Murfreesboro

Dec. 31, 1862, most of the fighting was on the left wing when our

forces drove the Federals back several miles.

The battery was first stationed on the right, near a vacated house on a

hill. Here we found a barrel partly full of seconds unbolted wheat

flour and a skillet and we made up some biscuit and after the first

batch was cooked, the order came to move and we wrapped up the dough in

a cloth and that night after crossing Stone River and throwing up some

breastworks we cooked the balance on the shovels we had used for

ditching.

The battery was in an open field, in front of a large brick house on a

high hill where Rosecrang had massed his batteries after his right had

been driven back to a right angle with its first position. This was a

pivotal position and the point where the General is said to have

remarked after his first day's disaster, "Bragg is a good dog, but

Holdfast is better." Breckenridge made an attack on this position and

as he rode into the fight, I thought him the finest looking man I had

ever seen on horseback. But the position was too strong to be taken,

although Bragg was in person on the field not far from us. That night

at mid-night, the order came to hitch up and leave. One of the drivers

reported that the horses hitched to the pole of one of the caissons,

had eaten off about three feet of the seasoned oak pole. I told him to

tie an extra pole under the one gnawed to a point with the halters from

the horses and we marched off in retreat. The horses were almost

starved as well as the men. After going a little way on the pike, the

column halted and the men marched by barefooted some of them on the

frozen pike, while we built up a fire and Sergt. Hargrove, standing in

front of it, had half the tail of his overcoat burned off before the

warmth reached his skin.

Marching all night, we met Dr. Leland next morning, muddy as if he had

been on a fox hunt in "Bear Heaven" and Jim Craddock, a noted dude,

with his coat neatly buttoned and his collar clean. He was said to

sleep lying on his back in a tent with ten or a dozen men, and never

turned or moved lest he should disorder his clothing. But he was a

brave soldier. Lt. Cribbs had his horse killed and several from the

battery were lost here, the breastworks were nothing but rail piles

from an old fence.

For three days after the two armies faced each other and on the night

of Jan. 3, 1863, Bragg's army retreated.

On Jan. 4th Confederate scouts went six miles north of Murfreesboro

beyond the battle field but found no enemy. Both armies had retreated.

In the evening of the 4th Federals began to advance, slowly feeling

their way. Corporal James T. Searcy remained a prisoner at Murfreesboro

to attend to wants of his brother Reuben, fatally wounded and left in

hospital. He was exchanged at City Point near Petersburg, Va., April

12, 1863, and reached the battery at Estelle Springs, Tenn., on April

20th.

The reserve artillery encamped here until spring under Major Felix H.

Robertson. He kept all hands busy from early morn till dewy eve,

policing camp when not engaged in drill. Evidently he believed that

"Satin finds some mischief still for idle hands to do." Friends and

acquaintances from Tuscaloosa were on hand often during spring and

boxes of supplies had been frequent arrivals.

May 14, 1863, on Thursday night orders came for 2 day's rations to be

cooked up and to be ready to move by 6:00 a.m. Friday.

We moved out through Tullahoma and Roseland and camped four miles from

Shelbyville and ordered to clear ground for our pack of artillery.

Remained till June 5th, ordered to report to Gen. Clayton's Brigade.

Two days march in mud and rain toward Murfreesboro, was the sum total

of our service with him for on Saturday night, June 6th, we were back

with the Reserve Artillery again. Some of our men were great hunters

and when Shuttlesworth caught an old coon with her litter of young

ones, he gave a feast to his friends. Lt. Tarrant resigned, returned to

Tuscaloosa and raised another Artillery company of which he became

captain and Sette Shepherd as Lieutenant and Wm. Tarrant also.

On June 26th Battery marched to Tullahoma and was unlimbered in battery

as if for a fight with 2nd section in a fort but on Tuesday, the 30th,

took line of march for the Cumberland mountains through rain and mud

through Alezonia to Decherd where guns and ammunition boxes were put on

train wagons and carriages marched toward Sewanee or the University of

the South. On July 5th, crossed Tennessee river on pontoon bridge after

a weary march over hills and mountains through mud and rain. July 7th,

Tuesday, Corp. Searcy was appointed Sergeant Major of Battalion thus

removing him from the company.

Lt. Cribbs returned from Tuscaloosa on Friday night, July 10th, with a

lot of supplies for the company, which he found at the foot of Lookout

mountain near Chattanooga, we remained till Sept. 10th, and then were

assigned to Breckenridge's Division for a week just arrived from

Mississippi minus artillery. On Sept. 16th, again with Reserve near

Lafayette. The two armies were on the move, maneuvering for position,

culminated in battle of Chickamauga, Sept. 20, 1863.

The whole army itching for a fight, while encamped at Tullahoma an

examining board had been appointed for Artillery officers for service

in the Ordnance Department consisting of Col. Wm. Leroy Brown of the

Richmond Arsenal; Col. H. Oladowski, Chief of Ordnance of Bragg's army

and Lt. Col. James H. Kennard, Chief of Ordnance Officer Hardee's

Corps. Orderly Sergeant Little went before this Board on Wednesday for

the Lieutenant's examination and on Friday for that of Captain and

having made the highest average in either the army of Tennessee or that

of Virginia was ordered to report for duty at the C. S. Central

Laboratory at Macon, Ga., to Lt. Col. John William Mallett,

Superintendent of Laboratories. He remained there until he knew the

battle was imminent at Chickamauga and applied for and secured a four

day's leave of absence to join Lumsden's Battery, which he learned at

Gen. Bragg's headquarters was some twenty miles distance at Lafayette.

Col. Hallonquist was then Chief of Artillery and offered him the

command of Gaskin's Battery from Brookhaven, Mississippi, whose Captain

was absent on sick leave. With the consent of the Lieutenants, he

accepted this proposition and took charge of this Battery during the

battle of Chickamauga under Major Gen. W. H. Walker who was killed at

Atlanta on duty and was assigned to Gen. Bragg's staff as assistant to

the chief of Ordnance and afterwards served as Ordnance Officer of

Clayton's Brigade, then of the Division of Cleburne, Bate, Brown

Chetham, and of the corps of D. H. Hill, Breckenridge and Hardee and

after a temporary command of the University of Alabama section of

artillery during Wilson's raid into Alabama, closed his service with

Gen. Howell Cobb at Macon, Ga., having been in meantime assigned to

duty as Chief of Ordnance Officer as Lt. Col. of Artillery, of Hardee's

Corps army of Tennessee. During the battle of Chickamauga Lumsden had

one private--Screniver--killed, several wounded, one gun dismounted and

temporarily captured. Several men captured, among them Chas. Jerome

Fiquet, Jr. The gun was recovered next day, but was replaced by a

better one captured from the enemy, with which Sept. 25th they kept up

a slow fire on the enemy's breastworks at Chattanooga.

The battery was soon withdrawn from the besieging lines and joined the

camp of Robertson's Battalion at the foot of Lookout mountain,

reporting to Gen. Longstreet. Here about Oct. 15, 1863, the battery

received a recruit in the person of James R. Maxwell. He had since

April 1, 1862, been serving as a cadet from University of Alabama Corps

drill master with the 34th Alabama Regiment of Infantry, Col. J. C. B.

Mitchell but on the rolls of company C. of said Regiment as a private.

He obtained a transfer and reported for duty to Capt. Lumsden at this

place. Prior to this date these reminiscences have been written up from

a diary kept by Sergeant Major James T. Searcy, up to July 24, 1863,

date of last entry, finishing up the Tullahoma campaign of the spring

of 1863 and from a few of Mr. Searcy's letters home thereafter. The

succeeding pages, covering the services and camp incidents of the

command are written entirely from memory by the author. Dates verified

as far as possible from official records. On being transferred to this

command, I had with me a negro body servant named Jim Bobbett, taken

from my father's plantation, whence he left a wife, but no children. He

was allowed to come at his own request, and had been with me from the

time I entered service as drill master of the 34th Alabama. There were

perhaps a dozen or more servants connected with the Battery, some

belonging to commissioned officers, others to privates, all subject to

their master's orders, but of course subject to control by the officers

of the company also. Without any legislation or orders of army

commanders, such servants were part and parcel of the commands to which

their owners belonged, and cheerfully did their part in connection with

the commissaries of their commands, being utilized largely as company

cooks. For such service they were welcomed by the commisary department

and got their share of the rations, but I do not think they were ever

enrolled, as a matter of record. Their masters wanted them, and the

hardships of a soldier's life were very much ameliorated by them. As a

rule they were liked by all, and were glad to assist any and all

soldiers for small rewards and even for personal thanks. They were

great foragers, for their masters first, and next for their own and

their master's friends. The officers at this time where Capt. Chas. L.

Lumsden and Second Lt. A. C. Hargrove, Lt. H. H. Cribbs was at home

sick and soon afterwards resigned. The weather was stormy, rains came

in deluges and bridges between camp and Chickamauga station were washed

away, cutting off our supplies. Forage getting short, Capt. Lumsden

detailed perhaps 20 men to go on horses over into Wills Valley to the

west of Lookout mountain. The road to be traveled was the dirt road

skirting the base of the cliff about half way up the mountain, above

the Tennessee river opposite the Moccasin bend. The Federals had a

battery entrenched on Moccasin Point, just across the river. The detail

left before day and passed the danger point before it was light enough

to be seen. By mid-day sufficient forage of corn and fodder had been

obtained. Each horse and mule resembled a perambulating haystack, for

it was loaded with two big sacks filled with corn on each side and as

many bundles of fodder as could be tied on with ropes.

Sergeant John Little had charge of the squad, containing among others

Alex Dearing, Ed King, Rufe Prince, Dave Jones and other names not

remembered. It was a sort of picnic. The men bought chicken, butter and

butter milk and got the farmers women to cook for them. Dave Jones

bought a bee gum of honey and had a time getting out the honey, with

all the crowd assisting. Then again it was good for sore eyes to loaf

around in a farmer's front yard and his door steps and see his wife and

daughters flitting about, and every now and then get to talk to them a

little. Calico dresses and sun bonnets perhaps, but they were a treat

to the soldiers, who were tired of seeing nothing but men for so long.

The detail put off having to pass the front of that battery so long as

they could and had their frolic out. But they had to pass that point in

daylight, in order to have time to get over the balance of that

mountain road, with each animal loaded in the manner it was. There was

no way of dodging it. There were rocks and woods and cuts in the road,

that would protect on each side, but sight in front of the battery for

perhaps forty yards or more on the road was cut out of the precipice,

and for that distance it was a "run of the gauntlet." Arriving at the

place, the men crowded the cut on the west side of each man on his

animal made ready and as his name was called, at perhaps 30 yards

interval, he made his rush as fast as he could persuade his animal to

go.

The enemy could only take pot shots at one animal and not at a crowd.

Those Yankees surely had sport, but they did not get to fire each of

their four guns many times before all were past the bald place without

the loss of man or animal. They yelled and we yelled back that they

could not shoot worth "shucks." They shelled the woods along the route,

but our men were out of sight and did not tarry till each reached some

cover, when he halted for them to ease up, which they soon did not

being able to see anything to shoot at. They had their fun target

shooting. Our boys had the fun of dodging. As there were no casualties,

it could always be looked back upon, with a sportsman point of view, as

one of our funny episodes. A few days thereafter camp was moved over

beyond the top of Missionary Ridge, about Oct. 23rd into a woodland

location, with plenty of spring and creek water nearby. To soldiers in

camp a living spring was a blessing, as it was the only security

against contamination and consequent disease.

Supposing the camp might turn out to be winter quarters, a long shelter

was built to cover about 100 horses, with troughs made from hollow logs

and racks for long forage. The men began to arrange themselves in

congenial "messes" and to build pole cabins with fire places of sticks

and mud plaster, and "bunks."

At the camp a lot of boxes of provisions and clothing arrived in charge

of Mrs. Jane Durrett from Tuscaloosa for different Tuscaloosa boys.

This good patriotic lady would leave her home and husband on a

Tuscaloosa County farm and take charge of batches of supplies,

provisions, clothing, etc., for officers or men. She saw to it, that

every box was delivered to the soldier to whom it was sent. No man

could have done this work as she did it. Neither the pompous little

Lieutenant in charge of a provost guard, nor train guard, nor

commanders of posts, nor the General in command of an army had any

terrors for her. They were all means to be lent to the service that she

was on. In the car, where her boxes went, she went, when she got with

them, as far as railroad could carry her goods, her quick Irish wit and

flattering tongue would soon get an order from some competent artillery

for wagons and drivers and an ambulance for herself, to take her goods

to their destination, and she delivered them in person to whomsoever

they had been sent, officers or privates. She served one equally as

heartily as the other. Of course she had to rough it, and see much

hardship and exposure, but she gloried in so serving her country. She

had several sons in the army doing their duty also, as became men from

such stock. Jim Bobbett, my body servant, Rube, Alex Dearing's man and

some of the other company darkies had also been south on the railroad

looking out for supplies. Our messenger got a big fat gobbler, we

cooked him in a big three legged cast iron wash pot. Mr. Menander

Rosser reminds me that Dr. James T. Searcy, (now Superintendent of the

Alabama Bryce Hospital for the Insane) was boss of that job, he put in

good time for some days previous to the feast in stuffing corn meal

dough down that turkey's throat, to make sure of his being good and fat

at the proper time. Can you see the picture, Searcy on a log, gobbler

between his knees, left forefinger and thumb prying open the gobbler's

mouth, while the balance of his left hand kept the neck straight up;

right hand rolling up enormous bread pills and forcing them into the

gobbler's mouth, and manipulating them down to the craw. Henry Donoho

holding the bread pan assisting in rolling the pills. Several others of

the mess, much interested in the operation, scattered around. We first

parboiled him till nearly tender, with an oven lid covering the pot.

Then we filled him with biscuit and hard-tack crumbs and pieces of fat

bacon, and cut onions and sage and the chopped gizzard and liver, all

mixed; boiling down the water meanwhile to a rich gravy. Then we put

the stuffed turkey in again, put on the cast oven lid heaping red hot

oak and hickory coals on top and under the pot. If the reader knows

something about cooking, it is plain that this gobbler was cooked to a

delightful brown, brown all over, with the juice oozing out of his

skin. And that turkey was not all of that dinner. Out of the boxes from

home came material for mashed potatoes, boiled rice, cowpeas, bread and

biscuit and butter, and dried peaches for a big "biled cat" for dessert

with butter and brown sugar for sauce. "Biled Cat"! Eat "Biled Cat!"

Yes, indeed! Soldiers thought "biled cat" good enough for any body. Its

composition was biscuit dough, rolled out into a sheet one-fourth of an

inch thick, spread with stewed dried apples or peaches, seasoned with

sugar and spice and everything nice, to another half inch in thickness;

rolled up into a long roll and then rolled up in a clean towel or flour

sack, tied up and dropped into a pot of boiling water and boiled until

done. When done the cloth unrolled and the contents cut into sections

one-half an inch thick and deluged with "butter and sugar" sauce, it

delightfully filled all the spaces and perhaps somewhat distended a

Confederate soldier's stomach, who had already enjoyed a real good

turkey and fixings dinner. What a change that was from the regular

daily diet of corn pone and rancid bacon, boiled with cowpeas

containing about three black weevils to the pea. As some declared most

of the peas were already seasoned enough without any bacon. At such

times soldiers would live lavishly. They knew, "we are here today,

where we shall be tomorrow, no one can tell." We enjoyed our good

things while we could. When they were gone, we would get back to

cornbread and bacon or beef hash or boiled beef as best we could, and

very often the transition "was awful sudden." In winter quarters, we

might be saving, and make good things last as long as possible but in

intervals of a campaign, we would live whilst we could and "take no

thought for the morrow."

While on the subject of "grub," who of us does not think of our

efficient "boss" cook, Tom Potts? Can not each of us see him now in

this camp behind Missionary Ridge. There he sits day and night (except

perhaps 9:00 or 10:00 p.m. to 3:00 a.m. when he sleeps) in his split

bottom chair, in front of the center pole of his tent. Behind him his

wall tent, each side piled up with boxes and barrels and sacks of meal,

flour, salt, sugar, bacon, the only man in camp who always has a good

tent because it is absolutely a necessity. A tall, slouch-shouldered

man, wide brim felt hat, black hair almost to his shoulders, complexion

very dark, long black moustache and whiskers and eternally, when awake,

a big black meerschaum in his mouth, puffing away. Very quiet, slow

soft spon, he occasionally gives some directions about the cooking to

the negroes and to the white soldiers detailed to cook. He is nothing

of a hustler, but he has directed negroes from his boyhood up and is as

efficient a "boss cook" as the army contained without any bluster. Six

or eight feet in front of him, a big hickory oak fire, say ten feet

long, with glowing coals under the logs, skillets, ovens and pots all

occupied in baking bread or boiling beef under the hands of the negro

men, who delighted in the work and joke and grin and laugh or jump out

and dance part of a jig, whilst another claps his hands and pats knees

for the music. Occasionally Potts may quietly say to his negro man,

"Jim" I wish you would hand me a cup of water." He keeps his seat,

drinks, hands back the cup and goes on smoking. No man in the army has

a better colored meerschaum. On the march or while the army was in the

trenches, rations are issued, cooked, the bread being baked and the

beef boiled, bacon or salt pork is issued raw, the soldiers eating it

raw, or boiled on coals, if convenient and the meat not too scant. In

permanent camp, the soldiers drew the rations raw or cooked as they

preferred almost always each mess preferred to do its own cooking. With

us confederates, bread was mostly corn pone, sometimes biscuits,

sometimes hard-tack. Cold cornbread or hard-tack crumbled into a tin

can and boiled with perhaps a few scraps of meat was "cush" and "cush"

tasted good, hot off the coals, after a hard day's march or fighting.

The writers opinion is that the word comes from Louisana where now the

Creole French takes his turn of corn to mill and has it ground into

what the American calls "grits," but the Frenchman of Lousiana, calls

it "cous cous."

At one time the Confederate government experimented with a mixture of

cowpea flour and wheat flour, for the making of a nourishing hard tack.

Doubtless it was nourishing enough, when there was plenty of time to

boil them soft enough to eat, but most men's teeth were not able to

grind them. It took a hatchet of ax to break them up and the broken

pieces resembled shiny pieces of flint rock. They were not so great a

success for the soldier on the march as the inventor expected. Every

day some of the officers and men would get permission to go to the top

of the Ridge, visiting friends, in different commands, on the lines

facing Chattanooga, so we kept in touch with what could be seen and

heard of the situation. At the distance, the Yanks could be seen moving

about in Chattanooga like ants in a hill and just about as much could

be told as to what they were doing, as could be told by a man watching

the doings of ants at a distance that will barely allow them to be

distinguished.

Soon after our big dinner, Major Robertson ordered Capt. Lumsden and

one of the other batteries to be ready to march at dusk, taking only

the gun detachment and guns with their carriages, leaving the caissons

in camp with their horses and drivers.

These two companies were led during the night by a guide to the

Tennessee river at a point a few miles above Chattanooga, with all

hands warned not to speak above a whisper and to prevent all noise of

movement possible and placed in position, along an open field, on top

of bank of river, between midnight and day, with the information that a

Federal command was just across the river in camp and only picketing

confederate soldiers along our bank. So we lay, waiting for daylight,

some sleeping, some chatting in whispers, in as comfortable position as

the ground afforded.

Just before daylight orders were passed around to get "into battery",

with cannoneers at posts and to load with shells, with fuses cut to 200

yards (point blank range) and when ordered to fire, to continue to load

and fire till ordered to cease firing and move away.

Major Robertson sat his horse at a point where he had previously been

in daylight, from which he knew he could get the first glimpse of the

Yankee camp opposite, when it should be light enough. The other

officers all on their horses in their proper positions in each battery,

all drivers mounted and cannoneers at post, with guns loaded and

primers stuck in the gun vents, lanjords in the hands of No. 4

cannoneer. From across the river the Yankee bugle rang out with the

"reveille", call and instantly Major Robertson's voice "Battalion!

Ready! Fire!" Eight guns thundered almost as one and continued to fire

each about four shots to the minute for possibly six or eight minutes,

when a Federal battery replied. Then came Robertson's command, "Limber

to the rear! To the right, march! Gallop!" And away we went down the

river under the cover of the sheltering woods. A piece of shell took

off the arm of one of Lumsden's men, near the shoulder, as we moved

away. His name was Ray, a private from somewhere in Georgia. He was

attended and brought to camp in the ambulance and sent back to

hospital, whether he recovered or not, we are not sure.

It developed that this little expedition was arranged the day before by

Bragg's orders, as a sort of reconnaissance, to find out whether or not

the Yankees had any artillery at this point, and the opposite side of

the river. His order to Robertson was to leave at once if answered by

artillery and not to engage in an artillery duel. All along the route

of return to camp, the different commands in the trenches wanted to

know what all that racket meant up the river. "We never heard guns fire

so fast in our lives before." "We thought the ball must be about to

open again, etc." By mid-day we were back in our camp again.

The battery remained in this camp till Tuesday, Nov. 24th, the morning

of the battle of Missionary Ridge, when camp was broken and wagons sent

to rear with all camp equipage. The fighting part was ordered to top of

ridge near Gen. Bragg's headquarters. There we remained with the battle

field stretched out before us, simply ready to move, and viewing the

great disaster to the confederate army to our left, we could take no

part, could get to no point where needed. Below us, in our immediate

front and to our right, our men held their own manfully. Orderlies and

aids galloped to headquarters, orderlies and aid galloping away again.

It filtered down to us that on our extreme left, the Yankees had gained

the ridge and so taking our army on its left flank. In the afternoon

came orders to us, to move to the rear. We soon found ourselves

traveling rearward with lots of wounded infantry and so continued till

we crossed Chickamauga creek and took a position to protect the

crossing if necessary. Here we remained until next morning Nov. 25th

till 9:00 a.m., the boys finding in a deserted smoke house a barrel

about half full of beef tallow. It was broken up and distributed around

and came in afterwards to melt up for biscuit shortening. It tasted

very well, when biscuits were eaten hot, but to be eaten cold it is not

to be recommended.

Hastening to Chickamauga station, we found the torch had been applied

to all the warehouses and commisary supplies that our people had been

unable to move during the night.

Gen. John Breckinridge was at the depot and ordered Capt. George

Little, then on his staff, to get his old Kentucky Brigade and a good

battery and place them in the breastworks around the depot to protect

the rear in retreat.

He found Lumsden's battery and they remained with the Kentuckians until

Sherman's troops had approached within a short distance and were about

to cut them off on the east of the railroad, when Gen. Breckinridge

ordered them withdrawn to a ridge about one-half a mile to the east

where Gen. Cleburne had drawn up his division. As we crossed the

railroad, shells from Sherman's battery were falling around the depot.

Several women were on the station platform when the first shells

hurtled past. Some dropped to their knees in prayer. The balance

followed the soldiers to a barn for cover. The kneeling ones were

quickly snatched to their feet and hurried away. Despite the shelling,

every passing confederate took time to fill his haversack with

hard-tack, sugar or anything that came handy and to secure as big a

slab of bacon as he could find transportation for. Our gun carriers

were regularly festooned with "Old Ned," as the boys called bacon. On

the first hill east of the station the battery went into position, and

as soon as the enemy appeared, opened on them and so continued to fire

on their advancing lines until ordered to leave the position, and away

we went at a gallop to the next available point and into battery again.

So we continued all that afternoon, assisting the infantry rearguard of

the army on that road, contesting the enemy's advance as much as

possible. When night came we continued in a slow retreat, the road

being blocked with wagons and artillery and in terrible condition with

mud and ruts. A mile or two per hour being the best we could do. About

midnight we came to a point where another road joined ours, along which

another Corps had retreated, with a high ridge ahead of us to cross,

mud being in many places axle deep. We had gotton half way up the hill,

when the Yanks attacked the rear squad of the other Corps below us. We

could see the opposing rifle flashes near the foot of the hill and the

minie balls were singing on all sides. It took all the power of the

teams and all the men who could get hold of each wheel to get those

wagons and artillery carriages over that hill, and out of reach of the

enemy while the infantry rear squad held our pursuers in check with a

midnight fight in which no man could see another twenty feet away.

Everybody and everything was of course coated with mud, but the Yankees

got nothing for their pains. When the pursuing forces of Osterhau's

division, sustained by Hooker's Corps reached Ringgold gap, Cleburne

had prepared an ambush for them and after holding them in check until

night, repulsing successive charges and inflicting heavy loss on the

enemy. Gen Hardie sent an order to Cleburne, who with Gen. Breckinridge

and staff, were at the gap to withdraw the rear squad to Dalton, a

former member of our company, by order of Gen. Breckinridge burned the

two bridges across the Chickamauga and that night the army took

position at Rocky face ridge where it remained until May 6, 1864. This

ended the campaign for the year as far as the reserve artillery was

concerned, for when we reached Dalton, we were assigned a camp ground

and at once went to work preparing quarters for the winter the date

being Nov. 26, 1863.

In close proximity to a running brook and nearby springs we built log

huts. Each mess was composed of individuals who associated at their own

wills, without any interference of military rules or company officers.

The camp was located in a nice piece of woodland, composed of oak,

hickory, pine etc., on the western side of the brook or branch, from

which the ground rose at a gentle slope towards the east and west, the

flow being towards the north. On the eastern slope, just opposite the

center of the battalion park of artillery, Major Felix H. Robertson

located his headquarters camp, with Sergeant Major James T. Searcy as

his aide.

Ranged along the western slope, were the four batteries of four guns

each, that composed the battalion, Lumsden's on the right, then

Barrett's, Massingale's and Havis' batteries. Behind the guns of each

battery were the huts of the men, about one half on each side of a wide

street reaching back perhaps one hundred yards, at the head of which

streets were located the quarters of the officers of the companies.

Each mess built its own hut or cabin on such plan as suited themselves

and their number of individuals. The commissioned officers of each

company with their negro servants built their own.

The general plan of each hut was about a 12 x 14 foot space, ground

brought to a level. Two sides of 16 foot poles and back end of 14 feet

were notched up at the corners to a height of about seven feet. The

front end consisted of a fire place and rammed earth, with a stick and

mud chimney and the doorway poles notched down on the side walls at top

provided joists about 7 feet above the earthen floor, on outer ends of

which joists, plates were laid to support the foot of the pole rafters.

Boards of four feet in length split out from cuts of straight grained

pine, made a water tight roof. Cracks between the logs were daubbed

with mud which soon dried. The joists were thrown on top of them and

gable ends of the same kind of boards that made the room. Bunks three

or four feet wide made in two tiers were at rear end and sides bottomed

with small poles, and broom-sedge and oak and pine leaves, with a

blanket spread over. Four-legged slabs made good benches, but many

split bottom chairs were obtained from country chair makers. With a

good log fire three or four feet long in the fire place and an old

blanket hung in the doorway, soldiers were fixed to defy the coldest

days of winter and sleep in comfort on the coldest nights. A good fat

bed-fellow was a luxury not to be despised and on coldest nights,

"spooning" was the prevailing fashion with covering well tucked under.

When one wanted to turn over, it was necessary for the other to do the

same. Sometimes they would do so by word of command as if at drill with

"one time and two motions."

The daily military routine was "Reveille" at daybreak, stable call,

breakfast, guard mounting, police of park and camp a citizen would call

it, clearing up details to go out for forage and provisions. A few were

allowed each day permits to go out into the country on private foraging

expeditions, seeking to purchase chickens, eggs, milk, butter,

buttermilk, vegetables, etc., gun squad drills, dinner, and in fine

weather and good condition of the ground in afternoon often, field

drill of which battery, with guns, caissons, teams, cannoneers, drivers

and all stable call, supper, camp amusements of all kinds, tattoo and

finally taps. There were two buglers in the company, Charles M. Donoho

was at the company headquarters. He acted as messenger also. The other,

Rufus Menander Rosser was in the same mess as the writer. One of his

duties was to blow the Reveille call at a certain hour each morning.

His habit was to hang his bugle on the end of house plate that extended

at the door. One freezing night some of the boys emptied a gourd of

water into the open mouth of the bugle, thus filling the coils of same

with water. Next morning, at break of day, our friend Rosser essayed to

blow "Reveille." His cheeks expand nearly to bursting, but not a note

comes from the bugle, not even a part of a breath will pass through.

Rosser uncovers the glowing coals amongst the ashes, pushes together

the fire chunks and with his breath blows up a blaze and starts to

holding bugle in same. Footsteps of boots are heard outside. They stop

at our door and in pops the head of Lt. A. C. Hargrove with the

question, "Rosser! why have you not blown Reveille?" But his eyes take

in the situation, while he asks the question, and Rosser's answer,

"Lieut., some rascal has filled my bugle and it's full of ice," is

really not needed. Off stalks the Lieut. to find Donoho, and his bugle

soon sings out the familiar notes. At the end of which, each man is in

ranks, front faced by the Orderly Sergeant who calls the company roll

and then a new day's duties are begun.

Thereafter Rosser's bugle forms part of his pillow, for allowing such a

mishap to occur again would mean extra work at some drudgery. The

officers daily report would show up the excuses, but the boys got some

little fun out of such tricks. We were all afraid of Major Robertson.

His reputation was that of a harsh disciplinarian and our company was

largely composed of young men of the highest social ranks. The fear was

general that for some little disobedience of orders, or some infraction

of military red-tape, some punishment might be ordered by him, that the

culprit would rather die than submit to something degrading. We had

some object lessons. The Major's hostler came to camp one night drunk.

At some order of the Major, the fellow let in and gave the officer a

vile cursing, with opprobrious epithets, called him a half "Injin",

etc., and worse still, common rumors had it that the Major did have

Indian blood in him and he was called generally "Comanche Robertson",

but its only foundation was his unusually dark complexion and eyes.

The sergeant of the guard was sent for and the obstreperous fellow

forced off to the guard house. Next morning the sergeant was ordered to

bring the poor devil to the Major's quarters, and hang him up by

strings tied to his thumbs, with hands behind his back, till only his

toes could touch the ground. So he was kept until he was almost frozen

stiff. The whole command recognized the fact that the culprit deserved

the severest kind of punishment. He was of a class that could not

appreciate leniency and yet the men were inexpressibly shocked to see

such torture. To see a confederate soldier subjected to brutal

punishment under the very eyes of the insulted officer did not seem to

be the proper thing. Had he been courtmarshalled and shot, it would not

have shocked us half so much, but to see a white man, a volunteer

serving the Confederacy subjected to a punishment that public opinion

of the South would have considered brutal on even a negro slave,

notwithstanding the recognized heinousness of the officer, went to our

hearts.

The effect on the men in the ranks was not good, the utter helplessness

of a private was brought home to us. It was hurtful to pride as

Confederate soldiers serving our country for duty's sake, and fear of

officers replaces badly a soldier's pride in his work. Each soldier

from that time feared Robertson. Had this soldier watched his chance

and murdered the officer, and then deserted to the enemy, the general

opinion would have been that such action was to have been expected.

That such did not happen, showed that the disgrace was not keenly felt,

by reason of the social state from which the soldier sprung, something

on the New Orleans "wharf rat", order. One morning between midnight and

day, one of my mess-mates was on guard at the stable lot, a mild spring

morning, and the moon shining. He got tired "walking his post" so he

climbed on top of the fence, under shadow of a tree and there took his

seat overlooking the lot. He expected to be able easily to see or hear

any inspecting officer first and to be able quietly to slide down and

resume "walking his post" from under the shadow without being caught,

"sitting down on a post," a disobedience of military orders always.

All at once a voice just behind him, outside the fence calls out,

"Where's the sentinel here?" and there stood the Major. "Here I am,

Sir!" "Get down and walk your post, Sir!" "All right, Sir!" But very

shortly after, the Corporal came from the guardhouse, with a

Supernumerary of the guard and relieved our friend, who was marched off

to guard quarters under arrest.

Next morning he was turned over a prisoner to the charge of the

succeeding guard, with a feeling of wonder hanging over him as to what

sort of punishment he might expect. But he did not have to wonder long.

The officer of the day came to guard quarters with instructions to give

this prisoner an axe and a pick and to set him to grubbing a big pine

stump in the battery park, i.e., the ground occupied by the gun

carriages and caissons in regulation order. My recollection is, that

the stump lasted our friend several days and that it took some little

help of his body servant, Rube, in the small hours of the night to get

that stump out of the ground.

The grubber was busy about it during the day, and slept around the

guard house fire of a night, until the stump got out of the ground.

Then he was sent for to Battalion Headquarters and our Major gave him

quite a gentlemanly admonition, as to such "lapse from duty," etc.,

which was thankfully received and duly noted. Now this offense against

military rules must needs have some punishment, and this punishment was

received in good part, and there was no degradation in it. Our friend

took the chances, got caught and cheerfully took his medicine without a

shadow of ill will against the officer ordering it. Rather he was much

obliged to him for the leniency of it. It was on a par with a quite

common punishment imposed on soldiers, "straggling" on a march. One of

his superior officers coming upon him a way behind his command on the

road would say: "Well, what is the matter, Mr. Smith or Jones?" Oh! I

just dropped out to get some water from a spring." "Were you detailed?

Where's your canteens?" "No Sir! I just dropped out!" "All right, you

take a rail off that fence and bring it along, and we'll go on

together." There was no help for it. He'd have to "carry that rail." At

least as long as the officer chose to stay along with him. When he

wanted to ride ahead and leave the rail carrier, it would be, "Well

Smith, I'll ride on, catch up soon, or I'll have to report you for

straggling." Away the officer would go, down would go the rail, and

Smith would probably catch up at the next resting place. Soldiers never

minded such punishments inflicted in the line of military discipline.

The more intelligent the private, the more he was cognizant of the

necessity of discipline to an army, to prevent its disintegrating into

a mob. The officer and the private might be close personal friends

individually, but as soldiers, one commanded, the other obeyed.

During the winter quarters, an election was held for the Junior Second

Lieutenant, as commonly called. The two principal candidates were

Orderly Sergeant John A. Caldwell, and private Robert W. Foster, both

planters sons, both equally educated, and both from Tuscaloosa County.

My impression is that Foster received the most votes, and he was of a

most popular disposition. It is probable that Caldwell's being Orderly

Sergeant, had lost him some votes, as no man in authority, could always

please everybody, and be of any account.

Then each candidate had to stand an examination by a Board of Officers

in some way, Caldwell got the commission. Foster felt much that he had

been treated unfairly and wrote out an application to be transferred to

the Confederate Navy. This he sent to Bragg's headquarters direct, not

up through the hands of company Battalion Officials. Bragg ordered him

court martialled for this breach of military etiquette. The result was

a verdict of guilty and a sentence to solitary confinement on bread and

water diet for a certain number of days. A small log hut was built

close to guard quarters 10x6 feet inside, 7 feet deep, without any

door, the ceiling of heavy logs and roofed over, with the ordinary

split boards. Foster had to climb over the wall and into the hut

through a hole left in the ceiling for the purpose, logs were replaced,

and roof also. His blankets of course were put in with him. His mess

carried him, his big thick bread, and it was not all dough between the

crusts. We do not think that water alone quenched his thirst. He had

the sympathy of the whole command, who believed that his sentence was

out of all reason, for a violation of military "red tape," and perhaps,

treading on some one's corns. But Lumsden saw the ill effects, threats

were being made to tear the hut down, and release him; and the finest

kind of soldiers were beginning to get sulky. So he mounted his horse

and went to Bragg's headquarters. What transpired there none of us ever

knew, but Lumsden rode back with orders for Foster's release and

restoration to duty. The whole thing was a mistake, first on Bragg's

part, and lastly in the sentence placed by the officers who constituted

the military court. A mere reprimand would have been ample, and not

caused any sulkiness among spirited men. Forcible release of the

prisoner would surely have resulted in serious consequences to many,

and the possible ruining of a good command. We relate the incident as

illustrating the traits of character of the two officers.

Bragg's want of tact, and Lumsden's possession of that same quality in

the handling of volunteer citizen soldiers. Foster had probably more

friends than ever in the whole battalion.

When not on duty, the men in camp followed their own inclinations.

Books and letters and games, of all kinds. Furloughed men went home and

returned for others to go. Boxes of provisions and clothing came first

to one and then to another from home. Some had good musical talents,

and impromptu concerts were of almost nightly occurrence. H. Calib

Peterson, and others of like talents, contributed largely to the

amusements of the camp, with ministrel shows and songs with banjos,

bones, reed, and other accompaniments. One of the books that went the

rounds was "St. Twelmo," a traversity on Miss Augusta Evans, (Mrs.

Wilson), St. Elmo, the heroine of St. Twelmo being described as being

such a "plenary pulchritude" with attainments to suit.

At company headquarters, when the full quota of officers was on hand,

were Capt. C. L. Lumsden, Lieuts. Eb H. Hargrove, A. C. Hargrove, John

A. Caldwell, and Cadet Lieut. Sykes. Also Chas. M. Donoho, bugler and

messenger, and Henry Donoho, his cousin, headquarter's clerk. But it

sometimes happened that every commissioned officer was away with Cadet

Sykes, left in the command. Caldwell, being promoted to Lieut., J. Mack

Shivers, was appointed Orderly Sergeant. The other Sergeants were John

Little, James Jones, (from Autauga County,) James Cordwell and Wilds,

with John Snow, quartermaster and commissary Sergeant.

The Corporals were: Thomas Owen, T. Alex Dearing, Wade Brook, and J. R.

Maxwell, gunners, J. Wick Brown, John Watson, W. B. Appling, and ----,

chiefs of caissons. About May 1st, 1864, Sherman moved out from

Chattanooga, and Lumsden's Battery left winter quarters for good, never

again to be in a permanent camp for any length of time.

It was placed on the left of railroad north of Dalton, on Mill creek

gap at east end of Rocky face ridge.

Gen. Joseph E. Johnston was now in command. The whole army had lost all

confidence in Bragg's ability to secure the fruits of victory, gained

by the hard fighting alone, of his troops. Perryville, Murfreesboro and

Chickamauga had also ended.

On May 8th, the enemy attacked Stevenson's Division, along Buzzard

Roost Ridge, east of railroad, and Mill creek gap with Geary's

Division. They were easily repulsed. Lumsden's battery assisting by

placing a few shells in the gap on the right of the attacking Division.

Geary reported a loss of 200 to 300 men, and that it was impossible to

take the position by assault. As Sherman's army forged to the South

west on its flanking movement, the battery was withdrawn, and on May

15th, next faced the enemy in a field of green wheat on the Oastenaula

river, below the railroad bridge at Resaca, 18 miles south of Dalton,

on the day of McPherson's attack at that point, but did not get to fire

a shot.

The position was on the west of a gentle rise, that inclined slightly

to our rear. Had infantry charged our front, a few steps forward, would

have enabled us to sweep the field. A Federal rifle battery, fired at

us for a while, where we lay on the ground barely covered from their

fire, when one of the shells skimmed the crest of the hill, it would

miss our back a foot or two and pass on with no damage to us. The

ground was hot under us, and the sun shining hot down on us, but we

avoided stopping any of the shots, and we could not reach them with our

smooth bores. We lay there, with our guns loaded with canister, ready

to stop an infantry charge, but it was all delivered farther to our

right. Our monotony was released by chatting and munching the contents

of our haversacks. We surely had a hot time there in the hot sun and

shell combination, but we had no causalities. We had protection from

Yankee projectiles, but none from those of Old Sol. It was McPherson's

corps in our forest and south westward to success the Oastenaula. His

rifle batteries commanded the railroad bridge, with pontoon and common

bridge below. That night Johnston's army withdrew across the

Oastenaula.

At Cassville thirty miles south of Resaca, on night of May 19th,

Johnston had contemplated giving Sherman a general battle.

Orders were read to all commands announcing the battle for next day.

Our men were ready, believing Johnston had Sherman's army where he

could whip first one portion, then the other, but for reasons about

which there is controversy, the attack of our right wing on the enemy

the next morning was delayed, the opportunity was lost and the retreat

continued. When we crossed the Etowah below Cartersville, the railroad

bridge was burned and the battery went into position facing the

crossing on a low, rocky ridge, in the afternoon.

The writer remembers, sitting down at the roots of a tree, and

immediately springing up, brushing the seat of his pants vigorously.

Examination showed that he had set down on a nest of little brown

scorpions. Something like a crawfish in shape, with tails turned up

over their backs, with a sting like a wasp's in the end of the tail.

The laugh of the boys was on him.

Some Federal cavalry rode down to the river, on the other side, but a

few shells scattered them, and at dark we again moved southward toward

New Hope church and Dallas.

On the afternoon of May 25th, traveling the sparsely settled country

road, about 2:00 p.m. a courier brought our Captain orders to rush his

guns forward, infantry and wagons giving space and away we went, the

cannoneers mounting on our gun carriages and caissons. Private James

Hogan, of Tuscaloosa, in attempting to mount a gun, limber in motion,

fell, one wheel of the gun passing over his body. A man was ordered to

stay with him and see that an ambulance carried him to a hospital. He

was so injured, as to prevent him serving further during the war. As we

drew near to New Hope church, we found infantry of Stewart's, corps,

hastily building log breastworks, along the right of the road, with the

rattle of heavy skirmishing in the thick forest in the front. Our

battery was ordered to turn aside to the left and go into battery and

wait. This threw us into position with our infantry line perhaps fifty

yards in our front. The Federals attacked with Hooper's corps in force,

and the battle of New Hope church was fought and won, by our infantry

line, we never getting a chance to fire a shot. Our cannoneers lying on

the ground at their posts ready to fire, should the infantry give back.

At dark we were placed in position on the infantry line and ordered to

intrench and by morning of 26th, we had a pretty fair earthwork in our

front facing a Federal battery. The woods were very dense, and it was

only a couple of hundred yards across the hollow to the Federal

entrenchments. Between the two lines the earth was strewn with the

Federal dead.

Both sides had skirmishers in rifle pits in front of them, and any

exposure of a portion of the body brought the "ping" of a bullet in

close proximity. One struck about an inch above the head of Lieut. A.

C. Hargrove, into the body of an oak against which he was sitting, a

little in rear of embankment. His head showed a little too high above

the breastworks. Two inches lower, it would have finished him. Both

sides had to lie close in daylight. A little to the rear and left was

the old church.

Capt. Lumsden sent a man to Gen. Quarles, who had his Brigade

headquarters just in rear of the church, to borrow a field glass. The

General and his staff wanted to know all about the situation, which was

described as well as possible. One of the aides handed over his

glasses, and requested the messenger to let them know whatever was

discovered in our front. It was suggested that he come along, "Oh no!

We don't think it necessary! You can tell us all about it when you

return back." The others laughed and said: "Go ahead, young man." Capt.

Lumsden thought he could make out a battery opposite, but it was

difficult to be sure as their lines were partly hidden by brush, like

our own. Our old Orderly Sergeant, now Capt. Geo. Little, on Gen.

Bate's staff, had letters and socks from home for his two brothers,

John and James, in our company, and rode up to the church where Gen.

Stewart was sitting on the steps and asked him where Lumsden's battery

was. He said they are just over there about 100 yards, but you can't

ride there, come behind the church with your horse, a man was killed

where you are sitting, just now. All was quiet then as could be. There

was a country graveyard between the church and our line. He left his

horse behind the church, and started to the battery, but in a moment

there were a hundred bullets pattering like hail on the clap boards

which covered the graves. He ran for cover in the trenches, and for ten

minutes the firing was kept up and then quieted down, when he slipped

back from the cover of one tree to another to the church, mounted his

horse and made his way back to his own quarters.

About June 4th, the Federals disappeared from our front at New Hope

church, and we moved back and toward Lost mountain and the railroad

which we crossed the next day, and on June 8th, went into position on a

ridge overlooking Big Shanty Station, being on the east side of

railroad. This new line came to be known as the Pine Mountain line.

Here we entrenched. On June 11th, we saw a rifle battery near Big

Shanty firing on our lines to the left. We fired on them. They replied.

Our trenches were a little below the top of the hill, with the limber

chests exposed, being higher than the works. Lumsden ordered them to be

run down close behind the works, which was done. But one Federal shell

exploded one of the chests while it was being moved. Sergt. J. Mack

Shivers was shoving it at the time but escaped much injury. The Yankee

battery withdrew from the open, and we shortly after, heard of Gen

Polk's death. We always believed that we were firing on the battery

that killed him. During all this time we were having heavy rains every

day. We have an idea that the whole army was wet to the skin every day

in June. One great trouble was to keep our corn bread dry until we

could eat it. But wet bread could be turned into "hot cush," whenever

we stopped long enough to have a fire and the weather being warm, our

clothing would get moderately dry between showers. The men had by this

time gotton pretty tough, and looked tough, and like a set of toughs.

Falling back on June 15th, from the Pine mountain line, to the Kennesaw

mountain line, to face Sherman, who was flanking to our left, the

battery first took position close to the top of the main spur of the

mountain, a little to the right and north of the top and entrenched

along with a lot of infantry. The only Federals who got within our

range at this position were a lot that crowded around a railroad water

tank, at the foot of the mountain. We put a few shells through the tank

scattering both Yanks and water. But the Yanks put a rifle battery off

in the valley, out of our reach and went to work on us scientifically.

They figured out our range and the very first shell burst about three

feet exactly over our breastworks, and the next one or so killed one of

our men, named Blackstock, a Georgian. A splinter clipped Horace

Martin's ear--marked him. Lt. Hargrove was on the bare top of the

mountain to see what he could see. They fired at him and the shell

struck the ground in his front, and ricochetted over his head, end over

end. It was certainly fine shooting and sport for those rifle gunners,

and doubtless they enjoyed it. We certainly did not, but each got to a

safe place and kept it, as soon as we found what those fellows could do

at over a mile distance. This was on June 19th. As this position was a

worthless one for our guns, we were ordered down and moved to the south

edge of Little Rinnew, relieving another battery. The change was made

during the night, and Lumsden was told that it was a hot place. So we

worked on the entrenchments from about midnight when we had arrived

until daylight. We made good embrasures, thickened the works in our

front and dug trenches for our caisson wheels close behind works, so

that axles lay on the ground. The limber chests were taken from gun

carriages and placed on ground close up to the works. That afternoon,

Col. Alexander, in command of the artillery along this line, came along

and Capt. Lumsden told him that he'd like to find out what the enemy

had over there. Col. Alexander told Lumsden, "Well, open on them and

I'll order the rifle battery further up little Kennesaw to your right

to support you." Lumsden gave him time to get up to the rifle battery,

and then came his command: "Cannoneers to your posts!" Each gunner was

told where to aim, and the estimated distance. Then: "Load! Battery

ready! Fire!" Those Yankees opened on our four-gun battery, with

twenty-four guns and the dirt was soon flying over and around us. We

fired rapidly and so did the rifle battery, but directly a shell came

through number 3 embrasure, killed Gurley, standing erect with thumb on

vent, plunged into caisson just behind and exploded all three chests

thereon. The flame exploded a cartridge lying on limber chest next to

the breastwork and our own shell went rolling around promiscuously. Lt.

Hargrove grabbed a slush bucket and proceeded to pour water into the

limber chest with the smashed top, where fuses were fizzling and

friction primers crackling in the tray above the loaded cartridges

thereon. Some of the boys yelled at him to let that thing go, but he

poured that water on, and put out those fuses. Every fellow was dodging

our own shells for a few minutes.

A tin strap from one of the sabots struck Corporal John Watson on the

tight seat of his pants, and he dropped flat, with his hands clapped on

the place where he had felt the blow, yelling: "Oh, I'm wounded, I'm

wounded." The laugh was on him, when it was found that his pants were

not even split.

Gracious! How those Yanks did yell, when the column of smoke went high

in the air from our exploded caisson. Well, all the satisfaction we got

out of the affair, was that "We found out, what the enemy had over

there," and we did not stir up that hornet's nest again. Occasionally,

they would plug at us, but we would lie low and not reply. One of their

24-lb. rifled parrot shells ricochetted over from the front one day

with out exploding. Some of the men got it unscrewed the percussion

fuse from its point and poured out a lot of powder, then dug out some

more with a sharp stick, until they thought it was about empty. Then

private Dan Kelly, got hold of it, stooped down to a flat rock and

jolted the point down on the rock. It struck fire, exploded and tore

Kelly's arm and hand all to pieces. He was sent to hospital, then home,

and I think died from the wound.

We more than evened up on the Yanks, a few days after, on June 27th,

when Thomas's and McPherson's corps swarmed over their works and

started for our lines in a determined assault. We filled the skirt of

woods in front, full of shells until their lines appeared in the open,

and then we swept the earth with canister and over their line of

infantry made every bullet count, so that in our immediate front, they

did not get nearer than 150 yards, and had to rush back to cover of

their own entrenchments. Our command had no causalities that day, but

many Federals were buried in trenches in our front, their total loss

officially reported in the assault was 2,500.

Here is what is recorded in Federal official records:

"He (Sherman) Resolved: To attack the left center of Johnston's

position, and orders were given on the 24th, that on the 27th,

McPherson should assault near Little Kennesaw mountain (our

position,) and that Thomas should assault about a mile further

south, (to our left). Kennesaw was strongly entrenched, and held by

Loring's and Hardee's corps, Loring on the right, opposite

McPherson and Hardee on the left opposite Thomas. About 9:00 a.m.

of the 27th, the troops moved to the assault and all along the line

for ten miles a furious fire of artillery and musketry was kept up.

A part of Logan's 15th corps, formed in two lines, fought its way

up to the slope of Little Kennesaw, carried the confederate

skirmish pits and tried to go further, but was checked by the rough

nature of the ground, and the fire of artillery and musketry at

short range from behind breastworks. Logan's assault failed with a

loss of 600 men, and his troops were withdrawn to the captured

skirmish pits * * * The assault was over by 11:30 a.m., and was a

failure.

It was the most serious reverse sustained by Sherman during the

campaign. The entire Union loss was nearly 2,500.

Johnston admits a Confederate loss of 808 killed and wounded. That

ended Sherman's attempt to force our lines, and started his flanking

operations again. Soon we were ordered back southwest of the

Chattahoochee river, where we occupied a fort, overlooking the Western

& Atlantic railroad bridge, and were soon faced by the enemy with

infantry and artillery again entrenched, with a rifle battery on

opposite side of river three-quarters of a mile away. They would

occasionally try a little target practice at our fort. Our orders were

to refrain from firing unless an attempt was made to cross the river.

On our side there was merely infantry enough to picket the river.

The fort was an enclosed one, i.e., had parapet all around, and

embrassures in all directions, as if built to stand a siege even if

entirely surrounded by the enemy. Our four guns were its whole armament

however, fronting the river and its destroyed bridge below us.

We here bivouaced at ease. The slope in rear of fort had some shade

bushes and formed a comparatively safe camping grounds, but we lost one

man here who was in rear of, and outside of the fort. A rifle shell

just missed the front parapet, cut a furrow in the rear parapet, and

took off the head of a private, named Maner, another Georgian. Some of

us who were inside the fort saw his straw hat rise ten feet in the air

and knew that another comrade had gone.

Here, on July 17th, at evening roll call, technically named the

"Retreat" call, the memorable order was read to our command, relieving

Gen. Joseph E. Johnston, and placing Gen. J. B. Hood, in command of the

army. It was received in dead silence, and figuratively speaking "our

hearts went down into our boots," or whatever happened to be covering

our heel.

The army had still the fullest confidence in Johnston. They knew that

for more than two months he had baffled Sherman in spite of his

overpowering force of two to one, and had inflicted heavy losses on the

enemy, with small loss to his own army either in men or material. They

idolized Johnston and were ready to fight, whenever Johnston was ready.

They believed "Old Joe" knew his business, and did not believe that

Sherman could hold on to his line of supplies, and still surround the

city. They believed that President Davis had made a terrible mistake,

and that belief remains to the officers and men of the army of

Tennessee to this day. They admired Hood, his personal character and

gallantry, but they believed in Johnston as second only to Robert E.

Lee, and that the Confederacy did not hold another man who could so

well serve her.

Sherman moving the main portion of his army towards the northeast,

covered by the Chattahoochee, but still holding the W. & A. railroad

with his right wing, our battery was ordered to report to Gen. Wheeler,

who with his cavalry was on the extreme right of our army. We were

placed in position on the bank of the Chattahoochee, where a ravine

entered the river at a very acute angle, forming a narrow ridge between

river and ravine, so that by cutting down into the ground and throwing

the dirt out toward the ravine, we made level places for our guns with

a solid wall of earth as high as the muzzle of our guns, overlooking

the slope toward the river, the hills opposite, and the Federal

entrenchments along the upper edge of the fields with an embrasured

battery in view. Our entrenchment, as described, made no show. We were

there simply to guard against an easy crossing at this point.

Lt. A. C. Hargrove, next day was standing at the parapet near muzzle of

3rd piece talking to Corporal Maxwell, who was gunner to that piece. A

puff of smoke came from a Federal embrasure across the river and both

squatted below the protecting bank. The shell struck the body of an oak

tree standing just in front, and some twenty feet above the ground,

tearing off a heavy fragment, slightly larger than a man's forearm,

which came down with force, the end cutting through Hargroves' hat on

his forehead and to the skull, a gash two inches long. Maxwell said:

"Lieut., they are cutting at us close," still looking to the front.

Hargrove said: "Well, they got me." Maxwell turned around and there

stooped Hargrove, hat on ground, and his hands to his head, with blood

gushing through his fingers all down over him. He was much stunned with

the blow, but when Maxwell spread the lips of the wound, and the blood

ran out, the solid skull of his forehead showed uncrutched.

Nevertheless the blow threatened concussion of the brain, and he was

sent home for several weeks. Dr. N. P. Marlowe, then surgeon with

Wheeler's corps taking him in his own ambulance to the Hospital, after

dressing his wound.

The enemy crossing in force, lower down the river, our battery was

retired from this position and placed on the main line of defense

northeast of Atlanta, and was soon faced by the enemy again, after the

battle of Peachtree Creek, with his entrenchments forming quite an

angle in our front, some 800 yards away, but his lines stretched from

that angle almost perpendicularly away from us toward his left.

On July 22nd, Hardee's corps of Confederates attacked Sherman's left

and drove it for a long distance back toward his center. The right of

this fleeing corps came into our range making for the protection of

their works at this angle and Lumsden's guns shelled them just in front

of their own works as they reached them, we firing over the heads of

the Georgia militia, who were pushed forward across the valley as if to

join in an assault, but were soon returned to their works after

considerable loss.

Seeing these old citizens wounded and dying struck us with sympathy,

with somewhat of the same feelings we might have experienced at seeing

a lot of women sacrificed. They started in the charge, had withdrawn to

the trenches again. We were accustomed to that with regular soldiers,

but the sacrifice of these old citizens affected us to an unusual

degree.

Being relieved from this position, by a battery attached to an infantry

brigade that now occupied these trenches, we were sent to the rear and

parked near a stream south of Atlanta to wash up clothing and rest a

bit. But before our washing was dry, orders came to rush the battery to

a position some five miles southwest of Atlanta. We went at a gallop,

or trot, or walk as fast as we could rush the guns and caissons. With

the cannoneers hanging on as best they could. Reaching the position

just in time, meeting our infantry slowly falling back, before the

enemy, fighting as they retreated. We rushed "into battery," on a hill

at edge of open field, with the Federal infantry already past the way

across the field and opened on them with our usual rapid fire. In ten

minutes not a Federal could be seen except the few wounded or dead left

behind.

It was a terribly hot July afternoon and the men with jackets,

blankets, haversacks and all else possible strewn on the ground were

panting like dogs, and so wet with sweat as if just out of a river,

when they threw themselves down in the shade of the trees on the edge

of the field after the firing ceased with the disappearance of the

enemy. We had not lost a man. Our arrival and work was so quick that

the enemy rushed to the rear at once to the cover of the forest. Our

guns used some 33 or 34 rounds each in the short time in action.

All night infantry and artillery men worked with every available tool,

down to the bayonet to loosen up the earth, and half of a split canteen

to throw up the dirt and next morning found us entrenched in our new

line. But on the other edge of the field, the Yankee trenches showed up

some 800 yards away.

In this position Lumsden's battery remained nearly all the month of

August. Every few days we would have an artillery duel with the rifle

battery opposite. Sherman was now extending his right wing, which

finally led to the assault of Love Joy station, on the road south of

Atlanta. He had also brought down siege guns, that fired shells about

the size of nail keg, and was shelling the city. One Sunday we had a

particularly fierce duel with our opponents. It happened that the

embrasure of the 3rd piece flared a little more squarely to the front

of the others. Three whole shells struck the 3rd gun during the action,

each coming through the embrasure only about one foot in width. One

struck on top between trunnions and vent, gouging out the brass like a

half round chisel would have gouged a piece of wood, and glanced on to

the rear. The second struck gun carriage on left cheek, just in front

of left trunnion and went into small fragments in every direction. The

third struck the edge of the muzzle, and crushed it so that we could

get no more shells into the gun. It was ruined temporarily, and had to

be sent to the arsenal at Macon.

About this time, Gen. Hardee and staff rode up. He inquired: "What's

the matter here?" "Nothing," said Lumsden, "but those fellows opened on

us and I make it a point to give as good as they send." "Well, cease

firing its doing no good, and we must husband our ammunition." Old man

Lane had the front end of one foot cut off by a piece of shell. He was

bringing up an armfull of cartridges from the caissons under the hill

at the time, but did not throw down his load until he brought it to the

gun, loudly proclaiming, that he hoped these shells would pay them back

for his wound. But that was the end of his service in our army. He was

over conscript age, but came as a substitute for some one who could pay

for a man to take his place.

I believe that he was the only man struck that day in our company, but

in rear of the 3rd gun that had been put out of action, a bunch of

canteens, hanging on a forked post were all rendered useless by pieces

of shell or bullets coming through the embrasure. The Yankee three-inch

rifle was a dead shot at any distance under a mile. They could hit the

head of a flour barrel more often than miss, unless the gunner got

rattled. The shell consisted of three parts, a conical head with

smaller cylinderical base, a cap to fit, that base loosely and a ring

of lead that connected the head and base. When fired the cap at butt

was thrown forward on the cylinderical base of the cone, expanding the

lead ring into the grooves of the rifle, the cone exploding by

percussion cap on striking. It was the most accurate field piece of

that date. Our smooth bore 12 pounders were always at a disadvantage in

artillery duels, but with time fuses and at masses of men, or at a

battery in open field, 800 to 1,000 yards, they did good service, and

with canisters they could sweep the earth.

After Lovejoy's station, we were moved up to the city, and put into a

casemated fort for a short time in the outskirts of the city, whilst

evacuation was going on, and were among the last of the commands to

leave the doomed town, whence we retreated with a portion of the

infantry toward Macon, Ga. Burning stores of all kinds were located by

the soldiers, mail cars sacked, and letters and packages of all kinds

gone through at road side fires in search of money, the useless letters

feeding the fire. This was on the night of September 2, 1864. Rations

on the retreat got very short and for once our men were forced to live

off the country. When bivouac was made for the night above Macon, for

the success of our own particular mess, all scattered after "retreat"

roll call in different directions. About midnight they had all come in,

and pots, kettles, ovens, and hot coals were in demand. Henry Donoho

had shelled out about a peck of cornfield beans from the nearly ripe

pods in the fields.

Walter Guild turned up with a long stick across his shoulder, with two

large pumpkins stuck on each end. Ed King and Jim Maxwell each had a

sack of sweet potatoes, grabbled in a field a mile and a half away.

The Rosser boys had corn too hard for roasting, but all right to grate

on an old half canteen grater.

Rube, Aleck Dearing's servant had half a shoat and Jim Bobbett, my own

servant, had two ducks.

Some one owned a big brass kettle, that would hold about half a barrel,

which the wagons hauled, and it was soon on the fire, filled with the

sliced pumpkins, to be stewed down. Some did one thing, and some

another, and by an hour before day, that feast was ready, and several

more along the same lines in the camp. We ate our fill, filled

haversacks, distributed the balance to whoever wanted it and were ready

to move at daylight. I believe that it was the only meal I remember

during the war, where everything was the proceeds of plunder.

We had been pretty close to a famine for a day or two, but this was

surely a feast.

It was all contrary to military law, but soldiers were not going to sit

still and starve, when something to eat could be had out of the fields

for the taking, and the officers could not be expected to sit up nights

to come around and inspect our pots and kettles, and if they did, they

could prove nothing, and so, for the occasion and the recognizing

necessity, nothing was ever said about it. The men were on hand ready

and able to do duty, and the tangle of the crisis was soon straightened

out and our rations coming through the regular channels. From Macon, by

way of Griffin, where a few days were spent in camp and thence to West

Point on the Georgia-Alabama line, where preparations were made to cut

loose from the railroad, and traverse northeast Alabama with Hood's

army to strike for middle Tennessee by way of Decatur and Florence,

west of the mountains. This was now ----, so that we had been months

and days in reaching in a roundabout manner since the fall of Atlanta,

on Sept. 2. Hood's infantry and cavalry had been somewhere south, and

southwest of Atlanta. Sherman was fixing to destroy, and strike out

southeast across Georgia, and Hood was preparing to strike out for

middle Tennessee and Nashville.

With our guns and wagons, we joined the army wagon train, making its

way northwestward, during a very rainy spell of weather. Traveling

through the flat piney woods was awful. The white loblolly mud was

often axle deep in the road, and turning out in these flats did not

seem to better the matter much.

The writer had now been appointed a Sergeant, and been given a pie bald

pony to ride at the head of his 4th Detachment of gun caisson. One day

his pony got both feet on same side into a deep rut under the loblolly

and down flat broadside he went and the writer disappeared. When he

emerged he was greeted with the well known yell, "Come out of that, I

see your ears sticking out." When the mud dried, it flaked off and I

was not much worse off temporarily than the balance of the crowd and

they were welcome to the fun.

Finally, we reached the Tennessee valley, in Morgan County, and marched

westward. The sites of the old plantation homes were now marked only by

groups of chimneys, the plantations a dreary waste. Reaching vicinity

of Decatur about ---- we found it garrisoned by a Federal force with

entrenchments, but Hood's objective point for crossing the Tennessee

river was between Tuscumbia and Florence. Near Tuscumbia, our battery

was again in camp for a few days. As from West Point to Florence in a

direct line is about 200 miles by the route traveled by us 250 or 275

miles of continuous march. We were not sorry to get a chance to rest,

wash, clean and repair up. Here, in the garden spot of Alabama, prior

to the war, food was scarce. The beef issued to us could not produce a

bead of fat, on the top of the pot, when boiled. Bacon or salt pork,

when we got any was generally rancid. But we got here one unusual

luxury in the way of food, a fine young fat mule had its back broken by

the fall of a tree, cut down in camp. So it was killed and the boys

took possession and divided it out. It was very fat. The fat from its

"innards" was "tryed" out like oil and saved in bottles and cans for

"breadshortening" for which it answered well. The meat was very fine,

much better than any beef we had gotton for a long time. But the boys

made all sorts of fun over it. We had some left to carry along on the

march, and a soldier would pull out a hunk from his haversack, throw up

his head and let out a big mule bray, "a-h-h-h u-n-k, a-h-h-h u-n-k,

a-h-h-h u-n-k," bite off a mouth full and go to chewing.

The crossing of the Tennessee on the night of Nov. 20, 1864, over a

pontoon bridge at south Florence was to officers and men of Lumsden's

battery only one of many disagreeable experiences. No more than our

whole army had gotton used to experiencing in such campaigns in all

sorts of weather and conditions, its locality merely makes it stand out

in the memory, a little more prominently than other such experiences.

Notified in the afternoon to be ready in our turn to cross over, then

again to fall into the line on the South bank after dusk; moving on to

the bridge after dark, and occupying several hours in crossing, moving

a few paces in the bridge, then halting and standing shivering in a

drizzling rain, until again a few paces could be gained. Then at the

north bank, getting our teams up the steep banks through mud axle deep,

by doubling teams and all hands at the wheels and getting through the

night, hovering over roadside fires along streets of Florence and roads

beyond until daylight brought a possibility of finding a place to make

a temporary halt for feed and rest for man and beast.

On November 27th, reaching the vicinity of Columbia, where Schofield

was entrenched with an army of about the same size as Hood's, a

demonstration was made of an attack on his lines, but the main position

of our army crossed Duck river above Columbia and struck for Spring

Hill on the turn pike between Columbia and Franklin.

On 29th, the Battalion of Reserve Artillery was ordered to leave guns

and caissons, with horses and drivers, under charge of one Commissioned

officer south of Duck river. The captains, two Lieuts.,

Non-Commissioned officers and cannoneers were ordered to follow the

infantry brigades; the object being to be able to man any batteries

that might be captured from the enemy in this move against his rear.

Lumsden was ordered to report to Brig. Gen. Reynolds and to keep right

up with his brigade under all circumstances. It was nearly dark when we

found ourselves in a half mile of Spring Hill, and there, we remained

all night, without any attack being delivered on the enemy hurrying

northward along the pike, wagons, artillery and all other vehicles kept

on a rush with their infantry on east side of the pike to protect

against our attack.

Time was lost during the day in building rough bridges across creeks

waist deep to infantry, which had better have been waded, for the few

hours so lost, prevented a successful attack at Spring Hill which Hood

had planned to demolish Schofield.

Forrest was trying to delay their advance toward Franklin, and

sometimes succeeded in getting possession of pike for a short time,

capturing teamsters shooting down teams in their harness and setting

fire to their wagons.

But their rear passed Spring Hill before daylight the next morning,

with Hood's infantry pursuing their rearguard closely into Franklin,

where a strong line of entrenchments had been prepared around the edge

of the city from Harpeth river above the same below town, and a strong

line of rifle pits out in front of the regular trenches.

On the afternoon of Nov. 30, 1864, Hood attacked these entrenchments

about 4:00 p.m. Reynolds' brigade was on the right of the pike,

somewhat to the right of the historic genhouse. As this brigade started

in the charge on the first line of rifle pits, Lumsden's command was

close behind with no weapons but their bare hands. Gen. Reynolds

noticed it and riding up called out to Capt. Lumsden: "Captain, take

your men back behind the hill to our rear." And so it was done; though

as soon as our infantry reached the valley and the bullets ceased to

fly so thickly about the top of the hill, the whole company was soon at

the top of the ridge, watching the terrible struggle in our front over

the Federal entrenchments on the outskirts of Franklin.

Away in the night, the flashing rifles revealed the firing of two

armies with a bank of six feet of earth between them, until finally it

gradually ceased. Before daylight we got certain intelligence that the

enemy was gone through Corporal Tom Owen, gunner to 2nd piece, who with

another prospecting companion or two had been into the town and

returned with a bucket of molasses and some other eatables.

Here we were left by Gen. Reynolds' brigade, and where our horses, guns

and caissons came up, Lumsden's battery was again in its usual fighting

trim, and moved on to Nashville where it was on Dec. 4th, in the front

trenches on the left of the Grannary White Pike, in the yard of a fine

brick house, which the enemy had destroyed just outside of their

fortifications, known as the "Gales house". Our lines were so close to

those of the enemy across a narrow valley of cleared fields, that no

one could expose any portion of his body on either work, without

drawing the fire of his enemy opposite. Some of the boys found good

quarters inside of the old furnace, within a few steps of our guns,

those of us in the outside wishing there were a few more furnaces. Talk

about not dodging! Whenever one of us had to move about, he had to

dodge from one cover to another. But there was one comfort, our

infantry kept our enemies dodging also. About Dec. 10th, we were

relieved from this position by another battery, and ordered to the

extreme left of the army and put in position on a small hill, about 700

yards west of the Hillsboro pike, opposite the house of Robert

Castleman, who lived on the east side of said pike some three and a

half miles south of Nashville, and three quarters of a mile, southwest

from the extreme western end of Hood's line, on the Hillsboro pike.

Here, we were ordered to entrench.

[The description of the duty to which Lumsden's Battery was

assigned in the battle of Nashville on December 15th, 1864 was lost

in some way and not printed in Lumsden's Battery History where it

belongs near the top of Page 56 just after the sentence "Here we

were ordered to entrench".

The omission was not noticed until after the volumes had all been

printed.

These special pages must therefore be put in an insert and read in

their proper place, after which again the history takes up the

further retreat of the remnant out of Tennessee.]

Major John Foster of the Engineers, with a detail of 100 men had

already started on the work. Hood's orders were that it should be a

regular fort enclosing the top of hill. As yet, it was simply a

redoubt, facing a ridge some 800 yards away that ran nearly

perpendicularly to the general direction of the army's line of battle

at the extreme left end of the army. Between the ridge and the

location of redoubt were cultivated fields, and had been some woods,

through which Richland Creek meandered towards the north west. The

woods our engineers had cut down, so as to give an uninterrupted view

of the lands in our front, and gave a cover for skirmishers who might

be driven back towards redoubt and also gave cover for an enemy line

of skirmishers to approach to within 100 yards of redoubt under

cover, when they had driven back the defending skirmishers.

Major Foster's force had started the redoubt shortly after the

remnant of Hood's Army (after Franklin) had aligned itself before

Nashville and entrenched somewhere about December 1st to 3rd, it

being perhaps a mile or more from extreme left of Hood's Army to the

Cumberland River. Gen. Chalmers with Cavalry, and the remnant of

Ector's Brigade of infantry as a support, guarding the gaps between

left of Hood's entrenchments at Hillsboro pike, to Cumberland River.

From the date of our arrival at fort location we had rain snow, and

sleet, and the ground frozen hard, so that it was impossible to make

any rapid progress on the redoubt laid off for 4 embrasures for our 4

Napoleon guns. Stretched blankets and the tarpaulins from for our

guns and ammunition were the only cover for officers or men. I well

remember that, the day before the battle of the 15th, my servant Jim

Bobbett brought me a change of clean under clothing, for which I had

to scrape off the snow on a log at Richland Creek, strip and bathe in

its icy waters to make a change.

By the 15th (the day of the battle) we had manerals so long. At my

gun we had lost private Horton and Corporal Gunner Ed. King. Hilen L.

Rosser at another gun had part of his head shot away. That night as I

was pouring some water for Lumsden to wash, he was picking something

out of his beard, and said: "Maxwell, that is part of Rosser's

brains", out of the 40 men that we had at guns, we had only 22 left,

balance having been killed or captured. A Federal officer rode around

Lieut. A. C. Hargrove and demanded his surrender, and cut down at his

head with his sabre. Hargrove caught the blow on his arm, but it beat

down his arm to his head enough to "hurt like thunder", as Hargrove

expressed it.

Hargrove grabbed a loose tree branch and struck at Yank's horse which

about that time got a bullet from our infantry line and ran away from

Hargrove, so that he made it to our new line.

That night we buried Horton near the Franklin pike, where we

bivouaced. I cut his name on a head board, and Command to which he

belonged.

A detail was sent to the house that had been used as a hospital to

bring his body. A long, tall, red-headed private, John Walker, was

one of that detail. He had been carrying a great long navy revolver

for months for use in such circumstances. When asked how many times

he shot it. He laughed and said it was as much as he could do to

persuade himself that he was able to get out with it.

It was about 12 o'clock that Capt. Lumsden sent orderly Sergeant J.

Mack Shivers on horseback to report to General Stewart that all

Confederate infantry had been driven into the fallen timber at our

front, and that it was evident the enemy would soon rush us with a

charge. That we could leave the guns and get away with all the men.

Shivers returned with the orders, "Tell Captain Lumsden it is

necessary to hold the enemy in check to the last minute regardless of

losses." This was about 12:30 p.m. They overwhelmed us about 2 p.m.

So that Lumsden's Battery alone had stopped the advance of A. J.

Smith's federal Corps for 3 hours during which Confederate troops had

been moved from right wing to a new line behind the Hillsboro pike

several hundred yards in our rear, which was all important, to the

Confederates.

Moving southward from Nashville battlefield, with the remnant of Hood's

army, Lumsden's battery was now but a name for a command of men without

arms, with a quota of horses, wagons for commissary and quartermaster's

supplies with their drivers, one half its cannoneers having been lost

at Nashville, killed wounded and prisoners.

A relation of a few happenings along this dreary march in midwinter the

roads, a loblolly of sleet and turnpike dust and grit, may serve to

show how Lumsden and his officers maintained discipline without resort

to severe or degrading punishment for lapses from duty. Like all

volunteer commands, it had in its ranks men from all conditions of life

and of various degrees of education from the collegiate down to the

illiterate man who could not write his own name. But perhaps one half

of the enlisted men or privates were graduates and had started into

professional life or had left college to give their services to their

country before the end of the university terms. They were gentlemen,

and imbued generally with the high sense of honor and devotion to duty

usual among boys and men in such social standing. They gave the general

tone to the command and the officers were careful to do all possible to

keep its moral tone and to impose no punishment that would lower the

culprit in his own estimation. They did punish by imposing extra duties

for violation of military rules, but always the individual punished as

well as all his comrades were perfectly conscious that the punishment

was deserved, and therefore necessary. For instance a private had been

grumbling for several weeks to his sergeant about putting him on

details so often, ignoring the fact that the numerous jobs to be

attended to, brought around often to each man, his time to go on

detail. One morning this private said something to the sergeant who was

at the time cutting up the detachment's cooked beef into equal

portions, that passed the sergeant's patience. He laid down his knife,

got up and faced the man, with the remark: "I've stood your jaw as long

as I intend to", and delivered him a blow with his fist between the

eyes. Of course things were lively for a while until Lt. Hargrove ran

up interfered forcibly between the combatants and ordered them back to

the duties on hand. Some nights after the sergeant was standing by the

Captain's fire and no one was near, but Capt. Lumsden, who said: "What

was the matter with you and ----, the other morning?" "Nothing much,

Captain, except he had been grumbling and fussing for some time,

whenever his time came to be detailed on a job, and just got so I could

not stand it any longer, and determined to put a stop to it." "Well,

you've no right to strike any of these men with your fist. If a man is

insubordinate, you have a right to shoot him, but not to strike him

with your fist." The sergeant laughed and replied: "But it was not bad

enough for that, and of course I was not going to shoot him, but I

don't think he will need any more." There was never anything more said

about it, and the soldier quit grumbling and did his part thereafter,

as well as anyone to the end of the war. Another case in point, just

after leaving Nashville, a non-commissioned officer had been affected

with boils, so that he could not ride horseback for a few days, and it

was against orders to ride in the wagons. His boots were split at the

counters, the soles were tied to the uppers by strings and he had no

socks. The turnpike gritty freezing slush worked into his feet until he

could hardly hobble, so he would watch his chance, when no officers eye

was on him, and crawl into a wagon and there stay until camp was

reached at night when he would crawl out. One night, when he crawled

out in a drizzling cold rain, and finding a fire in an old barn on the

opposite side of the road, with soldiers of another command, he

remained there in comparative comfort all night, and after daylight

turned up at the officers fire. Lieut. A. C. Hargrove said to him:

"Where were you last night, Sir, after we went into camp?" "I slept in

that barn across the road." "Well, we had to send a detail with horses

back to the pontoon train, and I wanted to send you in charge of it,

but no one could find you anywhere. You have been straggling ever since

we left Nashville, and not attending to your duties." "Lieutenant, I've

not been straggling, as you think I have. Look at my feet, I could not

walk and keep up. I had boils so that I could not ride my horse. The

only way I could keep up was to steal rides in a wagon during the day,

and that's what I have been doing." "Well, you have not been excused by

the surgeon." "No, Sir, I did not want to be sent away from the

command." When the Lieut. walked off, the Capt. said: "I'll tell you

what's the matter with you. You've got out of heart. You've lost all

hope of our winning this fight. It does look black. But the thing for

you and me and all the balance of us to do, is to just stand it out to

the end. It can't last much longer. That is true. But when it is done,

we all of us want to be conscious that we have done our duty from start

to finish." "Captain, I've always done all I was able to do, and expect

to, until the end comes." "That is true and, we'll hold out to the

end."

That was Lumsden's way of controlling his men. He made them feel as if

he knew that it was their determination to do their full duty, and the

whole tone of the battery was kept up to the standard by the idea. The

high standard of its personale was the result not of fear or

compulsion, but of individual personal patriotism.

On this retreat it was difficult to find food for the army, and first

one command, then another, ran mighty short. Passing through a

mountainous thinly settled country during Christmas week, our Captain

gave a few permits to different individuals to forage off the line of

march. One forager heard of some mills along a creek some miles off the

line of retreat, and struck out for them horseback. On his arrival at

the first, he found it crowded with infantry men, each guarding his

sack of wheat, and awaiting his turn to run it through the mill. The

miller was there, and was asked if he could sell a sack of wheat. He

replied: "these soldiers say they are bound to have all there is, and I

help them grind it, to save injury to my mill. The wheat belongs to the

neighborhood." "Where is there another mill?" "About three miles down

the creek." Off our forager rode. He saw that money nor begging would

prevail to get bread and determined on a bluff. The next mill had

soldiers claiming all the wheat, but some of it was in boxes or bins.

He called the miller out, and offered to pay for a couple of bushels.

"It is not mine, said the miller, it belongs to people around here, but

I had better take even Confederate money for it, than nothing at all,

and if you can get a couple of bushels, go ahead." So into the mill our

man went, with his sack, and walked up to a box holding perhaps ten

bushels, on which sat a soldier with his rifle leaning against the box,

with the request: "Let me get at the box, if you please." "You can't

get any of this meal, our men need it all", reaching for his gun. "I'll

show you about that, Sir, my men have had no bread for three days, and

some of this wheat, I'm going to have" and he began shoveling it into

his sack, regardless of protests, until sack was full; then he said,

"that is all I want," turned to the mill hopper dumped it in, as soon

as the same was about empty, putting his sack under the spout. When his

sack was full of whole wheat meal, he tied it, paid the miller and rode

off rejoicing. When he found the command that night, some hogs had been

brought and issued by the commissary, and the two bushels of wheat meal

was a Godsend. Our mess, after breakfast next morning, divided out to

each, eleven big army biscuits apiece, but before dinner time, one

gaunt member of the mess had finished up his lot and was on the lookout

for more.

Recrossing the Tennessee river on the ---- day of December near

Brainbridge, we camped a few days near Tuka, Mississippi, for rest and

a general cleaning up, but many soldiers had no clothing except the

ragged suits they had on, and cleaning involved the washing and drying

of a portion of their garments at a time.

A Confederate private at that time could be pictured in words about

thus: A pair of old shoes or boots, with soles gaping, and tied to the

uppers with strings, no socks, threadbare pants, patched at the knees,

burnt out at the bottom behind, half way to his knees, his back calves

black with smoke, from standing with his back to fires, his shirt

sticking out of holes in rear of his pants, a weather beaten jeans

jacket out at elbows and collar greasy, and an old slouch wool hat

hanging about his face, with a tuft of hair sticking out at the crown.

The officers, in many cases, did not show up much better. In either

case, the man, who had a negro body servant along, fared the best, and

was kept clothed the best.

The negro slaves usually had money in their pockets, when their masters

had none, that they made serving officers and men in many ways.

The writer's own servant, Jim Bobbett by name, had left his wife on my

father's plantation in Tuscaloosa County, Alabama, but had no children.

He was selected from several who desired the place, as being a handy

fellow all round. A pure negro, with flat nose, and merry disposition.

From mere love of myself and a determination to see that I should never

lack food or clothing, as long as he could obtain the wherewithal to

prevent it, he was faithful in that service, just as a Confederate

soldier was faithful in the service of the government he was fighting

for. He wore a broad flat waterproof belt next to his skin, and

scarcely ever had less than $100.00 therein, and often as high as

$1,000.00. He was a good barber and clothes cleaner, and a handy man in

many ways, and a few weeks stop of the army in camp soon replenished

his "bank" and out of it he generally procured what was needed for me

or himself or his friends, without any interference or direction from

me.

If he got more than he needed, he disposed of his surplus at a profit.

I suppose that if neither a slick tongue nor money would procure

necessities, he did not hesitate to "press" them. But his jolly

flattering tongue, with the women of his race, along our routes made

him their favorite, and when he bade them "goodbye" his "grub" bucket

would be filled with the best to be had. When he and his pals were

behind, when the wagon train came up, we did not kick, but would turn

in, perhaps supperless, to sleep, knowing that some time before day,

they would arrive with something to fill us up.

I suppose that some of his class did desert to the enemy, but the large

majority were true as steel to their masters and their duty, from the

beginning to the end, often at great personal risk and none attached to

our company ever deserted. They could have done so easily at any time,

and been free inside of the enemies' lines, but personal loyalty to

their masters and their own people, as they considered their master's

families held them cheerfully to their duty. There was no compulsion

about it. They struggled and foraged and speculated at their own sweet

will, yet all the time, looking out for their master's interests over

and above all else.

These facts are some of the strongest proofs, that between masters and

slaves of those old days, there were ties as strong as steel, in the

close personal relationship that neither forgot. It had its counterpart

in the love and service of the old "Mammy" to her master's family and

children. She loved them, and delighted to serve and care for them,

sometimes to the neglect of her own flesh and blood.

One morning in bivouac, near Tuka, at breakfast, around the officers

fire, there was served a fine skillet full of fried pigeons, with

gravey and biscuit, washed down with burnt corn coffee. Old "Ike," Lt.

Caldwell's darky had come in during the night from a forage, Lieut

Hargrove with the others of the mess, was enjoying the meal when all at

once, Hargrove says: "Ike, where did you get these pigeons?" "Oh! Marse

Cole, don't you bodded about dat. You eat your breakfast." "Ike, you

old rascal, I believe you stole these pigeons, and if I had anything

else to eat, I wouldn't eat them." "Dar now, Marse Cole, it's a blessed

thing, dat you'se got me and dese udder fellows to look atter dis mess,

kaze if it twant for us, you'd go hungry many a time, and dats a fac."

"Well," said another officer, "its a bully old breakfast any how, and

we don't know when we'll get such another." From Tuka, the command with

its wagons marched to Columbus, Mississippi, where it went into camp

near the outskirts of the town. Here, there came down from Corinth,

Aleck Dearing and John Bartee, who having been on sick furlough in

Tuscaloosa, had missed the Tennessee campaign, with them were some

others and also some conscripts among whom was Richard Maxwell, the

youngest of the old firm of T. J. R. & R. Maxwell, who had to at last

take the field, having served some time in Leach & Avery's hat factory

and thus exempt for that time from conscription. This squad of

returning men, had charge of boxes of clothing for most of the men in

the command and provisions furnished by friends and relatives in

Tuscaloosa, which they had gotton up to Corinth with it trying to reach

Hood's army, wherever it might be. At Corinth some quartermaster had

furnished them a wall tent with "fly" to protect the goods. When

ordered to move with the goods from Corinth, down to Columbus, by

train, they were ordered to return the tent and fly. But they were too

experienced old soldiers for that, so they hustled boxes, tent and all

to the train, and came on to Columbus, with the whole lay out. They

made a present of the fly to the officers of the company, and kept the

tent to protect the goods until distributed, and incidently themselves.

This tent and fly were the only ones left in the company now, as

nothing of the kind had been on hand for many a month.

During rains, a blanket stretched over a pole, three feet from the

ground, would somewhat shelter three men. When it was not raining,

shelter was unnecessary to the hard old veterans.

Once again and for the last time, Lumsden and most of his men got into

whole and comfortable clothing. Our new comrade, Richard Maxwell did

not hold out long. He had lately married a young wife, and nostalgia

got hold of him, he lost all appetite, and was attacked with dysentery,

so off he was sent to hospital in Columbus. There he did not improve,

and he persuaded the surgeon in charge to order him to report to

Tuscaloosa hospital. He soon found friends in Columbus to take him

home. The most of Hood's army, that still had arms, were now rushed

around by rail, via Meridian, Selma, Montgomery, West Point, Macon and

on to North Carolina to Gen. Jos. E. Johnston, once more to try to

prevent Sherman's march to the rear of Richmond. Our command having no

guns was ordered to report to Gen. Dabney H. Maury, at Mobile, the old

drivers now to act as cannoneers, making up sufficient to again man a

four or six gun battery in a fort.

At Mobile we were placed temporarily at Battery B., above Mobile in a

fort with big cast iron siege guns, commanding a portion of the march.

We were soon well drilled in the handling of siege artillery of this

class, and also had some practice with small Coehorn mortars, firing at

targets out in the marsh. Here, the boys went in for a good time

whenever they could get permits to visit down in the city. They would

test the restaurants to see what sort of meals Confederate money would

still bring in a big city on the sea coast. Fish and oysters were

plentiful, as well as eggs and vegetables. But for coffee we had to

take whatever substitute was available. Usually sweet potatoes, okra or

sage. For sweetening either long sweetening (molasses) or short

sweetening (a moist clammy dark brown sugar.) For cream, if wanted, a

beaten egg answered, but most of us preferred the "coffee" "barefooted

and baldheaded," i.e., without cream or sugar, or "straight." Some

little new corn whiskey, white as water, could be had also "sub rosa."

Occasionally, at a social call at some private residence, home-made

wine from grapes or blackberry might be set before the caller, but real

coffee or tea, or white sugar was hardly to be had, for love or money.

One night in company with a mess mate we got permission to go to the

city to call on friends. These friends were the family of a commission

merchant, who was a friend of our parents, and included an eldest

daughter who was quite a noted authoress, extremely well read and

learned, and two younger daughters. We found several high officers were

also callers, rigged out in their best uniforms, with their proper

insigma of rank in golden stars and lacing. We were in our new gray

jeans jackets and pants and linsey shirts, lately gotton from home at

Columbus. But that did not make any difference at all. We were

welcomed, introduced all around, entertained on an equality. In fact

one of the higher officers we found to be an old college mate. The

officers from Generals to Captains were of course older than we, who

were each only about twenty years of age, so that naturally they fell

to the older members of the family, while we were entertained by the

younger daughters, who were in their "teens." With back gammon checkers

and cards the evening passed pleasantly. When we boys, who had to foot

it two or three miles, made our adieux, the ladies accompanied us to

the door, asked us to call on them again and the authoress said, as we

were about to leave the door: "I hope you gentlemen will not form an

opinion about the meteorology of Mobile, by what you have seen since

your arrival." My friend said: "Yes, Madam," and we both bade them all

good night. As we walked up the street, my friend said: "Jim, what in

the mischief was that she said? Meteor-meteor, what? "Oh" I said: "She

meant she hoped we would not think they had this sort of weather here,

all the time." "Oh, shucks; I could not make it out."

A few days after, Gen. Maury held a review of his army on Government

Street. We were ordered in. We had in our company, several soldiers,

who had neither coat nor pants. They were down to shirts and drawers,

as nothing had come to them from Tuscaloosa, they being from another

section. Capt. Lumsden sent for them and told them he would not insist

on their going on parade, in that condition, but that if they would, he

did not doubt, that it would result in getting them some clothing. They

decided to go. So, when the parade was formed on Government Street, for

Gen. Maury's inspection, these men showed up in the front rank, and

caught the General's eye. He rode up to Lumsden and asked: "Captain,

what does that mean, those men in ranks, in that condition?" "They have

no clothing, Sir, but what they have on, and I have exhausted all means

to obtain it, by requisition after requisition." "Can't you think of

some way, Captain?" "If you will allow me to detail a man to go to

Tuscaloosa, I do not doubt we can get all the clothes needed, in some

way." "All right, Captain, make the detail, I will endorse it,

approved." "Thank you, Sir, we will attend to it at once."

On return to camp, Capt. Lumsden had orders written for the writer to

proceed to Tuscaloosa on this business and started the papers up to

headquarters in regular channel.

But about March 20th, we were sent over to Spanish Fort, on the Eastern

shore of Mobile river or rather Spanish river as the eastern channel is

called, by steamer. We were placed in charge of an angle, at about the

center of the fortified semi-circle that constituted the Fort, armed

with 4 six pounder field guns. They seemed like pop guns in comparison

with the 12 pounder Napoleons, that we had handled so long.

We planted our front pretty thoroughly with mines, consisting of large

shells buried with caps that would explode at the touch of a foot on a

trigger, and we awaited the approach of the Federal force that had been

landed below.

On March 26th, he arrived before us entrenched and we had several

lively artillery duels while he was so doing.

By April 4th, he had in position 38 siege guns, including six 20 lb.

rifles, 16 mortars and 37 field guns, when he opened fire at 5:00 a.m.,

and continued until 7:00 a.m., and so continued on April 5th, 6th and

7th. On April 8th, he had 53 siege guns in position, and 37 field guns.

Closer and closer, came the parallels, each morning finding the Federal

trenches closer than the day before, until any exposure of any part of

the body, of either Yank or Confederate, would draw several bullets,

men standing with rifles at shoulder beneath the head logs and finger

on trigger, ready to fire at the least motion shown on opposite

entrenchment.

We were furnished, each man with a rifle, as well as our artillery, and

our shoulders got sore with the continued kick of the firing. We were

moved once along the line nearer the river on the northern line of the

Fort.

Here, Lieut. A. C. Hargrove, received the bullet that remained

somewhere in his head during the balance of his life.

That afternoon the orders detailing the writer to go to Tuscaloosa came

back from headquarters, they were handed to him, and he was ordered to

start at once to get the boat that would leave that night. This ended

the writer's personal experience in Lumsden's battery. They evacuated

with the garrison of the night of April and were transported over to

Mobile, wading out into the Bay to meet the relieving boat.

This practically ended the service of the command, which was

transported by rail to Meridian and was part of the last organized

command surrendered by Gen. Dick Taylor with his Department on the 4th

day of May, 1865.

There they went into service near Mobile, and after four years of

active service in Alabama, Mississippi, Tennessee, Kentucky and

Georgia, they were disbanded near the scene of their first service.

LUMSDEN'S BATTERY, (LIGHT ARTILLERY)

C. S. A.