It was at Gainsville, Ala., we parted with our old Fifer Casey. He had been with us ever since the regiment was organized at Camp Boone, Tenn. He had fifed all through the Mexican War and nearly three years of the Civil War. At first he had lots to tell us about Cerro Gordo, Palo Alto and Chepultepec, but after we got down to business old Casey gave the Mexican War and Greasers a rest.
He was a tall, slim old fellow, carried himself as if steel ramrods were his regular diet, scorned to ride in an ambulance or wagon on a march, kept at the head of the regiment all the time, and went into all battles playing his liveliest tunes.
At Shiloh, in the charge that broke up the “Hornet Nest,” old Casey was playing “Cheer, Boys, Cheer,” and the whole regiment singing it as they closed in with the Yanks.
At the tale end of many a long day’s march, when everybody was footsore and weary, thinking and wishing for camp, marching any kind of old way, Casey would notice it, and strike up “The Girl I Left Behind Me” or “The Stump-Tail Dog.” The boys would forget about their weariness, close up, catch the step, and before we had gone an hundred feet, without a word from any officer, we would be sailing along like we were “passing in review.”
Casey had a musical chum that belonged to the 9th Arkansas, of our brigade, who was just the opposite of Casey—short and stout built. The top of his head would scarcely reach old Casey’s shoulder. When those two got together with a canteen of whisky there would be little sleeping in that regiment that night. We used to call it “The Girl I Left Behind Me,” with variations, “Long Girl” and “Short Girl.”
Casey always refused to be mounted, saying he did not enlist in a cavalry regiment and did not propose to be killed by some fool horse. He did not condescend to ask for any papers, but coolly walked over and joined the 9th Arkansas, with his old chum.
Our only regret about being mounted was leaving the other regiments of our brigade—Buford Brigade, Loring Division. We had been together a long time, and many battles and long marches had formed many warm friendships. General Buford had drilled us till we were one of the best drilled and most soldierly-looking brigades in the C. S. A., and always gave a good account of ourselves in battle. The regiments were the 35th and 27th Alabama, 9th Arkansas and 12th Louisiana, nearly all young men, and as good soldiers as ever marched. After we left, Colonel Scott, of the 12th Louisiana, was ranking officer, and commanded the brigade. General Buford accepted an offer from General Forrest, and followed us to North Mississippi, where we joined General Forrest. The 3d, 7th, 8th and 12th Kentucky were brigaded, and Col. A. P. Thompson commanded. He was killed a short time after at Paducah, Ky., and General Lyon succeeded him. Lyon and Bell’s brigades formed the Buford Division.
We followed the “Wizard of the Saddle” till the surrender, and were engaged in every fight and raid in which he was.
On the campaign to Nashville in front of General Hood, I was detailed to act as courier for General Buford. The day of the battle of Franklin, Tenn., General Buford had the right wing of our army. There was nothing but General Wilson’s cavalry in front of us. We drove the Yankees back across Harpeth River, and at a crossing five miles above Franklin they dismounted and prepared to make a desperate resistance to our crossing. They formed their line on the north bank close to the edge, and across the river was an old field which we would be forced to cross to reach the ford. They could rake us fore and aft before we could get to the river. As soon as General Buford saw the situation, he dismounted two of Lyon’s regiments back of the field a half mile from the river, and with four guns of battery double-quicked them across the field up to the river. They then opened a rapid fire on the Yankee line across the river. The two lines made a dense smoke which hung like a fog over the river. Under cover of the smoke, General Buford with the balance of the command crossed, mounted, the smoke completely screening their movement, and the Yankees never fired on them while crossing. The boys had orders to cease firing after we got down the bank, which they did. The Yankees thinking they had gained a victory because the fire stopped, cheered lustily, and almost ceased firing. While they were still cheering, a long line of stern-faced men cleared the bank and fell onto them with carbine, pistol and saber.
I thought I would be smart, and got right behind General Buford, going up the bank at a place that I did not think a goat could climb. The General weighed 320 pounds, and rode a big, old horse. I did not think a ball could find me behind such good works. A moment after, when I saw old “Waggoner” and the General hanging right over me, I thought I had been a little too smart, but old “Waggoner” did not slip. He got his front feet on the top and sprang as lightly as a cat right into the Yankee line. One of them thought he had found a loose horse and grabbed him by the bit, but turned him loose with an awful howl. We actually surprised the Yankees as much as if we had ambuscaded them from a stone wall, got the first fire, which at such close range counts up. The boys who did the firing on the south bank, and the battery, mounted and came over and joined. The Yankees were of the very best brand—tall Westerners, could ride and shoot with the best. They put up a good fight, but we got away with them and scattered them. There was nothing between us and the Nashville and Franklin pike then.