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?"