Editor Commercial Appeal:Whenever I hear the patriotic spirit of the Southern women alluded to, I somehow revert to an incident that came under my observation on the 2nd day of December, 1862, at Oxford, Miss. Price and Van Dorn had been forced to abandon the line of the Tallahatchie and were falling back to the line of the Yalobusha. Our cavalry was making a stubborn resistance against overwhelming forces of the Federals in order to hold them in check long enough to allow our trains to get beyond immediate danger. A cold rain was falling and there seemed to be no bottom to the roads. The citizens were panic-stricken and the army was in no good spirits. It had not entirely recovered from the disastrous repulse at Corinth, and the terrible weather added to the distress. “Blue ruin” seemed to stare us in the face. Colonel Wheeler of the First Tennessee Cavalry was temporarily in command of W. H. Jackson’s brigade, which was trying to hold the Abbeville road. There was no picket in our front and there was a call for somebody to reconnoiter. There was no positive order from the Colonel commanding, but as he rode along the front of our company he said: “Some of you men with carbines go out there and see where they are.” It was one ofthose times when it was nobody’s business in particular, but everybody’s in general. Just then I asked Sam Clinton, who recently died at Bolivar, if he would go with me. We rode forward, followed by four other men of other companies. I remember that Sam and I realized the danger and would have preferred to be somewhere else. We stirred up a hornet’s nest, for very soon there was one report, and a singing minie passed over our heads. Instantly, a heavy skirmish line of Kansas Jayhawkers, who knew how to shoot, rose up in the bushes on each side of the road. We replied in kind, but retreated at a rapid pace. Only one of the six was struck, Private Wilson of Company B, of Covington, who had his thigh bone fractured and became a permanent cripple. The retreat even was so hot that I hastily concluded to quit the road and try the timber. In forcing my horse, “Old Snip,” up an embankment the wet and thawing earth gave way, and Snip and I fell in such a position, with my left foot under him, that it was difficult to rise. I had to think fast. I spurred the poor beast with my right foot to force him to an effort to rise so that I could recover my left. The next thing was to recover my navy six and saddle bags, containing my scant “wardrobe” which had become detached and fallenin the mud. Replacing my pistol in the holster, throwing my saddle bags on my shoulder and holding on to my carbine, I turned my attention to Snip, who had by a supreme effort recovered his feet and was ready for any emergency. Following my lead, he mounted the embankment and we had the protection of the timber. Just then the gallant Joe Wicks of Memphis, the adjutant of our regiment, came with orders for the squad to fall back. We had already taken orders from the Jayhawkers. But poor Joe Wicks, we never saw him more. Dashing into the thicket, he said he had other orders to deliver. In a few minutes his riderless horse came dashing back to the command. He never delivered his orders, but was buried by the good people of Oxford.But I started out to say something about the Confederate women. If I have any excuse for this preliminary, it is, that my readers may have a faint appreciation of the troubles that come to a poor private of a retreating army in midwinter. As for the Confederate women, it is always in order, even in the middle of an effective paragraph, to say your best about them, but, if I had some happy trick of phrase or knack of language, which I just now heartily desire, I would write in the language of loftiest eulogyin their praise. However, let us think that there never were any others just like them.But now as to the particular incident. Oxford was a town of tearful women and weeping maids. This added to our overflowing cup. On the verandah of a cottage, somewhere just south of the courthouse, was standing one of the maidens, who did not seem to be weeping, for her spirit had risen to the occasion. With dark blue eyes and flowing hair, she was animation incarnate. She was most forcibly expressing her opinion about our giving over the town to the merciless Yankees. Her short skirts and youthful appearance, somewhat mollified her impeachment, for, if we had taken her opinion as solid truth, and had seen ourselves as she, for the moment, saw us, we should have been convinced that we were the most cowardly aggregation of “skedaddling” cavalry in the Confederacy. In just twenty days, we had ample revenge and surcease from humiliation at Holly Springs, where the Federal loss of army stores, right in the rear of Grant’s army, went into the millions, and was the greatest loss of supplies that occurred on a single occasion during the war. Historians have not even done this affair under Van Dorn the scantiest justice.But who was our little maiden, she of the patrioticimpulses? Everybody wanted to know, for we hoped to have her think better of us. Cad Linthicum, our little Kentuckian, who somehow had a penchant for knowing all the girls in divers places, said it was Taylor Cook. And so it was Taylor Cook. Then “Taylor Cook” went down the line. She had become famous in a twinkling. The Seventh Tennessee Cavalry would have willingly adopted her as “The Daughter of the Regiment,” if she could have appreciated the honor. She was worthy to become the wife of Nathan Bedford Forrest’s only son. And she did. When I pause at her grave in beautiful Elmwood, I think of that sad day at Oxford.J. M. HUBBARD.Erstwhile of Company E,Seventh Tenn. Cavalry.
Editor Commercial Appeal:
Whenever I hear the patriotic spirit of the Southern women alluded to, I somehow revert to an incident that came under my observation on the 2nd day of December, 1862, at Oxford, Miss. Price and Van Dorn had been forced to abandon the line of the Tallahatchie and were falling back to the line of the Yalobusha. Our cavalry was making a stubborn resistance against overwhelming forces of the Federals in order to hold them in check long enough to allow our trains to get beyond immediate danger. A cold rain was falling and there seemed to be no bottom to the roads. The citizens were panic-stricken and the army was in no good spirits. It had not entirely recovered from the disastrous repulse at Corinth, and the terrible weather added to the distress. “Blue ruin” seemed to stare us in the face. Colonel Wheeler of the First Tennessee Cavalry was temporarily in command of W. H. Jackson’s brigade, which was trying to hold the Abbeville road. There was no picket in our front and there was a call for somebody to reconnoiter. There was no positive order from the Colonel commanding, but as he rode along the front of our company he said: “Some of you men with carbines go out there and see where they are.” It was one ofthose times when it was nobody’s business in particular, but everybody’s in general. Just then I asked Sam Clinton, who recently died at Bolivar, if he would go with me. We rode forward, followed by four other men of other companies. I remember that Sam and I realized the danger and would have preferred to be somewhere else. We stirred up a hornet’s nest, for very soon there was one report, and a singing minie passed over our heads. Instantly, a heavy skirmish line of Kansas Jayhawkers, who knew how to shoot, rose up in the bushes on each side of the road. We replied in kind, but retreated at a rapid pace. Only one of the six was struck, Private Wilson of Company B, of Covington, who had his thigh bone fractured and became a permanent cripple. The retreat even was so hot that I hastily concluded to quit the road and try the timber. In forcing my horse, “Old Snip,” up an embankment the wet and thawing earth gave way, and Snip and I fell in such a position, with my left foot under him, that it was difficult to rise. I had to think fast. I spurred the poor beast with my right foot to force him to an effort to rise so that I could recover my left. The next thing was to recover my navy six and saddle bags, containing my scant “wardrobe” which had become detached and fallenin the mud. Replacing my pistol in the holster, throwing my saddle bags on my shoulder and holding on to my carbine, I turned my attention to Snip, who had by a supreme effort recovered his feet and was ready for any emergency. Following my lead, he mounted the embankment and we had the protection of the timber. Just then the gallant Joe Wicks of Memphis, the adjutant of our regiment, came with orders for the squad to fall back. We had already taken orders from the Jayhawkers. But poor Joe Wicks, we never saw him more. Dashing into the thicket, he said he had other orders to deliver. In a few minutes his riderless horse came dashing back to the command. He never delivered his orders, but was buried by the good people of Oxford.
But I started out to say something about the Confederate women. If I have any excuse for this preliminary, it is, that my readers may have a faint appreciation of the troubles that come to a poor private of a retreating army in midwinter. As for the Confederate women, it is always in order, even in the middle of an effective paragraph, to say your best about them, but, if I had some happy trick of phrase or knack of language, which I just now heartily desire, I would write in the language of loftiest eulogyin their praise. However, let us think that there never were any others just like them.
But now as to the particular incident. Oxford was a town of tearful women and weeping maids. This added to our overflowing cup. On the verandah of a cottage, somewhere just south of the courthouse, was standing one of the maidens, who did not seem to be weeping, for her spirit had risen to the occasion. With dark blue eyes and flowing hair, she was animation incarnate. She was most forcibly expressing her opinion about our giving over the town to the merciless Yankees. Her short skirts and youthful appearance, somewhat mollified her impeachment, for, if we had taken her opinion as solid truth, and had seen ourselves as she, for the moment, saw us, we should have been convinced that we were the most cowardly aggregation of “skedaddling” cavalry in the Confederacy. In just twenty days, we had ample revenge and surcease from humiliation at Holly Springs, where the Federal loss of army stores, right in the rear of Grant’s army, went into the millions, and was the greatest loss of supplies that occurred on a single occasion during the war. Historians have not even done this affair under Van Dorn the scantiest justice.
But who was our little maiden, she of the patrioticimpulses? Everybody wanted to know, for we hoped to have her think better of us. Cad Linthicum, our little Kentuckian, who somehow had a penchant for knowing all the girls in divers places, said it was Taylor Cook. And so it was Taylor Cook. Then “Taylor Cook” went down the line. She had become famous in a twinkling. The Seventh Tennessee Cavalry would have willingly adopted her as “The Daughter of the Regiment,” if she could have appreciated the honor. She was worthy to become the wife of Nathan Bedford Forrest’s only son. And she did. When I pause at her grave in beautiful Elmwood, I think of that sad day at Oxford.
J. M. HUBBARD.Erstwhile of Company E,Seventh Tenn. Cavalry.
On the 3rd day of December, 1862, the Seventh Regiment had placed the Yokona between itself and the enemy. We destroyed the bridges in order to hold them in check. Here we committed about our first depredation on a citizen. We burnt his fence rails. Remember it was cold and wet and we had no axes. The boys spoke of it as an outrage (sic), but felt good as they dried themselves around the burning rails. We consoled ourselves with the reflectionthat, if the owner were as patriotic as he should have been, he never would utter a word of complaint. Many a time, when the temperature was low, we had occasion to revert with pleasure to the generous fires near Springdale, an old antebellum stagestand.
“Boots and saddles,” for the Federal cavalry had already gotten between the Seventh Regiment and Water Valley. There was but one thing to do. Put on a bold front and run over them or through them. This was so quickly done by our advance that the rear never came in sight of the enemy. The road was now clear and we continued to move south. The next day, just north of Coffeeville, we assisted in forming an ambuscade to entrap the Federal cavalry. This was attended with sufficient success to enable our whole army to take post at Grenada.
We were getting well along into the second year of the war, and our prospects were getting worse on the “Memphis lines.” North Mississippi was in the hands of the Federals, and nothing seemed more probable or possible than that we should be driven further toward the Gulf. Van Dorn had had rather poor success as the commander of an army or the projector of a campaign, but the Confederate authorities knew he was a born cavalryman. He appearedto be the very man to lead a bold movement to the rear of Grant’s army on the Tallahatchie. A corps composed entirely of cavalry was organized to take the road with Holly Springs as an objective point. This place had been abundantly supplied with everything needed by an army of twenty thousand men, encamped south of it, and was garrisoned by about three thousand of all arms. Most of the storehouses around the public square were full of provisions, clothing and medical stores. A large livery stable had been converted into an immense arsenal for the storage of arms and ammunition. There was a long string of cars on the tracks, sufficient, perhaps, to make three good trains, which it was said were loaded with supplies for the army. The sutlers and the small dealers who follow an army, were fully supplied, as if they expected to make a permanent stay in the Sunny South. The cotton speculators were in force, and had hundreds of bales in storage. Van Dorn did not expect to transport any part of these vast supplies south. His purpose was to surprise the garrison at daylight, parole the prisoners and destroy the stores. So after making a march of one day and two nights, much of which was at a trot, and during which we had, after starting from Grenada, swept around by way of Benela, Houston, Pontotocand New Albany, about 100 miles, we surprised and captured the Federal outpost and entered the town at a gallop. On that clear, frosty morning of December 20th, 1862, the Seventh Regiment was marching in the rear of a column so long and moving so rapidly that we made the last mile or two at about full speed. When we did reach the town, our horses were hot and smoking and men greatly excited. Colonel Murphy, the Federal commander of the post, had already been surprised in his bed and the Confederates were on every corner. Men, women and children were sounding praises to the Confederates. We could hardly realize that we were in possession of the largest booty secured by any army, so far, in the war. Everybody wanted to carry away something, but it was hard to make a selection. Here were great inducements to plunder and such a condition of demoralization existed as might cause the officers to lose control of their men. Whisky, brandy and wines of the best quality and in unbroken packages were among the spoils of war, and everybody so disposed could help himself. And pretty much everybody was disposed. A. S. Coleman, he of the Missouri roasting ear story and sutler of the regiment, had left his wagon at Grenada and had donned his fighting clothes for the raid. He acted as a sortof free lance, who had the assurance to assume special privileges. He visited some of the richest depots early and selected such articles as he knew would please the boys. He soon hove in sight of Company E with a string of hats as long as a plough line wound about him and his horse. What looked like the effigy of a man, clothed in blue trousers of large dimensions and cut in twain at the waist and footless, sat bolt upright on the pommel of Coleman’s saddle. When the contents of the effigy were displayed, we found we had more good liquor than we had room for. All were in fine trim now to attack the commissary stores. As in the case of the fine liquors, the boys did materially reduce the visible supply of good things. People of all classes, without regard even to previous condition of servitude, were told to walk up and help themselves. Children reveled in the pleasures of the occasion, and grown people declared that it was the grandest day the town had ever seen. The work of destruction began in the afternoon. The arsenal was destroyed, all cars with their contents and houses used for the storage of cotton were burned. Town and country were enveloped in smoke and the report of explosives was heard when we were many miles from the scene of destruction. Van Dorn had so completelyreaped the fruits of victory that his praise was on every tongue. The men rode out of Holly Springs at nightfall in high glee and perfectly willing to incur other dangers further north. The loss to the Federals has been estimated as high as $3,000,000.
I have been at some pains to find out about how many men Van Dorn had at Holly Springs, but the affair has been so lightly regarded by writers and the records are so lacking in specific statements, that I am only able to state that I had the impression at the time his force numbered about four thousand men. He had no artillery. A statement here as to strength is immaterial in this case, as one thousand men, or maybe less, could have accomplished all that was done. For the Federals, it was a complete surprise and a humiliating disaster. The Confederates could hardly realize that they had participated in one of the most brilliant military exploits of the war. They had lost one man killed, John Graves, of Company A. When our column was on the road next morning, after a brief rest, it looked very like a Federal column, as thousands of new blue overcoats had been captured and were utilized on this clear frosty morning. Van Dorn reached Davis’ Mills, now Michigan City, early in the morning of the 21st of December. This place is about twentymiles north of Holly Springs and on Wolf River. The Federal force here was small, but well protected by a fort, rifle pits and a barricaded millhouse. The Confederates, on foot, assailed the position furiously as if they expected to take it by assault. The fire from the little garrison was so galling from across the river, quite an insignificant stream at that point, that they sheltered themselves for a time behind an earthen mill dam constructed along the bank. Here we had a slight loss in killed and wounded. The retreat to our horses was perilous and the enemy made the most of it. While lying in the ditch beside the milldam, a hat elevated above our protection was apt to receive two or three bullet holes. Lieutenant Statler of Company E had aHolly Springshat ruined by a minie ball passing through the band and on through his hair. Poor fellow, when I found his dead body, the day after the battle of Harrisburg, July 14th, 1864, I noticed that the ball that killed him had passed through his hat band.
After the affair at Davis’ Mill we retired to the neighborhood of the Lane Farm, and rested for part of the night. Our horses had a bountiful feed and a short rest. What must be done must be done quickly. So we struck the usual trot. My little blooded stallion seemed to know just what was wanted. Hewould lie down like a tired dog when the column made a short halt, but was all life and animation when it was moving. Across Wolf river at Moscow in the early morning, we took the road to Somerville. It was said that we would repeat the Holly Springs business at Bolivar. The men of Company E knew every road and by-path leading to the town. Our hopes were high. We were willing to head a surprise party, or lead an assault. We should be fighting in the presence of our own people—the home folks. But we passed on to Danceyville, and that did not look like going to Bolivar. A short halt and a countermarch, and we were surely on the road to Bolivar.
We had traveled over much of Fayette and Hardeman counties, but bivouacked on Clear Creek on the night of December 23rd. We had been bountifully fed right here when on our way to Randolph the year before and had slept on this ground part of a night on the Armstrong raid. When I think of this place I think of chicken pie. The rank and file were confident that we would go into Bolivar, only a few miles distant, the next morning, and have a jolly Christmas right at home. That was not to be. Our scouts and spies reported that the Federals in great force were strongly fortified and were readyfor us. They had evidently heard from Holly Springs. Van Dorn drew off to Middleburg, seven miles southwest of Bolivar where a small garrison was protected by a brick storehouse with a hall above, through the walls of which they had made many portholes. Here we needed some kind of artillery. The Federals stood bravely to their guns and refused to comply with our demand to surrender. It was a detachment of the Twelfth Michigan infantry, which the community thought to be about as devilish a lot as ever came south.
At Middleburg I saw the prettiest line of battle in action that I saw in the whole war. It was Ross’ Texas brigade advancing on foot with a firing line of skirmishers several rods in advance. As we stood to the rear in reserve, I could but take pride in this fine body of Texans, as Sul Ross, afterward governor of Texas, was my schoolmate. He was a noble young fellow at college, a gallant Indian fighter before the war, a successful general in the Confederate army, an incorruptible statesman after the war and, finally, the most popular man in Texas. I was glad to call him friend. I have passed Middleburg many times since then, but always think of Ross’ line of battle. “After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well.”
Van Dorn retired, without molestation from the Federals, while Grant hastened to break camp on the Tallahatchie and to fall back to Memphis. The object of the expedition had been pretty fully accomplished.
When Van Dorn reached Ripley on his way south, Dr. Bob Mayes and I concluded that we would take a short respite from camp life and make an expedition of our own into Alabama. While maturing our plans we fully realized that we had to take the chances of being reported absent without leave. We reasoned that it was mid-winter and that neither army would make an offensive move for some time. Then everybody was in good humor because of our late success, and besides we knew that we were not serving under martinets in the persons of our high officers—a rather common conclusion in those days. So at the first favorable opportunity we two moved by the left flank and took the road to Guntown. This was the same road along which Sturgis advanced and retreated when Brice’s Cross Roads became a famous place. We passed the cross roads and the now noted Dr. Agnew and Brice residences around which the battle was to be fought. We could not tell when we might come into contact with a Federal scouting party from Corinth or asquad of bushwhackers. In such an emergency, we were not to show our weakness to the enemy, but were to bluff them, if we could, and take to the woods in good order. We had seven shots apiece and plenty of ammunition. We questioned citizens in regard to the roads and the prospects of trouble. When we struck the wild country east of the Tombigbee, we were always on the alert and were cautious how we let any man approach us. The further we went the wilder the country appeared. Rough, rocky roads wound along the streams and down through the valleys, which lay between the lofty hills. Excellent places to be shot at.
Out through the village of Allsboro, we took the road to the old town of Frankfort with lighter hearts. We spoke gratefully of the kindness of the citizens along our route, who had treated us so hospitably, and concluded that we were never in as much danger as we had thought we were. We had not seen an armed man on the trip. At Tuscumbia, Mayes took the road to Courtland, I the one to Florence. I found the bridge over the Tennessee had been destroyed, and was compelled to take the risk of crossing on a rather dilapidated oar boat. But I felt at home on the dear old soil. Little Ernest, my first born, was soon to be in my arms and loving hands, includingthe old servants, were to leave nothing undone to make me feel happy. I was to stand again by the grave of a bride-mother, the beloved of all Florence, and too those of her father and two brothers over which the fresh earth still lay. My tired horse is really climbing the old hill; I see the old Dr. Todd place up to my left, the antiquated buildings of older Florence, the pillared seat of justice, built in the long ago. Why, I am right up in town. I turn into Military street. The old home is in sight. My heart! My heart! Bright eyes! Bright eyes! The loved ones with the baby.
But I look around and find the place greatly changed. I see more women than men. Two colleges closed and little or no business doing in the stores. No courts in session. Many residences closed. Small groups of anxious men stand on the corners, for Bragg is fighting at Murfreesboro and many of the Florence soldiers are there. Just such meager reports were coming in as would create the greatest suspense. The town had been in the hands of the Federals much of the time since the battle of Shiloh, and had been greatly harassed by raiders. Clothing and provisions, even the necessities of life, were hard to get. So the people talked mostly of the distress and gloom brought on by the war. Men andwomen, heretofore prosperous and happy, were bowed down with grief and, in many cases, in dire want. These good people were subject to insult and liable to lose the last crust at the hands of a rude soldiery. In fact, they did undergo, before the war was over, sufferings more intense and cruelties more severe. The state of affairs described bore hard upon all, but especially so upon the conservative element made up largely of old gentlemen, patriotic and true, who believed that a peaceable settlement could have been effected and war avoided. I was in sympathy, from the first, with that element in politics, who, while opposed to secession, yet when war was flagrant, gave up everything and, in many cases, took up arms in behalf of the South. I mention as typical of this class William B. Wood, Henry C. Jones and R. M. Patton.
Governor Patton, a gentleman of the old school, served his state well, and had two sons killed in battle. Judge Billy Wood was Colonel of the Sixteenth Alabama Infantry. I saw Stratton Jones, son of Judge Jones, dead on the field at Pulaski. As typical of those who thought differently on public questions, I mention the names of Richard W. Walker, Edward A. O’Neal and William H. Price, true as steel and patriots all. Walker was a famous lawyerand I heard it said then that he had much to do with the formation of the Confederate Constitution. O’Neal commanded a regiment in Lee’s army and after the war was governor. Major Price was killed in the same charge at Perryville in which his friend, Major Frank Gailor, the father of Bishop Gailor, fell. I record these things in a reminiscent mood, it is true, but they serve to illustrate what had taken place all over the South and, moreover, how people of radically diverse opinions on paramount questions can stand shoulder to shoulder when they come into the presence of a common danger. When the majority of the Southern people had spoken, Florence became a unit on the subject of resistance to Federal aggression. About all of her eligible men had gone into the army, and at the time of which I write she was mourning the death of many of her bravest and best. Lee had retired from Maryland and news came that Bragg was falling back, showing that Antietam and Murfreesboro were, at most, drawn battles. Coupled with Bragg’s retreat from Kentucky after the battle of Perryville they certainly emphasized the success of the Federals in preventing a Confederate invasion of the North. “Hope springs eternal in the human breast,” and there were some cheerful faces in Florence. Among these was thatof Colonel Tol Chisholm, the provost marshal, who generously furnished me with a pass that was supposed to be good from Florence to Grenada. I thought at the time that this was a wide territory for the authority of a petty provost to cover, but it was good at nearby points, and might be available, or at least better than nothing, further down the country. So having secured a splendid new mount, I turned my face toward Mississippi. There could be no concert of action between my fellow soldier, Dr. Mayes, and myself as communication was poor between Florence and Courtland. We were compelled to act independently. So, armed with Tol Chisholm’s pass against the Confederates and a good carbine and a navy six against any hostile attack that might beset me on my way, I drew rein in three or four days at Cotton Gin on the Tombigbee. I could now move at my leisure and as my good steed stepped over the muddy roads as if he scorned them, I arrived all right in Grenada.
My part of the personal expedition which Mayes and I projected had so far turned out charmingly, but at Grenada everything was not exactly lovely. In the disposition of the troops, the Seventh Tennessee Cavalry had been ordered to take post north of the Yalobusha for rest and recuperation. The lateSenator George, commander of the post, had orders to permit no one to pass north without permission from headquarters of the general commanding the army. I approached Colonel George with nothing to fortify me but a little assurance and Tol Chisholm’s pass. He was a man of pleasing personality with whose countenance I was somewhat familiar, as I had seen him at my father’s house back in the 50’s. I didn’t, however, disclose my identity for the purpose of working myself into his good graces, but on his refusal of a permit concluded it best to retire as gracefully as possible, thankful that he had not placed me under arrest. Across the river or to the guard house, for I had to have subsistence for self and horse. I rode directly to the river, where an officer was ferrying some men and horses in a boat nearly as long as the river was wide. I didn’t even exhibit Tol Chisholm’s pass, but in the confusion, incident to such occasions, I rode boldly into the boat and was soon safe on the north side. I had some occasion for reflection on my adventure and my interview with Colonel George. Only a few years ago I had charge of the schools of Grenada, and I never looked at the site of the old Brown Hotel that the same old reflections did not recur. In a short time I had the pleasure of congratulating Mayes on thepronounced success of his trip. As I expect to write even more fully concerning my impressions of some of the men with whom I served than heretofore, I may say something of Mayes right here. Wherever the short sketches occur, they may be taken as only partial portraitures of character, tinged in some instances, perhaps, with my tributes of praise to men who would do their duty at all hazards. Well then, Dr. R. M. Mayes was somewhat peculiar in his mental makeup, but withal a well-bred gentleman, a good soldier and a friend to rely on in an emergency. He abandoned the practice of dentistry for a season, after the war, and concluded he could make money in the cultivation of peanuts. One crop satisfied him. He married a young lady of estimable character, whom I knew well and who, though reared a blue stocking Presbyterian, by his own insistence followed him in his peregrinations through theological troubles. I may well say this, for Mayes was reared a Baptist but some time after the war was confirmed in the Episcopal Church. He at last sought satisfaction in the Roman Catholic Church. The couple reared a family, and I believe are still living in San Antonio. The thought comes to me now, and I will record it here, that I have learned about as much in my long life by reading people as I haveby reading books. In this regard, peculiar people have cut no small figure. Indeed, I can say that, psychologically speaking, the eccentricities of abnormal people afford a wider range of study than do the mental activities of people who are always merely at themselves. Though it may be true that “a fool is born every minute,” all peculiar people are not fools.
We spent a few weeks at old Pharsalia, on the Yokona river, where we constructed rude winter quarters, or “shanties,” for timber was abundant. We had a great snowstorm, and had to keep fires glowing. We had much pleasure here in receiving and entertaining for a part of a day Mrs. R. P. Neely, of Bolivar, and her daughter, Miss Kate, the latter of whom had been banished from her home by Gen. Brayman, the Federal commander of the post. Mrs. Neely was a splendid type of the true Southern woman, who, like all her children, stood always ready to make sacrifices for the Southern soldiers. She was a woman of most charming personality and gentle refinement, that could have filled almost any station to which ladies are called. Mrs. Elizabeth Lea Neely lived to a great age, and retained to the end the profound respect of all the good people of Bolivar. As for Miss Kate—now Mrs. Collins, of Memphis—she was,or rather is, a woman of the Grace Darling or Mollie Pitcher type, who would go to the rescue of those in peril, or take her place at the guns, if it were to repel the enemies of her country. May her days be long and happy. Charles R. Neely, the elder brother, killed at Brice’s Cross Roads, was already a valuable member of Company E, but here comes young Jimmy, the present capable Superintendent of the Western Hospital, who wanted to be a soldier. His mother protested that he was too young, but as an irregular he did honorable service as the war progressed. We changed our camp by taking post at Mitchell’s Cross Roads, near the mouth of Coldwater, where forage was plentiful and the service light. We had here a goodly number of recruits and returning soldiers from Tennessee. Rations were plentiful, but poor, but “foraging” was good and the citizens hospitable. It was a calm before a storm; indeed, it burst upon us rather suddenly one day that the Federals at Memphis were fitting out an expedition, which, taking advantage of the flooding stage of the waters, would go through the Yazoo Pass into the Coldwater river, thence into the Tallahatchie, and, finally, into the Yazoo river, and thus take Vicksburg in the rear. The projectors of the expedition were convinced of its feasibility, and the Confederates were proportionatelyalarmed. Fort Pemberton was hastily constructed, near the junction of the Tallahatchie and Yalobusha; heavy guns were mounted and a large force concentrated at that point. The cavalry was ordered to camp in the vicinity, and to scout and picket wherever a horse could go. Within a few days the Federal fleet of gunboats and transports arrived and opened fire on the fort. General Loring, “Old Blizzard,” was on the alert, and the resistance so stubborn that the fleet withdrew and made its way, in a much shattered condition, to Memphis. Glad enough to get out of the black mud around Greenwood, the Seventh Regiment was ordered to the hills. We camped about Grenada and Panola, and watched the roads leading toward Memphis, for the Federals had resumed their old practice of raiding and plundering. Brigadier-General James R. Chalmers, who had made some reputation in Bragg’s army, was placed in command of all the cavalry in North Mississippi. For a month or two we had no clash with the enemy. As soon as the roads would permit, we went over to the Mississippi river, the boys said, “to fight gunboats.” We struck the river in the vicinity of Commerce. We soon saw the smoke of an ascending steamer. Concealed along the shore, we waited with almost breathless anxiety the approach of thesteamer. All was in readiness. Our only cannon—a four-pounder—was masked on top of the levee. “Bang!” went a gun. There, now! One of the men in Company E had accidentally shot two others, but the wounds were slight. The silence was more breathless. On came the steamer. When she did get abreast of us, the rattle of small arms was something to remember. The little cannon turned loose her first shot, but the rebound carried her into the mud back of the levee, where she sank up to the hubs. There was a wild scramble among the gunners and others to place the piece in position. There were other shots and other rebounds, but if those fellows did any harm, it was to the timber over in Arkansas. I scarcely think, at this distant day, that they could have “hit a hole in the air,” much less a barndoor at short range. Seeing that the Alice Dean was unarmed, our men rushed down to the water’s edge. A lively fusillade was kept up for some minutes, while Colonel Stocks, in stentorian voice, demanded of the Captain that he bring the boat to shore. This created some amusement, for it was like “whistling to the wind,” as the boat hugged the Arkansas shore and puffed away up stream.
It was now “the good old summer time,” and the Federals were on the move. On the night of the18th of July, we bivouacked near them at the Dr. Atkins farm, just below Hernando. Their force consisted of detachments amounting to 320 men, all cavalry, under Major Henry, of the Fourth Ohio. Chalmers must have known that his own command was much stronger than the enemy’s, but they evidently did not. We held the road to Memphis, and it was reasonable to suppose that, when we attacked in the early morning, the enemy would, if pressed, move along this road. The Seventh Regiment was ordered to move through the front grounds of the Slocum place and to get as nearly as possible in the enemy’s rear. The plan of battle, as it was afterward developed, seemed to be that the Seventh should so push the enemy back upon the other regiments, properly placed, that a surrender of the enemy would be inevitable. As soon as we caught sight of them, mounted and formed along a lane, the fences of which they had torn down, our horses were put to their best, but, before we fired a shot, the enemy broke to the rear. Part of them fell back on our ambuscade, and were captured, but our charge had been so furious that the greater part were driven so far beyond the line of the regiments waiting to receive them that they escaped. The whole command now joined in the pursuit at a gallop. Federals andConfederates were commingled in one wild race, as we went over the fences and through the fields and woods. In the Jack Robertson wheat field, there was a resolute attempt of a Federal officer to rally his men. He did form a perfect line of some twenty men in the face of the fierce onslaught, but for a minute only. Here Adjutant Pope of the Seventh and Captain W. J. Tate of Company E were wounded, and Private James Moore of Company E was killed, the only man on our side to fall that day. It was a question of speed, and those who had the fastest horses met with the most exciting adventures. Lieutenant J. P. Statler of Company E, being thrown to the ground, because of a broken saddle girth, was left afoot, while his fine gray horse, Commodore, escaped with the fleeing enemy. There were opportunities to secure a mount, as in the excitement of the chase many of our adversaries had become separated from their horses. Following a country road along which we knew, by their tracks, a Federal detachment was escaping, Mat Hornsby and I came to a bridge over a small creek, which had been broken down, and with a horse fastened in the wreck. As this blocked our way, we turned down stream to find a crossing. We soon made a rich haul, for we came upon six good horses, with all their rigging, flounderingabout in water up to the saddle skirts. As there was great danger of their being drowned, in the excitement of the moment, I waded in to their rescue, and soon had one by the bridle. With Hornsby’s assistance, I saved the six horses with their accoutrements. As I was already well mounted, and, mindful of how things turned out at Davis’ bridge, I suggested to Mat that he select the best horse in the lot, turn his own “plug” in, and keep mum. He followed my suggestion implicitly, and selected the big sorrel.
James Madison Hornsby was a tip-top, good fellow. I trust he is with the angels, for he was a Confederate soldier, and, after the war, a Baptist preacher.
But we were to have no peace just then, for the Federals were sending out a force which could hold its own with Chalmers’ little army. We went into the “bottom” again and out to the hills, by way of the mouth of Coldwater. On this retreat, we were compelled to leave Adjutant W. S. Pope and Captain W. J. Tate, severely wounded, at farmhouses, where they were tenderly cared for. It happened that Pope’s mother and sister were in the neighborhood, and hastened to his bedside. Within three or four days we attacked the works at Collierville, but Chalmers,evidently concluding that the capture of the position was not worth the sacrifice that would have to be made, drew off in good order.
As a large and well-equipped force was reported to be moving from Memphis and other points, for the purpose of making another raid, but on a larger scale, Chalmers thought it prudent to fall back to the Yalobusha. As I remember it, the Seventh Tennessee took the Valley road at Panola, and, crossing the river at old Tuscahoma, turned east to Grenada. Tarrying only long enough to have our horses shod, Lieutenant Harris and I hastened to join the command. When we reached the crest of that noted landmark, Pine Hill, just south of the town, we saw dense volumes of smoke in the valley. A short distance down the slope, we came upon a well-known citizen in that country, the late William B. Owens, who appeared to be in a very excited state of mind. He stated that the Federals already had possession of the town, and had deprived him of his horse. I recognized in Mr. Owens an old acquaintance, but it was no time to recall old friendship. But for him we should probably have ridden right into the enemy’s lines. Harris and I made a quick movement through the timber till we reached the Carrollton road. We soon drew up at the house of a Mr. Patton, wherewe had an excellent supper and a good feed for our horses. We here learned that the railroad bridges at Grenada were burned, and that our whole command had gone east. It was thought prudent for us to cross certain roads before daylight. I now felt sure of myself, because in these same glades and hills of the Abituponbouge I had, when boyhood’s days were glad, chased the bounding deer and lay in wait for the festive wild turkey. It was in this section that I was inured to toil on the farm, and acquired a skill in horsemanship that afterward, and many a time, stood me in good stead in a close place. To me, the abode of peace had become the seat of war.
Leaving Lieutenant Harris, now safe on the road to the command, I turned aside to make a short call on the family of my only brother, the late Dorsey G. Hubbard, a member of the Fifth Mississippi Cavalry. Just as I reached the front gate, and was on the very spot where, in 1850, my father’s wagons and other vehicles halted, after a six week’s journey from North Carolina, I was accosted by some soldiers, who were seeking a man who could guide Whitfield’s Texas Brigade (Ross’) to Lodi. Well, yes; I could do that, and did so. While riding along in pleasant conversation with the General and his staff, a gentleman, who was somewhat disguised by his whiskersand soldier clothes, suddenly discovered my identity. It was a pleasant meeting and a pleasant greeting, for it was none other than that accomplished and genial gentleman, Captain Davis R. Gurley of Waco, the Adjutant-General of the Brigade, but a schoolmate of mine. Gurley was, at college, the roommate of the gallant General Dan McCook, of the Federal Army, who was killed at the head of his brigade at Kennesaw Mountain. Many years ago I had the pleasure of meeting him in his own city.
The Federals, in the movement alluded to, having seemingly accomplished all they had set out to do, returned to the line of the Memphis & Charleston Railroad. The Confederates, under Chalmers, having now no need of assistance from Whitfield’s Brigade, marched, by way of Grenada, to Irby’s mill, just west of Como.
We were now in a choice portion of Mississippi, and had more holiday soldiering and plenty of time to rest. We moved camp from place to place, as our needs in supplies demanded. Indeed, we had little else to do than to sit around and discuss such subjects as to when the war would end, how it would end, and how we should be treated, if finally defeated. On these subjects there were great variety and contrariety of opinions. We had the physicalfacts before us, and it looks, at this distant day, that there might have been but one opinion as to the final result. In the Gettysburg campaign, Lee’s army had been defeated and so greatly depleted that it was beyond the point of ever being made as strong as it had been. The Federals had unlimited resources in men, particularly in foreigners. These, though hirelings, knew how to throw up breastworks, mine and countermine. In surrendering Vicksburg and Port Hudson, the Confederates had weakened the armies in the West, and lost control of the Mississippi river. They had gained a victory at Chickamauga in September, which never could be called great because of the great loss of men. In November, Bragg was driven back at all points by Grant, at Missionary Ridge, and retreated, with an army greatly depleted, to Dalton, Ga. These days were somewhat restful to our particular command, yet they were gloomy days. We heard of a small victory here and there for the Confederates, but all the late larger affairs had resulted in favor of our enemies. Many believed that the establishment of the independence of the Confederacy was improbable, if not impossible. With the lights before them, men could not be censured for having an honest opinion. We could only hope that something would happen that would turnthe tide in our favor. It took moral courage, and plenty of it, for a man to make himself a target for bullets, when he had no very reasonable hope that, even by his death, he would save his country. While some abandoned the cause, it is to the everlasting credit of the majority of the men of the Seventh Tennessee Cavalry that they stood by those who had the direction of affairs, and, to that extent, had our destiny in their hands.
No more fighting now for many weeks, during which time both men and horses were put in fine condition. On October 8th, Company E was in a sharp contest with Federal cavalry at Salem, east of Lamar, but without decisive results. Chalmers then moved towards Collierville, at which place he assailed the works with his whole force, but the Federals, having the advantage of position in a fort and a barricaded railroad station, succeeded in withstanding the attack. Both sides fought desperately for a short time, and many were killed and wounded. It was related as a veracious story that Col. George, of the Fifth Mississippi, while leading his regiment in the charge, lost control of his horse, and was carried over the works and landed among the enemy without a scratch. Another incident of this battle was that General Sherman, having just arrived from Memphis,hastily abandoned his car, and, with his staff, rushed to a place of safety in the station, not being able to reach the fort. A fine mare, on which Adjutant Pope was killed at Tishomingo, was taken from the train, which was set on fire. It is safe to say that if our men had known there was so rich a prize as Sherman and his staff so near at hand, they would have taken that depot at all hazards. Chalmers drew off in order, as in the first battle here, but the Federals felt sufficiently encouraged to follow and fall upon our rear, at Quinn’s mill, on Coldwater. This little battle was picturesque, as the river separated the combatants, and it was dark enough to see the flashes of the guns. Here Adjutant Pope was thrown from his fine captured mare, which ran out some distance into the country, where she was taken up by a citizen. She was brought in the next week by John Duncan of Company E, who had been detailed for that purpose.
At an opportune moment, the Seventh Tennessee drew off from its fighting position, and followed the command till a late hour, when it went into bivouac at Ingram’s mill, on Pigeon Roost creek. Here we were attacked at daylight by the Second Kansas Cavalry, (Jayhawkers), on foot. Company E, under Lieutenant Statler, held them in check till we couldretire in good order. At Wall Hill their advance came into view, led by an officer mounted on a very white horse. As we went out of the lane, which led south from the village, and reached a skirt of timber on an elevation, we exhausted all our strategy in our efforts to induce the officer on the white horse to come within range. He capered around on his horse, something after the manner of General M. Jeff Thompson, whom I have told you about seeing in Missouri, when mounted on his little spotted stallion, but never did take the bait which we set for him. Falling back through Chulahoma, our whole force occupied a strong natural position at the old town of Wyatt, on the Tallahatchie. Here a heavy force of dismounted cavalry charged our position, but were driven back with great loss. Being now evidently reinforced, they returned to the attack with so much spirit, and the Confederates held their ground with so much tenacity, that in places the contest became hand to hand. The battle continued till after nightfall, when the Federals were driven back at all points of the line, with heavy loss. The Confederates crossed to the south side on a pontoon improvised for the occasion. In this whole campaign, the Confederate loss was comparatively light, though it had fought three battles in four days. Company E had lost onlytwo men wounded, who were able to ride off the field at Collierville. These were S. H. Clinton and Cad Linthicum, two of our very best men. One of the things to remember about Wyatt is that a heavy rainstorm prevailed while the battle was raging. During the next few weeks we moved from place to place, chiefly for the purpose of getting subsistence. We had plenty of time to discuss the conduct of the war and the possibilities and probabilities of the future. We had men in our regiment who could have established two or three Confederacies. At least, that is the way they talked. Company E, being temporarily detached, was posted at Coldwater to watch the movements of the enemy in the direction of Memphis. All this, and more, I shall tell you in the next chapter.
When the snow began to fly, Company E was comfortably quartered in the vacant storehouses at Coldwater, thirty-one miles from Memphis. The men provided themselves with heavier clothing, some articles of which were brought through the lines from home, while others were secured through blockade runners, as those citizens were called who carried cotton to Memphis and brought out supplies on a Federal permit. The service was light, with no picket duty, for the winter was so cold and the roads so bad that a Federal raid could hardly be expected. But the hours must be whiled away. So, when the boys were not rubbing up their arms and grooming their horses, they were cutting firewood, playing poker or dancing. The dancing was a feature. Boots were heavy, but the dancers were muscular and strong. They could thread the Virginia reel or tread through the mazes of a quartet, but the eight-couple cotillion, in which a greater number could participate, thus giving more spirit to the amusement, wasthe favorite. In this the most intricate figures were practiced to give zest to the performances. These included the “grand cutshort,” which, as I recall it, after nearly half a century, was a combination of “swing corners,” “ladies’ grand chain” and “set to your partner.” In the parlance of that day, it was “immense,” for I feel it in my old bones as I tell you about it. The said figure was learned from a blue-eyed fiddler of Company H of Weakley County, who, like many others, after a short experience in 1862, concluded he couldn’t kill them all anyhow, and would, therefore, engage in more peaceful pursuits beyond the range of the conscript officers. James H. Grove and I, both of whom knew how to draw the bow, furnished the music, and the boys declared, of course, that it was good. Grove was the father of E. W. Grove, the famous manufacturer of medicines of St. Louis, whose remedies are sold in every civilized country on the globe. The father and I were fellow private soldiers in the army. The son and I, for some time after the war, sustained the relation of teacher and pupil.
One day, while on a short scout to Hernando, I met a body of Federals, under a flag of truce, who were negotiating an exchange of prisoners, the details of which were soon arranged with a Confederateofficer. Very soon the Yanks and Johnny Rebs were mingling as if they expected never to shoot at one another again. I had the unusual experience that day of dining with the Federal officers at the house of Judge Vance, a well-known citizen.
On the 4th of December, Company E, leaving all impediments in camp, made a demonstration along the Memphis & Charleston Railroad, between Rossville and Moscow. While tearing up some railroad track we heard the noise of battle at Moscow, where Stephen D. Lee, with Ross’ and McCulloch’s Brigades, met with a hot resistance and considerable loss, while trying to destroy the railroad bridge over Wolf river. It was understood at the time that these demonstrations were made mostly for the purpose of covering Forrest’s advance north. He crossed the railroad that day at Saulsbury, and, proceeding north, received a cordial welcome on the next day at Bolivar. It was known that he came across from Rome, Ga., to Okolona, Miss., with not more than three hundred men, including Morton’s Battery, around which small command as a nucleus he was to form Forrest’s Cavalry Corps. His resources consisted of Ross’, McCulloch’s and Richardson’s Brigades, all very much depleted, with a few petty commands scattered here and there over the country. The weatherwas so cold and the roads so bad that we thought Company E was safely immune from an attack on its camp at Coldwater, yet Forrest was making a raid within the enemy’s lines, where he was to stay twenty-one days, defeat superior forces in five considerable battles, and day and night display such energy and military genius as would keep him out of the hands of the enemy, who were moving from many directions to entrap him. He set about collecting the absentees and other recruits, many of whom were without arms and poorly mounted. He acted upon the principle that an unarmed man was better for the occasion than no man at all, for, if a recruit had nothing at hand but the “rebel yell,” he could at least help to intimidate an adversary.
Bad roads and swollen streams had no terrors for our General, who, at the critical moment, turned his face south with his command greatly augmented, and with a convoy of wagons laden with supplies, besides about two hundred beef cattle and three hundred hogs.
The Seventh Tennessee did not participate in this campaign, the history of which is only slightly sketched here in order to give a clear view of the military situation at the time Company E was ordered to rejoin the regiment at Como, Miss. Greatattention was now given to organization and equipment. Very many of the recruits had to be armed, and even clothed, before they could become effective soldiers. The work had to be done with dispatch, as we were now having more sunshine, and the roads were drying up. The enemy might soon be on the move. Forrest, having been promoted to the rank of Major-General, assumed command of all the cavalry in North Mississippi and West Tennessee. Within a few days the organizations were perfected, the Seventh Tennessee being assigned to the Fourth Brigade, commanded by Colonel Jeffrey Forrest, the youngest of the Forrest brothers. The entire command was greatly elated by the success of the recent raid, the addition of so many new men, and the prospect of serving under a man who knew nothing but success.
Rumors came in thick and fast that the Federals were preparing to advance both from Memphis and Vicksburg. The Fourth Brigade dropped down to Grenada, in order to watch and frustrate any movement from the south. We had frequently camped at Grenada, and the scenes were familiar. As for myself, I had known the country and many of the people ten years before—yes, indeed, before old college days. We occupied the very ground whence westarted on the Holly Springs raid, about one year before. Who could tell but that we should start on one just as remarkable from the same place?
Strong columns of Federals were reported moving from Memphis. From his headquarters at Oxford, the Confederate commander made such dispositions of his four brigades as would most likely defeat the plans of the enemy, so far as they were developed. During the first days of February, it was discovered that about seven thousand well-appointed cavalry were on the road to the rich prairie lands of East Mississippi. Gen. Sooy Smith, their commander, moved with so much dispatch that Forrest, though moving with celerity eastward, found it impossible to head him off till the Federal forces had reached West Point. It was the morning of the 20th of February, 1864. The Federals, going down through Pontotoc and Okolona, had marked their advance by burning houses, barns and fences, and plundering larders and hen roosts. Up to that date, nothing like this had been seen in our part of the country. Our soldiers were aroused by the reports brought in. Of course, there was a firm-set resolution not only to give the ruthless enemy blow for blow, but to avenge the wrongs done to old men, women and children. It looked as if a great battle was impending, and theConfederates were never more ready. We did not know it then, but Forrest was merely trying to hold the enemy in check until reinforcements, under Stephen D. Lee, could arrive from some point below. Jeffrey Forrest’s brigade had already come in contact with Smith’s cavalry between West Point and Aberdeen, and was being pressed back upon West Point. General Forrest, attacking the enemy with a small force on their extreme right wing, discovered, to his chagrin, that they were retreating. There was nothing to do but to press them with energy, so as to inflict as great a loss as possible upon them. Soon it was a lively chase, and the men of Company E were, for the first time, to see Forrest in battle. He was soon right up with the Seventh Regiment, as the men urged their horses through that black prairie mud. Four miles north of West Point the enemy made a stubborn resistance, in the edge of a small woods, but the pursuers, dismounting quickly, drove them away in confusion. Again it was a rattling pace through the mud till the enemy made another stand, five miles further on, where they sought to protect themselves at a rude bridge over a miry little creek, by tearing down fences and making barricades with the rails. Here the Confederates again pressed them in front and on the flanks till they gave way.This running fight, with intervals of resistance, was kept up till nightfall. It was an all-day fight, and we had many sad things to remember. Our dead and wounded were behind us, even if victory was in front of us. Weary and worn, our men and horses were given a few hours of rest. Fortunately, the men found plenty of subsistence and forage in the camp abandoned by the Federals, which helped wonderfully in the work to be done next day.
By 4 o’clock on the morning of the 22d of February, McCulloch’s and Jeffrey Forrest’s brigades, led by Forrest himself, were moving toward Okolona, and driving the enemy before them. The distance was fourteen miles, over a road almost impassable.
When the Confederates arrived at Okolona, they found a strong line of the enemy drawn up in such a position that they could have made a stubborn resistance, but Barteau, commanding Bell’s brigade, and McCulloch with his own, promptly drove them from the position and rushed them in some confusion along the road towards Pontotoc. The Federals adopted the tactics of the previous day by forming heavy lines in favorable positions and resisting stubbornly till attacked front and flank, in many instances with Forrest in the forefront, they were compelled to retreat. The last stand made was at PrairieMound, seven miles from Okolona and some thirty miles from West Point, where the fighting began on the morning of the previous day. The Sooy Smith raid was at an end with heavy loss to the invaders and a proportionate loss to the victors, for during the two days Forrest fought the 7,000 well equipped cavalry with a force only about half as large and made up largely of raw recruits. In one of the last encounters Jeffrey Forrest was killed at the head of his brigade, and died in the arms of his famous brother. No more pathetic scene was ever witnessed on any battlefield.
To look upon the ghastly dead or to hear the groans of the wounded lessens the sweets of victory and emphasizes the horrors of war.
After so strenuous a campaign, both men and horses needed recuperation, and so the Seventh Tennessee went into camp in that bountiful section of country about Mayhew, west of Columbus. It was easy to see that the military situation, now at the opening of spring, was such that if the Federals did not come after Forrest, he would certainly go after them. Therefore, preparations for a campaign were active and men and horses were put in the best possible condition. On the 15th of March Forrest with only part of his command was moving north for thepurpose of crossing the railroad at Corinth and marching into Tennessee. By the 23rd we had passed Trenton and were still moving north without any resistance. We were now satisfied that either Union City or Paducah was Forrest’s objective point.
On the morning of the 24th Colonel William L. Duckworth of the Seventh Tennessee, in command of a temporary brigade, consisting of his own regiment, McDonald’s battalion and Faulkner’s Kentucky regiment, was ordered to attack the Federal works at Union City, while Forrest with the main force was hastening towards Paducah. Duckworth with his 500 men completely invested the Federal fort at Union City in the early morning and after a brisk firing, participated in by both sides, under a flag of truce demanded a surrender of the place. Lieutenant Henry J. Livingston of Brownsville, with a detail of three or four men of which I happened to be one, had charge of the flag of truce. When the firing ceased we rode up close to the fort, where an officer met us. Livingston requested to communicate directly with Colonel Isaac R. Hawkins, the commander of the post. This was granted and a short parley ensued in which Livingston, acting under orders of his superior, demanded a surrender. Hawkins demurred and asked for an interview with Forrest.Colonel Duckworth, being now called in and acting with an adroitness and finesse that were altogether creditable, insisted that he was acting under the direct orders of Forrest, who was near at hand with his artillery (sic) and who was not in the habit of meeting officers of inferior rank to himself. That most gentlemanly Federal officer, Colonel Hawkins, who was now about to surrender to some part of Forrest’s cavalry for the second time, wishing to avoid the effusion of blood, which might be caused by Duckworth’s imaginary artillery, concluded to make an unconditional surrender. When the facts came out and there was slight jeering on the part of our men, these men of the Seventh Tennessee, Federal, bore up manfully and turned out to be jolly good fellows, molded much after the pattern of the men of our own Seventh Tennessee, Confederate. Talking with many of the officers and men I concluded that their chagrin would have been amusing, if it had not been pathetic. Four hundred and seventy-five prisoners with all their supplies and camp equipage and three hundred horses with accoutrements were surrendered. There was not at that time an effective Confederate cannon in West Tennessee, and Forrest was well on his way to Paducah.
When the Confederates reached the objective pointled by Forrest in person, they took possession of the town, but met with a bloody resistance when they charged the fort in which the Federals had taken refuge. They drew off with large spoils of war, consisting of horses and equipments. The whole force now turned south, having accomplished the object of the expedition. Company E was ordered to Bolivar, where the men, subject to order, dispersed to their homes to enjoy a furlough. The good old town “put her best foot foremost” and gave us a quiet but hearty welcome. Some of the boys “shucked their army duds,” and appeared in other vestments as beaux, for there was a bevy of pretty girls in Bolivar. In the round of dances and other social gatherings, there was many a sweet word spoken upon which, it was hoped, something might be realized “after the ratification of a treaty of peace,” as the Confederate bills all said. Doubtless, some of my friends found, when peace did come to the land, that love, even the platonic kind, which is sporadic only, is somewhat like Mr. Finnegin’s train, which was “off agin, on agin, gone agin.” In other words, the grand passion does not always stick like Spalding’s Prepared Glue or Aunt Jemimy’s Plaster, which the more you try to take it off, the more it sticks the faster.
But there was a bugle call and all good thingsmust end. The men came rushing in to report. In the little excitement incident to the occasion, Sol Phillips, while romping with some of his fellow soldiers, jumped into what he took to be a large box, which turned out to be an old well. Sol soon found bottom and set up a yell to which there was a quick response by his friends, who drew Sol up greatly frightened but only slightly bruised. He still makes his home in the hills of Hardeman.
At the end of about three weeks, or more precisely on the 2nd of May, 1864, there was hurrying and scurrying among the soldiers. Company E was present in force for duty and McDonald’s Battalion was on the ground under Major Crews. General Sturgis, with a large force of cavalry and artillery, was in such close proximity that he would reach Bolivar late in the day. Forrest had already been properly informed and had given orders for our little force to check the Federal advance in order that everything on wheels moving south might have a better chance to escape. When the Confederates had been properly placed behind the old Federal earthworks, west of the town and the battle had begun, General Forrest with his escort came unexpectedly upon the field at a gallop and took charge. Knowing that he was fighting at great odds, at an opportune moment he drew off,but not until several men and horses had been wounded. Here D. Hill and John McClammer, temporarily attached to Company E, were wounded so severely that they were left in the hands of the Federals. Major Strange of Forrest’s staff had his right arm broken, but rode off the field. The enemy numbering two thousand sustained a heavy loss, forty or fifty killed and wounded, as they fought at a disadvantage, the Confederates being fairly protected by the old works constructed by Grant two years before.
The Confederates necessarily retreated in some confusion, as the Federals making a flank movement had the advantage when our men started to leave their partial shelter. Bringing forward their artillery they threw several shots into the town. One struck the residence of Mrs. Brooks, another went through the roof of the stable on the Harkins place, and I saw one cut off the top of a cedar tree in front of the Dr. Peters place, now the residence of Dr. Hugh Tate. Just think of it. Here was Company E, being chased through its home town. It threw a damper over every tender sentiment and all thoughts of love vanished into thin air, for we were thanking our stars that we had escaped death at the hands of the Federals. Just as we were procuring forage at the Dave McKinneyplace south of Bolivar, I heard the report of the gun in the hands of Robert Galloway that killed Major Sol Street, a somewhat famous partisan fighter or guerrilla. On the 44th anniversary of this tragedy I met Mr. Galloway in Memphis. In reply to my request to give me a statement in regard to the killing of Street, he said, in substance, that he killed him because Street had killed his father for the purpose of robbery. That a younger brother of Galloway’s was with his father at the time of the murder, and was able to give full particulars. The boy remembered the exact dying words of his father. Street and his companions did not secure the elder Galloway’s money as something, unknown to the boy, caused them to hastily leave the locality. This was when Robert Galloway was about sixteen years old. When in about two years he had reached the military age, he joined the army and was in the fight at Bolivar where Street was pointed out to him by a friend. He shot Street before they had dismounted at the bivouac, and in the confusion made his escape, but was arrested by Lieutenant Statler of Company E. He offered Statler a thousand dollars to release him, but the offer was declined. Galloway and others state that General Forrest was in a towering rage when Galloway was brought before him, and said that a drum-headcourt-martial would sentence Galloway to be shot at sun up. He tells me that he knows just how it feels to be condemned to death, but was not present at the contemplated tragedy, as he made his escape at daylight, and within a few days was safe within the Federal lines at Memphis. Mr. Galloway resided in Illinois till after the surrender when he returned to Hardeman county. He has reared a large family and is an excellent citizen.
There was much talk when we got quietly settled in camp at Verona, Miss., about the capture of Fort Pillow, an affair in which the Seventh Tennessee, being on detached duty near Randolph, did not participate. Most of this was in regard to what seemed to be the senseless conduct of the garrison after they must have seen that the place was doomed. After the officer in command had refused to comply with the demand to surrender and the whole Confederate force moved on their works, the entire garrison, having left their flag flying, fell back to a safer place under the bank of the river. Much has since been said by Northern writers concerning what they term an unnecessary slaughter. It should be remembered that this same garrison of both whites and negroes had committed numerous outrages upon the people of the surrounding country. These things had come tothe ears of the Confederates and many of the victims had petitioned Forrest to avenge their wrongs by breaking up what appeared to be a den of thieves and marauders. Howbeit, part of them were Tennesseeans. Add to all this, that the garrison had been lavishly stimulated with whisky, as was evident from the fact that a number of barrels of whisky and beer with tin dippers attached were found by the Confederates, and it is not hard to see why there was unnecessary slaughter. The incident could be dismissed by saying that those within the fort knew that they deserved condign punishment because of the outrages committed on innocent people, and being somewhat in a state of intoxication, were incited to resist to the last extremity, while the Confederates were incited to victory by every instinct that impels a manly soldier to resent an insult and to protect the innocent. If General Forrest had no other victory to his credit, his fame would be secure.
Belated soldiers coming down from Tennessee soon brought to us the information that Sturgis took possession of Bolivar as soon as we had retreated on the evening of the 2nd of May, and burned the courthouse, the Baptist church, one of the hotels and several other buildings. Bad news for Company E.
In the beautiful month of May, and it is a lovely season away down in Mississippi, the Seventh Tennessee was moved around so much and camped at so many places, that it is difficult to remember which places came first. The service was not especially irksome and the weather was fine. A half dozen men of Company E were sent on a tour of observation up through Holly Springs and in the direction of Memphis, which I remember to have greatly enjoyed. The danger of the service was sufficiently great to make us alert while enjoying the hospitality of the people who were not only ready, day and night, to give us of their scanty stores, but to help us with such information as they had in regard to the movements of the enemy. We rejoined the regiment at Abbeville, feeling as if we had had a vacation.
About this time the Seventh Tennessee was brigaded with Duff’s Regiment and A. H. Chalmers’ Battalion, about as good a body of fighting men as could have been gotten together. This organization was known as Rucker’s Brigade that won distinction at Brice’s Cross Roads and Harrisburg. We hadonly known Rucker as the gallant commander of the upper batteries at Island No. 10. We had seen men there, carrying ammunition to his guns, wade in water up to their waists, when it looked from a distance like the outflow from the river might carry away every man that stood to his post. At our first sight of him the boys said he had “a sort of bulldog look.” We soon discovered that tenacity was one of his characteristics.
It was now about the first of June, 1864, and General Sturgis moving out from Memphis was north of Ripley with an army reported to be about 10,000 of all arms. Rucker was ordered to cross the Tallahatchie at New Albany and fall upon the right flank of the enemy, as they advanced south, in the vicinity of Ripley. After some brisk fighting just south of Ripley with very little loss to either side Rucker, seeing that the enemy was in great force, prudently drew off and took post at Baldwyn. In the meantime, Lee and Forrest were concentrating their forces to deliver battle somewhere further south.
In the little affair south of Ripley, when ordered with one or two men to a position on our extreme left until relieved, I saw approaching along a country pathway a fine ambulance drawn by two splendid mules. A Federal outfit, perhaps, which would inevitablyfall into our hands. It came up at a sweeping trot. The face of the man in charge was familiar. It was that of the late William H. Wood of Memphis. Strange position in which to find so steadfast a Union man—moving rapidly ahead of the Federal army and seeking refuge within the Confederate lines. This he would accomplish in a few minutes, but there was no time to ask questions, for the firing was heavy on the main road. The gentleman must be on an important mission, at least to him. He was, for at a time, when thousands of negroes had taken refuge within the Federal lines and the day for buying and selling this species of property had passed, Mr. Wood had conceived the idea of running his negroes south, converting them into cotton, and eventually into gold. This incident is chiefly worth mentioning, in a reminiscent way, first because it illustrates a thing that sometimes occurs in real life, but more frequently in fiction, namely, that acquaintances occasionally come face to face under strange conditions and peculiar circumstances; and, secondly, because it shows that there was a singular state of affairs existing when the slaves of one man, amid all the demoralization, were subject to his will and did that which seemed like leaving freedom behind. I am not fully informed as to how the scheme worked, buthave always understood that it turned out profitably to the projector. There was nothing wrong about it, at least, from a Southern standpoint, but very many good people, even some descendants of slave-holders, are, at this day, squeamish about what they are pleased to term “traffick in human flesh.”
It must not be concluded that the negroes spoken of were in that vicinity, for they were, at that very moment, under a prudent guide, safe within the Southern lines.
It is not untimely to remark, right here, that the descendants of slave-holders will, possibly, have some difficulty in justifying them for consenting to the existence of an institution, which existed in this country more than two hundred years, but which has been condemned by the laws of every civilized country on the globe. This difficulty will arise chiefly from the fact that the true history concerning slavery, its existence in all the original States, its abolition by some, its retention by others and, above all, the motives controlling those who dealt with it, is not now, nor is likely to be, persistently taught in the family or school. It is one of those questions of which it may be said the further we get from it, the less we say or know about it.
We went into camp at Baldwyn drenched by thecontinuous rains and fatigued by the exigencies of an arduous service. The Federals had moved steadily southeast from Ripley, and were in close proximity to a part of our forces. Everything at Baldwyn gave evidence of an impending struggle. In the midst of the acute feeling in the minds of the soldiers, it was announced that three men had been tried by court-martial and condemned to be shot for desertion. This was a phase of war with which we were not familiar. The poor fellows, confined in a box car, gave forth the most pitiful wailings. The cries of one of the condemned, a mere stripling, were particularly distressing. The whole brigade was mustered to witness the execution. Guilty or not guilty, I somehow wished that these victims of their own acts would escape the impending doom. Each man was placed by his grave and coffin. A file of eight men appeared with bristling guns. The suspense was terrible. Death on the battlefield was nothing compared to that which we were to witness. The sentence of the court-martial was read. The boy was released and, still weeping, left the field. At the firm command of the officer in charge, the shots rang out and one man fell dead. The same thing was repeated and another went to his death. Though the justice of the court-martial was never questioned,there was a profound sensation among the soldiers, which it took a battle to shake off.
Know ye, that the very next morning, June 10th, 1864, we were galloping to Brice’s Cross Roads. Acting under the orders of Lee, Forrest was trying to keep his forces between the Federal vanguard and Tupelo, so as to finally turn upon them when a more open country was reached. To do this with dispatch, he must reach the cross roads, by a road leading southwest, ahead of the Federals, who were moving towards the same point by a road leading southeast. The Federal cavalry advance, moving rapidly, passed the point and even went some distance beyond in the direction of Guntown. When the Confederate advance came up, the enemy was ready to block their way on the road from Baldwyn and had the advantage of position. Johnson’s Alabamians in advance fell upon them furiously while Rucker’s Brigade was coming to the rescue. At this critical juncture, Forrest seems to have abandoned all intention of merely holding the enemy in check and deferring a battle to a more convenient season. He had his own little army well in hand, though it was having a hard time to reach the desired point promptly on account of the muddy roads. A man of wonderful military instinct and surpassing genius for war, he saw at a glancethat, although the cavalry of the Federals, at that moment, held the advantage of position, their main body was strung along a narrow road, and their general would assuredly have trouble in protecting his left flank, crossing Tishomingo creek, and throwing his infantry and artillery into line of battle. It was indeed the psychological moment and the faith of the general spread to the men. Rucker was turned to the left and into the woods, where his men were quickly dismounted and gotten ready for battle. At the word they sprung over a fence and into a muddy cornfield. Will I ever forget it? The enemy posted in a dense wood and behind a heavy fence poured a galling fire into our ranks. It looked like death to go to the fence, but many of the men reached it. Four of Company E were killed in this charge. Men could not stay there and live. The Seventh Tennessee with Chalmers’ Battalion on the left was driven back in confusion. With the steadiness of veterans, they re-formed for another onset. As I remember it, this time we went over the fence. Reinforcements were evidently at hand for the Federals, for on they came like a resistless tide. It was death not to give back. Another readjustment of lines, and we were at them again. I cannot now say how many times this was repeated, for men in the very presence ofdeath take no note of time. The roar of artillery and the fusillade of small arms were deafening. Sheets of flame were along both lines while dense clouds of smoke arose above the heavily wooded field. No language is adequate to paint the verities of the moment. High tide of battle had come, and one side or the other must quail very soon. Which side should it be? The answer came when apparently by common consent both drew back just far enough for the intervening trees and dense undergrowth to obscure the vision. Our men still in line of battle lay on the ground for a much needed rest.
Here we had a bountiful supply of water from the rills, which had been fed by the recent rains. I never tasted better. The cessation of battle was as grateful as the water, but there was intense anxiety to know the final result. An order to retire from the field would have brought no surprise. But Forrest and his brigade commanders were better informed. Mounted on his big sorrel horse, sabre in hand, sleeves rolled up, his coat lying on the pommel of his saddle, looking the very God of War, the General rode down our line as far as we could see him. I remember his words, which I heard more than once: “Get up, men. I have ordered Bell to charge on the left. When you hear his guns, andthe bugle sounds, every man must charge, and we will give them hell.” That was enough. We heard Bell’s guns and the bugle. Advancing over the dead bodies of Federals and Confederates and regaining the ground lost in the last repulse, Rucker’s Brigade in one grand last charge moved to the assault of the enemy’s position. Small bushes, cut off near the ground and falling in our front, meant that the Federals had been reinforced by veteran infantry and were firing low. So close were we now to their line and the fighting so nearly hand to hand that our navy sixes were used with deadly effect. The Federals bravely withstood our onslaught for a time, but soon gave way in confusion and broke to the rear. Rucker’s men, greatly encouraged, moved rapidly to the front and, with no regard for formation, came out into the open at the Brice residence, which stands in the angle formed by the Guntown and Pontotoc roads. The men of the various commands, concentrating upon this point, became intermingled as they charged up to where all could see the grand scamper of the Federals running down towards Tishomingo creek. Six pieces of their own artillery had been turned upon them and these were quickly reinforced by Morton’s and Rice’s batteries. These, double shotted with canister, added to the confusionof the entangled mass of infantry, cavalry, ambulances and wagons. The Federal dead and wounded lay on every hand about the cross roads, showing the deadly aim of our men in the last charge, while our loss at this point was inconsiderable, though the rain of bullets from the Federal line appeared sufficient to destroy the whole brigade. The negro brigade under Bouton came in for its full share of the calamity, the deluded creatures, in many instances, having ceased their war cry of “Remember Fort Pillow,” and throwing away their badges, took to the woods.