WE GO AFTER STONEMAN
One morning our regiment was ordered to march, double-quick, to the depot to take the cars for somewhere. The engine was under steam, and ready to start for that mysterious somewhere. The whistle blew long and loud, and away we went at break-neck speed for an hour, and drew up at a little place by the name of Jonesboro. The Yankees had captured the town, and were tearing up the railroad track. A regiment of Rebel infantry and a brigade of cavalry were already in line of battle in their rear. We jumped out of the cars and advanced to attack them in front. Our line had just begun to open a pretty brisk fire on the Yankee cavalry, when they broke, running right through and over the lines of the regiment of infantry and brigade of cavalry in their rear, the men opening ranks to get out of the way of the hoofs of their horses. It was Stoneman's cavalry, upon its celebrated raid toward Macon and Andersonville to liberate the Federal prisoners. We went to work like beavers, and in a few hours the railroad track had been repaired so that we could pass. Every few miles we would find the track torn up, but we would get out of the cars, fix up the track, and light out again. We were charging a brigade of cavalry with a train of cars, as it were. They would try to stop our progress by tearing up the track, but we were crowding them a little too strong. At last they thought it was time to quit that foolishness, and then commenced a race between cavalry and cars for Macon, Georgia. The cars had to run exceedingly slow and careful, fearing a tear up or ambuscade, but at last Macon came in sight. Twenty-five or thirty thousand Federal prisoners were confined at this place, and it was poorly guarded and protected. We feared that Stoneman would only march in, overpower the guards, and liberate the prisoners, and we would have some tall fighting to do, but on arriving at Macon, we found that Stoneman and all of his command had just surrendered to a brigade of cavalry and the Georgia militia, and we helped march the gentlemen inside the prison walls at Macon. They had furnished their own transportation, paying their own way and bearing their own expenses, and instead of liberating any prisoners, were themselves imprisoned. An extra detail was made as guard from our regiment to take them on to Andersonville, but I was not on this detail, so I remained until the detail returned.
Macon is a beautiful place. Business was flourishing like a green bay tree. The people were good, kind, and clever to us. Everywhere the hospitality of their homes was proffered us. We were regarded as their liberators. They gave us all the good things they had—eating, drinking, etc. We felt our consequence, I assure you, reader. We felt we were heroes, indeed; but the benzine and other fluids became a little promiscuous and the libations of the boys a little too heavy. They began to get boisterous—I might say, riotous. Some of the boys got to behaving badly, and would go into stores and places, and did many things they ought not to have done. In fact, the whole caboodle of them ought to have been carried to the guard-house. They were whooping, and yelling, and firing off their guns, just for the fun of the thing. I remember of going into a very nice family's house, and the old lady told the dog to go out, go out, sir! and remarked rather to herself, "Go out, go out! I wish you were killed, anyhow." John says, "Madam, do you want that dog killed, sure enough?" She says, "Yes, I do. I do wish that he was dead." Before I could even think or catch my breath, bang went John's gun, and the dog was weltering in his blood right on the good lady's floor, the top of his head entirely torn off. I confess, reader, that I came very near jumping out of my skin, as it were, at the unexpected discharge of the gun. And other such scenes, I reckon, were being enacted elsewhere, but at last a detail was sent around to arrest all stragglers, and we were soon rolling back to Atlanta.