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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c266901 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #60629 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60629) diff --git a/old/60629-h.zip b/old/60629-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 91be612..0000000 --- a/old/60629-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/60629-h/60629-h.htm b/old/60629-h/60629-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index a072bb0..0000000 --- a/old/60629-h/60629-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5236 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Sketches of the War, by Charles C. Nott. - </title> - <style type="text/css"> - - p { margin-top: .75em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .75em; - } - - p.bold {text-align: center; font-weight: bold;} - p.bold2 {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: 150%;} - - h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; - } - h1 span, h2 span { display: block; text-align: center; } - #id1 { font-size: smaller } - - - hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; - } - - hr.smler { - width: 5%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 47.5%; - margin-right: 47.5%; - clear: both; - } - - body{margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; - } - - table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 5px; border-collapse: collapse; border: none; text-align: right;} - - .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - text-indent: 0px; - } /* page numbers */ - - .center {text-align: center;} - .smaller {font-size: smaller;} - .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - .mynote { background-color: #DDE; color: black; padding: .5em; margin-left: 20%; - margin-right: 20%; } /* colored box for notes at beginning of file */ - .space-above {margin-top: 3em;} - .right {text-align: right;} - .left {text-align: left;} - .s3 {display: inline; margin-left: 3em;} - .s6 {display: inline; margin-left: 6em;} - .s15 {display: inline; margin-left: 15em;} - - .poem {display: inline-block; text-align: left;} - .poem br {display: none;} - .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} - .poem div {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem div.i1 {margin-left: 1em;} - .poem div.i3 {margin-left: 3em;} - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sketches of the War, by Charles C. Nott - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Sketches of the War - A Series of Letters to the North Moore Street School of New York - -Author: Charles C. Nott - -Release Date: November 4, 2019 [EBook #60629] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SKETCHES OF THE WAR *** - - - - -Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class ="mynote"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:<br /><br /> -Obvious typographic errors have been corrected.<br /></p></div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><a name="cover.jpg" id="cover.jpg"></a><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="cover" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</a></span></p> - -<h1>SKETCHES OF THE WAR:</h1> - -<p class="bold space-above">A SERIES OF</p> - -<p class="bold2 space-above">Letters to the North Moore Street School</p> - -<p class="bold space-above">OF NEW YORK.</p> - -<p class="bold space-above">BY</p> - -<p class="bold2 space-above">CHARLES C. NOTT,</p> - -<p class="bold">CAPTAIN IN THE FIFTH IOWA CAVALRY AND TRUSTEE OF PUBLIC SCHOOLS IN THE<br />CITY OF NEW YORK.</p> - -<p class="bold space-above">THIRD EDITION.</p> - -<p class="bold space-above">NEW-YORK:<br />ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH,<br />770 BROADWAY, CORNER OF 9TH ST.<br /> -—<br />1865.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</a></span></p> - -<p class="center">Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by</p> - -<p class="center">CHARLES C. NOTT.</p> - -<p class="center">In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.</p> - -<div class="center space-above"><img src="images/logo.jpg" alt="logo" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p> - -<p class="center">To</p> - -<p class="center">WILLIAM B. EAGER, <span class="smcap">Jr.</span>,</p> - -<p class="center">AN UNWAVERING FRIEND AND FAITHFUL SCHOOL OFFICER,</p> - -<p class="center">THESE SKETCHES ARE INSCRIBED.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<table summary="CONTENTS"> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"></td> - <td><span class="smaller">PAGE</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>I.—</td> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Hospital</span>,</td> - <td><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>II.—</td> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Donelson</span>,</td> - <td><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>III.—</td> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Assault</span>,</td> - <td><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IV.—</td> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Foraging</span>,</td> - <td><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>V.—</td> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">A Flag of Truce</span>,</td> - <td><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VI.—</td> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Holly Fork</span>,</td> - <td><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VII.—</td> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Scouting</span>,</td> - <td><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VIII.—</td> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">A Surprise</span>,</td> - <td><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IX.—</td> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Escape</span>,</td> - <td><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>X.—</td> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Last Scout</span>,</td> - <td><a href="#Page_154">154</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> - -<h2>PREFACE.</h2> - -<p class="bold">TO SECOND EDITION.</p> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<p>The first edition of this little work was published during its author's -absence in the Department of the Gulf, and fought its own way into -public favor. The second edition is now published for the exclusive -benefit of disabled soldiers, and in the expectation of opening for -them a profitable field of employment. As the first edition was soon -exhausted, and no work has been offered to the public that <i>fulfils</i> -the <i>designs</i> of this, it is hoped that this edition may find an -approval beyond the humane object which calls it forth.</p> - -<p>Written for readers whom I had been accustomed to address familiarly, -and among whom the most usefully happy moments of my life had passed; -and composed for the most part amid the scenes which they describe, -these letters to the North Moore Street School were never intended for -adult readers, nor to assume the shape and substance of a book. In -composing them I carefully avoided that "baby-talk" which some people -think simplicity, and that paltriness of subject which by many is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span> -thought to be alone within the grasp and comprehension of a child. The -greatest of children's stories are those which were written for men. -"Robinson Crusoe" and "Gulliver's Travels," amid the annual wreck of -a thousand "juvenile publications," survive, and pass from generation -to generation, known to us best as the attractive reading of our early -life. This enviable lot is secured to them by the severe purity of -their English composition—the simplicity of their style—the natural -minuteness of their description, but above all by the real greatness -of their authors, who in striving to be simple, never condescend to -be <i>little</i>. The "Goody Two Shoes" of Goldsmith, which was written -for children, is hardly rescued by his charming style; but the "Vicar -of Wakefield," which was written for men, has <i>ascended</i> to be a -story-book for childhood, and is speedily becoming the exclusive -property of the young.</p> - -<p>Therefore while I sought to instruct a few of the children of the -United States by carrying them unconsciously through the details of -military life, and unfolding to them some of the better scenes in -their country's great struggle, still I selected just such incidents -and topics as I would have chosen for their fathers and mothers, -only endeavoring, with greater strictness, to blend in the narration -simplicity with elegance.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> - -<h2>SKETCHES OF THE WAR.</h2> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<h2><span>I.</span> <span class="smaller">THE HOSPITAL.</span></h2> - -<p>There was a young man in my squadron whom I shall call Frank Gillham. -He was the son of a Wisconsin farmer, and had enlisted in the ranks -as a patriotic duty. Frank was young and handsome, a fine horseman, -and rode one of the handsomest horses in the squadron. He was just the -person whom one would suppose sure to rise from the ranks and perform -many a gallant feat during the war. A few weeks ago the horse was -reported sick. It had but a cold, and we thought that a few days would -find it well again. But the cold grew worse and changed to pneumonia, a -disease of the lungs fearfully prevalent here among both men and horses.</p> - -<p>Frank nursed and watched his horse day and night, counting the beatings -of its pulse, consulting the farrier, administering the medicine as -though the horse were his best friend. It was fruitless labor; for -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> poor animal stood hour after hour panting with drooping head, -occasionally looking sadly up as if to say, "you can do me no good," -until at last it died. We all felt sorry for the poor horse, but did -not think his death was the forerunner of a greater loss.</p> - -<p>In the middle of December, the surgeon reported Frank sick with -measles. The cold draughts through the barracks are peculiarly -dangerous to this disease, and it is also contagious; and hence it -is an inflexible rule to send patients at once to the hospital. The -ambulance came, Frank was helped in, and I bid him good bye, expecting -(for it was but a slight attack) that he would return soon.</p> - -<p>A fortnight passed, and he was reported convalescent; the measles had -gone, but there was a cough remaining; he had better wait awhile till -quite restored.</p> - -<p>Once or twice I tried to go to the hospital, which was a mile distant -from camp; but there is a rule forbidding officers to leave the -camp except with a pass, and the passes are limited in number and -dealt out in turn—my turn had not come. My last application for -a pass was made on Sunday; unhappily it was refused. On Monday, I -sent some letters which had come for Frank down to the hospital. An -hour or two afterwards the letters came back. I took them—they were -unopened—there was a message: "Frank Gillham is dead."</p> - -<p>During the two or three preceding days, the cough had run into -pneumonia. The surgeons had not sent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> word—they had no one to -send—there were so many such cases. I had not been there, because it -was contrary to camp regulations; and thus, with a family within the -telegraph's call and some old friends within the neighboring barracks, -poor Frank had died alone in the cheerless wards of a public hospital.</p> - -<p>When it was too late to receive a last message or soothe a dying hour, -a pass could be obtained. I took with me a corporal, an old friend of -Frank's. As we rode along, I made some inquiries and learned that Frank -was the eldest child, and the pride of his family. There had doubtless -been anxious forebodings when he enlisted, and tears when he departed. -"It will break his father's heart when he hears of this," said the -corporal.</p> - -<p>Ordinarily it would have been a great relief to ride beyond the camp -enclosure; for the sense of confinement and the constant sight of -straight rows of men going through their endless angular movements -become very irksome after a while, and awaken a strong desire to -be unrestrained yourself and to see people in their natural, every -day life. But now we felt too depressed for enjoying our unexpected -liberty, and except when I was asking the questions I have spoken of, -we rode in dreary silence, thinking of the painful duty before us, and -of the distant family soon to be startled by the fatal message, and -informed that they had given a victim to the guilty rebellion.</p> - -<p>At length we reached the "Hospital of the Good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> Samaritan." It is -situated on the outskirts of the city, and has been taken by the -Government for soldiers sick with contagious diseases. The building is -large and not unpleasant, the ceilings high, and the rooms cheerfully -lighted. There seemed to be such comforts as can be bought and sold, -and the attendants appeared kind and diligent. But here I must stop on -the favorable side. As I looked around, I learned why soldiers dread -the hospital. The cots were close together, with just room enough to -pass between, and on every cot lay a sick man. At the sound of the -opening door, some looked eagerly toward us—others turned their eyes -languidly—and others again did not change their vacant gaze, too weak -to care who came or went away. There were faces flushed with fever, -others pale and thin, and others with the pallor of death settling upon -them, the lips muttering unconsciously in delirium, and the fingers -nervously picking the bed clothes. Here was a man who had just arrived, -timid and anxious; and on the next cot was one who would soon depart on -the last march.</p> - -<p>I went into the room where my lost soldier had taken his farewell, -hoping to gather from the other occupants some last words or message -for the dear ones of his home. The cot was still empty. I went up to -the next patient and whispered my question, "Did you know the young man -who died this morning?" The man shook his head and said, "No, I was too -sick;" and he glanced nervously at the empty cot so close beside<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> him. -I passed round and asked the next. He half opened his closed eyes, but -made no reply. It was too plain he could not. I had not observed how -soon he would follow Frank. I went to the night attendant, who had come -round about midnight, and had spoken to Frank of the coming change. He -had been resigned and had expressed regrets only for his family and -country, and a wish to live for them. "He said this with great energy," -said the attendant, "and I wondered how a dying man could feel so much. -But after that he became flighty; and as there were only three of us -to over one hundred patients, I had to go and leave him. He died about -sunrise." Did he continue delirious? or was he conscious through those -last lonely hours? and did he wish for some fond hand to support his -head, some kind ear to receive his parting words? I hoped the former. A -crowded hospital is a lonely place wherein to die.</p> - -<p>"<i>Will you see the body?</i>" said the superintendent. We all have a -natural repugnance to death, but in addition to this repugnance I -remember the face of a friend with such distinctness that it is painful -for me to impress on the living picture in my memory the marred and -broken image of the dead. I therefore seldom join in the usual custom -of viewing the corpse at funerals—never, if I can avoid it without -giving pain to those who do not understand my motives. It consequently -was with more than usual reluctance that I discharged this duty of -ascertaining that no terrible mistake had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> occurred among the number -coming and going, and dying in the hospital. We went down-stairs -to the basement. Hitherto my experience with death had been only -that of funerals, in the calm and quiet of peaceful life, where all -that is most painful is softened or hidden, and death made to take -the semblance of sleep. I can hardly say that I expected to see, as -usual, the solitary coffin and its slumbering tenant, yet I certainly -anticipated nothing different. "This is the dead-room," said the -superintendent, as he unlocked and threw open a door. The name was the -first intimation of something different. It was a narrow, gloomy room, -and on the stone pavement, lay four white figures. They were decently -attired in the hospital shroud, but the accustomed concealments of the -undertaker's art were wanting. The staring eyes, the open mouth, the -contracted face left little of the usual sleep-like repose of death. -It was a ghastly sight. I felt like shrinking back to the outer air, -but had to enter the room. The superintendent did not know Frank, so -I was obliged to look at each. I glanced at the first. He was a young -man with fair hair, and what had been bright blue eyes. They seemed to -return my look so consciously that for a moment I could not avert my -gaze. The look seemed to say, "You do not know me: we are strangers who -have never met before, will never meet again." I glanced at the second, -at the third. All were strangers, and all were young. The fourth I -recognized. The room was so narrow that the figures reached from wall<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> -to wall, and as we went forward we had to step over each prostrate -form. The corporal followed me, and looked long and earnestly at his -friend. There had been no mistake. As we went out my eyes involuntarily -turned to the others. It was probably the only look of pity they -received. "Did they die during the night?" I inquired. "Yes!" "And has -no officer or friend been with them?" "No!" "When will they be buried?" -"In the afternoon." This, I fear, was all their funeral service. "Did -they anticipate such a death and such a burial when they came from -distant pleasant homes to serve in the great army?" I asked myself. -And as I looked on them, thus neglected and deserted, I thought of the -families and friends who would give much to stand as I stood beside -them, to weep over their coffins, and to go with them to the grave.</p> - -<p>The remains of my soldier it was determined should be sent to his -family. He was dressed in his uniform, and on the following day the -railroad swiftly carried him back to his old home.</p> - -<p>When all was over, I gathered together his few effects. This the law -makes the duty of an officer. There were also some unanswered letters -to be returned—pleasant letters, beginning, "Dear Frank, we wish you -merry Christmas!" and hoping he would have happy holidays in camp. And -there was one touch of melancholy romance added; for hidden in the -recesses of his pocket-book was a tress of hair, and on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> wrapper -a name; a letter, too, with the same signature. I determined that no -curious eyes should run over these, and that they should not be the -subject for careless tongues; so I carefully placed them in a separate -package and sent them to one who perhaps will grieve the most.</p> - -<p class="space-above">And since I commenced this addition to my letter, there has been -another interruption—a second victim of an unhealthy camp and crowded -barracks. His death, poor boy, possessed fewer circumstances of -interest. He was a German, with no family circle to be broken; a sister -here, a brother there, and parents in a distant land. When told of -Frank's death he seemed anxious, and whispered me that there were many -dying in the hospital. The surgeon said there was no danger, but I saw -it did not reassure him. On Sunday I got leave to send down one of my -men, who was his friend, to the hospital, to be with him as a night -nurse. On Monday I rode down. "How is Leonard?" was the first question -to the surgeon. "He is very low," was the answer. I went up to his -room. His friend sat by the cot, holding his hand. But the eyes were -glazed, the pulse had stopped, and all was over. He had just died.</p> - -<p>You may wish to know something of a soldier's funeral, not such as we -have in Broadway, with music and processions, but such as are occurring -here.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> - -<p>I asked leave for the squadron to attend the funeral, and the colonel -said certainly, all who wished should go. At the appointed time we -mounted and rode slowly to the hospital, accompanied by the chaplain of -the regiment. We reached it soon, and the men were drawn up in line. -Even in such scenes military discipline enables us to move more easily -and rapidly than in ordinary life. A few commands in an unusually -subdued voice were given. "Prepare to dismount." "Dismount!" "Ones -and threes hold horses, twos and fours forward." Half of the squadron -then passed by the coffin, and then relieved the others in holding the -horses. All was done so quietly and quickly that it formed a contrast -to a similar scene at an ordinary funeral. The ambulance came to the -door. The ambulance carries the sick to the hospital, and the dead to -the grave: it is the soldier's litter and his hearse.</p> - -<p>About a mile from the hospital is the Wesleyan cemetery. I had ridden -by it during the soft summer weather of the fall, and remarked how -prettily it is situated upon the brow of a hill, with the city in view -upon one side and the quiet country on the other, while large trees -and mournful evergreens give an air of sadness and seclusion. It was a -relief when the ambulance turned toward this peaceful resting place; -though I wish that a soldiers' cemetery had been laid out where the -numbers who die in St. Louis and the country around it, might rest -together. We entered,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> and I quickly remarked a change since last I -had passed that way. On one side, where had been a smooth, green lawn, -there were straight rows and ranks of mounds, so regular and close -that the ground looked as though it had been trenched by some thrifty -gardener. These were the soldiers' graves. There were many—many of -them. Two grave diggers were at work—constant work for them. A grave -was always ready prepared, and one was ready for us. Our ceremonies -were few and simple—the squadron drew up in line—the coffin was -lifted out—the chaplain made a prayer—and we returned.</p> - -<p>But in the same ambulance were two other coffins. No companion had been -with them at the hospital, and no friends followed them to the grave. -Unknown and, save by us chance strangers, unnoticed, they were laid to -rest. This loneliness of their burial was very sad. We gave them all we -could—a sigh, and paid them such respect as the circumstances allowed. -We did not know them—who they were, or whence they came—only this, -that they were American soldiers, fallen for their country.</p> - -<p>I have heard it said that this war will make us a very warlike -people. It is a mistake. Those who are engaged in it, while they -will be ready again to rise in a just cause, will never wish for -another war. I understand now why officers of real experience—be -they ever so brave—always dread a war. There are too many such -scenes as I have described. Yet do not think that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> any waver in their -determination—and, while you pity, do not waver yourselves. We may -blame mismanagement and neglect; and we must try to alleviate suffering -and prevent needless disease and death, and only in the restoration of -our Union hope for peace.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>II.</span> <span class="smaller">DONELSON.</span></h2> - -<p>Some letters from New York have said, "If you are ever in battle, do -describe it." In this curiosity I have myself shared, and have always -longed to know not only how the scene appeared, but how the spectator -felt. I am able now to answer the question, and in so doing I will try -and describe to you precisely how the attack appeared to me, without -entering into an account of anything but what I saw, and how I felt.</p> - -<p>It was by accident that I was at Fort Donelson, and with the attacking -column. My regiment left me at St. Louis attending a court-martial. -The court adjourned soon afterward, and then, with another member, an -officer of the Fourteenth Iowa, I started for Fort Henry.</p> - -<p>We descended the Mississippi to the narrow point where the Ohio joins -it, and on which are the fortifications of Cairo. At Cairo there were -no boats, save those of the government, conveying troops, and on one of -these we went. It was the McGill, and on board was the regiment which -was to lead the assault at Fort Donelson, the Second Iowa.</p> - -<p>Up to the time of starting we supposed that the destination of the -boat was Fort Henry, on the Tennessee. It was then announced, Fort -Donelson on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> Cumberland. We glided slowly up the Ohio, against -its swollen current, and passed the mouth of the Tennessee during the -night. I arose with the first gleam of light, and went on deck to find -that we had entered the Cumberland. It seemed a narrow river, winding -amid wooded hills and banks covered with noble oaks. The soldiers, -who had passed the warm, moonlit night on deck, were rising, one by -one, folding blankets and packing knapsacks. I turned from them to the -river, and looked curiously for the people who dwelt in this, the rebel -part of Kentucky.</p> - -<p>For a short time there was nothing but woods. Then a little log house -appeared upon the bank, a shed beside it, with its single horse and -cow. It was a humble home, and hardly worth a second glance, a hundred -such might be seen on the banks of any river; but in front of the door -stood a sturdy little flag-staff, and from it waved the stars and -stripes. The family had risen at the sound of the steamer. The mother -stood in the doorway, holding an infant, and waving an apron. A little -girl near by timidly tossed her hood around her head. Two ragged boys -at the water's edge swung their caps joyfully. The father stood on a -stump, hurrahing alone but lustily; and over them, in the dim grey -light, fluttered their little flag. "They mean it," "They are honest," -"There's no make-believe there," were the exclamations of the soldiers, -as they crowded to the side of the boat and answered the father and his -boys with their louder cheers. This was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> the first house we saw, and -the warmest welcome we received; for though many hats were waved to us -during the day, and a few flags shown, none equalled, in their manifest -sincerity, the inmates of the little log house.</p> - -<p>The day was soft and beautiful. We passed it upon the upper deck, -laughing, chatting, and watching the shifting scenery of the winding -river. A pleasure excursion it seemed to all; and again and again some -one would remark, "We may be on the brink of battle, yet it seems as -though we were travelling for pleasure."</p> - -<p>Among the rough exteriors which campaigning gives, two officers of -the Second were remarkable for their neat appearance. Some jokes were -made at their expense, calling them the dandies of the regiment, and -their state-rooms the band-boxes; and it was agreed that they were -too handsome to be spoilt by scars. Two days afterward one of these, -Captain Sleighmaker, fell at the head of his company, heroically -charging the rebel breastworks. A little later, as I was galloping -for the surgeons, I passed a wounded officer, borne by four soldiers -in a blanket. As I rode by he called out, "We have carried the day, -Captain." I looked around and saw it was the other, Major Chipman. "Are -you badly hurt, Major?" I said, pulling up my horse. "No, not badly," -he answered. "Don't stop for me;" and when the surgeon arrived he -refused to have his wound dressed, and sent him to his men.</p> - -<p>In the afternoon we overtook twenty steamboats laden<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> with troops, and -led by four black gunboats. They moved slowly and kept together, as -if they feared approaching danger. Then came a change of weather, and -night closed in upon us, dark and dreary, with cold and snow.</p> - -<p>When the next morning broke I found we had made fast to the western -shore. On either bank were high and wooded hills. The gunboats lay -anchored in the middle of the stream, all signs of life hidden beneath -their dark decks, save the white steam that slowly issued from their -pipes, and floated gracefully away. Far down the river could be seen -the troop-laden transports, moored to the trees along the bank. The -sky was clear and bright; the forest sparkled with snow, and the warm -waters of the river smoked in the frosty air. Such a picture I have -never seen—never shall see again. As the troops began to debark, -the band of the Second Iowa came out on the upper deck, and the dear -"Star-spangled" echoed along the river. The men beat time, and hurrahed -as the notes died away.</p> - -<p>The place of landing was about three miles below Fort Donelson. I may -here say that the fort itself is about half as large as the Battery, -but that it is only a corner of a large square of earthworks stretching -some two miles on each side. To avoid the cannon on the works it was -necessary for us to make a circuit of several miles. The country was -woods, high hills, and deep ravines. A glen that we entered after -leaving the river bore a strange resemblance to one on my father's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> -farm. As I looked around I could almost believe it was the same, -through which, on just such bright winter mornings, I had driven the -wood-sleigh or wandered with my gun. But the troops were marching, and -I had no time to grow homesick. We passed, in the course of our march, -a little log house. I went up to the door and spoke to the people. They -seemed sad and dispirited. There had been firing between the pickets a -day or two before, and a shower of balls had pattered around the house. -The woman said she wished she were forty miles away, and the man said -he would not care if he were a hundred.</p> - -<p>A little girl was near the door, and I asked her what was her name, to -which she replied, after a good deal of embarrassment, "Nancy Ann." I -let Nancy Ann look through my spyglass; and, as she had never seen or -even heard of one before, she was very much astonished. Nancy Ann's -mother thereupon became quite hospitable, and invited me to come in and -rest, but the column was then well nigh over the hill and I had to push -on.</p> - -<p>At last we reached the position assigned to us, and here we found the -Fourteenth Iowa, to which my friend belonged, and with it I determined -to remain until I could find my own regiment.</p> - -<p>Around us were thick woods. A deep glen ran in front, and beyond this, -along the brow of the opposite hill, ran those earthworks of the rebels -which we were to win.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> - -<p>It was less than half a mile across; and occasionally a rifle ball fell -near us, but the distance was too great for them to be effective. I -looked through the trees and examined the hill with my glass, but could -see nothing save the ridge of fresh-turned earth. Along the side of -the hill were our sharpshooters watching the works. I could see them -crawling up behind trees and stumps, sometimes dragging themselves -along the ground, sometimes on their hands and knees. Their shots were -frequent, and sounded as though a sporting party were below us. It was -hard to believe that they were shooting at men. It was wonderful, too, -how soon the mind accustomed itself to these strange circumstances. -After the first half hour we took no more notice of the rifle shots -than though some boys were there at play. Behind those earthworks were -cannon as well as men. We were completely within range, and they could -have sent their shot and shell amongst us at any time. The night before -no fires had been allowed, as they would indicate our position to the -rebels; but they were now burning, and around one of them three or four -of us gathered to dine. As we sat down upon a log, we heard distant -sounds of cannon along the river. "There go the gunboats; the fight has -begun; they are shelling the rascals out," said everybody. We had taken -for granted all the time, and, indeed, up to the last minute, that the -gunboats would dismantle the fort, and that all we should have to do -would be to prevent the escape of the rebels. In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> this we were much -mistaken. The cannonade lasted an hour, and then stopped. We hoped the -fort was taken, but no such news came to gladden us.</p> - -<p>In watching the earthworks, in talking and warming ourselves at -the camp-fires, the afternoon wore away. Evening came, and it was -determined to risk the fires. Again we sat down beside one for supper. -It consisted of hard pilot-bread, raw pork and coffee. The coffee you -probably would not recognize in New York. Boiled in an open kettle, -and about the color of a brown stone front, it was nevertheless our -greatest comfort, and the only warm thing we had. The pork was frozen, -and the water in the canteens solid ice, so that we had to hold them -over the fire when we wanted a drink. No one had plates or spoons, -knives or forks, cups or saucers. We cut off the frozen pork with our -pocket knives, and one tin cup, from which each took a drink in turn, -served the coffee.</p> - -<p>It grew darker; the camp-fires burned brightly, and no threatening shot -or shell had come from the Fort. Our sharpshooters and sentinels were -between us and the rebels; and it was determined that we might sleep. -The men stacked their arms, and wrapped themselves in their blankets -around the fires. This was my first night out. Hitherto my quarters had -been in houses; I had not even passed a night in a tent. A life among -the comforts of New York is not a good preparative for the field. I had -looked forward to a tent at this season with some little anxiety, but -I was now to begin <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>without even that shelter. My water-proof blanket -and buffalo skin were also on board the steamer, so that I had to trust -to the better fortune of my friends for these. We managed to find four -blankets, two of them were wet and frozen, and a buffalo skin. The snow -was scraped away from the windward side of the fire, and the two frozen -blankets were laid on the ground—a log was rolled up for a wind-break, -and the buffalo spread over the blankets. On this four of us were -stretched, and very close and straight we had to lie. It fared ill with -the trappings of military life; handsome great-coats were ignominiously -rolled up like horse-blankets, and my beautiful sabre (the gift of -North Moore street friends), ordinarily stained by no speck of rust or -drop of rain, was tossed out in the snow, with pistols and spy-glasses, -used in camp with the same gentle treatment.</p> - -<p>For a few minutes I kept awake; the rebels were but fifteen minutes -distant, and if they chose to make a night attack their shells might -burst among us at any moment. The snow-flakes began to fall faster -and faster. I slipt my head under the blanket and fell asleep. I can -imagine that you will say we were to be pitied; but never did I sleep -more sweetly. Soon after midnight the sound of cannon roused us. The -snow was three inches deep upon our blankets, yet we were comfortable, -and surprised to find it lying there. The ground, however, had thawed -beneath us; and when we rose, the snow crept in among our blankets<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> and -wet them. Lying down was out of the question; we bent down a couple of -saplings and spread blankets over them, making a little shed. Under -this we crept, after piling plenty of wood upon our fire. The soldier's -invariable comfort—his pipe—was at hand, and thus we chatted, smoked -and dozed till daylight.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>III.</span> <span class="smaller">THE ASSAULT.</span></h2> - -<p>The sun of Saturday rose bright and clear, and more than one asked if -it were an omen for us, or for the foe. The morning passed as did the -day before; but about noon, word came up that far down on our right the -rebels had attempted to cut their way out. They were driven back, but -the fight was bloody, and it was said we had lost five hundred men. We -were warned to be watchful—it was thought they might re-attempt it -near us. I have said we were in front of a large glen or ravine; on -our right were numerous regiments, making a chain which stretched to -the river. On our left was the Second Iowa. This was all that I had -seen of our position, and consequently is all that I shall describe -now, inasmuch as I am giving it to you precisely as it appeared to me. -Soon a mounted orderly rode by, who told us that a large body of rebels -were moving up opposite us. Our men were called together, and stood -near their stacked arms. A little while and General Smith and his staff -came up—they passed by in front of us, but said nothing. At the same -time the sharpshooters along the glen were unusually active, and there -were repeated shots by them. We thought they saw the rebels mustering -behind the breastworks. Everything seemed to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>indicate a sally from -the rebels, and that we were to drive them back as they had been -driven back in the morning. The men took their arms, officers loosened -their pistol holsters. I hooked up my cavalry sabre, unbuttoned my -great coat so that I could quickly throw it off, and took my place -beside the lieutenant-colonel with whom I was to act. Then there -came a painful, unpleasant pause; we heard nothing—saw nothing—yet -knew that something was coming; what that something was no one could -tell. A messenger came from the general—we were to move to the left -and support the Second Iowa. We supposed the rebels were crossing a -little higher up, and that the gap between us and the Second was to be -closed. The colonel gave the order "left face," "forward march," and -the regiment passed along through the thick trees in a column of two -abreast. But the Second were not where they had been in the morning; we -marched on, but did not come to them. In a few moments we passed their -camp fires—a few more, and we emerged on an open field.</p> - -<p>At a glance, the real object of the movement was apparent. It came -upon us in an instant, like the lifting of a curtain. The Fourteenth -were hurrying down through the field. The Second, in a long line, were -struggling up the opposite hill, where two glens met and formed a -ridge. It was high and steep, slippery with mud and melted snow. At the -top, the breastworks of the rebels flashed and smoked, whilst to the -right and left, up either glen, cannon were thundering.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> The attempt -seemed desperate. Down through the field we went, and began to climb -the hill. At the very foot I found we were in the line of fire. Rifle -balls hissed over us, and bleeding men lay upon the ground, or were -dragging themselves down the hill. From the foot to the breastworks -the Second Iowa left a long line of dead and wounded upon the ground. -The sight of these was the most appalling part of the scene, and, for -a moment, completely diverted my attention from the firing. A third of -the way up we came under the fire of the batteries. The shot, and more -especially the shell, came with the rushing, clashing of a locomotive -on a railroad. You heard the boom of the cannon up the ravine—then -the sound of the shell—and then <i>felt</i> it rushing at you. At the -top of the hill the firearms sounded like bundles of immense powder -crackers. They would go r-r-r-r-rap; then came the scattered shots, -rap, rap—rap-rap, rap; then some more fired together, rrrrrrap. This -resemblance was so striking that it impressed me at the moment.</p> - -<p>The bursting of the shells produced much less effect—apparent effect, -I mean—than I anticipated. Their explosion, too, was much like a large -powder cracker thrown in the air. There was a loud bang—fragments -flew about, and all was over. It was so quickly done, that you had no -time to anticipate or think—you were killed or you were safe, and it -was over. But the most dispiriting thing was that we saw no enemy. The -batteries were out of sight, and at the breastworks<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> nothing could be -seen but fire and smoke. It seemed as though we were attacking some -invisible power, and that it was a simple question of time whether we -could climb that slippery steep before we were all shot or not. But -suddenly the firing at the summit ceased. The Second Iowa had charged -the works, and driven out the regiments which held them. Then came the -fire of the Second upon our flying foes, and then loud shouts along the -line, "Hurrah, hurrah, the Second are in—hurry up, boys, and support -them—close up—forward—forward." We reached the top and scrambled -over the breastwork. I saw a second hill rising gradually before us, -and on the top of it a second breastwork—between us and it about four -hundred yards of broken ground. A second fire opened upon us from these -inner works. We were ordered back, and, recrossing those we had taken, -lay down upon the outer side of the embankment.</p> - -<p>The breastwork that had sheltered the enemy now sheltered us. It was -about six feet high on our side, and the men laid close against it. -Occasionally a hat was pushed up above it, and then a rifle ball would -come whistling over us from the second intrenchment. The batteries -also continued to fire, but the shot passed lower down the hill, and -did little execution. Having no specific duty to discharge, I turned, -as soon as our troops reached the breastworks, and gave my aid to the -wounded.</p> - -<p>A singular fact for which I could not account was,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> that those near -the foot of the hill were struck in the legs; higher up, the shots had -gone through the body, and near the breastworks, through the head. -Indeed, at the top of the hill I noticed no wounded; all who lay upon -the ground there were dead. A little house in the field was used as a -hospital. I tore my handkerchief into strips, and tied them round the -wounds which were bleeding badly, and made the men hold snow upon them. -I then took a poor fellow in my arms to carry to the little house. -"Throw down your gun," I said, "you are too weak to carry it." "No, -no," he replied, "I will hold on to it as long as I am alive." The -house happened to be in the exact line of one of the batteries, and as -we approached it, the shot flew over our path. Fortunately, the house -was below the range, but one came so low as to knock off a shingle -from the enable end. For a few minutes we thought they were firing on -the wounded. We had no red flag to display; but I found a man with a -red handkerchief, and tied it to a stick, and sent him on the roof -with it. Within the house there were but three surgeons at this time. -One of them asked me to take his horse and ride for the instruments, -ambulances, and assistants; for no preparations had been made. It was -then I passed Major Chipman carried by his soldiers.</p> - -<p>When I returned, the ambulances were busy at their work; numerous -couples of soldiers were supporting off wounded friends, and -occasionally came four, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>carrying one in a blanket. The wounded men -generally showed the greatest heroism. They hardly ever alluded to -themselves, but shouted to the artillery that we met to hurry forward, -and told stragglers that we had carried the day. One poor boy, carried -in the arms of two soldiers, had his foot knocked off by a shell; it -dangled horribly from his limb by a piece of skin, and the bleeding -stump was uncovered. I stopped to tell the men to tie his stocking -round the limb, and to put snow upon the wound. "Never mind the foot, -captain," said he, "we drove the rebels out, and have got their trench, -that's the most I care about." Yet I confess the sights and sounds were -not as distressing as I anticipated. The small round bullet holes, -though they might be mortal, looked no larger than a surgeon's lancet -might have made. Only once did I hear distressing groans. A poor wretch -in an ambulance shrieked whenever the wheels struck a stump. There was -no help for it. The road was through the wood, the driver could only -avoid the trees, and drive on regardless of his agony.</p> - -<p>You will perhaps ask how I felt in the fight. There was nothing upon -which I had had so much curiosity as to what my feelings would be. -Much to my surprise I found myself unpleasantly cool. I did not get -excited, and felt a great want of something to do. I thought if I -only had something—my own company to lead on, or somebody to order, -I should have much less to think about. There seemed such a certainty -of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> being hit that I felt certain I should be, and after a few minutes -had a vague sort of wish that it would come if it were coming, and -be over with. The alarming effect of the bullets and shells was less -than I supposed it would be, and my strongest sensation of danger was -produced by the sight of the dead and wounded. The thing I was most -afraid of was a panic among our men, and when the Seventh Illinois was -ordered to fall back down the hill, I so much feared that the men might -deem it a retreat that I entirely forgot the firing, and walked down -in front of them talking to their major, so that any frightened man in -the ranks might be reassured by our "matter of course" air. Take it -altogether, I think I felt and acted pretty much as I do in any unusual -and exciting affair. I know I found myself looking for an illustration -of the effect of the shells, and wondering if there was no greater and -grander illustration of the musketry than a bunch of powder crackers. -I remember that I did little things from habit, as usual; when I threw -off my overcoat, for example, I took a pipe which a friend had given -me from the pocket, lest it should be lost; and I remember that I once -corrected my grammar when I inadvertently adopted the western style of -telling the men to <i>lay</i> down, and as I did so, I thought that one or -two people at North Moore street would have been very apt to laugh if -they had heard it. Yet for all this, I was by no means unconscious of -danger. Some officers seemed utterly indifferent to it. Thus, in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> -fight of Thursday, Colonel Shaw, of the Fourteenth, after ordering his -men to lie down, not only remained on horseback, but crossed his legs -over the pommel of the saddle, sitting sidewise to be more comfortable. -The sharpshooters of the enemy concentrated their fire on him, he -being the only person visible. As the bullets thickened about him, the -colonel said indignantly, "those rascals are firing at me, I shall have -to move," and he threw his leg back, and walked his horse down to the -other end of the line.</p> - -<p>Our men lay in the trench all night, exposed to the western wind, which -blew keenly round the summit of the hill—a large force of the enemy -within a few yards, able to rush upon them at any moment.</p> - -<p>I had gone back just after dark, with the adjutant, who had been hurt -by the explosion of a shell, and my return with him saved me this. When -morning came, we went back. As we reached the foot of the hill, we were -told that a white flag had been displayed, and an officer had gone into -the fort, but that the time was nearly up, and the attack was now to be -renewed. We hurried on, expecting in a few moments to be in a second -assault. We had nearly reached the trenches, when the men sprang from -the ditch to the top of the breastwork, waving the colors and giving -wild hurrahs. The fort had surrendered.</p> - -<p>There was a load lifted off my mind, and I stopped to look around. The -first glance fell on the blue coats scattered through the felled trees -and stumps. The <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>march of our troops up the hill had been somewhat -in the form of a broom. Until near the top they had been in column, -leaving a long, narrow line like the handle, and, as they rushed at the -breastwork, they had spread out like the broom. This ground was plainly -marked by the dead. Now that my attention was given, I was surprised -to find how many were strewn upon the narrow strip. Here was one close -to me; about the width of a class-room beyond was another; a little -further on two had fallen, side by side. In a little triangle I counted -eighteen bodies, and many I knew had been carried off during the night. -Still the scene was not so painful as the dead-room of the hospital -at St. Louis. The attitudes were peaceful. The arms were in all but -one case thrown naturally over the breast, as in sleep; and no face -gave any indication of a painful death. I passed on and entered the -breastwork. It was about the height of a man. On top was a large log, -and between the log and the earthwork a narrow slit. Through this they -had fired on us. The log had hidden their heads, so that, while we were -in plain view, they were to us an invisible foe. Immediately within -were six more bodies of the Second Iowa, and one in simple homespun. He -was the only one of the enemy upon the ground. The soldiers, gathering -around him, looked as I did myself, with some curiosity upon one who -had thus met the punishment of his treason. He had been shot through -the back of the head while running, and his face expressed only -wonderment and fright. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> showed him a country-bred youth, illiterate, -uncultivated—a contrast to the still intelligent faces that lay around him.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile our troops were forming along the hill to take possession -of the fort. All voices declared that the Second Iowa should lead. -As it moved past the other regiments to the head of the column, the -men cheered them, and the officers uncovered; but they seemed sad and -wearied. I looked along their line, and found of the officers I knew -hardly one was there.</p> - -<p>It was a beautiful sight to see regiment after regiment mount the -second breastwork, and watch them successively halt and cheer, and -wave their colors as they crossed. I pushed on, scrambled over it, and -found myself in the midst of five hundred of the prisoners. They were -strange figures, in white blanket or carpet coats, having the same -unintelligent faces as the one who had been killed outside. I stared -at them, and they at me. They looked crestfallen and confused, but -showed little feeling; and during the day I saw but few faces of common -soldiers that awakened any pity. They, poor fellows, sat sadly looking -at the scene. To one of them I spoke. He said he had done nothing to -bring on the war; he had been for the Union, and had only enlisted a -month before to avoid being impressed. His family lived, or had lived -(he did not know where they were now), within a mile, and he would give -a great, great deal to see them for only a minute. "Will your officers -let me write to tell them I am alive?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> "To be sure they will." "And -will we be furnished with food?" "Yes, the same as our own soldiers." -"Most of our men expected, if we surrendered unconditionally, that you -would kill us." "You see we have not done so." "No, they have treated -us very kindly: we have been deceived." Such was the tenor of our -conversation. I may here say that our men behaved admirably; and I did -not hear of a single indignity being offered to any of our prisoners. -A few sentinels were placed around a regiment of prisoners, and, so -far as appearances went, half of them might have escaped. But the -woods around the fort contained regiments of our troops, and they knew -the attempt would be hopeless. We were assigned the quarters of the -Fiftieth Tennessee, and I slept in what had been the colonel's. It was -a nice little house of oak blocks, laid up so that the wood and bark -alternated, giving a very pretty tesselated appearance. They had all -sorts of comforts, which we had never even hoped for at Camp Benton; -and while we supposed they had been roughing it, found we had been -roughing it ourselves.</p> - -<p>We invited the colonel and some of his officers to spend the night with -us. I confess they behaved with dignity. They made no complaints, and -submitted with quiet resignation to their changed circumstances; but -they were Tennesseans, and though they made no professions in words, -convinced us that they had been Union men at heart and wished the Union -back again. One of us remarked, that if those who had been released<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> -heretofore had not abused it, and violated their pledges and oaths, the -prisoners at Fort Donelson would probably be released in the same way. -The lieutenant-colonel said he wished it could be so; he was confident -none of his men would be thus guilty. "But," he added, "I don't blame -the Government for sending us North; I acknowledge that I am a rebel -taken in arms, and it is fully justified in treating me accordingly."</p> - -<p>It was a novelty indeed, thus spending the evening with our late -opponents. We made no allusions that could, hurt their feelings, but -talked over the events of the siege until a late hour. They told us the -surrender was a thunder-clap to all. The men, and most of the officers, -had not seen how completely they were surrounded, and had been made to -believe that they were successful. The evening before they were told -this, and in the morning it was announced that their generals had run -away, and they were prisoners of war.</p> - -<p>I now began to look about me and feel a little of the confusion that -follows a battle. My trunk had been left on the steamer, and the -steamer had moved; my blankets had been left in a hospital tent, and -the hospital tent had disappeared; my regiment was fourteen miles off, -at Fort Henry; the biscuit and coffee on which we had lived were gone, -and provisions had not followed us into the fort. I procured a captured -horse, and the next morning started at daylight for Fort Henry. As -I passed a regiment in the woods, the commissary was dealing out a -biscuit and a handful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> of sugar to each man for breakfast. He good -naturedly said he would give me my share. After a long ride, I found -my men camped in some woods, all well and bitterly disappointed at not -having been at Fort Donelson.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>IV.</span> <span class="smaller">FORAGING.</span></h2> - -<p>In this military life, I find there is much quiet time, when the hours -pass slowly and the men yawn and wish for something to do. With every -change of camp, reading matter is lost or left behind; orders, too, -have been given that the quantity of baggage be reduced; and here, in -Tennessee, newspapers and letters hardly ever come. It is pleasant, -then, to sit as I do now, under a tree in the warm sun, and talk with -pencil and paper to your distant friends.</p> - -<p>My previous letters have had so much in them gloomy or painful, that -this time I will choose a more pleasant subject, and give you an -account of my First Foraging.</p> - -<p>Gipsy is the prettiest of horses. I should fail to describe my -excursion, if I failed to describe Gipsy. Gipsy is one of those happy -beings that everybody likes. No one ever quarrels with her. She has -never been struck with a whip or touched by the spur, and knows not -what either means. The soldiers all know Gipsy, and the Germans, who -are always sociably inclined, generally say as they pass her, "Good -morning, Shipsy;" at which Shipsy looks as pleased as anybody could. -Gipsy is a small specimen of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> Black Hawk race, jet black in color, -and almost as delicate and agile in form as a greyhound, with the -mischievous, restless eyes of a bright terrier.</p> - -<p>Gipsy has several feminine traits of character—a good deal of vanity -with a little affectation, and is withal something of a flirt. Put on -a common soldier's bridle, and she goes very quietly; but change it -for a handsome brass-mounted one, and Gipsy tosses her head as though -the bridle were a new bonnet. If you say, "Come here, Gipsy," Gipsy -walks off the other way; if you call her very loudly, Gipsy pricks up -her ears, and seems completely absorbed in some object half a mile -off; but walk away, and Gipsy puts up a piteous whinny, for you to -come back and make it up. When I am riding alone, Gipsy generally does -pretty much as she pleases—now trotting, now cantering, now dashing -up hill on a gallop, her ears always pricked up, and her bright eyes -examining every object on the road. When we come suddenly out of the -woods upon a fine prospect, Gipsy stops and looks it over, with as much -interest as though she were a landscape painter. If we come to a narrow -stream, Gipsy (who greatly dislikes to wet her feet) stops again, -looks deliberately up and down, selects the narrowest place, and then, -without asking anybody's leave, proceeds there and bounds over. When -thus riding without a companion, I find it very interesting to watch -the beautiful intelligence of my little mare.</p> - -<p>On her arrival at Fort Henry, Gipsy was greatly <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>disgusted with -Tennessee. For the clear, prairie fields of Missouri, she found nothing -but thick woods, steep hills and muddy roads—no chance for her to -run races or frolic here. For a week, the rain has fallen steadily on -Gipsy; her water-proof blanket has kept her dry; but she is knee deep -in mud, and has not lain down for three nights. No wonder she puts her -ears back, and tries to look sulky. But an order has come for me to go -with half the squadron and search for forage. The saddle and bridle are -brought from the tent, and Gipsy brightens up at the sight. The men are -soon ready; the clouds break away; the sun comes out; Gipsy takes her -place at the head of the column, and throws her heels joyously in the -air, champing the bit and tossing the white foam over her jetty coat.</p> - -<p>The road is but a bridle-path through woods. The path is narrow, and -the men must ride "by file." Perhaps you do not know that "by file," -means one behind the other; "by twos," two side by side; and "by -fours," four side by side. The next formation is "by platoon," or a -quarter of a company; and the next "by squadron," or an entire company. -We emerge on a small farm, waste and desolate. Straggling soldiers have -broken into the house, and scattered about what few effects the rebel -owner left. It is the first deserted house I have seen, and the sight -is rather sad. Our road leads us again into the woods, and then brings -us into the valley of the Tennessee, and follows the windings of the -river. We pass several farms, small<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> and poorly cultivated, with rude -timber houses, by which I mean houses of squared logs. The chimneys -are always built entirely on the outside, and are generally of sticks -and mud, instead of brinks and mortar. Occasionally we halt to ask -questions. The people are not surly, but they do not smile. This is the -worst part of Tennessee, and it is plain they have sons and brothers -among the prisoners of Fort Donelson. But at one house the man comes -eagerly forward and his face lights; his wife, too, comes out, and says -she almost hopes to see some face she knows. They have lived long here, -but the man is from Eastern Tennessee, and the woman from Northern -Alabama—those two remnants of the South that hung to the Union till -the last. He tells us that the country produces little besides pigs -and corn. "It is pork and corn dodger," he says, "at breakfast, dinner -and tea all the year round." I ask where they grind the corn, and he -mentions a large mill now despoiled by its owner, who took himself -off to Memphis, and a little mill some three miles distant, owned by -the "Widow Williams." It is an object to have some corn meal, so I -determine to visit the Widow Williams' mill. The road to the mill turns -abruptly from the river, and goes up a brook. We pass a few houses, -scattered at intervals in the woods. The road is so much better than -the other, that the men ride "by twos;" and so it should be, for it -is the road from <i>Dover</i> to <i>Paris</i>. We pass one or two houses, whose -owners are suspiciously young widows; in other words,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> we suspect that -their deceased husbands are fighting with the rebels. At last we come -to the Widow Williams, whom we do not suspect; for she is a grey-haired -matron, who has seen sorrow, and she sits on the rude piazza with a -family around her. The girls look nervously at us, for we are the first -troop of soldiers they have had halt. The widow rises as I ride up, -and says, with a good deal of dignity, "Please to alight, gentlemen;" -and I take her at her word, and order, "dismount." I ask her if she -can grind us some meal, and she rises in our good opinion by saying, -"Not to-day, this is Sunday." It is indeed; but very little like one -to us; we had almost forgotten the day. I then buy a bushel of meal -for my own men, and go down with the widow's eldest son, who is a lad -of fifteen, to get the meal and view the mill—a tiny little affair, -and two of the men, who are millers, laugh when they see it. On coming -back to the house, I find a group of the men have made themselves quite -agreeable. They have come from the city, and doubtless are more refined -and polished than any men these country girls have seen before. The -youngest is some ten years old, named Martha, and I ask her if she is -not afraid of us Northern mercenaries. Martha says no! and laughs at -the idea; but when I ask her if we have not been called all sorts of -names, and if she has not been told that we would burn her mother's -house down, and cut her head off, Martha blushes, and the older sisters -look confused. It is evident that we have had a very bad name here, -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> that they are now ashamed to own it. But we have a long circuit -to make; the meal is stowed away in the haversacks; Widow Williams -invites us to call again, and assures us we shall be welcome; I pretend -to arrest Martha, and carry her off as prisoner; at which she is a -little frightened and the rest a good deal amused; and then "fall in," -"mount," "march," and off we go.</p> - -<p>Gipsy is the smallest horse in the regiment, but to-day her feelings -have been immense. She has borne herself as much like Gen. Washington's -great charger as possible, and has champed the bit more fiercely and -pranced more proudly than even he did. Her front is white with foam, -and every look shows that she deems the head of the column her proper -place. Whenever any horse has come within a respectful distance, -Gipsy's heels have flown higher than his head, admonishing him, that -whatever happens, she must be first. But the road, which has followed -the bank, now crosses the brook. There is no friendly bridge to lift us -over—the road leads down the bank, straight into the water. That water -is wider than Sixth Avenue, and the recent rain has made it a roaring -torrent—no one knows how deep, and it splashes and dashes fearfully. -Gipsy looks up—looks down; no narrow place appears for her to bound -over. Half of her airs and graces drop off at the sight. She hesitates -a moment—the tramp of the horses behind tells her that she must decide -quickly. She screws her courage up, and marches heroically down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> the -bank. The first plunge, and the water dashes up on her breast—it is a -foot higher on one side than the other, so swift is the current. It is -cold and very wet—it roars louder than ever, and who can tell how deep -it is ahead. Poor Gipsy! the last of the airs and graces are gone; so -is her resolution. She wheels ingloriously round, and throws herself -submissively behind the leading sergeant's horse. Him she follows -meekly through the stream; on the other side, she continues so for a -few yards; then she steals a glance ahead. There is no more water with -its horrid noise in sight. She gives a slight champ on the bit, and -moves up beside the sergeant's horse. A good, long look assures her -of a dry road ahead. She bounds past, the airs and graces fly back as -swiftly as they flew away; and in five minutes she is as vain a little -Gipsy as ever she was before.</p> - -<p>But it is one o'clock—horses and men are hungry, and just beyond us is -a house. We see chickens, cows, sheep and pigs, but no smoke rises from -the chimney. We halt; the sergeant enters the open door; comes back and -reports it just what we want—a deserted house. In a few minutes the -horses are unsaddled and tied to the fence, munching the corn we find -in two large cribs. The poor cows welcome us, for they have not been -fed since their owner ran away, and are almost starved. My order to the -men is to take nothing but food, and to injure nothing needlessly. The -sheep are caught, pronounced too thin, and let loose. But the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> chickens -and pigs—after them there is a chase. There are shouts of excitement, -intermingled with roars of laughter, as some brave pig charges -between his pursuer's feet, and trips him up, and with the squeals -and cacklings of the victims as they are caught. Within the house, we -find a few things left, which the poor creatures probably overlooked -as they hurried away. There is a jar of molasses on the shelf; a bag -of dried peaches in the closet; a haunch of smoked venison, and a -barrel of black walnuts in the garret. These last are a source of great -entertainment for the men, who not only enjoy the most unusual luxury, -but exult in the thought of a run-away rebel gathering nuts for them, -and crack many jokes as they crack the shells. But the poor children, -who picked them for their winter treat, now wandering homeless, and -countryless, who can guess where! We have been so bred to respect -private rights, that as I sit watching the men gather up the pigs and -poultry, and fill their sacks with corn, I have a slight fear that the -former owner may appear and charge us with stealing the property which -his treason has forfeited to the Government. But no owner appears. The -horses have done their corn and the men their biscuit; the molasses has -been emptied into canteens, and a large bundle of corn leaves tied to -every saddle—we must start.</p> - -<p>Down the Dover road we go a mile or two, then turn up another -bridle-path, which crosses and recrosses a little rill some thirty -times. Two men ride before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> us, partly to accustom themselves to the -duties of advance guard, partly to point out the intricate road. As we -come round a turn, there are a farmer and his daughter (a young girl) -on horseback before us. They have met the advance guard, and have -stopped, and are looking back at them with fearful interest, completely -absorbed in the sight. They do not even hear our approach, and I get -near enough to hear the girl asking her father about these two Federal -soldiers. The squadron is marching "by twos," and there is not room -enough to pass. Ordinarily, private persons would have to get out of -the way; but I think this a beautiful opportunity to be very polite, -so I command "by file." Man and girl turn their heads as though a gun -had gone off close to their ears. Such a look of fear and surprise I -have never seen as in the poor girl's face. They are so hemmed in that -they have to stand still until the whole column passes one by one, and -the last we see of them they continue to stand there, looking back at -us. It must seem like a vision, and they will have a tremendous tale to -tell when they reach home. This road is so secluded that none of our -soldiers have found it, and we cause a great stir in the few houses we -pass. My men march silently, more like regulars than volunteers, and -the inhabitants confess that they find in us an unexpected contrast -to the noisy, yelling rascals, who a few weeks before were plundering -them, for the good of the Southern Confederacy.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> - -<p>The sun has gone down, and the moon has risen, and we are on the main -road from Fort Donelson, and will reach our camp soon, and have a good -supper, and rest sweetly in our tents after our day's ride. We think -over what we will have for supper, and debate whether the pigs, or -chickens, or corn-meal can be added to the rations we shall find in -camp. We are reckoning like inexperienced soldiers. The uncertainty -of legal, is nothing to the uncertainty of military life. In the law -you can at least calculate on your breakfast, and a part of your bed; -but in camp you can calculate on nothing. We approach Fort Henry, -and plunge into the mud that environs our camp. We struggle through -till we come to the trees where the horses should be tied, and to the -little knoll where the tents should be pitched. We look around in -vague astonishment—horses, and men, and tents have vanished; all is -darkness and silence; our camp has gone. To come home and find your -home absconded, to leave your house in the morning and find it has -walked away at the evening, is something new. Searching in the darkness -for the new camp is folly; there is nothing to be done but wait till -to-morrow. It is very easy to say <i>wait</i>, but how are we to <i>wait</i>? -If we had some beds to <i>wait</i> in, and some supper to <i>wait</i> for, it -would be tolerable; but we were <i>only</i> going for a little while, so -we left our blankets, and it was such a fine day that we did not take -our overcoats. Who would have dreamt of the colonel playing us such -a trick? At Fort Donelson I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> learned the first lesson—"do not trust -to your trunk;" now I have to learn the second—"do not trust to your -camp." Hereafter I will not leave for half an hour without having my -blanket rolled behind, and my overcoat strapped before. If I only had -them now! But lamenting will do no good; something must be done. "Who -has got any matches?" "Smith and Jones." "Then Smith and Jones light a -fire." The fire soon blazes up and discloses a small pile, which the -wagons have overlooked. There are a few blankets and overcoats, three -plates, a couple of mess-pans, and one camp-kettle. A new discovery is -made—some coffee and a sack of meat. "What kind?" "Pork." "Hurrah! -we're all right now." "No, salt beef." "Pshaw! What do they send salt -beef to the army for? If it had only been pork, we could have toasted -it on sticks, and fried it on plates, and broiled it on the coals, and -have greased the pans with it; but this beef, we can do nothing with." -But' we have the bushel of meal I fortunately bought, and the chickens. -Pick the chickens, and cut them up; mix some meal and water, and make -<i>corn dodgers</i>, as the Tennessians do. There are the plates to bake it -on, and we can try baking it in the ashes. But the coffee—everybody -looks forward to it—no matter if it <i>is</i> poor and weak. Without milk, -without sugar, and full of grounds, it is always the tired soldier's -great restorative, his particular comfort. Our camp-kettle is set apart -for it. The chickens must be stewed in pans and roasted on sticks. -The <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>camp-kettle is sacred for the coffee. "Captain," says somebody, -"this coffee is not ground, and we have no mill. What shall we do?" -"What indeed shall we do?" We must have coffee, and some one hits on -the remedy; we take the tough linen bag of a haversack, put the coffee -in it, and pound it on a log. Somewhat to our surprise, we find that -it is soon well ground, and in the course of half an hour we have as -good coffee as usual. Chicken and corn dodgers come along more slowly, -but after awhile we sit around the fire to eat them; and everybody -declares that he has had enough, and that it is very good. From supper -to bed. The corn forage that we brought for the horses must be used -for blankets. Spread on the ground, it makes a comfortable mattress. -I have said that we had left our blankets; but, nevertheless, every -man has one. Some years ago, a young cavalry captain, named McClellan, -who (in my opinion) does all things quietly but well, observed that -the padding of a saddle frequently got out of order, causing the poor -horse a sore back, and requiring a saddler to put it in order again. -He also remarked that the pad was of no other use than to play the -part of cushion between the saddle and the horse's back. He thereupon -introduced into the army what is now known as the McClellan saddle. -It is made of wood, hollowed out so that on the one side it makes a -comfortable seat for the man, and on the other conforms to the shape of -the horse. A narrow slit is cut out over the backbone, which not only -saves the horse's spine,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> but makes it much more cool and comfortable -for him. And, finally, the padding consists of a horse blanket folded -up. Thus, to the wise, judicious foresight of General McClellan, each -of us is indebted for a blanket.</p> - -<p>Lying on my cornleaf couch, and looking up at the clear sky, within -the glow of our fire, is as pleasant a situation after a long ride as -one could desire. I think it delightful, and while thinking so, drop -asleep. But there is one more lesson in store for us before daylight. -After some hours, I am awoke by a tremendous noise. There are no stars -now. The sky is black as ink—the darkness is such that we can see -nothing but the half-burnt brands of the fires. The wind howls through -the trees like a pack of wolves, and scatters our fires so that the -coals fly over our heads, and fall on our blankets and beds. The rain -is not come yet, but is coming—we shall be drenched, and then have -to sit up in the darkness and shiver till daylight. It is a dismal -prospect. Pitter, patter on the leaves. Now we are in for it: the drops -thicken; in a minute we shall be as wet as water. But Nature only means -to give us a fright. The rain does not increase—the drops stop—the -wind howls less loudly. Soon, through a rent in the clouds is seen a -star, and then another. The rent grows larger, and every one takes a -long breath, and says, "The storm has passed round." We lie down again, -and wake up to find it a bright, frosty morning.</p> - -<p>After an hour's ride, we have found the new camp. It is on a beautiful -wooded slope, overlooking the river<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> and the fort, and on either side -a clear, little rill trickles through the trees. Our tents are pitched -on one, and the horses picketed on the other. None of us have ever seen -so beautiful a camp before; and, as we dismount, the bugles blow the -breakfast call.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>V.</span> <span class="smaller">A FLAG OF TRUCE.</span></h2> - -<p>Our regiment has left its pleasant camp near Fort Henry, and has -crossed the Tennessee and encamped in a small field about three miles -above the fort. I happened to be in command when we halted here, and -named the camp after our colonel.</p> - -<p>It is a rainy day in camp—since morning it has been rain, rain, rain. -The camp seems deserted; save here and there you see a man, with -blanket drawn close over head and shoulders, plod heavily and slowly -through the mud. The horses stand with heads down, and drooping ears, -stock still—nothing moves but the rain, and that straight down. There -is no light umbrella, nor rattling omnibus in camp; nor dry stockings, -nor warm fire to find, at home. The tents are tired of shedding rain, -and it oozes through; there were no spades to trench them, and it runs -under. There is water above, and mud beneath, and wet everywhere. No -fun in soldiering now.</p> - -<p>An officer says, "Captain, you will report immediately for orders." So -I wrap my blanket round me, and toil over to the colonel's tent. The -colonel is a young man, but an old soldier, and has the only fire in -camp. It is close to the tent door—no danger on such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> a day of the -canvas catching fire—the smoke occasionally blows in, but so does the -heat, and the colonel says he will keep it up all night. He pitched his -tent, too, the moment he arrived, not waiting for the clouds, and did -it well. His alone is comfortable—so much for being a "regular," and -learning your lessons from experience.</p> - -<p>The colonel hands me the order, which runs thus—"To-morrow, Captain -N. will proceed with a flag of truce to Paris, and remove our wounded, -left there at the recent engagement. Should they be held as prisoners -of war, he is authorized to make an exchange, and will take with him -the surgeon and an ambulance, and four of his own men."</p> - -<p>The colonel then advises me to see the officer who commanded the late -expedition to Paris, and learn from him the names of the wounded, and -the roads. I go to his tent and find that he is sick, and has secured -a little hospital stove, which puffs and blows like a locomotive baby. -There is also an old gentleman there, whose son was taken prisoner by -us at Paris. He has brought in the body of an officer who died of his -wounds, and he hopes to procure the release of his son, now on his way -to St. Louis. Mr. Clokes lives on the Paris road, and it is arranged -that he ride back with the surgeon in our ambulance.</p> - -<p>I plod back to our tent; the water has run in, and it is ankle-deep in -mud. Though the sun is hardly down, my two lieutenants have gone to -bed, for there is no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> place to sit up, and nothing to see, or hear, or -do. I may as well turn in, too; but there rises a serious question. -My boots are mud from top to bottom, and wringing wet. If I pull them -off, I may not be able to pull them on, and a man cannot carry a flag -of truce without boots. If I leave them on, I shall have to go to bed -without my feet, for it will never do to put that mass of mud into -your blankets, and they feel like lumps of ice now. What <i>shall</i> I do? -I <i>will</i> pull them off, and will get up before reveille (an hour, if -necessary) and pull them on again. So I pull off the boots, and lie -down in my wet clothes, and wrap myself in my wet blanket, and remember -that I have not had anything since a scant noonday dinner.</p> - -<p>You get hungry in camp, and must be fed. Our camp chest is packed up -under a tree, but on the other side of the tent is a pan with some -stewed goose and corn bread. I cannot step into the mud unless I -struggle into those boots again; but near me is an axe. I slip down -to the end of the cot, and, with the axe, fish the pan of goose out -of the little lake it stands in. The unhappy bird swims in a gravy of -rainwater, and the corn bread is soaking wet; plates and forks are in -the camp chest; but I have my pocket-knife, and with it eat a saltless -supper.</p> - -<p>My little German orderly comes in after awhile, and, giving a soldier's -salute with great ceremony notwithstanding the rain, says:</p> - -<p>"Captain, fot orders."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Bischoff, we must have some coffee. Tell Anderson (our contraband) to -bring it."</p> - -<p>"But, captain," says Bischoff, "the tent, he blow down—the cook, he go -away to a barn—the fire, he go out—the wood, he is wet and will no -burn."</p> - -<p>"But, Bischoff, we <i>must</i> have some coffee, we shall die if we don't. -There is the coffeepot, with a package of ground coffee inside—get -some water, and go up to Captain K.'s tent, and ask him to let you make -it on the stove."</p> - -<p>"Yes, captain," and Bischoff departs.</p> - -<p>By and by he comes back with the coffee; we sit up and drink it -scalding hot, and, quite revived, say, "now for a smoke." My pipe and -tobacco bag are always in my pocket—those North Moore street bags are -much more useful than their makers ever dreamt they would be—a dry -match is at last induced to go, the wet blankets grow warmer, and we -express the opinion that "this is really comfortable."</p> - -<p>"Well, captain, any more order?" says Bischoff, who is also revived by -his share of the coffee.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Bischoff, tell Sergeant Starleigh to be ready, with two men, to -go with me in the morning—you will be the fourth; and mind and have -the horses ready by seven."</p> - -<p>"Yes, captain."</p> - -<p>Bischoff goes out, draws the tent opening closely together, holds his -hand over his pipe to keep it dry; and then we hear his steps slowly -receding—sqush—sqush—sqush through the mud.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> - -<p>My dreams are entirely of boots, and they wake me early. Then commences -a struggle for (outside) existence. Twice I take out my knife and -meditate the last resort, and twice my hand is stayed by the thought -that there may be no shoemaker in all Tennessee. It grows later and -lighter, and I shall miss the morning roll-call for the first time -since I have been in service. But the colonel saves me from breaking -my rule. He thinks it too bad to make the men stand out in the wet, -and has ordered the buglers not to sound the reveille. While resting, -I betake myself to the goose—now truly a waterfowl and wetter than he -ever was in his life—and manage to breakfast between the struggles. At -last I am victorious, and have the boots beneath my feet, and go out to -look around.</p> - -<p>The poetry most appropriate to the occasion would be a verse of that -little infant school hymn,</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>"The Lord, he makes the rain come down,</div> -<div>The rain come down, the rain come down,</div> -<div class="i3">Afternoon and morning."</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>But poetry is the last thing I think of, for my thoughts run on the -roads; and some drenched pickets, who look as though they wanted to be -hung on a fence to dry, inform me that I will have hard work to get -through, and that it has rained all night as it is raining now. At -home, what a hardship, what an outrage it would be to send us off in -such weather and on such roads. Now, we fear something may prevent, -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> hurry lest it come, for the road is not more uncomfortable than -the camp, or the rain wetter elsewhere than it is here. The doctor is a -grey-headed, prudent, experienced man, and is something of an invalid; -but he stoutly discredits a rumor that the wounded men have died, and -whispers to me that we had better be off, before any more such stories -come in.</p> - -<p>A flag of truce is not kept ready-made in camp, and we are rather -puzzled of what to make one now. "I'd lend you my white handkerchief" -(says a man who has been listening with great gravity to various -suggestions)—"I'd lend you my white handkerchief, only I'm afeard if -you put it up, the rebels 'ud think you'd histe-tud the black flag, and -give you no quarter." We do not borrow the white handkerchief. But at -length we remember the hospital tent, and the hospital steward produces -a piece of white something from his stores, which is bound around a -stick and made into a flag.</p> - -<p>Under circumstances such as these, the doctor climbs into the -ambulance, I mount my horse, and we start. The rain somewhat abates, -and diminishes to a drizzle, which is a great relief; but the ambulance -drags along snail-like through the mud. We, who are mounted, do not -ride faster than a walk, yet repeatedly have to wait, and watch it -crawling after us among the trees. This slow movement gives little -exercise, and when one starts wet, he soon becomes cold and stiff, -sitting thus motionless in a damp saddle. Nor can we trot off a mile or -two, and then wait for the ambulance to catch<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> up, for some straggling -rebel soldiers may be on any cross-road, or in any thicket, and pounce -upon the ambulance as so much plunder, and shoot the doctor before they -inquire into the facts. A surgeon is a non-combatant, and not required -to be shot at, and we must stay near by and shield him, if nothing more.</p> - -<p>Our road is the first object of interest—a wagon track running -along high forest ridges, parallel to the Tennessee. We soon pass a -little timber house, with its scanty field and scantier garden; and -then go on, on, two, three miles, without seeing a sign of life; and -then we turn into the main road from the river to Paris. There is -now a railroad passing through Paris, from Nashville to Memphis, yet -a year ago the road we are now travelling was its main avenue. We -are, therefore, disappointed in finding that although the farms are -frequent, they are poor and neglected, and the dwellings are the same -backwoods, timber houses we have so often seen.</p> - -<p>We have now travelled seven or eight miles, and have passed the -"<i>line of our pickets</i>." In point of fact, there is no line, real or -imaginary, and we do not see a single picket; yet, inasmuch as our -cavalry is constantly passing through and examining, by night and by -day, a belt of country from six to eight miles wide, it is customary to -speak of that belt as within our picket lines. Hitherto I have ridden -at the head of the party, and the ambulance has followed close behind. -Now some additional precaution is necessary. A man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> rides about the -width of a city block ahead of us carrying the flag, and the ambulance -falls back about the same distance in the rear. The object of these -changes is, first, that a man riding alone in advance indicates that -it is not an ordinary scouting party; and second, if shots are fired, -the doctor and his man will be out of danger. The chief risks we run -are, first, that our object may not be perceived, and we be fired into -before we can explain; and second, that King's cavalry, who are said to -have suffered in the late fight, and to be a wild, marauding set, may -never have heard of the laws of war, and utterly disregard the flag of -truce.</p> - -<p>Five hours have passed, and we have just reached Mr. Clokes'. -How delightful is a wood fire, roaring and crackling in a wide, -old-fashioned fire-place, and how comforting is a dry board floor in -a rainy day! Chairs and a table, too, are articles of luxury, if one -but knew it; and when you have dined and breakfasted, seated on logs -or saddles, or such like conveniences, for a few weeks, you appreciate -them properly. I might add a paragraph on plates and knives and forks; -but of those I have not been deprived more than a week at a time, and -hence they do not fall within the class of novelties.</p> - -<p>This dinner I shall always fondly remember. I cannot call to mind any -other dinner that at all rivals it. We are so hungry, and cold, and -wet, and it is so pleasant to "<i>sit down to dinner</i>" once more. And -then this dinner is so nice, and neat, and plentiful,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> showing, for a -soldier's cooking, a good housewife's <i>care</i>! If that bewatered goose -could see it, he would feel ashamed of himself, and request leave -to be cooked over again. I was about to begin with the tablecloth, -and enumerate all that was on it; but it occurs to me that what is a -feast to us is an every-day affair to you, and that you will shrug -your shoulders, and say, "Not much of a dinner after all." And I must -confess that Mrs. Clokes' apologies called my attention to certain -wants, which show that our blockade has been effective in disturbing -the serenity of Southern housewives.</p> - -<p>"I have nothing but rye coffee to offer you, gentlemen: it is -impossible for us to get coffee now."</p> - -<p>"What does coffee cost down here, Mrs. Clokes?"</p> - -<p>"The last we bought was a dollar a pound, but now we cannot get it at -any price. Everything is dreadfully scarce. I'm sorry we have no fresh -meat, but the soldiers [rebels, she means] have taken a great many of -our pigs, and we lost some which we killed, for want of good salt." -Salt, I find, was fourteen dollars a sack when last heard from, and, -like coffee, has gone entirely out of the market.</p> - -<p>In the corner is a colored girl carding cotton by hand. I look at the -operation with some interest, and Mrs. Clokes goes on with the story of -her wants: "There is no calico to be had, and we have to spin and weave -by hand. Do you know, sir, whether trade will be opened soon with the -North: our hand-cards are nearly worn out, and I do not know where to -look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> for others? A neighbor of ours paid ten dollars for a pair the -other day, and I don't suppose I could buy them at any price now."</p> - -<p>But there is a heavier grief in poor Mrs. Clokes' breast. She talks of -her son: "He is so ill and so young, he will die if kept a prisoner at -the North, and he did not enlist till they threatened the drafting. Oh! -why did we ever go to war, we were so prosperous and happy! Gentlemen, -can't you do anything for my son?" And poor Mrs. Clokes' voice fails -her, and she bursts into tears.</p> - -<p>But, dinner done, we must resume our journey. It is nine miles now to -Paris. We have seen no rebel pickets; but our friends, the contrabands, -tell us, that they have gone along a little while ago, and it will be -dangerous meeting in the dark.</p> - -<p>Thirty years ago two brothers came from Massachusetts and put up their -little spinning-mill near Paris. The mill has grown larger as they -have grown older, and they are now among the wealthy men of the place. -Situated as they are—from the North—from hated Massachusetts;—for -years employing free labor, and owning slaves only through their -Southern wives; they have had to be most circumspect in every word and -act, giving no sign of loyalty, but, I doubt not, secretly exulting -at each success of the national arms. When our troops retreated from -Paris, leaving their dead on the neighboring field, the one brother had -the bodies of our fallen soldiers carefully brought in, and buried<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> -them, as if they were his own kinsmen, in the town cemetery; and the -other took the dying captain of our artillery corps into his own house, -and nursed him tenderly through his last hours. It is in the gloom of -evening that we reach the factory, standing close to the track of the -Memphis railroad, neat and unadorned, New England reflected from every -one of its plain white boards. A gentleman comes forward as we halt, -and I introduce myself. He steps up close, and asks, in a low voice, -if we think we are safe. A train was up an hour ago taking down the -telegraph wires; pickets have galloped past, and are now in Paris, and -he thinks it dangerous for us to go there to-night. He also says, that -he dare not ask us to stop; he came near being arrested for taking in -poor Captain Bullis. If he should ask us, he would be arrested and on -his way to Memphis within twelve hours.</p> - -<p>There is a house beyond, where we can stay; but it is a rule with me -to advance, and then fall back to my camping ground. So we retrace our -steps for a mile, and halt at the farm house of a Mr. Horton, who does -not keep a tavern, but does entertain travellers. The sergeant, with -one man, has ridden on to break the subject and make arrangements, -and when we come up, everything is ready. Our weary horses are soon -unsaddled and rolling in straw, and I follow the doctor into the house.</p> - -<p>It is an old house, with old trees in front, and an old couple within. -They sit on each side of the wide wood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> fire, and each comfortably -puffs a pipe of home-grown tobacco. We sit down and join them, and talk -Union for an hour or two.</p> - -<p>Our host is a hale, hearty old man. He glories in the past, laments -the present, and hopes for the future. The old lady listens with great -gravity, and occasionally puts in a word between the puffs of her pipe.</p> - -<p>"They would not let us vote for the Union at the second election," says -the old man, "and I hadn't time to vote against it. So I stayed at home -and told 'em that one election was enough in one year, and I couldn't -spare time for more."</p> - -<p>"Yes," says the old lady, "quite enough, and I thought something would -happen when I found we were having two."</p> - -<p>"I don't believe in Mr. Davis' doctrine," says the old man, "of -fighting in the last ditch till everybody's dead. We were the most -prosperous, happy people on the earth, and we had better go back and be -so again than be killed."</p> - -<p>"Yes, indeed!" says the old lady; "we had better not; and if we were, -there would be nobody left for our girls to marry but northerners; so -the South would get to be the North in no time."</p> - -<p>Our room is a large one, with another large fire and three beds. The -doctor takes one, and I hand the others over to the men; it will not do -for me to undress, so I take my buffalo, and lie down by the fire.</p> - -<p>I was beginning to doze, and thinking I never was so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> comfortable in my -life—it was so delightful to shut your eyes and stretch yourself out, -and feel the pleasant warmth of this glowing, flickering fire, when the -opening of the door startles me, and I see the sergeant, who is "on -guard," come in.</p> - -<p>He reports that two men on horseback came up from Paris; one of them -stopped and called out our host. They had a long conversation in a low -voice, and then the man turned and rode back on a gallop. "And the -contrabands say that the old man is secesh," pursues the sergeant, -"and when the rebel troops went by, he made them come out and hurrah." -This is agreeable. Was the man on horseback a picket, and will there -be a troop clattering down on us in a few minutes? or has he gone to -raise a crowd of irresponsible countrymen, who will think it fine fun -to kill us and capture our horses, and of whom Gen. Beauregard will -say, he really knows nothing, they were not soldiers, and acted without -authority? Is our old friend false to us?</p> - -<p>"Sergeant, what do you think of it?"</p> - -<p>The sergeant is a shrewd judge of character, and there is no one in -the squadron whose opinion I would regard more highly on such a point -as this. He comes up close to the fire, and I see his face has a very -anxious expression, and he says, after a long pause: "I don't know what -to think of it."</p> - -<p>"Well, go back and pick out a place where you can see up the Paris -road, and call me the instant you see any object moving. Doctor, I say, -did you hear that?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Yes, and I don't know what to think of it" says the doctor. "Can -anything be done?"</p> - -<p>"The worst of it is, doctor, that the flag prevents our doing anything -till actually attacked. We must now go in the character of guests, -professing entire faith. If we were on ordinary duty, our sergeant -would have stopped that man, and I should keep him here till we leave. -As it is, we can neither fight nor run away—though it is hardly fair, -as you are a non-combatant, to make you risk it."</p> - -<p>"I think I will risk it if you do," says the doctor; and he turns over -and goes to sleep.</p> - -<p>I lie by the fire this time without dozing. The men are all sleeping -heavily and undisturbed. The hovering dagger does not trouble them. -Soon it is time to change guard. I rouse the next man, and the sergeant -comes in and takes his place on the bed. I wonder if other people find -a weight in <i>responsibility</i>. Many talked to me of the <i>danger</i> of the -cavalry service—only one ever named this other word, which is much the -heavier. The men have no responsibility, and are at rest; the sergeant, -lately so anxious, has made his report, performed his duty, and has no -more responsibility: he now sleeps as soundly as the others.</p> - -<p>The man on guard will be relieved of his in an hour or two, and he will -lie down and slumber too. But I hear the distant barking of dogs, and -start up at the sound, for we have learnt to observe the movements of -our own cavalry at night by this sign. Every house<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> keeps half a dozen -curs, and they yelp frantically when a body of horse is passing. I -open the door softly and peer out. The moon sheds a dim light through -the clouds, disclosing the long line of road and distant woods toward -Paris. The sentinel stands motionless under a tree by the road side. -"Allen, do you see anything?" "No, sir." "Did you hear that barking?" -"Yes, sir." "Watch whether it sounds again at any other house, and if -it is coming toward us." We listen long but hear nothing. It must have -been a chance disturbance there. I lie down again, consoling myself -with the thought, that I am at least warm and dry. The geese make a -tremendous cackling behind the house. Rome was saved by a flock of -geese, and why shouldn't we be. The sentinel is watching the road in -front; it will be better if I go out and inspect the rear.</p> - -<p>Thus the time passes till I post the next man on guard, and thus the -night wears away, till at 4 <span class="smaller">A.M.</span> I rouse the last one. Soon -after I hear sounds about the house, for the contrabands rise early, -then come signs of breakfast, then the grey light of morning, and with -it the voice of our old host and a warning that his wife is up and -breakfast almost ready. It is a right good breakfast, and we start as -soon as it is done, repass the factory, travel over a couple of miles -of muddy road, and come in sight of Paris.</p> - -<p>There are brick houses in view, four church spires, large trees and a -court house; but we discover no <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>Confederate flag. In another moment -we have entered, and are going up the main street. The first man stops -and looks at us, so does the second and the third. The moment a man -catches a glimpse of us he seems to freeze fast to the sidewalk and -lose all power over himself, save that of staring vacantly at the -Yankee cavalry. We seem to be riding up an avenue of these staring, -frozen images. The red brick court house has a little square around -it and forms a natural halting place. I ride up and ask one of the -frozen if there is any Confederate officer in town. He says "No," in -a frightened way; "they all <i>retired</i> this morning, a couple of hours -ago." This relieves me of my flag of truce. We find that two of our -wounded men have been removed to Memphis, and the third is too low -to bear moving. The doctor, and the physician who has been attending -him, start off to see him, and I draw my men up to the fence and let -them dismount. My North Moore street education has made me much more -particular in "<i>deportment</i>" than volunteer officers generally are, and -my squadron, when on duty, generally bears the same appearance to some -other squadrons that North Moore street does to some other schools. -These townspeople are therefore very much astonished to see a man left -on guard with the horses, and perfectly amazed when he draws his sabre -and marches steadily up and down his beat, and I hear one whisper, -"Perhaps they be United States reg'lars."</p> - -<p>In a few minutes there is quite a crowd of congealed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> citizens around -us, all staring solemnly in icy silence. They say nothing to us or to -each other, but steadily stare. I feel their looks crawling down my -back and round my sides, and turn which way I will, there is no shaking -them off. I have faced the eyes of many an audience, but never such as -this. They neither smile nor frown, nor agree nor disagree; but have a -vague, stupid look of frightened wonder, as though we were dangerous -serpents escaped from a travelling menagerie, which they can see for -nothing at the risk of being swallowed alive.</p> - -<p>It is best to be cool and comfortable under all sorts of circumstances, -so I take out my pipe, exhibit a North Moore street bag to these gay -Parisians, and strike a light. Picking out the most sensible man near -me, I commence a conversation complimenting them on the appearance -of their little town, which is more northernly neat than I expected -to find. Some men then come up and hand to me the little effects of -our dead soldiers, and give many assurances of their kindness to -our wounded. The doctor about this time comes back, and we start -immediately on our return. For some miles I march rapidly, urging the -ambulance horses to their utmost, for there is no saying but the rebel -cavalry may return and amuse themselves by a pursuit. Then we drop in -to our previous slow gait, and calculate that we shall reach camp by -sunset.</p> - -<p>There is a long bridge on this road crossing a stream, with the pretty -name of "The Holly Fork;" on our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> way out, it struck me that our road -to Paris might be very easily barred by a little bridge-burning, and -at Paris some questions were asked which indicated that it was to have -been burned ere this. I measure it as we recross, and finding that it -is 255 feet long, and that the stream cannot be forded, send on two men -with a report to the colonel.</p> - -<p>It is now five o'clock, and we are two miles from camp. My horse has -been going almost uninterruptedly for ten hours, and I am promising him -a good bed of leaves and a long night's rest, when, through the trees, -come two troopers riding on a gallop. They pull up, and hand me a -letter from the colonel: "Captain (it says), your squadron is detailed -to guard the bridge at Holly Fork; you will take all proper measures -to defend it if attacked, and will remain there until relieved by some -other squadron."</p> - -<p>"Did you see anything of my men?" I say to the messengers. "Yes; they -were saddling up, and will be along soon." I may as well keep on; they -may be bringing me a fresh horse, and then I can send this one back -by these men. In half an hour I find the man who leads has lead us on -to a wrong road. He tries a cross-cut, and the cross-cut leads to a -field. We must turn the ambulance round and retrace both errors. It -is vexatious in the extreme, to have this additional load put on my -willing horse after two such days' work and besides, the squadron may -have passed while we were wandering about here. I curb my impatience -as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> well as I can, and at length we reach the road. There, plain -enough, is a cavalry trail, freshly made since we turned off, and it -tells its own story—the squadron has gone by.</p> - -<p>"Captain," says the doctor from the ambulance, "must you go back?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, doctor, I suppose I must."</p> - -<p>"Well, if you must, here is your haversack."</p> - -<p>"Thank you, doctor; is there anything left in yours?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; some hard biscuit and dry beef. I will put them in for you." And -the doctor transfers them from his haversack to mine.</p> - -<p>"Now, Bischoff, roll up the buffalo; quick's the word; we must go back -to within seven miles of Paris, and the sun is setting."</p> - -<p>"Good-bye, captain," calls the doctor as I start. "I hope you won't be -hurt to-night."</p> - -<p>"I hope not, doctor; good-bye. And now, Bischoff, for the squadron and -Holly Fork."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>VI.</span> <span class="smaller">THE HOLLY FORK.</span></h2> - -<p>We rode rapidly along the wooded ridges. The fading daylight told us -that the sun had set behind his cloudy screen, and when we reached -the main road, there was light enough to show dimly the trail turning -toward Paris. In this cavalry service, one becomes so attached to his -constant companions by day and by night, that you must forgive me for -describing mine. Bischoff's horse is a beautiful sorrel blood, high -spirited, yet quiet and gentle as a lamb. My own horse is a prisoner -from Fort Donelson. On the eventful Sunday morning, I found him tied in -a yard, near where General Floyd took to his boat, and have no doubt -he was left by the runaway part of the garrison. At first I was rather -disposed not to buy him from the government, and it was more the desire -to retain a trophy of Fort Donelson, than his merits, that decided -the question. He is a fine Kentucky blood, but had too many Southern -traits—snorting when there was nothing to snort at, quiet when alone, -but full of fuss when anybody was by, and, once, seceding from the -smooth and travelled way, only to be brought back by a good thrashing, -which, indeed, was the basis of our good understanding. But in this -Paris journey, his Arabian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> blood atoned for his Southern education. It -was refreshing to feel these high bred horses rousing themselves for -their new march, as though it were the beginning of a new day, breaking -into a gallop wherever the road allowed, and dashing along without word -or spur as though just out of the stable.</p> - -<p>On the summit of a long hill is a farm house, and as we thus approached -it on a gallop, I saw a group of men, and rows of cavalry horses tied -to the fences. For a moment I thought my pursuit was over, but a closer -glance through the dim twilight told me these were too few for the -squadron—it was the picket guard taking their last rest before going -out on their posts for the night. "Your men are about two miles ahead -of you, captain," said the officer of the picket, and we rode on. As we -descended the next hill, the last glimmer of daylight left us, and the -darkness of a gloomy, cloudy night shrouded the road. I had been riding -rapidly while the daylight lasted, but so had the squadron. Ordinarily, -there would have been a halt before this, to re-adjust saddles and -examine pistols, but it was now evident that while I was making every -exertion to overtake them, they were making every exertion to meet me. -I knew their orders must have been to proceed till they should meet me, -and I could imagine that they supposed I was alone at the bridge, and -were urging their horses to my relief. "Confound that blockhead," I -was inclined to mutter; but there was no help for his blunder, save to -hurry on.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> - -<p>A couple of miles beyond the picket guard, the road descends into a -dreary swamp. It seems too dreary for any creature to live in; bushes -and trees have died, and the tall, spectral trunks stand, like ghosts -of a departed forest. Deep holes and fallen trees had made the crossing -no easy task in daytime, and I now approached it with some misgivings, -and many wishes that we were well over.</p> - -<p>Tennessee led bravely down the bank, on a trot, crossing the rickety -bridge and plunging into the submerged road, without abating his -speed. Here Bischoff fell behind. His beautiful Ida had galloped since -we turned back, as though running a race; but this was a slough of -despond, through which she had to pick her way with care. The instinct -of my horse was wonderful. Too dark for me to guide him, I threw -the reins on his neck and trusted everything to him. With his head -stretched out, he crossed and re-crossed the invisible road, avoiding -its dangers, as it seemed to me, by precisely the same path he had -picked out by daylight. Several times branches dashed in my face, and -once my cap was nearly swept off; but with no other mishaps, I found -we were approaching the opposite bank, and soon felt his tread again -on firm ground. I stopped for a moment and listened, but could hear -nothing of the squadron before, or of Bischoff behind. I was alone -with my good horse. Yet, as I reached the top of the next hill, I -was greeted with a cheering sound—for from a house in the distance -came the yelps of its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> half dozen dogs, and in a moment the yelp was -repeated from the house beyond. I knew then where my men were. At the -same time, Tennessee, who had been disposed to linger for Ida, started -forward, showing that by sight, or sound, or smell, he recognized -his friends ahead, and was greatly disposed to try whether they were -fresher than he. The swamp had brought the squadron to a walk, and, for -a few moments, to a halt; and it was these few moments of delay that -had enabled me to close up the distance between us.</p> - -<p>As I approached, I was somewhat soothed, to find the men were deserving -a very big mark in "<i>deportment!</i>" No sound came from the silent -column, save the trampling of the horses and the clanking of the -sabres. A night march in an enemy's country requires secrecy, and the -ordinary recreation of talk and song then has to be laid aside. I was -now close upon them, and, stealing up to the rearmost man, I announced -myself by the command, "<i>Column—halt.</i>" The long line of horses -stopped. Habit is a strong master. The unexpected command, coming from -the rear, and in the darkness, was obeyed as promptly as on parade. -There was some surprise, a few questions and explanations, a few -minutes' rest (during which Bischoff arrived), a general unslinging of -canteens, and a great drinking of water; and then we pushed forward to -finish the ten miles which lay between us and the Holly Fork.</p> - -<p>It was not so late but that the eyes of many little folk I know were -then open. Yet with the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>Tennesseans it is early to bed and early -to rise (though truth compels me to add, they are neither healthy, -wealthy, nor wise), and every house was as still and dark as though it -were midnight. That morning in Paris, I had observed the shutters upon -the shops. It puzzled me at first; then I whispered to the sergeant, -"Is this Sunday?" and he answered, "I really believe it is." This was -indeed Sunday evening! and yet I could hardly bring myself to believe -that at the same hour, and while we were passing these lightless -houses, whose undisturbed inmates slept, unconscious that their dreaded -enemies were passing before their doors, in New York, the evening -churches were not yet out, and the great city was probably more wide -awake than at any other time of the preceding day. It was a contrast, -too, those crowded streets and this lonely road.</p> - -<p>At last I recognized the houses near the Fork. On the top of the hill, -which overlooks the bridge, a cross road runs parallel to the brook. -The road then descends the hill, and is earned, upon a long and narrow -causeway, to the bridge. A second causeway leads to the opposite -bank, and on this bank a timber tobacco-barn commands the road, -beyond. We were then within seven miles of Paris, where six hundred -of King's cavalry had been but two days before. It was possible they -had returned—possible, indeed, that the Memphis railroad had brought -up five thousand troops since I left there in the morning. I halted, -therefore, a moment for preparation. The fourth (being the last) -platoon was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> ordered to stop at the cross-road, and guard against our -being surprised in the rear. With the remaining three I descended the -hill. The second and third stayed at the beginning of the causeway, and -the first, under command of the second-lieutenant, was ordered to cross -the bridge, and take possession of the tobacco-barn on the bank.</p> - -<p>A dense wood covers the bridge and the causeway; and the beautiful -evergreen that gives its name to the stream, added much to the darkness -of the night; so much that the road looked almost like the entrance -of a cavern, the branches overarching above, and shading the dark -passage-way below. Into this woodland tunnel the first platoon slowly -rode. We watched them as they disappeared, and then listened to the -sound of their horses rumbling and clattering on the bridge. In a -minute more they had crossed; and then, about as long as it would -reasonably take to give an alarm, there came, or seemed to come, from -the other side, perhaps half a mile distant, the long roll of a drum. -I was at the head of the column, and heard it distinctly; and the -men behind me instantly whispered, "There's a drum." Our immediate -inference was that the enemy were on the other side, and, hearing our -horses trampling on the bridge, were beating to arms. Thinking it would -not do to crowd more troops on the narrow causeway until the first -platoon had gained the opposite bank, I ordered them to follow if I -fired my pistol, and rode forward to join the first. The galloping -of my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> horse roused the bull-frogs, and they bellowed so loudly that -I thought I might hereafter believe the stories often told of their -frightening armies into a retreat. But above them came, from different -points, five or six hideous half-human yells, as though sentinels -were giving signals of our approach. They were, however, too near and -too irregular for that, and evidently came from the trees; so that I -quickly concluded that some night birds were the callers, and afterward -ascertained them to be a species of Southern owl. In less time than I -am writing this I had crossed, and found the platoon quietly examining -the tobacco-barn. I asked about the drum. They had not heard it, and -stoutly insisted there could have been none. I waited until some men -who had been sent on returned, and reported the road was empty and -quiet for a mile ahead; and then, directing the lieutenant to place -videttes in advance, and if attacked to draw up his horses in the rear -of the barn and let his men fire through the logs until the main body -should arrive, I recrossed the bridge. The men were still mounted, and -waiting for the signal to advance. I informed them of what the first -platoon had said, and they as stoutly insisted that there <i>was</i> a drum, -because they <i>had</i> heard it. Whether it was indeed some small party of -rebels beating an alarm, or the footfalls of our own horses rolling -from the bridge, and echoed back from some distant hill, I leave you to -determine.</p> - -<p>I now turned my attention to preparations for the night. At the foot -of the hill, and near the beginning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> of the causeway, a little country -store stood empty and deserted. A fire was soon kindled, and its -counter and shelves moved out of the way. All of the horses were kept -saddled, and the men divided into two watches. One platoon, during -the first half the night, stood by their horses, ready to mount in a -moment, and then changed with the other for such rest as they could -gather from the floor of the little building. The first platoon -remained across the creek as a picket-guard toward Paris, and the -fourth in the-rear as a picket for the cross-roads. I have been thus -minute in order that you may have a clear idea of the manner in which -such affairs are managed, and because I have never observed in the -newspapers any narrative or statement which explains these details to -friends at home. Perhaps you will ask, "What is a picket?" The papers -constantly speak of our pickets being "thrown out," or the enemy's -being "driven in," but never tell what sort of creatures these pickets -are. The pickets are sentinels beyond the camp guard, and toward the -enemy. There may be a chain of pickets stretching over the country; and -the picket guard may be very large, or it may consist of a sergeant -and six men. These are divided into three "relieves," which constitute -the "videttes," or "lookout," as we might translate it. Toward evening -they pass out several miles upon the road they are to guard, and then -select a place for the night, but this they do not occupy till after -dark; the sergeant then goes out with the first "relief," and "posts" -them, selecting a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> place where they can see without being seen. The two -on duty must remain mounted, and silent; the others may dismount, but -not unsaddle; nor can they build a camp fire, nor indulge in any noise. -After an hour the sergeant takes out the second "relief" and relieves -the first, and then the third to relieve the second.</p> - -<p>After visiting the videttes, I agreed to relieve my lieutenant at three -in the morning, and then returned to the little store, unbuckled my -buffalo, and was soon stretched with the men on the floor. It seemed -as though I had been there but a few seconds, when I was roused by -some one laying his hand on my shoulder and saying "Captain!" in a -low voice. You wake quickly under such circumstances, and I was on my -feet in an instant, demanding what was the matter. "Nothing; it's a -quarter to three." "Indeed! that's a very soft floor." And I went out -and remounted. The clouds were gone and the moon shone brilliant in the -clear sky. At the tobacco-barn I found all quiet. The sentinel paced -up and down in front, watching lest there should be an alarm from the -videttes; and the men were stretched on some tobacco stalks within, -sleeping as soundly without blankets as though on beds of down. It was -time to relieve the videttes. "Call up the next relief." The sentinel -goes in, shakes the next three, drops down himself, and in a minute is -sound asleep. Of the three men who come out, one takes his place and -the other two mount their horses. I had not personally relieved guard -since at Camp<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> Asboth last October, and was struck with the difference -which practice and discipline had made. Then the men came out, one -by one, half asleep, growling and yawning; now they were up at the -first touch, wide awake, and apparently as willing as though called to -breakfast.</p> - -<p>On the crest of a hill, about a mile up the road, the videttes were -posted. Seated, silent and motionless, on their horses, in front of -a house, they looked in the moonlight like equestrian statues placed -at the gateway. "Have you seen or heard anything?" "No, sir." "Has -everything been quiet in this house?" "Yes, sir." "Well, you are -relieved, and may cross the bridge; there is a fire in the store, and -it is quite comfortable." Sitting thus motionless for hours in the -chill night air, when the white frost is settling like snow on field -and road, is no pleasant duty, and the mention of the fire was an -unexpected gleam of comfort to the men. As they hastened back, we rode -slowly on, partly to see if the road was clear, partly that the new -relief might the better understand the ground they had to watch; and -then I returned to the barn, where, fastening my horse, I paced up and -down, and resorted to the usual methods of keeping warm. I glanced at -my watch; but half an hour had gone, and two and a half remained. Time -passes very slowly under such circumstances. Relieving the videttes -broke in upon the monotony. "The people are stirring in the house, -they have just started a fire," was the report. "Don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> let any of -them go up the road on any pretext;" and I rode back to the barn. How -surprised they will be, I thought, when they come out and find two -"armed invaders" have been watching over them while they slept. When I -next came my round, the man of the house had just come out. He merely -glanced at us, walked by, giving a sulky nod, and proceeded to feed -his pigs, with as much indifference as though it were nothing to him -whether a whole regiment of Yankees were in front of his door, or a -hundred miles off.</p> - -<p>So passed the time till a bright light gleamed through the trees -toward the east. The sentinel saw it first. "Is that a fire, captain?" -he asked. No; it was the morning star. Slowly it seemed to climb the -trees, moving steadily from branch to branch, till it beamed from the -clear sky above. Then came a belt of pale silver light, which grew -brighter and brighter, until it turned to crimson; and then rose the -sun. Our watch is over. "Call up the men, sergeant; order the second -platoon across; and take a man and go two miles up the road, and see if -there are any rebels there."</p> - -<p>We passed a busy day. Parties were sent out, up and down the brook, to -see if there were bridges or fords near us, and to ascertain where the -cross-roads ran; others for forage; and one toward Paris, to watch any -movement there. Guards were placed to stop persons on the road, so that -no information might be carried to the enemy. I explored the banks of -the brook near us, to make sure that no party could cross<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> and attack -us unexpectedly during the coming night. Late in the afternoon I had my -horse unsaddled, spread my buffalo on the floor, pulled off my boots, -and laid down for a good sleep before my night-watch commenced. Hardly -down, ere an officer arrived from camp. Another squadron was coming -to relieve us, and we were to return immediately. The men who had -been on duty all day were asleep; their horses were all down too; our -arrangements were all nicely completed for the night; but we must go. -"Call in the videttes and saddle up," were the orders; and soon we were -marching back. So ended my first experience in guarding bridges, and my -care of the bridge over the Holly Fork.</p> - -<p>There is in our school "Readers" a certain lesson about a vagrant -little brook, wherein is told that "the glossy-green and coral -clusters of the holly flung down reflections in rich profusion on the -little pool visited by a ray of softer sunshine," etc. These words -(if I recollect them rightly) were printed in different "Readers" in -different ways; sometimes a hyphen between glossy-green, sometimes -a comma; and again no mark whatever. A fearful wilderness of words -it was, in which scholars and teachers, and even principals, at -examinations, and other important times and seasons, have gone astray: -whoever then correctly construed "glossy green" and "visited," could do -what no one else could. While standing guard at the bridge, there came -to me the memories of the reading lesson—of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> one who succeeded and -the many who failed—of disconcerted faces and puzzled looks, and the -Holly Fork became associated with the lesson, as hereafter (should I -ever return to North Moore street) the lesson will, doubtless, call to -mind the Holly Fork.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>VII.</span> <span class="smaller">SCOUTING.</span></h2> - -<p>It is a pleasant Spring morning, and I am ordered to take my company -and "scout to and beyond Conyersville, with two days' rations." There -is a stir and bustle through our tents, and great delight at the -thought of going out. Some are bringing up horses from the picket -ropes; others are rolling blankets, and strapping them behind the -saddles; others are packing away coffee, pork and hard biscuit in a -pair of rude saddle-bags, which we have made from an old tent, and now -carry on a led horse. Soon Bischoff leads his horse and mine up to the -tent, and soon after the first sergeant reports all ready. The men are -drawn up in line; they "count off by fours;" the order is given, "by -two's to the right," and we are marching slowly over the high hills and -through the tall oaks which belt the Tennessee.</p> - -<p>Though it is a March morning, the air is as soft and balmy as it will -be in New York next May; and in the distance, the opening buds throw a -mist-like haze over the forests. Here and there a crow starts from some -tall tree, and caws familiarly as he flies away; and high over head, -the chicken hawk sails round and round as we have often seen him do -at home. When first we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> came here last February, there were robins in -these woods and many Northern birds, who seemed sad and songless, and -behaved like invalids passing the winter at the South. The meadow lark -spread her wings languidly, and the robins sat listless on the apple -trees, as though they were home-sick, and, like us, longed to fly back -to their Northern nests. The blackbirds alone kept up their spirits, -flying around and across such fields as they could find in rapid, -veering, fitful flight—</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>"And here in spring the veeries sing</div> -<div class="i1">The song of long ago."</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>If you had been riding with us for the last five miles, you would -think we were travelling through an unbroken forest. The bridle-road, -worn smooth by cavalry horses, runs down in deep hollows and climbs -up high hills—but always in the woods. Fallen trees lie across it, -frequently compelling us to zig-zag round them; and when we look out -from the openings on the brow of the higher hills, we see nothing but -woods—unending woods. One or two melancholy figures have met us; clad -in their sombre dress, and mounted on their ambling mules, they have -silently nodded and passed on. Once or twice the settler's axe has -rung out from some distant dale, as if to tell how far these solitudes -extend. The wild turkey has called to us not far from the road; the -quails have sat still, and looked curiously at us; and the brown turkey -buzzard has soared near by, as though he neither knew nor cared whether -we were there or not.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> Yet, nestled in these wilds, are many farms and -houses, whose owners love seclusion, and hide themselves from each -other by a veil of intervening forest.</p> - -<p>In one of these there lives an elderly man named Patterson. When first -by accident we rode past his door, one of the men said "He looks more -like a Union man than any one we have seen yet;" and we soon learnt -that he was a Philadelphian, who had wandered to Tennessee many years -ago for health: he had married here, settled and become a Tennessean. -His clothes are the yellowish, brownish homespun, which we all call -"butternut;" and his house has the strange opening through the centre, -so common here. I cannot quite determine whether these Tennessee houses -consist of two houses hitched together by "the roof o'erhead" and the -floor beneath, or of one long house, with a big hole cut through the -middle. They are not bad in warm weather, for there is a breeze blowing -through this open part, and in it the family sit and work. The stone -chimney runs up the outside of the house, and gourd dippers are hung -around the door.</p> - -<p>I like these gourd dippers much—the water tastes better from them than -from anything else, and the sight of one makes me thirsty. We therefore -stop to see Mr. Patterson, and get a drink; the pail of fresh water -is quickly carried from the spring, and the gourd dippers are eagerly -seized by the men.</p> - -<p>Some miles from Mr. Patterson, we stop to feed. It's a bleak house, -and looks as though the owner had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> long away. Two small boys -appear—very frightened and very civil.</p> - -<p>"Where is your father, my boy?" I ask of the elder.</p> - -<p>"In the army, sir."</p> - -<p>"The Southern army?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir."</p> - -<p>"And your mother?"</p> - -<p>"She's gone up to grandfather's."</p> - -<p>"Well, my boy, I shall have to take some of your corn for our horses."</p> - -<p>"Oh! I don't care nothin' about the corn, if yuh wunt pester us."</p> - -<p>We all laugh at this, and assure him he shan't be pestered. The horses -are unbridled, picketed to the fence, and fed; and the men sit on the -sunny side of the road and eat their dinner. We take an hour's rest -and then remount. As we come in sight of a rather better looking house -than usual, we see a couple of its young ladies in the garden, men -ploughing in the field, and women working in the yard. Suddenly there's -a great commotion. The two young ladies turn and fly to the house; the -men in the field drop their ploughs and run to the house; the women -in the yard follow to the house. We ask, what can the matter be; it -looks as though a thunder storm had burst on them, and they have run -to the house to keep dry. But as we draw nearer, we see them anxiously -peering through doors and windows at us. "There's a chance for you, -W——, to be polite; ride up and ask them, if they've been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> troubled by -guerrillas, and whether we can be of any service." My lieutenant turns -his horse and gallops across the field. We watch him as he approaches -the house, and laugh as we observe the inmates rapidly retire from -door and windows. Then one contraband comes bravely out, to whom the -lieutenant appears to be talking; and then reappear the men, the women, -five or six dogs, and the two young ladies. The lieutenant soon rejoins -us, laughing; we were the first United States soldiers they had seen, -and they didn't know but we would burn the house and kill them; they -had run to the house, because it was "nat'ral," and they didn't know -where else to run.</p> - -<p>But evening approaches, and I must choose a camping ground for the -night. On our left, half a mile back from the road, I can see a large -house, surrounded with many stacks and corn-cribs. It belongs to Major -Thornton, who is spoken of as a very rich man, and by no means a loyal -one. He has not yet had the pleasure of entertaining soldiers, and I -determine to stop with him for the night. But do not suppose that I -shall halt now while the sun is up, and messengers can ride off and -tell King's cavalry that we are here. Oh, no! we shall make a long -circuit, and steal back here three or four hours from now—when people -in the adjoining houses have gone to bed, and the darkness hides our -movements and our sleeping-place.</p> - -<p>An hour or two brings us to Conyersville. It is indeed hidden from us -by some woods, but for half an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> hour every one has told us it is "uh -byout uh haf uh mile uh syo;" so we feel sure it is not far off now. -A contraband is seen coming down the road, and he stops and tells me -there are soldiers in Conyersville—he doesn't know which kind; he -says he "could see them a moving along the road, and was afeard to go -in, for fear they might be seceshers." We have two squadrons out, but -they were not expected here, and King's camp is only a dozen miles or -so away. 'Tis an even chance whether they are our men or the enemy's. -"Close up." "Form fours." "Draw sabre." In a minute we shall be in a -fight, or—jogging along as quietly as before. We reach the top of a -little hill, and on another road before us are moving the dust and -figures of a body of cavalry—but through it are seen the blue jackets -and sabres of our troops, and in another moment we recognize them as -our own men. I hold a short conference with the captain, and then we -ride into Conyersville.</p> - -<p>Conyersville is "not much of a place," the men say; "there is a tavern, -and a store, and a blacksmith shop, and half a dozen houses; and the -folks are all secesh." Yet weeks in the woods give one a craving for a -city; so we stop at Conyersville a little while, all the while knowing -there is nothing to see. We then turn to the left, and go some miles -down the Paris road. We pass a road that runs back to Major Thornton's, -partly because it is too early to go there, partly to the better -mislead any one who might follow us. At last, as it grows dark, we -come to a second road, which turns off at a sharp<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> angle and goes to -the major's; and this we take. It runs through thick woods—through a -swamp—along the edge of a little millpond—over its rickety bridge, -and close to its little mill. It is so dark, indeed, that we can hardly -find the major's, and even ride a little way past the gate. At length -we turn in, and the lieutenants ride on to wake the people up and -inform them that we are coming. Being rather grander people than usual, -they have not gone to bed. Now, walking into a man's house and taking -possession of it is not an agreeable task. At home, it seemed so; but -when you come face to face with the man, and more especially with -the man's wife and children, the duty becomes unpleasant. It is done -somewhat in this way: One of the lieutenants is standing by the garden -gate, with a stout man beside him, and as I ride up, he says, "This is -Major Thornton." "I am sorry to trouble you, Major Thornton, but I must -stay here to-night, and shall have to take forage for sixty horses, -and use your kitchen for my men to cook their supper. Where would you -prefer my putting the horses?" The major says he has a large barn yard; -that will suit him, if it will suit us. "Very well, sir, if you will -send some of your men to show us and give out the forage, I will see -that none is wasted."</p> - -<p>The men wheel into the yard, and a couple of contrabands, very loyal -and cheerful, assist us to the major's oats. They enjoy feeding the -United States horses at the major's expense immensely, and insist on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> -throwing down from the stack a dozen more sheaves than we want. "It ull -do them ere hosses of yourn so much good—they don't get oats every -day—oats mighty scarce in this country; and the major, he's nothin' -but a secesher," they say.</p> - -<p>While I am overlooking the men, Bischoff, with his usual skill, has -picked out the best place in the yard for the horses. "You sleep here, -captain," he says, "this side of the corn crib, and I tie the horses -close by, and then get some corn stalks and make a bed." Meanwhile -I have a private talk with one of the contrabands, and learn all I -can about the roads around us. "How many men for guard and picket, -captain?" asks the first sergeant. "I find there are two roads, -sergeant, so you will have to detail fifteen men and a sergeant and -corporal. I shall sleep at the end of the corn crib; let them bring up -their horses there, and let the other men unsaddle."</p> - -<p>This done, I walk in to see Major Thornton and his family. The major is -a middle-aged gentleman, who revels in a rich farm and sixty niggers. -He is very civil, but by no means glad to see us. But his wife is a -kind woman, whose hospitality has become a habit, and she could not -treat us with more politeness and cordiality if we were really her -guests. She gives the men all the milk in the dairy, which is always -a treat to them, and urges me to let as many as possible sleep in the -house—she has fourteen beds, she says, at their service, and it will -be too bad to make them sleep out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> in the cold. But the men must sleep -together, and by their horses; so her good natured offer is declined. -Beside Mrs. Thornton, there sits a good natured little daughter, with -light hair and blue eyes, and the pretty name of Nelly. Miss Nelly -tells me that the war has cut them off from literature, which they -took in form of the New York "Ledger." She brings out some of the old -numbers, with Mr. Cobb's terrific stories and pictures of knights on -horseback and ladies in swoons, all looking so familiar, that I almost -expect to hear a newsboy run round the corner, shouting "Ledger! New -York Ledger!"</p> - -<p>After spending half an hour thus, I go out. The men have finished -their supper, and are going back to the yard. They choose sheltered -positions, where stack or crib wards off the wind, and there lay down -a little mattress of corn fodder. Two of them then join forces in -blankets and sleep together. After looking at the men, and walking -round among the horses, I turn toward the crib where I am to spend the -night. There is a good bed of corn leaves spread upon the ground; at -the head, the crib breaks the wind, and at the foot, my horse stands -picketed to the fence; a little to one side sleep the guard; and -around, ready saddled and bridled, stand their horses. It will soon be -time for the second relief to go out, so I wait. Soon the corporal on -camp guard comes up, and pulling out his watch, says, "Ten o'clock." -"Then call up the next relief." They are soon up: the men for picket<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> -mount their horses; the sergeant takes two and rides down one road—the -corporal two and rides down the other; the new sentinel takes the place -of the old one, who quickly crawls into his bed among the corn leaves. -"Call me," I say to the other, "if you hear any alarm, and when it is -time to relieve guard." "Yes, sir:" and I lie down. I unclasp my belt, -and draw my sabre and pistol close beside me. You do not know how much -like friends they seem. The corn leaves feel cold and damp; the night -is dark; and the wind wails mournfully. I draw my buffalo close, and -wish I were warm and asleep. For a moment I raise my head, for up the -road I hear the tramp of horses. It is slow and regular; the sergeant -returning with the men on picket. They come in, fasten their horses, -and lie down under their blankets; and they and I fall asleep.</p> - -<p>I have not slept long, and was but just roused by some one laying his -hand on my shoulder. It is the guard. I am up in an instant, and ask -what is the matter. Nothing, it is time to relieve the picket. Again -the sergeant and the corporal go out with the fresh relief, and again I -lie down to sleep. At last the camp guard, as he calls me, says, "Four -o'clock," instead of "Time to relieve," and then I order "Call up the -men."</p> - -<p>The day is breaking as we pass out of the yard, and wheel round the -corner of the house. Early as it is, Miss Nelly is up to see us off, -and her pleasant little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> face smiles and bows happily from the piazza. -Mrs. Thornton, too, is up, and, as I bid her good day, she courteously -says we had better wait for breakfast, it will be ready soon; and she -points to the kitchen chimney, from which the smoke is rising briskly. -These Tennessean women work harder, I think, than ours do at home. All -day long, as you ride, you will hear the droning spinning wheel in -almost every house, and beside it the clack of the heavy hand loom. -The wives and daughters of the poorer farmers do all the garden work, -and much besides that ours hand over to the men. We see black women -grubbing out bushes in the fields, and white ones ploughing, harrowing, -and hauling grain, with ox teams, to the mill. The wives of rich -planters rise early, and seem busied and worried till night. The houses -would have a thriftless look to our eyes, did not fine trees surround -them. Trees are the one thing in which they show good taste. They do -not ride much in carriages, because the roads are rough and carriages -are scarce. Yet side-saddles are plenty; and constantly on these bridle -roads you will meet women on mules, often with a child or two perched -on behind—or perhaps a mother carrying her baby in her arms, and -mounted on a sober, old mare, whose little colt frisks merrily around.</p> - -<p>We have not met any though this morning, and at eight o'clock have -travelled back to the Paris road, and to within four miles of Paris. -Here we halt for breakfast. The men whose turn it is for picket, ride -on a mile<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> or two down the road, the others dismount. The two who -act as cooks take possession of a little out-kitchen, and proceed to -fry the bacon and boil the coffee. I walk into the house and find a -wretched family. The father of it is old and sick. He groans as I speak -to him, and says: "Oh, our wretched country! What have we done that we -must suffer so? I have always been for the Union, but the young men are -all against it." His son, a young man, and evidently a rebel, seems -equally wretched. I tell him I must feed my horses, and he points to -the barn yard, and says there is corn there. Generally these people -receive us with some show of welcome, but he seems utterly indifferent. -I ask him if he will not see that his property is not abused; that -perhaps there is some crib or stack he does not want touched; but he -shakes his head, and walks up and down the piazza, paying no more -attention to us. Down a deep ravine behind the house is a beautiful -spring. Gigantic oaks rise over it, and the water flows from a bank -of fine, white sand—so fine and white that it seems an alabaster -fountain. Here I unroll my towel and make my toilet, and then climb the -hill for breakfast, which is ready.</p> - -<p>This duty done, we resume the march. I am ordered not to enter Paris, -and, therefore, turn off and strike across the country, to regain -the direct road from Paris to the Holly Fork. A very blind road it -is, winding through woods, and frequently lost. Yet here are wide -plantations, shut in from the rest of the world, with their large -houses, and chickens, and beehives, to all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> appearance patterns of -peace and contentment. Within them you will find a people plain and -simple in their manners and their lives, with many good traits, and -some bad ones. They have an easy, quiet way with them of taking things -as they find them, with little show, and less pretension. The hot blood -we hear about hardly ever appears, and then seems the effect of too -much tobacco and bad cooking. Indeed, I frequently think the cooking is -the cause of the rebellion. They all look dyspeptic, and are disposed -to be low-spirited and despondent. If you were to walk in and dine with -them, you would find that fried pork and corn dodger were certainly on -the table. This corn dodger, you must know, is a mixture of corn-meal -and water, very nearly the size and shape of a roll of butter split -in two and hurriedly heated, though hardly baked. A week ago I was at -a house where there were four dishes of pork upon the table. To these -may be added some fried chickens and hot biscuit, and this will be the -unchanging bill of fare. Bread—that is what we call bread—I have not -yet seen, and am sure it is hardly known.</p> - -<p>But dinner done, at this house I speak of, there came before me another -little custom that may surprise some of my friends. The mother of -the family took her pipe, which I had often seen before, and was not -surprised at; but the daughter furthest from me dived down in her -pocket, and, after rummaging there a minute, brought up—</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>"Oh, shame! oh, horror! and oh, womankind!"—</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> - -<p>a plug of tobacco, and then deliberately took a chew! The second and -third followed; and then the three young ladies drew up around the -sacred hearth (which some of their cousins were lighting to protect -from the pollution of us Yankees) and indulged in a little social -spitting. It is embarrassing, if you are not used to it, to ask a -country belle a question, and then have her turn her head suddenly the -other way and spit before she answers. The first time we witnessed this -interesting ceremony, a young officer of our party thought he would -do something cool—he would ask a woman for a chew of tobacco. So, -marching up, he said, "Miss, will you be so kind as to give me a chew -of your tobacco?" The rest of us felt annoyed; but the girl quietly, -and as a matter of course, fumbled in her pocket and brought out the -old plug.</p> - -<p>But while I am telling you this we have come out on the Paris road, -and have turned toward the Holly Fork. The causeway and the bridge are -unchanged, and the little store is still empty and open. We reach the -cross-road, on the top of the hill, and then turn to the right. This -leaf-covered road leads through tall woods and secluded farms. We see -no one in the wide-spreading fields, nor about the distant farm-houses: -they might be thought deserted but for the smoke that lazily rises -and floats away. At one little wayside cabin the owner asks us, in -the usual phrase, to "alight." There are many old English words and -phrases among this people—some odd and obsolete, and some better and -more correct<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> than our own. Thus, for our awkward "get down," they have -"alight." Instead of saying, "How early did you <i>get up</i> this morning?" -they would say, "How early did you <i>arise</i>?" Relations, relatives, and -connections they call <i>kinfolk</i>; and these are never well <i>dressed</i>, -but well <i>clad</i>. A <i>horse-path</i> is known as a <i>bridle-road</i>; a <i>brook</i> -as a <i>branch</i>, and a <i>stream</i> as a <i>fork</i>. One man complimented -Bischoff by saying he was the most <i>chirk</i> young fellow in the -regiment; and a young lady praised her own horse by telling me that -Gipsy might run fast, but she couldn't <i>tote</i> double.</p> - -<p>But two or three miles down this road we come to a gate, on which three -little contrabands hang, grinning. Very quickly they drop down and -swing open the gate; and very glad they are to see us, whatever missus -may be. Within this gate is a fine open grove, and through it are seen -a small timber house, some contraband cabins, and a barn or two. We -have heard of this house before. It belongs to a Lieutenant Reynolds -of the rebel service, and was selected, before we started, as a good -stopping-place. In one of the cabins we find a young mulatto woman, -whose sad, intelligent face awakens more than usual respect.</p> - -<p>"Is Mrs. Reynolds at home?" I ask.</p> - -<p>"No, sir, she's at her mother's."</p> - -<p>"Are you alone here?"</p> - -<p>"There's a man a ploughing, sir, out in the field there, and another -girl—she's a grubbing."</p> - -<p>"Whose children are these? Yours?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> - -<p>"That one's mine, sir; the other two's mother is gone."</p> - -<p>"Where?"</p> - -<p>"To Memphis, I s'pose, sir. They sent her off and sold her the time -your soldiers took the fort."</p> - -<p>"Will your mistress be back to-night?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir, she don't stay here nights."</p> - -<p>"Then I must trouble you to show me where your provisions are. My men -have eaten up all their rations and must have supper here."</p> - -<p>Two of the men come in and go to work as cooks, and the others are -in the yard, unsaddling and cleaning their horses. With one of the -sergeants, I stroll out to the road. We cross it and walk a few yards, -to get a view of some fields beyond. As we are looking and talking of -the pickets for the coming night, in the distance, down the road, we -hear a shout or two, and then a rumbling noise.</p> - -<p>"What is that, sergeant?"</p> - -<p>"It's horses," says the sergeant; "they are galloping—and there's more -than one too."</p> - -<p>We both spring for the gate.</p> - -<p>"Shall I order the men to fall in?" asks the sergeant.</p> - -<p>"No; there are not many horses coming. Let us wait and see."</p> - -<p>In another moment appears through the trees, a black boy mounted on a -horse, and behind him two mules on a gallop. The black boy repeats his -wild "Yoo, yoo—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>yo, yoo," and when he does so the mules redouble their -speed. As he approaches the gate, he pulls up.</p> - -<p>"What are you galloping for?" I ask. "Is anything the matter?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, no, sah; I been a ploughing all day, and am a comin' home."</p> - -<p>"What! do those mules plough all day and gallop home in this way at -night?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, sah; they likes it. Why, it does 'em good."</p> - -<p>The boy and mules all look so bright and fresh that I am bound to -believe it does them all good; and as we thus talk the other girl -comes up the road, carrying her heavy grubbing hoe upon her shoulder, -and with many startled looks at us, goes toward the house. They are a -strange people these Southerners, full of inconsistencies and all sorts -of incongruous traits. They are not a musical people; you never hear -a boy whistle, or a girl singing at her work; they are not liberally -educated, and schools and schoolmasters are few. Yet in half the houses -you will find pianos, and half the women play by note. In this house -the ceiling is not plastered; the unpainted mantel is covered with -broken bottles and old candlesticks; the rough log walls are adorned -with twopenny engravings cut from almanacs and country papers; all -the furniture in the house is not worth $5; but there is a piano, a -handsome one, with a showy cover. It is so with their characters: some -are very high-minded, and some are very mean;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> and some, with a stock -in trade of honor, unite the most Indian-like duplicity. And here let -me tell you a story to the point.</p> - -<p>As the black boy loiters round, I say to him, "Well, Dick, have you -seen any soldiers before this?"</p> - -<p>"No, sah," says Dick; "but missus has."</p> - -<p>"Ah! where did she see them?"</p> - -<p>"Why, thar was some of your soldiers up to Mr. Clokes' a spell ago, one -Sunday, and missus she was thar."</p> - -<p>Now, as you will recollect, we were at Mr. Clokes' on a Sunday, and -there were one or two visitors there then. The doctor and I had been -very polite to everybody, and everybody had been very polite to us, and -none more so than these visitors. When we left, I complacently said to -the doctor that this was much the best way to treat these people, it -must conciliate them; and the doctor had said, "Oh, certainly; if we -have not made them loyal, we have at least impressed them favorably." -So, recollecting all this, I said to Dick:</p> - -<p>"Well, Dick, what did your missus say about the Union soldiers?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! she said they made her so mad she could hardly eat."</p> - -<p>"Hardly eat! Indeed—why what did they do to her?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, they didn't do nothin' to her, only she said she couldn't bear the -sight of um; she said they acted all the time just like a parcel o' -<i>niggers</i>!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> - -<p>There's a compliment for us, thinks I. I must tell the doctor of -that—and how <i>favorably we impressed them</i>!</p> - -<p>Supper is over. The corn dodger was far better than hard biscuit; the -roasted sweet potatoes were excellent; and the lieutenant's ham a -great improvement on his patriotism. The men have lain down in little -groups around the house; in front, under the large trees, burns the -guard fire. The guard sleep behind it, and their horses, saddled and -bridled, are picketed as usual beside them. The pickets have gone out, -and the sentinel moves slowly backward and forward near the gate. I -walk down to speak to him. As I approach, he wheels sharply round and -challenges, "Who comes there?" I give the usual answer, "Friend, with -the countersign." "Advance, and give the countersign," and he points -his carbine at me. I advance, and whisper the word "Roanoke." "The -countersign is correct," says the sentinel; "pass on."</p> - -<p>This form of challenging is always followed at night, even though -the sentinel distinctly sees, and perfectly well knows the person -coming. The "countersign" is a word, usually the name of a battle; it -is given to the sergeant of the guard at sunset, and he gives it to -each sentinel as he posts him. The countersign is kept concealed from -everybody but the commanding officer and the officers of the day and -of the guard. When any person is to be sent through the lines, one of -these officers may give him the countersign, and it only will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> enable -him to pass. If I had not had the countersign, it would have been the -sentinel's duty to detain me, and call for the sergeant of the guard.</p> - -<p>"Captain," says the sentinel, "I was going to call you. I think I hear -a wagon coming."</p> - -<p>We listen, and its creaking grows plainer down the road. We move to one -side, and the wagon draws nearer.</p> - -<p>"Shall I halt them?" says the sentinel.</p> - -<p>"No; I hear children's voices."</p> - -<p>They come on and pass close beside us; the children prattle away, and -the father and mother talk of William somebody, who did something or -other, and how Jane and her husband were going somewhere with the baby, -but won't now for some unknown reason. They do not know that we stand -close beside them, and that within a few yards is a troop of horse. If -they did, the sentinel would halt them, and they would go no further -to-night; but as it is, we are tolerably secure this side of the Holly -Fork, and they are so manifestly ignorant of our whereabout, that I -spare them the fright of being stopped by soldiers and kept from home -all night.</p> - -<p>"But don't let any more pass, Waldron," I say to the sentinel, "and -keep a bright look out, and call me if you hear the slightest sound."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir." And Waldron resumes his lonely walk.</p> - -<p>I leave him, and as I approach the guard, the sergeant is rousing the -next relief.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Walter," I say to a young trooper, who is going out on picket, -"Walter, you are to go back a mile on the road we came down, and you -will be posted near the wide cornfield that we passed."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir."</p> - -<p>"Be careful that you give no false alarm; but if there should be -anything, then fire your carbine in this direction, and come in on a -gallop."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir."</p> - -<p>"And, Walter, you need to be very watchful to-night, for you will be -the only man on that road, and it is a lonely spot."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir," says Walter, with undiminished cheerfulness, "I'll be very -careful."</p> - -<p>And then he turns toward his saddled horse, tightens the girth, and -unhitches the rein.</p> - -<p>He cannot be thinking of himself, for as I walk away I hear him softly -singing:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>"Soft be thy slumbers,</div> -<div class="i1">Rude cares depart,</div> -<div>Visions in numbers</div> -<div class="i1">Cheer thy young heart."</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>And with sweet Ellen Bayne ringing in my ears, I lie down beside the -camp fire and fall asleep.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>VIII.</span> <span class="smaller">A SURPRISE.</span></h2> - -<p>A fairer May-day never dawned than that which greeted us last spring in -Tennessee,</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>"When the box-tree, white with blossoms,</div> -<div>Made the sweet May woodlands glad;"</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>And the green hills and fresh-leaved trees were hung resplendent in -yellow, white and purple flowers.</p> - -<p>My first sergeant and myself sat after breakfast beneath the tent-fly, -finishing our muster-rolls. The 30th of April is a "mustering day" in -the United States service, when all its officers and soldiers must be -called and counted, and their names be transmitted on proper rolls to -proper authorities. As we thus worked, an orderly came in, and handed -me an order to take two days' rations, and scout toward and beyond -Paris. But the rations were not then in camp; so after issuing orders -to saddle up, the sergeant and I resumed our work, not sorry that the -delay would enable us to complete our rolls.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, on the still, damp air of the morning, there came, echoing -from Fort Henry, the boom of a cannon. We started. "What does that -mean?" A week before there had been a rumor one evening that Memphis -was taken, and the colonel at the fort had sent us word that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> if the -rumor proved true, next morning he would fire seven guns. We had then -listened, but there were no guns; and later news stated that Memphis -was not taken, and could not be.</p> - -<p>A second gun sounded—and a man near us gave a "hurrah!" "You need -not hurrah," said another; "they've got four guns loaded down there, -and are only firing them off." A third fired, and a fourth, and in -the pause which followed, each said, "I wonder if there will be -another!" A moment passed, and the fifth rang out loud and clear. A -cheer sounded through the camp, and everybody came out of his tent. -"What can it be? something has happened." "No, nothing has happened; -they're only practising, or playing a trick on us." <i>Bang!</i> went the -sixth. The sanguine men gave a loud cheer. "Will there be another?" -"Yes!" "No!" "I'm sure there will." "I'm sure there won't." A -silence—the pause seems endless—surely five times as long as between -any others. All are breathless. "There! I told you so." "I knew it was -nothing." "Memphis can't be taken in a month—there's nothing to fire -about. You won't hear any more to-day." "There's no use in waiting -any"——<span class="smaller">BANG!</span> went the seventh, louder and clearer than all -the rest put together. The men jumped on the logs and wagons and -cheered wildly; and the officers who were not on duty rushed for their -horses, and galloped furiously toward the river, while our two little -howitzers rung out seven responses to the great guns of the fort.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> - -<p>An hour passed; those who had the fastest horses came back. "Was it -Memphis?" "No, not Memphis—better than Memphis—guess." No one can -guess. "It is New Orleans—Farragut has taken New Orleans." Another -cheer runs through the camp, and we congratulate ourselves on carrying -such news with us on our scout.</p> - -<p>But the rations were strangely delayed. The men yawned, and wished they -would hurry up; and the horses stood saddled round the tents, with -their heads down, quietly dozing through the day. Late in the afternoon -they came, and, with them, an order to send a larger party, and for me -to report to our major for orders. I did so.</p> - -<p>"When will your squadron be ready?" asked the major.</p> - -<p>"It is ready now."</p> - -<p>"Well then you may start at daybreak; I will follow with the others at -nine, and join you at Paris in the afternoon."</p> - -<p>A new tent had arrived that day from St. Louis, to take the place of -my old and leaky one; and Bischoff had amused himself, during the -afternoon, by pitching it, little thinking that I was to sleep in it -just one night. It felt like having a new house, and its fresh, snowy -walls, the perfection of neatness.</p> - -<p>There were men stirring long before daylight, and with the first grey -streaks of dawn, we mounted. Our road was a short cut, leading by -narrow, winding ways,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> through tall woods, up little streams, and over -high hills. In the cool calm of the morning, it was a picture of peace -and safety; and no soldiers ever moved more joyously than we, or seemed -less likely to be fugitives and prisoners before the march should be -done.</p> - -<p>Three miles from camp we halted at a sparkling brook to adjust saddles -and water horses. The squadron was marching in three platoons, with an -interval of a hundred yards between them. The first came up, halted and -dismounted; then the second, and the third, so quietly and orderly, -that I felt a satisfaction I had never felt before.</p> - -<p>At last we came to Paris. Its little square was green, and its streets -were prettier than in the gloom of that March morning. We picketed -our horses on the Court House fence, and strolled around. Everybody -agreed in saying that our old acquaintances, King's cavalry, had gone -to Corinth, and that the country round us was cleared of guerrillas. -Beauregard was calling in all his troops then, and this seemed -probable. But one of the first questions put to me was, "When will the -major and the rest of the party be here?" The order had been given the -night before; I had marched at daybreak; no one had passed us on the -road. "How did this information reach them?" I asked; "who could have -brought it?"</p> - -<p>The main body of our detachment arrived during the afternoon, and I -was ordered with my squadron to the farm of a Mrs. Ayres, some three -miles off. I had heard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> nothing of Mrs. Ayres, except that she was "a -prominent secessionist," and quite wealthy; and three months' active -cavalry service had quite accustomed me to riding into people's houses, -and taking possession for the use of the Government. Yet I was rather -taken aback, when a lady with grey hair and widow's weeds came out, as -I rode up. I said that I regretted to intrude, but that I was ordered -to stop there; and she said that it was very unpleasant; she and her -daughter were alone, no gentleman in the house, and she wished we would -go somewhere else. I explained that no one would come in the house or -be guilty of any rudeness, and that she might feel perfectly safe. But -she reiterated her request, and went on: "I am a secessionist, sir; I -am opposed to the Union. I scorn to deny my principles. Of course you -will do as you choose, sir. I am a woman, and unprotected, and you -have a company of soldiers; I can offer no resistance," etc., etc. I -answered that I admired her sincerity, and cut the argument short by -asking in which yard she preferred my putting the horses, and from -which stacks we should get forage. There were woods on the right of -the house; the men filed into them, and in a few minutes fires were -lighted, horses picketed, and we were bivouacked for the night.</p> - -<p>An hour or two elapsed, and I received a message that Mrs. Ayres wished -to see me. I went in—the house was large and handsomely furnished, -and she was evidently far superior in intelligence, education, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> -position, to the simple country people among whom we had hitherto been -thrown. I afterwards learnt that one son was then at Richmond, a member -of the Confederate Government, and another with Beauregard, at Corinth. -I began the conversation by hoping that she had recovered from her -alarm. She said, "Oh, entirely," and that she had expected the officers -in the house to tea, and that she had beds enough for them. I replied -that I had promised that no one should intrude, and that I intended my -promise to apply to myself as well as to my men. Mrs. Ayres hastened -to say that it was no intrusion; that I must at least stay and spend -the evening; she really could not allow me to go out in the dark and -cold, while she had houseroom to offer. "My daughter plays," she said; -"perhaps you like music." I said that I liked music exceedingly, and -should be most happy to hear some, and as I was finishing my civil -speech, Miss Ayres came in. She was a pretty girl of seventeen, and -gave me an icy bow that said I was there by military power, and was no -guest of hers. "Mary," said her mother, "Captain N. wishes to hear some -music." The young lady gave another icy bow. There was a little black -girl curled up in a corner near the fire. "Bell," said Miss Ayres, -"carry the candles into the other room." The little black girl uncurled -herself, and seizing the candles, marched into the other room. There -she placed the candles on the piano, and immediately popped under it -and curled herself up again on the floor.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> I moved round, and took my -position at one end of the piano, as an admiring listener should. It -was a handsome instrument, and seemed like a friend, for I read on its -plate, "Wm. Hall & Sons, New York." It had come from New York, and so -had I. Miss Ayres took her music-book, and I waited for her to begin. -She partly opened the book, then stopped, and looking deliberately at -me, said, "Well, sir, what <i>must</i> I play?" Had she slapped me in the -face I should not have been more astounded. It was evident that she was -in the same frame of mind her mother had been in at the gate. But I had -been so particularly civil that this cut was too unexpected. I felt my -color rise, but kept my temper down, and inwardly resolved that her -little ladyship should take this back before our acquaintance ended; -so I answered, almost sweetly, that I would leave that to Miss Ayres' -better taste! We had a little contest then, she trying to make me order -something, and I trying to make her select the piece. It was a drawn -game, and ended in her suggesting a couple of pieces, and my saying, -"Either of them."</p> - -<p>An hour passed very agreeably, and when I arose to go, all coolness had -entirely vanished, and the invitation to stay was really cordial. But -it was an inflexible rule with me, when on these expeditions, to sleep -beside my guard, so I declined; and, after thanking them, went out.</p> - -<p>The next day came in brightly; but as I was preparing to resume our -march, there came a message<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> from the major, saying we would not leave -till afternoon. The day wore wearily away; and toward evening there -came a second message, saying we would not start till eight the next -morning. Then a feeling of uneasiness came over me. This long delay I -did not like. The sky, too, became overcast, and a heavy storm soon -gathered over head. I made our little arrangements for the night; the -horses were moved under cover; the men found refuge in a barn; and a -little carriage house was taken for our guard tent. I received another -invitation to the house, and paid another visit more agreeable than -the first. As I came out, the rain was coming down soakingly. I had -put out additional pickets, and used the additional precaution of -going out myself with the relief. The first time I did so, it came -near terminating my expedition. It was fearfully dark, and the horses -had almost to feel their way. I knew we should find the picket about -a mile from the house, where the woods ended on the brow of a hill. -I had selected the place, because there they would be hidden by the -trees, yet would have a clear view, on an ordinary night, through the -fields beyond. I knew, too, the angle of the fence they were to be -in, and expected to find them with little trouble. We approached the -spot, but were not challenged, and I began to wonder if anything was -the matter. We went a few steps farther, and I found we had passed the -woods and were descending the hill. Still no challenge. It would seem -the simplest thing in the world<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> to call out, but this could not be -done—here they must challenge us. Suddenly, close behind us, and in a -very startled tone, came "Who comes there?" and with it the "click," -"click" of a pistol. I answered just in time; for, in the darkness, and -amid the beating of the storm, we had passed them unseen and unheard, -and they thought that we were a party approaching from the opposite -direction, and, in another moment, would have fired.</p> - -<p>Day came at last—a drizzly, rainy day—and we set out for Como. -The country was new to us, and much better than we had yet seen -in Tennessee. There were groups of contrabands at every house, -reminding us that it was Sunday; and we passed a little church, whose -congregation was within, their saddled horses tied around the building. -We all remarked that the people seemed more cheerful than any we had -seen; and soon a man we met took off his hat, and said, "The Union, -the Constitution, and the Enforcement of the Laws;" yet we had seen -so little patriotism in Tennessee that we doubted this. At length we -reached Como, and stopped in the barnyards of a leading secessionist. -Hardly had we dismounted, when a large, good looking man followed us -into the yard, and said, "I'm truly glad to see you, gentlemen, you've -come at just the right time." He then introduced himself to me as Mr. -Hurt, of Como; and said that his house was a quarter of a mile back—he -had seen us pass—he had run after us—he was a Union citizen—all -must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> go back and dine with him—his wife had seen us, and was actually -getting dinner ready.</p> - -<p>I walked back with Mr. Hurt to his house. His wife I found a pleasing -lady-like woman, and she repeated the invitation to bring all. I said -I thought bringing fifty men into a private house to dinner, and that -on Sunday, was a little too much; but she said quite earnestly that -she could do nothing better on Sunday than care for Union soldiers. -Soon one man, and then another, came in, whose looks more than their -words assured us of a warm and living patriotism to which we had long -been strangers. From them I learnt that there were many more hiding in -the surrounding woods, and that a party of rebel citizens had recently -been amusing themselves by arresting Union men, and sending them off to -Memphis. I determined that so far as I was concerned, this fun should -stop; and when the major, with the main body, arrived, I submitted my -plan to him, which he approved, and ordered me to execute.</p> - -<p>My plan was very simple—to take twenty-five of my best mounted men, -and stay behind, ostensibly as a rear guard; to start about dark, as -if to follow the major; but, in reality, to turn off on the first -cross-road, and arrest the parties during the night, rejoining the -major in the morning.</p> - -<p>Accordingly, after dinner I strolled up to where the men were, and -said, carelessly, to the first-sergeant, that one-half of us were to -stay as rear guard, and he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> better pick out those who had the -freshest horses—there might be a good deal of riding to do. In a -little while the detachment started, leaving me with my party, little -thinking how soon we were to be a rear guard in reality. As the last -of the column vanished down the road, my anxiety of the previous -evening returned, and I sent a vidette up the Caledonia road. It was -then three, and we should not start till six; so I went into the barn -and lay down, hoping to have a little sleep to make up for the three -previous nights. But I was soon roused to see a Union man, whose -brother had been arrested, and then to see another who was to act as -guide; and then Mr. Hurt came in to insist on my going back to his -house and sleeping there; so I rose and walked back. At the house we -found a young man, a cousin of Mrs. Hurt, who had heard of our arrival -and ventured in from the woods. We sat down upon the piazza and fell -into an interesting conversation. Three of her brothers were in the -Southern army—"as good Union men as you," she said, "but forced in." -Their little boy was named Emerson Etheridge, after the Tennessee -member of Congress, who has stood so firmly for the Union; and on the -large tree in the yard was hoisted the last flag that had waved in -Western Tennessee.</p> - -<p>As we thus talked, a little man was seen coming up the road, and -thereupon the whole family left me and rushed out to meet him. They -came back laughing, shaking hands, and asking questions, while the -little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> man both laughed and cried, and said, "Oh, my dear friends, -you do not know what sufferings I have been through since I left you!" -He was their Yankee schoolmaster. For ten years he had lived quietly -there, but a year before had been ordered off, and narrowly escaped -being hung. He had left a child behind, and now, hearing the country -was quiet, had ventured back to see his old friends and his child.</p> - -<p>The afternoon glided away, and it was nearly six. Mrs. Hurt had left -us to hasten tea, but we still sat on the piazza, talking as before. -Suddenly Mr. Hurt sprang up and said, "What are those men?" I looked -and saw my vidette coming in between two countrymen: whether they -were bringing him, or he them, seemed doubtful. I seized my sabre and -pistol, and walked to the gate.</p> - -<p>"There is bad news, captain," said the man.</p> - -<p>"What is it?"</p> - -<p>"These men say there are three thousand rebel cavalry at Caledonia."</p> - -<p>I suppose I looked incredulous, for one of the men said, very -earnestly, "It's so, sir. Ask Mr. Hurt; he knows me."</p> - -<p>"He's a good man," said Mr. Hurt; "but I don't believe three thousand -any more than you do."</p> - -<p>"It's really so!" cried the man with great earnestness. "Mr. Ashby saw -them, and sent us over here to tell you, and the other Union people; -and we have run our horses all the way across."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> - -<p>I glanced at the horses: they were covered with foam and mud. I looked -at Mr. Hurt: his face had suddenly grown very serious.</p> - -<p>"Did Edward Ashby see them himself?" he asked, in a low tone.</p> - -<p>"Yes!"</p> - -<p>"And he told you himself?"</p> - -<p>"Yes!"</p> - -<p>"Then, captain," he said, turning to me, "it is so."</p> - -<p>There was a moment of dreary silence.</p> - -<p>"How long were they passing Mr. Ashby's?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Three hours."</p> - -<p>"Which way were they going?"</p> - -<p>"Toward Paris."</p> - -<p>"How far is it from Caledonia to Paris?"</p> - -<p>"Twelve miles."</p> - -<p>I knew that three thousand was a reasonable estimate. I also knew they -must have heard of our whereabout, and that a party might be coming up -the road at any moment; yet I ventured one more question:</p> - -<p>"What troops did they say they were?"</p> - -<p>"Jeff. Thompson's."</p> - -<p>"Jeff. Thompson's! That is very strange. Where did they say they were -going?"</p> - -<p>"They said they'd come for provisions and Union men."</p> - -<p>This answer completed the distress of those around me. The cousin -looked toward the woods; the little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> schoolmaster asked if he might not -stay with his child just this one night? Mr. Hurt said that he meant -to risk it till morning, while his wife said that he must fly at once: -they might burn the house, but they would not hurt women and children, -and she was not afraid. I shook hands hastily with them, and hoped that -we might meet again. I told my vidette to gallop up the road and tell -the men to mount, but to say not a word of the reason why. And then I -followed as rapidly as I could, and with many glances over my shoulder, -wondering that the enemy's advance was not already upon us. It was -not half a mile to the barnyards, but the way seemed endless, until a -turn in the road showed me the men mounting, and Bischoff coming to -meet me with my horse. In a moment more I was mounted, and had sent a -messenger, on a gallop, to the major, while the rest of us followed at -a less rapid gait.</p> - -<p>Arriving at Irving's farm, where the main body had halted for the -night, I found all as quiet as though nothing could happen. The horses -were unsaddled, the men reposing, and the major had gone to a farm a -mile distant. I ordered my own men to saddle up, and galloped after -him. We rode back to Irving's, and held a consultation with the other -officers, the result of which was that he took an escort and went down -the road to see Mr. Hurt; while I was to wait till ten o'clock, and, if -he did not return by that time, to retreat northwardly to the little -town of Dresden.</p> - -<p>I went into the house, and talked to the ladies of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> family. They -were wealthy secessionists, and it was advisable to conceal, so far as -possible, our movements. As ten o'clock approached, I slipped out, and -ordered the men to mount and be perfectly still. Then, returning, I -said to the ladies, that they must not feel alarmed if they heard our -pickets and guards during the night, and, bidding them good evening, -went out. I saw, dimly, the men drawn up in line.</p> - -<p>"Bischoff," I called, in a suppressed tone, "where are you?"</p> - -<p>"Here, captain," said Bischoff, close beside me, as he held my horse -under a shadowy tree.</p> - -<p>I mounted—gave some instructions to the other captains—the men -wheeled into column—and we were moving slowly and silently toward -Dresden.</p> - -<p>The rain, which had stopped during the afternoon, began again. The road -plunged down into dense woods, and the darkness was profound. Some -refugees, mounted on mules, and wrapped in their home-spun blankets, -joined us—picturesque, but sad exiles, in keeping with the wild and -stormy night. They were our guides, and but for them we could not have -found our way through the hidden road.</p> - -<p>"Well, quartermaster," I said to the young officer who rode beside me, -"this is our first retreat."</p> - -<p>"Yes," he answered; "and a most appropriate night for a first retreat."</p> - -<p>It was not improbable that we should be attacked in the rear; and -not improbable that a party had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> sent round to intercept us in -front; and every sound seemed the signal for an affray. Occasionally -the wagons became snagged, and word would be passed up the column; a -halt would be ordered; men would dismount, feel for the wagon, and -disentangle it from some tree or stump; word would be passed up again, -and we would resume our march. Thus, about three in the morning, we -approached Dresden, when I unexpectedly ran upon our advance guard -standing still. I quickly ordered a halt and demanded what was the -matter. A horse, they said, had disappeared in the middle of the road; -they could not even find him. I called for matches, and several men -tried to strike a light; but the rain had soaked through everything. -I recollected a little tin box of wax tapers in my great coat pocket, -and by dint of striking one of these under my cape, obtained a light. -The little flickering ray disclosed the feet of the horse, sticking -up in the air, his body hidden in a narrow gully which the rain had -washed across the road. I dismounted six men to try and pull him out, -and with the rest went on. Here the major overtook us. He had gone -back, but had learned nothing of the enemy. In a few minutes we entered -Dresden. Pickets were posted on the different roads, the horses were -crowded into some barns, and then, with the men, I crawled up into the -hay-loft, and, soaking wet, lay down for an hour or two on the soft hay.</p> - -<p>We waited all the morning, and about one in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> afternoon started, -still moving northwardly toward Paducah. The road was hard and good; -the sun came out, drying our wet clothes, and everything seemed -promising and pleasant. As we passed the first house, the family -appeared in front of the door, and waved a little flag. It was the -first flag we had seen in Tennessee. My squadron, which led the column, -broke into rapturous applause as they caught sight of the starry -emblem; and as each of the others came up, wondering what could have -caused the commotion, they repeated the cheers. A cavalcade of Union -men accompanied us, and as we approached their homes, they would dash -ahead and notify their families that we were coming. At every house -the inmates appeared, waving handkerchiefs and clapping hands; and -at several the long hidden flag was brought out to help in welcoming -"the Union soldiers," who cheered the flag whenever it was displayed. -Thus our march went on, more like a gay, triumphal procession than a -retreat. We stopped at a little house, and a venerable matron, with her -grand-daughter, came to the gate and welcomed us. The old lady shook -hands with all who were near, and solemnly hoped that God would be with -us; and the younger one laughed and cried. She hoped, she said, that we -would not think her bold or crazy; but she felt as if we were friends, -and it was the first time she had been safe for months. Her husband -and father were then hiding in the woods from guerrillas. She had two -brothers in the rebel army, and, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> added, with a bitter emphasis I -cannot describe, that they were rebels, and we might capture them or -kill them; but she wished we would <i>kill them</i>.</p> - -<p>We went on and descended into the valley of the Obion. The sun was -sinking in the west, as our column wound through the great trees and -came upon Lockridge Mill. On the right, I saw a large white house -surrounded by a garden; on the left a barn yard with an eight-rail -fence; in front and beyond us, the Obion and the mill.</p> - -<p>"We will stay here to-night," said the major.</p> - -<p>"Left into line. March. Be prepared to leave at a moment's notice," I -said to my men, "and to saddle up in the dark. Break ranks."</p> - -<p>The men scattered through the yard, picketing their horses. The second -squadron picketed theirs on the outside of the yard, and the third went -back to the farms on the edge of the valley, to act as a rear guard.</p> - -<p>"Where will you put our horses, Bischoff?"</p> - -<p>"At this tree in the yard, captain," said Bischoff.</p> - -<p>"Very well; I must see if there are any pickets wanted between us and -the rear guard." And I turned my horse and rode slowly back.</p> - -<p>It was a noble valley, smooth as a floor, and covered with huge -oaks and elms. I came to the third squadron; they had dismounted; -their horses were tied to the fences; their lieutenant had gone out -with their pickets; and their captain came up and laughingly said -he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> taken a prisoner, and introduced me to a lieutenant of an -Illinois regiment, who had just ridden in. He was a very handsome and -intelligent young man, and informed us that he was a Tennessian, and -had come to see if recruits could not be found there. He seemed greatly -elated at being back in his own State, and as we rode along, I remarked -to myself how hopeful and happy he was. We arrived at the house and -dismounted; I gave my horse to one of the men, and went in to introduce -Mr. Crawford to the major. Him we found in an upper room. He had taken -off his jacket and was seated, comfortably smoking. I introduced the -lieutenant, and then went out, intending to post the pickets in front. -The men were on some logs opposite the house, finishing their supper; -the sun had set, and the light was fading and growing hazy amid the -great trees.</p> - -<p>I walked across the little garden, and laid my hand on the gate. As I -did so, I heard a yell toward the rear; I turned quickly, and far up -among the trees I saw three of the rear guard. Their horses were on -a gallop; they waved their caps wildly, and shouted something which -sounded like "saddle up." At the first glance I thought they were -messengers; but, at the second, I saw running beside them a horse <i>with -an empty saddle</i>. I knew what that meant.</p> - -<p>"Saddle up, and fall in," I shouted to the men; "and you men in the -house call the major; tell him we are attacked."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> - -<p>I looked for my horse, but he had disappeared. I rushed to the -barnyard, and there saw the man who had held him.</p> - -<p>"Hamelder," I cried, "what have you done with my horse?"</p> - -<p>"Bischoff took him, captain."</p> - -<p>I hurried to the tree. Bischoff, knowing the horse would have a -night's work, had seized on the moment of my going into the house to -unsaddle and rub him off. But Bischoff stood faithful at his post in -the confusion; while every other man was hurrying for his own horse, -Bischoff was saddling mine. As I came up, he held the horse and stirrup -for me to mount as coolly as though we were at a parade.</p> - -<p>"Never mind this," I cried, "I can mount without this nonsense; saddle -your own horse and be quick—be quick." But my buffalo, rolled up as -it had been unbuckled from the saddle, lay on the ground, and Bischoff -stooped for it. "Throw it away," I cried, "saddle your horse and come -out of this yard, or you're lost."</p> - -<p>I turned; all of the squadron had gone out—I was the last; and as my -horse dashed over the broken fence, Bischoff was left alone.</p> - -<p>My men were in line, but a disorderly stream of flying men and -riderless horses was pouring past. I looked round for the major, but -he was not in sight, and I found myself the ranking officer there. "I -must act, it is no time to wait for orders," I said, as I looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> up -the valley, and saw the head of the rebel column. They were coming on -a gallop, their shot guns and rifles blazed away, and their wild yells -were louder than the volleys they fired. Between us were the last -of the rear guard and the horses of those who had fallen, "wild and -disorderly." Turning the other way, I saw the river and the bridge. -"We must check their advance," I thought, "and then cross the river -and tear up the bridge; it is our only hope. I will charge them." I -touched my good horse as I drew my sabre, and he flew round. I was -giving the orders, "Draw sabre. By platoons. Left wheel," and the -squadron was executing them, when the men of the second squadron rushed -franticly round the barnyard fence and into my line. In an instant all -was confusion. There was no time to restore order, the rebels were not -the width of a city block distant, and their buck shot flew thickly, -wounding men and horses, while there rose the thundering sound of -cavalry at full speed. I still had a hope of the bridge. In another -instant they would be upon us. "About," I cried, "gallop and form -across the bridge." As we went by the yard, Bischoff had not come out. -"He has sacrificed himself for me," I said; "but I cannot leave my -command to save him, though he were my brother."</p> - -<p>Across the narrow bridge we went safely, though it swayed and trembled -under the tramp of galloping horses. As the men wheeled and reformed, I -moved to the right and looked back. Hitherto I had seen but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> the head -of their column, and had formed no idea of its strength. Now I saw, -far up the valley, a solid unbroken column of perhaps a thousand men. -Between them and the bridge were a few men, and many flying horses, -which ran madly. The enemy were armed with guns, and my men had but -sabres and pistols. The captain of the second squadron had been at the -bridge, trying vainly to rally his men; but they had gone, and mine -were the only ones left. "All is lost now," I said; "I will not keep my -men here to be sacrificed for these runaways." I gave the order, and we -were galloping down the valley, the pursuing foe close upon us.</p> - -<p>But, to return to Bischoff. He rode that day a fiery, little, black -horse, that became nearly frantic as he heard the rushing sound of the -enemy's horses. Bischoff threw the saddle on him, and as he buckled -the girth, the rebels appeared opposite the gate. There was no time -to waste then. Quick as lightning he drew out his knife, and cutting -the reins by which the horse was tied, swung, himself into the saddle. -The little horse wheeled. By cutting the reins, Bischoff had lost -all control of him, but he seemed to know precisely what was needed. -Instead of going to the gate, he turned and rushed at the fence. It -was higher than himself, and Bischoff thought they were lost; but the -little horse gave a tremendous bound, and came bravely over. They -were now neck and neck with the rebels; it was a race to the bridge. -The little horse won, and dashed over ahead of their foremost horses. -But he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> was only ahead—there were not six feet between them, and he -crossed amid a shower of balls, and almost hidden by the smoke of their -rifles. Bischoff lay flat on the saddle, and trusted everything to -the horse. The bridge crossed, he soon widened the gap, and in a few -minutes bore Bischoff triumphantly among his friends.</p> - -<p>It was a fearful ride across that valley. The road, level and straight, -did not shelter us from the enemy. Trees had fallen across it, and -there were deep bog holes, into which horses plunged and fell. As you -rode, you came upon a man whose horse had fallen in leaping a tree, or -mired in struggling through a mud hole. Here was one who had risen, and -was trying to escape to the neighboring woods, and there another, who -could not extricate himself from his fallen horse. As I looked back and -watched the fate of those I knew, I saw the first of the enemy, as they -came up, fire upon our prostrate men. It looked as though no quarter -was given. Before I had ridden far, I came upon the captain of the -second squadron standing in the road. He had been wounded and unhorsed. -I endeavored to pull up and take him behind me; but my horse, excited -and fractious, reared and plunged so that I could not stop. I called -to the captain to take another horse, led by one of the men. He did -so, but in a few moments was thrown, and before he could rise, found -himself surrounded and a prisoner.</p> - -<p>At length we emerged from this, to us dark vale, and felt our horses -tread firm ground. We had gained a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> little on the enemy, and were just -beyond the reach of their guns. I got the men formed once more into -column, and the retreat, though still at a gallop, became orderly. I -asked after the other officers; two had escaped and were with us; three -were captured, and the major had been shot near the bridge, falling -beside one of my men. I was therefore again in command, and had to -determine speedily on a plan.</p> - -<p>There had been with us a farmer, named Gibbs, mounted on a white -mule, which ran like a deer. Gibbs was perfectly cool, and when we -came out of the valley, he had pulled out a plug of tobacco and taken -a customary bite, with the remark that he guessed we were all right -now. I asked Gibbs if he knew the road to Hickman, on the Mississippi. -To which he replied: "Oh, yes." "Then come with me," I said, "and -lead us there;" and I took him to the head of the column. Telling the -sergeant who led to follow Gibbs, I fell out and began to drop back -to the rear. Unfortunately, the white mule would not lead, and in a -few moments Gibbs rejoined me. I then took a couple of young men, who -were also escaping with us, up to the head, and giving them the same -directions, again fell back. Unluckily, excited and riding on a gallop -by moonlight, they passed the Hickman, and continued on the Paducah -road.</p> - -<p>Gibbs fell out of the column, and rejoined me, as it passed. I told him -he had better not run this unnecessary risk; but he said he had been -offered $200 for his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> mule, and would risk anything with it. Bischoff -also fell out, and we three rode at the rear. We did not ride so long. -Suddenly from the bushes and woods on the side of the road, there was a -flash; and bang! bang! came the fire of our hidden foes. In an instant -every horse was at full speed, rushing by. My own gave a wild bound. -Poor Tennessee! he had been acting nobly from the first, and I thought -he was only excited by the firing. My attention was chiefly upon the -men, but as I gathered up the curb-rein to check him, I noticed that -it was gone on the side next to the firing. Still I did not think he -had been hit. But he put his head down, and rushed between Gibbs and -Bischoff. They caught him by the bridle, but in a moment he had dragged -them half off their saddles. I told them to let go, and he dashed -forward, striking madly against the horse in front. The concussion -sent us over to the ditch, but he did not stop. With his head down, -and running straight as an arrow, he flew by the entire column. I -returned my sabre to the scabbard, and winding the snaffle-rein round -my wrists, made every effort to stop him. It was in vain. I exerted all -my strength; I used all the art I was master of, or that Mr. Rarey had -taught; I drew his head from side to side, till his mouth touched the -stirrups; but he went on, on, on at the same furious pace. The road lay -through thick woods and down a series of steep hills. On one of these -it turned. The horse refused to follow its windings, and kept straight -on. It was like a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>locomotive rushing through the woods. There were -two trees before me, close together. On he went, dashing between them. -He struck against one and reeled, but did not fall. Beyond, and on the -steepest of the hill, lay a fallen tree. His head was down almost to -his knees, and I knew he could not see. I made a great, a last effort -to raise him. It failed—the tree seemed under me—there was a crash—a -blow—and I lay on the ground, the horse struggling on top of me.</p> - -<p>I tried, vainly, to rise and remount; but my right arm hung useless, -and I felt dizzy and weak, while my good horse still struggled on the -ground. Yet the enemy were coming. I dragged myself quickly down the -bank, at the foot of which ran a little stream. As I reached it, I -heard the gallop of horses on the hill above me. "My sabre," I said, -"must not fall into their hands." I unbuckled it quickly, and gave it -a last look. It was the parting gift of my best friends, and had been -my constant companion by day and by night. I could not bear to part -with it thus. For an instant I hesitated. "Perhaps they will not see -me," I said; "but no, the risk is too great; whatever happens to me, -they shall not have the sabre." A log lay across the brook. I leaned -forward, and under its shadow, threw the sabre in. It splashed in the -dark water and was gone. "Shall I throw my pistol after it? No! it will -be but a pistol more for the Confederacy. Here they come." I stretched -myself close beside the bank, and the party of horsemen galloped by.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>IX.</span> <span class="smaller">THE ESCAPE.</span></h2> - -<p>I was now alone in the quiet woods. The sounds of trampling horses -had died away, and the little rill beside me trickled peacefully in -the still night. I reached my hand down, and, filling my glove with -water, poured it over my face. It was cool and refreshing, and in a few -moments I was able to rise. I looked at the stream—at the log, beneath -which lay my sabre—and at the tree, beneath which lay my horse; and -then, making an effort, I stepped upon the log, and crossed into the -thick brushwood on the other side. But a few steps were taken when I -was glad to sit down upon a fallen tree. I felt stunned and faint, yet -hoped I was gathering strength and would soon be able to go on. As I -was thus seated the question arose, What should I do? Fort Henry, I -knew, was eastward of me. Should I go there?—it was but thirty-five -or forty miles. No! the country between must be swarming with rebels. -Should I go to Paducah? It was sixty miles northward, and the enemy -would, doubtless, follow in that direction. Should I remain hidden in -the woods, trusting to their leaving in a few days? Should I crawl to -some barn or stack, and take the chance of their not searching it? -Would my strength hold out if I went on? and would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> the fractured bone, -that I felt under my coat, and the growing pain in my side, do without -the surgeon's care till I could make my way out?</p> - -<p>At length I decided on my course: I would go northward till daylight, -and thus be some miles ahead; then I would turn eastward, and thus -place myself on one side of their probable line of march. During the -next day I hoped to meet a contraband, and, obtaining information, -then decide whether to continue eastward, toward Fort Henry, or turn -northward again to Paducah.</p> - -<p>Thus deciding, I took out my handkerchief and tied my pistol round my -waist, and then rose from the tree to begin my journey. The broken -ribs made it painful to breathe, and my right arm had to be supported -constantly by my left. Around me, all was beautiful and serene. The -calm moon shone, in peaceful contrast with the exciting scene I had -lately witnessed, and lighted my steps and pointed my way. No sound -disturbed the stillness of the woods, save that from a distant farm -there came the tinkle of a cow-bell. It was in the direction I wished -to go, and toward it I slowly made my way. A friend had brought me down -the April number of the "Atlantic" before leaving camp, and I had read -Whittier's "Mountain Pictures." A line of it came to my mind:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>"The pastoral curfew of the cow-bell rung;"</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>and I wondered whether any other reader would ever thus apply it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> - -<p>I had to walk slowly through the silvery-lighted woods; but at last -drew near the ringing noise, and climbed the hill, on the top of which -were the farm and barnyard of the cows. A road ran along the brow of -the hill, and on the other side of it appeared some wide fields. To -the left was a clump of apple-trees, and the hoarse bark of a dog told -me they covered a house. I stopped a few moments to rest and listen, -and then stepped cautiously into the road. On the opposite side was a -large tree, and in its shadow I tried to climb the high rail fence. I -was weaker than I had supposed. My limbs refused at first to lift my -weight, and my one arm could not keep me from swinging round against -the fence. Twice I thought I must give it up; but, after several -efforts, I mounted it, and then, holding my breath, I let myself drop -down on the other side.</p> - -<p>Across the wide field there was another road. I had not gone far when -I heard a noise in the woods, and, fearing it might be a picket of the -enemy, I lay down beside the fence. The moon was then near the horizon, -and I deemed it most prudent to wait till she had set.</p> - -<p>Soon after this I came upon some cows, and these I drove before me. I -thought that if there should be a picket in the road the cows would -turn off, and there would be less likelihood of my being seen or heard. -After going, I should think, a mile, we came to a broad road. This the -cows crossed; and I was about to follow, when a large dog came from a -house beyond, and, after barking furiously at the cows, came toward -me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> I took my pistol out, and was prepared to fire, when the dog -stopped barking. It was well for me he did so, for within a few yards -I heard horses coming up the road. I looked, and saw the outline of -some horsemen. There was no time to fly. I sank quietly down upon the -ground, and lay still. The horsemen came on. They seemed a picket. One -rode in front, who seemed a sergeant, and the others followed. They -passed close by me—so close, I could hear the jingling of their spurs.</p> - -<p>When they had passed I rose, and determined that thereafter I would not -go upon any road or cross any field, or spare any pains. I entered the -woods. They were now thick, with underbrush, and I had not the moon to -guide me. Frequently I had wanted the North star on night marches, but -it had always been hidden by clouds. Now, however, on this night, when -I needed it above all others, it shone out beautiful and bright. As I -watched it, it seemed an old friend, reappearing to aid me, and again -and again as I emerged from some thick underwood, and turned toward -its constant blaze, I felt as if it were the companion of my flight. -But even with its aid, I encountered difficulties. Sometimes the trees -would hide it, and often I had to keep my eyes fixed on my path or -strained on suspicious objects around me. My plan was to take some -distant hill for a land-mark, and on reaching it, to look for another, -and make toward it. Yet fallen trees and deep hollows often made me -change my course, and sometimes made me lose it, and then I had to -search the sky,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> and refind the star before I could go on. As I could -not use my hands, I was forced to push my way through the brush with my -left shoulder. I had lost my hat, too, in the fall, and my hair often -caught in the branches. So my progress was slow and wearisome, with no -help around me, but with hope before.</p> - -<p>I should think it was about three o'clock in the morning, when, from -the top of a little hill, there appeared just before me the smoking, -smouldering fires of a camp. I knew if it were a camp, that I was -within the lines. I turned, therefore, and made my way back as a -burglar might glide through a house—sliding my feet along the ground, -lest I should tread upon some crackling branch—choosing the thickest -wood and the darkest shade. About an hour later, I saw, as I thought, -some tents, but knew it was most improbable there should be any there; -so I stopped to examine, and then saw they were but the grey light -of morning breaking through the trees. It was a welcome sight; yet I -confess the night had not seemed long, and that I was surprised to find -the morning come.</p> - -<p>I now changed my course, and turned toward the east. The woods changed -too. There were small trees, with little underbrush, and the ground -was a smooth, descending plain. I kept on over this for miles. The sky -brightened; the sun rose, and mounted higher and higher. I heard the -barking of dogs, the lowing of cattle, and occasionally the voices of -men and children. I came, too, upon roads, and these had to be crossed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> -with great caution, coming out step by step, looking carefully up and -down, listening anxiously, and they hurrying across and plunging into -the woods on the other side. Whence these roads came or where they -went, I neither knew nor cared. I was ignorant of the country, but not -compelled to ask my way. For once, I was strangely independent, and -needed only to look toward the sun and travel east.</p> - -<p>Later I came upon fields and farms, and round these I had to make long -circuits. One chain of farms, I thought I never should get through. -Again and again I was forced to go back and try again. The temptation -to break through my resolution, and cross just this one, or that one, -was very strong; and I found that making one's escape, like any other -success, depends on his resolution and perseverance.</p> - -<p>Toward noon, as I was approaching a road, I heard children's voices. I -looked, and saw, or thought I saw, a man on horseback. He sat still as -though on guard, and I supposed he was one of the enemy's picket. The -woods were thin, so I lay down and drew the bushes over me. I watched -him, but he did not move, and I soon decided I must stay there as long -as he did. Notwithstanding my anxiety, I fell into a doze, probably -not for a minute, yet when I opened my eyes, the man was gone, and a -tree stood in his place. It was an optical illusion. My eyes had been -over-worked for three nights, and for the last twenty hours, constantly -strained in examining objects far and near. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> moment's rest had -dispelled the apparition. I remembered that as the sun was rising that -morning, I had long doubted whether a clump of bushes was not a group -of my own men—that trees and stumps had several times been changed to -sentinels and guards; and I remembered, also, the tents in the morning, -and the camp-fires during the night.</p> - -<p>I now began to suffer from thirst, for I could only drink by dipping up -water with one hand. The sun, too, beat down through the half-leaved -trees, and became painful. I twisted some leaves into a sort of cap, -but it was often brushed off, and at best made but a poor shelter. I -had been disappointed also in not meeting a contraband. Some I had seen -in fields, but always with white men, and them I must shun; and as I -did so, I asked myself whether this was the United States, and these -Americans, that I should be time skulking like a hunted criminal.</p> - -<p>Feeling now and then a little faint, I decided on going to a house -for something to eat, and again plunging into the woods. Yet here -great caution was necessary. I wanted a small house, because it would -probably contain but one man, and I must have it out of sight of -neighbors and near woods. I passed several, but none of them complied -with my conditions—one was too large, another too far back in an open -field, and a third was overlooked by a fourth.</p> - -<p>It was perhaps three o'clock, and I was growing more and more faint, -when I saw an opening through the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> trees and the corner of a house. I -approached it slowly. There was a field beyond, but no houses in sight, -and the woods came up to the yard behind. "It is just the house I -need," I said to myself, "and now I must risk it and go in." I slipped -my pistol round, so that I could draw it quickly from under my coat, -and pushed open the gate. All was quiet; I walked round to the door, -and saw a woman inside, who looked startled at seeing me. She said she -would call her husband, who was in the field, and went out. I watched -her, and in a few minutes was satisfied by seeing them returning. I -went back, and narrowly inspected the house. A shot gun hung over the -window, but it was unloaded and rusted. As I finished, they came in. He -was a young man, with a bright, happy face—far too cheerful a face for -a secessionist. We looked at each other, and he said:</p> - -<p>"You are a Union soldier."</p> - -<p>"Yes," I answered; "and what are you?"</p> - -<p>"I am a Union citizen," he replied.</p> - -<p>The word "Union" was something of a talisman; if he had been a rebel, -he would have said Federal.</p> - -<p>James Mills (for such was my new-found friend's name) was the first of -several suffering and devoted Union men, who refused all pay and reward -for the services they rendered to me, and whose kindness I cannot -sufficiently praise. He told me I was in a dangerous neighborhood, and -must neither stay, nor travel by the road. His wife hurried for me a -dinner, and then he went with me through some fields and woods,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> and -placed me upon a path leading to a second Union man's, named Henry -Chunn. It was something like three miles to Mr. Chunn's, but I felt -quite fresh and equal to a dozen, if necessary.</p> - -<p>Arriving there, I was most kindly received by his wife. She told me -that her husband would cheerfully take me on toward Paducah. She made -me lie down; she bathed my shoulder; and she did everything for me that -womanly kindness could suggest. This was the first bed I had lain upon -for more than three months. It produced an old effect, for in a few -moments I was sound asleep. I slept till after dark, and then awoke by -hearing the children cry that father had come. He came in, and walking -up to me, said, in a cordial, honest voice:</p> - -<p>"My friend, I am truly glad to see you; you are truly welcome to my -house."</p> - -<p>I went to sleep again and slept till morning. There was bad news then: -his mules had disappeared from the barnyard during the night. But I -must wait; his boys would find them by the time we finished breakfast. -At breakfast a little circumstance occurred which may give you an idea -of the different life we lead on the border. Across some fields, and -beyond some woods, we heard a gun. It was no cannon—a mere shot-gun, -such as a boy might fire anywhere on a spring morning—yet we all -stopped talking.</p> - -<p>"What does that mean?" I asked, after the silence had continued a few -moments.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I don't know," said Mr. Chunn.</p> - -<p>"Have your neighbors guns and powder?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"Then," said I, "it may mean a great deal for us."</p> - -<p>We all rose from the table, and looked anxiously across the fields; -but nothing was to be seen. The family looked troubled, and Mr. Chunn -said something about the mules being gone, and this being strange. We -waited some time, but all continued quiet. But the boys had not found -the mules, and Mr. Chunn accordingly walked on with me toward the house -of Mr. Edward Magness, who was likewise a good Union man, and would -willingly help me on.</p> - -<p>I took leave of these kind, simple-minded people, whose plain and -honest goodness is rare in the great world, from which they live apart, -and went slowly along the little wood road. I soon came to a field in -which were two or three men and several children, planting corn. I -must here explain to you that in the South corn is the one great crop -on which everybody lives. The bread is all made of corn; the horses -are fed on corn; the pigs are fattened on corn; and if the corn should -fail there would be a famine. There were fears that it would fail. The -spring had been cold and wet, and the planting was not half done, which -always had been over a week before. All hands were working early and -late on every plantation, seizing on this fine weather for hurrying in -the corn. As Mr. Magness came down a furrow, near me, I stepped out -of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> bushes, and told him briefly who I was, and what I wanted. It -must have been an unwelcome tale; yet he never, by a look or word, -gave a disagreeable sign. Promptly he stopped his plough and unhitched -his horses. Unwillingly I saw the planting cease. But when I spoke of -it, he said pleasantly, they would try and make up the lost time when -he came back. We went to his house, the saddles were soon put on, and -we started. My companion was more than usually intelligent, and gave -me much information. He also understood the danger of being seen by -secessionists, and picked his way with great care by unused roads.</p> - -<p>A ride of several miles brought us to the house of Mr. Wade. A very -shrewd and cautious man was Mr. Wade, yet a staunch Union man, who -had spoken, and suffered for the cause. He had spent the previous -eight months chiefly at Paducah, stealing up occasionally in the dark -of evening to see his family, and leaving before daylight the next -morning. Once he had been arrested, and twice his house had been -searched and robbed. He knew well the woods and by-paths, and had tried -the difficulties and dangers of escaping from guerrillas. He and I, -therefore, had much more in common than the others, and in him I felt -I had a trusty and experienced friend; yet strange to tell, he was—<i>a -South Carolinian</i>.</p> - -<p>We went into the house. On a couch lay a very aged woman, who, I -thought, was childish. Mr. Wade and Mr. Magness were old friends, and -talked as country<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> neighbors talk, of crops, and roads, and men, and -places. At last Mr. Magness said: "I saw Edward Jones yesterday, and he -told me they had had a letter from Joel, and that he wrote they were -leaving Corinth, and had been attacked. His regiment was defeated, and -he had to run for his life."</p> - -<p>The old lady, at this, rose up and said: "Say that over, sir."</p> - -<p>Mr. Magness repeated it.</p> - -<p>"He is my own grandson," said the old lady. "The night before he went -he came here, and I told him never to fight against his country—the -country his forefathers fought for. He said, 'Grandmother, they will -call me a coward if I don't go.' A coward! I would let them call me -anything, I told him, before I would fight against my country. But he -went. And, now, what do you tell me? He is my own grandson—my own -flesh and blood—so I can't wish him killed," said the old lady, with -great feeling; "but, I thank God—I thank God <i>he has had to run for -his life</i>!"</p> - -<p>Our early dinner finished, Mr. Magness took his departure, and we -started.</p> - -<p>"We will stop at my brother-in-law's, captain," said Mr. Wade, "and get -you a better saddle. It is only a mile from here." So we rode quietly -along.</p> - -<p>"We will pass our member of Assembly," said Mr. Wade. "It is about a -mile from my brother-in-law's. He is a true man, I tell you. The secesh -would give anything to get him."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> - -<p>By this time we reached his brother-in-law's. A little girl was in the -yard, and, as we stopped, came to the gate.</p> - -<p>"Well, uncle," said the little girl, "are you running away again from -the rebel soldiers?"</p> - -<p>"No," said Mr. Wade, cheerfully, "—oh no: there are no rebels round -now."</p> - -<p>"Yes, there are," said the girl. "Father has just come from Farmington, -and there are four hundred there."</p> - -<p>"What! four hundred in Farmington!"</p> - -<p>"It is so, brother," said a woman who had come out—"it is so. -They came there this morning; and husband hurried back to tell the -neighbors."</p> - -<p>"Captain," said Mr. Wade, "the sooner you and I get out of this country -the better for us."</p> - -<p>"How far is it back to Farmington?"</p> - -<p>"Only four miles."</p> - -<p>"Is there any reason for their coming down this road?"</p> - -<p>"Yes: Hinckley, the member we elected, lives on it, and Jones, who -helped elect him, lives on it, and I live on it. They would like to -arrest us all. But about half a mile from Hinckley's there is a little -side-path we can take for five or six miles."</p> - -<p>Could we have ridden on a gallop, the side-path would have been -reached before the threatening danger could have reached us; but, -unfortunately, the pain in my side had increased so that we could not -go faster<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> than a walk. I tried a trot for a moment, but could not bear -it, and reined up. "Do you ride on, Mr. Wade," I said: "there is no -need of our both being taken." But Mr. Wade refused.</p> - -<p>It was an anxious ride. We knew that Farmington was not far behind, and -they might come clattering after us at every moment. We looked back -often—at every turn of the road—from the top of every knoll and hill, -but nothing was seen.</p> - -<p>Soon we came to Hinckley's. Two men were seated on the porch, and the -flag was flying in front of the house. I rode on; but Mr. Wade stopped, -and said, "Pull down your flag, boys, and take to the woods." It was -quietly said, but the two men sprang up. I looked back, and saw them -exchange a few words with Mr. Wade, and then one pulled down the flag -as the other ran toward the stable. There was another anxious interval, -and then we reached the side-road. We went past it, so as to leave no -trail, and first one, and then the other, struck off through the woods -until we came to it. A very intricate and narrow little road it was; -so that the enemy could not have travelled much faster than we. Yet -there were some settlers, "but all good Union men," Mr. Wade said. At -the first we stopped; and he borrowed a butternut coat, and, with some -difficulty, helped me off with my soldier's blouse, and on with it; so -that to any person in a neighboring house or field we must have seemed -like two farmers riding along.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p> - -<p>After six or seven miles, our bridle-path came back to the main road. -"There is a nasty, secesh tavern down the road a mile or so," said Mr. -Wade, "and if they are in this part of the country, they will be sure -to go down there for the news and a drink. If we can only get across -the road and over to old Washam's, we shall be safe."</p> - -<p>Slowly we came out to the road. We stopped and listened—we held our -breath, and bent down to catch the trampling of their horses. We moved -on where the bushes grew thickest, and stopped again. Then Mr. Wade -rode out and looked up and down. "There is no one in sight," he said; -"come on quickly." I hurried my horse, and in a moment was across. On -the other side were great trees and but little underbrush to hide us. -We hurried on until we were hidden from the road, and then Mr. Wade -drew a long breath, and said: "They won't come down this road; we are -safe now."</p> - -<p>The danger past, there came a great increase of pain. Each step of the -horse racked me, and I felt myself grow weaker and weaker. At last -came the refreshing words: "Old Washam's is the next house," and soon -the next house appeared. "A true Union man," said Mr. Wade, and true -he seemed, for the flag was displayed before the door. We stopped, -but I was too exhausted to dismount, and had to slide off into Mr. -Wade's arms. As I did so, an old lady with silver spectacles upon her -nose and knitting in her hand, came out. "What is the matter with that -poor man?" she cried;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> and then catching sight of my uniform under -the butternut coat, "Why, it is a Union soldier; bring him into the -house—bring him in immediately." So I was brought in and laid upon a -bed, and tenderly cared for.</p> - -<p>I lay there watching the knitting and listening to the old lady and her -daughter's talk. They had a consultation upon my safety, and it was -decided that I should go to the daughter's house for the night. "It is -off the road," they said, "and if they make an attack, we can send you -word across the fields." But later, we learnt that two spies had passed -the house that day, and it was decided I should be sent on that night.</p> - -<p>We were to start from the house of a son-in-law of Mr. Washam's, and -he and his brother-in-law were to drive me. I walked up to the house, -and found the wagon nearly ready. His wife was a young girl, with a -sweet and gentle voice and manner. "It is too bad," she said, "too bad -that you should go away so wounded and wearied. In peace, we would not -let any one leave our home thus." Soon the wagon came to the door. -"Mother," she said, "let us make up a bed in it."</p> - -<p>"Oh, no," I interposed, "I am not used to a bed; I have not had one in -three months, and cannot put you to such trouble."</p> - -<p>"It is no trouble to us," she replied, so earnestly and kindly, that I -could not doubt it; "do not think that of us."</p> - -<p>"But," I went on, "I assure you, some hay in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> wagon is all I want, -and much more than I am accustomed to. Besides, I am dusty and dirty, -and shall certainly spoil your bed clothes."</p> - -<p>"If it had not been for you Union soldiers fighting for us," she -answered, "there would be nothing in this house to spoil; and whatever -<i>we</i> have, <i>you</i> shall have."</p> - -<p>Against such goodness and patriotism, who could raise objections? -The bed was made in the wagon; they helped me up, and blessed by -many good wishes and kind farewells, we started. For me it was so -much more safe and comfortable than usual, that I soon fell asleep; -but to my two young friends, it was an unusual and an anxious drive. -Frequently I was roused by the wagon stopping. Sometimes they heard -dogs barking—sometimes voices, and once a gun. At length I woke, to -find the wagon standing in front of a house, and young Washam thumping -on the door. Soon a man came out.</p> - -<p>"Why, boys," he said, "what on earth are you doing here this time o' -night?"</p> - -<p>"Why you see, Mr. Derringer," said one of the "boys," "here's a wounded -Union officer, hurt in the fight on the Obion. Joel Wade brought him to -our house, and we've brought him here; and now we want you to take him -to Paducah."</p> - -<p>"I'm really sorry," said Mr. Derringer, "that I've lent my wagon; but -my neighbor, Purcell, is a good Union man, and he will do it. All of -you come in, and I will go over and see him."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p> - -<p>I told Mr. Derringer to wait till morning; but he would not hear of it; -and after seeing us comfortably in bed, he started off to walk a mile -or two and wake his neighbor in the dead of night, to tell him he must -come at break of day and carry on a stranger, of whom he had never even -heard, for no other reason than that he was a wounded Union officer.</p> - -<p>Before daylight, Mr. Derringer roused us. It was all right, he said; -his neighbor Purcell would be there; and now his wife was up, and had -breakfast ready. As breakfast finished, Mr. Purcell arrived; I bade my -good friends good-bye, and started on the last stage of my journey. As -we reached the main road, we saw numbers of men mounted on jaded mules, -and clad in sombre butternut, with sad and anxious faces. Unhappy -refugees flying from the invading foe! Some who had journeyed through -the night, rode with us toward Paducah; others who had reached it the -day before, rode anxiously out in quest of news. As many caught sight -of me, they recognized the marks of recent service.</p> - -<p>"Are you from the Obion?" they asked; "how far off is the enemy now? -Will he dare to come here?"</p> - -<p>We drew nearer to the town, and the signs of alarm increased. The -crowd of refugees grew greater—the cavalry patrolled the roads—the -infantry was under arms, and the artillery was planted so as to sweep -the approaches. At last some houses appeared.</p> - -<p>"This is Paducah," said Mr. Purcell; "you are there at last."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> - -<p>We stopped at headquarters, and I went in to report.</p> - -<p>"Is the adjutant in?" I asked of an officer who was writing.</p> - -<p>"I am the adjutant, sir," he answered, without looking up.</p> - -<p>"I have come to report myself as arriving at this post."</p> - -<p>"What name, sir?"</p> - -<p>I gave my name. The adjutant looked up, and with some surprise, said:</p> - -<p>"Why, you are reported killed, sir; two of your men saw you lying dead -under your horse!"</p> - -<p>"How many of my men have come in?"</p> - -<p>"About half; they are at the Provost Marshal's."</p> - -<p>"Any officers?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; one of your lieutenants was taken, but escaped, and came down -from Mayfield by railroad. And now," said the adjutant, "don't stay -here any longer; go at once to the hospital, and I will send an order -to the medical director to give you a good surgeon."</p> - -<p>A few moments more, and I caught sight of a group of my men. Then came -the painful questions: Who have come in? Who are missing? Who last saw -this one? Who knows anything of that one? Where does K's family live? -and who will write to tell them how he fell? And then came a surgeon—a -quiet room—a tedious time—an old friend—and a journey home.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>X.</span> <span class="smaller">THE LAST SCOUT.</span></h2> - -<p>From New York to Fort Henry might once have been an interesting -journey, but campaigning has robbed travelling of its charm, and -henceforth I fear it will be but dull work for me. The railroad bore me -swiftly to the mouth of the Ohio; I have looked again on Cairo in its -dirt and mud, Paducah with its dusty streets and hospitals, and now I -am on the banks of the Tennessee.</p> - -<p>But I am here only to close my service in the West, and to say good-bye -to my comrades of the Fifth; to get Gipsy, and to recover my sabre. I -have had an interesting soldier-life in Tennessee—more interesting -than I shall have again—and I leave it with regret.</p> - -<p>With me so many things have happened here on Sunday, that you must not -be surprised that it is Sunday now. It was on Sunday that Donelson -surrendered—on Sunday that I went upon my first foraging—on Sunday -that I entered Paris with a flag—on Sunday that we began our first -retreat—and it is Sunday now that I am starting on my last scout.</p> - -<p>The party consists of the men of my old squadron, most of whom were -with me in the spring. They have not been to the Obion since, and -quickly guess that our destination is Lockridge Mill.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> - -<p>It is a beautiful October day, and the tall Tennessee corn stands ripe -in the fields, though the woods are as green as they were last June. -The Muscadine grape is purple, and the persimmon trees are scattered -thickly along the road. Yet the frost has not sugared all of the -persimmons, and when we taste one which it has not touched, our mouths -are drawn up as though we had tasted so much nut-gall. The weather and -the woods are all that we can wish, and my life in Tennessee will be -interesting to its close.</p> - -<p>The road is one that I have not passed over <i>with you</i>, for it would -not be safe for us to go by Paris and Como. Too many people would -guess our destination if we did, so we reverse the circle, and hope to -come back that way. This road will lead us through a bad neighborhood, -where the guerrillas have many friends. Last week cotton and tobacco -were burnt near Boydsville; and we know of large bodies of them up -the river, who have succeeded King's cavalry, and may swoop down on -us at any time. We need, therefore, to use much care and caution, and -be always on the watch. For many miles our ride has not been marked -by anything unusual; but it is now evening, and we are approaching a -little hamlet. We reach it—we have seen no one, and no one has seen -us; but every door is closed, and every house is empty. I do not like -this. The advance guard has noticed it too, and halted for orders.</p> - -<p>"Push on, corporal," I say; "be very watchful; send two of your men -well ahead, and keep on at a trot."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> - -<p>No one is seen, and no sound is heard for some time, and then we meet -a man on horseback, who has drawn out to the side of the road for us -to pass. A sergeant leaves the column and tells the man that he must -come with us; and, much against his will, he does so. But, not long -afterwards, we halt to feed our horses.</p> - -<p>"Send Corporal Morton and four men back a mile as a picket. Let them -take corn with them and feed two of the horses, while the others go -further down the road. Then change and feed the others, and, when all -are done, come in without further orders."</p> - -<p>The advance guard pursue the same plan, and then I turn to the man on -horseback.</p> - -<p>"I have been up to the doctor's for medicine for my wife," he says, -"and she's expecten of me back. I wish you would let me go, sir."</p> - -<p>"I cannot now," I answer; "but I will try to let you off soon."</p> - -<p>"Couldn't you let me go now, sir? She's real sick. Here's the medicine, -just as I got it from the doctor. You can look at it if you want to; -and she'll be scaret bad if I don't come. I'll give you my word not to -say anything to anybody, if you don't want me to."</p> - -<p>The man is very earnest; he has the medicine, and he appears very -truthful. I am afraid you will think me quite cruel when I answer:</p> - -<p>"I am sorry; but it's my duty to detain you. You cannot go."</p> - -<p>The man sits down beside the gate, and the sergeant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> who has him in -charge sits down with him, where, I fear, they do not enjoy themselves.</p> - -<p>The owner of the house stepped out as soon as we arrived, and -good-naturedly invited us in; finding that we wished to feed, he showed -the way to the corn-cribs, and dealt out his corn with a free hand. But -one object in our halt here is to arrest him. As he returns from the -cribs, I tell him I wish to speak to him; and we walk to the house.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Bennett," I say, "you are a soldier in the Southern army."</p> - -<p>"No, sir. I was, but I've been discharged."</p> - -<p>"Let me see your discharge."</p> - -<p>His wife searches for it in a wardrobe, and in a few minutes brings -it to me. It states that he was discharged from the service of the -Confederate States on account of physical disability.</p> - -<p>"You left, then, because you could not serve any longer."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir."</p> - -<p>"Had you a pass through our lines?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir."</p> - -<p>"Have you reported to any of our officers, or taken the oath?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir."</p> - -<p>"Don't you know you are violating military law, and are liable to be -arrested?"</p> - -<p>The man says nothing. The three children, who have watched the -reading of the "discharge" as though<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> it were a safeguard, turn their -frightened faces upon me, and his wife moves nearer and says pleadingly:</p> - -<p>"Oh, sir, he is sick. He can't fight any more, and will never go again. -He is willing to take the oath, and was going down to take it last -week."</p> - -<p>"Why did you not go?"</p> - -<p>"I heard there would be an officer up at Boydsville, and that I could -take it before him. I acknowledge I ought to have gone down before."</p> - -<p>"Well, you have answered so frankly against your self that I will take -your word for this. Go down to the fort by Thursday, report yourself to -the commanding officer, and take the oath."</p> - -<p>The man promises he will, and his wife thanks me and gives many -assurances that she has had enough of the war. We have a little talk -about the rebellion, and then I go out. The man whose wife is sick -still sits by the gate, and looks up entreatingly as I pass. But the -horses have finished their feed, and the rear guard is coming up the -road.</p> - -<p>"You may go now, sir," I say to him, "and I regret that you have been -stopped; but be careful to tell no one that we are here to-night."</p> - -<p>He promises, mounts his horse, and rides away. I wait until he is out -of sight, and then order the men to mount. Mr. Bennett comes up and -shakes hands, and I ask him which is the road to Boydsville, and how -far it is there. He tells me it is about eight miles, and says:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> - -<p>"So you are going to Boydsville, are you?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," I answer, "we're going that way. Good night." And we move off at -a trot, upon the Boydsville road.</p> - -<p>It is three o'clock in the morning, and we are bivouacked in a large -field far back from any road or house. Last night we soon left the -Boydsville road, and then crossed over to a third one, and stopped here -about ten. The moon now shines brightly, and all is still as though it -were midnight; but the camp guard is calling up the men, and we must -resume our march. When the sun rises we shall be many miles away.</p> - -<p>As we approach Boydsville, we meet a couple of wagons with boxes and -goods. They are stopped, and the usual questions put. "Where are you -from?" "Where were these goods bought?" "Have you the government -permits to buy goods?" The men reply that they have come from Paducah, -and produce the bills of goods, all properly stamped by the United -States inspector, so we let them pass.</p> - -<p>It is now nearly noon, and we cannot be many miles from Lockridge Mill. -Once or twice some man has thought he remembered a house or hill as -one he had passed in our retreat; but no one has felt sure of this. At -last we come to a cross-road, and four houses which bear the name of -Buena Vista; and, as we reach it, every man starts and looks about him. -There is no mistaking this; we have been <i>here</i> before, and have good -cause to remember the place. It was here they fired on us<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> across the -corner of the field; here, some of the men turned the wrong way and had -to come back; and here, the side of the road was gullied out like the -bars of a gridiron, and I wonder more now than I did then that my horse -("ne'er such another") ever crossed it at a gallop as I rode beside the -column.</p> - -<p>The squadron halts here; but I select eight men, and keep on. We think -that an hour's ride will take us to the spot where my horse fell, and -another will bring us back. But retracing a road ridden over in such -a manner by moonlight, and at another season of the year, is no easy -task. Yet here eight heads prove better than one; for, it often happens -that out of the eight, there will be only one who noticed a little -something, and only another who noticed a little something else. Before -long, however, there is another burst of exclamations, for another -noticeable place appears—a long, straight stretch of road between two -wooded knolls, and covered with the stumps of young trees as thickly as -though they had been driven down by hand. Well do I remember how, when -I caught sight of it, I ordered the men to pull up and cross slowly, -and how I turned and watched for the enemy to reach the knoll and open -their rifle fire before we should be over. Yet, after passing this, -the noticeable places are few, and then cease. We turn down this road -and that one, and come back, finding nothing that we can remember. If -it were not for the sabre, I would give up the search and go back. At -last, only one of the party believes the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> spot we are seeking is still -before us, and even his faith in his memory is shaken. We have been two -hours instead of one, and have found nothing yet. We have ridden since -three this morning, and the day has summer heat. Shall we keep on? Yes, -a little farther. I <i>must</i> find my sabre. But we come to a house hidden -beneath a clump of apple trees, a wide field, a high fence and a large -tree. It is my turn to remember now—how inch by inch I toiled up that -hill, and how beneath that tree I tried, and failed, and failed and -tried to climb that towering fence.</p> - -<p>A little farther on a road turns off, and the men are sure that it was -this road we took. At the turn (wherever it may be), there was on that -evening a man with a yoke of oxen, who came near being run down. As we -stand discussing the question, a contraband comes up.</p> - -<p>"Sam," says one of the men, "do you remember the fight on the Obion -last spring?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sah," says Sam; "I like to been killed thar."</p> - -<p>"You did! how so?"</p> - -<p>"Why, just as the soldiers were a comen along, I was a standen right -here on this here very corner with our ox-team, and for all the world I -thought they'd a run over me."</p> - -<p>"What! are you the man with the oxen?" I exclaim.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sah," says Sam; "I'm the very man."</p> - -<p>"Then, Sam," I say, "you are the very man we want, and must go along -and show us where the soldiers went that night."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> - -<p>We dismount, and half the men take the horses to the nearest house to -feed, and, with the others, I walk on. The men say they remember it, -but to me it is all a blank. The main events I recollect clearly, but -my fall, I find, knocked the last three miles of the ride entirely out -of my memory. We go on nearly two miles, and I see nothing that I can -recall. Then the road goes down a series of steep descents—so steep I -wonder if I ever did ride down them on a runaway horse. As we descend -one of these I stop, for before me, as in a dream, stand two trees, and -through them I see the fallen trunk and branches of another. I do not -expect to see the remains of my horse, for I have already learnt that -he staggered bleeding to a house near by, and was seized by the enemy. -But this is the spot—I am sure of it.</p> - -<p>"I think it was farther on, captain," says a corporal, "that I saw your -horse down—I think it was <i>there</i>, and you must have crawled down to -the brook at <i>that</i> place."</p> - -<p>I will try the corporal's place first, and I walk rapidly down there. -I reach the bank of the brook, and my heart fails me, for the brook is -dry; its waters cannot hide the sabre now. I look above and below, and -there is no sabre to be seen. But this is not the place—there is no -log here—I knew it was higher up; so I jump down into the bed of the -stream, and walk eagerly up. Above me is a point, and when I turn that -point I am certain I shall see the log—and perhaps the sabre. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> reach -it, and am pushing through the bushes that overhang the brook, when a -sergeant calls out, "Here it is." Yes, there is the log, and beneath -it, just as I threw it in, lies the sabre. Rusted and broken and never -to be drawn again, it is a thousand times more precious than when, -burnished and bright, I first received it. I know it is valueless, and -that its beauty and its usefulness are gone, but the happiest moment of -my soldier-life is when I find my ruined sabre.</p> - -<p>In the twilight of evening we return to Buena Vista. Very anxious have -I been for the last two hours, and very anxious seem the men, as they -stand round their saddled horses, at our prolonged absence. I have -heard of a party of guerrillas in front and of another on our right, -and the men have heard of a third in the rear. Our horses are too tired -to march far, and we have already been here too long. The left seems -clear, and to the left is Lockridge Mill, and our road back—but too -many have already guessed that we are going there, and the men have -asked too many questions to keep our destination a secret, as hitherto -it always has been. It is such situations as this that make the cavalry -service so interesting; and in its miniature strategy is a constant -charm. The question, What shall be done? must be answered quickly, and -one needs move skilfully when he is surrounded by difficulties. Here -the roads cross somewhat like a letter X. Up the first we marched in -the morning, and up the second I have just come; the third leads to -Lockridge Mill,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> and in the fourth we have no real interest. The men -mount, wheel into column; I order "<i>trot</i>," "<i>trot out</i>," and we move -rapidly up the fourth road. No sooner out of sight of the houses at our -starting place, than we come down to the slowest of walks. Whenever a -house appears, we are seen on a trot; and whenever the house is passed, -we find ourselves on a walk. Thus we appear to be going rapidly up -this road, when we are in fact moving slowly. Some three miles up is a -watering place, the only one, and there our thirsty horses must drink. -As we pass the last house, its pack of dogs bark, and its inmates come -out and look at us go by. Then we go down, down, down into a damp, -cold, wooded ravine. In its depths we find a muddy stream, and the -horses plunge their nostrils deep, and quaff it thirstily. We come out -on the other side, and halting, dismount.</p> - -<p>Nothing could seem more strange or be more unusual than halting in such -a spot, and at such an hour; yet no man asks a question, or appears -surprised. Those who have been at the cross-roads all day, gather in -little groups and talk; and those who have been with me, lie down and -doze. Wonderful are the effects of discipline and experience! A year -ago how agitated would these same men have been, and how discussed -this inexplicable delay! Now they are undisturbed, and leave it all to -me. The videttes ride in and whisper reports, and ride out again with -whispered instructions; yet this man relights his pipe, and that one -goes on with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> his story. At length the Tennessee bed time is passed, -and the videttes from the front "come in." The orders are given, "Be -silent;" "Hold your sabres so that they will not clank;" "By file to -the right;" and we are retracing our steps to Buena Vista. Riding by -file makes a less intense noise, though the column is stretched out to -twice its usual length, and the noise lasts twice as long. We mount -the hill noiselessly, and I look with anxiety at the house. Do I see -a light? No, 'tis but the moon glimmering on the window panes. We -approach it—the dogs are as silent as the men. I am before it, and -check Ida to her slowest walk—the column behind me hardly moves, and -the horses seem to tread lightly. We are past, and no cur has yelped -or person seen us—our first strategic movement is successful. "It was -done first rate," whispers the sergeant behind me; "we got ahead of the -dogs that time."</p> - -<p>On our left there is a corn field, with the tall Southern corn still -standing. We halt, and two men dismount, and, in the shadow of a tree, -take down the high rail fence. The column, turning in, passes up a corn -row to the other side of the field; the two men, remaining, carefully -replace the fence. The shadow of the tree hides our trail, and we -have left no other sign behind us. On the other side of the field is -a little basin, unploughed and grass-covered, wherein our horses are -picketed. As I ride around it, I find they are completely hidden away; -it is perfect for our purpose. The sentinels stand on the rising ground -behind us, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> in the clear moonlight, see over a wide expanse of -fields; and here we lie down and securely sleep.</p> - -<p>It is three in the morning, and the men have left their cavalry -couches, and are silently rolling their blankets and saddling their -horses. We leave the field as we entered it, replacing the fence and -turning toward Buena Vista. How surprised the owner will be when, -harvesting his corn, he stumbles on the traces of our mysterious -bivouac. The country still sleeps in the chill, silent moonlight, and -very chilly and silent are we; but by and by the day breaks, and, as -the sun rises, we descend into the dark, damp valley of the Obion. The -direction of our march is reversed—so is the hour, and so are all the -circumstances, yet we feel awed by the memories of last May. Every -fallen tree or muddy hollow has a tale—here this man's horse was shot, -here another was wounded, and here a third narrowly escaped. On the -bank of this little stream, the man who leads was taken prisoner; over -it Tennessee made an unequalled jump; in this mud hole, five horses -went down, and further on, near the bridge, our major fell. Looking at -it calmly and critically, it seems even worse than it did then, and I -wonder how one of us escaped.</p> - -<p>We reach the bridge; the thickened foliage leaves the valley less -open, yet I can, in fancy, see again that long column bearing down -upon us. What a strong position it is! how easily we could have held -it, had we been armed like the enemy! And here are the house and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> the -barn-yard, and Bischoff shows us the very place where the little black -horse made his famous leap; and Mr. Lockridge comes out and points to -some graves, and his wife repeats some dying words. They beg us to -stay to breakfast, and say that though they suffered last spring, they -have been blessed with an abundant harvest; but we do not feel like -breakfasting there now, and pass on to the houses where the flags were -waved, and where the welcome is worthy of the flag.</p> - -<p>A long day has this been for us—sultry and hot—the streams dried -up—the wells a hundred feet deep—and our horses have suffered much. -We are still seven miles from Como, when two mounted men are seen -behind us. "Bring those men in, sergeant." The sergeant wheels about -and soon returns with them.</p> - -<p>"I must trouble you to ride with us awhile, gentlemen," I say; "I wish -to talk with you."</p> - -<p>"We are going to Cottage Grove," says one of the men; "it is seven -miles off, and we have ridden a long distance to-day: I hope you won't -take us far."</p> - -<p>"I will see about it," I say; and we ride on.</p> - -<p>One—two—three miles; it is no joke to the men, they plead their -loyalty, and give their names and proffer their honor. The answer they -get is, "I am sorry for you—I know it's hard; but I cannot let you go."</p> - -<p>"We've been up to old-man Gibbs', near Dresden."</p> - -<p>"A tall dark man, who sometimes rides a white mule?"</p> - -<p>"No, that's his son. Now you know the kind of folks we've been among, -maybe you'll let us go."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I am sorry for you—I know it's hard; but I cannot let you go."</p> - -<p>Four—five—six miles, and they ask:</p> - -<p>"Do you mean to take us to Como?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"When we get there, will you let us go?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"It's further from Como than from here; our horses are tired, and our -folks will be frightened."</p> - -<p>"I am sorry for you—I know it is hard; but I cannot let you go."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Hurt knows us, and will vouch for us."</p> - -<p>"Well, I will see Mr. Hurt."</p> - -<p>Como is reached at last. Our secession friend's barnyards are still -standing, and half the men halt there; this time to trouble him for -supper as well as forage. With the rest I continue down the road that I -walked up so anxiously when I was last here. I dismount and walk to the -steps, where stands Mrs. Hurt. We come from a guerrilla country, and -in the twilight she does not recognize me. I can see in her frightened -look and agitated manner, that she thinks we are some of her Southern -brethren. I therefore hasten to announce myself by saying, "How are -you, Mrs. Hurt? I have come back for that tea you were getting for me -last spring." A very joyful meeting it is; and Mr. Hurt is called, and -we shake hands as though we had been lifelong friends, and say to each -other that we can hardly believe our acquaintance was but of the part -of a single<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> day. Trouble and danger bring people very quickly close -together.</p> - -<p>But the two men all this while have been sitting on their horses at the -gate, and now they cough loudly.</p> - -<p>"Come here," I say to Mr. Hurt, "and tell me if you know these men, and -if they are trustworthy."</p> - -<p>We walk to the gate, and Mr. Hurt bursts into a loud laugh. "Why," he -says, "you have arrested the only two Union men there are in Cottage -Grove!"</p> - -<p>I am vexed, but I cannot help laughing; and the men are vexed, but -they, after a minute, laugh too.</p> - -<p>"Don't tell it up there," says Mr. Hurt, "or the secesh will laugh at -you all your lives;" and then we shake hands, and they ride away.</p> - -<p>I need not tell you that this time we stayed to tea; nor how we talked -over the events of the former visit; and how everybody remembered where -everybody sat, and what everybody did, and every word that everybody -said. But it is time to go, and though Mr. Hurt will not hear of it, we -saddle up, and bidding them many good-byes, resume our march.</p> - -<p>Last spring when we crossed the Tennessee, two men, named Anderson -and Faris, came into camp as refugees from Paris. When I was in Paris -with the flag, some one came behind me and said, in a whisper, "Tell -Anderson and Faris not to come back!" As we guarded the Holly Fork next -day, Anderson and Faris appeared. I stopped them, not on their account, -but for the reason that I would not let <i>anybody</i> pass; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> afterward -they came down and stayed chiefly in camp. On our expedition to the -Obion, Faris had been our guide. He was taken, a court-martial was -held, at which a neighbor of his—one Captain Mitchell—was the chief -manager and witness; and Faris was sentenced as a spy, and hung. He met -his death bravely, writing a calm and heroic letter to his wife upon -his coffin.</p> - -<p>We have all wanted to catch Master Mitchell; and now, on our way from -Mr. Hurt's, I accidentally learn that last evening he came into Paris. -We have been on the road since three this morning, and it is eleven -now; but this opportunity shall not be lost, though he is a cunning -fellow, who probably will not stay two nights in the same place. And -now we halt at the house of an old Unionist, who bears a striking -resemblance to General Scott, and whose fine old house is surrounded -and overshadowed by a noble grove, equal to our Battery in its better -days.</p> - -<p>"Call me at half-past one," I say to the corporal of the guard; "and -relieve guard in an hour."</p> - -<p>"Half-past one, captain," says the corporal.</p> - -<p>"Call up the men."</p> - -<p>The men turn out promptly after their two hours' sleep.</p> - -<p>"The moon seems pretty much in the same place," says one.</p> - -<p>"No wonder," answers another, "it's only half-past one."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> - -<p>Nothing more is said, and no surprise expressed. If you could hear -them, you would think that going to bed at eleven and rising at -half-past one is their usual course.</p> - -<p>We pass quietly out of the beautiful grove, and wend our way toward -Paris. Paris is not altogether safe; Captain Mitchell's visit may have -been the forerunner of a guerrilla raid. At three in the morning we -have passed Mrs. Ayres', and are on the outskirts of the town. The men -are informed of the object of the movement, and are burning with the -desire of taking him. There is no need of the order, "If he attempts to -escape, shoot him, cut him down, give him no quarter." Those who know -the house form a party to surround it, and the rest a reserve to look -at the court-house square and see if there be any guerrillas there. We -descend to the little stream that bounds Paris; we climb the hill, and -enter its empty streets. The men are riding by file, and intent as I am -on my object, I am struck with the strange, spectral appearance of this -long line of horsemen slowly winding through the silent town.</p> - -<p>We approach the house, and the sergeant who has charge of the party -dismounts half his men; they fasten their horses, and climb the fence. -There is an instant's exciting pause, and then the men on foot rush to -the back of the house, while the others gallop to the front; the house -is surrounded. I dismount and enter the gate, and as I do so the front -door opens, and a woman and two or three girls come out.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Is Captain Mitchell in this house?" I say to the woman, whom I -naturally take to be his wife.</p> - -<p>"No, sir."</p> - -<p>"When did he leave it?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know, sir."</p> - -<p>"Is this Mrs. Mitchell?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir. My name is Mrs. ——. I don't live here."</p> - -<p>He has either escaped, I think, or is still in the house, and this -party has been sitting up with him; so I say, somewhat sarcastically:</p> - -<p>"Are you ladies in the habit of being up till three in the morning?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir. To-night we are sitting up with a sick person."</p> - -<p>"How sick?" I say, not half believing the reply.</p> - -<p>There is a young girl of fifteen standing beside the woman, who has -earnestly watched me, and she answers my question:</p> - -<p>"She is my sister," she says in a trembling voice—"she is my sister, -and she is dying."</p> - -<p>"It is so," says the woman. "The doctor says she is in the last stages -of diphtheria, and can live but a few hours. Captain Mitchell came back -because he heard she was dying. If you don't believe me, you can come -in and look for yourself."</p> - -<p>"No," I answer, "if this family is in such affliction, we will be the -last persons to intrude. I will withdraw the most of my men; and you, -my girl, may go back to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> your sister, and feel assured that no one -shall disturb you during the remainder of the night."</p> - -<p>They seem surprised, and, thanking me, go in. I post a man at each -corner of the house, and the others go back to bivouac in the -court-house square. I am much perplexed what to do. It shall not be -said that we searched a house while a girl was dying, and yet it may -be a trick, and he within. Walking up and down upon the court-house -steps, I think the matter over, and determine on this course: There is -a physician attending this girl, and there is another here in whom I -can implicitly trust. At sunrise I have routed these two gentlemen out, -and marched them down to the house. I then send for Mrs. Mitchell. She -comes out, pale from night-watching, and looks with no friendly eye on -the pursuers of her husband and the disturbers of her child.</p> - -<p>"Captain Mitchell is not here," she says calmly. "He took leave of his -daughter, and went away yesterday. She has only an hour or two to live."</p> - -<p>"I don't dispute your word, Mrs. Mitchell; I feel for you in your -affliction, and know how harsh and unkind my actions must seem; but it -is my duty to search this house. Yet I will do all I can for you. I -will keep my guards on the outside; or I will let Dr. Matheson go with -your physician, and if they report to me that your daughter is as ill -as you say, then I will let them make the search."</p> - -<p>"I don't object to this, sir; it will not frighten my daughter."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> - -<p>The two doctors go in, and Mrs. Mitchell continues standing beside me -on the piazza.</p> - -<p>"You have a hard lot," I say; "your husband away at such a time—near -you, and yet unable to return."</p> - -<p>"Yes, a very hard lot," she answers with a sigh.</p> - -<p>The two doctors come out, and Dr. Matheson says:</p> - -<p>"She is nearly gone; it is diphtheria—the last stage."</p> - -<p>"Then search the house, gentlemen, thoroughly, from top to bottom, in -every room and closet; examine every bed and corner."</p> - -<p>They come out again, and report that he is not in the house. The guards -return their sabres and march away; and Mrs. Mitchell, to my surprise, -holds out her hand and says, "I don't blame you, sir, for what you've -done; I wish all others had treated us as kindly."</p> - -<p>Much as I desired to arrest him, I confess that I am greatly relieved. -Arresting a father at the bedside of his dying daughter would mar the -pleasant memories of my last scout in Tennessee.</p> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<p>I am gliding down the beautiful river, its crystal waters sparkle -in the sun; and Fort Henry is lessening on my sight: the tall hills -opposite sink down, the flag-staff and the waving flag alone are left. -Now, farewell, Tennessee!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> - -<h2><i>APPENDIX.</i></h2> - -<p>The following interesting letters, which are taken from leading New -York newspapers, are now added to the 3d edition of this work. They -form so unusual a testimonial from military officers, and also from the -Union men of the South, of the truthfulness and value of the book, both -as a sketch of war scenes, drawn from a military point of view, and as -a reliable account of the Union sentiment which secretly prevailed at -the South, that the Executive Committee have deemed them a desirable -appendix to the foregoing pages.</p> - -<p class="center">AN INTERESTING INCIDENT.</p> - -<blockquote><p><i>Editor of the</i> ————.</p> - -<p>The re-publication of <span class="smcap">Judge Nott's</span> "Sketches of the War," -recalls an incident, connected with one of those unfaltering -Unionists of Tennessee, which I trust will prove interesting to -your loyal readers.</p> - -<p>In the month of Oct., 1863, when on a scouting expedition, -after Faulkner, which left Union City, under the command of the -celebrated Captain Frank Moore, of the 2d Illinois Cavalry, we -passed through Como. It was after noon, and I, with my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> two -companies of the 4th Mo. Cavalry, was ordered to "turn in" and -feed, at a house, about a quarter of a mile out of town, where -there seemed to be plenty of forage and "shoats." After seeing -my command properly disposed, I stationed a guard at the house, -and entered the gate. The lady of the house met me on the porch -and invited me in. I observed to her, after entering, that I was -obliged to stop to feed my command, as they were very tired and -hungry, and asked if she could prepare a meal for some half dozen -officers. She assented, and immediately went to the kitchen to -give the necessary directions. When she returned, I inquired:</p> - -<p>"Is your husband at home?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir. He is absent, looking for his stock."</p> - -<p>I was then convinced of what I expected at first, from her -frightened looks and distant manner, that her husband was in the -rebel army.</p> - -<p>"What," I ventured to ask, "is your husband's name?"</p> - -<p>"Hurt, sir."</p> - -<p>"Hurt, Hurt," I repeated after her. "That name sounds familiar. I -have seen or heard it somewhere. Ah! now I remember. It was in a -little work written by Captain Nott, called 'Sketches of the War'."</p> - -<p>"Indeed!" she exclaimed. "Did you know him?"</p> - -<p>"Very well. I was his 2d Lieutenant in the 4th Mo. Cavalry, my -present regiment. We left New York for St. Louis, and entered -this regiment together, in August, 1861. Unfortunately, however, -we were soon separated; for Captain Nott and his company were -transferred to the 5th Iowa Cavalry, and I have not seen him -since. It was a bitter disappointment to me, and I have never -fairly got over it."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Then you are really Union soldiers? I'm sure you are."</p> - -<p>"How could you doubt it?" I asked. "You see we wear the United -States uniform."</p> - -<p>"That is not always conclusive, Captain. It was only the other -day, that a force of rebel cavalry, disguised in blue coats, -surprised and routed a detachment of the 7th Tennessee Cavalry, -in this very place. I never heard such horrid yelling in my life. -They acted like demons. Since then, we are obliged to be very -cautious."</p> - -<p>Here Mrs. Hurt excused herself, and, stepping to the door, -directed Tom to call his master. Returning, she continued:</p> - -<p>"I must apologize, Captain, for deceiving you as to my husband's -whereabouts. You see the difficulties of our situation. He will -be here presently. His stock usually stray no farther than the -nearest corn-field."</p> - -<p>Smiling at her explanation of what at first looked to me very -much like a <i>white</i> lie, I observed, that I fully appreciated the -dangers attending life in a country raided over alternately by -each of two hostile parties; and that I well understood why, at -first, I believed myself in a "secesh" house.</p> - -<p>"I presume," I continued, "you have not seen Captain Nott's little -book, describing his visit here, and his adventures in these -parts?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes. And what is more, it is in a safe place. We hide it -away, for fear it might get soiled."</p> - -<p>She undoubtedly knew it would not be quite safe to let the -"Johnnies" find it.</p> - -<p>Mr. Hurt now appeared, just as we were sitting down to dinner. -Several of my officers had come in.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Husband, these are the friends of Captain Nott. I have explained -your absence."</p> - -<p>"I am delighted to see you, gentlemen; tell me all about the -Captain. We have entirely lost track of him."</p> - -<p>"The last news we had of him, he was a prisoner at Camp Ford, -Texas. He was Colonel of the 176th New York Infantry. There is a -rumor that he died in prison, but we do not credit it."</p> - -<p>"I hope it is only a rumor. I never met a man, in my whole life, -for whom I formed so strong an attachment. And if ever I find out -where he is, I will visit him, if it takes me to China. I never -saw an officer who had such remarkable control over his men. At -the same time they seemed to idolize him."</p> - -<p>We continued to chat till dinner was over, when Mrs. Hurt -produced a copy of "Sketches," which had been sent by the author. -"Nothing," she said, "would induce us to part with it."</p> - -<p>The second edition of this charming little work, beautifully -bound, and appropriately embellished with cavalry insignia, has -just been issued from the Press. Judged by its predecessor, which -has long since been exhausted, I have no doubt but this edition -will meet a cordial welcome wherever real merit is recognized and -rewarded. To facilitate in some degree its circulation, I desire -to say something in its behalf: in the first place, because of -my attachment to the author, under whom I entered the service; -in the second place, because the work is a very deserving one; -and thirdly, because it is published for the exclusive benefit of -disabled soldiers.</p> - -<p>Compiled from a series of letters originally written to the pupils -of Ward School 44, of this city, of which the author was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> formerly -a trustee, it might be inferred that the style and subject-matter -would be exclusively adapted to the tastes and comprehension of -children. The fact is otherwise. The author, as he states in the -preface, has "carefully avoided that 'baby talk' and paltriness -of subject," so common in works for juveniles, and has given -"just such incidents and topics, as he would have chosen for -their fathers and mothers." To the generality of adult readers, -I venture the assertion, few works of romance will be found more -absorbingly interesting. For myself, I freely say, that not only -was I intensely interested; but, accustomed as I was, to all -the details of cavalry service, I learned much from this little -volume, which could not be found in "Tactics" or "Regulations." It -is an excellent work for officers to read, both for amusement and -information.</p> - -<p>Beside the exceeding attractiveness of the story, the scholar -is fascinated by the dignity and purity of the composition—the -simplicity of the style, and the surpassing clearness, naturalness -and minuteness, which mark the book throughout. Nothing seems -to have escaped the observation of the author; and whatever he -observed, he remembered. The smallest details are garnered, and -made to contribute to the interest of the narrative. One of the -prominent features of the work is, that most of the incidents, -thrilling in themselves, are put in the colloquial form, thus -giving them a directness and vivacity, which is lost in the -third-person style. But, perhaps, the distinguishing charm lies in -the fact, that the author has stamped himself upon his work. Every -page illustrates the nobleness and real goodness of heart, which -ever characterized his actions.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Oscar P. Howe</span>,<span class="s6"> </span><br />Captain 4th Mo. Cavalry.</p></blockquote> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> - -<p class="center"><i>From the New York Tribune.</i></p> - -<blockquote><p>A new edition of "Sketches of the War," by Charles C. Nott, -is published by A. D. F. Randolph, for the exclusive benefit -of disabled soldiers, in the expectation of opening for them -a profitable field of employment. The volume was originally -written in the form of letters to the pupils of one of the public -schools in this city, but the spirited and attractive character -of its contents, as well as fidelity of its descriptions, have -recommended it to a far wider circle of readers, and given it an -extensive popularity. The new edition will be eagerly welcomed, -both for its own merits and the benevolent purpose to which it is -devoted.</p></blockquote> - -<p>The following interesting letter is from Colonel George E. Waring, of -this city, late commander of the Fourth Missouri Cavalry:</p> - -<blockquote><p class="right"><span class="smcap">Stamford, Conn.</span>, Feb. 23, 1865.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Hanson</span>:—I send you with this a copy of "War -Sketches," which were written by Colonel Nott, who was Captain in -our regiment before your time, and with the tradition of whose -good qualities you are familiar. It will be especially interesting -to you, as recalling the scenes of our jolly rough-riding in -Western Kentucky and Tennessee.</p> - -<p>Do you remember (when we took our brigade from Clinton, and -started on that wild-goose chase after Faulkner) how we went into -camp on the west fork of Clark's River, with our head-quarters in -a retired nook in the bush, only large enough to hold our little -party? and, how there came to us there, a Mr. Wade, a Mr. Chunn, -and a Mr. Magness, whose statements, that they were Unionists, we -doubted, until they told us of their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> assistance to Captain Nott? -how we trusted them then; and how faithful we found them? All of -this pleasant summer campaign comes back to me—as it will to -you—in reading the "Sketches." And your mind will run on, as mine -does, to our entrance into Murray, the next day, and the Sunday -dinner with the good old fox-hunting Mr. Guthrie; (the rebels -burnt his house down for that hospitality;) and our "secesh" -visitors in the camp below Conyersville, with their peach-brandy -and honey; and the preparation for a night attack on the enemy at -Paris; and how that promising scheme was knocked on the head by a -stupid order from our nervous old general, (a hundred miles away,) -to turn immediately back, and leave our ripe fruit unplucked; how -Faulkner took courage from our movement, and broke up our game -of corn-poker on the Buffalo robe, in the next camp on the back -track; and how we mounted and scoured the country, and couldn't -find the party which had attacked us—only heard of them going -toward Paris again?</p> - -<p>Read the account of the entrance into Paris, (pages 71 and 72,) -and see if it does not take you back to our entering it, a year -and more ago; and to our night at Dr. Matherson's brick house, at -the head of the street, where we went for good quarters, thinking -him a rebel, and wishing him out of our room before we settled -ourselves for the evening, until he asked us if we knew Captain -Nott, and shewed us that he knew, and was trusted by him; and what -a cozy evening we passed with them, in spite of the bitter cold -weather? We knew we were with a friend, and he did not spare his -wood-pile in entertaining us.</p> - -<p>How graphic is the description of the freezing fast to the -ground of the citizens, when they first see us coming into a -town (making it always look like Sunday.) Read, too, of the -Obion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> bottom—which was less muddy, but not more pleasant, to -Captain Nott than to us—and of the wild confusion of single-rank -cavalry when surprised; and of Bischoff's holding the Captain's -stirrup under fire;—how like Hover, and the "<i>Vierte Missouri</i>," -that!—and of Bischoff's gamey little black horse, bringing him -through a tight place, just as Miss Pussy has done for you.</p> - -<p>And the skirmish, over the piano, with Miss Ayres; how like it is -to what I've so often seen from you and the other young ones of -the staff.</p> - -<p>It seems at first rather odd that a book originally written -for school-girls, should be so exactly the book which is most -interesting to men—even to those who have served—but it is -precisely those little details, which one would think of writing -only for children, which give to all the clearest idea of the -realities of military life, and which best recall the daily -pleasures, trials and anxieties of a campaign, when graver events -have dimmed our recollection of them.</p> - -<p>I am sure that I am sending you material for a few hours pleasant -reading in camp, and I trust to Captain Nott, to turn your memory -back to the companionship and the incidents of the months which we -passed together, in the valley of the Obion River.</p> - -<p class="right">Very truly, yours,<span class="s6"> </span><br /><br /><span class="smcap">George E. Waring, Jr.</span></p> - -<p>To Capt. <span class="smcap">Hunn Hanson</span>, A. D. C.<br /><br /> -<span class="s3"> </span>H'd Q'rs 16th Army Corps, Mobile Bay.</p></blockquote> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> - -<p class="center"><i>New York Evening Post.</i></p> - -<p class="center">A GOOD BOOK AND A GOOD DEED.</p> - -<blockquote><p>In the early part of the war Mr. Charles C. Nott, a lawyer in this -city, received from General Fremont the appointment of captain of -cavalry in a Western regiment. Soon after his entrance into active -service he began a series of letters to one of our great public -schools, of which he had previously been a trustee. These letters were -read in school, were copied and recopied for manuscript circulation, -and were at length published during their author's absence, under the -title of "Sketches of the War." The first edition met with a ready -sale, and when Captain (now Colonel) Nott returned from a year's -imprisonment in Texas, he found that it was entirely exhausted. For -some months after his return the Colonel devoted his time to organizing -a Bureau of Employment for disabled soldiers, but on leaving it to -accept the appointment of Judge of the United States Court of Claims, -which the late President conferred upon him, he published a second -edition of his book, and presented it, with the stereotype plates -and five hundred copies, to the Executive Committee of the Bureau -of Employment, to be devoted exclusively to the aid of our disabled veterans.</p></blockquote> - -<p>The following interesting correspondence took place in March last:</p> - -<blockquote><p class="right">"<span class="smcap">New York</span>, March 4, 1865.</p> - -<p>"Messrs. <span class="smcap">Howard Potter</span>, <span class="smcap">Wm. E. Dodge, Jr.</span>, and <span class="smcap">Theodore<br /> -Roosevelt</span>, <i>Ex. Com. Protective War Claim Association</i>:</p> - -<p>"<span class="smcap">Gentlemen</span>:—Enclosed you will find an order on my -publisher for five hundred copies second edition "Sketches of the -War," an assignment of the copyright of that work, and an order<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> -putting the stereotype plates at your disposal so long as you -may wish to continue the publication for the benefit of disabled -soldiers.</p> - -<p>"I do this, trusting the sale may furnish to some of our greatest -sufferers temporary employment. I have also indulged the hope that -if our manufacturers should fail to furnish suitable employment -to men who have lost an arm or leg, or suffered some equal -disability, this little bequest of mine may lead to some similar -action on the part of other officers. There is a much stronger -tie between officers (who deserve that name) and soldiers than is -generally supposed to exist, and I am confident there are numbers -in New York who will come forward whenever the necessity is made -known to them, and do all in their power to aid those soldiers who -bear such unmistakable marks of their honorable service.</p> - -<p class="right">"I remain, gentlemen, very respectfully,<span class="s3"> </span><br /> -"<span class="smcap">Charles C. Nott</span>."</p></blockquote> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<blockquote><p>"Hon. <span class="smcap">C. C. Nott</span>, <i>Judge of Court of Claims, etc., etc.</i>:</p> - -<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>:—We have your valued favor of the 4th instant, -conveying to us an edition of your admirable 'Sketches of the -War,' with the copyright and stereotype plates of the same, for -the benefit of disabled soldiers applying for employment at our -bureau.</p> - -<p>"We accept the trust most gratefully, the more so as evincing your -continued interest in the work you have so ably inaugurated.</p> - -<p>"Congratulating you on the high position to which you have been -called, we are, very sincerely, yours,</p> - -<p><span class="s15"> </span>"<span class="smcap">Howard Potter</span>,<br /> -<span class="s15"> </span>"<span class="smcap">Theodore Roosevelt</span>,<br /> -<span class="s15"> </span>"<span class="smcap">Wm. E. Dodge, Jr.</span>,<br /> -<span class="s15"> </span>"<i>Executive Committee</i>."</p> - -<p>"New York, March 14, 1885."</p></blockquote> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/ad.jpg" alt="advert" /></div> - -<hr /> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sketches of the War, by Charles C. 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Nott - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Sketches of the War - A Series of Letters to the North Moore Street School of New York - -Author: Charles C. Nott - -Release Date: November 4, 2019 [EBook #60629] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SKETCHES OF THE WAR *** - - - - -Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - -+-------------------------------------------------+ -|Transcriber's note: | -| | -|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | -| | -+-------------------------------------------------+ - - -SKETCHES OF THE WAR: - -A SERIES OF - -Letters to the North Moore Street School - -OF NEW YORK. - -BY - -CHARLES C. NOTT, - -CAPTAIN IN THE FIFTH IOWA CAVALRY AND TRUSTEE OF PUBLIC SCHOOLS IN THE -CITY OF NEW YORK. - -THIRD EDITION. - -NEW-YORK: - -ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH, 770 BROADWAY, CORNER OF 9TH ST. - -1865. - - - - -Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by - -CHARLES C. NOTT. - -In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States -for the Southern District of New York. - - -[Illustration: J. J. REED, PRINTER.] - - - - -To - -WILLIAM B. EAGER, JR., - -AN UNWAVERING FRIEND AND FAITHFUL SCHOOL OFFICER, - -THESE SKETCHES ARE INSCRIBED. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - PAGE - I.--THE HOSPITAL, 9 - - II.--DONELSON, 20 - - III.--THE ASSAULT, 29 - - IV.--FORAGING, 42 - - V.--A FLAG OF TRUCE, 56 - - VI.--THE HOLLY FORK, 75 - - VII.--SCOUTING, 88 - -VIII.--A SURPRISE, 109 - - IX.--THE ESCAPE, 135 - - X.--THE LAST SCOUT, 154 - - - - -PREFACE. - -TO SECOND EDITION. - - -The first edition of this little work was published during its author's -absence in the Department of the Gulf, and fought its own way into -public favor. The second edition is now published for the exclusive -benefit of disabled soldiers, and in the expectation of opening for -them a profitable field of employment. As the first edition was soon -exhausted, and no work has been offered to the public that _fulfils_ -the _designs_ of this, it is hoped that this edition may find an -approval beyond the humane object which calls it forth. - -Written for readers whom I had been accustomed to address familiarly, -and among whom the most usefully happy moments of my life had passed; -and composed for the most part amid the scenes which they describe, -these letters to the North Moore Street School were never intended for -adult readers, nor to assume the shape and substance of a book. In -composing them I carefully avoided that "baby-talk" which some people -think simplicity, and that paltriness of subject which by many is -thought to be alone within the grasp and comprehension of a child. The -greatest of children's stories are those which were written for men. -"Robinson Crusoe" and "Gulliver's Travels," amid the annual wreck of -a thousand "juvenile publications," survive, and pass from generation -to generation, known to us best as the attractive reading of our early -life. This enviable lot is secured to them by the severe purity of -their English composition--the simplicity of their style--the natural -minuteness of their description, but above all by the real greatness -of their authors, who in striving to be simple, never condescend to -be _little_. The "Goody Two Shoes" of Goldsmith, which was written -for children, is hardly rescued by his charming style; but the "Vicar -of Wakefield," which was written for men, has _ascended_ to be a -story-book for childhood, and is speedily becoming the exclusive -property of the young. - -Therefore while I sought to instruct a few of the children of the -United States by carrying them unconsciously through the details of -military life, and unfolding to them some of the better scenes in -their country's great struggle, still I selected just such incidents -and topics as I would have chosen for their fathers and mothers, -only endeavoring, with greater strictness, to blend in the narration -simplicity with elegance. - - - - -SKETCHES OF THE WAR. - - - - -I. - -THE HOSPITAL. - - -There was a young man in my squadron whom I shall call Frank Gillham. -He was the son of a Wisconsin farmer, and had enlisted in the ranks -as a patriotic duty. Frank was young and handsome, a fine horseman, -and rode one of the handsomest horses in the squadron. He was just the -person whom one would suppose sure to rise from the ranks and perform -many a gallant feat during the war. A few weeks ago the horse was -reported sick. It had but a cold, and we thought that a few days would -find it well again. But the cold grew worse and changed to pneumonia, a -disease of the lungs fearfully prevalent here among both men and horses. - -Frank nursed and watched his horse day and night, counting the beatings -of its pulse, consulting the farrier, administering the medicine as -though the horse were his best friend. It was fruitless labor; for -the poor animal stood hour after hour panting with drooping head, -occasionally looking sadly up as if to say, "you can do me no good," -until at last it died. We all felt sorry for the poor horse, but did -not think his death was the forerunner of a greater loss. - -In the middle of December, the surgeon reported Frank sick with -measles. The cold draughts through the barracks are peculiarly -dangerous to this disease, and it is also contagious; and hence it -is an inflexible rule to send patients at once to the hospital. The -ambulance came, Frank was helped in, and I bid him good bye, expecting -(for it was but a slight attack) that he would return soon. - -A fortnight passed, and he was reported convalescent; the measles had -gone, but there was a cough remaining; he had better wait awhile till -quite restored. - -Once or twice I tried to go to the hospital, which was a mile distant -from camp; but there is a rule forbidding officers to leave the -camp except with a pass, and the passes are limited in number and -dealt out in turn--my turn had not come. My last application for -a pass was made on Sunday; unhappily it was refused. On Monday, I -sent some letters which had come for Frank down to the hospital. An -hour or two afterwards the letters came back. I took them--they were -unopened--there was a message: "Frank Gillham is dead." - -During the two or three preceding days, the cough had run into -pneumonia. The surgeons had not sent word--they had no one to -send--there were so many such cases. I had not been there, because it -was contrary to camp regulations; and thus, with a family within the -telegraph's call and some old friends within the neighboring barracks, -poor Frank had died alone in the cheerless wards of a public hospital. - -When it was too late to receive a last message or soothe a dying hour, -a pass could be obtained. I took with me a corporal, an old friend of -Frank's. As we rode along, I made some inquiries and learned that Frank -was the eldest child, and the pride of his family. There had doubtless -been anxious forebodings when he enlisted, and tears when he departed. -"It will break his father's heart when he hears of this," said the -corporal. - -Ordinarily it would have been a great relief to ride beyond the camp -enclosure; for the sense of confinement and the constant sight of -straight rows of men going through their endless angular movements -become very irksome after a while, and awaken a strong desire to -be unrestrained yourself and to see people in their natural, every -day life. But now we felt too depressed for enjoying our unexpected -liberty, and except when I was asking the questions I have spoken of, -we rode in dreary silence, thinking of the painful duty before us, and -of the distant family soon to be startled by the fatal message, and -informed that they had given a victim to the guilty rebellion. - -At length we reached the "Hospital of the Good Samaritan." It is -situated on the outskirts of the city, and has been taken by the -Government for soldiers sick with contagious diseases. The building is -large and not unpleasant, the ceilings high, and the rooms cheerfully -lighted. There seemed to be such comforts as can be bought and sold, -and the attendants appeared kind and diligent. But here I must stop on -the favorable side. As I looked around, I learned why soldiers dread -the hospital. The cots were close together, with just room enough to -pass between, and on every cot lay a sick man. At the sound of the -opening door, some looked eagerly toward us--others turned their eyes -languidly--and others again did not change their vacant gaze, too weak -to care who came or went away. There were faces flushed with fever, -others pale and thin, and others with the pallor of death settling upon -them, the lips muttering unconsciously in delirium, and the fingers -nervously picking the bed clothes. Here was a man who had just arrived, -timid and anxious; and on the next cot was one who would soon depart on -the last march. - -I went into the room where my lost soldier had taken his farewell, -hoping to gather from the other occupants some last words or message -for the dear ones of his home. The cot was still empty. I went up to -the next patient and whispered my question, "Did you know the young man -who died this morning?" The man shook his head and said, "No, I was too -sick;" and he glanced nervously at the empty cot so close beside him. -I passed round and asked the next. He half opened his closed eyes, but -made no reply. It was too plain he could not. I had not observed how -soon he would follow Frank. I went to the night attendant, who had come -round about midnight, and had spoken to Frank of the coming change. He -had been resigned and had expressed regrets only for his family and -country, and a wish to live for them. "He said this with great energy," -said the attendant, "and I wondered how a dying man could feel so much. -But after that he became flighty; and as there were only three of us -to over one hundred patients, I had to go and leave him. He died about -sunrise." Did he continue delirious? or was he conscious through those -last lonely hours? and did he wish for some fond hand to support his -head, some kind ear to receive his parting words? I hoped the former. A -crowded hospital is a lonely place wherein to die. - -"_Will you see the body?_" said the superintendent. We all have a -natural repugnance to death, but in addition to this repugnance I -remember the face of a friend with such distinctness that it is painful -for me to impress on the living picture in my memory the marred and -broken image of the dead. I therefore seldom join in the usual custom -of viewing the corpse at funerals--never, if I can avoid it without -giving pain to those who do not understand my motives. It consequently -was with more than usual reluctance that I discharged this duty of -ascertaining that no terrible mistake had occurred among the number -coming and going, and dying in the hospital. We went down-stairs -to the basement. Hitherto my experience with death had been only -that of funerals, in the calm and quiet of peaceful life, where all -that is most painful is softened or hidden, and death made to take -the semblance of sleep. I can hardly say that I expected to see, as -usual, the solitary coffin and its slumbering tenant, yet I certainly -anticipated nothing different. "This is the dead-room," said the -superintendent, as he unlocked and threw open a door. The name was the -first intimation of something different. It was a narrow, gloomy room, -and on the stone pavement, lay four white figures. They were decently -attired in the hospital shroud, but the accustomed concealments of the -undertaker's art were wanting. The staring eyes, the open mouth, the -contracted face left little of the usual sleep-like repose of death. -It was a ghastly sight. I felt like shrinking back to the outer air, -but had to enter the room. The superintendent did not know Frank, so -I was obliged to look at each. I glanced at the first. He was a young -man with fair hair, and what had been bright blue eyes. They seemed to -return my look so consciously that for a moment I could not avert my -gaze. The look seemed to say, "You do not know me: we are strangers who -have never met before, will never meet again." I glanced at the second, -at the third. All were strangers, and all were young. The fourth I -recognized. The room was so narrow that the figures reached from wall -to wall, and as we went forward we had to step over each prostrate -form. The corporal followed me, and looked long and earnestly at his -friend. There had been no mistake. As we went out my eyes involuntarily -turned to the others. It was probably the only look of pity they -received. "Did they die during the night?" I inquired. "Yes!" "And has -no officer or friend been with them?" "No!" "When will they be buried?" -"In the afternoon." This, I fear, was all their funeral service. "Did -they anticipate such a death and such a burial when they came from -distant pleasant homes to serve in the great army?" I asked myself. -And as I looked on them, thus neglected and deserted, I thought of the -families and friends who would give much to stand as I stood beside -them, to weep over their coffins, and to go with them to the grave. - -The remains of my soldier it was determined should be sent to his -family. He was dressed in his uniform, and on the following day the -railroad swiftly carried him back to his old home. - -When all was over, I gathered together his few effects. This the law -makes the duty of an officer. There were also some unanswered letters -to be returned--pleasant letters, beginning, "Dear Frank, we wish you -merry Christmas!" and hoping he would have happy holidays in camp. And -there was one touch of melancholy romance added; for hidden in the -recesses of his pocket-book was a tress of hair, and on the wrapper -a name; a letter, too, with the same signature. I determined that no -curious eyes should run over these, and that they should not be the -subject for careless tongues; so I carefully placed them in a separate -package and sent them to one who perhaps will grieve the most. - - -And since I commenced this addition to my letter, there has been -another interruption--a second victim of an unhealthy camp and crowded -barracks. His death, poor boy, possessed fewer circumstances of -interest. He was a German, with no family circle to be broken; a sister -here, a brother there, and parents in a distant land. When told of -Frank's death he seemed anxious, and whispered me that there were many -dying in the hospital. The surgeon said there was no danger, but I saw -it did not reassure him. On Sunday I got leave to send down one of my -men, who was his friend, to the hospital, to be with him as a night -nurse. On Monday I rode down. "How is Leonard?" was the first question -to the surgeon. "He is very low," was the answer. I went up to his -room. His friend sat by the cot, holding his hand. But the eyes were -glazed, the pulse had stopped, and all was over. He had just died. - -You may wish to know something of a soldier's funeral, not such as we -have in Broadway, with music and processions, but such as are occurring -here. - -I asked leave for the squadron to attend the funeral, and the colonel -said certainly, all who wished should go. At the appointed time we -mounted and rode slowly to the hospital, accompanied by the chaplain of -the regiment. We reached it soon, and the men were drawn up in line. -Even in such scenes military discipline enables us to move more easily -and rapidly than in ordinary life. A few commands in an unusually -subdued voice were given. "Prepare to dismount." "Dismount!" "Ones -and threes hold horses, twos and fours forward." Half of the squadron -then passed by the coffin, and then relieved the others in holding the -horses. All was done so quietly and quickly that it formed a contrast -to a similar scene at an ordinary funeral. The ambulance came to the -door. The ambulance carries the sick to the hospital, and the dead to -the grave: it is the soldier's litter and his hearse. - -About a mile from the hospital is the Wesleyan cemetery. I had ridden -by it during the soft summer weather of the fall, and remarked how -prettily it is situated upon the brow of a hill, with the city in view -upon one side and the quiet country on the other, while large trees -and mournful evergreens give an air of sadness and seclusion. It was a -relief when the ambulance turned toward this peaceful resting place; -though I wish that a soldiers' cemetery had been laid out where the -numbers who die in St. Louis and the country around it, might rest -together. We entered, and I quickly remarked a change since last I -had passed that way. On one side, where had been a smooth, green lawn, -there were straight rows and ranks of mounds, so regular and close -that the ground looked as though it had been trenched by some thrifty -gardener. These were the soldiers' graves. There were many--many of -them. Two grave diggers were at work--constant work for them. A grave -was always ready prepared, and one was ready for us. Our ceremonies -were few and simple--the squadron drew up in line--the coffin was -lifted out--the chaplain made a prayer--and we returned. - -But in the same ambulance were two other coffins. No companion had been -with them at the hospital, and no friends followed them to the grave. -Unknown and, save by us chance strangers, unnoticed, they were laid to -rest. This loneliness of their burial was very sad. We gave them all we -could--a sigh, and paid them such respect as the circumstances allowed. -We did not know them--who they were, or whence they came--only this, -that they were American soldiers, fallen for their country. - -I have heard it said that this war will make us a very warlike -people. It is a mistake. Those who are engaged in it, while they -will be ready again to rise in a just cause, will never wish for -another war. I understand now why officers of real experience--be -they ever so brave--always dread a war. There are too many such -scenes as I have described. Yet do not think that any waver in their -determination--and, while you pity, do not waver yourselves. We may -blame mismanagement and neglect; and we must try to alleviate suffering -and prevent needless disease and death, and only in the restoration of -our Union hope for peace. - - - - -II. - -DONELSON. - - -Some letters from New York have said, "If you are ever in battle, do -describe it." In this curiosity I have myself shared, and have always -longed to know not only how the scene appeared, but how the spectator -felt. I am able now to answer the question, and in so doing I will try -and describe to you precisely how the attack appeared to me, without -entering into an account of anything but what I saw, and how I felt. - -It was by accident that I was at Fort Donelson, and with the attacking -column. My regiment left me at St. Louis attending a court-martial. -The court adjourned soon afterward, and then, with another member, an -officer of the Fourteenth Iowa, I started for Fort Henry. - -We descended the Mississippi to the narrow point where the Ohio joins -it, and on which are the fortifications of Cairo. At Cairo there were -no boats, save those of the government, conveying troops, and on one of -these we went. It was the McGill, and on board was the regiment which -was to lead the assault at Fort Donelson, the Second Iowa. - -Up to the time of starting we supposed that the destination of the -boat was Fort Henry, on the Tennessee. It was then announced, Fort -Donelson on the Cumberland. We glided slowly up the Ohio, against -its swollen current, and passed the mouth of the Tennessee during the -night. I arose with the first gleam of light, and went on deck to find -that we had entered the Cumberland. It seemed a narrow river, winding -amid wooded hills and banks covered with noble oaks. The soldiers, -who had passed the warm, moonlit night on deck, were rising, one by -one, folding blankets and packing knapsacks. I turned from them to the -river, and looked curiously for the people who dwelt in this, the rebel -part of Kentucky. - -For a short time there was nothing but woods. Then a little log house -appeared upon the bank, a shed beside it, with its single horse and -cow. It was a humble home, and hardly worth a second glance, a hundred -such might be seen on the banks of any river; but in front of the door -stood a sturdy little flag-staff, and from it waved the stars and -stripes. The family had risen at the sound of the steamer. The mother -stood in the doorway, holding an infant, and waving an apron. A little -girl near by timidly tossed her hood around her head. Two ragged boys -at the water's edge swung their caps joyfully. The father stood on a -stump, hurrahing alone but lustily; and over them, in the dim grey -light, fluttered their little flag. "They mean it," "They are honest," -"There's no make-believe there," were the exclamations of the soldiers, -as they crowded to the side of the boat and answered the father and his -boys with their louder cheers. This was the first house we saw, and -the warmest welcome we received; for though many hats were waved to us -during the day, and a few flags shown, none equalled, in their manifest -sincerity, the inmates of the little log house. - -The day was soft and beautiful. We passed it upon the upper deck, -laughing, chatting, and watching the shifting scenery of the winding -river. A pleasure excursion it seemed to all; and again and again some -one would remark, "We may be on the brink of battle, yet it seems as -though we were travelling for pleasure." - -Among the rough exteriors which campaigning gives, two officers of -the Second were remarkable for their neat appearance. Some jokes were -made at their expense, calling them the dandies of the regiment, and -their state-rooms the band-boxes; and it was agreed that they were -too handsome to be spoilt by scars. Two days afterward one of these, -Captain Sleighmaker, fell at the head of his company, heroically -charging the rebel breastworks. A little later, as I was galloping -for the surgeons, I passed a wounded officer, borne by four soldiers -in a blanket. As I rode by he called out, "We have carried the day, -Captain." I looked around and saw it was the other, Major Chipman. "Are -you badly hurt, Major?" I said, pulling up my horse. "No, not badly," -he answered. "Don't stop for me;" and when the surgeon arrived he -refused to have his wound dressed, and sent him to his men. - -In the afternoon we overtook twenty steamboats laden with troops, and -led by four black gunboats. They moved slowly and kept together, as -if they feared approaching danger. Then came a change of weather, and -night closed in upon us, dark and dreary, with cold and snow. - -When the next morning broke I found we had made fast to the western -shore. On either bank were high and wooded hills. The gunboats lay -anchored in the middle of the stream, all signs of life hidden beneath -their dark decks, save the white steam that slowly issued from their -pipes, and floated gracefully away. Far down the river could be seen -the troop-laden transports, moored to the trees along the bank. The -sky was clear and bright; the forest sparkled with snow, and the warm -waters of the river smoked in the frosty air. Such a picture I have -never seen--never shall see again. As the troops began to debark, -the band of the Second Iowa came out on the upper deck, and the dear -"Star-spangled" echoed along the river. The men beat time, and hurrahed -as the notes died away. - -The place of landing was about three miles below Fort Donelson. I may -here say that the fort itself is about half as large as the Battery, -but that it is only a corner of a large square of earthworks stretching -some two miles on each side. To avoid the cannon on the works it was -necessary for us to make a circuit of several miles. The country was -woods, high hills, and deep ravines. A glen that we entered after -leaving the river bore a strange resemblance to one on my father's -farm. As I looked around I could almost believe it was the same, -through which, on just such bright winter mornings, I had driven the -wood-sleigh or wandered with my gun. But the troops were marching, and -I had no time to grow homesick. We passed, in the course of our march, -a little log house. I went up to the door and spoke to the people. They -seemed sad and dispirited. There had been firing between the pickets a -day or two before, and a shower of balls had pattered around the house. -The woman said she wished she were forty miles away, and the man said -he would not care if he were a hundred. - -A little girl was near the door, and I asked her what was her name, to -which she replied, after a good deal of embarrassment, "Nancy Ann." I -let Nancy Ann look through my spyglass; and, as she had never seen or -even heard of one before, she was very much astonished. Nancy Ann's -mother thereupon became quite hospitable, and invited me to come in and -rest, but the column was then well nigh over the hill and I had to push -on. - -At last we reached the position assigned to us, and here we found the -Fourteenth Iowa, to which my friend belonged, and with it I determined -to remain until I could find my own regiment. - -Around us were thick woods. A deep glen ran in front, and beyond this, -along the brow of the opposite hill, ran those earthworks of the rebels -which we were to win. - -It was less than half a mile across; and occasionally a rifle ball fell -near us, but the distance was too great for them to be effective. I -looked through the trees and examined the hill with my glass, but could -see nothing save the ridge of fresh-turned earth. Along the side of -the hill were our sharpshooters watching the works. I could see them -crawling up behind trees and stumps, sometimes dragging themselves -along the ground, sometimes on their hands and knees. Their shots were -frequent, and sounded as though a sporting party were below us. It was -hard to believe that they were shooting at men. It was wonderful, too, -how soon the mind accustomed itself to these strange circumstances. -After the first half hour we took no more notice of the rifle shots -than though some boys were there at play. Behind those earthworks were -cannon as well as men. We were completely within range, and they could -have sent their shot and shell amongst us at any time. The night before -no fires had been allowed, as they would indicate our position to the -rebels; but they were now burning, and around one of them three or four -of us gathered to dine. As we sat down upon a log, we heard distant -sounds of cannon along the river. "There go the gunboats; the fight has -begun; they are shelling the rascals out," said everybody. We had taken -for granted all the time, and, indeed, up to the last minute, that the -gunboats would dismantle the fort, and that all we should have to do -would be to prevent the escape of the rebels. In this we were much -mistaken. The cannonade lasted an hour, and then stopped. We hoped the -fort was taken, but no such news came to gladden us. - -In watching the earthworks, in talking and warming ourselves at -the camp-fires, the afternoon wore away. Evening came, and it was -determined to risk the fires. Again we sat down beside one for supper. -It consisted of hard pilot-bread, raw pork and coffee. The coffee you -probably would not recognize in New York. Boiled in an open kettle, -and about the color of a brown stone front, it was nevertheless our -greatest comfort, and the only warm thing we had. The pork was frozen, -and the water in the canteens solid ice, so that we had to hold them -over the fire when we wanted a drink. No one had plates or spoons, -knives or forks, cups or saucers. We cut off the frozen pork with our -pocket knives, and one tin cup, from which each took a drink in turn, -served the coffee. - -It grew darker; the camp-fires burned brightly, and no threatening shot -or shell had come from the Fort. Our sharpshooters and sentinels were -between us and the rebels; and it was determined that we might sleep. -The men stacked their arms, and wrapped themselves in their blankets -around the fires. This was my first night out. Hitherto my quarters had -been in houses; I had not even passed a night in a tent. A life among -the comforts of New York is not a good preparative for the field. I had -looked forward to a tent at this season with some little anxiety, but -I was now to begin without even that shelter. My water-proof blanket -and buffalo skin were also on board the steamer, so that I had to trust -to the better fortune of my friends for these. We managed to find four -blankets, two of them were wet and frozen, and a buffalo skin. The snow -was scraped away from the windward side of the fire, and the two frozen -blankets were laid on the ground--a log was rolled up for a wind-break, -and the buffalo spread over the blankets. On this four of us were -stretched, and very close and straight we had to lie. It fared ill with -the trappings of military life; handsome great-coats were ignominiously -rolled up like horse-blankets, and my beautiful sabre (the gift of -North Moore street friends), ordinarily stained by no speck of rust or -drop of rain, was tossed out in the snow, with pistols and spy-glasses, -used in camp with the same gentle treatment. - -For a few minutes I kept awake; the rebels were but fifteen minutes -distant, and if they chose to make a night attack their shells might -burst among us at any moment. The snow-flakes began to fall faster -and faster. I slipt my head under the blanket and fell asleep. I can -imagine that you will say we were to be pitied; but never did I sleep -more sweetly. Soon after midnight the sound of cannon roused us. The -snow was three inches deep upon our blankets, yet we were comfortable, -and surprised to find it lying there. The ground, however, had thawed -beneath us; and when we rose, the snow crept in among our blankets and -wet them. Lying down was out of the question; we bent down a couple of -saplings and spread blankets over them, making a little shed. Under -this we crept, after piling plenty of wood upon our fire. The soldier's -invariable comfort--his pipe--was at hand, and thus we chatted, smoked -and dozed till daylight. - - - - -III. - -THE ASSAULT. - - -The sun of Saturday rose bright and clear, and more than one asked if -it were an omen for us, or for the foe. The morning passed as did the -day before; but about noon, word came up that far down on our right the -rebels had attempted to cut their way out. They were driven back, but -the fight was bloody, and it was said we had lost five hundred men. We -were warned to be watchful--it was thought they might re-attempt it -near us. I have said we were in front of a large glen or ravine; on -our right were numerous regiments, making a chain which stretched to -the river. On our left was the Second Iowa. This was all that I had -seen of our position, and consequently is all that I shall describe -now, inasmuch as I am giving it to you precisely as it appeared to me. -Soon a mounted orderly rode by, who told us that a large body of rebels -were moving up opposite us. Our men were called together, and stood -near their stacked arms. A little while and General Smith and his staff -came up--they passed by in front of us, but said nothing. At the same -time the sharpshooters along the glen were unusually active, and there -were repeated shots by them. We thought they saw the rebels mustering -behind the breastworks. Everything seemed to indicate a sally from -the rebels, and that we were to drive them back as they had been -driven back in the morning. The men took their arms, officers loosened -their pistol holsters. I hooked up my cavalry sabre, unbuttoned my -great coat so that I could quickly throw it off, and took my place -beside the lieutenant-colonel with whom I was to act. Then there -came a painful, unpleasant pause; we heard nothing--saw nothing--yet -knew that something was coming; what that something was no one could -tell. A messenger came from the general--we were to move to the left -and support the Second Iowa. We supposed the rebels were crossing a -little higher up, and that the gap between us and the Second was to be -closed. The colonel gave the order "left face," "forward march," and -the regiment passed along through the thick trees in a column of two -abreast. But the Second were not where they had been in the morning; we -marched on, but did not come to them. In a few moments we passed their -camp fires--a few more, and we emerged on an open field. - -At a glance, the real object of the movement was apparent. It came -upon us in an instant, like the lifting of a curtain. The Fourteenth -were hurrying down through the field. The Second, in a long line, were -struggling up the opposite hill, where two glens met and formed a -ridge. It was high and steep, slippery with mud and melted snow. At the -top, the breastworks of the rebels flashed and smoked, whilst to the -right and left, up either glen, cannon were thundering. The attempt -seemed desperate. Down through the field we went, and began to climb -the hill. At the very foot I found we were in the line of fire. Rifle -balls hissed over us, and bleeding men lay upon the ground, or were -dragging themselves down the hill. From the foot to the breastworks -the Second Iowa left a long line of dead and wounded upon the ground. -The sight of these was the most appalling part of the scene, and, for -a moment, completely diverted my attention from the firing. A third of -the way up we came under the fire of the batteries. The shot, and more -especially the shell, came with the rushing, clashing of a locomotive -on a railroad. You heard the boom of the cannon up the ravine--then -the sound of the shell--and then _felt_ it rushing at you. At the -top of the hill the firearms sounded like bundles of immense powder -crackers. They would go r-r-r-r-rap; then came the scattered shots, -rap, rap--rap-rap, rap; then some more fired together, rrrrrrap. This -resemblance was so striking that it impressed me at the moment. - -The bursting of the shells produced much less effect--apparent effect, -I mean--than I anticipated. Their explosion, too, was much like a large -powder cracker thrown in the air. There was a loud bang--fragments -flew about, and all was over. It was so quickly done, that you had no -time to anticipate or think--you were killed or you were safe, and it -was over. But the most dispiriting thing was that we saw no enemy. The -batteries were out of sight, and at the breastworks nothing could be -seen but fire and smoke. It seemed as though we were attacking some -invisible power, and that it was a simple question of time whether we -could climb that slippery steep before we were all shot or not. But -suddenly the firing at the summit ceased. The Second Iowa had charged -the works, and driven out the regiments which held them. Then came the -fire of the Second upon our flying foes, and then loud shouts along the -line, "Hurrah, hurrah, the Second are in--hurry up, boys, and support -them--close up--forward--forward." We reached the top and scrambled -over the breastwork. I saw a second hill rising gradually before us, -and on the top of it a second breastwork--between us and it about four -hundred yards of broken ground. A second fire opened upon us from these -inner works. We were ordered back, and, recrossing those we had taken, -lay down upon the outer side of the embankment. - -The breastwork that had sheltered the enemy now sheltered us. It was -about six feet high on our side, and the men laid close against it. -Occasionally a hat was pushed up above it, and then a rifle ball would -come whistling over us from the second intrenchment. The batteries -also continued to fire, but the shot passed lower down the hill, and -did little execution. Having no specific duty to discharge, I turned, -as soon as our troops reached the breastworks, and gave my aid to the -wounded. - -A singular fact for which I could not account was, that those near -the foot of the hill were struck in the legs; higher up, the shots had -gone through the body, and near the breastworks, through the head. -Indeed, at the top of the hill I noticed no wounded; all who lay upon -the ground there were dead. A little house in the field was used as a -hospital. I tore my handkerchief into strips, and tied them round the -wounds which were bleeding badly, and made the men hold snow upon them. -I then took a poor fellow in my arms to carry to the little house. -"Throw down your gun," I said, "you are too weak to carry it." "No, -no," he replied, "I will hold on to it as long as I am alive." The -house happened to be in the exact line of one of the batteries, and as -we approached it, the shot flew over our path. Fortunately, the house -was below the range, but one came so low as to knock off a shingle -from the enable end. For a few minutes we thought they were firing on -the wounded. We had no red flag to display; but I found a man with a -red handkerchief, and tied it to a stick, and sent him on the roof -with it. Within the house there were but three surgeons at this time. -One of them asked me to take his horse and ride for the instruments, -ambulances, and assistants; for no preparations had been made. It was -then I passed Major Chipman carried by his soldiers. - -When I returned, the ambulances were busy at their work; numerous -couples of soldiers were supporting off wounded friends, and -occasionally came four, carrying one in a blanket. The wounded men -generally showed the greatest heroism. They hardly ever alluded to -themselves, but shouted to the artillery that we met to hurry forward, -and told stragglers that we had carried the day. One poor boy, carried -in the arms of two soldiers, had his foot knocked off by a shell; it -dangled horribly from his limb by a piece of skin, and the bleeding -stump was uncovered. I stopped to tell the men to tie his stocking -round the limb, and to put snow upon the wound. "Never mind the foot, -captain," said he, "we drove the rebels out, and have got their trench, -that's the most I care about." Yet I confess the sights and sounds were -not as distressing as I anticipated. The small round bullet holes, -though they might be mortal, looked no larger than a surgeon's lancet -might have made. Only once did I hear distressing groans. A poor wretch -in an ambulance shrieked whenever the wheels struck a stump. There was -no help for it. The road was through the wood, the driver could only -avoid the trees, and drive on regardless of his agony. - -You will perhaps ask how I felt in the fight. There was nothing upon -which I had had so much curiosity as to what my feelings would be. -Much to my surprise I found myself unpleasantly cool. I did not get -excited, and felt a great want of something to do. I thought if I -only had something--my own company to lead on, or somebody to order, -I should have much less to think about. There seemed such a certainty -of being hit that I felt certain I should be, and after a few minutes -had a vague sort of wish that it would come if it were coming, and -be over with. The alarming effect of the bullets and shells was less -than I supposed it would be, and my strongest sensation of danger was -produced by the sight of the dead and wounded. The thing I was most -afraid of was a panic among our men, and when the Seventh Illinois was -ordered to fall back down the hill, I so much feared that the men might -deem it a retreat that I entirely forgot the firing, and walked down -in front of them talking to their major, so that any frightened man in -the ranks might be reassured by our "matter of course" air. Take it -altogether, I think I felt and acted pretty much as I do in any unusual -and exciting affair. I know I found myself looking for an illustration -of the effect of the shells, and wondering if there was no greater and -grander illustration of the musketry than a bunch of powder crackers. -I remember that I did little things from habit, as usual; when I threw -off my overcoat, for example, I took a pipe which a friend had given -me from the pocket, lest it should be lost; and I remember that I once -corrected my grammar when I inadvertently adopted the western style of -telling the men to _lay_ down, and as I did so, I thought that one or -two people at North Moore street would have been very apt to laugh if -they had heard it. Yet for all this, I was by no means unconscious of -danger. Some officers seemed utterly indifferent to it. Thus, in the -fight of Thursday, Colonel Shaw, of the Fourteenth, after ordering his -men to lie down, not only remained on horseback, but crossed his legs -over the pommel of the saddle, sitting sidewise to be more comfortable. -The sharpshooters of the enemy concentrated their fire on him, he -being the only person visible. As the bullets thickened about him, the -colonel said indignantly, "those rascals are firing at me, I shall have -to move," and he threw his leg back, and walked his horse down to the -other end of the line. - -Our men lay in the trench all night, exposed to the western wind, which -blew keenly round the summit of the hill--a large force of the enemy -within a few yards, able to rush upon them at any moment. - -I had gone back just after dark, with the adjutant, who had been hurt -by the explosion of a shell, and my return with him saved me this. When -morning came, we went back. As we reached the foot of the hill, we were -told that a white flag had been displayed, and an officer had gone into -the fort, but that the time was nearly up, and the attack was now to be -renewed. We hurried on, expecting in a few moments to be in a second -assault. We had nearly reached the trenches, when the men sprang from -the ditch to the top of the breastwork, waving the colors and giving -wild hurrahs. The fort had surrendered. - -There was a load lifted off my mind, and I stopped to look around. The -first glance fell on the blue coats scattered through the felled trees -and stumps. The march of our troops up the hill had been somewhat -in the form of a broom. Until near the top they had been in column, -leaving a long, narrow line like the handle, and, as they rushed at the -breastwork, they had spread out like the broom. This ground was plainly -marked by the dead. Now that my attention was given, I was surprised -to find how many were strewn upon the narrow strip. Here was one close -to me; about the width of a class-room beyond was another; a little -further on two had fallen, side by side. In a little triangle I counted -eighteen bodies, and many I knew had been carried off during the night. -Still the scene was not so painful as the dead-room of the hospital -at St. Louis. The attitudes were peaceful. The arms were in all but -one case thrown naturally over the breast, as in sleep; and no face -gave any indication of a painful death. I passed on and entered the -breastwork. It was about the height of a man. On top was a large log, -and between the log and the earthwork a narrow slit. Through this they -had fired on us. The log had hidden their heads, so that, while we were -in plain view, they were to us an invisible foe. Immediately within -were six more bodies of the Second Iowa, and one in simple homespun. He -was the only one of the enemy upon the ground. The soldiers, gathering -around him, looked as I did myself, with some curiosity upon one who -had thus met the punishment of his treason. He had been shot through -the back of the head while running, and his face expressed only -wonderment and fright. It showed him a country-bred youth, illiterate, -uncultivated--a contrast to the still intelligent faces that lay around -him. - -Meanwhile our troops were forming along the hill to take possession -of the fort. All voices declared that the Second Iowa should lead. -As it moved past the other regiments to the head of the column, the -men cheered them, and the officers uncovered; but they seemed sad and -wearied. I looked along their line, and found of the officers I knew -hardly one was there. - -It was a beautiful sight to see regiment after regiment mount the -second breastwork, and watch them successively halt and cheer, and -wave their colors as they crossed. I pushed on, scrambled over it, and -found myself in the midst of five hundred of the prisoners. They were -strange figures, in white blanket or carpet coats, having the same -unintelligent faces as the one who had been killed outside. I stared -at them, and they at me. They looked crestfallen and confused, but -showed little feeling; and during the day I saw but few faces of common -soldiers that awakened any pity. They, poor fellows, sat sadly looking -at the scene. To one of them I spoke. He said he had done nothing to -bring on the war; he had been for the Union, and had only enlisted a -month before to avoid being impressed. His family lived, or had lived -(he did not know where they were now), within a mile, and he would give -a great, great deal to see them for only a minute. "Will your officers -let me write to tell them I am alive?" "To be sure they will." "And -will we be furnished with food?" "Yes, the same as our own soldiers." -"Most of our men expected, if we surrendered unconditionally, that you -would kill us." "You see we have not done so." "No, they have treated -us very kindly: we have been deceived." Such was the tenor of our -conversation. I may here say that our men behaved admirably; and I did -not hear of a single indignity being offered to any of our prisoners. -A few sentinels were placed around a regiment of prisoners, and, so -far as appearances went, half of them might have escaped. But the -woods around the fort contained regiments of our troops, and they knew -the attempt would be hopeless. We were assigned the quarters of the -Fiftieth Tennessee, and I slept in what had been the colonel's. It was -a nice little house of oak blocks, laid up so that the wood and bark -alternated, giving a very pretty tesselated appearance. They had all -sorts of comforts, which we had never even hoped for at Camp Benton; -and while we supposed they had been roughing it, found we had been -roughing it ourselves. - -We invited the colonel and some of his officers to spend the night with -us. I confess they behaved with dignity. They made no complaints, and -submitted with quiet resignation to their changed circumstances; but -they were Tennesseans, and though they made no professions in words, -convinced us that they had been Union men at heart and wished the Union -back again. One of us remarked, that if those who had been released -heretofore had not abused it, and violated their pledges and oaths, the -prisoners at Fort Donelson would probably be released in the same way. -The lieutenant-colonel said he wished it could be so; he was confident -none of his men would be thus guilty. "But," he added, "I don't blame -the Government for sending us North; I acknowledge that I am a rebel -taken in arms, and it is fully justified in treating me accordingly." - -It was a novelty indeed, thus spending the evening with our late -opponents. We made no allusions that could, hurt their feelings, but -talked over the events of the siege until a late hour. They told us the -surrender was a thunder-clap to all. The men, and most of the officers, -had not seen how completely they were surrounded, and had been made to -believe that they were successful. The evening before they were told -this, and in the morning it was announced that their generals had run -away, and they were prisoners of war. - -I now began to look about me and feel a little of the confusion that -follows a battle. My trunk had been left on the steamer, and the -steamer had moved; my blankets had been left in a hospital tent, and -the hospital tent had disappeared; my regiment was fourteen miles off, -at Fort Henry; the biscuit and coffee on which we had lived were gone, -and provisions had not followed us into the fort. I procured a captured -horse, and the next morning started at daylight for Fort Henry. As -I passed a regiment in the woods, the commissary was dealing out a -biscuit and a handful of sugar to each man for breakfast. He good -naturedly said he would give me my share. After a long ride, I found -my men camped in some woods, all well and bitterly disappointed at not -having been at Fort Donelson. - - - - -IV. - -FORAGING. - - -In this military life, I find there is much quiet time, when the hours -pass slowly and the men yawn and wish for something to do. With every -change of camp, reading matter is lost or left behind; orders, too, -have been given that the quantity of baggage be reduced; and here, in -Tennessee, newspapers and letters hardly ever come. It is pleasant, -then, to sit as I do now, under a tree in the warm sun, and talk with -pencil and paper to your distant friends. - -My previous letters have had so much in them gloomy or painful, that -this time I will choose a more pleasant subject, and give you an -account of my First Foraging. - -Gipsy is the prettiest of horses. I should fail to describe my -excursion, if I failed to describe Gipsy. Gipsy is one of those happy -beings that everybody likes. No one ever quarrels with her. She has -never been struck with a whip or touched by the spur, and knows not -what either means. The soldiers all know Gipsy, and the Germans, who -are always sociably inclined, generally say as they pass her, "Good -morning, Shipsy;" at which Shipsy looks as pleased as anybody could. -Gipsy is a small specimen of the Black Hawk race, jet black in color, -and almost as delicate and agile in form as a greyhound, with the -mischievous, restless eyes of a bright terrier. - -Gipsy has several feminine traits of character--a good deal of vanity -with a little affectation, and is withal something of a flirt. Put on -a common soldier's bridle, and she goes very quietly; but change it -for a handsome brass-mounted one, and Gipsy tosses her head as though -the bridle were a new bonnet. If you say, "Come here, Gipsy," Gipsy -walks off the other way; if you call her very loudly, Gipsy pricks up -her ears, and seems completely absorbed in some object half a mile -off; but walk away, and Gipsy puts up a piteous whinny, for you to -come back and make it up. When I am riding alone, Gipsy generally does -pretty much as she pleases--now trotting, now cantering, now dashing -up hill on a gallop, her ears always pricked up, and her bright eyes -examining every object on the road. When we come suddenly out of the -woods upon a fine prospect, Gipsy stops and looks it over, with as much -interest as though she were a landscape painter. If we come to a narrow -stream, Gipsy (who greatly dislikes to wet her feet) stops again, -looks deliberately up and down, selects the narrowest place, and then, -without asking anybody's leave, proceeds there and bounds over. When -thus riding without a companion, I find it very interesting to watch -the beautiful intelligence of my little mare. - -On her arrival at Fort Henry, Gipsy was greatly disgusted with -Tennessee. For the clear, prairie fields of Missouri, she found nothing -but thick woods, steep hills and muddy roads--no chance for her to -run races or frolic here. For a week, the rain has fallen steadily on -Gipsy; her water-proof blanket has kept her dry; but she is knee deep -in mud, and has not lain down for three nights. No wonder she puts her -ears back, and tries to look sulky. But an order has come for me to go -with half the squadron and search for forage. The saddle and bridle are -brought from the tent, and Gipsy brightens up at the sight. The men are -soon ready; the clouds break away; the sun comes out; Gipsy takes her -place at the head of the column, and throws her heels joyously in the -air, champing the bit and tossing the white foam over her jetty coat. - -The road is but a bridle-path through woods. The path is narrow, and -the men must ride "by file." Perhaps you do not know that "by file," -means one behind the other; "by twos," two side by side; and "by -fours," four side by side. The next formation is "by platoon," or a -quarter of a company; and the next "by squadron," or an entire company. -We emerge on a small farm, waste and desolate. Straggling soldiers have -broken into the house, and scattered about what few effects the rebel -owner left. It is the first deserted house I have seen, and the sight -is rather sad. Our road leads us again into the woods, and then brings -us into the valley of the Tennessee, and follows the windings of the -river. We pass several farms, small and poorly cultivated, with rude -timber houses, by which I mean houses of squared logs. The chimneys -are always built entirely on the outside, and are generally of sticks -and mud, instead of brinks and mortar. Occasionally we halt to ask -questions. The people are not surly, but they do not smile. This is the -worst part of Tennessee, and it is plain they have sons and brothers -among the prisoners of Fort Donelson. But at one house the man comes -eagerly forward and his face lights; his wife, too, comes out, and says -she almost hopes to see some face she knows. They have lived long here, -but the man is from Eastern Tennessee, and the woman from Northern -Alabama--those two remnants of the South that hung to the Union till -the last. He tells us that the country produces little besides pigs -and corn. "It is pork and corn dodger," he says, "at breakfast, dinner -and tea all the year round." I ask where they grind the corn, and he -mentions a large mill now despoiled by its owner, who took himself -off to Memphis, and a little mill some three miles distant, owned by -the "Widow Williams." It is an object to have some corn meal, so I -determine to visit the Widow Williams' mill. The road to the mill turns -abruptly from the river, and goes up a brook. We pass a few houses, -scattered at intervals in the woods. The road is so much better than -the other, that the men ride "by twos;" and so it should be, for it -is the road from _Dover_ to _Paris_. We pass one or two houses, whose -owners are suspiciously young widows; in other words, we suspect that -their deceased husbands are fighting with the rebels. At last we come -to the Widow Williams, whom we do not suspect; for she is a grey-haired -matron, who has seen sorrow, and she sits on the rude piazza with a -family around her. The girls look nervously at us, for we are the first -troop of soldiers they have had halt. The widow rises as I ride up, -and says, with a good deal of dignity, "Please to alight, gentlemen;" -and I take her at her word, and order, "dismount." I ask her if she -can grind us some meal, and she rises in our good opinion by saying, -"Not to-day, this is Sunday." It is indeed; but very little like one -to us; we had almost forgotten the day. I then buy a bushel of meal -for my own men, and go down with the widow's eldest son, who is a lad -of fifteen, to get the meal and view the mill--a tiny little affair, -and two of the men, who are millers, laugh when they see it. On coming -back to the house, I find a group of the men have made themselves quite -agreeable. They have come from the city, and doubtless are more refined -and polished than any men these country girls have seen before. The -youngest is some ten years old, named Martha, and I ask her if she is -not afraid of us Northern mercenaries. Martha says no! and laughs at -the idea; but when I ask her if we have not been called all sorts of -names, and if she has not been told that we would burn her mother's -house down, and cut her head off, Martha blushes, and the older sisters -look confused. It is evident that we have had a very bad name here, -and that they are now ashamed to own it. But we have a long circuit -to make; the meal is stowed away in the haversacks; Widow Williams -invites us to call again, and assures us we shall be welcome; I pretend -to arrest Martha, and carry her off as prisoner; at which she is a -little frightened and the rest a good deal amused; and then "fall in," -"mount," "march," and off we go. - -Gipsy is the smallest horse in the regiment, but to-day her feelings -have been immense. She has borne herself as much like Gen. Washington's -great charger as possible, and has champed the bit more fiercely and -pranced more proudly than even he did. Her front is white with foam, -and every look shows that she deems the head of the column her proper -place. Whenever any horse has come within a respectful distance, -Gipsy's heels have flown higher than his head, admonishing him, that -whatever happens, she must be first. But the road, which has followed -the bank, now crosses the brook. There is no friendly bridge to lift us -over--the road leads down the bank, straight into the water. That water -is wider than Sixth Avenue, and the recent rain has made it a roaring -torrent--no one knows how deep, and it splashes and dashes fearfully. -Gipsy looks up--looks down; no narrow place appears for her to bound -over. Half of her airs and graces drop off at the sight. She hesitates -a moment--the tramp of the horses behind tells her that she must decide -quickly. She screws her courage up, and marches heroically down the -bank. The first plunge, and the water dashes up on her breast--it is a -foot higher on one side than the other, so swift is the current. It is -cold and very wet--it roars louder than ever, and who can tell how deep -it is ahead. Poor Gipsy! the last of the airs and graces are gone; so -is her resolution. She wheels ingloriously round, and throws herself -submissively behind the leading sergeant's horse. Him she follows -meekly through the stream; on the other side, she continues so for a -few yards; then she steals a glance ahead. There is no more water with -its horrid noise in sight. She gives a slight champ on the bit, and -moves up beside the sergeant's horse. A good, long look assures her -of a dry road ahead. She bounds past, the airs and graces fly back as -swiftly as they flew away; and in five minutes she is as vain a little -Gipsy as ever she was before. - -But it is one o'clock--horses and men are hungry, and just beyond us is -a house. We see chickens, cows, sheep and pigs, but no smoke rises from -the chimney. We halt; the sergeant enters the open door; comes back and -reports it just what we want--a deserted house. In a few minutes the -horses are unsaddled and tied to the fence, munching the corn we find -in two large cribs. The poor cows welcome us, for they have not been -fed since their owner ran away, and are almost starved. My order to the -men is to take nothing but food, and to injure nothing needlessly. The -sheep are caught, pronounced too thin, and let loose. But the chickens -and pigs--after them there is a chase. There are shouts of excitement, -intermingled with roars of laughter, as some brave pig charges -between his pursuer's feet, and trips him up, and with the squeals -and cacklings of the victims as they are caught. Within the house, we -find a few things left, which the poor creatures probably overlooked -as they hurried away. There is a jar of molasses on the shelf; a bag -of dried peaches in the closet; a haunch of smoked venison, and a -barrel of black walnuts in the garret. These last are a source of great -entertainment for the men, who not only enjoy the most unusual luxury, -but exult in the thought of a run-away rebel gathering nuts for them, -and crack many jokes as they crack the shells. But the poor children, -who picked them for their winter treat, now wandering homeless, and -countryless, who can guess where! We have been so bred to respect -private rights, that as I sit watching the men gather up the pigs and -poultry, and fill their sacks with corn, I have a slight fear that the -former owner may appear and charge us with stealing the property which -his treason has forfeited to the Government. But no owner appears. The -horses have done their corn and the men their biscuit; the molasses has -been emptied into canteens, and a large bundle of corn leaves tied to -every saddle--we must start. - -Down the Dover road we go a mile or two, then turn up another -bridle-path, which crosses and recrosses a little rill some thirty -times. Two men ride before us, partly to accustom themselves to the -duties of advance guard, partly to point out the intricate road. As we -come round a turn, there are a farmer and his daughter (a young girl) -on horseback before us. They have met the advance guard, and have -stopped, and are looking back at them with fearful interest, completely -absorbed in the sight. They do not even hear our approach, and I get -near enough to hear the girl asking her father about these two Federal -soldiers. The squadron is marching "by twos," and there is not room -enough to pass. Ordinarily, private persons would have to get out of -the way; but I think this a beautiful opportunity to be very polite, -so I command "by file." Man and girl turn their heads as though a gun -had gone off close to their ears. Such a look of fear and surprise I -have never seen as in the poor girl's face. They are so hemmed in that -they have to stand still until the whole column passes one by one, and -the last we see of them they continue to stand there, looking back at -us. It must seem like a vision, and they will have a tremendous tale to -tell when they reach home. This road is so secluded that none of our -soldiers have found it, and we cause a great stir in the few houses we -pass. My men march silently, more like regulars than volunteers, and -the inhabitants confess that they find in us an unexpected contrast -to the noisy, yelling rascals, who a few weeks before were plundering -them, for the good of the Southern Confederacy. - -The sun has gone down, and the moon has risen, and we are on the main -road from Fort Donelson, and will reach our camp soon, and have a good -supper, and rest sweetly in our tents after our day's ride. We think -over what we will have for supper, and debate whether the pigs, or -chickens, or corn-meal can be added to the rations we shall find in -camp. We are reckoning like inexperienced soldiers. The uncertainty -of legal, is nothing to the uncertainty of military life. In the law -you can at least calculate on your breakfast, and a part of your bed; -but in camp you can calculate on nothing. We approach Fort Henry, -and plunge into the mud that environs our camp. We struggle through -till we come to the trees where the horses should be tied, and to the -little knoll where the tents should be pitched. We look around in -vague astonishment--horses, and men, and tents have vanished; all is -darkness and silence; our camp has gone. To come home and find your -home absconded, to leave your house in the morning and find it has -walked away at the evening, is something new. Searching in the darkness -for the new camp is folly; there is nothing to be done but wait till -to-morrow. It is very easy to say _wait_, but how are we to _wait_? -If we had some beds to _wait_ in, and some supper to _wait_ for, it -would be tolerable; but we were _only_ going for a little while, so -we left our blankets, and it was such a fine day that we did not take -our overcoats. Who would have dreamt of the colonel playing us such -a trick? At Fort Donelson I learned the first lesson--"do not trust -to your trunk;" now I have to learn the second--"do not trust to your -camp." Hereafter I will not leave for half an hour without having my -blanket rolled behind, and my overcoat strapped before. If I only had -them now! But lamenting will do no good; something must be done. "Who -has got any matches?" "Smith and Jones." "Then Smith and Jones light a -fire." The fire soon blazes up and discloses a small pile, which the -wagons have overlooked. There are a few blankets and overcoats, three -plates, a couple of mess-pans, and one camp-kettle. A new discovery is -made--some coffee and a sack of meat. "What kind?" "Pork." "Hurrah! -we're all right now." "No, salt beef." "Pshaw! What do they send salt -beef to the army for? If it had only been pork, we could have toasted -it on sticks, and fried it on plates, and broiled it on the coals, and -have greased the pans with it; but this beef, we can do nothing with." -But' we have the bushel of meal I fortunately bought, and the chickens. -Pick the chickens, and cut them up; mix some meal and water, and make -_corn dodgers_, as the Tennessians do. There are the plates to bake it -on, and we can try baking it in the ashes. But the coffee--everybody -looks forward to it--no matter if it _is_ poor and weak. Without milk, -without sugar, and full of grounds, it is always the tired soldier's -great restorative, his particular comfort. Our camp-kettle is set apart -for it. The chickens must be stewed in pans and roasted on sticks. -The camp-kettle is sacred for the coffee. "Captain," says somebody, -"this coffee is not ground, and we have no mill. What shall we do?" -"What indeed shall we do?" We must have coffee, and some one hits on -the remedy; we take the tough linen bag of a haversack, put the coffee -in it, and pound it on a log. Somewhat to our surprise, we find that -it is soon well ground, and in the course of half an hour we have as -good coffee as usual. Chicken and corn dodgers come along more slowly, -but after awhile we sit around the fire to eat them; and everybody -declares that he has had enough, and that it is very good. From supper -to bed. The corn forage that we brought for the horses must be used -for blankets. Spread on the ground, it makes a comfortable mattress. -I have said that we had left our blankets; but, nevertheless, every -man has one. Some years ago, a young cavalry captain, named McClellan, -who (in my opinion) does all things quietly but well, observed that -the padding of a saddle frequently got out of order, causing the poor -horse a sore back, and requiring a saddler to put it in order again. -He also remarked that the pad was of no other use than to play the -part of cushion between the saddle and the horse's back. He thereupon -introduced into the army what is now known as the McClellan saddle. -It is made of wood, hollowed out so that on the one side it makes a -comfortable seat for the man, and on the other conforms to the shape of -the horse. A narrow slit is cut out over the backbone, which not only -saves the horse's spine, but makes it much more cool and comfortable -for him. And, finally, the padding consists of a horse blanket folded -up. Thus, to the wise, judicious foresight of General McClellan, each -of us is indebted for a blanket. - -Lying on my cornleaf couch, and looking up at the clear sky, within -the glow of our fire, is as pleasant a situation after a long ride as -one could desire. I think it delightful, and while thinking so, drop -asleep. But there is one more lesson in store for us before daylight. -After some hours, I am awoke by a tremendous noise. There are no stars -now. The sky is black as ink--the darkness is such that we can see -nothing but the half-burnt brands of the fires. The wind howls through -the trees like a pack of wolves, and scatters our fires so that the -coals fly over our heads, and fall on our blankets and beds. The rain -is not come yet, but is coming--we shall be drenched, and then have -to sit up in the darkness and shiver till daylight. It is a dismal -prospect. Pitter, patter on the leaves. Now we are in for it: the drops -thicken; in a minute we shall be as wet as water. But Nature only means -to give us a fright. The rain does not increase--the drops stop--the -wind howls less loudly. Soon, through a rent in the clouds is seen a -star, and then another. The rent grows larger, and every one takes a -long breath, and says, "The storm has passed round." We lie down again, -and wake up to find it a bright, frosty morning. - -After an hour's ride, we have found the new camp. It is on a beautiful -wooded slope, overlooking the river and the fort, and on either side -a clear, little rill trickles through the trees. Our tents are pitched -on one, and the horses picketed on the other. None of us have ever seen -so beautiful a camp before; and, as we dismount, the bugles blow the -breakfast call. - - - - -V. - -A FLAG OF TRUCE. - - -Our regiment has left its pleasant camp near Fort Henry, and has -crossed the Tennessee and encamped in a small field about three miles -above the fort. I happened to be in command when we halted here, and -named the camp after our colonel. - -It is a rainy day in camp--since morning it has been rain, rain, rain. -The camp seems deserted; save here and there you see a man, with -blanket drawn close over head and shoulders, plod heavily and slowly -through the mud. The horses stand with heads down, and drooping ears, -stock still--nothing moves but the rain, and that straight down. There -is no light umbrella, nor rattling omnibus in camp; nor dry stockings, -nor warm fire to find, at home. The tents are tired of shedding rain, -and it oozes through; there were no spades to trench them, and it runs -under. There is water above, and mud beneath, and wet everywhere. No -fun in soldiering now. - -An officer says, "Captain, you will report immediately for orders." So -I wrap my blanket round me, and toil over to the colonel's tent. The -colonel is a young man, but an old soldier, and has the only fire in -camp. It is close to the tent door--no danger on such a day of the -canvas catching fire--the smoke occasionally blows in, but so does the -heat, and the colonel says he will keep it up all night. He pitched his -tent, too, the moment he arrived, not waiting for the clouds, and did -it well. His alone is comfortable--so much for being a "regular," and -learning your lessons from experience. - -The colonel hands me the order, which runs thus--"To-morrow, Captain -N. will proceed with a flag of truce to Paris, and remove our wounded, -left there at the recent engagement. Should they be held as prisoners -of war, he is authorized to make an exchange, and will take with him -the surgeon and an ambulance, and four of his own men." - -The colonel then advises me to see the officer who commanded the late -expedition to Paris, and learn from him the names of the wounded, and -the roads. I go to his tent and find that he is sick, and has secured -a little hospital stove, which puffs and blows like a locomotive baby. -There is also an old gentleman there, whose son was taken prisoner by -us at Paris. He has brought in the body of an officer who died of his -wounds, and he hopes to procure the release of his son, now on his way -to St. Louis. Mr. Clokes lives on the Paris road, and it is arranged -that he ride back with the surgeon in our ambulance. - -I plod back to our tent; the water has run in, and it is ankle-deep in -mud. Though the sun is hardly down, my two lieutenants have gone to -bed, for there is no place to sit up, and nothing to see, or hear, or -do. I may as well turn in, too; but there rises a serious question. -My boots are mud from top to bottom, and wringing wet. If I pull them -off, I may not be able to pull them on, and a man cannot carry a flag -of truce without boots. If I leave them on, I shall have to go to bed -without my feet, for it will never do to put that mass of mud into -your blankets, and they feel like lumps of ice now. What _shall_ I do? -I _will_ pull them off, and will get up before reveille (an hour, if -necessary) and pull them on again. So I pull off the boots, and lie -down in my wet clothes, and wrap myself in my wet blanket, and remember -that I have not had anything since a scant noonday dinner. - -You get hungry in camp, and must be fed. Our camp chest is packed up -under a tree, but on the other side of the tent is a pan with some -stewed goose and corn bread. I cannot step into the mud unless I -struggle into those boots again; but near me is an axe. I slip down -to the end of the cot, and, with the axe, fish the pan of goose out -of the little lake it stands in. The unhappy bird swims in a gravy of -rainwater, and the corn bread is soaking wet; plates and forks are in -the camp chest; but I have my pocket-knife, and with it eat a saltless -supper. - -My little German orderly comes in after awhile, and, giving a soldier's -salute with great ceremony notwithstanding the rain, says: - -"Captain, fot orders." - -"Bischoff, we must have some coffee. Tell Anderson (our contraband) to -bring it." - -"But, captain," says Bischoff, "the tent, he blow down--the cook, he go -away to a barn--the fire, he go out--the wood, he is wet and will no -burn." - -"But, Bischoff, we _must_ have some coffee, we shall die if we don't. -There is the coffeepot, with a package of ground coffee inside--get -some water, and go up to Captain K.'s tent, and ask him to let you make -it on the stove." - -"Yes, captain," and Bischoff departs. - -By and by he comes back with the coffee; we sit up and drink it -scalding hot, and, quite revived, say, "now for a smoke." My pipe and -tobacco bag are always in my pocket--those North Moore street bags are -much more useful than their makers ever dreamt they would be--a dry -match is at last induced to go, the wet blankets grow warmer, and we -express the opinion that "this is really comfortable." - -"Well, captain, any more order?" says Bischoff, who is also revived by -his share of the coffee. - -"Yes, Bischoff, tell Sergeant Starleigh to be ready, with two men, to -go with me in the morning--you will be the fourth; and mind and have -the horses ready by seven." - -"Yes, captain." - -Bischoff goes out, draws the tent opening closely together, holds his -hand over his pipe to keep it dry; and then we hear his steps slowly -receding--sqush--sqush--sqush through the mud. - -My dreams are entirely of boots, and they wake me early. Then commences -a struggle for (outside) existence. Twice I take out my knife and -meditate the last resort, and twice my hand is stayed by the thought -that there may be no shoemaker in all Tennessee. It grows later and -lighter, and I shall miss the morning roll-call for the first time -since I have been in service. But the colonel saves me from breaking -my rule. He thinks it too bad to make the men stand out in the wet, -and has ordered the buglers not to sound the reveille. While resting, -I betake myself to the goose--now truly a waterfowl and wetter than he -ever was in his life--and manage to breakfast between the struggles. At -last I am victorious, and have the boots beneath my feet, and go out to -look around. - -The poetry most appropriate to the occasion would be a verse of that -little infant school hymn, - - - "The Lord, he makes the rain come down, - The rain come down, the rain come down, - Afternoon and morning." - - -But poetry is the last thing I think of, for my thoughts run on the -roads; and some drenched pickets, who look as though they wanted to be -hung on a fence to dry, inform me that I will have hard work to get -through, and that it has rained all night as it is raining now. At -home, what a hardship, what an outrage it would be to send us off in -such weather and on such roads. Now, we fear something may prevent, -and hurry lest it come, for the road is not more uncomfortable than -the camp, or the rain wetter elsewhere than it is here. The doctor is a -grey-headed, prudent, experienced man, and is something of an invalid; -but he stoutly discredits a rumor that the wounded men have died, and -whispers to me that we had better be off, before any more such stories -come in. - -A flag of truce is not kept ready-made in camp, and we are rather -puzzled of what to make one now. "I'd lend you my white handkerchief" -(says a man who has been listening with great gravity to various -suggestions)--"I'd lend you my white handkerchief, only I'm afeard if -you put it up, the rebels 'ud think you'd histe-tud the black flag, and -give you no quarter." We do not borrow the white handkerchief. But at -length we remember the hospital tent, and the hospital steward produces -a piece of white something from his stores, which is bound around a -stick and made into a flag. - -Under circumstances such as these, the doctor climbs into the -ambulance, I mount my horse, and we start. The rain somewhat abates, -and diminishes to a drizzle, which is a great relief; but the ambulance -drags along snail-like through the mud. We, who are mounted, do not -ride faster than a walk, yet repeatedly have to wait, and watch it -crawling after us among the trees. This slow movement gives little -exercise, and when one starts wet, he soon becomes cold and stiff, -sitting thus motionless in a damp saddle. Nor can we trot off a mile or -two, and then wait for the ambulance to catch up, for some straggling -rebel soldiers may be on any cross-road, or in any thicket, and pounce -upon the ambulance as so much plunder, and shoot the doctor before they -inquire into the facts. A surgeon is a non-combatant, and not required -to be shot at, and we must stay near by and shield him, if nothing more. - -Our road is the first object of interest--a wagon track running -along high forest ridges, parallel to the Tennessee. We soon pass a -little timber house, with its scanty field and scantier garden; and -then go on, on, two, three miles, without seeing a sign of life; and -then we turn into the main road from the river to Paris. There is -now a railroad passing through Paris, from Nashville to Memphis, yet -a year ago the road we are now travelling was its main avenue. We -are, therefore, disappointed in finding that although the farms are -frequent, they are poor and neglected, and the dwellings are the same -backwoods, timber houses we have so often seen. - -We have now travelled seven or eight miles, and have passed the -"_line of our pickets_." In point of fact, there is no line, real or -imaginary, and we do not see a single picket; yet, inasmuch as our -cavalry is constantly passing through and examining, by night and by -day, a belt of country from six to eight miles wide, it is customary to -speak of that belt as within our picket lines. Hitherto I have ridden -at the head of the party, and the ambulance has followed close behind. -Now some additional precaution is necessary. A man rides about the -width of a city block ahead of us carrying the flag, and the ambulance -falls back about the same distance in the rear. The object of these -changes is, first, that a man riding alone in advance indicates that -it is not an ordinary scouting party; and second, if shots are fired, -the doctor and his man will be out of danger. The chief risks we run -are, first, that our object may not be perceived, and we be fired into -before we can explain; and second, that King's cavalry, who are said to -have suffered in the late fight, and to be a wild, marauding set, may -never have heard of the laws of war, and utterly disregard the flag of -truce. - -Five hours have passed, and we have just reached Mr. Clokes'. -How delightful is a wood fire, roaring and crackling in a wide, -old-fashioned fire-place, and how comforting is a dry board floor in -a rainy day! Chairs and a table, too, are articles of luxury, if one -but knew it; and when you have dined and breakfasted, seated on logs -or saddles, or such like conveniences, for a few weeks, you appreciate -them properly. I might add a paragraph on plates and knives and forks; -but of those I have not been deprived more than a week at a time, and -hence they do not fall within the class of novelties. - -This dinner I shall always fondly remember. I cannot call to mind any -other dinner that at all rivals it. We are so hungry, and cold, and -wet, and it is so pleasant to "_sit down to dinner_" once more. And -then this dinner is so nice, and neat, and plentiful, showing, for a -soldier's cooking, a good housewife's _care_! If that bewatered goose -could see it, he would feel ashamed of himself, and request leave -to be cooked over again. I was about to begin with the tablecloth, -and enumerate all that was on it; but it occurs to me that what is a -feast to us is an every-day affair to you, and that you will shrug -your shoulders, and say, "Not much of a dinner after all." And I must -confess that Mrs. Clokes' apologies called my attention to certain -wants, which show that our blockade has been effective in disturbing -the serenity of Southern housewives. - -"I have nothing but rye coffee to offer you, gentlemen: it is -impossible for us to get coffee now." - -"What does coffee cost down here, Mrs. Clokes?" - -"The last we bought was a dollar a pound, but now we cannot get it at -any price. Everything is dreadfully scarce. I'm sorry we have no fresh -meat, but the soldiers [rebels, she means] have taken a great many of -our pigs, and we lost some which we killed, for want of good salt." -Salt, I find, was fourteen dollars a sack when last heard from, and, -like coffee, has gone entirely out of the market. - -In the corner is a colored girl carding cotton by hand. I look at the -operation with some interest, and Mrs. Clokes goes on with the story of -her wants: "There is no calico to be had, and we have to spin and weave -by hand. Do you know, sir, whether trade will be opened soon with the -North: our hand-cards are nearly worn out, and I do not know where to -look for others? A neighbor of ours paid ten dollars for a pair the -other day, and I don't suppose I could buy them at any price now." - -But there is a heavier grief in poor Mrs. Clokes' breast. She talks of -her son: "He is so ill and so young, he will die if kept a prisoner at -the North, and he did not enlist till they threatened the drafting. Oh! -why did we ever go to war, we were so prosperous and happy! Gentlemen, -can't you do anything for my son?" And poor Mrs. Clokes' voice fails -her, and she bursts into tears. - -But, dinner done, we must resume our journey. It is nine miles now to -Paris. We have seen no rebel pickets; but our friends, the contrabands, -tell us, that they have gone along a little while ago, and it will be -dangerous meeting in the dark. - -Thirty years ago two brothers came from Massachusetts and put up their -little spinning-mill near Paris. The mill has grown larger as they -have grown older, and they are now among the wealthy men of the place. -Situated as they are--from the North--from hated Massachusetts;--for -years employing free labor, and owning slaves only through their -Southern wives; they have had to be most circumspect in every word and -act, giving no sign of loyalty, but, I doubt not, secretly exulting -at each success of the national arms. When our troops retreated from -Paris, leaving their dead on the neighboring field, the one brother had -the bodies of our fallen soldiers carefully brought in, and buried -them, as if they were his own kinsmen, in the town cemetery; and the -other took the dying captain of our artillery corps into his own house, -and nursed him tenderly through his last hours. It is in the gloom of -evening that we reach the factory, standing close to the track of the -Memphis railroad, neat and unadorned, New England reflected from every -one of its plain white boards. A gentleman comes forward as we halt, -and I introduce myself. He steps up close, and asks, in a low voice, -if we think we are safe. A train was up an hour ago taking down the -telegraph wires; pickets have galloped past, and are now in Paris, and -he thinks it dangerous for us to go there to-night. He also says, that -he dare not ask us to stop; he came near being arrested for taking in -poor Captain Bullis. If he should ask us, he would be arrested and on -his way to Memphis within twelve hours. - -There is a house beyond, where we can stay; but it is a rule with me -to advance, and then fall back to my camping ground. So we retrace our -steps for a mile, and halt at the farm house of a Mr. Horton, who does -not keep a tavern, but does entertain travellers. The sergeant, with -one man, has ridden on to break the subject and make arrangements, -and when we come up, everything is ready. Our weary horses are soon -unsaddled and rolling in straw, and I follow the doctor into the house. - -It is an old house, with old trees in front, and an old couple within. -They sit on each side of the wide wood fire, and each comfortably -puffs a pipe of home-grown tobacco. We sit down and join them, and talk -Union for an hour or two. - -Our host is a hale, hearty old man. He glories in the past, laments -the present, and hopes for the future. The old lady listens with great -gravity, and occasionally puts in a word between the puffs of her pipe. - -"They would not let us vote for the Union at the second election," says -the old man, "and I hadn't time to vote against it. So I stayed at home -and told 'em that one election was enough in one year, and I couldn't -spare time for more." - -"Yes," says the old lady, "quite enough, and I thought something would -happen when I found we were having two." - -"I don't believe in Mr. Davis' doctrine," says the old man, "of -fighting in the last ditch till everybody's dead. We were the most -prosperous, happy people on the earth, and we had better go back and be -so again than be killed." - -"Yes, indeed!" says the old lady; "we had better not; and if we were, -there would be nobody left for our girls to marry but northerners; so -the South would get to be the North in no time." - -Our room is a large one, with another large fire and three beds. The -doctor takes one, and I hand the others over to the men; it will not do -for me to undress, so I take my buffalo, and lie down by the fire. - -I was beginning to doze, and thinking I never was so comfortable in my -life--it was so delightful to shut your eyes and stretch yourself out, -and feel the pleasant warmth of this glowing, flickering fire, when the -opening of the door startles me, and I see the sergeant, who is "on -guard," come in. - -He reports that two men on horseback came up from Paris; one of them -stopped and called out our host. They had a long conversation in a low -voice, and then the man turned and rode back on a gallop. "And the -contrabands say that the old man is secesh," pursues the sergeant, -"and when the rebel troops went by, he made them come out and hurrah." -This is agreeable. Was the man on horseback a picket, and will there -be a troop clattering down on us in a few minutes? or has he gone to -raise a crowd of irresponsible countrymen, who will think it fine fun -to kill us and capture our horses, and of whom Gen. Beauregard will -say, he really knows nothing, they were not soldiers, and acted without -authority? Is our old friend false to us? - -"Sergeant, what do you think of it?" - -The sergeant is a shrewd judge of character, and there is no one in -the squadron whose opinion I would regard more highly on such a point -as this. He comes up close to the fire, and I see his face has a very -anxious expression, and he says, after a long pause: "I don't know what -to think of it." - -"Well, go back and pick out a place where you can see up the Paris -road, and call me the instant you see any object moving. Doctor, I say, -did you hear that?" - -"Yes, and I don't know what to think of it" says the doctor. "Can -anything be done?" - -"The worst of it is, doctor, that the flag prevents our doing anything -till actually attacked. We must now go in the character of guests, -professing entire faith. If we were on ordinary duty, our sergeant -would have stopped that man, and I should keep him here till we leave. -As it is, we can neither fight nor run away--though it is hardly fair, -as you are a non-combatant, to make you risk it." - -"I think I will risk it if you do," says the doctor; and he turns over -and goes to sleep. - -I lie by the fire this time without dozing. The men are all sleeping -heavily and undisturbed. The hovering dagger does not trouble them. -Soon it is time to change guard. I rouse the next man, and the sergeant -comes in and takes his place on the bed. I wonder if other people find -a weight in _responsibility_. Many talked to me of the _danger_ of the -cavalry service--only one ever named this other word, which is much the -heavier. The men have no responsibility, and are at rest; the sergeant, -lately so anxious, has made his report, performed his duty, and has no -more responsibility: he now sleeps as soundly as the others. - -The man on guard will be relieved of his in an hour or two, and he will -lie down and slumber too. But I hear the distant barking of dogs, and -start up at the sound, for we have learnt to observe the movements of -our own cavalry at night by this sign. Every house keeps half a dozen -curs, and they yelp frantically when a body of horse is passing. I -open the door softly and peer out. The moon sheds a dim light through -the clouds, disclosing the long line of road and distant woods toward -Paris. The sentinel stands motionless under a tree by the road side. -"Allen, do you see anything?" "No, sir." "Did you hear that barking?" -"Yes, sir." "Watch whether it sounds again at any other house, and if -it is coming toward us." We listen long but hear nothing. It must have -been a chance disturbance there. I lie down again, consoling myself -with the thought, that I am at least warm and dry. The geese make a -tremendous cackling behind the house. Rome was saved by a flock of -geese, and why shouldn't we be. The sentinel is watching the road in -front; it will be better if I go out and inspect the rear. - -Thus the time passes till I post the next man on guard, and thus the -night wears away, till at 4 A.M. I rouse the last one. Soon -after I hear sounds about the house, for the contrabands rise early, -then come signs of breakfast, then the grey light of morning, and with -it the voice of our old host and a warning that his wife is up and -breakfast almost ready. It is a right good breakfast, and we start as -soon as it is done, repass the factory, travel over a couple of miles -of muddy road, and come in sight of Paris. - -There are brick houses in view, four church spires, large trees and a -court house; but we discover no Confederate flag. In another moment -we have entered, and are going up the main street. The first man stops -and looks at us, so does the second and the third. The moment a man -catches a glimpse of us he seems to freeze fast to the sidewalk and -lose all power over himself, save that of staring vacantly at the -Yankee cavalry. We seem to be riding up an avenue of these staring, -frozen images. The red brick court house has a little square around -it and forms a natural halting place. I ride up and ask one of the -frozen if there is any Confederate officer in town. He says "No," in -a frightened way; "they all _retired_ this morning, a couple of hours -ago." This relieves me of my flag of truce. We find that two of our -wounded men have been removed to Memphis, and the third is too low -to bear moving. The doctor, and the physician who has been attending -him, start off to see him, and I draw my men up to the fence and let -them dismount. My North Moore street education has made me much more -particular in "_deportment_" than volunteer officers generally are, and -my squadron, when on duty, generally bears the same appearance to some -other squadrons that North Moore street does to some other schools. -These townspeople are therefore very much astonished to see a man left -on guard with the horses, and perfectly amazed when he draws his sabre -and marches steadily up and down his beat, and I hear one whisper, -"Perhaps they be United States reg'lars." - -In a few minutes there is quite a crowd of congealed citizens around -us, all staring solemnly in icy silence. They say nothing to us or to -each other, but steadily stare. I feel their looks crawling down my -back and round my sides, and turn which way I will, there is no shaking -them off. I have faced the eyes of many an audience, but never such as -this. They neither smile nor frown, nor agree nor disagree; but have a -vague, stupid look of frightened wonder, as though we were dangerous -serpents escaped from a travelling menagerie, which they can see for -nothing at the risk of being swallowed alive. - -It is best to be cool and comfortable under all sorts of circumstances, -so I take out my pipe, exhibit a North Moore street bag to these gay -Parisians, and strike a light. Picking out the most sensible man near -me, I commence a conversation complimenting them on the appearance -of their little town, which is more northernly neat than I expected -to find. Some men then come up and hand to me the little effects of -our dead soldiers, and give many assurances of their kindness to -our wounded. The doctor about this time comes back, and we start -immediately on our return. For some miles I march rapidly, urging the -ambulance horses to their utmost, for there is no saying but the rebel -cavalry may return and amuse themselves by a pursuit. Then we drop in -to our previous slow gait, and calculate that we shall reach camp by -sunset. - -There is a long bridge on this road crossing a stream, with the pretty -name of "The Holly Fork;" on our way out, it struck me that our road -to Paris might be very easily barred by a little bridge-burning, and -at Paris some questions were asked which indicated that it was to have -been burned ere this. I measure it as we recross, and finding that it -is 255 feet long, and that the stream cannot be forded, send on two men -with a report to the colonel. - -It is now five o'clock, and we are two miles from camp. My horse has -been going almost uninterruptedly for ten hours, and I am promising him -a good bed of leaves and a long night's rest, when, through the trees, -come two troopers riding on a gallop. They pull up, and hand me a -letter from the colonel: "Captain (it says), your squadron is detailed -to guard the bridge at Holly Fork; you will take all proper measures -to defend it if attacked, and will remain there until relieved by some -other squadron." - -"Did you see anything of my men?" I say to the messengers. "Yes; they -were saddling up, and will be along soon." I may as well keep on; they -may be bringing me a fresh horse, and then I can send this one back -by these men. In half an hour I find the man who leads has lead us on -to a wrong road. He tries a cross-cut, and the cross-cut leads to a -field. We must turn the ambulance round and retrace both errors. It -is vexatious in the extreme, to have this additional load put on my -willing horse after two such days' work and besides, the squadron may -have passed while we were wandering about here. I curb my impatience -as well as I can, and at length we reach the road. There, plain -enough, is a cavalry trail, freshly made since we turned off, and it -tells its own story--the squadron has gone by. - -"Captain," says the doctor from the ambulance, "must you go back?" - -"Yes, doctor, I suppose I must." - -"Well, if you must, here is your haversack." - -"Thank you, doctor; is there anything left in yours?" - -"Yes; some hard biscuit and dry beef. I will put them in for you." And -the doctor transfers them from his haversack to mine. - -"Now, Bischoff, roll up the buffalo; quick's the word; we must go back -to within seven miles of Paris, and the sun is setting." - -"Good-bye, captain," calls the doctor as I start. "I hope you won't be -hurt to-night." - -"I hope not, doctor; good-bye. And now, Bischoff, for the squadron and -Holly Fork." - - - - -VI. - -THE HOLLY FORK. - - -We rode rapidly along the wooded ridges. The fading daylight told us -that the sun had set behind his cloudy screen, and when we reached -the main road, there was light enough to show dimly the trail turning -toward Paris. In this cavalry service, one becomes so attached to his -constant companions by day and by night, that you must forgive me for -describing mine. Bischoff's horse is a beautiful sorrel blood, high -spirited, yet quiet and gentle as a lamb. My own horse is a prisoner -from Fort Donelson. On the eventful Sunday morning, I found him tied in -a yard, near where General Floyd took to his boat, and have no doubt -he was left by the runaway part of the garrison. At first I was rather -disposed not to buy him from the government, and it was more the desire -to retain a trophy of Fort Donelson, than his merits, that decided -the question. He is a fine Kentucky blood, but had too many Southern -traits--snorting when there was nothing to snort at, quiet when alone, -but full of fuss when anybody was by, and, once, seceding from the -smooth and travelled way, only to be brought back by a good thrashing, -which, indeed, was the basis of our good understanding. But in this -Paris journey, his Arabian blood atoned for his Southern education. It -was refreshing to feel these high bred horses rousing themselves for -their new march, as though it were the beginning of a new day, breaking -into a gallop wherever the road allowed, and dashing along without word -or spur as though just out of the stable. - -On the summit of a long hill is a farm house, and as we thus approached -it on a gallop, I saw a group of men, and rows of cavalry horses tied -to the fences. For a moment I thought my pursuit was over, but a closer -glance through the dim twilight told me these were too few for the -squadron--it was the picket guard taking their last rest before going -out on their posts for the night. "Your men are about two miles ahead -of you, captain," said the officer of the picket, and we rode on. As we -descended the next hill, the last glimmer of daylight left us, and the -darkness of a gloomy, cloudy night shrouded the road. I had been riding -rapidly while the daylight lasted, but so had the squadron. Ordinarily, -there would have been a halt before this, to re-adjust saddles and -examine pistols, but it was now evident that while I was making every -exertion to overtake them, they were making every exertion to meet me. -I knew their orders must have been to proceed till they should meet me, -and I could imagine that they supposed I was alone at the bridge, and -were urging their horses to my relief. "Confound that blockhead," I -was inclined to mutter; but there was no help for his blunder, save to -hurry on. - -A couple of miles beyond the picket guard, the road descends into a -dreary swamp. It seems too dreary for any creature to live in; bushes -and trees have died, and the tall, spectral trunks stand, like ghosts -of a departed forest. Deep holes and fallen trees had made the crossing -no easy task in daytime, and I now approached it with some misgivings, -and many wishes that we were well over. - -Tennessee led bravely down the bank, on a trot, crossing the rickety -bridge and plunging into the submerged road, without abating his -speed. Here Bischoff fell behind. His beautiful Ida had galloped since -we turned back, as though running a race; but this was a slough of -despond, through which she had to pick her way with care. The instinct -of my horse was wonderful. Too dark for me to guide him, I threw -the reins on his neck and trusted everything to him. With his head -stretched out, he crossed and re-crossed the invisible road, avoiding -its dangers, as it seemed to me, by precisely the same path he had -picked out by daylight. Several times branches dashed in my face, and -once my cap was nearly swept off; but with no other mishaps, I found -we were approaching the opposite bank, and soon felt his tread again -on firm ground. I stopped for a moment and listened, but could hear -nothing of the squadron before, or of Bischoff behind. I was alone -with my good horse. Yet, as I reached the top of the next hill, I -was greeted with a cheering sound--for from a house in the distance -came the yelps of its half dozen dogs, and in a moment the yelp was -repeated from the house beyond. I knew then where my men were. At the -same time, Tennessee, who had been disposed to linger for Ida, started -forward, showing that by sight, or sound, or smell, he recognized -his friends ahead, and was greatly disposed to try whether they were -fresher than he. The swamp had brought the squadron to a walk, and, for -a few moments, to a halt; and it was these few moments of delay that -had enabled me to close up the distance between us. - -As I approached, I was somewhat soothed, to find the men were deserving -a very big mark in "_deportment!_" No sound came from the silent -column, save the trampling of the horses and the clanking of the -sabres. A night march in an enemy's country requires secrecy, and the -ordinary recreation of talk and song then has to be laid aside. I was -now close upon them, and, stealing up to the rearmost man, I announced -myself by the command, "_Column--halt._" The long line of horses -stopped. Habit is a strong master. The unexpected command, coming from -the rear, and in the darkness, was obeyed as promptly as on parade. -There was some surprise, a few questions and explanations, a few -minutes' rest (during which Bischoff arrived), a general unslinging of -canteens, and a great drinking of water; and then we pushed forward to -finish the ten miles which lay between us and the Holly Fork. - -It was not so late but that the eyes of many little folk I know were -then open. Yet with the Tennesseans it is early to bed and early -to rise (though truth compels me to add, they are neither healthy, -wealthy, nor wise), and every house was as still and dark as though it -were midnight. That morning in Paris, I had observed the shutters upon -the shops. It puzzled me at first; then I whispered to the sergeant, -"Is this Sunday?" and he answered, "I really believe it is." This was -indeed Sunday evening! and yet I could hardly bring myself to believe -that at the same hour, and while we were passing these lightless -houses, whose undisturbed inmates slept, unconscious that their dreaded -enemies were passing before their doors, in New York, the evening -churches were not yet out, and the great city was probably more wide -awake than at any other time of the preceding day. It was a contrast, -too, those crowded streets and this lonely road. - -At last I recognized the houses near the Fork. On the top of the hill, -which overlooks the bridge, a cross road runs parallel to the brook. -The road then descends the hill, and is earned, upon a long and narrow -causeway, to the bridge. A second causeway leads to the opposite -bank, and on this bank a timber tobacco-barn commands the road, -beyond. We were then within seven miles of Paris, where six hundred -of King's cavalry had been but two days before. It was possible they -had returned--possible, indeed, that the Memphis railroad had brought -up five thousand troops since I left there in the morning. I halted, -therefore, a moment for preparation. The fourth (being the last) -platoon was ordered to stop at the cross-road, and guard against our -being surprised in the rear. With the remaining three I descended the -hill. The second and third stayed at the beginning of the causeway, and -the first, under command of the second-lieutenant, was ordered to cross -the bridge, and take possession of the tobacco-barn on the bank. - -A dense wood covers the bridge and the causeway; and the beautiful -evergreen that gives its name to the stream, added much to the darkness -of the night; so much that the road looked almost like the entrance -of a cavern, the branches overarching above, and shading the dark -passage-way below. Into this woodland tunnel the first platoon slowly -rode. We watched them as they disappeared, and then listened to the -sound of their horses rumbling and clattering on the bridge. In a -minute more they had crossed; and then, about as long as it would -reasonably take to give an alarm, there came, or seemed to come, from -the other side, perhaps half a mile distant, the long roll of a drum. -I was at the head of the column, and heard it distinctly; and the -men behind me instantly whispered, "There's a drum." Our immediate -inference was that the enemy were on the other side, and, hearing our -horses trampling on the bridge, were beating to arms. Thinking it would -not do to crowd more troops on the narrow causeway until the first -platoon had gained the opposite bank, I ordered them to follow if I -fired my pistol, and rode forward to join the first. The galloping -of my horse roused the bull-frogs, and they bellowed so loudly that -I thought I might hereafter believe the stories often told of their -frightening armies into a retreat. But above them came, from different -points, five or six hideous half-human yells, as though sentinels -were giving signals of our approach. They were, however, too near and -too irregular for that, and evidently came from the trees; so that I -quickly concluded that some night birds were the callers, and afterward -ascertained them to be a species of Southern owl. In less time than I -am writing this I had crossed, and found the platoon quietly examining -the tobacco-barn. I asked about the drum. They had not heard it, and -stoutly insisted there could have been none. I waited until some men -who had been sent on returned, and reported the road was empty and -quiet for a mile ahead; and then, directing the lieutenant to place -videttes in advance, and if attacked to draw up his horses in the rear -of the barn and let his men fire through the logs until the main body -should arrive, I recrossed the bridge. The men were still mounted, and -waiting for the signal to advance. I informed them of what the first -platoon had said, and they as stoutly insisted that there _was_ a drum, -because they _had_ heard it. Whether it was indeed some small party of -rebels beating an alarm, or the footfalls of our own horses rolling -from the bridge, and echoed back from some distant hill, I leave you to -determine. - -I now turned my attention to preparations for the night. At the foot -of the hill, and near the beginning of the causeway, a little country -store stood empty and deserted. A fire was soon kindled, and its -counter and shelves moved out of the way. All of the horses were kept -saddled, and the men divided into two watches. One platoon, during -the first half the night, stood by their horses, ready to mount in a -moment, and then changed with the other for such rest as they could -gather from the floor of the little building. The first platoon -remained across the creek as a picket-guard toward Paris, and the -fourth in the-rear as a picket for the cross-roads. I have been thus -minute in order that you may have a clear idea of the manner in which -such affairs are managed, and because I have never observed in the -newspapers any narrative or statement which explains these details to -friends at home. Perhaps you will ask, "What is a picket?" The papers -constantly speak of our pickets being "thrown out," or the enemy's -being "driven in," but never tell what sort of creatures these pickets -are. The pickets are sentinels beyond the camp guard, and toward the -enemy. There may be a chain of pickets stretching over the country; and -the picket guard may be very large, or it may consist of a sergeant -and six men. These are divided into three "relieves," which constitute -the "videttes," or "lookout," as we might translate it. Toward evening -they pass out several miles upon the road they are to guard, and then -select a place for the night, but this they do not occupy till after -dark; the sergeant then goes out with the first "relief," and "posts" -them, selecting a place where they can see without being seen. The two -on duty must remain mounted, and silent; the others may dismount, but -not unsaddle; nor can they build a camp fire, nor indulge in any noise. -After an hour the sergeant takes out the second "relief" and relieves -the first, and then the third to relieve the second. - -After visiting the videttes, I agreed to relieve my lieutenant at three -in the morning, and then returned to the little store, unbuckled my -buffalo, and was soon stretched with the men on the floor. It seemed -as though I had been there but a few seconds, when I was roused by -some one laying his hand on my shoulder and saying "Captain!" in a -low voice. You wake quickly under such circumstances, and I was on my -feet in an instant, demanding what was the matter. "Nothing; it's a -quarter to three." "Indeed! that's a very soft floor." And I went out -and remounted. The clouds were gone and the moon shone brilliant in the -clear sky. At the tobacco-barn I found all quiet. The sentinel paced -up and down in front, watching lest there should be an alarm from the -videttes; and the men were stretched on some tobacco stalks within, -sleeping as soundly without blankets as though on beds of down. It was -time to relieve the videttes. "Call up the next relief." The sentinel -goes in, shakes the next three, drops down himself, and in a minute is -sound asleep. Of the three men who come out, one takes his place and -the other two mount their horses. I had not personally relieved guard -since at Camp Asboth last October, and was struck with the difference -which practice and discipline had made. Then the men came out, one -by one, half asleep, growling and yawning; now they were up at the -first touch, wide awake, and apparently as willing as though called to -breakfast. - -On the crest of a hill, about a mile up the road, the videttes were -posted. Seated, silent and motionless, on their horses, in front of -a house, they looked in the moonlight like equestrian statues placed -at the gateway. "Have you seen or heard anything?" "No, sir." "Has -everything been quiet in this house?" "Yes, sir." "Well, you are -relieved, and may cross the bridge; there is a fire in the store, and -it is quite comfortable." Sitting thus motionless for hours in the -chill night air, when the white frost is settling like snow on field -and road, is no pleasant duty, and the mention of the fire was an -unexpected gleam of comfort to the men. As they hastened back, we rode -slowly on, partly to see if the road was clear, partly that the new -relief might the better understand the ground they had to watch; and -then I returned to the barn, where, fastening my horse, I paced up and -down, and resorted to the usual methods of keeping warm. I glanced at -my watch; but half an hour had gone, and two and a half remained. Time -passes very slowly under such circumstances. Relieving the videttes -broke in upon the monotony. "The people are stirring in the house, -they have just started a fire," was the report. "Don't let any of -them go up the road on any pretext;" and I rode back to the barn. How -surprised they will be, I thought, when they come out and find two -"armed invaders" have been watching over them while they slept. When I -next came my round, the man of the house had just come out. He merely -glanced at us, walked by, giving a sulky nod, and proceeded to feed -his pigs, with as much indifference as though it were nothing to him -whether a whole regiment of Yankees were in front of his door, or a -hundred miles off. - -So passed the time till a bright light gleamed through the trees -toward the east. The sentinel saw it first. "Is that a fire, captain?" -he asked. No; it was the morning star. Slowly it seemed to climb the -trees, moving steadily from branch to branch, till it beamed from the -clear sky above. Then came a belt of pale silver light, which grew -brighter and brighter, until it turned to crimson; and then rose the -sun. Our watch is over. "Call up the men, sergeant; order the second -platoon across; and take a man and go two miles up the road, and see if -there are any rebels there." - -We passed a busy day. Parties were sent out, up and down the brook, to -see if there were bridges or fords near us, and to ascertain where the -cross-roads ran; others for forage; and one toward Paris, to watch any -movement there. Guards were placed to stop persons on the road, so that -no information might be carried to the enemy. I explored the banks of -the brook near us, to make sure that no party could cross and attack -us unexpectedly during the coming night. Late in the afternoon I had my -horse unsaddled, spread my buffalo on the floor, pulled off my boots, -and laid down for a good sleep before my night-watch commenced. Hardly -down, ere an officer arrived from camp. Another squadron was coming -to relieve us, and we were to return immediately. The men who had -been on duty all day were asleep; their horses were all down too; our -arrangements were all nicely completed for the night; but we must go. -"Call in the videttes and saddle up," were the orders; and soon we were -marching back. So ended my first experience in guarding bridges, and my -care of the bridge over the Holly Fork. - -There is in our school "Readers" a certain lesson about a vagrant -little brook, wherein is told that "the glossy-green and coral -clusters of the holly flung down reflections in rich profusion on the -little pool visited by a ray of softer sunshine," etc. These words -(if I recollect them rightly) were printed in different "Readers" in -different ways; sometimes a hyphen between glossy-green, sometimes -a comma; and again no mark whatever. A fearful wilderness of words -it was, in which scholars and teachers, and even principals, at -examinations, and other important times and seasons, have gone astray: -whoever then correctly construed "glossy green" and "visited," could do -what no one else could. While standing guard at the bridge, there came -to me the memories of the reading lesson--of the one who succeeded and -the many who failed--of disconcerted faces and puzzled looks, and the -Holly Fork became associated with the lesson, as hereafter (should I -ever return to North Moore street) the lesson will, doubtless, call to -mind the Holly Fork. - - - - -VII. - -SCOUTING. - - -It is a pleasant Spring morning, and I am ordered to take my company -and "scout to and beyond Conyersville, with two days' rations." There -is a stir and bustle through our tents, and great delight at the -thought of going out. Some are bringing up horses from the picket -ropes; others are rolling blankets, and strapping them behind the -saddles; others are packing away coffee, pork and hard biscuit in a -pair of rude saddle-bags, which we have made from an old tent, and now -carry on a led horse. Soon Bischoff leads his horse and mine up to the -tent, and soon after the first sergeant reports all ready. The men are -drawn up in line; they "count off by fours;" the order is given, "by -two's to the right," and we are marching slowly over the high hills and -through the tall oaks which belt the Tennessee. - -Though it is a March morning, the air is as soft and balmy as it will -be in New York next May; and in the distance, the opening buds throw a -mist-like haze over the forests. Here and there a crow starts from some -tall tree, and caws familiarly as he flies away; and high over head, -the chicken hawk sails round and round as we have often seen him do -at home. When first we came here last February, there were robins in -these woods and many Northern birds, who seemed sad and songless, and -behaved like invalids passing the winter at the South. The meadow lark -spread her wings languidly, and the robins sat listless on the apple -trees, as though they were home-sick, and, like us, longed to fly back -to their Northern nests. The blackbirds alone kept up their spirits, -flying around and across such fields as they could find in rapid, -veering, fitful flight-- - - - "And here in spring the veeries sing - The song of long ago." - - -If you had been riding with us for the last five miles, you would -think we were travelling through an unbroken forest. The bridle-road, -worn smooth by cavalry horses, runs down in deep hollows and climbs -up high hills--but always in the woods. Fallen trees lie across it, -frequently compelling us to zig-zag round them; and when we look out -from the openings on the brow of the higher hills, we see nothing but -woods--unending woods. One or two melancholy figures have met us; clad -in their sombre dress, and mounted on their ambling mules, they have -silently nodded and passed on. Once or twice the settler's axe has -rung out from some distant dale, as if to tell how far these solitudes -extend. The wild turkey has called to us not far from the road; the -quails have sat still, and looked curiously at us; and the brown turkey -buzzard has soared near by, as though he neither knew nor cared whether -we were there or not. Yet, nestled in these wilds, are many farms and -houses, whose owners love seclusion, and hide themselves from each -other by a veil of intervening forest. - -In one of these there lives an elderly man named Patterson. When first -by accident we rode past his door, one of the men said "He looks more -like a Union man than any one we have seen yet;" and we soon learnt -that he was a Philadelphian, who had wandered to Tennessee many years -ago for health: he had married here, settled and become a Tennessean. -His clothes are the yellowish, brownish homespun, which we all call -"butternut;" and his house has the strange opening through the centre, -so common here. I cannot quite determine whether these Tennessee houses -consist of two houses hitched together by "the roof o'erhead" and the -floor beneath, or of one long house, with a big hole cut through the -middle. They are not bad in warm weather, for there is a breeze blowing -through this open part, and in it the family sit and work. The stone -chimney runs up the outside of the house, and gourd dippers are hung -around the door. - -I like these gourd dippers much--the water tastes better from them than -from anything else, and the sight of one makes me thirsty. We therefore -stop to see Mr. Patterson, and get a drink; the pail of fresh water -is quickly carried from the spring, and the gourd dippers are eagerly -seized by the men. - -Some miles from Mr. Patterson, we stop to feed. It's a bleak house, -and looks as though the owner had been long away. Two small boys -appear--very frightened and very civil. - -"Where is your father, my boy?" I ask of the elder. - -"In the army, sir." - -"The Southern army?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"And your mother?" - -"She's gone up to grandfather's." - -"Well, my boy, I shall have to take some of your corn for our horses." - -"Oh! I don't care nothin' about the corn, if yuh wunt pester us." - -We all laugh at this, and assure him he shan't be pestered. The horses -are unbridled, picketed to the fence, and fed; and the men sit on the -sunny side of the road and eat their dinner. We take an hour's rest -and then remount. As we come in sight of a rather better looking house -than usual, we see a couple of its young ladies in the garden, men -ploughing in the field, and women working in the yard. Suddenly there's -a great commotion. The two young ladies turn and fly to the house; the -men in the field drop their ploughs and run to the house; the women -in the yard follow to the house. We ask, what can the matter be; it -looks as though a thunder storm had burst on them, and they have run -to the house to keep dry. But as we draw nearer, we see them anxiously -peering through doors and windows at us. "There's a chance for you, -W----, to be polite; ride up and ask them, if they've been troubled by -guerrillas, and whether we can be of any service." My lieutenant turns -his horse and gallops across the field. We watch him as he approaches -the house, and laugh as we observe the inmates rapidly retire from -door and windows. Then one contraband comes bravely out, to whom the -lieutenant appears to be talking; and then reappear the men, the women, -five or six dogs, and the two young ladies. The lieutenant soon rejoins -us, laughing; we were the first United States soldiers they had seen, -and they didn't know but we would burn the house and kill them; they -had run to the house, because it was "nat'ral," and they didn't know -where else to run. - -But evening approaches, and I must choose a camping ground for the -night. On our left, half a mile back from the road, I can see a large -house, surrounded with many stacks and corn-cribs. It belongs to Major -Thornton, who is spoken of as a very rich man, and by no means a loyal -one. He has not yet had the pleasure of entertaining soldiers, and I -determine to stop with him for the night. But do not suppose that I -shall halt now while the sun is up, and messengers can ride off and -tell King's cavalry that we are here. Oh, no! we shall make a long -circuit, and steal back here three or four hours from now--when people -in the adjoining houses have gone to bed, and the darkness hides our -movements and our sleeping-place. - -An hour or two brings us to Conyersville. It is indeed hidden from us -by some woods, but for half an hour every one has told us it is "uh -byout uh haf uh mile uh syo;" so we feel sure it is not far off now. -A contraband is seen coming down the road, and he stops and tells me -there are soldiers in Conyersville--he doesn't know which kind; he -says he "could see them a moving along the road, and was afeard to go -in, for fear they might be seceshers." We have two squadrons out, but -they were not expected here, and King's camp is only a dozen miles or -so away. 'Tis an even chance whether they are our men or the enemy's. -"Close up." "Form fours." "Draw sabre." In a minute we shall be in a -fight, or--jogging along as quietly as before. We reach the top of a -little hill, and on another road before us are moving the dust and -figures of a body of cavalry--but through it are seen the blue jackets -and sabres of our troops, and in another moment we recognize them as -our own men. I hold a short conference with the captain, and then we -ride into Conyersville. - -Conyersville is "not much of a place," the men say; "there is a tavern, -and a store, and a blacksmith shop, and half a dozen houses; and the -folks are all secesh." Yet weeks in the woods give one a craving for a -city; so we stop at Conyersville a little while, all the while knowing -there is nothing to see. We then turn to the left, and go some miles -down the Paris road. We pass a road that runs back to Major Thornton's, -partly because it is too early to go there, partly to the better -mislead any one who might follow us. At last, as it grows dark, we -come to a second road, which turns off at a sharp angle and goes to -the major's; and this we take. It runs through thick woods--through a -swamp--along the edge of a little millpond--over its rickety bridge, -and close to its little mill. It is so dark, indeed, that we can hardly -find the major's, and even ride a little way past the gate. At length -we turn in, and the lieutenants ride on to wake the people up and -inform them that we are coming. Being rather grander people than usual, -they have not gone to bed. Now, walking into a man's house and taking -possession of it is not an agreeable task. At home, it seemed so; but -when you come face to face with the man, and more especially with -the man's wife and children, the duty becomes unpleasant. It is done -somewhat in this way: One of the lieutenants is standing by the garden -gate, with a stout man beside him, and as I ride up, he says, "This is -Major Thornton." "I am sorry to trouble you, Major Thornton, but I must -stay here to-night, and shall have to take forage for sixty horses, -and use your kitchen for my men to cook their supper. Where would you -prefer my putting the horses?" The major says he has a large barn yard; -that will suit him, if it will suit us. "Very well, sir, if you will -send some of your men to show us and give out the forage, I will see -that none is wasted." - -The men wheel into the yard, and a couple of contrabands, very loyal -and cheerful, assist us to the major's oats. They enjoy feeding the -United States horses at the major's expense immensely, and insist on -throwing down from the stack a dozen more sheaves than we want. "It ull -do them ere hosses of yourn so much good--they don't get oats every -day--oats mighty scarce in this country; and the major, he's nothin' -but a secesher," they say. - -While I am overlooking the men, Bischoff, with his usual skill, has -picked out the best place in the yard for the horses. "You sleep here, -captain," he says, "this side of the corn crib, and I tie the horses -close by, and then get some corn stalks and make a bed." Meanwhile -I have a private talk with one of the contrabands, and learn all I -can about the roads around us. "How many men for guard and picket, -captain?" asks the first sergeant. "I find there are two roads, -sergeant, so you will have to detail fifteen men and a sergeant and -corporal. I shall sleep at the end of the corn crib; let them bring up -their horses there, and let the other men unsaddle." - -This done, I walk in to see Major Thornton and his family. The major is -a middle-aged gentleman, who revels in a rich farm and sixty niggers. -He is very civil, but by no means glad to see us. But his wife is a -kind woman, whose hospitality has become a habit, and she could not -treat us with more politeness and cordiality if we were really her -guests. She gives the men all the milk in the dairy, which is always -a treat to them, and urges me to let as many as possible sleep in the -house--she has fourteen beds, she says, at their service, and it will -be too bad to make them sleep out in the cold. But the men must sleep -together, and by their horses; so her good natured offer is declined. -Beside Mrs. Thornton, there sits a good natured little daughter, with -light hair and blue eyes, and the pretty name of Nelly. Miss Nelly -tells me that the war has cut them off from literature, which they -took in form of the New York "Ledger." She brings out some of the old -numbers, with Mr. Cobb's terrific stories and pictures of knights on -horseback and ladies in swoons, all looking so familiar, that I almost -expect to hear a newsboy run round the corner, shouting "Ledger! New -York Ledger!" - -After spending half an hour thus, I go out. The men have finished -their supper, and are going back to the yard. They choose sheltered -positions, where stack or crib wards off the wind, and there lay down -a little mattress of corn fodder. Two of them then join forces in -blankets and sleep together. After looking at the men, and walking -round among the horses, I turn toward the crib where I am to spend the -night. There is a good bed of corn leaves spread upon the ground; at -the head, the crib breaks the wind, and at the foot, my horse stands -picketed to the fence; a little to one side sleep the guard; and -around, ready saddled and bridled, stand their horses. It will soon be -time for the second relief to go out, so I wait. Soon the corporal on -camp guard comes up, and pulling out his watch, says, "Ten o'clock." -"Then call up the next relief." They are soon up: the men for picket -mount their horses; the sergeant takes two and rides down one road--the -corporal two and rides down the other; the new sentinel takes the place -of the old one, who quickly crawls into his bed among the corn leaves. -"Call me," I say to the other, "if you hear any alarm, and when it is -time to relieve guard." "Yes, sir:" and I lie down. I unclasp my belt, -and draw my sabre and pistol close beside me. You do not know how much -like friends they seem. The corn leaves feel cold and damp; the night -is dark; and the wind wails mournfully. I draw my buffalo close, and -wish I were warm and asleep. For a moment I raise my head, for up the -road I hear the tramp of horses. It is slow and regular; the sergeant -returning with the men on picket. They come in, fasten their horses, -and lie down under their blankets; and they and I fall asleep. - -I have not slept long, and was but just roused by some one laying his -hand on my shoulder. It is the guard. I am up in an instant, and ask -what is the matter. Nothing, it is time to relieve the picket. Again -the sergeant and the corporal go out with the fresh relief, and again I -lie down to sleep. At last the camp guard, as he calls me, says, "Four -o'clock," instead of "Time to relieve," and then I order "Call up the -men." - -The day is breaking as we pass out of the yard, and wheel round the -corner of the house. Early as it is, Miss Nelly is up to see us off, -and her pleasant little face smiles and bows happily from the piazza. -Mrs. Thornton, too, is up, and, as I bid her good day, she courteously -says we had better wait for breakfast, it will be ready soon; and she -points to the kitchen chimney, from which the smoke is rising briskly. -These Tennessean women work harder, I think, than ours do at home. All -day long, as you ride, you will hear the droning spinning wheel in -almost every house, and beside it the clack of the heavy hand loom. -The wives and daughters of the poorer farmers do all the garden work, -and much besides that ours hand over to the men. We see black women -grubbing out bushes in the fields, and white ones ploughing, harrowing, -and hauling grain, with ox teams, to the mill. The wives of rich -planters rise early, and seem busied and worried till night. The houses -would have a thriftless look to our eyes, did not fine trees surround -them. Trees are the one thing in which they show good taste. They do -not ride much in carriages, because the roads are rough and carriages -are scarce. Yet side-saddles are plenty; and constantly on these bridle -roads you will meet women on mules, often with a child or two perched -on behind--or perhaps a mother carrying her baby in her arms, and -mounted on a sober, old mare, whose little colt frisks merrily around. - -We have not met any though this morning, and at eight o'clock have -travelled back to the Paris road, and to within four miles of Paris. -Here we halt for breakfast. The men whose turn it is for picket, ride -on a mile or two down the road, the others dismount. The two who -act as cooks take possession of a little out-kitchen, and proceed to -fry the bacon and boil the coffee. I walk into the house and find a -wretched family. The father of it is old and sick. He groans as I speak -to him, and says: "Oh, our wretched country! What have we done that we -must suffer so? I have always been for the Union, but the young men are -all against it." His son, a young man, and evidently a rebel, seems -equally wretched. I tell him I must feed my horses, and he points to -the barn yard, and says there is corn there. Generally these people -receive us with some show of welcome, but he seems utterly indifferent. -I ask him if he will not see that his property is not abused; that -perhaps there is some crib or stack he does not want touched; but he -shakes his head, and walks up and down the piazza, paying no more -attention to us. Down a deep ravine behind the house is a beautiful -spring. Gigantic oaks rise over it, and the water flows from a bank -of fine, white sand--so fine and white that it seems an alabaster -fountain. Here I unroll my towel and make my toilet, and then climb the -hill for breakfast, which is ready. - -This duty done, we resume the march. I am ordered not to enter Paris, -and, therefore, turn off and strike across the country, to regain -the direct road from Paris to the Holly Fork. A very blind road it -is, winding through woods, and frequently lost. Yet here are wide -plantations, shut in from the rest of the world, with their large -houses, and chickens, and beehives, to all appearance patterns of -peace and contentment. Within them you will find a people plain and -simple in their manners and their lives, with many good traits, and -some bad ones. They have an easy, quiet way with them of taking things -as they find them, with little show, and less pretension. The hot blood -we hear about hardly ever appears, and then seems the effect of too -much tobacco and bad cooking. Indeed, I frequently think the cooking is -the cause of the rebellion. They all look dyspeptic, and are disposed -to be low-spirited and despondent. If you were to walk in and dine with -them, you would find that fried pork and corn dodger were certainly on -the table. This corn dodger, you must know, is a mixture of corn-meal -and water, very nearly the size and shape of a roll of butter split -in two and hurriedly heated, though hardly baked. A week ago I was at -a house where there were four dishes of pork upon the table. To these -may be added some fried chickens and hot biscuit, and this will be the -unchanging bill of fare. Bread--that is what we call bread--I have not -yet seen, and am sure it is hardly known. - -But dinner done, at this house I speak of, there came before me another -little custom that may surprise some of my friends. The mother of -the family took her pipe, which I had often seen before, and was not -surprised at; but the daughter furthest from me dived down in her -pocket, and, after rummaging there a minute, brought up-- - - - "Oh, shame! oh, horror! and oh, womankind!"-- - - -a plug of tobacco, and then deliberately took a chew! The second and -third followed; and then the three young ladies drew up around the -sacred hearth (which some of their cousins were lighting to protect -from the pollution of us Yankees) and indulged in a little social -spitting. It is embarrassing, if you are not used to it, to ask a -country belle a question, and then have her turn her head suddenly the -other way and spit before she answers. The first time we witnessed this -interesting ceremony, a young officer of our party thought he would -do something cool--he would ask a woman for a chew of tobacco. So, -marching up, he said, "Miss, will you be so kind as to give me a chew -of your tobacco?" The rest of us felt annoyed; but the girl quietly, -and as a matter of course, fumbled in her pocket and brought out the -old plug. - -But while I am telling you this we have come out on the Paris road, -and have turned toward the Holly Fork. The causeway and the bridge are -unchanged, and the little store is still empty and open. We reach the -cross-road, on the top of the hill, and then turn to the right. This -leaf-covered road leads through tall woods and secluded farms. We see -no one in the wide-spreading fields, nor about the distant farm-houses: -they might be thought deserted but for the smoke that lazily rises -and floats away. At one little wayside cabin the owner asks us, in -the usual phrase, to "alight." There are many old English words and -phrases among this people--some odd and obsolete, and some better and -more correct than our own. Thus, for our awkward "get down," they have -"alight." Instead of saying, "How early did you _get up_ this morning?" -they would say, "How early did you _arise_?" Relations, relatives, and -connections they call _kinfolk_; and these are never well _dressed_, -but well _clad_. A _horse-path_ is known as a _bridle-road_; a _brook_ -as a _branch_, and a _stream_ as a _fork_. One man complimented -Bischoff by saying he was the most _chirk_ young fellow in the -regiment; and a young lady praised her own horse by telling me that -Gipsy might run fast, but she couldn't _tote_ double. - -But two or three miles down this road we come to a gate, on which three -little contrabands hang, grinning. Very quickly they drop down and -swing open the gate; and very glad they are to see us, whatever missus -may be. Within this gate is a fine open grove, and through it are seen -a small timber house, some contraband cabins, and a barn or two. We -have heard of this house before. It belongs to a Lieutenant Reynolds -of the rebel service, and was selected, before we started, as a good -stopping-place. In one of the cabins we find a young mulatto woman, -whose sad, intelligent face awakens more than usual respect. - -"Is Mrs. Reynolds at home?" I ask. - -"No, sir, she's at her mother's." - -"Are you alone here?" - -"There's a man a ploughing, sir, out in the field there, and another -girl--she's a grubbing." - -"Whose children are these? Yours?" - -"That one's mine, sir; the other two's mother is gone." - -"Where?" - -"To Memphis, I s'pose, sir. They sent her off and sold her the time -your soldiers took the fort." - -"Will your mistress be back to-night?" - -"No, sir, she don't stay here nights." - -"Then I must trouble you to show me where your provisions are. My men -have eaten up all their rations and must have supper here." - -Two of the men come in and go to work as cooks, and the others are -in the yard, unsaddling and cleaning their horses. With one of the -sergeants, I stroll out to the road. We cross it and walk a few yards, -to get a view of some fields beyond. As we are looking and talking of -the pickets for the coming night, in the distance, down the road, we -hear a shout or two, and then a rumbling noise. - -"What is that, sergeant?" - -"It's horses," says the sergeant; "they are galloping--and there's more -than one too." - -We both spring for the gate. - -"Shall I order the men to fall in?" asks the sergeant. - -"No; there are not many horses coming. Let us wait and see." - -In another moment appears through the trees, a black boy mounted on a -horse, and behind him two mules on a gallop. The black boy repeats his -wild "Yoo, yoo--yo, yoo," and when he does so the mules redouble their -speed. As he approaches the gate, he pulls up. - -"What are you galloping for?" I ask. "Is anything the matter?" - -"Oh, no, sah; I been a ploughing all day, and am a comin' home." - -"What! do those mules plough all day and gallop home in this way at -night?" - -"Oh, yes, sah; they likes it. Why, it does 'em good." - -The boy and mules all look so bright and fresh that I am bound to -believe it does them all good; and as we thus talk the other girl -comes up the road, carrying her heavy grubbing hoe upon her shoulder, -and with many startled looks at us, goes toward the house. They are a -strange people these Southerners, full of inconsistencies and all sorts -of incongruous traits. They are not a musical people; you never hear -a boy whistle, or a girl singing at her work; they are not liberally -educated, and schools and schoolmasters are few. Yet in half the houses -you will find pianos, and half the women play by note. In this house -the ceiling is not plastered; the unpainted mantel is covered with -broken bottles and old candlesticks; the rough log walls are adorned -with twopenny engravings cut from almanacs and country papers; all -the furniture in the house is not worth $5; but there is a piano, a -handsome one, with a showy cover. It is so with their characters: some -are very high-minded, and some are very mean; and some, with a stock -in trade of honor, unite the most Indian-like duplicity. And here let -me tell you a story to the point. - -As the black boy loiters round, I say to him, "Well, Dick, have you -seen any soldiers before this?" - -"No, sah," says Dick; "but missus has." - -"Ah! where did she see them?" - -"Why, thar was some of your soldiers up to Mr. Clokes' a spell ago, one -Sunday, and missus she was thar." - -Now, as you will recollect, we were at Mr. Clokes' on a Sunday, and -there were one or two visitors there then. The doctor and I had been -very polite to everybody, and everybody had been very polite to us, and -none more so than these visitors. When we left, I complacently said to -the doctor that this was much the best way to treat these people, it -must conciliate them; and the doctor had said, "Oh, certainly; if we -have not made them loyal, we have at least impressed them favorably." -So, recollecting all this, I said to Dick: - -"Well, Dick, what did your missus say about the Union soldiers?" - -"Oh! she said they made her so mad she could hardly eat." - -"Hardly eat! Indeed--why what did they do to her?" - -"Oh, they didn't do nothin' to her, only she said she couldn't bear the -sight of um; she said they acted all the time just like a parcel o' -_niggers_!" - -There's a compliment for us, thinks I. I must tell the doctor of -that--and how _favorably we impressed them_! - -Supper is over. The corn dodger was far better than hard biscuit; the -roasted sweet potatoes were excellent; and the lieutenant's ham a -great improvement on his patriotism. The men have lain down in little -groups around the house; in front, under the large trees, burns the -guard fire. The guard sleep behind it, and their horses, saddled and -bridled, are picketed as usual beside them. The pickets have gone out, -and the sentinel moves slowly backward and forward near the gate. I -walk down to speak to him. As I approach, he wheels sharply round and -challenges, "Who comes there?" I give the usual answer, "Friend, with -the countersign." "Advance, and give the countersign," and he points -his carbine at me. I advance, and whisper the word "Roanoke." "The -countersign is correct," says the sentinel; "pass on." - -This form of challenging is always followed at night, even though -the sentinel distinctly sees, and perfectly well knows the person -coming. The "countersign" is a word, usually the name of a battle; it -is given to the sergeant of the guard at sunset, and he gives it to -each sentinel as he posts him. The countersign is kept concealed from -everybody but the commanding officer and the officers of the day and -of the guard. When any person is to be sent through the lines, one of -these officers may give him the countersign, and it only will enable -him to pass. If I had not had the countersign, it would have been the -sentinel's duty to detain me, and call for the sergeant of the guard. - -"Captain," says the sentinel, "I was going to call you. I think I hear -a wagon coming." - -We listen, and its creaking grows plainer down the road. We move to one -side, and the wagon draws nearer. - -"Shall I halt them?" says the sentinel. - -"No; I hear children's voices." - -They come on and pass close beside us; the children prattle away, and -the father and mother talk of William somebody, who did something or -other, and how Jane and her husband were going somewhere with the baby, -but won't now for some unknown reason. They do not know that we stand -close beside them, and that within a few yards is a troop of horse. If -they did, the sentinel would halt them, and they would go no further -to-night; but as it is, we are tolerably secure this side of the Holly -Fork, and they are so manifestly ignorant of our whereabout, that I -spare them the fright of being stopped by soldiers and kept from home -all night. - -"But don't let any more pass, Waldron," I say to the sentinel, "and -keep a bright look out, and call me if you hear the slightest sound." - -"Yes, sir." And Waldron resumes his lonely walk. - -I leave him, and as I approach the guard, the sergeant is rousing the -next relief. - -"Walter," I say to a young trooper, who is going out on picket, -"Walter, you are to go back a mile on the road we came down, and you -will be posted near the wide cornfield that we passed." - -"Yes, sir." - -"Be careful that you give no false alarm; but if there should be -anything, then fire your carbine in this direction, and come in on a -gallop." - -"Yes, sir." - -"And, Walter, you need to be very watchful to-night, for you will be -the only man on that road, and it is a lonely spot." - -"Yes, sir," says Walter, with undiminished cheerfulness, "I'll be very -careful." - -And then he turns toward his saddled horse, tightens the girth, and -unhitches the rein. - -He cannot be thinking of himself, for as I walk away I hear him softly -singing: - - - "Soft be thy slumbers, - Rude cares depart, - Visions in numbers - Cheer thy young heart." - - -And with sweet Ellen Bayne ringing in my ears, I lie down beside the -camp fire and fall asleep. - - - - -VIII. - -A SURPRISE. - - -A fairer May-day never dawned than that which greeted us last spring in -Tennessee, - - - "When the box-tree, white with blossoms, - Made the sweet May woodlands glad;" - - -And the green hills and fresh-leaved trees were hung resplendent in -yellow, white and purple flowers. - -My first sergeant and myself sat after breakfast beneath the tent-fly, -finishing our muster-rolls. The 30th of April is a "mustering day" in -the United States service, when all its officers and soldiers must be -called and counted, and their names be transmitted on proper rolls to -proper authorities. As we thus worked, an orderly came in, and handed -me an order to take two days' rations, and scout toward and beyond -Paris. But the rations were not then in camp; so after issuing orders -to saddle up, the sergeant and I resumed our work, not sorry that the -delay would enable us to complete our rolls. - -Suddenly, on the still, damp air of the morning, there came, echoing -from Fort Henry, the boom of a cannon. We started. "What does that -mean?" A week before there had been a rumor one evening that Memphis -was taken, and the colonel at the fort had sent us word that if the -rumor proved true, next morning he would fire seven guns. We had then -listened, but there were no guns; and later news stated that Memphis -was not taken, and could not be. - -A second gun sounded--and a man near us gave a "hurrah!" "You need not -hurrah," said another; "they've got four guns loaded down there, and -are only firing them off." A third fired, and a fourth, and in the -pause which followed, each said, "I wonder if there will be another!" A -moment passed, and the fifth rang out loud and clear. A cheer sounded -through the camp, and everybody came out of his tent. "What can it -be? something has happened." "No, nothing has happened; they're only -practising, or playing a trick on us." _Bang!_ went the sixth. The -sanguine men gave a loud cheer. "Will there be another?" "Yes!" "No!" -"I'm sure there will." "I'm sure there won't." A silence--the pause -seems endless--surely five times as long as between any others. All are -breathless. "There! I told you so." "I knew it was nothing." "Memphis -can't be taken in a month--there's nothing to fire about. You won't -hear any more to-day." "There's no use in waiting any"----BANG! went -the seventh, louder and clearer than all the rest put together. The men -jumped on the logs and wagons and cheered wildly; and the officers who -were not on duty rushed for their horses, and galloped furiously toward -the river, while our two little howitzers rung out seven responses to -the great guns of the fort. - -An hour passed; those who had the fastest horses came back. "Was it -Memphis?" "No, not Memphis--better than Memphis--guess." No one can -guess. "It is New Orleans--Farragut has taken New Orleans." Another -cheer runs through the camp, and we congratulate ourselves on carrying -such news with us on our scout. - -But the rations were strangely delayed. The men yawned, and wished they -would hurry up; and the horses stood saddled round the tents, with -their heads down, quietly dozing through the day. Late in the afternoon -they came, and, with them, an order to send a larger party, and for me -to report to our major for orders. I did so. - -"When will your squadron be ready?" asked the major. - -"It is ready now." - -"Well then you may start at daybreak; I will follow with the others at -nine, and join you at Paris in the afternoon." - -A new tent had arrived that day from St. Louis, to take the place of -my old and leaky one; and Bischoff had amused himself, during the -afternoon, by pitching it, little thinking that I was to sleep in it -just one night. It felt like having a new house, and its fresh, snowy -walls, the perfection of neatness. - -There were men stirring long before daylight, and with the first grey -streaks of dawn, we mounted. Our road was a short cut, leading by -narrow, winding ways, through tall woods, up little streams, and over -high hills. In the cool calm of the morning, it was a picture of peace -and safety; and no soldiers ever moved more joyously than we, or seemed -less likely to be fugitives and prisoners before the march should be -done. - -Three miles from camp we halted at a sparkling brook to adjust saddles -and water horses. The squadron was marching in three platoons, with an -interval of a hundred yards between them. The first came up, halted and -dismounted; then the second, and the third, so quietly and orderly, -that I felt a satisfaction I had never felt before. - -At last we came to Paris. Its little square was green, and its streets -were prettier than in the gloom of that March morning. We picketed -our horses on the Court House fence, and strolled around. Everybody -agreed in saying that our old acquaintances, King's cavalry, had gone -to Corinth, and that the country round us was cleared of guerrillas. -Beauregard was calling in all his troops then, and this seemed -probable. But one of the first questions put to me was, "When will the -major and the rest of the party be here?" The order had been given the -night before; I had marched at daybreak; no one had passed us on the -road. "How did this information reach them?" I asked; "who could have -brought it?" - -The main body of our detachment arrived during the afternoon, and I -was ordered with my squadron to the farm of a Mrs. Ayres, some three -miles off. I had heard nothing of Mrs. Ayres, except that she was "a -prominent secessionist," and quite wealthy; and three months' active -cavalry service had quite accustomed me to riding into people's houses, -and taking possession for the use of the Government. Yet I was rather -taken aback, when a lady with grey hair and widow's weeds came out, as -I rode up. I said that I regretted to intrude, but that I was ordered -to stop there; and she said that it was very unpleasant; she and her -daughter were alone, no gentleman in the house, and she wished we would -go somewhere else. I explained that no one would come in the house or -be guilty of any rudeness, and that she might feel perfectly safe. But -she reiterated her request, and went on: "I am a secessionist, sir; I -am opposed to the Union. I scorn to deny my principles. Of course you -will do as you choose, sir. I am a woman, and unprotected, and you -have a company of soldiers; I can offer no resistance," etc., etc. I -answered that I admired her sincerity, and cut the argument short by -asking in which yard she preferred my putting the horses, and from -which stacks we should get forage. There were woods on the right of -the house; the men filed into them, and in a few minutes fires were -lighted, horses picketed, and we were bivouacked for the night. - -An hour or two elapsed, and I received a message that Mrs. Ayres wished -to see me. I went in--the house was large and handsomely furnished, -and she was evidently far superior in intelligence, education, and -position, to the simple country people among whom we had hitherto been -thrown. I afterwards learnt that one son was then at Richmond, a member -of the Confederate Government, and another with Beauregard, at Corinth. -I began the conversation by hoping that she had recovered from her -alarm. She said, "Oh, entirely," and that she had expected the officers -in the house to tea, and that she had beds enough for them. I replied -that I had promised that no one should intrude, and that I intended my -promise to apply to myself as well as to my men. Mrs. Ayres hastened -to say that it was no intrusion; that I must at least stay and spend -the evening; she really could not allow me to go out in the dark and -cold, while she had houseroom to offer. "My daughter plays," she said; -"perhaps you like music." I said that I liked music exceedingly, and -should be most happy to hear some, and as I was finishing my civil -speech, Miss Ayres came in. She was a pretty girl of seventeen, and -gave me an icy bow that said I was there by military power, and was no -guest of hers. "Mary," said her mother, "Captain N. wishes to hear some -music." The young lady gave another icy bow. There was a little black -girl curled up in a corner near the fire. "Bell," said Miss Ayres, -"carry the candles into the other room." The little black girl uncurled -herself, and seizing the candles, marched into the other room. There -she placed the candles on the piano, and immediately popped under it -and curled herself up again on the floor. I moved round, and took my -position at one end of the piano, as an admiring listener should. It -was a handsome instrument, and seemed like a friend, for I read on its -plate, "Wm. Hall & Sons, New York." It had come from New York, and so -had I. Miss Ayres took her music-book, and I waited for her to begin. -She partly opened the book, then stopped, and looking deliberately at -me, said, "Well, sir, what _must_ I play?" Had she slapped me in the -face I should not have been more astounded. It was evident that she was -in the same frame of mind her mother had been in at the gate. But I had -been so particularly civil that this cut was too unexpected. I felt my -color rise, but kept my temper down, and inwardly resolved that her -little ladyship should take this back before our acquaintance ended; -so I answered, almost sweetly, that I would leave that to Miss Ayres' -better taste! We had a little contest then, she trying to make me order -something, and I trying to make her select the piece. It was a drawn -game, and ended in her suggesting a couple of pieces, and my saying, -"Either of them." - -An hour passed very agreeably, and when I arose to go, all coolness had -entirely vanished, and the invitation to stay was really cordial. But -it was an inflexible rule with me, when on these expeditions, to sleep -beside my guard, so I declined; and, after thanking them, went out. - -The next day came in brightly; but as I was preparing to resume our -march, there came a message from the major, saying we would not leave -till afternoon. The day wore wearily away; and toward evening there -came a second message, saying we would not start till eight the next -morning. Then a feeling of uneasiness came over me. This long delay I -did not like. The sky, too, became overcast, and a heavy storm soon -gathered over head. I made our little arrangements for the night; the -horses were moved under cover; the men found refuge in a barn; and a -little carriage house was taken for our guard tent. I received another -invitation to the house, and paid another visit more agreeable than -the first. As I came out, the rain was coming down soakingly. I had -put out additional pickets, and used the additional precaution of -going out myself with the relief. The first time I did so, it came -near terminating my expedition. It was fearfully dark, and the horses -had almost to feel their way. I knew we should find the picket about -a mile from the house, where the woods ended on the brow of a hill. -I had selected the place, because there they would be hidden by the -trees, yet would have a clear view, on an ordinary night, through the -fields beyond. I knew, too, the angle of the fence they were to be -in, and expected to find them with little trouble. We approached the -spot, but were not challenged, and I began to wonder if anything was -the matter. We went a few steps farther, and I found we had passed the -woods and were descending the hill. Still no challenge. It would seem -the simplest thing in the world to call out, but this could not be -done--here they must challenge us. Suddenly, close behind us, and in a -very startled tone, came "Who comes there?" and with it the "click," -"click" of a pistol. I answered just in time; for, in the darkness, and -amid the beating of the storm, we had passed them unseen and unheard, -and they thought that we were a party approaching from the opposite -direction, and, in another moment, would have fired. - -Day came at last--a drizzly, rainy day--and we set out for Como. -The country was new to us, and much better than we had yet seen -in Tennessee. There were groups of contrabands at every house, -reminding us that it was Sunday; and we passed a little church, whose -congregation was within, their saddled horses tied around the building. -We all remarked that the people seemed more cheerful than any we had -seen; and soon a man we met took off his hat, and said, "The Union, -the Constitution, and the Enforcement of the Laws;" yet we had seen -so little patriotism in Tennessee that we doubted this. At length we -reached Como, and stopped in the barnyards of a leading secessionist. -Hardly had we dismounted, when a large, good looking man followed us -into the yard, and said, "I'm truly glad to see you, gentlemen, you've -come at just the right time." He then introduced himself to me as Mr. -Hurt, of Como; and said that his house was a quarter of a mile back--he -had seen us pass--he had run after us--he was a Union citizen--all -must go back and dine with him--his wife had seen us, and was actually -getting dinner ready. - -I walked back with Mr. Hurt to his house. His wife I found a pleasing -lady-like woman, and she repeated the invitation to bring all. I said -I thought bringing fifty men into a private house to dinner, and that -on Sunday, was a little too much; but she said quite earnestly that -she could do nothing better on Sunday than care for Union soldiers. -Soon one man, and then another, came in, whose looks more than their -words assured us of a warm and living patriotism to which we had long -been strangers. From them I learnt that there were many more hiding in -the surrounding woods, and that a party of rebel citizens had recently -been amusing themselves by arresting Union men, and sending them off to -Memphis. I determined that so far as I was concerned, this fun should -stop; and when the major, with the main body, arrived, I submitted my -plan to him, which he approved, and ordered me to execute. - -My plan was very simple--to take twenty-five of my best mounted men, -and stay behind, ostensibly as a rear guard; to start about dark, as -if to follow the major; but, in reality, to turn off on the first -cross-road, and arrest the parties during the night, rejoining the -major in the morning. - -Accordingly, after dinner I strolled up to where the men were, and -said, carelessly, to the first-sergeant, that one-half of us were to -stay as rear guard, and he had better pick out those who had the -freshest horses--there might be a good deal of riding to do. In a -little while the detachment started, leaving me with my party, little -thinking how soon we were to be a rear guard in reality. As the last -of the column vanished down the road, my anxiety of the previous -evening returned, and I sent a vidette up the Caledonia road. It was -then three, and we should not start till six; so I went into the barn -and lay down, hoping to have a little sleep to make up for the three -previous nights. But I was soon roused to see a Union man, whose -brother had been arrested, and then to see another who was to act as -guide; and then Mr. Hurt came in to insist on my going back to his -house and sleeping there; so I rose and walked back. At the house we -found a young man, a cousin of Mrs. Hurt, who had heard of our arrival -and ventured in from the woods. We sat down upon the piazza and fell -into an interesting conversation. Three of her brothers were in the -Southern army--"as good Union men as you," she said, "but forced in." -Their little boy was named Emerson Etheridge, after the Tennessee -member of Congress, who has stood so firmly for the Union; and on the -large tree in the yard was hoisted the last flag that had waved in -Western Tennessee. - -As we thus talked, a little man was seen coming up the road, and -thereupon the whole family left me and rushed out to meet him. They -came back laughing, shaking hands, and asking questions, while the -little man both laughed and cried, and said, "Oh, my dear friends, -you do not know what sufferings I have been through since I left you!" -He was their Yankee schoolmaster. For ten years he had lived quietly -there, but a year before had been ordered off, and narrowly escaped -being hung. He had left a child behind, and now, hearing the country -was quiet, had ventured back to see his old friends and his child. - -The afternoon glided away, and it was nearly six. Mrs. Hurt had left -us to hasten tea, but we still sat on the piazza, talking as before. -Suddenly Mr. Hurt sprang up and said, "What are those men?" I looked -and saw my vidette coming in between two countrymen: whether they -were bringing him, or he them, seemed doubtful. I seized my sabre and -pistol, and walked to the gate. - -"There is bad news, captain," said the man. - -"What is it?" - -"These men say there are three thousand rebel cavalry at Caledonia." - -I suppose I looked incredulous, for one of the men said, very -earnestly, "It's so, sir. Ask Mr. Hurt; he knows me." - -"He's a good man," said Mr. Hurt; "but I don't believe three thousand -any more than you do." - -"It's really so!" cried the man with great earnestness. "Mr. Ashby saw -them, and sent us over here to tell you, and the other Union people; -and we have run our horses all the way across." - -I glanced at the horses: they were covered with foam and mud. I looked -at Mr. Hurt: his face had suddenly grown very serious. - -"Did Edward Ashby see them himself?" he asked, in a low tone. - -"Yes!" - -"And he told you himself?" - -"Yes!" - -"Then, captain," he said, turning to me, "it is so." - -There was a moment of dreary silence. - -"How long were they passing Mr. Ashby's?" I asked. - -"Three hours." - -"Which way were they going?" - -"Toward Paris." - -"How far is it from Caledonia to Paris?" - -"Twelve miles." - -I knew that three thousand was a reasonable estimate. I also knew they -must have heard of our whereabout, and that a party might be coming up -the road at any moment; yet I ventured one more question: - -"What troops did they say they were?" - -"Jeff. Thompson's." - -"Jeff. Thompson's! That is very strange. Where did they say they were -going?" - -"They said they'd come for provisions and Union men." - -This answer completed the distress of those around me. The cousin -looked toward the woods; the little schoolmaster asked if he might not -stay with his child just this one night? Mr. Hurt said that he meant -to risk it till morning, while his wife said that he must fly at once: -they might burn the house, but they would not hurt women and children, -and she was not afraid. I shook hands hastily with them, and hoped that -we might meet again. I told my vidette to gallop up the road and tell -the men to mount, but to say not a word of the reason why. And then I -followed as rapidly as I could, and with many glances over my shoulder, -wondering that the enemy's advance was not already upon us. It was -not half a mile to the barnyards, but the way seemed endless, until a -turn in the road showed me the men mounting, and Bischoff coming to -meet me with my horse. In a moment more I was mounted, and had sent a -messenger, on a gallop, to the major, while the rest of us followed at -a less rapid gait. - -Arriving at Irving's farm, where the main body had halted for the -night, I found all as quiet as though nothing could happen. The horses -were unsaddled, the men reposing, and the major had gone to a farm a -mile distant. I ordered my own men to saddle up, and galloped after -him. We rode back to Irving's, and held a consultation with the other -officers, the result of which was that he took an escort and went down -the road to see Mr. Hurt; while I was to wait till ten o'clock, and, if -he did not return by that time, to retreat northwardly to the little -town of Dresden. - -I went into the house, and talked to the ladies of the family. They -were wealthy secessionists, and it was advisable to conceal, so far as -possible, our movements. As ten o'clock approached, I slipped out, and -ordered the men to mount and be perfectly still. Then, returning, I -said to the ladies, that they must not feel alarmed if they heard our -pickets and guards during the night, and, bidding them good evening, -went out. I saw, dimly, the men drawn up in line. - -"Bischoff," I called, in a suppressed tone, "where are you?" - -"Here, captain," said Bischoff, close beside me, as he held my horse -under a shadowy tree. - -I mounted--gave some instructions to the other captains--the men -wheeled into column--and we were moving slowly and silently toward -Dresden. - -The rain, which had stopped during the afternoon, began again. The road -plunged down into dense woods, and the darkness was profound. Some -refugees, mounted on mules, and wrapped in their home-spun blankets, -joined us--picturesque, but sad exiles, in keeping with the wild and -stormy night. They were our guides, and but for them we could not have -found our way through the hidden road. - -"Well, quartermaster," I said to the young officer who rode beside me, -"this is our first retreat." - -"Yes," he answered; "and a most appropriate night for a first retreat." - -It was not improbable that we should be attacked in the rear; and -not improbable that a party had been sent round to intercept us in -front; and every sound seemed the signal for an affray. Occasionally -the wagons became snagged, and word would be passed up the column; a -halt would be ordered; men would dismount, feel for the wagon, and -disentangle it from some tree or stump; word would be passed up again, -and we would resume our march. Thus, about three in the morning, we -approached Dresden, when I unexpectedly ran upon our advance guard -standing still. I quickly ordered a halt and demanded what was the -matter. A horse, they said, had disappeared in the middle of the road; -they could not even find him. I called for matches, and several men -tried to strike a light; but the rain had soaked through everything. -I recollected a little tin box of wax tapers in my great coat pocket, -and by dint of striking one of these under my cape, obtained a light. -The little flickering ray disclosed the feet of the horse, sticking -up in the air, his body hidden in a narrow gully which the rain had -washed across the road. I dismounted six men to try and pull him out, -and with the rest went on. Here the major overtook us. He had gone -back, but had learned nothing of the enemy. In a few minutes we entered -Dresden. Pickets were posted on the different roads, the horses were -crowded into some barns, and then, with the men, I crawled up into the -hay-loft, and, soaking wet, lay down for an hour or two on the soft hay. - -We waited all the morning, and about one in the afternoon started, -still moving northwardly toward Paducah. The road was hard and good; -the sun came out, drying our wet clothes, and everything seemed -promising and pleasant. As we passed the first house, the family -appeared in front of the door, and waved a little flag. It was the -first flag we had seen in Tennessee. My squadron, which led the column, -broke into rapturous applause as they caught sight of the starry -emblem; and as each of the others came up, wondering what could have -caused the commotion, they repeated the cheers. A cavalcade of Union -men accompanied us, and as we approached their homes, they would dash -ahead and notify their families that we were coming. At every house -the inmates appeared, waving handkerchiefs and clapping hands; and -at several the long hidden flag was brought out to help in welcoming -"the Union soldiers," who cheered the flag whenever it was displayed. -Thus our march went on, more like a gay, triumphal procession than a -retreat. We stopped at a little house, and a venerable matron, with her -grand-daughter, came to the gate and welcomed us. The old lady shook -hands with all who were near, and solemnly hoped that God would be with -us; and the younger one laughed and cried. She hoped, she said, that we -would not think her bold or crazy; but she felt as if we were friends, -and it was the first time she had been safe for months. Her husband -and father were then hiding in the woods from guerrillas. She had two -brothers in the rebel army, and, she added, with a bitter emphasis I -cannot describe, that they were rebels, and we might capture them or -kill them; but she wished we would _kill them_. - -We went on and descended into the valley of the Obion. The sun was -sinking in the west, as our column wound through the great trees and -came upon Lockridge Mill. On the right, I saw a large white house -surrounded by a garden; on the left a barn yard with an eight-rail -fence; in front and beyond us, the Obion and the mill. - -"We will stay here to-night," said the major. - -"Left into line. March. Be prepared to leave at a moment's notice," I -said to my men, "and to saddle up in the dark. Break ranks." - -The men scattered through the yard, picketing their horses. The second -squadron picketed theirs on the outside of the yard, and the third went -back to the farms on the edge of the valley, to act as a rear guard. - -"Where will you put our horses, Bischoff?" - -"At this tree in the yard, captain," said Bischoff. - -"Very well; I must see if there are any pickets wanted between us and -the rear guard." And I turned my horse and rode slowly back. - -It was a noble valley, smooth as a floor, and covered with huge -oaks and elms. I came to the third squadron; they had dismounted; -their horses were tied to the fences; their lieutenant had gone out -with their pickets; and their captain came up and laughingly said -he had taken a prisoner, and introduced me to a lieutenant of an -Illinois regiment, who had just ridden in. He was a very handsome and -intelligent young man, and informed us that he was a Tennessian, and -had come to see if recruits could not be found there. He seemed greatly -elated at being back in his own State, and as we rode along, I remarked -to myself how hopeful and happy he was. We arrived at the house and -dismounted; I gave my horse to one of the men, and went in to introduce -Mr. Crawford to the major. Him we found in an upper room. He had taken -off his jacket and was seated, comfortably smoking. I introduced the -lieutenant, and then went out, intending to post the pickets in front. -The men were on some logs opposite the house, finishing their supper; -the sun had set, and the light was fading and growing hazy amid the -great trees. - -I walked across the little garden, and laid my hand on the gate. As I -did so, I heard a yell toward the rear; I turned quickly, and far up -among the trees I saw three of the rear guard. Their horses were on -a gallop; they waved their caps wildly, and shouted something which -sounded like "saddle up." At the first glance I thought they were -messengers; but, at the second, I saw running beside them a horse _with -an empty saddle_. I knew what that meant. - -"Saddle up, and fall in," I shouted to the men; "and you men in the -house call the major; tell him we are attacked." - -I looked for my horse, but he had disappeared. I rushed to the -barnyard, and there saw the man who had held him. - -"Hamelder," I cried, "what have you done with my horse?" - -"Bischoff took him, captain." - -I hurried to the tree. Bischoff, knowing the horse would have a -night's work, had seized on the moment of my going into the house to -unsaddle and rub him off. But Bischoff stood faithful at his post in -the confusion; while every other man was hurrying for his own horse, -Bischoff was saddling mine. As I came up, he held the horse and stirrup -for me to mount as coolly as though we were at a parade. - -"Never mind this," I cried, "I can mount without this nonsense; saddle -your own horse and be quick--be quick." But my buffalo, rolled up as -it had been unbuckled from the saddle, lay on the ground, and Bischoff -stooped for it. "Throw it away," I cried, "saddle your horse and come -out of this yard, or you're lost." - -I turned; all of the squadron had gone out--I was the last; and as my -horse dashed over the broken fence, Bischoff was left alone. - -My men were in line, but a disorderly stream of flying men and -riderless horses was pouring past. I looked round for the major, but -he was not in sight, and I found myself the ranking officer there. "I -must act, it is no time to wait for orders," I said, as I looked up -the valley, and saw the head of the rebel column. They were coming on -a gallop, their shot guns and rifles blazed away, and their wild yells -were louder than the volleys they fired. Between us were the last -of the rear guard and the horses of those who had fallen, "wild and -disorderly." Turning the other way, I saw the river and the bridge. -"We must check their advance," I thought, "and then cross the river -and tear up the bridge; it is our only hope. I will charge them." I -touched my good horse as I drew my sabre, and he flew round. I was -giving the orders, "Draw sabre. By platoons. Left wheel," and the -squadron was executing them, when the men of the second squadron rushed -franticly round the barnyard fence and into my line. In an instant all -was confusion. There was no time to restore order, the rebels were not -the width of a city block distant, and their buck shot flew thickly, -wounding men and horses, while there rose the thundering sound of -cavalry at full speed. I still had a hope of the bridge. In another -instant they would be upon us. "About," I cried, "gallop and form -across the bridge." As we went by the yard, Bischoff had not come out. -"He has sacrificed himself for me," I said; "but I cannot leave my -command to save him, though he were my brother." - -Across the narrow bridge we went safely, though it swayed and trembled -under the tramp of galloping horses. As the men wheeled and reformed, I -moved to the right and looked back. Hitherto I had seen but the head -of their column, and had formed no idea of its strength. Now I saw, -far up the valley, a solid unbroken column of perhaps a thousand men. -Between them and the bridge were a few men, and many flying horses, -which ran madly. The enemy were armed with guns, and my men had but -sabres and pistols. The captain of the second squadron had been at the -bridge, trying vainly to rally his men; but they had gone, and mine -were the only ones left. "All is lost now," I said; "I will not keep my -men here to be sacrificed for these runaways." I gave the order, and we -were galloping down the valley, the pursuing foe close upon us. - -But, to return to Bischoff. He rode that day a fiery, little, black -horse, that became nearly frantic as he heard the rushing sound of the -enemy's horses. Bischoff threw the saddle on him, and as he buckled -the girth, the rebels appeared opposite the gate. There was no time -to waste then. Quick as lightning he drew out his knife, and cutting -the reins by which the horse was tied, swung, himself into the saddle. -The little horse wheeled. By cutting the reins, Bischoff had lost -all control of him, but he seemed to know precisely what was needed. -Instead of going to the gate, he turned and rushed at the fence. It -was higher than himself, and Bischoff thought they were lost; but the -little horse gave a tremendous bound, and came bravely over. They -were now neck and neck with the rebels; it was a race to the bridge. -The little horse won, and dashed over ahead of their foremost horses. -But he was only ahead--there were not six feet between them, and he -crossed amid a shower of balls, and almost hidden by the smoke of their -rifles. Bischoff lay flat on the saddle, and trusted everything to -the horse. The bridge crossed, he soon widened the gap, and in a few -minutes bore Bischoff triumphantly among his friends. - -It was a fearful ride across that valley. The road, level and straight, -did not shelter us from the enemy. Trees had fallen across it, and -there were deep bog holes, into which horses plunged and fell. As you -rode, you came upon a man whose horse had fallen in leaping a tree, or -mired in struggling through a mud hole. Here was one who had risen, and -was trying to escape to the neighboring woods, and there another, who -could not extricate himself from his fallen horse. As I looked back and -watched the fate of those I knew, I saw the first of the enemy, as they -came up, fire upon our prostrate men. It looked as though no quarter -was given. Before I had ridden far, I came upon the captain of the -second squadron standing in the road. He had been wounded and unhorsed. -I endeavored to pull up and take him behind me; but my horse, excited -and fractious, reared and plunged so that I could not stop. I called -to the captain to take another horse, led by one of the men. He did -so, but in a few moments was thrown, and before he could rise, found -himself surrounded and a prisoner. - -At length we emerged from this, to us dark vale, and felt our horses -tread firm ground. We had gained a little on the enemy, and were just -beyond the reach of their guns. I got the men formed once more into -column, and the retreat, though still at a gallop, became orderly. I -asked after the other officers; two had escaped and were with us; three -were captured, and the major had been shot near the bridge, falling -beside one of my men. I was therefore again in command, and had to -determine speedily on a plan. - -There had been with us a farmer, named Gibbs, mounted on a white -mule, which ran like a deer. Gibbs was perfectly cool, and when we -came out of the valley, he had pulled out a plug of tobacco and taken -a customary bite, with the remark that he guessed we were all right -now. I asked Gibbs if he knew the road to Hickman, on the Mississippi. -To which he replied: "Oh, yes." "Then come with me," I said, "and -lead us there;" and I took him to the head of the column. Telling the -sergeant who led to follow Gibbs, I fell out and began to drop back -to the rear. Unfortunately, the white mule would not lead, and in a -few moments Gibbs rejoined me. I then took a couple of young men, who -were also escaping with us, up to the head, and giving them the same -directions, again fell back. Unluckily, excited and riding on a gallop -by moonlight, they passed the Hickman, and continued on the Paducah -road. - -Gibbs fell out of the column, and rejoined me, as it passed. I told him -he had better not run this unnecessary risk; but he said he had been -offered $200 for his mule, and would risk anything with it. Bischoff -also fell out, and we three rode at the rear. We did not ride so long. -Suddenly from the bushes and woods on the side of the road, there was a -flash; and bang! bang! came the fire of our hidden foes. In an instant -every horse was at full speed, rushing by. My own gave a wild bound. -Poor Tennessee! he had been acting nobly from the first, and I thought -he was only excited by the firing. My attention was chiefly upon the -men, but as I gathered up the curb-rein to check him, I noticed that -it was gone on the side next to the firing. Still I did not think he -had been hit. But he put his head down, and rushed between Gibbs and -Bischoff. They caught him by the bridle, but in a moment he had dragged -them half off their saddles. I told them to let go, and he dashed -forward, striking madly against the horse in front. The concussion -sent us over to the ditch, but he did not stop. With his head down, -and running straight as an arrow, he flew by the entire column. I -returned my sabre to the scabbard, and winding the snaffle-rein round -my wrists, made every effort to stop him. It was in vain. I exerted all -my strength; I used all the art I was master of, or that Mr. Rarey had -taught; I drew his head from side to side, till his mouth touched the -stirrups; but he went on, on, on at the same furious pace. The road lay -through thick woods and down a series of steep hills. On one of these -it turned. The horse refused to follow its windings, and kept straight -on. It was like a locomotive rushing through the woods. There were -two trees before me, close together. On he went, dashing between them. -He struck against one and reeled, but did not fall. Beyond, and on the -steepest of the hill, lay a fallen tree. His head was down almost to -his knees, and I knew he could not see. I made a great, a last effort -to raise him. It failed--the tree seemed under me--there was a crash--a -blow--and I lay on the ground, the horse struggling on top of me. - -I tried, vainly, to rise and remount; but my right arm hung useless, -and I felt dizzy and weak, while my good horse still struggled on the -ground. Yet the enemy were coming. I dragged myself quickly down the -bank, at the foot of which ran a little stream. As I reached it, I -heard the gallop of horses on the hill above me. "My sabre," I said, -"must not fall into their hands." I unbuckled it quickly, and gave it -a last look. It was the parting gift of my best friends, and had been -my constant companion by day and by night. I could not bear to part -with it thus. For an instant I hesitated. "Perhaps they will not see -me," I said; "but no, the risk is too great; whatever happens to me, -they shall not have the sabre." A log lay across the brook. I leaned -forward, and under its shadow, threw the sabre in. It splashed in the -dark water and was gone. "Shall I throw my pistol after it? No! it will -be but a pistol more for the Confederacy. Here they come." I stretched -myself close beside the bank, and the party of horsemen galloped by. - - - - -IX. - -THE ESCAPE. - - -I was now alone in the quiet woods. The sounds of trampling horses -had died away, and the little rill beside me trickled peacefully in -the still night. I reached my hand down, and, filling my glove with -water, poured it over my face. It was cool and refreshing, and in a few -moments I was able to rise. I looked at the stream--at the log, beneath -which lay my sabre--and at the tree, beneath which lay my horse; and -then, making an effort, I stepped upon the log, and crossed into the -thick brushwood on the other side. But a few steps were taken when I -was glad to sit down upon a fallen tree. I felt stunned and faint, yet -hoped I was gathering strength and would soon be able to go on. As I -was thus seated the question arose, What should I do? Fort Henry, I -knew, was eastward of me. Should I go there?--it was but thirty-five -or forty miles. No! the country between must be swarming with rebels. -Should I go to Paducah? It was sixty miles northward, and the enemy -would, doubtless, follow in that direction. Should I remain hidden in -the woods, trusting to their leaving in a few days? Should I crawl to -some barn or stack, and take the chance of their not searching it? -Would my strength hold out if I went on? and would the fractured bone, -that I felt under my coat, and the growing pain in my side, do without -the surgeon's care till I could make my way out? - -At length I decided on my course: I would go northward till daylight, -and thus be some miles ahead; then I would turn eastward, and thus -place myself on one side of their probable line of march. During the -next day I hoped to meet a contraband, and, obtaining information, -then decide whether to continue eastward, toward Fort Henry, or turn -northward again to Paducah. - -Thus deciding, I took out my handkerchief and tied my pistol round my -waist, and then rose from the tree to begin my journey. The broken -ribs made it painful to breathe, and my right arm had to be supported -constantly by my left. Around me, all was beautiful and serene. The -calm moon shone, in peaceful contrast with the exciting scene I had -lately witnessed, and lighted my steps and pointed my way. No sound -disturbed the stillness of the woods, save that from a distant farm -there came the tinkle of a cow-bell. It was in the direction I wished -to go, and toward it I slowly made my way. A friend had brought me down -the April number of the "Atlantic" before leaving camp, and I had read -Whittier's "Mountain Pictures." A line of it came to my mind: - - - "The pastoral curfew of the cow-bell rung;" - - -and I wondered whether any other reader would ever thus apply it. - -I had to walk slowly through the silvery-lighted woods; but at last -drew near the ringing noise, and climbed the hill, on the top of which -were the farm and barnyard of the cows. A road ran along the brow of -the hill, and on the other side of it appeared some wide fields. To -the left was a clump of apple-trees, and the hoarse bark of a dog told -me they covered a house. I stopped a few moments to rest and listen, -and then stepped cautiously into the road. On the opposite side was a -large tree, and in its shadow I tried to climb the high rail fence. I -was weaker than I had supposed. My limbs refused at first to lift my -weight, and my one arm could not keep me from swinging round against -the fence. Twice I thought I must give it up; but, after several -efforts, I mounted it, and then, holding my breath, I let myself drop -down on the other side. - -Across the wide field there was another road. I had not gone far when -I heard a noise in the woods, and, fearing it might be a picket of the -enemy, I lay down beside the fence. The moon was then near the horizon, -and I deemed it most prudent to wait till she had set. - -Soon after this I came upon some cows, and these I drove before me. I -thought that if there should be a picket in the road the cows would -turn off, and there would be less likelihood of my being seen or heard. -After going, I should think, a mile, we came to a broad road. This the -cows crossed; and I was about to follow, when a large dog came from a -house beyond, and, after barking furiously at the cows, came toward -me. I took my pistol out, and was prepared to fire, when the dog -stopped barking. It was well for me he did so, for within a few yards -I heard horses coming up the road. I looked, and saw the outline of -some horsemen. There was no time to fly. I sank quietly down upon the -ground, and lay still. The horsemen came on. They seemed a picket. One -rode in front, who seemed a sergeant, and the others followed. They -passed close by me--so close, I could hear the jingling of their spurs. - -When they had passed I rose, and determined that thereafter I would not -go upon any road or cross any field, or spare any pains. I entered the -woods. They were now thick, with underbrush, and I had not the moon to -guide me. Frequently I had wanted the North star on night marches, but -it had always been hidden by clouds. Now, however, on this night, when -I needed it above all others, it shone out beautiful and bright. As I -watched it, it seemed an old friend, reappearing to aid me, and again -and again as I emerged from some thick underwood, and turned toward -its constant blaze, I felt as if it were the companion of my flight. -But even with its aid, I encountered difficulties. Sometimes the trees -would hide it, and often I had to keep my eyes fixed on my path or -strained on suspicious objects around me. My plan was to take some -distant hill for a land-mark, and on reaching it, to look for another, -and make toward it. Yet fallen trees and deep hollows often made me -change my course, and sometimes made me lose it, and then I had to -search the sky, and refind the star before I could go on. As I could -not use my hands, I was forced to push my way through the brush with my -left shoulder. I had lost my hat, too, in the fall, and my hair often -caught in the branches. So my progress was slow and wearisome, with no -help around me, but with hope before. - -I should think it was about three o'clock in the morning, when, from -the top of a little hill, there appeared just before me the smoking, -smouldering fires of a camp. I knew if it were a camp, that I was -within the lines. I turned, therefore, and made my way back as a -burglar might glide through a house--sliding my feet along the ground, -lest I should tread upon some crackling branch--choosing the thickest -wood and the darkest shade. About an hour later, I saw, as I thought, -some tents, but knew it was most improbable there should be any there; -so I stopped to examine, and then saw they were but the grey light -of morning breaking through the trees. It was a welcome sight; yet I -confess the night had not seemed long, and that I was surprised to find -the morning come. - -I now changed my course, and turned toward the east. The woods changed -too. There were small trees, with little underbrush, and the ground -was a smooth, descending plain. I kept on over this for miles. The sky -brightened; the sun rose, and mounted higher and higher. I heard the -barking of dogs, the lowing of cattle, and occasionally the voices of -men and children. I came, too, upon roads, and these had to be crossed -with great caution, coming out step by step, looking carefully up and -down, listening anxiously, and they hurrying across and plunging into -the woods on the other side. Whence these roads came or where they -went, I neither knew nor cared. I was ignorant of the country, but not -compelled to ask my way. For once, I was strangely independent, and -needed only to look toward the sun and travel east. - -Later I came upon fields and farms, and round these I had to make long -circuits. One chain of farms, I thought I never should get through. -Again and again I was forced to go back and try again. The temptation -to break through my resolution, and cross just this one, or that one, -was very strong; and I found that making one's escape, like any other -success, depends on his resolution and perseverance. - -Toward noon, as I was approaching a road, I heard children's voices. I -looked, and saw, or thought I saw, a man on horseback. He sat still as -though on guard, and I supposed he was one of the enemy's picket. The -woods were thin, so I lay down and drew the bushes over me. I watched -him, but he did not move, and I soon decided I must stay there as long -as he did. Notwithstanding my anxiety, I fell into a doze, probably -not for a minute, yet when I opened my eyes, the man was gone, and a -tree stood in his place. It was an optical illusion. My eyes had been -over-worked for three nights, and for the last twenty hours, constantly -strained in examining objects far and near. The moment's rest had -dispelled the apparition. I remembered that as the sun was rising that -morning, I had long doubted whether a clump of bushes was not a group -of my own men--that trees and stumps had several times been changed to -sentinels and guards; and I remembered, also, the tents in the morning, -and the camp-fires during the night. - -I now began to suffer from thirst, for I could only drink by dipping up -water with one hand. The sun, too, beat down through the half-leaved -trees, and became painful. I twisted some leaves into a sort of cap, -but it was often brushed off, and at best made but a poor shelter. I -had been disappointed also in not meeting a contraband. Some I had seen -in fields, but always with white men, and them I must shun; and as I -did so, I asked myself whether this was the United States, and these -Americans, that I should be time skulking like a hunted criminal. - -Feeling now and then a little faint, I decided on going to a house -for something to eat, and again plunging into the woods. Yet here -great caution was necessary. I wanted a small house, because it would -probably contain but one man, and I must have it out of sight of -neighbors and near woods. I passed several, but none of them complied -with my conditions--one was too large, another too far back in an open -field, and a third was overlooked by a fourth. - -It was perhaps three o'clock, and I was growing more and more faint, -when I saw an opening through the trees and the corner of a house. I -approached it slowly. There was a field beyond, but no houses in sight, -and the woods came up to the yard behind. "It is just the house I -need," I said to myself, "and now I must risk it and go in." I slipped -my pistol round, so that I could draw it quickly from under my coat, -and pushed open the gate. All was quiet; I walked round to the door, -and saw a woman inside, who looked startled at seeing me. She said she -would call her husband, who was in the field, and went out. I watched -her, and in a few minutes was satisfied by seeing them returning. I -went back, and narrowly inspected the house. A shot gun hung over the -window, but it was unloaded and rusted. As I finished, they came in. He -was a young man, with a bright, happy face--far too cheerful a face for -a secessionist. We looked at each other, and he said: - -"You are a Union soldier." - -"Yes," I answered; "and what are you?" - -"I am a Union citizen," he replied. - -The word "Union" was something of a talisman; if he had been a rebel, -he would have said Federal. - -James Mills (for such was my new-found friend's name) was the first of -several suffering and devoted Union men, who refused all pay and reward -for the services they rendered to me, and whose kindness I cannot -sufficiently praise. He told me I was in a dangerous neighborhood, and -must neither stay, nor travel by the road. His wife hurried for me a -dinner, and then he went with me through some fields and woods, and -placed me upon a path leading to a second Union man's, named Henry -Chunn. It was something like three miles to Mr. Chunn's, but I felt -quite fresh and equal to a dozen, if necessary. - -Arriving there, I was most kindly received by his wife. She told me -that her husband would cheerfully take me on toward Paducah. She made -me lie down; she bathed my shoulder; and she did everything for me that -womanly kindness could suggest. This was the first bed I had lain upon -for more than three months. It produced an old effect, for in a few -moments I was sound asleep. I slept till after dark, and then awoke by -hearing the children cry that father had come. He came in, and walking -up to me, said, in a cordial, honest voice: - -"My friend, I am truly glad to see you; you are truly welcome to my -house." - -I went to sleep again and slept till morning. There was bad news then: -his mules had disappeared from the barnyard during the night. But I -must wait; his boys would find them by the time we finished breakfast. -At breakfast a little circumstance occurred which may give you an idea -of the different life we lead on the border. Across some fields, and -beyond some woods, we heard a gun. It was no cannon--a mere shot-gun, -such as a boy might fire anywhere on a spring morning--yet we all -stopped talking. - -"What does that mean?" I asked, after the silence had continued a few -moments. - -"I don't know," said Mr. Chunn. - -"Have your neighbors guns and powder?" - -"No." - -"Then," said I, "it may mean a great deal for us." - -We all rose from the table, and looked anxiously across the fields; -but nothing was to be seen. The family looked troubled, and Mr. Chunn -said something about the mules being gone, and this being strange. We -waited some time, but all continued quiet. But the boys had not found -the mules, and Mr. Chunn accordingly walked on with me toward the house -of Mr. Edward Magness, who was likewise a good Union man, and would -willingly help me on. - -I took leave of these kind, simple-minded people, whose plain and -honest goodness is rare in the great world, from which they live apart, -and went slowly along the little wood road. I soon came to a field in -which were two or three men and several children, planting corn. I -must here explain to you that in the South corn is the one great crop -on which everybody lives. The bread is all made of corn; the horses -are fed on corn; the pigs are fattened on corn; and if the corn should -fail there would be a famine. There were fears that it would fail. The -spring had been cold and wet, and the planting was not half done, which -always had been over a week before. All hands were working early and -late on every plantation, seizing on this fine weather for hurrying in -the corn. As Mr. Magness came down a furrow, near me, I stepped out -of the bushes, and told him briefly who I was, and what I wanted. It -must have been an unwelcome tale; yet he never, by a look or word, -gave a disagreeable sign. Promptly he stopped his plough and unhitched -his horses. Unwillingly I saw the planting cease. But when I spoke of -it, he said pleasantly, they would try and make up the lost time when -he came back. We went to his house, the saddles were soon put on, and -we started. My companion was more than usually intelligent, and gave -me much information. He also understood the danger of being seen by -secessionists, and picked his way with great care by unused roads. - -A ride of several miles brought us to the house of Mr. Wade. A very -shrewd and cautious man was Mr. Wade, yet a staunch Union man, who -had spoken, and suffered for the cause. He had spent the previous -eight months chiefly at Paducah, stealing up occasionally in the dark -of evening to see his family, and leaving before daylight the next -morning. Once he had been arrested, and twice his house had been -searched and robbed. He knew well the woods and by-paths, and had tried -the difficulties and dangers of escaping from guerrillas. He and I, -therefore, had much more in common than the others, and in him I felt -I had a trusty and experienced friend; yet strange to tell, he was--_a -South Carolinian_. - -We went into the house. On a couch lay a very aged woman, who, I -thought, was childish. Mr. Wade and Mr. Magness were old friends, and -talked as country neighbors talk, of crops, and roads, and men, and -places. At last Mr. Magness said: "I saw Edward Jones yesterday, and he -told me they had had a letter from Joel, and that he wrote they were -leaving Corinth, and had been attacked. His regiment was defeated, and -he had to run for his life." - -The old lady, at this, rose up and said: "Say that over, sir." - -Mr. Magness repeated it. - -"He is my own grandson," said the old lady. "The night before he went -he came here, and I told him never to fight against his country--the -country his forefathers fought for. He said, 'Grandmother, they will -call me a coward if I don't go.' A coward! I would let them call me -anything, I told him, before I would fight against my country. But he -went. And, now, what do you tell me? He is my own grandson--my own -flesh and blood--so I can't wish him killed," said the old lady, with -great feeling; "but, I thank God--I thank God _he has had to run for -his life_!" - -Our early dinner finished, Mr. Magness took his departure, and we -started. - -"We will stop at my brother-in-law's, captain," said Mr. Wade, "and get -you a better saddle. It is only a mile from here." So we rode quietly -along. - -"We will pass our member of Assembly," said Mr. Wade. "It is about a -mile from my brother-in-law's. He is a true man, I tell you. The secesh -would give anything to get him." - -By this time we reached his brother-in-law's. A little girl was in the -yard, and, as we stopped, came to the gate. - -"Well, uncle," said the little girl, "are you running away again from -the rebel soldiers?" - -"No," said Mr. Wade, cheerfully, "--oh no: there are no rebels round -now." - -"Yes, there are," said the girl. "Father has just come from Farmington, -and there are four hundred there." - -"What! four hundred in Farmington!" - -"It is so, brother," said a woman who had come out--"it is so. -They came there this morning; and husband hurried back to tell the -neighbors." - -"Captain," said Mr. Wade, "the sooner you and I get out of this country -the better for us." - -"How far is it back to Farmington?" - -"Only four miles." - -"Is there any reason for their coming down this road?" - -"Yes: Hinckley, the member we elected, lives on it, and Jones, who -helped elect him, lives on it, and I live on it. They would like to -arrest us all. But about half a mile from Hinckley's there is a little -side-path we can take for five or six miles." - -Could we have ridden on a gallop, the side-path would have been -reached before the threatening danger could have reached us; but, -unfortunately, the pain in my side had increased so that we could not -go faster than a walk. I tried a trot for a moment, but could not bear -it, and reined up. "Do you ride on, Mr. Wade," I said: "there is no -need of our both being taken." But Mr. Wade refused. - -It was an anxious ride. We knew that Farmington was not far behind, and -they might come clattering after us at every moment. We looked back -often--at every turn of the road--from the top of every knoll and hill, -but nothing was seen. - -Soon we came to Hinckley's. Two men were seated on the porch, and the -flag was flying in front of the house. I rode on; but Mr. Wade stopped, -and said, "Pull down your flag, boys, and take to the woods." It was -quietly said, but the two men sprang up. I looked back, and saw them -exchange a few words with Mr. Wade, and then one pulled down the flag -as the other ran toward the stable. There was another anxious interval, -and then we reached the side-road. We went past it, so as to leave no -trail, and first one, and then the other, struck off through the woods -until we came to it. A very intricate and narrow little road it was; -so that the enemy could not have travelled much faster than we. Yet -there were some settlers, "but all good Union men," Mr. Wade said. At -the first we stopped; and he borrowed a butternut coat, and, with some -difficulty, helped me off with my soldier's blouse, and on with it; so -that to any person in a neighboring house or field we must have seemed -like two farmers riding along. - -After six or seven miles, our bridle-path came back to the main road. -"There is a nasty, secesh tavern down the road a mile or so," said Mr. -Wade, "and if they are in this part of the country, they will be sure -to go down there for the news and a drink. If we can only get across -the road and over to old Washam's, we shall be safe." - -Slowly we came out to the road. We stopped and listened--we held our -breath, and bent down to catch the trampling of their horses. We moved -on where the bushes grew thickest, and stopped again. Then Mr. Wade -rode out and looked up and down. "There is no one in sight," he said; -"come on quickly." I hurried my horse, and in a moment was across. On -the other side were great trees and but little underbrush to hide us. -We hurried on until we were hidden from the road, and then Mr. Wade -drew a long breath, and said: "They won't come down this road; we are -safe now." - -The danger past, there came a great increase of pain. Each step of the -horse racked me, and I felt myself grow weaker and weaker. At last -came the refreshing words: "Old Washam's is the next house," and soon -the next house appeared. "A true Union man," said Mr. Wade, and true -he seemed, for the flag was displayed before the door. We stopped, -but I was too exhausted to dismount, and had to slide off into Mr. -Wade's arms. As I did so, an old lady with silver spectacles upon her -nose and knitting in her hand, came out. "What is the matter with that -poor man?" she cried; and then catching sight of my uniform under -the butternut coat, "Why, it is a Union soldier; bring him into the -house--bring him in immediately." So I was brought in and laid upon a -bed, and tenderly cared for. - -I lay there watching the knitting and listening to the old lady and her -daughter's talk. They had a consultation upon my safety, and it was -decided that I should go to the daughter's house for the night. "It is -off the road," they said, "and if they make an attack, we can send you -word across the fields." But later, we learnt that two spies had passed -the house that day, and it was decided I should be sent on that night. - -We were to start from the house of a son-in-law of Mr. Washam's, and -he and his brother-in-law were to drive me. I walked up to the house, -and found the wagon nearly ready. His wife was a young girl, with a -sweet and gentle voice and manner. "It is too bad," she said, "too bad -that you should go away so wounded and wearied. In peace, we would not -let any one leave our home thus." Soon the wagon came to the door. -"Mother," she said, "let us make up a bed in it." - -"Oh, no," I interposed, "I am not used to a bed; I have not had one in -three months, and cannot put you to such trouble." - -"It is no trouble to us," she replied, so earnestly and kindly, that I -could not doubt it; "do not think that of us." - -"But," I went on, "I assure you, some hay in the wagon is all I want, -and much more than I am accustomed to. Besides, I am dusty and dirty, -and shall certainly spoil your bed clothes." - -"If it had not been for you Union soldiers fighting for us," she -answered, "there would be nothing in this house to spoil; and whatever -_we_ have, _you_ shall have." - -Against such goodness and patriotism, who could raise objections? -The bed was made in the wagon; they helped me up, and blessed by -many good wishes and kind farewells, we started. For me it was so -much more safe and comfortable than usual, that I soon fell asleep; -but to my two young friends, it was an unusual and an anxious drive. -Frequently I was roused by the wagon stopping. Sometimes they heard -dogs barking--sometimes voices, and once a gun. At length I woke, to -find the wagon standing in front of a house, and young Washam thumping -on the door. Soon a man came out. - -"Why, boys," he said, "what on earth are you doing here this time o' -night?" - -"Why you see, Mr. Derringer," said one of the "boys," "here's a wounded -Union officer, hurt in the fight on the Obion. Joel Wade brought him to -our house, and we've brought him here; and now we want you to take him -to Paducah." - -"I'm really sorry," said Mr. Derringer, "that I've lent my wagon; but -my neighbor, Purcell, is a good Union man, and he will do it. All of -you come in, and I will go over and see him." - -I told Mr. Derringer to wait till morning; but he would not hear of it; -and after seeing us comfortably in bed, he started off to walk a mile -or two and wake his neighbor in the dead of night, to tell him he must -come at break of day and carry on a stranger, of whom he had never even -heard, for no other reason than that he was a wounded Union officer. - -Before daylight, Mr. Derringer roused us. It was all right, he said; -his neighbor Purcell would be there; and now his wife was up, and had -breakfast ready. As breakfast finished, Mr. Purcell arrived; I bade my -good friends good-bye, and started on the last stage of my journey. As -we reached the main road, we saw numbers of men mounted on jaded mules, -and clad in sombre butternut, with sad and anxious faces. Unhappy -refugees flying from the invading foe! Some who had journeyed through -the night, rode with us toward Paducah; others who had reached it the -day before, rode anxiously out in quest of news. As many caught sight -of me, they recognized the marks of recent service. - -"Are you from the Obion?" they asked; "how far off is the enemy now? -Will he dare to come here?" - -We drew nearer to the town, and the signs of alarm increased. The -crowd of refugees grew greater--the cavalry patrolled the roads--the -infantry was under arms, and the artillery was planted so as to sweep -the approaches. At last some houses appeared. - -"This is Paducah," said Mr. Purcell; "you are there at last." - -We stopped at headquarters, and I went in to report. - -"Is the adjutant in?" I asked of an officer who was writing. - -"I am the adjutant, sir," he answered, without looking up. - -"I have come to report myself as arriving at this post." - -"What name, sir?" - -I gave my name. The adjutant looked up, and with some surprise, said: - -"Why, you are reported killed, sir; two of your men saw you lying dead -under your horse!" - -"How many of my men have come in?" - -"About half; they are at the Provost Marshal's." - -"Any officers?" - -"Yes; one of your lieutenants was taken, but escaped, and came down -from Mayfield by railroad. And now," said the adjutant, "don't stay -here any longer; go at once to the hospital, and I will send an order -to the medical director to give you a good surgeon." - -A few moments more, and I caught sight of a group of my men. Then came -the painful questions: Who have come in? Who are missing? Who last saw -this one? Who knows anything of that one? Where does K's family live? -and who will write to tell them how he fell? And then came a surgeon--a -quiet room--a tedious time--an old friend--and a journey home. - - - - -X. - -THE LAST SCOUT. - - -From New York to Fort Henry might once have been an interesting -journey, but campaigning has robbed travelling of its charm, and -henceforth I fear it will be but dull work for me. The railroad bore me -swiftly to the mouth of the Ohio; I have looked again on Cairo in its -dirt and mud, Paducah with its dusty streets and hospitals, and now I -am on the banks of the Tennessee. - -But I am here only to close my service in the West, and to say good-bye -to my comrades of the Fifth; to get Gipsy, and to recover my sabre. I -have had an interesting soldier-life in Tennessee--more interesting -than I shall have again--and I leave it with regret. - -With me so many things have happened here on Sunday, that you must not -be surprised that it is Sunday now. It was on Sunday that Donelson -surrendered--on Sunday that I went upon my first foraging--on Sunday -that I entered Paris with a flag--on Sunday that we began our first -retreat--and it is Sunday now that I am starting on my last scout. - -The party consists of the men of my old squadron, most of whom were -with me in the spring. They have not been to the Obion since, and -quickly guess that our destination is Lockridge Mill. - -It is a beautiful October day, and the tall Tennessee corn stands ripe -in the fields, though the woods are as green as they were last June. -The Muscadine grape is purple, and the persimmon trees are scattered -thickly along the road. Yet the frost has not sugared all of the -persimmons, and when we taste one which it has not touched, our mouths -are drawn up as though we had tasted so much nut-gall. The weather and -the woods are all that we can wish, and my life in Tennessee will be -interesting to its close. - -The road is one that I have not passed over _with you_, for it would -not be safe for us to go by Paris and Como. Too many people would -guess our destination if we did, so we reverse the circle, and hope to -come back that way. This road will lead us through a bad neighborhood, -where the guerrillas have many friends. Last week cotton and tobacco -were burnt near Boydsville; and we know of large bodies of them up -the river, who have succeeded King's cavalry, and may swoop down on -us at any time. We need, therefore, to use much care and caution, and -be always on the watch. For many miles our ride has not been marked -by anything unusual; but it is now evening, and we are approaching a -little hamlet. We reach it--we have seen no one, and no one has seen -us; but every door is closed, and every house is empty. I do not like -this. The advance guard has noticed it too, and halted for orders. - -"Push on, corporal," I say; "be very watchful; send two of your men -well ahead, and keep on at a trot." - -No one is seen, and no sound is heard for some time, and then we meet -a man on horseback, who has drawn out to the side of the road for us -to pass. A sergeant leaves the column and tells the man that he must -come with us; and, much against his will, he does so. But, not long -afterwards, we halt to feed our horses. - -"Send Corporal Morton and four men back a mile as a picket. Let them -take corn with them and feed two of the horses, while the others go -further down the road. Then change and feed the others, and, when all -are done, come in without further orders." - -The advance guard pursue the same plan, and then I turn to the man on -horseback. - -"I have been up to the doctor's for medicine for my wife," he says, -"and she's expecten of me back. I wish you would let me go, sir." - -"I cannot now," I answer; "but I will try to let you off soon." - -"Couldn't you let me go now, sir? She's real sick. Here's the medicine, -just as I got it from the doctor. You can look at it if you want to; -and she'll be scaret bad if I don't come. I'll give you my word not to -say anything to anybody, if you don't want me to." - -The man is very earnest; he has the medicine, and he appears very -truthful. I am afraid you will think me quite cruel when I answer: - -"I am sorry; but it's my duty to detain you. You cannot go." - -The man sits down beside the gate, and the sergeant who has him in -charge sits down with him, where, I fear, they do not enjoy themselves. - -The owner of the house stepped out as soon as we arrived, and -good-naturedly invited us in; finding that we wished to feed, he showed -the way to the corn-cribs, and dealt out his corn with a free hand. But -one object in our halt here is to arrest him. As he returns from the -cribs, I tell him I wish to speak to him; and we walk to the house. - -"Mr. Bennett," I say, "you are a soldier in the Southern army." - -"No, sir. I was, but I've been discharged." - -"Let me see your discharge." - -His wife searches for it in a wardrobe, and in a few minutes brings -it to me. It states that he was discharged from the service of the -Confederate States on account of physical disability. - -"You left, then, because you could not serve any longer." - -"Yes, sir." - -"Had you a pass through our lines?" - -"No, sir." - -"Have you reported to any of our officers, or taken the oath?" - -"No, sir." - -"Don't you know you are violating military law, and are liable to be -arrested?" - -The man says nothing. The three children, who have watched the -reading of the "discharge" as though it were a safeguard, turn their -frightened faces upon me, and his wife moves nearer and says pleadingly: - -"Oh, sir, he is sick. He can't fight any more, and will never go again. -He is willing to take the oath, and was going down to take it last -week." - -"Why did you not go?" - -"I heard there would be an officer up at Boydsville, and that I could -take it before him. I acknowledge I ought to have gone down before." - -"Well, you have answered so frankly against your self that I will take -your word for this. Go down to the fort by Thursday, report yourself to -the commanding officer, and take the oath." - -The man promises he will, and his wife thanks me and gives many -assurances that she has had enough of the war. We have a little talk -about the rebellion, and then I go out. The man whose wife is sick -still sits by the gate, and looks up entreatingly as I pass. But the -horses have finished their feed, and the rear guard is coming up the -road. - -"You may go now, sir," I say to him, "and I regret that you have been -stopped; but be careful to tell no one that we are here to-night." - -He promises, mounts his horse, and rides away. I wait until he is out -of sight, and then order the men to mount. Mr. Bennett comes up and -shakes hands, and I ask him which is the road to Boydsville, and how -far it is there. He tells me it is about eight miles, and says: - -"So you are going to Boydsville, are you?" - -"Yes," I answer, "we're going that way. Good night." And we move off at -a trot, upon the Boydsville road. - -It is three o'clock in the morning, and we are bivouacked in a large -field far back from any road or house. Last night we soon left the -Boydsville road, and then crossed over to a third one, and stopped here -about ten. The moon now shines brightly, and all is still as though it -were midnight; but the camp guard is calling up the men, and we must -resume our march. When the sun rises we shall be many miles away. - -As we approach Boydsville, we meet a couple of wagons with boxes and -goods. They are stopped, and the usual questions put. "Where are you -from?" "Where were these goods bought?" "Have you the government -permits to buy goods?" The men reply that they have come from Paducah, -and produce the bills of goods, all properly stamped by the United -States inspector, so we let them pass. - -It is now nearly noon, and we cannot be many miles from Lockridge Mill. -Once or twice some man has thought he remembered a house or hill as -one he had passed in our retreat; but no one has felt sure of this. At -last we come to a cross-road, and four houses which bear the name of -Buena Vista; and, as we reach it, every man starts and looks about him. -There is no mistaking this; we have been _here_ before, and have good -cause to remember the place. It was here they fired on us across the -corner of the field; here, some of the men turned the wrong way and had -to come back; and here, the side of the road was gullied out like the -bars of a gridiron, and I wonder more now than I did then that my horse -("ne'er such another") ever crossed it at a gallop as I rode beside the -column. - -The squadron halts here; but I select eight men, and keep on. We think -that an hour's ride will take us to the spot where my horse fell, and -another will bring us back. But retracing a road ridden over in such -a manner by moonlight, and at another season of the year, is no easy -task. Yet here eight heads prove better than one; for, it often happens -that out of the eight, there will be only one who noticed a little -something, and only another who noticed a little something else. Before -long, however, there is another burst of exclamations, for another -noticeable place appears--a long, straight stretch of road between two -wooded knolls, and covered with the stumps of young trees as thickly as -though they had been driven down by hand. Well do I remember how, when -I caught sight of it, I ordered the men to pull up and cross slowly, -and how I turned and watched for the enemy to reach the knoll and open -their rifle fire before we should be over. Yet, after passing this, -the noticeable places are few, and then cease. We turn down this road -and that one, and come back, finding nothing that we can remember. If -it were not for the sabre, I would give up the search and go back. At -last, only one of the party believes the spot we are seeking is still -before us, and even his faith in his memory is shaken. We have been two -hours instead of one, and have found nothing yet. We have ridden since -three this morning, and the day has summer heat. Shall we keep on? Yes, -a little farther. I _must_ find my sabre. But we come to a house hidden -beneath a clump of apple trees, a wide field, a high fence and a large -tree. It is my turn to remember now--how inch by inch I toiled up that -hill, and how beneath that tree I tried, and failed, and failed and -tried to climb that towering fence. - -A little farther on a road turns off, and the men are sure that it was -this road we took. At the turn (wherever it may be), there was on that -evening a man with a yoke of oxen, who came near being run down. As we -stand discussing the question, a contraband comes up. - -"Sam," says one of the men, "do you remember the fight on the Obion -last spring?" - -"Yes, sah," says Sam; "I like to been killed thar." - -"You did! how so?" - -"Why, just as the soldiers were a comen along, I was a standen right -here on this here very corner with our ox-team, and for all the world I -thought they'd a run over me." - -"What! are you the man with the oxen?" I exclaim. - -"Yes, sah," says Sam; "I'm the very man." - -"Then, Sam," I say, "you are the very man we want, and must go along -and show us where the soldiers went that night." - -We dismount, and half the men take the horses to the nearest house to -feed, and, with the others, I walk on. The men say they remember it, -but to me it is all a blank. The main events I recollect clearly, but -my fall, I find, knocked the last three miles of the ride entirely out -of my memory. We go on nearly two miles, and I see nothing that I can -recall. Then the road goes down a series of steep descents--so steep I -wonder if I ever did ride down them on a runaway horse. As we descend -one of these I stop, for before me, as in a dream, stand two trees, and -through them I see the fallen trunk and branches of another. I do not -expect to see the remains of my horse, for I have already learnt that -he staggered bleeding to a house near by, and was seized by the enemy. -But this is the spot--I am sure of it. - -"I think it was farther on, captain," says a corporal, "that I saw your -horse down--I think it was _there_, and you must have crawled down to -the brook at _that_ place." - -I will try the corporal's place first, and I walk rapidly down there. -I reach the bank of the brook, and my heart fails me, for the brook is -dry; its waters cannot hide the sabre now. I look above and below, and -there is no sabre to be seen. But this is not the place--there is no -log here--I knew it was higher up; so I jump down into the bed of the -stream, and walk eagerly up. Above me is a point, and when I turn that -point I am certain I shall see the log--and perhaps the sabre. I reach -it, and am pushing through the bushes that overhang the brook, when a -sergeant calls out, "Here it is." Yes, there is the log, and beneath -it, just as I threw it in, lies the sabre. Rusted and broken and never -to be drawn again, it is a thousand times more precious than when, -burnished and bright, I first received it. I know it is valueless, and -that its beauty and its usefulness are gone, but the happiest moment of -my soldier-life is when I find my ruined sabre. - -In the twilight of evening we return to Buena Vista. Very anxious have -I been for the last two hours, and very anxious seem the men, as they -stand round their saddled horses, at our prolonged absence. I have -heard of a party of guerrillas in front and of another on our right, -and the men have heard of a third in the rear. Our horses are too tired -to march far, and we have already been here too long. The left seems -clear, and to the left is Lockridge Mill, and our road back--but too -many have already guessed that we are going there, and the men have -asked too many questions to keep our destination a secret, as hitherto -it always has been. It is such situations as this that make the cavalry -service so interesting; and in its miniature strategy is a constant -charm. The question, What shall be done? must be answered quickly, and -one needs move skilfully when he is surrounded by difficulties. Here -the roads cross somewhat like a letter X. Up the first we marched in -the morning, and up the second I have just come; the third leads to -Lockridge Mill, and in the fourth we have no real interest. The men -mount, wheel into column; I order "_trot_," "_trot out_," and we move -rapidly up the fourth road. No sooner out of sight of the houses at our -starting place, than we come down to the slowest of walks. Whenever a -house appears, we are seen on a trot; and whenever the house is passed, -we find ourselves on a walk. Thus we appear to be going rapidly up -this road, when we are in fact moving slowly. Some three miles up is a -watering place, the only one, and there our thirsty horses must drink. -As we pass the last house, its pack of dogs bark, and its inmates come -out and look at us go by. Then we go down, down, down into a damp, -cold, wooded ravine. In its depths we find a muddy stream, and the -horses plunge their nostrils deep, and quaff it thirstily. We come out -on the other side, and halting, dismount. - -Nothing could seem more strange or be more unusual than halting in such -a spot, and at such an hour; yet no man asks a question, or appears -surprised. Those who have been at the cross-roads all day, gather in -little groups and talk; and those who have been with me, lie down and -doze. Wonderful are the effects of discipline and experience! A year -ago how agitated would these same men have been, and how discussed -this inexplicable delay! Now they are undisturbed, and leave it all to -me. The videttes ride in and whisper reports, and ride out again with -whispered instructions; yet this man relights his pipe, and that one -goes on with his story. At length the Tennessee bed time is passed, -and the videttes from the front "come in." The orders are given, "Be -silent;" "Hold your sabres so that they will not clank;" "By file to -the right;" and we are retracing our steps to Buena Vista. Riding by -file makes a less intense noise, though the column is stretched out to -twice its usual length, and the noise lasts twice as long. We mount -the hill noiselessly, and I look with anxiety at the house. Do I see -a light? No, 'tis but the moon glimmering on the window panes. We -approach it--the dogs are as silent as the men. I am before it, and -check Ida to her slowest walk--the column behind me hardly moves, and -the horses seem to tread lightly. We are past, and no cur has yelped -or person seen us--our first strategic movement is successful. "It was -done first rate," whispers the sergeant behind me; "we got ahead of the -dogs that time." - -On our left there is a corn field, with the tall Southern corn still -standing. We halt, and two men dismount, and, in the shadow of a tree, -take down the high rail fence. The column, turning in, passes up a corn -row to the other side of the field; the two men, remaining, carefully -replace the fence. The shadow of the tree hides our trail, and we -have left no other sign behind us. On the other side of the field is -a little basin, unploughed and grass-covered, wherein our horses are -picketed. As I ride around it, I find they are completely hidden away; -it is perfect for our purpose. The sentinels stand on the rising ground -behind us, and in the clear moonlight, see over a wide expanse of -fields; and here we lie down and securely sleep. - -It is three in the morning, and the men have left their cavalry -couches, and are silently rolling their blankets and saddling their -horses. We leave the field as we entered it, replacing the fence and -turning toward Buena Vista. How surprised the owner will be when, -harvesting his corn, he stumbles on the traces of our mysterious -bivouac. The country still sleeps in the chill, silent moonlight, and -very chilly and silent are we; but by and by the day breaks, and, as -the sun rises, we descend into the dark, damp valley of the Obion. The -direction of our march is reversed--so is the hour, and so are all the -circumstances, yet we feel awed by the memories of last May. Every -fallen tree or muddy hollow has a tale--here this man's horse was shot, -here another was wounded, and here a third narrowly escaped. On the -bank of this little stream, the man who leads was taken prisoner; over -it Tennessee made an unequalled jump; in this mud hole, five horses -went down, and further on, near the bridge, our major fell. Looking at -it calmly and critically, it seems even worse than it did then, and I -wonder how one of us escaped. - -We reach the bridge; the thickened foliage leaves the valley less -open, yet I can, in fancy, see again that long column bearing down -upon us. What a strong position it is! how easily we could have held -it, had we been armed like the enemy! And here are the house and the -barn-yard, and Bischoff shows us the very place where the little black -horse made his famous leap; and Mr. Lockridge comes out and points to -some graves, and his wife repeats some dying words. They beg us to -stay to breakfast, and say that though they suffered last spring, they -have been blessed with an abundant harvest; but we do not feel like -breakfasting there now, and pass on to the houses where the flags were -waved, and where the welcome is worthy of the flag. - -A long day has this been for us--sultry and hot--the streams dried -up--the wells a hundred feet deep--and our horses have suffered much. -We are still seven miles from Como, when two mounted men are seen -behind us. "Bring those men in, sergeant." The sergeant wheels about -and soon returns with them. - -"I must trouble you to ride with us awhile, gentlemen," I say; "I wish -to talk with you." - -"We are going to Cottage Grove," says one of the men; "it is seven -miles off, and we have ridden a long distance to-day: I hope you won't -take us far." - -"I will see about it," I say; and we ride on. - -One--two--three miles; it is no joke to the men, they plead their -loyalty, and give their names and proffer their honor. The answer they -get is, "I am sorry for you--I know it's hard; but I cannot let you go." - -"We've been up to old-man Gibbs', near Dresden." - -"A tall dark man, who sometimes rides a white mule?" - -"No, that's his son. Now you know the kind of folks we've been among, -maybe you'll let us go." - -"I am sorry for you--I know it's hard; but I cannot let you go." - -Four--five--six miles, and they ask: - -"Do you mean to take us to Como?" - -"Yes." - -"When we get there, will you let us go?" - -"No." - -"It's further from Como than from here; our horses are tired, and our -folks will be frightened." - -"I am sorry for you--I know it is hard; but I cannot let you go." - -"Mr. Hurt knows us, and will vouch for us." - -"Well, I will see Mr. Hurt." - -Como is reached at last. Our secession friend's barnyards are still -standing, and half the men halt there; this time to trouble him for -supper as well as forage. With the rest I continue down the road that I -walked up so anxiously when I was last here. I dismount and walk to the -steps, where stands Mrs. Hurt. We come from a guerrilla country, and -in the twilight she does not recognize me. I can see in her frightened -look and agitated manner, that she thinks we are some of her Southern -brethren. I therefore hasten to announce myself by saying, "How are -you, Mrs. Hurt? I have come back for that tea you were getting for me -last spring." A very joyful meeting it is; and Mr. Hurt is called, and -we shake hands as though we had been lifelong friends, and say to each -other that we can hardly believe our acquaintance was but of the part -of a single day. Trouble and danger bring people very quickly close -together. - -But the two men all this while have been sitting on their horses at the -gate, and now they cough loudly. - -"Come here," I say to Mr. Hurt, "and tell me if you know these men, and -if they are trustworthy." - -We walk to the gate, and Mr. Hurt bursts into a loud laugh. "Why," he -says, "you have arrested the only two Union men there are in Cottage -Grove!" - -I am vexed, but I cannot help laughing; and the men are vexed, but -they, after a minute, laugh too. - -"Don't tell it up there," says Mr. Hurt, "or the secesh will laugh at -you all your lives;" and then we shake hands, and they ride away. - -I need not tell you that this time we stayed to tea; nor how we talked -over the events of the former visit; and how everybody remembered where -everybody sat, and what everybody did, and every word that everybody -said. But it is time to go, and though Mr. Hurt will not hear of it, we -saddle up, and bidding them many good-byes, resume our march. - -Last spring when we crossed the Tennessee, two men, named Anderson -and Faris, came into camp as refugees from Paris. When I was in Paris -with the flag, some one came behind me and said, in a whisper, "Tell -Anderson and Faris not to come back!" As we guarded the Holly Fork next -day, Anderson and Faris appeared. I stopped them, not on their account, -but for the reason that I would not let _anybody_ pass; and afterward -they came down and stayed chiefly in camp. On our expedition to the -Obion, Faris had been our guide. He was taken, a court-martial was -held, at which a neighbor of his--one Captain Mitchell--was the chief -manager and witness; and Faris was sentenced as a spy, and hung. He met -his death bravely, writing a calm and heroic letter to his wife upon -his coffin. - -We have all wanted to catch Master Mitchell; and now, on our way from -Mr. Hurt's, I accidentally learn that last evening he came into Paris. -We have been on the road since three this morning, and it is eleven -now; but this opportunity shall not be lost, though he is a cunning -fellow, who probably will not stay two nights in the same place. And -now we halt at the house of an old Unionist, who bears a striking -resemblance to General Scott, and whose fine old house is surrounded -and overshadowed by a noble grove, equal to our Battery in its better -days. - -"Call me at half-past one," I say to the corporal of the guard; "and -relieve guard in an hour." - -"Half-past one, captain," says the corporal. - -"Call up the men." - -The men turn out promptly after their two hours' sleep. - -"The moon seems pretty much in the same place," says one. - -"No wonder," answers another, "it's only half-past one." - -Nothing more is said, and no surprise expressed. If you could hear -them, you would think that going to bed at eleven and rising at -half-past one is their usual course. - -We pass quietly out of the beautiful grove, and wend our way toward -Paris. Paris is not altogether safe; Captain Mitchell's visit may have -been the forerunner of a guerrilla raid. At three in the morning we -have passed Mrs. Ayres', and are on the outskirts of the town. The men -are informed of the object of the movement, and are burning with the -desire of taking him. There is no need of the order, "If he attempts to -escape, shoot him, cut him down, give him no quarter." Those who know -the house form a party to surround it, and the rest a reserve to look -at the court-house square and see if there be any guerrillas there. We -descend to the little stream that bounds Paris; we climb the hill, and -enter its empty streets. The men are riding by file, and intent as I am -on my object, I am struck with the strange, spectral appearance of this -long line of horsemen slowly winding through the silent town. - -We approach the house, and the sergeant who has charge of the party -dismounts half his men; they fasten their horses, and climb the fence. -There is an instant's exciting pause, and then the men on foot rush to -the back of the house, while the others gallop to the front; the house -is surrounded. I dismount and enter the gate, and as I do so the front -door opens, and a woman and two or three girls come out. - -"Is Captain Mitchell in this house?" I say to the woman, whom I -naturally take to be his wife. - -"No, sir." - -"When did he leave it?" - -"I don't know, sir." - -"Is this Mrs. Mitchell?" - -"No, sir. My name is Mrs. ----. I don't live here." - -He has either escaped, I think, or is still in the house, and this -party has been sitting up with him; so I say, somewhat sarcastically: - -"Are you ladies in the habit of being up till three in the morning?" - -"No, sir. To-night we are sitting up with a sick person." - -"How sick?" I say, not half believing the reply. - -There is a young girl of fifteen standing beside the woman, who has -earnestly watched me, and she answers my question: - -"She is my sister," she says in a trembling voice--"she is my sister, -and she is dying." - -"It is so," says the woman. "The doctor says she is in the last stages -of diphtheria, and can live but a few hours. Captain Mitchell came back -because he heard she was dying. If you don't believe me, you can come -in and look for yourself." - -"No," I answer, "if this family is in such affliction, we will be the -last persons to intrude. I will withdraw the most of my men; and you, -my girl, may go back to your sister, and feel assured that no one -shall disturb you during the remainder of the night." - -They seem surprised, and, thanking me, go in. I post a man at each -corner of the house, and the others go back to bivouac in the -court-house square. I am much perplexed what to do. It shall not be -said that we searched a house while a girl was dying, and yet it may -be a trick, and he within. Walking up and down upon the court-house -steps, I think the matter over, and determine on this course: There is -a physician attending this girl, and there is another here in whom I -can implicitly trust. At sunrise I have routed these two gentlemen out, -and marched them down to the house. I then send for Mrs. Mitchell. She -comes out, pale from night-watching, and looks with no friendly eye on -the pursuers of her husband and the disturbers of her child. - -"Captain Mitchell is not here," she says calmly. "He took leave of his -daughter, and went away yesterday. She has only an hour or two to live." - -"I don't dispute your word, Mrs. Mitchell; I feel for you in your -affliction, and know how harsh and unkind my actions must seem; but it -is my duty to search this house. Yet I will do all I can for you. I -will keep my guards on the outside; or I will let Dr. Matheson go with -your physician, and if they report to me that your daughter is as ill -as you say, then I will let them make the search." - -"I don't object to this, sir; it will not frighten my daughter." - -The two doctors go in, and Mrs. Mitchell continues standing beside me -on the piazza. - -"You have a hard lot," I say; "your husband away at such a time--near -you, and yet unable to return." - -"Yes, a very hard lot," she answers with a sigh. - -The two doctors come out, and Dr. Matheson says: - -"She is nearly gone; it is diphtheria--the last stage." - -"Then search the house, gentlemen, thoroughly, from top to bottom, in -every room and closet; examine every bed and corner." - -They come out again, and report that he is not in the house. The guards -return their sabres and march away; and Mrs. Mitchell, to my surprise, -holds out her hand and says, "I don't blame you, sir, for what you've -done; I wish all others had treated us as kindly." - -Much as I desired to arrest him, I confess that I am greatly relieved. -Arresting a father at the bedside of his dying daughter would mar the -pleasant memories of my last scout in Tennessee. - - * * * * * - -I am gliding down the beautiful river, its crystal waters sparkle -in the sun; and Fort Henry is lessening on my sight: the tall hills -opposite sink down, the flag-staff and the waving flag alone are left. -Now, farewell, Tennessee! - - - - -_APPENDIX._ - - -The following interesting letters, which are taken from leading New -York newspapers, are now added to the 3d edition of this work. They -form so unusual a testimonial from military officers, and also from the -Union men of the South, of the truthfulness and value of the book, both -as a sketch of war scenes, drawn from a military point of view, and as -a reliable account of the Union sentiment which secretly prevailed at -the South, that the Executive Committee have deemed them a desirable -appendix to the foregoing pages. - - - AN INTERESTING INCIDENT. - - _Editor of the_ --------. - - The re-publication of JUDGE NOTT'S "Sketches of the War," - recalls an incident, connected with one of those unfaltering - Unionists of Tennessee, which I trust will prove interesting to - your loyal readers. - - In the month of Oct., 1863, when on a scouting expedition, - after Faulkner, which left Union City, under the command of the - celebrated Captain Frank Moore, of the 2d Illinois Cavalry, we - passed through Como. It was after noon, and I, with my two - companies of the 4th Mo. Cavalry, was ordered to "turn in" and - feed, at a house, about a quarter of a mile out of town, where - there seemed to be plenty of forage and "shoats." After seeing - my command properly disposed, I stationed a guard at the house, - and entered the gate. The lady of the house met me on the porch - and invited me in. I observed to her, after entering, that I was - obliged to stop to feed my command, as they were very tired and - hungry, and asked if she could prepare a meal for some half dozen - officers. She assented, and immediately went to the kitchen to - give the necessary directions. When she returned, I inquired: - - "Is your husband at home?" - - "No, sir. He is absent, looking for his stock." - - I was then convinced of what I expected at first, from her - frightened looks and distant manner, that her husband was in the - rebel army. - - "What," I ventured to ask, "is your husband's name?" - - "Hurt, sir." - - "Hurt, Hurt," I repeated after her. "That name sounds familiar. I - have seen or heard it somewhere. Ah! now I remember. It was in a - little work written by Captain Nott, called 'Sketches of the War'." - - "Indeed!" she exclaimed. "Did you know him?" - - "Very well. I was his 2d Lieutenant in the 4th Mo. Cavalry, my - present regiment. We left New York for St. Louis, and entered - this regiment together, in August, 1861. Unfortunately, however, - we were soon separated; for Captain Nott and his company were - transferred to the 5th Iowa Cavalry, and I have not seen him - since. It was a bitter disappointment to me, and I have never - fairly got over it." - - "Then you are really Union soldiers? I'm sure you are." - - "How could you doubt it?" I asked. "You see we wear the United - States uniform." - - "That is not always conclusive, Captain. It was only the other - day, that a force of rebel cavalry, disguised in blue coats, - surprised and routed a detachment of the 7th Tennessee Cavalry, - in this very place. I never heard such horrid yelling in my life. - They acted like demons. Since then, we are obliged to be very - cautious." - - Here Mrs. Hurt excused herself, and, stepping to the door, - directed Tom to call his master. Returning, she continued: - - "I must apologize, Captain, for deceiving you as to my husband's - whereabouts. You see the difficulties of our situation. He will - be here presently. His stock usually stray no farther than the - nearest corn-field." - - Smiling at her explanation of what at first looked to me very - much like a _white_ lie, I observed, that I fully appreciated the - dangers attending life in a country raided over alternately by - each of two hostile parties; and that I well understood why, at - first, I believed myself in a "secesh" house. - - "I presume," I continued, "you have not seen Captain Nott's little - book, describing his visit here, and his adventures in these - parts?" - - "Oh, yes. And what is more, it is in a safe place. We hide it - away, for fear it might get soiled." - - She undoubtedly knew it would not be quite safe to let the - "Johnnies" find it. - - Mr. Hurt now appeared, just as we were sitting down to dinner. - Several of my officers had come in. - - "Husband, these are the friends of Captain Nott. I have explained - your absence." - - "I am delighted to see you, gentlemen; tell me all about the - Captain. We have entirely lost track of him." - - "The last news we had of him, he was a prisoner at Camp Ford, - Texas. He was Colonel of the 176th New York Infantry. There is a - rumor that he died in prison, but we do not credit it." - - "I hope it is only a rumor. I never met a man, in my whole life, - for whom I formed so strong an attachment. And if ever I find out - where he is, I will visit him, if it takes me to China. I never - saw an officer who had such remarkable control over his men. At - the same time they seemed to idolize him." - - We continued to chat till dinner was over, when Mrs. Hurt - produced a copy of "Sketches," which had been sent by the author. - "Nothing," she said, "would induce us to part with it." - - The second edition of this charming little work, beautifully - bound, and appropriately embellished with cavalry insignia, has - just been issued from the Press. Judged by its predecessor, which - has long since been exhausted, I have no doubt but this edition - will meet a cordial welcome wherever real merit is recognized and - rewarded. To facilitate in some degree its circulation, I desire - to say something in its behalf: in the first place, because of - my attachment to the author, under whom I entered the service; - in the second place, because the work is a very deserving one; - and thirdly, because it is published for the exclusive benefit of - disabled soldiers. - - Compiled from a series of letters originally written to the pupils - of Ward School 44, of this city, of which the author was formerly - a trustee, it might be inferred that the style and subject-matter - would be exclusively adapted to the tastes and comprehension of - children. The fact is otherwise. The author, as he states in the - preface, has "carefully avoided that 'baby talk' and paltriness - of subject," so common in works for juveniles, and has given - "just such incidents and topics, as he would have chosen for - their fathers and mothers." To the generality of adult readers, - I venture the assertion, few works of romance will be found more - absorbingly interesting. For myself, I freely say, that not only - was I intensely interested; but, accustomed as I was, to all - the details of cavalry service, I learned much from this little - volume, which could not be found in "Tactics" or "Regulations." It - is an excellent work for officers to read, both for amusement and - information. - - Beside the exceeding attractiveness of the story, the scholar - is fascinated by the dignity and purity of the composition--the - simplicity of the style, and the surpassing clearness, naturalness - and minuteness, which mark the book throughout. Nothing seems - to have escaped the observation of the author; and whatever he - observed, he remembered. The smallest details are garnered, and - made to contribute to the interest of the narrative. One of the - prominent features of the work is, that most of the incidents, - thrilling in themselves, are put in the colloquial form, thus - giving them a directness and vivacity, which is lost in the - third-person style. But, perhaps, the distinguishing charm lies in - the fact, that the author has stamped himself upon his work. Every - page illustrates the nobleness and real goodness of heart, which - ever characterized his actions. - - OSCAR P. HOWE, - Captain 4th Mo. Cavalry. - - -_From the New York Tribune._ - - A new edition of "Sketches of the War," by Charles C. Nott, - is published by A. D. F. Randolph, for the exclusive benefit - of disabled soldiers, in the expectation of opening for them - a profitable field of employment. The volume was originally - written in the form of letters to the pupils of one of the public - schools in this city, but the spirited and attractive character - of its contents, as well as fidelity of its descriptions, have - recommended it to a far wider circle of readers, and given it an - extensive popularity. The new edition will be eagerly welcomed, - both for its own merits and the benevolent purpose to which it is - devoted. - - -The following interesting letter is from Colonel George E. Waring, of -this city, late commander of the Fourth Missouri Cavalry: - - STAMFORD, CONN., Feb. 23, 1865. - - MY DEAR HANSON:--I send you with this a copy of "War - Sketches," which were written by Colonel Nott, who was Captain in - our regiment before your time, and with the tradition of whose - good qualities you are familiar. It will be especially interesting - to you, as recalling the scenes of our jolly rough-riding in - Western Kentucky and Tennessee. - - Do you remember (when we took our brigade from Clinton, and - started on that wild-goose chase after Faulkner) how we went into - camp on the west fork of Clark's River, with our head-quarters in - a retired nook in the bush, only large enough to hold our little - party? and, how there came to us there, a Mr. Wade, a Mr. Chunn, - and a Mr. Magness, whose statements, that they were Unionists, we - doubted, until they told us of their assistance to Captain Nott? - how we trusted them then; and how faithful we found them? All of - this pleasant summer campaign comes back to me--as it will to - you--in reading the "Sketches." And your mind will run on, as mine - does, to our entrance into Murray, the next day, and the Sunday - dinner with the good old fox-hunting Mr. Guthrie; (the rebels - burnt his house down for that hospitality;) and our "secesh" - visitors in the camp below Conyersville, with their peach-brandy - and honey; and the preparation for a night attack on the enemy at - Paris; and how that promising scheme was knocked on the head by a - stupid order from our nervous old general, (a hundred miles away,) - to turn immediately back, and leave our ripe fruit unplucked; how - Faulkner took courage from our movement, and broke up our game - of corn-poker on the Buffalo robe, in the next camp on the back - track; and how we mounted and scoured the country, and couldn't - find the party which had attacked us--only heard of them going - toward Paris again? - - Read the account of the entrance into Paris, (pages 71 and 72,) - and see if it does not take you back to our entering it, a year - and more ago; and to our night at Dr. Matherson's brick house, at - the head of the street, where we went for good quarters, thinking - him a rebel, and wishing him out of our room before we settled - ourselves for the evening, until he asked us if we knew Captain - Nott, and shewed us that he knew, and was trusted by him; and what - a cozy evening we passed with them, in spite of the bitter cold - weather? We knew we were with a friend, and he did not spare his - wood-pile in entertaining us. - - How graphic is the description of the freezing fast to the - ground of the citizens, when they first see us coming into a - town (making it always look like Sunday.) Read, too, of the - Obion bottom--which was less muddy, but not more pleasant, to - Captain Nott than to us--and of the wild confusion of single-rank - cavalry when surprised; and of Bischoff's holding the Captain's - stirrup under fire;--how like Hover, and the "_Vierte Missouri_," - that!--and of Bischoff's gamey little black horse, bringing him - through a tight place, just as Miss Pussy has done for you. - - And the skirmish, over the piano, with Miss Ayres; how like it is - to what I've so often seen from you and the other young ones of - the staff. - - It seems at first rather odd that a book originally written - for school-girls, should be so exactly the book which is most - interesting to men--even to those who have served--but it is - precisely those little details, which one would think of writing - only for children, which give to all the clearest idea of the - realities of military life, and which best recall the daily - pleasures, trials and anxieties of a campaign, when graver events - have dimmed our recollection of them. - - I am sure that I am sending you material for a few hours pleasant - reading in camp, and I trust to Captain Nott, to turn your memory - back to the companionship and the incidents of the months which we - passed together, in the valley of the Obion River. - - Very truly, yours, - - GEORGE E. WARING, JR. - - To Capt. HUNN HANSON, A. D. C. - - H'd Q'rs 16th Army Corps, Mobile Bay. - - -_New York Evening Post._ - -A GOOD BOOK AND A GOOD DEED. - -In the early part of the war Mr. Charles C. Nott, a lawyer in this -city, received from General Fremont the appointment of captain of -cavalry in a Western regiment. Soon after his entrance into active -service he began a series of letters to one of our great public -schools, of which he had previously been a trustee. These letters were -read in school, were copied and recopied for manuscript circulation, -and were at length published during their author's absence, under the -title of "Sketches of the War." The first edition met with a ready -sale, and when Captain (now Colonel) Nott returned from a year's -imprisonment in Texas, he found that it was entirely exhausted. For -some months after his return the Colonel devoted his time to organizing -a Bureau of Employment for disabled soldiers, but on leaving it to -accept the appointment of Judge of the United States Court of Claims, -which the late President conferred upon him, he published a second -edition of his book, and presented it, with the stereotype plates -and five hundred copies, to the Executive Committee of the Bureau -of Employment, to be devoted exclusively to the aid of our disabled -veterans. - -The following interesting correspondence took place in March last: - - - "NEW YORK, March 4, 1865. - - "Messrs. HOWARD POTTER, WM. E. DODGE, JR., and THEODORE - ROOSEVELT, _Ex. Com. Protective War Claim Association_: - - "GENTLEMEN:--Enclosed you will find an order on my - publisher for five hundred copies second edition "Sketches of the - War," an assignment of the copyright of that work, and an order - putting the stereotype plates at your disposal so long as you - may wish to continue the publication for the benefit of disabled - soldiers. - - "I do this, trusting the sale may furnish to some of our greatest - sufferers temporary employment. I have also indulged the hope that - if our manufacturers should fail to furnish suitable employment - to men who have lost an arm or leg, or suffered some equal - disability, this little bequest of mine may lead to some similar - action on the part of other officers. There is a much stronger - tie between officers (who deserve that name) and soldiers than is - generally supposed to exist, and I am confident there are numbers - in New York who will come forward whenever the necessity is made - known to them, and do all in their power to aid those soldiers who - bear such unmistakable marks of their honorable service. - - "I remain, gentlemen, very respectfully, - "CHARLES C. NOTT." - - -"Hon. C. C. NOTT, _Judge of Court of Claims, etc., etc._: - - "DEAR SIR:--We have your valued favor of the 4th instant, - conveying to us an edition of your admirable 'Sketches of the - War,' with the copyright and stereotype plates of the same, for - the benefit of disabled soldiers applying for employment at our - bureau. - - "We accept the trust most gratefully, the more so as evincing your - continued interest in the work you have so ably inaugurated. - - "Congratulating you on the high position to which you have been - called, we are, very sincerely, yours, - - "HOWARD POTTER, - "THEODORE ROOSEVELT, - "WM. E. DODGE, JR., - - "_Executive Committee_." - - "New York, March 14, 1885." - - - * * * * * - - -SKETCHES IN PRISON CAMPS: - -A CONTINUATION OF - -Sketches of the War. - -BY - -CHARLES C. NOTT, - -LATE COLONEL OF THE 176TH NEW YORK VOLS. - - "On her bier, - Quiet lay the buried year; - I sat down where I could see, - Life without and sunshine free-- - Death within!" - - -NEW-YORK: - -ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH, - -770 BROADWAY, CORNER OF 9TH ST. - -1865. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sketches of the War, by Charles C. 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