Transcriber’s Notes:
A small number of obvious typos have been corrected. Except for these
corrections the spelling and punctuation of the book have not been
changed.
Underscores are used for italic markup; the three words that end this
sentence _are in italics_.
Equal signs are used for bold-face markup.
Two words and a complete line appear to be missing from the source
book. An ellipsis in square brackets, [ . . . ] has been used to show
where these occur.
A list of illustrations has been added by the transcriber.
REMINISCENCES
OF A PRIVATE
COMPANY “G”
FIRST ARKANSAS REGIMENT
INFANTRY
[Illustration: Confederate Flags]
By W. E. BEVENS
_MAY, 1861 TO 1865_
List of Illustrations
Page
W. E. BEVENS—1861. 2
W. E. BEVENS—1912. 3
THREE VETERANS OF COMPANY “G”. 4
CAPT. A. C. PICKETT. 9
L. C. GAUSE. 21
CLAY LOWE. 22
LYMAN B. GILL. 50
LON STEADMAN. 55
BEN ADLER. 64
W. T. BARNES. 67
ROBT. D. BOND. 72
THAD KINMAN, ED DICKINSON, BEN ADLER. 74
[Illustration: W. E. BEVENS—1861.]
[Illustration: W. E. BEVENS—1912.]
[Illustration: THREE VETERANS OF COMPANY “G”
Left to Right: John Cathey, W. E. Bevens, John R. Loftin, Sr.]
=Reminiscences Of A Private.=
When our children come from other states and from foreign lands to
visit Jacksonport, the old home of their parents, they find the pitiful
remnant of a village. Streets overgrown with weeds, dilapidated wooden
cottages, a tumbled down brick court house, meet their eyes. One or
two well-kept homes and a prosperous general store only emphasize the
prevailing air of decay. The visitors may walk a mile down the road to
the old town Elizabeth, and find no trace of habitation. The persimmon,
the paw paw and the muscadine flourish in spaces that were once busy
streets. When they remember that this place lacked only one vote of
being made the capital of the state they may ponder on the uncertainty
of human destiny.
But in 1861 Jacksonport was an important town. It was the county seat
when Jackson county was much larger than it is now. Woodruff was a part
of it and the whole formed a wealthy section of the state, the rich
“bottoms” producing the finest cotton. Jacksonport was situated where
Black River flows into White River, and was the center of distribution
for many counties. At low water, which was the greater part of the
year, it was at the head of navigation and people came from fifty miles
to trade there, hauling overland all freight for Batesville and upper
points.
It was then one of the great river towns, and one of the most
fascinating occupations of my boyhood was watching the steamboats.
We had two mail steamers, side-wheelers, up-to-date, with all kinds
of accommodations for passengers and freight, and I have seen nine
steamers loading and unloading at once. One packet from Louisville, one
from St. Louis, two from Memphis, two from Upper Black River, and two
from New Orleans. I have seen one of the last, “The Seminole,” with a
load of fifteen hundred bales of cotton.
At that time Jacksonport had a population of twenty-five hundred. The
surrounding farms and plantations, cultivated by negro slaves, were
owned by the Tunstalls, Waddells, Robinsons, Gardners and others. Old
fashioned Southern hospitality prevailed in town and country, and we
who were fortunate enough to live there “Befo de wah” think no other
can ever equal it, no other town can ever boast of such beautiful
girls, such handsome boys, such noble women, such brilliant men.
When the war cry sounded, Captain A. C. Pickett, a fine lawyer and
an old Mexican War veteran, made up our company, and called it the
“Jackson Guards.” This company to the number of one hundred and twenty
was formed of the best boys of the county. Sons of plantation-owners,
lawyers, doctors, druggists, merchants,—the whole South rose as one
man, to defend its rights. The young men, many of us barely twenty
years of age, knew nothing of war. We thought we could take our trunks
and dress suits. We besieged Capt. Pickett and nearly drove him to
distraction with questions as to how many suits we should take. He
nearly paralyzed us by telling us to leave behind all fancy clothes,
and to take only one suit, a woolen top shirt and two suits of
underwear.
The noble women of Jacksonport made our flag. The wife of Judge
Robinson bought the silk in Memphis. Mrs. Densford made the stars and
all the ladies, old and young, worked on it, for love of those who were
to bear it in battle.
On the Fifth of May, 1861 we were ready. It was a gloomy day. The
rain poured in torrents, but our company formed and marched to the
Presbyterian church where the flag was to be presented. Every living
soul in town was there, streets, yard and church overflowed with
people, notwithstanding the rain. We had seats reserved for us, and
felt very grand as we watched the young ladies on the platform. We
thought they were the sweetest girls living, and the most beautiful.
Misses Mary Thomas Caldwell, Fannie Board, Pauline Hudson, and
others were there. Miss Caldwell presented the colors with a short
and touching speech. Sydney S. Gause received it in the name of the
company, replying beautifully. There was not a dry eye in the throng.
Mothers were there who saw their sons perhaps for the last time.
Fathers bade adieu to noble boys whom they had brought up to manly
deeds of honor. Sisters separated from brothers. Sweethearts gave
farewell to those whom they would love unto death. Who would not be
moved to tears? We marched to the boat, and on the bank we stopped to
give a last embrace to mother, wife sister, sweetheart. That spot was
hallowed with the tears that dropped upon the ground.
The boat was the Mary Patterson, named for an Augusta lady, wife of
one of our great lawyers. Its owner, Captain Morgan Bateman with great
generosity, offered to take us to Memphis. He was a man of commanding
ability, or he could never have handled so many wild young men. He
never received a cent for his liberality, but he did not care. (He
afterwards came back and made up a company of his own, with the
assistance of his brother who went with him.)
When we were on board at last the boat pulled off from shore, amid
waving handkerchiefs and shouts, “Good-bye, good-bye,” and no one
present ever forgot that day.
We had with us an Italian Band which had come up from New Orleans and
became stranded in Jacksonport. It was a great band and afforded us
much pleasure until we got to Memphis.
At every town, landing and woodpile there was a crowd to cheer us.
At Grand Glaize there happened a near-tragedy, which was averted by
Captain Pickett and Captain Morgan. When we reached Des Arc, from which
place we expected to march overland to Little Rock, Captain Pickett
received a telegram from the governor to send in by wire our votes
for Colonel of the Regiment and then proceed to Memphis. By Captain’s
Pickett’s advice our company voted for Flournay. The rest of the
Regiment voted for Fagin, who was elected. Fagin ever afterward felt
hard toward Captain Pickett.
We arrived at Memphis Thursday, May 9th. We marched to the Fair Grounds
to await the arrival of the rest of the Regiment, and were put into the
same quarters with an Irish Regiment from Tennessee.
I was put on guard inside the Fair Grounds. It rained all night, I had
on new pump-soled boots, and being by mistake, left on duty, these
tight boots caused me considerable pain. When the sergeant asked me how
long I had been on duty I answered “all night.” He informed me that I
should have been on guard only two hours. I thought it a part of the
game to stay on all night. So much for being a soldier fool!
The next day we were organized and officers were elected for the twelve
months. They were.
A. C. Pickett, Captain.
L. C. Gause, First Lieutenant.
L. L. Moore, Second Lieutenant.
George Payne, Third Lieutenant.
James Hunter, Orderly Sergeant.
William Densford, First Sergeant.
John R. Loftin, Second Sergeant.
Peter Bach, Third Sergeant.
Clay Lowe, Fourth Sergeant.
John M. Waddell, First Corporal.
Henry Clements, Second Corporal.
Sam Shoup, Third Corporal.
W. E. Bevens, Fourth Corporal.
When the captain took charge there were only two men in the company
who knew anything about military tactics or could even keep step. We
stayed in Memphis four days. On Sunday afternoon with our new banner
proudly waving, we marched through Memphis to the depot of the Memphis
and Charleston Railway, where we entrained for Richmond, Va. Along the
line of march were thousands of people and at every station was shown
such enthusiasm as was never before known in the South. Everyone came
down to greet us. Old men and women, young girls, even the negroes. We
were showered with bouquets. We were delayed at different stations by
the crowds. They came to see the Arkansas Troops, and to hear Captain
Bob Crockett speak. He was a conspicuous character from the manner of
his dress, and also a celebrity from being a grandson of old David
Crockett, hence was often called on for a speech. On one occasion,
however, some of the soldiers asked several citizens to call for
Private J. R. Fellows, one of the best orators in the South. He so far
eclipsed Captain Crockett that the latter ever after took second place.
[Illustration: CAPT. A. C. PICKETT
First Captain of Company “G”, First Arkansas Infantry]
We passed through Knoxville and Bristol, debatable territory because
Etheridge Brownlow and Andy Johnson, Union men of great ability and
influence, lived in these places. To say there were hot times in these
old towns would be putting it mildly—“red hot” would be about right.
At Bristol John M. Waddell took sick and I was detailed to stay with
him at the hotel to which he was carried. He was delirious and kept
calling for his mother, who lived in North Carolina. He was a
Christian boy, and was ready to die, but how natural to want his
mother in his distress. But he got better and we resumed our journey
to Richmond, where we rejoined our regiment. We camped in the fair
ground and were reviewed often by President Davis at dress parade.
I think that to him we must have looked very cheap indeed. We did not
know what discipline was, and resented being shown. The boys used to
steal through the lines and spend most of their time in the city. Bill
Barnes drew some pictures of “Company G in Richmond,” which caused
quite a little trouble at home.
We went from Richmond to Fredericksburg and there camped in the city
awhile. We then moved to Brooks Station, and at this camp had cadets
from Richmond to drill us. And I should say they did drill us! Eight
hours a day, with a big gun, knapsack and accoutrements weighing us
down, the hot sun blazing over us. How we did perspire! We were not
used to such strenuous exercise. The town boys, clerks and young
fellows could stand it better than the robust country boys, and that
seemed queer to us.
At this camp John M. Waddell took sick with measles. The Regiment lost
over fifty men from this disease. Waddell was discharged and went home.
After his recovery he joined a North Carolina Regiment, and served with
them through the war. He Was a gentleman in the truest sense of the
word. We hated to lose him. From Brooks Station we went to Aquia Creek,
and from there to Marlboro Point on the Potomac. We camped at a point
where this beautiful stream was four miles wide. W. M. Maltens, our
company color-bearer waded into the river and unfurled our flag, the
handsome silk one given us by the Jacksonport ladies. “Jackson Guards”
was very plain upon it, and it was displayed in full sight of the
enemy’s war vessels. We were lined up on the bank to defend our colors.
This shows how green we were in knowledge of warfare and we realized it
later.
From Fredericksburg, five companies of our Regiment and five companies
of Col. Bates’ Second Tennessee Regiment were under Col. Cary. He was
a West Pointer, a fine man and officer, but he certainly did drill us
eight hours every day. During drill our orderly sergeant, a regular
army man, used to prompt us when new moves were given. One morning he
was angry at Captain Pickett. When Col. Cary gave the command
“Double quick by companies” there was no prompting and Captain Pickett
failed to repeat the command. The sergeant had his revenge for we were
double-quicking by fours to the line on the right and proceeded by
ourselves. Col. Cary shouted “Captain Pickett, where are you going
with your company?” amid the laughter of the rest of the regiment.
At this camp Bill Shackelford used to go fishing for crabs in the
Potomac. He would miss roll-call and have to serve extra duty. The boys
begged him to stop this but he said if he could get crabs to eat he did
not mind extra duty. One night Bill had some fun at the expense of the
officer whose duty it was to pass through the tents and see that all
were in bed. We had a big Sibley tent in which twenty-two men slept.
As the officer passed through the tent, Bill who was a ventriloquist,
squealed like a pig. Of course the officer looked everywhere for the
pig. As he passed to the other side of the tent Bill barked like a dog.
Then the officer asked for the man that did it. Of course all were
asleep and knew nothing about it. He said he would arrest the entire
company if it occurred again. Bill did not try it again.
One day Clay Lowe had cooked some corn-bread and left it on the table,
feeling that he had done a good piece of work. After dinner a big man
in uniform stepped up and broke open a piece of bread. Clay was about
to call him to account in words not very choice, when the big man
explained that he was General Holmes, commander of the troops. Clay had
to beg his pardon and salute the General, and the General in return
complimented Clay on his bread.
At this camp we had jumping matches. Bob Bond was our champion and no
one could beat him in the whole command of one thousand troops, and he
was never beaten in the army.
We also gave dances, and tied handkerchiefs on the arms of the smallest
boys to take the part of ladies in making up square dances. Joe
Hamilton, Rich Hayden and Billie Barnes were as fine musicians as any
and we often had hilarious times along the Potomac.
On July 17th, 1861, we were ordered to cook three days’ rations, and be
ready at daylight to join our regiment and march to Manassas Gap. We
marched forty-seven miles and on July 21, were camped in an orchard at
the extreme right of our army, with orders to be ready at a moment’s
notice. We were in line of battle all afternoon and chafed to be in the
fight. We could hear the cannonading. It seems that the courier who
was bringing our orders to move at once was captured and we did not
get the command. “The third time is the charm” and finally the third
courier brought news of the battle with orders to double-quick eight
miles. We made this in one hour and forty minutes. On this hot July day
the red dust stirred up by our running made us look like red men. We
hardly knew the features of our file leader. While on this run we saw
some sizzling looking things streaming through the air. One of the boys
said, “Captain, what are those things going through the air?” Captain
Pickett replied, “You damned fool, you will know soon.”
We got there in the nick of time. We were thrown into line of battle
and could see in front of us the enemy, with glistening bayonets,
forward marching, line after line of them. We had a four gun battery,
belonging to Holmes’ Brigade, commanded by Captain Walker. He was
ordered to place his guns on a small hill in our front. He unlimbered
and was ready for action. We were ordered to load our guns and lie down
behind the battery to protect it if charged. The captain gave the order
to fire upon some Yankees who were advancing boldly. As he gave the
order he was sitting on his big horse with his feet across the horse’s
neck. The first shot did not reach the spot; so he got down, sighted
the gun himself, and got back on his horse to watch the result. As the
shot plowed through the enemy’s ranks it looked like cutting wheat, and
the Captain said: “Give them hell.” The four guns made roads through
them and with the Infantry on the other flank they could not stand the
fire. The Yankees broke in every direction and never did stop. As this
was their last stand we moved forward, and the Black Horse Cavalry
passed. This was the finest cavalry I ever saw. All the horses were
black and the uniforms of the men were handsome to behold. After the
Cavalry Johnson, Beauregard and President Davis with all their staff,
were near us, and the sight was beautiful. We turned the flank of the
enemy and the Black Horse Cavalry did the rest. The first battle of
Manassas was a great battle and a perfect success.
After the break we were ordered to be down in line of battle and
await orders. Part of the Washington Battery was near us. This was an
organization of fine boys from New Orleans. After fighting all day they
had become separated, part of their battery being in one part of the
field, and part in another. After the battle they were hunting their
comrades and trying to get the full battery together. Such chatter!
Such individual accounts of the battle! They told us of their share
in the fight. How they fought the enemy from rear and front and side,
and how the Yankees had run off! It was inside history of the battle
from privates who were in it. The whole truth of the first battle
of Manassas is this: It was fought by undisciplined troops, without
previous experience in battle, on a field they had never trod before.
They fought as individuals, and if the officers had not been with them
they would have fought just the same.
This was proved, for had they been disciplined troops they would
have surrendered when cut off from their command, but not having any
better sense they did not know when they were whipped. On this field
they fought regular army troops with all the advantage of years and
experience. Even our General was doubtful and thought they could not
cope with the great army of Scott. But when he saw the Southern boys in
action, he saw what, to this day, is the wonder of the world, that we
were not to be whipped in six months.
This battle was a hard rap to those who intended to profit by it had
it gone the other way. The Grand Army left Washington commanded by
the invincible General Scott, having placards on their hats bearing
the motto, “On to Richmond.” Congressmen, with their wives followed,
together with the elite of Washington, all riding in carriages. They
also wore badges with the ever-ready slogan, “On to Richmond.” They
had trunks plastered with the same motto. They carried champagne and
were ready for the celebration of a great fete when they should have
witnessed the downfall of the Confederacy. Before the battle it was a
holiday for them, with their wine, and their hope of an easy rout of
the rebels, and the pleasant anticipation of the capture of soldiers
and congressmen of the Confederacy. But after the battle—ah, it was no
holiday then! What a blow to their pride was the result. How they tore
back to Washington. Their own account of the first battle of Manassas
was truly pitiful. We could have easily gone into Washington, but at
that time we did not want to go into their territory, all we desired
was to defend our own homes, property and states, which were ours
according to the constitution.
At daylight we marched to Dumfries, thirty miles back from the
station, then to Culpepper court house, and from there to the pine
thicket back from Evansport. With us were Captain Walker’s battery
(Captain Walker afterwards became General of Artillery) and the
Thirteenth North Carolina Infantry. With their assistance, working at
night with great secrecy, we built batteries to blockade the Potomac,
which was only a mile and a half wide at this point. We built three
batteries in one mile and mounted large siege guns. The enemy was
greatly astonished on the morning we cut the pine thicket and laid our
guns open to view.
We next made sail boats and tug boats and schooners. These captured a
three masted vessel. When the tugs came towing it to shore we went out
and got it. Later we had a hard time finding a sailor to set the sails.
Finally one was discovered in our own company, and as soon as he got on
the vessel he ran up the rigging like a genuine sailor. We found the
rooms of the captured vessel very fancy. It had a piano on board, and a
good deal of nice grub. We unloaded her and then burned her.
We certainly did blockade that river and stop transportation to
Washington by way of the Potomac. Then the Yankees built a railroad
on the opposite side back from the river and supplied the gap in that
manner. We used to bombard the men over there and kill them and their
six mule teams. This caused consternation as you may guess.
A small yacht with two on board ran the blockade. Our batteries opened
up on them. The balls exploded above and around them, sometimes
splashing the water so that we could not see them for the spray. For
awhile it seemed as if we had them, but they got through. The yacht
was so small that we could not hit it. When they got by, the men waved
their hats, as much as to say, “Goodbye”, but they never tried to
repeat the performance.
One night the enemy ran up a creek by the upper battery, where we had a
schooner out and away from the river. In the darkness they passed our
guards and burned the schooner. The guards were new recruits and very
green. They sent to headquarters to ask what they could do. Of course
the Yanks had plenty of time to get back to the Potomac. We built huts
out of logs, placing them in the side of the hill and roofing them with
a foot and a half of earth to keep out the rain. A few of the boys had
tents, but I think our log huts were more comfortable, for we covered
the floors over with straw. We passed most of the winter here. Our
Maryland boys used to cross the river in skiffs at night to visit their
homes, and return before daylight.
The Second Tennessee, commanded by Colonel Bates, camped along with us
that winter. One day Colonel Bates ordered some work done which did
not agree with the dignity of his men. They refused to do it, saying
they “were gentle,” and asking him to resign. He at once wrote out
his resignation and gave it to them. He told them he would as soon
be a private as be an officer. That a private must obey, and he was
as willing to obey any officer over him as they should be to obey an
officer over them. He was a great man, and a fine speaker. At the close
of his speech they tore up his resignation and re-elected him colonel.
Colonel Fagin once ordered some boys of our company to set up his tent
but they refused. They came back to the company and told us about it,
also informed Captain Pickett who went to Colonel Fagin and got them
out of it.
So much for raw undisciplined troops.
Christmas was at hand. Our first Christmas in a soldier’s camp! How
homesick we were as we thought of the people at home and wondered how
they were spending Christmas. Here were their boys fifteen hundred
miles from them, living in dark huts, wading snow a foot and a half
deep. We did not know that the time would come when these dark, rude
huts would seem luxurious quarters.
Our mess was composed of George Thomas, Clay Lowe, Bob Bond and myself.
George had been left behind at Fredericksburg, where he was ill for
some time. He and a private from another company decided to come to
camp and spend Christmas with the boys. They left the train and tramped
a mile and a half to surprise the mess, arriving in the nick of time.
George said they could not bring us turkey, so they brought some
whiskey and eggs. They began beating eggs early Christmas morning, and
they made a huge pan full of egg-nog. We invited the officers and our
friends to take some with us. In the evening the boys went for Col.
Fagin and invited him to drink egg-nog. By that time they were pretty
full and Clay Lowe told Col. Fagin that he wanted him to understand
that he was “Fifth Sergeant of Company G.” He succeeded in impressing
the Colonel with his rank. Then everyone began to make things lively.
I did not touch the egg-nog, therefore did not enjoy their hilarity. I
left the hut, found Sam Shoup in his hut, and we went out and sat by
the fire thinking we were away from the crowd. But the boys did not
intend to let us off so easily. When we came back into the hut we could
not see very well. The cabin was dark, as the only light came from the
doorway, and the snow had blinded us. The boys made a rush for us. I
got into a dark corner, and after they were all in we both ran out.
They caught Sam, but failed to get me.
Clay Lowe, followed by about twenty-five of the boys, went down to the
middle of the company grounds and commenced to make a speech, which he
could do so well. Some of the boys, not wishing Clay to have all the
glory, put John Loftin on the stump to make an address and he began:
“My friends, I am not as eloquent as Clay, but I speak more to the
point.”
That evening at dress parade, Sam Shoup as corporal had to march
out and present arms, reporting two commissioned officers, four
non-commissioned officers, and twenty-seven privates drunk. The rest
of the regiment was there, and to our consternation, we were ordered
to cook three days’ rations and be ready to march at daylight. The
order read that any private who straggled or failed to keep up with the
command would be court martialed.
When we stopped late next evening on the march, Clay was nearly dead
and could hardly walk, from the effect of the Christmas spree. Colonel
Fagin rode along by our company and seeing how Clay was said, “Hello,
Fifth Sergeant of Company G, how do you feel?” Clay replied, “Colonel,
I am damned dry; how are you?”
December 26, 1861, we reached Aquia Creek and went into winter quarters
in log huts and tents. Here we had “Sunday Soldiering.” We were close
to Fredericksburg, and could order what we wanted to eat. Confederate
money was good and we could grab things cheap with it. Fifty cents a
gallon for shelled oysters; twenty-five cents a pound for butter; pies
and cakes every day. Think of such grub for a soldier! But, ah, to stay
in the snow, eighteen inches deep, and guard the Potomac river all
night! No shelter, but a corn stalk house; no fire, but a driftwood
blaze, not very bright either, as it would be a signal for the enemy to
cannonade. That was like war and soldier duty.
We had three points to guard on the river, one on the island with
battery, and one at the lower end of the line. It required a whole
company for all points at night, since the guard had to be relieved
every twenty minutes. Otherwise he would have been frozen by the snow
and sleet which swept across the Potomac.
One night a squad from our company under a sergeant was ordered to the
island, which was only guarded at night. We had to cross over in a flat
boat. The evening before supplies had been sent to the island for the
use of the Battery Company and they had failed to haul them. The squad
on the lower part of the guard line found them, all unused, in a pile
on the landing. The night was bitter cold, the snow was deep, the wind
blowing a gale, no wood was in sight. The supplies were bacon. It was
good to eat, and in this emergency it was good to burn, so the boys
proceeded to burn it. Dawn revealed other things besides bacon. They
discovered two jugs of red liquor, which they immediately confiscated.
At daylight they were ordered to camp two miles away and proceeded to
march—and drink on empty stomachs until the whole squad was drunk.
We, on the upper part of the guard line, had to wait in the snow and
wind until they came up, for all must report in camp together. We did
not know what caused their delay, but we were in no pious frame of
mind when we saw them coming, wabbling from side to side, yelling like
Commanches. The officers with us were red-headed and said things to
that squad that “were bad”.
But the boys from the lower end knew how dry the officers were after
being out all night, so they offered the jug of snake bite medicine.
The officers found it so good they did not let it go in a hurry. After
that the privates could not refuse for fear of making the boys angry.
By the time we reached camp almost everybody was overcome. The officers
went to sleep, and when they awoke they forgot all about discipline. So
nobody suffered but the Battery fellows, and they could never prove who
captured their supplies.
Sometimes a company would buy a barrel of oysters, take it to their hut
and open it, and find in the center a five gallon jug of red rye. It
was so concealed to pass the provost guard on train. But the boys did
even worse. Seven of them from other commands, went to Fredericksburg,
bought a coffin and filled it with jugs. With sad faces and measured
steps they carried it solemnly to the train. But the joke was too good
to keep. The boys unscrewed the lid and yelled at the guard. Of course,
when the train returned no one could name the offenders.
But our “Sunday Soldiering” did not last long. The regiment was
composed of one year troops, who now re-enlisted for three years,
or for the war. The re-enlisted men were ordered to rendezvous at
Memphis, to reorganize the regiment, but later were ordered to Corinth,
Mississippi.
The Virginia people had been good to us, and had tried to make us feel
at home. Some of the boys had gone into society at Fredericksburg, and
found it hard to part from their new friends. George (my old friend,
George Thomas) “had it mighty bad.” He said to me, “Bill, I must go to
Fredericksburg to see my girl. Will you cook my three days’ rations?
I’ll meet you at the train tomorrow.” “But Pard, how will you get off?”
“I’ll ask Col. Fellows.” He went to Colonel Fellows, who was in charge
that day and told his tale of woe. The colonel was in deep sympathy
with the boy (perhaps he had had the disease himself sometime,) and
agreed to help him. George went to Fredericksburg, and the next day I
saw him there with his girl. Our train pulled out, I yelled at him, but
still he lingered. They gazed and gazed at each other, and it seemed
that George did not have the nerve to tear himself away. Finally they
parted and by hard running he caught the train and stood waving to her
until we were out of sight. The mails were kept hot after that. Poor
George was killed at Atlanta. He was the bravest man I ever knew, and
if he had lived, would have made that girl a noble husband.
March 17, 1862, at Corinth, Mississippi, the re-organization of the
regiment took place. The newly elected officers of Company G were:
Samuel Shoup, Captain.
A. T. Watchell, First Lieutenant.
Clay Lowe, Second Lieutenant.
John R. Loftin, Third Lieutenant.
W. B. Densford, First Sergeant.
Henry Clements, Second Sergeant.
W. H. Reid, Third Sergeant.
George Spaulder, Fourth Sergeant.
Thomas Davis, First Corporal.
John W. Baird, Second Corporal.
T. S. Logan, Third Corporal.
Forrest Dillard, Fourth Corporal.
We camped at Corinth, Mississippi, and the army was under General
Beauregard until General Albert Sydney Johnston arrived. April 4th we
marched to Shiloh, arriving there April 5th. The constant rains had
made the roads so bad that we had to pull the cannon by hand as the
horses mired in the mud. But by this time we were used to hardships,
and nothing discouraged that superb commander, General Albert Sydney
Johnston. Every soldier loved him and was ready to follow him to the
death. At the battle of Shiloh we were placed in the Gibson Brigade,
Braggs’ Division. On the night before the battle the Medical Department
ordered six men from each company to report to headquarters for
instructions. I was one of the six to report from our company. The
Surgeon General ordered us to leave our guns in camp and follow behind
the company at six paces, as an infirmary corps to take care of the
wounded. We reported our instructions to Captain Shoup, telling him we
would not leave our guns, as we intended to fight. After hard pleading
Captain Shoup consented. We took our guns and also looked after the
wounded.
[Illustration: L. C. GAUSE
First Lieutenant Company “G”, First Arkansas Infantry]
[Illustration: CLAY LOWE.
Second Lieutenant, Company “G”, First Ark. Infantry]
At four o’clock in the morning we began the march on the enemy. Each
man had forty cartridges, all moving accoutrements and three days’
rations. General Johnston was cheered as he rode by our command and I
remember his words as well as if they had been today, “Shoot low boys;
it takes two to carry one off the field.”
Before we started Captain Scales of the Camden Company, begged his
negro servant to stay in camp at Corinth, but the old negro would not
leave his master. When we were in line of battle the captain again
begged the negro to return to camp, but he refused to go. Just after
the last appeal the fight began. A cannon ball whizzed through the air
and exploded, tearing limbs from trees, wounding the soldiers. One man
fell dead in front of the old negro. Then there was a yell, and old Sam
shouted, “Golly, Marster, I can’t stand this,” and set out in a run for
Corinth.
We moved forward with shot and shell, sweeping everything before us.
We drove the officers from their hot coffee and out of the tents,
capturing their camp and tents. Captain Shoup and John Loftin and Clay
Lowe each got a sword. In the quartermaster’s tent we found thousands
of dollars in crisp, new bills, for they had been paying off the Yankee
soldiers.
Thad Kinman of the 7th Arkansas, who was under Ellenburg, quartermaster
department, had loaded a chest into a wagon when he was ordered to
“throw that stuff away.” He told us afterwards, “That was one time that
I was sick,” but Ellenburg would not let him keep it.
Our command moved steadily forward for a mile or more. The Yankees
had time to halt the fleeing ones, form a line of infantry and make a
stand in an old road in a thicket. We were to the left of the thicket,
fighting all the time in this part of the field. I saw Jim Stimson
fall, and being on the Infirmary Corps, I went to him. I cut his
knapsack loose and placed it under his head, tied my handkerchief about
his neck, and then saw that he was dead. I took up my gun again, when
in front I saw a line of Yankees two thousand strong, marching on the
flank. I could see the buttons on their coats. I thought I would get
revenge for my dead comrade, so I leveled beside a tree, took good
aim at a Yankee, and fired. About that time the Yankees fronted and
fired. Hail was nothing to that rain of lead. I looked around and found
only four of our company. One was dead, two were wounded and I was as
good as dead I thought, for I had no idea I could ever get away. To
be shot in the back was no soldier’s way, so I stepped backward at a
lively pace until I got over the ridge and out of range, assisting the
wounded boys at the same time. I had not heard the command to oblique
to the right and close up a gap, and that was how we four happened to
be alone in the wood. But I did some running then, found my regiment
at the right of the thicket and fell into rank. When I got there the
company was in a little confusion through not understanding a command,
whether they were to move forward or oblique to right. Captain Shoup
thought his men were wavering, so he stepped in front of the company,
unsheathed his new sword and told the boys to follow him. He had
scarcely finished with the words when a bullet struck his sword and
went through wood and steel. The boys were red-headed. They told him he
did not have to lead them. They were ready to go anywhere. So we went
forward into the hottest of the battle where the roar of musketry was
incessant, and the cannonading fairly shook the ground. Men fell around
us as leaves from the trees. Our regiment lost two hundred and seventy,
killed, wounded and captured. The battle raged all day and when night
came the enemy had been pushed back to the verge of the Tennessee
river. But our victory had been won at a great price, in the loss of
our beloved General, Albert Sydney Johnston, who was killed early in
the action.
General Beauregard, next in command, succeeded Johnston, and the
battle opened again at daylight the next morning. During the night the
enemy had been strongly re-inforced, and our men were steadily pressed
back.
John Cathey, John R. Loftin, Waddell and I were among the wounded. We
were sent to the field hospital several miles back in the wood. When
the Surgeon General went to work on me he gave me a glass of whiskey,
saying it would help me bear the pain. I told him I would not drink
it. He then handed me a dose of morphine. I refused that. He looked me
squarely in the face, saying, “Are you a damned fool?”
Our men, fighting stubbornly all the while, were pushed back by
superior force through and beyond the Yankee camps we had captured
so easily the day before, and at last retreated to Corinth, amidst
a terrible storm of rain and sleet. We had lost about ten thousand
men. That was the beginning of our real soldiering and the greatest
battle we had been in. About thirty thousand men were killed, wounded
and captured in those two days, the loss on each side being fifteen
thousand.
At Corinth we awaited re-inforcements and prepared to renew the
struggle. The Yankee forces advanced to Farmington, and we had a little
more fighting. They captured one of our outposts, then we drove them
back to their lines. Colonel Fellows was always on the front line. At
this battle he plunged after some cavalry, following them he struck
low, boggy ground. He got stuck in the mud and lost his hat, but
succeeded in capturing the enemy.
We kept heavy guards at night. One night eighteen of our company were
put on out-post, but our cavalry was still further out. George Thomas
and I were stationed inside a fence row. We were told not to fire, and
we were to be relieved before daybreak. We were not relieved however,
and when day came we found ourselves only a short distance from the
Yankee breastworks. We could have kept concealed by the grass and
bushes, but George, who knew not the meaning of fear, stood in his
corner of the fence-row. As he watched the Yankees walking their
beats on the breastworks he thought it a good opportunity, and before
I knew it, he had shot his man. Oh, then three cannon and two thousand
infantry turned loose on us! The fence was knocked to smithereens.
The rails, filled with bullets, crashed over us. Limbs falling from
trees, covered us, and we were buried beneath the debris like ground
hogs. We could not get out until darkness fell again. Then we found
some of our cavalry, and tried to get back to our regiment, but the
Yanks were between us and our command. The cavalry said we could
fight our way through their lines, and we did. The cavalry soon left
us behind. Yankees were shooting all around us and yelling for us to
surrender, but we ran into a ravine, where we were hidden by the thick
undergrowth, and so we got away.
On May 29, 1862, General Beauregard evacuated Corinth. We retreated on
a dark night through a densely wooded bottom road. About two o’clock we
halted. As soon as we stopped we dropped in the road anywhere, anyhow,
and were fast asleep. Some devilish boy got two trace chains and came
running over the sleeping men, rattling the chains, yelling “Whoa!
Whoa!” at the top of his voice. Of course all the commotion—we had it
then. Soldiers grasped the guns at their sides, officers called, “Fall
in, fall in men.” When the joke was discovered it would have been death
to that man, but no one ever knew “who struck Billy Patterson.”
We marched forty miles and camped at Twenty Mile Creek on the Mobile
and Ohio railroad. On June 5th we reached Tupelo. We were put in
Anderson’s Division of General Walker’s Brigade and camped at Tupelo
until August 4th, when we were ordered to Montgomery, Ala.
We went on the train to Mobile. Here I went up into the city with
Colonel Snyder and two of his friends, I being the only private among
them. It seemed ages since we had enjoyed a square meal. We went into
a fine restaurant near the Hotel Battle House, four half-starved
Confederate soldiers. Just at the smell of oyster stew I collapsed. But
we ordered everything—oysters raw, fried, stewed, fresh red snapper;
just everything. We ate. I hope we ate! I think that proprietor was
astounded, but it was only our pocketbooks that suffered. At last when
we could eat no more, we had fine cigars, and as Dr. Scott said later,
“This was good enough for a dog.”
We went from Mobile to the railroad station on the bay, where the water
flows under the platform. The train was two hours late, so the boys
shed their clothes, and in ten minutes there were a thousand men in
the bay. They swam about splashing, kicking, diving, having fun until
some of the boys went in where the palm flags were growing and espied a
large alligator with his mouth wide open. In less time than it takes to
tell it there was not a soldier in the bay. Strange! Men, who had stood
firm in battle, had faced cannon, had endured shot and shell, now fled
from one alligator!
We went by rail to Montgomery, where we arrived August 7th. We went
into camp near the river and had a chance to swim without fear of
alligators.
Montgomery, as the first capital of the Confederacy, was a noted place
and many celebrated people lived there. Dr. Arnold and I had bought
ourselves “boiled” white shirts, thinking we might be invited into
society, but we seemed to have been forgotten by the “haut ton.” But it
was a beautiful city and we inspected it thoroughly. We were too many
for the police, so they “gave us rope to hang ourselves.”
We went on next day to Atlanta. When we got there we hoped to eat a big
Georgia watermelon, but to our consternation, found the provost guard
destroying every watermelon in the city. They were fresh, red and juicy
and made our mouths water, but discipline had improved and we touched
not, tasted not, handled not the unclean watermelons. The doctor said
they would make us sick. Citizens and negroes might eat them. For
soldiers they were sure poison.
We passed up the Sequatchie Valley with its fine springs, stone milk
houses, and rich bottom land. We camped on Cumberland Mountain and
we camped on Caney Fork. We marched thirty-five miles to Sparta,
Tennessee, and camped, and there we were ordered to wash our clothes
and to cook three days’ rations. All this marching was on the famous
Bragg Kentucky Campaign and the old general trained us to walk until
horses could not beat us. We marched eleven, twelve, thirteen____
____fifty miles. We waded the Cumberland river, and it was very swift
and deep. My messmate, Bob Bond, found a sweetheart here, but he could
not tarry and they parted in tears. We camped at Red Sulphur Springs,
marched thirty-eight miles and camped on the Tennessee and Kentucky
line. We passed through Glasgow, marching all night. These forced
marches were hard on us, seasoned infantry as we were. Dr. Arnold, my
file leader said:
“Bill, I can’t go any further, don’t you see I go to sleep walking? I
can’t stand it any longer.”
“You’re no good,” I replied, “you can stand it as well as I can,
besides if you leave the road you will be captured and will have to eat
rats.”
“Goodbye, old friend, I am gone,” was his answer. He ran into the wood
twenty or thirty feet from the road, dropped down and was asleep by the
time he hit the ground.
He said when he awoke he heard sabres clashing and cavalry passing.
He thought he “was a goner”, but he soon heard the familiar voice of
General Hardee. He was calling to get up and go on. He said even a
soldier’s endurance had a limit, and that limit was now reached. We
would not go much further without a rest. Then he ordered his body
guard to charge the sleeping men. Dr. Arnold had to run for his command
or be court martialed. Panting for breath, he joined us after we had
gone into camp, and exclaimed, “Bill, I wish I had come on, for I am
nearly dead, and old General Hardee is after me hot and heavy.”
On September 17th we left Case City at daybreak, and marched fifteen
miles to Mumfordsville, which we surrounded, placing a battery on every
hill and knoll that commanded the town. We had eighty cannon ready to
open fire, and then demanded the surrender of the garrison, and on
September 18th six thousand men marched out, laying down six thousand
guns. While Will Reid of our company was loading guns into a wagon,
one went off accidentally and shot off his arm. General Hardee was
riding over the battlefield, and seeing Reid with his arm dangling
at his side asked his staff surgeon, Dave Yandell, “Who is that man’s
surgeon?” Yandell pointed out Dr. Young. Dr. Young had gone out in our
company a graduate surgeon. He was young and up to that time he had
made no operation of note. He begged the staff-surgeon to help him, but
Yandell refused, saying he had no time. He stayed, however, to look
on, and embarrassed the young surgeon still more. When Dr. Young took
the knife his hand shook like a leaf, but he performed the operation
successfully and according to all the laws of surgery. After the war he
returned to his home at Corinth, Mississippi, where he stood high in
his profession. He died in 1892.
At Mumfordsville while in line of battle, marching slowly and stopping
often, we passed through an orchard. Nice juicy apples were lying all
over the ground and one of the boys of a Louisiana Regiment, stooped
down and picked up two or three. His colonel happened to be looking in
his direction, and he had that boy gagged and buckled every time the
line stopped. After that every soldier thought hell was too good for
that colonel.
On the 20th we marched all night and camped at daylight at New Haven.
On the 21st we marched seventeen miles, and camped at Haginsville. On
the 22nd we passed fine orchards. My partner, Dr. Arnold said to me,
“If you will carry my surplus luggage, I will take the risk and get
some of those apples.” “Now Pard, you are in for more trouble.” But he
would not listen, and taking his blanket to hold the apples he started
off.
He was not the only soldier under the trees, and while on a limb
getting his share of the apples, lo and behold, the provost guard came
to arrest them! He fairly fell from the tree, broke through the high
corn and ran for his life, the guard calling after, “Halt, or I shoot.”
He got back to us with the fruit but said the apples had cost him so
much labor and so much fright that they did not taste good. Because we
laughed at him, running with his load, he would not give us any until
the next day.
We marched fifteen miles and camped at Bardstown until October 4th,
when we marched seventeen miles. We marched twelve miles and camped at
Springfield. The heat was terrible on those long sunny pikes, with
never a sign to mark the grave of a hero, noble sacrifice to their
cause.
One day an assistant surgeon carrying an umbrella was marching along
the pike in the rear of his regiment when General Hardee came along.
The General had nothing to shield him from the sun but a little cap. He
rode up to the surgeon and said, “What is your name?”
The man told him his name, rank and regiment.
“Well sir,” said General Hardee, “just imagine this whole army with
umbrellas.”
The doctor shut up his umbrella and pitched it over into the field.
General Hardee was always joking his men on the march, but when the
fight was on no one did his part better than he.
On October 6th we marched through Perryville, but on the 7th we marched
back and camped in the main street of the town.
Some of the boys stole a bee-hive and many of them got stung so their
faces were swollen and eyes closed. Dr. Arnold was one of the injured
ones, but he did not fail to eat his honey. As we lay on the ground
that night I teased him, saying General Hardee would need no further
proof; that he carried his guilt in his face. The doctor did not relish
this so I turned over to go to sleep when a bee stung me on the cheek.
“Who’s the guilty one now?” laughed the doctor and the joke was surely
on me. But I knew where the medicine wagon was, and went and got some
ammonia. I bathed my face, and the swelling went down at once, so I
came out ahead after all.