INCIDENTS OF THE MIDDLE TENNESSEE RAID.
An entire reorganization of Forrest’s Cavalry Corps was effected just
after the Memphis raid, by which a new brigade, composed exclusively of
Tennesseeans, was formed for Colonel Rucker, who was absent on account
of a wound received at Harrisburg. The regiments in this were the
Seventh, Twelfth, Fourteenth, Fifteenth and Forrest’s old regiment,
commanded respectively by Duckworth, Green, Neely, Stewart and Kelly.
The other brigade of Chalmers’ division was that of McCulloch, composed
of men from Missouri, Texas and Mississippi. Rumors were rife, as usual,
that we were on the eve of some important move, but those only in whose
hands the duty of projecting campaigns had been placed knew what that
move would be. Uncertainty brought no suspense to the minds of the men,
as we had become accustomed to go with alacrity to the discharge of any
duty assigned. To one who has studied closely the military situation at
the time, it is plain that the affairs of the Confederacy had reached
the desperate stage, though Forrest had subverted the plans of the
Federals on the Memphis lines. The humblest of us could reflect that the
territory to which we had been assigned was only a small part of the
country, and that our movements on the military chessboard were scarcely
noticed, except when Forrest had gained another brilliant victory. Think
of it. The Confederacy had been cut in twain for more than a year by the
opening of the Mississippi river; Sherman had driven Joe Johnston from
Dalton to Atlanta, and a hundred days of fighting had not barred the way
of the Federals toward the sea. The first trial of arms between Lee and
Grant had been made at the Wilderness, and Lee had failed, even by grand
tactics, to permanently stay the flank movement of the overwhelming
legions of Grant at Spottsylvania, who was now moving steadily on the
bloody road to Richmond. In the light which a knowledge of these
conditions afforded, our immediate part of the war appeared
comparatively insignificant. The reader well might ask how Forrest, or
any other commander, could, under given conditions, keep up the fighting
spirits of his men. We well know that he did this as long as he had
occasion to lead his men in battle, but how he did it, or whence this
power, I leave to the consideration of those philosophers who revel in
the discussion of abstract questions of metaphysics. And I give them a
thousand years to settle it.
During the first days of September we were taking a long ride over to
the Mobile & Ohio Railroad. _Cui bono?_ We reasoned, of course, that as
we had gotten rid of our immediate enemies, who had so long been
troubling us, we should probably be sent to other fields of action. It
finally came to light that affairs at Mobile were thought to be in such
critical condition that Chalmers’ division must be sent to that city at
once. McCulloch’s brigade was actually sent forward, while Rucker’s was
at West Point, ready to take the cars. Before this information reached
the men, the order was countermanded. So we did not go to Mobile, but
our enterprising General was not idle. It was soon openly talked that he
was projecting a raid into Middle Tennessee, where he proposed to so
damage the railroad between Nashville and Stephenson as to cut off
Sherman’s army at Atlanta from its base of supplies, Rucker had not yet
assumed command of his new brigade, but it was thought he would do so
before we started on the projected expedition. The four Colonels of the
brigade and the officer temporarily in command of Forrest’s old
regiment, evidently considering it a reflection on them for an outsider,
and only a Colonel, to take precedence over them, flatly refused to
consent to the new arrangement. There was a great stir in camp at
Sook-a-toncha bridge, near West Point. For a whole day nothing else was
discussed and little else thought of. As might be supposed, there were
two factions in the contest as to who should command the brigade. The
humblest private was in evidence, and had something to say in the
spirited, though friendly, discussion. General Chalmers, with his staff,
rode out to the camp and made an earnest address to officers and
soldiers as to the necessity of obeying orders and disregarding personal
ambition. The character and efficiency of the officers involved were
favorably alluded to, but not an offensive word spoken. While speaking
in rather a persuasive tone, he did not hesitate to make an earnest and
honest declaration of his sentiments. The address made a good
impression, and, so far as I could see, the excitement was much less
intense the following day, and, by the time the movement began, the rank
and file looked upon the whole thing as a closed incident. The officers
refusing to recognize the assignment of Rucker were placed in arrest
upon the charge of insubordination, and sent to a distant post to await
orders. I never heard of any action being taken by a court-martial in
these cases, but I do know that they saw little more of the war, as
they returned to the command only a few days before the surrender. The
whole affair was unpleasant to me because of my friendly attitude toward
two of them--Colonel Duckworth, formerly a Lieutenant in the Haywood
Rangers (Company D), and Colonel Neely, the first Captain of Company E.
I knew the others by their reputations as true men and efficient
commanders. The whole trouble might have been avoided, or at least
deferred, for as it turned out, Colonel Rucker, still suffering with his
wound, did not go on the raid at all, and Lieutenant-Colonel Kelly, the
senior officer present, took charge of the brigade. It could not have
fallen into better hands. No aspersion was cast on the character of
Rucker as a man, or adverse criticism made of his capability as a
commander. A man of great physical force and a fine horseman, he
impressed men with his prowess in battle. Recklessly brave, he did not
mind riding down an enemy, or engaging him in single combat. He helped
to make the reputation of his old brigade as a body of fast and furious
fighters.
With Lieutenant-Colonel W. F. Taylor in command, the Seventh Tennessee
moved up to Verona, and then to Tupelo. Here final preparations were
made. And here General Forrest, from a platform made for the purpose,
delivered a lively address to our brigade, a part of which was a
scathing criticism of the action of the officers whom he had recently
placed in arrest. He was full of his subject, and had language at hand
to express his thoughts.
September 16th, 1864. On this day 3,542 men reported for duty, to which
number Roddys’ division was to be added, making in all a force of about
4,500 cavalry, artillery and dismounted men. The cavalry was to traverse
the hypotenuse of a right triangle, reaching from Tupelo, Miss., to
Cherokee, Ala., while General Forrest, his escort, dismounted men and
everything on wheels, were to traverse the other two sides by way of
Corinth and over railroads, which had been recently repaired. I never
saw men in better spirits as the several commands took their places in
line. I had good reason to feel glad in anticipation, as will be shown
further along. When the Fourteenth Regiment, passing the Seventh in
line, was moving to its place in column, Colonel Raleigh White, seeing
me lined up in my company, insisted that I go with him on the raid, just
as I had on the Memphis raid. Knowing that I could discharge my full
duty, and that White would grant me any reasonable request when we
reached North Alabama, I joined him as soon as the matter was arranged.
As there was no necessity for rushing, we moved leisurely to Cherokee.
There was need that the command should be in good trim when it should
reach the north side of the Tennessee river. Seeing from the orders that
the command was likely to remain at rest for a day or two, I determined
to reach Florence, if possible, at least one day in advance. But I could
not cross the river without a pass from General Forrest. Nothing
daunted, I went straight to his headquarters, as soon as I could get my
plans mentally arranged, which, I now remember, was done with some
degree of fear and trembling. He was absent. It might be fortunate,
thought I, for I would lay my case before Major Strange, and get his
opinion as to the merits of my plea. My desire to see my child must have
touched a tender chord in his heart, as he said that the General would
return by a certain hour, and that, if I would call again, I would
likely get the pass. I was promptly on hand. Again the General was
absent. My feelings were now intense, for it was growing late in the
day. Seeing this, Major Strange graciously and kindly said that he would
furnish me with a document that would take me across the river and
through all picket lines. I mounted my horse and made for the river,
which I hoped to reach before night. It was seven miles away, and I had
no information as to where I might find a means of crossing. Somewhere
in a long lane I happily met an old school fellow--Charlie Trimble of
Tuscumbia--who could give me the necessary information. When I finished
the last mile, it was growing so dark that the soldiers in charge would
not venture to go on the river in the rickety old boat. The prospect was
now so good that I made myself content. At daylight next morning Little
Black and I were on the bosom of the Tennessee, and nearing the northern
shore. Poor fellow, he could go over with a dry skin now, but within a
few days he must swim the same stream over a hundred miles below, where
it was much larger and at floodtide. Now for the nearest road to
Florence. At Dr. McAlexander’s, just as the family were sitting down to
breakfast. Good coffee and hot biscuits. Lucky hit, thought I. A
thousand thoughts of happy days come trooping in. For the nonce, I have
forgotten the war and scenes of peace pass in review.
“’Tis sweet to hear the watchdog’s honest bark
Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home;
’Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark
Our coming, and look brighter when we come.
’Tis sweet to be awaken’d by the lark,
Or lull’d by falling waters; sweet the hum
Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds,
The lisp of children, and their earliest words.”
Was ever picture more divinely drawn? The last line--“the lisp of
children and their earliest words”--arouses the tenderest emotions of
the soul.
* * * * *
I stopped at the Smith cottage, a well-known landmark, just across from
the Methodist Church. I gazed up at the old steeple in respectful
silence, and felt glad to stand in its shadow once more. But I am now at
the door of the cottage, which was closed. I step along the veranda to
an open window. Unobserved, I gaze for some moments on the picture
within. To me, at least, “the prettiest and loveliest boy” in all the
land, engaged in childish pranks with his colored nurse. I hesitated to
break the spell, for it seemed to me that happiness had reached its full
fruition. Ernest was a happy little boy in a happy home, for war times,
as his aunt, the late Mrs. Henry W. Sample, was devoted to him as she
had been devoted to his mother. I never could repay her for all her
kindness to me and mine, but I place here in print a sincere tribute to
her memory as that of a noble woman, who was altogether unselfish, whose
religion was a daily affair, who cultivated a charitable spirit, who
reached out her hand to those in trouble, and who went to her grave
with the love and respect of the people among whom she had lived
seventy-two years.
On the 21st of September, 1864, Forrest’s whole command crossed the
Tennessee river. The artillery, wagon train and dismounted men were
taken across in boats at Colbert’s Ferry, while the whole mounted force
passed the river at Ross’ Ford, a short distance below. The latter is
said to have furnished one of the most picturesque scenes of the war.
The river at this point is seldom fordable and always dangerous. A
careful guide led the long column, marching by twos, along the winding
shallows for over two miles, in order to avoid the dangerous places in
the bed of the river, which at this point was scarcely a mile wide.
There were no casualties, but many men lost their hats and other
articles when their horses slipped on the rocks. On the morning of the
22d Florence was all agog to see Forrest and his men, and pretty well
filled up with Confederate soldiers, who, like myself, were making
friendly or family calls. There were many small reunions of old friends,
who never met again, on this seeming holiday in war times. In the early
forenoon of a perfect day, Forrest, mounted on King Philip, and riding
at the head of his escort, came in from the west, turned into Court
street and then into Tennessee street, running east. The streets were
lined with men, women and children, whose shouts were ably supplemented
by the yells of the visiting soldiers. To have stood on Mitchell’s
corner that day, as I did, would mark an event in a life otherwise
filled with adventures.
Conditions at Florence had changed somewhat for the worse since my last
visit, nearly two years before. The country had been occupied
alternately by the Federals and Confederates, and thousands of acres had
gone to waste for the want of labor. There was hardly a worse overrun
country in the South. Clothing and food were hard to get with any kind
of money. Of course, what might be termed Confederate devices were put
into practice, and very plain living was the order of the day.
Tarrying to the limit with loved ones whom I might never see again, I
left Florence late at night to overtake the command the next day before
it reached Athens. As I rode out towards the suburbs, the silence was so
pronounced that Florence seemed to be a town of houses without
inhabitants. I approached the cemetery--to me a sacred spot--where the
waters of the Tennessee, bounding over the rocks of Mussel Shoals, sing
an eternal requiem to our dead. The monuments stood like sentinels at
the graves of many whom I had known. Out on the hillside was one
erected by myself. I paused to ponder. Stillness reigned supreme, for it
was midnight’s solemn hour. No voice of man nor chirp of bird was on the
air. No painful loneliness disturbed my soul, for silent friends were
there. She, a mother for a short month only, about whom I was thinking,
having died at the age of nineteen years, escaped the sorrow, trials and
experiences of a cruel war. Perhaps it were well.
General Forrest invested the Federal works at Athens, about forty miles
from Florence, late in the afternoon of the 23d of September. There was
no concerted attack then, but careful dispositions were made for the
next morning. An assault meant a dreadful slaughter of our men, as the
works were strong, and held by about fourteen hundred well-drilled negro
troops, officered by white men. At 7 o’clock the fire of all the
artillery was concentrated upon the fort, and the cavalry, dismounted,
moved up as if for assault. Forrest ordered his artillery to cease
firing, and sent a flag of truce to the Federal commander, demanding a
surrender. There was a parley and a refusal. Forrest then adopted his
favorite plan of magnifying his own forces and intimidating his
adversary. In a personal interview outside the fort, Forrest proposed to
the Federal commander that he should take a ride around the lines, and
see for himself how well the Confederates were prepared for an assault.
The proposition was accepted, but Forrest so manipulated his troops by
dismounting and remounting and changing the position of his artillery,
that the Federal commander was soon convinced that the Confederates were
sufficiently strong to make a successful assault. While the terms of the
surrender were being arranged, a reinforcement of white troops arrived
from Decatur, and made a determined effort to cut their way through to
the fort. This was met by the Seventh Tennessee and other regiments, and
a bloody battle was fought before the Federals were captured. To
complete the victory, the artillery was brought up to capture two
blockhouses, which were held by about one hundred men. In the fight
along the railroad, Lieutenant V. F. Ruffin of Company E, a promising
young man and a splendid soldier, was killed. He was the only brother of
two orphan sisters. Their loss was grievous. Our loss at Athens was five
killed and twenty-five wounded. We captured two trains, two locomotives,
a large quantity of stores, two pieces of artillery, a number of wagons
and ambulances, and three hundred horses. The Federal loss in killed and
wounded was considerable, including the death of the Colonel commanding
the detachment from the direction of Decatur. Their loss in prisoners
was about 1,900.
As Colonel White had been ordered to tear up portions of the railroad
toward Decatur, I found it impracticable to join him. Falling in with
Captain John Overton, of Rucker’s staff, we rode along our lines to view
the situation. As Forrest was having an interview with the Federals, we
concluded it would be perfectly safe for us to accept an invitation to
breakfast at a nearby house. We had not more than dispatched that
breakfast when firing was heard down the railroad. Overton mounted and
rode rapidly to the position where part of our brigade was engaged.
There he had his fine blooded mare killed under him. Thirty-two years
after that he walked into the station at Tullahoma carrying what he said
was a box of rattlesnakes. Oh, horrors! thought I. As he evidently did
not fully recognize me, and only knew I was someone whom he had seen
before, I said to him: “Captain, don’t you remember something about a
good breakfast you and I had together down in Athens when we were
younger men than we are now?” Brightening up, he replied: “Yes, but
don’t you remember about my losing my fine mare that morning?” John
Overton’s immediate or prospective wealth never puffed him up, or made
any difference with him in his intercourse with all classes of men in
the army. He had none of the graces of horseback riding, and moved about
the camp much after the manner of some plain farmer, when looking after
the crop of crabgrass or considering the advisability of planting his
potatoes in the dark of the moon. He was “a chip off the old block”--his
grand old father, whom we sometimes saw in camp.
Four miles north of Athens, a blockhouse, with thirty-two men was
surrendered. We bivouacked for the night, thinking that we had made a
fine beginning. Eleven miles from Athens, there was a strong fort, which
protected what was known as Sulphur Branch trestle, a structure three
hundred feet long and seventy-two feet high. In order to destroy this,
it was necessary to capture the fort and two large blockhouses. On the
morning of the 25th of September, the Confederate artillery was
concentrated on the fort, in which were several rude cabins covered with
oak boards. At the same time, Forrest ordered a heavy force to advance
on foot against the position. There was severe fighting for only a
little while, as our artillery quickly scattered the lighter timbers and
roofs of the cabins in every direction, and killed many of the garrison.
The Federals ceased firing, but did not display the white flag. Their
commander had already been killed, and there seemed to be great
consternation in the fort. They surrendered as soon as a demand was made
on them. This surrender included the two blockhouses. I saw no more
horrid spectacle during the war than the one which the interior of that
fort presented. If a cyclone had struck the place, the damage could
hardly have been much worse. Here, again, the spoils were great,
including three hundred cavalry horses and their equipments, a large
number of wagons and ambulances, two pieces of artillery, all kinds of
army stores, with nearly a thousand prisoners. Forrest was compelled now
to send south a second installment of prisoners and captured property
under a strong guard, the first having been sent from Athens. Sulphur
Branch trestle being demolished, we moved towards Pulaski. The lame and
disabled horses were now replaced by captured ones, and all the
dismounted men, who had been crowded to the limit to keep up on the
march, were furnished with horses. Some of our men were engaged in
tearing up railroad track, while others were driving the enemy back
towards Pulaski. Within six miles of the town we had heavy fighting, and
again within three miles. At the former place, I saw the dead body of
Stratton Jones, another schoolboy of mine, and the eldest son of Judge
Henry C. Jones of Florence, now, perhaps, the oldest citizen of his
city, and one of less than half a dozen of the surviving members of the
Confederate Congress.
At the Brown farm, still nearer to Pulaski, we captured a corral
containing about 2,000 negroes, who were being supported by the Federal
commissary. They were a dirty and ragged lot, who were content to grasp
at the mere shadow of freedom. Forrest ordered them to remove their
filthy belongings from the miserable hovels, and set about two hundred
of the latter on fire. Here was the richest depot of supplies I had seen
since the capture of Holly Springs by Van Dorn. A bountiful supply of
sugar and coffee was distributed to the men. Our horses were put in fine
condition here by many hours of rest and good feed. Our loss for the day
was about 100 in killed and wounded. That of the Federals was very much
greater.
The Federals, under General Rousseau, took lodgment within their works,
which were very strong. Having made a spirited demonstration on the
enemy’s front, Forrest, after nightfall, leaving numerous campfires
burning, just as Washington did the night before the battle of
Princeton, drew off and took the road to Fayetteville. Having bivouacked
a few miles out, we started at daylight for a ride of forty miles,
which put us several miles east of that town. The country was fearfully
rough and rocky, but the men and horses held up well. Some time during
the following day, September 29th, we reached the village of Mulberry.
It was pleasant to see a large school in session and the boys and girls
climbing upon the fence to see the soldiers. It was more like peace than
war. But here was a pause, for Forrest concluded that it was
impracticable to reach the Nashville & Chattanooga Railroad, because of
the concentration of thousands of Federals along that line, for it was
all-important to them to protect Sherman’s communication with his base
of supplies. The plan now was that Buford should take 1,500 men,
including Rucker’s brigade, under Kelley, and the artillery and wagons,
march to Huntsville, capture the place, if possible, but, by all means,
to push his trains towards some available crossing on the Tennessee
river, while Forrest was to take the rest of the command, swing around
by Lewisburg, strike the railroad above Columbia, do all the damage
possible, and hurry on to Florence.
We kept up the march towards Huntsville till after nightfall, as it was
necessary to make a bold feint, at least, against the position commanded
by General Gordon Granger. I noticed Buford, who was a notaably large
man, making his way that night on a very fine mule. He was one type of
ye jolly Kentuckian, popular with his men, and perfectly reliable in a
fight. Our fifteen hundred men were so placed about the town as to make
as big a show of force as possible. Before this could be done, it was so
dark that a lantern was procured from some citizen, so that the usual
flag of truce and demand for surrender could be sent in. There was the
expected refusal, and a consequent delay till morning. In the meantime,
our trains were moving rapidly towards Florence. After daylight, the
best possible demonstration without too much exposure of our men was
made, and was succeeded by another demand and another refusal to
surrender. As General Granger expected to be attacked by the whole of
Forrest’s command, as had been intimated to him under the last flag of
truce, he ordered women and children to be removed from the city, so as
to avoid a bombardment by all of Forrest’s artillery. There was great
commotion and distress among the non-combatants, who had no means of
finding out that they were really in no danger. The Federal artillery
was sending an occasional shot, perhaps for the purpose of getting the
range of our lines. One of these went straight down the pike leading
west, along which a few people were moving. I saw two ladies and a boy
abandon their carriage and advance rapidly through the open field in
which I was standing, leaving the colored driver to get out of harm’s
way by rapid driving. Riding forward, I noticed that they were greatly
excited and badly frightened. The party turned out to be old friends of
mine, the wife of Professor Mayhew and son and Miss Sue Murphy, who
became, after the war, the plaintiff in an historical lawsuit against
the government for damage and loss of property at Decatur, in which she
sustained her plea, I directed them how to get to the rear, and around
to where their carriage had probably gone. When the command drew off and
took the road to Athens, I came upon this same party, who informed me
that their trunks had been ransacked and their horses taken by some of
our own men. I soon found the horses, and fastened the outrage upon men
whom I knew. I lost no time in reporting the matter to Colonel Kelley,
who ordered the horses to be turned over to a friend of the ladies.
It was found, when we reached Athens, that the fort, which had been
surrendered to us only a few days before, was held by the Federals.
There was some exchange of shots, and we had one man wounded. He caught
in his mouth an ounce ball which had passed through the fleshy part of
his jaw. He kept it as a nice little souvenir of a painful incident.
Our part of Forrest’s command reached Florence on the 3d of October, and
General Buford set about the task of getting to the south side of the
river. The rains had been heavy in the mountains. The river was already
high for the season, and still rising. There were only three ferryboats
with which to do all the work in hand. Reports came in that overwhelming
numbers of the enemy were on the move to encompass the capture or defeat
of Forrest, who arrived on the 5th of October. I knew that the situation
would be critical, if they pressed us before we accomplished the passage
of the river, but I concluded to remain in Florence till the Seventh
Regiment came in, when I could join my own company. It came in on the
7th, closely followed by the enemy. The Seventh, Second and Sixteenth
Regiments stoutly resisted the advance of the Federals at Martin’s
factory, on Cypress creek, just west of town. This was a strong position
from which to resist a front attack, but a Federal brigade, crossing
three miles above, came near taking us in reverse and capturing the
three regiments. Our command had an exciting experience from there to
old Newport, where Forrest, in person, was trying to get as many men and
horses as possible across to an island thickly set with timber and cane.
From the shore to the island was fully two hundred feet. The horses
were made to swim this place. In the absence of Lieutenant-Colonel
Taylor, who was wounded and sick, the regiment was commanded by Captain
H. C. McCutchen of Company H, who received orders from Forrest to save
his men, if possible, in any practicable way. The Federals were then
right on us in great numbers, and still another column was reported to
be advancing east from Waterloo. We did not know but that we were
practically in the clutches of the enemy. The anxiety of the men had
reached a high pitch. There was a determination to ride out of the
situation at almost any risk. I was glad that I knew the country well
enough to guide the six companies present to safety, if immediate danger
could be passed. I moved right off from the river, through woods and
fields, with the command following at a lively gait. My purpose was to
cross the Florence and Waterloo road before the two columns of the enemy
could form a junction, in which case we should have to cut our way out
or surrender. I knew that body of men would ride through or over any
ordinary resistance in our front. When we crossed the Colbert’s Ferry
road, I felt that one danger was passed, but not the main one. Sometimes
we took advantage of country roads leading our way, but our course was
north, regardless of roads. Our horses were smoking when we reached the
desired highway, and we felt relieved when we saw the way clear. We
halted to take a survey of the situation, and to perfect plans for
getting into West Tennessee. It was decided to be best for the regiment
to disperse, and the commander of each company to lead his men out of
danger by whatever means he should think proper to adopt. Company D and
Company E had gone into the service together, and it was natural that
they should stand by each other in trouble. When these two companies got
over into the hills of Wayne County, we hired a guerrilla guide, whom
his followers called “Captain” Miller, to show us a place on the river
where we could cross. His remuneration was a thousand dollars in
Confederate money, which was likely more money of any kind than he had
ever seen in one lump. The people along the route cheerfully furnished
us with supplies. I remember, we went down Trace creek and across the
headwaters of Buffalo, and reached the river at the mouth of Morgan’s
creek, in Decatur County. Here was a booming river about a half mile
wide, and no means of transportation but a large “dugout” some eighteen
or twenty feet in length. We had grown about reckless enough now to try
the impracticable and test the impossible. Three men with their horses
and trappings were to make the first trip, two to bring back the boat,
then three more men with their horses, to go with the two who had
brought the boat back, and so on till all had crossed. Everybody worked.
Two men took their places at the oars, while I sat in the stern, where I
was to hold each horse by the bridle as he was pushed from the bank,
which was four or five feet sheer down to the water. Little Black was
the first to make the plunge. He made one futile effort to touch bottom,
and sank up to his ears. I pulled him up by the reins, and slipped my
right hand up close to the bits, so as to keep his nose above the water.
He floated up on one side and became perfectly quiet. I soon had the
noses of the other two close up to the boat. The men at the oars pulled
for dear life against the booming tide, the swellings of which we could
feel under the boat. Our object was to make an old ferry landing several
hundred yards below. We had no fear for the horses now, for they were
behaving admirably. Though the men at the oars exerted themselves to the
limit, we missed the landing, and were carried some distance below it.
When we did pull into shallow water, I turned the horses loose. My own
horse was the first to mount a steep, slippery bank, where he shook
himself, and, looking back, gave me a friendly nicker. The first trip
was a success, and the men took on fresh courage. The work began at
sunrise, and ended with darkness. It added greatly to our critical
situation that the Federal gunboats were liable to pass up or down at
any moment.
Forrest did not accomplish the chief object of the Middle Tennessee
raid, as heretofore stated, which was the destruction of portions of the
Nashville & Chattanooga Railroad, which connected Sherman’s army, at
Atlanta, with its base of supplies. He said afterward that he killed and
captured, upon an average, one man for every man he had in the fights.
He tore up about one hundred miles of railroad, destroyed ten
blockhouses, captured more supplies than his men could carry off and 800
horses, gathered up more than a thousand recruits, and marched five
hundred miles in twenty-three days. He lost about three hundred men in
killed and wounded.
That a little fun can be mixed up with the horrors of war was
illustrated on this trip somewhere over in the hills of Wayne. James E.
Wood’s little chestnut sorrel, the horse which had been tendered by his
owner to Captain Tate, as related in the account of the fight at Ripley,
and from which that gallant officer was shot, struck the frog of one
foot against a stone and was rendered unserviceable. Austin Statler and
Tom Joyner set about the task of helping their fellow-soldier to a
remount. This was difficult to do in a country which had been stripped
of all the good stock. The only animal available appeared to be a
three-year-old, standing in an enclosure near an humble cottage.
Statler, in his blandest manner, explained the situation to the mistress
of the cottage, and alluded in earnest words to the fine points of the
lame horse, which needed only a few days’ rest to restore him to his
former condition of usefulness. No, no; the old lady couldn’t see it in
the light in which it had been so earnestly presented. There were seven
stout daughters standing by ready to assist their mother, who averred
that the animal was “Sal’s colt,” and he couldn’t have it upon any terms
whatever. Statler persisted until high words resulted, and the soldiers
advanced towards “Sal’s colt.” Thoroughly aroused, and reinforced by her
mother and sisters, Sal herself, a buxom lassie, now came to the rescue,
cleared the fence at a bound, and sat astride of the bridleless colt.
Victory now seemed to perch upon the banner of the females, but the
soldiers, who had no idea of seeing their comrade hotfoot it along the
roads of Wayne, moved to the assault, determined to capture the colt,
but anxious to inflict no bruises upon their adversaries, who fought
like wildcats. The contest was fast and furious, but in a class
entirely by itself. There were blood and hair in evidence, but no mortal
casualties. There were pinching and twisting, wrenching and wringing,
clutching and hugging, yes, hugging, till the female side had mostly
lost its wind and Sal, grasping the mane of the colt with the grip of
despair, while she planted her heels in its sides, was gently lifted
from her position by the gallant trio. “It was all over but the
shouting.” The bit was forced and the girth was buckled. “Sal’s colt”
had changed its politics and been mustered into the service of the
Confederacy. The old lady intimated that “men folks” were at hand and
ready to avenge all her wrongs. Statler, as a precautionary measure,
rode out in the direction indicated by her and saw three armed citizens
approaching. With cocked gun and ready pistol he commanded them, with
assumed bravado, to lead the way to the cottage, while he assured them
that he, too, had “a whole gang in reach.” Tableau vivant: An elderly
man “breathing out threatening and slaughter” and declaring that he
would have satisfaction before the sun went down; two lusty young men
with guns and in the poise of interested spectators; six bouncing young
girls well distributed in the ensemble and joining in a chorus of abuse;
an elderly woman standing in the kitchen door and wiping the sweat from
her neck and ears with her checked apron, beaten but not conquered; Sal
perched upon the top rail of the front fence in the attitude of a show
girl about to dance a hornpipe, and gazing at three vanishing cavaliers
just then turning a corner and making time to overtake the command;
lastly, the abandoned warhorse, which had heard the guns at Tishomingo,
stripped of his trappings and “turned out to grass,” was standing meekly
by and looking as if he might be thinking he had no friends at all.