It was now Saturday afternoon. I was only thirty miles from Huntsville and might find a horse there, so it occurred to me, but I had no desire to go there at this time. In the condition circumstances had placed me, I only wished to procure a horse suitable for my necessities and follow my command. I mounted the mustang and took the Huntsville road, inquiring for horses along the way. I stayed all night at Madison Cross roads, and was not recognized by the man at whose house I spent the night, although I had been acquainted with him for several years. I went out next morning, Sunday as it was, and examined and priced one or two horses in the neighborhood, but found I could not pay for one even if I had fancied him, which I did not. So I continued my course towards Huntsville, jogging along very slowly on my borrowed horse, as the weather was quite warm. When within two or three miles of town I left the Pulaski road and turned in through some byways to the residence of Mr. Tate Lowry, a friend of mine who lived near the Meridianville pike, a mile or two out of town. I rode up to his place about noon, just as he had returned from church. He extended me a very cordial welcome to his house, which was only occupied by himself, his good old mother, and little boy. We soon had a good dinner. Out in the office I enjoyed a short sleep, a bath, and began dressing myself, Mr. Lowry coming in and placing his entire wardrobe at my service. I was soon inside of a nice white shirt and had a pair of brand new low-quartered calfskin shoes on my feet. He then brought me a black broadcloth frock coat, but there I drew the line. Having a neat gray flannel overshirt, I donned that, buckled on my belt and felt somewhat genteel. As there were to be religious services at the Cumberland church in the afternoon, we agreed to go into town. We walked in, however, as I had no disposition to show the mustang to my friends in town, and when we arrived at the church we found the congregation assembled and services in progress. I went quietly in and seated myself well back in the church, and when the services ended everybody, male and female, came up to shake hands, all glad to see me, among them my home folks, Mrs. Powers (“Aunt Tullie”), and Miss Aggie Scott, her niece. I accompanied them home, and met Mr. W. H. Powers, with whom I had lived and worked for several years, and who was my best friend. I found it a delightful experience to be here after an absence of more than three and half years. Of course I explained to them why I was in Huntsville and how I became lame. On Monday morning Mr. Powers called me in the parlor alone, and said to me, “Do you need any money?” “That depends,” I said, “on the amount a horse is going to cost me.” “Well,” he said, “if you need any, let me know, and at any time that you need any money, and can communicate with me, you can get all the Confederate money you need.” During the day our L. H. Reed came in from the command, bringing me a leave of absence to answer my purpose while away from the command.
Here I met my friend (Rev. Lieutenant-Colonel W. D. Chadick), who said to me upon learning my purpose in this neighborhood: “I have a good horse I bought very cheap, to give my old horse time to recover from a wound. He is about well now, and as I cannot keep two horses you can have him for what he cost me.” “How much was that?” “Three hundred dollars.” “All right,” said I, “the three one hundred dollar bills are yours, and the horse is mine.” This animal was a splendid sorrel, rather above medium size, about seven years old, sound as a dollar, and a horse of a good gaits. When I had gone forty miles from Huntsville one thousand dollars of the same currency would not have bought him. On Tuesday I had him well shod, mounting him the next morning, and while I was sorely tempted to remain longer, I started for Mississippi. I really had a very bad ankle, and could have called on an army surgeon and procured an extension of my leave and spent a few days more in this delightful way, but hoping to be well enough to perform the duties that came to my lot by the time I reached the command, I pulled myself away.
I went out and got the pony, left the borrowed articles of clothing, and crossing Tennessee River at Brown’s Ferry, I laid in corn enough before I left the valley to carry me across the mountains where forage was scarce. I strapped it on the pony and made good time to Columbus, Miss. Here I was detained several hours by Captain Rice, the post commander, much against my will. He claimed that he was ordered by General Jackson, in case he found an officer in the rear of the command, to detain him until he gathered up a lot of stragglers, who were to be placed in charge of the officer, to be brought up to the command. After worrying me several hours, he turned me over a squad of men, and I started out with them. As soon as I crossed the Tombigbee River I turned them all loose, and told them I hoped they would go to their commands; as for me, I was going to mine, and I was not going to allow a squad of men to detain me for an instant.
I passed through Canton about dark one evening, and learning what road the command was probably on, having left my pony as per instructions, I rode into our camp just at midnight. The next morning we moved to Mechanicsburg, loaded, capped, and formed fours, expecting to meet the enemy, which, however, did not prove to be the case. I therefore was able to be at my post by the time the first prospect of a fight occurred.
On my way down one day, I passed where the command had camped on a small creek, and noticing several dead mules I inquired into the cause, and was told they were killed from eating “Sneeze weed,” a poisonous plant that grows in middle and southern Mississippi. I learned to identify it, and as we had several horses killed by it afterwards, I was very careful when we camped, to pull up every sprig of it within reach of my horse.
On the long march from Spring Hill, Tenn., to Canton, Miss., Company C had the misfortune to lose four men—Dunn, Putnum, and Scott deserted, and McCain was mysteriously missing, and never heard of by us again.
General U. S. Grant had swung round with a large army through Jackson, Miss., fought a battle with General Pemberton at Raymond and another at Baker’s Creek, Champion Hill, where General Pemberton was driven back, having General Loring’s division and twenty pieces of his artillery cut off. Pemberton was compelled to fall back across Big Black River at Edward’s Depot into Vicksburg with the remainder of his army, and General Grant had thrown his army completely around Vicksburg on the land side, and that city was besieged. We were sent down here to hover around the besieging army, to see that they “‘have deyselves, and keep off our grass.” The large gunboats in the river, above and below, with their heavy ordnance were bombarding the city. These huge guns could be heard for many miles away, from early morning until night. When I first heard them I inquired the distance to Vicksburg, and was told it was a hundred miles. During the siege we had active service, driving in foraging parties, picketing, scouting, and occasionally skirmishing with the enemy.
About the first of July we drove the enemy’s pickets from Messenger’s Ferry, on Big Black River, and held that crossing until the 5th. Vicksburg was surrendered on the 4th, and on the evening of the 5th our pickets were driven from the ferry by a large force under General Sherman, who began crossing the river and moving east. General Joseph E. Johnston was in command of our army outside of Vicksburg, and at the time the city was surrendered he was down on Big Black, with his forces and a train loaded with pontoons—everything indicating his intention to attempt a cut through the enemy’s line to relieve General Pemberton. As soon as the surrender occurred General Johnston began falling back towards Jackson, and we fought the advancing enemy several days while he was making this retrogressive movement. We fought them daily, from early in the morning until late in the afternoon, holding them in check, though some days they advanced several miles and others only two or three, owing to the nature of the ground and the more or less favorable position afforded us. This detention gave General Johnston time to move his trains and infantry back at leisure and to get his army in position in front of Jackson. Finally falling back to Jackson, we passed through our infantry lines in front of the city and took our position on the extreme right wing of our army, beyond the northern suburbs of the city. Jackson, it may be well to state, is located on the west bank of Pearl River. General Sherman’s right wing rested on Pearl River south of the city, and his lines extended in a semicircle around the west of the city. Here we fought more or less for about a week, with some pretty severe engagements, directly in front of the city. In passing through the northern portion of the city to the position assigned to us we passed the State Lunatic Asylum. After we formed a line and everything was quiet, there being no enemy in our front, Joe Guthery, of Company B, sauntered out and reconnoitered a little and upon his return he approached Captain Jesse Wynne and said: “Captain, you ought to see General Johnston’s fortifications down by the asylum. He’s got a great big swiege gun planted there that demands the whole country around.”
One afternoon our works were assaulted by a brigade of General Lauman’s division, who were almost annihilated. For this move he was promptly superseded, as it was claimed he acted without orders. After some heavy fighting in front of the city I chanced to pass our field hospital where the surgeons were at work, and just behind the hospital I looked into an old barrel about the size of a potato barrel and discovered it was nearly full of stumps of arms and legs, bloody and maimed, just as they had fallen under the knife and saw. This to me was so ghastly a sight that I never remember it without a shudder.
As we had heretofore been dismounting to fight, I had not had an opportunity of trying my new horse under fire until now. We had a long line of skirmishers in extension of our line to the right in front of us and three or four hundred yards from a line of the enemy’s skirmishers. They were in the brush not exposed to view, so a desultory fire was kept up all along the line. I was sent up the line to deliver some orders to our men, and as I had to ride up the entire line and back, the enemy’s skirmishers soon began firing at me, and kept it up until I made the round trip, the minie balls constantly clipping the bushes very near me and my horse. This completely demoralized him, and he would jump as high and as far as he possibly could every time he heard them. Some horses seem to love a battle, while others are almost unmanageable under fire. The first horse I rode in the army was lazy and had to be spurred along ordinarily, but when we were going into a battle and the firing began he would champ the bits, pull on the bridle, and want to move up.