We had not more than gotten the last three men with their horses and accoutrements across the Tennessee river, as related in the preceding chapter, than two gunboats and two transports came puffing along. It was easy to conjecture what would have happened to five men and three horses, if our little craft with its burden had been met in midstream by the gunboats. And yet we had been taking the risk of being sunk or captured all that day. We rode leisurely to Bolivar and the men dispersed to their homes for a much needed rest.

Just as I was congratulating myself that I would have a few days for recuperation, several carbuncles developed on my body as a result of poor food and exposure. This affliction virtually placed me on furlough from the middle of October till the middle of January. In the meantime, Forrest’s Cavalry had assembled at Corinth and gone on an expedition to the Tennessee river, which finally culminated in the movement with Hood to Nashville. Others have written graphic accounts of how Forrest with a force of three thousand men, cavalry and artillery, boldly attacked transports and gunboats and concluded his operations in that quarter by the total destruction of an immense depot of supplies at Johnsonville. He said himself that he captured and destroyed in two or three days four gunboats, fourteen transports, twenty barges, twenty-six pieces of artillery which, with stores destroyed, amounted to a money value of over six million dollars. He captured 150 prisoners, while his own loss was two killed and nine wounded. Altogether this was one of the most remarkable campaigns of the whole war, and I have always somewhat regretted that I could not participate in its operations. As for the expedition to Nashville which followed, I have always considered myself fortunate in having missed it. The history of it is a pitiful story and well worth reading, particularly by those who did not hear it from the lips of hundreds of brave men who gave vivid accounts of personal experiences. I began to hear these pitiful accounts early in January from soldiers returning to their homes in an utter state of demoralization. I began to consider whether or not I could recover my health and join Company E ere there was a collapse of the Confederacy. However, as the men of our regiment had been permitted to go to their homes for a few days, there was time for consideration.

When I reported for duty at Verona, Miss., late in January, 1865, Colonel Richardson was in command of Rucker’s Brigade, the ranks of which were filling up surprisingly well, considering the heavy blow we had received in the disastrous repulse of our army in front of Nashville. Most of our men had spent some time at home and came in with new clothes and fresh horses. The rations were good but we had no tents. We constructed rude shelters with whatever timber was at hand, principally fence rails, and over this spread our rubber cloths. Then a good layer of corn stalks was placed for a floor and on this our army blankets. With a roaring log fire in front, we were measurably comfortable. We really had little to do for some time. It was in this camp that it got to the ears of Colonel Richardson that A. S. Coleman, our sutler, who kept a variety of articles in store, was dealing out to the boys a poor article of Confederate whisky. Richardson determined to confiscate the sutler’s whole stock of goods, and sent an officer to seize them. The members of Company E went to the rescue and, it being dark, succeeded, while Coleman was parleying with the officer, in “purloining” all the goods on hand, which they carried out through the back of the tent and kept concealed till the trouble blew over. Coleman was soon doing business at the old stand.

In February, 1865, Forrest was raised to the rank of Lieutenant-General and given the command of about ten thousand cavalry widely dispersed in Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana. Joe Johnston had superseded Hood and had transferred the remnant of our army further east to place it in the path of Sherman who was marching north from Savannah through South Carolina. So far as our part of the country was concerned, it seemed to me then that the Federals would have had little trouble in sending in a large force and taking possession. With Forrest it was a case of gathering up the fragments, but man never went about anything more earnestly. His work had a telling effect. By a complete reorganization of the cavalry, the troops from each State were thrown into brigades and divisions of their own. This may have added somewhat to the morale of the command, but I do not know that it improved the fighting qualities of the men to any great extent. Certainly there was no better fighting body of men than Rucker’s Old Brigade, composed of Tennesseeans and Mississippians. By the new arrangement, the Tennessee Division was commanded by W. H. Jackson. His two brigade commanders were A. W. Campbell and T. H. Bell. This division now had fat horses, good clothes and good rations. But every man there knew that our quasi holiday would be of short duration. Though the Confederacy seemed tottering to its fall, Jackson’s Division was ready for a campaign. It did not have long to wait. Twelve thousand cavalry were assembled in North Alabama under General James H. Wilson, one of the most capable and enterprising commanders in the Federal army. Accompanied by an immense supply train and a commensurate amount of artillery, this best equipped of all Federal commands set out about the 22nd of March for Selma, Ala., which was a depot for Confederate stores and the location of large factories of arms and ammunition. Being provided with a pontoon train it had little trouble in crossing the swollen streams. It moved rapidly in a southeasterly direction. It was the task of Forrest to move east from Columbus, Miss., fall upon Wilson’s right flank, defeat such detachments as he could cope with, destroy his trains, if possible, and finally beat him to Selma. Forrest’s plans involved the possibility of throwing his whole force against that of Wilson in some favorable position east of Tuskaloosa and to risk the consequences of the greatest cavalry battle ever fought on the continent. How near we subordinates were to witnessing a great event impending and yet how ignorant we were of it! Unforeseen difficulties lay in Forrest’s path while he was apparently making super-human efforts to concentrate his forces for a great battle in which his enemy would number fully two to one. It is painful even to conjecture what the consequences of such a battle might have been. But I anticipate. Prior to the movement towards Selma I had been detailed for duty with the provost guard of Campbell’s Brigade, which was agreeable to me because of the fact that I had not entirely recovered my health, and would have more privileges on the road, though no less responsible service. Our chief duty was to move in the rear and to prevent straggling. It turned out on this expedition to be a position of great danger.

We passed through Columbus, Miss., and took the road to Tuskaloosa. We moved all day and much of the night over muddy roads, miry swamps and rugged hills. Our great commander had the details all in his mind, but we had only a vague idea that we would have to fight at almost any turn in the road. This was an army of veterans, who had been tried in the fire. Jackson’s Division was a long way from home, but was ready for a last desperate struggle in a strange land. It looked like a forlorn hope, for Lee was falling back upon Appomattox and Johnston was in a death struggle with Sherman. But the defeat of Wilson’s cavalry would mean its destruction and the capture of his trains. Such a victory here might change the face of things within a few hours, as we had no idea that any one of our armies would so soon surrender. Anyhow, the men were there to obey orders and to do their whole duty. We were at Sipsey river and the column was moving slowly through its slashy bottom. A weird looking place where the foliage of the heavy timber largely shut out the light of day. A rumor came down the line that two soldiers, at the instance of a drum-head court-martial, had been shot to death for desertion. As the provost guard closed up the column it passed the dead men lying one on each side of the road with their heads against trees. Their hats had been placed over their faces, but labels written in large letters told the story: Shot for Desertion. It was said at the time that this was intended as a deterrent to desertion. It may have had the effect intended. It would be passing over it most kindly to state that the affair caused a profound sensation. It would be nearer the truth to say that, with the rank and file, it met with pronounced condemnation. Only one other writer has touched upon this incident, and he was not on the ground as I was. Therefore, he could not speak personally concerning what might be called the popular verdict of the soldiers. He does say, in substance, that the execution was extremely unfortunate, though coming within the province of military law, in that the declaration of the victims that the older was above the military age and the younger was under it turned out to be true in every particular. It was a matter of common talk that the men were Kentuckians, who had nothing on their persons by which they could be identified, and that there was no proof adduced to show that they belonged to our cavalry. They were possibly deserters from some arm of the Confederate service, but the prevailing sentiment, which is a force to be reckoned with in a volunteer army, was that a drum-head court-martial, instituted on the march and when the command was practically in the presence of the enemy, could not exercise that calm consideration and quiet deliberation required in a case where human life was involved. While, as a general proposition, it were well not to tear open old wounds, yet it were also well to state exact facts in history, in order that the mistakes of the past may enable those who come after us to avoid errors in the future. The power of all Confederate courts-martial was flitting fast, and the bloody hand, under all the circumstances in this case, might well have been stayed. Everybody was glad to change the scene and the subject of thought, for death has no attractive form. Tuskaloosa was a fine old Southern town, with palatial homes, wide streets, shaded by three rows of water oaks, well kept yards, extensive flower gardens, and a large complement of pretty women. The gates were open and the city was ours for the asking. They had never seen a Southern army, and more than that, they had never imagined the like of Forrest’s cavalry as, brimful of fight, it moved along their lovely streets. Alas! all this, within three days, was to be in the grasp of men who did not hesitate to apply the torch even to the State University.

As we entered the extensive piney woods section east of Tuskaloosa, we were critically near the right flank of the enemy, pushing on towards Selma. Croxton’s Federal Brigade had been detached to destroy the Confederate supplies at Tuskaloosa and burn the university. It so happened that this brigade dropped into the road between the rear of Jackson’s Cavalry and the front of his artillery and wagon train. If the Federals had continued to move west, they inevitably would have captured the trains. They turned east to follow the cavalry, and Jackson being apprised of this made the proper disposition to fall upon them in camp in the early morning. In the meantime, Croxton had changed his mind and had turned again to march, as luck would have it, by another road to Tuskaloosa, without knowing that he had our trains so nearly within his grasp. As it was, Jackson ran on his rear company in camp and captured men, horses, and ambulances. Croxton fled north with his command, crossed the Warrior forty miles above, turned south and reached Tuskaloosa, where he carried out his orders. This was the 3rd day of April, and he was now so far separated from his chief that he did not join him at Macon, Ga., till the 20th of May. When Jackson turned to pursue Croxton, unfortunately another detachment under one of the Fighting McCooks, took possession of the bridge over the Cahawba, where Forrest, with his escort, had already crossed, and where we were expected to cross. They boldly came to the west side and put themselves across our path at the village of Scottsville. That night the woods seemed to be full of them. Some of our men, getting out to do the usual little “buttermilk foraging” met some Yanks at a farm house where Johnny Reb thought he had the exclusive privilege. There was a tacit consent to a truce while they shared such good things as the farmer had to contribute. The next morning, April 2nd, Bell’s Brigade of Jackson’s Division collided with a part of McCook’s men and rapidly pushed them back to Centerville. They completely blocked our way by burning the bridge over the Cahawba. It was now impossible for Jackson to join Forrest on the road from Montevallo to Selma, where with Roddy’s Cavalry and Crossland’s small brigade of Kentuckians, he and escort were fighting to the death to hold Wilson in check till the Confederate divisions could be concentrated and hurled against those of the Federals in one grand conflict. The Federals, having intercepted certain dispatches of Forrest and Jackson, knew just how to subvert their plans. Wilson, seeing that there was now no chance for Jackson to fall upon his rear, according to the original plan of Forrest, pushed his forces with all his energy in the direction of Selma. Forrest, being reinforced by some militia and two hundred picked men of Armstrong’s Brigade of Chalmers’ Division, on the first day of April, did some of the fiercest fighting of the war, much of it hand to hand. At Bogler’s creek near Plantersville, it was at close quarters with two thousand against nine thousand, but the Confederates had the advantage of position. The Federal advance was a regiment of veteran cavalry who charged with drawn sabers. The Confederates received them at first with rifles and closed in with six-shooters, most of the men having two each. The Confederates being forced back by a flank movement, there was a bloody running fight for several miles. From the desperate character of the fighting here, it might be inferred that the great contest, planned to take place along these lines, would have been terrific, if Forrest, Jackson, Chalmers and Roddy could have joined their forces.

If all the forces named had been concentrated, as Forrest had intended, somewhere between Montevallo and Selma, Ala., would have been fought the cavalry battle of the ages. Who is not glad the whole plan miscarried?

When the Confederates were crowded into Selma the next day, their lines were so attenuated that the Federals, with overwhelming numbers, assailed the works and carried them, though with very heavy loss. Night was coming on as the contest ended and the streets were filled with Federals and Confederates in the greatest possible confusion. This enabled Forrest and Armstrong, with hundreds of their men, to find an opening through which they rode out and escaped in the darkness. In doing this, Forrest cut down his thirtieth man in the war, which closed his fighting career.

I had more than ordinary anxiety in regard to the fighting in front of Selma, as I had a brother with Armstrong and a brother-in-law with Roddy. The former escaped with Armstrong, but the latter, Wiley Hawkins of Florence, a mere youth, the last of four brothers to die during the war, was killed at Bogler’s creek.

With Forrest’s Cavalry the war was over. His command had fired its last gun at Selma. At Marion, Greensboro, Eutaw, and finally at Sumterville, where Jackson’s Division had its last camp, we found the very best type of Southern people. They had really seen very little of the war, though sorrow had been brought to many a home by the casualties of battle. Here was a lovely country in which a war-worn soldier could sit down to commune with nature, where she was never more beautifully and bountifully manifested in birds, flowers and fertile fields. It was so restful to the soul to know that we were done with guns and bloody work. The present was the present, the future was the future. We were taking care of the present. We would take care of the future when we got to it. Whipped or not, we had loved ones at home and were going to them; whipped or not, we felt assured that we had done our duty to our prostrate country, which never had more than the shadow of a chance for the success of a separate existence; whipped or not, we could face those who had urged us to go to the war, and say that we had fought it to a finish. It perhaps seems strange to many that there was no weeping or wailing, at least about where I was, because of the defeat of Southern hopes. I account for this upon the hypothesis that both officers and privates had been, for nearly two years, contemplating not only the possibility but the probability of defeat, and were therefore mentally prepared for almost anything which fate should decree. Certainly, the consensus of opinion was, that many mistakes had been made by the civil and military authorities during the four years of war, but there was no intense spirit of criticism. Whether a Confederate soldier thought that everything possible had been done, with the limited resources at hand, or not, he was very apt to be of the opinion that some means should have been brought into play to stop the war long before it was. I am of the opinion that the diligent student of history has come to the same conclusion. Why so many held on so tenaciously to a cause that had grown so desperate, I have tried to show on other pages. Duty and honor are the chief elements in a long story, though this statement of the case can hardly be so well appreciated by the present generation as by the active participants in the war.

The following excerpt is taken from Destruction and Reconstruction, by Lieutenant-General Dick Taylor, the only son of the last Whig president, and a man whose mental acumen was of the sharper kind, and whose varied learning would have graced any court: “Upon what foundations the civil authorities of the Confederacy rested their hopes of success, after the campaign of 1864 fully opened, I am unable to say; but their commanders in the field, whose rank and position enabled them to estimate the situation, fought simply to afford statesmanship an opportunity to mitigate the sorrows of inevitable defeat.”

This comports well with what I heard Confederate States Senator James Phelan of Mississippi, say, more than forty years ago, to the effect that the politicians at Richmond consumed most of their time in discussing abstruse questions of constitutional law and other subjects that might well have been deferred till the armies in the field could settle the question of independence. I took it that he thought there was little use for a constitution in a time of revolution or rebellion, but the chief concern should have been the perfecting of such measures as would strengthen our armies and achieve victories. It was well known that there were jealousies and dissensions among the officers of our armies from the beginning to the close of the war. What was at first war gossip became of record as soon after the surrender as some of these were able to contribute to our current literature. Posterity will be asking why some of the serious accusations made were not, at the proper time, brought to the notice of a court-martial.

When the future historian comes to make up the sum total of the causes which led to the downfall of the Confederacy, he will have only a written record to draw from, and will possibly be perplexed in his endeavor to pronounce an honest judgment in regard to men who, though differing so widely in opinion, were believed to be brave and patriotic.