When Van Dorn reached Ripley on his way south, Dr. Bob Mayes and I concluded that we would take a short respite from camp life and make an expedition of our own into Alabama. While maturing our plans we fully realized that we had to take the chances of being reported absent without leave. We reasoned that it was mid-winter and that neither army would make an offensive move for some time. Then everybody was in good humor because of our late success, and besides we knew that we were not serving under martinets in the persons of our high officers—a rather common conclusion in those days. So at the first favorable opportunity we two moved by the left flank and took the road to Guntown. This was the same road along which Sturgis advanced and retreated when Brice’s Cross Roads became a famous place. We passed the cross roads and the now noted Dr. Agnew and Brice residences around which the battle was to be fought. We could not tell when we might come into contact with a Federal scouting party from Corinth or a squad of bushwhackers. In such an emergency, we were not to show our weakness to the enemy, but were to bluff them, if we could, and take to the woods in good order. We had seven shots apiece and plenty of ammunition. We questioned citizens in regard to the roads and the prospects of trouble. When we struck the wild country east of the Tombigbee, we were always on the alert and were cautious how we let any man approach us. The further we went the wilder the country appeared. Rough, rocky roads wound along the streams and down through the valleys, which lay between the lofty hills. Excellent places to be shot at.

Out through the village of Allsboro, we took the road to the old town of Frankfort with lighter hearts. We spoke gratefully of the kindness of the citizens along our route, who had treated us so hospitably, and concluded that we were never in as much danger as we had thought we were. We had not seen an armed man on the trip. At Tuscumbia, Mayes took the road to Courtland, I the one to Florence. I found the bridge over the Tennessee had been destroyed, and was compelled to take the risk of crossing on a rather dilapidated oar boat. But I felt at home on the dear old soil. Little Ernest, my first born, was soon to be in my arms and loving hands, including the old servants, were to leave nothing undone to make me feel happy. I was to stand again by the grave of a bride-mother, the beloved of all Florence, and too those of her father and two brothers over which the fresh earth still lay. My tired horse is really climbing the old hill; I see the old Dr. Todd place up to my left, the antiquated buildings of older Florence, the pillared seat of justice, built in the long ago. Why, I am right up in town. I turn into Military street. The old home is in sight. My heart! My heart! Bright eyes! Bright eyes! The loved ones with the baby.

But I look around and find the place greatly changed. I see more women than men. Two colleges closed and little or no business doing in the stores. No courts in session. Many residences closed. Small groups of anxious men stand on the corners, for Bragg is fighting at Murfreesboro and many of the Florence soldiers are there. Just such meager reports were coming in as would create the greatest suspense. The town had been in the hands of the Federals much of the time since the battle of Shiloh, and had been greatly harassed by raiders. Clothing and provisions, even the necessities of life, were hard to get. So the people talked mostly of the distress and gloom brought on by the war. Men and women, heretofore prosperous and happy, were bowed down with grief and, in many cases, in dire want. These good people were subject to insult and liable to lose the last crust at the hands of a rude soldiery. In fact, they did undergo, before the war was over, sufferings more intense and cruelties more severe. The state of affairs described bore hard upon all, but especially so upon the conservative element made up largely of old gentlemen, patriotic and true, who believed that a peaceable settlement could have been effected and war avoided. I was in sympathy, from the first, with that element in politics, who, while opposed to secession, yet when war was flagrant, gave up everything and, in many cases, took up arms in behalf of the South. I mention as typical of this class William B. Wood, Henry C. Jones and R. M. Patton.

Governor Patton, a gentleman of the old school, served his state well, and had two sons killed in battle. Judge Billy Wood was Colonel of the Sixteenth Alabama Infantry. I saw Stratton Jones, son of Judge Jones, dead on the field at Pulaski. As typical of those who thought differently on public questions, I mention the names of Richard W. Walker, Edward A. O’Neal and William H. Price, true as steel and patriots all. Walker was a famous lawyer and I heard it said then that he had much to do with the formation of the Confederate Constitution. O’Neal commanded a regiment in Lee’s army and after the war was governor. Major Price was killed in the same charge at Perryville in which his friend, Major Frank Gailor, the father of Bishop Gailor, fell. I record these things in a reminiscent mood, it is true, but they serve to illustrate what had taken place all over the South and, moreover, how people of radically diverse opinions on paramount questions can stand shoulder to shoulder when they come into the presence of a common danger. When the majority of the Southern people had spoken, Florence became a unit on the subject of resistance to Federal aggression. About all of her eligible men had gone into the army, and at the time of which I write she was mourning the death of many of her bravest and best. Lee had retired from Maryland and news came that Bragg was falling back, showing that Antietam and Murfreesboro were, at most, drawn battles. Coupled with Bragg’s retreat from Kentucky after the battle of Perryville they certainly emphasized the success of the Federals in preventing a Confederate invasion of the North. “Hope springs eternal in the human breast,” and there were some cheerful faces in Florence. Among these was that of Colonel Tol Chisholm, the provost marshal, who generously furnished me with a pass that was supposed to be good from Florence to Grenada. I thought at the time that this was a wide territory for the authority of a petty provost to cover, but it was good at nearby points, and might be available, or at least better than nothing, further down the country. So having secured a splendid new mount, I turned my face toward Mississippi. There could be no concert of action between my fellow soldier, Dr. Mayes, and myself as communication was poor between Florence and Courtland. We were compelled to act independently. So, armed with Tol Chisholm’s pass against the Confederates and a good carbine and a navy six against any hostile attack that might beset me on my way, I drew rein in three or four days at Cotton Gin on the Tombigbee. I could now move at my leisure and as my good steed stepped over the muddy roads as if he scorned them, I arrived all right in Grenada.

My part of the personal expedition which Mayes and I projected had so far turned out charmingly, but at Grenada everything was not exactly lovely. In the disposition of the troops, the Seventh Tennessee Cavalry had been ordered to take post north of the Yalobusha for rest and recuperation. The late Senator George, commander of the post, had orders to permit no one to pass north without permission from headquarters of the general commanding the army. I approached Colonel George with nothing to fortify me but a little assurance and Tol Chisholm’s pass. He was a man of pleasing personality with whose countenance I was somewhat familiar, as I had seen him at my father’s house back in the 50’s. I didn’t, however, disclose my identity for the purpose of working myself into his good graces, but on his refusal of a permit concluded it best to retire as gracefully as possible, thankful that he had not placed me under arrest. Across the river or to the guard house, for I had to have subsistence for self and horse. I rode directly to the river, where an officer was ferrying some men and horses in a boat nearly as long as the river was wide. I didn’t even exhibit Tol Chisholm’s pass, but in the confusion, incident to such occasions, I rode boldly into the boat and was soon safe on the north side. I had some occasion for reflection on my adventure and my interview with Colonel George. Only a few years ago I had charge of the schools of Grenada, and I never looked at the site of the old Brown Hotel that the same old reflections did not recur. In a short time I had the pleasure of congratulating Mayes on the pronounced success of his trip. As I expect to write even more fully concerning my impressions of some of the men with whom I served than heretofore, I may say something of Mayes right here. Wherever the short sketches occur, they may be taken as only partial portraitures of character, tinged in some instances, perhaps, with my tributes of praise to men who would do their duty at all hazards. Well then, Dr. R. M. Mayes was somewhat peculiar in his mental makeup, but withal a well-bred gentleman, a good soldier and a friend to rely on in an emergency. He abandoned the practice of dentistry for a season, after the war, and concluded he could make money in the cultivation of peanuts. One crop satisfied him. He married a young lady of estimable character, whom I knew well and who, though reared a blue stocking Presbyterian, by his own insistence followed him in his peregrinations through theological troubles. I may well say this, for Mayes was reared a Baptist but some time after the war was confirmed in the Episcopal Church. He at last sought satisfaction in the Roman Catholic Church. The couple reared a family, and I believe are still living in San Antonio. The thought comes to me now, and I will record it here, that I have learned about as much in my long life by reading people as I have by reading books. In this regard, peculiar people have cut no small figure. Indeed, I can say that, psychologically speaking, the eccentricities of abnormal people afford a wider range of study than do the mental activities of people who are always merely at themselves. Though it may be true that “a fool is born every minute,” all peculiar people are not fools.

We spent a few weeks at old Pharsalia, on the Yokona river, where we constructed rude winter quarters, or “shanties,” for timber was abundant. We had a great snowstorm, and had to keep fires glowing. We had much pleasure here in receiving and entertaining for a part of a day Mrs. R. P. Neely, of Bolivar, and her daughter, Miss Kate, the latter of whom had been banished from her home by Gen. Brayman, the Federal commander of the post. Mrs. Neely was a splendid type of the true Southern woman, who, like all her children, stood always ready to make sacrifices for the Southern soldiers. She was a woman of most charming personality and gentle refinement, that could have filled almost any station to which ladies are called. Mrs. Elizabeth Lea Neely lived to a great age, and retained to the end the profound respect of all the good people of Bolivar. As for Miss Kate—now Mrs. Collins, of Memphis—she was, or rather is, a woman of the Grace Darling or Mollie Pitcher type, who would go to the rescue of those in peril, or take her place at the guns, if it were to repel the enemies of her country. May her days be long and happy. Charles R. Neely, the elder brother, killed at Brice’s Cross Roads, was already a valuable member of Company E, but here comes young Jimmy, the present capable Superintendent of the Western Hospital, who wanted to be a soldier. His mother protested that he was too young, but as an irregular he did honorable service as the war progressed. We changed our camp by taking post at Mitchell’s Cross Roads, near the mouth of Coldwater, where forage was plentiful and the service light. We had here a goodly number of recruits and returning soldiers from Tennessee. Rations were plentiful, but poor, but “foraging” was good and the citizens hospitable. It was a calm before a storm; indeed, it burst upon us rather suddenly one day that the Federals at Memphis were fitting out an expedition, which, taking advantage of the flooding stage of the waters, would go through the Yazoo Pass into the Coldwater river, thence into the Tallahatchie, and, finally, into the Yazoo river, and thus take Vicksburg in the rear. The projectors of the expedition were convinced of its feasibility, and the Confederates were proportionately alarmed. Fort Pemberton was hastily constructed, near the junction of the Tallahatchie and Yalobusha; heavy guns were mounted and a large force concentrated at that point. The cavalry was ordered to camp in the vicinity, and to scout and picket wherever a horse could go. Within a few days the Federal fleet of gunboats and transports arrived and opened fire on the fort. General Loring, “Old Blizzard,” was on the alert, and the resistance so stubborn that the fleet withdrew and made its way, in a much shattered condition, to Memphis. Glad enough to get out of the black mud around Greenwood, the Seventh Regiment was ordered to the hills. We camped about Grenada and Panola, and watched the roads leading toward Memphis, for the Federals had resumed their old practice of raiding and plundering. Brigadier-General James R. Chalmers, who had made some reputation in Bragg’s army, was placed in command of all the cavalry in North Mississippi. For a month or two we had no clash with the enemy. As soon as the roads would permit, we went over to the Mississippi river, the boys said, “to fight gunboats.” We struck the river in the vicinity of Commerce. We soon saw the smoke of an ascending steamer. Concealed along the shore, we waited with almost breathless anxiety the approach of the steamer. All was in readiness. Our only cannon—a four-pounder—was masked on top of the levee. “Bang!” went a gun. There, now! One of the men in Company E had accidentally shot two others, but the wounds were slight. The silence was more breathless. On came the steamer. When she did get abreast of us, the rattle of small arms was something to remember. The little cannon turned loose her first shot, but the rebound carried her into the mud back of the levee, where she sank up to the hubs. There was a wild scramble among the gunners and others to place the piece in position. There were other shots and other rebounds, but if those fellows did any harm, it was to the timber over in Arkansas. I scarcely think, at this distant day, that they could have “hit a hole in the air,” much less a barndoor at short range. Seeing that the Alice Dean was unarmed, our men rushed down to the water’s edge. A lively fusillade was kept up for some minutes, while Colonel Stocks, in stentorian voice, demanded of the Captain that he bring the boat to shore. This created some amusement, for it was like “whistling to the wind,” as the boat hugged the Arkansas shore and puffed away up stream.

It was now “the good old summer time,” and the Federals were on the move. On the night of the 18th of July, we bivouacked near them at the Dr. Atkins farm, just below Hernando. Their force consisted of detachments amounting to 320 men, all cavalry, under Major Henry, of the Fourth Ohio. Chalmers must have known that his own command was much stronger than the enemy’s, but they evidently did not. We held the road to Memphis, and it was reasonable to suppose that, when we attacked in the early morning, the enemy would, if pressed, move along this road. The Seventh Regiment was ordered to move through the front grounds of the Slocum place and to get as nearly as possible in the enemy’s rear. The plan of battle, as it was afterward developed, seemed to be that the Seventh should so push the enemy back upon the other regiments, properly placed, that a surrender of the enemy would be inevitable. As soon as we caught sight of them, mounted and formed along a lane, the fences of which they had torn down, our horses were put to their best, but, before we fired a shot, the enemy broke to the rear. Part of them fell back on our ambuscade, and were captured, but our charge had been so furious that the greater part were driven so far beyond the line of the regiments waiting to receive them that they escaped. The whole command now joined in the pursuit at a gallop. Federals and Confederates were commingled in one wild race, as we went over the fences and through the fields and woods. In the Jack Robertson wheat field, there was a resolute attempt of a Federal officer to rally his men. He did form a perfect line of some twenty men in the face of the fierce onslaught, but for a minute only. Here Adjutant Pope of the Seventh and Captain W. J. Tate of Company E were wounded, and Private James Moore of Company E was killed, the only man on our side to fall that day. It was a question of speed, and those who had the fastest horses met with the most exciting adventures. Lieutenant J. P. Statler of Company E, being thrown to the ground, because of a broken saddle girth, was left afoot, while his fine gray horse, Commodore, escaped with the fleeing enemy. There were opportunities to secure a mount, as in the excitement of the chase many of our adversaries had become separated from their horses. Following a country road along which we knew, by their tracks, a Federal detachment was escaping, Mat Hornsby and I came to a bridge over a small creek, which had been broken down, and with a horse fastened in the wreck. As this blocked our way, we turned down stream to find a crossing. We soon made a rich haul, for we came upon six good horses, with all their rigging, floundering about in water up to the saddle skirts. As there was great danger of their being drowned, in the excitement of the moment, I waded in to their rescue, and soon had one by the bridle. With Hornsby’s assistance, I saved the six horses with their accoutrements. As I was already well mounted, and, mindful of how things turned out at Davis’ bridge, I suggested to Mat that he select the best horse in the lot, turn his own “plug” in, and keep mum. He followed my suggestion implicitly, and selected the big sorrel.

James Madison Hornsby was a tip-top, good fellow. I trust he is with the angels, for he was a Confederate soldier, and, after the war, a Baptist preacher.

But we were to have no peace just then, for the Federals were sending out a force which could hold its own with Chalmers’ little army. We went into the “bottom” again and out to the hills, by way of the mouth of Coldwater. On this retreat, we were compelled to leave Adjutant W. S. Pope and Captain W. J. Tate, severely wounded, at farmhouses, where they were tenderly cared for. It happened that Pope’s mother and sister were in the neighborhood, and hastened to his bedside. Within three or four days we attacked the works at Collierville, but Chalmers, evidently concluding that the capture of the position was not worth the sacrifice that would have to be made, drew off in good order.

As a large and well-equipped force was reported to be moving from Memphis and other points, for the purpose of making another raid, but on a larger scale, Chalmers thought it prudent to fall back to the Yalobusha. As I remember it, the Seventh Tennessee took the Valley road at Panola, and, crossing the river at old Tuscahoma, turned east to Grenada. Tarrying only long enough to have our horses shod, Lieutenant Harris and I hastened to join the command. When we reached the crest of that noted landmark, Pine Hill, just south of the town, we saw dense volumes of smoke in the valley. A short distance down the slope, we came upon a well-known citizen in that country, the late William B. Owens, who appeared to be in a very excited state of mind. He stated that the Federals already had possession of the town, and had deprived him of his horse. I recognized in Mr. Owens an old acquaintance, but it was no time to recall old friendship. But for him we should probably have ridden right into the enemy’s lines. Harris and I made a quick movement through the timber till we reached the Carrollton road. We soon drew up at the house of a Mr. Patton, where we had an excellent supper and a good feed for our horses. We here learned that the railroad bridges at Grenada were burned, and that our whole command had gone east. It was thought prudent for us to cross certain roads before daylight. I now felt sure of myself, because in these same glades and hills of the Abituponbouge I had, when boyhood’s days were glad, chased the bounding deer and lay in wait for the festive wild turkey. It was in this section that I was inured to toil on the farm, and acquired a skill in horsemanship that afterward, and many a time, stood me in good stead in a close place. To me, the abode of peace had become the seat of war.

Leaving Lieutenant Harris, now safe on the road to the command, I turned aside to make a short call on the family of my only brother, the late Dorsey G. Hubbard, a member of the Fifth Mississippi Cavalry. Just as I reached the front gate, and was on the very spot where, in 1850, my father’s wagons and other vehicles halted, after a six week’s journey from North Carolina, I was accosted by some soldiers, who were seeking a man who could guide Whitfield’s Texas Brigade (Ross’) to Lodi. Well, yes; I could do that, and did so. While riding along in pleasant conversation with the General and his staff, a gentleman, who was somewhat disguised by his whiskers and soldier clothes, suddenly discovered my identity. It was a pleasant meeting and a pleasant greeting, for it was none other than that accomplished and genial gentleman, Captain Davis R. Gurley of Waco, the Adjutant-General of the Brigade, but a schoolmate of mine. Gurley was, at college, the roommate of the gallant General Dan McCook, of the Federal Army, who was killed at the head of his brigade at Kennesaw Mountain. Many years ago I had the pleasure of meeting him in his own city.

The Federals, in the movement alluded to, having seemingly accomplished all they had set out to do, returned to the line of the Memphis & Charleston Railroad. The Confederates, under Chalmers, having now no need of assistance from Whitfield’s Brigade, marched, by way of Grenada, to Irby’s mill, just west of Como.

We were now in a choice portion of Mississippi, and had more holiday soldiering and plenty of time to rest. We moved camp from place to place, as our needs in supplies demanded. Indeed, we had little else to do than to sit around and discuss such subjects as to when the war would end, how it would end, and how we should be treated, if finally defeated. On these subjects there were great variety and contrariety of opinions. We had the physical facts before us, and it looks, at this distant day, that there might have been but one opinion as to the final result. In the Gettysburg campaign, Lee’s army had been defeated and so greatly depleted that it was beyond the point of ever being made as strong as it had been. The Federals had unlimited resources in men, particularly in foreigners. These, though hirelings, knew how to throw up breastworks, mine and countermine. In surrendering Vicksburg and Port Hudson, the Confederates had weakened the armies in the West, and lost control of the Mississippi river. They had gained a victory at Chickamauga in September, which never could be called great because of the great loss of men. In November, Bragg was driven back at all points by Grant, at Missionary Ridge, and retreated, with an army greatly depleted, to Dalton, Ga. These days were somewhat restful to our particular command, yet they were gloomy days. We heard of a small victory here and there for the Confederates, but all the late larger affairs had resulted in favor of our enemies. Many believed that the establishment of the independence of the Confederacy was improbable, if not impossible. With the lights before them, men could not be censured for having an honest opinion. We could only hope that something would happen that would turn the tide in our favor. It took moral courage, and plenty of it, for a man to make himself a target for bullets, when he had no very reasonable hope that, even by his death, he would save his country. While some abandoned the cause, it is to the everlasting credit of the majority of the men of the Seventh Tennessee Cavalry that they stood by those who had the direction of affairs, and, to that extent, had our destiny in their hands.

No more fighting now for many weeks, during which time both men and horses were put in fine condition. On October 8th, Company E was in a sharp contest with Federal cavalry at Salem, east of Lamar, but without decisive results. Chalmers then moved towards Collierville, at which place he assailed the works with his whole force, but the Federals, having the advantage of position in a fort and a barricaded railroad station, succeeded in withstanding the attack. Both sides fought desperately for a short time, and many were killed and wounded. It was related as a veracious story that Col. George, of the Fifth Mississippi, while leading his regiment in the charge, lost control of his horse, and was carried over the works and landed among the enemy without a scratch. Another incident of this battle was that General Sherman, having just arrived from Memphis, hastily abandoned his car, and, with his staff, rushed to a place of safety in the station, not being able to reach the fort. A fine mare, on which Adjutant Pope was killed at Tishomingo, was taken from the train, which was set on fire. It is safe to say that if our men had known there was so rich a prize as Sherman and his staff so near at hand, they would have taken that depot at all hazards. Chalmers drew off in order, as in the first battle here, but the Federals felt sufficiently encouraged to follow and fall upon our rear, at Quinn’s mill, on Coldwater. This little battle was picturesque, as the river separated the combatants, and it was dark enough to see the flashes of the guns. Here Adjutant Pope was thrown from his fine captured mare, which ran out some distance into the country, where she was taken up by a citizen. She was brought in the next week by John Duncan of Company E, who had been detailed for that purpose.

At an opportune moment, the Seventh Tennessee drew off from its fighting position, and followed the command till a late hour, when it went into bivouac at Ingram’s mill, on Pigeon Roost creek. Here we were attacked at daylight by the Second Kansas Cavalry, (Jayhawkers), on foot. Company E, under Lieutenant Statler, held them in check till we could retire in good order. At Wall Hill their advance came into view, led by an officer mounted on a very white horse. As we went out of the lane, which led south from the village, and reached a skirt of timber on an elevation, we exhausted all our strategy in our efforts to induce the officer on the white horse to come within range. He capered around on his horse, something after the manner of General M. Jeff Thompson, whom I have told you about seeing in Missouri, when mounted on his little spotted stallion, but never did take the bait which we set for him. Falling back through Chulahoma, our whole force occupied a strong natural position at the old town of Wyatt, on the Tallahatchie. Here a heavy force of dismounted cavalry charged our position, but were driven back with great loss. Being now evidently reinforced, they returned to the attack with so much spirit, and the Confederates held their ground with so much tenacity, that in places the contest became hand to hand. The battle continued till after nightfall, when the Federals were driven back at all points of the line, with heavy loss. The Confederates crossed to the south side on a pontoon improvised for the occasion. In this whole campaign, the Confederate loss was comparatively light, though it had fought three battles in four days. Company E had lost only two men wounded, who were able to ride off the field at Collierville. These were S. H. Clinton and Cad Linthicum, two of our very best men. One of the things to remember about Wyatt is that a heavy rainstorm prevailed while the battle was raging. During the next few weeks we moved from place to place, chiefly for the purpose of getting subsistence. We had plenty of time to discuss the conduct of the war and the possibilities and probabilities of the future. We had men in our regiment who could have established two or three Confederacies. At least, that is the way they talked. Company E, being temporarily detached, was posted at Coldwater to watch the movements of the enemy in the direction of Memphis. All this, and more, I shall tell you in the next chapter.