UNDER FIRE FOR ONE HUNDRED DAYS

Corduroy Breeches—Desolate Country—Conscript Headquarters—An “Arrest”—Rome, Ga.—Under Fire for One Hundred Days—Big and Little Kenesaw—Lost Mountain—Rain, Rain, Rain—Hazardous Scouting—Green Troops—Shelled—Truce—Atlanta—Death of General MacPherson—Ezra Church—McCook’s Retreat—Battle Near Newnan—Results.

We reached General Roddy’s headquarters near Decatur, on Saturday, and rested until Monday noon. Starting back we passed through Moulton, were caught in a cold rain, sheltered our horses under a gin-shed, and slept in the cotton seed without forage or rations. Next morning I instructed the men to find breakfast for themselves and horses, and meet me at Mr. Walker’s, down on the road. Taking DeSauls and one or two others, I went on to Mr. Walker’s, a well-to-do man, who owned a mill, where I hoped to get breakfast and some rations and forage to carry us across the mountain. Arriving at Walker’s, he came out to the gate and I asked him first about forage and rations to take with us, and he said we could get them. Leaving DeSauls to question him about his land, I sought the lady of the house to arrange for breakfast. I found her very willing to feed us, as we were from eastern Texas, and knew of her father, who lived in Rusk County. Now DeSauls was a resident of New Orleans, was dressed in a Confederate gray jacket and cap, and wore a pair of corduroy trousers. Soon after the lady left the front room to have breakfast prepared, DeSauls came in with a fearful frown on his face and said to me: “Barron, don’t you think that d——d old scoundrel called me a Yankee?” “Oh,” said I, “I guess he was joking.” Just at this time Mr. Walker came up, looking about as mad as DeSauls, and said, “No, I am not joking. I believe you are all Yankees; look at them corduroy breeches! There hasn’t been a piece of corduroy in the South since the war began, without a Yankee wore it.” I treated the matter as a joke at first, until finding that the old gentleman was in dead earnest, I undertook to convince him that he was wrong, but found it no easy matter. Finally I asked him the distance to Huntsville? Forty miles. Then through my familiarity with the people and country in and around Huntsville I satisfied him that he was wrong, and then we were treated kindly by him and his family.

After leaving Tennessee valley we passed through the most desolate country I ever saw. For more than a day’s march I found but one or two houses inhabited, and passing through the county seat of Winston County I was unable to find any person to tell me the road to Jasper. Arriving at Tuscaloosa I learned that Colonel Jones had returned and that the brigade had gone to Georgia, and I followed it, passing through Elyton, Blountsville, Talledega, and Blue Mountain. Camping one night at Blountsville, I met my friend Bluford M. Faris, formerly of Huntsville. Arriving at Talledega, I determined to spend one day, Saturday, there in order to have some shoeing done. This was conscript headquarters for a large area of country, with a major commanding, and there was post-quartermaster, commissary, a provost marshal, and all the pomp and circumstance of a military post. I thought at one time I would have some trouble, but fortunately I came out all right.

In the first place I camped in a grove of timber convenient to water, but soon received a message from the commander that I had camped near his residence, and would I move somewhere else? He did not want men to depredate upon his premises. I replied that I would make good every depredation my men committed, and that it was not convenient for me to move. I was busy for some time in procuring rations, forage, and an order for horseshoeing, and about the time I had these matters arranged I got a message requesting me to come to the provost marshal’s office. On my way I saw my men out in line of battle near the court-house, with guns loaded and capped. Calling one of them to me, I learned that one or two of them had gone into the provost’s office and he had cursed them as d——d stragglers belonging to a straggling brigade, and they gave him back some rough words, whereupon he had threatened to arrest them, and they were waiting to be arrested. Coming to the office I found the man in charge was a deputy. Introducing myself, I inquired what he wanted. He said some of my men had been to his office and cursed him, and he had threatened to arrest them and wished to know if I could control them. I told him I could control them as easily as I could control that many little children, but if he wished to arrest any of them, the men were just out there and he might send his men out to attempt it—if he could. I asked him what provocation he had offered, and made him acknowledge that he had called them “stragglers.” I then told him they were not stragglers, but good soldiers and, besides, they were all gentlemen, and if he had not first insulted them they would have treated him in a gentlemanly way; that if he wished to deal with them to proceed, otherwise I would take charge of them. Oh, no, he did not wish to have any trouble. If I was willing for my men to take a drink, I had his permission, and the poor fellow was more than willing to turn the “stragglers” over to me. I called them all up, accompanied them to a saloon, and told them that those who wished it could take a drink. We then went about our business without further trouble.

From Talladega I proceeded to Blue Mountain, intending to go from there to Rome, but learning that our army was gradually falling back, and being unable to learn its position or when I could safely calculate on striking it in the flank, I turned my course southward, passed through Carrolton, crossed the Chattahoochee River, followed the river up to Campbellton, recrossed it and found my command fighting near new New Hope church on the —— day of May, 1864.

A detailed account of this campaign would make a large volume, and of course cannot be undertaken in these brief recollections. Our division of cavalry reached Rome, Ga., about the middle of May, and fought the Federal advance the same day, and then for one hundred days were under fire, with the exception that on two occasions we were ordered to follow cavalry raids sent to our rear. But for this brief respite we were under constant fire for this period, each day and every day. We were assigned a position on the extreme left of General J. E. Johnston’s army, a position occupied by us during the entire campaigning, while General Joe Wheeler’s cavalry was on the extreme right.

To give one day’s duty is practically to give the duties of many other days. We always fought on foot. Sometimes behind breastworks, sometimes not, sometimes confronting infantry and sometimes cavalry. We would be up, have our horses equipped, form a line, detail horse-holders, and march to the front by daybreak, and take our position on the fighting line. About nine o’clock our cooked rations, consisting of one small pone of corn bread and three-eighths of a pound of bacon, was distributed to each man as we stood or lay in line of battle. While these rations would not have made a good hearty breakfast, they had to last us twenty-four hours. The skirmishing might be light or heavy, we might charge the enemy’s works in our front, or we might be charged by them. Usually the musket-firing, and often artillery-firing, would be kept up until night, when leaving a skirmish line at the front, we would retire to our horses. We often changed position after night, which involved night marching, always changing in a retrograde movement. Sometimes the fighting would become terrific, for at times General Sherman would attack our whole line, miles and miles in length, and, under General Johnston these attacks were made with heavy loss to Sherman’s army. Particularly was this the case in front of Big Kenesaw, Little Kenesaw, and Lost Mountain.

In this campaign the cavalry service was much harder than the infantry service. When night came on the infantry could fall down and sleep all night unless they had to change their position, while the cavalry were burdened with their horses. Marching back to our horses we hustled for all the forage the Government could furnish us, which was usually about one quart of shelled corn, and we were compelled to supplement this with something else, whatever we could find; sometimes it was oats, often green crab grass from the fields, and later, green fodder or pea vines. Often this gathering of horse feed lasted until ten or eleven o’clock, when the horses would be stripped and we could sleep, provided we were not to move.

Early in June it began to rain, and continued raining day and night for about twenty-five days, until the country was so boggy that it was almost impossible to move artillery or cavalry outside of the beaten roads. Sometimes when the rain was pouring down in torrents the enemy would be throwing shrapnels at us, and hundreds, perhaps thousands, of them without exploding, plunged into the soft earth and are doubtless there yet. During the rainy season there was a great deal of thunder and lightning, and artillery duels would occur either day or night, and sometimes it was difficult to distinguish between the thunder of heaven and the thunder of cannon and bursting shells. On one of those very rainy days we were in some timber south of a farm, while the enemy was in the timber north of it, only a few hundred yards distant, and had been firing at us in a pretty lively manner. General Ross sent for me and told me to go ascertain how far the enemy’s line extended beyond our left. I mounted my horse and rode off, conning over in my mind the perplexing question as to how I was to gain the desired information, as the enemy in the thick woods could not be seen, and I could think of no other method than to ride into the field in view of their skirmishers, draw their fire and move on until the end of their line was apparent. Accordingly I rode into the open field and moved along some distance without being shot at; looking across the field near the opposite fence, I fancied I saw a line of skirmishers just inside of it, and tried in vain to attract their attention at long range. I rode back and forth, getting nearer to them all the time, until I got close enough to discover that the fancied pickets were black stumps, an illusion occasioned by the fact that a man in dark blue uniform on a rainy day looks black at a distance of two or three hundred yards. I was then worse puzzled than at first, for to go back and tell General Ross that I could not learn anything about their lines would never do. After a little hesitation I threw down the fence and rode into the thick undergrowth, expecting every minute to meet a volley of bullets. Going on some little distance I heard the word “Halt!” I halted, and was soon gratified to learn that I was confronting a small Confederate scouting party. Informing them of my object, they proposed showing me what I was looking for, and I was therefore able to return and report to my general, sound in body and much easier in mind.

During this long rainy spell we rarely slept two nights on the same ground and never had a dry blanket to sleep on. On the 3d day of July we fought General Schofield’s Corps nearly all day, fighting and falling back (as they were pushing down a road leading to Sand Town, a crossing on the Chattahoochee River), passing through a line of breastworks on the crest of a ridge crossing the road at right angles, erected and occupied by the Georgia Militia, about the middle of the afternoon. As we passed into the breastworks one of our men was killed by a long-range ball. The militia had never been under fire and had never seen a man killed before. We were instructed to form a line immediately in their rear and rest, and to support them if the enemy should come; but beyond throwing a few shells over the works and skirmishing at long range, we had no farther trouble with the enemy that afternoon. Our men were very much amused at the sayings and doings of the militia at this time, but subsequently the Georgia militia were commanded by General G. W. Smith, an experienced officer, and after this they acted very gallantly in battle. They retired at night and we, leaving skirmishers in the works, went into camp. The next morning the Third Texas went into these breastworks, and while Captain Germany and myself were out in front deploying skirmishers he was severely wounded just below the knee, and was unfit for duty for several months.

General Schofield’s Corps advanced in solid line of battle, and were allowed to take the works while we fell back a short distance into the timber and heard them give three cheers for Abe Lincoln, three cheers for General Sherman and three cheers for General Schofield! We then fought them again back through the timber until we came to a lane leading between farms across a little valley nearly a mile wide. On the hill beyond was our infantry in breastworks, and just beyond the breastworks was the narrow river bottom and Sand Town crossing, and down in this little bottom were our horses. As we entered the lane the enemy ran a battery up to the edge of the timber and shelled us every step of the way as we pulled through the long lane, tired and dusty, about noon, that hot 4th of July. Passing through the breastworks we mounted our horses in a shower of shells and crossed the river. Here we rested for twenty-four hours.

I went into Atlanta on the morning of the 5th, and skirmishing across the river again began in the afternoon. Here for some days we had a comparatively easy time, only picketing and skirmishing across the river. As this seemed void of results, the men on the north and south side of the river would agree upon a truce and go in bathing together. They would discuss the pending race for President between Lincoln and McClellan. The Confederates would trade tobacco for molasses and exchange newspapers, and when the truce was at an end each side would resume its respective position, and the firing would be renewed.

There continued to be more or less fighting north of the river until July 9, when General Johnston fell back into the defenses immediately in front of Atlanta. General Sherman’s army also crossed the river and confronted General Johnston’s lines near the city. On or about the 19th General Johnston was superseded by General John B. Hood, and then began a series of hard battles around Atlanta, which were continued on the 20th, 21st, 22d, and other days, in which the losses on both sides were heavy. The Federal general, James B. MacPherson, was killed on the 22d. On the 28th was fought the battle of Ezra Church. On this day Companies C and D of the Third Texas were on picket in front of our command, and in the afternoon were driven back by overwhelming numbers, John B. Armstrong being slightly wounded and R. H. Henden very severely wounded.

We were soon met with orders to mount and move out to Owl Rock church on the Campbellton and Atlanta road, to assist Colonel Harrison, who was understood to be contending with General McCook’s division of cavalry. General McCook had crossed the river near Rivertown, not far from Campbellton, for the purpose of raiding in our rear, and General Stoneman, with another division, had simultaneously moved out around the right wing of our army. The purpose was for these two commands to co-operate and destroy the railroad in our rear. General Wheeler’s cavalry was sent after Stoneman. As General McCook had at least twelve hours the start of us we were unable to overtake him until afternoon of the next day. In the meantime, before daylight, he struck the wagon train belonging to our division, burned ninety-two wagons and captured the teamsters, blacksmiths, the chaplain of the Third Texas, and the inevitable squad that managed under all circumstances to stay with the train. We came up with McCook’s command near Lovejoy Station, which is on the railroad thirty miles below Atlanta. We learned with joy that General Wheeler had overtaken Stoneman, captured him and a large portion of his command, and was able to come with a portion of his troops to assist in the operations against McCook. McCook now abandoned all effort to destroy railroad property, and began a retreat in order to get back into the Federal lines. We followed him until night when, as we had been in our saddles twenty-eight hours, we stopped, fed on green corn and rested a few hours. Some time before daylight next morning we mounted and moved on briskly. Early in the day we came close upon the enemy’s rear and pressed them all day, during which time we passed scores of their horses, which from sheer exhaustion had been abandoned. Many of our horses, too, had become so jaded that they were unable to keep up.

About the middle of the afternoon, when near Newnan, the Federals stopped to give us battle. They had chosen a position in a dense skirt of timber back of some farms near the Chattahoochee River bottom, and here followed a battle which I could not describe if I would. I can only tell what the Third Texas did and sum up the general result. We were moved rapidly into the timber and ordered to dismount to fight. As many of our men were behind, instead of detailing the usual number of horse-holders, we tied the horses, leaving two men of the company to watch them. Almost immediately we were ordered into line, and before we could be properly formed were ordered to charge, through an undergrowth so dense that we could only see a few paces in any direction. As I was moving to my place in line I passed John Watkins, who was to remain with the horses, and on a sudden impulse I snatched his Sharpe’s carbine and a half dozen cartridges. On we went in the charge, whooping and running, stooping and creeping, as best we could through the tangled brush. I had seen no enemy in our front, but supposed they must be in the brush or beyond it. Lieutenant Sim Terrell, of Company F, and myself had got in advance of the regiment, as it was impossible to maintain a line in the brush, Terrell only a few paces to my right. Terrell was an ideal soldier, courageous, cool, and self-possessed in battle. Seeing him stop I did likewise, casting my eyes to the front, and there, less than twenty-five yards from me, stood a fine specimen of a Federal soldier, behind a black jack tree, some fifteen inches in diameter, with his seven-shooting Spencer rifle resting against the tree, coolly and deliberately taking aim at me. Only his face, right shoulder, and part of his right breast were exposed. I could see his eyes and his features plainly, and have always thought that I looked at least two feet down his gun barrel. As quick as thought I threw up the carbine and fired at his face. He fired almost at the same instant and missed me. Of course I missed him, as I expected I would, but my shot had the desired effect of diverting his aim and it evidently saved my life.

Directly in front of Terrell was another man, whom Terrell shot in the arm with his pistol. The Federals both turned around and were in the act of retreating when two or three of Terrell’s men came up and in less time than it takes to tell it two dead bodies lay face downwards where, a moment before, two brave soldiers had stood. I walked up to the one who had confronted me, examined his gun, and found he had fired his last cartridge at me. Somehow I could not feel glad to see these two brave fellows killed. Their whole line had fallen back, demoralized by the racket we had made, while these two had bravely stood at their posts. I have often wondered what became of their remains, lying away out in the brush thicket, as it was not likely that their comrades ever looked after them. And did their friends and kindred at home ever learn their fate?

We moved forward in pursuit of the line of dismounted men we had charged, and came in sight of them only to see them retreating across a field. Returning to our horses we saw them stampeding, as Colonel Jim Brownlow, with his regiment of East Tennesseans, had gotten among them, appropriated a few of the best ones, stampeded some, while the rest remained as we had left them. We charged and drove them away from the horses and they charged us three times in succession in return, but each time were repulsed, though in these charges one or two of the best horses in the regiment were killed under Federal riders. These men were, however, only making a desperate effort to escape, and were endeavoring to break through our lines for that purpose, as by this time General McCook’s command was surrounded and he had told his officers to get out the best they could. In consequence his army had become demoralized and badly scattered in their effort to escape. The prisoners they had captured, their ambulances, and all heavy baggage were abandoned, everything forgotten except the desire to return to their own lines. General Stoneman had started out with 5000 men and General E. M. McCook had 4000. Their object was to meet at Lovejoy Station, on the Macon Railroad, destroy the road, proceed to Macon and Andersonville and release the Federal prisoners confined at those two places. This engagement lasted about two hours, at the end of which we were badly mixed and scattered in the brush, many of the Confederates as well as Federals not knowing where their commands were.

General Ross summed up the success of his brigade on this expedition as follows: Captured, 587, including two brigade commanders, with their staffs; colors of the Eighth Iowa and Second Indiana; eleven ambulances, and two pieces of artillery. General Wheeler’s men also captured many prisoners. Our loss on the expedition was 5 killed and 27 wounded. Among the wounded I remember the gallant Lieutenant Tom Towles, of the Third. The command now returned to its position in General Hood’s line of battle, the prisoners being sent to Newnan, while I was ordered to take a sufficient guard to take care of them until transportation could be procured to send them to Andersonville. I had about 1250 enlisted men and 35 officers, who were kept here for several days. I confined them in a large brick warehouse, separating the officers from the privates by putting the officers in two rooms used for offices at the warehouse. I made them as comfortable as I could, and fed them well. I would turn the officers out every day into the front porch or vestibule of the warehouse, where they could get fresh air. They were quite a lively lot of fellows, except one old man, Colonel Harrison, I believe, of the Eighth Iowa. They appreciated my kindness and made me quite a number of small presents when the time came for them to leave.

This Newnan affair occurred July 30, 1864. General Hood had apparently grown tired of assaulting the lines in our front, and resumed the defensive. Our duties, until the 18th of August, were about the same as they had been formerly—heavy picketing and daily skirmishing. The casualties, however, were continually depleting our ranks: the dead were wrapped in their blankets and buried; the badly wounded sent to the hospitals in Atlanta, while the slightly wounded were sent off to take care of themselves; in other words, were given an indefinite furlough to go where they pleased, so that a slight wound became a boon greatly to be prized. Many returned to Mississippi to be cared for by some friend or acquaintance, while some remained in Georgia.