Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 63120-h.htm or 63120-h.zip:
(https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/63120/pg63120-images.html)
or
(https://www.gutenberg.org/files/63120/63120-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/beyondlinesoryan01geer
Transcriber’s note:
There is only one footnote; it follows the paragraph in
which it was flagged.
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
[Illustration: John J. Geer.]
BEYOND THE LINES:
Or
A Yankee Prisoner Loose in Dixie.
by
CAPTAIN J. J. GEER,
Late of General Buckland’S Staff.
With an Introduction,
by Rev. Alexander Clark.
“In the dark fens of the dismal swamp
The hunted Yankees lay;
They saw the fire of the midnight camp,
And heard at times the horses’ tramp,
And the bloodhounds’ distant bay.”
Philadelphia:
J. W. Daughaday, Publisher,
1308 Chestnut Street.
1863.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by
John J. Geer,
In the Office of the Clerk of the District Court for the
Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
PREFACE.
In presenting the following narrative of suffering endured while a
prisoner in the so-called Southern Confederacy, the principal object
had in view by the author, is to place before those into whose hands
this volume may come, a plain, straightforward, unvarnished account of
_facts_.
In regard to the workings and results of that system of human bondage
to which our country owes its present difficulties, there have been so
many mistaken ideas, statements, and theories, that it has become the
duty of every true and loyal man to expose the truth; or, speaking with
more correctness, to strip from the hideous skeleton of Slavery all its
gaily painted and deceptive cloaks and masks, and to exhibit it in all
its ghastly repulsiveness.
It is my purpose in the succeeding pages to narrate simply how, after
being captured at the battle of Shiloh, or Pittsburg Landing, I was,
on the most frivolous charges, tried for my life before several
prominent Rebel Generals, among whom were Bragg and Beauregard; how
I was subsequently chained with negro chains and cast into military
prisons and common jails; how, escaping from these, and in company with
Lieutenant A. P. COLLINS, I made my way to the swamps; how we
lived in these malarious marshes for three weeks; how we were hunted
with bloodhounds; how we were assisted by the slaves in our flight, and
lastly, how, being recaptured, we spent weary months in confinement,
and were finally released on exchange from our dreadful captivity.
To all those friends who have cheered him since his return home with
kind words and deeds, the author begs leave to extend his warmest
thanks,—but more especially to Rev. ALEXANDER CLARK, Editor of
_Clark’s School Visitor_, who revised and arranged the Manuscripts
for the press, and to whose scholarly abilities this volume owes so
much. He desires also to testify to like kindness on the part of Rev.
W. B. WATKINS, A.M., and MILO A. TOWNSEND, Esq., of New Brighton,
Pennsylvania, whose friendship has laid him under a debt of grateful
remembrance.
J. J. GEER.
SPRINGFIELD, OHIO, _June, 8, 1863_.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Leave Camp Dennison—Up the Tennessee—Under the Enemy’s Fire—Attacked
in Force—A Struggle for Liberty—Captured. 21–29
CHAPTER II.
First Sight of a Rebel Camp—Arraigned before Generals Jackson,
Bragg, Hardee, Beauregard, and Johnston—A Storm in Camp—Bayoneting
a Sleeping Man (?)—Interior of a Rebel Prison—“Calico Bill”—An
Escape—Rebel Exaggerations. 30–44
CHAPTER III.
Taken to Columbus, Mississippi—Visit from the Clergy—An Enthusiastic
Mute—American Aristocracy—Secession Lies—Political and
Ecclesiastical Prisoners—Reflections. 45–54
CHAPTER IV.
The Wounded from Shiloh—Inquisitive Negroes—An Abomination—A
Striking Contrast—Tom—Attempted Escape—An Ingenious Darkey—Rebel
Fare—The Irish Sergeant—Narrow Escape—Mending Clothes and Getting
News—Horrible Scenes in Prison—A Discussion. 55–69
CHAPTER V.
Southern Inhumanity—A Prison Telegraph—Mobile—Conversation with a
Fire-Eater—Negro Sale Stables—A Bad Sign—Mule-Beef—Montgomery—In
the Penitentiary—Felon Soldiers—Hanging for Theft—Visit to a
Condemned Prisoner—Who Shall Answer? 70–80
CHAPTER VI.
A New Prison—Murder of Lieutenant Bliss—In Irons—Yankee
Ingenuity—Rebel Ignorance—Parson Rogers—Faithful Servants—Bold and
Successful Escape of Prisoners—Captain Troy—A Blindfold Journey—A
Traitor. 81–90
CHAPTER VII.
Macon—A Southern Unionist in the Rebel Army—Beneath a Georgia
Sun—Secession Speech—Thoughts of Home—Political Prisoners—Horrible
Place—Offer of the Gospel—Lieutenant A. P. Collins—Contemplated
Escape—Robes of Blood!—Pinning a Federal Soldier to the Ground.
91–102
CHAPTER VIII.
Preparing the Way—Dave—Pepper, Matches, and Fish-hooks—Exchange of
Clothing—Passing the Guard-lines—Frightened Horse—Halted—Passed—In
the Woods—Hidden in the Swamp—Pursued—A Night Journey in the
Cane-brake—Manna. 103–113
CHAPTER IX.
Seeking the Hills—Retreating to the Swamps—Pursued by
Bloodhounds—Suffering from Hunger—A Dreary Night—An Answered
Prayer—Singular Noise—Lost in the Cane-brake—A Dismal Journey—A
Dream—A Surprise—Wanderings and Wearyings in the Wilderness—A
Comforter Present—Hope and Cheer—A Cotton-field—A Friend in
Need—Negro Music—A Feast in the Night—An Intelligent Slave—Advice
to Fugitives. 114–130
CHAPTER X.
Pursued by Horses, Hounds, and Men—Another Night in the Cane-brake—
An Alligator—A Pleasant Discovery—The Pass-word—Slaves at Work—A
Negro Supper—Important Information—A Panther—A Chase to avoid a
Chase—Bloodhounds Again—Fourth-of-July Dinner—Dismal Night in the
Ruins of a Meeting-house. 131–142
CHAPTER XI.
Nearing the Coast—Dangerous Predicament—Suspicious Company—A
Fugitive Conscript—Clay-eating Officials—The Squire—Arrested—
Mess No. 44, _alias_ Mr. Meeser—Acquitted—Placed under Guard—In
Chains Again—A Forced March—Before the Court—A Union Speech in
Dixie—Better Fare—Southern Superstition—A Slave at Prayer. 143–157
CHAPTER XII.
Christian Fellowship—Candid Conversation with a Slaveholder—
Clay-eaters—A True Unionist—Secret Organizations in the South—
Washington and Randolph on Slavery—Aunt Katy—Religion and
Republicanism—Pro-slavery Inexcusable in the North—A Distinguished
Abolitionist. 158–169
CHAPTER XIII.
Classes in the Confederacy—Terror of a Name—Insurrection—Suppressing
a Religious Meeting—The Safe Ground—A Sad Parting—Why Prisoners’
Stories Differ—Effect of Church Division—The Darien Road—A Wealthy
Planter. 170–181
CHAPTER XIV.
On the Cars—An Old Acquaintance—His Reasons for being in
the Army—Meeting the Slave we Chased—Rebel Account of our
Pursuit—Interesting Advertisement—In Jail Again—Captain Clay
Crawford—Prison Fare—Rebel Barbarities—Taking Comfort. 182–193
CHAPTER XV.
An Earnest Prayer—What came of it—A Skeptic—Fiend’s
Stratagem—Reflections and Opinions on the “Peculiar Institution.”
194–198
CHAPTER XVI.
The Rebel Reveille—A Horrid Dinner—A Reinforcement of Little
Rebels—The Darkie’s Explanation—An Exciting Trial—Hope of
Release—Retribution—My Old Chains doing good Service. 199–209
CHAPTER XVII.
Sufferings of Captives—Shooting a Deaf Man—A Terrible
Punishment—Arguments on Slavery—Opinions of Celebrated
Men—A Sabbath-School in Prison—A Loyal Lady—Pennsylvania a
Pioneer—Emancipation—Our Prayer-Meetings—Rays of Sunshine. 210–237
CHAPTER XVIII.
The Slave’s Ruse—The Richmond Enquirer—President’s Proclamation—A
Negro Prayer—A “Big Bug”—A Casibianca—Death of Mr. Eckels—Thoughts
and Plans of Escape—Lieutenant Pittenger. 238–251
CHAPTER XIX.
Just Judgment—General Prentiss in Close Confinement—Northern Peace
Men—Bear Story—In the Hospital—Old Aunt Susie—Sold Children—Without
Bread, and Satisfied—What our Fathers thought—An Untrammeled
Pulpit—Clay-eaters—Commissioners to Washington—Homeward Bound—An
Irate Southron—My Yellow Angel—Our Journey—An Accident—Jeff.
Davis’ Coffin—Don’t Know Myself—Safe at Home—Conclusion. 252–285
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
John J. Geer Frontispiece
“I attempted to roll quietly away from the wretch, ...”
facing page 39
“We beheld the glistening eyes of the hounds, ...” facing page 139
“One end of the chain was twined round my neck, ...” facing page 150
“In an instant there was an uproar, ...” facing page 154
“The prisoner is thrown to the ground ...” facing page 211
INTRODUCTION.
John James Geer was born in Rockbridge county, Virginia, June 1st,
1833. He is next to the youngest of a family of nine children. The
father emigrated to Ohio when John was quite young, and settled in
Shelby county, where he lived and labored as an industrious farmer
for a long lifetime. Being in moderate circumstances, he was unable
to educate his children as he wished, as their young hands were an
indispensable help in the clearing and tilling of the land; but the
lads wrought for themselves a training and discipline in the fields and
at the fireside, such as made honest-hearted heroes of them.
Though this tuition may not be the most fashionable, it is far from
being the least useful or influential in a nation like ours. The
only external polish that will never grow coarse is the out-shining
of inward purity and kindness. The law of love is a sufficient code
of politeness and etiquette. The rarest soul-furnishing, and the
most radiant and reliable loyalty, are virtuous intelligence, an
appreciation of the true and the beautiful in Nature, in mind and
morals, the utterance of generous impulses, the self-respect that
prefers its own calm approval to the world’s admiration and flattery.
Such a heroism is purely democratic, and sets the price of its
integrity too high to offer itself as a prize for party bidding! It
stands like a granite pillar, strong, and straight, and upright. We may
build on this, and stand secure for solid years. It is this untrammeled
life the nation needs at this very time in the hearts of all her
citizens.
Mr. Geer never received any lessons in the school of pretences. He
never learned the art of deceiving or being deceived. He studied
something deeper of the world while his hands held the plough that
furrowed its surface. He gained more instruction from the leaves on
the forest trees than from the leaves of printed books. He cultivated
at one and the same time his own mind, and the soil of his father’s
farm. His surroundings were the pictures and poetries of Nature.
His eye saw no shams, his ear heard no complaints, his heart knew
no hypocrisies. Trained in such a school, he became a thinker and a
worker; his associations were altogether with plain and practical
people; he was never flushed with feverish fancies, nor discouraged at
any disappointments. Always cheerful, as only a busy doer and darer can
be, he grew into manhood, full-built, tough-muscled, keen-nerved, and
strong-minded. He acquired by hygienic habits a “constitution” that
needed never an “amendment.” He shaped, all unconsciously to himself,
a moral character as honorable as it was humble; yet it was such as
recognized in the minutest particular, and exacted to the fullest
degree, the claims of a common brotherhood.
Pure democracy, like all living, blossoming, fruit-bearing growths,
flourishes best in the country. A principle that strikes root in an
hour in the hotbed of the city, is apt to wilt and die in the sunshine
of the open world. Aristocracy may be plaited into politics; but it
takes integrity and fellow-hood for web and woof of republicanism.
Young Geer was a democrat, in the honest signification of the term.
Though poor and sunburnt, hard-fisted and plain-worded, he learned to
feel that no man in the republic was his superior in rights—that no man
in the republic was his inferior in privileges. The truth of Holy Writ,
that declares “all nations to be of one blood,” was his confession of
faith in conscience and Christianity. The spirit of the Declaration
of Independence, that “all men are created free and equal,” was his
political platform. These high authorities gave him early and earnest
boldness as a friend of human liberty.
At the age of eighteen, he was called to the work of the Gospel
ministry. He passed into this work, not as a mere _profession_, by the
paths marked out by ecclesiastics,—not by college carpets and seminary
shades,—but as the early preachers were called, so was he, from his
daily avocation. His inherent firmness made him an unyielding, if not
an aggressive Christian. He stemmed a strong current of opposition from
the beginning of his ministry. His independent manner gave offence to
rowdy transgressors, and frequently was he threatened and waylaid by
the very doers of the deeds he made it a business to denounce in his
sermons. But he wavered not from his sense of duty.
One of his first and truest friends was the Rev. R. M. DALBY, a
well-known minister and Temperance reformer in South-western Ohio.
These two men were acknowledged leaders in the war of annihilation
against King Alcohol and his conscripted hosts. For years they were
joined in word and work in the good cause of Temperance, and were
separated only when, in the spring of 1861, Geer heard his wounded
country’s cry for help, and quickly stepped to a place in the front
rank of her brave defenders. His well-tried associate in battling
against wrong, Mr. Dalby, was left behind now, only because he was
physically unable to march to the rescue.
Before entering the army of the Union, Mr. Geer had spent some ten
years in the ministry, in and around the city of Cincinnati. During
that time he received about eleven hundred members into the church.
He was eminently successful as a revivalist. When Fort Sumpter was
fired upon, he was stationed as pastor of the George Street Methodist
Protestant Church, in Cincinnati. When the news of the outrage was
received at the Queen City, the pastor of George Street Church vowed
he was a United States soldier until either himself or the rebellion
should be crushed. He began recruiting at once for the Army of Freedom,
and was as successful as he had been in marshaling forces for the Army
of Peace.
Until this time he had been unwilling to interfere with the “peculiar
institution” of the South. But the moment the Stars and Stripes were
insulted by the proud power, that moment a new resolve was made, to
hate and to hurt the accursed thing henceforward, until the last
vestige of it should be obliterated from American soil!
Captain Geer is an earnest man. He engaged in the war, not for position
or popularity, but as a soldier. Although he started into the service
as Chaplain, he was willing to resign that responsible office to
the charge of another; and at once accepted a position that promised
more excitement and adventure in days of battle. He was appointed
Assistant-Adjutant General on the Staff of General Buckland, which
commission he held when he was wounded and captured at Shiloh.
In these days of adventure and sacrifice, when the noblest men in
the nation are made to suffer for country’s sake, it is shameful to
see how certain northern people and papers, professing to be loyal,
are in sympathy with the arch-treason of the Secessionists. However
well-attested may be the statements of surviving sufferers,—and no
matter how fair the reputation of the man who dares to denounce the
Slaveholders’ Rebellion,—there are lurking copperheads with viper
tongues to hiss their venomous abuses on all the brave soldiers who
have bled under the Federal banner! From the liberty to talk treason,
slander the Administration, and abuse the soldiers—O God, deliver us!
The nation cries for _liberty_—not license—a liberty that is always
loyal to God and this Government—a liberty to love and bless the poor,
the outcast, the suffering, and the oppressed!
It may not be amiss to append the following extracts from letters which
will explain themselves:
“SPRINGFIELD, OHIO, MAY 3, 1863.
“_To all whom it may concern_:—
“The undersigned, ministers of the Gospel in the Methodist Protestant
Church, take pleasure in certifying that Captain John J. Geer is also
a minister in the same church—that he is in good standing, and that
he is a man of moral probity and Christian character. Some of us
have known him for many years as a reputable, useful, pious man. We
are all personally acquainted with him, and we have no hesitancy in
recommending him to personal and public confidence.
REV. GEORGE BROWN, D.D.
REV. A. H. BASSETT,
Ag’t M. P. Book Concern.
REV. A. H. TRUMBO,
Assistant Ag’t M. P. Book Concern.
REV. D. B. DORSEY, M.D.,
Editor _Western Methodist Protestant_.”
“OFFICE OF MILITARY COMMISSION, }
Memphis, Tenn, May 11, 1863. }
* * * * * “The large number of men he recruited for my regiment, and
the hardships which he endured, to uphold the Flag of the Free, point
out Captain Geer to the historian as a brave and true man. * * * But
two days before the memorable battle of Shiloh, he was captured while
making a bold and vigorous dash at the enemy, within two miles of our
encampment. * * * * The tears are now filling my eyes as I look back
upon that bloody battle-field, and remember the havoc and slaughter of
my heroic boys of the Forty-Eighth!
“The brave men who, upon that occasion, maintained the fortunes of our
bleeding country, have ever since been the subjects of persecution
and calumny by those base cowards who ran from the battle-field and
hid themselves in ravines and gulches at Shiloh, and the contemptible
traitors whose tongues are as the tongues of serpents at home.
“Your sincere friend,
PETER J. SULLIVAN,
Colonel 48th Reg’t Ohio Volunteers.”
Since his return from Dixie, Captain Geer and Lieutenant William
Pittenger (one of the survivors of that heroic scouting party sent
into the heart of Georgia by General Mitchell), have been doing good
service for the Union cause in the North by public lectures. Both
are well-tried soldiers and effective speakers. Both are temporarily
disabled, but expect soon to re-enter the army. Lieutenant Pittenger
has prepared a volume of his experience, as a prisoner in the South,
which will be a desirable companion to the book whose thrilling pages
are now opened to _you_, reader. Turn forward, and read.
A. C.
BEYOND THE LINES;
OR
A YANKEE PRISONER LOOSE IN DIXIE.
CHAPTER I.
Leave Camp Dennison—Under the Enemy’s Fire—Attacked in Force—A
Struggle for Liberty—Captured.
On the 17th of February, 1862, the Forty-eighth Ohio regiment of
volunteer infantry, under command of Colonel P. G. Sullivan, left
Camp Dennison, landing at Paducah, Kentucky, and on the 4th of March,
was ordered to Savannah, Tennessee. As our fleet made its way up the
river, it was a sight at once grand and beautiful. It was composed of
one hundred large steamers, laden to the guards with soldiers, cattle,
and munitions of war. The river was at high water mark. Through its
surging waters our noble vessels ploughed their way, sending forth vast
volumes of smoke, which shadowed and sooted the atmosphere from hill
to hill across the river valley. Over our heads waved proudly the old
banner—emblem of the free. All hearts seemed anxious to meet the foe
who had sought to strike down that flag, and the hopes and liberties of
which it is representative.
A cry was heard on board that the enemy was near. A moment more, and he
opened fire upon us, to which we very promptly replied, and with good
effect, for he soon dispersed, while none of our men received injury.
Continuing our way onward we stopped at Hamburg on the 11th of March;
but, owing to the great freshet, were unable to disembark, and the next
day were obliged to fall back to Pittsburg, where we effected a landing
on the 13th. In the mean time, I was appointed on the staff of Colonel
Ralph D. Buckland, then acting as Brigadier of the Fourth Brigade,
under General Sherman, who commanded the First Division. Most of us
landed by the 15th, and parties were sent out every day to reconnoitre,
and many returned, reporting fights with the enemy, and the capture of
prisoners, horses, and other valuables.
On the 28th, we had quite a bloody conflict in a cotton-field,
belonging to Mr. Beach, who was the owner of a small lot of cotton. The
rebels had robbed him of all his horses, pork, and wheat, leaving him
nothing but the cotton and a small amount of corn, which the Government
intended to purchase. But when we were dispatched for it, we found that
the rebels, who were now in full retreat, had rolled the cotton against
a corn-crib, and set both on fire. The next day we had a fight near the
same spot. Again, the next day, a reconnaissance showed the enemy to be
in full force. On the 3d of April, the Fourth Brigade was sent out, and
the skirmishers who were deployed, were soon fired upon. Col. Buckland
then sent me forward to order the two companies to retreat. One of
these I found was already doing so, under the command of the Major, who
was in advance. The company belonging to the Seventy-second regiment
stood their ground, awaiting orders.
When I rode to the top of the hill, I could see the enemy about two
hundred yards distant. The lieutenant of the Seventy-second was holding
his men in readiness, and just as I reached them, they arose and
opened fire, at which the rebels retreated to the right, evidently
intending to flank us. But this was an unfortunate movement for them,
as they had not proceeded far when they encountered Major Crockett,
of the Seventy-second, with two hundred men, by whom they were
repulsed with heavy loss. By this time I had come up with the brigade.
Buckland dispatched me immediately to order Crockett to fall back, but
to continue fighting while retreating. As I proceeded on my way to
Crockett—who, indeed, was a brave and daring officer—I met a lady of
advanced age, in great distress. She was wringing her hands and crying:
“Oh, my son! Oh, my son! Save me and my poor son!”
I rode forward to Crockett, and found that he had repulsed the enemy,
and was falling back in order.
Being alone, and in advance of the retreating companies, I again
encountered the old lady on the same spot where I first saw her.
Inquiring the cause of her grief, I learned that the rebels had been
at her house, representing themselves as Union men, and that she had
expressed herself to them, without disguise or reserve. They had
thereupon seized her son, tied him on a horse, and bore him away,
intending to press him into their service. My heart ached at the
recital of this sad story, and at the thought of the suffering and
agony to which so many families, between the two great armies, would
be subjected. My sincere prayer to God, was that he would sustain the
right, and send confusion amidst the foes of freedom and humanity.
The old lady seemed very apprehensive they would learn that she had
divulged to me the facts alluded to. Thus it is by _fear_ that the
loyal in heart are kept in submission. Thus, the tyrant’s power rules
and dominates in the South. Wherever oppression and tyranny reign, they
must have for their basis, violence and brute force—and these beget
fear. It is as true that fear casts out love, as it is that “love casts
out fear.”
We returned to camp, and that night we felt confident that our pickets
were in danger. The dreary hours passed slowly away, bringing at last
the light of another morning. Our pickets were then extended; and on
returning from this duty, I remarked to Buckland that I believed we
would be attacked before night. But he thought not, and requested me
to retire to my tent, and seek repose. I went, but concluded to write
to my wife. About two o’clock that afternoon, the rebels opened fire
upon our picket. I instantly mounted my horse that I had left standing
at the door, and rode with all speed to the picket line, where I
discovered that the rebels had captured Lieutenant Herbert and seven
privates. The Seventy-second, Forty-eighth, and Seventieth were soon
rallied; and I thought if no fight now ensued, it would be no fault of
mine, eager as I was for the fray. So I rode rapidly up the Tennessee
river, in order to strike the Hamburg road, aware that I could see up
that road about one mile, and thus discover what was going on.
As I was proceeding, I perceived, at a little distance, two rebels, who
fled at my approach. I soon reached the road, and discovered, to my
great surprise, that it was lined with rebels as far as I could see. I
soon wheeled my horse, and, with accelerated speed, made my way back to
General Buckland. He again dispatched me to inform Major Crockett to
retreat in order.
On my way thither, these words greeted my ear:
“Halt dar! halt dar!”
I responded by firing my revolver, as a signal that I did not design
to comply with the peremptory demand so euphoniously expressed. The
words proceeded from two rebels, whom I discovered approaching me.
They fired, and both loads took effect in my horse’s shoulder. But he
did not fall. Applying my spurs, he sprang down a little declivity,
where the rebels stood with their empty guns. One of them struck at
me with his empty weapon. I attempted to parry the blow with my left
hand, and received a severe wound, having my second finger broken,
which was thus rendered useless for life. The instant discharge of my
revolver resulted in breaking an arm of this foe, and I immediately
turned to my second antagonist, who was hastily reloading his gun.
The contents of another barrel at once disabled him. This was all
the work of a moment. Just at this juncture, it began to rain in
torrents; and before I realized my situation, I discovered that I was
surrounded by about fifty rebels. The rain and the darkness in the
woods, from the overhanging storm-cloud, rendered it difficult for
the rebels to distinguish their own men from ours, and they made the
mistake—fortunately for me, but the reverse for them—of firing at each
other. Their colonel, however, soon discovered the error, and gave
the command to cease firing. There was now no possible chance for my
escape, and I instantly received a blow which felled me to the earth.
How long I remained insensible I could not tell. The first thing I
recollect taking cognizance of, was the act of Colonel Gladden, who,
dragging me out of a pool of water into which I had fallen, demanded my
surrender. I seemed to lose all thought of home, wife, friends, earth,
or heaven. The absorbing thought was the success of our army.
“Will you surrender?” demanded Colonel Gladden.
“I have discharged my last bullet, sir,” I replied.
He commanded me to mount my horse. I refused. My captors then seized
hold of me, and, throwing me across my wounded horse, made a rapid
retreat. Our boys were coming at “double quick,” and so impetuous was
their charge towards the enemy, who was now approaching—consisting of
Beauregard’s advance guard of five thousand cavalry—that they began
retreating in wild confusion. More than a hundred riderless horses
ran dashing past me. The conflict became general and terrific, and
the mighty, sweeping onset of our brave boys was only stayed by the
opening of Bragg’s front battery, which incessantly poured forth its
shot and shell. During this interim, myself and the guards detailed
to take charge of me were located in a ravine, and hence the cannon
shots passed over our heads. A rifle-ball from one of our men, however,
at this juncture, brought one of the guards from his horse. A rebel
colonel approached him, saying, “You are too good a _man_ to die so.”
At this moment a second ball pierced the heart of the rebel colonel,
and he dropped dead.
It was here that my horse fell and died, and I felt as if a friend had
gone, whose place could not be easily filled.
There was a wild and gloomy grandeur in this battle-storm raging and
booming over our heads like ten thousand thunders; and my heart was
tremulous with hope at one moment, and with apprehension at another,
for the fate of our gallant braves. Alas! my soul mourned when I found
they had been driven back by the overwhelming force of the enemy.