was ordered with my squadron to the farm of a Mrs. Ayres, some three
miles off. I had heard nothing of Mrs. Ayres, except that she was "a
prominent secessionist," and quite wealthy; and three months' active
cavalry service had quite accustomed me to riding into people's houses,
and taking possession for the use of the Government. Yet I was rather
taken aback, when a lady with grey hair and widow's weeds came out, as
I rode up. I said that I regretted to intrude, but that I was ordered
to stop there; and she said that it was very unpleasant; she and her
daughter were alone, no gentleman in the house, and she wished we would
go somewhere else. I explained that no one would come in the house or
be guilty of any rudeness, and that she might feel perfectly safe. But
she reiterated her request, and went on: "I am a secessionist, sir; I
am opposed to the Union. I scorn to deny my principles. Of course you
will do as you choose, sir. I am a woman, and unprotected, and you
have a company of soldiers; I can offer no resistance," etc., etc. I
answered that I admired her sincerity, and cut the argument short by
asking in which yard she preferred my putting the horses, and from
which stacks we should get forage. There were woods on the right of
the house; the men filed into them, and in a few minutes fires were
lighted, horses picketed, and we were bivouacked for the night.
An hour or two elapsed, and I received a message that Mrs. Ayres wished
to see me. I went in--the house was large and handsomely furnished,
and she was evidently far superior in intelligence, education, and
position, to the simple country people among whom we had hitherto been
thrown. I afterwards learnt that one son was then at Richmond, a member
of the Confederate Government, and another with Beauregard, at Corinth.
I began the conversation by hoping that she had recovered from her
alarm. She said, "Oh, entirely," and that she had expected the officers
in the house to tea, and that she had beds enough for them. I replied
that I had promised that no one should intrude, and that I intended my
promise to apply to myself as well as to my men. Mrs. Ayres hastened
to say that it was no intrusion; that I must at least stay and spend
the evening; she really could not allow me to go out in the dark and
cold, while she had houseroom to offer. "My daughter plays," she said;
"perhaps you like music." I said that I liked music exceedingly, and
should be most happy to hear some, and as I was finishing my civil
speech, Miss Ayres came in. She was a pretty girl of seventeen, and
gave me an icy bow that said I was there by military power, and was no
guest of hers. "Mary," said her mother, "Captain N. wishes to hear some
music." The young lady gave another icy bow. There was a little black
girl curled up in a corner near the fire. "Bell," said Miss Ayres,
"carry the candles into the other room." The little black girl uncurled
herself, and seizing the candles, marched into the other room. There
she placed the candles on the piano, and immediately popped under it
and curled herself up again on the floor. I moved round, and took my
position at one end of the piano, as an admiring listener should. It
was a handsome instrument, and seemed like a friend, for I read on its
plate, "Wm. Hall & Sons, New York." It had come from New York, and so
had I. Miss Ayres took her music-book, and I waited for her to begin.
She partly opened the book, then stopped, and looking deliberately at
me, said, "Well, sir, what _must_ I play?" Had she slapped me in the
face I should not have been more astounded. It was evident that she was
in the same frame of mind her mother had been in at the gate. But I had
been so particularly civil that this cut was too unexpected. I felt my
color rise, but kept my temper down, and inwardly resolved that her
little ladyship should take this back before our acquaintance ended;
so I answered, almost sweetly, that I would leave that to Miss Ayres'
better taste! We had a little contest then, she trying to make me order
something, and I trying to make her select the piece. It was a drawn
game, and ended in her suggesting a couple of pieces, and my saying,
"Either of them."
An hour passed very agreeably, and when I arose to go, all coolness had
entirely vanished, and the invitation to stay was really cordial. But
it was an inflexible rule with me, when on these expeditions, to sleep
beside my guard, so I declined; and, after thanking them, went out.
The next day came in brightly; but as I was preparing to resume our
march, there came a message from the major, saying we would not leave
till afternoon. The day wore wearily away; and toward evening there
came a second message, saying we would not start till eight the next
morning. Then a feeling of uneasiness came over me. This long delay I
did not like. The sky, too, became overcast, and a heavy storm soon
gathered over head. I made our little arrangements for the night; the
horses were moved under cover; the men found refuge in a barn; and a
little carriage house was taken for our guard tent. I received another
invitation to the house, and paid another visit more agreeable than
the first. As I came out, the rain was coming down soakingly. I had
put out additional pickets, and used the additional precaution of
going out myself with the relief. The first time I did so, it came
near terminating my expedition. It was fearfully dark, and the horses
had almost to feel their way. I knew we should find the picket about
a mile from the house, where the woods ended on the brow of a hill.
I had selected the place, because there they would be hidden by the
trees, yet would have a clear view, on an ordinary night, through the
fields beyond. I knew, too, the angle of the fence they were to be
in, and expected to find them with little trouble. We approached the
spot, but were not challenged, and I began to wonder if anything was
the matter. We went a few steps farther, and I found we had passed the
woods and were descending the hill. Still no challenge. It would seem
the simplest thing in the world to call out, but this could not be
done--here they must challenge us. Suddenly, close behind us, and in a
very startled tone, came "Who comes there?" and with it the "click,"
"click" of a pistol. I answered just in time; for, in the darkness, and
amid the beating of the storm, we had passed them unseen and unheard,
and they thought that we were a party approaching from the opposite
direction, and, in another moment, would have fired.
Day came at last--a drizzly, rainy day--and we set out for Como.
The country was new to us, and much better than we had yet seen
in Tennessee. There were groups of contrabands at every house,
reminding us that it was Sunday; and we passed a little church, whose
congregation was within, their saddled horses tied around the building.
We all remarked that the people seemed more cheerful than any we had
seen; and soon a man we met took off his hat, and said, "The Union,
the Constitution, and the Enforcement of the Laws;" yet we had seen
so little patriotism in Tennessee that we doubted this. At length we
reached Como, and stopped in the barnyards of a leading secessionist.
Hardly had we dismounted, when a large, good looking man followed us
into the yard, and said, "I'm truly glad to see you, gentlemen, you've
come at just the right time." He then introduced himself to me as Mr.
Hurt, of Como; and said that his house was a quarter of a mile back--he
had seen us pass--he had run after us--he was a Union citizen--all
must go back and dine with him--his wife had seen us, and was actually
getting dinner ready.
I walked back with Mr. Hurt to his house. His wife I found a pleasing
lady-like woman, and she repeated the invitation to bring all. I said
I thought bringing fifty men into a private house to dinner, and that
on Sunday, was a little too much; but she said quite earnestly that
she could do nothing better on Sunday than care for Union soldiers.
Soon one man, and then another, came in, whose looks more than their
words assured us of a warm and living patriotism to which we had long
been strangers. From them I learnt that there were many more hiding in
the surrounding woods, and that a party of rebel citizens had recently
been amusing themselves by arresting Union men, and sending them off to
Memphis. I determined that so far as I was concerned, this fun should
stop; and when the major, with the main body, arrived, I submitted my
plan to him, which he approved, and ordered me to execute.
My plan was very simple--to take twenty-five of my best mounted men,
and stay behind, ostensibly as a rear guard; to start about dark, as
if to follow the major; but, in reality, to turn off on the first
cross-road, and arrest the parties during the night, rejoining the
major in the morning.
Accordingly, after dinner I strolled up to where the men were, and
said, carelessly, to the first-sergeant, that one-half of us were to
stay as rear guard, and he had better pick out those who had the
freshest horses--there might be a good deal of riding to do. In a
little while the detachment started, leaving me with my party, little
thinking how soon we were to be a rear guard in reality. As the last
of the column vanished down the road, my anxiety of the previous
evening returned, and I sent a vidette up the Caledonia road. It was
then three, and we should not start till six; so I went into the barn
and lay down, hoping to have a little sleep to make up for the three
previous nights. But I was soon roused to see a Union man, whose
brother had been arrested, and then to see another who was to act as
guide; and then Mr. Hurt came in to insist on my going back to his
house and sleeping there; so I rose and walked back. At the house we
found a young man, a cousin of Mrs. Hurt, who had heard of our arrival
and ventured in from the woods. We sat down upon the piazza and fell
into an interesting conversation. Three of her brothers were in the
Southern army--"as good Union men as you," she said, "but forced in."
Their little boy was named Emerson Etheridge, after the Tennessee
member of Congress, who has stood so firmly for the Union; and on the
large tree in the yard was hoisted the last flag that had waved in
Western Tennessee.
As we thus talked, a little man was seen coming up the road, and
thereupon the whole family left me and rushed out to meet him. They
came back laughing, shaking hands, and asking questions, while the
little man both laughed and cried, and said, "Oh, my dear friends,
you do not know what sufferings I have been through since I left you!"
He was their Yankee schoolmaster. For ten years he had lived quietly
there, but a year before had been ordered off, and narrowly escaped
being hung. He had left a child behind, and now, hearing the country
was quiet, had ventured back to see his old friends and his child.
The afternoon glided away, and it was nearly six. Mrs. Hurt had left
us to hasten tea, but we still sat on the piazza, talking as before.
Suddenly Mr. Hurt sprang up and said, "What are those men?" I looked
and saw my vidette coming in between two countrymen: whether they
were bringing him, or he them, seemed doubtful. I seized my sabre and
pistol, and walked to the gate.
"There is bad news, captain," said the man.
"What is it?"
"These men say there are three thousand rebel cavalry at Caledonia."
I suppose I looked incredulous, for one of the men said, very
earnestly, "It's so, sir. Ask Mr. Hurt; he knows me."
"He's a good man," said Mr. Hurt; "but I don't believe three thousand
any more than you do."
"It's really so!" cried the man with great earnestness. "Mr. Ashby saw
them, and sent us over here to tell you, and the other Union people;
and we have run our horses all the way across."
I glanced at the horses: they were covered with foam and mud. I looked
at Mr. Hurt: his face had suddenly grown very serious.
"Did Edward Ashby see them himself?" he asked, in a low tone.
"Yes!"
"And he told you himself?"
"Yes!"
"Then, captain," he said, turning to me, "it is so."
There was a moment of dreary silence.
"How long were they passing Mr. Ashby's?" I asked.
"Three hours."
"Which way were they going?"
"Toward Paris."
"How far is it from Caledonia to Paris?"
"Twelve miles."
I knew that three thousand was a reasonable estimate. I also knew they
must have heard of our whereabout, and that a party might be coming up
the road at any moment; yet I ventured one more question:
"What troops did they say they were?"
"Jeff. Thompson's."
"Jeff. Thompson's! That is very strange. Where did they say they were
going?"
"They said they'd come for provisions and Union men."
This answer completed the distress of those around me. The cousin
looked toward the woods; the little schoolmaster asked if he might not
stay with his child just this one night? Mr. Hurt said that he meant
to risk it till morning, while his wife said that he must fly at once:
they might burn the house, but they would not hurt women and children,
and she was not afraid. I shook hands hastily with them, and hoped that
we might meet again. I told my vidette to gallop up the road and tell
the men to mount, but to say not a word of the reason why. And then I
followed as rapidly as I could, and with many glances over my shoulder,
wondering that the enemy's advance was not already upon us. It was
not half a mile to the barnyards, but the way seemed endless, until a
turn in the road showed me the men mounting, and Bischoff coming to
meet me with my horse. In a moment more I was mounted, and had sent a
messenger, on a gallop, to the major, while the rest of us followed at
a less rapid gait.
Arriving at Irving's farm, where the main body had halted for the
night, I found all as quiet as though nothing could happen. The horses
were unsaddled, the men reposing, and the major had gone to a farm a
mile distant. I ordered my own men to saddle up, and galloped after
him. We rode back to Irving's, and held a consultation with the other
officers, the result of which was that he took an escort and went down
the road to see Mr. Hurt; while I was to wait till ten o'clock, and, if
he did not return by that time, to retreat northwardly to the little
town of Dresden.
I went into the house, and talked to the ladies of the family. They
were wealthy secessionists, and it was advisable to conceal, so far as
possible, our movements. As ten o'clock approached, I slipped out, and
ordered the men to mount and be perfectly still. Then, returning, I
said to the ladies, that they must not feel alarmed if they heard our
pickets and guards during the night, and, bidding them good evening,
went out. I saw, dimly, the men drawn up in line.
"Bischoff," I called, in a suppressed tone, "where are you?"
"Here, captain," said Bischoff, close beside me, as he held my horse
under a shadowy tree.
I mounted--gave some instructions to the other captains--the men
wheeled into column--and we were moving slowly and silently toward
Dresden.
The rain, which had stopped during the afternoon, began again. The road
plunged down into dense woods, and the darkness was profound. Some
refugees, mounted on mules, and wrapped in their home-spun blankets,
joined us--picturesque, but sad exiles, in keeping with the wild and
stormy night. They were our guides, and but for them we could not have
found our way through the hidden road.
"Well, quartermaster," I said to the young officer who rode beside me,
"this is our first retreat."
"Yes," he answered; "and a most appropriate night for a first retreat."
It was not improbable that we should be attacked in the rear; and
not improbable that a party had been sent round to intercept us in
front; and every sound seemed the signal for an affray. Occasionally
the wagons became snagged, and word would be passed up the column; a
halt would be ordered; men would dismount, feel for the wagon, and
disentangle it from some tree or stump; word would be passed up again,
and we would resume our march. Thus, about three in the morning, we
approached Dresden, when I unexpectedly ran upon our advance guard
standing still. I quickly ordered a halt and demanded what was the
matter. A horse, they said, had disappeared in the middle of the road;
they could not even find him. I called for matches, and several men
tried to strike a light; but the rain had soaked through everything.
I recollected a little tin box of wax tapers in my great coat pocket,
and by dint of striking one of these under my cape, obtained a light.
The little flickering ray disclosed the feet of the horse, sticking
up in the air, his body hidden in a narrow gully which the rain had
washed across the road. I dismounted six men to try and pull him out,
and with the rest went on. Here the major overtook us. He had gone
back, but had learned nothing of the enemy. In a few minutes we entered
Dresden. Pickets were posted on the different roads, the horses were
crowded into some barns, and then, with the men, I crawled up into the
hay-loft, and, soaking wet, lay down for an hour or two on the soft hay.
We waited all the morning, and about one in the afternoon started,
still moving northwardly toward Paducah. The road was hard and good;
the sun came out, drying our wet clothes, and everything seemed
promising and pleasant. As we passed the first house, the family
appeared in front of the door, and waved a little flag. It was the
first flag we had seen in Tennessee. My squadron, which led the column,
broke into rapturous applause as they caught sight of the starry
emblem; and as each of the others came up, wondering what could have
caused the commotion, they repeated the cheers. A cavalcade of Union
men accompanied us, and as we approached their homes, they would dash
ahead and notify their families that we were coming. At every house
the inmates appeared, waving handkerchiefs and clapping hands; and
at several the long hidden flag was brought out to help in welcoming
"the Union soldiers," who cheered the flag whenever it was displayed.
Thus our march went on, more like a gay, triumphal procession than a
retreat. We stopped at a little house, and a venerable matron, with her
grand-daughter, came to the gate and welcomed us. The old lady shook
hands with all who were near, and solemnly hoped that God would be with
us; and the younger one laughed and cried. She hoped, she said, that we
would not think her bold or crazy; but she felt as if we were friends,
and it was the first time she had been safe for months. Her husband
and father were then hiding in the woods from guerrillas. She had two
brothers in the rebel army, and, she added, with a bitter emphasis I
cannot describe, that they were rebels, and we might capture them or
kill them; but she wished we would _kill them_.
We went on and descended into the valley of the Obion. The sun was
sinking in the west, as our column wound through the great trees and
came upon Lockridge Mill. On the right, I saw a large white house
surrounded by a garden; on the left a barn yard with an eight-rail
fence; in front and beyond us, the Obion and the mill.
"We will stay here to-night," said the major.
"Left into line. March. Be prepared to leave at a moment's notice," I
said to my men, "and to saddle up in the dark. Break ranks."
The men scattered through the yard, picketing their horses. The second
squadron picketed theirs on the outside of the yard, and the third went
back to the farms on the edge of the valley, to act as a rear guard.
"Where will you put our horses, Bischoff?"
"At this tree in the yard, captain," said Bischoff.
"Very well; I must see if there are any pickets wanted between us and
the rear guard." And I turned my horse and rode slowly back.
It was a noble valley, smooth as a floor, and covered with huge
oaks and elms. I came to the third squadron; they had dismounted;
their horses were tied to the fences; their lieutenant had gone out
with their pickets; and their captain came up and laughingly said
he had taken a prisoner, and introduced me to a lieutenant of an
Illinois regiment, who had just ridden in. He was a very handsome and
intelligent young man, and informed us that he was a Tennessian, and
had come to see if recruits could not be found there. He seemed greatly
elated at being back in his own State, and as we rode along, I remarked
to myself how hopeful and happy he was. We arrived at the house and
dismounted; I gave my horse to one of the men, and went in to introduce
Mr. Crawford to the major. Him we found in an upper room. He had taken
off his jacket and was seated, comfortably smoking. I introduced the
lieutenant, and then went out, intending to post the pickets in front.
The men were on some logs opposite the house, finishing their supper;
the sun had set, and the light was fading and growing hazy amid the
great trees.
I walked across the little garden, and laid my hand on the gate. As I
did so, I heard a yell toward the rear; I turned quickly, and far up
among the trees I saw three of the rear guard. Their horses were on
a gallop; they waved their caps wildly, and shouted something which
sounded like "saddle up." At the first glance I thought they were
messengers; but, at the second, I saw running beside them a horse _with
an empty saddle_. I knew what that meant.
"Saddle up, and fall in," I shouted to the men; "and you men in the
house call the major; tell him we are attacked."
I looked for my horse, but he had disappeared. I rushed to the
barnyard, and there saw the man who had held him.
"Hamelder," I cried, "what have you done with my horse?"
"Bischoff took him, captain."
I hurried to the tree. Bischoff, knowing the horse would have a
night's work, had seized on the moment of my going into the house to
unsaddle and rub him off. But Bischoff stood faithful at his post in
the confusion; while every other man was hurrying for his own horse,
Bischoff was saddling mine. As I came up, he held the horse and stirrup
for me to mount as coolly as though we were at a parade.
"Never mind this," I cried, "I can mount without this nonsense; saddle
your own horse and be quick--be quick." But my buffalo, rolled up as
it had been unbuckled from the saddle, lay on the ground, and Bischoff
stooped for it. "Throw it away," I cried, "saddle your horse and come
out of this yard, or you're lost."
I turned; all of the squadron had gone out--I was the last; and as my
horse dashed over the broken fence, Bischoff was left alone.
My men were in line, but a disorderly stream of flying men and
riderless horses was pouring past. I looked round for the major, but
he was not in sight, and I found myself the ranking officer there. "I
must act, it is no time to wait for orders," I said, as I looked up
the valley, and saw the head of the rebel column. They were coming on
a gallop, their shot guns and rifles blazed away, and their wild yells
were louder than the volleys they fired. Between us were the last
of the rear guard and the horses of those who had fallen, "wild and
disorderly." Turning the other way, I saw the river and the bridge.
"We must check their advance," I thought, "and then cross the river
and tear up the bridge; it is our only hope. I will charge them." I
touched my good horse as I drew my sabre, and he flew round. I was
giving the orders, "Draw sabre. By platoons. Left wheel," and the
squadron was executing them, when the men of the second squadron rushed
franticly round the barnyard fence and into my line. In an instant all
was confusion. There was no time to restore order, the rebels were not
the width of a city block distant, and their buck shot flew thickly,
wounding men and horses, while there rose the thundering sound of
cavalry at full speed. I still had a hope of the bridge. In another
instant they would be upon us. "About," I cried, "gallop and form
across the bridge." As we went by the yard, Bischoff had not come out.
"He has sacrificed himself for me," I said; "but I cannot leave my
command to save him, though he were my brother."
Across the narrow bridge we went safely, though it swayed and trembled
under the tramp of galloping horses. As the men wheeled and reformed, I
moved to the right and looked back. Hitherto I had seen but the head
of their column, and had formed no idea of its strength. Now I saw,
far up the valley, a solid unbroken column of perhaps a thousand men.
Between them and the bridge were a few men, and many flying horses,
which ran madly. The enemy were armed with guns, and my men had but
sabres and pistols. The captain of the second squadron had been at the
bridge, trying vainly to rally his men; but they had gone, and mine
were the only ones left. "All is lost now," I said; "I will not keep my
men here to be sacrificed for these runaways." I gave the order, and we
were galloping down the valley, the pursuing foe close upon us.