SOME PERSONALS AND PORTRAITURES.
When Van Dorn reached Ripley on his way south, Dr. Bob Mayes and I
concluded that we would take a short respite from camp life and make an
expedition of our own into Alabama. While maturing our plans we fully
realized that we had to take the chances of being reported absent
without leave. We reasoned that it was mid-winter and that neither army
would make an offensive move for some time. Then everybody was in good
humor because of our late success, and besides we knew that we were not
serving under martinets in the persons of our high officers--a rather
common conclusion in those days. So at the first favorable opportunity
we two moved by the left flank and took the road to Guntown. This was
the same road along which Sturgis advanced and retreated when Brice’s
Cross Roads became a famous place. We passed the cross roads and the now
noted Dr. Agnew and Brice residences around which the battle was to be
fought. We could not tell when we might come into contact with a Federal
scouting party from Corinth or a squad of bushwhackers. In such an
emergency, we were not to show our weakness to the enemy, but were to
bluff them, if we could, and take to the woods in good order. We had
seven shots apiece and plenty of ammunition. We questioned citizens in
regard to the roads and the prospects of trouble. When we struck the
wild country east of the Tombigbee, we were always on the alert and were
cautious how we let any man approach us. The further we went the wilder
the country appeared. Rough, rocky roads wound along the streams and
down through the valleys, which lay between the lofty hills. Excellent
places to be shot at.
Out through the village of Allsboro, we took the road to the old town of
Frankfort with lighter hearts. We spoke gratefully of the kindness of
the citizens along our route, who had treated us so hospitably, and
concluded that we were never in as much danger as we had thought we
were. We had not seen an armed man on the trip. At Tuscumbia, Mayes took
the road to Courtland, I the one to Florence. I found the bridge over
the Tennessee had been destroyed, and was compelled to take the risk of
crossing on a rather dilapidated oar boat. But I felt at home on the
dear old soil. Little Ernest, my first born, was soon to be in my arms
and loving hands, including the old servants, were to leave nothing
undone to make me feel happy. I was to stand again by the grave of a
bride-mother, the beloved of all Florence, and too those of her father
and two brothers over which the fresh earth still lay. My tired horse is
really climbing the old hill; I see the old Dr. Todd place up to my
left, the antiquated buildings of older Florence, the pillared seat of
justice, built in the long ago. Why, I am right up in town. I turn into
Military street. The old home is in sight. My heart! My heart! Bright
eyes! Bright eyes! The loved ones with the baby.
But I look around and find the place greatly changed. I see more women
than men. Two colleges closed and little or no business doing in the
stores. No courts in session. Many residences closed. Small groups of
anxious men stand on the corners, for Bragg is fighting at Murfreesboro
and many of the Florence soldiers are there. Just such meager reports
were coming in as would create the greatest suspense. The town had been
in the hands of the Federals much of the time since the battle of
Shiloh, and had been greatly harassed by raiders. Clothing and
provisions, even the necessities of life, were hard to get. So the
people talked mostly of the distress and gloom brought on by the war.
Men and women, heretofore prosperous and happy, were bowed down with
grief and, in many cases, in dire want. These good people were subject
to insult and liable to lose the last crust at the hands of a rude
soldiery. In fact, they did undergo, before the war was over, sufferings
more intense and cruelties more severe. The state of affairs described
bore hard upon all, but especially so upon the conservative element made
up largely of old gentlemen, patriotic and true, who believed that a
peaceable settlement could have been effected and war avoided. I was in
sympathy, from the first, with that element in politics, who, while
opposed to secession, yet when war was flagrant, gave up everything and,
in many cases, took up arms in behalf of the South. I mention as typical
of this class William B. Wood, Henry C. Jones and R. M. Patton.
Governor Patton, a gentleman of the old school, served his state well,
and had two sons killed in battle. Judge Billy Wood was Colonel of the
Sixteenth Alabama Infantry. I saw Stratton Jones, son of Judge Jones,
dead on the field at Pulaski. As typical of those who thought
differently on public questions, I mention the names of Richard W.
Walker, Edward A. O’Neal and William H. Price, true as steel and
patriots all. Walker was a famous lawyer and I heard it said then that
he had much to do with the formation of the Confederate Constitution.
O’Neal commanded a regiment in Lee’s army and after the war was
governor. Major Price was killed in the same charge at Perryville in
which his friend, Major Frank Gailor, the father of Bishop Gailor, fell.
I record these things in a reminiscent mood, it is true, but they serve
to illustrate what had taken place all over the South and, moreover, how
people of radically diverse opinions on paramount questions can stand
shoulder to shoulder when they come into the presence of a common
danger. When the majority of the Southern people had spoken, Florence
became a unit on the subject of resistance to Federal aggression. About
all of her eligible men had gone into the army, and at the time of which
I write she was mourning the death of many of her bravest and best. Lee
had retired from Maryland and news came that Bragg was falling back,
showing that Antietam and Murfreesboro were, at most, drawn battles.
Coupled with Bragg’s retreat from Kentucky after the battle of
Perryville they certainly emphasized the success of the Federals in
preventing a Confederate invasion of the North. “Hope springs eternal in
the human breast,” and there were some cheerful faces in Florence. Among
these was that of Colonel Tol Chisholm, the provost marshal, who
generously furnished me with a pass that was supposed to be good from
Florence to Grenada. I thought at the time that this was a wide
territory for the authority of a petty provost to cover, but it was good
at nearby points, and might be available, or at least better than
nothing, further down the country. So having secured a splendid new
mount, I turned my face toward Mississippi. There could be no concert of
action between my fellow soldier, Dr. Mayes, and myself as communication
was poor between Florence and Courtland. We were compelled to act
independently. So, armed with Tol Chisholm’s pass against the
Confederates and a good carbine and a navy six against any hostile
attack that might beset me on my way, I drew rein in three or four days
at Cotton Gin on the Tombigbee. I could now move at my leisure and as my
good steed stepped over the muddy roads as if he scorned them, I arrived
all right in Grenada.
My part of the personal expedition which Mayes and I projected had so
far turned out charmingly, but at Grenada everything was not exactly
lovely. In the disposition of the troops, the Seventh Tennessee Cavalry
had been ordered to take post north of the Yalobusha for rest and
recuperation. The late Senator George, commander of the post, had
orders to permit no one to pass north without permission from
headquarters of the general commanding the army. I approached Colonel
George with nothing to fortify me but a little assurance and Tol
Chisholm’s pass. He was a man of pleasing personality with whose
countenance I was somewhat familiar, as I had seen him at my father’s
house back in the 50’s. I didn’t, however, disclose my identity for the
purpose of working myself into his good graces, but on his refusal of a
permit concluded it best to retire as gracefully as possible, thankful
that he had not placed me under arrest. Across the river or to the guard
house, for I had to have subsistence for self and horse. I rode directly
to the river, where an officer was ferrying some men and horses in a
boat nearly as long as the river was wide. I didn’t even exhibit Tol
Chisholm’s pass, but in the confusion, incident to such occasions, I
rode boldly into the boat and was soon safe on the north side. I had
some occasion for reflection on my adventure and my interview with
Colonel George. Only a few years ago I had charge of the schools of
Grenada, and I never looked at the site of the old Brown Hotel that the
same old reflections did not recur. In a short time I had the pleasure
of congratulating Mayes on the pronounced success of his trip. As I
expect to write even more fully concerning my impressions of some of the
men with whom I served than heretofore, I may say something of Mayes
right here. Wherever the short sketches occur, they may be taken as only
partial portraitures of character, tinged in some instances, perhaps,
with my tributes of praise to men who would do their duty at all
hazards. Well then, Dr. R. M. Mayes was somewhat peculiar in his mental
makeup, but withal a well-bred gentleman, a good soldier and a friend to
rely on in an emergency. He abandoned the practice of dentistry for a
season, after the war, and concluded he could make money in the
cultivation of peanuts. One crop satisfied him. He married a young lady
of estimable character, whom I knew well and who, though reared a blue
stocking Presbyterian, by his own insistence followed him in his
peregrinations through theological troubles. I may well say this, for
Mayes was reared a Baptist but some time after the war was confirmed in
the Episcopal Church. He at last sought satisfaction in the Roman
Catholic Church. The couple reared a family, and I believe are still
living in San Antonio. The thought comes to me now, and I will record it
here, that I have learned about as much in my long life by reading
people as I have by reading books. In this regard, peculiar people have
cut no small figure. Indeed, I can say that, psychologically speaking,
the eccentricities of abnormal people afford a wider range of study than
do the mental activities of people who are always merely at themselves.
Though it may be true that “a fool is born every minute,” all peculiar
people are not fools.
We spent a few weeks at old Pharsalia, on the Yokona river, where we
constructed rude winter quarters, or “shanties,” for timber was
abundant. We had a great snowstorm, and had to keep fires glowing. We
had much pleasure here in receiving and entertaining for a part of a day
Mrs. R. P. Neely, of Bolivar, and her daughter, Miss Kate, the latter of
whom had been banished from her home by Gen. Brayman, the Federal
commander of the post. Mrs. Neely was a splendid type of the true
Southern woman, who, like all her children, stood always ready to make
sacrifices for the Southern soldiers. She was a woman of most charming
personality and gentle refinement, that could have filled almost any
station to which ladies are called. Mrs. Elizabeth Lea Neely lived to a
great age, and retained to the end the profound respect of all the good
people of Bolivar. As for Miss Kate--now Mrs. Collins, of Memphis--she
was, or rather is, a woman of the Grace Darling or Mollie Pitcher type,
who would go to the rescue of those in peril, or take her place at the
guns, if it were to repel the enemies of her country. May her days be
long and happy. Charles R. Neely, the elder brother, killed at Brice’s
Cross Roads, was already a valuable member of Company E, but here comes
young Jimmy, the present capable Superintendent of the Western Hospital,
who wanted to be a soldier. His mother protested that he was too young,
but as an irregular he did honorable service as the war progressed. We
changed our camp by taking post at Mitchell’s Cross Roads, near the
mouth of Coldwater, where forage was plentiful and the service light. We
had here a goodly number of recruits and returning soldiers from
Tennessee. Rations were plentiful, but poor, but “foraging” was good and
the citizens hospitable. It was a calm before a storm; indeed, it burst
upon us rather suddenly one day that the Federals at Memphis were
fitting out an expedition, which, taking advantage of the flooding stage
of the waters, would go through the Yazoo Pass into the Coldwater river,
thence into the Tallahatchie, and, finally, into the Yazoo river, and
thus take Vicksburg in the rear. The projectors of the expedition were
convinced of its feasibility, and the Confederates were proportionately
alarmed. Fort Pemberton was hastily constructed, near the junction of
the Tallahatchie and Yalobusha; heavy guns were mounted and a large
force concentrated at that point. The cavalry was ordered to camp in the
vicinity, and to scout and picket wherever a horse could go. Within a
few days the Federal fleet of gunboats and transports arrived and opened
fire on the fort. General Loring, “Old Blizzard,” was on the alert, and
the resistance so stubborn that the fleet withdrew and made its way, in
a much shattered condition, to Memphis. Glad enough to get out of the
black mud around Greenwood, the Seventh Regiment was ordered to the
hills. We camped about Grenada and Panola, and watched the roads leading
toward Memphis, for the Federals had resumed their old practice of
raiding and plundering. Brigadier-General James R. Chalmers, who had
made some reputation in Bragg’s army, was placed in command of all the
cavalry in North Mississippi. For a month or two we had no clash with
the enemy. As soon as the roads would permit, we went over to the
Mississippi river, the boys said, “_to fight gunboats_.” We struck the
river in the vicinity of Commerce. We soon saw the smoke of an ascending
steamer. Concealed along the shore, we waited with almost breathless
anxiety the approach of the steamer. All was in readiness. Our only
cannon--a four-pounder--was masked on top of the levee. “Bang!” went a
gun. There, now! One of the men in Company E had accidentally shot two
others, but the wounds were slight. The silence was more breathless. On
came the steamer. When she did get abreast of us, the rattle of small
arms was something to remember. The little cannon turned loose her first
shot, but the rebound carried her into the mud back of the levee, where
she sank up to the hubs. There was a wild scramble among the gunners and
others to place the piece in position. There were other shots and other
rebounds, but if those fellows did any harm, it was to the timber over
in Arkansas. I scarcely think, at this distant day, that they could have
“hit a hole in the air,” much less a barndoor at short range. Seeing
that the Alice Dean was unarmed, our men rushed down to the water’s
edge. A lively fusillade was kept up for some minutes, while Colonel
Stocks, in stentorian voice, demanded of the Captain that he bring the
boat to shore. This created some amusement, for it was like “whistling
to the wind,” as the boat hugged the Arkansas shore and puffed away up
stream.
It was now “the good old summer time,” and the Federals were on the
move. On the night of the 18th of July, we bivouacked near them at the
Dr. Atkins farm, just below Hernando. Their force consisted of
detachments amounting to 320 men, all cavalry, under Major Henry, of the
Fourth Ohio. Chalmers must have known that his own command was much
stronger than the enemy’s, but they evidently did not. We held the road
to Memphis, and it was reasonable to suppose that, when we attacked in
the early morning, the enemy would, if pressed, move along this road.
The Seventh Regiment was ordered to move through the front grounds of
the Slocum place and to get as nearly as possible in the enemy’s rear.
The plan of battle, as it was afterward developed, seemed to be that the
Seventh should so push the enemy back upon the other regiments, properly
placed, that a surrender of the enemy would be inevitable. As soon as we
caught sight of them, mounted and formed along a lane, the fences of
which they had torn down, our horses were put to their best, but, before
we fired a shot, the enemy broke to the rear. Part of them fell back on
our ambuscade, and were captured, but our charge had been so furious
that the greater part were driven so far beyond the line of the
regiments waiting to receive them that they escaped. The whole command
now joined in the pursuit at a gallop. Federals and Confederates were
commingled in one wild race, as we went over the fences and through the
fields and woods. In the Jack Robertson wheat field, there was a
resolute attempt of a Federal officer to rally his men. He did form a
perfect line of some twenty men in the face of the fierce onslaught, but
for a minute only. Here Adjutant Pope of the Seventh and Captain W. J.
Tate of Company E were wounded, and Private James Moore of Company E was
killed, the only man on our side to fall that day. It was a question of
speed, and those who had the fastest horses met with the most exciting
adventures. Lieutenant J. P. Statler of Company E, being thrown to the
ground, because of a broken saddle girth, was left afoot, while his fine
gray horse, Commodore, escaped with the fleeing enemy. There were
opportunities to secure a mount, as in the excitement of the chase many
of our adversaries had become separated from their horses. Following a
country road along which we knew, by their tracks, a Federal detachment
was escaping, Mat Hornsby and I came to a bridge over a small creek,
which had been broken down, and with a horse fastened in the wreck. As
this blocked our way, we turned down stream to find a crossing. We soon
made a rich haul, for we came upon six good horses, with all their
rigging, floundering about in water up to the saddle skirts. As there
was great danger of their being drowned, in the excitement of the
moment, I waded in to their rescue, and soon had one by the bridle. With
Hornsby’s assistance, I saved the six horses with their accoutrements.
As I was already well mounted, and, mindful of how things turned out at
Davis’ bridge, I suggested to Mat that he select the best horse in the
lot, turn his own “plug” in, and keep mum. He followed my suggestion
implicitly, and selected the big sorrel.
James Madison Hornsby was a tip-top, good fellow. I trust he is with the
angels, for he was a Confederate soldier, and, after the war, a Baptist
preacher.
But we were to have no peace just then, for the Federals were sending
out a force which could hold its own with Chalmers’ little army. We went
into the “bottom” again and out to the hills, by way of the mouth of
Coldwater. On this retreat, we were compelled to leave Adjutant W. S.
Pope and Captain W. J. Tate, severely wounded, at farmhouses, where they
were tenderly cared for. It happened that Pope’s mother and sister were
in the neighborhood, and hastened to his bedside. Within three or four
days we attacked the works at Collierville, but Chalmers, evidently
concluding that the capture of the position was not worth the sacrifice
that would have to be made, drew off in good order.
As a large and well-equipped force was reported to be moving from
Memphis and other points, for the purpose of making another raid, but on
a larger scale, Chalmers thought it prudent to fall back to the
Yalobusha. As I remember it, the Seventh Tennessee took the Valley road
at Panola, and, crossing the river at old Tuscahoma, turned east to
Grenada. Tarrying only long enough to have our horses shod, Lieutenant
Harris and I hastened to join the command. When we reached the crest of
that noted landmark, Pine Hill, just south of the town, we saw dense
volumes of smoke in the valley. A short distance down the slope, we came
upon a well-known citizen in that country, the late William B. Owens,
who appeared to be in a very excited state of mind. He stated that the
Federals already had possession of the town, and had deprived him of his
horse. I recognized in Mr. Owens an old acquaintance, but it was no time
to recall old friendship. But for him we should probably have ridden
right into the enemy’s lines. Harris and I made a quick movement through
the timber till we reached the Carrollton road. We soon drew up at the
house of a Mr. Patton, where we had an excellent supper and a good feed
for our horses. We here learned that the railroad bridges at Grenada
were burned, and that our whole command had gone east. It was thought
prudent for us to cross certain roads before daylight. I now felt sure
of myself, because in these same glades and hills of the Abituponbouge I
had, when boyhood’s days were glad, chased the bounding deer and lay in
wait for the festive wild turkey. It was in this section that I was
inured to toil on the farm, and acquired a skill in horsemanship that
afterward, and many a time, stood me in good stead in a close place. To
me, the abode of peace had become the seat of war.
Leaving Lieutenant Harris, now safe on the road to the command, I turned
aside to make a short call on the family of my only brother, the late
Dorsey G. Hubbard, a member of the Fifth Mississippi Cavalry. Just as I
reached the front gate, and was on the very spot where, in 1850, my
father’s wagons and other vehicles halted, after a six week’s journey
from North Carolina, I was accosted by some soldiers, who were seeking a
man who could guide Whitfield’s Texas Brigade (Ross’) to Lodi. Well,
yes; I could do that, and did so. While riding along in pleasant
conversation with the General and his staff, a gentleman, who was
somewhat disguised by his whiskers and soldier clothes, suddenly
discovered my identity. It was a pleasant meeting and a pleasant
greeting, for it was none other than that accomplished and genial
gentleman, Captain Davis R. Gurley of Waco, the Adjutant-General of the
Brigade, but a schoolmate of mine. Gurley was, at college, the roommate
of the gallant General Dan McCook, of the Federal Army, who was killed
at the head of his brigade at Kennesaw Mountain. Many years ago I had
the pleasure of meeting him in his own city.
The Federals, in the movement alluded to, having seemingly accomplished
all they had set out to do, returned to the line of the Memphis &
Charleston Railroad. The Confederates, under Chalmers, having now no
need of assistance from Whitfield’s Brigade, marched, by way of Grenada,
to Irby’s mill, just west of Como.
We were now in a choice portion of Mississippi, and had more holiday
soldiering and plenty of time to rest. We moved camp from place to
place, as our needs in supplies demanded. Indeed, we had little else to
do than to sit around and discuss such subjects as to when the war would
end, how it would end, and how we should be treated, if finally
defeated. On these subjects there were great variety and contrariety of
opinions. We had the physical facts before us, and it looks, at this
distant day, that there might have been but one opinion as to the final
result. In the Gettysburg campaign, Lee’s army had been defeated and so
greatly depleted that it was beyond the point of ever being made as
strong as it had been. The Federals had unlimited resources in men,
particularly in foreigners. These, though hirelings, knew how to throw
up breastworks, mine and countermine. In surrendering Vicksburg and Port
Hudson, the Confederates had weakened the armies in the West, and lost
control of the Mississippi river. They had gained a victory at
Chickamauga in September, which never could be called great because of
the great loss of men. In November, Bragg was driven back at all points
by Grant, at Missionary Ridge, and retreated, with an army greatly
depleted, to Dalton, Ga. These days were somewhat restful to our
particular command, yet they were gloomy days. We heard of a small
victory here and there for the Confederates, but all the late larger
affairs had resulted in favor of our enemies. Many believed that the
establishment of the independence of the Confederacy was improbable, if
not impossible. With the lights before them, men could not be censured
for having an honest opinion. We could only hope that something would
happen that would turn the tide in our favor. It took moral courage,
and plenty of it, for a man to make himself a target for bullets, when
he had no very reasonable hope that, even by his death, he would save
his country. While some abandoned the cause, it is to the everlasting
credit of the majority of the men of the Seventh Tennessee Cavalry that
they stood by those who had the direction of affairs, and, to that
extent, had our destiny in their hands.
No more fighting now for many weeks, during which time both men and
horses were put in fine condition. On October 8th, Company E was in a
sharp contest with Federal cavalry at Salem, east of Lamar, but without
decisive results. Chalmers then moved towards Collierville, at which
place he assailed the works with his whole force, but the Federals,
having the advantage of position in a fort and a barricaded railroad
station, succeeded in withstanding the attack. Both sides fought
desperately for a short time, and many were killed and wounded. It was
related as a veracious story that Col. George, of the Fifth Mississippi,
while leading his regiment in the charge, lost control of his horse, and
was carried over the works and landed among the enemy without a scratch.
Another incident of this battle was that General Sherman, having just
arrived from Memphis, hastily abandoned his car, and, with his staff,
rushed to a place of safety in the station, not being able to reach the
fort. A fine mare, on which Adjutant Pope was killed at Tishomingo, was
taken from the train, which was set on fire. It is safe to say that if
our men had known there was so rich a prize as Sherman and his staff so
near at hand, they would have taken that depot at all hazards. Chalmers
drew off in order, as in the first battle here, but the Federals felt
sufficiently encouraged to follow and fall upon our rear, at Quinn’s
mill, on Coldwater. This little battle was picturesque, as the river
separated the combatants, and it was dark enough to see the flashes of
the guns. Here Adjutant Pope was thrown from his fine captured mare,
which ran out some distance into the country, where she was taken up by
a citizen. She was brought in the next week by John Duncan of Company E,
who had been detailed for that purpose.
At an opportune moment, the Seventh Tennessee drew off from its fighting
position, and followed the command till a late hour, when it went into
bivouac at Ingram’s mill, on Pigeon Roost creek. Here we were attacked
at daylight by the Second Kansas Cavalry, (Jayhawkers), on foot. Company
E, under Lieutenant Statler, held them in check till we could retire in
good order. At Wall Hill their advance came into view, led by an officer
mounted on a very white horse. As we went out of the lane, which led
south from the village, and reached a skirt of timber on an elevation,
we exhausted all our strategy in our efforts to induce the officer on
the white horse to come within range. He capered around on his horse,
something after the manner of General M. Jeff Thompson, whom I have told
you about seeing in Missouri, when mounted on his little spotted
stallion, but never did take the bait which we set for him. Falling back
through Chulahoma, our whole force occupied a strong natural position at
the old town of Wyatt, on the Tallahatchie. Here a heavy force of
dismounted cavalry charged our position, but were driven back with great
loss. Being now evidently reinforced, they returned to the attack with
so much spirit, and the Confederates held their ground with so much
tenacity, that in places the contest became hand to hand. The battle
continued till after nightfall, when the Federals were driven back at
all points of the line, with heavy loss. The Confederates crossed to the
south side on a pontoon improvised for the occasion. In this whole
campaign, the Confederate loss was comparatively light, though it had
fought three battles in four days. Company E had lost only two men
wounded, who were able to ride off the field at Collierville. These were
S. H. Clinton and Cad Linthicum, two of our very best men. One of the
things to remember about Wyatt is that a heavy rainstorm prevailed while
the battle was raging. During the next few weeks we moved from place to
place, chiefly for the purpose of getting subsistence. We had plenty of
time to discuss the conduct of the war and the possibilities and
probabilities of the future. We had men in our regiment who could have
established two or three Confederacies. At least, that is the way they
talked. Company E, being temporarily detached, was posted at Coldwater
to watch the movements of the enemy in the direction of Memphis. All
this, and more, I shall tell you in the next chapter.