forgotten. The Battle of Perryville was fought October 8th, 1862. We
were on the extreme left and our battery, on a hill at our rear, was
not engaged until late in the day. The heaviest fighting was on the
extreme right. Both sides were contending stubbornly for a spring
of water between the lines and were dying for water. Sometimes one
side would have the advantage, sometimes the other. When called into
action we crossed a bridge in the center of the town, formed a line
and advanced to the top of the hill. Our battery was planted and had
begun its work when we received orders to recross the bridge and
occupy our former lines. We had to retreat under battery fire, and
after we had got our battery over the bridge we marched along the
pike. The enemy opened on us with grape and cannister and did deadly
work. We double-quicked into line and their sharp-shooters gave us a
terrible assault from behind the houses. But when our line was formed,
our sharp-shooters deployed and our battery opened fire, they had to
retreat. So the battle went on, but finally we had to give up the
struggle and evacuate the town. The loss was heavy on both sides, about
eight thousand men being killed, captured and wounded.
October 9th we marched fifteen miles and passed Harrodsburg. On the
10th we marched sixteen miles to Camp Dick Robinson. Here a council was
held while General Bragg gave his wagons time to go South. It was the
greatest wagon train ever seen in the army; was three days passing at
one point. Here George Thomas and I each bought three yards of undyed
jeans to make ourselves some trousers when we got back South.
The defeat at Perryville and the failure of the Kentuckians to join us
as we had hoped, made our campaign anything but a brilliant success
from a military point of view, notwithstanding our victories at
Mumfordsville and Richmond.
But we had captured six thousand men, we had secured arms and
ammunition which were sorely needed, we had gotten enormous quantities
of supplies which were a great help to the Confederacy, and the men who
did get back were tough as whit-leather, ready for anything.
October 13th we marched twenty-three miles, passing through Lancaster,
October 14th we marched seventeen miles, going through Mount Vernon,
and halted a little before dark.
Dr. Arnold and I went down to a creek about a mile from camp, and there
in a field we found a fine pumpkin. He said if I would help him cook
it I might help him eat it. He said it would have to cook until one
o’clock to be well done. I told him I would help take it to camp but
I’d be dinged if I’d stay up until one o’clock to cook it. I was too
nearly dead for rest and sleep. We got it to camp, cut it up, put it
in the famous old army camp kettle and Doc began the Herculean task of
staying awake to cook his pumpkin. He did stay awake until one o’clock
and got it nicely done, but was afraid to eat it at that unusual hour,
as he might have cramp colic. He found an old fashioned oven with a
lid, put his pumpkin into it, fastened the lid, placed the oven under
the knapsack beneath his head and went to sleep. But first he took the
trouble to wake me and tell me I should not have a bite of his pumpkin
because I would not stay up to help him cook it.
When reveille sounded he woke up and began to guy me, saying “You shall
not have a bite.” He took up his knapsack and behold, the oven, pumpkin
and all, was gone! Oh, he was furious, and fairly pawed the ground. He
thought I had taken it for a joke, but soon found that to be a mistake.
We decided that some soldier had stolen and eaten it. If he had found
the man he would have fought him to a finish. He never did see the joke.
October 19th we marched eleven miles. We passed over a battlefield,
where General Buckner had fought, and crossed Wild Cat River. We
marched thirteen miles and passed through Barkersville. This was a
strong Union town in the mountains. The “Jay Hawkers” shot at us
from the top of the mountains; women and boys pelted us with stones,
shouting, “Hurrah, for the Union.” As they were women and children, we
had to take it.
Once we were marching on a road cut out of the mountain side. On one
side was a cliff of solid rock, on the other a deep precipice. The
command to halt was given and the men fell down to rest, completely
filling the road. Arnold and I were in the rear, and one of the
ambulance drivers, seeing the crowded condition of the road, told us
to get up with him, which we did. There was a trail just wide enough
for the horsemen, single file, and along this trail rode General Hardee
looking after his men. When he reached this ambulance he stopped
opposite Arnold and said to him, “Are you sick?” “No, sir.” “Well, get
down off that wagon.”
“Are you sick?” he called to me, but by that time I was out on the
ground. Then he said to the driver, “Let no soldier ride unless he is
sick or wounded.”
A Kentucky Colonel brought with him his five hundred dollar carriage,
and had his negro drive it at the rear of the regiment. In his rounds
General Hardee had found some sick men and told them to get into that
carriage. The negro and rear officers explained whose carriage it was,
but the General only said, “No use going empty when it can serve so
good a purpose. By tomorrow perhaps none of us will need it.”
So the umbrella man, Arnold and myself were not the only ones upon whom
General Hardee kept an eye.
October 19th we marched fourteen miles, crossed Cumberland River,
then on through Gibraltar, Cumberland Gap, and on across Powell
River into Tennessee. We marched past Taswell, crossed Clinch River
at Madisonville, and, on October 24th, camped about six miles from
Knoxville. Here we were given time to wash and dry our clothes. On this
raid we had only one suit and to get it clean meant to strip, wash,
let the clothes dry on or hang them on bushes to dry, while we waited.
With our battles and forced marches we could not stop for that; so
creeping companions were large and furious, and made deadly war. But
at Knoxville everybody got busy, went into warfare with our creeping
enemy, and the thousands destroyed in that fierce combat will never be
known.
George Thomas and I brought out our white jeans which we had bought
in Camp Dick Robinson, and had carried all these miles. We got some
copperas from a kind old rebel lady, took walnut hulls and dyed our
cloth. It was a good job too.
The boys were getting short on tobacco, and it looked as if the whole
army would be forced to reform on this line. But they borrowed Dr.
Ashford’s horse and sent me to buy tobacco, chewing tobacco, smoking
tobacco, hand tobacco, giving me plenty of Confederate currency.
I rode into the beautiful town which I had not seen since we were
flying into Virginia. Then we wore good clothes and had Sunday
Soldiering. Now we were soldiers with the dust of a thousand mile
march, ragged and unkempt, bleeding from the wounds of two hard-fought
battles and numerous skirmishes. Then we were raw, undisciplined
troops, now we were seasoned veterans. Such was the change in a few
short months.
Riding to a drug store, I hitched my horse, went in, and bought my
wholesale bill of tobacco. When I came out again to the sidewalk I saw
a policeman leading off my horse. I yelled at him to stop, but he went
on, I rushed up and grabbed the reins. He told me it was against the
law to hitch a horse to a post in that city. About that time twenty
of our boys came running to my rescue. They lined up and told the
policeman to turn the horse loose. He did the wise thing, or there
would have been a “hot time” right there. I took the horse and I made
a bee-line for General Braggs’ Brigade, and took joy and delight to my
tobacco-starving friends.
November 2nd we passed through Knoxville and camped on the railroad.
At daylight the 154th Regiment Band awoke us with the sweetest music I
ever heard. It brought back such poignant memories of home, of the boys
and girls around the piano, of charming plantation melodies.
But the next tune was not so sweet. It came to the tune of orders to
“cook three days’ rations, and be ready to move at a moment’s notice.”
We rode cars to Chattanooga, from there on November 10th we went to
Bridgeport, Alabama. From Bridgeport we crossed the Tennessee River,
marched fifty miles and camped at Alisonia. November 24th we marched
twenty miles, passing through Tullahoma; November 25th we marched
fifteen miles and camped on Duck River at a short distance from
Shelbyville. At this time the Medical department decided to give all
the one-course Medical students then in the army a chance to pass the
examination for promotion to assistant surgeon. Dr. Arnold was one of
these one-course students and decided to try the examination. We diked
him out in the best clothes we could get together in the company. I
contributed my white shirt, other boys brought him hat, coat, shoes,
and collar. When he stood before us for inspection he could have passed
for a lawyer or preacher just from town. With his book, “Smith’s
Compends,” he walked twenty miles to the Board of Examiners, stood
before the “saw-bones,” shook and answered questions. Perhaps his
borrowed plumage helped him, at any rate he passed, and was given a
certificate. He walked back, changed from the rank of a private to that
of a captain! When he came in sight two hundred braves met him; when
shown his certificate they rode him on a rail and kept up a rough house
for an hour or two. He had no horse, no money, and no books except his
Smith’s Compends, but the older doctors helped him, and soon he was
fully up in medical affairs and made a good surgeon too.
December 8th we marched twenty miles and camped at Eaglesville. From
there we marched to College Hill.
December 28th we marched to Murfreesboro, and camped on Stone River
within cannon shot of the town. Here we prepared to meet Rosecrans with
his army, forty-five thousand in number. We were in line of battle
on the extreme right. After dark on the thirtieth, still in line of
battle, we moved our position to extreme left and camped, without fire,
in a cedar rough. Our orders were to advance as soon as it was light
enough to see. At dawn, December 31, we moved promptly on the enemy,
advancing through an open field. The enemy, protected by a fence and
the trees, received us with deadly fire and our loss was great. But
we flew after them and our work was just as disastrous to them. Dead
bluecoats were thick in every direction. We soon had them on the run.
Our company Color Bearer William Mathews, the same who had defied the
Yankee fleet on the Potomac, had been ill and this was his first fight.
As we followed the fleeing Yanks he said, “Boys, this is fun.” One of
the men answered, “Stripes, don’t be so quick, this is not over yet;
you may get a ninety-day furlough yet.” In twenty minutes Mathews’ arm
was shot to pieces.
George Thomas was in front of all the company. He had killed two men
and was pulling down on the third, when one, but a short distance
away, shot him, wounding him in the arm. But George spotted the man who
shot him and wanted to go on with one good arm. However, he was taken
off the field and sent to the hospital.
We drove the enemy three miles. The fire all along the line was
terrific. The cannonading could be heard for miles. The rattle of
small arms was continuous. Our line on the left was pressing on over
a terrible cedar rough. Anyone who understands a cedar rough can
understand what that means. Limestone rocks, gnarly cedar trees, stub
arms sticking out of the ground, make it almost impassable at best. How
much more difficult with an enemy in front concentrating his fire upon
us. We pressed on through rocks and thicket. One of our brave boys,
Arthur Green, was struck by a cannonball and torn all to pieces. Other
parts of the line were as hot as ours. We got possession of the thicket
but could not get the cannon through it; so we hardly got a man of
their line.
When we got through, we found the Yanks with sixty cannon in line
fronting the cedar rough. Our ranks were so depleted we could not
charge two lines of infantry and sixty cannon. There was nothing to do
but hold our position and await re-inforcements.
We lay in line all night. Orders were sent to the quarter-master to
send rations, if he had any. Two negroes, belonging to two of the
officers, arrived, bringing food for their masters.
As all was quiet then, and it was raining, they decided to sleep
by the fire until daylight. To keep off the rain they drove forked
branches into the ground, laid a brace across them, stretched their
blankets over all, and pegged them to the ground at the four corners.
Before long hard firing was heard on the outpost. Bullets rained on
their tent, struck the logs of the fire, cut loose the corners of the
blankets, letting the rain on their faces. When they saw the flying
bullets, they awaited no instructions from their masters. With eyes
popping out of their heads, they grabbed their blankets and set out for
the wagon train. They were not long in getting there.
Next day the struggle was renewed with fearful carnage.
Each side fought with grim and settled purpose, finally a fierce
onslaught scattered our forces. In twenty minutes we lost two thousand
men, and the day was lost. Orders for retreat were given.
General Braggs’ loss was about ten thousand men, while Rosecrans
reported his at twelve thousand.
In the battle our Lieutenant Colonel Don McGregor was mortally wounded.
When he was taken to the hospital, his faithful old Samuel was by his
side. The Colonel’s sister, who lived a few miles from Murfreesboro,
had come to relieve the suffering and nurse the wounded. (Ah, those
brave, never-to-be-forgotten daughters of the South!) When she drove
up to the hospital in her carriage she found Sam waiting with his own
and his master’s horse saddled ready for the trip to her home. When we
retreated General Rosecrans’ men came in, and his guard took the two
horses, and drove off in the carriage. What could be done? Samuel said,
“I will get them back.”
At this particular time of the unpleasantness, the Yankees were
burning with sympathy for the poor, oppressed negro, and negroes were
permitted to do pretty much as they pleased. Samuel went to Rosecrans’
headquarters, told him the horses were his, that he had a wounded
friend in the hospital and he wanted a pass to the country. All his
requests were granted. He drove the Colonel and his sister to her home,
and nursed his master until he died.
After Colonel McGregor died Samuel got a pass through the lines and
returned to our camp. He delivered the Colonel’s horse but kept his own
and asked our Regiment Colonel for a pass to Arkansas. He then told
the boys to write to their fathers, mothers and sweethearts, as he
was going back home to see his mistress. We received answers to these
letters, showing that Samuel had made the journey safely, faithful to
the end.
We retreated by night. We were nearly starved. It was raining, cold,
cold rain, and we were wet to the skin. We were so sleepy that if we
stopped for a moment we would go to sleep. We had gone almost as far
as human nature could go.
One of the boys thought he would rest a few moments beside a fire left
by some wagons. He took pine boughs and laid them on the wet ground,
dropped down with all his accoutrements, and went to sleep. General
Hardee came up, spied him, called to his Adjutant, “Roy, come here;
here is a fellow who has gone regularly to bed.”
About then the soldier woke up very much frightened. He thought he
would be shot. He got away from there in a hurry, and was with his
command before his absence was discovered.
January 5th, 1863, we marched forty-two miles to Manchester. January
6th we marched eighteen miles to Alisonia. From Alisonia we marched to
Tullahoma, and there we camped for the winter.
We were in General Hardee’s Division. We had tents and were
comfortable. We drilled four hours a day, and by way of diversion
General Hardee had contests in drilling. We become so expert that we
could have made the Virginia Cadets ashamed of themselves. Our company
was third best and that took good practice. A Louisiana company was
ahead of us. It beat us in quickness at “trail arms”, “lie down”, at
“double quick.” At walking or running none excelled us at any army
maneuver. We had other amusements, too. We played “town ball” and “bull
pen” and had some lively games. We dressed up the smaller fellows as
girls and we danced. Joe Hamilton, Dick Hayden, Sam Shoup and Bill
Barnes were the musicians. Bill Shackleford was ready to play pranks,
and made fun for the crowd. Now and then we got a pass and sent our
best foragers out for “fancy grub” and vegetables. Then we would have a
big dinner and a big day.
April 23rd, real fun began again, but we were alive, active, young,
healthy, well-drilled, well-disciplined—in perfect fighting trim. For
fear we would forget how to march a walking track was opened up from
Tullahoma, and we marched daily five, ten, eighteen, twenty, thirty
miles, making expeditions to all the surrounding towns—Wartrace,
Bellbuckle, Hoover’s Gap, Duck River, Bridge, Railroad Gap,
Manchester. Manchester was a nice little town in the hills, where there
were numerous springs and streams in which we could swim. June 22nd we
went there to relieve a Louisiana Regiment. When we arrived they were
on dress parade, eleven hundred strong and their drill was simply fine,
but they had never smelt powder nor marched at all. They wore nice
caps, fine uniforms, white gloves, fine ——shop-made laced high shoes.
They carried fat haversacks and new canteens, fine new fat knapsacks
with lots of underclothing and even two pairs of shoes. They laughed at
us in our shabby dress, with our dirty haversacks and no knapsacks. We
had one suit of underwear wrapped in our blankets and our accoutrements
were reduced to the lightest weight possible. They said we were too few
to meet the enemy, but we told them we would stay with any who came to
engage us. We also told them that they couldn’t get through one week’s
campaign with such knapsacks. Some of the boys said, “We will follow in
your wake and replenish our wardrobes.”
This was a sad camp to us. One of our men, Garret, got angry with Mr.
Bragden, the Beef Sergeant, who divided the company rations. Taking his
gun, he went to Bragden’s tent where he was unarmed and shot him like
a dog. Garrett would have been lynched if the officers had not hurried
him off to another part of the army.
June 27th we marched to Wartrace, June 29th to Tullahoma, June 30th we
were deployed to build breastworks, but we retreated at eleven o’clock
at night to Alisonia on Elk River.
July third, we camped in the Cumberland Mountains, near the school
which had been established by General Polk and the Quintards. It was
an ideal place for a school and I am glad to say it bears, today, an
honored name among educators as the University of the South.
We had marched all day in the hot July sun, clouds of dust had parched
our throats, and we were almost perishing for water when we reached the
spring. As we rested at the side of the road whom should we see but our
crack Louisiana Regiment—the one we had relieved at Manchester only ten
days before. They were dusty, dirty, lame and halt, with feet sore
and swollen in their tight shoes, a bedraggled and woe begone set of
youngsters. How we joshed them.
“Don’t cry, mama’s darling;” “Straighten up and be men;” “Brace up like
soldiers, so the army won’t be ashamed of you.” These were some of the
commands we hurled at them. They would have fought us if they could
have stopped, but a soldier cannot break ranks.
July 4th, 1863, we camped in the valley on the Tennessee River. Then we
crossed the River at Kelly Ford to Lookout Valley. July 9th we marched
through Chattanooga and camped at Turner’s Station.
August 17th we marched to Graysville. Here Dr. T. R. Ashford got a four
days’ furlough. Dr. Ashford had married in Georgia and had gone with
his bride to Arkansas and established himself as a physician. When the
war broke out he joined the army from his adopted home, going out as
assistant surgeon in our regiment. His wife returned to her mother in
Georgia and he had not seen her for two years. As Graysville was near
her home, she came to visit him and there they had a happy meeting.
Dr. Ashford, always kind and sympathetic, was a great favorite with the
boys. Highly educated and a fine surgeon, he was modest and unassuming,
a sincere Christian gentleman. After the war he settled in Georgia.
Dr. Ashford, Dr. Arnold and I were close friends through those long
dreadful years.
August 21st we camped at Harrison on the Tennessee River. On August
23rd we marched fourteen miles and camped at Gardner’s Ferry.
Here several of the boys went foraging and got some nice green apples.
George Thomas, Captain Shoup and others made apple dumplings and put
them in a large camp kettle to cook.
They were standing around the fire, with mouths watering, thinking
every minute an hour, when the Yankees on the other side of the river
began to shell the camp. They had run up four globe-sighting 16
shotguns to the top of a small hill. We were too far from our guns and
there were no orders given to shoot, so they shelled us a plenty.
While the boys were watching the kettle a cannon ball struck the
fire, upset the kettle, passed between the legs of one of the men and
exploded a little farther on. This did not seem to cause any alarm.
They had heard cannon balls explode before, but a mighty wail went up
over the loss of the apple dumplings. The air was blue around there,
and at that particular moment the boys would have charged the enemy
joyously.
I was with the doctors that day. They had a negro who was a fine
forager. He even brought us fried chicken. We had a royal spread in
front of the doctors’ tent and were consuming the good things with
great relish, when a cannon ball went through the tent! It looked like
it was going to smash us to smithereens, grub and all! We got away from
there. We grabbed the grub and, went down the line where we finished
our meal. Not royally as we would have done, but hastily and stealthily.
But our sharp-shooters in the dumps on the river got even with them.
The Yanks drove out into the field with two six-mule wagons to get
some fine rebel fodder. There were about thirty men in all, teamsters
and guards. Some of them stood on the rail pen surrounding the fodder,
others climbed on the shock to begin at the top. Our sharp-shooters
shot the mules first, then the men, and few lived to tell the tale.
Sherman said, “War is Hell.” In this case it was hell to them.
September 10th we marched down the valley toward Lafayette. As the dust
was a foot deep and water scarce we moved slowly and we went into camp
about ten o’clock.
Dr. Scott of our Division, was sent for to see a citizen who was very
ill. He went and relieved him, and left medicine, not asking pay for
his services. After he had returned to camp a negro brought him a huge
tray heaped with good things to eat. The doctor looked at the pile of
grub, and said, “You boys must dine with me today, I can’t eat all
of this.” We needed no further urging for our blue beef and water
corn-dodger was rather poor fare. We lit into it, and as hungry wolves
devour a sheep, so we devoured that pile of grub. Then the darkey took
his tray and departed with a note of thanks. Our gratitude was truly
sincere.
September 19th battle was on hand. We were in General Polk’s Brigade,
to which the Hardee Corps had been transferred. When orders were read
we found ourselves named as reserves. Cannonading began on our right,
and we were moved quickly to the sound of the shot, about three miles.
As we drew nearer to it we were ordered to double-quick. When we came
to Chickamauga Creek we began to pull off our shoes to wade when
General Cleburne came along saying, “Boys, go through that river, we
can’t wait.”