The army advanced on Bowling Green while the detachment I was with was on a scout down Green river; and on coming in, Captain Robie and myself galloped our horses all the way from Mumfordsville to Bowling Green, a distance of thirty-four miles. About a mile from Mumfordsville we found, by the side of the railroad, the corpse of a boy belong to General Sill's old regiment; he had died at a hospital near by, and the steward had sent three other sick men to carry the body to Mumfordsville, and they had sunk exhausted by the road. A train which had been out in that direction refused to take the body on for the men, and while I was looking at the corpse the same engine came back, and when it stopped I called the conductor, but he refused with an oath to take the body on the train, saying he had enough live men on. This enraged me considerably, and I drew a pistol on him, which had a very decided effect indeed, and he helped to put the corpse on the train. He, however, threatened to report me for stopping him, but at that moment Captain Robie came up, and the fellow found it convenient to have nothing more to say. I suppose he delivered the corpse in Mumfordsville, but he was mean enough to throw it off the train. The boy was a fine looking youth—sixteen years of age, and the sight of it and of the exhausted, sorrow-stricken soldiers, would have melted any but a heart of stone.
We arrived at Bowling Green just as Captain Loomis, of the Coldwater Battery, from Michigan, was shelling the Johnnies out of the place. At the instant I rode up to the river bank, I espied General Mitchell with his hat off, calling for volunteers—I did not know for what—but I volunteered, when I discovered that it was to carry a rope over Big Barren river, in order to enable him to swing a pontoon over the stream. Sergeant Frank Robie, another soldier and myself, mounted a little raft made of plank, on which we put a coil of rope, and then we pushed out, paying out the coil as we went. The raft was a small, frail structure, and the current setting against the rope made it swing up and down, so that we were frequently in the water up to our knees, and as the river ran very swiftly, the reader may very well imagine that we had a dangerous ride of it, to say nothing about the bullets of the rebels, from the opposite shore—about twenty of which were fired at us while we were engaged in the work, though luckily none of them took effect; but our infantry firing soon made the reprobates "light out" from their position.
Captain Loomis knocked the stack off the locomotive just as the train loaded with rebel soldiers was about to start out, and they barely had time to save themselves as we entered the town.
We finally got a rope over, through the protection afforded us by our infantry, and by the assistance of Lieutenant Shoemaker, of the Fourth Cavalry, Captain Yates, of the engineers, began throwing in his pontoons. The bridge would soon have been completed; but, at this point, General Mitchell rode up, and told us we could all go to bed now, as some of the men had found a ferry boat two miles below, which was capable of conveying two hundred men, and that that would be sufficient to accomplish his purpose.
Part of the 19th Illinois and 18th Ohio infantry were double-quicked down the river, at once, to the boat, and crossed over, and then double-quicked up again, on the opposite side of the stream to the town, in time to drive out the rear guard of the rebels—some five hundred in number, who were busily engaged in destroying the place.
On the first night after our arrival at Bowling Green, an attempt was made to fire the stables where our horses were, with a view to the destruction of the animals; but Providence favored us, and the wind suddenly changed, and the flames did not communicate to the buildings. Had they done so, our stock would have certainly perished in the flames, as we could not have released the horses in time. Seven large brick buildings were destroyed, and some frames were burned, between the stables and the public square. These were the first ones fired, and the incendiaries believed the flames would reach the stables, and destroy both horses and equipments; but their purposes were foiled, by the shifting of the wind.
On the following morning, detachments of our cavalry scoured the country in every direction, capturing a great many rebels, who were destroying property and pillaging houses, passing themselves off as federal soldiers. It was a common game and one easily played, amid the panic and excitement that followed the fall of Bowling Green; the people having been made to believe there was no crime too vile for the "Northern vandals." But the cavalry soon came over, and the citizens could readily discover the difference, and they began, at once, to inform us where these rebel depredators were to be found.
Seven hundred rebels were reported in the vicinity of Russelville, while yet others were prowling around in the county, and Lieutenant Harris with a small detachment was sent out to destroy the railroad, of which party I was one. We went to South Union, in Logan county, where I was sent out with seven men a short distance below, to stand picket. While on duty, a very remarkable looking man rode up to me and said:
"I am told you have come here to protect citizens in their lives and property."
"Yes," I replied, "that is our purpose."