Our brigade, or the remnant of it, reached our quarters some time after
sunrise, and then it was that we commenced to realize the loss that we
had sustained during the night in the Wahatchie Valley. We had lost in
killed, wounded and missing over one-half of our number, and when we got
back to quarters we looked "mighty scarce" and few. I don't recollect
who among the officers of our regiment were killed besides Col.
Kilpatrick, but it seemed as if all the regiment were _gone_. Only a few
left to tell the tale.
One of my nephews, G. D. Mixson, was missing. We did not know whether
killed, wounded or captured, and many other poor fellows left behind.
Col. Bratton, having no one left on his staff, sent for Jim Diamond, of
Company E, and took him on as orderly for several days. Capt. Grimes, of
Company G, Bamberg, being the senior officer, took command of the
regiment, which left Lieut. Sweat in command of Company G. We did
nothing after this escapade for some time but rest up and recruit. The
winter was coming on now in earnest and cold weather and rains were upon
us. One cold night I was short of cover, and I had to have some more
somehow, so I went out during the dark hours. It was not long before I
ran upon a nest of four old "Rebs" sleeping soundly, warm and snug. I
cautiously crept up and found that the top blanket was a heavy army
blanket, large and thick; I determined to have that blanket. So, waiting
a little time, quietly took the corners of the blanket at the feet, made
a good strong pull, and darted into the dark, off and away, before they
could realize their loss. _And the blanket was mine._ Many a night after
that did that same blanket keep me warm.
Another of my nephews, B. F. Nelson, was lost to us here. He was taken
sick and sent off to Newnan, Ga., to the hospital, where he died.
One night after dark our regiment was ordered to fall in, and we were
carried across Peavine Creek to feel the enemy. We had to cross this
creek on a fallen tree which reached from bank to bank. The banks being
some eight feet above the water, and the water being deep, we literally
"cooned" it over. We did not go far before we ran on the Yanks and met a
warm reception. We certainly _felt them_. We remained "feeling" them for
over an hour and then retired, recrossing the creek at the same place in
the same manner we had crossed. In this fight we had several killed and
quite a number wounded. Among the killed was Lieut. Sweat, commanding
Company G, of Bamberg, a good man and a brave officer. How they ever got
him back across that creek I have never known, but he was brought back.
This was the last of any happenings with and around Chattanooga. It was
not long after this before we got orders to move, and we felt that we
were to make our way back to Virginia. It seemed to us that we were
going back home and it brought a good feeling over every man in the
corps. The evening before we broke camp the band played "Take Me Back to
Old Virginia," and Longstreet's Corps bade farewell to Bragg's Army and
the West in prolonged cheers.
On leaving our camps next morning we marched a distance of eight miles
to Tyner's Station, where we were loaded in freight boxes. Upon reaching
the Valley of the Sweetwater we stopped about a week and got a plenty to
eat, when we crossed the Tennessee River at Loudon. The weather had
gotten cold, and we had a time crossing this river. This was done on a
bridge made as follows:
We had a lot of boats made and these boats were secured to a chain
stretched across the river and planks laid from boat to boat. It was not
a very safe passage way, but we passed over without any mishaps. Capt.
Foster, of the Palmetto Sharpshooters, was in command of the detail to
put in this bridge. It was so cold that the ice would cover the chain
from end to end and the men suffered much from cold while at this work.
Capt. Foster was from Union, S. C., and is still alive and quite
wealthy, and is one of the best business men today in Union. For the
next few days we had running fights with the enemy, _they doing the
running_. Just before reaching Campbell Station we captured a train of
eighty wagons well loaded with supplies, which they had left in their
hurry. This came in mighty well, but there was not any clothing or
shoes, the things we most needed just then, for we were both naked and
barefooted. We expected a big fight around Campbell Station, but somehow
they got away after some heavy skirmishing. While following the enemy
very closely and keeping them in the continued "go-along" here we caught
them one morning while they were cooking breakfast and rushed into them.
They took to their heels and we got the breakfast. As we dashed into
them I ran upon a fine mare tied to an oak limb with a halter. I
captured her, and, taking her by the halter, continued the charge, she
trotting along making the charge with me.
In a very short while Dr. J. S. Stoney, of Allendale, our assistant
surgeon, dashed up to me and asked me for the mare. I had no use for her
and made him a present of her, and he sent her home by Tom, his negro
boy. She is the mother and grandmother of the famous four-mile racers
which had such a reputation for speed and distance, owned by Dr. Stoney.
Our next place to hold up was around Knoxville, where we had some hard
service and hard fighting. We invested Knoxville on all sides and had
two days' fighting, driving the enemy back into their entrenchments, and
on the morning of the third day we made the attack on Fort Sanders. The
attack was made about sunrise, one of the coldest mornings I think I
ever felt. We were in tatters, so far as clothing went, and a great many
barefooted, but with the accustomed endurance of the men who had
suffered from the same cause on previous occasions, we did not falter.
In making the charge on Fort Sanders we went through frozen bogs and
over felled trees, trimmed up with the limbs sharpened and pointing
towards us. Picking our way the best we could through this barricade, we
slowly and gradually drew closer to the fort, but we struck an obstacle
which we found hard to overcome. Among these felled trees there were
barbed wires interlined about six inches apart, and some five feet high.
Having nothing to cut the wires and no way to get through we were
ordered to give up the attempt. Our loss was considerable, but not so
great as might be supposed, taking into consideration the very slow
advance we had made. We retired in good order, not beaten, but just
failed, because there was no earthly way to do more. We were then taken
hurriedly to Rodgersville, a distance of some fifty miles, where we
expected to go into winter quarters, but remained here only a few days.
While here Capt. Jim Hagood, of Company K, was made colonel; Capt. B. B.
Kirkland, Company C, of Buford's Bridge, lieutenant-colonel, and Capt.
Grimes, of Company G, of Bamberg, major. You see from this that Jim
Hagood, who had joined Capt. Kirkland's Company, had risen from
private--over his captain and the other senior officers of the regiment.
Col. Hagood was only nineteen years old when he was appointed colonel.
After being at Rodgersville only a few days we were carried on a forced
march to McBean Station, where the enemy had nearly succeeded in
getting in our rear. We again put them on the run and the army then
headed for Morristown, where they went into winter quarters. Our
brigade, however, was sent out at Rodgersville on a foraging expedition
to report to the army at Morristown. We were on this expedition for
nearly two weeks, having all the wagons of Longstreet's Corps to fill
up. We had quite a good time while on this detached service, so far as
eating was concerned. While the officers were doing their work in a big
way, we fellows were doing ours in a much smaller way; and many a
chicken, turkey, goose, pig, went into our private haversacks.
Jim Diamond, of Barnwell, was at that time a wagon driver. One night he
told me to come with him next morning, that we could take a mule apiece
and put in a good day; that he had seen some nice geese about four miles
off and we would try for them. I went next morning and we jumped on a
mule apiece, I bareback. Jim headed the way to where he knew the geese
were. He was prepared himself, and before reaching the place he
instructed me to follow and ask no questions. On riding up to the farm
house, the old lady of the house came out to talk to us. We tried to get
something to eat from her, but she wanted _money_. This country was
nearly all Unionist and bushwhackers. Having no money, we failed to
outtalk her, and, as the geese were out on the front, we decided to
start. Jim had a fishing line, and as we rode by the geese he baited his
hook with a grain of corn and threw it down near an old gander, who
immediately gobbled it up. Jim tightened on his line and found he had
him hooked. We started off then in a slow trot, and as Jim commenced to
pull the gander commenced to pull too. Jim held his hold and the old
fellow came flopping behind with his wings outstretched, looking as if
he was showing fight. The balance of the drove fell in behind the old
gander, and away we went. The old woman looked on in utter amazement and
cried out to us, "Don't run; he can't hurt you," but running right then
was our idea, and, after getting them all down the road in a kind of a
bottom, I held the line and Jim jumped down and with a stick killed six
of as fine, fat geese as were ever raised. After visiting a place or two
where we _did_ manage to get some meal and flour and salt, talking the
people out of it, we concluded to get back--had enough for one day. We
were right good with our supply, giving the men in the company four of
the geese. The other two we cooked and invited Col. Hagood, Col.
Kirkland, Dr. Bellinger and Capt. Wood to take supper with us. We had a
big supper about 1 o'clock at night, but the lateness of the hour did
not interfere with any one's appetite.
As soon as we got our wagon train all loaded we headed out for
Morristown to take things into the then hungry army, and right glad were
they to see us and our train all laden down. This was just before
Christmas, and we had enough to put us up a good Christmas dinner, after
adding to it in private foraging parties. On Christmas Eve a couple of
our company went out and on returning some time during the night they
brought in a bee hive wrapped up in a blanket. Next morning they knocked
off the head and took out the honey. At that time the bees were cold and
not much trouble, but towards the middle of the day, the sun shining
brightly, they warmed up, and there was a mess. The bees took the camp
and many a fellow got a good stinging.
It was announced here at our winter quarters that all those who had not
been home should have a chance for a furlough--so many men to one
furlough. Our regiment was entitled to only one, and there were but
three who had not been home; there were myself, who had no family at
home; Hughes, from Bamberg, who had a wife and children whom he had not
seen since he left them in May, 1861, and one other in the same fix as
Hughes. I never saw people so excited over the drawing as the other two.
As for myself, I did not care much. Hughes was the most anxious man I
ever saw. The papers were put in a hat, one marked "furlough," the other
two blank. Hughes drew first--got a blank. The other fellow drew; he,
too, got a blank, leaving the paper marked "furlough" in the hat for me.
These two good old soldiers actually cried. They could fight, march
naked and barefoot, do without something to eat--all without a murmur.
But being so near to getting a furlough and then to miss, it was too
much. _I could not stand it._ So I told them to put two papers in the
hat, one blank and one "furlough;" I would give my privilege away. This
was done and these two prepared to draw. By this time everybody was
excited over the event and a big crowd had gathered to see the result.
As Hughes had drawn first before, it was decided that the other fellow
should do so this time. He put his hand forward to go into the hat. His
hand was shaking and he was excited to death. Hughes, poor fellow, stood
looking on. He was a pitiful sight. He could hardly stand up--his legs
were shaking. Despair was depicted on his face. The hand already forward
went down into the hat and slowly out it came. I believe both men had
their eyes shut. Some one read, "furlough." _Hughes had again lost._ It
was pitiful to see him, but the other fellow was happy. It was strange
that Hughes never did get home till after the surrender.