"Co. Aytch," Maury Grays, First Tennessee Regiment / Or, A Side Show of the Big Show

by Samuel R. Watkins

I helped the old lady catch a chicken (an old hen—about the last she had) for dinner, went with her in the garden and pulled a bunch of eschalots, brought two buckets of water, and cut and brought enough wood to last several days.

After awhile, she invited me to dinner, and after dinner I sat down by her side, took her old hand in mine, and told her the whole affair of the hog, from beginning to end; how sorry I was, and how I did not eat any of that hog; and asked her as a special act of kindness and favor to me, to take the hundred dollars; that I felt bad about it, and if she would take it, it would ease my conscience. I laid the money on the table and left. I have never in my life made a raid upon anybody else.

TARGET SHOOTING

By some hook, or crook, or blockade running, or smuggling, or Mason and Slidell, or Raphael Semmes, or something of the sort, the Confederate States government had come in possession of a small number of Whitworth guns, the finest long range guns in the world, and a monopoly by the English government. They were to be given to the best shots in the army. One day Captain Joe P. Lee and Company H went out to shoot at a target for the gun. We all wanted the gun, because if we got it we would be sharpshooters, and be relieved from camp duty, etc.

All the generals and officers came out to see us shoot. The mark was put up about five hundred yards on a hill, and each of us had three shots. Every shot that was fired hit the board, but there was one man who came a little closer to the spot than any other one, and the Whitworth was awarded him; and as we just turned round to go back to camp, a buck rabbit jumped up, and was streaking it as fast as he could make tracks, all the boys whooping and yelling as hard as they could, when Jimmy Webster raised his gun and pulled down on him, and cut the rabbit's head entirely off with a minnie ball right back of his ears. He was about two hundred and fifty yards off. It might have been an accidental shot, but General Leonidas Polk laughed very heartily at the incident, and I heard him ask one of his staff if the Whitworth gun had been awarded. The staff officer responded that it had, and that a certain man in Colonel Farquharson's regiment—the Fourth Tennessee—was the successful contestant, and I heard General Polk remark, "I wish I had another gun to give, I would give it to the young man that shot the rabbit's head off."

None of our regiment got a Whitworth, but it has been subsequently developed that our regiment had some of the finest shots in it the world ever produced. For instance, George and Mack Campbell, of Maury county; Billy Watkins, of Nashville, and Colonel H. R. Field, and many others, who I cannot now recall to mind in this rapid sketch.

UNCLE ZACK AND AUNT DAPHNE

While at this place, I went out one day to hunt someone to wash my clothes for me. I never was a good washerwoman. I could cook, bring water and cut wood, but never was much on the wash. In fact, it was an uphill business for me to wash up "the things" after "grub time" in our mess.

I took my clothes and started out, and soon came to a little old negro hut. I went in and says to an old negress, "Aunty, I would like for you to do a little washing for me." The old creature was glad to get it, as I agreed to pay her what it was worth. Her name was Aunt Daphne, and if she had been a politician, she would have been a success. I do not remember of a more fluent "conversationalist" in my life. Her tongue seemed to be on a balance, and both ends were trying to out-talk the other—but she was a good woman. Her husband was named Uncle Zack, and was the exact counterpart of Aunt Daphne. He always sat in the chimney corner, his feet in the ashes, and generally fast asleep. I am certain I never saw an uglier or more baboonish face in my life, but Uncle Zack was a good Christian, and I would sometimes wake him up to hear him talk Christian.

He said that when he "fessed 'ligin, de debil come dare one nite, and say, 'Zack, come go wid me,' and den de debil tek me to hell, and jes stretch a wire across hell, and hang me up jes same like a side of bacon, through the tongue. Well, dar I hang like de bacon, and de grease kept droppin' down, and would blaze up all 'round me. I jes stay dar and burn; and after while de debil come 'round wid his gun, and say, 'Zack, I gwine to shoot you,' and jes as he raise de gun, I jes jerk loose from dat wire, and I jes fly to heben."