Notes of a Private

by John Milton Hubbard

Was ever picture more divinely drawn? The last line—“the lisp of children and their earliest words”—arouses the tenderest emotions of the soul.

I stopped at the Smith cottage, a well-known landmark, just across from the Methodist Church. I gazed up at the old steeple in respectful silence, and felt glad to stand in its shadow once more. But I am now at the door of the cottage, which was closed. I step along the veranda to an open window. Unobserved, I gaze for some moments on the picture within. To me, at least, “the prettiest and loveliest boy” in all the land, engaged in childish pranks with his colored nurse. I hesitated to break the spell, for it seemed to me that happiness had reached its full fruition. Ernest was a happy little boy in a happy home, for war times, as his aunt, the late Mrs. Henry W. Sample, was devoted to him as she had been devoted to his mother. I never could repay her for all her kindness to me and mine, but I place here in print a sincere tribute to her memory as that of a noble woman, who was altogether unselfish, whose religion was a daily affair, who cultivated a charitable spirit, who reached out her hand to those in trouble, and who went to her grave with the love and respect of the people among whom she had lived seventy-two years.

On the 21st of September, 1864, Forrest’s whole command crossed the Tennessee river. The artillery, wagon train and dismounted men were taken across in boats at Colbert’s Ferry, while the whole mounted force passed the river at Ross’ Ford, a short distance below. The latter is said to have furnished one of the most picturesque scenes of the war. The river at this point is seldom fordable and always dangerous. A careful guide led the long column, marching by twos, along the winding shallows for over two miles, in order to avoid the dangerous places in the bed of the river, which at this point was scarcely a mile wide. There were no casualties, but many men lost their hats and other articles when their horses slipped on the rocks. On the morning of the 22d Florence was all agog to see Forrest and his men, and pretty well filled up with Confederate soldiers, who, like myself, were making friendly or family calls. There were many small reunions of old friends, who never met again, on this seeming holiday in war times. In the early forenoon of a perfect day, Forrest, mounted on King Philip, and riding at the head of his escort, came in from the west, turned into Court street and then into Tennessee street, running east. The streets were lined with men, women and children, whose shouts were ably supplemented by the yells of the visiting soldiers. To have stood on Mitchell’s corner that day, as I did, would mark an event in a life otherwise filled with adventures.

Conditions at Florence had changed somewhat for the worse since my last visit, nearly two years before. The country had been occupied alternately by the Federals and Confederates, and thousands of acres had gone to waste for the want of labor. There was hardly a worse overrun country in the South. Clothing and food were hard to get with any kind of money. Of course, what might be termed Confederate devices were put into practice, and very plain living was the order of the day.

Tarrying to the limit with loved ones whom I might never see again, I left Florence late at night to overtake the command the next day before it reached Athens. As I rode out towards the suburbs, the silence was so pronounced that Florence seemed to be a town of houses without inhabitants. I approached the cemetery—to me a sacred spot—where the waters of the Tennessee, bounding over the rocks of Mussel Shoals, sing an eternal requiem to our dead. The monuments stood like sentinels at the graves of many whom I had known. Out on the hillside was one erected by myself. I paused to ponder. Stillness reigned supreme, for it was midnight’s solemn hour. No voice of man nor chirp of bird was on the air. No painful loneliness disturbed my soul, for silent friends were there. She, a mother for a short month only, about whom I was thinking, having died at the age of nineteen years, escaped the sorrow, trials and experiences of a cruel war. Perhaps it were well.

General Forrest invested the Federal works at Athens, about forty miles from Florence, late in the afternoon of the 23d of September. There was no concerted attack then, but careful dispositions were made for the next morning. An assault meant a dreadful slaughter of our men, as the works were strong, and held by about fourteen hundred well-drilled negro troops, officered by white men. At 7 o’clock the fire of all the artillery was concentrated upon the fort, and the cavalry, dismounted, moved up as if for assault. Forrest ordered his artillery to cease firing, and sent a flag of truce to the Federal commander, demanding a surrender. There was a parley and a refusal. Forrest then adopted his favorite plan of magnifying his own forces and intimidating his adversary. In a personal interview outside the fort, Forrest proposed to the Federal commander that he should take a ride around the lines, and see for himself how well the Confederates were prepared for an assault. The proposition was accepted, but Forrest so manipulated his troops by dismounting and remounting and changing the position of his artillery, that the Federal commander was soon convinced that the Confederates were sufficiently strong to make a successful assault. While the terms of the surrender were being arranged, a reinforcement of white troops arrived from Decatur, and made a determined effort to cut their way through to the fort. This was met by the Seventh Tennessee and other regiments, and a bloody battle was fought before the Federals were captured. To complete the victory, the artillery was brought up to capture two blockhouses, which were held by about one hundred men. In the fight along the railroad, Lieutenant V. F. Ruffin of Company E, a promising young man and a splendid soldier, was killed. He was the only brother of two orphan sisters. Their loss was grievous. Our loss at Athens was five killed and twenty-five wounded. We captured two trains, two locomotives, a large quantity of stores, two pieces of artillery, a number of wagons and ambulances, and three hundred horses. The Federal loss in killed and wounded was considerable, including the death of the Colonel commanding the detachment from the direction of Decatur. Their loss in prisoners was about 1,900.

As Colonel White had been ordered to tear up portions of the railroad toward Decatur, I found it impracticable to join him. Falling in with Captain John Overton, of Rucker’s staff, we rode along our lines to view the situation. As Forrest was having an interview with the Federals, we concluded it would be perfectly safe for us to accept an invitation to breakfast at a nearby house. We had not more than dispatched that breakfast when firing was heard down the railroad. Overton mounted and rode rapidly to the position where part of our brigade was engaged. There he had his fine blooded mare killed under him. Thirty-two years after that he walked into the station at Tullahoma carrying what he said was a box of rattlesnakes. Oh, horrors! thought I. As he evidently did not fully recognize me, and only knew I was someone whom he had seen before, I said to him: “Captain, don’t you remember something about a good breakfast you and I had together down in Athens when we were younger men than we are now?” Brightening up, he replied: “Yes, but don’t you remember about my losing my fine mare that morning?” John Overton’s immediate or prospective wealth never puffed him up, or made any difference with him in his intercourse with all classes of men in the army. He had none of the graces of horseback riding, and moved about the camp much after the manner of some plain farmer, when looking after the crop of crabgrass or considering the advisability of planting his potatoes in the dark of the moon. He was “a chip off the old block”—his grand old father, whom we sometimes saw in camp.

Four miles north of Athens, a blockhouse, with thirty-two men was surrendered. We bivouacked for the night, thinking that we had made a fine beginning. Eleven miles from Athens, there was a strong fort, which protected what was known as Sulphur Branch trestle, a structure three hundred feet long and seventy-two feet high. In order to destroy this, it was necessary to capture the fort and two large blockhouses. On the morning of the 25th of September, the Confederate artillery was concentrated on the fort, in which were several rude cabins covered with oak boards. At the same time, Forrest ordered a heavy force to advance on foot against the position. There was severe fighting for only a little while, as our artillery quickly scattered the lighter timbers and roofs of the cabins in every direction, and killed many of the garrison. The Federals ceased firing, but did not display the white flag. Their commander had already been killed, and there seemed to be great consternation in the fort. They surrendered as soon as a demand was made on them. This surrender included the two blockhouses. I saw no more horrid spectacle during the war than the one which the interior of that fort presented. If a cyclone had struck the place, the damage could hardly have been much worse. Here, again, the spoils were great, including three hundred cavalry horses and their equipments, a large number of wagons and ambulances, two pieces of artillery, all kinds of army stores, with nearly a thousand prisoners. Forrest was compelled now to send south a second installment of prisoners and captured property under a strong guard, the first having been sent from Athens. Sulphur Branch trestle being demolished, we moved towards Pulaski. The lame and disabled horses were now replaced by captured ones, and all the dismounted men, who had been crowded to the limit to keep up on the march, were furnished with horses. Some of our men were engaged in tearing up railroad track, while others were driving the enemy back towards Pulaski. Within six miles of the town we had heavy fighting, and again within three miles. At the former place, I saw the dead body of Stratton Jones, another schoolboy of mine, and the eldest son of Judge Henry C. Jones of Florence, now, perhaps, the oldest citizen of his city, and one of less than half a dozen of the surviving members of the Confederate Congress.

At the Brown farm, still nearer to Pulaski, we captured a corral containing about 2,000 negroes, who were being supported by the Federal commissary. They were a dirty and ragged lot, who were content to grasp at the mere shadow of freedom. Forrest ordered them to remove their filthy belongings from the miserable hovels, and set about two hundred of the latter on fire. Here was the richest depot of supplies I had seen since the capture of Holly Springs by Van Dorn. A bountiful supply of sugar and coffee was distributed to the men. Our horses were put in fine condition here by many hours of rest and good feed. Our loss for the day was about 100 in killed and wounded. That of the Federals was very much greater.

The Federals, under General Rousseau, took lodgment within their works, which were very strong. Having made a spirited demonstration on the enemy’s front, Forrest, after nightfall, leaving numerous campfires burning, just as Washington did the night before the battle of Princeton, drew off and took the road to Fayetteville. Having bivouacked a few miles out, we started at daylight for a ride of forty miles, which put us several miles east of that town. The country was fearfully rough and rocky, but the men and horses held up well. Some time during the following day, September 29th, we reached the village of Mulberry. It was pleasant to see a large school in session and the boys and girls climbing upon the fence to see the soldiers. It was more like peace than war. But here was a pause, for Forrest concluded that it was impracticable to reach the Nashville & Chattanooga Railroad, because of the concentration of thousands of Federals along that line, for it was all-important to them to protect Sherman’s communication with his base of supplies. The plan now was that Buford should take 1,500 men, including Rucker’s brigade, under Kelley, and the artillery and wagons, march to Huntsville, capture the place, if possible, but, by all means, to push his trains towards some available crossing on the Tennessee river, while Forrest was to take the rest of the command, swing around by Lewisburg, strike the railroad above Columbia, do all the damage possible, and hurry on to Florence.