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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 60629 ***
+
++-------------------------------------------------+
+|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. Nott
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 60629 ***
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-<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)

-

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-</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 />

-&mdash;<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.&mdash;</td>

-    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Hospital</span>,</td>

-    <td><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td>

-  </tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td>II.&mdash;</td>

-    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Donelson</span>,</td>

-    <td><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td>

-  </tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td>III.&mdash;</td>

-    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Assault</span>,</td>

-    <td><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td>

-  </tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td>IV.&mdash;</td>

-    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Foraging</span>,</td>

-    <td><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td>

-  </tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td>V.&mdash;</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.&mdash;</td>

-    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Holly Fork</span>,</td>

-    <td><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td>

-  </tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td>VII.&mdash;</td>

-    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Scouting</span>,</td>

-    <td><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td>

-  </tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td>VIII.&mdash;</td>

-    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">A Surprise</span>,</td>

-    <td><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td>

-  </tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td>IX.&mdash;</td>

-    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Escape</span>,</td>

-    <td><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td>

-  </tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td>X.&mdash;</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&mdash;the simplicity of their style&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;they were

-unopened&mdash;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&mdash;they had no one to

-send&mdash;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&mdash;others turned their eyes

-languidly&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;many of

-them. Two grave diggers were at work&mdash;constant work for them. A grave

-was always ready prepared, and one was ready for us. Our ceremonies

-were few and simple&mdash;the squadron drew up in line&mdash;the coffin was

-lifted out&mdash;the chaplain made a prayer&mdash;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&mdash;a sigh, and paid them such respect as the circumstances allowed.

-We did not know them&mdash;who they were, or whence they came&mdash;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&mdash;be

-they ever so brave&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;his pipe&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;saw nothing&mdash;yet

-knew that something was coming; what that something was no one could

-tell. A messenger came from the general&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;then

-the sound of the shell&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;apparent effect,

-I mean&mdash;than I anticipated. Their explosion, too, was much like a large

-powder cracker thrown in the air. There was a loud bang&mdash;fragments

-flew about, and all was over. It was so quickly done, that you had no

-time to anticipate or think&mdash;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&mdash;hurry up, boys, and support

-them&mdash;close up&mdash;forward&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;no one knows how deep, and it splashes and dashes fearfully.

-Gipsy looks up&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;it is a

-foot higher on one side than the other, so swift is the current. It is

-cold and very wet&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;"do not trust

-to your trunk;" now I have to learn the second&mdash;"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&mdash;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&mdash;everybody

-looks forward to it&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the drops stop&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;so much for being a "regular," and

-learning your lessons from experience.</p>

-

-<p>The colonel hands me the order, which runs thus&mdash;"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&mdash;the cook, he go

-away to a barn&mdash;the fire, he go out&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;those North Moore street bags are

-much more useful than their makers ever dreamt they would be&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;sqush&mdash;sqush&mdash;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&mdash;now truly a waterfowl and wetter than he

-ever was in his life&mdash;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)&mdash;"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&mdash;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&mdash;from the North&mdash;from hated Massachusetts;&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> one who succeeded and

-the many who failed&mdash;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&mdash;</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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;&mdash;, 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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;through a

-swamp&mdash;along the edge of a little millpond&mdash;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&mdash;they don't get oats every

-day&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;that is what we call bread&mdash;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&mdash;</p>

-

-<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<div>"Oh, shame! oh, horror! and oh, womankind!"&mdash;</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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;<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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the pause seems endless&mdash;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&mdash;there's nothing to fire

-about. You won't hear any more to-day." "There's no use in waiting

-any"&mdash;&mdash;<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&mdash;better than Memphis&mdash;guess." No one can

-guess. "It is New Orleans&mdash;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&mdash;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 &amp; 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&mdash;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&mdash;a drizzly, rainy day&mdash;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&mdash;he

-had seen us pass&mdash;he had run after us&mdash;he was a Union citizen&mdash;all

-must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> go back and dine with him&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;"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&mdash;gave some instructions to the other captains&mdash;the men

-wheeled into column&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the tree seemed under me&mdash;there was a crash&mdash;a

-blow&mdash;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&mdash;at the log, beneath

-which lay my sabre&mdash;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?&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;sliding my feet along the ground,

-lest I should tread upon some crackling branch&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;a mere shot-gun,

-such as a boy might fire anywhere on a spring morning&mdash;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&mdash;<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&mdash;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&mdash;my own

-flesh and blood&mdash;so I can't wish him killed," said the old lady, with

-great feeling; "but, I thank God&mdash;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, "&mdash;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&mdash;"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&mdash;at every turn of the road&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the cavalry patrolled the roads&mdash;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&mdash;a

-quiet room&mdash;a tedious time&mdash;an old friend&mdash;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&mdash;more interesting

-than I shall have again&mdash;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&mdash;on Sunday that I went upon my first foraging&mdash;on Sunday

-that I entered Paris with a flag&mdash;on Sunday that we began our first

-retreat&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;I am sure of it.</p>

-

-<p>"I think it was farther on, captain," says a corporal, "that I saw your

-horse down&mdash;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&mdash;there is no

-log here&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the dogs are as silent as the men. I am before it, and

-check Ida to her slowest walk&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;sultry and hot&mdash;the streams dried

-up&mdash;the wells a hundred feet deep&mdash;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&mdash;two&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;I know it's hard; but I cannot let you go."</p>

-

-<p>Four&mdash;five&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;one Captain Mitchell&mdash;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. &mdash;&mdash;. 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&mdash;"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&mdash;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&mdash;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> &mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;.</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&mdash;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">&nbsp;</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>:&mdash;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&mdash;as it will to

-you&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;which was less muddy, but not more pleasant, to

-Captain Nott than to us&mdash;and of the wild confusion of single-rank

-cavalry when surprised; and of Bischoff's holding the Captain's

-stirrup under fire;&mdash;how like Hover, and the "<i>Vierte Missouri</i>,"

-that!&mdash;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&mdash;even to those who have served&mdash;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">&nbsp;</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">&nbsp;</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>:&mdash;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">&nbsp;</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>:&mdash;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">&nbsp;</span>"<span class="smcap">Howard Potter</span>,<br />

-<span class="s15">&nbsp;</span>"<span class="smcap">Theodore Roosevelt</span>,<br />

-<span class="s15">&nbsp;</span>"<span class="smcap">Wm. E. Dodge, Jr.</span>,<br />

-<span class="s15">&nbsp;</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>

-

-

-

-

-

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-</pre>

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+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" />
+    <title>
+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Sketches of the War, by Charles C. Nott.
+    </title>
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+  </head>
+<body>
+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 60629 ***</div>
+
+<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 />
+&mdash;<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.&mdash;</td>
+    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Hospital</span>,</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>II.&mdash;</td>
+    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Donelson</span>,</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>III.&mdash;</td>
+    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Assault</span>,</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>IV.&mdash;</td>
+    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Foraging</span>,</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>V.&mdash;</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.&mdash;</td>
+    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Holly Fork</span>,</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>VII.&mdash;</td>
+    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Scouting</span>,</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>VIII.&mdash;</td>
+    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">A Surprise</span>,</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>IX.&mdash;</td>
+    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Escape</span>,</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>X.&mdash;</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&mdash;the simplicity of their style&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;they were
+unopened&mdash;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&mdash;they had no one to
+send&mdash;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&mdash;others turned their eyes
+languidly&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;many of
+them. Two grave diggers were at work&mdash;constant work for them. A grave
+was always ready prepared, and one was ready for us. Our ceremonies
+were few and simple&mdash;the squadron drew up in line&mdash;the coffin was
+lifted out&mdash;the chaplain made a prayer&mdash;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&mdash;a sigh, and paid them such respect as the circumstances allowed.
+We did not know them&mdash;who they were, or whence they came&mdash;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&mdash;be
+they ever so brave&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;his pipe&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;saw nothing&mdash;yet
+knew that something was coming; what that something was no one could
+tell. A messenger came from the general&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;then
+the sound of the shell&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;apparent effect,
+I mean&mdash;than I anticipated. Their explosion, too, was much like a large
+powder cracker thrown in the air. There was a loud bang&mdash;fragments
+flew about, and all was over. It was so quickly done, that you had no
+time to anticipate or think&mdash;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&mdash;hurry up, boys, and support
+them&mdash;close up&mdash;forward&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;no one knows how deep, and it splashes and dashes fearfully.
+Gipsy looks up&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;it is a
+foot higher on one side than the other, so swift is the current. It is
+cold and very wet&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;"do not trust
+to your trunk;" now I have to learn the second&mdash;"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&mdash;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&mdash;everybody
+looks forward to it&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the drops stop&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;so much for being a "regular," and
+learning your lessons from experience.</p>
+
+<p>The colonel hands me the order, which runs thus&mdash;"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&mdash;the cook, he go
+away to a barn&mdash;the fire, he go out&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;those North Moore street bags are
+much more useful than their makers ever dreamt they would be&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;sqush&mdash;sqush&mdash;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&mdash;now truly a waterfowl and wetter than he
+ever was in his life&mdash;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)&mdash;"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&mdash;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&mdash;from the North&mdash;from hated Massachusetts;&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> one who succeeded and
+the many who failed&mdash;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&mdash;</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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;&mdash;, 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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;through a
+swamp&mdash;along the edge of a little millpond&mdash;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&mdash;they don't get oats every
+day&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;that is what we call bread&mdash;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&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div>"Oh, shame! oh, horror! and oh, womankind!"&mdash;</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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;<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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the pause seems endless&mdash;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&mdash;there's nothing to fire
+about. You won't hear any more to-day." "There's no use in waiting
+any"&mdash;&mdash;<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&mdash;better than Memphis&mdash;guess." No one can
+guess. "It is New Orleans&mdash;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&mdash;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 &amp; 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&mdash;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&mdash;a drizzly, rainy day&mdash;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&mdash;he
+had seen us pass&mdash;he had run after us&mdash;he was a Union citizen&mdash;all
+must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> go back and dine with him&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;"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&mdash;gave some instructions to the other captains&mdash;the men
+wheeled into column&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the tree seemed under me&mdash;there was a crash&mdash;a
+blow&mdash;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&mdash;at the log, beneath
+which lay my sabre&mdash;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?&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;sliding my feet along the ground,
+lest I should tread upon some crackling branch&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;a mere shot-gun,
+such as a boy might fire anywhere on a spring morning&mdash;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&mdash;<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&mdash;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&mdash;my own
+flesh and blood&mdash;so I can't wish him killed," said the old lady, with
+great feeling; "but, I thank God&mdash;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, "&mdash;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&mdash;"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&mdash;at every turn of the road&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the cavalry patrolled the roads&mdash;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&mdash;a
+quiet room&mdash;a tedious time&mdash;an old friend&mdash;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&mdash;more interesting
+than I shall have again&mdash;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&mdash;on Sunday that I went upon my first foraging&mdash;on Sunday
+that I entered Paris with a flag&mdash;on Sunday that we began our first
+retreat&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;I am sure of it.</p>
+
+<p>"I think it was farther on, captain," says a corporal, "that I saw your
+horse down&mdash;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&mdash;there is no
+log here&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the dogs are as silent as the men. I am before it, and
+check Ida to her slowest walk&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;sultry and hot&mdash;the streams dried
+up&mdash;the wells a hundred feet deep&mdash;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&mdash;two&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;I know it's hard; but I cannot let you go."</p>
+
+<p>Four&mdash;five&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;one Captain Mitchell&mdash;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. &mdash;&mdash;. 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&mdash;"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&mdash;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&mdash;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> &mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;.</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&mdash;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">&nbsp;</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>:&mdash;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&mdash;as it will to
+you&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;which was less muddy, but not more pleasant, to
+Captain Nott than to us&mdash;and of the wild confusion of single-rank
+cavalry when surprised; and of Bischoff's holding the Captain's
+stirrup under fire;&mdash;how like Hover, and the "<i>Vierte Missouri</i>,"
+that!&mdash;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&mdash;even to those who have served&mdash;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">&nbsp;</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">&nbsp;</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>:&mdash;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">&nbsp;</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>:&mdash;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">&nbsp;</span>"<span class="smcap">Howard Potter</span>,<br />
+<span class="s15">&nbsp;</span>"<span class="smcap">Theodore Roosevelt</span>,<br />
+<span class="s15">&nbsp;</span>"<span class="smcap">Wm. E. Dodge, Jr.</span>,<br />
+<span class="s15">&nbsp;</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 />
+
+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 60629 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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+
+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)
+
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+
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+</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 />
+&mdash;<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.&mdash;</td>
+    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Hospital</span>,</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>II.&mdash;</td>
+    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Donelson</span>,</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>III.&mdash;</td>
+    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Assault</span>,</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>IV.&mdash;</td>
+    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Foraging</span>,</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>V.&mdash;</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.&mdash;</td>
+    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Holly Fork</span>,</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>VII.&mdash;</td>
+    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Scouting</span>,</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>VIII.&mdash;</td>
+    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">A Surprise</span>,</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>IX.&mdash;</td>
+    <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Escape</span>,</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>X.&mdash;</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&mdash;the simplicity of their style&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;they were
+unopened&mdash;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&mdash;they had no one to
+send&mdash;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&mdash;others turned their eyes
+languidly&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;many of
+them. Two grave diggers were at work&mdash;constant work for them. A grave
+was always ready prepared, and one was ready for us. Our ceremonies
+were few and simple&mdash;the squadron drew up in line&mdash;the coffin was
+lifted out&mdash;the chaplain made a prayer&mdash;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&mdash;a sigh, and paid them such respect as the circumstances allowed.
+We did not know them&mdash;who they were, or whence they came&mdash;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&mdash;be
+they ever so brave&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;his pipe&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;saw nothing&mdash;yet
+knew that something was coming; what that something was no one could
+tell. A messenger came from the general&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;then
+the sound of the shell&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;apparent effect,
+I mean&mdash;than I anticipated. Their explosion, too, was much like a large
+powder cracker thrown in the air. There was a loud bang&mdash;fragments
+flew about, and all was over. It was so quickly done, that you had no
+time to anticipate or think&mdash;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&mdash;hurry up, boys, and support
+them&mdash;close up&mdash;forward&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;no one knows how deep, and it splashes and dashes fearfully.
+Gipsy looks up&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;it is a
+foot higher on one side than the other, so swift is the current. It is
+cold and very wet&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;"do not trust
+to your trunk;" now I have to learn the second&mdash;"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&mdash;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&mdash;everybody
+looks forward to it&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the drops stop&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;so much for being a "regular," and
+learning your lessons from experience.</p>
+
+<p>The colonel hands me the order, which runs thus&mdash;"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&mdash;the cook, he go
+away to a barn&mdash;the fire, he go out&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;those North Moore street bags are
+much more useful than their makers ever dreamt they would be&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;sqush&mdash;sqush&mdash;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&mdash;now truly a waterfowl and wetter than he
+ever was in his life&mdash;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)&mdash;"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&mdash;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&mdash;from the North&mdash;from hated Massachusetts;&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> one who succeeded and
+the many who failed&mdash;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&mdash;</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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;&mdash;, 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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;through a
+swamp&mdash;along the edge of a little millpond&mdash;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&mdash;they don't get oats every
+day&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;that is what we call bread&mdash;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&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div>"Oh, shame! oh, horror! and oh, womankind!"&mdash;</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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;<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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the pause seems endless&mdash;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&mdash;there's nothing to fire
+about. You won't hear any more to-day." "There's no use in waiting
+any"&mdash;&mdash;<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&mdash;better than Memphis&mdash;guess." No one can
+guess. "It is New Orleans&mdash;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&mdash;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 &amp; 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&mdash;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&mdash;a drizzly, rainy day&mdash;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&mdash;he
+had seen us pass&mdash;he had run after us&mdash;he was a Union citizen&mdash;all
+must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> go back and dine with him&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;"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&mdash;gave some instructions to the other captains&mdash;the men
+wheeled into column&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the tree seemed under me&mdash;there was a crash&mdash;a
+blow&mdash;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&mdash;at the log, beneath
+which lay my sabre&mdash;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?&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;sliding my feet along the ground,
+lest I should tread upon some crackling branch&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;a mere shot-gun,
+such as a boy might fire anywhere on a spring morning&mdash;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&mdash;<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&mdash;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&mdash;my own
+flesh and blood&mdash;so I can't wish him killed," said the old lady, with
+great feeling; "but, I thank God&mdash;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, "&mdash;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&mdash;"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&mdash;at every turn of the road&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the cavalry patrolled the roads&mdash;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&mdash;a
+quiet room&mdash;a tedious time&mdash;an old friend&mdash;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&mdash;more interesting
+than I shall have again&mdash;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&mdash;on Sunday that I went upon my first foraging&mdash;on Sunday
+that I entered Paris with a flag&mdash;on Sunday that we began our first
+retreat&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;I am sure of it.</p>
+
+<p>"I think it was farther on, captain," says a corporal, "that I saw your
+horse down&mdash;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&mdash;there is no
+log here&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the dogs are as silent as the men. I am before it, and
+check Ida to her slowest walk&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;sultry and hot&mdash;the streams dried
+up&mdash;the wells a hundred feet deep&mdash;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&mdash;two&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;I know it's hard; but I cannot let you go."</p>
+
+<p>Four&mdash;five&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;one Captain Mitchell&mdash;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. &mdash;&mdash;. 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&mdash;"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&mdash;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&mdash;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> &mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;.</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&mdash;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">&nbsp;</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>:&mdash;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&mdash;as it will to
+you&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;which was less muddy, but not more pleasant, to
+Captain Nott than to us&mdash;and of the wild confusion of single-rank
+cavalry when surprised; and of Bischoff's holding the Captain's
+stirrup under fire;&mdash;how like Hover, and the "<i>Vierte Missouri</i>,"
+that!&mdash;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&mdash;even to those who have served&mdash;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">&nbsp;</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">&nbsp;</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>:&mdash;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">&nbsp;</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>:&mdash;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">&nbsp;</span>"<span class="smcap">Howard Potter</span>,<br />
+<span class="s15">&nbsp;</span>"<span class="smcap">Theodore Roosevelt</span>,<br />
+<span class="s15">&nbsp;</span>"<span class="smcap">Wm. E. Dodge, Jr.</span>,<br />
+<span class="s15">&nbsp;</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. Nott
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-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: 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.

-

-

-

-

-

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+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: 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. Nott
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SKETCHES OF THE WAR ***
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