Atlanta had fallen. Sherman, before starting on his "march to the sea," detached the Fourth and Twenty-fourth Corps, under command of Schofield, and sent them by forced march to Pulaski to watch Hood, who was at Florence, and to retard his advance into Tennessee until Thomas, who was at Nashville, could concentrate enough troops to—as Sherman pithily said—"take care of him." The main body of the 9th Cavalry had shortly before this been sent to Nashville to secure horses for mounting the regiment; a small number of each company only remained to guard the camp and stores.

About the 15th of November the forces from "the front" arrived, and soon our peaceful camp was the scene of warlike preparation. The beautiful slope which we had so long occupied was cut into rifle-pits, and just north of regimental headquarters a breast-work was raised, commanding the approaches from south and east.

Receiving information that indicated an advance of the enemy on Columbia by the way of Winchester, the works were abandoned. The infantry took up their line of march for Columbia, and the remnant of the 9th hastily loaded the camp equipments and stores and boarded the train for Nashville on the 23d of November, arrived on the morning of the 24th, and rejoined the main body who were encamped across the river in Edgefield. The remounting being completed, the cavalry forces at Nashville were rapidly organized as the seventh division of the cavalry corps—Gen. Knipe commanding. The first brigade, Gen. J. H. Hammond commanding, was composed of the 9th and 10th Indiana, the 2d and 4th Tennessee and 19th Pennsylvania.

On the 27th the first brigade moved through the city and down the Franklin Pike a few miles and went into camp; on the 28th, passed through Franklin to Spring Hill and went into camp, awaiting orders from the front. On the 29th moved to the left of the Columbia Pike and were all day in the saddle marching and counter-marching, slowly falling back, almost constantly within hearing of the fighting at the front.

On the night of the 29th marched across to the Triune Pike to repel an alleged flanking movement of the enemy, who failed to appear at that point. At day-light we went into camp, and after a hasty breakfast, snatched an hour of needed sleep. Soon the unwelcome "boots and saddles" sounded, and we resumed our weary waiting and watching, nearly always within sound of musketry, but not seeing the rebels nor hearing the "zip" of the unfriendly bullet. We marched and counter-marched, always halting nearer Nashville.

To those of us who had not yet seen a rebel under arms the suspense, the constant expectation of battle, was more trying than actual fighting afterwards proved. On this day when the sound of musketry drew nearer and nearer, we were drawn up in line, and with drawn sabres awaited the appearance of the enemy and an order to "charge." Expectation sat in a thousand pale faces as

Suddenly the rattle of musketry seemed to roll away and all was still. Another time when the sound of battle approached our position, we dismounted and in line awaited the onset.

In the evening the distant boom of cannon announced that a battle was on somewhere, and while we sat on our horses, weary but alert, the bloody battle of Franklin was being fought miles away. At last night fell, and exhausted men and horses sank gratefully to sleep.

Our camp was at the base of a wooded hill, in a field adjoining the Nolansville Pike. Next morning, December 1st, the horses, that had not been unsaddled, were put in line and held while breakfast was prepared and eaten. Before this was completed out-post firing was heard—a cavalryman came galloping, saying the enemy was upon us. The command hastily mounted and moved out on the pike, just before reaching which Companies D and G were halted, and, under command of Major Lyon, went into line, facing the rear. The regiment moving at a rapid walk, moved up the pike and disappeared. In a few minutes the rebels opened an irregular but furious fire from the brow of the hill under which we had camped. At the first discharge a horse went down; directly a man was shot; another horse fell. Thicker and thicker came the bullets; fiercer and fiercer grew the rebel yell. Major Lyon rode up and down the line shouting, "Give 'em hell, boys." It was the "baptism of fire" for the boys, but no one faltered. When ordered to wheel to the right, by fours, to march to the rear, behind a stone wall on the other side of the pike, they executed the movement as deliberately as on dress parade. Dismounted and sheltered by the stone wall the men were comparatively safe, but the horses suffered severely. Before they could be led to the rear, out of range, fifteen had fallen.

The rebels did not advance from the brow of the hill, but blazed away with constantly increasing vigor. A "jackass battery" opened on us. The boys did not flinch from this new experience, but kept steadily to their work with the coolness of veterans. Our Maynard carbines were weak weapons, useless at long range—our fire must have been ineffectual as to casualty, but being breech-loaders the boys were enabled to fire with such rapidity that the enemy over-estimated our numbers and hesitated to advance, but began creeping round our flanks on either side. And still the Major said "give 'em hell, boys," and held us to the work until our ammunition was exhausted. About this time Adjutant Payne, who was on the staff of Gen. Hammond, came back with orders to retreat. Everybody was willing, but it was easier said than done.

Almost surrounded, no ammunition, many more men than horses, the pike in possession of the foe, it was not a comfortable prospect. Hurrying to the rear we mounted—some without horses, mounted behind a comrade; again another would hold to a stirrup or a horses' tail to keep up with the rapid trot. No one thought of dashing to safety at the expense of a dismounted comrade. A horse was killed throwing its rider against a tree breaking his collar bone. Instantly he was placed behind a comrade and away again. On and on through wood and field, rushing through rail fences, tearing down stone walls with bleeding hands and still behind, and from either side, the rebel yell and hissing bullet.^[1]

At last, most welcome sight, the guidons of a cavalry regiment drawn up in line to receive us and check the enemy. Feeling sure of safety for all, we dashed forward, leaving the dismounted men two hundred yards behind. To our surprise and indignation this regiment wheeled into column and trotted away before we reached them leaving us to follow. The abandoned, dismounted men took to a cornfield and many of them escaped. Two privates of Co. D, Lieut. Swayne and some enlisted men of Co. G, were taken prisoners. Later on we reached the regiment standing in line on the pike. From this place we moved slowly toward Nashville until night came on. Going into camp near the road we enjoyed what we had fairly earned—a night's repose without alarm.

As we passed through Nashville to our old camp at Edgefield next morning, every hatless trooper of the previous day's fight will gratefully remember how the merchants in the city came out with arm loads of hats to supply our needs. Late in the evening the brigade was again in the saddle, marching to Gallatin, Tenn., where we remained some days patrolling the river from that place to Carthage to keep the enemy from crossing. While here encamped a detachment of the 9th, under command of Major Wall, was sent up into Kentucky "pressing in" horses and mules. This expedition was through a rich country, comparatively unravaged by the war, and was a pleasure trip to its participants. Not so to the hapless citizens who had horses and mules. Desolation to poultry yards marked the path of the party. A fine lot of animals were secured, among them a number of blooded horses. It is possible that all these did not receive Uncle Sam's trade mark. There was a legend current in the regiment that one of the mules obtained at this time, that by accident was not branded, did excellent service at New Orleans in supplying one company with the needful.^[2]

On December the 8th the command returned to Nashville. The morning was lowery and by noon began to rain. A strong northwest wind froze the water as it fell and soon the road was a glare of ice. The horses unshod or smooth shod had but precarious footing. Fortunately no serious accident occurred. The men were chilled and shivering. When the column halted for any purpose the red cedar rails on either side were soon ablaze; but before the cheerful flame could infuse warmth in the chilled fingers the bugle sounded "forward" and the grateful heat was left to waste its comfort on the frosty air. We left a fiery as well as a frozen track that day. Before nightfall we went into camp within two miles of the city. Soon, amid the lurid flame of burning rails, the smoking hot coffee, crisp sow-belly and luscious hard-tack, we forgot the discomfort of our cheerless ride—the song and laugh went round until one by one each voice was hushed and the camp was wrapped in silence.

On the morning of the 9th we moved across the river and went into camp on the west side of Nashville, where we remained until December 15th. While passing through the city Gen. Hatch and staff met the regiment—Col. Jackson joined him and with him held an informal review of the regiment as the column moved along. Our horses—fresh from their "old Kentucky homes"—were in such contrast to the jaded steeds from the front, with which Hatch's command was mounted, that, turning to Jackson, he said: "Colonel, you have a magnificent mount, but my boys will steal half of them before the battle."

"No, General," replied the Colonel, "the boys got these horses for their own use; you can't have one of them; but we don't want to seem small and will undertake to trade a limited number of our Maynards for your Spencers."

On reaching camp, an order was issued doubling the stable guard, and relieving from camp duty for a week any soldier who would secure a Spencer carbine. No horse was lost, a dozen or two Spencers were reported. These were organized for special service, and the zeal and enterprise developed in securing them had ample play during the stormy days which followed. It is possible that some members of this squad would have willingly resigned their prospects for distinction with the Spencer, for the more modest and less hazardous companionship of the Maynard.

The camp was in an open field with no tree, shrub or grass, or other covering than the sleet which fell and formed from day to day. It was a sloppy, slippery time. The discomfort of the situation was somewhat alleviated by remembering that the Johnnies were more unhappy than we. They had not wherewith to cover their nakedness and depended for food on such limited supplies as could be secured from the country. We were well fed and clothed.

On the morning of the 15th, the ice being melted, the regiment was in the saddle soon after daylight. Moving a short distance to the right we halted, waiting for McArthur's division to clear the way for our passage to the position assigned our division on the right of Smith's Corps.

About 8 o'clock A. M. the booming of the cannon on the left announced the opening of the battle. For an hour the fight seemed to remain in one place, but gradually the forces became engaged along the front, reaching a point to the right of our position. The cannons roared and thundered, and the rattle of small arms could be distinctly heard, while a dense smoke rolled up from the field which was obscured from our view by an intervening ridge. To get out of the ranks and climb this ridge to see how a great battle looked was a common impulse—an impulse too strong for those whose curiosity was stronger than their sense of duty. Two privates of one company, thus straying away, were discovered by one of Hammond's aids, who promptly placed them and their company commander under arrest. This officer^[3] later in the day approached the General and obtained permission to lead his company in the coming fight, which he did so gallantly that he never heard any more about the arrest.

Two officers of another company likewise climbed the ridge and saw the belching of the cannon, the bursting of the shells, the great lanes torn through the ranks of blue, which, closing up, moved steadily toward the foe. It was a grand though awful sight. As one, sickening, turned away, he discovered that the regiment had moved away. Informing his companion, they descended the hill and quickly following were, fortunately for their credit, not discovered, and regained their place in the column.

The division now reached its place on the extreme right—the first brigade in reserve within the bend of the river. In line facing the front we sat on our horses awaiting results. The remainder of the division advanced toward the enemy and were soon hid from our view by the fog and smoke of battle. Here it was that the battery on the hill above and beyond the rebel advance opened on us with shell—all will remember this—and none forget the peculiar shrinking sensation with which we heard the first shell that came shrieking over our heads and bursting in our rear. Here it was, too, that, as the smoke lifted, we saw our troops swarm up the distant hill, and, after a short struggle in the fort, raise the stars and stripes above the works from whose guns had so recently come to us such unwelcome greeting. This redoubt was carried by Coons' Cavalry (dismounted), and two brigades of Smith's Corps. The same troop rushed gallantly on and soon carried another fort. The mounted men rushed forward and swept Chalmer's Cavalry back, capturing his headquarters, books and papers. The Confederate left was completely broken and driven back by the cavalry corps. Night stopped the pursuit.

The first brigade being in reserve, took no part in this day's fight, but followed closely the advance of our victorious fellow-cavalrymen, seeing on every side the evidences of the battle we had not helped to win. We reached the six-mile post on the Charlotte Pike; thence marching up Richland Creek three miles, bivouacked on Granny White Pike. Two companies, (L and another), going on picket, captured a number of prisoners during the night.

On the morning of the 16th, the first brigade returned to the Hillsboro' Pike. The 9th was detailed to support the 14th Ohio Battery in an attack on the rebel left and rear. Dismounted—a detail for skirmishers was made, including the "Spencer Squad." As they disappeared in the wood we followed. Soon a rattling volley, followed by the articulate venom of single shots, warned us that we were approaching the enemy. Reaching a position on a ridge thinly covered with trees, the guns were unlimbered, placed in position, and for two hours a furious duel raged between this and an opposing battery on the ridge a half mile away. The wooded valley intervening was alive with skirmishers, and the continuous dropping shots showed that they were hotly disputing possession. The occasional bringing in of the dead and wounded from the line attested the character of the struggle. The boys were evidently not in fun. The regiment lay in front of the guns which fired over us. This of itself was sufficiently exhilarating to a nervous man, but when the shells of the opposing battery came hustling through the air, bursting in front, above and behind us, cutting the branches above us or throwing the dirt over us, every man became a stoic and waited with calmness the missile which should square his account.

Strangely enough no casualty occurred in the line. Some annoyance was felt from a house on the left front occupied by sharp-shooters. A small squad, by permission, stole down upon them unobserved. Making a rush for the house the gray-backs went out of the back door as the boys went in at the front. The family were at breakfast. One of the boys sat down and had a hearty lunch, while the others searched the house from cellar to garret. Notifying the owner that another shot from the house would meet with response from the cannon, the boys returned and took their place in line.

And still the cannonade kept up. Shells passing overhead reached the horses in the rear, carrying consternation to the boys who were holding them. One came up to the line to get permission to trade places with one of the boys, saying if he had to be killed he preferred to die as a soldier, and not as a hostler.

Col. Jackson rode a white horse and, with his orderlies, remained mounted during this action. Wherever this horse was the shells were thickest. Upon being asked why he rode this horse he said that in battle no one hit what he shot at. So he rode this horse for safety. The Colonel held a fairly good place in the affections of his men, but none cared to cultivate any closer relations with him on this occasion. It was two sad-eyed orderlies who followed him up and down the line these two solemn hours.

The rebel battery ceasing to return our fire, we returned to our horses and about noon moved to the Cranny White Pike. Crossing it, we dismounted and climbed a hill—the remainder of the brigade going into line on our left. As we went into position the brass band of a regiment on our immediate left was playing a melancholy piece—doubtless expressing the feelings of the musicians, but certainly not inciting an appetite for battle in the hearers.

For some hours we lay upon this hill exchanging shots, occasionally, with an unseen foe, without loss. The 10th Indiana on our left lost some killed and wounded. About 4 P. M. Knipe ordered an advance of the whole division. The 9th did not wait, but, springing to their feet, dashed eagerly down the hill and away after the enemy, who did not stand upon the order of their going, but went at once.

Strict orders had been given to reserve fire until we should get in short range, but some nervous comrade, with patriotism at his finger ends, discharged his gun and at once a line of fire ran down the ranks. An effort to stop the shooting was made without avail. Company K had a man killed; a number were slightly wounded. Two Confederates were seriously wounded in or near a house at the base of the hill, where we discontinued the pursuit.

This could scarcely be dignified by the name of "a charge," as the enemy practically made no resistance. With fear to lend them speed they were further from us at the end of the race than upon the start. The day was damp and cold; many had on overcoats and poncho blankets. The haste with which we obeyed the order to advance did not give them time to divest themselves of extra clothing. The charge was along through a corn-field a foot deep in mud, intersected by several ditches and washouts, four to six feet deep, and from three to ten feet wide. Cavalry boots and other impediments made this a decidedly warm trip.

The rebels were now evidently badly whipped, and if the cavalry corps had now been mounted we could certainly have cut off the retreat by the Franklin road and practically bagged the entire game. By the time the horses could be brought up night had come and we went into camp at the base of the hill, from which the enemy had given us a parting shot at 5 o'clock.

The rebel army at the close of the fight on the 16th were completely whipped; the infantry with which the cavalry corps had contended were a demoralized and panic-stricken mob. Forrest, with his main body of cavalry, had not been present during the battle. Two brigades had reached the field on the evening of the 16th, and, holding the passes through the Brentwood hills, from the Granny White Pike, enabled the panic-stricken horde to reach the Franklin Pike and cross Little Harpeth. Night and Forrest's cavalry alone saved Hood's army from total capture. A strong rear guard of cavalry was formed to cover the retreat of the broken rebel columns, and, although the battle was won our work was but fairly begun. About midnight a heavy rain set in which continued at intervals for some days following.

By the early dawn the First Brigade was in the saddle en route for the Franklin Pike, the 19th Pennsylvania in advance, supported by the 10th Indiana. On reaching the pike the whole command started down toward Franklin at a swinging trot. Soon striking the enemy they gave way before the impetuosity of the advance and were rapidly driven back, losing many prisoners. At Hollow Tree Gap a considerable body of infantry were strongly posted, who repulsed the two regiments in front with the loss of 22 killed and wounded and 63 prisoners, principally from the 10th Indiana. To offset this, the 10th had captured and brought off the field two Colonels, two Lieutenant-Colonels, one Major and more than one hundred enlisted men. The 9th, being in the rear, had all the morning seen the evidences of the demoralization of the enemy. The guns and other equipments strewn along the road, the apparent abandonment of everything that impeded their flight, every door-yard filled with illy-clad shivering prisoners, had lead us to the conclusion that we had "a walk over." Hollow Tree Gap undeceived us.

After repulsing our advance the enemy fell back. The 9th Indiana was ordered up and took the advance. As we moved through the Gap we saw the saddest sight of the campaign. A trooper lay beside the road gasping his life away, and near him with a ghastly wound in his breast, lay dead the little curly-headed, blue-eyed boy, Duane A. Lewis, Co. B., sixteen years old, the General's orderly, whose bright and joyous face and fearless innocence had endeared him to the heart of every soldier in the brigade. The pitiless rain fell upon his upturned childish face; his eyes were open, but their light had gone out forever.

Gen. Knipe said to Hammond: "Take your command and go to Franklin; don't skirmish with the enemy three minutes, but attack him where found and drive him through the town."

The rain was gently falling, the heavy fog of early morning was somewhat dissipated, yet so dense that objects could not be distinctly seen at a distance. With a long trot we swept down the pike against a shadowy foe—ourselves but shadows. The depressing weather and the sad scene just passed made the lightest heart grow heavier as we swept along. Suddenly from the woods on the left a body of Confederate horse sprang into the road in front of us, and in a ghostly gallop lead the way to their lines.

Debouching into the open near Franklin, the cannon from the fort opened on us with shell. The head of the column turned to the right a short distance and wheeled into line—the centre and left coming on "front into line." Hammond being at the head of the column gave the command to charge before the line was barely formed. The right sprang forward at the command and was rapidly followed by the center. The left, under Capt. Hobson, was not yet in line and did not hear the command. Hammond again shouted "charge!" Hobson was looking after the alignment and did not hear the command. Hammond galloped to him and said: "You cowardly s— of a b—ch! why don't you charge?" Hobson raised himself in the stirrups and said: "Boys, we will show who are cowards! Forward! March! Trot! Charge!!" and lead the boys right up to the fort, where he was shot through the heart.^[4] A stone wall on the left caused them to crowd on the centre and against the fort. The right also was forced to press in on the centre, by reason of a nursery, which, for horses, was practically impenetrable. The centre charged right down the open grounds on the left of the pike.

Lieut. Watts, of Company I, fell dead on the pike at the head of Company G. Lieut. Duvall, who lead Company H, was shot in the breast—a wound which hastened his death, occurring in 1880.

The Confederates had torn down the telegraph wire and, driving posts at intervals, had encircled the fort with it. This was unseen by the assaulting party until their horses tumbled over it. Encumbered by the horses who were useless in attacking a fort, impeded by a stone wall and wire-fence, under an awful fire of grape and canister and musketry at short range, the regiment fell back in disorder, but not without bringing off two stands of colors and over two hundred prisoners. These captures were made by individual prowess, and were not the result of concerted action.

Falling back perhaps two hundred yards from the fort and partially sheltered from the shells and musket balls by a slight depression in the plain, Acting Adjutant Comstock, under orders from the Colonel, planted the regimental colors, and the line was soon formed again. This was done quickly and well under fire. The shells were passing overhead and bursting threw the fragments among the men in a distressingly familiar way.

Lieut. Burroughs, of Company C, had been disabled in the charge, and, as the men from the left were crossing the pike to form on the colors, he asked for assistance to remount his horse, which was standing near. Two men dismounted to assist him, but just then a fragment from a bursting shell tore away part of his skull. He was carried to the rear in a dying condition.

As the same party were hastening to the right, as before mentioned, a shell passed through two horses, taking off the leg of one of the riders. Another horse had his head taken off as with a broad-axe. In the charge a horse was struck full in the breast with a cannon ball, passing through and disemboweling him. The rider went headlong in the mud, where he lay stunned until the fight was over. The charge was unwisely ordered, but bravely and brilliantly executed. To ride down in the face of a withering fire on a fort inaccessible to cavalry, defended by artillery and infantry, greatly outnumbering the attacking force, was apparently a ride to death. That it was not so we must thank Him without whose notice no sparrow falls to the ground. No one faltered; none turned back until all that could be done was accomplished. Bravely as this was done, it did not show forth that true courage, born of moral worth and a high sense of duty, as did the prompt rallying of the broken companies, and the speedy reforming of the line, under fire, and the patient waiting for orders among the bursting shells. This was the true touchstone of our greatness as a regiment, and nobly did the boys stand the test.

In his report, dated December 27th, 1864, Gen. Hammond, of this action, says:

"The enemy, having retreated, we followed rapidly, the 9th Indiana in advance, to near Franklin, and drove the enemy across the river into town, capturing, it is reported, two stands of colors and near two hundred prisoners. In this charge we lost three fine officers, among whom was Capt. Hobson—9th Indiana Cavalry,—a man remarkable for the prompt discharge of his duties, and his bravery. The 9th Indiana was supported by the 10th Indiana and the 4th Tennessee. But the first regiment deserved the principal credit of the charge and success."

For the regiment, whose heroism converted his blunder into a glorious achievement, this praise is scant enough. For the man, at whom he had but a few minutes before his death, hurled the most opprobrious epithet that can be applied to the brave man who loves his mother, or reveres her memory, this recognition comes too late.

The 4th Tennessee took the advance and pushed over the river, through the town and out on the Lewisburg Pike, followed by the brigade. Flanking the enemy out of a position between this and the Columbia Pike, we moved across to this latter road, and leisurely moved down toward Columbia. On either side of us great columns of cavalry were moving through the fields in parallel lines. The entire cavalry corps was in sight. The whole face of the country seemed covered with the mighty host.

A mile to the front, a range of heavily wooded hills at right angles to the pike, rose abruptly from the plain. On the brow of this hill a battery in the road opened on us with shell. The first shell, passing over, bursted beyond our rear; another and another followed. The stragglers felt an impulse of valor unfelt before, and made vigorous efforts to get to the front. The pace of the command visibly quickened—broke into a trot, and soon were galloping, while still above us shrieked the shells. Alas! not all! Those in the rear could see the column, opening and closing at frequent intervals, as the horsemen passed on either side of the dead and wounded men and horses who had fallen.

Reaching a break in the wall which fenced in the right side of the road, the head of the column, turning, dashed into the field on the right. Dismounting at the edge of the woods, which was also the base of the hill, we advanced upon the enemy, and drove him from his position. It was said that in this action the 4th Regulars, lead by Knipe in person, went into line, without dismounting, charged the enemy, and, after a sharp hand to hand fight, drove him in confusion from the field.

The whole corps was engaged in this action, and, in thirty minutes from the discharge of the first gun, the entire rebel force, who were not killed or prisoners, were in full retreat. It was now nearly dark. Remounting, we moved to the right, the 10th Indiana in advance. Passing the enemy's flank, and reaching the pike in his rear, we moved forward to the attack. The 10th Indiana passed the enemy, who were ambushed behind a stone fence on the left, and who permitted us to likewise get well in the trot before springing it.

Suddenly, from out the darkness, "Halt! Who comes there?" sharply questioned a voice. "Federal cavalry," replied Jackson. "Fire!" rang out the command, and immediately from a thousand muskets in our very faces, gushed a sheet of flame. Down went man and horse. Another volley, and the frightened horses reared and plunged, many falling in a ditch alongside the road, crippling the riders.

Company L was in the advance. Moorehouse went down with a ghastly wound; Bristow fell dead; Jackson's horse went into the ditch, falling upon him, and inflicting permanent injuries to his breast. Acting Adjutant Comstock and another, whose name I cannot give, saved the Colonel from capture, by mounting him upon another horse and holding him in the saddle until a place of safety could be reached.

Color-Sergeant Ricks, of Company E, a noble boy, was killed, and, in the darkness, the colors were lost. The rebels, protected by the wall, were safe from sabre or bullet. The plunging of the horses, the cries of the wounded, the shouting of the officers, the lurid flashing of guns, fitfully lighting the scene, made a situation inadequately described by the modified term of the "new version."

The surprise, the darkness and disorder, the impossibility of returning the fire, left but one thing to do. A united rush was made to the right. The rail fence, bounding the road, went down with a crash—officer and man, with equal zeal, seeking safety in flight. The enemy pursued with shout and yell and hissing bullet. It was not a panic. It was good, hard sense. To get out of that hopeless hell was strictly business.

The enemy did not pursue very far. Halting in the woods, Hammond made an effort to get the brigade in line. He was so hoarse he could not speak above a whisper. It was found that all the officers were likewise too hoarse to make themselves heard, and the attempt was abandoned. Each officer and man sought sleep and rest where best it suited him. Sleep did not at once fall upon the camp. Silence there was, but not sleep. The chagrin of failure, the separation from comrades who might be dead or wounded, and in the hands of the enemy, added tenfold to the horror of the night, itself wet, cold, comfortless. At last tired nature succumbed to the drowsy god, and all too soon the morning bugle awoke us from slumber to the duties and dangers of another day.

On the 18th the command, encountering no enemy, marched to near Spring Hill, and went into camp. Resuming the march on the 19th, reached Rutherford's Creek. This stream was out of its banks, its current a torrent, making a more effective rear guard for the defeated army than even Forrest's brave and determined troops. The almost impassable condition of the roads delayed the arrival of the pontoons until the 20th. Meantime the infantry had overtaken us, and gone into camp near us.

When the infantry came from the front and began work on the defenses at Pulaski, they did not have a very high opinion of the cavalry arm of the service. This feeling was fairly illustrated in the remark of a bronzed veteran visiting our camp. He said: "The artillery makes the noise, the cavalry makes the show, and we do the work!" A General was heard to express his contempt for this arm of the service by offering to pay $10 per head for each cavalryman killed in battle. These boys had now followed our line of march and constant battle for some days. They had seen the character of the work done, and from them now was heard only words of warmest commendation. These were the heroes of Atlanta, and to have thus earned their enthusiastic approval, conquering their prejudice and compelling respect, was doubling our laurels and glory enough. Their unstinted praise was not more grateful to our hearts than was the generous sharing of their scant store of hard-tack to our now, for a day or two, "strictly corn-fed" stomachs.

The bridge across Rutherford's Creek being completed, on the 21st we crossed and moved down to Columbia. Duck River, swollen by the rains, that for a week had almost constantly fallen, was now a wide, deep and turbulant stream. The rain had ceased to fall, and it was snowing instead. The wind was blowing a gale from the northwest. This greatly increased the difficulty of bridging the stream, and it was December 23d before we were enabled to cross the river and resume the pursuit. We had been called up the midnight preceding, struck our tents, and, mounting, moved down near the river, where we sat upon our horses in the wind and flying snow—a dismal, dark, dreadful two hours—and then back to camp again.

About 10 o'clock A. M. on the 23d, we crossed the bridge and moved some miles down the Pulaski Pike, not encountering the enemy.

On the 24th, we moved through the fields on the right of Gen. Croxton's brigade. We were not in advance this day, and, while always in hearing of the guns, were not directly engaged. All this day, as we followed in the wake of the fight, our eyes were constantly greeted with unmistakable evidences of the struggle in front. No one will forget the little knot of dead and dying artillerymen and horses by the road-side, maimed and mangled by a bursting shell, a gory, ghastly sight.

Forrest, with the main body of his cavalry, had reached the line of Hood's retreat at Columbia, and from that point interposed a force not inferior in numbers, or discipline, to the cavalry corps pursuing. In addition to this force, we were hourly confronted by five brigades of infantry, under Gen. Walthall. So great a force, aided by bad roads and swollen streams, made it impossible for us to break through their defence. It is true that at every stand made by the enemy, we drove him from his position, but when he fell back it was usually in good order, and more as one who had accomplished a purpose than as a beaten and demoralized foe.

On the 25th, we pushed on, following the advance, which drove the enemy through Pulaski so closely, that he did not have time to destroy the bridge over Richland Creek. The men detailed to fire the bridge were killed or captured and the fire extinguished. Another stand was made at Reynolds' or Anthony's Hill, south of Pulaski. Our brigade was ordered to support the first brigade, sixth division, in an attack on this position. The enemy made strong resistance, and for some time the battle raged without advantage on either side. Hammond's brigade was ordered up. The 9th Indiana, with Companies I and D as skirmishers, advanced on the enemy's left. His skirmishers were soon met and driven back on the main line, lying along the top of the hill. A heavy fire was opened on these two companies, and they were compelled to fall back on the supporting column—which, going into line, advanced upon the enemy. Meantime the brigade in advance had been repulsed, and fell back in confusion,—the 7th Ohio cavalry breaking through the advancing column between the 4th Tennessee and the remainder of the brigade. The 4th charged gallantly and drove the pursuing enemy back into his works, but the support being delayed by the demoralized 7th Ohio, failed to come up, and the 4th was compelled to withdraw. Now it was that our regiment advanced with the 2d Tennessee on our left. Coming within sight of the defences, the whole line, with a yell and mighty rush, swept up the hill over the works and across the opening after the flying foe, who disappeared in the woods beyond. Company I had a place in this charge. Company D, being on the right of the skirmish line, had, in falling back, after helping develop the enemy's position, missed the supporting column—having to go around a precipitous hill to rejoin the regiment, only reached the scene in time to observe, but take no part in, the charge, which closed the day's work.

Going into camp the weary soldier found time to remember that this was Christmas day, and fill himself with the recollection of the Christmas feasts of former years—precious "little else" he had to fill himself with. Mud and snow below, clouds and rain above, all night long, was not conducive to rest, but caused the boys the more readily to resume the march next morning—the saddle being more comfortable than the camp.

The 26th opened with a heavy fog and gently falling rain. The 2d Tennessee in advance, supported by the 9th Indiana, struck the enemy about five miles from camp and drove him swiftly back on the main body, which was strongly posted on the south bank of Sugar Creek, a deep and rapid stream, with high and steep banks. The 2d Tennessee going into line, was soon hotly engaged. The 9th debouched from the road and went into line in reserve, but so near the first line that we were as fully under fire as those in front.

To remain under fire from an unseen enemy, without the stimulus of action, is a serious tax upon the courage of the average soldier. The 2d Tennessee, after a few minutes' exchange of courtesies with the enemy, were moved by the right flank to make room for us. Glad to move, the regiment took its place in the position lately occupied by the 2d Tennessee, while the 14th Ohio battery went into position near the line just abandoned by us. All this time the enemy's fire was unceasing. On reaching our new position we could see under the lifting fog, the creek with its steep banks, and beyond it the log barricades, from behind which constantly leaped forth the flame and smoke, accentuating the "zip" of the spiteful bullets, which constantly cut the air around us.

From here we could also see the slender thread of road leading to the ford, across which but two horses might pass abreast. As against mounted men the position was impregnable. The situation was not encouraging, contemplating which, an officer of the line got somewhat excited, and, riding to and fro in front of the regiment, constantly shouting: "Don't run, boys; for God's sake, don't run!"

This was an unnecessary appeal. Aside from the disorder arising from falling horses, the line stood unwavering. A sharp reprimand from Hammond, and this officer subsided. The fire of the enemy continued with increasing vigor. It was returned by "the boys" with interest. Protected by log works the enemy probably suffered no loss.

Two companies, under command of Capt. Cofer, were now sent to the left to a hill commanding the rebel right and protecting our left flank. The regiment, at the same time, moved to the right, making place for the balance of the brigade in line. The two companies moving to the left reached an angle in the hill—one arm running back parallel to our line of advance, the other, and shorter arm, projecting toward the field of battle. Dismounting behind the shorter arm, which thoroughly protected the horses, the two companies scaled the hill and formed in line on its top, overlooking the rebel works in the plain below. Company D took the position nearest the field, the other company (Company I, probably), going to the left, were in the act of deploying to guard against surprise from the extreme left, when the enemy left his works, crossed the creek, and wildly yelling, charged the centre of the main line, driving them back probably three hundred yards, leaving the led horses in a triangle, the base and perpendicular of which was too "perpendicular" to climb, and the high position in the hands of the enemy. Company D hurriedly scrambled down the hill, and, remounting, dashed out through the astonished Confederates to a place of safety, where, reforming, they rejoined the regiment. In their ride to the rear Company D lost four enlisted men by capture. The horses of the other company were also successfully brought off.

Cofer, with his company, hearing the battle surging back in the centre, also tried to get back, but by the time the deployed line could be rallied to return, they were met by a body of the enemy, who, seeing so many led horses going to the rear, suspected the truth, and went up the hill to see about it. Resistance was hopeless, flight seemed impossible, but, with a rebel prison on the one hand, and a chance for safety in a race with death on the other, was but a moment's hesitation. Running back up the hill and making a wide detour, Indiana put in her "best licks," and, although the rebels had the inner and by far the shorter line, they escaped, amidst a storm of bullets, without a scratch, and rejoined the regiment, much to their own satisfaction and greatly to the relief of the remainder of the regiment, who had given them up for lost.

The brigade again advanced and drove the enemy back into his works. The 14th Ohio battery was now placed in position, and soon shelled them out, and pursuit was continued some distance by a portion of the command, the remainder soon going into camp.

These were the last rebels in arms seen by us in this campaign. Subsistence for men and horses was becoming a serious question. We had received no rations since leaving Nashville, twelve days before. There had been little time for foraging. The resources of the country were nearly exhausted by the rebel army—men and horses were worn out and hungry. A few days were consumed in recruiting the horses and securing supplies. The march was resumed and continued without incident of special interest, except a very pleasant encampment at Taylor Springs and a very unpleasant, not to say dangerous, crossing of Elk River, ending at Gravelly Springs, where we went into winter quarters.

It was but a remnant of the 9th Cavalry that went into camp at the close of this long march. By death, wounds, disease and capture we had lost heavily. Those stopping by the way, from death or exhausting of horses, added to the other losses—not more than two hundred effectives reached this, our final, camp in Alabama. In considering the service of the 9th Cavalry in this campaign, we will concede that other commands may have done more fighting, but in promptly and effectually performing the duties assigned, no regiment could have excelled the 9th Indiana.

Hammond, in his report, says: "During this campaign I have had continual occasion to admire the bravery of both officers and men, and to lament want of discipline." The discipline of our regiment was fairly good; the officers, as a rule, had the respect and confidence of their men, who yielded prompt obedience to all orders. Gen. Hammond never issued an order, either in battle, on the march or in camp, that we did not try to obey, whatever we may have thought of the wisdom of it.

It is the deliberate opinion of the writer, after twenty years' experience with all sorts of people, that no finer body of men ever lived than served together in the 9th Indiana Cavalry, and certain it is no braver soldiers ever marched to battle.