When we reached Jackson the previous day I noted a flat by the side of
the railroad bridge. I was thinking to cross Pearl River by that means,
so I started to the right towards the railroad bridge. On my way down
the street a lady was standing over a tub of whiskey with a dipper in
her hand. She said to me, "Poor fellow, are you wounded?" I said, "Yes."
She dipped up a dipper full of whiskey, which I drank. It had a good
effect on my shattered nerves and did not cause me the least dizziness.
It was the medicine I surely needed. On arriving at the River, I found
the flat was gone, the railroad bridge was the only chance left me to
cross. I crawled up the embankment and found that the cross ties were
too far apart for me to step it, owing to my contracted leaders, so I
concluded to "coon it" on my hands and knees on the stringers, holding
onto the rail.
The bridge is a long one and very high, Jackson being built on a high
bluff. When about half way across I heard a great deal of noise and
reports of fire arms; I heard bullets whizzing by. Finally bullets were
hitting the trestle beneath me and in front of me. Looking back I saw
at a distance of about four hundred yards a force of the enemy, which I
judged to be about half a regiment, coming up the lowlands in a flank
around Jackson. My first impulse was, can I make it across, or must I
surrender? I concluded to take the chances, and continued to cross.
Bullets were striking beneath me, and in front, splinters were flying.
One ball hit the rail about six inches in front of my hand. They were
gaining on me fast, when at last I reached the other side, laying myself
flat on the track, I rolled over, down about an eighteen foot
embankment. Thus being protected from the enemy's bullets, I entered the
swamp not far beside the road leading to Branton, I noted a large hollow
poplar tree. It must have been four or five feet in diameter. I crawled
in, I felt faint and weak, had not eaten anything that day. I must have
fainted; when presently I heard the sound of artillery and musketry to
my right across the river and the noise of an empty wagon coming from
towards Branton. I took a reconnoitering look, and saw Jackson on fire
and a wagon driven by a negro, holding the lines over four splendid
mules, coming towards the city. I took my stand in the road, pistol in
hand. The following conversation ensued:
"Halt. Where are you going?"
"To Jackson. Marse Richard sent me to fotch his things. He is afraid the
Yankees would cotch him."
"How will you get across?"
"Goes on the flat, sah."
"There is no flat now."
"Yes there is, and Marse Richard----"
"Turn the head of the mules towards Branton, or you are a dead
Negro"--aiming at him as I spoke. He exclaimed, "Don't shoot Marster,
I'll do as you say." He turned the mules towards where he came from. I
crawled behind in the wagon, pistol in hand, and at a gallop all the way
for twelve miles. We entered Branton in the early part of the night. The
people were still up at the Hotel. The excitement ran high about the
enemies capturing Jackson. Branton was a nice little village. The negro
proved to be a run-away. Had stolen the team from the quartermaster and
running with it to the enemy. The lady of the hotel came to me saying,
"Are you wounded?" I stated my condition, and she sympathized with me,
saying, "Poor fellow, I expect you need something to eat." I surely
did, for I was more dead than alive, after having passed such an
eventful day. I ate a hearty supper. I was given a shirt. She bandaged
my arm, which was smarting badly. She furnished me a room and a bottle
of mustang linament to rub myself. My clothes which were full of mud
were washed and dried by a large fire. The following morning, I felt
really refreshed. It is unnecessary to say that I slept well that night.
At an early hour that morning, the alarm of "The Yankees are coming.
They are only four miles from here and Johnston is retreating towards
Canton." Everybody that could get away, left. The quartermaster had an
old broken down horse, which he tendered me for having saved his fine
team, and I left the town on horse back, thanking my hostess for all her
kindness. About two miles from Branton I met up with three men from my
Company, viz, A. P. Heath, Jackson O'Quinn and Harmon Fields. They were
not in the fight, having been on the sick list and not fit for duty, so
we traveled together for some distance. We reached a settlement, which
from appearance, belonged to well-to-do people. The gentleman of the
premises was standing at the gate leading to the house. I said to my
comrades that I would have to rest and recuperate until I got well, so
I addressed myself to the proprietor, "Sir, can you take care of a
wounded Confederate?" He put his hand in his hip pocket in quick motion,
as if to draw a pistol, but instead drew a small slate and pencil,
handed it to me with a motion to write my request, which I did. He
rubbed it out and wrote swiftly in a scholarly style, "Nothing I have is
too good for a Confederate soldier. Walk in--all of you." His name was
Williams, unfortunately deaf and dumb, but very intelligent. His family
consisted of a wife and two daughters, and all seemed to be well
educated and comfortably situated. They were very solicitous in their
attentions to us. The girls played on the piano while I entertained the
old man, by writing on his slate my experience of the previous day. He
looked at me in wonder, and occasionally took hold of my hand and shook
it. I remained his guest for nearly a week, until we located our
Company, and where to meet it. I got entirely well, my arm was healing
nicely, under the care of Mrs. Williams. Our forces had located at
Canton. He sent us mule-back through Pearl River Swamp to the Canton
road, while I rode my horse. He refused to take any remuneration for
anything he had done for us, so I sent back my horse with a note and
begged him to accept the same and thanking them all for what they had
done for us.