Corduroy Breeches—Desolate Country—Conscript Headquarters—An “Arrest”—Rome, Ga.—Under Fire for One Hundred Days—Big and Little Kenesaw—Lost Mountain—Rain, Rain, Rain—Hazardous Scouting—Green Troops—Shelled—Truce—Atlanta—Death of General MacPherson—Ezra Church—McCook’s Retreat—Battle Near Newnan—Results.
We reached General Roddy’s headquarters near Decatur, on Saturday, and rested until Monday noon. Starting back we passed through Moulton, were caught in a cold rain, sheltered our horses under a gin-shed, and slept in the cotton seed without forage or rations. Next morning I instructed the men to find breakfast for themselves and horses, and meet me at Mr. Walker’s, down on the road. Taking DeSauls and one or two others, I went on to Mr. Walker’s, a well-to-do man, who owned a mill, where I hoped to get breakfast and some rations and forage to carry us across the mountain. Arriving at Walker’s, he came out to the gate and I asked him first about forage and rations to take with us, and he said we could get them. Leaving DeSauls to question him about his land, I sought the lady of the house to arrange for breakfast. I found her very willing to feed us, as we were from eastern Texas, and knew of her father, who lived in Rusk County. Now DeSauls was a resident of New Orleans, was dressed in a Confederate gray jacket and cap, and wore a pair of corduroy trousers. Soon after the lady left the front room to have breakfast prepared, DeSauls came in with a fearful frown on his face and said to me: “Barron, don’t you think that d——d old scoundrel called me a Yankee?” “Oh,” said I, “I guess he was joking.” Just at this time Mr. Walker came up, looking about as mad as DeSauls, and said, “No, I am not joking. I believe you are all Yankees; look at them corduroy breeches! There hasn’t been a piece of corduroy in the South since the war began, without a Yankee wore it.” I treated the matter as a joke at first, until finding that the old gentleman was in dead earnest, I undertook to convince him that he was wrong, but found it no easy matter. Finally I asked him the distance to Huntsville? Forty miles. Then through my familiarity with the people and country in and around Huntsville I satisfied him that he was wrong, and then we were treated kindly by him and his family.
After leaving Tennessee valley we passed through the most desolate country I ever saw. For more than a day’s march I found but one or two houses inhabited, and passing through the county seat of Winston County I was unable to find any person to tell me the road to Jasper. Arriving at Tuscaloosa I learned that Colonel Jones had returned and that the brigade had gone to Georgia, and I followed it, passing through Elyton, Blountsville, Talledega, and Blue Mountain. Camping one night at Blountsville, I met my friend Bluford M. Faris, formerly of Huntsville. Arriving at Talledega, I determined to spend one day, Saturday, there in order to have some shoeing done. This was conscript headquarters for a large area of country, with a major commanding, and there was post-quartermaster, commissary, a provost marshal, and all the pomp and circumstance of a military post. I thought at one time I would have some trouble, but fortunately I came out all right.
In the first place I camped in a grove of timber convenient to water, but soon received a message from the commander that I had camped near his residence, and would I move somewhere else? He did not want men to depredate upon his premises. I replied that I would make good every depredation my men committed, and that it was not convenient for me to move. I was busy for some time in procuring rations, forage, and an order for horseshoeing, and about the time I had these matters arranged I got a message requesting me to come to the provost marshal’s office. On my way I saw my men out in line of battle near the court-house, with guns loaded and capped. Calling one of them to me, I learned that one or two of them had gone into the provost’s office and he had cursed them as d——d stragglers belonging to a straggling brigade, and they gave him back some rough words, whereupon he had threatened to arrest them, and they were waiting to be arrested. Coming to the office I found the man in charge was a deputy. Introducing myself, I inquired what he wanted. He said some of my men had been to his office and cursed him, and he had threatened to arrest them and wished to know if I could control them. I told him I could control them as easily as I could control that many little children, but if he wished to arrest any of them, the men were just out there and he might send his men out to attempt it—if he could. I asked him what provocation he had offered, and made him acknowledge that he had called them “stragglers.” I then told him they were not stragglers, but good soldiers and, besides, they were all gentlemen, and if he had not first insulted them they would have treated him in a gentlemanly way; that if he wished to deal with them to proceed, otherwise I would take charge of them. Oh, no, he did not wish to have any trouble. If I was willing for my men to take a drink, I had his permission, and the poor fellow was more than willing to turn the “stragglers” over to me. I called them all up, accompanied them to a saloon, and told them that those who wished it could take a drink. We then went about our business without further trouble.
From Talladega I proceeded to Blue Mountain, intending to go from there to Rome, but learning that our army was gradually falling back, and being unable to learn its position or when I could safely calculate on striking it in the flank, I turned my course southward, passed through Carrolton, crossed the Chattahoochee River, followed the river up to Campbellton, recrossed it and found my command fighting near new New Hope church on the —— day of May, 1864.
A detailed account of this campaign would make a large volume, and of course cannot be undertaken in these brief recollections. Our division of cavalry reached Rome, Ga., about the middle of May, and fought the Federal advance the same day, and then for one hundred days were under fire, with the exception that on two occasions we were ordered to follow cavalry raids sent to our rear. But for this brief respite we were under constant fire for this period, each day and every day. We were assigned a position on the extreme left of General J. E. Johnston’s army, a position occupied by us during the entire campaigning, while General Joe Wheeler’s cavalry was on the extreme right.
To give one day’s duty is practically to give the duties of many other days. We always fought on foot. Sometimes behind breastworks, sometimes not, sometimes confronting infantry and sometimes cavalry. We would be up, have our horses equipped, form a line, detail horse-holders, and march to the front by daybreak, and take our position on the fighting line. About nine o’clock our cooked rations, consisting of one small pone of corn bread and three-eighths of a pound of bacon, was distributed to each man as we stood or lay in line of battle. While these rations would not have made a good hearty breakfast, they had to last us twenty-four hours. The skirmishing might be light or heavy, we might charge the enemy’s works in our front, or we might be charged by them. Usually the musket-firing, and often artillery-firing, would be kept up until night, when leaving a skirmish line at the front, we would retire to our horses. We often changed position after night, which involved night marching, always changing in a retrograde movement. Sometimes the fighting would become terrific, for at times General Sherman would attack our whole line, miles and miles in length, and, under General Johnston these attacks were made with heavy loss to Sherman’s army. Particularly was this the case in front of Big Kenesaw, Little Kenesaw, and Lost Mountain.
In this campaign the cavalry service was much harder than the infantry service. When night came on the infantry could fall down and sleep all night unless they had to change their position, while the cavalry were burdened with their horses. Marching back to our horses we hustled for all the forage the Government could furnish us, which was usually about one quart of shelled corn, and we were compelled to supplement this with something else, whatever we could find; sometimes it was oats, often green crab grass from the fields, and later, green fodder or pea vines. Often this gathering of horse feed lasted until ten or eleven o’clock, when the horses would be stripped and we could sleep, provided we were not to move.
Early in June it began to rain, and continued raining day and night for about twenty-five days, until the country was so boggy that it was almost impossible to move artillery or cavalry outside of the beaten roads. Sometimes when the rain was pouring down in torrents the enemy would be throwing shrapnels at us, and hundreds, perhaps thousands, of them without exploding, plunged into the soft earth and are doubtless there yet. During the rainy season there was a great deal of thunder and lightning, and artillery duels would occur either day or night, and sometimes it was difficult to distinguish between the thunder of heaven and the thunder of cannon and bursting shells. On one of those very rainy days we were in some timber south of a farm, while the enemy was in the timber north of it, only a few hundred yards distant, and had been firing at us in a pretty lively manner. General Ross sent for me and told me to go ascertain how far the enemy’s line extended beyond our left. I mounted my horse and rode off, conning over in my mind the perplexing question as to how I was to gain the desired information, as the enemy in the thick woods could not be seen, and I could think of no other method than to ride into the field in view of their skirmishers, draw their fire and move on until the end of their line was apparent. Accordingly I rode into the open field and moved along some distance without being shot at; looking across the field near the opposite fence, I fancied I saw a line of skirmishers just inside of it, and tried in vain to attract their attention at long range. I rode back and forth, getting nearer to them all the time, until I got close enough to discover that the fancied pickets were black stumps, an illusion occasioned by the fact that a man in dark blue uniform on a rainy day looks black at a distance of two or three hundred yards. I was then worse puzzled than at first, for to go back and tell General Ross that I could not learn anything about their lines would never do. After a little hesitation I threw down the fence and rode into the thick undergrowth, expecting every minute to meet a volley of bullets. Going on some little distance I heard the word “Halt!” I halted, and was soon gratified to learn that I was confronting a small Confederate scouting party. Informing them of my object, they proposed showing me what I was looking for, and I was therefore able to return and report to my general, sound in body and much easier in mind.
During this long rainy spell we rarely slept two nights on the same ground and never had a dry blanket to sleep on. On the 3d day of July we fought General Schofield’s Corps nearly all day, fighting and falling back (as they were pushing down a road leading to Sand Town, a crossing on the Chattahoochee River), passing through a line of breastworks on the crest of a ridge crossing the road at right angles, erected and occupied by the Georgia Militia, about the middle of the afternoon. As we passed into the breastworks one of our men was killed by a long-range ball. The militia had never been under fire and had never seen a man killed before. We were instructed to form a line immediately in their rear and rest, and to support them if the enemy should come; but beyond throwing a few shells over the works and skirmishing at long range, we had no farther trouble with the enemy that afternoon. Our men were very much amused at the sayings and doings of the militia at this time, but subsequently the Georgia militia were commanded by General G. W. Smith, an experienced officer, and after this they acted very gallantly in battle. They retired at night and we, leaving skirmishers in the works, went into camp. The next morning the Third Texas went into these breastworks, and while Captain Germany and myself were out in front deploying skirmishers he was severely wounded just below the knee, and was unfit for duty for several months.