Some of the enemy got upon the steps of the postoffice, but were driven away by a squad of infantry who fired on them from across the street. While this was going on in the city, twenty-five of Co. C, I being of that number, were detailed to move out toward the picket line to ascertain what was there, and whether or not there was any considerable force of Confederates. Before reaching the place where the picket line was usually located, we discovered a long line of cavalry standing quietly, and at first were unable to tell whether they were friend or foe, on account of its not being quite light enough. We moved up within a short distance of them, and found them to be Confederate cavalry, which had been left there as a reserve, as we learned later. They did not fire upon us, as they no doubt supposed that we were some of their own men returning from the city. We immediately faced about and moved toward the city and our camp, and soon found ourselves in a bad predicament, with a long line of the enemy in front and another in our rear. As I stated before it was scarcely light enough to distinguish objects at a long distance, and we were within four or five rods of the enemy’s line, which was just returning from the city, before the discovery was made that we were enemies to each other. Then firing commenced and we immediately saw our dangerous position, being threatened in front and rear with a force of the enemy more than ten times our number, and we knew what our fate would be if we remained there a moment longer—that we would be made prisoners. Our only means of escape were some small spaces open on the flanks. We struck out for these, every man as fast as horse power could take him. In this little skirmish our force of twenty-five was nearly annihilated; one being killed, several made prisoners, some slightly wounded, and a number injured by their horses falling into washouts, which were plentiful in this section. The balance were scattered in different directions in order to make their escape. I escaped without injury, receiving only bullet-holes through my right trousers leg, but they did not cause me any pain. Two of the horses belonging to our party became unmanageable. The rider of one, William Orris, was carried through between two Confederates, who had their guns in position to shoot when they saw him approaching them. They both fired, just as he was within a few feet of them, and both missed him, but one fired so close to his head that his hair was singed. He was carried safely through the lines to our forces. The other one, Elmer Hunt, was carried by his horse through the Confederate forces, and also arrived in our lines in safety. The balance of our number that were left got through, some one way and some another. When the Confederates saw that we were determined to get away they started to follow us, and as I was riding up a hill along a fence I heard them coming toward me, shooting and yelling, “Halt, halt, you Yank!” but Yank wouldn’t halt worth a cent. I had other business just over the fence in a cottonfield. It seemed to me that I never was in such a big hurry to go somewhere in my life, as I was when riding up that hill, and I did not heed the Johnnies’ advice, who were trying so hard to persuade me to stop. As the saying is, a person could have played checkers on my coat tail if I had possessed one, but I had on a cavalry jacket. I was riding an extremely tall horse of several colors, an Arabian, spotted something like a giraffe. He was owned by Uncle Sam, and when riding up that hill he appeared to be about seventy-five hands high, especially when I fell off at the cottonfield. I must have presented a comical spectacle when going up that hill. I don’t wonder that the Confederates followed me so industriously.
When I reached the cottonfield my horse made a short turn at a fence corner, and the saddle girth being quite loose allowed the saddle to turn and I found myself on the ground, in a second, badly scared. As the saying is, “I might as well have been shot as to have been scared to death.” I was determined that they should not again make me a prisoner. So I jumped up, and as quickly as possible ran through under the fence into the cottonfield, and up between two rows of cotton, which were about four feet in height and quite bushy, and by stooping down I was enabled to keep out of sight. After running some distance I lay down in the row and remained there, awaiting results. The enemy did not follow me into the cottonfield, but after remaining there perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes I heard horsemen coming up through the field, and in a few moments a large number of the Confederate cavalry rode past me, in the second or third row from where I was lying and expected every moment that they would call me to get up, and I would be their prisoner. But they passed by without discovering me. If they had but stopped and listened, they might have heard my heart beat, but they would undoubtedly have mistaken it for a bass drum. All sorts of visions of the horrid prison pens passed through my mind in these few moments. Soon after the Confederates passed out of my hearing I quietly arose to see what could be discovered. The enemy had now all disappeared, and I looked around and saw one of my squad, Giles Hodge, who was in a similar predicament as myself, and had just risen out of the cotton about twenty-five or thirty feet from me. We looked at each other and exchanged congratulations on our good fortune in escaping capture by the enemy.
It was at once discovered that the Confederates had all passed out of our immediate vicinity and that our troops were preparing to follow. Hodge and myself then walked back to camp, where we found our horses, to our surprise and joy. Comrade Hodge is now living in Lee Center, Ill., and Comrade Orris in Triumph, Ill. Comrade Hunt I believe lives in Davenport, Iowa.
During the morning engagement, James Coss, of Co. C, who remained with the main portion of the 7th, chased and captured a Confederate lieutenant. During the chase Jim’s hat fell to the ground, which he could not pick up, as he was obliged to keep his eyes upon his prisoner, and therefore escorted his captive nearly two miles, to the General’s headquarters, bareheaded. The General congratulated Jim and presented him with a hat.
After procuring our horses, we readjusted the saddles, mounted, and also went in pursuit of Gen. Forrest’s forces. After catching up with our company and regiment the boys began laughing at us, on account of our peculiar way of making our escape. While Hodge and I were lying in the cottonfield the ground appeared to be as attractive as a magnet, and we were about as flat as a hardtack. And about the time that the Confederate cavalry was passing by us I imagined that the old Confederate prisons were almost in sight. It did seem as though I thought of a thousand things in one moment of time. I was almost certain that if I was captured then and taken back to prison it would end my days, as I was yet in rather a poor condition of health from the effects of my former imprisonment.
We followed the Confederates some time, when we met Gen. Forrest with several of his command carrying a flag of truce, and of course, according to the rules of war, we were obliged to halt until the party returned to its command. I never learned the object of the truce party, but I had a good view of Gen. Forrest on this occasion, and well remember his form. He was a large man, and wore a broad-brimmed hat, but I did not see his face. After their return we again resumed the pursuit, and continued until late in the day, and then returned to camp. Everything remained quiet about the camp until I think some time in August, or the early part of September, when we received orders to move our camp a short distance east of Memphis to a place called White Station, located on the Memphis and Charleston Railroad.
While camped there I had a slight experience with bushwhackers, while on outpost picket duty. On a bright moonlight night in September, as I was sitting on my horse in the shade of a large forest tree, in the woods and close to the road, keeping watch of things in front, my attention was suddenly attracted by something glistening in the moonlight, a short distance beyond a patch of underbrush and apparently very near the road. I kept my eye peeled, as the saying is, and soon saw some object quietly and slowly moving about in the vicinity where the glistening object had been seen. I immediately held a consultation with myself and very soon rendered a decision, as follows: I decided that if what I saw was a person or a number of persons with good intent, who wanted to come into camp, they would come along the road without hesitation or trying to keep so quiet, nor would they be prowling about in the brush so near the picket post. And I further decided that what I saw was one or more bushwhackers, trying to discover the man on outpost and shoot him, as they did sometimes when opportunity afforded. But they did not see me because I was hid behind and in the shade of a large tree. I finally fired at what I supposed to be bushwhackers, and the report of my gun brought the men composing the reserve picket out to ascertain the trouble. They rode outside the picket line some distance, but could find no bushwhackers, but found fresh tracks of three men in the dusty road in the vicinity of where the moving object had been seen. In a short time all was quiet again and I resumed my watch.
We remained at White Station until some time in October, when a number of us whose three years’ service had expired were sent to Springfield to receive our discharge, which we received Oct. 15, 1864, and were now free citizens, and immediately returned to our homes. I had now served Uncle Sam three years and four months. The war was fast drawing to a close. When I arrived at home the majority of my boy companions were yet in the army, many of them never to return, having been killed in battle or died in hospital or prison.