[Illustration: J. M. HUBBARD.]
Notes of a Private
By
JOHN MILTON HUBBARD
Company E, 7th Tennessee Regiment
Forrest’s Cavalry Corps, C. S. A.
Nihil scriptum miraculi causa--TACITUS.
Forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit--VIRGIL.
ST. LOUIS, MO.: NIXON-JONES PRINTING CO. 1911
Copyright 1909, By J. M. Hubbard.
_To those Southern soldiers who, regardless of their sentiments as
to the abstract right of secession, whether sleeping in known or
unknown graves, hobbling through life on crutches, or trying to
meet the demands of the best citizenship, went into the Confederate
Army, at the behest of an overwhelming majority of the Southern
people, and who remained in the field to the bitter end, this
little book is most respectfully inscribed by_
_THE AUTHOR._
Gainesville, Ala., May 11, 1865.
Private J. M. Hubbard of Company E, Seventh Regiment, Tennessee Cavalry,
C. S. A., residing in Hardeman County, Tennessee, having been, with the
approval of the proper authorities, paroled, is permitted to return to
his home, not to be disturbed by the United States authorities, so long
as he observes his parole and the laws in force where he may reside.
By order
E. R. S. CANBY,
Major-General, U. S. A.
E. S. DENNIS,
Brig.-Gen. Commanding for U. S.
I certify on honor that the within-named soldier is the rightful
owner of one horse.
HARDY HARRIS,
Lieutenant Commanding Co. E,
7th Tenn. Cavalry, C. S. A.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Dedication 3
Parole 4
Preface--First Edition 7
Preface--Souvenir Edition 8
CHAPTER I--Mustering in--“Good-Bye Sweethearts” 9
CHAPTER II--Service in Five States--The Armstrong Raid 21
CHAPTER III--Davis’ Bridge and Corinth 36
CHAPTER IV--Van Dorn at Holly Springs 46
CHAPTER V--Some Personals and Portraitures 63
CHAPTER VI--Organization of “Forrest’s Cavalry Corps”--The Sooy
Smith Raid--Fort Pillow 86
CHAPTER VII--Brices’ Cross Roads 103
CHAPTER VIII--Harrisburg 122
CHAPTER IX--The Memphis Raid 135
CHAPTER X--Incidents of the Middle Tennessee Raid 150
CHAPTER XI--Hood’s Expedition--The Wilson Raid to Selma 178
CHAPTER XII--Conclusion 194
APPENDIX.
Forrest’s Farewell Address 201
The Forrest Equestrian Statue 201
A Kindly Remembrance 206
PREFACE.
FIRST EDITION.
In writing this book the author has relied almost entirely on his own
memory for such reminiscences, sketches and portraitures of character as
are printed on its pages. He served the entire period of the Civil War
in Company E, Seventh Tennessee Cavalry, which regiment was commanded
successively by Colonels W. H. Jackson, J. G. Stocks and W. L.
Duckworth, assisted by Lieutenant-Colonel W. F. Taylor and Major C. C.
Clay. Few private soldiers saw more of the war, or had better
opportunities for observation. His company served in parts of five
States, and traveled thousands of miles under the orders of many
different generals. He believes that a careful perusal of these pages
will afford entertainment to people who admire Southern valor, and
amusement and instruction to girls and boys who will, perhaps, be
stimulated thereby to read more pretentious books concerning the
greatest war of modern times. This belief and a keen desire to preserve
in permanent form some sort of memento for his own and the descendants
of the members of the old company have chiefly prompted him in
undertaking a task which, while a work of love, has required much labor
to accomplish. He trusts that in the form and style of the book and in
the manner of presentation of the varied list of subjects, even the
partiality of friends will find little to excuse.
378 South Lauderdale Street,
June 1, 1909. Memphis, Tenn.
PREFACE.
SOUVENIR EDITION.
On the first day of June, 1909, the first copies of this book were
placed upon the market, and within the first thirty days my personal
sales paid the entire cost of the edition, which was exhausted within a
few months. Its success may be said to have been immediate, and for this
I am greatly indebted to those who bought the book, read it, and gave me
personally many a kindly expression of the pleasure they had derived
from its perusal. Many of the expressions came from capable men and
women, here and elsewhere, whose favorable opinion of a literary
production I would always be willing to take as a flattering compliment
to an author. In truth, the assurances that I have contributed to the
pleasure of so many good people have been far more gratifying to me than
the ready sales of the book.
The comments of scholarly friends, too partial perhaps, which I cover
with the words that _the book is as meritorious as a literary
performance as it is interesting as an authentic history_ will abide
with me.
But why call this a “Souvenir Edition”? Candidly, a mere conceit, an
ephemeral fancy, or the want of a better name. And yet, I shall continue
to hope that all my readers, when looking upon these pages, will have at
least one happy remembrance of him who has here attempted to instruct
and please them.
J. M. H.,
May 30th, 1911. Memphis, Tenn.
CHAPTER I.
MUSTERING IN--“GOOD-BYE, SWEETHEARTS.”
I am to write here of men with whom I was associated in a great war, and
of things in which I was a participant. To do even and exact justice
shall be my aim, and there shall be no motive other than to give
truthful accounts of men and events as they came under my personal
observation.
When we mounted our horses at the Bills Corner, in Bolivar, Tennessee,
and started for the war, there were one hundred and one of us. This
company was composed largely of a jolly, rollicking set of young men
from the farms of Hardeman County, who knew little of restraint and less
of discipline. Like any other hundred and one men, promiscuously
enlisted, some of these in time became fine soldiers, others fairly so,
while still others dropped out of the ranks and abandoned the cause. One
hundred and eighty-nine names were finally carried on the rolls, but
from these a large company could have been taken which added nothing to
the renown acquired by our regiment before the close of the war.
Considering the fierce political contest through which the country had
just passed and the thorough discussion of the questions at issue, the
rapid enlistment of volunteers was surprising. It was evident that the
election of a President by a party entirely sectional, and the open
threats of a radical press in regard to slavery, had aroused an
exuberance of Southern sentiment which the conservative element could
not withstand. There was a strong feeling for preserving the Union in
our community, but on that bright morning in May, 1861, the sentiment
for war seemed to be in the ascendant. There were the usual extravagant
talk and nonsense, but all were patriotic and meant well. I was of the
conservatives who had voted steadily against secession and was prepared
to maintain my mental equilibrium in almost any kind of political
revulsion. Some of the more enthusiastic women threatened to put
petticoats on the young fellows who did not enter the ranks promptly.
These same women worked till their fingers were sore in getting the
soldiers ready for service. We knew nothing about war and had a problem
in deciding just what to carry along. No page in the old school
histories had told us how little a soldier must get along on, and there
was no experienced campaigner present to tell us. Some of us thought
that a white shirt or two would be essential. Razors, combs, brushes
and hand glasses were in our outfits. It bothered us to reduce these
things to a small package that we could handle easily. We had many
details to settle. Saddle-bags? They had all been appropriated by the
“early birds”--the fellows who were afraid the war would be over before
they could get to it. We resorted to the use of the old-fashioned
wallet, an article fashioned after the similitude of a pillow-slip,
closed at both ends and with a slit in the middle. Made of stout
osnaburgs, it proved to be a sufficient receptacle. But the “wallet” was
not tidy enough for the “trim soldier,” and in case of rain the contents
were drenched. All this was remedied afterward by experience in packing,
necessity for economy, and by spoils captured on the field. We, too, got
to using McClellan saddles with large pockets, rubber cloths and
regulation blankets. Indeed, later on, if Grant had met one of us, he
would have pronounced us “correct” from halter to spur, if only he could
have been blinded to the suit of gray or butternut. There came a time
when we had new Yankee guns and were constantly on the lookout for
cartridges of the right caliber. You see, we “paid some attention to
details,” if we did sometimes leave in a hurry.
But we are off for Jackson to be mustered in. At Medon the good people
who had that day given a farewell dinner to their home company had a
bountiful spread for us. As Company E of the Seventh Cavalry we advanced
in line of battle over this very spot at the old brick church on the
“Armstrong raid,” and here we had the first real taste of heavy firing.
Our gallant young Captain Tate here used his favorite word, “Steady,”
which we had heard so often on drill, and reproached us for trying to
dodge the balls.
Our mustering officer was A. W. Campbell, who rose to the rank of
Brigadier-General, and it was another coincidence that Company E was in
his brigade at the surrender. Like Chalmers, he carried his good
breeding into camp, and even in the woods there was an air of refinement
in all his ways. We had six weeks of hot weather and strenuous drill on
the Jackson Fair Grounds. Plentiful rations and boxes from home, but in
these fifty years I haven’t forgotten the Jackson flies. I remember that
a Bolivar girl said they were “the laziest flies she had ever seen.”
This depended upon the point of view. They came on with a rush, but were
a little slow in getting out of the way.
Orders came to march to Randolph by way of Bolivar. We were all happy in
the prospect of spending a few days at home. We were now soldiers sure
enough--in the estimation of our friends. Hadn’t we been in camp six
long, hot weeks? Pleasures incident to such occasions are sufficiently
sweet to last a long time. Alas! they never do.
“Boots and saddles” for Randolph. At the “old factory” on Clear Creek
the people of the Whiteville country prepared a dinner for us that was
simply above criticism, except to say that it was perfect in every
particular. We had our first bivouac at Stanton. Moving under a July sun
and along miles and miles of dusty road, we reached the vicinity of
Randolph tired and hungry. We reverted to the “flesh pots” and dreamed
of Medon and Whiteville, and other good things that we had seen. The
hills and valleys were covered with the tents of the Provisional Army of
Tennessee, under General John L. T. Sneed. We certainly got the
impression here that the war was a fixed fact. Preparations went forward
day and night. It was time for serious reflection. Some of us, though
young men, had been thinking over the grave questions for some time,
particularly during the exciting political canvass of the previous year.
Many who admitted the abstract right of secession but had voted against
it as wrong under the circumstances, if not impracticable, were yet
hoping that a wicked war would somehow be averted. All the elements of
opposition to the Republicans had a popular majority in the election of
1860 of over one million votes, and a majority of eight in the Senate
and twenty-one in the House. They could have contested Republican
measures or even blocked legislation for two more years. Lincoln had
always protested against the policy of interfering with slavery in the
States. Was there not here food for reflection on the part of the
thoughtful soldier, who was about to stake everything, even life itself,
upon the result of a war in which he knew the chances of success were
against him? He could reason that wise and patriotic statesmanship could
change the whole policy of government in less than two years.
But here comes the battle of Bull Run, in which the Federal Army was
scattered to the four winds. Oh, yes, we just knew now that we could
whip three or four to one! How easy it was to conclude that the very
best thing to do was to present a united front and, if not our
independence, we could at least get liberal concessions in regard to
slavery in the territories. But this is merely a reminiscence, and I am
not an Herodotus.
We called the place, assigned us near Randolph, Camp Yellow Jacket.
There was good reason for this, for thousands of yellow jackets were in
the ground on which we proposed to make our beds and stake our horses.
In a day or two we cleared the camp of these pests so that it was
habitable. Two cavalry companies from Memphis were in camp near
us--Logwood’s and White’s. In riding near these one day I met a soldier
speeding a magnificent black horse along a country road as if for
exercise, and the pleasure of being astride of so fine an animal. On
closer inspection I saw it was Bedford Forrest, only a private like
myself, whom I had known ten years before down in Mississippi. I had
occasion afterward to see a good deal of him.
We were to be a part of Pillow’s Army of Occupation, and to that end, we
went aboard the steamer Ohio with orders to debark at New Madrid, Mo.
Soon there came a great victory to McCulloch and Price at Oak Hill, and
some folks said that we would march straight to St. Louis. We reported
to General M. Jeff Thompson of the Missouri State troops, forty miles in
the interior. Though Missouri was a Southern State, we soon began to
feel that we were bordering on the enemy’s country. We had hurriedly
gone forward without our wagon train and were somewhat dependent upon
the Missourians for rations. When our Captain spoke to the General in
regard to our needs, he blurted out these words: “By God, Captain Neely,
my men can soon furnish your men with as much beef as they want and a
pile of bread as high as a tree.” _We got the rations._ Thompson’s men
were armed mostly with shotguns and old-fashioned squirrel rifles.
Trained to the use of firearms and largely destitute of fear, they were
dangerous antagonists. The General, as I remember him, was a wiry little
fellow, active as the traditional cat and a fine horseman. He was
mounted on a milk-white stallion with black spots. He dashed around
among his men like a boy on his first pony, and was invariably followed
by his big Indian orderly, dressed largely in the garb of his tribe.
These men told us much about their little combats with the “home
guards,” and made us feel that we were getting still nearer to real war.
False alarms were frequent and afforded us plenty of material to excite
our risibles when the imaginary danger had passed. Still further out we
encamped on the farm of General Watkins, who was a half brother of Henry
Clay. Rations were not at hand in abundance for a day or two, but the
owner of the farm donated to us a twenty-acre field in the roasting ear.
Some of the boys said that Alf. Coleman ate thirty ears a day while it
lasted--the same he took out for his horse. Green corn, roasted in the
shuck, or baked before a hot fire, is very palatable. I had learned this
“down on the old plantation” in the Pee Dee country. We really enjoyed
camp life here, as it was not so full of dull routine. A lively little
scout or an amusing picket incident made our daily duties a little more
spicy than usual, while scarcely a man escaped being the butt of a
ridiculous joke or a little “white lie.” A funny little story got into
camp which concerned a young man of the company, who had been enjoying a
short furlough at home. The ladies there, ever mindful of the welfare of
the soldiers, had made up a lot of small red flannel aprons, which were
said to be good for warding off disease, if worn next to the person. The
young fellow had been presented with one and instructed as to its
benefit, but not as to the manner of wearing it. He wore it on the
outside and strutted about the town to the great amusement of many good
people.
It was on this expedition that the now famous story was started on R. U.
Brown. It was told by the reserve picket that Private Brown, while on
post at midnight in the great swamp near Sikeston, called Nigger Head,
imagined that a big old owl in the distance was saying “Who, who, who
are you?” Taking it for a human voice, Brown tremblingly replied “R. U.
Brown, sir, a friend of yours.” Dick never heard the last of this story
while the war lasted, and at the Reunion in Memphis many a one of the
“old boys” greeted him with the same old words that rang in his ears
just forty years before. He and Coleman, afterwards sutler of the
regiment, I am happy to know, are still alive in Texas. Like others, who
sickened and died or met death on the firing line, they were gloriously
good fellows to have in camp.
It was during our stay in Missouri that we made an expedition to
Charleston, situated in that vast flat prairie just west of the mouth of
the Ohio, which we always reverted to with the keenest pleasure. The
Federal Cavalry from Bird’s Point had been making almost daily visits to
the town, which was strongly Southern in sentiment. This was thought to
be a fine opportunity to show them “a taste of our quality,” or perhaps
to capture the visiting detachment. But all was quiet in the village, as
the enemy had made their visit and departed. Night was at hand and we
were dirty, tired and hungry. It seemed to me that the whole population
went to cooking for and feeding the soldiers. This was another one of
those “big eating times” that we never did forget. When we were ready
to depart, even the pretty maidens would say to us, “Which will you have
in your canteen, whisky, water or milk?” It was thought best not to take
any risk as to snake bites in the great swamp, which we had to recross,
and I think the command took whisky to a man. The inhabitants must have
enjoyed a freedom from intoxicants for a season, for their town “had
gone dry” by an immense majority. We learned afterwards that there was a
“whisky famine.” We never saw Charleston again, as we very soon received
orders to advance into Kentucky and take post at Columbus. We were among
the first troops to reach that point. The Kentuckians seemed to be
pleased with our coming and recruiting went forward encouragingly. We
pitched our tents out on the Clinton road and near the camp of the
Haywood Rangers, commanded by Captain Haywood of Brownsville. This
company, whose members seemed to have been reared in the saddle, had
been with us from the beginning of our service, and, I may say here,
that it stood by us till the end. The history of Company E is largely
the history of Company D. The men of the two companies were
brothers-in-arms, who could confidently rely upon the valor of each
other, and those now living are loving friends to this day. Through the
long hard winter, or till the evacuation of Columbus, the two companies
guarded the Clinton and Milburn roads. For a while we reported directly
to Albert Sydney Johnston. His noble personality and soldierly bearing
were impressive and stamped him as a man born to command.