But why call this a “Souvenir Edition”? Candidly, a mere conceit, an ephemeral fancy, or the want of a better name. And yet, I shall continue to hope that all my readers, when looking upon these pages, will have at least one happy remembrance of him who has here attempted to instruct and please them.
J. M. H.,
May 30th, 1911. Memphis, Tenn.
CHAPTER I.
MUSTERING IN—“GOOD-BYE, SWEETHEARTS.”
I am to write here of men with whom I was associated in a great war, and of things in which I was a participant. To do even and exact justice shall be my aim, and there shall be no motive other than to give truthful accounts of men and events as they came under my personal observation.
When we mounted our horses at the Bills Corner, in Bolivar, Tennessee, and started for the war, there were one hundred and one of us. This company was composed largely of a jolly, rollicking set of young men from the farms of Hardeman County, who knew little of restraint and less of discipline. Like any other hundred and one men, promiscuously enlisted, some of these in time became fine soldiers, others fairly so, while still others dropped out of the ranks and abandoned the cause. One hundred and eighty-nine names were finally carried on the rolls, but from these a large company could have been taken which added nothing to the renown acquired by our regiment before the close of the war. Considering the fierce political contest through which the country had just passed and the thorough discussion of the questions at issue, the rapid enlistment of volunteers was surprising. It was evident that the election of a President by a party entirely sectional, and the open threats of a radical press in regard to slavery, had aroused an exuberance of Southern sentiment which the conservative element could not withstand. There was a strong feeling for preserving the Union in our community, but on that bright morning in May, 1861, the sentiment for war seemed to be in the ascendant. There were the usual extravagant talk and nonsense, but all were patriotic and meant well. I was of the conservatives who had voted steadily against secession and was prepared to maintain my mental equilibrium in almost any kind of political revulsion. Some of the more enthusiastic women threatened to put petticoats on the young fellows who did not enter the ranks promptly. These same women worked till their fingers were sore in getting the soldiers ready for service. We knew nothing about war and had a problem in deciding just what to carry along. No page in the old school histories had told us how little a soldier must get along on, and there was no experienced campaigner present to tell us. Some of us thought that a white shirt or two would be essential. Razors, combs, brushes and hand glasses were in our outfits. It bothered us to reduce these things to a small package that we could handle easily. We had many details to settle. Saddle-bags? They had all been appropriated by the “early birds”—the fellows who were afraid the war would be over before they could get to it. We resorted to the use of the old-fashioned wallet, an article fashioned after the similitude of a pillow-slip, closed at both ends and with a slit in the middle. Made of stout osnaburgs, it proved to be a sufficient receptacle. But the “wallet” was not tidy enough for the “trim soldier,” and in case of rain the contents were drenched. All this was remedied afterward by experience in packing, necessity for economy, and by spoils captured on the field. We, too, got to using McClellan saddles with large pockets, rubber cloths and regulation blankets. Indeed, later on, if Grant had met one of us, he would have pronounced us “correct” from halter to spur, if only he could have been blinded to the suit of gray or butternut. There came a time when we had new Yankee guns and were constantly on the lookout for cartridges of the right caliber. You see, we “paid some attention to details,” if we did sometimes leave in a hurry.
But we are off for Jackson to be mustered in. At Medon the good people who had that day given a farewell dinner to their home company had a bountiful spread for us. As Company E of the Seventh Cavalry we advanced in line of battle over this very spot at the old brick church on the “Armstrong raid,” and here we had the first real taste of heavy firing. Our gallant young Captain Tate here used his favorite word, “Steady,” which we had heard so often on drill, and reproached us for trying to dodge the balls.
Our mustering officer was A. W. Campbell, who rose to the rank of Brigadier-General, and it was another coincidence that Company E was in his brigade at the surrender. Like Chalmers, he carried his good breeding into camp, and even in the woods there was an air of refinement in all his ways. We had six weeks of hot weather and strenuous drill on the Jackson Fair Grounds. Plentiful rations and boxes from home, but in these fifty years I haven’t forgotten the Jackson flies. I remember that a Bolivar girl said they were “the laziest flies she had ever seen.” This depended upon the point of view. They came on with a rush, but were a little slow in getting out of the way.
Orders came to march to Randolph by way of Bolivar. We were all happy in the prospect of spending a few days at home. We were now soldiers sure enough—in the estimation of our friends. Hadn’t we been in camp six long, hot weeks? Pleasures incident to such occasions are sufficiently sweet to last a long time. Alas! they never do.
“Boots and saddles” for Randolph. At the “old factory” on Clear Creek the people of the Whiteville country prepared a dinner for us that was simply above criticism, except to say that it was perfect in every particular. We had our first bivouac at Stanton. Moving under a July sun and along miles and miles of dusty road, we reached the vicinity of Randolph tired and hungry. We reverted to the “flesh pots” and dreamed of Medon and Whiteville, and other good things that we had seen. The hills and valleys were covered with the tents of the Provisional Army of Tennessee, under General John L. T. Sneed. We certainly got the impression here that the war was a fixed fact. Preparations went forward day and night. It was time for serious reflection. Some of us, though young men, had been thinking over the grave questions for some time, particularly during the exciting political canvass of the previous year. Many who admitted the abstract right of secession but had voted against it as wrong under the circumstances, if not impracticable, were yet hoping that a wicked war would somehow be averted. All the elements of opposition to the Republicans had a popular majority in the election of 1860 of over one million votes, and a majority of eight in the Senate and twenty-one in the House. They could have contested Republican measures or even blocked legislation for two more years. Lincoln had always protested against the policy of interfering with slavery in the States. Was there not here food for reflection on the part of the thoughtful soldier, who was about to stake everything, even life itself, upon the result of a war in which he knew the chances of success were against him? He could reason that wise and patriotic statesmanship could change the whole policy of government in less than two years.