On the same day that General Buell left Nashville for Pittsburg, he dispatched General Mitchell’s division on a hazardous expedition through Tennessee, to Huntsville, Ala.
Leaving Murfreesborough, Tenn., on the 5th of April, they marched to Shelbyville, twenty-six miles, in twelve hours, amid a cold, drizzling rain. They experienced a warm welcome from the inhabitants of that beautiful city. Here they were obliged to remain two days, awaiting the arrival of their supply train; and on the 8th, after a march of twenty-seven miles, they reached Fayetteville, Lincoln Co., a town where the secession sentiment was almost universal. Fifteen miles beyond they crossed the State line and entered Alabama, continuing their course due south. A Northern journal says:
“It stirs the blood with enthusiasm to read the exploits of General Mitchell, in Alabama—so full are they of dash, enterprise and daring. When the General was on his way to Bridgeport, he met a ‘native,’ whom he asked to show him a point where a certain stream could be forded. The Alabamian declined to furnish the information. ‘Bind him and march him to the head of the column,’ said the General. Then every man of three thousand in the ranks was ordered to take a rail from the adjacent fences, and these were thrown into the river, extemporizing a bridge on which the troops crossed. At another place, they came upon a stream three hundred feet wide, and twenty feet deep. ‘Never mind,’ said the General, ‘I have a pontoon bridge;’ and he ordered his men to roll down the bales from a load of abandoned cotton near by. Some of the officers laughed at the idea of making a bridge of such materials, but he told them he had calculated the buoyancy of cotton, and found it to be four hundred and eighty-six pounds to a bale. The bridge was made, and the calculation proved correct.
“On reaching a bridge near Sunrise, it was found to be on fire, with a piece of rebel artillery stationed to command it. General Mitchell entered the bridge and asked who would volunteer to save it. A sergeant of the Thirty-third Ohio sprang after him. ‘You are my man!’ said the General. In a moment the bridge was thronged with volunteers, and they saved it. At another place the General himself was found in the mud with his coat off, working at a bridge on which his command crossed a swamp.”
As the army advanced, an eager curiosity became manifest to know the point of destination. On the way, the General met a man travelling on foot. He asked him how far it was to Huntsville.
“Eleven miles.”
“Do they know we are coming?”
“No; they have not the least idea of it.”
Huntsville, then, was the desired haven. Ten miles from the place the General called a halt, to wait for the artillery and infantry to come up. No tents were pitched, but for miles away the impatient invaders could be seen around their camp-fires. The General flung himself down by an old log, overrun with moss, and on this novel bed snatched two hours’ rest. Just as the moon was going down, the bugle call was sounded. The soldiers sprang to their feet, and in a few minutes they were ready to move.