making a good day’s march. Late in the evening I found I was near the
cavalry again, so I made great strides to catch up. Ahead I saw a
bridge across a stream and Forrest and his staff walking on the gravel
bar. I hoped I could slip over before they saw me and handed the guard
my pass. He said, “You will have to show it to General Forrest.” I was
frightened sure enough. General Forrest did not care for passes or
anything else when out of humor. I had faced a thousand Yankee guns,
but I couldn’t face Forrest!
I waited some distance off, hoping he would go to an other part of the
line, but he seemed to attend to that bridge himself. Finally he did
walk away a few paces. Then I ran up to the adjutant, showed him my
pass, and he waved the guard to let me go over.
I tried to beat Forrest to the next bridge, but when I got there
he was on the bank higher above it. By their firelight I could see
the infantry across the river and I thought, “I am safe now.” When
I reached the pontoon bridge over the Tennessee, the cavalry was
crossing. I started across in the dark, but the guard stopped me. “You
can’t cross here—pass or no pass—you will have to see General Forrest.”
I argued with that guard, but it did no good. Then I thought to myself,
“He will not shoot into his own men,” and I said, “I am going across
and you may shoot me if you like.” I ran past him. He could not see me
in the dark, or he might have shot.
After I got across the bridge I found that my command had gone two days
before, so I camped all night by the straggler’s fire. It was one of
the worst nights of the campaign. A biting cold wind was blowing and
we fairly froze to the ground. For two days I followed my regiment.
My rations gave out and I was trudging along the road, forlorn and
very hungry, when I heard some one call me. It was a boy of Company G,
detailed with the engineers’ corps. I stayed with him that night. He
had plenty of grub and filled me up.
December 27th, we passed Tuscumbia and on the 29th we camped at Iuka.
On this march we crossed Bear Creek on a railroad bridge. The mules
were unhitched from the wagons and led across. When I got there a
fine pair of mules were on the bridge. They got half way over, then
mule-like, decided they would back a little, and they backed clear off
the bridge and went under the water, head and ears, to the amusement of
the web-foot soldiers.
January 1, 1865, we marched seven miles and camped near Corinth. Here
we washed up, and felt of ourselves, to see if we were all there. Here
I caught up with my command. I surely was glad to see the boys and
they were to see me, for they supposed I was eating rats on Johnson’s
Island. There were not many of us left. The killed, wounded and
captured at Nashville had about finished the “shooting-match.”
[Illustration: ROBT. D. BOND.]
We traveled over the Mobile & Ohio railroad to Tupelo, from which place
I was sent to Aberdeen to bring the medical wagons to Alesia, where
they were to be put on cars and taken to South Carolina. At Richmond
(while I was in Aberdeen) it was decided to give a furlough to seven
men of every company, so we might visit our homes in Arkansas. The boys
put my name in the hat and drew for me and I got it. The other boys
who got furloughs left at Meridian to make their way to Arkansas. They
meant to take chances at crossing the river to get home. I was waiting
at the Alesia station to deliver my medical supplies. The officer who
came to ship them said, “Isn’t your name Bill Bevens?” I said, “Yes.”
“Well, you have a furlough for 120 days to go to Arkansas.” I said,
“You are wrong. I never applied for one. Never have had one. I have
been with the army nearly four years and have never seen Arkansas in
all that time.”
But as the train flew by, the boys yelled at me that I had a furlough;
so I went to see about it. It was at the Eighth Arkansas headquarters
and I had no authority to stop. I had to go to South Carolina before I
could get it. My crowd went without me.
I went on with the army. At Mobile some of us went again to the Battle
House restaurant. We ate three rations in one meal, and our bill was
one hundred and twenty dollars. Our paper currency had taken a great
fall.
It was a cold ride down on the Mobile & Ohio railroad. The soldiers
were thinly clad and few of them had shoes. One or two men froze,
riding on top of the cars. We traveled to Milledgeville, Georgia, and
from there we had to march over a forty mile gap to the Augusta road. I
found my friends, Ed Dickinson, Ben Adler and Thad Kinman were still in
Augusta. They got me a new gray suit with a long tail coat. I sure was
dressed in the height of style, but my shoes hardly corresponded to my
suit. They were not very stylish.
In South Carolina I got my furlough, told my comrades good-bye, and
took letters from them to the home-folks.
[Illustration: Left to Right: THAD KINMAN, ED DICKINSON, BEN ADLER.
These were my friends who gave me good clothes instead of common,
regulation clothes. They belonged to the Quartermaster’s Department.]
General Cheatham was in a box car and I got on the same car. It was the
first time I had seen him since the quarrel with Forrest. I told him I
had a furlough and I wanted to get transportation. He seemed to doubt
it and said, “Let me see your furlough.” He looked at the signature and
he knew it was genuine.
Securing transportation I went back to Augusta. I went out to Belair,
ten miles from the city, where my uncle had a summer residence. He
was very kind to me. Next morning we went into the city and found a
great commotion. General Beauregard was placing all stragglers in the
guard house. My uncle said, “Son, you go back to Belair and I will see
General Beauregard about it.” But I answered, “The general will have
you in the guard house if you go to bothering him. I have an authority
that ranks him or any general, as it is by order of the war department.”
When we went back to Belair that night my uncle presented me with
a fine pair of boots which cost $100. Then my stylish outfit was
complete. I told them good-bye, went to see Ed Dickinson, Ben Adler and
Thad Kinman, and left for home.
I got to Forty Mile Gap. I had more baggage than when I went down. As
I marched along one of the drivers of the four-mule wagons asked if I
wanted to ride. A web-foot never refused. He said he would walk if I
would ride and drive, but I told him I had never driven a four-mule
team in my life.
“Oh, that’s all right,” said he, “the mules follow the wagon ahead
without a driver.”
I rode his mule and drove his wagon, stylishly dressed, as I have said,
in my long-tailed coat and fine new boots. The Virginia soldiers going
on foot to their command, guyed me greatly. “When the war is over I bet
that fellow will never tell that he drove a wagon train.” Then others
would yell, “Don’t that guy look fine with his gay clothes on?” General
Walthold came along and attracted by my dress, eyed me muchly. I did
not know what was in my wagon, and to avoid inquiry, and trouble for
the driver, I began to whip up the mules, looking the other way. But
that didn’t work. The general called out authoritatively, “What have
you, sir, in that wagon?”
“Quartermaster’s supplies,” I answered, hastening on. Soon I passed the
danger line for myself and the driver and was safe from any general
(except a Yankee General!)
I stayed with the driver until two o’clock in the morning, when I had
to leave for Milledgeville, to be in time for the outgoing train. I got
there ahead of time, and witnessed one of the sad trials of refugees.
An old man and his daughter, a beautiful young girl, were apparently
in great haste to get their baggage off on the train, and seemed
relieved when they had stowed away the last package. They themselves
were just getting on the train when two policemen arrested the old man
and started back to town with him. There were eight or ten Arkansas
and Texas soldiers on the train. They could not see a nice young girl
driven off the cars, and her father treated like a criminal. When she
began to cry the crisis had arrived. They jumped off with their guns
and pistols and took the old man from the policemen, gave him a pistol,
saying, “Kill them both, and we will bury them right here.” The old man
refused to shoot, but the policemen did not tarry, nor did they come
back.
At Montgomery I was joined by Tobe Hicks, who was going to Helena,
Arkansas. As he had come but lately from the Trans-Mississippi army on
some war business, and knew the route across the river, I decided to
stick to him.
We took a boat to Selma, on the Alabama river. There were many comrades
on board and we passed the time in talking of the war. From Selma we
went to Kingston, which was twenty-two miles from the railroad. We had
to hurry to meet the train. We left at twelve o’clock and walked the
ties to the junction, doing the twenty-two miles by seven o’clock.
It was hard on Tobe Hicks. To our dismay we missed the train by five
minutes and there was no other. We slept on the ground that night and
next morning started on the hundred mile walk to Meridian.
At Meridian we took the Jackson railroad, but had been on the train
only three hours when we came to a wash-out bridge and had to walk
again.
At Panola we gave a negro ten dollars to put us across the river in a
skiff. Everywhere was water, water, water.
When we could go no further we fell in with four men going down Cold
Water on a flat boat with two bales of cotton. We told our tale of
woe and they agreed to let us go with them if we would pull the boat.
Although we had always lived on a river, we had never played deck
hands. But this was no time to be dignified. We laid hold of the oars
and played deck hand for two days and a night. They were hard steamboat
men. We could stand it no longer. Late in the afternoon Tobe said,
“Let’s land here.” We landed and took off our traps. They tried to
bully us into going on, but we were used to bluffs, and they couldn’t
work it.
By walking ridges and wading sloughs, we came to the Mississippi. It
was miles wide. We went to the house of a man whom Hicks knew. He told
us the Yankees had patrol boats out every night and we would certainly
be captured. We were between the devil and the deep blue sea. If we
went back we would be captured; if we went on we would be captured.
But danger had been our meat and drink for four years. We decided to
build a raft of cedar logs, huge and square and long and light. We
built it in a slough, back from the river, and when it was finished, we
went to eat supper with this friend and bid him good-bye. Crossing the
Mississippi at night on a raft could never be the safest journey in the
world. With the Yankee patrol boat ready to capture us the danger was
doubled.
But our friend said he knew of a man who had a skiff (if the Yankees
had not burned it) that he would come for us if we could make him hear.
We called and to our joy the fellow answered. He landed us at the mouth
of St. Francis river about one o’clock in the morning, and we gave him
our watches and other valuables in payment for his services.
We had to wade again, but we hurried on. At last we came to the parting
of the ways, for Hicks was going to Helena and I to Jacksonport. We
felt rather sad at separating after walking, wading, riding, playing
deckhand and building rafts together.
To guide me Hicks gave me the names of all the men on the road who were
o. k. About two o’clock in the morning I called up one of these o. k.
men and asked to stay all night. He laughed and said, “It is day now.”
I told him I had been up all night and must walk for my life that day.
I must have two hours’ sleep—on the floor, anywhere.
He told me the Yankees would capture me, but if they came I could run
out the back door to the wood behind. He called me at four o’clock for
a cup of coffee and a good breakfast, gave me nice lunch for noon, and
I was walking on the slippery road before daylight. I walked for my
life and made forty miles that day. When ready to pick out a place for
the night I went to a house to find out where I was. The good woman saw
that I was a rebel, and asked me what was my command.
“Cleburne’s old Division, Govan’s Brigade, Army of Tennessee,” I
answered.
She burst out crying, “For God’s sake go on,” she said, “Last night
they captured my son from the same command.”
I declared I was not tired at all, and had a half hour more of daylight
anyhow. She told me how to get off the big road and where to stay all
night. I went five miles further and when I asked for a night’s lodging
the good citizen had to be shown my furlough. Then he was glad to see
me, gave me a fine supper and a good bed, and went with me next morning
to show me the short cuts.
That day I went through the prairie, nine miles of sage grass. All day
it poured rain, rain, rain. When about half way across there came a
terrific cloudburst and I was nearly drowned. I thought, “Oh, to think
that, after my perilous crossing of the great Mississippi, I should be
drowned on a prairie so near home.” I held my blanket over my head and
out in front of me, so that I could breathe, and that saved me. Before
I got to the next house I poured the water out of my boots and washed
my socks. I pulled off my pants and washed them. I did this because I
was afraid the family would not let such a muddy straggler stay all
night. But they were nice to me.
I resumed my journey at daybreak. Bayou Deview was out of its banks. I
waded to the channel, waist deep. I do not know how long I was about
it, but I finally got across and saw the sand ridges and the big home
road.
I had to cross Cache river at Gray’s Ferry. As a boy I had known Dr.
Gray but he did not know me. I went to the house, introduced myself,
and showed him my furlough. He asked when I crossed the Mississippi.
I told him. Had I walked all the way? I told him I had. Was I any
relation of Judge Bevens of that district? I told him Judge Bevens
was my uncle. He finished by saying, “You have walked all the way
from St. Francis river and have not stolen a horse?” I told him I was
a gentleman, not a horse thief. He said, “Certainly, I will put you
across the Cache river.” He called to a negro to bring two horses, and
we rode about a mile to the ferry. There a man met us with a skiff and
took me across. I went on my way and began to know the landmarks. When
I reached the fork of the roads, (one leading to Augusta; the other to
Jacksonport), I sat down to rest. Jim Howell, the deputy sheriff rode
up. He looked at me for a minute, then shouted, “Why, is that you, Bill
Bevens, what in hell are you doing here?”
I showed him my furlough and told him about my journey. He made me
ride, while he walked to his house, a few miles up the road. Then he
put a little negro up behind me to ride some miles further.
I met Bill Campbell, who lost a leg at Shiloh. He wanted me to stay
and talk, but I was headed for home and would not stop. I went on to
Colonel McCoy’s at Tupelo. I spent the night with Bruce Waddell. He
lost a leg at Shiloh. It was the first time I had seen him since. I
helped carry him off the field. It was a happy meeting, and we talked
nearly all night. He sent a little negro with me to Village Creek.
I crossed in a canoe and walked the rest of the way—six miles—to
Jacksonport.
Home again! Was it only four years ago that the Jackson Guards had
marched to the Presbyterian church to receive its banner from loving
hands? How many miles we had traveled. How many battles we had fought.
How many wretched homes and blazing cities we had seen. The sorrows,
wounds, sufferings and deaths of centuries were crowded into those four
years. Oh, the pity of it!
I went straight to my sister’s home. Her little girls were dressed in
long clothes, “playing lady.” Their mother was at a neighbor’s and one
of them went for her, not telling her why she was wanted at home. Her
surprise at seeing me was great, and our meeting joyous beyond words.
She and the children went with me to father’s home in the next county.
My mother had not heard from me, and she did not know whether I was
alive or dead. She fell on my neck, cried, laughed, shouted. She almost
died of joy. Father was too happy, and too full for utterance.
Mother would look at me for hours and could not talk for joy. Her dear
soul was never happier than now with her dear soldier boy safe at home,
surrounded by loved ones. God gives no boy a better heritage than such
a sweet Christian home and such love.
With her boy a thousand of miles away, and no mails, her prayers for
him were the only connecting links. The boy on the field of death
remembered his mother’s prayers and was comforted in every danger.
I was unaccustomed to sleeping in a house, and at first used to take
my blanket to the yard, but mother could not stand that and I had to
go back. My sisters would look under rocks and planks and in various
hiding places and bring out my jewelry and other treasures which they
had hidden from the Yankees.
Before my furlough was out came the news of General Lee’s surrender at
Appomattox. The long cruel war was over and I was separated no more
from my home and mother. At Jacksonport I met the boys who had been
furloughed with me, but had reached home first—John R. Loftin, Forrest
Dillard, Haggerton and others. It was good to be with the old comrades
once more. We took up our work again. I began selling drugs. I married
here and am still in Jackson county, at Newport, Arkansas.
(THE END.)
Jacksonport, Ark., April 24, 1877.
At an informal meeting called at Col. L. C. Gause’s law office, the
following members of the old Jackson Guards, or Company “G,” First
Arkansas Regiment, Infantry, were present:
L. C. Gause, John R. Loftin, M. A. Mull, Clay Lowe, Peter Bach and W.
E. Bevens. Also by invitation Frank W. Lynn.
On motion, L. C. Gause was chosen temporary chairman and W. E.
Bevens temporary secretary. By consent of those present, we propose
to organize the old Jackson Guards and all members are invited and
solicited to invite and solicit all members they see and know of, and
ask all to meet at Col. L. C. Gause’s law office on Saturday, April 28th,
1877, to get up a re-organization and celebration by the 5th day of
May, and the secretary is ordered to invite those of the Company we
know of at a distance to be with us on the 5th day of May, 1877. Also
to invite General F. Fagan; also John W. Colquitt, our last Colonel.
A committee on finance was appointed by the president, Peter Bach. Also
a committee consisting of the following persons: John R. Loftin, W. E.
Bevens, Peter Bach, M. A. Mull, Clay Lowe, to look after the dinner and
see when we will have it and at what hour, and make preparations for
the same. Col. L. C. Gause was appointed a committee of one to draw
up resolutions of re-organization, also to address the meeting and
to invite Captain J. C. Matthews and wife and all the widows of the
Jackson Guards. Also to invite Frank W. Lynn.
Meeting adjourned to meet on Saturday, April 28th, 1877, at Col. L. C.
Gause’s office.
L. C. GAUSE, President.
W. E. BEVENS, Secretary.
Jacksonport, Ark., May 4th, 1877.
At a regular meeting of the Jackson Guards at the residence of Mart A.
Mull, the following members were present:
L. C. Gause, temporary chairman; W. E. Bevens, temporary secretary;
John R. Loftin, H. Clay Lowe, Peter Bach, G. K. Stephens, John Cathey,
F. W. Dillard, W. D. Shackleford, Jasper May, Frank Richardson, J. B.
Waddell, James Hudson, Robert D. Bond, M. A. Mull.
The following resolutions were adopted:
RESOLVED:
That We, the surviving members of the Jackson Guards, for the purpose
of re-organizing ourselves for a social re-union, will annually on the
5th day of May, elect from our members the following officers: One
President; One Vice President; One Secretary and Treasurer; and the
President shall appoint three members as an executive committee to
serve one year and shall exercise the powers and perform the duties
usual to such offices respectively.
ON MOTION:
The secretary be ordered to publish four weeks before the next annual
meeting, in both County Newspapers, notices when and where it shall be
held.
RESOLVED:
That the Jackson Guards do hereby tender their sincere thanks to Mrs.
Laura Ewing for the beautiful bouquet tendered us on this occasion.
RESOLVED:
By the Jackson Guards, that our sincere thanks be hereby tendered Mr.
M. A. Mull and kind lady for the hospitable donation of their home for
our re-union, and grand dinner at which we have had the time of our
lives talking over old times once more and for their supervision over
the same.
RESOLVED:
That our thanks are also tendered our Lady Friends and wives for their
presence and assistance in our dinner.
We, the undersigned surviving members of the Jackson Guards agree to
organize ourselves in accordance with the foregoing resolution:
L. C. Gause,
W. E. Bevens,
H. Clay Lowe,
Peter Bach,
G. K. Stephens,
John A. Cathey,
F. W. Dillard,
M. A. Mull,
W. D. Shackelford,
John R. Loftin,
Jasper May,
Frank Richardson,
J. B. Waddell,
Robt. D. Bond,
James Henderson,
A. C. Pickett was elected President.
L. C. Gause was elected Vice President.
* * * * *
The President not being present the Vice President presided and
appointed the following as an executive committee:
J. B. Waddell,
Mart A. Mull,
John R. Loftin.
ON MOTION:
The following members were appointed to assist in perfecting the
organization:
H. Clay Lowe, F. W. Dillard, Robt. D. Bond, and on motion L. C. Gause
was added.
ON MOTION:
Of Mr. Clay Lowe, the following resolution was adopted:
WHEREAS, Since the organization of this Company sixteen years ago, many
of our Brave Comrades have passed away, many on the battlefield, daring
and dying for their Country, others from disease, therefore,
RESOLVED, That we will ever cherish their memory, emulate their virtues
and honor their heroism, and that as a testimonial of our love and
respect we erect, at an early day as possible a suitable monument to
the dead of the Jackson Guards.
L. C. Gause,
W. E. Bevens,
H. C. Lowe,
Peter Bach,
G. K. Stephens,
F. W. Dillard,
W. D. Shackelford,
John R. Loftin,
John Cathey,
Jasper May,
Frank Richardson,
J. B. Waddell,
James Hudson,
Robert A. Bond,
W. T. Barnes,
M. A. Mull.
Those who have answered our Call but could not come:
Captain A. C. Pickett,
Wm. Bunnell,
Lyman B. Gill,
B. F. McCowan,
Lem McKee,
Lon Steadman,
Luther Steadman,
John Murphy,
Jerry Love,
George W. Roberts,
Austin Choate,
Mart Howard.
All of whom are the total known living at that time, (1877.)
And now, March 5th 1913, there are only living, as far as we know, out
of 154 members on May 5, 1861:
John Loftin,
Lon Steadman,
John Cathey,
Luther Steadman,
W. T. Barnes,
W. E. Bevens.
THE ORIGINAL MUSTER ROLL OF COMPANY “G” FIRST ARKANSAS REGIMENT,
INFANTRY, JACKSON GUARDS.
Colonel James Fagan’s Regiment,
General Polk’s Brigade,
General D. C. Govan’s Brigade,
Cleburne’s Division,
Hardee Corps,
Army of Tennessee.
FIRST OFFICERS ELECTED MAY 5TH, 1861.
1. Captain A. C. Pickett in 1862, Colonel of Stearns. Mo., 8 Regiment.
2. 1st Lieutenant L. C. Gause in 1862, Col. of 32 Ark. Regiment.
3. 2nd Lieut. L. L. Moore, Discharged.
4. 3rd Lieutenant George Paine, Discharged.
NON-COMMISSIONED OFFICERS.
3rd. First Sergeant James F. Hunter, transferred.
2nd Sergeant W. B. Densford, discharged over age.
3rd Sergeant John R. Loftin.
4th Sergeant Peter Bach, wounded by Cliff Dowell.
5th Sergeant H. C. Lowe.
First Corporal John M. Waddell.
2nd Corporal Sam Shoup.
3rd Corporal Henry Clements.
4th Corporal W. E. Bevens.
OFFICERS FROM MARCH 1862 to 1865.
5. Captain Sam Shoup, wounded on July 22nd at Atlanta.
6. 1st Lieut. A. T. Walthall, killed at Kennesaw Mountains.
7. 2nd Lieut. H. C. Lowe, wounded at Chickamauga and Jonesboro.
8. 3rd Lieut. John R. Loftin.
PRIVATES.