Sketches of the War / A Series of Letters to the North Moore Street School of New York

by Charles C. Nott

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.