every hog, every fowl, and every pound of meat, and even rolled
my syrup out of the cellar, knocked the heads out of the barrels and
poured the syrup out on the ground, but I will do the best I can for
you.” His daughter, too, was very hospitable. At the supper table
she detailed all the horrors of Sherman’s visit, and the distressful
condition they were left in, how they had to go to a neighbor’s to
borrow a few ears of corn to grate them for bread, and concluded by
saying: “But as long as I have a piece of bread I will divide it with
a Confederate soldier.” After supper she invited us into the parlor,
where she had a nice piano and treated us to music. Verily “our
friends, the enemy,” had converted one family!




CHAPTER XVII

MY LAST BATTLE

 Tories and Deserters—A Tragic Story—A Brutal Murder—The Son’s
 Vow—Vengeance—A Southern Heroine—Seeking Our Command—Huntsville—A
 Strange Meeting—We Find the Division—The Battle in the Fog—My Last
 Battle.


HADEN PRYOR, who lived eight miles west on the same road, was a
whole-souled, big-hearted old gentleman, who also had a large place
and plenty of everything to live on, and whose hospitality towards
a Confederate soldier was unbounded. His boys were in the army in
Virginia, and he and his wife were at home alone. I had stayed with him
while hunting a blacksmith shop, and found that a tired Confederate
soldier was more than welcome to his home. Lonely, and impatient for
the war to close, that his gallant boys might come home, he would
sit out on his front veranda and play solitaire, and was glad to see
a soldier come, and sorry to see him leave. He had a nephew in our
regiment that I knew and liked, and I had fallen in love with this old
gentleman. Next morning McClatchie and I, when we came to his house,
called to pay him our respects and to tell him good-by.

This neighborhood, or rather the neighborhood just south of this, and a
considerable scope of country lying along the western border of Georgia
and the eastern border of Alabama, was infested with a class of the
meanest white men on earth—Tories and deserters, men too cowardly to
fight in either army, but mean and unscrupulous enough to do anything.
We knew they were there, but while our army was in the neighborhood
they were never seen. Since the armies had left they were growing
bolder, and we were told at Mr. Pryor’s that morning about some of
their thievery and robbery. Providence protected us that day. Here were
two roads, one to the left and one to the right, and we could follow
one or the other and reach our destination in the same number of miles.
The matter was left to me, and, without thinking of danger, I selected
the right-hand road. On that day the left-hand road was waylaid by a
band of these infamous characters and every Confederate soldier who
attempted to pass the road was robbed of horse, arms, and everything
of any value, and one or two of them murdered. These soldiers had been
left behind slightly wounded or sick, and were on their way to overtake
their commands. One of the murdered ones belonged to Ross’s brigade.

       *       *       *       *       *

Since the war I have heard, from a reliable source, a tragic story of
this Pryor family, which, if told in detail, would sound like fiction.
It seems that in the spring of 1865 a band of these cut-throats, eight
in number, rode up to Haden Pryor’s gate and without provocation shot
him while he was standing in his front yard in presence of his wife;
as he turned and was in the act of returning to his house he fell in
his front veranda, a corpse. This was a few days after General Lee’s
surrender. His oldest son, John, and a younger one, with eight or ten
other Confederates, on their way home that night came within eight or
ten miles of their homes, when, tired and footsore, they lay down to
rest until morning.

John Pryor, haunted by a strange presentiment, could not sleep, and
determined he would quietly leave the camp and go on to his father’s
house. While he was dressing one of the others woke and said: “Hello,
John, what are you up to?” “I am going home,” said John. “Wait a
minute,” said the other, “and I’ll go too.” From that one by one they
all roused up and were soon on the road again. Arriving at home, John
Pryor found his father a bloody corpse and his mother a widow. His
mother told him how it all happened, and gave him the names of his
father’s murderers. The next day the funeral took place, and the noble
father who had so patiently waited and longed for the return of his
soldier boys was laid under the sod.

Over his father’s grave John Pryor made a vow that he would not engage
in any business whatever as long as one of his father’s murderers was
alive, and starting out upon his fixed purpose he killed one or two of
them before the gang became alarmed. The rest now became panic-stricken
and fled the country, hiding in different States. John hunted them
constantly and relentlessly for weeks and months, until the weeks grew
into years, and as he found them they were sent to their final account,
one by one, until finally he found the last and least guilty one in
Travis County, Texas, a few miles from Austin. It was in the spring of
the year, and the man was plowing when John walked into the field where
he was. Seeing John coming and recognizing him, he stopped his horse
and, waiting until he was within a few steps of him, he said, “John,
I know what you have come for; but I will ask you to let me go to the
house and tell my wife and children good-by.” John consented, and they
went to the house, where were the innocent wife and two small children
in a comfortable little home. The husband and father then said: “John,
I never hurt your father; I didn’t want those fellows to kill him, and
told them not to do it.” “I remember that my mother told me something
about this,” replied John, “and said you were the only one who said a
word against the murder of my father; and now I will retract my vow as
to you, and leave you with your wife and children.”

Now feeling that he had fulfilled his mission, Pryor returned to his
home, and devoting his attention to business became a prosperous and
successful man.

       *       *       *       *       *

As we continued our way back to north Alabama, crossing Black Creek, we
came to the residence of Mrs. Sansom. Here we stopped under pretense of
lighting our pipes, and remained for an hour, merely to get a look at
the young heroine, Miss Emily Sansom, the young girl who rode behind
General Forrest and piloted him to a ford on the creek where he was
in hot pursuit of Colonel Straight and his men. This story of Emily
Sansom’s heroism has been published so often that most people are
familiar with it. She now lives, a widow, in Upshur County, Texas.[6]

We pushed on to our former headquarters on the Tennessee River, to find
that our people had been gone ever so long. General Hood had crossed
the river about the last of November, Decatur, Huntsville, Triana, and
Whitesburg had all been evacuated by the enemy, and our army was in
middle Tennessee. Our scouts, as we afterwards learned, had crossed
the river, passed through Huntsville and moved up to the vicinity
of Shelbyville. Our command had participated in the fighting on the
advance into Tennessee, had been in the battle of Franklin, and was
then sent to Murfreesboro.

McClatchie and myself crossed the river and spent the night at the
home of our friend, Rev. Alexander Penland. Next day we went into
Huntsville, and while waiting for our horses to be shod I had time to
see a number of my friends, among them Miss Aggie Scott, from whom I
learned that my old friend, W. H. Powers, and his wife, were sojourning
in New London, Conn. We went out in the evening and spent the night
at the home of Mr. William Matkin, a few miles down the Triana road.
Late at night Rev. Lieutenant-Colonel William D. Chadick came to Mr.
Matkin’s, afoot, tired and somewhat excited, and informed us that a
division of Federal cavalry had entered Huntsville that afternoon. He
had been at home with his family, and told an interesting story of
his escape. He had left his home, gone across lots, and reaching the
Female seminary lot, had hidden under the floor of the seminary until
nightfall, when he had made his way through back lots and fields until
he was well out of town. He then found his way around to the Triana
road and here he was.

General McCook was in command of the forces that had come in so
unexpectedly, and learning that Colonel Chadick was at home, showed
great anxiety to capture him, so much so that he visited his home in
person. Finding Mrs. Chadick there, he interrogated her as to the
whereabouts of her husband. She told him that Colonel Chadick was not
at home. He seemed incredulous, and cross-questioned her closely, when
something in her tone or her favor led him to change the conversation,
and he said to her: “Madam, where are you from?” She answered, “I am
from Steubenville, Ohio.” “I am also from Steubenville, Ohio. What was
your maiden name?” She answered, “My maiden name was Cook.” “Were you
Miss Jane Cook?” said he. She answered, “I was.” Then said he: “Do you
remember, many years ago, one Sunday morning, when you were on your
way to Sunday school, that some little boys were cutting up in the
street near the Episcopal church and a policeman was about to take
them up when you interceded in their behalf and he let them off?” She
answered, “I do.” “I was one of those boys,” said he, “and now, madam,
I am ready to do anything in my power for your protection and comfort.”
Guards were placed at her gates, and not a soldier allowed to enter the
premises while General McCook’s command remained there.

[Illustration: LIEUTENANT S. B. BARRON

Third Texas Cavalry

Photo 1882]

Colonel Chadick was well known to me, he having been pastor of the
Cumberland Presbyterian church in Huntsville for several years while
I lived there. He first entered the army as chaplain of the Fourth
Alabama Infantry, and was with that famous regiment in the first battle
of Manassas. He was afterwards made major of an Alabama battalion,
of which Nick Davis was lieutenant-colonel, later consolidated with
Coltart’s battalion, to become the Fiftieth Alabama Infantry, when John
G. Coltart became colonel and William D. Chadick lieutenant-colonel.
At this time he had an idea of raising a new regiment of cavalry, and
wished me to return and raise a company for the regiment or else take a
position on his staff, but we were now too near the end.

McClatchie and myself started out next morning and went up the
Huntsville road a short distance, when we came in sight of a small
party of Federal cavalry in the act of turning back. We took a road
that led us into the Athens road at John N. Drake’s place, where we
learned that another party had come out there, and turned back. We
then made our way directly to Pulaski, Tenn., on towards Columbia, and
found the division on the Columbia pike hotly engaged with the enemy,
who was pushing General Hood’s retreat. Our rear-guard was commanded by
General Forrest, and consisted of his own cavalry, Jackson’s cavalry
division, and about fifteen hundred infantry, under Major-General
Walthal. The infantry were trans-Mississippi troops, including Ector’s
and Granberry’s brigades. General Hood’s main army was retreating
by different roads towards Bainbridge, where we were to cross the
Tennessee River. Jackson’s division of cavalry and the infantry of the
rear-guard were on the main road, while General Forrest’s cavalry was
protecting other roads. We were uncomfortably crowded on the turnpike,
but we left it at Pulaski, crossed Richland Creek on a bridge, and
fired the bridge. The Federals soon came up and extinguished the fire,
however, and then came pouring across the bridge, but as it was now
late in the afternoon they did not attack any more for the day.

The next morning General Forrest selected a favorable position in the
hills a few miles below Pulaski, masked his batteries, and formed his
infantry in ambush, and, when the enemy came on us, attacked them with
artillery, infantry, and cavalry, and after a sharp little battle drove
them back handsomely, with some loss, capturing one piece of artillery
and taught them that in the hills it was imprudent to rush upon an
enemy recklessly. For the remainder of that day we were permitted to
move quietly down the road unmolested.

That night one of General Frank Armstrong’s Mississippi cavalry
regiments was left on picket, and we moved on a mile or two and camped
by the roadside. Just after daylight the next morning our Mississippi
regiments came clattering in, closely pursued by the enemy’s cavalry.
We hastily formed a line across the road and checked the enemy, and
then moved on to Sugar Creek and formed another ambush. There was a
dense fog along the creek, such as I never saw in the interior. Our
infantry were formed along the creek bank just above the crossing, and
the cavalry in column of fours in the road forty or fifty yards back
from the ford of the creek, and thus, in the fog, we were as completely
concealed as if midnight darkness had prevailed. The infantry remained
perfectly quiet until the head of the enemy’s column was in the act of
crossing the creek, when suddenly, with a yell they plunged through
the creek and charged them. This threw the head of their column into
confusion, when our cavalry charged them in column at a gallop, and
pressed them back two or three miles. _And this was the last fight I
was ever in!_




CHAPTER XVIII

ROSS’ REPORT OF BRIGADE’S LAST CAMPAIGN

 Ross’ Report—Repulse a Reconnoitering Party—Effective
 Fighting Strength—Advance Guard—The Battle at
 Campbellsville—Results—Thompson’s Station—Harpeth
 River—Murfreesboro—Lynville—Pulaski—Sugar Creek—Losses During
 Campaign—Captures—Acknowledgments.


  HEADQUARTERS ROSS’ BRIGADE, J. C. D.
  CORINTH, MISS., Jan. 12, 1865.

  CAPTAIN:

I have the honor to submit the following report of the part performed
by my brigade in the late campaign into Middle Tennessee.

First, however, and by way of introduction, it is proper to premise
that we bore a full share in the arduous duties required of the cavalry
in the Georgia campaign, and were particularly active during the
operations of the army upon the enemy’s line of communication.

October 24, in compliance with orders from division commander, I
withdrew from my position near Cave Springs, Ga., crossed the Coosa
River at Gadsden the day following, and by rapid marches arrived in
front of Decatur, Ala., on the evening of the 29th. Was here halted to
observe the movements of the enemy while the army rested at Tuscumbia.
On the morning of November 8 a strong reconnoitering party, consisting
of three regiments of infantry and one of cavalry, coming out from
Decatur on the Courtland road, was promptly met, and after a sharp
skirmish driven back with some loss. The next day, being relieved by a
portion of General Roddy’s command, we retired down the valley to Town
Creek and rested until the 18th, when we were ordered across the river
at Florence, and moving at once to the front of the army, took position
with the other cavalry commands on Shoal Creek.

November 21, all things being ready for the advance, we were ordered
forward, following in the rear of Armstrong’s Brigade. The effective
fighting strength of my command at this time was as follows: Third
Regiment Texas Cavalry, 218; Sixth Regiment Texas Cavalry, 218; Ninth
Regiment Texas Cavalry, 110; Twenty-seventh Regiment Texas Cavalry,
140; making a total of 686. With this small force we joined the
advance into Tennessee, strong in heart and resolved to make up in
zeal and courage what was wanting in numbers. The day after crossing
Shoal Creek, General Armstrong, having still the advance, came up
with Federal cavalry at Lawrenceburg. The fighting was chiefly with
artillery, Captain Young’s battery being freely used, and to good
effect. About sunset the enemy withdrew in the direction of Pulaski.
Early the next morning I was ordered to take the advance and move out
on the Pulaski road. About twelve miles from Lawrenceburg we came upon
the Federal pickets and drove them in. The Third Texas now dismounted
and with two squadrons from the Twenty-seventh Texas moved forward
and attacked the enemy, forcing him from his successive positions
and following him up so vigorously as to compel the precipitate
abandonment of his camps and all his forage. The next day, having still
the advance, when within five miles of Pulaski, we changed direction
to the left, following the route taken by the enemy in his retreat the
evening before, and arriving about noon in sight of the little village,
Campbellsville, I found a large force of cavalry, which proved to be
Hatch’s division, drawn up to resist us. Lieutenant-Colonel Boggess was
ordered promptly to dismount his regiment, the Third Texas, and move
it to the front. Young’s battery was hurried up from the rear, placed
in position and, supported by the Sixth Texas (Colonel Jack Wharton,
commanding), commenced shelling the enemy’s lines. In the meanwhile
the Ninth Texas and the Legion were drawn up in column, in the field
to the right of the wood, to be used as circumstances might require.
These dispositions completed, I watched with interest the effect of the
shelling from our battery, and very soon discovered from the movements
of the enemy, an intention to withdraw, whereupon, believing this
to be the proper movement, I ordered everything forward. The Ninth
Texas and Legion, led by their respective commanders, Colonel Jones
and Lieutenant-Colonel Whitfield, rushed forward at a gallop, and
passing through the village, fell upon the enemy’s moving squadrons
with such irresistible force as to scatter them in every direction,
pursuing and capturing numbers of prisoners, horses, equipment, small
arms, accouterments, and four (4) stands of colors. The enemy made
no effort to regain the field from which he had been driven, but
while endeavoring to withdraw his broken and discomfited squadrons
was attacked vigorously in flank by a portion of General Armstrong’s
brigade, and his rout made complete. The last of his forces, in full
flight, disappeared in the direction of Lynville about sunset, and
we saw no more of them south of Duck River. Our loss in the fight at
Campbellsville was only five (5) men wounded, while our captures (I
found upon investigation) summed up to be eighty-four (84) prisoners,
and all their horses, equipments, and small arms, four (4) stands of
colors and sixty-five (65) beef cattle. Without further opposition
we arrived the next day in front of Columbia, and took the position
assigned us on the Chapel Hill pike.

November 26, we remained in front of the enemy’s works, skirmishing
freely and keeping up a lively demonstration. On the morning of
the 27th, being relieved by the infantry, we were ordered over to
Shelbyville pike, and camped the following night on Fountain Creek.
Crossing Duck River the next morning, at the mill, nine miles above
Columbia, we were directed thence to the right (on the Shelbyville
road), and when near the Lewisburg and Franklin pike, again encountered
the Federal cavalry. A spirited engagement ensued, begun by the Third
Texas, which being detached to attack a train of wagons moving in the
direction of Franklin, succeeded in reaching the pike, but was there
met by a superior force of Yankees and driven back. Seeing this, I had
Colonel Hawkins to hurry his regiment (the Legion) to the assistance
of the Third, and ordered a charge, which was made in gallant style,
and resulted in forcing the Yankees from the field in confusion,
and with the loss of several prisoners and the colors of the Seventh
Ohio Cavalry. In the meanwhile Colonel Wharton, with the Sixth Texas,
charged into the pike to the right of where the Third and Legion were
engaged, capturing an entire company of the Seventh Ohio Cavalry, three
(3) stands of colors, several wagons loaded with ordnances, and a
considerable number of horses, with their equipments. The Ninth Texas
(Colonel Jones), having been detached early in the evening to guard
the road leading to our right, with the exception of a slight skirmish
with the enemy’s pickets, in which several prisoners were taken, was
not otherwise engaged during the evening. It was now after night and
very dark. The enemy had disappeared from our front in direction of
Franklin, but before establishing camps it was thought prudent to
ascertain if any force had been cut off and yet remained between us and
the river. Colonel Hawkins was therefore ordered up the pike with his
regiment to reconnoiter, and had proceeded but a short distance before
he was met by a brigade of Federal cavalry. An exciting fight ensued,
lasting about half an hour, when the enemy, having much the larger
force, succeeded in passing by us, receiving as he did so a severe fire
into his flanks. This ceased the operations for the day, and we were
allowed to bivouac, well pleased with the prospect of rest, after so
much fatiguing exercise.

At Hunts cross roads the next day, when the other commands of cavalry
took the left and moved upon Spring Hill, my brigade was advanced
upon the road to Franklin. Afterwards, in obedience to orders of the
division commander, we turned towards Thompson’s Station, being now in
rear of the Federal army, which still held its position on Rutherford’s
Creek. The Yankee cavalry, completely whipped, had disappeared in the
direction of Franklin, and did not again show itself that day. When
near Thompson’s Station I discovered a few wagons moving on the pike,
and sent Colonel Jones, with the Ninth and Legion, to intercept and
capture them. At the same time the Sixth and Third Texas were drawn
up in line, and a squadron from the latter dispatched to destroy the
depot. Colonel Jones was partially successful, capturing and destroying
one wagon and securing the team. He then charged a train of cars which
came up from the direction of Franklin, when the engineer becoming
frightened, cut the engine loose and ran off southward. The train, thus
freed, began to retrograde, and in spite of the obstructions thrown in
its way and the efforts of the men to stop it, rolled back under the
guns of a blockhouse and was saved. The guard, however, and all the
men on the train were forced to jump off, and became our prisoners.
I now had the railroad bridge destroyed, in consequence of which the
engine that escaped from us, and another, became the prizes of our
army the next day. In the meantime the enemy at the depot, observing
the approach of the squadron from the Third Texas, set fire to all of
his valuables, including a train of cars loaded with ordnance, and
evacuated the place. Having accomplished all that could be effected in
the station, we withdrew late in the evening, dropping back to the left
of Spring Hill and halted until I could communicate with the division
commander. About midnight I received the order directing me to again
“Strike the pike” and attack the enemy’s train, then in full retreat
to Franklin; moved out at once to obey the order, guided by an officer
of General Forrest’s staff who knew the country. When within half a
mile of the pike I dismounted three (3) of my regiments, leaving the
Ninth Texas mounted to guard their horses, and cautiously advancing
on foot, got within one hundred yards of the enemy’s train without
being discovered. The Legion (Colonel Hawkins commanding) having the
advance, fronted into line, fired a well-directed volley, killing
several Yankees and mules, and rushed forward with a yell, producing
among the teamsters and wagon guards a perfect stampede. The Yankees
lost thirty-nine (39) wagons, some of which were destroyed, and others
abandoned for the want of the teams, which we brought off. Remaining in
possession of the pike for half an hour, we withdrew upon the approach
of several bodies of infantry, which coming up in opposite directions,
by mistake got to shooting into each other, and fired several volleys
before finding out their error. Having remounted our horses, we
remained on the hill overlooking the pike until daylight, and saw the
Yankee army in full retreat. While this was passing a regiment of
cavalry appearing in the open field in our front was charged by the
Sixth Texas, completely routed and driven to his infantry column. Soon
after this we again pushed forward, keeping parallel with the pike,
upon which our infantry was moving, crossed Harpeth River in the
evening, about three miles above Franklin, only a small force of the
enemy appearing to dispute the passage. Half a mile from the river we
came upon a regiment of Yankee cavalry drawn up in line. This the Ninth
Texas at once charged and routed, but was met by a larger force, and in
turn compelled to give back, the enemy following in close pursuit. The
Third Texas now rushed forward, checked the advancing squadrons of the
Yankees, and then hurled them back, broken and disorganized, capturing
several prisoners and driving the others back upon their heavier lines.
The gallant bearing of the men and officers of the Third and Ninth
Texas on this occasion is deserving of special commendation, and it
affords me much gratification to record to the honor of these noble
regiments that charges made by them at Harpeth River have never been,
and cannot be, surpassed by cavalry of any nation. By the charge of the
Third Texas we gained possession of an eminence overlooking the enemy’s
position and held it until late in the evening, when discovering an
intention on the part of the Yankee commander to advance his entire
force, and being without any support, I withdrew to the south side
of the river again. Very soon the enemy advanced his whole line, but
finding we had recrossed the river again, retreated, and during the
night withdrew from our front. The next day we moved forward, arrived
in front of Nashville December 3, and took position on the Nolensville
pike three miles from the city. Just in our front was a line of works,
and wishing to ascertain what force occupied them, I had two squadrons
of the Sixth Texas to dismount, deploy as skirmishers, and advance.
We found the works held only by the enemy’s skirmishers, who withdrew
upon our approach. After this, being relieved by our infantry, we
returned to the rear with orders to cook up rations. On the morning
of December 5 the brigade was ordered to Lavergne; found there a
small force of infantry, which took refuge inside the fort, and after
slight resistance surrendered upon demand of the division commander.
Moving thence to Murfreesboro, where within a few miles of the city
the enemy’s pickets were encountered, and after a stubborn resistance
driven back by the Sixth and Third Texas, dismounted. A few days after
this Major-General Forrest invested Murfreesboro with his cavalry and
one (1) division of infantry. The duty assigned my brigade being to
guard all the approaches to the city, from the Salem to the Woodbury
pike inclusive, was very severe for so small a force, and almost every
day there was heavy skirmishing on some portion of our line.

December 15, a train of cars from Stevenson, heavily laden with
supplies for the garrison at Murfreesboro, was attacked about seven
miles south of the city, and although guarded by a regiment of
infantry, two hundred strong, was captured and burned. The train was
loaded with sugar, coffee, hard bread, and bacon, and carried full
two hundred thousand rations. The men guarding it fought desperately
for about an hour, having a strong position in a cut of the railroad,
but were finally routed by a most gallant charge of the Sixth Texas,
supported by the Third Texas, and 150 of them captured. The others
escaped to blockhouses near by. The next day, in consequence of the
reverses to our arms at Nashville, we were withdrawn from the front
of Murfreesboro, ordered across to Triana, and thence to Columbia,
crossing Duck River in the evening of the 18th.

December 24, while being in the rear of our army, the enemy charged my
rear-guard at Lynville, with a heavy force, and threatened to break
over all opposition, when the Sixth Texas hastily forming, met and
hurled them back, administering a most wholesome check to their ardor.
At the moment this occurred our columns were all in motion, and it
was of the utmost importance to break the charge of the enemy on our
rear. Too much credit, therefore, cannot be given the Sixth Texas, for
gallant bearing on this occasion. Had it failed to check the enemy,
my brigade, and probably the entire division, taken at disadvantage,
might have suffered severely. At Richland Creek, when the cavalry took
position later in the day, I was assigned a position on the right of
the railroad, and in front of the creek. Soon afterwards, however,
the enemy moving as if to cross above the bridge, I was withdrawn to
the south side of the creek and took position on the hill near the
railroad, skirmishing with the enemy in my front, holding him in check
until our forces had all crossed the creek. We were then ordered to
withdraw, and passing through Pulaski, again crossed Richland Creek
and camped near Mr. Carter’s for the night. The next day my brigade,
alternating with General Armstrong in bringing up the rear, had
frequent skirmishes with the enemy’s advance. Nine miles from Pulaski,
when the infantry halted and formed, I was ordered on the right. Soon
after this the enemy made a strong effort to turn our right flank, but
failed, and was driven back. About the same time the infantry charged
and captured his artillery, administering such an effectual check that
he did not again show himself that day.

This done, we retired leisurely, and after night bivouacked on Sugar
Creek. Early the following morning the Yankees, still not satisfied,
made their appearance, and our infantry again made dispositions to
receive them. Reynolds’ and Ector’s brigades took position, and
immediately in their rear I had the Legion and Ninth Texas drawn up in
column of fours to charge, if an opportunity should occur. The fog was
very dense and the enemy therefore approached very cautiously. When
near enough to be seen, the infantry fired a volley and charged. At the
same time the Legion and Ninth Texas were ordered forward, and passing
through our infantry, crossed the creek in the face of a terrible
fire, overthrew all opposition on the further side, and pursued the
thoroughly routed foe near a mile, capturing twelve (12) prisoners and
as many horses, besides killing numbers of others. The force opposed
to us here was completely whipped,—proved from the statements of the
prisoners to be Hammond’s brigade of cavalry. After this the Yankees
did not again show themselves, and without further interruption we
recrossed the Tennessee River at Bainbridge on the evening of the 27th
of December. Our entire loss during the campaign sums up as follows:

  ═══════════════════╤════════════╤════════════╤════════════╤═══════════
                     │   KILLED   │   WOUNDED  │  CAPTURED  │
      COMMAND        ├────────┬───┼────────┬───┼────────┬───┤ AGGREGATE
                     │OFFICERS│EN.│OFFICERS│EN.│OFFICERS│EN.│
                     │        │MEN│        │MEN│        │MEN│
  ───────────────────┼────────┼───┼────────┼───┼────────┼───┼───────────
  Third Texas Cavalry│        │  2│    3   │ 22│    1   │  2│   30
  Sixth Texas Cavalry│        │  6│    3   │ 19│        │  1│   29
  Ninth Texas Cavalry│        │  4│        │ 17│        │  1│   22
  Texas Texas Legion │        │   │        │  6│        │   │    6
  ───────────────────┼────────┼───┼────────┼───┼────────┼───┼───────────
      Total          │        │ 12│    6   │ 64│    1   │  4│   87
  ───────────────────┴────────┴───┴────────┴───┴────────┴───┴───────────

We captured on the trip and brought off five hundred and fifty (550)
prisoners, as shown by the records of my provost-marshal, nine (9)
stands of colors, several hundred horses and their equipments, and
overcoats and blankets sufficient to supply my command. We destroyed,
besides, two trains of cars, loaded, one with ordnance, and the other
with commissary stores; forty or fifty wagons and mules; and much
other valuable property belonging to the Federal army. My brigade
returned from Tennessee with horses very much jaded, but otherwise in
no worse condition than when it started, its morale not in the least
affected nor impaired by the evident demoralization which prevailed to
a considerable extent throughout the larger portion of the army.

Before closing my report I desire to record an acknowledgment of
grateful obligations to the gallant officers and brave men whom I have
the honor to command. Entering upon the campaign poorly clad and illy
prepared for undergoing its hardships, these worthy votaries of freedom
nevertheless bore themselves bravely, and I did not hear a murmur,
nor witness the least reluctance in the discharge of duty, however
unpleasant. All did well, and to this I attribute in a great measure
the unparalleled success which attended all our efforts during the
campaign.

To Colonel D. W. Jones, Colonel E. R. Hawkins, Colonel Jack Wharton,
Lieutenant-Colonel J. S. Boggess, who commanded their respective
regiments; and Lieutenant-Colonel P. F. Ross and Major S. B. Wilson,
Sixth Texas; Lieutenant-Colonel J. T. Whitfield and Major B. H.
Nosworthy, of Legion; Major A. B. Stone, Third Texas; and Major H. C.
Dial, Ninth Texas; also Captains Gurly, Plummer, Killough and Preston;
Lieutenants Alexander and Sykes; members of my staff: I feel especially
indebted for earnest, zealous, and efficient co-operation. These
officers upon many trying occasions acquitted themselves with honor,
and it affords me pleasure to be able to commend to the favorable
notice of the Brigadier-General commanding.

I have the honor to be, Captain, very resp’t,

  Your obedient Servant,
  Official:        L. S. ROSS,
  A. A. G. “59”      _Brig. Gen’l., J. C._




CHAPTER XIX

THE END OF THE WAR

 Christmas—I Lose All My Belongings—The “Owl Train”—A
 Wedding—Furloughed—Start for Texas—Hospitality—A Night in the
 Swamp—The Flooded Country—Swimming the Rivers—In Texas—Home
 Again—Surrender of Lee, Johnston, and Kirby Smith—Copy of Leave of
 Absence—Recapitulation—Valuation of Horses in 1864—Finis.


ALTHOUGH we moved in a very leisurely manner in order to give General
Hood a chance to put a pontoon bridge across Tennessee River and cross
his infantry, artillery, and wagon trains, the enemy never came in
sight of us again.

Our Christmas was spent on this march. The weather was quite cold and
many of our poor soldiers had to march over frozen ground barefooted.
Between the 25th day of December, 1864, and the 1st day of January,
1865, everything had crossed to the south side of the river, during
a little more than a month having seen much hard service, severe
fighting, and demoralizing disaster. We continued to move leisurely
southward. The main army moved to Tupelo, Miss., while our command
moved to Egypt Station on the Mobile & Ohio Railroad. After crossing
the river General Ross detailed Captain H. W. Wade, of the Sixth Texas,
Lieutenant Thompson Morris, of the Legion, and myself as a permanent
brigade court-martial.

Egypt Station is situated in one of the richest of the black land
districts. Corn was abundant, and we remained there several days,
during which time it rained almost incessantly, but the court-martial
procured quarters in a house and was able to keep out of the black
mud, which was very trying on the men in camp. Being scarce of
transportation for baggage when we started to Georgia, the officers’
trunks and valises, containing all their best clothes, were left in
Mississippi in charge of a detail of two men, afterwards reduced to
one. While we were moving out of Tennessee the baggage was run up to a
small station on the Mobile & Ohio Railroad, and just before we reached
it a small scouting party of the enemy’s cavalry swooped down, fired
the station, and all our good clothes went up in smoke. In fact, this
and Kilpatrick’s raid left me with almost “nothing to wear.”

Leaving Egypt, we moved slowly back to our old stamping-ground in the
Yazoo country. We camped one night some seventy-five miles north of
Kosciusko, and in the morning, before the command was ready to move,
about 180 men from the brigade, including several from Company C, Third
Texas, mounted their horses and moved out, without leave, and started
for the west side of the Mississippi River. They had organized what
they were pleased to call an “owl train,” a term of no significance
worth explaining. It meant that they had become demoralized and
impatient for the promised furlough, and had determined to go home
without leave. It was a source of great regret to see numbers of men
who had been good soldiers for fully three and a half years thus
defiantly quit the command with which they had so faithfully served,
but not a harsh word was said to them, nor was effort made to stop
them. Whether they would have returned or not, I do not know; perhaps
many of them would, but circumstances were such that they never did. To
this day many of them, perhaps all, live in constant regret that they
were induced to take this one false step when we were so near the end.

On the same morning Lieutenant William H. Carr and myself obtained
permission to go ahead of the command, to have some boots made, and
started for Mr. Richburg’s shop. A little after night the second day
we reached the house of Mr. Savage, and obtained permission to spend
the night. Soon after we were seated by a splendid blazing fire, his
daughter, Miss Hattie, whom I had met at Mr. Blunt’s about eighteen
months before, came into the room. She recognized me very readily, and
was apparently glad to meet me again. As there was to be a wedding
at their house in about three days, she very cordially invited us to
attend, which we agreed to do, provided we remained in the neighborhood
that long. We hurried on to Richburg’s shop, ordered our boots, which
he promised to make right away—that is, in about three days. We then
went to the home of my friends, the Ayres family, and made that our
home for the time being. The wedding was attended by us, in company
with Miss Andrews, the step-daughter, and our boots were finished just
in time to enable us to join the wedding party at the dinner given
the next day in Kosciusko, ten miles on our way. Here we dined, after
which, bidding farewell to our friends and acquaintances, we hastened
on to overtake our command.

Unexpectedly, a little later, we were favored with an order to furlough
one-half of the command, officers and men, it being my fortune to be
of the “one-half.” Selecting and sending up the names of those to
be furloughed, writing up and returning the papers, consumed time,
so that it was February before we were ready to start to Texas.
Lieutenant-Colonel Jiles S. Boggess, of the Third Texas, being the
ranking field officer to go, was to be nominally in charge of the
furloughed men, and as he lived in Henderson, my expectation was to
go home with him; but it turned out otherwise. The day for starting
was agreed on, leaving Colonel Boggess to bring my papers and meet
me at Murdock’s ferry on Yazoo River. I left camp the day before and
went up to the home of John F. Williams and spent the night. John
F. Williams had been sheriff of Cherokee County, Texas, in an early
day, but had moved back to Mississippi. His two sons had joined our
company, but Wyatt, the older one, being physically disqualified, had
been discharged. He was anxious to come to his grandfather in Marshall,
Texas, and I loaned him a horse on which to make the trip; and,
declining to bring my boy Jake on so long a ride, to return so soon (as
I then believed), I gave him a horse and saddle and told him to take
care of himself.

Starting next morning with Wyatt Williams, I came on to Lexington and
spent the night at the residence of our “Aunt Emma Hays.” Mrs. Hays
was one of the noblest women we met in Mississippi, a great friend to
Ross’s brigade collectively, and a special friend to a good many of us
individually. Her good old mother, Mrs. West, was there. She had lived
in Marion, Ala., and was strongly attached to persons of my name there,
and would always insist that I favored them, and was related to them;
and the good, kind-hearted creature would do all she could for me and
seemed to regret that she could not do more. These two kindly ladies
furnished me luncheon enough to have lasted me, individually, almost to
Rusk.

The next day we rode in the rain all day to Murdock’s ferry, where, as
we arrived after dark, it required a good deal of yelling and waiting
to get a boat to cross in. Finally we stopped at Colonel Murdock’s
gate and, although his house appeared to be full of soldiers, we were
welcome. Murdock was the big-hearted man who, when the brigade camped
on his premises for a day and night, refused to sell the man sweet
potatoes, but said: “Go back and tell the boys to come up to the house
and get as many as they want.” I had made the acquaintance of Mrs.
Murdock and her sister, Miss Ford, of Louisiana, who was visiting her,
at Lexington some months previous. I found Captain Sid Johnson, of
Tyler, was at Mrs. Murdock’s home. Mrs. Murdock whispered to me and
said: “Supper will soon be ready for the company, but I wish you and
Captain Johnson to wait and eat with the family.” This we did, and
afterwards were invited into the parlor, and pleasantly entertained by
the ladies, Mrs. Murdock the while urging me to remain and spend my
leave of absence with them instead of going to Texas.

In the meantime the rain continued to pour down, and increased in
violence, continuing all next day and the next night. While the others
all pushed on except Williams and myself, I remained there until
afternoon. About noon Colonel Boggess reined up at the gate long enough
to say “Come ahead,” and rode off in a torrent of rain, and the next
time I saw him he was in Henderson, his home. Finally Williams and I
started, intending to cross Sunflower Swamp and Sunflower River that
evening, but soon found the whole country was overflowed, and losing
much valuable time in trying to cross a creek without swimming it we
had to lay out in the swamp that night. We cut a lot of cane for our
horses to stand on, and piled a lot up by an old tree, and on that we
sat down all night in the rain.

Next morning by swimming a large creek we reached Sunflower River,
found it bank full, the ferryboat on the west side, and the ferryman
gone. By going down the river three or four miles we found a farm and
a private ferry, but it was afternoon when we crossed. Reaching the
Mississippi we found a number of the men waiting to get over, but
Colonel Boggess had crossed and gone on. The crossing was tedious in
the extreme, as the only means of doing so was to swim the horses by
the side of a skiff, and this had to be done in the daytime, when you
had to look out for gunboats. When over, it was very uncertain with
whom you were going to travel, as every fellow, when he got his horse
up the bank and over the levee on the west side, at once struck out for
Texas. I lost Williams and never saw him afterwards.

The country between the Mississippi and Red River was practically
afloat. We crossed a great many streams, how many I do not remember,
and we found but one stream, Little River, where the bridge was not
washed away. We traveled along near the Arkansas and Louisiana line,
sometimes in one State and sometimes in the other. The first stream
encountered after crossing the Mississippi was a large bayou in the
bottom, which we crossed on a raft constructed of logs tied together.
We ferried Ouachita River, two miles, crossed Little River on a bridge,
and had to swim every other stream, averaging something like three a
day. We struck Red River at Carolina Bluff, some twenty miles above
Shreveport, and had to swim the overflow in several places to get down
to Shreveport, where we found dry ground. We came through it all with
but one serious accident, and that was the drowning of a negro boy. I
traveled mostly with Dr. Blocker, of Harrison County, and three or four
of the Third Texas from Smith County.

One morning I found my horse badly foundered, so that I could not keep
up with my crowd. Coming to Magnolia, Ark., about noon, I had to sell
one of my pistols in order to trade for a horse that was able to bring
me on.

Upon reaching Henderson, about eleven o’clock one day, the first man I
recognized on the street was Lieutenant-Colonel Jiles S. Boggess, of
the Third Texas Cavalry. He abused me roundly for being behind, and
threatened that I should never leave the town with whole bones unless
I went down to his house and took a rest and dinner with him, and I
yielded. Here I learned that the “owl train” gang had not yet reached
Texas, that they crossed the river, had been arrested at Alexandria,
perhaps, and were detained under guard at Shreveport. Through the
influence of Colonel Boggess, however, they were soon afterwards
released by General Smith and allowed to come home.

I reached Rusk a little before noon the next day.

The following is a true copy of the paper on which I came to Texas:

  HD. QTS. ROSS BRIG. CAV.,
  Deasonville, Miss., Feb. 20, 1865.

  Special orders
  No. 2.  Ext.

 By authority from Lieutenant-General Taylor Leaves of absence are
 granted to the following named officers for Sixty (60) days.

       *       *       *       *       *

 XXVII Lieutenant S. B. Barron, Company “C” Third Texas.

  L. S. ROSS,
  _Brig. Gen’l._

At the proper time I presented myself to Colonel Boggess at Henderson,
and reported to him that I was ready to start back. He told me he had
no idea that we could cross the river, as it was reported to be from
five to twenty-five miles wide; that he had sent a man to ascertain
whether it was possible for us to cross it, and if so he would let
me know, and directed me to return to Rusk and remain until I heard
from him. Thus matters stood until the startling news reached us
that General R. E. Lee had surrendered his army in Virginia. This
was followed in quick succession by the surrender of General Joseph
E. Johnston in North Carolina, the other commanding officer, and
finally by General E. Kirby Smith’s surrender of the trans-Mississippi
department.

And then—then the four years’ war, with all its fun and frolic, all
its hardships and privations, its advances and retreats, its victories
and defeats, its killing and maiming, was at an end.

I am unable to give the losses of Ross’ brigade sustained in the
Atlanta campaign. If it was ever given out officially I never saw
it. But our ranks were very much depleted as the result of this
long campaign. Some went to the hospitals badly wounded, some were
furloughed with wounds not considered dangerous, some were rolled in
their blankets and buried where they fell, and others were carried to
Northern prisons, there to die or remain until the close of the war.

Nor can I now give the loss we sustained in the Nashville campaign. It
was carefully made up in detail, but I do not remember it. I remember
that John B. Long, of Company C, was shot through both thighs, and
I remember two gallant members of Company B, Bud McClure and Joe
Robinson, were killed near Pulaski on the retreat.

       *       *       *       *       *

The regulation that our horses should be listed and valued now and
then, to show the estimation placed upon horseflesh in the currency of
our Government, I give the following valuations made in the early part
of the year 1864, of the officers and men then present for duty, viz.:

Captain John Germany, one bay horse, $2000; Lieutenant W. H. Carr, one
sorrel horse, $1200; Lieutenant R. L. Hood, one sorrel horse, $1600;
Lieutenant S. B. Barron, one black horse, $1400; one bay mule, $1000;
First Sergeant John B. Long, one bay horse, $900; Second Sergeant R.
L. Barnett, one sorrel mare, $1500; First Corporal D. H. Allen, one
sorrel horse, $1600; S. D. Box, one bay horse, $1500; Stock Ewin, one
sorrel horse, $2500; J. J. Felps, one brown mule, $900; Luther Grimes,
one sorrel horse, $1400; J. B. Hardgraves, one sorrel horse, $1500;
J. R. Halbert, one sorrel mare, $1200; J. T. Halbert, one gray horse,
$1500; W. H. Higginbotham, one gray horse, $1200; J. H. Jones, one bay
mare, $1000; W. H. Kellum, one brown mule, $900; S. N. Keahey, one
gray horse, $1100; G. A. McKee, one sorrel mule, $1400; Jno. Meyers,
one dark roan horse, $800; Tom Petree, one sorrel horse, $1100; J. B.
Reagan, one black mule, $900; C. M. Roark, one sorrel horse, $1200;
A. B. Summers, one black horse, $1500; J. W. Smith, one brown horse,
$1600; E. S. Wallace, one bay horse, $1600; J. R. Watkins, one sorrel
horse, $2000; C. Watkins, one cream horse, $1200; T. F. Woodall, one
sorrel horse, $1000; R. F. Woodall, one sorrel horse, $1600; J. W.
Wade, one gray horse, $1800; T. H. Willson, one gray mule, $1000; E. W.
Williams, one sorrel horse, $1400; N. J. Yates, one black mule, $1000.


                                THE END




                              FOOTNOTES:

[1] HEADQUARTERS WEST’N DEP’T. BALDWIN, June 4, 1862.
General Order No. 62:

The General commanding takes great pleasure in calling the attention
of the army to the brave, skillful and gallant conduct of Lieut. Col.
Lane, of the Third Regt. Texas Dismounted Cavalry, who with two hundred
and forty-six men, on the 29th ult., charged a largely superior force
of the enemy, drove him from his position, and forced him to leave a
number of his dead and wounded on the field. The conduct of this brave
regiment is worthy of all honor and imitation. In this affair, Private
J. N. Smith was particularly distinguished for brave and gallant
conduct in the discharge of his duty, and was severely wounded. To him,
on some future occasion, will be awarded a suitable “Badge of Honor.”

By command of Gen’l Beauregard.

(Signed): GEORGE W. BRENT, Acting Chief of Staff.
Private J. N. Smith, Third Texas Dismounted Cavalry.
Official copy. M. M. Kimmell, Maj. & A. A. G.

[2] Of this last I am not positive, but believe I am correct.

[3] Since the above was written Major-General William Rufus Shafter had
been placed upon the retired list. In the fall of 1906 he was stricken
with pneumonia, near Bakersfield, Cal., where he died November 12,
after a short illness.

[4] If the Third Texas colors were captured by them, they were found in
an ambulance, as we did not have the flag unfurled on this expedition.

[5] It will be noted here that the aggregate loss of 206 men is only
the loss of one division, not including Kilpatrick’s Division and the
two batteries.

[6] Since the above was written, this Southern heroine has passed to
that bourne from which no traveler returns.




      *      *      *      *      *      *




Transcriber’s note:

—Obvious errors were corrected.