Chapter XXXVII: Personal--Conclusion 391 (9)

Some of the citizens were ready to befriend me, but others were shy; while one, and only one, shot at me, and he stood at least three hundred yards off, and as soon as he touched the trigger of his piece he wheeled and took to his heels, as if Old Nick was after him. After dark I thought I would have time to stop and get a bite to eat, as I was exceedingly wearied and nearly famished; and I accordingly stopped at the house of a man named Terry. He was moderately wealthy, but like a great many others in that section and at that time, was not bountifully supplied with provisions; but his daughter gave me some corn bread and milk, together with some fried bacon; and after eating what I wanted, I discovered that I was so exhausted from over exertion, that it was next to impossible for me to move. Rest was absolutely essential, and I threw myself down before the fire, putting my feet as near to it as I could bear, in order to take the soreness out of them.

I had been there, I presume, about half an hour when two men entered, whom I supposed, judging from their appearance, to be citizens; and our orders were to treat such with kindness, and not molest them unless they showed signs of hostility; and I accordingly used them politely when they entered. They told Terry that they were greatly wearied, and desired to stop for a while to rest; but they were scarcely seated, when a knock was heard at the door, and when it was opened a soldier, in full uniform, entered. In an instant I was on my feet, and clearing the space between us at a bound, leveled my pistol on him. We were but about two feet apart, and the muzzle of my weapon touched his breast, and I ordered him to put down his gun; and as he perceived no time was to be lost, he lowered his piece until it nearly touched the floor. This was done in much less time than it takes to tell it; but at this stage of affairs the other two sprang at me with pistols in hand and jammed them violently against my head on each side, and ordered me to surrender, and at the same instant they seized hold of my pistol-hand, and jerked it back over my head. Thus relieved, the soldier raised his double-barreled gun, and thrust it against my breast, and ordered me to surrender; and although further resistance was useless, I did not and could not speak. I was completely taken in, and it was all the result of my foolhardiness and carelessness. I could have done without anything to eat, and I might have abandoned my broken-down horse, which was, at best, but an incumbrance to me; and I might have concealed myself in the mountains till our army advanced on Bridgeport, which I very well knew would be in a few days; indeed, there were many things I could have done, and avoided my embarrassing situation; but it was then too late; I was a prisoner.

I was taken from the house into the yard, when, for the first time, I discovered that the place was surrounded. About two hundred yards from the house was the captain of the gang, and we marched out to him; he ordered me to be tied, and then I learned that my captors belonged to Stearns' battalion of Tennessee Cavalry.

The reader will be able to derive a faint idea of what I saw and suffered, from this time till I was exchanged, from the following report I made to Gen. Rosecrans, and which I extract from the "Annals of the Army of the Cumberland," and which was written just after I had been exchanged and had reported to my regiment for duty:

MURFREESBORO, March 22d, 1863.

"On the 24th of April, 1862, I was taken prisoner near the town
of Bridgeport, Tennessee, by a battalion of rebel cavalry under
command of a Colonel Stearns. I was alone on a scout at the
time, and fell in with nine of the enemy's pickets. I got the
first shot and killed the sergeant, (so I was told by Captain
Poe, who had command of the pickets.) I was pursued by five
companies of cavalry. After running several miles I was obliged
to stop and dismount at a house to get something to eat, and
while there was surrounded by one of the pursuing companies and
captured. I was then tied on a horse and carried over a
mountain to where the battalion was camped; arriving there
about nine o'clock P. M. When we got there I was immediately
surrounded by about two hundred men, some crying "Hang him!"
"Shoot him!" "Shoot the d--d Yankee!" and several of them
leveled their guns on me; some of them being cocked. A Captain
Haines told them I was his prisoner and under his protection,
and he detailed twenty-four men to guard me, placing two men at
each corner of my blanket. When we went to bed the Captain lay
down on one side of me, and his first Lieutenant on the other;
and in this way I was preserved from assassination.

"The next day I was taken to Bridgeport. I fared very well at
that place, but the day following I was taken to Chattanooga
and confined in the jail, a two story building. The upper
story, where I was confined, was about twelve feet square. Here
were confined nineteen Tennesseeans, a negro, and myself. In
the dungeon, which was only ten feet square, were confined
twenty-one men, belonging to the 2d, the 21st, and 33d Ohio
Infantry, who were charged with being _spies_. They were under
command of a Captain Andrews, who was then under sentence of
death by a court martial recently held at Chattanooga. They
were waiting for the Secretary of War at Richmond to ratify the
proceedings of the court martial previous to executing the
Captain, and they said if they were ratified, the rest would
certainly be hung. I was afterward informed by the rebels that
Andrews and eight of the men were hung at Atlanta, Georgia. I
was told subsequently by a rebel citizen, that they hung
Andrews and seventeen men. I once went into the dungeon where
these men were, and found them handcuffed and chained in pairs
by the neck with a heavy chain, which was locked around each
man's neck with a padlock that would weigh two pounds. These
padlocks were larger than a man's hand. We were fed twice a day
on tolerably good bread, spoiled beef, and coffee made of cane
seed. There was no sink in the jail, and our offal stood in a
bucket in the room where we were confined, day and night, and
was only emptied twice a day, and of course the stench was
intolerable. We were denied the privilege of washing our
clothes, or of having it done. The jail was literally swarming
with vermin, nor was it ever cleaned out.

"From Chattanooga I was taken to Knoxville, to another jail,
and confined in an iron cage. Here I was told by a man named
Fox, the jailor, that I was brought to Knoxville to be tried by
a court martial as a spy, and that if I was tried I would no
doubt be hung. This court martial adjourned without bringing me
to a trial, as did the one at Chattanooga. From there I was
sent to Mobile, where another court martial was in session.
After keeping me about eight days at this place, I was next
sent to Tuscaloosa, Alabama. From this city I was taken, in
company with all the other prisoners at this post, to
Montgomery, Alabama. The first day out I was taken sick with
pneumonia and typhoid fever, but the rebel surgeons refused me
any medicine, and even a bed, and I was left for twelve days
lying upon the deck of the boat, with nothing to eat but corn
bread and beef, which latter the rebels said had been packed
five years. At Tuscaloosa they shot a federal soldier for
looking out of a window, and wounded another in the face for
the same offense. At Montgomery they refused to let me go to a
hospital, although in an utterly helpless condition. Here they
shot a federal Lieutenant under the following circumstances: he
had been allowed to go out for milk, accompanied by a guard,
and he was waiting for a woman to hand the milk out through a
window, when the guard gave the order to '_come on_.' 'Wait a
moment, till I get my milk,' said the Lieutenant. The guard
made no reply, but instantly shot him in the breast with a shot
gun, killing him forthwith.

"From Montgomery I was taken to Macon, Georgia, in company with
twelve hundred others. Here we were allowed seven pounds of
corn meal and two and a half pounds of bacon of bad quality,
for seven days. We were allowed two surgeons and but very
little medicine. Our men fared very badly here, being punished
severely for the slightest offenses. One man, named Cora, was
kept tied up for three days by the wrists to a tree, so that
his toes just touched the ground, because he helped kill a
yearling calf that got into the camp. A Floridan and two
Kentuckians, political prisoners, were confined in the jail at
Macon on quarter rations for twenty-two days. The only offense
they had committed was to attempt to escape from the prison
lot. Our men were pegged down on the ground for any
misdemeanor. This was done by stretching out the limbs and
driving down a forked stick over them, and the operation was
completed by driving one down over the neck. It would be
impossible to tell all the hardships to which we were
subjected, but I have endeavored to portray a few of them. They
may be summed up thus:

"We were confined in bad quarters, and many were without any
quarters. Our dead were left unburied for days together, and
some entirely so--at least to our knowledge. We were denied
medical attendance. Our chaplains were forbid preaching to us
or praying with us, (by order of Major Rylander.) Our men and
officers were shot without cause. An insane federal was shot at
Macon, Georgia, for no offense. We were compelled to bury our
dead in the river banks, where their bodies were liable to be
washed out. We were beaten with clubs on board the steamer en
route for Montgomery, Alabama. We were fed on foul and
unwholesome diet, and frequently left without any rations for
two or three days at a time. Our exchange was delayed as long
as possible, and we were confined in camps surrounded by
swamps, as the rebels said, that we all might die. I find it
impossible to enumerate all the hardships put upon us, but have
enumerated such as were the most intolerable."

"JAMES PIKE,"
"Co. A, 4th O. V. C."

While we were proceeding along through the mountains, we came to a narrow shelf, with a deep abyss on our right, and a perpendicular rocky ascent on our left; and along this I passed watched by five guards--two before and three behind. At some parts it was so narrow that it was almost impassable for one to walk along; and at one place, we came to a rock which almost blocked up the way. There was not room for a man to walk squarely between the rock and the cliff, while on the outside, the trail ran so close to the great precipice, that it was extremely dangerous to attempt to follow it, even on foot.

When we reached this place I asked the guards to untie me, so that I could keep my feet from being hurt by the rock.

"No," said the sergeant, in a rough way; "ride on and hold your feet up."

"You forget, sergeant," said I, "that my feet are tied under the horse, and that I can not raise them."

"Well, ride on," he replied in a tone of command, "or you may fare worse."

"Let me ride on the outside of the rock, then," I requested, "or my feet will be jammed against the rocks."

He now turned partly round in his saddle, and drawing his pistol, said: "Look'ee here now, sir, you ride right through thar whar I did, or I'll shoot you."

Seeing that expostulations were useless, I rode into the narrow channel, although I saw I should be hurt. Turning to one of the guard, I said:

"Guard, will you untie my feet till I get through this place?"

"No," he said, with a horrid oath, "we've got orders from Colonel Stearns to keep you tied till we get you to Bridgeport; he says you are a mighty hard case, and he gave us orders to shoot you if you didn't go along willingly, so you had better ride in."

My right foot caught on the top of the rock in the trail, and my left against the side of the cliff; and for about three steps down the mountain the whole weight of the horse's fore parts rested on my ankles by the rope under his belly. The torture was excruciating, but acting on Indian principles, I uttered no complaint. The horse lunged forward three times on his hind feet, until he dragged my foot over the rock to the end of it, when I was released, and the horse's fore feet came down to the ground again. The rebels seemed to enjoy my sufferings, but otherwise they treated me well enough.

My imprisonment was not entirely without its sources of amusement. Everything was not tragedy, but I was delighted by occasional comedy. One circumstance, in particular, may be worthy of a rehearsal. When they were taking me from the Chattanooga jail to Knoxville, I was kept in the depot about an hour, awaiting the departure of the train; and as was natural, the citizens who were lounging around, had a great many questions to ask me, and my answers gave them evident satisfaction. Two young officers and a lawyer came up and engaged in a conversation with me, and attempted to turn my arguments by ridiculing my cause, being particularly severe on Yankee prowess. I at once waived all further conversation by remarking that I had taken them for gentlemen. They at once whirled away through the crowd, exceedingly indignant, and I thought no more of the matter, when in a short time in came Colonel Bibb, post commandant, or provost marshal--I believe the latter, and shouted:

"Where is that Yankee? Where is the sergeant of the guard?"

"Here I am," said the sergeant.

"Mr. sergeant," added the Colonel, "if you allow the people to talk to that man any more, I will put you in irons, sir;" and then turning to me, with a fierce gesture, he fairly screamed; "and you, sir, Mr. Yankee, if I hear another word out of you, _I will put you in double irons_."

"Crack away, sir," was my response, "there is nobody afraid but you."

He immediately whirled around, and left the depot, trembling with rage; and I expected every minute to see a guard come in with the irons; but the train was soon after ready and I was put on board.

When I was in Ledbetter's camp, they put me under a guard of eight men in Colonel Stearns' tent, as he was not in camp; and while there, the Major of the battalion came to me and told me that General Ledbetter would have me released and commissioned, and put in command of a company of conscripted men if I would renounce my cause, and take the oath of allegiance to the Southern Confederacy; but I declined, telling him I would rather be a private in the Union army than a Brigadier in theirs. He then left me and did not renew the proposition.

Next morning I was turned over to the provost marshal, and put in the guard tent, along with two other men who "wouldn't soldier." The Johnnies crowded around to see me, sometimes passing into the tent, past the guard, contrary to all order and discipline. The Lieutenant of the guard, a fine portly fellow, finding that it would do no harm to let them in, came and sat down by me on my blanket, in the most social manner possible; and we passed some time in friendly conversation, when an Indian adjutant forced his way into the tent. He began to boast of the prowess of the southern troops and decry the pluck of the Yankees, affirming that the latter would not stand the bayonet.

"You are a liar, sir," I fairly shouted. He was on his feet in an instant, as well as myself; he reaching for a pistol, while I raised my fist to knock him down. At this juncture, however, the lieutenant of the guard stepped between us, and taking the adjutant by the collar with one hand, and the seat of the pants with the other, raised him on one knee, and tossed him headlong out of the tent; then turning to me, in a good natured manner, he resumed his seat and the conversation.

The men asked me in the presence of this lieutenant how to get to our lines, and I told them; and he then informed me that, if I were only outside of their pickets, under his charge, he could turn me loose, and go with me to our army, and deliver himself up. He then remarked in a whisper: "I'll bet there will not be less than fifty of our men leave this camp to-night, and go to your lines."

While I was in this camp, the Major of Stearns' Battalion told me that ten of his command had been detailed and sent down to Steveson to arrest or shoot me, but that when they started toward me, they became frightened, and came back on the run. That same day I had shot a rebel near that place, but whether or not he was one of the ten I do not know. He was on the run and refused to stop, as I ordered him, and I shot him while running, and he sprang as high as a man's head in the air, and fell on his face, when I went back to them, and told some citizens where he could be found.

While at the Chattanooga depot, and after Col. Bibb had threatened the sergeant so severely, a stout, heavy man, of very pleasing appearance, came in. He was clad in a plain suit of blue homespun, without a single mark or strap to show military authority. He walked past the guard without a word, apparently in search of some one, and then suddenly turning toward me, said: "Oh! this is that Yankee, is it?" and walked directly to me and extended his hand in a most friendly manner.

The sergeant of the guard, without a word, ran at him, seized him by the arms, and clasping both of them down to his sides with the grip of a vice, he stooped under him, and threw him clear across the railroad track. He did not touch the ground, till he reached the opposite rail. The man then walked out of the depot as quietly as he entered it, but did not utter a syllable. After he had left, an officer on the platform said:

"Do you know who that man was?"

"No, I don't," was the surly answer.

"It was Major General Ledbetter," said the officer.

The sergeant dropped his head a moment, when he looked up in a resolute way, and said:

"Well, I don't care a cuss; I won't be punished for every man's misdoin's."

While on the route to Knoxville, my guard was under the charge of the very Indian who had been so unceremoniously thrown out of the guard tent for insulting me; and he now exhibited all that spirit of revenge inherent in his race. I was subjected to every annoyance that his malice or his caprice could invent, or he dare inflict. On my arrival at Knoxville, I was put in an iron cage in the county jail, and fed twice a day, on good bread and beef, and some seed coffee; and when taken out, I was placed in charge of the Eufaula Light Artillery from the State of Alabama, and taken to Mobile, and thence to Tuscaloosa by railroad, and from there to Montgomery by river.

While at Selma, I was once more solicited to take charge of a company of rebel cavalry; and was tendered the influence of Gen. McTyre; the offer of the general being made through his son, who was the lieutenant in charge of me.

It would scarcely interest the reader to give a more extended account of our sufferings; and I will only add, that they were of the most horrid character, and thousands upon thousands died beneath their crushing weight. At Macon, I escaped in company with Lieut. Ford, of the 8th Iowa infantry, but was recaptured six days afterward, so weak and sick that I could scarcely stand alone. Ford was only out one day, when he was recaptured, having been run down by bloodhounds. When I was recaptured, I was saved from punishment by the adjutant of the battalion of guards; but the lieutenant was ironed, and kept in that condition, till sent off to be exchanged.

While in prison, we owed much to the care and kindness of Dr. Hezekiah Fisk, surgeon of the 8th Iowa infantry, who was a prisoner with us.

We were sent off for exchange in October, 1862, going by way of Savannah, Augusta, Columbia, Raleigh, Petersburg and Richmond. On the trip we suffered fearfully; men were left dead at nearly every station on the entire route. I finally reached my destination safely, and, on the 18th of October, 1862, was exchanged. The officers on the flag-of-truce boat, and especially the surgeons, exerted themselves to their utmost, to save the men; but a large number had suffered so much that human skill was unavailing, and died before reaching Washington City. For my part, I was reduced to a mere skeleton, and was sent to the Cliffburn Hospital--an institution in the care of the Sisters of Charity, and received every attention that could be bestowed, until I became well once more.

_CHAPTER XXI._

ARRIVAL OF WOUNDED FROM FREDERICKSBURG.

A short time after I was taken to Cliffburne hospital, the battle of Fredericksburg was fought, and thousands of wounded were sent to Washington, to the different hospitals. Cliffburne received its full share, and the Sisters had all that they could attend to. They had but few sick men in their care, at that time, their patients being generally wounded men. There were men with legs off; men with arms off; men with, I might almost say, their heads off; at least, they were minus a large part of them. The wounds were made by every kind of missile known to the science of gunnery, as well as saber cuts, and bayonet thrusts. There were patients who had suffered two and even three, amputations, and these wounded men represented almost every State in the Union; indeed, I might say, every nation of the earth. There were Americans, Irishmen, Germans, Frenchmen, Spaniards, Italians, Austrians, and I believe Danes and Norwegians; but they were all groaning under grievous wounds--suffering in a common cause; all were Yankees now. There were men there, who had scarcely been in the country long enough to know how to ask for a drink of water in English; yet whose first act on landing in America, was to volunteer in the United States Army, to battle for the maintenance of the Government that had always been an "asylum for the oppressed of all nations;" and whose first initiation into the American service, was to be hurried into a terrible battle, and stricken down in death or with painful wounds, to pine away months of patient suffering in hospitals. But all that I saw here bore their sufferings with heroic fortitude. The wounded veterans would spend their time in telling stories of battles and adventures; in reading books and papers left for them by charitable or religious persons; in dressing their own wounds, if they were able; or in recounting the circumstances under which they received them. Letters from home formed their greatest solace. When one got a letter from home, he would appear like a new man--it would make him so cheerful. It was astonishing with what devotion the Sisters would nurse, and watch over them. Here, in this bunk, would be a patient, feeble little boy--a drummer, perhaps, who had left his mother and sisters to join the army, and by the stirring notes of his drum, to cheer the war-worn soldier, now stretched on a bed of suffering, with no mother near to nurse or care for him--perhaps, even she did not know where her darling was; but he was faring just as well as he would with her, for the Sisters of Charity were hovering over and nursing him, supplying every want, and soothing, as far as possible, every pain; there, in that bunk, is a brawny man, wounded by a shell; his injuries are terrible; perhaps he is fearfully wicked, and as he writhes in pain, upon his bunk, cursing his cruel fate, at every breath, a Sister's hand smooths down his hardened pillow, and a Sister's voice speaks words of comfort to his soul. Perhaps she is repelled with fearful oaths--but only to return to him when he is calmer, with redoubled kindness. Here, in this ward, is a poor soldier dying. All their loving labors and pious prayers have been in vain; the hand of death is on their patient. Perhaps they have watched and cared for months over him, and have had great hopes of his recovery; but now, alas! they are called upon to perform the last kind offices for him, and consign him to the grave. It is a sad trial to them; and as they cluster around the dying man, they tell him of a better world, and their prayers ascend to the throne of grace, for the welfare of his soul.

For weeks, they watched my almost hopeless case; for some of the Surgeons said I would die; but under their kind treatment, I rapidly recovered, and was soon able to travel and wanted to go to my regiment; but to pass through the "Government mill,"--would be quite enough to kill me in my weak condition, so I applied for a special order.

_CHAPTER XXII._

AT HOME--FRENCH LEAVE.

By the aid of Hon. C. A. White, General Wadsworth, and General Martindale, I obtained permission to leave Washington, and go to Camp Chase, near Columbus, where my company was on parole, for they had been captured on the day that I was exchanged--and while at Columbus I took "French furlough," and made a visit to my home, where I had a pleasant stay; but took care to report at Camp Chase on "pay day." I was still very weak, but improved rapidly, from the time I next "struck" hard tack.

The Surgeon, in Washington, offered me a discharge, if I wanted it, telling me I would never be able to do any duty again. I refused him, telling him I would soon get well, and go to the field again; and I lived to verify my word, for I have done an immense amount of hard service since then. I went to the field again with my company, some time in March, 1863. Our route lay by way of the Ohio and Cumberland rivers; and as we landed and remained at the little town of Dover, for some time, I had an excellent opportunity to survey the old battlefield of Donaldson. The ground was rough and hilly, and exceedingly difficult to maneuver troops on; while the fort itself stood on a commanding eminence overlooking the river. The field was strewn with missiles of all kinds, while the dismounted guns, the scarred and fallen trees, and the furrowed earth, all told the terrific struggle that had taken place upon the hills.

Having no guide, I could learn nothing save what was then discernable--such as the respective lines of battle of the two armies. Here and there, along the interval between them, would be places where the timber was unusually cut up, and the ground terribly torn by artillery, while every visible object on the surface would be riddled with bullets--so many mementoes of violent charges under a murderous fire. When we consider the almost impregnable position of the enemy, fortified at nearly every assailable point with extreme care and skillful judgment, the nature of the ground our troops were compelled to charge over, the battle of Fort Donnelson must appear to every reader of history, as one of the most gallant victories which our troops have won during the late long and bloody war.

In due course of time we arrived at Nashville, and, on landing, set out for Camp Stanley, near Murfreesboro; and there we found our regiment--the glorious old 4th--sadly thinned in numbers, but as full of fight, and as enthusiastic in the cause as ever. I missed many a familiar face, and many a voice that would have given me a friendly greeting, had it not been hushed in death. My comrades gathered around me, and welcomed me among them once more; and now, again, I really felt at home. No one knows the deep attachment existing among soldiers; they can scarcely realize it themselves, until surrounded by adversity; then it is that we _feel_ how devotedly we love one another.

Company A had not been long in camp before it was put on picket; and on this duty we continued for fourteen days under command of Lieut. Charles D. Henry, being stationed on the East Liberty pike, about two miles from Murfreesboro. For several days nothing occurred to mar the even tenor of camp life, except that a squad of bushwhackers, five or six in number, fired a few random shots at us, which resulted in a quick chase and a final escape.

After this the Lieutenant put me on patrol duty, outside the lines, to watch all suspicious points; and while on this duty I was one day joined by Lieut. Frank Robie, the Captain's brother. We rode out together much beyond my ordinary trips, having crossed Cripple creek, and gone about three miles beyond it, when we met an old black man riding along the road, apparently buried in deep thought. There appeared to be a feeling of calm felicity pervading his soul, for it shone out in his face. Such were his meditations that he did not notice us till we addressed him:

"Uncle," I asked, after saying how dee? "ain't you a preacher?"

He raised his eyes, and seeing only a strange officer and soldier at his side, opened them wide and replied:

"La, massa, how did you know dat?"

"We only guessed at it; but what is the news?"

"Well, marsters," he said, "if I ain't mistaken, you is some dem gemmen dey call Yankees, and if you is, I ain't afeard to talk to you; but, Lor', a body doesn't nebber know who dey is talkin' to now-days."

"You are right," we responded; "we are Yankees, and if you know anything about the rebs, we want you to post us."

"Well, marster, I is de widder Trimble's Willis, an' I _is_ a preacher, a Methodist preacher, and last winter, on de fust day of December, our soldiers cotch me an' whipped me, kase dere was one of our boys on the plantation tole 'em dat de widder Trimble's Willis prayed for de Union."

Of course we sympathized with the old man in his persecution, but he was not the only one who was persecuted then for opinion sake. He then proceeded with "Marster, it jes seems to me that you Northern men knows ebery ting, an' you don't seem to be afeard of nuthin'; why our men would no more think ob ridin' so fur frum dere camps dan nuthin' in de world; but gemmen, you is in a great deal ob danger here. You is mity close to a big company of _our_ men, an' you better be keerful, for dey mout do ye harm."

I asked the old man how far off they were and which way. He told me very explicitly that they were near a little town called Milton, close by. I told the Lieutenant that I would go and see where they were. He went back to the picket post, while I thanked the old preacher and left him. For awhile I wandered around through the brakes and over the hills, passed through the town of Milton, but still saw nothing of the rebels. After hunting in vain for some signs of them, I looked all around for smoke, but none was to be seen in the timber, or any place where it was likely that any considerable number should hide. The old darkey had reported them at nine hundred, but added that it was only hearsay with him. I now turned off all the public routes and went to searching the byways, and taking one of these by-roads that led through the farms, I made for a little, low gap in the hills, which here rose almost to the grandeur of mountains. As I approached the gap I discovered two men, one standing on the ground, the other seated on his horse. They seemed at a loss to account for me coming on perfectly unconcerned toward them. They suffered me to approach within about forty steps, when the one that was mounted wheeled his horse, and aimed to run off down the opposite side of the gap, but I halted him twice and then fired. The shot took effect between the shoulders, just to the left of the backbone. He yelled murder twice in a terrified voice, and then fell forward on his horse's withers, while the frightened animal rushed madly down the hill. My whole attention was instantly devoted to the other man, who was mounting and preparing to follow his comrade's example. I was afraid he would shoot me while I was reloading my gun, which was a Smith & Wesson carbine, but he was too badly scared; he never stopped, but went down the hill at a break neck pace. I ran to the top of the hill, and behold--just at the foot of it were about one hundred and fifty rebels, who had been, as I afterward learned, foraging. They were somewhat scattered, for when I got my first view of them, they were running from every direction for their horses, which were standing in a bunch under a strong guard, right where two roads crossed. For this point my second man was running. Just as he got to it I fired, he being about one hundred and twenty-five yards off when I did so, and without looking to see what damage I had done, I turned in my saddle and called out, "_Forward the 4th!_ FORWARD THE 4TH OHIO!" then turning upon the enemy again, I drew my pistol and tried it three times, but every cap was wet. I then attempted to load my carbine a third time, but it got out of fix about the trigger works, and I could do nothing with it. All this time the rebels were mounting, and each fellow as he gained his saddle took the road for Auburn without stopping to look back. A few stopped long enough to discharge their guns, so that there were perhaps fifteen shots fired at me, some of which cut very close, but did no damage. One fellow, braver than the rest, walked right out in the middle of the road and raised his gun to his face, took a long, careful aim, and pulled the trigger, but the gun missed fire; the cap bursted clear and loud, but I suppose the powder was damp. He broke for his horse then as fast as his legs would take him. I thought it was very questionable whether my friends would ever hear from me again when I saw him taking such deliberate aim at such close quarters, as we were so near together that I could have counted the buttons on his coat. I waited till they all got well started down the road, which was in a surprisingly short space of time, and wheeled my horse and took the road for Murfreesboro, and there is no mistake about it, I rode rapidly.

As I passed the next house, I saw a woman standing in the porch, watching my actions all the time; but she could not see the enemy from where she stood. I told her to tell the rebels, when they returned, that there was but one man in the attacking party, and that he said he had flogged one hundred and fifty of them, and could do it again.

This fight, if fight it might be called, took place at Hooper's Tanyard, two miles from Milton; and on my retreat, I passed through the latter place. Stopping a moment, I called a man to me, and gave him the same message I gave to the woman, and as I expected pursuit, I made for Murfreesboro, at once, which was fourteen miles distant. However, I saw no more of that party, though I did see another squad of twenty-six, that did appear as if they were after somebody. The fear of a pursuit by the first party, gave me a good speed; and the sight of a second, caused me to persevere, until I was once more safe within our lines.

I knew no more about the affair at that time, than what is contained in the particulars I have related; but a party of our cavalry soon afterward went out in that vicinity, to scout, and there learned that my first shot had killed a picket, and mortally wounded a horse; and that my second had wounded a man severely, and passed through the neck of one horse, and subsequently wounded a second one; and that the enemy had went to the town of Auburn, seven miles distant, without halting, or breaking their gait; and that they deserted a large forage train, which I could have destroyed, had I known where to look for it; but it was behind a projection of the hill. Lieut. Henry, of Co. A, was out on a scout, in the same direction, shortly afterward, and the same particulars were learned by him. He had a talk with the woman I saw, and she told him that she had communicated my message to the men, and that one of them exclaimed: "_Oh, he is a liar, there were but eighty-four of us_."

It was big enough, the way he told it; but I must still adhere to my original statement, although I could only judge of the number by the ground they covered, after they got closed up.

My next adventure was in Breckenridge's lines, at Dry Hollow, not far from Bradyville. I got inside of his pickets, and was taken suddenly sick, and was prostrate a couple of days, before I could get out. I think, however, that hunger cured me, if anything did, for when nearly famished I was able to travel. I was only sent to see if he was still at his old place, in force, or if he had skedaddled, and was only making a show of holding the position. I succeeded in getting the desired information, and in the darkest part of the night, got out of his camp again, and made for Gen. Hazen's camp, near Readyville. On the way, I stopped at a house near the Readyville and Woodbury road, very much fatigued, and also exceedingly ill, and was waiting till the people got me some breakfast. While laying before the fire, I heard a rapid firing on the Woodbury road, and on going to the door, I saw nine men of the Third Indiana cavalry, fighting with more than thirty rebels. They were only three hundred yards off, and I had no time to get closer, so I stepped behind a tree, and commenced firing, with a Spencer rifle.

The Johnnies held the Indianians very close for two or three minutes, and at one time I thought they would all be captured--there appearing no hope for them against such odds. I was still unobserved by either party, and I therefore was enabled to use my rifle expeditiously, and accurately. The Johnnies did not discover where the cross fire came from, but when they found bullets coming so rapidly, from another quarter, they wheeled round, and fled in a hurry, several of them being badly hurt, as I discovered from the way they rode. When the rebels left, the Indiana boys put out for camp, taking with them several articles I could see them pick up, although I could not ascertain what they were, from where I was located.

The fight being over, I swallowed my breakfast in a hurry, and took to the woods, fearing unpleasant consequences, and was soon in Gen. Hazen's camp.

_CHAPTER XXIII._

SCOUT TO WOODBURY--PLAYING REBEL SENTINEL--NARROW ESCAPES.

When I got back to Murfreesboro it was necessary to know how many rebels were at Woodbury, and I went from General Rosecrans, under the direction of Captain Swaine, chief of scouts. I left our lines at Readyville, and went a mile or more, when I got an old woman to hide me in her house in a back room, where I slept till the moon went down; and then taking up a branch of Stone river, I slipped into the rebel lines without raising the slightest alarm. It was only about seven miles by the high road, but it was more than ten by way of the creek to my point of destination. I kept constantly in the creek bottom, until I was nearly opposite Woodbury, when I struck off to the hills which surround the town, and from which a full view could be had. I got to a good position on a hill, but could not see all that was going on. I waited till day light, in the hope that I could then see plainer; but I was disappointed in that, and at once resolved to change my quarters to another hill. To do this, I had to go down into a valley and walk across it, and then ascend the other elevation, in plain view of the reserve picket. I had a small glass, and was so near them that I could see the lint on their coats very distinctly, and I discovered they were eyeing me closely. I walked quickly out into the road, took a position, and began to walk a beat, as though I was standing sentinel. Presently a spruce looking old farmer came walking along, and supposing himself inside the pickets, he moved carelessly, and did not stop till the second "Halt," and an unmistakable motion of my gun claimed his attention. He seemed very much surprised to see a guard there, saying: "Nobody stopped me here yesterday."

"Well," said I, "I belong to a regiment which just came in last night, and the officer of the guard put me on this beat and told me to stop all persons going into the town unless they had proper papers." He at once showed me a pass from John Morgan's provost marshal, and I told him he was all right, and could go on. He was highly tickled at the eulogies I bestowed upon him, and before I let him go I managed to draw from him all that he had seen in Morgan's camp on the day before.

When he left, I told him it was probable that I might be relieved before he came back, but that he would find our camp just over the hill there, and pointed in an opposite direction from that I intended to go. I then resumed my walk upon the beat for a minute or two, when I affected to see something suspicious on the hill, which I started to go to, and raising my gun as though I intended to fire, I aimed at a fancied object; then lowering my piece, I pushed rapidly up, while the pickets watched me intently.

When on the top of the hill, I stopped again, and looked intently in the direction of the picket, and then passed around the summit with my carbine raised, as though I expected to see the object every instant; till, in a few minutes I turned the point of the hill, so they could see me no more, when I ran along the side for about half a mile; then climbing nearly to the top, I doubled my track and ran back, till nearly opposite the picket again; then getting down on my hands and knees, I crawled up the hill cautiously, and concealed myself in a hollow log which lay on the top.

I was now enabled to see the rebels in part of their encampment, and everything that passed, either on the Readyville road, or in Woodbury. It was very early in the morning of a tolerably cold day when I got in the log, and by night I was nearly frozen. During the day, I heard something running on the dry leaves outside, and I immediately prepared for a defense, thinking, perhaps, it might be a man who had seen me secrete myself. Suddenly, however, it sprung lightly upon the log and dropped itself through the opening right over my face; it was a coon, but it saw the place was occupied, and politely withdrew. Possibly I was intruding myself into its quarters, but as it did not wait to demand any apologies, I offered none. It was large and fat, and would have made a famous roast; but I had to lay still, for my neighbors on the hill were vigilant, and had they seen me for a second, they would have been after me with a sharp stick, which they would have applied without mercy.

That night I left my log, and took the back track for Readyville. I went across the country till I had passed the last of their picket fires, of which there appeared to be several lines, these being formed by Morgan's men, who was conscripting every man he could find. I passed very close to some of the posts--so near that I could hear the men talking in a low tone. At one place I chased two soldiers out of an old log house, who were inside talking to some females. As soon as I discovered they were in there, I secreted myself behind the chimney, and began "peeping" through the cracks. The fellows seemed to be on very friendly terms with the old man and his three daughters, the latter being very pretty, and at that time, putting on their sweetest smiles. I felt a little anxious to change places with the Johnnies about that time; or, if I had felt entirely assured that they would not have became "unlawful," I would have been content to talk to the odd girl; but that I knew was an impossibility, and I dismissed the idea.

On the table sat a wooden tray filled with cakes, a few of which I knew would do me an immense amount of good at that time, for I was hungry; and I determined, if possible, to have my fill. I, therefore, scrutinized the yard and out-buildings to satisfy myself there were no other men there, and glanced around to see if any picket fires were in that section; and finding all was right, I walked off a few steps, and fired off my gun. The Johnnies jumped out of the house, and as they did so, I screamed: "Run, boys, run; the Yankees are on us!" and away they went, as fast as their legs could carry them. I fired one shot at them as they appeared in the yard, when the women commenced shrieking fearfully, supposing themselves surrounded by those horrid Yankees--the terror of all the chivalry of the South, male and female. I was so near the rebel pickets that I dare not remain long for fear I would get myself into "business," so I put out for the low ground, and at three o'clock the next morning was once more in our lines, where I slept till daylight; after which I proceeded toward Murfreesboro.

When within about six miles of that town, I was walking along the high-road, inside our lines, when I saw a party of eight or ten men coming down from toward Murfreesboro. Thinking they were our own soldiers, I trudged along, confidently expecting a friendly chat when we met; but when they got nearer me, I discovered they were partly dressed in gray. I, however, still could not think they were other than Yankees--perhaps a detail of scouts on some breakneck expedition--and I was still expecting a friendly confab, when I noticed that they stealthily raised their guns. That was enough for me, for I knew that they could not mistake my character, as I was in full uniform, and under arms; and I sprang through the cedar brake as fresh as if I had just started out after a long rest; the sight of an enemy in one's rear generally has a magical effect on the gait even of a wearied man, and certainly it materially accelerated mine.

Running through the densest part of the brake, where they could not follow me on horseback, I felt confident of escape, as they could not see me before I saw them. I heard them crashing through the bushes only for a short time, when I stopped, after a mile heat in the cedars, exhausted. They were now no longer in hearing, and I, therefore, rested myself awhile, and then took a route through the brake, that I knew would bring me out at old Jack Dill's, within four miles of Murfreesboro. Jack was a fair specimen of a backwoods Tennessee Union man; large, sun-browned, and muscular--honest and patriotic. He invited me into the house with a hearty welcome, and told me of a brush he had had with the rebels the day before; and while the old man was recounting his adventures, his pretty daughter Jennie set me out a nice dinner, with fresh butter and new buttermilk, hot biscuits, and venison steak; and who could not enjoy a story under _such_ circumstances?

The rebels had thought to surprise him in his house, and drag him off to the army; but old Jack was roused by the barking of a faithful dog, and took to the brake near his house; and in pursuing him, the rebels exposed themselves to his unerring rifle, and went back unsuccessful--minus one of their men.

On returning to the house they vowed vengeance to his daughter; she told them to go and make their threats to her father himself; but they didn't go. Old Jack was very proud of his gun--a long, full-stocked rifle. Patting it affectionately, he said:

"You see she is so old and is worn so thin, that when I push a bullet down her, she strains and swells out her sides, like a snake swallowin' a toad; but, by hokey, I can knock the spots out of a secesh yet."

From Dill's I took the main road to town, and in an hour I was at headquarters making my report.

_CHAPTER XXIV._

GEN. STANLEY'S GREAT RAID--PLAYING AID-DE-CAMP--SCOUTING AT HARPETH SHOALS.

The next duty I was on was when Gen. D. S. Stanley, chief of cavalry, made his dashing raid on the rebel camps near Middleton, Tennessee. It was a brilliant affair, and managed with consummate skill. Leaving Camp Stanley late in the evening, about the last of March, or first of April, 1863, he led a heavy column of cavalry down upon the camps in the vicinity of Middleton; the march being conducted in the night, the darkness and dust so impenetrable that a man could scarcely see his file-leader; indeed, the General had to station guides all along the route, at cross-roads, to prevent some of the columns from taking the wrong way. The Fourth Regular Cavalry had the lead, their advance-guard consisting of about twenty men, who behaved most gallantly, driving in the rebel pickets, and throwing the first camp into confusion, by an impetuous charge, entering it simultaneously with the flying pickets themselves.