General Hooker was now put in command of the Army of the Potomac, and Burnside, with the Ninth Army Corps, ordered to the Western department. Being desirous of leaving the Army of the Potomac, I now applied for permission to go with the Ninth Corps, which was granted. I did not go with the troops, however, but went to Washington first, and remained several days; then took the cars and proceeded to Louisville, Kentucky, and arrived there before the troops did.
The last entry in my journal, before leaving the Army of the Potomac, was as follows: “The weather department is in perfect keeping with the War Department; its policy being to make as many changes as possible, and every one worse than the last. May God bless the old Army of the Potomac, and save it from total annihilation.”
On the arrival of the troops at Louisville, they were sent in detachments to different places—some to Bardstown, some to Lebanon, and others to guard different portions of the railroad.
The third day after my arrival I went out with a reconnoitering expedition, under command of General M. It was entirely composed of cavalry. We rode thirty-six miles that afternoon—the roads were splendid. When we were about twelve miles from our lines we changed our course and struck through the woods, fording creeks and crossing swamps, which was anything but pleasant.
After emerging from the thick undergrowth, on one occasion, we came upon an inferior force of the enemy’s cavalry; a sharp skirmish ensued, which resulted in the capture of five prisoners from the rebel band, and wounding several. Three of our men were slightly wounded, but we returned to Louisville in good order, and enjoyed the luxury of a good supper at a hotel, which is a rare thing in that city.
I took the cars the next day and went to Lebanon—dressed in one of the rebel prisoner’s clothes—and thus disguised, made another trip to rebeldom. My business purported to be buying up butter and eggs, at the farm-houses, for the rebel army. I passed through the lines somewhere, without knowing it; for on coming to a little village toward evening, I found it occupied by a strong force of rebel cavalry. The first house I went to was filled with officers and citizens. I had stumbled upon a wedding party, unawares. Captain Logan, a recruiting officer, had been married that afternoon to a brilliant young widow whose husband had been killed in the rebel army a few months before. She had discovered that widow’s weeds were not becoming to her style of beauty, so had decided to appear once more in bridal costume, for a change.
I was questioned pretty sharply by the handsome captain in regard to the nature of my business in that locality, but finding me an innocent, straightforward Kentuckian, he came to the conclusion that I was all right. But he also arrived at the conclusion that I was old enough to be in the army, and bantered me considerably upon my want of patriotism.
The rebel soldier’s clothes which I wore did not indicate any thing more than that I was a Kentuckian—for their cavalry do not dress in any particular uniform, for scarcely two of them dress alike—the only uniformity being that they most generally dress in butternut color.
I tried to make my escape from that village as soon as possible, but just as I was beginning to congratulate myself upon my good fortune, who should confront me but Captain Logan. Said he: “See here, my lad; I think the best thing you can do is to enlist, and join a company which is just forming here in the village, and will leave in the morning. We are giving a bounty to all who freely enlist, and are conscripting those who refuse. Which do you propose to do, enlist and get the bounty, or refuse, and be obliged to go without anything?” I replied, “I think I shall wait a few days before I decide.” “But we can’t wait for you to decide,” said the captain; “the Yankees may be upon us any moment, for we are not far from their lines, and we will leave here either to-night or in the morning early. I will give you two hours to decide this question, and in the mean time you must be put under guard.” So saying, he marched me back with him, and gave me in charge of the guards. In two or three hours he came for my decision, and I told him that I had concluded to wait until I was conscripted. “Well,” said he, “you will not have long to wait for that, so you may consider yourself a soldier of the Confederacy from this hour, and subject to military discipline.”
This seemed to me like pretty serious business, especially as I would be required to take the oath of allegiance to the Confederate Government. However, I did not despair, but trusted in Providence and my own ingenuity to escape from this dilemma also; and as I was not required to take the oath until the company was filled up, I was determined to be among the missing ere it became necessary for me to make any professions of loyalty to the rebel cause. I knew that if I should refuse to be sworn into the service after I was conscripted, that in all probability my true character would be suspected, and I would have to suffer the penalty of death—and that, too, in the most barbarous manner.