Part 11 (1/2)
Early on the morning of the 26th the Federal cavalry came within range of our camp during a dense fog. A volley scattered them and our cavalry drove them back for two miles.
Holding our position for two hours, and no further advance being made by the enemy, we resumed the march, camping at night near Lexington. A march of 12 miles on the 27th brought us to the Tennessee river, which had already been crossed by Hood with his army and wagon train. During the night, in expectation of an attack by the enemy, we were moved into a line of breastworks which had been vacated by Loring's division, but we had seen the last of our blue-coated friends for that campaign.
Crossing the river on the 28th we found on its Southern bank and near the end of the pontoon bridge, 10 or 12 dead mules, and among them three or four grey specimens of that much abused animal. I had heard when a boy that a grey mule never died, that they were gifted with a sort of equine immortality. And now this dogma of my early days found its complete subversion, for these were not only dead, but as Gen. Jno. C.
Brown said to us in North Carolina afterwards, when asked as to President Lincoln's death, they were ”very dead.” Unable to resist the force of this absolute demonstration of the fact, I have always believed since that a grey mule could die, though if further personal evidence were demanded I would be unable to produce it.
After crossing the river and without stopping to hold a post-mortem examination on these faithful animals, who robed in grey had died in the cause, we set out to rejoin our division at Corinth, Miss. Pa.s.sing through Tusc.u.mbia Bartow and Cherokee, we reached Birnsville, Miss., on the evening of Dec. 31st. Here in the waning hours of the dying year, after tramping eight hundred miles in absolute health I lay down and had an old-fas.h.i.+oned Burke county chill. Lying by a log-heap fire through the long watches of the winter night, my changes of base in the effort to keep the chilly side of my body next to the blazing logs were almost continuous. My old comrade Joe Warren, whose stalwart frame in company with Jim Thomas, Bill Jones and Eph Thompson graced the leading ”file of fours” in this campaign was wont to say that a certain brand of whiskey had ”a bad far'well.” So the closing year had for the writer at least ”a bad far'well.” The New Year found me unable to travel. Lying over until Jan. 2d, in company with several other invalids, I secured a seat on top of a dilapidated box car. We had ridden only a mile, when the conductor fearing the concern would collapse and kill us all, kindly invited us to step down and out. Complying with some degree of reluctance I shouldered my gun and after a tramp of fifteen miles rejoined my command at Corinth, Miss., where the shattered remnant of Hood's army had gathered.
SOME INCIDENTS OF THE CAMPAIGN.
”GO OFF AND WASH YOURSELVES.”
After the death of Gen. W. H. T. Walker, in July, '64, our brigade was a.s.signed to Pat Cleburne's division. In his younger days he had served in the English army and had probably imbibed his ideas of military discipline from that service. On Sept. 26, '64, near Jonesboro, Ga., the army was reviewed by President Davis and in the afternoon of that day our regiment was ordered to appear at Cleburne's headquarters for inspection. The men had received no intimation of the order and some of the companies were not in a very cleanly condition either as to dress or arms. Soap was scarce and but little time had been spent on their toilets. The inspection proceeded without comment from Cleburne until the company commanded by Capt. Joe Polhill of Louisville, Ga., was reached. Cleburne looked over the ranks with his keen Irish eyes as Capt. Dixon inspected the arms, and then in a tone indicating some degree of disgust, said, ”Attention company! Shoulder arms. Close order, march. Right face. Forward by file right--march. Go off and wash yourselves,” and the regiment was ordered back to its quarters. Will Daniel, jealous of the reputation of the Oglethorpes, who had not been inspected, addressed a note to Gen. Cleburne protesting against the implied reflection on his company, to which the General replied that no reflection was intended where no inspection was made. In justice to Capt. Polhill and his company it is only proper to say that at a subsequent inspection next day they redeemed their reputation.
PARTING WITH HARDEE.
On the displacement of Gen. Johnston in July, 64, Gen. Hardee, as the ranking lieutenant general in the Army of Tennessee, felt aggrieved at the promotion of Gen. Hood above him, but was too patriotic to ask for an a.s.signment to other fields while his lines were facing the enemy. At the close of the campaign he did prefer this request and on Sept. 28 took leave of his old corps. Many of them had followed him from s.h.i.+loh to Jonesboro. His almost unbroken success as brigade, division and corps commander had given him the t.i.tle of the ”Old Reliable.” Even at Missionary Ridge his corps held its line and on a portion of it, at the suggestion of Gen. Alfred c.u.mming, made a counter charge, driving the enemy from their front. At Ringgold Gap and in every a.s.sault upon his lines during the Dalton and Atlanta Campaign Hardee had repulsed the attacking column, with the single exception of Jonesboro, where ten lines of battle had been ma.s.sed against Govan's thinly manned trenches.
For these reasons his old corps was loth to give him up. On the evening before his departure large numbers of his command went over to bid him good-bye. In a simple and touching address he expressed his deep regret at parting from those with whom he had been a.s.sociated so long, but said that he would be with them in spirit if not in person and hoped they would always sustain the reputation they had so gallantly won. ”I leave you,” said he, ”but I leave you in good hands, Frank Cheatham's. Frank and Pat go well together. If Frank fails you, you have Pat to fall back upon.” Just then a soldier, who had climbed a tree and was sitting on a limb 20 feet from the ground, sang out, ”Yes, General, and Crazy Bill ain't far off,” alluding to Gen. Bate. The scene was a very affecting one and after speeches by Gen. Gist and Gen. Capers of So. Ca., closed with appropriate music rendered by the band.
GEN. BATE AS A POET AND WIT.
The allusion to Gen. Bate in the preceding incident recalls an address made by him Oct. 21, '64, at Gadsden, Ala., where we had halted for a day on our trip to Nashville. On the evening of that day the officers were serenaded by the army bands and responses were made by Beauregard, Cleburne, Clayton and Bate. The last sparkled with eloquence and wit and was the gem of the evening. Gov. Brown of Georgia, had issued an order exempting a goodly number of citizens of conscript age in each county from military service for the purpose of raising provisions for the army, sorghum being named as one of the products to be so used. This order had created a feeling of resentment in the minds of those at the front and Gen. Bate, in voicing this sentiment, and in criticism of Gov.
Brown's action, impromptued the following parody on Campbell's downfall of Poland:
”What tho' destruction sweep these lovely plains, Who cares for liberty while sorghum yet remains?
With that sweet name we wave our knives on high, And swear to cut it while we live and suck it till we die.”
Gen. Bate's bravery as an officer equalled his wit as a speaker, but his division had been unfortunate in several engagements and other troops were disposed to guy it, saluting it as it pa.s.sed them with, ”Lie down Bate, we are gwine to bust a cap” or ”scorch a feather,” and such like sallies of so-called wit. Our regiment had indulged in this pastime to some extent and this fact seems to have come to the knowledge of the General. At the battle of Bentonville in March, '65, we were a.s.signed to Bates' corps. In the early morning an a.s.sault was made on Govan's brigade, on our immediate left, and as we were without breastworks we were ordered to lie down. As we had not been on the firing line for some time and the whistle of the minies had grown a little unfamiliar, we obeyed the order very promptly, lying as flat as possible without imbedding ourselves in the ground, and in the case of Frank Stone and the writer this was pretty flat. Gen. Bate rode up to our line and asked, ”What command is this?” ”63rd Ga.,” was the reply. ”Why, boys, you lie mighty close. I came very near riding over you without seeing you. Never tell Bate to lie down any more,” and we didn't.
PAT CLEBURNE AS AN ORATOR.
Gen. Cleburne was a better fighter than speaker, and yet his oratory was sometimes very effective. Of his address on the occasion above referred to I recall but a single sentiment uttered by him. After referring to the outrages committed by Northern troops on Southern soil he said, ”I am not fighting for right, I am fighting for vengeance.” Of another address delivered by him on the same day I retain a more vivid recollection. Two soldiers of our brigade had appropriated a hog belonging to some citizen living near Gadsden, and the matter was reported to Gen. Cleburne. The brigade was ordered out and formed into a hollow square facing inwards. The two culprits were brought in under guard and placed in the center of the square and then Cleburne and his staff rode in. With the culprits before him and in the presence and hearing of the entire brigade he for fifteen minutes abused and demeaned and shamed them until I think they were thoroughly reformed on that particular line of moral depravity. On the march, some days later, the road we were traveling changed direction abruptly to the right. A corn field lay on that side and a number of the boys, with the view of shortening their tramp that day, leaped the fence and took the hypotenuse of the triangle rather than walk the longer distance represented by the other two sides. Gen. Cleburne, who was riding at the head of the division, probably suspected such a result and when he had reached the corner of the field where they would come out he stopped his horse and quietly awaited their coming. As they reached the road, singly or in pairs, the General gave them a brief but pointed lecture on the sin of straggling, and to impress it more forcibly on their memories he told them in his suave Irish way that they could each take a rail from the fence and carry it on their shoulders for the next half mile.
It was a new, but not a pleasant form of traveling by rail. If my memory is not at fault one of the Oglethorpes had the honor of members.h.i.+p in the rail squad that day, and probably has still a feeling recollection of the incident. He was something of a vocalist in those days and was wont to enliven the march with the tender strains of ”Faded Flowers,”
”The Midnight Train,” ”Benny Havens Ho,” and other popular musical selections, but on that day his lyre was voiceless and all its music hushed.
HOOD'S STRATEGY.
This incident has no reference to Gen. John B. Hood, whose strategy in this campaign was apparently conspicuous only by its absence. It refers only to Private Hood of the Oglethorpes, who joined our ranks in '63 or '64, probably at Thunderbolt. As I recall his personality, he was an undergrown youth of sallow complexion and uncertain age. On our march to Nashville he grew sick or tired, and stopped at the home of a citizen to recuperate. Some days later a squad of Yankee soldiers stopped at the house, and Hood, deeming prudence the better part of valor, dropped his grey uniform and donning a suit belonging to the son of his host, pa.s.sed himself off as a member of the family. While chatting with the visitors one of them said to him, ”Well, Bud, haven't they got you in the army yet?” ”No, sir,” said Hood, ”and they ain't agoing to either.” ”That's right, my boy,” and with Hood's a.s.surance that he had no idea of ”jining,” they bade him good-bye and went their way. Some weeks later he rejoined us, congratulating himself on the success of his strategy.
A LUCKY FIND.
While ferrying the army train across the Tennessee river, the flat in charge of Sergeant S. C. Foreman of the Oglethorpes, brought in a box or case containing three hundred pounds of nice dry salted bacon. It was reported to me that they had found it floating down the river and supposed it had been thrown in by the Federal garrison at Florence to prevent its capture by Hood's army. I swallowed the story and some of the meat and had no occasion to question the correctness of the information until Sam Woods told me in '98 that he found it lying in shallow water near the river bank, and George McLaughlin afterwards intimated that it was stolen from the wagon train. Whatever may have been the method by which it came into our possession I remember that it was divided among the members of the company as extra rations. I recall the further fact that my mess secured that afternoon a large wash pot and a supply of corn and boiled up a peck or two of ”lye hominy.” On the next day we began our march to rejoin the army and for 17 miles, in addition to my gun, bayonet, cartridge box and forty rounds of cartridges, heavy blanket, tent fly and haversack with two day's rations, I carried 6 or 8 pounds of this bacon and a bucket of the hominy. The aggregate weight must have been 50 or 60 pounds, a pretty fair load for a ”light weight.”