RECOLLECTIONS
OF
THOMAS D. DUNCAN
A CONFEDERATE SOLDIER
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NASHVILLE, TENN.
McQUIDDY PRINTING COMPANY
1922
Copyrighted, 1922
_By_ THOMAS D. DUNCAN
FOREWORD
This unpretentious work is not the product of a literary ambition.
Though my story deals with events that will live forever in the records
of our country, I have not sought to give it the wings of poetic fancy
whereby it may fly into the libraries of the earth.
Within the happy family circle, from which my children are now gone,
these oft-recounted recollections became a part of their education. I
permitted them to turn the pages of my memory, as the leaves of a book,
that they might learn the vanished glory of the old South--the loving
loyalty and the sad travail of her people. And I trust that they learned
also that our unfortunate Civil War--now, thank God, nearly sixty years
behind us--was a clash of honest principles.
That there were wild-eyed agitators and extremists on both sides, and
that each had its scalawags and low-flung ruffians, there can be no
doubt (and some of these--alas!--still live); but the masses of the
soldiers of both armies, who bore the brunt of battle and suffered the
privations of those sorrowful years, were patriots; and he who speaks or
writes to the contrary is an enemy to our reunited country and an
element of weakness and danger in the strength of the nation.
My two beloved daughters have prevailed upon me to record my experiences
of four years as a Confederate soldier, in the form of a brief printed
memoir; and so, impelled by my regard for their wishes, I enter the work
for them and for their descendants, without any thought of placing a
literary commodity upon the counters of the country; and yet I must so
write that, wherever this volume may chance to fall into the hands of a
stranger, he may find in it that one essential to such a story as this
is--_Truth_.
THOMAS D. DUNCAN.
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DEDICATION
This brief reminiscent story is affectionately dedicated to my two
grandsons, Shelby Curlee, Jr., and William Peyton Dobbins, Jr., in the
hope that it may help to teach them two great truths--that the old South
that was and is no more, and the gray armies that fought for its glory,
its principles, and its institutions, are entitled to their devotion and
respect forever; and that the nation by that strife once severed, now
reunited and in peace, is inseparable and eternal--the guardian of the
highest ideals of mankind, the pioneer of liberty and of world
democracy.
THOMAS D. DUNCAN.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
The Tocsin of War 9
CHAPTER II
Mobilization 21
CHAPTER III
Henry and Donelson 24
CHAPTER IV
Corinth Again the Center 32
CHAPTER V
Strange Outcome of a False Alarm 39
CHAPTER VI
Shiloh 45
CHAPTER VII
Corinth After Shiloh 67
CHAPTER VIII
Battle of Rienzi 79
CHAPTER IX
Murfreesboro and Kentucky Campaign 83
CHAPTER X
The Battle of Corinth 88
CHAPTER XI
West Tennessee 104
CHAPTER XII
Middle Tennessee 109
CHAPTER XIII
Pursuit of the Streight Raiders 112
CHAPTER XIV
Chickamauga 119
CHAPTER XV
West Tennessee 121
CHAPTER XVI
Gen. “Sooey” Smith 127
CHAPTER XVII
Fort Pillow 132
CHAPTER XVIII
A Personal Sorrow 136
CHAPTER XIX
Battle of Brice’s Cross-Roads 139
CHAPTER XX
Harrisburg and Tupelo, Miss. 152
CHAPTER XXI
Raid Into Memphis 157
CHAPTER XXII
Raid Into North Alabama and Middle Tennessee 162
CHAPTER XXIII
Sulphur Trestle, Ala. 167
CHAPTER XXIV
Fourth Invasion of West Tennessee 175
CHAPTER XXV
The Beginning of Dark Days 179
CHAPTER XXVI
The Last Flickering of the Great Flame 186
CHAPTER XXVII
Reconstruction 199
CHAPTER XXVIII
Americanism Triumphant 207
CHAPTER I
THE TOCSIN OF WAR
In yielding to the request which has brought forth this effort, I shall
not assume the rôle of the historian nor set myself up as a critic of
any command or commander.
Being in my seventy-sixth year, in the calming twilight of life’s
evening, I feel that I am capable of recording, without prejudice or
passion, my impressions of that most heated era of our country, whose
momentous events--sad, tragic, glorious--represent the summit of
dramatic interest in all my years.
As it is impossible for any two persons to see the same things exactly
alike, it is but natural to suppose that I shall present facts at
variance with the views of some others; but as my purpose is not that of
the controversialist, I shall have no quarrel with any man’s views, but
to all who may be interested in this narrative I would say that the
scenes herein reviewed came within the vision of my eyes, and my highest
ambition is to give a truthful reflection from my viewpoint.
I enlisted in the Confederate army, at a very tender age, in April,
1861. My first enrollment was in an infantry company known as the
“Corinth Rifles,” then being formed and drilled at Corinth, Miss., under
the leadership of Judge W. H. Kilpatrick, a worthy and cultured
gentleman and a scion of a distinguished Southern family. He was elected
captain of the company. The organization was among the first of the
Mississippi soldiery and one of the best that enlisted in the cause of
the South. But, on account of my youth and rather fragile body, my
father objected to my going out with the infantry, and urged me to
secure a transfer to a cavalry company that had been organized at
Corinth under the guidance of another good Mississippian, the
noble-hearted and gallant gentleman, William M. Inge, my older brother
being first lieutenant in the company.
My father gave me a good horse, and I was transferred accordingly.
Naturally, the first call that came for troops was for infantry and
artillery; and the “Corinth Rifles” went to Pensacola, Fla. This was
trying indeed to the pride and metal of the young patriots left
behind--to see our kin and friends leave for the war. This inner
pressure became so strong that a large number of the membership of our
cavalry company left our ranks and went with the infantry to Pensacola.
I would have gone, but as I was under the lawful age for enlistment and
still subject to parental rule, my father objected; and as the patriotic
spirit in me was welling up so strong as to throw out a defy, my father
told me that if I did not obey him I should not go to war at all. Such
things were different in those days from what they are to-day. The
average boy, however high-spirited, was careful to heed a father’s
command. Nevertheless, in his kindly solicitude, fearing that I might be
persuaded by my comrades to run away, my father earnestly counseled me
to remain with the cavalry company, with the understanding that he
would offer no objection to my entering the service on account of my
age. This settled my obedience to his will, and I was glad to be
permitted to be a cavalry soldier.
None knew, except those who lived during those stirring times, the
atmosphere of excitement that pervaded this Southern country. Our
captain had telegraphed to every possible point to have our company
ordered into active service; but no call came, and after the opening gun
on Fort Sumter, nothing could longer restrain him, and he left us and
went as adjutant, with a Mississippi infantry regiment, to Virginia.
This loss came near to disrupting our company, and the ranks were
depleted to twenty troopers. It was discouraging indeed to those who
remained.
Here I wish to tell you what was then going on in Corinth and what
contributed to holding the nucleus of our company together.
A unit of the first army of Virginia was assembling and organizing at
this place, embracing the flower and chivalry of the South--men of
culture, wealth, and position mingling with the honest and fearless
yeomanry of hills and mountains and valleys; and in most cases it was
the first time they had ever spent a night or satisfied a hunger beyond
the parental roof or a comfortable home. Indeed, the number in that vast
host of the first volunteers who had ever failed to lie down to slumber
on an old-fashioned feather bed was small. Few were those who had not
known the luxury of the carpeted room or satisfied their appetites from
any source except that bountifully laden table so conspicuous in the old
Southern home.
It will be remembered by Corinthians of that period who still live that
Corinth was dealt a severe and hurtful blow by the soldiers who composed
that army. They pronounced it the most unhealthful place on the Western
Hemisphere. Evidently they thought it the supreme upas of human ills,
overlooking the fact that all was due to the conditions of their camps
rather than to any natural causes from water or climate.
From close observation of those camps I was led to believe that under
the same conditions the result would have been the same had our men
been encamped around the peaks of Ben Vair or on the slopes of the
Rockies.
I saw those young, white-handed men, who had never been exposed to a
hardship, attempting to cook bread and meat in a frying pan that
scorched the outside and left the inside raw. Eating such food and
drinking water from surface wells only a few feet deep, into which every
rain washed the refuse of the camps, were not diarrhœa, typhus, and
many other diseases, very natural consequences?
Thus did insanitation and infection become more deadly enemies than the
armed foe, reaping an inglorious harvest of loathsome death among those
gallant and fearless boys of the South who had sought to stake their
lives beneath a fluttering battle flag.
After a time, this splendid army of the Confederacy was organized and
equipped and sent to Virginia. The hurry and bustle of camp life were
gone, the ceaseless noises that so long had dinned our ears had died
into quietude, and for a period Corinthians were permitted to
contemplate, thoughtfully and with misgivings, the war cloud then
rapidly approaching.
Meantime the remnant of our cavalry company accepted an invitation to
join with a like number from North Alabama, and the consolidated command
was ordered to rendezvous at Columbus, Miss., where there were several
companies already assembled and forming a regiment of cavalry. We
marched through the country, and after four or five days arrived at our
destination on a bright, sunny morning. The companies stationed there
were lined up along the principal thoroughfares to receive us. In new
uniforms and well mounted, these troops seemed the very spirit of war.
They were equipped with new and formidable arms, and their horses were
in trappings of gay ribbon.
Ordinarily the scene would have been thrilling and inspiring, but the
shabby appearance of our company, travel-worn and but few of the men in
uniforms or carrying weapons of any kind, presented a contrast that was
humiliating and embarrassing. Our general aspect was more that of a
bunch of immigrants than of a company of militant patriots. My young
heart was almost overcome with shame, for at this stage of the war I was
considering the outward appearance rather than the inward condition. I
looked upon the great and tragic issue as depending upon tinsel
trappings and martial splendor. But in the hard school of experience I
was soon to learn a different lesson.
At Columbus we went into camp for instruction, and were taught the use
of cavalry arms, how to manage our horses, and were drilled in the
tactics and movements of troopers in action. We were also instructed in
camp and guard duties and put through the regular service of mounting
guard day and night.
I had been in camp only a short while when my time came to go on guard
duty. I was detailed to go out on a dark and stormy night. It was a
bitter trial for a boy to be out alone in the open, in the blackness of
such a night, and to walk up and down a
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deserted pathway and keep the vigil of the camp. There was no enemy near
us, but orders were given and obedience demanded just the same as if a
hostile army were in front of us. We were camped along the banks of the
Luxapeilial, a large creek that flows southeast of Columbus and empties
into the waters of the Tombigbee River a short distance south of the
city. Etched upon my memory is the trying experience of that first night
on guard duty. As I paced my post, the whole camp wrapped in slumber, I
thought of home and the comfortable surroundings I had exchanged for
this situation. I did not then know much about the “prodigal son,” but I
have since learned that I was very much in the same condition as he when
he came to himself. It was not very cold, but the rain poured down, and
there were no other sounds except an occasional neigh of some restless
horse and the melancholy hooting of an owl.
My gloomy meditations were suddenly interrupted by the unmistakable
sounds of approaching footsteps. We were relieved every three hours; but
as the relief guard always had from three to six men, I knew it could
not be that. That which I heard seemed to be a solitary being
approaching. The orders were that no one should be allowed to pass or
come within thirty feet of the guard without a challenge. When
challenged, if the intruder could not give the password or countersign,
it was the duty of the guard to arrest and hold him until the arrival of
the officer with the relief guard.
I had an uncle who served with Jackson in the Seminole War, and he had
told me that the first requirement of a good soldier was to obey orders.
So when my mysterious visitor came near enough for me to see the
outlines of a human form, I said: “Halt! Who goes there?” He answered:
“A friend.” Whereupon I commanded him to advance ten feet and give the
password--if more than one, then one at a time. As there was only one
man in sight, he came forward until I halted him again. Then, upon my
demand for the password, he said he had forgotten it, but that he was
the officer of the guard, and that there would be no impropriety in my
permitting him to pass--that he had been permitted to pass the post
just beyond me. His story was told with great earnestness; but I was
somewhat out of temper, anyway, standing there in the rain. So I brought
my gun to “ready” and told him that he must “mark time;” that he had
failed to meet the demands according to orders given me, and that if he
attempted to either advance or retire he must take the consequences.
Standing only a few feet from an inexperienced boy, excited and
frightened, with a cocked gun leveled on him, he realized his danger and
quickly called to the relief guard, waiting in the darkness just back of
him, to see if he could pass me, and they came forward in proper order
and gave the password.
He proved to be a special officer sent out to test the guards on duty.
He said to me: “Young man, you have acquitted yourself with great honor
in this matter. I have traversed the entire camp to-night, and you are
the only sentry who has obeyed his instructions. I have succeeded in
deceiving and passing every man on guard except you. In one instance I
secured possession of the sentinel’s gun; and now I have all of these
men here under arrest, and they will have to serve a term in the
guardhouse for their neglect of duty. Were we in the presence of the
enemy, the penalty for this violation of orders would be death.”
This little episode in my first military experience made me the hero of
the camp for a time, and I was commended in guard orders in the highest
terms as a boy of fifteen years exhibiting the soldierly qualities of a
veteran. Naturally, my father was very proud of this act and wrote me a
letter abounding in praise.
Thus ends the first chapter of my war story. Could my military
experience have closed with that preparatory service, I should have been
saved the pangs of much sorrow and from out my life would have been
taken the wasting trials and hardships endured for four long and anxious
years. But--alas!--had I been spared the danger and the suffering, I
could never have known the happy consciousness of duty performed under
the hammer of danger nor tasted the sweet fruit of satisfaction that
grows from the bitter flower of sacrifice.