MY LAST BATTLE
Tories and Deserters—A Tragic Story—A Brutal Murder—The Son’s
Vow—Vengeance—A Southern Heroine—Seeking Our Command—Huntsville—A
Strange Meeting—We Find the Division—The Battle in the Fog—My Last
Battle.
HADEN PRYOR, who lived eight miles west on the same road, was a
whole-souled, big-hearted old gentleman, who also had a large place
and plenty of everything to live on, and whose hospitality towards
a Confederate soldier was unbounded. His boys were in the army in
Virginia, and he and his wife were at home alone. I had stayed with him
while hunting a blacksmith shop, and found that a tired Confederate
soldier was more than welcome to his home. Lonely, and impatient for
the war to close, that his gallant boys might come home, he would
sit out on his front veranda and play solitaire, and was glad to see
a soldier come, and sorry to see him leave. He had a nephew in our
regiment that I knew and liked, and I had fallen in love with this old
gentleman. Next morning McClatchie and I, when we came to his house,
called to pay him our respects and to tell him good-by.
This neighborhood, or rather the neighborhood just south of this, and a
considerable scope of country lying along the western border of Georgia
and the eastern border of Alabama, was infested with a class of the
meanest white men on earth—Tories and deserters, men too cowardly to
fight in either army, but mean and unscrupulous enough to do anything.
We knew they were there, but while our army was in the neighborhood
they were never seen. Since the armies had left they were growing
bolder, and we were told at Mr. Pryor’s that morning about some of
their thievery and robbery. Providence protected us that day. Here were
two roads, one to the left and one to the right, and we could follow
one or the other and reach our destination in the same number of miles.
The matter was left to me, and, without thinking of danger, I selected
the right-hand road. On that day the left-hand road was waylaid by a
band of these infamous characters and every Confederate soldier who
attempted to pass the road was robbed of horse, arms, and everything
of any value, and one or two of them murdered. These soldiers had been
left behind slightly wounded or sick, and were on their way to overtake
their commands. One of the murdered ones belonged to Ross’s brigade.
* * * * *
Since the war I have heard, from a reliable source, a tragic story of
this Pryor family, which, if told in detail, would sound like fiction.
It seems that in the spring of 1865 a band of these cut-throats, eight
in number, rode up to Haden Pryor’s gate and without provocation shot
him while he was standing in his front yard in presence of his wife;
as he turned and was in the act of returning to his house he fell in
his front veranda, a corpse. This was a few days after General Lee’s
surrender. His oldest son, John, and a younger one, with eight or ten
other Confederates, on their way home that night came within eight or
ten miles of their homes, when, tired and footsore, they lay down to
rest until morning.
John Pryor, haunted by a strange presentiment, could not sleep, and
determined he would quietly leave the camp and go on to his father’s
house. While he was dressing one of the others woke and said: “Hello,
John, what are you up to?” “I am going home,” said John. “Wait a
minute,” said the other, “and I’ll go too.” From that one by one they
all roused up and were soon on the road again. Arriving at home, John
Pryor found his father a bloody corpse and his mother a widow. His
mother told him how it all happened, and gave him the names of his
father’s murderers. The next day the funeral took place, and the noble
father who had so patiently waited and longed for the return of his
soldier boys was laid under the sod.
Over his father’s grave John Pryor made a vow that he would not engage
in any business whatever as long as one of his father’s murderers was
alive, and starting out upon his fixed purpose he killed one or two of
them before the gang became alarmed. The rest now became panic-stricken
and fled the country, hiding in different States. John hunted them
constantly and relentlessly for weeks and months, until the weeks grew
into years, and as he found them they were sent to their final account,
one by one, until finally he found the last and least guilty one in
Travis County, Texas, a few miles from Austin. It was in the spring of
the year, and the man was plowing when John walked into the field where
he was. Seeing John coming and recognizing him, he stopped his horse
and, waiting until he was within a few steps of him, he said, “John,
I know what you have come for; but I will ask you to let me go to the
house and tell my wife and children good-by.” John consented, and they
went to the house, where were the innocent wife and two small children
in a comfortable little home. The husband and father then said: “John,
I never hurt your father; I didn’t want those fellows to kill him, and
told them not to do it.” “I remember that my mother told me something
about this,” replied John, “and said you were the only one who said a
word against the murder of my father; and now I will retract my vow as
to you, and leave you with your wife and children.”
Now feeling that he had fulfilled his mission, Pryor returned to his
home, and devoting his attention to business became a prosperous and
successful man.
* * * * *
As we continued our way back to north Alabama, crossing Black Creek, we
came to the residence of Mrs. Sansom. Here we stopped under pretense of
lighting our pipes, and remained for an hour, merely to get a look at
the young heroine, Miss Emily Sansom, the young girl who rode behind
General Forrest and piloted him to a ford on the creek where he was
in hot pursuit of Colonel Straight and his men. This story of Emily
Sansom’s heroism has been published so often that most people are
familiar with it. She now lives, a widow, in Upshur County, Texas.[6]
We pushed on to our former headquarters on the Tennessee River, to find
that our people had been gone ever so long. General Hood had crossed
the river about the last of November, Decatur, Huntsville, Triana, and
Whitesburg had all been evacuated by the enemy, and our army was in
middle Tennessee. Our scouts, as we afterwards learned, had crossed
the river, passed through Huntsville and moved up to the vicinity
of Shelbyville. Our command had participated in the fighting on the
advance into Tennessee, had been in the battle of Franklin, and was
then sent to Murfreesboro.
McClatchie and myself crossed the river and spent the night at the
home of our friend, Rev. Alexander Penland. Next day we went into
Huntsville, and while waiting for our horses to be shod I had time to
see a number of my friends, among them Miss Aggie Scott, from whom I
learned that my old friend, W. H. Powers, and his wife, were sojourning
in New London, Conn. We went out in the evening and spent the night
at the home of Mr. William Matkin, a few miles down the Triana road.
Late at night Rev. Lieutenant-Colonel William D. Chadick came to Mr.
Matkin’s, afoot, tired and somewhat excited, and informed us that a
division of Federal cavalry had entered Huntsville that afternoon. He
had been at home with his family, and told an interesting story of
his escape. He had left his home, gone across lots, and reaching the
Female seminary lot, had hidden under the floor of the seminary until
nightfall, when he had made his way through back lots and fields until
he was well out of town. He then found his way around to the Triana
road and here he was.
General McCook was in command of the forces that had come in so
unexpectedly, and learning that Colonel Chadick was at home, showed
great anxiety to capture him, so much so that he visited his home in
person. Finding Mrs. Chadick there, he interrogated her as to the
whereabouts of her husband. She told him that Colonel Chadick was not
at home. He seemed incredulous, and cross-questioned her closely, when
something in her tone or her favor led him to change the conversation,
and he said to her: “Madam, where are you from?” She answered, “I am
from Steubenville, Ohio.” “I am also from Steubenville, Ohio. What was
your maiden name?” She answered, “My maiden name was Cook.” “Were you
Miss Jane Cook?” said he. She answered, “I was.” Then said he: “Do you
remember, many years ago, one Sunday morning, when you were on your
way to Sunday school, that some little boys were cutting up in the
street near the Episcopal church and a policeman was about to take
them up when you interceded in their behalf and he let them off?” She
answered, “I do.” “I was one of those boys,” said he, “and now, madam,
I am ready to do anything in my power for your protection and comfort.”
Guards were placed at her gates, and not a soldier allowed to enter the
premises while General McCook’s command remained there.
[Illustration: LIEUTENANT S. B. BARRON
Third Texas Cavalry
Photo 1882]
Colonel Chadick was well known to me, he having been pastor of the
Cumberland Presbyterian church in Huntsville for several years while
I lived there. He first entered the army as chaplain of the Fourth
Alabama Infantry, and was with that famous regiment in the first battle
of Manassas. He was afterwards made major of an Alabama battalion,
of which Nick Davis was lieutenant-colonel, later consolidated with
Coltart’s battalion, to become the Fiftieth Alabama Infantry, when John
G. Coltart became colonel and William D. Chadick lieutenant-colonel.
At this time he had an idea of raising a new regiment of cavalry, and
wished me to return and raise a company for the regiment or else take a
position on his staff, but we were now too near the end.
McClatchie and myself started out next morning and went up the
Huntsville road a short distance, when we came in sight of a small
party of Federal cavalry in the act of turning back. We took a road
that led us into the Athens road at John N. Drake’s place, where we
learned that another party had come out there, and turned back. We
then made our way directly to Pulaski, Tenn., on towards Columbia, and
found the division on the Columbia pike hotly engaged with the enemy,
who was pushing General Hood’s retreat. Our rear-guard was commanded by
General Forrest, and consisted of his own cavalry, Jackson’s cavalry
division, and about fifteen hundred infantry, under Major-General
Walthal. The infantry were trans-Mississippi troops, including Ector’s
and Granberry’s brigades. General Hood’s main army was retreating
by different roads towards Bainbridge, where we were to cross the
Tennessee River. Jackson’s division of cavalry and the infantry of the
rear-guard were on the main road, while General Forrest’s cavalry was
protecting other roads. We were uncomfortably crowded on the turnpike,
but we left it at Pulaski, crossed Richland Creek on a bridge, and
fired the bridge. The Federals soon came up and extinguished the fire,
however, and then came pouring across the bridge, but as it was now
late in the afternoon they did not attack any more for the day.
The next morning General Forrest selected a favorable position in the
hills a few miles below Pulaski, masked his batteries, and formed his
infantry in ambush, and, when the enemy came on us, attacked them with
artillery, infantry, and cavalry, and after a sharp little battle drove
them back handsomely, with some loss, capturing one piece of artillery
and taught them that in the hills it was imprudent to rush upon an
enemy recklessly. For the remainder of that day we were permitted to
move quietly down the road unmolested.
That night one of General Frank Armstrong’s Mississippi cavalry
regiments was left on picket, and we moved on a mile or two and camped
by the roadside. Just after daylight the next morning our Mississippi
regiments came clattering in, closely pursued by the enemy’s cavalry.
We hastily formed a line across the road and checked the enemy, and
then moved on to Sugar Creek and formed another ambush. There was a
dense fog along the creek, such as I never saw in the interior. Our
infantry were formed along the creek bank just above the crossing, and
the cavalry in column of fours in the road forty or fifty yards back
from the ford of the creek, and thus, in the fog, we were as completely
concealed as if midnight darkness had prevailed. The infantry remained
perfectly quiet until the head of the enemy’s column was in the act of
crossing the creek, when suddenly, with a yell they plunged through
the creek and charged them. This threw the head of their column into
confusion, when our cavalry charged them in column at a gallop, and
pressed them back two or three miles. _And this was the last fight I
was ever in!_