We retired at our leisure to Mississippi, where news soon reached us that the Federals had driven Chalmers, with his inferior force, to the south side of the Yokona, and were committing depredations in and around Oxford. They had burnt the courthouse and many other buildings, including the fine residence of Jacob Thompson, with its hundred thousand dollars worth of furnishings. It was said, and it turned out to be true, that Mrs. Thompson was robbed of such valuable articles as she could hastily carry out. In giving his men such license, General Edward Hatch had revealed his true character as a man. He had won renown on the battle-field, and shown himself to be an able commander and skillful tactician, but had disgraced himself in the eyes of all advocates of civilized warfare.
Just as Forrest had anticipated, the Federals began to fall back from Oxford, as soon as their commander heard the news from Memphis. General James R. Chalmers was entitled to great praise for the skillful manner in which he had handled his troops and concealed from the enemy the absence of Forrest. He held a position that required tact, discretion and courage, and met the expectations of his chief. I remember him well, and can recall his character as that of a man who, as occasion required, could move an audience by his eloquence, charm the fastidious with his felicity of diction, and gallantly lead his men in battle. Personally, “Little Bun” was popular with the rank and file, as he was one of the most approachable of men. Scrupulously uniformed and finely mounted, he presented an attractive figure on review. A man of literary taste, he sometimes courted the muses. He was the reputed author of some words I heard sung in war times to the air of Bonnie Doone. These words might well be brought to light again and take their place in popular esteem by the side of “Dixie” and “The Bonnie Blue Flag.” Perhaps some one of those who used to be called “the pretty girls of Bolivar,” but who, alas, are now wearing frosted crowns, could find in her old portfolios the words which might serve to keep green the memory of a gallant Confederate.
To rest in shady groves, to sleep by lulling waters, to hear the songs of birds, the hum of bees, the tinkling bells of lowing kine, bring more pleasing thoughts to mind than those of war and deadly strife. To things like these we turned after the Memphis raid, but not for long. The people praised the deeds of Forrest’s Cavalry, the marvel of horseback fighting, and the worthy rival of trained infantry, but the soldiers’ paeans of victory always had a minor note of sorrow for our desolate land, the tears of widows and orphans, and our increasing casualties in battle. Our poor fellows were falling, and our line becoming shorter, as the living pressed their shoulders together.
We camped on the Yokona, at Oakland and Grenada, and I returned to Company E.
CHAPTER X.
INCIDENTS OF THE MIDDLE TENNESSEE RAID.
An entire reorganization of Forrest’s Cavalry Corps was effected just after the Memphis raid, by which a new brigade, composed exclusively of Tennesseeans, was formed for Colonel Rucker, who was absent on account of a wound received at Harrisburg. The regiments in this were the Seventh, Twelfth, Fourteenth, Fifteenth and Forrest’s old regiment, commanded respectively by Duckworth, Green, Neely, Stewart and Kelly. The other brigade of Chalmers’ division was that of McCulloch, composed of men from Missouri, Texas and Mississippi. Rumors were rife, as usual, that we were on the eve of some important move, but those only in whose hands the duty of projecting campaigns had been placed knew what that move would be. Uncertainty brought no suspense to the minds of the men, as we had become accustomed to go with alacrity to the discharge of any duty assigned. To one who has studied closely the military situation at the time, it is plain that the affairs of the Confederacy had reached the desperate stage, though Forrest had subverted the plans of the Federals on the Memphis lines. The humblest of us could reflect that the territory to which we had been assigned was only a small part of the country, and that our movements on the military chessboard were scarcely noticed, except when Forrest had gained another brilliant victory. Think of it. The Confederacy had been cut in twain for more than a year by the opening of the Mississippi river; Sherman had driven Joe Johnston from Dalton to Atlanta, and a hundred days of fighting had not barred the way of the Federals toward the sea. The first trial of arms between Lee and Grant had been made at the Wilderness, and Lee had failed, even by grand tactics, to permanently stay the flank movement of the overwhelming legions of Grant at Spottsylvania, who was now moving steadily on the bloody road to Richmond. In the light which a knowledge of these conditions afforded, our immediate part of the war appeared comparatively insignificant. The reader well might ask how Forrest, or any other commander, could, under given conditions, keep up the fighting spirits of his men. We well know that he did this as long as he had occasion to lead his men in battle, but how he did it, or whence this power, I leave to the consideration of those philosophers who revel in the discussion of abstract questions of metaphysics. And I give them a thousand years to settle it.
During the first days of September we were taking a long ride over to the Mobile & Ohio Railroad. Cui bono? We reasoned, of course, that as we had gotten rid of our immediate enemies, who had so long been troubling us, we should probably be sent to other fields of action. It finally came to light that affairs at Mobile were thought to be in such critical condition that Chalmers’ division must be sent to that city at once. McCulloch’s brigade was actually sent forward, while Rucker’s was at West Point, ready to take the cars. Before this information reached the men, the order was countermanded. So we did not go to Mobile, but our enterprising General was not idle. It was soon openly talked that he was projecting a raid into Middle Tennessee, where he proposed to so damage the railroad between Nashville and Stephenson as to cut off Sherman’s army at Atlanta from its base of supplies, Rucker had not yet assumed command of his new brigade, but it was thought he would do so before we started on the projected expedition. The four Colonels of the brigade and the officer temporarily in command of Forrest’s old regiment, evidently considering it a reflection on them for an outsider, and only a Colonel, to take precedence over them, flatly refused to consent to the new arrangement. There was a great stir in camp at Sook-a-toncha bridge, near West Point. For a whole day nothing else was discussed and little else thought of. As might be supposed, there were two factions in the contest as to who should command the brigade. The humblest private was in evidence, and had something to say in the spirited, though friendly, discussion. General Chalmers, with his staff, rode out to the camp and made an earnest address to officers and soldiers as to the necessity of obeying orders and disregarding personal ambition. The character and efficiency of the officers involved were favorably alluded to, but not an offensive word spoken. While speaking in rather a persuasive tone, he did not hesitate to make an earnest and honest declaration of his sentiments. The address made a good impression, and, so far as I could see, the excitement was much less intense the following day, and, by the time the movement began, the rank and file looked upon the whole thing as a closed incident. The officers refusing to recognize the assignment of Rucker were placed in arrest upon the charge of insubordination, and sent to a distant post to await orders. I never heard of any action being taken by a court-martial in these cases, but I do know that they saw little more of the war, as they returned to the command only a few days before the surrender. The whole affair was unpleasant to me because of my friendly attitude toward two of them—Colonel Duckworth, formerly a Lieutenant in the Haywood Rangers (Company D), and Colonel Neely, the first Captain of Company E. I knew the others by their reputations as true men and efficient commanders. The whole trouble might have been avoided, or at least deferred, for as it turned out, Colonel Rucker, still suffering with his wound, did not go on the raid at all, and Lieutenant-Colonel Kelly, the senior officer present, took charge of the brigade. It could not have fallen into better hands. No aspersion was cast on the character of Rucker as a man, or adverse criticism made of his capability as a commander. A man of great physical force and a fine horseman, he impressed men with his prowess in battle. Recklessly brave, he did not mind riding down an enemy, or engaging him in single combat. He helped to make the reputation of his old brigade as a body of fast and furious fighters.
With Lieutenant-Colonel W. F. Taylor in command, the Seventh Tennessee moved up to Verona, and then to Tupelo. Here final preparations were made. And here General Forrest, from a platform made for the purpose, delivered a lively address to our brigade, a part of which was a scathing criticism of the action of the officers whom he had recently placed in arrest. He was full of his subject, and had language at hand to express his thoughts.
September 16th, 1864. On this day 3,542 men reported for duty, to which number Roddys’ division was to be added, making in all a force of about 4,500 cavalry, artillery and dismounted men. The cavalry was to traverse the hypotenuse of a right triangle, reaching from Tupelo, Miss., to Cherokee, Ala., while General Forrest, his escort, dismounted men and everything on wheels, were to traverse the other two sides by way of Corinth and over railroads, which had been recently repaired. I never saw men in better spirits as the several commands took their places in line. I had good reason to feel glad in anticipation, as will be shown further along. When the Fourteenth Regiment, passing the Seventh in line, was moving to its place in column, Colonel Raleigh White, seeing me lined up in my company, insisted that I go with him on the raid, just as I had on the Memphis raid. Knowing that I could discharge my full duty, and that White would grant me any reasonable request when we reached North Alabama, I joined him as soon as the matter was arranged. As there was no necessity for rushing, we moved leisurely to Cherokee. There was need that the command should be in good trim when it should reach the north side of the Tennessee river. Seeing from the orders that the command was likely to remain at rest for a day or two, I determined to reach Florence, if possible, at least one day in advance. But I could not cross the river without a pass from General Forrest. Nothing daunted, I went straight to his headquarters, as soon as I could get my plans mentally arranged, which, I now remember, was done with some degree of fear and trembling. He was absent. It might be fortunate, thought I, for I would lay my case before Major Strange, and get his opinion as to the merits of my plea. My desire to see my child must have touched a tender chord in his heart, as he said that the General would return by a certain hour, and that, if I would call again, I would likely get the pass. I was promptly on hand. Again the General was absent. My feelings were now intense, for it was growing late in the day. Seeing this, Major Strange graciously and kindly said that he would furnish me with a document that would take me across the river and through all picket lines. I mounted my horse and made for the river, which I hoped to reach before night. It was seven miles away, and I had no information as to where I might find a means of crossing. Somewhere in a long lane I happily met an old school fellow—Charlie Trimble of Tuscumbia—who could give me the necessary information. When I finished the last mile, it was growing so dark that the soldiers in charge would not venture to go on the river in the rickety old boat. The prospect was now so good that I made myself content. At daylight next morning Little Black and I were on the bosom of the Tennessee, and nearing the northern shore. Poor fellow, he could go over with a dry skin now, but within a few days he must swim the same stream over a hundred miles below, where it was much larger and at floodtide. Now for the nearest road to Florence. At Dr. McAlexander’s, just as the family were sitting down to breakfast. Good coffee and hot biscuits. Lucky hit, thought I. A thousand thoughts of happy days come trooping in. For the nonce, I have forgotten the war and scenes of peace pass in review.
“’Tis sweet to hear the watchdog’s honest bark
Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home;
’Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark
Our coming, and look brighter when we come.
’Tis sweet to be awaken’d by the lark,
Or lull’d by falling waters; sweet the hum
Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds,
The lisp of children, and their earliest words.”