I now proceeded on my way, around the town, back into the main road leading out to Bady’s Ferry and when within four or five miles of the ferry, I met a citizen who had just crossed there and reported that Colonel Clarence Prentice, with about two hundred Kentuckians, had just crossed there and had been captured by a heavy force of Federal cavalry and by them paroled and permitted to go on his way home. Then further conferring with this citizen about where I could best cross the Catawba River, he told me of a batteau at a mill about twelve miles below Charlotte, when I decided to ride down there and cross in this batteau, which I did, putting my saddle and everything in the batteau, paddling across and swimming my mare, which landed me in a wheat field, in the State of South Carolina.
After getting straightened out again for the road I got directions to Anderson Courthouse, which I reached in due time and found Colonel Harrison, with a large party of Rangers, resting and having a good time. Harrison, if the reader will remember, was badly wounded and was just recovering, using crutches, when a party of Rangers came along after we had left, secured an ambulance and crossed the Catawba River with two batteaux, one on each side, thus bringing him out to Anderson Courthouse, which was his old home and where he had relatives.
After resting another day we again struck out for the Mississippi River, passing through South Carolina, into Georgia, then into Alabama. Before reaching the State of Alabama, we heard that the Mississippi River was out of its banks and about thirty miles wide, which forced us to scatter out and lay up at different points, until the river ran down so that we could cross. I had promised a messmate, Joe Hungerford, whose home was at Uniontown, Alabama, that I would spend some time with him.
Riding along one day in Alabama, some miles from Marion, I was taken with a severe headache, which forced me to stop and lay up, try to get some rest and sleep. When I woke in the night I was prevailed on by an old gentleman at the house, to spend the balance of the night, which threw me considerably behind the party of men I was with.
When our party left Greenville Courthouse we decided if we struck any horses or mules, belonging to the United States Government, we would take them along with us, for the purpose of probably raising money to pay our expenses home and if we found any small parties of the enemy, we would attack them and on their surrender, would parole them, taking their arms and horses.
On riding into the town of Marion, I saw a guard in front of a livery stable, rode up to him, when he accosted me, “Hello, Texas; have you come after mules, too?” I told him, “Yes, where are they?” He said, “This stable is full of the finest kind of mules;” he happened to be an Arkansas man and told me that my party, who went through the day before, went out with a lot of mules, each leading two. I told him, “All right, open the door and I will go in and get a couple.” He said, “No, you know I want you to have them, but they are in charge of Major Curry, who has a strong guard here and is waiting to turn them over to the Yankees, who are expected in here by train every minute and you had better not attempt to take any mules by yourself, as Curry, with his guards, would surely arrest you and turn you over to the Yankees.” Then I concluded best to drop the matter and proceeded to get directions, from a citizen, to Uniontown.
Stopping on the road, about five miles from Marion, to get dinner, I found at the house four Confederate soldiers—one young man on crutches, who had been wounded in the Virginia Army, the son of the owner of the place; one of the Eleventh Texas Cavalry and two Arkansas men. At the dinner table the old gentleman told me about Major Curry, a Confederate Quartermaster, who had impressed about two hundred fine mules in that section for account of the Confederate Government and had these mules in a large livery stable in Marion, protected by a guard, to turn them over to the Federals. These mules had not been branded and the owners had plead with Major Curry to return them to them, but Curry refused, claiming it would get him into trouble with the Federals, as they would certainly get the information. The old gentleman told me that the feeling against Curry was very bitter and that he was regarded as a very mean man, persisting in his determination to turn over the mules, on account of his antipathy to his old neighbors and friendliness to the Federals, thereby courting their favors.
Presently one of the Arkansas men proposed that we go back and take a couple of mules apiece, by force, to which we all consented. Our crippled man, not having a gun, his father told him of a rich neighbor some two miles from there who had quite a number of mules taken by Curry and was very bitter against him on that account, that he had a very fine shotgun and would no doubt loan it to him for the purpose of a raid on that stable. Stopping at this house on our way into Marion, this young crippled man secured the shotgun, when we moved on. Just before we entered town I stopped the party and told them that I was satisfied we were very liable to have trouble with Major Curry and there was no use in starting into it without going through with it. “Now, if there is a man among you that don’t want to go in, let him say so now.” They all said they were willing to go and wanted me to take command of the party. I told them, “All right, now, if you are asked any questions, who I am, tell them I am Lieutenant Jones, Company C, Eleventh Texas.”
We now started in and found a big lattice door to the stable open, and as soon as we came in sight the guard rushed to the door to close it, when I dashed up with my pistol on and told him to leave that door open. I then told our crippled young man, with the shotgun, to hold that door open, to stay there and to shoot the first man that attempted to close it when the balance of our men went in to get the mules. There were two shed rooms, connected with the main room; the large room had stalls on each side. Not finding any good mules in the large room, I went to the far end and turned into one of the shed rooms, the balance of the men scattering around, hunting good mules. While engaged untying a mule in the shed room, I heard a man call to some of our men, “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” They told him they had come after mules. “Who commands this party?” “Lieutenant Jones of the Eleventh Texas.” “Where is Lieutenant Jones?” They told him I was in that shed room. In the meantime, a number of men in citizen’s clothes, had entered the main room. Major Curry came around into the shed room, where I had untied a mule and asked me if I was Lieutenant Jones, in command. He said, “I am Major Curry of the Confederate States Army, in charge of these mules, with orders to turn them over to the United States Army and if you don’t take your party out of here and leave these mules, I will have to arrest you and turn you over to the Federal authorities.” I told him that we would be very much disappointed if he didn’t attempt our arrest, that we had come on purpose to get the mules and him, too, when he approached very near me and said in a low tone of voice, “You know this stable is full of Yankee spies now, come in advance of the army to find out what they can, and for their benefit I have to make a show of resistance.” He said, “You go ahead and take what mules you want. You Texans are entitled to them; you are a long ways from home.”
We then completed our selection and led out two mules apiece, with two for our lame friend at the door, passing by a number of strangers, looking on, in the main room. Major Curry followed me outside, when I told him, “Now, if it will be of any benefit to you, Major, I am willing to give you a written statement that I appeared here with an armed force and took possession of so many mules,” which he said he would appreciate very much, it might prove of benefit to him with the Yankees, and invited me up into his office with him, around on the square, where I drew up this statement and signed the name of R. F. Jones, Company C, Eleventh Texas Regiment. We then departed with our mules, back to the young lame man’s home, where we separated, perhaps never to meet again.