“‘Hould on, Captain,’ shouted an Irishman in our line, as he jumped up and waved his cap at the horse and rider, ‘Hould on! I’ll give you a thousan’ dollars to tell me where I can get another one of that breed of horses that you can’t hould when he starts to the rear.’
“The Yankees took the shout of laughter that followed Pat’s exclamation for the Rebel yell and we got a breathing spell at our end of the line for a couple of hours.”
Nashville and Columbia pike in front of the Cheairs’ place, near Spring Hill, where the battle would have been fought had not Hood’s plans miscarried.
“That reminds me of Sam Watkins,” said a gentleman present. “The same Sam that wrote that inimitable book on the war called “Company H”—the best book I ever read on the war, for it came nearer to painting it in its true, horrible colors than any of them. Sam tells the story as he went through it, from the standpoint of a common soldier, and the motto of his volume seems to have been General Sherman’s laconic remark that “War is hell.” If the young idiots ever get up a notion to fight again, Sam Watkins’ ‘Company H’ will do more to stop them than anything I know of. Anyway, just before the Battle of Shiloh Sam found himself mounted on the stubbornest mule that ever went to war. He would charge Grant’s whole army when the bugle sounded retreat, and would proceed to fall precipitately back when there wasn’t an enemy in a hundred miles. On the first day at Shiloh, when Johnston’s army was rushing over everything before night, and Buell came, Sam’s mule suddenly decided to retreat—and retreat he did, much to Sam’s mortification and disgust. As he went back full tilt he ran over a gun with four horses attached and before he recovered from the shock of the collision to know which way his rear end was, Sam tied a rope to his neck and the other end of the rope to the caisson’s axle, and having mounted again he got the artilleryman to literally haul his muleship into battle. The fight was nearly over when they finally got to the front, and, General Johnston being killed, Beauregard had ordered a cessation of hostilities till morning. But it suddenly dawned on Sam’s mule that he was expected to charge, and no sooner was he released than he straightened his neck, and before his rider could dismount, straightened his tail, brayed once and charged Grant’s whole army, penned up on the banks of the Tennessee River, and madder than a gored bull in a fence corner. Sam’s captain didn’t understand the mule’s maneuvers, and as he went by shouted to his men:
“‘Look at brave Sam Watkins, boys, charging right in the cannon’s mouth.’
The Martin Place, near Spring Hill, Tennessee, one of the finest farms in the State, formerly the Gibson Farm, and the first home of Tom Hal in Maury County; also historically associated with Hood’s raid.
“‘It ain’t me chargin’, Captain,’ shouted poor Sam, as he pulled away with all his might to keep out of certain death—‘it ain’t me. I ain’t such a fool as that. It’s this damned old mule! Whoa, Baalam, whoa!’
“I don’t know how that is,” remarked a colonel who had seen hard service on foot, “but I do know that we infantry fellows had a holy contempt of all cavalrymen. At the Battle of Murfreesboro I was badly wounded in the leg and arm, and for days I could scarcely walk. As I was hobbling back to the rear on the third day after the fight, I met my brother mounted. As soon as he saw my condition he got down, helped me up on his horse and told me how to ride out to find the hospital surgeon. Now, in our brigade, we had a standing reward of a thousand dollars for anybody who would show us a dead cavalryman. I had forgotten all about this when all at once I rode into a Texas regiment camping and fixing for supper. My arm was in a sling, and from my drooping position it was plain I was wounded. As soon as they saw me one of them yelled out: