*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 64285 ***

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                             REMINISCENCES
                             OF A PRIVATE

                              COMPANY “G”
                        FIRST ARKANSAS REGIMENT
                               INFANTRY


                   [Illustration: Confederate Flags]


                            By W. E. BEVENS


                          _MAY, 1861 TO 1865_




                         List of Illustrations


                                                     Page
              W. E. BEVENS—1861.                        2

              W. E. BEVENS—1912.                        3

              THREE VETERANS OF COMPANY “G”.            4

              CAPT. A. C. PICKETT.                      9

              L. C. GAUSE.                             21

              CLAY LOWE.                               22

              LYMAN B. GILL.                           50

              LON STEADMAN.                            55

              BEN ADLER.                               64

              W. T. BARNES.                            67

              ROBT. D. BOND.                           72

              THAD KINMAN, ED DICKINSON, BEN ADLER.    74


[Illustration: W. E. BEVENS—1861.]

[Illustration: W. E. BEVENS—1912.]

[Illustration: THREE VETERANS OF COMPANY “G”

Left to Right: John Cathey, W. E. Bevens, John R. Loftin, Sr.]




                     =Reminiscences Of A Private.=


When our children come from other states and from foreign lands to
visit Jacksonport, the old home of their parents, they find the pitiful
remnant of a village. Streets overgrown with weeds, dilapidated wooden
cottages, a tumbled down brick court house, meet their eyes. One or
two well-kept homes and a prosperous general store only emphasize the
prevailing air of decay. The visitors may walk a mile down the road to
the old town Elizabeth, and find no trace of habitation. The persimmon,
the paw paw and the muscadine flourish in spaces that were once busy
streets. When they remember that this place lacked only one vote of
being made the capital of the state they may ponder on the uncertainty
of human destiny.

But in 1861 Jacksonport was an important town. It was the county seat
when Jackson county was much larger than it is now. Woodruff was a part
of it and the whole formed a wealthy section of the state, the rich
“bottoms” producing the finest cotton. Jacksonport was situated where
Black River flows into White River, and was the center of distribution
for many counties. At low water, which was the greater part of the
year, it was at the head of navigation and people came from fifty miles
to trade there, hauling overland all freight for Batesville and upper
points.

It was then one of the great river towns, and one of the most
fascinating occupations of my boyhood was watching the steamboats.
We had two mail steamers, side-wheelers, up-to-date, with all kinds
of accommodations for passengers and freight, and I have seen nine
steamers loading and unloading at once. One packet from Louisville, one
from St. Louis, two from Memphis, two from Upper Black River, and two
from New Orleans. I have seen one of the last, “The Seminole,” with a
load of fifteen hundred bales of cotton.

At that time Jacksonport had a population of twenty-five hundred. The
surrounding farms and plantations, cultivated by negro slaves, were
owned by the Tunstalls, Waddells, Robinsons, Gardners and others. Old
fashioned Southern hospitality prevailed in town and country, and we
who were fortunate enough to live there “Befo de wah” think no other
can ever equal it, no other town can ever boast of such beautiful
girls, such handsome boys, such noble women, such brilliant men.

When the war cry sounded, Captain A. C. Pickett, a fine lawyer and
an old Mexican War veteran, made up our company, and called it the
“Jackson Guards.” This company to the number of one hundred and twenty
was formed of the best boys of the county. Sons of plantation-owners,
lawyers, doctors, druggists, merchants,—the whole South rose as one
man, to defend its rights. The young men, many of us barely twenty
years of age, knew nothing of war. We thought we could take our trunks
and dress suits. We besieged Capt. Pickett and nearly drove him to
distraction with questions as to how many suits we should take. He
nearly paralyzed us by telling us to leave behind all fancy clothes,
and to take only one suit, a woolen top shirt and two suits of
underwear.

The noble women of Jacksonport made our flag. The wife of Judge
Robinson bought the silk in Memphis. Mrs. Densford made the stars and
all the ladies, old and young, worked on it, for love of those who were
to bear it in battle.

On the Fifth of May, 1861 we were ready. It was a gloomy day. The
rain poured in torrents, but our company formed and marched to the
Presbyterian church where the flag was to be presented. Every living
soul in town was there, streets, yard and church overflowed with
people, notwithstanding the rain. We had seats reserved for us, and
felt very grand as we watched the young ladies on the platform. We
thought they were the sweetest girls living, and the most beautiful.
Misses Mary Thomas Caldwell, Fannie Board, Pauline Hudson, and
others were there. Miss Caldwell presented the colors with a short
and touching speech. Sydney S. Gause received it in the name of the
company, replying beautifully. There was not a dry eye in the throng.
Mothers were there who saw their sons perhaps for the last time.
Fathers bade adieu to noble boys whom they had brought up to manly
deeds of honor. Sisters separated from brothers. Sweethearts gave
farewell to those whom they would love unto death. Who would not be
moved to tears? We marched to the boat, and on the bank we stopped to
give a last embrace to mother, wife sister, sweetheart. That spot was
hallowed with the tears that dropped upon the ground.

The boat was the Mary Patterson, named for an Augusta lady, wife of
one of our great lawyers. Its owner, Captain Morgan Bateman with great
generosity, offered to take us to Memphis. He was a man of commanding
ability, or he could never have handled so many wild young men. He
never received a cent for his liberality, but he did not care. (He
afterwards came back and made up a company of his own, with the
assistance of his brother who went with him.)

When we were on board at last the boat pulled off from shore, amid
waving handkerchiefs and shouts, “Good-bye, good-bye,” and no one
present ever forgot that day.

We had with us an Italian Band which had come up from New Orleans and
became stranded in Jacksonport. It was a great band and afforded us
much pleasure until we got to Memphis.

At every town, landing and woodpile there was a crowd to cheer us.
At Grand Glaize there happened a near-tragedy, which was averted by
Captain Pickett and Captain Morgan. When we reached Des Arc, from which
place we expected to march overland to Little Rock, Captain Pickett
received a telegram from the governor to send in by wire our votes
for Colonel of the Regiment and then proceed to Memphis. By Captain’s
Pickett’s advice our company voted for Flournay. The rest of the
Regiment voted for Fagin, who was elected. Fagin ever afterward felt
hard toward Captain Pickett.

We arrived at Memphis Thursday, May 9th. We marched to the Fair Grounds
to await the arrival of the rest of the Regiment, and were put into the
same quarters with an Irish Regiment from Tennessee.

I was put on guard inside the Fair Grounds. It rained all night, I had
on new pump-soled boots, and being by mistake, left on duty, these
tight boots caused me considerable pain. When the sergeant asked me how
long I had been on duty I answered “all night.” He informed me that I
should have been on guard only two hours. I thought it a part of the
game to stay on all night. So much for being a soldier fool!

The next day we were organized and officers were elected for the twelve
months. They were.

  A. C. Pickett, Captain.
  L. C. Gause, First Lieutenant.
  L. L. Moore, Second Lieutenant.
  George Payne, Third Lieutenant.
  James Hunter, Orderly Sergeant.
  William Densford, First Sergeant.
  John R. Loftin, Second Sergeant.
  Peter Bach, Third Sergeant.
  Clay Lowe, Fourth Sergeant.
  John M. Waddell, First Corporal.
  Henry Clements, Second Corporal.
  Sam Shoup, Third Corporal.
  W. E. Bevens, Fourth Corporal.

When the captain took charge there were only two men in the company
who knew anything about military tactics or could even keep step. We
stayed in Memphis four days. On Sunday afternoon with our new banner
proudly waving, we marched through Memphis to the depot of the Memphis
and Charleston Railway, where we entrained for Richmond, Va. Along the
line of march were thousands of people and at every station was shown
such enthusiasm as was never before known in the South. Everyone came
down to greet us. Old men and women, young girls, even the negroes. We
were showered with bouquets. We were delayed at different stations by
the crowds. They came to see the Arkansas Troops, and to hear Captain
Bob Crockett speak. He was a conspicuous character from the manner of
his dress, and also a celebrity from being a grandson of old David
Crockett, hence was often called on for a speech. On one occasion,
however, some of the soldiers asked several citizens to call for
Private J. R. Fellows, one of the best orators in the South. He so far
eclipsed Captain Crockett that the latter ever after took second place.

[Illustration: CAPT. A. C. PICKETT

First Captain of Company “G”, First Arkansas Infantry]

We passed through Knoxville and Bristol, debatable territory because
Etheridge Brownlow and Andy Johnson, Union men of great ability and
influence, lived in these places. To say there were hot times in these
old towns would be putting it mildly—“red hot” would be about right.

At Bristol John M. Waddell took sick and I was detailed to stay with
him at the hotel to which he was carried. He was delirious and kept
calling for his mother, who lived in North Carolina. He was a
Christian boy, and was ready to die, but how natural to want his
mother in his distress. But he got better and we resumed our journey
to Richmond, where we rejoined our regiment. We camped in the fair
ground and were reviewed often by President Davis at dress parade.

I think that to him we must have looked very cheap indeed. We did not
know what discipline was, and resented being shown. The boys used to
steal through the lines and spend most of their time in the city. Bill
Barnes drew some pictures of “Company G in Richmond,” which caused
quite a little trouble at home.

We went from Richmond to Fredericksburg and there camped in the city
awhile. We then moved to Brooks Station, and at this camp had cadets
from Richmond to drill us. And I should say they did drill us! Eight
hours a day, with a big gun, knapsack and accoutrements weighing us
down, the hot sun blazing over us. How we did perspire! We were not
used to such strenuous exercise. The town boys, clerks and young
fellows could stand it better than the robust country boys, and that
seemed queer to us.

At this camp John M. Waddell took sick with measles. The Regiment lost
over fifty men from this disease. Waddell was discharged and went home.
After his recovery he joined a North Carolina Regiment, and served with
them through the war. He Was a gentleman in the truest sense of the
word. We hated to lose him. From Brooks Station we went to Aquia Creek,
and from there to Marlboro Point on the Potomac. We camped at a point
where this beautiful stream was four miles wide. W. M. Maltens, our
company color-bearer waded into the river and unfurled our flag, the
handsome silk one given us by the Jacksonport ladies. “Jackson Guards”
was very plain upon it, and it was displayed in full sight of the
enemy’s war vessels. We were lined up on the bank to defend our colors.
This shows how green we were in knowledge of warfare and we realized it
later.

From Fredericksburg, five companies of our Regiment and five companies
of Col. Bates’ Second Tennessee Regiment were under Col. Cary. He was
a West Pointer, a fine man and officer, but he certainly did drill us
eight hours every day. During drill our orderly sergeant, a regular
army man, used to prompt us when new moves were given. One morning he
was angry at Captain Pickett. When Col. Cary gave the command
“Double quick by companies” there was no prompting and Captain Pickett
failed to repeat the command. The sergeant had his revenge for we were
double-quicking by fours to the line on the right and proceeded by
ourselves. Col. Cary shouted “Captain Pickett, where are you going
with your company?” amid the laughter of the rest of the regiment.

At this camp Bill Shackelford used to go fishing for crabs in the
Potomac. He would miss roll-call and have to serve extra duty. The boys
begged him to stop this but he said if he could get crabs to eat he did
not mind extra duty. One night Bill had some fun at the expense of the
officer whose duty it was to pass through the tents and see that all
were in bed. We had a big Sibley tent in which twenty-two men slept.
As the officer passed through the tent, Bill who was a ventriloquist,
squealed like a pig. Of course the officer looked everywhere for the
pig. As he passed to the other side of the tent Bill barked like a dog.
Then the officer asked for the man that did it. Of course all were
asleep and knew nothing about it. He said he would arrest the entire
company if it occurred again. Bill did not try it again.

One day Clay Lowe had cooked some corn-bread and left it on the table,
feeling that he had done a good piece of work. After dinner a big man
in uniform stepped up and broke open a piece of bread. Clay was about
to call him to account in words not very choice, when the big man
explained that he was General Holmes, commander of the troops. Clay had
to beg his pardon and salute the General, and the General in return
complimented Clay on his bread.

At this camp we had jumping matches. Bob Bond was our champion and no
one could beat him in the whole command of one thousand troops, and he
was never beaten in the army.

We also gave dances, and tied handkerchiefs on the arms of the smallest
boys to take the part of ladies in making up square dances. Joe
Hamilton, Rich Hayden and Billie Barnes were as fine musicians as any
and we often had hilarious times along the Potomac.

On July 17th, 1861, we were ordered to cook three days’ rations, and be
ready at daylight to join our regiment and march to Manassas Gap. We
marched forty-seven miles and on July 21, were camped in an orchard at
the extreme right of our army, with orders to be ready at a moment’s
notice. We were in line of battle all afternoon and chafed to be in the
fight. We could hear the cannonading. It seems that the courier who
was bringing our orders to move at once was captured and we did not
get the command. “The third time is the charm” and finally the third
courier brought news of the battle with orders to double-quick eight
miles. We made this in one hour and forty minutes. On this hot July day
the red dust stirred up by our running made us look like red men. We
hardly knew the features of our file leader. While on this run we saw
some sizzling looking things streaming through the air. One of the boys
said, “Captain, what are those things going through the air?” Captain
Pickett replied, “You damned fool, you will know soon.”

We got there in the nick of time. We were thrown into line of battle
and could see in front of us the enemy, with glistening bayonets,
forward marching, line after line of them. We had a four gun battery,
belonging to Holmes’ Brigade, commanded by Captain Walker. He was
ordered to place his guns on a small hill in our front. He unlimbered
and was ready for action. We were ordered to load our guns and lie down
behind the battery to protect it if charged. The captain gave the order
to fire upon some Yankees who were advancing boldly. As he gave the
order he was sitting on his big horse with his feet across the horse’s
neck. The first shot did not reach the spot; so he got down, sighted
the gun himself, and got back on his horse to watch the result. As the
shot plowed through the enemy’s ranks it looked like cutting wheat, and
the Captain said: “Give them hell.” The four guns made roads through
them and with the Infantry on the other flank they could not stand the
fire. The Yankees broke in every direction and never did stop. As this
was their last stand we moved forward, and the Black Horse Cavalry
passed. This was the finest cavalry I ever saw. All the horses were
black and the uniforms of the men were handsome to behold. After the
Cavalry Johnson, Beauregard and President Davis with all their staff,
were near us, and the sight was beautiful. We turned the flank of the
enemy and the Black Horse Cavalry did the rest. The first battle of
Manassas was a great battle and a perfect success.

After the break we were ordered to be down in line of battle and
await orders. Part of the Washington Battery was near us. This was an
organization of fine boys from New Orleans. After fighting all day they
had become separated, part of their battery being in one part of the
field, and part in another. After the battle they were hunting their
comrades and trying to get the full battery together. Such chatter!
Such individual accounts of the battle! They told us of their share
in the fight. How they fought the enemy from rear and front and side,
and how the Yankees had run off! It was inside history of the battle
from privates who were in it. The whole truth of the first battle
of Manassas is this: It was fought by undisciplined troops, without
previous experience in battle, on a field they had never trod before.
They fought as individuals, and if the officers had not been with them
they would have fought just the same.

This was proved, for had they been disciplined troops they would
have surrendered when cut off from their command, but not having any
better sense they did not know when they were whipped. On this field
they fought regular army troops with all the advantage of years and
experience. Even our General was doubtful and thought they could not
cope with the great army of Scott. But when he saw the Southern boys in
action, he saw what, to this day, is the wonder of the world, that we
were not to be whipped in six months.

This battle was a hard rap to those who intended to profit by it had
it gone the other way. The Grand Army left Washington commanded by
the invincible General Scott, having placards on their hats bearing
the motto, “On to Richmond.” Congressmen, with their wives followed,
together with the elite of Washington, all riding in carriages. They
also wore badges with the ever-ready slogan, “On to Richmond.” They
had trunks plastered with the same motto. They carried champagne and
were ready for the celebration of a great fete when they should have
witnessed the downfall of the Confederacy. Before the battle it was a
holiday for them, with their wine, and their hope of an easy rout of
the rebels, and the pleasant anticipation of the capture of soldiers
and congressmen of the Confederacy. But after the battle—ah, it was no
holiday then! What a blow to their pride was the result. How they tore
back to Washington. Their own account of the first battle of Manassas
was truly pitiful. We could have easily gone into Washington, but at
that time we did not want to go into their territory, all we desired
was to defend our own homes, property and states, which were ours
according to the constitution.

At daylight we marched to Dumfries, thirty miles back from the
station, then to Culpepper court house, and from there to the pine
thicket back from Evansport. With us were Captain Walker’s battery
(Captain Walker afterwards became General of Artillery) and the
Thirteenth North Carolina Infantry. With their assistance, working at
night with great secrecy, we built batteries to blockade the Potomac,
which was only a mile and a half wide at this point. We built three
batteries in one mile and mounted large siege guns. The enemy was
greatly astonished on the morning we cut the pine thicket and laid our
guns open to view.

We next made sail boats and tug boats and schooners. These captured a
three masted vessel. When the tugs came towing it to shore we went out
and got it. Later we had a hard time finding a sailor to set the sails.
Finally one was discovered in our own company, and as soon as he got on
the vessel he ran up the rigging like a genuine sailor. We found the
rooms of the captured vessel very fancy. It had a piano on board, and a
good deal of nice grub. We unloaded her and then burned her.

We certainly did blockade that river and stop transportation to
Washington by way of the Potomac. Then the Yankees built a railroad
on the opposite side back from the river and supplied the gap in that
manner. We used to bombard the men over there and kill them and their
six mule teams. This caused consternation as you may guess.

A small yacht with two on board ran the blockade. Our batteries opened
up on them. The balls exploded above and around them, sometimes
splashing the water so that we could not see them for the spray. For
awhile it seemed as if we had them, but they got through. The yacht
was so small that we could not hit it. When they got by, the men waved
their hats, as much as to say, “Goodbye”, but they never tried to
repeat the performance.

One night the enemy ran up a creek by the upper battery, where we had a
schooner out and away from the river. In the darkness they passed our
guards and burned the schooner. The guards were new recruits and very
green. They sent to headquarters to ask what they could do. Of course
the Yanks had plenty of time to get back to the Potomac. We built huts
out of logs, placing them in the side of the hill and roofing them with
a foot and a half of earth to keep out the rain. A few of the boys had
tents, but I think our log huts were more comfortable, for we covered
the floors over with straw. We passed most of the winter here. Our
Maryland boys used to cross the river in skiffs at night to visit their
homes, and return before daylight.

The Second Tennessee, commanded by Colonel Bates, camped along with us
that winter. One day Colonel Bates ordered some work done which did
not agree with the dignity of his men. They refused to do it, saying
they “were gentle,” and asking him to resign. He at once wrote out
his resignation and gave it to them. He told them he would as soon
be a private as be an officer. That a private must obey, and he was
as willing to obey any officer over him as they should be to obey an
officer over them. He was a great man, and a fine speaker. At the close
of his speech they tore up his resignation and re-elected him colonel.

Colonel Fagin once ordered some boys of our company to set up his tent
but they refused. They came back to the company and told us about it,
also informed Captain Pickett who went to Colonel Fagin and got them
out of it.

So much for raw undisciplined troops.

Christmas was at hand. Our first Christmas in a soldier’s camp! How
homesick we were as we thought of the people at home and wondered how
they were spending Christmas. Here were their boys fifteen hundred
miles from them, living in dark huts, wading snow a foot and a half
deep. We did not know that the time would come when these dark, rude
huts would seem luxurious quarters.

Our mess was composed of George Thomas, Clay Lowe, Bob Bond and myself.
George had been left behind at Fredericksburg, where he was ill for
some time. He and a private from another company decided to come to
camp and spend Christmas with the boys. They left the train and tramped
a mile and a half to surprise the mess, arriving in the nick of time.
George said they could not bring us turkey, so they brought some
whiskey and eggs. They began beating eggs early Christmas morning, and
they made a huge pan full of egg-nog. We invited the officers and our
friends to take some with us. In the evening the boys went for Col.
Fagin and invited him to drink egg-nog. By that time they were pretty
full and Clay Lowe told Col. Fagin that he wanted him to understand
that he was “Fifth Sergeant of Company G.” He succeeded in impressing
the Colonel with his rank. Then everyone began to make things lively.

I did not touch the egg-nog, therefore did not enjoy their hilarity. I
left the hut, found Sam Shoup in his hut, and we went out and sat by
the fire thinking we were away from the crowd. But the boys did not
intend to let us off so easily. When we came back into the hut we could
not see very well. The cabin was dark, as the only light came from the
doorway, and the snow had blinded us. The boys made a rush for us. I
got into a dark corner, and after they were all in we both ran out.
They caught Sam, but failed to get me.

Clay Lowe, followed by about twenty-five of the boys, went down to the
middle of the company grounds and commenced to make a speech, which he
could do so well. Some of the boys, not wishing Clay to have all the
glory, put John Loftin on the stump to make an address and he began:
“My friends, I am not as eloquent as Clay, but I speak more to the
point.”

That evening at dress parade, Sam Shoup as corporal had to march
out and present arms, reporting two commissioned officers, four
non-commissioned officers, and twenty-seven privates drunk. The rest
of the regiment was there, and to our consternation, we were ordered
to cook three days’ rations and be ready to march at daylight. The
order read that any private who straggled or failed to keep up with the
command would be court martialed.

When we stopped late next evening on the march, Clay was nearly dead
and could hardly walk, from the effect of the Christmas spree. Colonel
Fagin rode along by our company and seeing how Clay was said, “Hello,
Fifth Sergeant of Company G, how do you feel?” Clay replied, “Colonel,
I am damned dry; how are you?”

December 26, 1861, we reached Aquia Creek and went into winter quarters
in log huts and tents. Here we had “Sunday Soldiering.” We were close
to Fredericksburg, and could order what we wanted to eat. Confederate
money was good and we could grab things cheap with it. Fifty cents a
gallon for shelled oysters; twenty-five cents a pound for butter; pies
and cakes every day. Think of such grub for a soldier! But, ah, to stay
in the snow, eighteen inches deep, and guard the Potomac river all
night! No shelter, but a corn stalk house; no fire, but a driftwood
blaze, not very bright either, as it would be a signal for the enemy to
cannonade. That was like war and soldier duty.

We had three points to guard on the river, one on the island with
battery, and one at the lower end of the line. It required a whole
company for all points at night, since the guard had to be relieved
every twenty minutes. Otherwise he would have been frozen by the snow
and sleet which swept across the Potomac.

One night a squad from our company under a sergeant was ordered to the
island, which was only guarded at night. We had to cross over in a flat
boat. The evening before supplies had been sent to the island for the
use of the Battery Company and they had failed to haul them. The squad
on the lower part of the guard line found them, all unused, in a pile
on the landing. The night was bitter cold, the snow was deep, the wind
blowing a gale, no wood was in sight. The supplies were bacon. It was
good to eat, and in this emergency it was good to burn, so the boys
proceeded to burn it. Dawn revealed other things besides bacon. They
discovered two jugs of red liquor, which they immediately confiscated.
At daylight they were ordered to camp two miles away and proceeded to
march—and drink on empty stomachs until the whole squad was drunk.
We, on the upper part of the guard line, had to wait in the snow and
wind until they came up, for all must report in camp together. We did
not know what caused their delay, but we were in no pious frame of
mind when we saw them coming, wabbling from side to side, yelling like
Commanches. The officers with us were red-headed and said things to
that squad that “were bad”.

But the boys from the lower end knew how dry the officers were after
being out all night, so they offered the jug of snake bite medicine.
The officers found it so good they did not let it go in a hurry. After
that the privates could not refuse for fear of making the boys angry.
By the time we reached camp almost everybody was overcome. The officers
went to sleep, and when they awoke they forgot all about discipline. So
nobody suffered but the Battery fellows, and they could never prove who
captured their supplies.

Sometimes a company would buy a barrel of oysters, take it to their hut
and open it, and find in the center a five gallon jug of red rye. It
was so concealed to pass the provost guard on train. But the boys did
even worse. Seven of them from other commands, went to Fredericksburg,
bought a coffin and filled it with jugs. With sad faces and measured
steps they carried it solemnly to the train. But the joke was too good
to keep. The boys unscrewed the lid and yelled at the guard. Of course,
when the train returned no one could name the offenders.

But our “Sunday Soldiering” did not last long. The regiment was
composed of one year troops, who now re-enlisted for three years,
or for the war. The re-enlisted men were ordered to rendezvous at
Memphis, to reorganize the regiment, but later were ordered to Corinth,
Mississippi.

The Virginia people had been good to us, and had tried to make us feel
at home. Some of the boys had gone into society at Fredericksburg, and
found it hard to part from their new friends. George (my old friend,
George Thomas) “had it mighty bad.” He said to me, “Bill, I must go to
Fredericksburg to see my girl. Will you cook my three days’ rations?
I’ll meet you at the train tomorrow.” “But Pard, how will you get off?”
“I’ll ask Col. Fellows.” He went to Colonel Fellows, who was in charge
that day and told his tale of woe. The colonel was in deep sympathy
with the boy (perhaps he had had the disease himself sometime,) and
agreed to help him. George went to Fredericksburg, and the next day I
saw him there with his girl. Our train pulled out, I yelled at him, but
still he lingered. They gazed and gazed at each other, and it seemed
that George did not have the nerve to tear himself away. Finally they
parted and by hard running he caught the train and stood waving to her
until we were out of sight. The mails were kept hot after that. Poor
George was killed at Atlanta. He was the bravest man I ever knew, and
if he had lived, would have made that girl a noble husband.

March 17, 1862, at Corinth, Mississippi, the re-organization of the
regiment took place. The newly elected officers of Company G were:

  Samuel Shoup, Captain.
  A. T. Watchell, First Lieutenant.
  Clay Lowe, Second Lieutenant.
  John R. Loftin, Third Lieutenant.
  W. B. Densford, First Sergeant.
  Henry Clements, Second Sergeant.
  W. H. Reid, Third Sergeant.
  George Spaulder, Fourth Sergeant.
  Thomas Davis, First Corporal.
  John W. Baird, Second Corporal.
  T. S. Logan, Third Corporal.
  Forrest Dillard, Fourth Corporal.

We camped at Corinth, Mississippi, and the army was under General
Beauregard until General Albert Sydney Johnston arrived. April 4th we
marched to Shiloh, arriving there April 5th. The constant rains had
made the roads so bad that we had to pull the cannon by hand as the
horses mired in the mud. But by this time we were used to hardships,
and nothing discouraged that superb commander, General Albert Sydney
Johnston. Every soldier loved him and was ready to follow him to the
death. At the battle of Shiloh we were placed in the Gibson Brigade,
Braggs’ Division. On the night before the battle the Medical Department
ordered six men from each company to report to headquarters for
instructions. I was one of the six to report from our company. The
Surgeon General ordered us to leave our guns in camp and follow behind
the company at six paces, as an infirmary corps to take care of the
wounded. We reported our instructions to Captain Shoup, telling him we
would not leave our guns, as we intended to fight. After hard pleading
Captain Shoup consented. We took our guns and also looked after the
wounded.

[Illustration: L. C. GAUSE

First Lieutenant Company “G”, First Arkansas Infantry]

[Illustration: CLAY LOWE.

Second Lieutenant, Company “G”, First Ark. Infantry]

At four o’clock in the morning we began the march on the enemy. Each
man had forty cartridges, all moving accoutrements and three days’
rations. General Johnston was cheered as he rode by our command and I
remember his words as well as if they had been today, “Shoot low boys;
it takes two to carry one off the field.”

Before we started Captain Scales of the Camden Company, begged his
negro servant to stay in camp at Corinth, but the old negro would not
leave his master. When we were in line of battle the captain again
begged the negro to return to camp, but he refused to go. Just after
the last appeal the fight began. A cannon ball whizzed through the air
and exploded, tearing limbs from trees, wounding the soldiers. One man
fell dead in front of the old negro. Then there was a yell, and old Sam
shouted, “Golly, Marster, I can’t stand this,” and set out in a run for
Corinth.

We moved forward with shot and shell, sweeping everything before us.
We drove the officers from their hot coffee and out of the tents,
capturing their camp and tents. Captain Shoup and John Loftin and Clay
Lowe each got a sword. In the quartermaster’s tent we found thousands
of dollars in crisp, new bills, for they had been paying off the Yankee
soldiers.

Thad Kinman of the 7th Arkansas, who was under Ellenburg, quartermaster
department, had loaded a chest into a wagon when he was ordered to
“throw that stuff away.” He told us afterwards, “That was one time that
I was sick,” but Ellenburg would not let him keep it.

Our command moved steadily forward for a mile or more. The Yankees
had time to halt the fleeing ones, form a line of infantry and make a
stand in an old road in a thicket. We were to the left of the thicket,
fighting all the time in this part of the field. I saw Jim Stimson
fall, and being on the Infirmary Corps, I went to him. I cut his
knapsack loose and placed it under his head, tied my handkerchief about
his neck, and then saw that he was dead. I took up my gun again, when
in front I saw a line of Yankees two thousand strong, marching on the
flank. I could see the buttons on their coats. I thought I would get
revenge for my dead comrade, so I leveled beside a tree, took good
aim at a Yankee, and fired. About that time the Yankees fronted and
fired. Hail was nothing to that rain of lead. I looked around and found
only four of our company. One was dead, two were wounded and I was as
good as dead I thought, for I had no idea I could ever get away. To
be shot in the back was no soldier’s way, so I stepped backward at a
lively pace until I got over the ridge and out of range, assisting the
wounded boys at the same time. I had not heard the command to oblique
to the right and close up a gap, and that was how we four happened to
be alone in the wood. But I did some running then, found my regiment
at the right of the thicket and fell into rank. When I got there the
company was in a little confusion through not understanding a command,
whether they were to move forward or oblique to right. Captain Shoup
thought his men were wavering, so he stepped in front of the company,
unsheathed his new sword and told the boys to follow him. He had
scarcely finished with the words when a bullet struck his sword and
went through wood and steel. The boys were red-headed. They told him he
did not have to lead them. They were ready to go anywhere. So we went
forward into the hottest of the battle where the roar of musketry was
incessant, and the cannonading fairly shook the ground. Men fell around
us as leaves from the trees. Our regiment lost two hundred and seventy,
killed, wounded and captured. The battle raged all day and when night
came the enemy had been pushed back to the verge of the Tennessee
river. But our victory had been won at a great price, in the loss of
our beloved General, Albert Sydney Johnston, who was killed early in
the action.

General Beauregard, next in command, succeeded Johnston, and the
battle opened again at daylight the next morning. During the night the
enemy had been strongly re-inforced, and our men were steadily pressed
back.

John Cathey, John R. Loftin, Waddell and I were among the wounded. We
were sent to the field hospital several miles back in the wood. When
the Surgeon General went to work on me he gave me a glass of whiskey,
saying it would help me bear the pain. I told him I would not drink
it. He then handed me a dose of morphine. I refused that. He looked me
squarely in the face, saying, “Are you a damned fool?”

Our men, fighting stubbornly all the while, were pushed back by
superior force through and beyond the Yankee camps we had captured
so easily the day before, and at last retreated to Corinth, amidst
a terrible storm of rain and sleet. We had lost about ten thousand
men. That was the beginning of our real soldiering and the greatest
battle we had been in. About thirty thousand men were killed, wounded
and captured in those two days, the loss on each side being fifteen
thousand.

At Corinth we awaited re-inforcements and prepared to renew the
struggle. The Yankee forces advanced to Farmington, and we had a little
more fighting. They captured one of our outposts, then we drove them
back to their lines. Colonel Fellows was always on the front line. At
this battle he plunged after some cavalry, following them he struck
low, boggy ground. He got stuck in the mud and lost his hat, but
succeeded in capturing the enemy.

We kept heavy guards at night. One night eighteen of our company were
put on out-post, but our cavalry was still further out. George Thomas
and I were stationed inside a fence row. We were told not to fire, and
we were to be relieved before daybreak. We were not relieved however,
and when day came we found ourselves only a short distance from the
Yankee breastworks. We could have kept concealed by the grass and
bushes, but George, who knew not the meaning of fear, stood in his
corner of the fence-row. As he watched the Yankees walking their
beats on the breastworks he thought it a good opportunity, and before
I knew it, he had shot his man. Oh, then three cannon and two thousand
infantry turned loose on us! The fence was knocked to smithereens.
The rails, filled with bullets, crashed over us. Limbs falling from
trees, covered us, and we were buried beneath the debris like ground
hogs. We could not get out until darkness fell again. Then we found
some of our cavalry, and tried to get back to our regiment, but the
Yanks were between us and our command. The cavalry said we could
fight our way through their lines, and we did. The cavalry soon left
us behind. Yankees were shooting all around us and yelling for us to
surrender, but we ran into a ravine, where we were hidden by the thick
undergrowth, and so we got away.

On May 29, 1862, General Beauregard evacuated Corinth. We retreated on
a dark night through a densely wooded bottom road. About two o’clock we
halted. As soon as we stopped we dropped in the road anywhere, anyhow,
and were fast asleep. Some devilish boy got two trace chains and came
running over the sleeping men, rattling the chains, yelling “Whoa!
Whoa!” at the top of his voice. Of course all the commotion—we had it
then. Soldiers grasped the guns at their sides, officers called, “Fall
in, fall in men.” When the joke was discovered it would have been death
to that man, but no one ever knew “who struck Billy Patterson.”

We marched forty miles and camped at Twenty Mile Creek on the Mobile
and Ohio railroad. On June 5th we reached Tupelo. We were put in
Anderson’s Division of General Walker’s Brigade and camped at Tupelo
until August 4th, when we were ordered to Montgomery, Ala.

We went on the train to Mobile. Here I went up into the city with
Colonel Snyder and two of his friends, I being the only private among
them. It seemed ages since we had enjoyed a square meal. We went into
a fine restaurant near the Hotel Battle House, four half-starved
Confederate soldiers. Just at the smell of oyster stew I collapsed. But
we ordered everything—oysters raw, fried, stewed, fresh red snapper;
just everything. We ate. I hope we ate! I think that proprietor was
astounded, but it was only our pocketbooks that suffered. At last when
we could eat no more, we had fine cigars, and as Dr. Scott said later,
“This was good enough for a dog.”

We went from Mobile to the railroad station on the bay, where the water
flows under the platform. The train was two hours late, so the boys
shed their clothes, and in ten minutes there were a thousand men in
the bay. They swam about splashing, kicking, diving, having fun until
some of the boys went in where the palm flags were growing and espied a
large alligator with his mouth wide open. In less time than it takes to
tell it there was not a soldier in the bay. Strange! Men, who had stood
firm in battle, had faced cannon, had endured shot and shell, now fled
from one alligator!

We went by rail to Montgomery, where we arrived August 7th. We went
into camp near the river and had a chance to swim without fear of
alligators.

Montgomery, as the first capital of the Confederacy, was a noted place
and many celebrated people lived there. Dr. Arnold and I had bought
ourselves “boiled” white shirts, thinking we might be invited into
society, but we seemed to have been forgotten by the “haut ton.” But it
was a beautiful city and we inspected it thoroughly. We were too many
for the police, so they “gave us rope to hang ourselves.”

We went on next day to Atlanta. When we got there we hoped to eat a big
Georgia watermelon, but to our consternation, found the provost guard
destroying every watermelon in the city. They were fresh, red and juicy
and made our mouths water, but discipline had improved and we touched
not, tasted not, handled not the unclean watermelons. The doctor said
they would make us sick. Citizens and negroes might eat them. For
soldiers they were sure poison.

We passed up the Sequatchie Valley with its fine springs, stone milk
houses, and rich bottom land. We camped on Cumberland Mountain and
we camped on Caney Fork. We marched thirty-five miles to Sparta,
Tennessee, and camped, and there we were ordered to wash our clothes
and to cook three days’ rations. All this marching was on the famous
Bragg Kentucky Campaign and the old general trained us to walk until
horses could not beat us. We marched eleven, twelve, thirteen____
____fifty miles. We waded the Cumberland river, and it was very swift
and deep. My messmate, Bob Bond, found a sweetheart here, but he could
not tarry and they parted in tears. We camped at Red Sulphur Springs,
marched thirty-eight miles and camped on the Tennessee and Kentucky
line. We passed through Glasgow, marching all night. These forced
marches were hard on us, seasoned infantry as we were. Dr. Arnold, my
file leader said:

“Bill, I can’t go any further, don’t you see I go to sleep walking? I
can’t stand it any longer.”

“You’re no good,” I replied, “you can stand it as well as I can,
besides if you leave the road you will be captured and will have to eat
rats.”

“Goodbye, old friend, I am gone,” was his answer. He ran into the wood
twenty or thirty feet from the road, dropped down and was asleep by the
time he hit the ground.

He said when he awoke he heard sabres clashing and cavalry passing.
He thought he “was a goner”, but he soon heard the familiar voice of
General Hardee. He was calling to get up and go on. He said even a
soldier’s endurance had a limit, and that limit was now reached. We
would not go much further without a rest. Then he ordered his body
guard to charge the sleeping men. Dr. Arnold had to run for his command
or be court martialed. Panting for breath, he joined us after we had
gone into camp, and exclaimed, “Bill, I wish I had come on, for I am
nearly dead, and old General Hardee is after me hot and heavy.”

On September 17th we left Case City at daybreak, and marched fifteen
miles to Mumfordsville, which we surrounded, placing a battery on every
hill and knoll that commanded the town. We had eighty cannon ready to
open fire, and then demanded the surrender of the garrison, and on
September 18th six thousand men marched out, laying down six thousand
guns. While Will Reid of our company was loading guns into a wagon,
one went off accidentally and shot off his arm. General Hardee was
riding over the battlefield, and seeing Reid with his arm dangling
at his side asked his staff surgeon, Dave Yandell, “Who is that man’s
surgeon?” Yandell pointed out Dr. Young. Dr. Young had gone out in our
company a graduate surgeon. He was young and up to that time he had
made no operation of note. He begged the staff-surgeon to help him, but
Yandell refused, saying he had no time. He stayed, however, to look
on, and embarrassed the young surgeon still more. When Dr. Young took
the knife his hand shook like a leaf, but he performed the operation
successfully and according to all the laws of surgery. After the war he
returned to his home at Corinth, Mississippi, where he stood high in
his profession. He died in 1892.

At Mumfordsville while in line of battle, marching slowly and stopping
often, we passed through an orchard. Nice juicy apples were lying all
over the ground and one of the boys of a Louisiana Regiment, stooped
down and picked up two or three. His colonel happened to be looking in
his direction, and he had that boy gagged and buckled every time the
line stopped. After that every soldier thought hell was too good for
that colonel.

On the 20th we marched all night and camped at daylight at New Haven.
On the 21st we marched seventeen miles, and camped at Haginsville. On
the 22nd we passed fine orchards. My partner, Dr. Arnold said to me,
“If you will carry my surplus luggage, I will take the risk and get
some of those apples.” “Now Pard, you are in for more trouble.” But he
would not listen, and taking his blanket to hold the apples he started
off.

He was not the only soldier under the trees, and while on a limb
getting his share of the apples, lo and behold, the provost guard came
to arrest them! He fairly fell from the tree, broke through the high
corn and ran for his life, the guard calling after, “Halt, or I shoot.”

He got back to us with the fruit but said the apples had cost him so
much labor and so much fright that they did not taste good. Because we
laughed at him, running with his load, he would not give us any until
the next day.

We marched fifteen miles and camped at Bardstown until October 4th,
when we marched seventeen miles. We marched twelve miles and camped at
Springfield. The heat was terrible on those long sunny pikes, with
never a sign to mark the grave of a hero, noble sacrifice to their
cause.

One day an assistant surgeon carrying an umbrella was marching along
the pike in the rear of his regiment when General Hardee came along.
The General had nothing to shield him from the sun but a little cap. He
rode up to the surgeon and said, “What is your name?”

The man told him his name, rank and regiment.

“Well sir,” said General Hardee, “just imagine this whole army with
umbrellas.”

The doctor shut up his umbrella and pitched it over into the field.

General Hardee was always joking his men on the march, but when the
fight was on no one did his part better than he.

On October 6th we marched through Perryville, but on the 7th we marched
back and camped in the main street of the town.

Some of the boys stole a bee-hive and many of them got stung so their
faces were swollen and eyes closed. Dr. Arnold was one of the injured
ones, but he did not fail to eat his honey. As we lay on the ground
that night I teased him, saying General Hardee would need no further
proof; that he carried his guilt in his face. The doctor did not relish
this so I turned over to go to sleep when a bee stung me on the cheek.

“Who’s the guilty one now?” laughed the doctor and the joke was surely
on me. But I knew where the medicine wagon was, and went and got some
ammonia. I bathed my face, and the swelling went down at once, so I
came out ahead after all.

By daylight we were in line of battle and honey and bee-stings were
forgotten. The Battle of Perryville was fought October 8th, 1862. We
were on the extreme left and our battery, on a hill at our rear, was
not engaged until late in the day. The heaviest fighting was on the
extreme right. Both sides were contending stubbornly for a spring
of water between the lines and were dying for water. Sometimes one
side would have the advantage, sometimes the other. When called into
action we crossed a bridge in the center of the town, formed a line
and advanced to the top of the hill. Our battery was planted and had
begun its work when we received orders to recross the bridge and
occupy our former lines. We had to retreat under battery fire, and
after we had got our battery over the bridge we marched along the
pike. The enemy opened on us with grape and cannister and did deadly
work. We double-quicked into line and their sharp-shooters gave us a
terrible assault from behind the houses. But when our line was formed,
our sharp-shooters deployed and our battery opened fire, they had to
retreat. So the battle went on, but finally we had to give up the
struggle and evacuate the town. The loss was heavy on both sides, about
eight thousand men being killed, captured and wounded.

October 9th we marched fifteen miles and passed Harrodsburg. On the
10th we marched sixteen miles to Camp Dick Robinson. Here a council was
held while General Bragg gave his wagons time to go South. It was the
greatest wagon train ever seen in the army; was three days passing at
one point. Here George Thomas and I each bought three yards of undyed
jeans to make ourselves some trousers when we got back South.

The defeat at Perryville and the failure of the Kentuckians to join us
as we had hoped, made our campaign anything but a brilliant success
from a military point of view, notwithstanding our victories at
Mumfordsville and Richmond.

But we had captured six thousand men, we had secured arms and
ammunition which were sorely needed, we had gotten enormous quantities
of supplies which were a great help to the Confederacy, and the men who
did get back were tough as whit-leather, ready for anything.

October 13th we marched twenty-three miles, passing through Lancaster,
October 14th we marched seventeen miles, going through Mount Vernon,
and halted a little before dark.

Dr. Arnold and I went down to a creek about a mile from camp, and there
in a field we found a fine pumpkin. He said if I would help him cook
it I might help him eat it. He said it would have to cook until one
o’clock to be well done. I told him I would help take it to camp but
I’d be dinged if I’d stay up until one o’clock to cook it. I was too
nearly dead for rest and sleep. We got it to camp, cut it up, put it
in the famous old army camp kettle and Doc began the Herculean task of
staying awake to cook his pumpkin. He did stay awake until one o’clock
and got it nicely done, but was afraid to eat it at that unusual hour,
as he might have cramp colic. He found an old fashioned oven with a
lid, put his pumpkin into it, fastened the lid, placed the oven under
the knapsack beneath his head and went to sleep. But first he took the
trouble to wake me and tell me I should not have a bite of his pumpkin
because I would not stay up to help him cook it.

When reveille sounded he woke up and began to guy me, saying “You shall
not have a bite.” He took up his knapsack and behold, the oven, pumpkin
and all, was gone! Oh, he was furious, and fairly pawed the ground. He
thought I had taken it for a joke, but soon found that to be a mistake.
We decided that some soldier had stolen and eaten it. If he had found
the man he would have fought him to a finish. He never did see the joke.

October 19th we marched eleven miles. We passed over a battlefield,
where General Buckner had fought, and crossed Wild Cat River. We
marched thirteen miles and passed through Barkersville. This was a
strong Union town in the mountains. The “Jay Hawkers” shot at us
from the top of the mountains; women and boys pelted us with stones,
shouting, “Hurrah, for the Union.” As they were women and children, we
had to take it.

Once we were marching on a road cut out of the mountain side. On one
side was a cliff of solid rock, on the other a deep precipice. The
command to halt was given and the men fell down to rest, completely
filling the road. Arnold and I were in the rear, and one of the
ambulance drivers, seeing the crowded condition of the road, told us
to get up with him, which we did. There was a trail just wide enough
for the horsemen, single file, and along this trail rode General Hardee
looking after his men. When he reached this ambulance he stopped
opposite Arnold and said to him, “Are you sick?” “No, sir.” “Well, get
down off that wagon.”

“Are you sick?” he called to me, but by that time I was out on the
ground. Then he said to the driver, “Let no soldier ride unless he is
sick or wounded.”

A Kentucky Colonel brought with him his five hundred dollar carriage,
and had his negro drive it at the rear of the regiment. In his rounds
General Hardee had found some sick men and told them to get into that
carriage. The negro and rear officers explained whose carriage it was,
but the General only said, “No use going empty when it can serve so
good a purpose. By tomorrow perhaps none of us will need it.”

So the umbrella man, Arnold and myself were not the only ones upon whom
General Hardee kept an eye.

October 19th we marched fourteen miles, crossed Cumberland River,
then on through Gibraltar, Cumberland Gap, and on across Powell
River into Tennessee. We marched past Taswell, crossed Clinch River
at Madisonville, and, on October 24th, camped about six miles from
Knoxville. Here we were given time to wash and dry our clothes. On this
raid we had only one suit and to get it clean meant to strip, wash,
let the clothes dry on or hang them on bushes to dry, while we waited.
With our battles and forced marches we could not stop for that; so
creeping companions were large and furious, and made deadly war. But
at Knoxville everybody got busy, went into warfare with our creeping
enemy, and the thousands destroyed in that fierce combat will never be
known.

George Thomas and I brought out our white jeans which we had bought
in Camp Dick Robinson, and had carried all these miles. We got some
copperas from a kind old rebel lady, took walnut hulls and dyed our
cloth. It was a good job too.

The boys were getting short on tobacco, and it looked as if the whole
army would be forced to reform on this line. But they borrowed Dr.
Ashford’s horse and sent me to buy tobacco, chewing tobacco, smoking
tobacco, hand tobacco, giving me plenty of Confederate currency.

I rode into the beautiful town which I had not seen since we were
flying into Virginia. Then we wore good clothes and had Sunday
Soldiering. Now we were soldiers with the dust of a thousand mile
march, ragged and unkempt, bleeding from the wounds of two hard-fought
battles and numerous skirmishes. Then we were raw, undisciplined
troops, now we were seasoned veterans. Such was the change in a few
short months.

Riding to a drug store, I hitched my horse, went in, and bought my
wholesale bill of tobacco. When I came out again to the sidewalk I saw
a policeman leading off my horse. I yelled at him to stop, but he went
on, I rushed up and grabbed the reins. He told me it was against the
law to hitch a horse to a post in that city. About that time twenty
of our boys came running to my rescue. They lined up and told the
policeman to turn the horse loose. He did the wise thing, or there
would have been a “hot time” right there. I took the horse and I made
a bee-line for General Braggs’ Brigade, and took joy and delight to my
tobacco-starving friends.

November 2nd we passed through Knoxville and camped on the railroad.
At daylight the 154th Regiment Band awoke us with the sweetest music I
ever heard. It brought back such poignant memories of home, of the boys
and girls around the piano, of charming plantation melodies.

But the next tune was not so sweet. It came to the tune of orders to
“cook three days’ rations, and be ready to move at a moment’s notice.”
We rode cars to Chattanooga, from there on November 10th we went to
Bridgeport, Alabama. From Bridgeport we crossed the Tennessee River,
marched fifty miles and camped at Alisonia. November 24th we marched
twenty miles, passing through Tullahoma; November 25th we marched
fifteen miles and camped on Duck River at a short distance from
Shelbyville. At this time the Medical department decided to give all
the one-course Medical students then in the army a chance to pass the
examination for promotion to assistant surgeon. Dr. Arnold was one of
these one-course students and decided to try the examination. We diked
him out in the best clothes we could get together in the company. I
contributed my white shirt, other boys brought him hat, coat, shoes,
and collar. When he stood before us for inspection he could have passed
for a lawyer or preacher just from town. With his book, “Smith’s
Compends,” he walked twenty miles to the Board of Examiners, stood
before the “saw-bones,” shook and answered questions. Perhaps his
borrowed plumage helped him, at any rate he passed, and was given a
certificate. He walked back, changed from the rank of a private to that
of a captain! When he came in sight two hundred braves met him; when
shown his certificate they rode him on a rail and kept up a rough house
for an hour or two. He had no horse, no money, and no books except his
Smith’s Compends, but the older doctors helped him, and soon he was
fully up in medical affairs and made a good surgeon too.

December 8th we marched twenty miles and camped at Eaglesville. From
there we marched to College Hill.

December 28th we marched to Murfreesboro, and camped on Stone River
within cannon shot of the town. Here we prepared to meet Rosecrans with
his army, forty-five thousand in number. We were in line of battle
on the extreme right. After dark on the thirtieth, still in line of
battle, we moved our position to extreme left and camped, without fire,
in a cedar rough. Our orders were to advance as soon as it was light
enough to see. At dawn, December 31, we moved promptly on the enemy,
advancing through an open field. The enemy, protected by a fence and
the trees, received us with deadly fire and our loss was great. But
we flew after them and our work was just as disastrous to them. Dead
bluecoats were thick in every direction. We soon had them on the run.

Our company Color Bearer William Mathews, the same who had defied the
Yankee fleet on the Potomac, had been ill and this was his first fight.
As we followed the fleeing Yanks he said, “Boys, this is fun.” One of
the men answered, “Stripes, don’t be so quick, this is not over yet;
you may get a ninety-day furlough yet.” In twenty minutes Mathews’ arm
was shot to pieces.

George Thomas was in front of all the company. He had killed two men
and was pulling down on the third, when one, but a short distance
away, shot him, wounding him in the arm. But George spotted the man who
shot him and wanted to go on with one good arm. However, he was taken
off the field and sent to the hospital.

We drove the enemy three miles. The fire all along the line was
terrific. The cannonading could be heard for miles. The rattle of
small arms was continuous. Our line on the left was pressing on over
a terrible cedar rough. Anyone who understands a cedar rough can
understand what that means. Limestone rocks, gnarly cedar trees, stub
arms sticking out of the ground, make it almost impassable at best. How
much more difficult with an enemy in front concentrating his fire upon
us. We pressed on through rocks and thicket. One of our brave boys,
Arthur Green, was struck by a cannonball and torn all to pieces. Other
parts of the line were as hot as ours. We got possession of the thicket
but could not get the cannon through it; so we hardly got a man of
their line.

When we got through, we found the Yanks with sixty cannon in line
fronting the cedar rough. Our ranks were so depleted we could not
charge two lines of infantry and sixty cannon. There was nothing to do
but hold our position and await re-inforcements.

We lay in line all night. Orders were sent to the quarter-master to
send rations, if he had any. Two negroes, belonging to two of the
officers, arrived, bringing food for their masters.

As all was quiet then, and it was raining, they decided to sleep
by the fire until daylight. To keep off the rain they drove forked
branches into the ground, laid a brace across them, stretched their
blankets over all, and pegged them to the ground at the four corners.
Before long hard firing was heard on the outpost. Bullets rained on
their tent, struck the logs of the fire, cut loose the corners of the
blankets, letting the rain on their faces. When they saw the flying
bullets, they awaited no instructions from their masters. With eyes
popping out of their heads, they grabbed their blankets and set out for
the wagon train. They were not long in getting there.

Next day the struggle was renewed with fearful carnage.

Each side fought with grim and settled purpose, finally a fierce
onslaught scattered our forces. In twenty minutes we lost two thousand
men, and the day was lost. Orders for retreat were given.

General Braggs’ loss was about ten thousand men, while Rosecrans
reported his at twelve thousand.

In the battle our Lieutenant Colonel Don McGregor was mortally wounded.
When he was taken to the hospital, his faithful old Samuel was by his
side. The Colonel’s sister, who lived a few miles from Murfreesboro,
had come to relieve the suffering and nurse the wounded. (Ah, those
brave, never-to-be-forgotten daughters of the South!) When she drove
up to the hospital in her carriage she found Sam waiting with his own
and his master’s horse saddled ready for the trip to her home. When we
retreated General Rosecrans’ men came in, and his guard took the two
horses, and drove off in the carriage. What could be done? Samuel said,
“I will get them back.”

At this particular time of the unpleasantness, the Yankees were
burning with sympathy for the poor, oppressed negro, and negroes were
permitted to do pretty much as they pleased. Samuel went to Rosecrans’
headquarters, told him the horses were his, that he had a wounded
friend in the hospital and he wanted a pass to the country. All his
requests were granted. He drove the Colonel and his sister to her home,
and nursed his master until he died.

After Colonel McGregor died Samuel got a pass through the lines and
returned to our camp. He delivered the Colonel’s horse but kept his own
and asked our Regiment Colonel for a pass to Arkansas. He then told
the boys to write to their fathers, mothers and sweethearts, as he
was going back home to see his mistress. We received answers to these
letters, showing that Samuel had made the journey safely, faithful to
the end.

We retreated by night. We were nearly starved. It was raining, cold,
cold rain, and we were wet to the skin. We were so sleepy that if we
stopped for a moment we would go to sleep. We had gone almost as far
as human nature could go.

One of the boys thought he would rest a few moments beside a fire left
by some wagons. He took pine boughs and laid them on the wet ground,
dropped down with all his accoutrements, and went to sleep. General
Hardee came up, spied him, called to his Adjutant, “Roy, come here;
here is a fellow who has gone regularly to bed.”

About then the soldier woke up very much frightened. He thought he
would be shot. He got away from there in a hurry, and was with his
command before his absence was discovered.

January 5th, 1863, we marched forty-two miles to Manchester. January
6th we marched eighteen miles to Alisonia. From Alisonia we marched to
Tullahoma, and there we camped for the winter.

We were in General Hardee’s Division. We had tents and were
comfortable. We drilled four hours a day, and by way of diversion
General Hardee had contests in drilling. We become so expert that we
could have made the Virginia Cadets ashamed of themselves. Our company
was third best and that took good practice. A Louisiana company was
ahead of us. It beat us in quickness at “trail arms”, “lie down”, at
“double quick.” At walking or running none excelled us at any army
maneuver. We had other amusements, too. We played “town ball” and “bull
pen” and had some lively games. We dressed up the smaller fellows as
girls and we danced. Joe Hamilton, Dick Hayden, Sam Shoup and Bill
Barnes were the musicians. Bill Shackleford was ready to play pranks,
and made fun for the crowd. Now and then we got a pass and sent our
best foragers out for “fancy grub” and vegetables. Then we would have a
big dinner and a big day.

April 23rd, real fun began again, but we were alive, active, young,
healthy, well-drilled, well-disciplined—in perfect fighting trim. For
fear we would forget how to march a walking track was opened up from
Tullahoma, and we marched daily five, ten, eighteen, twenty, thirty
miles, making expeditions to all the surrounding towns—Wartrace,
Bellbuckle, Hoover’s Gap, Duck River, Bridge, Railroad Gap,
Manchester. Manchester was a nice little town in the hills, where there
were numerous springs and streams in which we could swim. June 22nd we
went there to relieve a Louisiana Regiment. When we arrived they were
on dress parade, eleven hundred strong and their drill was simply fine,
but they had never smelt powder nor marched at all. They wore nice
caps, fine uniforms, white gloves, fine ——shop-made laced high shoes.
They carried fat haversacks and new canteens, fine new fat knapsacks
with lots of underclothing and even two pairs of shoes. They laughed at
us in our shabby dress, with our dirty haversacks and no knapsacks. We
had one suit of underwear wrapped in our blankets and our accoutrements
were reduced to the lightest weight possible. They said we were too few
to meet the enemy, but we told them we would stay with any who came to
engage us. We also told them that they couldn’t get through one week’s
campaign with such knapsacks. Some of the boys said, “We will follow in
your wake and replenish our wardrobes.”

This was a sad camp to us. One of our men, Garret, got angry with Mr.
Bragden, the Beef Sergeant, who divided the company rations. Taking his
gun, he went to Bragden’s tent where he was unarmed and shot him like
a dog. Garrett would have been lynched if the officers had not hurried
him off to another part of the army.

June 27th we marched to Wartrace, June 29th to Tullahoma, June 30th we
were deployed to build breastworks, but we retreated at eleven o’clock
at night to Alisonia on Elk River.

July third, we camped in the Cumberland Mountains, near the school
which had been established by General Polk and the Quintards. It was
an ideal place for a school and I am glad to say it bears, today, an
honored name among educators as the University of the South.

We had marched all day in the hot July sun, clouds of dust had parched
our throats, and we were almost perishing for water when we reached the
spring. As we rested at the side of the road whom should we see but our
crack Louisiana Regiment—the one we had relieved at Manchester only ten
days before. They were dusty, dirty, lame and halt, with feet sore
and swollen in their tight shoes, a bedraggled and woe begone set of
youngsters. How we joshed them.

“Don’t cry, mama’s darling;” “Straighten up and be men;” “Brace up like
soldiers, so the army won’t be ashamed of you.” These were some of the
commands we hurled at them. They would have fought us if they could
have stopped, but a soldier cannot break ranks.

July 4th, 1863, we camped in the valley on the Tennessee River. Then we
crossed the River at Kelly Ford to Lookout Valley. July 9th we marched
through Chattanooga and camped at Turner’s Station.

August 17th we marched to Graysville. Here Dr. T. R. Ashford got a four
days’ furlough. Dr. Ashford had married in Georgia and had gone with
his bride to Arkansas and established himself as a physician. When the
war broke out he joined the army from his adopted home, going out as
assistant surgeon in our regiment. His wife returned to her mother in
Georgia and he had not seen her for two years. As Graysville was near
her home, she came to visit him and there they had a happy meeting.

Dr. Ashford, always kind and sympathetic, was a great favorite with the
boys. Highly educated and a fine surgeon, he was modest and unassuming,
a sincere Christian gentleman. After the war he settled in Georgia.
Dr. Ashford, Dr. Arnold and I were close friends through those long
dreadful years.

August 21st we camped at Harrison on the Tennessee River. On August
23rd we marched fourteen miles and camped at Gardner’s Ferry.

Here several of the boys went foraging and got some nice green apples.
George Thomas, Captain Shoup and others made apple dumplings and put
them in a large camp kettle to cook.

They were standing around the fire, with mouths watering, thinking
every minute an hour, when the Yankees on the other side of the river
began to shell the camp. They had run up four globe-sighting 16
shotguns to the top of a small hill. We were too far from our guns and
there were no orders given to shoot, so they shelled us a plenty.

While the boys were watching the kettle a cannon ball struck the
fire, upset the kettle, passed between the legs of one of the men and
exploded a little farther on. This did not seem to cause any alarm.
They had heard cannon balls explode before, but a mighty wail went up
over the loss of the apple dumplings. The air was blue around there,
and at that particular moment the boys would have charged the enemy
joyously.

I was with the doctors that day. They had a negro who was a fine
forager. He even brought us fried chicken. We had a royal spread in
front of the doctors’ tent and were consuming the good things with
great relish, when a cannon ball went through the tent! It looked like
it was going to smash us to smithereens, grub and all! We got away from
there. We grabbed the grub and, went down the line where we finished
our meal. Not royally as we would have done, but hastily and stealthily.

But our sharp-shooters in the dumps on the river got even with them.
The Yanks drove out into the field with two six-mule wagons to get
some fine rebel fodder. There were about thirty men in all, teamsters
and guards. Some of them stood on the rail pen surrounding the fodder,
others climbed on the shock to begin at the top. Our sharp-shooters
shot the mules first, then the men, and few lived to tell the tale.
Sherman said, “War is Hell.” In this case it was hell to them.

September 10th we marched down the valley toward Lafayette. As the dust
was a foot deep and water scarce we moved slowly and we went into camp
about ten o’clock.

Dr. Scott of our Division, was sent for to see a citizen who was very
ill. He went and relieved him, and left medicine, not asking pay for
his services. After he had returned to camp a negro brought him a huge
tray heaped with good things to eat. The doctor looked at the pile of
grub, and said, “You boys must dine with me today, I can’t eat all
of this.” We needed no further urging for our blue beef and water
corn-dodger was rather poor fare. We lit into it, and as hungry wolves
devour a sheep, so we devoured that pile of grub. Then the darkey took
his tray and departed with a note of thanks. Our gratitude was truly
sincere.

September 19th battle was on hand. We were in General Polk’s Brigade,
to which the Hardee Corps had been transferred. When orders were read
we found ourselves named as reserves. Cannonading began on our right,
and we were moved quickly to the sound of the shot, about three miles.
As we drew nearer to it we were ordered to double-quick. When we came
to Chickamauga Creek we began to pull off our shoes to wade when
General Cleburne came along saying, “Boys, go through that river, we
can’t wait.”

Through the creek we went, and were among the first to be engaged
instead of being reserves. When our line was deployed and ordered
forward we were the very first. We struck stubborn western troops who
knew how to fight. The conflict was terrific and raged all day. When
night fell the engagement was stopped. Throwing out skirmishers we
found that the lines were mixed up terribly. We were among the Yankees
and they were calling, “What command is this?” It was midnight before
the lines were reformed. Then we had a night’s sleep on the ground,
knowing that on the morrow some of us would fall in defense of our
country—some of us would never see home and mother again. General
Longstreet arrived in the night with re-inforcements, bringing a
division from Virginia. At daybreak the struggle was renewed. On both
sides was the determination, “God being our helper, we will win this
day.” Wave after wave of deadly lead was sent against those Western
troops, who contested every inch of the ground, who would stand a
charge, and stay on the field. But our blood was hot, we fought for
home, and against an invading foe and we could not give up at all. At
the end of two days a battle of battles had been fought and won for
the Confederate cause. But alas, how many Southern boys had bitten the
dust. The field was so thickly strewn with dead we could scarcely walk
over it without stepping on the corpses. Our Regiment lost 42 killed
and 103 wounded, and of the 120,000 men engaged on both sides, 28,000
were killed and wounded.

Longstreet’s men said to us, “Boys, you have tougher men to fight than
we.”

If we had followed up our victory and had Forrest cut off the enemy’s
supplies what a difference it would have made. We might have stretched
our lines to the Kentucky border. Such are the mistakes of war.

At this battle one of the boys captured two horses and gave them to Dr.
Arnold. He said he would draw feed for them and on the march I could
ride one of them. I named my horse “General Thomas” but before we left
our first camp the assistant surgeons could draw feed only for one
horse so I was afoot as I had been for two years.

We established a line of breastworks on Missionary Ridge and held
Lookout Mountain, a mountain over a mile in height, and, as we thought,
commanded Chattanooga.

The Yankees saw that something must be done or things would be booming
in Dixie. They brought to the front Dutch, Irish, Hottentots and
all kinds of troops, and by the last of October the Sequatchie (?)
(Wauhatchie?) Valley was swarming like a beehive.

Once a Dutch corps of 15,000 went down the valley through a gap to
reach our rear. Bragg sent to meet them about 15,000 troops, placing
them arrowed in front. He had a line under General Hindeman with
orders, at a certain signal, to rush across, cutting them off entirely
from the main army. The signal was never given and we do not know why
to this day. At that signal we were to follow across the valley at
double-quick but Mr. Dutch discovered he was in a trap and he marched
out again.

There was a Union man living on the route of this Dutch Devil, who had
not joined either army. He had lived on his farm unmolested by the
Southern troops, and supposed that of course he would be protected
by the Northern troops. As the Dutch marched down to attack us they
stopped at this man’s home, searched the place, insulted his wife and
knocked him down. As they came running back they had no time to tarry,
but one at a time, a straggler, would drop into his smokehouse to see
if there was one ham left. The Union man took a long, keen bowie-knife
and stood in the dark corner of the smokehouse; when only one man
entered he stabbed him to the heart and put his body into the well. He
killed three men. Next morning, he with his wife and children, walked
into our camp. He said he was ready to fight to the bitter end. He took
his family South and came back and made a bad soldier for them.

November 23, 24 and 25 we fought the “Battle Above the Clouds,” the
terrible conflict of Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge. We were
fighting continuously during those three days. We were in breastworks
on the ridge near Lookout Mountain, but when the fighting was fiercest
we were sent to relieve the commands at the extreme right of the
Yankee army. They came in solid front five columns deep and charged
our breastworks but were driven back hour after hour with terrible
slaughter. Late in the afternoon they made a concentrated attack on
our center and drove our men out of line. We had to give up Lookout
Mountain and we retreated to the Ridge about midnight. Throughout the
night Sherman’s troops were coming up, and next day we were attacked
in front and flank. Our breastworks were of no use as Lookout Mountain
commanded the Ridge, so in spite of desperate struggles we were ordered
to retreat.

At Chattanooga it had been agreed that there should be no firing on
the line of pickets without notification. Here between the picket line
and the main line of battle our sporting boys sought “sheckle luck,”
those who were fortunate enough to have a few sheckles of Confederate
money. One day when General Hardee was officer of the day he ordered a
regiment deployed around the gamblers, but soldiers from all parts of
the field yelled to the boys to run, and run they did. General Hardee
did not get many.

In our company was a Kentucky lad named Barnett who had a brother in
the Union Army. They got permission to spend the day together. When the
day was over they separated, each going back to his command. That was
a war! Brother against brother, father against son, arrayed in deadly
combat.

We went to Dalton, marching all night. As we crossed the river it
seemed the coldest night our thinly clad men had ever experienced. Our
corps under Hardee was the rear guard. General Cleburne’s Division was
immediately in the rear. General Polk was our Brigadier General. About
two o’clock we passed General Cleburne.
                               [ . . . ]
mountain, looking and thinking.

“Something is going to happen” I said to the boys.

“Why?”

“Look at General Cleburne, don’t you see war in his eyes?”

We had crossed Ringold Mountain, but we were sent back to take the
horses from the cannon, put men in their places, and pulled it quickly
to the top of the mountain, so to the summit over rocks and between
trees two pieces were carried. Our regiment was sent to the top with
them. Two minutes more would have been too late. Not fifty yards away
on the other side of the hill were Yankees climbing for the same goal.
Then the firing began. We had the advantage in having a tree to use as
breastworks, and in being able to see them. Whenever one stepped aside
from his tree to shoot our men got him. Captain Shoup and John Baird
rolled rocks down the hill and when a Yankee dodged the other boys shot
him. We picked off dozens. When the cannon was got ready and began
shelling the woods, breaking the trees, tearing up rocks and showering
them on the lines below, they had to break and retreat in haste down
the hill.

If we had not got there as soon as we did our line would have been the
one to retreat.

General Cleburne took us next to Ringold Gap, a gap dug by the railroad
through the mountain. He made a talk to the boys, telling us that we
were there to save the army, which was five miles away and could not
possibly get help to us. Our task would require nerve and will of which
he knew we had plenty. We were to form two lines of battle across
the gap and were not to fire until he gave the signal, (by signs, as
commands would not be heard in the roar of guns.)

The Yankees having failed to break our line on the mountain had massed
their forces at the gap, determined to break Cleburne’s line, when the
rest would be easy for them.

They came on seven columns deep to our two. We watched them advance
and seconds seemed hours. We felt they would be on us before Cleburne
ever gave the signal. Would he never give it? At last when the time was
ripe, he, who knew the art of war so well, gave the signal to fire, and
such deadly work did we perform as was not surpassed in the whole four
years of war. We let loose on them four pieces of cannon. The command
to stop firing was not given until the number of dead in our front was
greater than our Brigade. This fight showed strategy and bravery. It
checked the advance of an army five times greater than our Division,
and it proved to General Hardee that he had one man who could plan and
execute a battle with any adversary. Ever after, Cleburne with his
Arkansas, Tennessee and Texas men was placed in the hottest part of
battle. Our loss was 88 killed, 23 wounded, and their loss was reported
in Northern papers as 2,000 killed, wounded and captured.

We went into winter quarters at Dalton, our regiment being in front
of the general army. We camped near Tunnel Hill. We had good foraging
ground and could get chickens, eggs, butter, so we lived high. John
Loftin was captain of the foragers and he was a good one too. He only
got caught once but he lied out of that. Two negroes, who belonged
to two doctors of our Brigade, went to Dalton one night to see the
sights and buy half-moon pies, big sorghum ginger-bread, and other
things. Coming home at midnight they were crossing a railroad trestle
when two robbers called on them to halt. Sam began to parley with them
when whack! they hit him over the head, and told him to give up his
money. He yielded up his shin-plasters, all he had. They then took
Tom’s can. He did not have much so they told him to pull. He was a good
runner especially when scared, and he lit out over rocks and brush,
beating his partner to camp. With eyes as big as saucers he related
his exploits to his master. They did not visit Dalton at night again.
We used to go over there to see the girls and have parties and sorghum
“candy pulls.” It was a great diversion, and between the lines, when
the guards were on to it they would arrest, but the boys could usually
outgeneral them.

From this camp I was sent on a three days’ furlough to Augusta to buy
some drug supplies not to be found in Atlanta. When I reached Atlanta
whom should I meet but George Roberts, one of my old mess-mates who had
been transferred to Morgan’s Cavalry. Morgan had been captured, and all
that was left of the command was at Macon re-organizing. George was
buying horses. He was flush and wanted me to take a thousand dollars,
but I had lots of money, at least for these days. He went to the depot
to see me off. Robert was a fine fellow. He was a regular city rat. We
country boys used to get him to pilot us around the city. He would know
all the streets in a day and could take us anywhere we wanted to go.
After the war he settled in Texas, where he was cashier of a bank. He
died several years ago.

In Augusta I met Colonel Snyder of the Eighth Arkansas. He was
from Pocahontas, Ark., and was then on a furlough. I also met Ed
M. Dickinson, Thad Kinman and Ben Adler. They belonged to the
quartermaster’s department under Captain Bridewell and Major Moon.
They kept books as big as a dining table. As they belonged to this
particular department they helped me to draw a new jacket suit. They
lived in a fine city and fared sumptuously, so knowing all the ropes
they made it mighty pleasant for me. Through Ed I met an uncle whom I
had not seen before. It was on a crowded street in the city, but I knew
him at once from his resemblance to my father. When I accosted him he
was very dignified and seemed to doubt me until I told him the names of
the whole family. Then he insisted upon me going to his home. He had an
interesting family. My grandmother died at his home and was buried in a
cemetery in Augusta. I got back to camp on time. After living off the
fat of the land our regular diet of blue beef and corn bread somehow
failed to tickle the palate. George Thomas, who had been wounded at
Murfreesboro, got back to us at this camp.

We were waiting to move on the checkerboard. Jeff Davis, General Bragg,
Johnston and all were calling for the troops to have a decisive battle
hereabouts, but there was a difference of opinion between Davis and the
commanding generals. Our Brigade was ordered, I suppose to Mississippi.
We went by rail to Montgomery, were halted there, and were sent back to
Dalton and went into camp again.

May 8th, 1864 we began the famous Dalton campaign, under the leadership
of the superb General Joseph E. Johnston. He had between forty and
fifty thousand men divided into three corps, commanded respectively by
Generals Hardee, Hood and Polk. He was opposed by Sherman with about
100,000 well drilled seasoned soldiers [ . . . ] by Generals
Thomas, McPherson and Schofield, but Johnston was equal to the campaign.

May 8th we were menaced by the enemy in front and flank. May 9th we
moved our position two miles to the left and on May 10th we moved
rapidly back to the top of the mountain. We had no tents nor protection
of any kind. We slept on the ground among the rocks. Although it rained
in torrents, we were so dead tired from our 33 mile march, we did not
know it was raining until we were wet through. At daybreak we were
again on the march and went to Snake Creek Gap, then three miles to the
left and built breastworks. From there we marched to Resaca. May 15th
we had heavy fighting and were forced from our position. The retreat
was covered by Hardee’s corps. Our engineers had to build, under fire,
a bridge for the army to cross the Costenaula. In fact from Dalton to
Atlanta we had a continuous battle. We moved back slowly, and only when
flanked and outnumbered. When we adopted a new line a few miles back,
we built breastworks. Thus marching, battling, building works, in rain
and mud, with no camp, no tents and but little food, the campaign went
on. But in all our skirmishes and engagements we used every advantage
to their great loss. We fell back to Calhoun, then to Adairsville. We
were the rear guard on that road. After we had crossed a creek and
marched to the top of the hill, (our Cavalry to the rear), the Yankees
moved opposite and opened up a battery. We were ordered to lie down and
not to fire until told to do so. General Polk and General Jackson rode
in front of us and the sharp-shooters and artillery of the enemy made
it hot for them, bullets going through their hats and clothes. General
Jackson would dodge, but General Polk would sit as straight as an arrow
and never move a muscle. I heard him when he told General Cleburne and
asked permission to advance on the enemy. When the courier returned
General Cleburne himself came to see the fun. From our hill could be
seen fifty thousand Yankee troops—Infantry, Cavalry and Artillery. For
our Brigade to advance against such a force was a visionary idea, and
the permission was not given.

We moved on to join our main army which was a few miles in front drawn
up in line of battle near Cassville. Our line was in open field, five
miles long. Each man had forty cartridges and knew how to use them.
General Johnston rode along the line and told the men he was going to
give battle. The soldiers threw their caps into the air and shouted
themselves hoarse with joy at the thought of going into a fight which
they felt in their souls would be successful. It was inspiring to see
such enthusiasm in battle scarred veterans who knew what fighting
meant. It was not theory with them, it was knowledge gained in bloody
experience. I was glad I was on that field and saw that flashing of
Southern bravery. Such patriots are born only of liberty-loving people,
born of God. That confidence of success, that confidence in their
leader was what Joseph E. Johnston had looked for, had prayed for.
He knew his position to be the best he had ever had. He now knew the
temper of his men. Nothing could have checked them. It would be the
biggest battle of the war and his success.

When this great battle was formed in Johnston’s brain and the Generals
ordered to occupy the ground assigned them, who was the first to say
he could not hold his position? Who, but General Hood! Histories love
to state that these generals led their men, but here was a time when
the general did not lead into battle the bravest men in the world who
were clamoring for the fight.

[Illustration: LYMAN B. GILL]

General Polk also expressed his disapproval of the movement. When his
two generals went back on him, Johnston was paralyzed and could not or
did not attempt to carry out his plan. Unlike Albert Sydney Johnson at
Shiloh, who, when his plan was disapproved of, and obstacles thrown in
his way, arose like the giant hero he was and said “You who are true,
go to your commands. The battle will begin at daybreak.” If he had
lived a few hours longer he would have won that battle beyond a doubt.

If Joseph E. Johnston had said something like this the men would have
done the rest, but when he ordered the line under the skirmish fire to
retreat they obeyed like true soldiers. It was a bitter disappointment,
but their trust in the great commander was firm. He hoped that other
opportunities would offer but when the time came he was relieved and
the command given to that General who had thwarted the greatest battle
of the Confederacy.

Johnston’s plan of campaign was the only one possible for us, fighting
against such odds. I am not a general, nor the son of a general, but
having been right on the ground for four years, feel that I am entitled
to an opinion. And so with all the men who composed Company G, First
Arkansas Regiment, Hardee Corps, Govan Brigade, Cleburne Division. The
verdict of these men who helped make history is that if Johnston’s
[ . . . ] had prevailed the Confederacy would have had a different
tale to tell at Atlanta.

Tacticians now agree that Johnston’s success in preserving his army
almost entire was an achievement of the greatest military science.

May 19th we left Cassville. We marched mostly by night, built
breastworks, and by daybreak were ready for the contest. On May 26th
the heaviest assault on our works took place. On our skirmish line,
a short distance in front of our works we had dump holes dug in the
ground, the dirt thrown out facing the enemy. Thirty men stayed in the
dumps until the main line came up. Then they opened fire and checked
the advance. When they could no longer do this, they ran back to the
line behind the breastworks.

At New Hope Church the enemy made a seven line concentrated assault
on our line. Our men were cool and steady, and all were splendid
shots. We waited until they were very near, then sent forth a sheet of
fire and lead that could not be withstood. The number of their dead
was enormous, and our own loss was considerable. We lost our first
lieutenant, Alley Walthall, here. He was a distant relative of General
Walthall, and as brave a man as ever lived on earth.

A lieutenant of another company was killed also. He was in one of the
dumps with one of the sixteen rifles. He had seen four Yankees fall
under his well-directed fire, but at last was mortally wounded. He
backed out of the dump and into a hollow where the enemy could see him
fall. His comrades went out and brought him behind the breastworks.
As he lay on the ground he conversed with his friends urging them to
become Christians. Sending for the Colonel, he told him that he (the
colonel) was a wicked man, and must lead a better life. By way of
comfort one of the boys told him how many Yankees he had killed in the
assault. The lieutenant said, “Yes, I killed three. But, my brother,
don’t gloat over it. Do your duty, but don’t gloat over it.” After
sending many loving messages home he passed away.

Meanwhile Sherman was receiving re-inforcements, and on June 9th moved
against our intrenchments along Lost Mountains. In this region there
was fighting for several days in the midst of almost incessant rain.
General Polk was killed during this engagement. June 15–17 we abandoned
both mountains and fell back to the great Kennesaw overlooking Marietta.

June 20th two of us got a permit to go to Marietta for tobacco and
other supplies. As we were passing through the residence part of the
city a kind-hearted lady invited us into the house to eat raspberries
with her family. We did not have the heart to refuse her hospitality,
so we went in. We had raspberries, cream and cake. Think of it, rebel
soldiers regaled with such delicacies! When we got back to camp we
told the boys about it and they said we lied! But the memory of that
kind act to strangers and common privates will last as long as life
itself.

On the 27th after a furious cannonading for hours by the enemy he made
a general advance in heavy columns. Their assault in seven lines deep
was vigorous and persistent on Cheatham’s and Cleburne’s Divisions of
Hardee’s Corps, the Confederates being covered by strong rifle pits
which could not be carried by front attack, coolly and rapidly pouring
a murderous fire into the massed Federals, causing losses entirely
out of proportion to those inflicted upon the Confederates. The loss
of the enemy in front of Cleburne’s Division was one thousand deaths.
After the repulse of the second desperate assault the dry leaves and
undergrowth in the forest before Cleburne’s Division were set on fire
by the shells and gun wadding, and began burning rapidly around the
Federal wounded and dead, exposing them to a horrible death. This
danger was observed by the Confederates who were ordered instantly to
cease firing and Lieutenant Colonel Martin, First Arkansas Regiment of
Cleburne’s Division, called to the Federals that as an act of humanity
his men would suspend further battle until the assailants could carry
off their dead and wounded who were liable to be burned alive. This
offer was accepted by the Federals and in this work of mercy the
Federals were joined by the Confederates who leaped their head logs and
helped to carry off their dead and wounded. This occurrence is perhaps
unparalleled in the annals of war. In this great struggle the Federal
army numbered about or over one hundred thousand and Confederates
numbered fifty thousand and in this Kennesaw battle our loss was eight
hundred and eight the Federal loss about five thousand.

July 4th was celebrated by skirmishing all day. Sherman hoped to
catch us and administer a fatal blow before we could cross the
Chattahootchee, but we threw up strong intrenchments so quickly, and
guarded the rear so skillfully that the army was all across the river
July 5th without having been molested.

But speaking of the Fourth of July. At this time Colonel Fellows,
who had been with our command on our first trip to Richmond, was in
prison at Johnson’s Island together with about three thousand other
officers. The rebels gained permission for Colonel Fellows to speak
on the stand used by the guards as a watch tower. As he poured forth
his thoughts, turning the Fourth of July to the glory of the South
even the Yankee guards, who had stopped to listen were spellbound by
his eloquence. He had it all his own way and the rebels were shouting
like mad. The officer of the day finally awoke to the situation, took
a file of soldiers, and brought the speech to a close. At another time
in the same prison Lincoln’s Proclamation was read, offering pardon and
freedom to all rebel prisoners who would take the oath of allegiance.
The officers lined up in the barracks and announced that any man who
wished to take the oath might step over to this line, give his name and
be free. When Colonel Fellows was called he made a five minute talk in
which he declared death was preferable. One of our boys, Shannon Logan
of Co. G, First Arkansas Regiment, eighteen years old, was captured.
He was a relative of General Logan and when his name appeared General
Logan’s family drove down to the prison with the papers necessary for
his release. They asked to see him and were shown a dirty, greasy,
lousy private. Through the grime they recognized a fine boy with a
noble face. They took him home, bathed him, clothed him, fed him, then
told him to be their boy thenceforth. If this lonely boy, away from
home, away from comrades had taken the oath he would have been free,
with loving kinsmen, with luxury and riches, but he said “No, no! I
will die first.” So for him it was back to the filthy prison among the
vermin and the rats.

[Illustration: LON STEADMAN

Now living at Paragould, Ark., where he was sheriff for ten years.]

This, one of the many instances of the loyalty displayed by the rank
and file, should be told to coming generations that they may know how
the Southern private never faltered, but was true to the core.

July 12th we crossed the Chattahootchee near Atlanta. July 18th we
marched four miles and built breastworks. July 20th there was hard
fighting at Peach Tree Creek in which we lost heavily. Our noble
Captain Shoup was wounded and the command devolved upon Second
Lieutenant Clay Lowe. He and John R. Loftin were the only commissioned
officers we had left.

July 22 we marched ten miles to the right of Atlanta. Hardee had
attacked the enemy in the rear and there had been a terrible struggle
which lasted for hours. Toward evening we heard the Yankee Bands
playing and the soldiers shooting and cheering and we knew they had won.

While Johnston was in command he had preserved his army, and inflicted
upon the enemy a loss almost equal to our strength when we began the
campaign. Our loss had been about nine thousand, which had been filled
by the return of the wounded and furloughed men, so that General Hood
received an army fully as strong as it was at Dalton. We were as
ready to fight as ever although certainly disappointed at the loss of
Johnston. We felt that no other general could do what he had done.

Soon after the war ended Johnston was going from Memphis to St. Louis.
General Sherman and his staff were on their way to New Orleans. When
Sherman learned that his former adversary was on board a certain boat
he took passage for St. Louis on the same vessel. After supper he asked
Johnston if he had any objection to going over with him the retreat
from Dalton. Johnston said he had not. So Sherman spread his maps on
the cabin table and, surrounded by a throng of listeners, they began.
Sherman would ask about his line at a certain place, and Johnston
would explain how his move was made. Sherman would point to his map
and say: “How in the world did you get away from me here?” They talked
all night. Johnston needed no map. He had been in the very thick of
battle for seventy-four days; the map of campaign was burned into
his brain, and he knew every foot of the ground. His retreat was a
wonder to Sherman and to the world. Yet this great military genius was
thrown out on the eve of his final and greatest assault upon Sherman.
An assault which would have saved Atlanta to the Confederacy. Hood and
Davis tactics prevailed after that and the splendid, unconquered army
was swept off the earth into the grave.

Hood questioned the morale of his army, but as for that, our poor
little Company G went into line under Hood as true as it ever had under
Johnston. We fought for the cause, not the general. Jim Hensley, a boy
who had been wounded severely, returned to the company. His physician
had not reported him for duty, but had given him merely a pass to his
command. I was in the field hospital when the order to forward was
given. Hensley came to me saying: “Here, my dear old friend, is a
little silver watch I wish to give you, for I shall be killed today.”

I told him he had not been reported for duty; that he was still far
from well, and begged him not to go into battle, especially as he
had a presentiment that he should be killed. He turned his soulful
eyes upon me. “Will, do you think I am afraid because I know I am
going to be killed?” Putting his hand on his breast he continued, “I
have no fear of death. I am a Christian, and I know I shall be safe
in heaven.” With tears we parted. He joined his brave comrades, Jim
Murphy, John Baird and George Thomas on the left of Company G, after
the line was in motion. They were moving against strong entrenchments
heavily defended by abatis. These four boys saw they could crawl under
the abatis without being seen and get close to the breastworks. After
they started, the command was given to oblique to the left, but in the
roar of the musketry the boys failed to hear it and went on alone.
There were about a hundred Yankees on the breastworks watching our line
which was advancing upon their rear. The four boys crawled close in,
prepared, and opened up. At the first fire down came four Yankees. They
were taken by surprise, not knowing there were any men at their front.
The boys kept at their game until the Yankees ran. Then went forward
to take possession of the works. Then they found themselves alone
and two hundred of the enemy entrenched behind a second line! It was
death anyway, so they ran forward firing on the troops with terrible
accuracy. One man had a bead on Thomas when Murphy shot the fellow. One
hinged for Murphy when Thomas bayoneted him. So they had it—hand to
hand. Poor Hensley was killed, Murphy terribly wounded, Baird wounded,
but Thomas would not surrender. He bayoneted them until they took his
gun, then he kicked and bit until they finally killed him there. Four
men had killed twenty-five Yankees, but only one of the four lived to
tell the tale. To question the morale of such men is farcical. The
battle on our left raged all day, and we were defeated. Our colonel
lost his foot. One third of our regiment was gone. Great numbers were
killed and wounded but the troops were as loyal and fought as bravely
as any army on earth. This was Hood’s second defeat. In two battles, he
had lost ten thousand men—more than we had lost in the whole campaign,
in seventy-four days’ battles and skirmishes. It would not take long
with such tactics to wipe out the rebel army.

July 29th we marched back to Atlanta. August 31st we marched to
Jonesboro and on September 1st we moved to the right, threw up
temporary works and Hardee’s corps fought the Battle of Jonesboro.
Hood’s and Stewart’s corps were at Atlanta, twenty miles away, and we
were entirely unsupported. We fought all day against seven corps of
Yankees. We were surrounded and fought in front and in the rear. Fought
as General Cleburne always fought. The Yankees charged our company
seven lines deep, but our thin line held firm until some of the boys
happened to discover a line of Infantry charging in the rear. Then they
began to waver. Our Lieutenant Commander Clay jumped on top of the
breastworks, waved his gun, (the sixteen-shooter which the officers of
our company carried instead of sabres,) and called to his men to stand
their ground. He was on the breastworks but a few minutes when he fell,
pierced through by one of the thousand bullets fired at him. As he fell
he saw for the first time why his men wavered. He ordered a hasty
retreat to the right, and although dreadfully wounded successfully
threw the line of battle to the rear. He fell in my arms and I got him
to an ambulance and sent him to a hospital. In Macon we had only one
commissioned officer left, John R. Loftin.

We would have been eaten up entirely, but for the coming of
night, which gave Hardee a chance to unite his corps and throw
up intrenchments. He displayed fine generalship throughout this
engagement. Hardee had been offered the command of the army in
Tennessee before Hood took it but had replied: “General Johnston is
the only man able to command this army, and I will not have it.” Here
was another terrible defeat for the new leader. Our loss at Jonesboro
was about 2,500 men. The Yanks put our captured men on the train and
sent them back over the old route. The fort at Dalton was garrisoned by
negro troops. A great number of these negroes were at the station when
the prisoners arrived. They insulted our men, and tried to take them
from the train, yelling, “No quarter, if we get you on the field.” If
white troops had not come to protect them there would have been serious
trouble.

Our corps camped on the Macon road. It was a dark night and was
raining heavily. By the flashes of lightning we saw the train of army
ambulances coming out of Atlanta, and we heard female voices singing
Dixie and other Southern songs. These were brave women, non-combatants,
driven from their homes by the infamous order of Sherman. They had no
shelter, no provision and only the clothes they wore. Some bore nursing
babes and one woman gave birth to a Dixie boy in the wagon train. Yet
these glorious women would not show anguish or cry out to please the
demon general. They shouted for Dixie and sang on their dreary ride.
They went further South out of range of the beast of a general. He
burned Atlanta and made war on women and children for the rest of the
way on his infamous “march to the sea.” As long as he had Johnston to
fight he had no time for his diabolical deeds.

September 12th we marched to Palmetto and camped there, and President
Davis came to review his thrice defeated army. Beforehand a general
order was read, that no cheers should be given on this review.
Never-the-less, when Davis reached the center of the troops every man
on the field joined in one mighty volume of sound, “Hurrah for General
Johnston.” They knew it would be impossible to court martial the entire
army.

October 1st we crossed the Chattahoochee river at Moore Bridge. October
9th we crossed the Talacatacline river and went up the railroad as far
as Dalton held by the negroes who had promised “no quarter” to our
boys. General Cheatham detailed our brigade to guard the wagon train
through a different route about four miles from Dalton, while he took
Granberry’s Brigade and our Texas troops to attack the fort. As we
fought side by side in so many hard battles the Texas men asked that
the Arkansas regiment (not on the ground) should have the honor of
charging the fort, and this General Cheatham promised. He surrounded
the fort and demanded its surrender. This was refused. While the
artillery made ready the Texans passed the word down the line as though
it came from General Cheatham, “Kill every damn one of them,” which
would have been carrying out their own threat of “no quarter.” However,
they saved their necks by five minutes, for when the white officers
saw they were overwhelmingly surrounded they gave up. The prisoners
were put to work at tearing up the railroad track. One of the negroes
protested against the work as he was a sergeant. When he had paid the
penalty for disobeying orders the rest tore up the road readily and
rapidly. That evening the Texas command moved over to us. We heard
them yelling and singing but we did not know what had happened. They
were guarding the negro prisoners, and were calling to us, “Here are
your ‘no quarter’ negroes, come and kill them!” The poor negroes,
with eyes popped out nearly two inches, begged, prayed, and made all
sorts of promises for the future. They soon moved on out of sight and
the general turned them over to the engineering corps, where they did
splendid service. This was better than killing them.

That day as the wagons were in skirmish line ready for attack we heard
firing in front of our advance column. Everything stopped and we made
ready for action. Advancing, we discovered the cause of the tumult. A
squad of scouts, whose captain was a man with long red hair, had given
a great deal of trouble to the Yankees in that vicinity. Because he
was an Independent Scout he had been outlawed and a price was placed
upon his head. He and his outlaws were desperate fellows and accepted
“no quarter” clause. This squad was on our road and as it happened,
met a squad of twenty-two Yankee scouts coming down the same road. The
red-headed captain and his five men charged the superior squad, wounded
six and killed four. The rest of the Yankees fled in haste. We were
close upon them, so Red Head could not kill the wounded. He and his men
took to the mountains and we never saw them again.

We passed through Cedar Town and Cave Spring, and camped on Coosa
river. We passed through Center and camped on Terrapin Creek. We
crossed Chuckluck mountains and camped at Jacksonville. We crossed
Coosa at Gordon and camped on Sand mountain. We camped on Black Morgan
river.

On October 27th we marched seven miles and camped in line around
Decatur. It was a rainy night, so dark we could not see our file
leader. If there were any roads we could not see them. It was
impossible to finish the line of battle. The army had lost its way. I
was standing beside the other boys holding to a small sapling when a
new line came up, moving as best they could in a hog path, each man
guessing at the way and calling to the man in front. A log about knee
high lay across the path and I saw three different soldiers strike that
log and fall over it into the muddy slash. Each time the man’s gun went
splashing ahead striking the fellow in front. There was cussin’ all
along the line. Finally we ran out on the log and warned others who
came along, turning them safely around that point. On October 28th we
went further in, completed the line and fought the Battle of Decatur.
The night after the battle it turned so cold we nearly froze to death,
but we did not mind marching over frozen ground.

October 30th we marched thirty miles and passed Courtland, Alabama.
On the 31st we marched twelve miles and camped at Tuscumbia. November
13th we crossed the Tennessee on a pontoon bridge at Florence. November
14th we built breastworks. On the 22nd we marched thirty-two miles and
crossed the state line into Tennessee. On the 23rd we passed Warrenton,
the 25th through Henryville, and the 26th through Mount Pleasant. We
camped on General Pillow’s place. He had a grand old Southern home.
A fine brick mansion, surrounded by beautiful groves with splendid
driveways. He had his own church, a comfortable and pretty brick
building. These cultured people of the best blood of the South lived in
this ideal spot and educated their children by teachers who lived in
the home. Two members of this family, Ed Pillow and J. D. Pillow, live
in Helena, where they still keep up the family customs and traditions.

November 27th we marched nineteen miles and camped near Columbia. The
enemy under Schofield had retreated from Mount Pleasant to Columbia
and had entrenched in a formidable position. We went around them and
crossing the Duck river on pontoon and rail bridges, we double-quicked
to Spring Hill and engaged the enemy with Cleburne’s Division. Our
regiment was one of the first in action, after the cavalry had
skirmished with them. Night overtook us and we could not see to
fight. Forrest wished to attack them, even in the night, but was not
permitted. As their force was much superior to ours, it would have been
useless. Hood did not think they would retreat, but at daylight, when
he began to complete his line, surrounding them, he discovered that
they had flown to Franklin! With muffled cannon, silently and swiftly,
Schofield had fled through the night.

Company G lost some good men at Spring Hill. We established a hospital
there, with Dr. Brickie and Dr. Gray in charge to care for the wounded.
We brought the ordnance from Columbia and followed the enemy.

The Yankees had been reinforced and had entrenched at Franklin, behind
the works they had built some months before. In front of their works
was an open field with not a tree or ravine for a mile and a half. Just
before the breastworks was an open ditch six feet wide and three feet
deep. At the end of the ditch next to the breastworks, were placed
poles sharpened spear-shape. Their main works were six feet at the
base. The cannon-breast portion was cut down so that the guns, resting
on oak logs, were on a level with our bodies. Behind the whole was a
thicket of locust trees, as close together as they could possibly grow.
After the battle these trees were found to have been cut off level with
the breastworks by Confederate balls.

[Illustration: BEN ADLER.]

As a description of this battle of Franklin, November 30, 1864, I
insert an extract from the Park Marshall address delivered forty-eight
years afterward:

“I was born at Franklin, and as a small boy I visited this battle field
when the smoke had scarcely disappeared, and the impression of that
morning is still in my memory. Without exaggeration I may say that the
severest battle of modern history was fought on these plains. In the
forefront of that battle there were not over 20,000 Union troops, not
over 15,000 Confederates, yet the killed on one side was greater in two
or three hours than occurred on any one day on one side in any other
battle of the Civil War, except Antietam.

“All the generals objected to the charge. Forrest, the best cavalry
leader in the South, begged Hood to change his murderous plan,
saying, ‘I know every hog-path in this county, and I can show you a
route which will give us a chance.’

“The lesser generals entered their protest along with the great
generals. Men of world-wide fame, and privates too, had their opinion,
but not the right to speak.

“To send soldiers against such a position was suicidal. Every man in
the South available for service was in the field. When these men were
killed the Confederacy was destroyed. Oh, for a Johnston before the
fatal word was given! Against every protest Hood ordered the advance.
What were Cleburne’s last words to his noble warrior boys?

“Boys, we are ordered to charge the works. I don’t think we can take
them, but we can try. Forward!”

“In thirty minutes this glorious patriot’s blood was flowing upon
the ground. The advance was made without a halt, but men were mowed
down as wheat before the reaper. They marched to the breastworks and
scaled the walls, but they were bayoneted on top of the works and fell
over on the enemy. Seven dead generals were brought and laid on this
porch—Cleburne, Granberry, Strahl, Gist, Carter and Adams. Adams fell,
leaving his dead horse on the very crest of the breastworks. Cleburne’s
horse fell also crossing the works. This is one of the most heroic
pictures of the war.”

Sixty per cent of our army was killed and wounded. The enemy retreated
to Nashville after the best day’s work (for them) they had ever done.

Our company had but one officer left. We were consolidated with Company
B and the two together scarcely made a full company. The whole regiment
was consolidated into six companies, instead of ten.

The enemy’s loss was slight compared with ours. The bravest of the
blood of the South was poured out for nothing. Who was right, Johnston
or Hood?

We followed Schofield to Nashville and invested that post, but we were
outnumbered, as he had been re-inforced from every quarter. He broke
our line and captured about half of our regiment. My friend, Bob Bond
was captured; Logan too, and many others.

We retreated in quick time. Near Spring Hill a squad of about fifty
cavalrymen made a dash through our line, as we had stacked arms and
were preparing to camp for the night, and went far to the rear. Coming
along the pike, never dreaming of danger, were four soldiers, bearing
a wounded man on a litter. The Yankee squad shot the doctor’s horse,
wounding the doctor and killed one of the four soldiers. As the poor
fellow fell, the wounded man rolled out on the pike. The front line,
recovered from its surprise, grabbed the guns, surrounded the Yankees,
captured them and made things lively for them for awhile.

We crossed the river at Columbia on two pontoon bridges, one for
Forrest’s cavalry, being about two hundred yards below us, down the
river. It was almost dark, but skirmishing was still going on, when
Forrest’s pontoon broke loose, leaving him, his staff and about two
hundred of his cavalry.

Our ordnance was crossing on our bridge, and all was over except two
wagons. Our regiment was waiting on the bank. General Cheatham and
his staff were at the top of the bank. General Forrest rode up to our
bridge and was about to cut off the three wagons of ordnance when the
driver whipped up his horses to join the other wagons. Forrest took
his pistol and threatened to kill him if he attempted to go on the
bridge ahead of the cavalry. The driver was quite plucky. He said his
orders were to follow the ordnance train; if General Forrest did not
like it he must go to higher officers. Forrest was furious. He spurred
his horse and went to General Cheatham, swearing he would cross that
bridge ahead of the ordnance. General Cheatham was perfectly calm,
and explained that he wished to get the wagons over before night, and
into camp, so he could lay his hands on his ordnance. Forrest was not
pacified. He drew his pistol and threatened to shoot Cheatham, who rode
to him at once, saying, “Shoot; I am not afraid of any man in the
Confederacy.”

[Illustration: W. T. BARNES.

Now living at Marianna, Arkansas.]

The infantry with loaded guns, closed in around them, prepared to
defend Cheatham. The cavalrymen, who had not heard what was said,
came up the hill to see what was going on. Forrest’s adjutant plunged
between the two generals and pulled Forrest down toward the bridge.
By that time the wagons were over. So General Forrest and his troops
crossed the bridge without further parley. It might have been a
terrible tragedy. If either general had been killed, we would have had
war right there.

Next day Forrest sent an apology to Cheatham, at least so it was
reported. The affair was witnessed by our company, but it was kept
quiet as we had troubles enough without fighting each other. Forrest
was a great officer and a fine cavalry leader, but he was tyrannical
and hot-headed.

December 20th we marched all day on the pike to Pulaski in a cold
rain—a rain that froze on the trees. We had to sleep on the wet ground.
Many men were barefooted and marched over the pike with bleeding feet.
We were called the “straggling squad” because we had to march more
slowly than the others, and we were between the infantry and the rear
cavalry, commanded by Forrest. In his mind a straggler deserved death.
When he came up to a poor little squad he struck one, a Lieutenant,
who was in charge of the barefoot squad, over the head with his sword
and ordered him to go on and keep up with his command. He would listen
to no excuse, as if these barefooted men, braving sleet and snow with
bleeding feet, were not doing their duty as loyally as any man in the
army.

These incidents are a part of the unwritten history; merely a few
things that I know to be facts in our army life with Company G.

We established a hospital at Pulaski to care for our sick and wounded,
and left it in charge of Dr. Brickie. I went to the Colonel of our
regiment and told him I feared Dr. Brickie would detail me to be his
druggist; that I wanted a pass so I could go on ahead and meet the
command beyond the town. He gave it to me and I had gotten about half a
mile beyond Pulaski, when I heard a horse galloping behind me. It was
the Division Surgeon, Dr. L., who stopped me, saying, “Are you Bill
Bevens of Company G, First Arkansas.”

“I am.”

“I detailed you to report to Dr. Brickie, corps surgeon in charge of
Corps Hospital at Pulaski.”

“I won’t do it.”

“If you don’t, I will have you court-martialed.”

“All right, but I won’t go.”

After he rode away I thought more soberly. I had been in the army four
years and had never been arrested. Perhaps I had better go. I went
back, but I gave it to Dr. Brickie. I told him there were a hundred
druggists in that army; why didn’t he get some other one? He answered
that he had selected me because he knew I would not drink his whiskey
nor give it away to “bums,” but keep it for the sick. I told him I
would give away every spoonful of it. I told him it was all right
for him to be captured. He would be paroled. But I should be sent to
Johnson’s Island to freeze.

He said he would arrange that. He knew all the assistant surgeons and
told them when we were captured they must address me as “Doctor.” He
ordered Dr. Gray to take charge of Ward 4, but to call it my ward.

So the army went without me and I felt sad indeed. I had not been
separated from my comrades before. But “It is not what you want that
makes you fat, but what you have.”

Forrest’s cavalry was the last to leave. High officers would call on
Dr. Brickie, cough and say they were ill, hoping he would give them a
drink. He was a positive man and all men looked alike to him. The reply
was always, “Not a darned drop; it is for the sick and wounded.” The
cavalry surgeons would beg for some, but to no purpose, for they got
the same answer.

The infantry had been gone four days. Some of our patients had been
taken to the homes of the good Southern women, some had gone with the
cavalry, on horseback and in wagons. There was a big decrease in our
hospital. About three o’clock in the afternoon Dr. Brickie told me I
could go and gave me a pass. He added, “Here are ten plugs of tobacco;
you can hire some of the cavalry fellows to let you ride, and you may
keep up with them.”

I left him with a glad heart, but I did not know what I was up against.
A lone web-foot to keep up with Forrest’s Cavalry! I was certainly
used to hardships, but that was more than I could do, to save my life.
I went over the muddy road until my wind was almost gone, and I had
to rest. One of our boys belonging to Hardee’s Guards, came along and
spying me, rode up to where I was saying, “Bill, is that you? You have
too much baggage. Give me some of it, and I will deliver it to your
regiment wagons when I get back to the army.”

I unloaded, rested for an hour and struck out again. The cavalry was
ahead of me. I moved faster, for a Yankee rear does sometimes hurry a
fellow.

I went all night; slept in the road and at daylight started again,
making a good day’s march. Late in the evening I found I was near the
cavalry again, so I made great strides to catch up. Ahead I saw a
bridge across a stream and Forrest and his staff walking on the gravel
bar. I hoped I could slip over before they saw me and handed the guard
my pass. He said, “You will have to show it to General Forrest.” I was
frightened sure enough. General Forrest did not care for passes or
anything else when out of humor. I had faced a thousand Yankee guns,
but I couldn’t face Forrest!

I waited some distance off, hoping he would go to an other part of the
line, but he seemed to attend to that bridge himself. Finally he did
walk away a few paces. Then I ran up to the adjutant, showed him my
pass, and he waved the guard to let me go over.

I tried to beat Forrest to the next bridge, but when I got there
he was on the bank higher above it. By their firelight I could see
the infantry across the river and I thought, “I am safe now.” When
I reached the pontoon bridge over the Tennessee, the cavalry was
crossing. I started across in the dark, but the guard stopped me. “You
can’t cross here—pass or no pass—you will have to see General Forrest.”
I argued with that guard, but it did no good. Then I thought to myself,
“He will not shoot into his own men,” and I said, “I am going across
and you may shoot me if you like.” I ran past him. He could not see me
in the dark, or he might have shot.

After I got across the bridge I found that my command had gone two days
before, so I camped all night by the straggler’s fire. It was one of
the worst nights of the campaign. A biting cold wind was blowing and
we fairly froze to the ground. For two days I followed my regiment.
My rations gave out and I was trudging along the road, forlorn and
very hungry, when I heard some one call me. It was a boy of Company G,
detailed with the engineers’ corps. I stayed with him that night. He
had plenty of grub and filled me up.

December 27th, we passed Tuscumbia and on the 29th we camped at Iuka.
On this march we crossed Bear Creek on a railroad bridge. The mules
were unhitched from the wagons and led across. When I got there a
fine pair of mules were on the bridge. They got half way over, then
mule-like, decided they would back a little, and they backed clear off
the bridge and went under the water, head and ears, to the amusement of
the web-foot soldiers.

January 1, 1865, we marched seven miles and camped near Corinth. Here
we washed up, and felt of ourselves, to see if we were all there. Here
I caught up with my command. I surely was glad to see the boys and
they were to see me, for they supposed I was eating rats on Johnson’s
Island. There were not many of us left. The killed, wounded and
captured at Nashville had about finished the “shooting-match.”

[Illustration: ROBT. D. BOND.]

We traveled over the Mobile & Ohio railroad to Tupelo, from which place
I was sent to Aberdeen to bring the medical wagons to Alesia, where
they were to be put on cars and taken to South Carolina. At Richmond
(while I was in Aberdeen) it was decided to give a furlough to seven
men of every company, so we might visit our homes in Arkansas. The boys
put my name in the hat and drew for me and I got it. The other boys
who got furloughs left at Meridian to make their way to Arkansas. They
meant to take chances at crossing the river to get home. I was waiting
at the Alesia station to deliver my medical supplies. The officer who
came to ship them said, “Isn’t your name Bill Bevens?” I said, “Yes.”
“Well, you have a furlough for 120 days to go to Arkansas.” I said,
“You are wrong. I never applied for one. Never have had one. I have
been with the army nearly four years and have never seen Arkansas in
all that time.”

But as the train flew by, the boys yelled at me that I had a furlough;
so I went to see about it. It was at the Eighth Arkansas headquarters
and I had no authority to stop. I had to go to South Carolina before I
could get it. My crowd went without me.

I went on with the army. At Mobile some of us went again to the Battle
House restaurant. We ate three rations in one meal, and our bill was
one hundred and twenty dollars. Our paper currency had taken a great
fall.

It was a cold ride down on the Mobile & Ohio railroad. The soldiers
were thinly clad and few of them had shoes. One or two men froze,
riding on top of the cars. We traveled to Milledgeville, Georgia, and
from there we had to march over a forty mile gap to the Augusta road. I
found my friends, Ed Dickinson, Ben Adler and Thad Kinman were still in
Augusta. They got me a new gray suit with a long tail coat. I sure was
dressed in the height of style, but my shoes hardly corresponded to my
suit. They were not very stylish.

In South Carolina I got my furlough, told my comrades good-bye, and
took letters from them to the home-folks.

[Illustration: Left to Right: THAD KINMAN, ED DICKINSON, BEN ADLER.

These were my friends who gave me good clothes instead of common,
regulation clothes. They belonged to the Quartermaster’s Department.]

General Cheatham was in a box car and I got on the same car. It was the
first time I had seen him since the quarrel with Forrest. I told him I
had a furlough and I wanted to get transportation. He seemed to doubt
it and said, “Let me see your furlough.” He looked at the signature and
he knew it was genuine.

Securing transportation I went back to Augusta. I went out to Belair,
ten miles from the city, where my uncle had a summer residence. He
was very kind to me. Next morning we went into the city and found a
great commotion. General Beauregard was placing all stragglers in the
guard house. My uncle said, “Son, you go back to Belair and I will see
General Beauregard about it.” But I answered, “The general will have
you in the guard house if you go to bothering him. I have an authority
that ranks him or any general, as it is by order of the war department.”

When we went back to Belair that night my uncle presented me with
a fine pair of boots which cost $100. Then my stylish outfit was
complete. I told them good-bye, went to see Ed Dickinson, Ben Adler and
Thad Kinman, and left for home.

I got to Forty Mile Gap. I had more baggage than when I went down. As
I marched along one of the drivers of the four-mule wagons asked if I
wanted to ride. A web-foot never refused. He said he would walk if I
would ride and drive, but I told him I had never driven a four-mule
team in my life.

“Oh, that’s all right,” said he, “the mules follow the wagon ahead
without a driver.”

I rode his mule and drove his wagon, stylishly dressed, as I have said,
in my long-tailed coat and fine new boots. The Virginia soldiers going
on foot to their command, guyed me greatly. “When the war is over I bet
that fellow will never tell that he drove a wagon train.” Then others
would yell, “Don’t that guy look fine with his gay clothes on?” General
Walthold came along and attracted by my dress, eyed me muchly. I did
not know what was in my wagon, and to avoid inquiry, and trouble for
the driver, I began to whip up the mules, looking the other way. But
that didn’t work. The general called out authoritatively, “What have
you, sir, in that wagon?”

“Quartermaster’s supplies,” I answered, hastening on. Soon I passed the
danger line for myself and the driver and was safe from any general
(except a Yankee General!)

I stayed with the driver until two o’clock in the morning, when I had
to leave for Milledgeville, to be in time for the outgoing train. I got
there ahead of time, and witnessed one of the sad trials of refugees.
An old man and his daughter, a beautiful young girl, were apparently
in great haste to get their baggage off on the train, and seemed
relieved when they had stowed away the last package. They themselves
were just getting on the train when two policemen arrested the old man
and started back to town with him. There were eight or ten Arkansas
and Texas soldiers on the train. They could not see a nice young girl
driven off the cars, and her father treated like a criminal. When she
began to cry the crisis had arrived. They jumped off with their guns
and pistols and took the old man from the policemen, gave him a pistol,
saying, “Kill them both, and we will bury them right here.” The old man
refused to shoot, but the policemen did not tarry, nor did they come
back.

At Montgomery I was joined by Tobe Hicks, who was going to Helena,
Arkansas. As he had come but lately from the Trans-Mississippi army on
some war business, and knew the route across the river, I decided to
stick to him.

We took a boat to Selma, on the Alabama river. There were many comrades
on board and we passed the time in talking of the war. From Selma we
went to Kingston, which was twenty-two miles from the railroad. We had
to hurry to meet the train. We left at twelve o’clock and walked the
ties to the junction, doing the twenty-two miles by seven o’clock.
It was hard on Tobe Hicks. To our dismay we missed the train by five
minutes and there was no other. We slept on the ground that night and
next morning started on the hundred mile walk to Meridian.

At Meridian we took the Jackson railroad, but had been on the train
only three hours when we came to a wash-out bridge and had to walk
again.

At Panola we gave a negro ten dollars to put us across the river in a
skiff. Everywhere was water, water, water.

When we could go no further we fell in with four men going down Cold
Water on a flat boat with two bales of cotton. We told our tale of
woe and they agreed to let us go with them if we would pull the boat.
Although we had always lived on a river, we had never played deck
hands. But this was no time to be dignified. We laid hold of the oars
and played deck hand for two days and a night. They were hard steamboat
men. We could stand it no longer. Late in the afternoon Tobe said,
“Let’s land here.” We landed and took off our traps. They tried to
bully us into going on, but we were used to bluffs, and they couldn’t
work it.

By walking ridges and wading sloughs, we came to the Mississippi. It
was miles wide. We went to the house of a man whom Hicks knew. He told
us the Yankees had patrol boats out every night and we would certainly
be captured. We were between the devil and the deep blue sea. If we
went back we would be captured; if we went on we would be captured.
But danger had been our meat and drink for four years. We decided to
build a raft of cedar logs, huge and square and long and light. We
built it in a slough, back from the river, and when it was finished, we
went to eat supper with this friend and bid him good-bye. Crossing the
Mississippi at night on a raft could never be the safest journey in the
world. With the Yankee patrol boat ready to capture us the danger was
doubled.

But our friend said he knew of a man who had a skiff (if the Yankees
had not burned it) that he would come for us if we could make him hear.
We called and to our joy the fellow answered. He landed us at the mouth
of St. Francis river about one o’clock in the morning, and we gave him
our watches and other valuables in payment for his services.

We had to wade again, but we hurried on. At last we came to the parting
of the ways, for Hicks was going to Helena and I to Jacksonport. We
felt rather sad at separating after walking, wading, riding, playing
deckhand and building rafts together.

To guide me Hicks gave me the names of all the men on the road who were
o. k. About two o’clock in the morning I called up one of these o. k.
men and asked to stay all night. He laughed and said, “It is day now.”

I told him I had been up all night and must walk for my life that day.
I must have two hours’ sleep—on the floor, anywhere.

He told me the Yankees would capture me, but if they came I could run
out the back door to the wood behind. He called me at four o’clock for
a cup of coffee and a good breakfast, gave me nice lunch for noon, and
I was walking on the slippery road before daylight. I walked for my
life and made forty miles that day. When ready to pick out a place for
the night I went to a house to find out where I was. The good woman saw
that I was a rebel, and asked me what was my command.

“Cleburne’s old Division, Govan’s Brigade, Army of Tennessee,” I
answered.

She burst out crying, “For God’s sake go on,” she said, “Last night
they captured my son from the same command.”

I declared I was not tired at all, and had a half hour more of daylight
anyhow. She told me how to get off the big road and where to stay all
night. I went five miles further and when I asked for a night’s lodging
the good citizen had to be shown my furlough. Then he was glad to see
me, gave me a fine supper and a good bed, and went with me next morning
to show me the short cuts.

That day I went through the prairie, nine miles of sage grass. All day
it poured rain, rain, rain. When about half way across there came a
terrific cloudburst and I was nearly drowned. I thought, “Oh, to think
that, after my perilous crossing of the great Mississippi, I should be
drowned on a prairie so near home.” I held my blanket over my head and
out in front of me, so that I could breathe, and that saved me. Before
I got to the next house I poured the water out of my boots and washed
my socks. I pulled off my pants and washed them. I did this because I
was afraid the family would not let such a muddy straggler stay all
night. But they were nice to me.

I resumed my journey at daybreak. Bayou Deview was out of its banks. I
waded to the channel, waist deep. I do not know how long I was about
it, but I finally got across and saw the sand ridges and the big home
road.

I had to cross Cache river at Gray’s Ferry. As a boy I had known Dr.
Gray but he did not know me. I went to the house, introduced myself,
and showed him my furlough. He asked when I crossed the Mississippi.
I told him. Had I walked all the way? I told him I had. Was I any
relation of Judge Bevens of that district? I told him Judge Bevens
was my uncle. He finished by saying, “You have walked all the way
from St. Francis river and have not stolen a horse?” I told him I was
a gentleman, not a horse thief. He said, “Certainly, I will put you
across the Cache river.” He called to a negro to bring two horses, and
we rode about a mile to the ferry. There a man met us with a skiff and
took me across. I went on my way and began to know the landmarks. When
I reached the fork of the roads, (one leading to Augusta; the other to
Jacksonport), I sat down to rest. Jim Howell, the deputy sheriff rode
up. He looked at me for a minute, then shouted, “Why, is that you, Bill
Bevens, what in hell are you doing here?”

I showed him my furlough and told him about my journey. He made me
ride, while he walked to his house, a few miles up the road. Then he
put a little negro up behind me to ride some miles further.

I met Bill Campbell, who lost a leg at Shiloh. He wanted me to stay
and talk, but I was headed for home and would not stop. I went on to
Colonel McCoy’s at Tupelo. I spent the night with Bruce Waddell. He
lost a leg at Shiloh. It was the first time I had seen him since. I
helped carry him off the field. It was a happy meeting, and we talked
nearly all night. He sent a little negro with me to Village Creek.
I crossed in a canoe and walked the rest of the way—six miles—to
Jacksonport.

Home again! Was it only four years ago that the Jackson Guards had
marched to the Presbyterian church to receive its banner from loving
hands? How many miles we had traveled. How many battles we had fought.
How many wretched homes and blazing cities we had seen. The sorrows,
wounds, sufferings and deaths of centuries were crowded into those four
years. Oh, the pity of it!

I went straight to my sister’s home. Her little girls were dressed in
long clothes, “playing lady.” Their mother was at a neighbor’s and one
of them went for her, not telling her why she was wanted at home. Her
surprise at seeing me was great, and our meeting joyous beyond words.

She and the children went with me to father’s home in the next county.
My mother had not heard from me, and she did not know whether I was
alive or dead. She fell on my neck, cried, laughed, shouted. She almost
died of joy. Father was too happy, and too full for utterance.

Mother would look at me for hours and could not talk for joy. Her dear
soul was never happier than now with her dear soldier boy safe at home,
surrounded by loved ones. God gives no boy a better heritage than such
a sweet Christian home and such love.

With her boy a thousand of miles away, and no mails, her prayers for
him were the only connecting links. The boy on the field of death
remembered his mother’s prayers and was comforted in every danger.

I was unaccustomed to sleeping in a house, and at first used to take
my blanket to the yard, but mother could not stand that and I had to
go back. My sisters would look under rocks and planks and in various
hiding places and bring out my jewelry and other treasures which they
had hidden from the Yankees.

Before my furlough was out came the news of General Lee’s surrender at
Appomattox. The long cruel war was over and I was separated no more
from my home and mother. At Jacksonport I met the boys who had been
furloughed with me, but had reached home first—John R. Loftin, Forrest
Dillard, Haggerton and others. It was good to be with the old comrades
once more. We took up our work again. I began selling drugs. I married
here and am still in Jackson county, at Newport, Arkansas.


(THE END.)




  Jacksonport, Ark., April 24, 1877.

At an informal meeting called at Col. L. C. Gause’s law office, the
following members of the old Jackson Guards, or Company “G,” First
Arkansas Regiment, Infantry, were present:

L. C. Gause, John R. Loftin, M. A. Mull, Clay Lowe, Peter Bach and W.
E. Bevens. Also by invitation Frank W. Lynn.

On motion, L. C. Gause was chosen temporary chairman and W. E.
Bevens temporary secretary. By consent of those present, we propose
to organize the old Jackson Guards and all members are invited and
solicited to invite and solicit all members they see and know of, and
ask all to meet at Col. L. C. Gause’s law office on Saturday, April 28th,
1877, to get up a re-organization and celebration by the 5th day of
May, and the secretary is ordered to invite those of the Company we
know of at a distance to be with us on the 5th day of May, 1877. Also
to invite General F. Fagan; also John W. Colquitt, our last Colonel.

A committee on finance was appointed by the president, Peter Bach. Also
a committee consisting of the following persons: John R. Loftin, W. E.
Bevens, Peter Bach, M. A. Mull, Clay Lowe, to look after the dinner and
see when we will have it and at what hour, and make preparations for
the same. Col. L. C. Gause was appointed a committee of one to draw
up resolutions of re-organization, also to address the meeting and
to invite Captain J. C. Matthews and wife and all the widows of the
Jackson Guards. Also to invite Frank W. Lynn.

Meeting adjourned to meet on Saturday, April 28th, 1877, at Col. L. C.
Gause’s office.

  L. C. GAUSE, President.
  W. E. BEVENS, Secretary.




  Jacksonport, Ark., May 4th, 1877.

At a regular meeting of the Jackson Guards at the residence of Mart A.
Mull, the following members were present:

L. C. Gause, temporary chairman; W. E. Bevens, temporary secretary;
John R. Loftin, H. Clay Lowe, Peter Bach, G. K. Stephens, John Cathey,
F. W. Dillard, W. D. Shackleford, Jasper May, Frank Richardson, J. B.
Waddell, James Hudson, Robert D. Bond, M. A. Mull.

The following resolutions were adopted:

RESOLVED:

That We, the surviving members of the Jackson Guards, for the purpose
of re-organizing ourselves for a social re-union, will annually on the
5th day of May, elect from our members the following officers: One
President; One Vice President; One Secretary and Treasurer; and the
President shall appoint three members as an executive committee to
serve one year and shall exercise the powers and perform the duties
usual to such offices respectively.

ON MOTION:

The secretary be ordered to publish four weeks before the next annual
meeting, in both County Newspapers, notices when and where it shall be
held.

RESOLVED:

That the Jackson Guards do hereby tender their sincere thanks to Mrs.
Laura Ewing for the beautiful bouquet tendered us on this occasion.

RESOLVED:

By the Jackson Guards, that our sincere thanks be hereby tendered Mr.
M. A. Mull and kind lady for the hospitable donation of their home for
our re-union, and grand dinner at which we have had the time of our
lives talking over old times once more and for their supervision over
the same.

RESOLVED:

That our thanks are also tendered our Lady Friends and wives for their
presence and assistance in our dinner.

We, the undersigned surviving members of the Jackson Guards agree to
organize ourselves in accordance with the foregoing resolution:

  L. C. Gause,
  W. E. Bevens,
  H. Clay Lowe,
  Peter Bach,
  G. K. Stephens,
  John A. Cathey,
  F. W. Dillard,
  M. A. Mull,
  W. D. Shackelford,
  John R. Loftin,
  Jasper May,
  Frank Richardson,
  J. B. Waddell,
  Robt. D. Bond,
  James Henderson,
  A. C. Pickett was elected President.
  L. C. Gause was elected Vice President.

       *       *       *       *       *

The President not being present the Vice President presided and
appointed the following as an executive committee:

  J. B. Waddell,
  Mart A. Mull,
  John R. Loftin.

ON MOTION:

The following members were appointed to assist in perfecting the
organization:

H. Clay Lowe, F. W. Dillard, Robt. D. Bond, and on motion L. C. Gause
was added.

ON MOTION:

Of Mr. Clay Lowe, the following resolution was adopted:

WHEREAS, Since the organization of this Company sixteen years ago, many
of our Brave Comrades have passed away, many on the battlefield, daring
and dying for their Country, others from disease, therefore,

RESOLVED, That we will ever cherish their memory, emulate their virtues
and honor their heroism, and that as a testimonial of our love and
respect we erect, at an early day as possible a suitable monument to
the dead of the Jackson Guards.

  L. C. Gause,
  W. E. Bevens,
  H. C. Lowe,
  Peter Bach,
  G. K. Stephens,
  F. W. Dillard,
  W. D. Shackelford,
  John R. Loftin,
  John Cathey,
  Jasper May,
  Frank Richardson,
  J. B. Waddell,
  James Hudson,
  Robert A. Bond,
  W. T. Barnes,
  M. A. Mull.

Those who have answered our Call but could not come:

  Captain A. C. Pickett,
  Wm. Bunnell,
  Lyman B. Gill,
  B. F. McCowan,
  Lem McKee,
  Lon Steadman,
  Luther Steadman,
  John Murphy,
  Jerry Love,
  George W. Roberts,
  Austin Choate,
  Mart Howard.

All of whom are the total known living at that time, (1877.)

And now, March 5th 1913, there are only living, as far as we know, out
of 154 members on May 5, 1861:

  John Loftin,
  Lon Steadman,
  John Cathey,
  Luther Steadman,
  W. T. Barnes,
  W. E. Bevens.




THE ORIGINAL MUSTER ROLL OF COMPANY “G” FIRST ARKANSAS REGIMENT,
INFANTRY, JACKSON GUARDS.


  Colonel James Fagan’s Regiment,
  General Polk’s Brigade,
  General D. C. Govan’s Brigade,
  Cleburne’s Division,
  Hardee Corps,
  Army of Tennessee.


FIRST OFFICERS ELECTED MAY 5TH, 1861.

  1. Captain A. C. Pickett in 1862, Colonel of Stearns. Mo., 8 Regiment.
  2. 1st Lieutenant L. C. Gause in 1862, Col. of 32 Ark. Regiment.
  3. 2nd Lieut. L. L. Moore, Discharged.
  4. 3rd Lieutenant George Paine, Discharged.


NON-COMMISSIONED OFFICERS.

  3rd. First Sergeant James F. Hunter, transferred.
  2nd Sergeant W. B. Densford, discharged over age.
  3rd Sergeant John R. Loftin.
  4th Sergeant Peter Bach, wounded by Cliff Dowell.
  5th Sergeant H. C. Lowe.
  First Corporal John M. Waddell.
  2nd Corporal Sam Shoup.
  3rd Corporal Henry Clements.
  4th Corporal W. E. Bevens.


OFFICERS FROM MARCH 1862 to 1865.

  5. Captain Sam Shoup, wounded on July 22nd at Atlanta.
  6. 1st Lieut. A. T. Walthall, killed at Kennesaw Mountains.
  7. 2nd Lieut. H. C. Lowe, wounded at Chickamauga and Jonesboro.
  8. 3rd Lieut. John R. Loftin.


PRIVATES.

  9. W. T. Barnes, detailed with Bond.
  10. Robert D. Bond, wounded at Atlanta, captured at Nashville.
  11. W. H. Baker, discharged over age.
  12. George W. Baker, transferred to Georgia Regiment.
  13. Ben B. Bradley.
  14. William Bunnell, transferred to Navy Department.
  15. John Baird, wounded at Mobile Bay.
  16. T. H. Brogden, killed by James Garrett.
  17. T. A. Byler.
  18. J. J. Bobo, detailed to drive ambulance.
  19. John Boiler.
  20. J. K. Bedwell, died.
  21. Edward Burnett, killed at Kennesaw.
  22. John Baldridge, wounded and captured at Franklin.
  23. Alex Baldridge, wounded at Franklin.
  24. W. E. Bevens, wounded at Shiloh.
  25. Pete Bach, wounded by Cliff Dowell.
  26. W. H. Clayton, killed at Golgotha.
  27. William Cooper, died.
  28. Jack Conn, discharged from sickness.
  29. John A. Cathey, wounded at Shiloh.
  30. Austin Choate, wounded and discharged.
  31. F. Collins.
  32. John Carpenter.
  33. B. L. Covey.
  34. Henry Clements, wounded at Franklin.
  35. E. V. Dale, killed at Shiloh.
  36. George F. Dickson, transferred.
  37. Ed Dempsey, wounded.
  38. Richard Dorsey, discharged.
  39. Thomas B. Davis, died at Dalton.
  40. Allen Davis, killed at Bentonville.
  41. Clifton Dowell, who wounded Peter Bach.
  42. F. W. Dillard.
  43. Ben H. Ferrell, discharged over age.
  44. J. F. Ferrell.
  45. James Falcher.
  46. James Garrett, who killed Brogden, transferred.
  47. S. S. Gause, transferred.
  48. Arthur Green, killed at Murfreesboro.
  49. Lyman B. Gill.
  50. E. Haggerton, detailed with Pioneer Corps.
  51. Robert Harl.
  52. John D. Heitt.
  53. James M. Hensley, wounded at Ringold, killed at Atlanta.
  54. Dan Hays, discharged over age.
  55. John E. A. Harl, killed at Shiloh.
  56. Jonathan Harrison, wounded at Shiloh.
  57. James Hudson.
  58. Martin Howard, wounded and transferred to Navy.
  59. Richard Hayden, transferred to Trans-Miss. Dept.
  60. Joseph Hamilton, transferred.
  61. W. H. Hunter.
  62. Joseph Hubbard, killed at Nashville.
  63. W. H. Henson, died.
  64. Robert A. Hail
  65. James F. Hunter, transferred.
  66. Lou Harl.
  67. Dave Kelley, died.
  68. B. F. Kinman, discharged.
  69. John Lamb.
  70. Joseph Joslin, transferred.
  71. Wilson Love.
  72. Joe Lax, died.
  73. Jerry D. Love, wounded.
  74. John D. Love.
  75. Nathen Love.
  76. A. R. Logan, killed at Golgotha.
  77. T. Shannon, wounded at Ringold, captured at Franklin.
  78. Pat Murphy, furnished substitute.
  79. Lemuel McKee, wounded.
  80. Wm. M. Mathews, wounded at Murfreesboro.
  81. J. H. Murphy, discharged.
  82. Jasper May, wounded.
  83. Mart A. Mull, wounded at Chickamauga.
  84. John Moore, transferred.
  85. D. Myers, wounded.
  86. W. H. Moore, killed at Shiloh.
  87. John A. McDonald, wounded.
  88. J. McLain, killed at Shiloh.
  89. B. F. McCowan, wounded.
  90. Dave McCullough, transferred.
  91. W. M. McCartney, discharged.
  92. W. A. Myers.
  93. Robert Morris, discharged.
  94. John M. Murphy.
  95. Dave Mulligan.
  96. John K. Murphy, discharged.
  97. Michael Nash, transferred.
  98. John Orric, died.
  99. W. P. Pinkley, killed at Chickamauga.
  100. Henry Powell, discharged.
  101. Jack Porter, discharged.
  102. J. P. K. Prichard, discharged.
  103. Y. R. Ridley, detailed to General Holmes’ Guard.
  104. G. A. Raney, discharged, over age.
  105. J. W. Robinson.
  106. J. R. Roberts.
  107. G. W. Reager.
  108. Geo. W. Roberts, transferred to Morgan Cavalry.
  109. Joseph R. Roberts, wounded at Missionary Ridge.
  110. W. H. C. Reed, wounded at Munsfordsville, Ky.
  111. John M. Rodgers, wounded.
  112. B. F. Richardson.
  113. J. W. Readen.
  114. George Rice, wounded at Shiloh.
  115. B. F. Reeves, wounded in Cairo.
  116. Fred Roy.
  117. David Roby, transferred.
  118. H. Ratcliff.
  119. Arthur Rhodes, dead.
  120. D. Shackleford, detailed in Government shops.
  121. Alfred Stewart, killed at Franklin.
  122. Tom R. Stone, transferred to Mississippi Army.
  123. James M. Stimson, killed at Jonesboro.
  124. Charley Steadman, killed at Ringold.
  125. Lon Steadman.
  126. Luther Steadman.
  127. Joseph Sample, discharged.
  128. George K. Stephens, discharged.
  129. Henry Smith, died.
  130. R. H. Sullivan, discharged.
  131. R. L. Slaughter.
  132. Pony Stewart, killed at Franklin.
  133. Eli Stringfellow, discharged.
  134. J. H. Sherr.
  135. George Sparling, wounded.
  136. James Seward, discharged.
  137. John B. Trail.
  138. George P. Thomas, wounded at Murfreesboro, killed at Atlanta.
  139. M. N. Tucker, discharged.
  140. Joseph Vaughn.
  141. B. F. Vanderfer, wounded.
  142. B. F. Vanderfer, lost a leg at Shiloh.
  143. Boon Winneham.
  144. —— Winneham, killed.
  145. W. D. Winneham.
  146. Beverly Willard, discharged over age.
  147. B. F. Whitely.
  148. B. F. White.
  149. John Wilson, discharged over age.
  150. John M. Waddell, discharged from sickness.
  151. J. B. Waddell, lost a leg at Shiloh.
  152. W. Fletcher Williams, wounded.
  153. Rawlings Young.

  Surgeon of First Arkansas Regiment—Dr. T. R. Ashford.
  Assistant Surgeon of First Arkansas Regiment—Dr. W. E. Arnold.

  Killed 19, discharged 29, wounded 38, dead 8, detailed 4,
    transferred 18.

                      LIST OF ARKANSAS COMPANIES.

  Company A, from Eldorado, Capt. Asa Morgan.
  Company B, from Arkadelphia, Capt. Starks.
  Company C, Camden, Capt. Crenshaw.
  Company D, Pine Bluff, Capt. Dan McGregor.
  Company E, Benton, Capt. W. A. Crawford.
  Company F, Little Rock, Capt. W. H. Martin.
  Company G, Jacksonport, Capt. A. C. Pickett.
  Company H, DeWitt, Capt. Robt. Crockett.
  Company I, Monticello, Capt. Jackson.
  Company K, St. Charles, Capt. Boswell.

The following is a list of the battles that the Jackson Guards, or
Company “G.” 1st Arkansas Regiment Infantry, was engaged in, from 1861
to 1865:

First Battle, Manassas, Blockade of Potomac at Evansport, Shiloh,
Farmington, Corinth, Perryville, Chickamauga, Missionary Ridge, Ringold
Gap, 74 days’ battle from Dalton to Atlanta, Peachtree Creek, Atlanta,
and Murfreesboro.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 64285 ***