Confederate"The world has never seen better soldiers than those who 
      followed Lee."
      Gov. Theodore Roosevelt,
      American Statesmen, pp. 38.



      The
      Confederate
      Soldier
      _____________
      By L. J. WILSON,
      SURGEON CONFEDERATE STATES ARMY.
       
      Respectfully dedicated to the sons and daughters of the U. C. V.
      1902.



      M’ROY PRINTING CO., FAYETTEVILLE, ARK.



      Copyright, by the Author,
      L. J. WILSON, Springdale, Ark.
      1902.



      Six Months in Confederate Army.
      ______________
       
      CHAPTER I.
      LEAVING HOME.
                I will describe in this chapter as best I can, the hardest 
      battle ever fought by a Confederate soldier, a battle in which we all took 
      a hand, and as far as I know, acted with becoming bravery, and survived 
      the fight. I allude to the battle of leaving home, bidding farewell to all 
      we hold dear father, mother, wife and little ones. Do you remember it, old 
      comrade? Gettysburg, Chickamauga and Shiloh were pretty tough places, but 
      I believe that you will agree with me that this was the hardest struggle 
      of the war!
                I shall never forget the 9th day of July, 1861. My company was 
      ordered to meet at Wall Hill, a village in the western part of Marshall 
      county, Miss., to start to Iuka, Miss to be equipped, drilled and prepared 
      for service. The 8th was a busy day at my father's, and a hundred other 
      homes in the surrounding country, getting everything ready for the young 
      soldiers.
                We were ordered to carry a week’s rations from home. A ham must 
      be boiled, bread baked, a quantity of coffee parched and ground, sugar, 
      preserves, pickles, cakes, et al., a large box full was prepared; and my 
      father had a barrel of kraut made that the boys might have some vegetable 
      food while in camp, for we expected to remain in Iuka about two months. My 
      young wife insisted that I should take her nice soleleather trunk (a 
      wedding present), and she packed it with all my best clothes, a fine pair 
      of shoes, embroidered pair of slippers, comb, brush, toilet articles and 
      shaving apparatus. They would not allow me to make any suggestions or have 
      anything to do in the premises. My old Nurse Rose, rolled up a lounge 
      feather bed, blankets, pillows, etc., and I really had more baggage than 
      the entire company possessed six months later on. I looked on, but said 
      little as these preparations were made, with a strange feeling about my 
      vest.
                I followed my wife around with my little boy in my arms, who 
      seemed unusually attractive, and seemed to understand that something 
      unusual was going on. And as the preparations were nearly completed, and 
      night drew on, a peculiar sensation of sadness and quiet seemed to settle 
      down upon the household. This last night at home! Would it really be the 
      last? When I look into their eyes on the morrow, shall I see them no more 
      in this life? Comrades do you remember how these ugly thoughts would 
      intrude and cause our young hearts to stand still, or almost jump out of 
      our threats?
                Night passed away, morning came, and after breakfast all were 
      called in to prayers. My dear old father 70 years of age, read the 90th 
      Psalm and tried to pray. I know that prayer was partly answered, for I am 
      still here. Shaking hands with the servants, we rode over to Wall Hill, 
      where we met the entire neighborhood—fathers, mothers, wives, children, 
      sweethearts and all. The little village of Wall Hill never witnessed such 
      a scene, or had such a crowd before or since.
                Old Capt. Milam, a veteran of the Mexican war, rode up at 10 
      o’clock, and we knew we would soon have to start. An awful silence fell 
      upon the whole crowd. Both parties seemed to be summoning all their 
      strength and patriotism for the final moment. Provision had been made for 
      all to ride in wagons, buggies, etc., to Holly Springs, and at 10:30 the 
      command was given—"Fall in Men!" But not one man fell into line. Again and 
      again the command was given with no bettor results. At 11 o'clock old 
      Capt. Milam drew his sword, waved it over his head, and in a choking voice 
      cried: "Boys, I’m going, will you follow me?" and started down the road. 
      It must be done—the last kiss, the last embrace, the last clasp of the 
      hand—the boys are gone, the battle won, a victory gained.
                We reached Holly Springs before night, and the citizens carried 
      us to their homes for supper. Next morning quite a crowd of ladies and 
      gentlemen collected at the depot to see the company off, and I expected 
      another sad scene, but as this train stopped the city band struck up 
      Dixie, and every boy scrambled upon the cars, waving his hat and yelling 
      like a veritable rebel.
                Comrade, isn’t it strange the effect Dixie had upon us in the 
      long ago? Isn’t it strange the effect it has upon us in our old age? Bully 
      for Dixie! We reached Iuka about 5 p. m. No preparations had been made for 
      us. The General conducted us out to the camping place about one mile from 
      town, and told us to make ourselves as comfortable as possible, that our 
      tents and camp equipage would be up on the next train. We managed by 
      hiring a couple of wagons from the country, and carrying a good deal on 
      our shoulders, to get all our baggage out before night except my barrel of 
      kraut, which was left upon the platform, there being no depot in which to 
      store it. The next train was a long time coming, for it was the evening of 
      the fourth day before our camping outfit arrived.
                In the meantime we had a regular July rain and thunder storm, 
      which did not add much to our comfort, but we had to learn to be soldiers, 
      and we stood it like little men. It was amusing to see the men sheltering 
      themselves. They were afraid to take advantage of a tree on account of the 
      lightning, hence bushes were in demand. A few of the boys had umbrellas, 
      and each was out in an open space and had a half dozen occupants.
                As soon as we got the camp arranged and tents up, I went for my 
      barrel of kraut. We were getting tired of cold rations and we needed a 
      change, and we thought the kraut would prove to be a good thing. I started 
      for it early in the morning, that we might enjoy it at dinner. As I drew 
      near the corner of the street before turning to the depot, I met a man 
      holding his nose and in a run, and just before meeting me he turned loose 
      his nose, exclaiming; "Golly, what a stink!" "What’s the matter friend?’ 
      "Go on," he said, "and you will find out." Another came round the corner, 
      and as he turned loose his proboscis, he exclaimed bitterly: "D—n the man 
      that brought that cabbage to town!" I didn't take the hint, but as I 
      turned the corner the hint struck me full in the face. What a sight! The 
      hot July sun had caused my kraut to ferment and burst the barrel, and it 
      was foaming and fizzing, swelling and smelling. There was more cabbage 
      than could have been crammed in half dozen barrels with a compress, and 
      such a stench! I never smelt any thing to compare to it. I never claimed 
      that cabbage.



      CHAPTER II.
      ORGANIZING THE REGIMENT—INSUBORDINATION—GEN. ALCORN.
                In writing up my own history and adventures, I am compelled to 
      write to a certain extent the history of the 1st Mississippi Regiment, and 
      I do this with a great deal of pleasure, and feel like I am discharging a 
      duty, to relate what little I know of this gallant regiment, because I 
      have never seen anything in print in regard to the part they acted in the 
      great drama. Probably because so few of them survived the great struggle, 
      possibly because their history was a very sad one.
                Nearly one half of the war was spent by this regiment in prison, 
      and if I remember correctly, a large percentage of the gallant men and 
      officers who left the State in 1861, sleep around Camp Chase and on 
      Johnson's Island. This statement alone is enough to enlist the interest of 
      any old surviving comrade in their history. I can at least write it up to 
      the point of separation at Fort Donelson. Their "prison life," thank God, 
      I know nothing of, so I continue my story. The companies came in rapidly, 
      and in less than a week twenty were on the ground ready to be formed in to 
      regiments. An order was sent out by the General for ten companies to be 
      known as the 1st Mississippi Regiment, to appoint Judges, etc., and on the 
      morrow to hold an election for field officers—one Colonel, one Lieut. 
      Colonel and one Major.
                This election proved to be an exciting one, so many of the 
      company officers aspired to higher positions, and their election would 
      cause vacancies in the companies, which would have to be filled. So many 
      men as well as officers had a chance for promotion, hence the interest and 
      excitement rapidly developed, and there was any amount of electioneering 
      and canvassing going on until late at night among men and officers.
                Capt. John M. Simonton was elected Colonel on the first ballot. 
      He was from the eastern part of the State, and was a fine specimen of 
      manhood, tall, handsome, and as straight as an Indian, of commanding 
      appearance and fine voice. This proved to be a wise selection, for Col. 
      Simonton made a most excellent officer, and was greatly loved and 
      respected by the entire regiment from first to last.
                Balloting for Lieutenant Colonel created increased excitement 
      and interest, as there were several candidates, and the most prominent 
      aspirants being from the eastern portion of the State, this aroused 
      considerable sectional feeling, and produced fuel for increased 
      electioneering and canvassing. After several ballots the East prevailed, 
      and Capt. Hamilton received the majority, and was declared elected.
                Col. H. was a small man, quick in his movements and nervous and 
      excitable. He was a Methodist preacher of considerable ability, and made a 
      most excellent drill officer, and had the strongest and most powerful 
      voice I ever heard. He loved to drill the men in skirmish tactics, and the 
      men declared they could hear his commands when he was a half mile in their 
      rear, and that he could see their mistakes when he was out of sight; that 
      he "cussed them all the week, and preached and prayed for them all day 
      Sunday." Grief and mortification at the surrender of Fort Donelson brought 
      on an acute mania, which killed him a short time after reaching prison on 
      Johnson’s Island.
                The election of Major produced intense excitement. Office 
      seekers increased, and it began to look like the eastern part of the State 
      would get all of the field officers. One or two who had received a 
      handsome vote for Lieut. Colonel, made the mistake of announcing 
      themselves candidates for Major. This really looked like office seeking, 
      and produced quite a sensation. The privates, too, began to think they 
      were doing the most of the voting, and were certainly entitled to some of 
      the spoils. Pretty soon some man stopped out, and in a ringing voice 
      nominated "Tom Johnson, private in Capt. Boone’s company, from Desoto 
      county, candidate for Major." It was a bold stroke. Up to this time the 
      fight had been between the Captains of the regiment, and this the first 
      and only private who had been proposed. They had been entirely overlooked 
      in the excitement. The idea spread rapidly from man to man, and presently 
      Tom Johnson was called from a dozen different points on the campus, which 
      soon, became one continuous shout for Tom Johnson. This brought a modest, 
      rather effeminate young man to the front, who, in a tremulous voice, and 
      quivering with excitement, made a pretty little war speech and the fight 
      was won. The ballots were taken and Tom Johnson swept the field from end 
      to end. Maj. Johnson was a success, and was always a favorite with the 
      men, who felt that he was nearer to them than either of the other 
      officers. I never head him accused of but one fault by his men, a criminal 
      carelessness of his own person on the battle field. This may have been 
      imaginary on the part of the men, but it shows their love for their Major. 
      The whole day was taken up in this exciting election, and the men went to 
      their tents perfectly satisfied, but there were sore headed officers for 
      weeks to come.
                The next day the camp was regularly arranged, a guard detailed 
      and placed on duty, and the General’s first order was read on dress 
      parade. This order caused a storm in camp. The particular brick which 
      broke the camel’s back was this: "No soldier shall leave camp or visit 
      Iuka except on pass signed by company and regimental officers, and 
      approved by the Brigadier General commanding." The idea of asking for a 
      pass was something new and unexpected to the young soldier. The idea of 
      carrying a pass was repugnant to an American freeman's feelings of honor, 
      contrary to the teachings of the "declaration of independence," and a 
      little more than a Calhoun county democrat could stand, and amusing 
      expressions and very ugly expressions were heard in certain quarters long 
      after "dress parade." We retired sooner than usual that evening, as we 
      were worn out with the excitement of the day. After we had been asleep for 
      some time, we were aroused from our slumbers by Capt. B., of Company F, 
      who said he was in trouble, and wanted Capt. Milam. Capt. B., said that 
      his men were in line, and swore they were going home, that they wouldn't 
      stand such orders as were read that evening, and that they would not be 
      influenced by anything he could say to them, but he believed they would 
      listen to an old man.
                Capt. Milam went with him, and succeeded in quieting the men by 
      telling them to wait a day, and he would see Gen. Alcorn, and get him to 
      revoke the order or modify it, so a democrat could comply with its 
      demands. The next evening Gen. Alcorn rode out on his fine horse dressed 
      in full uniform, had the regiments formed in hollow square, and made them 
      a speech.
                He instructed them in the duties of a soldier, he never alluded 
      to the trouble of the previous night; he told them they had volunteered of 
      their own free will and belonged to their country, and the country 
      expected every man to do his duty; that they were now in a school of 
      instruction, and must submit to military authority and discipline to 
      become soldiers. Gen. Alcorn made a fine patriotic speech, and we had no 
      more trouble, and quietly settled down to the duties of camp life, 
      drilling four hours each day, and the officers studying Hardee’s Tactics 
      about twelve. So our military education progressed.
       



       
      CHAPTER III.
      CAMP LIFE—GOOD NEWS—STRIKE TENTS—KENTUCKY.
                Camp life grows monotonous in a short time. The novelty soon 
      wears off, and its routine duties become tiresome indeed. We were in camp 
      during July and August. Reveille at 5 a. m., roll call; breakfast 7; 
      surgeon’s call, 8; guard mounting 9; squad drill or drilling in the manual 
      of arms to 10; company drill to 11; recess—dinner 12 m. From 2 to 4, 
      company and regimental drill, which generally was prolonged to 5; dress 
      parade 6; supper 7; taps 9. Thus the days came and went, and our military 
      education progressed.
                Signs of an epidemic of nostalgia soon made its appearance, and 
      required active treatment. The introduction of games and sports for the 
      men became imperative, and cards, checkers, chess and marbles were soon 
      introduced, but marbles proved to be the popular game, and a good taw was 
      worth its weight in silver.
                During the fifth week letters from home brought the pleasant 
      intelligence that the good people held a mass meeting at Wall Hill for the 
      benefit of the Alcorn Rifles, and readily made up a purse of $2,000 to 
      purchase uniforms for the company. This indeed, was pleasant news, good 
      news for the boys. It showed that the dear ones at home were "thinking" 
      about us, and studying our welfare. It was a pleasant reminder, and had 
      more effect in dispelling the blues than all the games. They knew that the 
      State of Mississippi nor our dear little Confederacy had Quartermaster’s 
      supplies for her soldiers; and as we expected to be ordered north into 
      Kentucky, by the time the goods could be purchased and made up, cold 
      weather would be coming on, and we would really be in need of heavier 
      clothing. God bless the home folks.
                We were requested at once to send home our measures as a 
      committee of ladies and merchants had gone to Memphis to purchase the 
      goods. Luckily we found a tailor in the regiment, and had him detailed to 
      measure the men, which was soon accomplished, and the measures sent home.
                Rumors of marching orders began to be circulated in camp 
      occasionally, and sure enough about September 1st orders came to pack up, 
      strike tents at 5 o’clock, cook two days rations, and be ready to take the 
      5 o’clock east bound train next evening. This order road on dress parade, 
      caused possibly, more excitement in camp, than the first in regard to 
      passes and camp discipline. Many letters must be written home. Every man 
      must write, and most of the boys had more than one letter to write, and it 
      must be done tonight, so no attention was as paid to taps, and candles 
      were burning long after midnight.
                Some one must be sent back for those uniforms and 
      Quartermaster’s stores. Who would be the lucky man? That was thirty-nine 
      years ago, old comrade, and I don’t know how the question was decided, but 
      I do know that the writer received the appointment, and as the boys 
      boarded the east-bound train for Bowling Green, Kentucky, I started west 
      for home, the happiest man in the regiment, and reached Holly Springs at 9 
      o’clock that night. Securing a buggy and driver, I was soon on my way to 
      the old homestead, eighteen miles west.
                I still remember how eager I was to get on; how slow the horse 
      seemed to travel, how often I admonished my driver to whip up. Slow or 
      fast, a few minutes after 12 we turned into the lawn leading up to my 
      father’s house, the dearest spot on earth to me. Desiring to slip in and 
      not disturb my old father, and to surprise my wife, I drove around to the 
      quarters to call one of the servants to look after the horse and driver, 
      but when I reached the first door, and knocking called "Nelson," my old 
      nurse Rose knew my voice, and rushed out yelling like a Comanche: "Thar’s 
      Mars. Jim! Thar’s Mars. Jim! I told Miss Betty he was coming. I knowed 
      he’d be home tonight!" and roused the whole camp, and before I could shake 
      hands, give orders and reach the back door, Miss Betty and the old 
      Patriarch were there to meet me. Home again! Good night!
                Next morning we rode over to Brock’s Chapel, where we had been 
      accustomed for years to meet with God’s people to worship. Now it was 
      changed into a military workshop to manufacture clothing for Confederate 
      soldiers. Six sewing machines occupied the altar. Two tables were erected 
      upon her pews for the tailor who had volunteered to cut the clothing, and 
      assist the ladies in making it up. The whole audience of twenty-five or 
      more mothers, wives and daughters were busy at work. When I walked into 
      the dear old church, machines suddenly stopped, and a dozen cried out:
                "Where are the boys, Lieutenant?"
                They knew what my coming meant. They knew the boys had gone to 
      the front. I had to talk to every one, and answered a thousand questions 
      to parents, wives and sweethearts, and this continued for a week, for a 
      new set of hands came every morning to work, and the time passed rapidly 
      and pleasantly. When the day for packing arrived, I was astonished at the 
      amount of work accomplished, and the quantity of clothing the good people 
      had prepared for "the boys," as they loved to call them.
                As I was present and assisted in packing, I remember something 
      of the quantity: 102 suits complete, grey uniforms, 400 shirts, 200 pair 
      of drawers, 500 pairs home knit woolen socks, besides a host of extra 
      articles for soldiers I might find in need, and last a large box of nicely 
      rolled bandages and soft clothes for the surgeon.
                After remaining ten days with home folks and friends, I bid them 
      farewell and started with my stores in quest of the boys. This was a slow 
      and tedious job; and cost me much labor.
                At Nashville I was detained a whole day. I reached Bowling Green 
      in the night, and next morning found that the command had been sent off to 
      some point, the provost marshal told me he would be able to inform me by 2 
      o’clock. I was ordered to Russellville. From Russellville to Clarksville. 
      Here I found my command had reached Hopkinsville the day before. I also 
      found a wagon train loaded with ordnance and commissary stores almost 
      ready to start for that place. I was lucky for once. I succeeded by hard 
      work and main strength in getting my stores on this train. Then the 
      provost marshal informed me he would have to put the train and about 800 
      convalescents in my charge to convey to Hopkinsville.
                I was in hopes I would find some acquaintances, probably some of 
      the Rifles, among the convalescents, but they were all Texans and 
      Kentuckians, whose regiments had been attached to Gen. Alcorn’s brigade. 
      When all was ready, the provost marshal called me into his office and gave 
      me instructions and orders:
                "Try to make eight miles this evening, Lieutenant, so you can 
      reach Hopkinsville tomorrow. Guard the train and stores, as an attempt may 
      be made to capture or destroy them. Most of the convalescents have their 
      arms and amunition.
       



       
      CHAPTER IV.
                I found a Lieutenant and a Sergeant among the convalescents. We 
      soon formed them into line, or sort of a line; At least all who were in 
      the vacant ware house where they had been quartered. About one hundred men 
      were out in the city hunting something to eat, or as we will soon see, to 
      drink, and would join us as we marched through the town. An orderly was 
      sent to pilot us out on the pike as far as Providence, a village some two 
      miles from Clarksville, where I stopped the wagons and waited for my 
      convalescents to close up. They straggled up slowly and to my dismay, I 
      found them all drinking, and canteens filled with corn whiskey. I began to 
      feel "in spots" and to study what I had best do. I began to feel the 
      importance of this final duty assigned me, and how best proceed to guard 
      these stores committed to my care. After going a mile or so I found 
      running water, I placed my wagons in the best place I could select, I 
      ordered my men into camp. I saw I could never reach the mill pond where I 
      had been advised to camp, with this drinking crowd until long after night.
                After resting an hour I sent my Lieutenant and Sergeant to 
      detail a guard of twenty men. They soon returned and reported the whole 
      turnout drunk, or drinking.
                I said Lieutenant, go back and pick out twenty of the soberest 
      men, take names, company and regiment, and assure them that if they did 
      not report for guard duty at sunset, I would have the last one court 
      martialed when we reached Hopkinsville. This brought them staggering in at 
      sun down. I examined all the guns, and put five of the soberest men on 
      guard. The others I made go into the tent and make themselves comfortable. 
      In one hour I found them all sound asleep and succeeded in slipping all 
      their canteens and hiding them. I kept the first relief on duty four hours 
      to give the others time to sober up.
                When the second relief was roused up every man asked the same 
      question, "Where is my canteen."
                My plan worked well, I had no trouble and no attack was made 
      upon the train, but I passed a sleepless night and at sunrise started my 
      train for Hopkinsville, which place I reached about sunset.
                I found the officer I was to turn over the train to, ordered my 
      convalescents to camp, and then hurried out to the fair grounds where my 
      regiment was quartered, shook hands with the men and delivered their mail; 
      the first they had received since leaving Iuka, ate a hearty supper, and 
      was soon sleeping like a tired worn out soldier.
                When Gen. Alcorn with his two regiments, the 1st and 3d Miss. 
      reached Bowling Green he was given the 9th Tex. a very strong regiment and 
      (I think) the 4th Ky. which made a very fine brigade of over 3000 muskets. 
      The command was soon armed and equipped and he was ordered to proceed 
      across the country to Hopkinsville.
                This was an exciting and instructing trip for the young 
      soldiers. They marched through the country over one hundred miles, 
      breaking up Union camps and capturing arms and other supplies which were 
      greatly needed. This was the first service of the young soldiers, and the 
      nights cold and frosty, consequently many contracted terrible colds, and 
      many were taken really sick; and the great scourge of the Confederate 
      army, measles, made its appearance in the brigade. This was something that 
      astonished every one, even the surgeons. The common idea was that 
      everybody had measles in early childhood, with a few exceptions, and would 
      never have them again, but we found we had it down wrong, and when I 
      reached my company, a very few days after the disease made its appearance 
      I was astonished to learn that there were over one hundred cases in the 
      brigade. We have all probably forgotten what a scourge this disease proved 
      to our southern soldiers, and the readers of this story will be astonished 
      when I tell them, that in the next three months the 9th Texas buried 96 
      men; the 3d Miss., 65 men; and the 1st Miss., 43, nearly all from measles 
      or its sequel. More men than we lost in killed and wounded during the 
      seige and open field fight at Fort Donelson. I was told that four of my 
      company had measles, and that the sick were all in a large tobacco 
      stemmery, which had been occupied as a general hospital for the present. 
      After distributing the clothing that I had brought in company with Capt. 
      Milam I visited the boys in the hospital, and what a sight greeted my 
      eyes! About one hundred sick men crowded in a room sixty by one hundred 
      feet in all stages of measles. The poor boys lying on the hard floor, with 
      only one or two blankets under them, not even straw, and anything they 
      could find for a pillow. Many sick and vomiting, many already showing 
      unmistakable signs of blood poisoning.
                "Is this the best Gen. Alcorn can do for his sick, Captain? This 
      wont do—our boys can’t stay in this place, if anything better can be 
      procured. They will all die, and we must get them out into private houses, 
      if such a thing is possible, for I promised their parents, etc. at home I 
      would see that they had the best attention possible if they should be 
      taken sick. First, let us go and report conditions to Gen. Alcorn, I 
      believe he will make a change, I don’t believe he knows anything about 
it."
                When we reported conditions to the General he rose from his 
      seat, saying:
                "I will go with you and visit my sick men, I have been so very 
      busy since we reached the town I had overlooked them."
                When we reached the barn and had gone through it from end to end 
      he was very much shocked at the condition of the men and assured them they 
      should have better quarters. As we walked back to camp the general asked 
      if we had the medicine chest he had presented to the company before 
      leaving home. I told him yes, that it had been of great service to the 
      whole regiment while at Iuka, and that we had brought it with us.
                "Take a file of men and go up town and find a vacant house, I am 
      told the Union men all left when we came in, and where ever you find a 
      vacant house that will answer the purpose, take possession and use every 
      thing you find in and about the house, and make your sick comfortable, and 
      attend to them yourself."
                I thanked the General and asked permission to take the sick of 
      Capt. Moseley’s company also, which was granted. Before night I had every 
      one of my sick men on comfortable beds, between clean sheets. I also found 
      a cooking stove and plenty of wood, but I must confess I did not relish 
      taking possession of a man’s residence and using every thing he had left 
      in his kitchen, dining room and pantry, opening drawers and using 
      blankets, sheets, towels, etc. It shocked my feelings very much, but then, 
      I was learning to be a soldier, and this was a part of my military 
      education—such is war! But circumstances justified the act. In less than 
      two days every sick man in the brigade was in comparatively comfortable 
      quarters. The epidemic rapidly increased and it taxed our ingenuity to 
      provide beds for the new cases that were daily brought in from camp.
       



       
      CHAPTER V.
      SORROW—DEATH—CHANGE.
                A great sorrow was soon to befall the Alcorn Rifles. Corporal 
      Carter, one of the brightest boys in the company, was brought in from the 
      camp ill with pneumonia. He had returned to camp a few days before, after 
      a mild attack of measles, contrary to my orders. He felt well, and his 
      great desire to see the boys and get back to his mess, caused him to slip 
      off from the hospital and return to camp. This little act of indiscretion 
      probably cost him his life, for his disease progressed rapidly to a fatal 
      termination.
                Rufus Byrd, Orderly Sergeant for the Rifles, was a remarkable 
      man in some respects. Forty years old, a man of great strength physically, 
      well educated, raised a gentleman, a man of few words but of great 
      firmness and decision of character, he probably had more influence over 
      the boys than any other officer in the camp. But Rufe had his faults, and 
      the greatest was a love of whisky. Sometimes this desire became 
      ungovernable, and then the usually quiet, genial man became a tiger, and a 
      very dangerous one.
                For the first time since leaving home in July, this strange 
      species of mania came over Rufus, and without leave or pass he slipped out 
      of camp, went to town and found whisky. The result was a big fight with 
      the police force. The tiger was captured of course, and lodged in the 
      calaboose on a cold November evening.
                That night we had a regular Kentucky blizzard, and the officers 
      next morning found Rufus nearly frozen, and seemingly very ill. They 
      warmed him up and made him comfortable, but he refused for several hours 
      to give his name or tell where he belonged. Finally he asked to be taken 
      to my hospital, and as the chief know he was a soldier, sent him up 
      immediately, expressing regrets at the occurrence.
                When he arrived I was absent, having gone out to camp to see the 
      boys, who told me of Byrd's absence from camp. I returned immediately as I 
      knew where he would be found, and I felt satisfied he would need 
      attention. Meeting Lieut. Howze, who had gone to town in quest of Byrd, I 
      was informed that he had been taken to the hospital, and that he seemed to 
      be very ill, and anxious to see me. When I walked into his room, he raised 
      up and said:
                "I am very glad you have come. I was afraid I would lose my mind 
      before you came, for I have a strange feeling in my head and lungs, and I 
      believe I am going to die, and I want you to send me home for burial. I 
      don’t want to be buried up here in Kentucky. Will you do so?"
                "I certainly will if such a thing is possible," I answered, "but 
      I can’t believe you are going to die. Is there any thing else I can do for 
      you?"
                "Nothing," he answered. "You can now examine me and go to work, 
      but your efforts will prove vain, for I feel certain I am going to die."
                I examined the man carefully. He was very hoarse, sore throat, 
      all the evidences of a severe catarrh, slight congestion of both lungs, 
      but nothing sufficient to cause serious alarm; but his cool manner of 
      talking of death and burial, the last subject I expected such a man to 
      consider, staggered me, and I felt uneasy and afraid his case was more 
      serious than the symptoms indicated, so I called for Surgeon Hall, and my 
      old friend Dr. Raiford, who, after a careful examination, laughed heartily 
      at the patient’s prognosis and the idea of his dying. Nevertheless he did 
      die, and in a very short time, living only about thirty-six hours.
                One hour later young Carter breathed his last. It was a sad day 
      with the Rifles. The shock fell heavily upon them. These were the first to 
      sicken and die, and the boys had not become hardened yet. Next morning the 
      company marched in a body to the hospital to look for the last time upon 
      the faces of their dead comrades.
                It was a sad, sad scene. We dressed them in their new uniforms, 
      put them in neat coffins, and in charge of Sergt. Yarbrough, sent them 
      home for burial. Letters I had written home in regard to Carter’s illness 
      failed to reach his father, and we can imagine the shock and the scare 
      when the boy’s dead body was driven up to his father’s gate. Sergt. 
      Yarbrough would not talk about it when he returned to camp but flatly told 
      the boys he would never carry another one home for burial
                The poor old father succumbed to the blow, and ten days later he 
      was buried beside his soldier boy. How often did such sad scenes occur in 
      our Southland? Comrade, how often? The home folks had a harder time than 
      we did, comrade, don’t you forget it.
                Just before Christmas I closed up my hospital and returned to 
      camp. Measles had run its course, and the troops had become comparatively 
      healthy, and there was no longer any use for the assistant hospitals. It 
      was a little like getting back home again, and I enjoyed the change 
      greatly.
                Christmas in camp proved rather dull and uninteresting, still we 
      had some fun getting up an extra dinner for the occasion, and the Rifles 
      had turkey and to spare for the whole company, and in some mysterious way 
      provided enough old-fashioned egg-nog to make every one talk louder, feel 
      better, and forget for a while at least, the old folks at home and the 
      joys of Christmas festivities in the past.
                About January 1st. 1862, Gen. Alcorn was superceded by Gen. 
      Clark. This change caused a great deal of dissatisfaction among men and 
      officers. We had learned to love our general, who had been very kind and 
      attentive to his men. In his farewell address he stated that the order 
      from the war department was unexpected and cruel, that he had expended ten 
      thousand dollars of his own money in equipping his brigade, and preparing 
      it for service, and now when it was ready for service, ready for the 
      field, to be forced to give it up and the proud privilege of leading it 
      into battle, caused him deep sorrow.
                Changes were now taking place rapidly, and the campaign was 
      opening in earnest, Various rumors were in the air—something is going to 
      happen.
       



       
      CHAPTER VI.
      BRAKING CAMP—MARCH—DONELSON.
                The latter part of January, (I don’t remember dates,) orders 
      were sent out to strike tents, cook 3 days rations and be ready to move at 
      a moments warning. This meant work, work, work. Everything must be packed, 
      loaded on the wagon train and sent back—where? The troops marched to 
      Clarksville and then boats to Dover, a small village on the Cumberland 
      river, about one mile above Fort Donelson. This village of one hundred or 
      more inhabitants was incircled by the breastworks we erected, commencing 
      at the Fort, and sweeping round in a semicircle to, or near, the river a 
      mile above the village. This is a rough sketch of the earthworks we were 
      sent down to build, and then defend against the advancing host of Gen. 
      Grant, whose guns were already thundering against Fort Henry on the 
      Tennessee river some twelve or fifteen miles away.
                Fortunately we had time to prepare for the storm that would soon 
      burst upon us, and the men worked with a will. Our military education was 
      now rapidly progressing and we were preparing for final examination or 
      commencement. A good deal of time was required to reduce Fort Henry, time 
      to transfer the fleet from the Tennessee to the Cumberland. Time for Gen. 
      Grant to move his army across the country from Fort Henry to our 
      breastworks around Donelson.
                Forrest’s cavalry contested every inch of ground between the 
      rivers, and it was here the cavalier won his spurs and manifested those 
      fine fighting qualities which afterwards made him a terror to his enemies, 
      and the idol of the southern army of the Confederacy.
                The Federal fleet announced their arrival by opening fire upon 
      the Fort late one evening, and kept up a brisk fire for some time, and we 
      had the thrilling pleasure of listening to the roar of heavy artillery, 
      which made the earth tremble where we stood.
                The next day a combined attack was made upon the Fort and 
      breastworks without result. This continued daily for nearly a week; the 
      Federals steadily moving to the right (our left) and gradually encircling 
      us with batteries and armed men. A child could see how the drama would 
      end. The sixth night, if I remember correctly, a rumor was current that an 
      attempt would be made next morning to drive the enemy back; if successful, 
      the garrison would march up the river and make their escape. This report 
      proved partly true. At daylight (Saturday morning) our brigade, with other 
      troops, marched out, and formed in line at right angles to our works, and 
      were ordered to move forward through the dense woods until they "find the 
      enemy, then charge, rout him, re-form line and move forward again" I don’t 
      know that these were the orders but that is the way the battle was fought. 
      This feat of charging and routing the enemy was successfully accomplished 
      four or five times, and by 2 p. m. the enemy was driven back two miles or 
      more, and the movement ended. Why was it? There we stood awaiting orders, 
      expecting every moment to hear the order: "By the left flank march." But 
      no order came, no effort made to get out of the trap. Why was it? I have 
      never read an explanation of this strange thing. The escape of the whole 
      garrison may have been an impossibility, but that assaulting column, of 
      several thousand men, could have walked away at their leisure, with 
      Forrest for a rear guard.
                By 5 p. m. we were all back where we started—in the ditches, 
      wonder stricken, dazed. I have no language to describe our feelings. The 
      loss to the brigade was trifling owing to the densely wooded country 
      through which we fought, but chiefly owing, I think, to bad shooting.
                At 2 p. m. that Saturday night we were marched out into an old 
      field and formed into line, and we now felt certain we were going. It was 
      a dark night, but as the ground was covered with snow, light enough to 
      march. We waited impatiently for orders to move forward and make our 
      escape. Waited, marking time to keep our poor feet from freezing, until 
      daylight, and then were ordered to march back, and stack arms in rear of 
      our works. Just then a line of cavalry was seen moving out on the left of 
      our works going up the river, and we thought we were going to fight again, 
      but it was the bold Forrest, riding out of the trap.
                Then the truth began to dawn upon us, that we had been 
      sacrificed, surrendered to the foe. As it grew lighter an officer rode up 
      and unfurled a white flag to place upon our breastworks. The men refused 
      to let him put it up. He rode further up the line and made a second 
      attempt, with similar results, when he rode on out of sight with his white 
      rag flying.
                It is impossible to describe what I witnessed in the next hour. 
      Many seemed stunned, and had nothing to say. Many were wringing their 
      hands and weeping hysterically. Officers were breaking their swords and 
      throwing them away.
                The Federal cavalry rode slowly down our breastworks to the 
      extreme left, halted and faced toward the prisoners. The infantry marched 
      upon our rear, formed a line facing toward us. The sight of the triumphant 
      enemy marching in to take possession produced a strange effect upon our 
      men. Eyes were dried, emotion vanished, and an unconquerable set of men 
      awaited the orders of their captains. Walking up to Lieut. Howze, of the 
      Rifles. I said:
      "Good-bye, Will."
      "Where are you going?"
      "I’m going to make my escape."
      "Are you crazy?"
      "No. Good-bye."
      "Have you wings?"
      "Good-bye."
                And shaking hands with every member of the company, I walked 
      rapidly toward the Federal lines closing up in our rear.
       



       
      CHAPTER VII.
                Had I been a private I would have slipped off at early dawn when 
      we were ordered to march back and stack arms. I think I would have had 
      little difficulty in making my escape then. Many did succeed, as you shall 
      see further on. Some escaped with Forrest’s cavalry, riding out behind the 
      troopers. But I could not feel certain that we would be surrendered, and I 
      could see no necessity for it that Sabbath morning.
                It was reported that little or no impression had been made upon 
      the Fort by the fleet. Our men had repulsed every attack upon our 
      breastworks, and we had meat and bread night and morning. Why should we 
      surrender just then? Had I left my command early in the morning and the 
      surrender had taken place later on, it would have looked like desertion. 
      But when the arms were stacked, the Federal cavalry in position in front 
      and their infantry rapidly closing up in the rear, I could make no 
      mistake. The time had come for me to speak, or forever hold my peace.
                When I reached the Federal lines to my astonishment they stepped 
      aside and permitted me to pass without a word, and I walked rapidly down 
      the path towards Dover. Good luck so far, thought I, as I walked across 
      the hills and gullys toward the little town. What next? What shall I do 
      now? My mind was running at a rapid speed, but I could only move forward. 
      Suddenly a thought struck me. I must get rid of my sword. Instantly I 
      unbuckled my good blade, the pride of all young officers, and let it slide 
      into a gully as I walked over the plankway. As I drew near the first house 
      on the outskirts of the village, I noticed an old man standing at the yard 
      gate, looking over the hills at the sad drama taking place at the 
      breastworks. As I approached I thought the old man looked peculiarly sad, 
      as he gazed upon the scene, and the main idea that I had stumbled upon a 
      southern friend, caused my heart to quicken its beat. Drowning men catch 
      at straws. Turning up to the gate and speaking to the old man, I said:
                "You see I am a southern soldier, and you know I am a prisoner. 
      Now, the thought of lying in prison for months, probably years, is 
      perfectly horrible, far worse than death upon the battlefield. I have 
      determined to make my escape, if I lose my life in the attempt. Will you 
      help me?"
                "Captain," said the old man in astonishment, "how do you expect 
      to get out of this place? The river yonder is at flood tide, and Grant’s 
      army is all around you, and how can an old man help you?"
                "Well, my friend," I answered, encouraged by the old man's 
      kindly look. "If you can only hide me and procure me some old clothes, so 
      I can get out of my uniform, I will manage the rest."
                But if the Yankees should find you hidden in my house, don’t you 
      suppose they would burn it? And this poor house is all we have left, and 
      my only son, my only help, is in the southern army."
                "I don’t think they will do that, (grabbing at straws,) and if 
      they find me, I will make a clean breast of it, and take all the 
      consequences."
                "Well," said the old man slowly, as if he was calculating the 
      chances, "go yonder and talk to the old woman, if she’ll hide you, I will 
      try and find you some old clothes."
                I stepped quickly across the yard to the old woman’s side, for I 
      felt confident I could touch a wife and mother’s heart.
                ‘Madam, you see I am a southern soldier, and you know that the 
      fortunes of war have made me a prisoner, and unless I can make my escape 
      from this place, I am doomed to lie in some loathsome northern prison for 
      months, and probably for years. I have a wife and child at home, and the 
      thought of wearing my life out in prison and never seeing them again, is 
      worse than death, and more than I can bear. Won’t you hide me until your 
      husband can procure me other clothing? If I can get out of this uniform I 
      feel confident I can make my escape."
                The old lady’s eyes began filling with tears, and by the time I 
      had finished my little speech, her mind was fully made up. She never 
      thought of danger to herself or property.
                "Follow me," she said, "and keep silent. There are two Federal 
      soldiers in the front room nursing two wounded men."
                I walked in where the wounded men were lying. The nurses seemed 
      surprised at seeing a Confederate officer, but I spoke to them politely, 
      and asked after the wounded men, and finding one of them suffering 
      intensely, I told the man to get cold water and bathe the wounded hand, 
      and try and get him a dose of morphine. I told them I was a surgeon, but 
      had no medicine. The men seemed more surprised, and asked me to have a 
      seat, but I told them I had no time to talk, and walked on closing the 
      door behind me, passing through the next room which was a closed hall, 
      into the third room, where I found the old lady waiting for me.
                "Wasn’t you afraid to stop and talk to those soldiers."
                "Oh no, I wanted to make friends. I would like to make friends 
      with the whole Yankee army this morning, but really I wanted to impress 
      them that I was a surgeon, and if I am recaptured, I shall claim to be a 
      surgeon, for my chances to get south will be greater. Please remember 
      this."
                The old lady reached under a bed and drawing out a light ladder, 
      placed it to a trap door in the floor above and bade me ascend to my new 
      quarters and make myself as comfortable as possible. When I reached the 
      room and had replaced the trap door, I looked around, and to my 
      astonishment found myself in a perfectly bare room, no chairs, bed, or 
      anything else. "A bare chance," thought I, but I was under cover, hid, and 
      was thankful.
       



       
      CHAPTER VIII.
                Seating myself on the floor I called a halt to hold a council of 
      war. What shall I do? What can I do? How long can I stand this? After my 
      brisk walk I was already growing cold, and possibly mine hostess in her 
      excitement won’t think of me for hours. Nothing better suggesting, I 
      removed my boots and determined to inspect my quarters and see what I 
      could find.
                Crawling over the log walls, for no doors had been sawed out, I 
      reached the room in the further end of the building, over the room 
      occupied by the Federal soldiers, and to my delight found with other 
      plunder packed away, two large feather beds. These I removed one at a time 
      to my end of the room, and placing them on the floor, I crawled between 
      them, and soon becoming warm, fell asleep.
                How long I slept I could not tell, but I was aroused by martial 
      music, and men marching near the house, and creeping to a crack in the 
      weatherboarding, I looked out and found it was nearly night. It was light 
      enough for me to discover that my dear comrades, the brave defenders of 
      Fort Donelson were marching by to the river, to be transported to their 
      northern prison. Their shouts and jesting showed the unconquerable spirit 
      of the men. The sight chilled my blood, but I stood for some time peering 
      through the twilight, to catch if possible, a glimpse of some familiar 
      face, until the chattering of my teeth warned me to seek again my virtuous 
      couch.
                It would be difficult to imagine the thoughts that passed 
      rapidly through my brain as I lay there shivering between those feather 
      beds, and could now calmly and coolly take in the whole situation. But my 
      thoughts were chiefly of my brave comrades who were being hurried through 
      the rain and snow to the river, to be crowded on transports and conveyed 
      to prison.
                Poor fellows! Wet, cold, hungry and worn out by a hard week of 
      fighting and watching in the muddy, freezing ditches around Dover. How can 
      frail humanity stand such hardships and exposure?
                But I had only a faint conception of the horrors of that voyage 
      from Dover to Alton and Johnson's Island, until eighteen months later 
      around the camp-fires in Mississippi, I heard it from the survivors who 
      were permitted by a kind Providence to return to Dixie.
                Other thoughts also crowded through my brain, as tired and 
      hungry I lay in that dark garret and could only think. Thoughts of home, 
      its comforts and joys; thoughts of the young wife and little boy waiting 
      there; thoughts the gray-haired sire who patiently waited to hear the 
      result of the seige; thoughts of the dear sisters who were ever praying 
      for me, and believed me dead or a prisoner. But there is an end to all 
      things, so there was an end to those pleasant and horrible thoughts, for 
      tired nature’s sweet restorer came to the relief of the lonely soldier.
                After a good long nap I was awakened by a tap at the little 
      door. Crawling out from beneath my feather bed, I raised my door, when the 
      dear old woman whispered:
                "I thought I’d never wake you. I have been knocking here for 
      some time. You must be very tired. Take up the candle and I will hand up 
      your supper, for I know you must be hungry, I had to wait until the 
      soldiers went to sleep."
                The mere thought of supper, aside from the sweet odor that 
      ascended through that trap door, would have made my mouth water. The 
      reader must know that the garrison had been constantly in the ditches for 
      a week or more, and a good square meal had not been eaten in that time. 
      The cooking had been done by detail down on the river, a fourth of a mile 
      from the men, and brought in and handed the men as they sat behind the 
      breastworks, just at dark, and about daylight in the morning, so if a 
      soldier got a good sized piece of bread and meat twice a day, and a pint 
      of coffee at nigh, he was fortunate and satisfied. I had eaten nothing for 
      about thirty hours. Up came the supper, fried ham and eggs, good lye 
      hominy, biscuits, butter and coffee.
                Reader, did you ever feel your stomach dance a jig? Did you, 
      ever return heartfelt thanks to God for your bread? I ate slowly, as slow 
      as I could, and tried to chew my food thoroughly, for I had serious 
      thoughts, or fears of making myself sick, and the idea of getting sick 
      under such circumstances was not at all pleasant. When the cup etc., were 
      handed down they hardly needed washing. "What time is it, mother?" as I 
      passed down the light. "Nearly one o’clock." "Good night." Down went the 
      trap door, and into bed I slipped to keep warm and think, for no man could 
      sleep with that supper on his stomach, not even a solder.
                The hours passed slowly away, and it seemed an age from that 
      supper time until the Federal drums aroused Grant’s sleeping host. As it 
      grew light I crawled out of my warm bed to peep out and get an idea of the 
      weather. Going to my little crevice in the wall, I discovered that it was 
      a drizzly, foggy morning, and I soon ascertained that it was still 
      disagreeably cold. I am afraid this part of my story will prove 
      uninteresting to most of my readers. I can’t help that, I know that it was 
      horribly uninteresting to the writer.
                Well, I thought, there is nothing to be done but lie in bed, 
      keep comfortable and await developments. Monday passed slowly away. Voices 
      could be heard below, but although I pressed my ear to the floor, I could 
      hear but little. I heard the family, or rather the old folks and the 
      soldiers sit down to breakfast. I heard the rattling of cups and plates, 
      heard them get up and disperse, but not a word of the conversation while 
      eating. I wonder if the good woman will hand up my breakfast this morning? 
      Not that I cared to eat or was hungry, but I desired to see a human face 
      and to ask questions. I found that curiosity was very much sharpened by 
      solitary confinement.
                I could not help thinking of and wishing for that suit of old 
      clothes promised me. How precious old clothes became, and how hateful the 
      fine suit of Confederate grey I wore. The suit had been sent me from home 
      by a very dear friend, Dr. W. M. Compton, and had been trimmed by some 
      precious Southern girls at Hopkinsville, Ky., where I had been quartered 
      during the winter, and was prized above money, but now I would willingly 
      exchange it for the meanest, dirtiest suit of one of the ebony camp 
      followers of Grant’s army.
                The day wore away at last, and darkness enveloped the earth 
      again. Supper passed off below, and the hum of voices satisfied me that 
      there were many others beside the family present, and I rightly 
      conjectured they were Federal soldiers.
                At last the tap at my little door warned me that my supper had 
      come, and raising the door the dear old face appeared, and she whispered:
                "Ain’t you most starved? I couldn’t help it, I had to arrange to 
      cook for the officers of an Artillery company camped close by, so as to 
      get food. Some of them have been in the house all day, and I was afraid 
      you would cough or make a noise and betray yourself."
                "Mother," I said, "I have suffered very little from cold or 
      hunger, but when will you get that suit of old clothes so I can come down 
      from this room, and watch for a chance to escape?"
                "A neighbor promised to bring them tonight, but from some cause 
      he has failed, and it is too late now, as it is 11 o’clock, You must not 
      worry."
                "I am not worrying, my friend, don’t think that, but I am 
      growing miserably impatient to get on terra firma again, and make some 
      effort to escape from this place."
                "I have brought you something to eat. Tomorrow I will not be 
      able to get you but one meal a day."
                "Do you know whether the army is on the move, or not?"
                "No I do not. The old man is trying to learn all he can for 
you."
                "Have all the prisoners been sent off?"
                "I think so. I learned that from the officers. But I must go 
      now."
                She passed up a plate filled with biscuits, cake and boiled ham, 
      then taking down the dishes returned for the light, and again left the 
      prisoner in darkness.
       



       
      CHAPTER IX.
                Tuesday and Tuesday night passed slowly away making no change in 
      my surroundings. I only grew more impatient and restless as the hours 
      dragged wearily along. On Wednesday night I not only received my good 
      supper but also the coveted old clothes. My heart throbbed with 
      thankfulness at the mere though of getting down from that garret. I could 
      hardly content myself to eat my supper before dressing up in my new suit, 
      and as that suit of "old clothes" enabled me to make my escape, I think it 
      is entitled to a full description, if it is possible for me to describe 
      them. The pants were of a dark gray cloth usually known as "salt and 
      pepper" but had been worn until the pepper was hardly discernable. They 
      had been worn by some one whose weight must have approached 200 pounds and 
      as I was a small man weighing 140 I could hardly hope for a fit, and when 
      I drew them on I was astonished at the length of the former owner.
                By shortening suspenders and using my pocket knife at the other 
      end a very respectable fit was at last effected. I found them very roomy 
      for cold weather, and well ventilated besides. The vest was yellow, a 
      dingy yellow, resembling the cloth that comes around a canvassed ham. The 
      coat was originally of checked goods, but the checks were hardly 
      discernable, from long service. The lining was dilapidated, and the 
      sleeves had air-holes at the elbow.
                The owner was doubtless a small man for in it I found a tight 
      fit. The cap was a daisy. It was made of the tanned skin of the American 
      coon with the "narative" left in its proper place, and was a perfect fit.
                When I decended the ladder the old couple began to laugh, and 
      laughed until I feared their sides would split.
                "Captain," said the old man, "I saw you before you went up that 
      ladder in your handsome gray uniform, and the change is so great I am 
      bound to laugh. I think you are perfectly disguised. I don’t think your 
      own men would know you if they were to meet you on the street tomorrow."
                I was perfectly satisfied with my new suit and believed it would 
      prove a success and seating myself began to quiz the old man in regard to 
      the situation of the Federal army. He thought little or no advance had 
      been made. That the General was waiting for the return of his transport 
      which had carried the prisoners off, to convey his troops up the 
      Cumberland. That the bulk of the army was in and around Dover, between the 
      Tennessee and Cumberland rivers.
                Then I must go north into Kentucky and make a wide circuit 
      around Clarksville to reach Nashville. So we must look around tomorrow and 
      find some way for me to cross the river.
                "I am afraid that will be a difficult job," said the old man, 
      "for the boats are tied up on this side of the river, and their crews are 
      in camp on the other side, and the road runs right through their camp."
                "Are the country people coming into town yet?" I asked.
                "I do not know. I have not seen any one from the country. I 
      understand there is no going out, but as you now have your disguise I will 
      look out for a chance to put you across the river."
                "Well I will come down in the morning and probably I can help 
      you find a chance. Please let me have your shaving apparatus to take off 
      the little beard I have, as I wish to look as young and boyish as 
      possible, and I will play general waiting boy for you and your wife and if 
      the Federal officers ask who I am, just say that I am a country boy who 
      came over the river before the surrender, and has not been able to get 
      back, and that you are feeding him until the way is open for him to return 
      home."
                After a careful shave I returned to my quarters in the loft, 
      full of hope but rather gloomy at the prospect of making an early escape 
      from my perilous situation. In the morning I was up by the time the old 
      couple were dressed and descended to the kitchen to commence my duties, 
      and soon began in a small way to pay the debt of gratitude I owed the dear 
      old people, by making myself generally useful. When the Federal officers 
      came in to breakfast they seemed a little surprised, I thought, at seeing 
      a new cook turning the batter cakes and pouring out the coffee.
                "Well," said one of them, "where did you strike your new cook?"
                My heart jumped suddenly into my throat, and I farely held my 
      breath, until the old man quietly answered as requested the night before.
                "Tom," said the old man, "you had better put a little wood on 
      the fire."
                And Tom was glad to reach the open air for the persperation was 
      becoming troublesome, and he felt a sensation of faintness pass over his 
      frame.
                The cool morning air soon restored him, and he felt that the 
      Rubicon was passed and he would have no more trouble from those officers. 
      The day passed away quietly and without incident. Tom’s eyes were 
      everywhere and his ears open to every sound. After the officers returned 
      to their quarters that night the old man said he had learned, just before 
      leaving town, that several citizens had crossed over the river to see Gen. 
      Grant, and to take the oath.
                "Now if my information is correct, you may get across the river 
      sooner than you expect. Now don’t permit this information to raise your 
      hopes too high, for the report may be false, and if it is true, you may 
      fail or something prevent your getting off with the first who recross. I 
      will try and see the ferryman in the morning and make the necessary 
      arrangements. The ferryman is a good southern man, and can be depended on, 
      so I advise you to go to bed and get a good night’s rest, for we don’t 
      know what is before us in this world."
                After using the old man’s razor again, thoroughly and carefully, 
      I ascended the ladder again, and I hoped for the last time to lie down and 
      plan different ways of escape, but to sleep very little.
       



       
      CHAPTER X.
                The next morning after an early breakfast the old man started up 
      town, and I anxiously watched him as he walked across the hollow, up the 
      hill beyond, and across the guard lines into the little village. I watched 
      him closely because I thought I would have to travel the same road when I 
      started. Hope and fear alternately held possession of my heart, and the 
      hours passed slowly away. About 10 o’clock I discovered the old man 
      passing the guard lines and slowly walking homeward. I was waiting at the 
      woodpile for him.
                "Did you see me pass the guard lines, yonder?"
                "Yes," I said.
                "You will have to go just as you saw me come. If you succeed in 
      passing the guard lines keep straight forward through the village until 
      you reach the river then down the bank until you find the ferryboat. When 
      the ferryman and citizens arrive, go on with them and obey the boatman’s 
      orders. He will know you by your cap. You must start, for you have no time 
      to lose. I heard and drank in these directions with joy unspeakable, and 
      going into the house, hurriedly expressed my thanks for their kindness. I 
      gave the old lady the last ten dollar State bill I had—part of the funds I 
      started from home with—as a small testimonial of my gratitude, bade them 
      farewell and started down the path toward Dover whistling and throwing 
      rocks at the snow-birds along the way, determined to play the green 
      backwoods country boy that my garb indicated. As I drew near the first 
      line the thought occurred to me pass midway between them and thus avoid 
      close inspection approaching the lines I was promptly halted by the sentry 
      on the left. Paying no attention to the command which I distinctly heard, 
      I sauntered on whistling and looking toward the sentry on my right, until 
      I had crossed the line, when a more emphatic "halt," in a loud tone, 
      warned me that I had better heed. Turning carelessly toward the sentry 
      whose gun was leveled at me, I said:
                "Did you speak to me, Mister?"
                "Yes, can’t you hear? Where in the h——l are you going?"
                "I’m jest gwine up town."
                "Do you live here?"
                "In course I does, I lives over thar in that house, and I am 
      jest gwine up town."
                "Then go on, you d—— fool," said the pious soldier, as he 
      lowered his musket, and the "d—— fool" went ahead, whistling, feeling an 
      inch taller, in his boots, and thankful for small favors and compliments. 
      As I approached the second line of sentries, which I could plainly see 
      from the house, I discovered that this was a special guard around a park 
      of Artillery. They permitted me to pass unchallenged, thinking probably it 
      was useless to challenge such a boy. I walked through this immense park of 
      Artillery, looking at the guns and now and then asking some foolish boyish 
      question, which caused more than once, a hearty laugh among the soldiers. 
      Following directions I soon reached the river, and had a sight, for the 
      first time, of the dreaded gunboats. A number of which were tied up along 
      the river bank. I did not stop to admire or investigate the monsters for 
      fear I would be too late for the ferryboat. Keeping down the river I soon 
      found the boat, and sitting down, waited for the citizens. Pretty soon I 
      saw a number coming in my direction on another street, but they turned and 
      came toward the boat. When they arrived and walked on the boat, I walked 
      up to the post. The ferryman called for their passes and then looking 
      straight at me said:
                "Turn her loose."
                I quietly unhooked and unwound the chain and threw it aboard 
      with all the grace of an experienced boatman.
                "Shove her off," was the next order, and grasping the pole used 
      for the purpose. I shoved that craft from shore—just then I felt strong 
      enough to push off the Great Eastern or Noah’s Ark. A prayer of 
      thankfulness went up from my heart, as I bade a silent farewell to Fort 
      Donelson. But I had no time for pious or sentimental reflections, as the 
      ferryman ordered me to seize the oar and pull for dear life. The current 
      was dangerously swift, and carried the boat a long way down stream, before 
      we began to pull upon the other side. At last we reached the shore and 
      springing out upon the bank I pulled up the boat and wrapped the chain 
      around the sapling and helped the dear old Union brothers to land.
                The passengers paid their fares and put off in a body down the 
      river.
                "My friend," said I, looking at the boiling, surging river, 
      "weren’t you afraid to cross that stream?"
                "Well," he said, "it was a little dangerous, but I saw I had an 
      experienced hand at the oar, and I wasn’t much afraid."
                He said this with a peculiar smile. I handed him a two dollar 
      bill, the last money I had.
                "I thank you for bringing me over that terrible river and will 
      never forget the kindness. Now show me the Clarksville road and give me 
      directions, for I must go."
                "Keep right up the river. Some distance above the road turns to 
      the left, then keep the plainest road."
                I shook his horny hand and started up the river walking rapidly. 
      The road led right through the camp of boatmen, but they neither noticed 
      or challenged me. A mile above the road turned to the left up a long hill 
      and I soon found myself in a densely wooded country. At the top of the 
      hill I met a man on a mule riding in a gallop towards town.
                "Hello, friend, are there any Yankees camped on this road?"
                "There is a brigade of Federal soldiers camped a mile or so 
      above, but I don’t know that they are Yankees."
                I knew at once that I had struck a Union man.
                "They are the troops I am looking for, I knew they were 
      somewhere up this road. I am much obliged to you."
                He spoke to his mule and passed on.
                As soon as the fellow passed out of sight, I sprang out of the 
      road on the left into the bushes and started directly across the hills and 
      hollows at right angles to the road I had left. My object was to flank 
      that Federal brigade, and as I was a stranger in the county, knew nothing 
      of the direction of the road, had no compass, not even the sun to guide 
      me, for it was cloudy. I determined to travel in this direction a couple 
      of miles, and then turn square to the right. I would then be on a parallel 
      line with the Clarksville road and out of danger from those Federals.
       



       
      CHAPTER XI.
                I soon found that I was crossing a very rough section of country 
      High hills and deep hollows, and covered with a dense undergrowth of 
      bushes, which was in my favor. In about a mile it grew more open, and 
      getting upon the top of a high ridge, I stopped, and looking around in 
      every direction, could discover no settlement or farm house, and I 
      naturally concluded that I was traveling through a very thinly settled 
      country. On I went down hill at double-quick, up hill not so fast.
                The snow was soft and melting, hence I made little noise walking 
      through the bushes. As I reached the top of one of the ridges I was 
      crossing, I was considerably startled at seeing right ahead of me down the 
      side of the ridge a Yankee soldier, his hands in his pockets, in the 
      attitude of listening, his gun leaning against his shoulder and his back 
      toward me. I was too tired to run and if I run he will shoot me before I 
      can get out of sight. There is but one course to pursue. I had the down 
      grade, and crossing that intervening space of forty or fifty feet in a 
      twinkling and as the Yankee turned to see what was coming behind him, I 
      dropped by his side, grasped his gun and ordered him to surrender. The 
      boy, for he was a great big boy with a Yankee overcoat on, stood trembling 
      before me.
                "What are you doing here?" I asked.
                "I am trying to kill a deer, sir. Mother is out of me and we 
      have two sick soldiers at our house, and she set me out to try and kill a 
      deer. Don’t you hear my dogs. They are trailing one now." The boy was 
      trembling with fright.
                "Did you say there were sick soldiers at your house?"
                "Yes sir."
                "Are they Yankees or Rebels?"
                The boy hesitated.
                "Speak out. You need not be afraid."
                "They are Rebels," he answered.
                "I am glad to hear that. I am a Southern soldier and I crossed 
      the river and made my escape this morning."
                "Lord, Mister, I thought you were a Yankee, and you like to have 
      scared me to death."
                "Well, you need not be frightened any longer. Are you acquainted 
      with the country?"
                "Yes sir."
                "Can you pilot me around the Yankees on the Clarksville road, 
      and put me on the road above them?"
                "Yes sir."
                "Then shoulder your gun, strike out and I will follow you."
                "Mister," said the boy, "please go down to the house with me, so 
      mother will know where I am, and not be uneasy."
                "All right, go ahead."
                When we reached the house I found the sick soldiers, as the boy 
      had said. I also found a very intelligent woman in his mother. When I told 
      her what I wished, she said quickly:
                "I don’t think you can make your escape that way; the country is 
      full of bushwhackers, and the meanest Union men in Southwest Kentucky. I 
      can put you on a road that you will have no difficulty in finding, and you 
      will find good southern friends all along to help you."
                I thanked the good woman, but felt more thankful to the kind 
      Providence that had directed me to her door. She then gave me directions 
      to Dr. White’s, sixteen miles distant, a dinner of milk, bread and butter, 
      and sent her son some distance with me to put me on the right way. I 
      started on my sixteen mile walk with a light heart and a full commissary 
      department. Just before dark I toiled up a long, steep hill into the 
      Kentucky barrens, and saw before me the desired haven of rest, the 
      handsome residence of Dr. White. I called at the gate, and an old negro 
      woman answered.
                "Is Dr. White at home?"
                "No sah. He started south yesterday with all the colored folks 
      and the stock, to try to save them from the Yankees."
                "I was directed to come here and spend the night, and do not 
      think I can go any further. Can I stay all night with you?"
                "Is you a ‘Federate soldier, Massa?"
                "Yes," I answered.
                "Den come right in. Massa lef’ me here to take keer of the 
      place, an’ tole me to take keer of any ‘Federate soldiers what might come 
      along. Jes come right in."
                I walked in, and when I reached the portico the old negress 
      exclaimed:
                "Lord, Massa, you is dressed mighty funny for a soldier."
                "Yes," I answered, "this old suit of clothes helped me to make 
      my escape from the Yankees, and they are very much prized just now."
                "Jes walk right into de parlor, Massa. Dere is another soldier 
      in there."
                On reaching the parlor I was very much surprised and delighted 
      to find my old regimental commissary, Capt. Gannaway, who made his escape 
      early Sunday morning, crossing the river before the surrender. Old Aunty 
      soon had us a good supper, and we were ready for bed as soon as we related 
      our adventures. But my feet were so completely done up with my long walk, 
      that I found it difficult to sleep. I bathed and greased them, and wrapped 
      them in soft cloths, but they throbbed and burned so terribly, it was late 
      before tired nature asserted her rights.
                The next morning my feet were so swollen and tender I found it 
      almost impossible to get on my boots after splitting them up in front, and 
      I was afraid I would not be able to walk at all. This was discouraging. 
      Both knew that it was important to go ahead, that a rapid advance would be 
      made by the Federals, so after an early breakfast we started for a farm 
      house a half mile away, hoping to be able to get some conveyance, Gannaway 
      helping me along as best he could. Fortunately we found a good southern 
      man to help us -- ready and willing to help us.
                Capt. G. bought a good horse, saddle and bridle from him, and 
      the old man putting his only saddle on another horse assisted me to mount, 
      and springing upon a third horse with a blanket for a saddle, told us to 
      follow. I remonstrated, desiring to ride the bareback horse myself, but he 
      would not hear to it, so away we went, over hill and dale, through woods 
      and fields, our guide paying no attention to roads or paths, except to 
      avoid them. After riding some sixteen miles at this breakneck speed, the 
      old man rode up to a newly settled place, and springing off his horse as 
      he rode up, he said:
                "Get down gentlemen. My son-in-law lives here, we will get our 
      dinner, and I will get him to take you to Judge Overton’s, sixteen miles 
      further on. You will find the Judge an old time southern gentleman, and he 
      will help you on tomorrow."
                After dinner the young man brought out two fresh horses. 
      Expressing our thanks, we shook hands with our friend in need, and started 
      on another John Gilpin ride of sixteen miles. Judge Overton seemed really 
      glad to see us, glad to help us, as all these good southern people were. 
      The poor widow back yonder under the hill nursing the two sick soldiers, 
      and who sent me on this way, knew them as patriots and southern gentlemen, 
      and she had the same royal blood in her own veins, and would do all she 
      could for the southern soldier.
                Judge O. treated us with the greatest kindness, special 
      attention being given to my bruised and swollen feet. The old gentleman 
      was greatly amused at my disguise, and had me tell him over and over of my 
      escape. We found here six more soldiers, Kentuckians, who made their 
      escape, and crossed the river early Sunday morning of the surrender.
       



       
      CHAPTER XII.
                After a good night’s rest I found my feet much improved, and 
      that I could walk if it was necessary. Judge Overton sent us out to the 
      pike in two miles of Clarksville, but was afraid to risk his wagon and 
      team in Clarksville as the enemy might have reached the town during the 
      night. Capt. Gannaway said he would ride ahead and reconnoiter and if he 
      found the way clear, would go into town and learn all he could in regard 
      to the military situation, and the best route for us to travel to reach 
      the Confederate lines.
                When we reached the pike we separated, the Kentuckians going 
      north. Alone I started on my way. As I was nearing Providence, a landing 
      where we had taken the boat on our way to Donelson two or three weeks 
      before, a band struck up a lively air down at the landing. Walking to the 
      top of the hill and looking over, I found a transport disgorging troops, 
      and a regiment forming on the bank. I looked but a moment, and facing 
      about I took the back track, and started up the pike at a lively pace for 
      a sore footed Rebel. It was astonishing the beneficial effect the sight of 
      those Yankees had upon my sore feet.
                It began to rain a cold drizzling rain, that penetrated my old 
      clothes, and was decidedly uncomfortable. Nearing a fine residence I 
      determined to stop out of the rain and make some inquiries. I had been 
      thinking, and I remembered that a good southern man lived on or near this 
      road, by the name of Clardy. While I was in charge of the hospital at 
      Hopkinsville during the winter, this man brought chickens, butter, eggs, 
      and other good things to our sick, and he did this more than once. I knew 
      that he was made of the right stuff, and now if I can find him I will find 
      another friend in need. Walking up to the door I knocked; an elderly lady 
      answered the call, and when she opened the door and flashed her eyes over 
      her visitor, she hesitated, drew back, and seemed about to close the door. 
      I said:
                "I called, Madam, to get out of this cold rain, and to inquire 
      for a friend who lives near you."
                "Walk in to the fire and have a chair. Who is your friend you 
      wish to meet?"
                "William Clardy."
                "Col. Clardy is one of our neighbors and lives a mile north. You 
      will have no trouble to find his residence."
                "I am glad to hear that. Do you suppose I will find him at 
home?"
                "Yes, this is his birthday, and a good many friends dine with 
      him today. My husband started to his house just before you called."
                "Perhaps I will help him eat that dinner."
                "Will you allow me to ask where you are from, sir?"
                "I am from Fort Donelson, Madam."
                "Are you a Confederate soldier?"
                "I am, Madam. 1st Lieutenant Company F. 1st Mississippi 
      regiment. Thanks to this disguise that astonished you so much when you 
      opened your door, I made my escape three days ago, and I am trying to get 
      back within our lines. But I must be going as the rain has ceased and I am 
      anxious to get to that birthday dinner."
                "Wait a few moments," said the lady, as she left the room. In a 
      short time she returned, and put around my shoulders a heavy, warm, black 
      Talma or cloak, then wrapping a beautiful yellow nubia around my ears and 
      head, she said feelingly:
                "I hope, now, you will be more comfortable, and that you will 
      get home safely."
                "God bless you," I said, as I grasped that southern mothers 
      hand, and pressing it to my lips, I stepped out upon the highway, and 
      resumed my walk. I soon reached Col. Clardy’s, and as I walked up to the 
      yard gate, several gentlemen came out upon the portico, and attracted by 
      my cap, stood looking at me, as I supposed. Before I reached the steps, 
      Clardy recognized me and exclaimed:
                "Good Lord, Lieutenant, I thought you were at Donelson!"
                "I was until day before yesterday, when I made my escape from 
      the bluecoats."
                "How did you get away?"
                "Wait a moment and I believe I can show you." I took off my 
      nubia and laid it aside, then my cloak, and stepping out, I said:
                "In this handsome disguise I simply walked out of the Federal 
      army, the easiest job I ever undertook."
                "Where did you get those clothes? But stop. I see you are wet. 
      Get there by the fire, and I will see if I can’t make you more 
      comfortable."
                Pretty soon I was called into another room, where I found water, 
      soap, towels, and a chair covered with dry clothing.
                "Lieutenant, I think my clothes will fit you better than those 
      you have on, and I want to make an exchange with you. That cap I shall 
      prize above money, and keep it as a souvenir of this horrid war, so bathe, 
      dress up, and come out to dinner, for I am dying to hear your story."
                In a short while I was ready for dinner, and much improved in 
      feelings and appearance. While eating a first-class birthday dinner, 
      enthused by the presence of twelve or fifteen loyal, big hearted southern 
      ladies and gentlemen, I gave a graphic, and probably the most brilliant 
      description of the seige, the surrender and my escape that I have been 
      able to write or think. The inspiration of the moment turned my young 
      tongue loose, and if I put on too much coloring, no one will ever be able 
      to find it out. After a smoke with the gentlemen, I said to them:
                "I want your best advice and directions as to the route I shall 
      take to get back into our lines, for I must be travelling."
                "Not until morning, Lieutenant. You must remain with us 
tonight."
                "No, Colonel, I must push forward. The Yanks are getting too 
      close to me "
                ‘Where are any Yanks?"
                "At Providence, in Clarksville, and probably in a mile of us 
      now. I saw them landing at Providence, and I knew I would have to flank 
      Clarksville, so faced about and came in this direction, and you really owe 
      this visit of mine to the Yanks."
                "Lieutenant, I have a fine horse left with me by Col. Sugg, of 
      the ——th Tennessee regiment, who told me to give him to some Confederate 
      soldier if the Yankees got into this country, and it seems that they have 
      surprised us and I expect we will lose all our stock. If you will risk it 
      and remain all night, I will send down to my farm and get him for you."
                "Colonel, I can’t afford to run any risks. I wouldn’t be 
      recaptured for forty horses. I must push right ahead."
                "Well," he said, "I will do the best I can for you." He had a 
      mule brought out. "That is the only thing I have for you to ride."
                "Colonel, how shall I ever repay you for all this kindness."
                "Just get back to the army and make a faithful soldier to the 
      end."
                "I will do it," I said.
                The Colonel and one of his guests rode with me to pilot me 
      across a creek, and gave me directions to a place to spend the night. Just 
      as we rode out of the lawn upon the highway, up came Capt. Gannaway in a 
      gallop, and rode right up to us, failing to recognize me on account of my 
      change of apparel.
                "Hello, Captain, where are you going?"
                He knew my voice, and looking at me in astonishment said: "Where 
      have you been?"
                "Let me ask you the same question. You left me this morning 
      without leave, saying you were going to hunt the enemy, Several hours 
      later you come dashing up to the column and demand explanations."
                "Well." he said laughing. "I have had a terrible race. After 
      leaving you this morning I rode on into Clarksville without seeing any 
      sight of the enemy. When I reached the center of town I rode right on a 
      regiment of Cavalry. I saw them first, and turning my horse into a side 
      street, I soon had him at full speed. They were after me in a moment and 
      chased me five or six miles, but my horse was best, and they finally gave 
      up the chase and went back."
                "A pretty good report, Captain, and now I will answer your 
      question. I have been among my friends. I have had a good day, a most 
      pleasant, happy day, and now I have resumed my retreat. Let me introduce 
      you to Col. Clardy and Mr. Jones."
                "Our friends piloted us across the creek, and gave us directions 
      how and where to go for the night. When we reached the farm house it was 
      nearly dark. When we told the gentleman we were sent there by Col. Clardy 
      to spend the night, we were invited to come in, and were treated like 
      lords. This gentlemen gave us some good suggestions and advice and drew us 
      a diagram of the road for thirty miles, to guide us next day.
                We started early next morning, and only stopped once to dine. 
      Just before sunset we reached the village, the end of our diagram and days 
      journey. We were tired and worn out. The man proved to be an old friend 
      and acquaintance of Capt. Gannaway, and gave us a hearty welcome. After 
      supper the whole village came in to see the escaped soldiers and ask 
      questions, about the fight, and the troops who were there and were 
      captured.
                Next morning we started for Springfield. After riding five 
      miles, we met a man who told us Springfield was in the hands of the 
      Yankees, and he with others were sent out to warn the people to hide their 
      stock and run off their negroes.
                "Captain, we will have to change our course and make for the 
      Cumberland."
                We rode back to the village, and while consulting with friends, 
      a young man volunteered to guide us across the country to Ashland, on the 
      river, where he thought we could cross. In a short time our guide was 
      ready, and we started for Ashland, 17 miles away. Just before reaching the 
      place we came upon twelve of Gen. Morgan’s men, who had been cut off by 
      the rapidly advancing Federals. They seemed to be lounging by the wayside 
      resting. When asked why they were stopping out there in the woods, they 
      told us to ride to the top of the hill, and we would see a sight, and 
      understand the situation and position we were in.
       



       
      CHAPTER XIII.
                When we reached the hill top a grand sight—and a horrible sight 
      to me—burst upon us. Five large transports with a gunboat in tow, and all 
      crowded with blue coats, were strung along one after another, going up the 
      swollen river to Nashville. We gazed upon the scene without speaking for 
      several moments.
                "Well, well," said Gannaway sadly, "the world seems to be filled 
      with Yankees. Yankees before us, Yankees behind, Yankee all around us; can 
      our little army meet this host successfully?"
                Presently the boats passed up out of sight. One of Morgan’s men, 
      who had been sent into town to reconnoiter, blew his whistle and we all 
      rode into the town of Ashland. We found the ferryboat sunk and no chance 
      to cross that swollen river. The town was full of people and they soon 
      gathered round the soldiers and showed a desire to help us in any way they 
      could. While consulting together an old country doctor came up and told us 
      he had a good boat hid out in the back water four miles below, and if we 
      would go with him, he would put us over the river early next morning.
                That night was spent with the good, loyal people of Cheatham 
      county, Tennessee. Next morning at the blast of a horn we met at a 
      designated point and commenced the hard job of crossing the river. For the 
      first time my mule showed his mulishness, and positively refused to go on 
      the boat. Consequently I had to exchange with the doctor who had an old 
      easy going horse. The doctor offered me forty dollars to boot, but I told 
      him the mule had been given me by a good southern man, Col. Clardy, near 
      Clarksville, if he could send him the forty dollars to do so. The boat 
      could only carry three men and their horses, one man held the horses and 
      the other two acted as boatmen. The first who crossed were ordered to push 
      out south, and learn all we could in regard to the Yankees. I shipped on 
      the first load but it required an effort to tackle that raging river 
      again. By 2 p. m. we were all over, and closing up the column we camped 
      that night about fifteen miles from Franklin, Tennessee. Starting early 
      next morning our ears were soon greeted with the sound of Artillery in the 
      direction of Nashville, which caused us to spur up and ride a little 
      faster. About twelve o’clock, noon, we entered the town and found it in a 
      wild state of excitement. The Cavalry had been fighting all the morning on 
      the road to Nashville. Gen. Johnson’s army was moving south, and the place 
      would soon be evacuated. I rode immediately to the depot, and found a 
      train just starting south. Turning my old horse loose I boarded the train.
                As we moved south a company of soldiers aboard burned the 
      bridges as we passed over. This was slow work and slow traveling, and it 
      was eight o’clock when we reached Columbia. Finding the train would remain 
      two hours I walked up into the city and found it swarming with men and 
      officers of Johnson’s retreating army. Walking into a hotel I told the 
      clerk I was an escaped prisoner from Donelson, was out of money and wanted 
      supper on the credit of the Confederacy.
                "Walk right in to the table, sir," showing me the dining room, 
      "and when you finish call at the office."
                This clerk was dressed in Confederate gray, with lieutenant’s 
      stripes or I would never have said what I did, I wished to test him.
                On returning to the office, I was furnished with a roll of 
      cigars that lasted me home. Starting at 10 o’clock the train reached 
      Decatur, Ala., about 3 p. m.
                As the train on the Charleston Railroad thundered up to the 
      depot the guards on the platform sang out:
                "No passengers permitted on this train!"
                Just then I cared very little for orders, so watching my chance 
      I eluded the guard and entered the car, which I found filled with the 
      roughest looking Irish soldiers I had ever met, the sixth Louisana 
      regiment, called at home and in Virginia, "Tigers." They had reinlisted 
      for the war, and received a thirty days furlough and they were going home 
      in a body to enjoy it. One of the roughest, knife in hand and half drunk, 
      approached me as I entered the car and demanded:
                "What in the h——l are you doing on this car?"
                "Comrade, I heard the order not to enter this car, but I am a 
      soldier, was captured at Donelson, made my escape and I am trying to reach 
      home to refit for the war."
                "The h——l you say, come back, comrade, have a drink, and tell us 
      of the ‘foit’.
                I found Donelson a touchstone to every heart, even the "Tigers." 
      After gratifying their desire in regular Munchausen style, all hands had 
      to drink again, and every one shake hands with me.
                I was lion among the ‘tigers.’
                Then this brawny son of Erin said to me:
                "Aint you tired and schlapy, comrade?"
                "Very," said I, "I have not closed my eyes during the night."
                "Then, begorra, lie down here on me blanket and go to schlape, 
      and Pat Mahone will guard yez ‘til mornin’."
                I was soon fast asleep and slept until the train reached Iuka, 
      where the shouting of Confederate soldiers—Gen. Johnson’s advance guard 
      taking position on the ground where the great battle of Shiloh was soon to 
      be fought, won, and lost--aroused me from my slumbers. I looked out at the 
      jolly boys in gray, hoping to see some familiar face but was disappointed. 
      As the train was moving off a soldier recognized me, and running to the 
      rear car told Capt. Allen Stokes I was on board. In a few minutes Capt. 
      Stokes, an old friend from Hernando, Miss., came through the car hunting 
      me, and together we returned to the rear car to meet other old friends. 
      While talking to them and telling the old story, a splendidly dressed 
      staff officer came up and listened attentively to the end. Slapping me on 
      the shoulder, he said:
                "You must report to Gen. Ruggles at Corinth."
                "Is the General’s headquarters near the depot, Captain? I must 
      go on to Memphis on this train, for I have no money, blankets or clothing, 
      and I must go home and refit."
                "Orders are imperative, sir, and you must report," said the 
      Captain, walking out of the car.
                "Here, Wilson," said Stokes, handing me his pocket book. "You 
      will need money, help yourself."
                "I will take $5, as I want my breakfast."
                "Ain’t you going to report?"
                "Not today."
                "How are you going to avoid it? The guard will get you if you 
      leave the train, and we are almost there?"
                Will you assist me?"
                "Yes, any way I can."
                I wrapped my nubia around his neck, put my cloak around his 
      shoulders and exchanged hats.
                "Now when you think I am nearly through eating, walk out and let 
      the Captain capture you, parley with him until you see me pass to the 
      train then show your papers and as the train starts jump aboard."
                I ate until the whistle blew, and as I passed rapidly to the 
      train I saw Stokes under guard and talking to the Captain, who looked like 
      he had captured a Yankee instead of a Confederate officer. When Stokes saw 
      me enter the cars he told the officer he had made a mistake, and showed 
      his pass and orders.
                "Ain't you from Donelson," said the Captain.
                "No sir. I am from Iuka."
                "Where in the h——l is that Donelson fellow?"
                "He has gone to report," said Stokes as he stepped aboard the 
      train.
                He came into the car laughing. So we sped on toward Memphis. My 
      story, comrade, is nearly ended. I am nearing home.
                To avoid the guard at the Charleston depot I determined to jump 
      from the train as it slowed up on Union street. I took my stand on the 
      lower step and awaited "orders" form Capt. Stokes to "jump." The whistle 
      sounded, the speed slackened, the order was given and I sprang into the 
      street and was home again!
       
      E. J. WILSON,
      1st Lt. Co. F. 1st Miss. Rgt.
                I started up Union street at a brisk walk. All at once the idea 
      occurred to me, where am I going? Whom do I seek? Is my wife and child in 
      the city? Has she been able to stand the excitement and suspense of the 
      past month? Has my dear old father been able to stand the strain upon his 
      old system, burdened with its three score and ten years? Such thoughts 
      crowded rapidly through my brain, and produced a strange revulsion of 
      feeling. I began to feel very strangely, my legs grew weak and tremulous, 
      and seemed about ready to refuse to perform duty. I had a presentment of 
      something horrible awaiting me. I was about to come to a standstill and 
      sit down on the sidewalk. Fortunately a cab came rapidly down the street, 
      and stopping a block away, some ladies alighted, and as the driver closed 
      the door and started for his box, I beckoned to him to hold. As I came up 
      he opened the door and politely helping me in, asked:
                "Are you sick, sir?"
                "No," I answered," I don’t think I am. Please drive me to No. —— 
      Front street, to Sampson, Hayes & Co."
                I knew I would find my nephew, Adrian Howze, who was their 
      book-keeper, who could tell me all I wanted to know, and relieve my 
      anxiety. When I entered the office, Col. Hayes, who was conversing with a 
      gentleman some distance down the sample room, recognized me, and 
exclaimed:
                "My God, Adrian, look behind you!"
                My nephew turned from his desk where he was writing, and when he 
      saw me, clasped me in his strong arms, asking:
                "Where did you come from? Are you wounded? Are you sick?"
                "No," I said; where is wife and Frank?"
                "They are at Peyton Skipwith’s."
                "Are they well?"
                "Yes," he replied.
                "How is my old father?"
                "In good health. We heard from him yesterday."
                "Jim, we thought you were dead," said Col. Hayes shaking my 
      hand, "but what is the matter with you, your hand is cold, and you are 
      pale as a ghost?"
                "I guess, Colonel, that I have had a nightmare, or a spell of 
      hysterics, for I am as weak a cat."
                "Hold a minute and I will fix that."
                He brought a glass of stiff toddy, and ordered me to swallow it. 
      Accustomed to obeying orders, I did so, and soon began to feel much 
better.
                "Come," I said, "go with me to find my wife, Peyton Skipwith has 
      moved since I was here, and I don’t remember where. Have you heard nothing 
      at all of me?"
                "Yes, two soldiers reported you dead, and a third said you had 
      been sent to prison."
                "Did my wife believe me dead, or a prisoner?"
                "No, she never has believed it, and has confidently looked for 
      you to come in every day."
                "Well come along and go with me, we will find her."
                And now, old comrade, I will stop right here. There are some 
      things to sacred to be written, some scenes in this life that angels alone 
      must witness.
                The next day I went up into the city and had the pleasure of 
      meeting many friends I had not seen in months. I met with fathers, whose 
      sons were in prison, who had been in Memphis for days hoping to hear 
      something definite in regard to them. Some of them I could comfort, others 
      I could not.
                I had the pleasure to meet Maj. Severson, General Alcorn’s 
      Quartermaster, who paid me for six months service in the Confederate army.
                I soon had a new uniform, two good blankets and an oil cloth and 
      was ready for the field again.
                After spending two or three days most pleasantly with my Memphis 
      kin and friends, I started with my wife and baby for the old homestead in 
      Desoto County, Mississippi. It was a great pleasure to meet my dear old 
      father and kindred, but it was a bitter pill to meet and face the fathers 
      and mothers of the brave boys I had enlisted six months before and carried 
      into the army.
                For several days I did nothing but talk, talk and tell of the 
      seige and surrender, and answer questions in regard to boys now in prison 
      on Johnson’s Island and in Camp Chase. But the excitement and 
      mortification of this disaster soon wore away and was swallowed up by the 
      military movements, that in a short time culminated in the great battle of 
      Shiloh.
                I secured thirty recruits in a short time to fill out the 
      unexpired term of the Alcorn Rifles, my old company, and repaired with 
      them to Corinth, Miss., and reported for duty. Reorganization of the army 
      was rapidly progressing under the Act of the Confederate Congress, 
      recently passed, and no recruits or volunteers were received for a shorter 
      period than three years, or the war. This was a stunner to myself and my 
      thirty recruits. I found about 100 men and ten or twelve officers of my 
      old regiment, the 1st Mississippi, and suppose the other regiments in the 
      brigade were similarly represented.
                All the refugees from Fort Donelson were turned over to Gen. 
      James R. Chalmers to be reorganized, and the General found he had a hard 
      job on his hands. But he seemed to be doing all he could to satisfy both 
      men and officers. The men were giving little trouble, but the officers 
      were reluctant to resign. I waited a few days to see what would be 
      accomplished, desiring to do the best I could for the men. I could see but 
      one way out of the trouble. My recruits were becoming restive, and I 
      determined to end their suspense and my own. I called upon Gen. Chalmers 
      and said to him:
                "My recruits are grumbling, and I am afraid they will think that 
      I have deceived them, and I intend to end the trouble today, and I am 
      anxious to do the right thing, so if you have any advice, give it to me, 
      if you please."
                "Will your men enlist for three years?" he asked.
                "I think so, General. I have been talking to them on that line, 
      and I believe they will."
                "Said he: "I will give them and yourself a furlough for thirty 
      days, and you can go home and raise a company for the war."
                "My men were pleased with the proposal, and in thirty minutes we 
      were sworn into the Confederate service for the war. My resignation as 
      First Lieut. Co. F. 1st. Miss. Reg’t, was sent up to headquarters, and 
      returned approved, and my connection with that gallant regiment dissolved, 
      and we started home, enthused with the idea of raising a company for "the 
      war."
       



       
      In For The War.
      _____________
       
      CHAPTER XIV.
      RAISING COMPANY—ORGANIZING REGIMENT—ON TO RICHMOND.
                With 30 men, recruits I had carried up to Corinth, to fill out 
      the unexpired term of my old company in the 1st Miss. regiment, I was 
      mustered into service by Brig. Gen. James R. Chalmers, for three years, or 
      the war, and we were given a furlough for 30 days, to go home and raise a 
      company for the war. This was in the latter part of April, 1862.
                We started home enthused with the idea. We felt like we had 
      taken a step forward. We felt more like we were soldiers. We were in for 
      the war, let it last one, three or five years. And what now? Faithfulness, 
      energy, loyalty may shorten the contest. My friend and neighbor, Robert W. 
      Locke, united with me in raising the company, and in less than a month we 
      had sworn in about 100 men, and two boys about 13 years old, whose friends 
      desired us to receive and take with us, as both had threatened to run off, 
      and they knew we would take care of them and favor them in every possible 
      way.
                When we met to organize, Rob’t W. Locke was elected Captain; L. 
      J. Wilson, M. D., 1st Lieutenant; George Adrian Howze 2d Lieutenant; 
      Matthew Jones 3d Lieutenant. Non-Commissioned Officers: Martin Adkins 1st 
      Sergeant; Wirt Thompson 2d Sergeant; Henry Smith 3d Sergeant; John Bowden 
      4th Sergeant.
                Upon reporting to the Government for duty, we were ordered to 
      Granada, Miss. On account of bad water and its scarcity, we were ordered 
      up to Oxford, where we were joined in a short time by nine other companies 
      from the northern half of the state, and organized the 42d Miss. regiment, 
      by electing Judge Hugh R. Miller, Pontotoc county, Colonel, Dr. Hillery 
      Moseby, Panola county, Lieutenant Colonel; Wm. Feeney, Desoto county, 
      Major: L. P. Cooper, Panola county, Quartermaster; B. F. Jones, Carroll 
      county, Commissary; J. M. Rossel, M. D., Desoto county, Surgeon; R. L. 
      Taggart, Marshall county, Assistant Surgeon; Oliver Carr, Pontotoc county, 
      Adjutant.
                Orders came in a short time for the regiment to report at 
      Richmond, and we had a long, hot, tiresome trip, made mostly on box cars. 
      At Mobile half the regiment were sent up the Alabama river on a boat, the 
      others crossed over the bay and made the trip on the cars. We waited at 
      Montgomery a day or so for the boat, then on cars we proceed across the 
      states of Alabama and Georgia to Augusta, thence to Kingston, S. C., 
      Wilmington, N. C. and on north to Richmond, a long, tiresome journey.
                At Montgomery I was detailed, as usual, to stop with some sick 
      men, with orders to cure them up and bring them on as soon as possible. 
      This was lucky for me, for I had time to rest up and take in the city, 
      visiting the places of note, the capitol of Alabama, and the first capitol 
      of the Confederate States. I had the pleasure of standing where his 
      excellency, Jefferson Davis took the oath of office as President of the 
      Confederate States. I sat in the stand where he delivered his inaugural 
      address, and imbibed deep draughts of southern patriotism, as I listened 
      to a description of the scenes of that day, by a brilliant southern lady, 
      who was present at that time, and who escorted me over the building and 
      grounds.
                Hurrying forward with my convalescents, I reached Richmond a few 
      days after the discomfiture of McClellan in his "On to Richmond." The 
      great battle had been fought and won, and the Grand Army of the Potomac 
      that was in sight of the church spires of Richmond, when Stonewall Jackson 
      burst upon their right flank and rear at Mechanicsville were huddled up 
      shattered and demoralized in Turkey Bend on James river, thirty miles 
      below the city, saved from utter annihilation by their terrible fleet of 
      gunboats. But the city was safe, and the only evidence of an enemy 
      anywhere, was the occasional roar of one of the big guns of the Federal 
      fleet.
                I found our regiment quartered in Camp Lee, some two miles 
      southeast of the capital building, which I suppose was about the center of 
      the city. Camp Lee was a beautiful place, and was used as fair grounds 
      before the war. A plank fence ten feet high enclosed the grounds and 
      buildings, some six acres or more. This was shaded with natural and 
      ornamental trees, and covered with a dense growth of beautiful bluegrass. 
      A fine place for the tired soldiers to lounge around and rest after their 
      long journey.
                After resting for several days our regiment was called upon to 
      perform provost guard duty in the city. A Lieutenant with twenty men was 
      sent to the Provost Marshal’s office every morning, and the relieved a 6 
      p. m.
                One evening on dress parade Co. F, my own company, was ordered 
      to furnish the provost guard the next day. Next morning when the orderly 
      reported my detail ready, I found Albert Norfleet and John Carmichael, our 
      two 13 year old boys in line, with their guns and accoutrements as bright 
      as they could make them, and as proud of their arms as any young urchin of 
      his first bird gun. We were soon assigned to our posts, guarding four 
      different crossings of its streets, with orders to halt every man, and if 
      he failed to have a pass from General Lee, to send him to the provost 
      marshal. John and Albert were placed at the nearest post in full view of 
      the relief guard, who had taken advantage of some shade trees where we had 
      stacked our arms, and sat down on the edge of the pavement to while away 
      the hot June hours. The boys were not more than one hundred yards from us.
                About 11 o’clock, one of the men exclaimed, "the boys have 
      captured a man, Lieutenant."
                Looking up, horror of horrors, I recognized President Davis. 
      Snatching up my sword, I hurried to the scene. This colloquy occurred 
      between Mr. Davis and the boys:
                "Have you orders to stop the President on the streets."
                Boys: "We were ordered to halt every man, and see that he had a 
      pass from General Lee."
                "Where are you from, boys?"
                "Mississippi, sir. We belong the 42d Miss."
                "My God!" said Mr. Davis. "Is Mississippi sending her boys to 
      the front?"
                "No, sir. All the men were going to the front, and we could not 
      stay at home."
                "Well, boys," said Mr. Davis, "always obey orders, and you will 
      make good soldiers."
                I arrived on the ground, and not knowing what to do or say, I 
      saluted the President with all the grace I could command, and began to 
      clear my throat and try to speak. Mr. Davis seemed to understand my 
      embarrassment and advancing with that fascinating smile peculiar to the 
      man, said pleasantly:
                "Your boys have captured me, Lieutenant, and you will have to 
      release me."
                I hardly knew what I said to the President, but I think I said 
      something like this:
                "I am sorry you were interrupted in your walk, Mr. Davis, but I 
      am glad I have had the pleasure of meeting you again."
                I am sure I said something of the kind as we walked down the 
      street to my guard who were in line, and at my command presented arms. Mr. 
      Davis shook hands with every one, asking after their welfare, where we 
      were quartered, etc., then gracefully saluting, walked on down the street. 
      After going a short distance he stopped, and turning said:
                "Can you spare me those boys for an hour, Lieutenant?"
                "Certainly, Mr. Davis."
                "Please send them over to my residence," he said, pointing to a 
      handsome building down and across the street.
                I saw my boys had made a mash on the President and I felt proud 
      of them. I ordered two of the men to go and relieve the boys and send them 
      down to me. The men went up rubbing their eyes and said:
                "Boys the Lieutenant wants you. I am afraid you have played the 
      d——l as he is going to send you to the President, and I expect he will 
      have you shot, good-bye."
                The boys came down to me looking a little sheepish and uncertain 
      as to what was coming. I said to them:
                "Boys the President wants you to come over to his mansion," 
      pointing it out; "I suppose to dine with him, I wish I could go with you, 
      for I know you will have a good time, go now and remember you are 
      Mississippians."
                I think they were met at the door by Mr. Davis himself and 
      ushered into the mansion.
                Two hours later they came out, flushed with excitement and 
      pleasure. They had dined with the President and Mrs. Davis, and were 
      happy. It was an epoch in their young lives. Those boys lived through the 
      bloody war. They were baptised at Gettysburg and surrendered at 
      Appomattox. They won the badges of veterans.
                Albert Norfleet died a few years after the war, and his widow 
      and daughter live in Crawford Country Arkansas. John Carmichael lives near 
      Memphis, Tenn. and has an interesting family growing up around him. This 
      was the first and only time those boys ever saw the President. And it was 
      the last time that the writer ever looked upon his manly form, or felt the 
      pressure of his hand. And this reminds me of another which occurred years 
      before and which I desire to place on record. The Hon. Jefferson Davis was 
      a candidate for the United States Senate. All the candidates for state 
      offices were to speak in Oxford, Miss. An immense old fashioned barbecue 
      had been prepared by the people, and the great table had been built in the 
      shape of a V the peculiar form into which Col. Davis threw his regiment to 
      receive the charge of Santa Anna’s cavalry on the bloody field of Buena 
      Vista. Mr. Davis reached the hotel in Oxford (The Butler House), on the 
      stage coach an hour earlier than was expected. News of his arrival soon 
      spread over the town and an immense crowd soon gathered around the hotel 
      and began to shout for "Jeff Davis."
                A window in the second story was raised and the Hon. Jefferson 
      Davis appeared at this window and we looked upon his graceful, handsome 
      form for the first time in life. He made a ten minutes speech. I was but a 
      youth then, I am an old man now, but the closing sentence of that speech I 
      have never forgotten: "Fellow citizens, I have been with you in war, I 
      have been with you in peace, and you may rest assured, I will stand by you 
      in adversity."
                Did the man keep his promise! Let his people answer.
       



       
      CHAPTER XV.
                Pretty soon we were called upon for a heavy detail to guard the 
      Federal prisoners on Belle Island, those who had been captured in the 
      great battles around Richmond. Guarding prisoners we found a very 
      disagreeable duty. The guard went with two days cooked rations, and were 
      on duty forty-eight hours, were then relieved, and were off duty seventy 
      hours, which made it heavy duty. Fortunately this did not last very long, 
      for an exchange of prisoners was affected, and we had the pleasure of 
      guarding them down to Varina landing, twelve miles below Richmond, where 
      they were taken on board the Federal transports and taken north. This was 
      such a remarkable trip I think it worth describing.
                The regiment was called on for three hundred men to guard and 
      escort the prisoners, about 5,000 in number, under command of Lt. Col. 
      Mosely. We reached Belle Island about 8 o’clock a. m. About ten the gate 
      was thrown open and the Federal soldiers marched out by fours, and started 
      on the road at quick time. When the last of the column marched out the 
      head was over a mile away and the prisoners almost in a run.
                It was the latter part of July and the sun was shining in all 
      its southern fierceness, and the result was many prostrations from the 
      intense heat. About a dozen of our men succumbed, but no deaths among 
      them. Eight or ten of the Federal soldiers dropped and almost instantly 
      expired, and were buried by the road side. The prisoners could hardly be 
      controlled, and a guard had to be placed in front to keep them from 
      walking too fast.
                Had this precaution been taken in the morning probably no death 
      would have occurred, for all the cases of sun stroke occurred during the 
      final four miles. The prisoners were then forced to halt and rest for an 
      hour and then, with a guard in front, proceeded slowly on their way 
      without further casualties, and reached the landing about sunset. Turning 
      over the prisoners to the Federal officers we marched back a mile or more 
      to a brook of cool pure water and bivouacked for the night. That is we ate 
      our cold soldiers rations by the light of the stars, bathed our dusty 
      faces in the babbling brook, and hunting for a soft place on the ground, 
      curled up for the night, repeating our mother’s lullaby:
      "Lord keep us safe this night,
      Secure from all our fears,
      May angels guard us while we sleep,
      ’Till morning light appears."
                At daylight we were roused from our virtuous couches hastily 
      finished our two days rations and fell into line. When we reached the city 
      we found it in a state of excitement over the dispatch from Gen. Jackson, 
      who had been sent north by Gen. Lee to check the advance of Pope, who was 
      marching on to Richmond with another Grand Army. He had issued a 
      ridiculous and bombastic order (when taking command of his army) in regard 
      to his foe. He expected to see only the backs of his enemies, had no rear 
      to his Grand Army. His headquarters would be in the saddle, and he would 
      ride into Richmond in thirty days.
                Alas! alas! "The best laid schemes of mice and men, aft gang 
      aglee."
                He would have succeeded had there been no obstacles in his 
      pathway, hut just before he reached the Rapidan he found an old Virginia 
      Stonewall and a very steep Hill right across his pathway. He pressed 
      forward expecting, or hoping, to see the back of his enemies, but found he 
      had to look Lee’s veterans squarely in the face, and the result was a 
      brilliant Confederate victory at Cedar Mountain.
                Gen. Longstreet, who had been watching for weeks the embarking 
      of McClellan’s army form Turkey Bend on James river, was sending forward 
      his brigades to the support of Jackson as fast as he thought it prudent 
      for the safety of Richmond. These gallant men, as they marched through the 
      city on their way north to meet the enemy, enthused every one who came out 
      to greet and cheer them, and the whole city turned out on en masse to bid 
      them God Speed!
                Glorious soldiers! How our hearts burned within us to join them 
      on the march. But the 42d Miss. regiment was not yet ready to take the 
      field, and we were just now battling with measles, mumps and camp fever, 
      passing through the acclimating process, the bane of all new or fresh 
      regiments.
                Richmond was really the drilling ground of the Confederacy. As 
      fast as the regiments were raised at home, they were hurried off to 
      Richmond, for while drilling and preparing for service, they could be used 
      for defense in case of an attack from a bold force of the enemy’s cavalry. 
      Something that happened more than once, and in this way a considerable 
      garrison was kept in and around the city for its defense and safety.
                As soon as Longstreet reached him, or drew sufficiently near, 
      Gen. Jackson commenced that celebrated flank movement around Pope’s army 
      to Manassas Junction, where he burned Pope’s depot of supplies, amounting 
      in value to millions of dollars. After destroying all he could not utilize 
      or carry away; Gen. Jackson marched his army on the plains of Manassas 
      where the first great battle of the war was fought in July 1861, and 
      placing his army in line of battle immediately in Pope’s rear, between him 
      and Washington, boldly waited an attack from Pope, whose army outnumbered 
      Jackson 4 to 1. This was indeed a bold act, almost a rash act, but the 
      General knew his men, and the men knew their General, and were not afraid.
                Longstreet was pressing on with all possible haste to the 
      support of Jackson, and on the second day of the contest, just in the nick 
      of time burst through Thorough-fare Gap, fell suddenly upon Pope’s flank, 
      who was hotly engaged with Jackson, and swept him from the field. Another 
      great victory was added to the Confederate list.
                Pope was crushed, and his army, melting away in the direction of 
      Washington, never halting for food or rest until safe within the 
      fortifications of the Capitol. After securing the rich fruits of this 
      great battle, Gen. Lee pressed forward to the Potomac, and boldly crossed 
      into Maryland, sending one corps to the left to capture Harper’s Ferry 
      with its rich stores and garrison of 12,000 men, which Gen. Jackson 
      accomplished with little or no loss, while Longstreet and Hill held the 
      passes in the mountains of Maryland against the advancing Federals, again 
      under the command of McClellan.
                As soon as Harper’s Ferry surrendered, Gen. Lee passed through 
      the mountain passes, and concentrated his army on the west bank of the 
      Antietam river, near Sharpsburg, where he was attacked by the overwhelming 
      forces of the enemy, on the 17th of September. This was one of the 
      hottest, bloodiest battles of the war, and considered a drawn battle.
                Gen. Lee remained in line of battle all of the 18th, hoping 
      McClellan would attack again, but the gauge of battle was declined, and 
      our army was quietly withdrawn to the south bank of the Potomac. I did not 
      intend to give an account of any military movement in which my own 
      regiment was not engaged, but seeing Lee’s veterans march through Richmond 
      on their way north to meet the enemy, and having had such a burning desire 
      to go with them, I hope I will be pardoned for this condensed account of 
      this brilliant campaign.
                A season of rest followed this summer of battles, and the Army 
      of Northern Virginia was quartered, each corps in supporting distance, in 
      a line extending from Winchester, Va., east to Culpepper Court House, with 
      the argus eyed Stuart on the flanks. Here we will leave them to rest and 
      watch the enemy, and return to our own regiment at Richmond.
       



       
      CHAPTER XVI.
                The cool days and nights of an early autumn were having their 
      invigorating effect upon the men. Measles and mumps disappeared, the camp 
      fever subjects who had been furloughed home to get well, were returning 
      fat and slick for duty. Col. Miller had succeeded in getting his entire 
      regiment uniformed and otherwise equipped, and we were now pretty well 
      drilled, and ready for active service, and were getting anxious to see it.
                The city newspapers began to hint at another "On to Richmond" at 
      an early day. From what point would it start? This subject was discussed 
      and guessed at by officers and men, and even by the papers. The river or 
      peninsula route had been tried by the Young Napoleon. The direct or 
      overland route had been tried by Pope and McDowell at the first. McDowell 
      reached Manassas, and Pope was turned back before he reached the Rapidan, 
      or covered half the distance, and now who will be the fourth victim, and 
      from what point would he start?
                About 7 o’clock one morning, a courier rode up to headquarters 
      and handed Col. Miller an order:
                "Five companies fifty men each."
                They were wanted instanter to go to Fredericksburg to guard the 
      fords until Gen. Lee’s army arrived. This sounded like business, and sent 
      a thrill of pleasure through every heart. So the problem is partly solved, 
      the "On to Richmond" will be via Fredericksburg. We were ordered to be at 
      the depot by 2 p. m., with two days cooked rations. Excitement reigned 
      supreme. Every officer and man was anxious to get to Lee’s army. We were 
      tired of Richmond, tired of guard duty, tired of camp. We wanted to see 
      active service, wanted to be numbered with the veterans. At 1 o’clock we 
      were ordered into line. Every man and officer was in his new uniform, and 
      guns and accoutrements as bright as silver dollars. Maj. Feeney who was 
      placed in command, was proud of his battalion. We made the run in two 
      hours, and were put off the cars in the outskirts of the city, as the 
      engineer was afraid to go to the depot for fear of being fired on.
                We met with a warm reception by the good people of 
      Fredericksburg. The ladies and old men, in fact the entire population was 
      on the sidewalks to greet and welcome us. "God bless you, boys!" "God 
      bless you, boys!" was heard on every side, as they pressed forward to 
      shake our hands, and many of the ladies were weeping hysterically. It was 
      a heart stirring scene and a welcome one, and I doubt not that every man 
      in that battalion of Mississippians would have died at the fords we were 
      placed to defend had the Federals advanced upon us.
                The Federals occupied the heights beyond the Rappahannock, and 
      had two or three pieces of Artillery leveled on the town in a menacing 
      manner, and their Cavalry would ride down to the river in squads of four 
      or five to water their horses, but made no attempt to cross, and when our 
      boys would raise their guns as if they intended to fire, they would point 
      to their Artillery as much as to say:
                "Shoot if you dare, and we will shell your town."
                Thus affairs stood for twenty-four hours, when Col. Ball, of the 
      9th Va. Cavalry, came to the rescue, and for two or three days played a 
      regular game of bluff, showing his regiment at different places, and 
      blowing his bugle calls at different points. He made us believe that we 
      had a whole division of Stuart’s Cavalry to back us, and we felt very 
      brave, and it is probable the enemy thought the same thing, at least they 
      made no effort to cross the river, and we were perfectly satisfied.
                On the morning of the second day, an order was received at 
      headquarters, requesting that all the officers and men off duty would 
      assemble in the public park at 1 p. m. and partake of refreshments 
      prepared by the ladies of Fredericksburg. We were all there on time, about 
      100 of us, the balance were at their posts up and down the river. The 
      Mayor made a beautiful and appropriate speech, welcoming the 
      Mississippians to old Virginia, and thanking us for coming to their 
      defense in the hour of danger, etc., really making us feel like we had 
      performed some great service, preventing the capture of the city.
                When the Mayor closed, we called upon Capt. A. M. Nelson, of Co. 
      A., who, by the time the Mayor closed his pleasant and complimentary 
      speech, was full to the brim, stepped out, and made one of the handsomest 
      speeches and appropriate replies I ever heard on any occasion. We were 
      proud of our orator.
                While the speech making was going on the mothers, God bless 
      them, with the assistance of the old Virginia darkies, were spreading 
      their table cloths on the grass, and loading them with the good things of 
      the Old Dominion. The young ladies, the beauties of the city, were talking 
      familiarly and pleasantly with us, like old friends and acquaintances, and 
      we really felt we were among friends and enjoying a grand old picnic at 
      home. And what a dinner! The recollection of the good things makes my 
      mouth grow moist, after the lapse of forty years. We were all enjoying the 
      society of the ladies as much or more than the luxuries of that table, 
      especially the young unmarried soldiers. That beau ideal of a bachelor and 
      ladies man of the Regiment, Capt. Jno. Powell, was in the zenith of his 
      glory, with a Virginia beauty on each side dispensing the good things of 
      those tables he could hardly take time to talk, but he was smiling all 
      over the top of his bald pate. The enemy upon the heights, could look down 
      on us and with their field glasses, which we could see they were using, 
      understanding exactly what we were doing, and I wonder what impressions 
      were made upon them. We lingered as long as possible around that table 
      with those good people, but the pleasant scene, and hour, must pass, we 
      shake hands, bid adieu and part, never to meet again. In a few hours Lee’s 
      veterans relieved us, and we were ordered back to camp at Richmond.
                Truly there are green spots along the soldiers pathway, and we 
      had enjoyed one of them.
       



       
      CHAPTER XVII.
                When we returned to camp we found everything in statu quo, the 
      cool fine autumn weather was building up the convalescents. Surgeon 
      Rozelle had recovered from his spell of fever, had sent in his 
      resignation, and would start home as soon as it was returned accepted. 
      Col. Miller would, and did appoint Dr. Tagger Surgeon, and I at last had a 
      chance for the position of Assistant Surgeon. I had been on duty as 
      Assistant Surgeon for more than two months and I felt that I had a right 
      to contest for the position. I met with considerable opposition from my 
      Colonel, but I had the Lieutenant-Colonel, Major and all the company 
      officers to back me, and went to work for the position, and succeeded in 
      about a month in getting an order from the Secretary of War to appear 
      before Gen. Lee’s Medical Examining Board for examination for the 
      position. Having passed a satisfactory examination I was ordered to report 
      to Medical Director Cullen, Richmond, for assignment. Dr. Cullen wanted to 
      assign me to one of the city hospitals, but I prevailed on him to assign 
      me to the 42d Miss. Regiment, and I was happy.
       



       
      CHAPTER XVIII.
                The regiment was now a part of the force guarding the Capitol, 
      the garrison of Richmond. We were moved south of the James, midway between 
      Richmond and Petersburg, near the railroad, so as to be in easy range of 
      either city or Drury's Bluff, as emergencies might require. Here we 
      quietly rested for some time, drilling daily and perfecting ourselves in 
      military tactics.
                One evening I was sitting outside my tent in the warm sunshine, 
      reading to while away the weary hours. Raising my eyes and looking down 
      the road toward Petersburg, I saw a fine specimen of the "genus homo" 
      walking briskly up the pike, with a good size grip in one hand and a large 
      or long walking stick in the other. The first thought was, he was some 
      returning soldier, but he soon came near enough for me to discover that he 
      was a negro, over six feet in height, large, stalwart form, and hair and 
      beard nearly white. I became interested, and in a few moments was 
      astonished at receiving a courtly, graceful military salute from the old 
      man.
                "Won’t you stop and rest awhile; and tell me where you are 
      going, Uncle?"
                "Thank you, sir, I will, for I am a little tired from my walk. I 
      am on my way to Richmond, and from there I will go on to my old home near 
      Lexington, where I was born more than eighty years ago.
                "How long have you been away from home Uncle?"
                "Nearly fifty years, sir."
                "Goodness! Where have you been all those years?"
                "Away out west, sir, acting as government interpreter among the 
      Indians."
                My astonishment increased. Here was a most interesting United 
      States government official. An old veteran soldier who had been in service 
      fifty years. Of course my curiosity was aroused to learn his history, and 
      this is what I learned. He had been with Gen. Andrew Jackson in the Creek 
      war, and was in the terrible battles of Talledega, Muckaw and Horseshoe 
      Bend, where the Creek Indians were overpowered and brought to terms, and 
      the old soldier gave me a graphic account of those terrible conflicts with 
      the redmen, and many thrilling incidents during the Indian wars. He loved 
      to talk of General Jackson and General Coffee. When the Indians were moved 
      west into the Territory, he went with the troops that accompanied them, 
      and had been with them ever since.
                When he heard that war had occurred between the North and the 
      South, instanter he wanted to come home, back to old Virginia. No 
      objection was made to his leaving the fort where he had been for so many 
      years, in fact, I think he had a permit. He had recommendations from 
      Confederate officers in the Trans-Mississippi department, and from ladies 
      and gentlemen asking help for the old man. He had quite a tiresome trip 
      from northwest Texas, across Louisiana and Mississippi to Meridian, where 
      he saw a railroad for the first time in life. Friends bought him a ticket 
      and sent him to Montgomery, Ala., and then he was sent on to Richmond.
                I asked him why he got off the cars and walked from Petersburg 
      to Richmond?
                "Well, sir," he said: "When the cars stopped at Petersburg, I 
      got out and thought I would walk about a little, I was so tired riding, 
      and I see a sign, ‘Fresh Oysters,’ and I thought I would like a stew, so I 
      went in and had a mess of oysters, and when I came out the cars were 
gone."
                I sent him over to Richmond in an ambulance next morning, sent 
      him to the Mayor. The next day a very interesting history of the old man 
      was published in the daily papers. In due time he was sent on home to 
      finish his days among his old master’s children.
      "I’m gwine back to Dixie
      And I must go!"
       



       
      CHAPTER XIX.
      FREDERICKSBURG—WINTER QUARTERS—CHRISTMAS.
                On Dec. 13th Gen. Burnside began his "On to Richmond" by 
      bombarding Fredericksburg from Stafford Heights. He was held in check and 
      prevented from laying down his pontoons and crossing, until Lee could 
      arrange his lines, by Barksdale’s brigade of Mississippians, who were 
      posted among the buildings along the river bank. When everything was in 
      readiness Barksdale was ordered to fall back and let them come. The 
      Federals crossed over, 113,000 strong, and met with a crushing defeat, 
      losing over 12,000 men killed and wounded.
                The only effect this "On to Richmond" had upon my own regiment 
      was a change of base from the south to the lines northeast of the city for 
      a short while. After the excitement of this great battle had subsided, 
      both armies settled down into winter quarters for a season of rest and 
      repose. Our regiment was ordered back to camp south of the city, in time 
      to make ourselves comfortable for the winter, and get ready for Christmas.
                This was the jolliest, merriest Christmas we spent during the 
      war. The railroads were all intact, and many boxes of good things were 
      brought from home by returning comrades who had been on sick furloughs, 
      and the lucky man always divided his good things with his comrades, and 
      the 42d Miss. had been in and around Richmond so long the boys knew all 
      the avenues of ingress and egress, and could get anything they wanted.
                Rations were good and plentiful, and every one had Confederate 
      money, and it was worth a good deal. Turkeys, chickens, eggs, and even old 
      Virginia apple brandy could be had at reasonable figures, and there was no 
      reason why we should not have a merry Christmas, and we had it, and 
      enjoyed it like good soldiers.
                About the first of February we were hustled aboard the cars, and 
      sent south to Goldsboro, N. C., to protect our railroad communications, 
      which were threatened by a raid from the coast up the river. The raid was 
      repulsed at Newbern by the time we reached Goldsboro, and we had our trip 
      for nothing. We remained at Goldsboro for nearly a week, and then marched 
      through the country via Tarboro to Weldon, where we boarded the cars, and 
      went to Blackwater river, to guard that line against a raid to the rear of 
      Richmond and Petersburg. This running around to find or meet the enemy was 
      becoming monotonous, and the men were growing restive, and anxious to use 
      their arms a little. They wanted to shoot. They seemed to be actually 
      spoiling for a fight.
                A splendid wooden bridge spanned the Blackwater, a small but 
      deep stream, which flowed into the Roanoke, a large stream half a mile 
      below the bridge. Our regiment guarded this bridge. Rifle pits were 
      already dug, and a considerable force were on duty day and night, with a 
      picket half a mile in advance down the Suffolk road. There we were 
      quartered for some time, and enjoyed the shad season. There was a fishing 
      place on the Roanoke, a half mile away, and when it was put into 
      operation, it was quite a show to Mississippians. Officers had difficulty 
      in keeping the men in camp. We had been accustomed to haul out a dozen or 
      so at a time when we went seining at home, but when we saw an old mule 
      drag out at one haul more big, shining, flapping shad, weighing from one 
      to six pounds each, than six big mules could pull on wheels, the seining 
      became intensely interesting, and they tickled our stomachs.
                We enjoyed these fine fish until Gen. Longstreet ordered an 
      advance on Suffolk, and closely invested that place about April 1st, 
      pressing up closely around the formidable works of the enemy, as though he 
      intended to storm the place. The bloodthirsty 42d began to think heir 
      desire for a fight would soon be gratified, but they were doomed to 
      disappointment. The movement was made for a double purpose, first to draw 
      off a part of the formidable force in Lee’s front at Fredericksburg, under 
      the brave Gen. Hooker, who boasted that he commanded the finest army on 
      the planet, and enable Gen. Lee to meet that army successfully on the 
      fatal field of Chancellorsville, but secondly and chiefly to collect and 
      secure the immense amount of provisions in the southeast counties of the 
      State, which our army would need during the summer campaign. The amount of 
      provisions secured was something enormous. Our Regimental Commissary, 
      Capt. B. F. Jones, reported over 100,000 pounds of bacon delivered to the 
      Commissary General, and he was one of the fifteen Commissaries collecting 
      these provisions. They also secured flour, wheat and corn, and tons upon 
      tons of hay for the Cavalry. Capt. B. F. Jones distinguished himself in 
      this work, and secured promotion for his efficiency and zeal, and Maj. 
      Jones was ordered to Mississippi in the fall, to collect the "tax in 
      kind," imposed upon the farmers of the South by Congress, to support our 
      armies in the field.
                Both objects having been accomplished, Gen. Longstreet fell back 
      to the Blackwater, then to Petersburg and Richmond. We were now placed in 
      a brigade with the 2d and 11th Miss. veteran regiments, 55th N. C., and 
      48th Ala., battalion, making altogether a very handsome brigade of 2,500 
      or 3,000 muskets, and placed under command of Brig. Gen. Jos. R. Davis, a 
      nephew of our beloved President. We were soon en route to Fredericksburg, 
      and were assigned to the division of Maj. Gen. H. Heth, and the 3d Army 
      Corps, commanded by the fiery A. P. Hill. As a regiment we were where we 
      had longed to be for months. We were at last in a fine place to see 
      service, and we saw it.
       



       
      CHAPTER XX.
                Gen. Joe Hooker commenced his "On to Richmond" early in May; 
      1863, with probably great prospects of success than any of his 
      predecessors. He boasted that he commanded the finest army on the planet. 
      In equipment, discipline and efficiency it was perfect, and the field 
      returns show that his army numbered 138,378 present on April 30th. Gen. 
      Lee had 53,303, and yet Hooker met with a more disastrous defeat than any 
      of them, unless it was Burnsides.
                But the loss of Gen. Jackson counter-balanced all the advantages 
      and trophies of the battle of Chancellorsville. A great man had fallen, 
      and every soldier in the army of Northern Virginia felt it, and no one 
      felt it more keenly than the commanding General. When told, by his aid, 
      that Gen. Jackson had lost his left arm, it is said Gen. Lee bowed his 
      head for a moment, and in deepest emotion said:
                "Go and tell Gen. Jackson that I have lost my right arm!"
                A glorious tribute to a noble soldier!
                A gloom for a while settled over the army, and over the entire 
      people of the South. But as our great leader began to concentrate his 
      scattered forces, and the objects of the campaign became apparent to the 
      people and the army, a wave of enthusiasm spread from center to 
      circumference, and the grandest army the Confederacy ever mustered 
      followed Lee from Fredericksburg to the rich fields of Pennsylvania.
                Gen. Joe Hooker was too strongly posted on Stafford Heights to 
      be attacked by Gen. Lee with any prospects of success, without too great a 
      loss of human life. The position was naturally a very strong one, and 
      everything that engineering skill could devise had been done to render it 
      impregnable. So Gen. Lee determined to try and maneuver Hooker out of his 
      strong position.
                About June 9th Lee started Ewell, who was in command of 
      Jackson’s famous corps, on to Winchester, where on June 14th, just five 
      days after leaving Fredericksburg he routed Millroy, capturing several 
      thousand prisoners, twenty-eight pieces of artillery and an immense amount 
      of quartermaster and commissary stores. Securing these Ewell boldly 
      crossed the Potomac and pressed on to Yorktown, Penn. This bold and sudden 
      movement produced consternation in Washington and all over the North, and 
      "Fighting Joe" was suddenly called to defend the National Capital. As soon 
      as Hooker started for Washington, Hill’s corps filed out of the ditches in 
      front of Fredericksburg, and following Longstreet, who was far on the way, 
      made for the Potomac. We marched through a portion of the battlefield of 
      Chancellorsville, and witnessed some of the horrors of war. It had been 
      about six weeks since that terrible battle was fought, and the stench was, 
      in places, perfectly awful. The little hillocks, scattered here and there 
      along the route for several miles, were silent witnesses of the savagery 
      of man, and the horrors of war. These men had been buried hastily, and 
      many of them hardly covered beneath the sod, and here and there an arm or 
      a leg was sticking out, the flesh stripped from the bones by the beasts of 
      the field and the vultures of the air that had congregated in countless 
      numbers to satiate their hunger with human food.
                We were glad to pass this horrid field and reach a place where 
      we could quench our thirst, for the evening was very warm, our canteens 
      dry and we had been marching at quick time for several hours. About sunset 
      we went into camp, or bivouac for the night. Fires were soon ablaze, 
      coffee made, and our soldier rations consumed and we were ready for bed. 
      At 2 a. m. the long roll roused us from our virtuous couches, and orders 
      were sent down to move in one hour.
                This will serve as the program for the long march to Gettysburg 
      and back. Though after the second day the halt was made about 12 p. m. and 
      not later than 2 p. m.
                We were passing through Culpepper county, a beautiful country of 
      hills and dales, and pure running brooks, fine farm houses and barns, rich 
      lands with a promising crop of wheat and clover. We soon had glimpses of 
      the Blue Ridge range of mountains in the distance, which looked more like 
      a bank of dark clouds, or smoke, low down on the horizon, than a range of 
      mountains, but in tensely blue.
                The third day of our march we entered Winchester Gap, and camped 
      for the night. My own regiment in a small cove in the mountains covered 
      with a dense growth of red clover, which made a splendid bed for a tired 
      soldier. We were surrounded with mountains that seemed to us, in the 
      gathering darkness of a cloudy evening, to reach the heavens. Here we were 
      permitted to witness a grand scene. A storm had been gathering for some 
      time and we prepared as best we could to take a summer drenching, but 
      fortunately for us very little rain fell, but we had the grandest 
      electrical display we ever witnessed. The peals of thunder were rapid and 
      terrible, and seemed to shake the mountains to their center, and the vivid 
      flashes of lightning, playing up and down the mountain side, were blinding 
      to the eye, and beautiful and grand beyond description. We watched the 
      warring elements until the storm passed over us, and sped on to the east 
      and the rumbling thunder in the distance lulled the tired soldiers to 
      sleep. Early dawn found us struggling up the pass and by noon we rested 
      upon the summit of the mountains and feasted our eyes upon the beautiful 
      valley of the Shenandoah, and the Alleghany mountains in the distance.
                Winchester, grand old Winchester, could be seen in the distance, 
      with its church spires pointing to heaven; and villages and hamlets dotted 
      the beautiful landscape, while here and there those mute monuments of the 
      devastating hand of war—lone chimneys—where once stood handsome farm 
      houses, sheltering happy families.
                We descended the mountains much easier than we ascended, and 
      crossing the Shenandoah at Front Royal, bore to the right, and by 4 p. m. 
      went into camp in a beautiful grove near the village of Berryville. We 
      were now passing over ground made historic and sacred by the tread of 
      Stonewall Jackson and his foot cavalry in the campaign of 1862, when they 
      immortalized themselves and astonished the world by their rapid movements 
      up and down this valley in pursuit of the enemy.
                Early dawn found us on the march, and the impression seemed to 
      be general that we would cross the Potomac, and camp in Maryland tonight. 
      I fell behind from some cause, probably because the troops were marching 
      more rapidly than usual. They seemed to be enthused with the idea of 
      crossing the Potomac and carrying the war into the enemy’s country.
                About noon, as I rounded a spur in the mountains, the broad 
      Potomac was before me, but at least 200 feet below the point where I 
      stood. The road turned squarely to the right and headed toward the river. 
      The scene which presented itself was enough to arouse enthusiasm in every 
      southern heart. Over the hills beyond the river as far as the eye could 
      reach a line of gray soldiers were marching cheering as they went, their 
      bright arms glittering in the sunshine. Below at the river the men were 
      marching across, holding their cartridge boxes up to keep them dry. A 
      short distance below the line of men the artillery was crossing, and 
      above, the wagon train and ambulances. Bands were playing Dixie on the 
      Virginia shore and Maryland, My Maryland, beyond the river. The scene was 
      grand and inspiring.
                If Gen. Hooker commanded the grandest army on the planet at 
      Chancellorsville, what could Gen. Lee say of this army, if he could 
      descend to compliments?
                That night we camped in Maryland. The few citizens we saw along 
      the highway did not seem particularly rejoiced to see us. Occasionally a 
      lady would wave her handkerchief in the house, as if she was afraid to 
      come to the door and show it, and we decided that we would gain very few 
      recruits by liberating Maryland.
                The next morning in passing through Greencastle, a considerable 
      town on the way, two or three hundred bright girls came out of a large 
      school or college, and lined the road to see the Rebels pass, and the last 
      mother’s daughter had on the United States flag for an apron, and 
      impudently asked the boys if they would not like to fight under it. We 
      were in the enemy’s country, and no mistake. This little incident 
      satisfied me in regard to the political status of Maryland.
                We pressed on toward Gettysburg, and Friday evening our brigade 
      went into camp on a hill or mountain just above the village of Cashtown, 
      where we rested for two days. Saturday evening on dress parade, Gen. Lee’s 
      order was read, requesting all chaplains to hold Divine services on 
      Sabbath day, and if possible administer the communion of the Lord’s 
      Supper. That Sabbath day was a high day for us. The sun rose gloriously 
      bright and the day was ushered in, and we were aroused from our slumbers 
      by the band playing—
      "Safely tho’ another week
      God has led us on our way," etc.
                and an unusual quiet rested upon the camp.
                At 11 o’clock the brigade was assembled by the band playing most 
      impressively "Old Hundred." Our beloved chaplain, Rev. T. D. Witherspoon, 
      preached one of his able and most impressive sermons. The Communion 
      services were peculiarly appropriate and comforting to christians, and all 
      availed themselves of this opportunity, probably the last, to enjoy this 
      precious feast. Gen. Lee was present and sitting among his christian 
      soldiers, celebrated with them the death and suffering of our Lord and 
      Savior. What a precious privilege. It was truly a feast of "fat things" to 
      our souls, and we went in the strength of that meal for many days.
       



       
      CHAPTER XXI.
      GETTYSBURG.
                Monday morning Davis’ brigade was ordered out in a certain 
      direction to protect the Engineers in making a diagram or map of the 
      country for Gen. Lee. I never learned the points of the compass while in 
      Maryland and Pennsylvania, and consequently I cannot say in what direction 
      we marched or fought while in those states. We moved out five or six miles 
      from Cashtown, where we bivouacked for the night, putting out pickets in 
      every direction on the road. The Engineers prosecuted their work rapidly, 
      taking the altitude of the hills and mountains, and drawing maps of the 
      various roads and streams. We were not disturbed, and the Engineers 
      completing their work, Tuesday evening we marched back to our position 
      above Cashtown, having learned that the citizens were very much afraid of 
      the Rebels, closing their doors and blinds as we passed their houses. Not 
      one of them, old or young, came out to talk or speak to us while we camped 
      among them, or as we came back. They thought we were cannibals and might 
      eat their young children, or thought we would be as mean and despicable as 
      their own soldiers when marching through our Southland, and burn and 
      pillage and steal.
                Wednesday, July 1st, we were on the road at an early hour, and 
      marched up the Hagerstown pike towards Gettysburg. Davis’ brigade was in 
      front. The report was soon spread among the men that we were sent out to 
      find the enemy, and the report proved to be true. After marching three or 
      four miles, we began to meet women and children hastening back, fleeing 
      for their lives, many of them weeping bitterly. It was a sad and touching 
      sight to us, but then it was something our wives and children had been 
      suffering all around our war-girt land for months, and we could only hope 
      that when these people learned something of the horrors of war, it would 
      make them a little more charitable towards their southern neighbors.
                Those fleeing women satisfied us we were getting near the enemy, 
      and the men seemed to quicken their pace. We had been ascending a gradual 
      incline for a mile or more. When we reached the top of the hill, or ridge, 
      a beautiful expanse of country lay before us for about a mile and a half, 
      covered with a luxuriant growth of wheat nearly ready for the husbandman’s 
      sickle. A little to the right of a direct line was Gettysburg, a beautiful 
      town, and beyond it a high range of hills. This is about what we took in 
      at a glance, but we had little time to admire the beautiful landscape, for 
      beautiful it was, dotted over with handsome farm houses, and the finest 
      barns I ever saw. There was a puff of smoke a mile away, followed by a 
      loud report, and a shell went hurtling over our heads. Another and another 
      followed in quick succession. The brigade was rapidly deployed into line 
      and advanced across the wheat field toward the battery. We were moving 
      down a gentle declivity to a considerable brooklet that crossed the field 
      diagonally; and we were soon out of reach of the battery.
                The enemy’s skirmish line was posted along this brooklet, and we 
      soon began to hear the peculiar hiss of the minnie ball. Our skirmishers 
      were rapidly advanced, and the line of battle passed the brook, and 
      advanced at quick time up the incline toward the enemy over the hill. 
      Finding cool, fresh water in the brook, I established my field hospital 
      under same trees, and ordered my litter corps to bring the wounded to that 
      place.
                Up to this time only three men had been wounded, but they 
      rapidly increased to more than forty. Our line advanced steadily and 
      rapidly up the hill, and when they reached the crest, found the enemy 
      massed beyond. Instantly the order was given to retreat, and the line fell 
      back in good order to a point far in the rear of my field hospital. I 
      succeeded in getting my wounded all off to the division hospital, and 
      returned to my regiment, which I found lying in line awaiting orders. 
      After talking with the officers and men, and learning all I could in 
      regard to the killed who were left upon the field, I walked to the top of 
      the hill where three pieces of Artillery were leisurely firing in the 
      direction of the enemy we had just found. The officer in command of the 
      guns, was watching the shells with his field glass, and I heard him say:
                "Don’t fire quite so high, boys. Gen. Ewell is coming up in the 
      rear of those fellows, and your shells might reach him."
                That was news too good to keep, and I returned to my regiment 
      and reported. Our men were not at all satisfied with the morning skirmish, 
      and were glad to learn they might have another chance at the enemy. Dr. 
      Holt proposed that we go to the top of a hill a short distance in the 
      rear, and get a good view of the battle. Obtaining permission, we made for 
      the hill, and before we reached the top the attack commenced and must have 
      been a complete surprise. The Federals, (Reynolds’ Corps,) rushed out of 
      their breastworks into that wheat field, for Gettysburg. That wheat field 
      was more than a mile wide and the Federals maintained no order and seemed 
      to be twenty deep as they passed over the field.
                Ewell’s line was at right angles to our own, which was ordered 
      forward, and they were soon under a complete cross-fire. The battery on 
      the hill had been increased to eight or ten pieces, and were dropping 
      their shells among the fleeing Yankees as rapidly as they could fire. We 
      could see everything plainly from our hill top, and every shell seemed to 
      bring down a dozen men when it exploded. It was a glorious sight to us 
      then, but horrible to think of, and write up at this distant day. The 
      enemy were followed closely by our men into Gettysburg, and a large number 
      of prisoners were captured and marched back through our lines that night, 
      estimated at 6,000 or 7,000.
                Near nightfall I was ordered to see that all the dead were 
      buried, and all the wounded sent back to the hospital. This forced me to 
      go all over that horrid field. The Pioneer corps soon came, and I selected 
      a place to bury our dead, when they went to work digging the trenches. My 
      litter corps brought in the dead as rapidly as possible. The poor, wounded 
      Federals were crying piteously for water in every direction. We kept our 
      canteens filled and administered comfort to as many as possible. This was 
      my first experience on the battle-field after the fighting, and it was 
      horrible beyond description. If every human being could have witnessed the 
      result of the mad passions of men as I saw it that night, war would cease, 
      and there would never be another battle. "It must needs be that offenses 
      come, but woe unto that man by whom they come."
                It was midnight before we finished our sad task, and turned our 
      weary steps toward the division hospital. Among the dead of the 42d Miss. 
      regiment was my own nephew, Lieut. George Adrian Howze, who was shot in 
      the advance upon the enemy in the morning, or about noon. His faithful 
      servant, Stephen, came out on the battle-field and sought for and found 
      his body, and carried it back to the hospital for burial. My servant 
      Ellick was waiting for me and had my supper ready, which I ate ravenously, 
      as I had not tasted food since early in the morning.
                July 2d my cook waked me at sunrise and had breakfast ready. I 
      asked for my Surgeon and found that he was "hors de combat," and that I 
      would have no assistance from him in the treatment and care of the wounded 
      that day. Drs. Hubbard and Ward both kindly proffered all the assistance 
      they could render, and by dark I had all the wounded in pretty good 
      condition, and comparatively comfortable. Longstreet’s corps passed our 
      hospital about noon, and by three o’clock attacked the enemy on the 
      extreme right, and drove them back in the direction of Cemetery Ridge. The 
      fighting was terrific, and continued until darkness put an end to the 
      contest.
                July 3, 1863 was a memorable day in the history of our country—a 
      memorable day in the history of the army of Northern Virginia. The third 
      act in the great drama of Gettysburg was about to begin. The Federal army 
      was massed on Cemetery Hill and Round Top mountain, and well protected by 
      breastworks and stone fences. Nearly two hundred pieces of artillery were 
      in position to sweep the plain over which the Confederate army must pass 
      to reach those works. The Confederate army was also in position, 
      Longstreets corps on the right, Hill in the center and Ewell on the left 
      with a 160 pieces of artillery. Toward noon the artillery commenced 
      firing, and for three hours we had pandemonium. Think of three-hundred 
      pieces of artillery firing as fast as the men could load them coupled with 
      the bursting of shells, and possibly you may form an idea of the noise.
                The air seemed to be in a state of vibration, and produced a 
      very strange feeling in ones head.
                The cannonade over, the order, "Forward," was given, the boys in 
      gray advanced over the hill, and the contest was begun.
                I shall not attempt to describe this fierce charge of the 
      Confederates, for abler pens, held by those who were present on the field 
      and eye witnesses of the deeds of daring and heroism enacted that day, 
      have described it. My duties were elsewhere and I returned to my post.
                Early in the morning I was ordered to my command, I had been 
      constantly engaged during the previous day and half the night attending to 
      the wounded of the first days battle, then I slept three hours, hastily 
      ate my breakfast and hurried to the battle-field. I found Holt and Shields 
      waiting for me and, together, started out to find a suitable place for a 
      field hospital. After walking ourselves down, we selected a large barn as 
      the best place we could find for our wounded, with water at hand and 
      plenty of hay and straw for bedding. This was a typical Pennsylvania 
      barn—lower story built of stone. So we had three walls of stone between 
      ourselves and the battle-field, which would protect us against bullets, 
      grape and canister, and here we prepared for the coming storm. And caring 
      for our wounded, which consisted chiefly in extracting bullets, legating 
      bleeding vessels, checking hemorrhages in different ways, splinting 
      fractured limbs so that the poor sufferers could be sent in ambulances, to 
      the real hospital for appropriate treatment. This hospital was usually two 
      or three miles in the rear of the battle-field. To apply the term 
      hospital, to this field station was really a misnomer. But here the 
      assistant surgeon got in his ministrations of mercy to the wounded. Often 
      we had the pleasure of saving life by the legation of an artery, or 
      application of the tournequet. Here often had the sad pleasure of writing 
      down the last messages of love and affection to the dear ones at home, 
      whispering words of consolation and hope, into the ears of the dying.
                If my old hand does not become too shaky, I will report a case 
      which wrung our hearts with anguish and blinded our eyes from weeping, for 
      many days. The terrible cannonade progressing, and increasing every moment 
      as new batteries were brought into action. Several slightly wounded had 
      walked back and had their wounds dressed, when we saw the first litter 
      from the battle-field nearing our station, borne by four stout men; and we 
      knew same one desperately wounded was coming.
                Who is it? Who is it?
                As they drew near a young soldier raised his head and exclaimed 
      in a clear voice:
                "Doctor, they have got Jerry Gage at last. I thought I would go 
      through safely, but they have got me"
                "I hope not Jerry," said Dr. Shields in a trembling voice, "I 
      hope not."
                "Well come and help the boys lay me down. Be easy boys."
                "Now Doctor examine me and tell me the truth."
                A glance at the wound was sufficient to convince us that it was 
      mortal. A piece of shell had struck the left side near the stomach, 
      tearing away the tissues, a rib and the spleen and fractured the left 
      forearm lacerating it terribly.
                "Is it mortal?"
                "Yes Jerry, you can’t live over that wound."
                "How long can I live, Doctor?"
                "Three hours, Jerry, maybe longer."
                "That is long enough, let me have pen and paper, for I must 
      write to mother and my dear girl before I die."
                We placed him as comfortably as possible, a comrade supporting 
      his head and shoulder, and another holding the plank and paper upon which 
      he was writing, and the dying soldier rapidly penned his last messages 
      home. We sat silently looking on. Finishing the first page, he calmly 
said:
                "Turn the paper, John,"
                As we replaced the paper, he said:
                "Let me see, where did I get?"
                His mind seemed to be running more rapidly than he could write.
                John turned the paper, Jerry looked, and then wrote on. The din 
      of the battle was terrific, the explosions rapid and continues, but the 
      dying soldier heeded it not, but rapidly wrote on, until he had filled 
      three pages of fools cap.
                "Doctor," he said, "take this and fold it up for me, and I will 
      continue to write, as I begin to feel very strangely."
                We gave him water and brandy, and he continued writing rapidly 
      until he finished his second letter. This he gave to the doctor to fold, 
      and then asked for the letters. He pressed each to his ghastly wound, 
      staining the blank side with his blood.
                "Let them dry, doctor, and send them home to Oxford, Miss. Send 
      them by hand if you can, for I don’t want then to miscarry. Now I am 
      through. Come around me, boys, and let us talk. I want to look at you as 
      long as I can."
                His countenance blanched, a paroxysm of pain shook his frame, 
      and we feared he was going into convulsion, but we gave him chloroform to 
      inhale, and he fell asleep for a while. Rousing up, he said:
                "Oh! Doctor, I can’t bear that pain. I am dying. Please give me 
      something to prevent it, and let me die easy."
                The doctor with a trembling hand measured out a large dose of 
      morphine in brandy, and gave him to swallow, then after inhaling the 
      chloroform for a few moments he fell asleep and slept for some time. 
      Rousing up, he said;
                "Boys, come near me, it’s growing dark. I can’t see you. Come 
      round me and take my hand."
                We pressed his cold hand. Some one asked:
                "Jerry, do you know you are dying?"
                "Oh, yes! I realize that."
                "Are you afraid to die?"
                "Oh, no! I am perfectly happy. I have discharged my duty to my 
      country—'ducle est pro patria mori.'"
                He closed his eyes, and we thought for the last time. Rousing up 
      again, he said:
                "How dark it grows. Come nearer, boys. I can’t see you, but take 
      my hand, each one of you so I can feel that you are all near me. Boys, I 
      want you to promise me one thing."
                "What is it, Jerry?"
                "I want you to bury me. Will you promise to bury me?"
                "Yes, Jerry, we will bury you, and put you in a neat coffin."
                "No, not that. You can’t bury all in coffins, and I want to 
      buried like my comrades. But deep boys, deep, so the beasts won’t get me."
                He was evidently thinking of the Federal graves we passed on the 
      battle-field Chancellorsville. We promised—there was a gasp, a quiver of 
      the form, and Jerry Gage, the southern patriot soldier fell asleep.
       
                "Ducle est pro patria mori!"
                The cannonading had ceased, and quiet reigned over the hills 
      around Gettysburg, the ominous calm before the storm. Soon the "Rebel 
      Yell" announced that the charge was in progress, and soon the wounded 
      began to come in a continuous stream. It was late at night before we sent 
      off our wounded, and we were too tired to walk back to the division 
      hospital, although we were very hungry, and that was the only chance for 
      something to eat, so each man got him an armful of hay, made him a bed and 
      was soon fast asleep, About midnight, or later, one of my men awakened me, 
      whispering:
                "Ain’t you hungry? Come with me, we have something to eat."
                Although it looked a little selfish not to invite the others, I 
      went with my man to a farm house near by, where I found my litter corps 
      sitting around a nicely roasted pig.
                "Come, Doctor, we haven’t much bread, and no salt, but I think 
      we can eat this pig, and enjoy it."
                And we did enjoy it. Early morning found me back at the 
      hospital, where we were busy all day, performing necessary operations, and 
      re-dressing the wounds of the first day’s fight. On the morning of the 
      6th, Surgeon Hubbard summoned me to his tent.
                "Wilson," he said, "the army is going to move tomorrow, and I 
      will detail you to remain here with the wounded."
                The announcement stunned me, and I could not speak for a moment. 
      At last I said:
                "Doctor, I will obey orders, but if you have any duty more 
      dangerous or more arduous, let me have it. I don’t want to fall into the 
      hands of the enemy, although I know they will treat me right. I am real 
      cranky on this subject. Please give me something else."
                "Well," said he, "you have had a hard time, and I wanted to do 
      you a favor. I have a train of wounded to start to Williamsport. Can you 
      be ready in half an hour?"
                "I am ready now, just as soon as I can get my blankets and 
      pocket case of instruments, bandages and a bottle of morphine, and I thank 
      you to boot. Where is the train?"
                "Out on the pike."
                I inspected my train, examining each wagon and ambulance, to see 
      the character of cases I had, and filling a haversack with bandages and 
      such things as I thought I might need, and started.
                This wagon train was simply immense and was said to be thirty 
      miles long when closed up. My portion of the train was in the latter half 
      of it, and we started for Williamsport, Md., about 11 o’clock, distance 
      about fifty miles. It was very warm, and the wounded men were considerably 
      crowded in some of the wagons which made it very disagreeable. About one 
      o’clock we had a very hard rain which was gratefully received by the 
      soldiers. It cooled them off and added much to their comfort. We traveled 
      all day, all night, all the next day and I reached Williamsport about ten 
      o’clock at night. When near Hagerstown a squadron of Federal cavalry 
      darted in at a cross-road and captured all my section of the train, 
      excepting about twenty-five ambulances that had passed the cross-road. I 
      saw the Yankees when they struck the train and I ran back and ordered the 
      slightly wounded men who were walking along with the train to climb over 
      the fence and get into the woods, which they did, and I guess more than a 
      hundred saved themselves from capture. The Yankees remained but a short 
      while and went off after the captured wagons, and the train moved on.
                When I reached Williamsport it was about ten o’clock and dark. I 
      found the streets all barricaded with wagons, and I thought I would never 
      get into the town. Had it been light I would have had no trouble, but I 
      had to feel my way, and finally crawled over two or three wagons and 
      reached an open street which I followed until I found a house with lights 
      and heard a female voice singing.
                When I reached the house I found a lady setting on the portico 
      enjoying the night breeze, for the weather was very warm. I walked up on 
      the portico and speaking politely, asked if I could get shelter for the 
      night.
                The light from the window showed plainly that I was a 
      Confederate officer.
                "Are you sick or wounded," she asked?
                "Neither, madam. I am a surgeon, and was sent back with the 
      wounded, and have been trying to get into the town through this wilderness 
      of wagons for an hour; can you tell me what it all means?"
                "Oh yes! The Federal cavalry threatened the town and Gen. 
      Imboden had only a small force so he barricaded all the street with wagons 
      but one, then he armed the teamsters and they are all out tonight guarding 
      Gen. Lee’s trains and the town. But excuse me sir, have you been to 
      supper?"
                "No, mam, I have not tasted food in thirty hours. I started with 
      rations but I gave them to the wounded soldiers.
                "Well have a seat and I will have your supper ready in a few 
      minutes."
                I was thinking pretty rapidly. This is the first friendly woman 
      I have seen since I crossed the Potomac into Maryland. I am certainly 
      lucky, and I never wanted to find one any worse. I will just wait and see 
      if she is southern or—
                "Walk in to supper, Doctor," she said pleasantly, and 
      familiarly, putting an end to my thoughts, and the Doctor obeyed orders 
      like a good soldier.
                "Will you have tea, or coffee, Doctor?"
                "Coffee, if you please, mam."
                "It is hardly worth while to ask a soldier that question," she 
      said. "You soldiers all seem fond of coffee."
                "Yes, mam. I guess we need a nervous stimulant, and it is 
      certainly a very fine one, and very palatable."
                She handed my coffee, helped my plate bountifully, and sat down 
      on the opposite side. For a few moments not a word was spoken, and I was 
      eating ravenously.
                "Madam," said I, "will you grant me a favor?"
                "Certainly, Doctor. What is it?"
                "Keep on talking. It has been so long since I heard a lady’s 
      voice, it sounds like sweet music to my ears, and I am really ashamed for 
      you to watch me eat, I am so mortal hungry."
                Breaking into a merry laugh, she said; "Eat right along, Doctor. 
      I won’t watch you, and don't take time to grow sentimental."
                "Sentimental! If your kindness, splendid supper and voice did 
      not stir up a little, sentiment in the heart of a Confederate soldier, who 
      is a thousand miles from wife, sisters, home, and among his enemies, I 
      would write him heartless, and think he ought to be court martialed and 
      shot."
                "You are among friends tonight," she quickly said, in a lower 
      voice, and rose, and walking to the door of the kitchen, closed it, as if 
      she was afraid some one would hear us talking. I was satisfied, and felt 
      happy and thankful. She returned and talked on pleasantly, until my 
      Confederate stomach was full—satisfied. After some sweet music on the 
      piano by my hostess, she said:
                "I see you are very tired, Doctor. Take this candle and go into 
      that room and go to bed, and I hope you will get a good night’s rest."
                Thanking her, I walked into the room and closed the door. I 
      noticed the windows were up. When I looked at the bed with its snow-white 
      covering, I was afraid to get upon it, but I determined to dirty it as 
      little as possible, so I undressed for the first time since the 13th day 
      of June, and went to bed like a christian. The sun was shining brightly 
      when I awoke the next morning. I guess I would have slept all day long, if 
      I had not been forcibly awakened. After breakfast, I inquired the way to 
      Gen. Imboden’s headquarters. The lady came out on the portico to show me. 
      Handing her a $5 Confederate bill, I said:
                "Madam, let me pay you for my night’s enjoyment and comfort. I 
      am sorry I have nothing better than my country's poor currency to pay you 
      with."
                "No, sir, I won’t have a cent: Come and stay with me as long as 
      you remain in Williamsport."
                Said I: "Take it and keep it, as a souvenir of the war."
                "No Doctor, I won’t have a cent, and it will do you some good."
                "Well, I expect I will have to go right on to Winchester, and we 
      will never meet again. Good by! Thanks for your kindness. And may God 
      bless you and yours."
                A tear dimmed the little woman’s eye. "Another green spot in the 
      soldier’s path." I hurried on to the General’s headquarters, thinking of 
      the pleasant incident, thinking of the dear little woman, and wondering if 
      I could manage to see her again. I found Gen. Imboden to be a fine 
      looking, jolly old gentleman of about fifty years, quick in his manner, 
      and looked straight at you when talking, wasting no words.
                "Go down to the river, and get the wounded across as rapidly as 
      possible, Doctor. You will find it slow and hard work, as I have but one 
      ferryboat. There are 50 extra ambulances on the other side, and surgeons 
      to accompany them to the hospitals at Jordan Springs and Winchester. When 
      you get them across, report to me."
                I found it rather slow work, but kept the boat running 
      regularly, and about 3 p. m. saw my last load start over, and I turned my 
      steps toward headquarters to report the fact to the General. The General 
      thanked me, and seemed gratified to know that the wounded were all safely 
      across the river, and on the way to the hospital, where their wounds could 
      be dressed. Poor fellows! They were suffering, and the General knew it. 
      One care at least, was off his mind.
                Gen. Imboden asked me where I was ordered to report. I answered:
                "To the Chief Surgeon at Winchester."
                "Hurry up," he said, "for the ambulances may leave you. I think 
      you will find them on top of the hill where they camped last night."
                I saluted and turned to go. The old man extended his hand and 
      said:
                "Good bye! I am very much obliged to you."
                I hurried away, and when I reached the top of the hill beyond 
      the river, the ambulances were all gone, and I was considerably perplexed. 
      I was thirty miles from Winchester. The sun was little more than an hour 
      high, and I knew nothing of the road, and the trip must be made in the 
      night. I must think about it. I found a seat near the roadside, where I 
      could watch the ferry and the road. I concluded to go on if an opportunity 
      offered, that is, if any one came across going in the direction of 
      Winchester. If not, I will go back and spend the night with my good 
      friend, and make the trip in daylight. I felt very much inclined to do 
      this, and I think I had decided.
                Suddenly a cannon shot across the river shook the earth, and 
      reverberated among the hills. Another, and still another, and then the 
      musketry began to rattle and I knew a fight was in progress. The enemy was 
      attacking Williamsport. The ferry was across the river. I hastened up the 
      hill hoping I might get a view of the fight, and was just in time to see 
      the enemy charge Gen. Imboden’s forces. The battle lasted but a short 
      while, and the attack was handsomely repulsed; and the "Rebel Yell" 
      announced the fact that the wagoners were in turn charging the enemy. By 
      this time the smoke over the battle-field obscured everything, friends and 
      foe alike, and I returned to my post, determined to go back to 
      Williamsport and spend the night with my friend, and learn the results of 
      the "Wagoners Battle." As I looked towards the ferry I saw a vehicle drawn 
      by two fine looking horses starting up the steep hill. As it drew near, a 
      familiar voice cried out:
                "Hello, Wilson, what in the d——l are you doing here?"
                I would have known that voice among a thousand; Capt. B. F. 
      Jones, our old Commissary.
                "I might ask the same question, Captain, with propriety, but I 
      will ask you, where are you going?"
                "To Winchester, but get in Doctor, my horses can’t stand here on 
      this steep hillside, and we can talk as we ride along."
                "Well, Captain, you always turn up at the right time and place," 
      I said as I crawled into the surry.
                "I am exceedingly glad to see you, but why you found me just 
      where you did will require some time to explain. Are you directly from the 
      army?"
                "Yes, I left it about noon, and drove on to Williamsport, and 
      hearing the Yankees attack the place, I thought I had better be on the 
      safe side, so I drove on across the Potomac, and will go to Winchester 
      tonight, as my horses are fresh and need exercise."
                After asking after my friends, I gave my own history, in a few 
      words, and we rode on talking of the army and the friends we had lost at 
      Gettysburg. Captain Jones was the first one of my regiment that I had a 
      chance to talk to, and it was really a relief to me, although he brought 
      sad tiding in regard to many of my particular friends.
                "Wilson, let us drive up to the first farm house and get 
      something to eat for my horses and ourselves, and by that time the moon 
      will be up."
                "All right, Captain, you are the Commissary, if you will find 
      the grub, I will help you eat it, as I have always done."
                The moon rose while we were eating and resting and we had a 
      pleasant, but all night’s, drive, to Winchester.
                "Where did you get your nice rig, Captain?"
                "I got it near Gettysburg, from an old Dutch farmer."
                "Buy it?"
                "Not much. I borrowed it."
                "Wern’t you afraid to do such a thing after Gen. Lee’s strict 
      orders in regard to appropriating private property?"
                "Yes I was, but I thought catching came before hanging and I was 
      ordered to report at once to the Secretary of War, at Richmond, and I 
      could get across the Potomac before the old fellow could report me, and by 
      the little transaction save walking about 150 miles, and you know I never 
      could walk, it makes my feet sore."
                "Well those were great temptation, but, honestly, did not your 
      conscience hurt you when you took those fine horses from the old man?"
                "Yes it did, but I happened to think of their d—m soldiers 
      taking the last pound of meat and flour on my place in Mississippi last 
      spring, and leaving my wife and children without a thing to eat, and my 
      old Confederate heart turned to stone."
                "But I am glad Gen. Lee issued those strict orders, and I 
      believe that they have been generally obeyed, for I want the Yankee nation 
      and the whole world to see the difference between their leaders and ours, 
      or between their soldiers and ours."
                And thus we talked as we rode on toward Winchester.
                As the sun rose, we rode into the old town, and putting up the 
      horses, went to a hotel and went to bed, asking the landlord to wake us at 
      noon. We were promptly called at 12 m. We dined together for the last 
      time, bade each other good by, Capt. Jones going on to Richmond, I to look 
      up the post surgeon, and report for duty.
                I was placed in charge of a large new church, which was being 
      used as a hospital. Here I went into the wholesale receiving and 
      forwarding business. For three long weeks I suppose I dressed the wounds 
      of from thirty to fifty men every day, and shipped them on up the valley 
      to Staunton. Many of these wounds had not been dressed since the battle, 
      and were in a terrible condition. I don’t know how the poor fellows stood 
      it, but I never heard a murmer. Their wounds were very offensive, and 90 
      per cent were infested with vermin. It would frequently require a half an 
      hour or longer to get the maggots out of a wound, and when you remember 
      that we had no disinfectants, you can understand why it was so tedious, 
      why it was so disagreeable. It was certainly the most disagreeable duty I 
      ever performed. I was engaged at it from morning till night, taking time 
      at noon to go to dinner. In a few days I began to lose my appetite, simply 
      because I could never remove the offensive odor from my hands, and of 
      course I began to lose flesh. In a short time I began to have fever. I 
      could see no place to stop and rest. The poor men must be attended to, and 
      there was no one else, it seemed, to do the work. I asked the Post Surgeon 
      for an assistant, but no assistant was sent me, and if it had not been for 
      the good ladies of Winchester, who came to the rescue, and helped me in 
      every way possible, I don’t know what I would have done. They made and 
      brought me bandages soft cloths, soap and everything they could furnish, 
      and one dear old mother brought me every morning a bucketful of a strong 
      decoction of elder, which helped me very much in getting rid of the 
      vermin. To say nothing of the good edibles and rich soups furnished the 
      poor fellows.
                Certainly the women of Winchester were ministering angels to our 
      wounded soldiers.
                In the midst of dinner, one day, a band on the street struck up 
      "Dixie."
                "What in the world does that mean," said "mine host," leaving 
      the table and room?
                In a short time he returned and in a sad tone reported that the 
      army was falling back, and was marching through the town.
                "And that means," said he "that we will be again left in the 
      hands of our enemies."
                Poor old man, I was sorry for him, sorry that such a person 
      should have to be left to the tender mercies of the foe.
                I rose from the table and reached the street in time to find a 
      portion of my division passing. Dr. Hubbard came along in his ambulance 
      and saw me.
                "Hello, Wilson, what are you doing here?"
                "I have just finished my dinner, and am waiting to see what 
      troops are passing."
                "Are you sick?"
                "I hope not, Doctor."
                "Why man you have a hot fever," he said, taking my hand, "and 
      you look like a ghost. What have you been doing?"
                I gave him my history for three weeks.
                "Well, get into this ambulance, you shall not go back to that 
      hospital again. I have made two requisitions for you, and they were 
      disregarded. So get in and I will take you along with me."
                I returned to the house to pay my board, and to bid the old 
      people goodbye. Not a cent would they have for my board.
                "Can’t do to much for the Confederate soldier," seemed to be the 
      sentiment and motto of the people. Glorious people! No wonder the enemy 
      could never hold the town when attacked by the Confederates. It was a boon 
      to fight for such a people. And they were only a sample of the South.
                Gen. Lee fell back leisurely across the mountains to a position 
      south of the Rapidan, where we enjoyed a season of rest and the luxury of 
      a bath, clean clothes and freedom from graybacks.
                I enjoyed my ride in Dr. Hubbard’s ambulance across the mountain 
      and especially did I enjoy the peculiar medicine the Doctor carried in a 
      big black bottle, stowed away in his ambulance. It proved to be a most 
      excellent appetizer, and for want of a better name, I dubbed it Hubbard’s 
      Tonic.
                When I saw my regiment on dress parade for the first time after 
      our return to Virginia, the change the short campaign had made, caused a 
      pang of sorrow. The regiment was in command of a Captain. The Colonel, 
      dead, the Lieutenant-Colonel, a hopeless cripple and the Major severely 
      wounded. Our gallant Adjutant escaped. Many of the company officers gone 
      and in the ranks, great gaps, great gaps!
                But as I wish to emphasize the pleasant memories of the war I 
      will refrain from calling up its bitter sorrows.