"Yes!" said I, "you are a mighty poor widow! worth two hundred thousand dollars, and paying an overseer a thousand dollars a year; you are mighty poor! Soldier, fetch that mare back, and let the poor widow keep the d—d p—t-g—tt-d thing! It a'n't worth riding to Bolivar!"
As soon as breakfast was over, we again moved on. When within two miles of Van Buren, near where the Whitesville road takes off to the left, a little incident occurred to attract our attention. As I was riding along, in advance of the detachment, I saw a nigger coming up the road toward me, with his hat in his hand, and running as fast as he could, and appearing to be wonderfully excited about something.
"What's up?" said I, as I met him.
"Thar's a heap ob de secesh cavalry down by Massa's house, and dey are gwine to git you all!"
Here, then, was something to do. I was well acquainted with the features of the country all about there, and I knew where they would most likely be posted, and which way they would retreat if we were too much for them. I was also well satisfied that the enemy consisted of Hall's guerrillas, from Saulsbury, and that the men that we had met on our way down belonged to them, and, instead of going to Mr. Dickens' to stay all night, had gone down to Saulsbury and got out the band to capture our train, not knowing that we had any infantry force along.
I sent the Captain, with fifty men, to the right, to get to their flank in a piece of woods, where I was sure they would attempt to escape if we overpowered them. The Captain had a corn-field to cross, in reaching the woods, that would cover his men from view. I was to watch from the top of the fence, and see the Captain deploy his men in the woods, before ordering an attack in front.
I watched until I knew that the Captain had had plenty of time to have reached the woods; but, for some reason, he had not made his appearance. I waited as long as I thought it would do, and then, leaving ten men to guard the prisoners, I ordered the cavalry to charge, supported by the balance of the infantry.
As we dashed over the hill toward the house, a man was seen on the top of a large gate-post, watching for us to approach. He evidently had underestimated our force, and had not looked for a charge. In the yard by him was a splendid mule and a new saddle. He gave a look at them and then at us, and then broke for the corn-field on foot, leaving his mule and saddle for us. The saddle was a new one, and, I learned by the people in the house, belonged to Captain Richardson, who happened to be there, and was helping Hall's guerrillas to capture us. The saddle cost him thirty-seven dollars, and he had just received it the night before. As soon as the guerrillas discovered that we were charging on them, they fled to the woods where I had ordered the Captain to deploy his men, and they all escaped but one. The Captain had halted his men in the corn-field, and did not take them into the woods; had he done so, we might have captured the whole band, numbering, in all, thirty men.
The prisoner that we captured declared that he was no guerrilla, but a citizen; he told us that he lived in Memphis. At Van Buren, Mrs. Moore told me that she knew him, and that he was one of their nearest neighbors, and one of the finest men living in the county. At Mr. Marshall's we found a collection of neighbors, engaged in burying a child near the roadside. Mrs. Marshall, whom I saw there, told me that she knew him, and that he lived in Tupelo, Mississippi, and that he and his wife were out there on a visit, and that his wife was present somewhere in the gathering.
Just then the wife saw her husband, a prisoner, and she began to make a dreadful fuss, crying and wringing her hands, and begged of the Lieutenant to let him go; "for," said she, "I know that he will never take the oath, and they will hang him, sure, and I shall never, never see him again in this world!"