WOODBURN, VIRGINIA, Aug. 16, 1900.

COL. F. A. MONTGOMERY, Rosedale, Miss.:

        My dear friend--Yours 12th inst. received. I am here for a few weeks during this very hot spell. I was very glad to hear again from you, as I always am to be in touch with my old comrades of the war. In reply, you are correct in the statement that. my first service with your gallant regiment, First Mississippi, was our raid around Bolivar, Tenn. I assumed command of the Mississippi brigade permanently one day's march from Grenada, en route to join General Johnston's army in Georgia, and remained in command until the end of the war. After the battle of Chickamauga I went with Longstreet to East Tennessee, and was applied for by Forrest and Stephen D. Lee, to be transferred to Mississippi. On my arrival in Mississippi, Lee assigned me, or was about to do so, to the command of the troops on the Mississippi river line, with headquarters at Clinton. The same day orders came to send Jackson's division to Georgia, and I at once expressed a preference for active service in front of Atlanta. I was assigned to the old brigade, each regiment of which I had known well before. Though I gave up a larger command and district, I never regretted it, as the honor and satisfaction I always had in commanding that glorious old Mississippi brigade, the First, Second, Twenty-eighth, and Ballentine's regiment, with King's Missouri battery, was my pride. Always ready, perfectly reliable, and under all circumstances and conditions efficient, it was then, and has always been since, my pride to be remembered as the commander of such patriotic and heroic men.

        In Georgia and on the advance of Hood into Tennessee, and on the retreat to the Tennessee river from Nashville, they were always nearest to the enemy, and they never faltered. Often without rations or forage,

and nothing but their determination and honorable sense of duty to sustain them, they stood their ground, yielding only under orders. When we returned to Tupelo, you will remember, I with General Dick Taylor's consent furloughed the brigade, and pledged myself to him that these regiments would return at the appointed time better equipped and mounted than when they were furloughed. They faithfully kept my pledge, and returned in a few weeks better off and ready for all work. I can truly say that they were always loyal to their duty and cause and never failed me in a single instance. My love and respect for you all will only end when I am dead. If in your book you could embody a roster of the several regiments of the old brigade it would greatly add to its value, as you were always so closely connected with their services. Of the old First Mississippi Cavalry, Colonel Dick Pinson and yourself, lieutenant-colonel, as well as the company officers and privates, nothing is too complimentary. My confidence never wavered with the old First on the line. I hope to see some of my old friends again. I cannot close without expressing to you, my dear old comrade, the great satisfaction you always gave me in the discharge of your duty, as you frequently commanded your regiment. I was some times temporarily commanding the division and then Pinson would have my brigade and you the old First Regiment. You both did your duty so perfectly that I always thought it a pity it could not be permanently so. I send you a photo taken a few months ago, would you know it?

Always yours sincerely,

FRANK C. ARMSTRONG.

        I know that every member of the old brigade who reads this letter will be glad to have this greeting from their old commander, who gave his name to the brigade,

and by which it is known and will be known as long as any of us are left.

        Elsewhere in this book will be found his portrait from the photo he sent me, and few, if any, will recognize the dashing soldier of thirty-five years ago who led the brigade, though all will be glad to see that time has dealt gently with him.

        Colonel Pinson joined us on our march just before we reached Columbus, and received the congratulations of all his men upon his marriage, as well as their sympathy in the necessity which separated him so soon from his bride.

CHAPTER XVI.

March to Georgia--Campaign in Georgia--Join General Johnston at Adairsville, engaged at once--Letter to my wife from Cartersville--Constant fighting--General Johnston's battle order, enthusiasm of troops--Cross the Etowah, brigade in rear-- Fight at creek--Soldier's dream--Battle of Dallas, assault Federal intrenchments--Repulsed with severe loss in regiment and brigade--Letter to my wife describing the battle.

        History records that the campaign commenced in both Virginia and Georgia about the first of May, 1864, and these campaigns were in fact decisive, though not soon to end, for the Georgia campaign ended with the capture of Atlanta, four months later, and then Sherman's triumphant march to the sea; and the Virginia campaign only ended when the splendid army of Lee, of about sixty-two thousand men, with which he first met Grant and won his victories, reduced to a mere handful of about eight or ten thousand ragged and worn-out veterans, was compelled to evacuate Petersburg, and then a few days later, at Appomattox, unable either to fight or retreat further, surrendered.

        Of the situation at the commencement of these campaigns I quote again from General Dick Taylor's plain-spoken but well and, I think, fairly written book:

        "Upon what foundations the civil authorities of the Confederacy rested their hopes of success, after the campaign of 1864 fully opened, I am unable to say, but their commanders in the field, whose rank and position enabled them to estimate the situation, fought simply to afford statesmanship an opportunity to mitigate the sorrows of inevitable defeat."

        This may have been true, but all the resources of statesmanship could never "mitigate the sorrows of defeat" to the southern soldier if defeat was to come; and, in fact, no attempt at statesmanship was ever made to end the war, except the much-talked-of Hampton Roads conference, and the slogan on one side was "Union" and on the other "Independence." Statesmanship had no place in the question now; only the generals in the field could settle it. But if General Taylor was right, and he and other generals only saw "inevitable defeat" staring us in the face when this campaign opened, no such feeling existed in the army; fear there sometimes was, but no doubt yet of ultimate success.

        General Jackson's division when it left Columbus to take part in the Georgia campaign was as full of hope and confidence as it had ever been, and in all the bloody path it followed from Adairsville, where we first joined General Johnston, to Atlanta, when he was removed from the command, and till he was removed, it never lost it, and even then not wholly. But this is anticipating.

        We left Mississippi almost wholly defenseless along its western border and in the north, save for General Wirt Adams' cavalry brigade in the south and General Chalmers in the north, with his headquarters at Oxford, with such troops as he could gather; but the state had been so completely overrun by both armies that there was not much at the time to tempt the federals, and besides everything seemed to wait as with hushed breath the result of the great campaigns just commencing in Virginia and Georgia.

        Our route lay by Tuscaloosa and Monte Vallo, and thence north, by Talledega and Anniston, straight to Rome, Georgia. This country had not yet been polluted by the tread of a hostile force, and few confederate forces had been through it. Its clear, running streams and

beautiful valleys, its lovely towns and villages, and sometimes it blue-topped mountains, all dwell in my memory yet. A few days was to bring a rude contrast to these peaceful scenes.

        We reached Rome on the evening of the 15th of May, and went into camp a little east of the town, while General Ross remained on the west of it. General Jackson was not with the division, having been in some way disabled, I do not recollect how, and General Armstrong was in command of the division, and Colonel Pinson the ranking officer present, in command of the brigade. Early on the morning of the sixteenth news was received that a strong cavalry force was approaching Rome from the northwest, and they soon came into contact with Ross, and I was ordered to take the First Mississippi to his aid. The enemy retired however, having found a stronger force than they expected.

        That evening late, we were ordered to move, and we made a forced march all night long, reaching General Johnston's army a little after daylight on the morning of the 17th, at Adairsville. We were at once ordered into action, and from that day till the fall of Jonesboro, on the first of September, we were incessantly engaged in fighting, scouting and guarding the left flank and side of the army. I have looked in vain for some report of the operations of Jackson's division, but except brief references, I can find nothing. General Wheeler who commanded the cavalry on the right of the army, has left an official report of the operations of his command from May 6th to 31st, included, and from July 17th to October 9th, 1864, but only twice, I believe, does he notice General Jackson's division, and these times were to give some information sent him by Jackson. The fact was, these cavalry commands never acted together, but each retained its position on the right and left of the army respectively,

or on the east and west of the railroad. In Jackson's division, the whole division seldom were together, but were often widely separated, so that what I have to relate of that campaign after we joined the army, is more a detail (partially) of the operations of Armstrong's brigade than of the division, and this I regret, for never was a braver brigade than Ross had, or one more gallantly commanded. It did its full share of all the work that was done by the division, and there was more than work enough for us all.

        General Johnston in his report of the operations of his army from December 27th, 1863, to July 17th, 1864, mentions the arrival of the command at Adairsville, and so does Lieutenant Mackall, aid-de-camp to General Mackall, chief of staff. But of course no more than slight references could be made. It is to supply deficiencies of this sort as far as I can, that these memoirs are written, and I am glad to be able to write and publish them while there are some still living, who took part in all the affairs I relate.

        I have said that we were ordered into action as soon as we reached the army, on the morning of the 17th, and this was to reinforce General Wheeler, who at the time was holding the enemy in check, our position being on his right, but he was soon forced back, and our brigade retired to the infantry. Almost immediately we were again ordered forward to support General Hardee's right, who had moved out to engage the enemy. General Johnston disposes of this affair in these words: "At Adairsville on the 17th, Polk's cavalry, under Brigadier General Jackson (General Armstrong was at the time in command) met the army, and Hardee after severe skirmishing checked the enemy." I cannot better describe the part our brigade took in this affair, or indeed all our operations after we reached Rome, than by quoting from an old

letter to my wife, written at Cartersville on the 23rd. I have but one other letter written from Georgia, and to which in its place I will refer.

"CAMP NEAR CARTERSVILLE, May 23, 1864.

        . . . "I wrote you a long letter from Monte Vallo, Alabama, which I sent by mail to Macon. Next day after writing we started to Rome, Georgia, which place we reached after five days' hard marching. Next morning after we got there, I commenced a letter to you, to send by mail to Macon, Mississippi, but only wrote a few lines, when we were ordered into the saddle to meet the enemy advancing on Rome, and my regiment was ordered to reinforce General Ross, who was fighting them. I was, and have been since we have been here, in command of the regiment, Pinson having been in command of the brigade. The enemy retired from Rome without a fight that day, but I have been too busy since to write. The next night we were ordered forward to join General Johnston's army, which was falling back, and after marching all night, we got to him about sun up next morning. Our brigade was immediately ordered to the front to reinforce General Wheeler, who was engaged. We took a post on his right, but he was soon driven back, and we were ordered to retire. We had hardly got back to the infantry before we were ordered to support General Hardee's right, who moved out to engage the enemy, and for some time a general engagement was imminent. We went forward at a gallop, and took position with the men dismounted, and fought the enemy for three hours without giving back an inch. The loss in the brigade was thirty-one killed and wounded, only one man in my regiment killed, and two or three wounded. We fought in the woods, and were greatly protected by them. Starke's regiment, commanded by Major McBee, fought

gallantly and sustained more loss than any other. They got first into the fight and were somewhat more exposed. Our brigade gained great credit with the whole army by the fight, as they were in hearing and sight of it all. That night (of 17th) the army fell back, and we again marched the whole night to take a position to protect the movement."

        I will never forget that night's march, nor do I suppose any of the command ever will. It was the second night we had been in the saddle all night in succession, with the busy day I have mentioned between, and never before or since did I feel the torture, of which I have read, from want of sleep. Many times when, from unavoidable delays in a night march of a long column of cavalry, in rear of an army falling back, and there were many such, would I throw myself from my horse into the road, as did many, and try and snatch a minute's repose. The morning of the 18th found us at Cassville, where the whole army was concentrated.

        It is somewhere said, "there is no rest for the wicked," and our cavalry was like the wicked on this campaign, for we had no rest, and on this day of all others we needed it so much, but the following quotation from the journal kept by Lieutenant Mackall, before referred to, shows how we spent the 18th, or a part of it, at least.

CASSVILLE, May 18th.

        . . ."Colonel Hannon just reports enemy's cavalry in force advancing on Fairmount road rapidly and four miles from here. Armstrong ordered to support of Hannon." . . .

        So away we went again, and were out for some hours with only a slight skirmish, when we were ordered back. It was high time, for men and horses were worn out for want of food and rest. We passed in rear of the infantry, and at last had a chance

to unsaddle and feed our horses and get some rations for ourselves.

        I had a splitting headache that night, but a night's sleep made me all right. Next day our brigade had no important work to do, but there was heavy firing all along the line, for the enemy had pressed us closely, and that day, the 19th, General Johnston issued his celebrated battle order, which was read late in the afternoon to each regiment in the army. It was received with the greatest enthusiasm, cheer after cheer could be heard in every direction, and I wondered what the enemy thought, as they were near enough to hear. The position of our division was to be on the left of General Polk, who held the left in the line of battle with his corps, and late in the evening we marched towards our place, bivouacking about nine at night on the side of a road, from which at daylight we were to move to take our place in line.

        Spreading my blanket at the foot of a tree by the road side I was soon asleep, but later was wakened with the noise of troops passing on the road. I supposed, of course, they were going to take their places in line and was far too sleepy to trouble myself about them, so that my surprise may be imagined when I found in the morning that the army was again falling back. The whole army was bitterly disappointed, but no one censured General Johnston, though none knew the reason of his change of plan, and many do not perhaps to this day.

        His own statement of the cause was this: "Expecting to be attacked I drew up the troops in what seemed to me an excellent position, a bold ridge immediately in rear of Cassville, with an open valley before it. The fire of the enemy's artillery commenced soon after the troops were formed and continued until night. Soon

after dark Lieutenant-Generals Polk and Hood together expressed to me decidedly the opinion, formed upon the observation of the afternoon, that the federal artillery would render their positions untenable the next day, and urged me to abandon the ground immediately and cross the Etowah. Lieutenant-General Hardee, whose position I thought weakest, was confident that he could hold it. The other two officers were so earnest, however, and so unwilling to depend on the ability of their corps to defend the ground, that I yielded and crossed the Etowah on the 20th, a step which I have regretted ever since." This report was written at Vineville, Georgia, October 20, 1864. I do not see why he should have regretted declining battle on this occasion, with two out of three of his corps commanders anticipating defeat before an attack was made. It is certain, however, that the morale of the army was at its best, and if he had remained and tried the chances of battle this might have carried the day, but the risk would have been great with the doubts held by these two commanders.

        As the army retired the enemy pressed forward rapidly, and our division was busily occupied on the different roads by which their advance was being made, as was also General Wheeler, in covering the movements of the army. There was skirmishing all the time enough to make it extremely interesting, but we had no great loss, probably inflicting more on the enemy than we suffered. Once during the day I was halted at the ford of a creek, and near the ford there was a railroad bridge with stone abutments and pretty good sized embankment, which I thought would enable me to make a good stand, and I dismounted the men and sent my horses back to a wood, which would afford them shelter, some two or three hundred yards across an open field.

        We were hardly ready for them before they came on,

but, as they were exposed, a sharp volley checked them, and drove them back to shelter, and then commenced a lively fusilade at long range, till they brought up artillery, and I was forced to retire. Some way or another, a report got back to the ambulances which were with the horses that I was badly wounded, and our assistant surgeon, Dr. Perrell, came across the exposed field as fast as his horse could run, but fortunately I had not been hit, and he escaped, though it was almost miraculous that he did, for this little open field was swept by the bullets which were fired at us at the bridge. But the doctor was a dear friend of mine, a good surgeon and a brave soldier, and he would have run a greater risk to aid me, if he thought I needed it. He had gone out as a private, as did many other young physicians, at the beginning of the war, and was from Lafayette county, where a few years after the war he died. I kept him with me at the bridge till I retired, and then, by availing myself of the railroad embankment, we got to our horses, with only a few wounded, and none badly. I don't know whether it will interest my readers, but it is of supreme interest to me, and I will quote again from the Cartersville letter, from which I have already made some extracts:

        ". . . Next day, General Johnston issued a battle order, and we all expected a great fight to come off, but in the night he again fell back this side of the Etowah, where we now are, and where, if the enemy crosses, he will doubtless fight. I fought the Yankees all day yesterday--the last day's retreat to this place--had only a few horses and men wounded, but I can't give you any description of the fights. . . .I am in hopes the main battle will soon come off, as I have to fight and be exposed almost every day anyhow, and the sooner it comes off, the better for me. The army is in fine spirits, and have the most unbounded confidence in their general.

. . . I had a real soldier's dream the other night of wife and children and home, but, like the soldier in the song,

                        'Sorrow returned with the dawning of morn
                        And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.'

        ". . . I firmly believe, that if we continue successful a few months longer, the war will close this year, and, as God has hitherto protected me so long amid so many dangers, I trust it is not presumption in me to hope for his protection to the end." . . . It is a little curious to me that, though constantly falling back, I thought then that we were successful. I suppose it must have been that, so far as the mere fighting was concerned, we always held our own, as General Armstrong, in his letter, says, never "yielding except under orders," and for another reason, that the confidence in General Johnston was so great that we all felt that he would at last crush Sherman's army, and I believe he would have done it, if he had not been removed from the command. Besides, I made it a rule always to write home cheerfully, for it was had enough there anyway without the apprehension of defeat.

        On the afternoon of the 23d, the day my letter was written, our brigade was ten or twelve miles to the west of Cartersville, observing the enemy, who that evening crossed the Etowah at Stilesborough, of which General Johnston was duly apprised, as appears from his report "that Jackson's troops reported enemy moving down Etowah, which they crossed at Stilesborough on 23d." Our brigade fell back slowly, and on the 25th found ourselves in rear and to the left of General Hood's corps, which had its center at New Hope Church, and where a desperate assault was made late that evening, with a bloody repulse to the enemy, whose loss was estimated at three thousand killed and wounded, and our loss about

four hundred and fifty. This battle lasted about two hours, and we were in full hearing of the horrid roar of the guns without taking any part, for we had other duties assigned to us. On the 26th we moved still farther to the left, and on the 27th another fierce assault was made on Cleburne's division, with about the same loss to the enemy and to us. Generals Polk and Hardee had fallen back a little south of Dallas, where the enemy had arrived on the 25th, and had intrenched. I take these figures and dates from General Johnston's report before alluded to. On the morning of the 28th of May we--our brigade under General Armstrong, for General Jackson was now in command of his division--were in rear of the left of General Polk's corps, which had its left intrenched in front of the enemy before Dallas. General Johnston disposes of the events of that day by saying, the "usual skirmishing was kept up." Armstrong's brigade did not consider it a skirmish in which late in the day they were engaged, nor was it, as the account will show. While resting quietly about half a mile in rear of our works and listening to the incessant rattle of small arms with the occasional bursting of shells, sometimes in the tree-tops over our heads, General Armstrong received an order to leave only his horse-holders and move his brigade up and occupy the trenches on the left which had been vacated by a brigade of infantry moved to some other point. We did not reach the trenches without having a few wounded, for the enemy's fire of small arms was constant, and we had to cross an open field to get to our place. Once there, we were safe enough if we kept under the shelter of the works, but several men were wounded and one killed by incautiously exposing himself. Colonel Pinson went to where Armstrong was, near the center of the brigade (we were on its right), and as I saw nothing to do, I walked carefully along the works to a battery on a hill just a

little ways off, and where the left of General Bates' division rested. In our front was thick woods, and though the enemy's works were not more than two hundred yards away, we could not see them, and this I hoped to be able to do from this hill where the battery was. I stopped a moment to look through an embrasure at the battery, and a half dozen minie-balls hissed viciously by my head, and I quickly got behind the fortification. One of the artillery men said to me, "You made a narrow escape; I have seen several men killed and wounded at that place." If he had warned me beforehand it would have been more to the purpose. I caught, however, a good look at a part of their works, which seemed very strong, and I had no doubt were well manned. I returned in a few minutes to the regiment, taking good care as I passed the embrasure, and a little later Colonel Pinson came back and informed me General Armstrong had received an order from General Bates, at a given signal (a cannon-shot) to assault the enemy's works on our front. He said, further, that General Bates was of the opinion that the enemy had only a skirmish line in the works, and that his division would advance as we did. I told Pinson what I had seen, and that I was satisfied the enemy were in their works in force, for it was certain they had artillery, but, of course, we were powerless, and had nothing to do but obey. It was late in the afternoon when the shot came, and the whole brigade with a cheer scaled the works and dashed forward. I felt we were going to a useless slaughter of brave men, for if there was only a skirmish line it would be withdrawn at night, but if the enemy were in force nothing but disaster could come of the assault. I copy from the last letter written from Georgia home which was received and has escaped destruction, written the next day, and briefly describing the battle:

"CAMP NEAR DALLAS, GEORGIA, May 29, 1864.

        ". . . This place is about thirty miles northwest of Atlanta, and our army is drawn up in line of battle from here to the railroad at Marietta, about fifteen miles east. I wrote to you some days ago from near Cartersville, some twenty-five miles north of here. The enemy flanked our position there, and General Johnston threw his army in their front here. There has been constant skirmishing for some days, with occasionally a desperate battle on some part of the line, but as yet nothing decisive. Both armies are in line of battle and fortified only a few hundred yards apart. Minie balls, shot and shell are continually flying, even over our camps a short distance in rear of the works. On yesterday our brigade was in the breast-works, occupying the extreme left of our army. The enemy were only a few hundred yards from us, and we were ordered at a given signal to scale the works and advance, and it was understood a division of infantry on our right was to advance at the same time. Our regiment occupied the right of our brigade next to the infantry. The signal was given and over and at them we went, driving them into their works and capturing a battery. The infantry on our right failed to move forward, and we were compelled to retire and leave the guns and our gallant dead and some of the wounded on the field. We brought off some prisoners, and killed a good many Yankees, but lost some of our best officers and men. The gallant and chivalrous captain of the Bolivar troop, Captain Herrin, fell dead at the head of his company, and right at the enemy's guns. Two men of his company, brave soldiers. Bishop and Reneau, were killed at his side. Will. Montgomery, Charley Jones and Barnet were wounded, but we brought them off; some others of my old company were hit, but not badly hurt. We lost besides in the regiment Captain Turner, of Pontotoc,

mortally wounded (he died a day or two later), and Captain Lester, dangerously, and about twenty men killed and wounded in the regiment.

        "The other regiments in the brigade suffered about equally in the loss of officers and men. Captain Clanton, of Starke's regiment, who was in Bolivar, and whom you knew, was killed. Two field, officers of my rank in the brigade, were wounded, one reported mortally. . . . If the infantry had advanced, we could have held their works and would probably have taken several hundred prisoners. We were relieved from the breast-works a little while ago and are now camped about half a mile from them, having lain on them all night." . . .

        Our charge was down one hill and up another in front of the First Mississippi, the enemy's battery being on the crest of the hill and in our immediate front. Just behind it were strong works literally filled with soldiers, and it was impossible to hold what we had gained.

        We got back to our own works and reoccupied them, momentarily expecting and indeed hoping to be assaulted in our turn, as we felt sure we could repulse any attack made on us. But the enemy contented themselves with heavy firing of small arms and cannon till it was after dark, and in fact all through the night it was more or less heavy.

        I always thought and still think "somebody blundered." I know it was not General Armstrong, who led his brigade and was in the thick of the fight. Three or four days after this letter was written, we found their works abandoned, and Pinson sent a detail to recover the bodies of our dead. Captain Herrin and the two men of his company were found in a shallow grave at the place where they fell, and were given a more decent burial, as were the other dead of the regiment and brigade. A decent burial meant deeper graves, so that their bones

might lie undisturbed till they had all crumbled into dust, and become a part of that earth from which it is said they once had come.

        We reached General Johnston at Adairville, on the 17th, and this battle was fought on the 28th, twelve days of continuous skirmishing, and at times severe fighting as related, and this was our brigade's introduction to that army and to that general, upon whom it seemed to me then and seems to me now, the hopes of the confederacy rested.

CHAPTER XVII.

Lost Mountain, constant fighting--General Polk killed, regret at at his death--Armstrong's scout to the rear, destroys railroad and captures prisoners--Returns to army and orders me to remain twenty four hours in his rear--Escape without loss-- Mississippi lady refugee refuses forage--Compelled to take it-- Back to camp--Cross Chattahooche river, and ordered to intercept cavalry raid near Newman--General Johnston relieved, and General Hood in command--Regret, almost despair, in the army--General Dick Taylor's account of trouble between Mr. Davis and General Johnston--Brigade ordered to Atlanta, regiment ordered to battle-ground of 22d of July.

        When the enemy withdrew from our immediate front, about the second of June, it was because they were gradually extending their line in front of our right flank, and now began a game of strategy between those two great masters of the art of war, Johnston and Sherman, in which the one with a greatly superior force, was to succeed in forcing the other back to Atlanta. This game was to continue more than a month after our affair at Dallas, and every day there was heavy skirmishing varied now and then by severe assaults on our works. Thousands on both sides lost their lives, and all this time our cavalry remained on the left of the army, and there was scarcely a day in which we also were not engaged with some though generally light loss.

        The enemy had a well-equipped cavalry force of about fifteen thousand, as estimated by General Johnston, and our division did not, I think, number more than four thousand men, so that we on the left as well as General Wheeler on the right, were busy all the time in watching

and resisting the incessant movements of their cavalry to keep them from getting behind our army. They were bold and daring, and gave us much trouble, but no serious engagement that I can recall took place, in which our cavalry was engaged during the month of June, though as I have said, we were all the time busy. On the 5th of June our brigade was at Lost Mountain, and from its top we had a good view of the enemy, and at its base a skirmish with them.

        On the 14th of June, General Polk was killed, and his death was a great loss to the army and to our cause. Not only was he a brave soldier, but he was a competent commander, and it was believed, and I think it was true, that he had a well deserved influence with President Davis. They had been, as I remember, class-mates at West Point, and were more than that, for they were warm personal friends, and it may be if he had lived he might have prevented that serious disaster to our army, the removal of General Johnston, and it is certain he would have tried to do it. He had entered the army at Mr. Davis' personal request, so it was said, when he first came to Columbus to assume command there, where I had the honor to make his personal acquaintance, and I formed the highest opinion of his character as a man, and his ability as a soldier. I always associated General Polk in my mind, with Bishop Compton of England, who assisted the princess, afterwards Queen Anne, in making her escape from London to join the Prince of Orange, after he had landed in England. Macaulay says of this fighting bishop, that "he wholly laid aside for the time his sacerdotal character. Danger and conflict had rekindled in him all the military ardor which he had twenty-eight years before, when he rode in the Life Guards. He preceded the princess' carriage in a buff coat and jackboots, with a sword at his side and pistols in his holsters."

        So with General Polk, when danger threatened his country, the military ardor engendered by his education at West Point revived, and he gave up his holy calling for one he deemed as sacred, and to which he became a martyr. I recall that on the day before he was killed, Colonel Pinson had spent the day at his headquarters, and on his return to his regiment in the evening, he told me that General Polk had told him he intended to recommend his promotion to the rank of brigadier general, and there is no doubt if General Polk had lived a little while longer, this well earned promotion would have been given to one of the best of all the cavalry colonels in the service. A man who knew no fear, who shirked no duty, who sought no soft places, but always roughed it with his men. But it is not yet time to speak of Pinson as he deserves, but I hope to find a place to do it.

        The enemy had repaired the bridge across the Etowah river, which we had destroyed, and had, it was said, established, or was about to do so, a depot of supplies at Alatoona, some twenty-five or thirty miles north of Kennesaw Mountain, where our line was from the 19th of June till about the 2nd of July, the enemy intrenched as usual close to our line. Some time in the last days of June, General Armstrong was ordered to take a detachment from his brigade, and to cut the railroad between the Etowah and Alatoona. I think about twenty-five men from each company in the brigade were ordered to take five days' cooked rations and prepare to go, care being taken to select those men whose horses were in best condition. I was directed to take command of the detachment from my regiment. No one knew, of course, the object of the move, or where we were going, except the commanding officers from each regiment, as it was of the last importance to the object of the expedition that we should get into the rear of the federal army without

it being known, otherwise we would certainly have been followed, and perhaps compelled to return. By moving directly west for some miles, and then suddenly turning north, Armstrong succeeded in getting entirely in rear of the federals, and soon too far away to be overtaken before we could strike the railroad. Whether we could get out afterwards was another matter; it was time enough to think of that when it became necessary. We passed, I remember, through the old battle ground of the 25th at New Hope Church, and to our astonishment, every tree between the lines (they were all oak of good size) was dead, killed by the inumerable bullets, which had hit them, it seemed to me, from the top to the bottom. Passing as rapidly as possible onwards, we finally struck the railroad a little north of Alatoona, dispersing a force of infantry and some cavalry, and capturing about forty prisoners, without loss on our side. Armstrong's force was eight or nine hundred men, and he found that Alatoona was too strongly garrisoned to be successfully attacked. He had no artillery on this raid. He, therefore, destroyed the railroad as much as possible, and then moved with the prisoners to the west for some miles, and there bivouacked for the night. For forage we had been compelled to depend on the wheat fields, of which there were many, and the wheat was in good condition for forage. We fully expected, after we had stirred them up, to be attacked by a large force, but I suppose their cavalry must have been nearly all at the front, for we saw nothing of them. Here, on the third day since we had left the army, while moving back, I was ordered by General Armstrong to halt and remain with my command for twenty-four hours. He moved on with the balance of the detachment and prisoners, while I made the best disposition I could to resist an attack, if one was made, placing Captain Montgomery, who had succeeded to the

command of Herrin's company, with his company on picket, while I moved the balance of my command about half a mile further on, and there halted. I never had any doubt but that I would be attacked, but for some reason the enemy did not find us. Perhaps they did not have the necessary cavalry force in that vicinity, which I suppose was the true reason, or they thought we had gotten too far away to be overtaken. The night was a long one, and not much sleep, but the next day till my twenty-four hours were up was much longer, but at last the time came when I could move, and I gladly did so. It was early in the afternoon when I started back to the army, and I determined to put as much space as possible between the dangerous place where I had made my halt and my camping place for the night. I had taken a different route back, and sent a detail with the advance guard to look out for forage on the way, as our horses needed corn badly. After marching some miles I found my detail had halted at a corn crib on the roadside and near a neat-looking farm house.

        They told me there was a lady at the house who refused to let them have any corn, and as the crib was locked they had waited for me. I went up to the house myself, and saw the lady and explained to her the necessity I was under of taking corn enough to feed our horses, but she would not give me the key, and I was obliged to have the house broken into and the corn taken anyway. There were several hundred bushels in the crib, and a fine wheat-field in front of the house, so I had the less scruple in taking her corn. This lady, I remember, was from Mississippi, a widow, and had run away to escape federal raids in her own state; and now one of her own fellow-citizens was to levy tribute upon her. I do not now remember what county she was from or her name, though she told me both. I gave her a statement

showing that I had taken her corn against her will, so that if the federals should find her they could not accuse her of having voluntarily given it to us, of which she seemed to be in great terror, and this I suspect was her reason for not unlocking her door. Up to that time no federals had found her, for fortunately she was off the main line of the advance and our retreat. I had each man take a good feed for his horse, and then kept on till dark, when, finding a good place with water, I halted for the night. That night, with good men on picket, we slept soundly, for I began now to believe we would get safely back to our command, even if we had to have a brush with the enemy.

        Next morning, bright and early, I was on the way, and did not halt till noon, when I halted in a valley to rest. Of course I had pickets out on all the roads, but just on one side of our halting-place was a high hill and woods, and I had not thought it necessary to place any sentinels in that direction. I lay down on a log and went to sleep, and while I was sleeping there came a rattling peal of thunder. I had dropped off to sleep wondering if by any chance there might be any enemy in that wood, and thinking if there were what a surprise they would give us by firing a volley, when this peal of thunder came, and I sprang to my feet, believing it was true, and that we were surprised, and only recovered at the laughter of the boys, who at once divined that I had taken the thunder for an attack from the woods.

        It was raining hard, and had rained, I believe, every day and night through the month of June, which I attributed to the incessant cannonading and firing of small arms. Before that time, I had heard, it never rained at night in June, but night or day was all the same; it rained all the time, and as we had no tents we had to take it.

        I reached the camp late that evening, astonished that we got back so easily. But we did not get back to rest, for the enemy was now extending his right, so that now, on the 1st of July, or on the 2d, General Johnston says Sherman's right was nearer to Atlanta than our left, and was threatening the railroad bridge and Turner's ferry. These places had been for some time defended by a division of Georgia state troops under Major-General Smith, who, on the 1st of July, were ordered forward to support our division, which was resisting the enemy's advance on our extreme left. General Smith only had about fifteen hundred men, and on the 4th of July he reported to General Johnston that he would be compelled to withdraw to his intrenchments at the railroad bridge, and, of course, this necessitated the withdrawal of our division also. We had been constantly engaged from the 1st to the 5th, with more or less loss every day, but I cannot recall the number or any names. Our fights were without intrenchments, and if any reports of our losses were ever made I have never seen them, and, as will be seen later, General Johnston says he did not know. Our division crossed the Chattahoochee river on the night of the 5th, and at the same time General Wheeler crossed the river above, some twenty miles from us.

        We were guarding the river for some twenty miles below Atlanta, but the enemy though they had strongly threatened, did not cross on our front, but two corps crossed at Powers' ferry, some twenty miles northeast of Atlanta, and on the 9th, General Johnston withdrew his infantry and artillery to the south side of the river. We were not quiet long in our command, as will be seen from this extract from General Johnston's report. "On the 14th, a division of federal cavalry crossed the river by Moore's bridge near Newnan, but was driven back by Armstrong's brigade, sent by Brigadier General Jackson

to meet it." Newnan is about forty miles southwest of Atlanta on the railroad leading to West Point, and the enemy's object was to cut this road, of the last importance to us while we could hold Atlanta. We made a forced march and succeeded in intercepting them before they reached the railroad, and though they had a division, we drove them back across the river with but little loss to us, and not much, though some, to them. We destroyed this bridge, and General Armstrong remained in the vicinity of Newnan a few days observing them, and waiting for orders.

        On the morning of the 19th of July, I am sure of the date, for I can never forget the occasion, Colonel Pinson received an order to move the regiment out as soon as possible, and leaving me to do this, he rode to Armstrong's quarters. I had just got the regiment in marching order and moved it to the road when he returned and said, "General Johnston has been removed from the command of the army." I said surely you are mistaken, but he told me he had just seen at headquarters an order signed J. B. Hood, General. There was no doubt about it. We were moving, I learned, to intercept the same division of cavalry we had already defeated, and who were supposed to be making a dash for West Point. We marched all day and all night, and I will never forget the gloom of that march. I felt that our cause was at its crisis, that our only hope had been in Johnston, the alacrity with which he had been obeyed, the supreme confidence the army had in him, the great skill he had displayed in keeping so long at bay a greatly superior force, the loss he had inflicted on that force, ably commanded as it certainly was, and the small loss comparatively he had sustained, never losing in his retreat to Atlanta, a wagon or an ambulance, much less a gun, all showed him to be, I thought, and this was the general, I may say the

universal, sentiment in the army, one of the few really great commanders we had, and if the history of this campaign is ever fairly and fully written, this will be his place.

        He says in his report, "On the 17th, the main body of the federal army crossed the Chatahoochee between Roswell and Powers' ferry. At 10 P. M., while I was giving Lieutenant Colonel Presstman, chief engineer, instructions in regard to his work of the next day on the fortifications of Atlanta, a telegram was received from General Cooper, informing me by direction of the secretary of war, that as I had failed to arrest the advance of the enemy to the vicinity of Atlanta, and expressed no confidence that I could defeat or repel him, I was relieved from the command of the army and department of Tennessee, which would immediately be turned over to General Hood. This was done at once." After going on to state that in turning over the command to General Hood, he had explained to him his plans, he says of his army when it was turned over, "These troops who had been for seventy-four days in the immediate presence of the enemy, laboring and fighting daily, enduring toil, exposure and danger with equal cheerfulness, more confident and high spirited than when the federal army presented itself near Dalton, were then inferior to none who ever served the confederacy. "

        This was literally true, as was well known to every soldier in the army, and admitted by all save one, the last who ought to have denied it. But at the right place I will let him speak for himself. I myself, when sometimes passing through ranks of infantry just before we crossed the Chattahoochee, often heard such expressions as, "We will follow old Joe to the Gulf of Mexico and back." Indeed, the confidence of the army in General Johnston was wonderful, and was only equaled during

the war by the devotion which Lee's men felt for him. It may be that we of lesser rank than some of the great commanders in the army, and the men of the rank and file, were incapable of truly estimating General Johnston's abilities; but at least we knew in whom we trusted, and want of confidence in a commander is a sure presage of disaster.

        Whatever was the real cause of General Johnston's removal, I am sure it was not because of any prejudice, if he had any, against him in the mind of President Davis, as too many thought and said. He was too great a man, and had too much at stake. It must be remembered that of all the men of the confederacy Mr. Davis had the most at stake. Failure meant not only ruin to the cause he loved, but disaster to his own great fame, for upon his devoted head was to be poured out all the reproaches, for a time at least, not only of his enemies, but of many who ought to have been his friends, more loyal in defeat than if success had crowned his efforts and his hopes. He could not, brave soldier though he had been and would gladly have been again, even have the comfort of knowing that he had exposed his own life to danger on the battlefield with his devoted friends and followers. It was said at the commencement of the war, and I have no doubt it was true, that Mr. Davis preferred and even desired the command of the army in the field rather than the presidency, but this could not be, for all eyes turned to him, and no other man could in his place have done more or better, none I believe so well.

        It is certain General Johnston had enemies in his own army who lost no chance to do him harm if they could with the president and widen the breach between them. The disagreement between these two great men, both so necessary to the cause to which both were devoted, began, according to General Dick Taylor, himself an eminent

soldier and a brother-in-law of the president, in the fall of 1861. I quote from him:

        "As the autumn of the year 1861 passed away, the question of army reorganization pressed for solution, while divergent opinions were held by the government at Richmond and General Johnston. The latter sent me to President Davis, to explain his views and urge their adoption. My mission met with no success, but in discharging it I was made aware of the estrangement growing up between these eminent persons, which subsequently became 'the spring of woes unnumbered.' An earnest effort made by me to remove the cloud, then 'no greater than a man's hand,' failed, though the elevation of the character of the two men, which made them listen patiently to my appeals, justified hope. Time but served to widen the breach. Without the knowledge and despite the wishes of General Johnston, the descendants of the ancient dwellers in the cave of Adullam gathered themselves behind his shield, and shot their arrows at President Davis and his advisers, weakening the influence of the head of the cause for which all were struggling."

        Again, in speaking of the character of General Johnston, and of his services in the Georgia campaign, he says, "Certainly no more egregious blunder was possible than that of relieving him from the command in front of Atlanta. If he intended to fight there he was entitled to execute his plan. Had he abandoned Atlanta without a struggle, his removal would have met the approval of the army and public, an approval which, under the circumstances of its action, the Richmond government failed to receive. . . . Destiny willed that Davis and Johnston should be brought into collision, and the breach once made was never repaired. Each misjudged the other to the end."

        General Johnston reported his entire loss in the campaign

till he was removed at about ten thousand killed and wounded, and forty-seven hundred from all other causes, chiefly sickness, but this does not include the losses in the cavalry, for he expressly says, "For want of reports I am unable to give the loss, or the services of the cavalry, which was less under my eye than the rest of the army." The enemy's loss he reports, from reports to him, at five times as great as his own, and this, I think, was a conservative estimate. In fact, from Adairsville to the Chatahoochee was one continued battle field, and no pen can adequately describe it. He transferred to General Hood forty-one thousand infantry and artillery and ten thousand cavalry on the 17th of July, and we will see before I close what was left of it six months later.

        Since I began these memoirs, some friend, perhaps the author, has sent me a neat pamphlet published by the Greenwood Publishing Company, from Greenwood, Mississippi, entitled the "Recollections of 'A Pine Knot' in the Lost Cause."

        The author is Mr. J. M. Miller, a private in that splendid regiment, the Twentieth Mississippi, and it is extremely interesting to old soldiers like myself, and I wish that more old soldiers from the ranks would tell their own story, as he has done. As I have quoted from some of the officers of high rank about General Johnston, so I will from what Mr. Miller says, for he was one of the men that held the works from Dalton to Atlanta, and knows whereof he speaks. "I am not saying boastingly, but I know something of the Atlanta, or hundred days' campaign. I was on every picket that my time came, and that seemed often; was in every skirmish and battle, and did not miss a roll call on the campaign. When not in the ranks I was on the scout, many times in the enemy's lines. Most likely there were men that went in droves that did more than I did, but I know with one accord

the officers and soldiers of the army of Tennessee held General Johnston in highest esteem, and in whom they had implicit confidence." He further says that the removal of General Johnston "was as unexpected as a peal of thunder from a cloudless sky."

        I have already mentioned Lieutenant-Colonel W. N. Brown, of this brave regiment, as going from Bolivar county as captain of the McGehee Rifles.

        Some of the brave men of this command are still living in the county, honored and prominent citizens. As I write I recall but three names. W. C. Boyd, J. L. Wrenn and W. N. Shepherd, now living. But this digression is proving too long.

        Our all day and all night march ended near Lagrange, and there Armstrong halted. We soon learned that the enemy had turned back without attempting to reach West Point, probably because he knew we would be in a situation to cut off his retreat if he got so far away from his base, and after resting a few days we were ordered back to the army at Atlanta.

        We did not reach that place till the bloody battle of the 22nd of July, on the right of our army, had been fought, I think about the 24th.

        But though tired and worn out with constant fighting and long marches, we were not yet to rest, for Colonel Pinson was ordered to go into Atlanta and report to General Hood. In passing through we halted in front of General Hood's quarters, a large two-story frame house, while Pinson went in to see him.

        When he came out he told me he was ordered to move through the city to the battle ground of the 22nd, and on that ground that night we went into camp.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Want of confidence in General Hood--His opinion of the infantry of his army--His opinion of his cavalry--Fearful sights on battle-ground of 22d July--Skirmishes in cornfield--Ordered back to left of army, rejoin Armstrong--Enemy advances on Lick Skillet road--Ordered with part of regiment to extreme left--Attack on my command--Driven back--Advance of General Lee's corps--Battle of 28th of July--Severe loss--Federal raids to our rear--Fight with Kilpatrick--Back to the left of army--General Sherman's move to our left--Constant fighting, fall back to Jonesboro--Occupy trenches, first assault of enemy repulsed--Loss of Jonesboro and evacuation of Atlanta.

        In the army, General Hood was regarded as among the "bravest of the brave," but the same confidence was not felt in his ability to command an army as there was in his courage or ability to command his corps. This a few weeks or even a few days might have remedied, if he could have achieved some brilliant success, or even without this, if he had known how to inspire confidence. But, succeeding as he did a commander like Johnston, he had a difficult task before him.

        But, unfortunately, General Hood seemed to have as little confidence in his men as they had in him. I quote from his book, "Advance and Retreat":

        "My failure, on the 20th and 22d, to bring about a general pitched battle arose from the unfortunate policy pursued from Dalton to Atlanta, and which had wrought such demoralization amid rank and file as to render the men unreliable in battle. I cannot give a more forcible, though homely, exemplification of the morale of the troop, at that period, than by comparing the army to a

team which has been allowed to balk at every hill--one portion will make strenuous efforts to advance, while the other will refuse to move, and thus paralyze the exertions of the first. Moreover, it will work faultlessly one day and stall the next. No reliance can be placed upon it at any stated time."

        With the men without that supreme confidence in their commander which an army must have to insure success, and with a commander who believed his men demoralized by the tactics of his predecessor, who had been relieved only a few days before, what hope was there for that army?

        General Hood speaks in different terms of the cavalry, which he compliments at the expense of the infantry. I quote again from his book:

        "The severe handling by Wheeler and Iverson of the troops under Stoneman and McCook, together with Jackson's success, induced me not to recall Wheeler's four thousand five hundred men, who were still operating against the railroad to Nashville. I had, moreover, become convinced that our cavalry was able to successfully compete with double their number. Fortunately, they had not become demoralized upon the retreat, in consequence of their habit of dismounting and fighting at one point to-day, then remounting and hastening in another direction to encounter the enemy on the morrow."

        But I will cease to quote further on this subject from the book written by this brave but unfortunate soldier, which ought never to have been published, and, perhaps, would not have been, if he had lived a little while longer, for, if I recollect rightly, it was not published till after his death, and then for the benefit of his children. At least, a re-reading after he had written it would, I am sure, have resulted in a different tone towards the brave men who stood by him so loyally, so many thousands of

whom lost their lives under his command. No braver men ever gave battle than the infantry which Johnston turned over to Hood, and, if they became demoralized, it was after he took the command; and, if they were demoralized, strange they fought so bravely on the 22d and 28th of July. They deserve the highest praise, instead of blame, for their gallant conduct on every field where he led them to battle, and if they did not always win it was because the odds were too great. This much I have desired to say in speaking of General Hood.

        Our regiment remained on the battle ground of the 22d for several days, and the sight was a fearful one. Dead horses lay in all directions, and the dead of both armies had been hastily buried in shallow trenches, and were scarcely covered, for here and there arms, legs and sometimes heads could be seen, and the whole face of the earth was covered with swarms of green flies, and they so annoyed us in camp that it was almost impossible to prepare and eat our food.

        But the position was regarded important, and we had to hold it. I do not think there was then any enemy in our front except cavalry, their infantry having been withdrawn, because they were then extending their right flank. With this cavalry we several times came into contact, but no serious engagement occurred. Forage was scarce and hard to get and there was a cornfield of considerable size between us, and was in fact, a sort of neutral ground, for both sides foraged in it, and several times each side had to fight for what it could get. Our men got their share, but it was not long before the supply gave out and we had to look elsewhere for what we could get. Early on the morning of the 28th, we were relieved from this unpleasant position and ordered to rejoin our brigade. We found the brigade, as I remember, on the Lick Skillet road (I recall the name of the road by

reading General Hood's report), a road leading slightly northwest from Atlanta. The brigade under Armstrong moved a few miles out on this road, to take a position to resist the advance of the enemy, who were, it was said, moving to occupy the road. The road as I remember, as far as we went, was on a ridge through an open country, with woods here and there on each side at a little distance. Our regiment was in front, and when we had nearly reached a road leading at right angles, running down to a valley, I was ordered to take three or four companies and relieve a command of Georgia state troops who were posted in the woods in this valley. At that time none of our infantry were in sight, and there was no firing in front. I found the Georgia troops posted on the edge of a skirt of woods with a small field in front of them, about two hundred yards wide, and woods on the other side which extended I do not know how far. I inquired of the officer in command if he knew anything of where the enemy were, and he said he did not, that everything had been quiet, since he had been on that post. He further told me that he had no videttes in the woods across the field, which was very negligent, and as soon as they had left and I could make the proper disposition, I sent, or rather started a picket over the field. They got about half way when they were fired on, and before they could get back to me, the woods on the other side were full of bluecoats, who seemed to be advancing in line of battle with skirmishers in front, who however halted awhile at the fence on the other side. We did not yield the post without a show of resistance, for it at once occurred to me that this was an advance in force, for as far as I could see to my right, the enemy were advancing, and from the noise made which I could hear at a greater distance than I could see, I was sure there was a large force. It was therefore necessary to make as good a fight as I

could to delay the advance, and to give warning to the rest of the brigade which I knew could not be far from me on my right, though up to that time I heard no firing in the direction I supposed it to be. I was on the extreme left as I knew, of any force we had at the time on the Lick Skillet road, and as far as I could judge at the time or afterwards, was engaged with the extreme right of the advancing enemy.

        After a brisk skirmish, I soon found that I had an army to contend with, and began to withdraw, but I discovered that I could not reach the country cross-road I have spoken of, so as to rejoin the command where I had left it, for the firing now extended far to my right. So I fell slowly back through the woods, halting now and then to form and return the fire of the enemy's skirmishers until I reached a field near the main road. In getting through this field a few men were hit, but fortunately none badly. Whether we hurt the enemy I could not tell, but as the men were all good shots, and withdrew with the utmost coolness, no doubt they suffered somewhat more than we did. I am the more inclined to think so from the care with which they advanced. On the crest of the hill in my rear as I fell back, and right on the main road, was a farm house and buildings. Here I made another halt, dismounting the men and sending the horses still farther back across another field to some woods about two hundred and fifty or three hundred yards away. The enemy now had to approach across an open field while we were well sheltered for the fight. They came in great force and must have lost considerably as they were exposed, while though their fire was heavy, we lost none at this stand. I knew I could not withstand their assault, as a full brigade of infantry at the very least, whom I saw plainly, were advancing on us, and

therefore again withdrew my little force to the woods where our horses were.

        All this time I could hear nothing of the balance of the brigade, except I knew from the firing they were engaged, but was completely cut off from it. After remounting and forming in the woods, I was somewhat at a loss to know what to do, for the enemy had gained the road at the farm-houses, and I thought it likely were already intrenched, for they were as quick at this as our men, and it was the work of but a little while to throw up works which, though temporary, were yet formidable with brave men behind them.

        While I was considering, I heard a noise behind me in the woods, and sending back to see what it was found it was a brigade of our infantry, who had formed and were advancing. I do not know whose brigade it was, I have forgotten; but it was the left of General S. D. Lee's corps. He had but a short time before been assigned to the command of General Hood's old corps.

        I got my cavalry out of the way, more to the left, and moved forward with the infantry, then the extreme left, till they had driven the enemy from the houses and retaken the road. It was late before this was done, and I went in search of my own command, which I did not find till late at night. The men who had been with the main body of the brigade were loud in the praise of the gallantry of Armstrong, Starke and Pinson, who had been most exposed, and the chief loss of the brigade, some fifty or sixty killed and wounded, was with them, for in the companies with me there were about half a dozen wounded, and none fatally. This much I saw and know of the battle of the 28th, which was brought on by this attack on me, or commenced with that attack. Conservative estimates at the time put the entire loss to the army at between four and five thousand men killed and

wounded, though this may be greater than it was. It is certain the field was hotly contested, and that the battle lasted till dark. We held the road. General Lee in his report of this battle only says of the cavalry, "I soon found that the enemy had gained the road, and was gradually driving back our cavalry." He says the loss in some of the brigades was heavy, but does not give the number.

        While these movements were in progress in and around Atlanta, determined efforts were made by the federal cavalry, in large force and in separate columns, to cut the railroads to West Point and to Macon, but these were defeated by Generals Wheeler and Jackson, with two brigades (Ross' and Harrison's) of his division, who ran the enemy to bay near Newnan and captured a large number and dispersed the balance. Armstrong's brigade was left near the army and did not take part in this brilliant achievement, having its own fights and duties, as related. After the battle of the 28th Atlanta was regularly besieged, and this lasted about a month, during which Armstrong's brigade was on the left of our army and north of the West Point railroad, watching the enemy and engaged in almost constant skirmishing, to protect this road and prevent a raid to the rear.

        General Wheeler had been sent north to cut and destroy the enemy's communications, leaving General Jackson's division, composed of three brigades, to guard the rear and flanks of the army.

        This condition of things lasted several weeks, when General Sherman, taking advantage of Wheeler's absence, made another attempt to cut the Macon railroad, sending a strong detachment of cavalry under General Kilpatrick, who passed rapidly around our left, General Jackson in swift pursuit with two brigades, while we also with most of our brigade followed. The enemy had

crossed the railroad at Jonesboro and burned the depot, besides tearing up some of the road, before he was overtaken. General Ross had thrown his brigade across his path and our brigade was pressing rapidly in his rear, when Kilpatrick charged Ross' brigade and succeeded in getting through, with considerable loss. But Armstrong was close behind, and overtook and brought him to bay.

        Armstrong ordered our regiment to dismount and attack, which Pinson promptly did. It was a very hot day in August, I think about the 21st, and we drove the enemy for about a mile, in the face of a hot fire, losing twenty-five or thirty men killed and wounded, and inflicting severe loss on them, but they succeeded in reaching a strong position on the top of a hill, where their rear guard held us at bay for some time, and before Armstrong could bring up the balance of the brigade they also got off, for our horses were now far behind us. They left their dead on the field. They evidently had but one object in view now, and that was to escape and rejoin their army to the right of Atlanta.

        Talk about thirst! I felt it that day as I never did before or since; and coming to a small, sluggish stream, over which the entire federal command had crossed, and the water of which was almost thick enough to cut with a knife, those of us crossing in the road stooped and scooping the stuff up in our hands, I thought it the sweetest morsel I ever tasted. Beyond this stream we did not pursue much further, and it being late we were ordered back to camp and rest. That night, I remember, every man of the command had coffee in abundance, for so closely had we pursued that the enemy had thrown away many haversacks and bags of rations they had. They had no doubt got back to their command, and we were speedily ordered back also, as Sherman had again commenced in earnest a flank movement around our left,

and which was to be successful and result in the capture of Atlanta.

        The railroad near and at Jonesboro was speedily repaired so that trains were running into Atlanta in a few days, and before it was evacuated. The truth was that all the damage by either side to railroads, during the whole war, made only temporary interruptions, and convinced me that when an army of any strength got possession of a railroad they could hold it and quickly repair any damage done to it. It is in fact a source of strength to a strong invading force and a source of weakness to the country invaded by such a force.

        Our brigade was back to its old position on the left of the army by the 25th or on that day, for that night, as stated by General Hood, the enemy abandoned his works in front of Atlanta, or most of them, and commenced his move around our left in earnest, his abandoned works being occupied by our troops the next day.

        General Hood says: "This movement of the enemy gave rise to many idle rumors in relation to its object."

        One of the rumors, if it was a rumor which was not believed at the time, was that General Hood said that the enemy were preparing to retreat; that they had established a depot of supplies at Baker's Ferry, and would cross the Chatahoochee at that place. He himself only says after the statement just quoted, about the "idle rumors," that, "I felt confident that their plan would soon be developed; accordingly, orders were issued to corp commanders to send out scouts in their front, and to keep army headquarters fully advised of the slightest change in the enemy's position; to issue three days' rations, and to be in readiness to move at a moment's warning. Instructions were likewise sent to General Armstrong, commanding the cavalry in the vicinity of the West

Point railroad, to be most active in securing all possible information in regard to the operations of the enemy."

        The caution to Armstrong to be active was superfluous, for the cavalry had no more active and daring, and at the same time careful, commander. He was all the time in touch with the enemy and at times the skirmishing was heavy. As the enemy extended his line to our left he always found Armstrong in his front. One day I remember we occupied a position on a rocky hill, with an open view of a half mile or more across a valley which was cleared and in cultivation. On the opposite ridge was the road the enemy were pursuing, and for hours we stood, looking helplessly on, while thousands upon thousands moved swiftly by. The whole brigade was not at this particular point, it may be only our regiment, but the scene was not one to be forgotten. We did not have our battery with us and what shots were exchanged were at long range with but little damage. I wished then that one of our army corps could have been with us. Later, I believe on that same day, or it may more likely have been the next, while skirmishing with the enemy in a dense woods with a part of the regiment, General Cleburne rode up the road to where I was.

        Personally I did not know him, though I knew him by sight, and in response to his inquiries gave him what information I had. He turned and rode slowly away, and I never saw him again. His death at the battle of Franklin a few months later, where he fell bravely fighting for the confederacy, is one of the treasured memories of the war, among his now few surviving comrades, and one of the glories of the war to the whole country, which now happily knows no north, no south, no east nor west. Slowly our brigade was forced further and further to the left, till late on the evening of the 28th of August, at or near Fairburn on the West Point railroad, we were forced

across the road, and that night General Armstrong reported to General Hood that the enemy had reached and crossed, or would, early next morning with the whole force engaged in this movement, cross. That night I rode after dark had put an end to our fighting, to Armstrong's headquarters, and he told me that in the various skirmishes of the day by the different regiments of his command, that some prisoners had been captured from three different army corps of the federal army, but I do not now recall what ones they were. My recollection is that Sherman had four army corps, so that the bulk of his army was engaged in this movement. Of this movement and the force, General Hood was fully apprised by Armstrong, for he says, "Early the following morning (that is the 28th, for he had just been speaking of the 27th), the enemy was reported by General Armstrong in large force at Fairburn, on the West Point road." My recollection is that our brigade was not finally forced across the road till the night of the 28th.

        General Hood was now aware of the purpose of Sherman, for he says, "It became at once evident that General Sherman was moving with his main body to destroy the Macon road, and that the fate of Atlanta depended upon our ability to beat this movement." This was patent to our brigade at least, but the question which General Hood had to meet was how this movement was to be defeated, and as General Hood says upon his ability to do this depended the fate of Atlanta. Obviously it would be improper for me to criticise General Hood's management of the campaign at this time, but it is not, I think, improper to give the position and forces of the two armies at the time Sherman crossed the West Point railroad. Our army, according to General Hood's estimate a few days later, infantry and artillery, then at Atlanta, must have been about thirty-five thousand men. Of his cavalry at that

time General Wheeler with forty-five hundred men, was absent on his gallant but useless raid towards Chattanooga, useless so far as any permanent good was done. In Sherman's immediate front at Fairburn, and prepared to resist his march to Jonesboro as well as it could, was Armstrong's brigade, about fifteen hundred effective men.

        General Jackson, with the other two brigades of his division, was busy and fighting elsewhere. From Fairburn to Atlanta was about twenty miles, and to Jonesboro about ten miles, which place was the objective point of General Sherman's movement.

        Having crossed the West Point railroad, General Sherman's advance to Jonesboro was slow. He began to move, however, on the morning of the 29th, and Armstrong fell slowly back before him.

        The country between Fairburn and Jonesboro, as I remember it, was an open country, offering but few desirable places for defense, but Armstrong availed himself of every chance, and every few miles there was a halt and fight, but two army corps were advancing, according to General Hood's advices, and no doubt this was correct, and a cavalry brigade could offer but little resistance, certainly not an effectual one. But we did what we could. I think on the morning of the 30th we crossed the Flint river, a stream dignified by that name, and which was not far from Jonesboro. General Hood says, "Reynolds' and Lewis' brigades were dispatched to Jonesboro to co-operate with Armstrong." At Flint river we made an unavailing stand, and the enemy crossed it about six P. M. that day. To quote from General Hood, "As General Armstrong had already foreseen, a federal corps crossed Flint river at about six P. M. near Jonesboro, and made an attack upon Lewis' brigade, which was gallantly repulsed." When we reached Jonesboro

we found this brigade in the trenches, and as there were some which were unoccupied, we were at once dismounted and occupied them, and took part in this repulse of the enemy. We remained in the trenches till late at night, when another brigade of infantry arrived, probably Reynolds', and relieved us. The next day the enemy gained our works, and we were compelled to fall back, the enemy strongly intrenching at Jonesboro, General Hardee, arriving too late, made an assault with a loss of fourteen hundred men killed and wounded, without success, upon their works. General Lee's corps arrived a little later, but that night, I believe, was recalled a part of the way back to cover General Hood's retreat from Atlanta. Had these two corps been twelve hours sooner the result at Jonesboro might have been different.

        The whole army united at Lovejoy station, a short distance south of Jonesboro, and Sherman withdrew his army to Atlanta.

        The loss in Armstrong's brigade, from the time we got back to the West Point railroad from our fight with Kilpatrick, in killed and wounded was about, as well as I remember, one hundred, nearly equally distributed between the regiments, but no official report, as usual, was made of this loss, or if made I have never seen it.

        Atlanta had fallen, and our loss in men and stores could never be replaced, but I will not permit myself to indulge in criticism of any one on this great disaster to the confederacy. No doubt it was our fate, but it was none the less bitter, and if General Johnston had not been removed, perhaps it would only have prolonged the desperate struggle, with a like result at last. The historian who is to come must and will, without fear or favor, fix the responsibility where it belongs.

CHAPTER XIX.

Some reflections on loss of Atlanta--President Davis visits camp-- Ordered by General Jackson to take command disabled horses and men--Ordered to reinforce General Tyler at West Point-- Orders and letter from General Jackson--Ordered to Mississippi with my command--Incidents of the march--Sick in hospital and leave of absence--At home again--Met a gold bug on the road.

        The fall of Atlanta was the second great disaster to the confederate arms in the west, east of the Mississippi river, and second only in its results to the loss of Vicksburg.

        General Hood indeed says: "I was not so much pained by the fall of Atlanta as by the recurrence of retreat, which I full well knew would demoralize the army and renew desertions." It was not so much the retreat which would demoralize the army as it was the loss of Atlanta, for everywhere through the confederacy when its loss was known, it discouraged the people, and this could not be concealed from the army, and the effect naturally was to demoralize those in the army who were not actuated by the highest motives of patriotism, and the sternest purpose to fight it out to the end. Many such there were, and those of the "baser sort" who composed the deserters, ought not to have been considered, and were comparatively few. An orderly retreat from Atlanta without loss of stores or munitions of war, would in itself have been a disaster, but not an overwhelming one, for we would have had the army, with its morale preserved, and Sherman's march to the sea would have been impossible.

        The army had in fact been cut in two, and exposed to an attack from the two army corps of the federals at Jonesboro, as it passed on its way to Lovejoy station, near which General Hardee had intrenched his corps, and General Hood himself says: "I have often thought it strange that Sherman should have occupied himself with attacking Hardee's intrenched position instead of falling upon our main body on the march round to his rear." It may be that Sherman thought it strange that General Hood did not attack him at Fairburn, or on his way there, instead of occupying his abandoned works with two army corps the day after they were abandoned. Certainly he had the chance, and was informed as he says of the movement of the enemy by Armstrong, and this was constantly done as I know. Before that he had ordered the commanders of his army corps to be in readiness, to have three days' rations issued, and yet not a man was moved from Atlanta, till the enemy was at the gates (so to speak) of Jonesboro. These are facts which cannot be denied, and not criticism.

        But these reflections are vain and perhaps ought not to be indulged in, but I find it impossible to refrain from doing so.

        President Davis visited the army soon after General Sherman withdrew into Atlanta, the headquarters of the army being then at Palmetto, on the West Point railroad, to which point it had moved in pursuance of General Hood's plan to move into Tennessee, of which no secret was made. I did not see Mr. Davis; there was no formal review even of the infantry, though General Hood says they rode through the camp or part of it together, and in some places he was received with enthusiasm and by some with cries, or to use his own language, "were seemingly dissatisfied, and inclined to cry out, 'give us General Johnston.' " The cavalry at the

time was busy watching the enemy, towards Fairburn, as I remember, between the army and Atlanta.

        General Sherman was resting quietly on the laurels he had won and in Atlanta, and did not seem inclined to molest us, so that our cavalry also was quiet, though vigilantly watching the enemy and ready to move with the army.

        This was the situation when, on the morning of the 25th of September, the following order was handed to me:

HEADQUARTERS JACKSON'S CAVALRY DIVISION,
IN THE FIELD, September 24th, 1864.

        Circular.--A camp for convalescent horses is hereby ordered to be established near Newnan, for the disabled horses of the division, under Lieutenant-Colonel Montgomery of the First Mississippi regiment, Armstrong's brigade, as commandant of the camp, and Captain Sims, quartermaster Ross' brigade, as quartermaster, selected from the division for their energy and force of character.

        One officer from each brigade not to exceed the grade of captain to be selected by the brigade commander, to have immediate charge of the men and horses from his brigade, will be sent to this camp as assistant to Lieutenant-Colonel Montgomery. One man to every six horses will be allowed to go to this camp, to be used as guards, and to perform such other duties as may be required. The quartermaster will employ negroes to assist in washing the sore-back horses and in taking care of them.

        Each brigade will furnish one wagon to every hundred horses, and one wagon to every fractional number over seventy. Before horses are sent to this camp they must be inspected by the brigade inspector. Brigade inspectors will report weekly to division inspector the number of horses sent to this camp. The officer from each brigade will send weekly reports to his brigade commander. The

commandant of the camp will make weekly reports to these headquarters, addressed to the division inspector. The dismounted men of the brigades will be organized under competent officers, one to every thirty men, and report to Captain Sykes, assistant inspector-general, at these headquarters. Brigade commanders, through their inspectors, will have this order carried into effect at once. No horses except those belonging to officers will be allowed to be led with the command, or kept with the command in the field.

By command of
BRIGADIER-GENERAL W. H. JACKSON.
E. T. SYKES, A. A. Gen'l.

To LIEUTENANT-COLONEL MONTGOMERY,
First Mississippi Regiment, through Brigadier-General
Armstrong, commanding brigade.

        This order was an unpleasant surprise to me, for my earnest wish was to remain with the regiment and take part in the campaign just commencing. I knew the importance of the duties to which I was assigned, but I knew also the difficulties which would confront me with any number of men, certain to be more than contemplated by the order, and removed for the time from their regular organizations in the field. I went to see General Jackson and requested him not to impose this unpleasant duty on me, but to select some one else and permit me to go with the division. He said, in reply, that the necessity for the camp was imperative; be was about to move with the army into Tennessee; communication would be difficult between us; that it was necessary to have an officer of at least my rank in command of the camp; that he knew the command was an unpleasant one, but it was one of great importance; that he had well considered the matter, and he could not relieve me from it.

        I then asked him to give me one company from my

own regiment, so that I would have at least one completely organized command upon which I could rely. To this he willingly consented, and ordered Colonel Pinson to assign me a company; and, in obedience to the order, Colonel Pinson ordered Captain T. B. Kennedy, of the Carrol county company, to report to me with his company. There was none better in the regiment where all were good. I took my leave of the regiment and brigade with regret, for, though I did not anticipate a prolonged absence, I knew, before we met again, that when we did many would be missing who I would never see again in this world.

        I moved about the 26th of September, with my guard, to a point west of Newnan, and there organized my camp.

        General Jackson crossed the Chattahoochee on the 28th, and was speedily followed by the army, except the command I had and, I believe, General Ferguson's brigrade, which was left behind.

        I knew Captain Sims, of the Texas brigade assigned to me, and he was a very efficient man for the position of quartermaster, and together we soon had the camp in good shape. I had a lieutenant in charge of the men and horses of each regiment, and from Ross', I remember, there were two, and all I needed was a good adjutant, who I found in Charles C. Farrar, of the Bolivar troop, who was in hospital at Lagrange, near by, and about convalescent; so, instead of sending him forward to join the division, as I did when men and horses were fit, I kept him with me, and he made a good officer. I have a copy of my first report, which shows that on the 8th day of October I had in my camp 18 officers, 597 men and 984 horses; but, as fast as possible, I sent the men and horses to their commands.

        About the 2d of October, I received from General Jackson, by courier, the following order:

HEADQUARTERS JACKSON'S CAVALRY DIVISION,
IN THE FIELD, October 1, 1864, 12:30 P. M.

        COLONEL--General Jackson directs that you immediately move your camp to the vicinity of West Point, and, in case the enemy press down there, you will send the horses to some safe place across the river (the Chattahoochee), and report to General Tyler, to assist in protecting the place. Lose no time in the execution of this order.

Very respectfully, etc.,
E. T. SYKES, A. A. G.

LIEUT-COL. F. A. MONTGOMERY,
Commanding Camp Disabled Horses,
Jackson's Cavalry Division.

        I lost no time in obeying the order, and, after going into camp, went early next morning to report in person to General Tyler. I found General Tyler to be holding the place with a small force, but he was strongly fortified, and I concerted with him as to what force I could bring, and where I should send my horses in the event the place should be attacked, of which there were rumors and some apprehension. West Point is about eighty miles, perhaps a little more, west of Atlanta, and the anticipated attack was from that place, which General Sherman had not yet abandoned. The railroad was open west as far as Meridian, Mississippi, I think, also to Jackson, and it was desirable to hold it as long as possible. My recollection is that General Tyler had before that time been wounded and unfit for active duty in the field, hence had been placed in command of this post.

        The apprehended attack was not made, nor any demonstration towards the place, and after remaining a few days

on the side of the river near West Point, I crossed the Chattahoochee, and established my camp near Lafayette, in Alabama, but within easy reach of West Point if General Tyler should at any time desire what force I could bring to him; and while I remained in that vicinity was in constant communication with him, going several times to see him. This brave soldier was the next year killed, in defense of his post, refusing to surrender to, I believe, General Wilson, or a part of his force on its way to Macon after the fall of Selma.

        While camped near Lafayette I received the subjoined communication from General Tyler:

HEADQUARTERS MILITARY POST,
WEST POINT, October 10th, 1864.

        Sergeant P. M. Rowland will proceed at once to the camp of Lieutenant-Colonel Montgomery, in command recruiting camp, vicinity of Lafayette, of Jackson's cavalry, with Mr. Waller and W. Q. Adams, turning them over to Colonel Montgomery to be mustered into service Confederate States in Eighth Confederate cavalry regiment. Lieutenant-Colonel Montgomery will forward, by first opportunity, Mr. Waller and Adams to the regiment which they wish to join (Eighth Confederate cavalry).

By order, R. C. TYLER, Brigadier-General.

        I have no personal recollection of this incident or of these gentlemen; no doubt they reached their regiment, and I hope and expect they made brave soldiers in those dark days of the confederacy.

        Little occurred to break the monotony of the camp; no enemy near, and only now and then some disabled men or horses from the front, or the dispatch of convalescent men and horses to the front.

        A day or two after I got to Lafayette a detail sent out

to get beef cattle reported to me that they had found a man belonging to the Bolivar troop, whose name was Dan Davidson, living with a pretty little wife about seven or eight miles from camp. I knew he had been absent from his company for several months, but no one knew whether he was a straggler or a prisoner. I sent and had him arrested and brought into camp, but he had such a plausible story of having been sick and nursed at the house where he found his bride, and his intention to rejoin his comcommand as soon as he knew where it was, that I was fain to admit his excuse, and turned him over to the officer in charge of the men of the brigade, to be sent with the next detail to the front. He had only been married a week or two, and begged hard to be allowed to go back to his wife, but he deserved punishment, and I would not permit it. In a few days, however, I relented so far as to detail him to get beef cattle for the command in the neighborhood of his wife's home, and kept him at this while I remained in that section of the country.

        While this was going on I got one day a letter from his wife, saying she heard that he had a wife living in Texas, and asking me if it were so. I had never heard of it before, but on inquiry of some men of his company with me, I learned it was true; he had been married when about eighteen years old, and so far as was known his wife was living in Texas, but that they had been divorced. I wrote his wife this, and I suppose it was all right, as I heard nothing further about it. I know that after the war was over he passed through Bolivar county with his young wife on his way to Texas, where both were still living and doing well a few years ago, as he wrote me from that state.

        I received from General Jackson the following order a few days after its date:

HEADQUARTERS JACKSON'S CAVALRY DIVISION,
CAVE SPRINGS, October 15th, 1864.

        Special Order No. 76.--Lieutenant-Colonel Montgomery will make an immediate and thorough inspection of his camp, and all horses found to be permanently disabled, or not likely to be serviceable in three months, will be disposed of by him. The government must not be taxed with their support.

By order of
BRIGADIER-GENERAL W. H. JACKSON.
E. T. SYKES, A. A. Gen'l.

LIEUTENANT-COLONEL MONTGOMERY,
Commanding camp disabled horses, Jackson's Cav. Div.

        I have no recollection or report of what the result of the inspection was.

        A few days later I received the following:

HEADQUARTERS JACKSON'S CAVALRY DIVISION,
CAVE SPRINGS, October 20, 1864.

        COLONEL--I have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of your report and the reports of the brigade detachments for the brigade commanders for the week ending October 15, 1864. I am directed to say to you, you can purchase the horses alluded to and give the detail desired. As to the movement and change of your camp, it will be taken into consideration and an answer sent you soon.

Very respectfully, your obedient servant,
THOMAS B. SYKES, A. I. G.

LIEUT.-COL MONTGOMERY,
Commanding Detachment Jackson's Cavalry, near West Point.

        A few days later came the subjoined letter from General

Jackson written by himself. The paper is very bad and the ink is worse and very much faded, so that some words cannot be deciphered.

        I very much regret this, as for obvious reasons I prize the letter.

HEADQUARTERS CAVALRY DIVISION,
JACKSONVILLE, ALA., October 24, 1864.

        COLONEL--I am making the move with Armstrong's and Ross' brigades to overtake the army and cross the Tennessee river. I wish you to move all the horses of these two brigades and King's battery (which was sent to West Point to get new guns) to Crawford, Mississippi, between Macon and Columbus, and establish your camp in that vicinity, or if forage is not abundant there you will select some place convenient to that road higher up. I wish you before starting to issue an order by my command breaking up the camp at Eufala, Alabama, and ordering them to join you, first collecting all U. S. or C. S. horses in that vicinity in the hands of citizens, as I am informed that the Texans there have disposed of some two hundred of those horses, which were captured on the--that camp to--. If citizens have traded with them for any horses, whether branded or not, take them away from them, as orders have been issued, and now existing, forbidding citizens to trade with cavalry-men for their horses.

        I wish you to keep all the men you now have with you, recruit their horses thoroughly, and move the battery horses. Do not send any of them to their commands until I send you orders. Have them all shod, draw shoes from chief of ordnance of the army, Lieutenant-Colonel Kennard, who will be either at Selma or Corinth.

        Let the horses and men of General Ferguson's brigade remain in the present camp, and notify the officer in

command that General F.'s brigade was left at Cedar Town, somewhere on the line from that place to this.

        In moving to your new position make easy marches, have no straggling, no depredations. --conduct and gratified at the--have straightened out--most difficult of all commands, "reserve camp of disabled horses." May you continue in this most important work. You have my best wishes and thanks.

With respect, your obedient servant,

W. H. JACKSON, Brigadier-General.

LIEUT.-COL. F. A. MONTGOMERY,
Commanding Camp near West Point, Georgia.

        Lieutenant Chambers, I understand, is in command of Ross' camp, at Eufala. I sent him an order a day or two ago to break up this camp and join you, but he had not received it. Issue another by my order.

W. H. J.

        In the light of subsequent events it looks from this order like General Jackson foresaw the result of the campaign and that retreat would have to be made into Mississippi.

        Where words are illegible in this letter I have not tried to supply them, but have substituted dashes.

        The day before receipt of General Jackson's order I got the following from my friend Captain Thos. B. Sykes:

BLUE MOUNTAIN, October 25, 1864.

        COLONEL--I have just found a man here en route to your camp, and will write you a few lines. General Jackson wrote you a long letter last night, telling you of our movements and giving you directions what to do.

        The command (Ross' and Armstrong's brigade) left Jacksonville to-day, en route to Gunter's Landing. I

suppose General Hood with the infantry are crossing the Tennessee river to-day. Ferguson's brigade is left at Cedartown, with orders to report to General Wheeler. Jackson is to have some other brigade in place of Ferguson's. Our base is changed to Corinth and Tuscumbia. General Jackson wrote to move your camp to the neighborhood of Macon, Mississippi, and to break up the camp at Eufala, and in his name order the men and horses there to report to you. The letter was mailed to you at Jacksonville, and may not reach you for some days. It was directed to you at West Point. We have done but little since you left us. The most important was the taking of the train of cars by your regiment. General Jackson also sent you instructions with regard to King's battery. The letter will reach you in a few days, but if it does not, you can act on this and consider it official. We are all in high spirits and crying "On to the Ohio!" Wishing you a pleasant time,

I am, yours truly,

THOS B. SYKES, A. I. G.

TO COLONEL F. A. MONTGOMERY,
Comdg. Detachment Jackson's Cavalry,
near West Point, Ga.

        These old letters and orders are of little value perhaps in the history of the war, but every old soldier will understand how dearly prized they are by me.

        I got the command I was to take to Mississippi together as soon as I could, the guns of King's battery being sent by rail to Meridian, and I found by investigation that the reports General Jackson had received of the sale

of horses by the Texans at Eufala had been greatly exaggerated; a few perhaps had been traded.

        My march across the State of Alabama which, as directed by General Jackson, I made by easy stages, had but few incidents of interest to my readers; two I recall, one serious, the other amusing.

        To prevent straggling at any time in a cavalry command, even when the company and regimental organizations were complete, was no easy matter. With such a command as I had it was most difficult, especially on my first day's march. Somewhere not far from the road I was pursuing, as I learned at night, was a distillery where the whiskey came hot and fiery from the still, and some of my Texans found this out. These men were brave soldiers; I had seen them in many a fight, but the were at all times impatient of control, except by Ross, for whom any of them I believe would have died if need be, but they cared little for the authority of the two lieutenants they had with them.

        Halting the first night at a little village, the name of which I have forgotten, I sent the command through the village to camp, except my guard, which I kept near me at the entrance to the village. I stationed guards in the road, with orders to preserve order, and also sent guards into the village for the same purpose. As was to be expected, some men were late getting into the camp, but most of them came quietly, having various excuses, which I thought it good policy to admit, for I have always found that a man in authority, having the power to punish violations of his orders, ought to overlook small things, otherwise he will be in hot water, as the saying is, all the time.

        Presently, however, came along a Texan, whooping like a Comanche Indian, evidently boiling over with the effects of whiskey, and rushed by the guards, whom I had

ordered not to fire on any one unless absolutely necessary, and while they hesitated as to whether his case demanded a shot, he got by. I at once sent an order to the lieutenant in command of the Ross detachment to arrest him and bring him to me.

        When he came both officers were with him. I shamed him for his conduct, and severely rebuked the officers, and told them if I had any more trouble I would arrest the one highest in rank, and send him, under charges, to General Ross, wherever he might be. They promised to do better, and after that night I had no further trouble with them. But the troubles of the night were not ended. I was roused from a sound sleep by a report brought by a citizen that one of the Texans had shot and mortally wounded an old farmer about two miles out from the village. Sending for Captain Kennedy, I directed him to pick out five young men, one to be a sergeant, and the best mounted, and these upon reporting I ordered to go at once to the wounded man's house, get the trail of his assailant, and follow him, if need be to the Mississippi river, and bring him to me, promising them, though this was not necessary, to give them a furlough as soon as we got to the State of Mississippi.

        The next day about noon, as I was crosssing the Tallapoosa river, one of them came to me and privately reported they had arrested the man, but thought it best not to bring him up till they heard from me. As a matter of fact, I did not know what to do with him, now I had him, but finally sent a written order to the sergeant to find out the county site of the county where the crime had been committed, and take him there and turn him over to the sheriff to be put into the jail. I kept this as quiet as I could. Late that night the detail got to camp, and reported where they had put him, but I don't recollect the county or town. A day or two afterwards I

heard a rumor that some of the Texans, finding where he was, slipped off without my knowledge, but no doubt with the knowledge of their own officers, and released him. I have no doubt it was true, but at all events I got rid of him, for I saw and heard of him no more. One good effect of this was that the Texans were sobered by this outrage by one of their number, and ashamed of it, and as long as I remained in command of them they were quiet and well behaved, and I thought tried to remove the impression which they supposed I had formed to the prejudice of their good names as soldiers.

        Passing on my way, I came one afternoon to a very thrifty farmer's, who had everything in abundance, and here went into camp. He was not only willing to supply me with forage, but was kind to the men, giving freely to them of his abundance, especially of sorghum, which he was just grinding and boiling.

        My quarters were about a quarter of a mile from his house, and just after dark he came to them holding a young fellow by the collar with one hand, while in the other he held his open pocket-knife. The young man held a turkey by its legs in one hand. Inquiring into the case, it seems that the old gentleman, for he was between fifty and sixty, had caught the young fellow just as he had snatched the turkey from the roost, and told him if he let it drop he would stick his knife in him, and he was afraid to let go, and in this ludicrous fashion he was brought to me. The poor fellow was so much ashamed he could hardly speak, and I contented myself with giving him a good scolding, for I knew the ridicule to which he would be exposed would be more punishment than I could give him. I made him take the turkey back, the farmer guarding him all the way. He was not one of the Texans, but belonged to one of the Mississippi regiments. It was long before he heard the last of that

turkey. I reached my destination in due time and established my camp northwest of Crawfordsville some five or six miles.

        I was tired and sick, and above all home-sick, for I had not seen my family for more than a year, and as I knew there would be nothing to do in camp for a time, and it was in good order and in fair state of discipline, I determined to try and get a leave of absence and go home. This was no easy matter, but turning the camp over to Captain Kennedy, who was perfectly competent to manage it, I went to the Lauderdale Springs hospital. The surgeon in charge recommended me a leave of absence, and it was granted by General Taylor, commanding department at Meridian. I was in the hospital two or three days. Going into the ward where I was to find a bed, I was surprised to hear my name called, and going to the bed whence the voice proceeded, I was surprised to find an aide of General Jackson. I cannot remember his name, for my acquaintance with him was but slight. He had belonged in the old army, to Van Dorn's command, and had, I think, then the rank of serjeant, and being much attached to that officer, had followed him, and had been given the rank of lieutenant in that general's bodyguard. After Van Dorn's death he had attached himself to General Jackson, who had found a place for him.

        He was a young fellow, and I knew he was regarded as a rollicking but gallant soldier, born in the Emerald Isle. Upon inquiring into his condition as to when and where he was wounded, he told me in confidence he had been wounded in a duel with my friend Captain Thos. B. Sykes. They had fallen out and fought, and he was severely wounded, the captain unhurt. The matter was kept quiet, and few knew it, and I kept his secret at the hospital. I cannot at this writing recall another duel in

our army during the war, though no doubt there were others which were hushed up. I have no idea what became of him afterwards.

        My leave of absence obtained, I started home, going to camp to get my horse and servant. It was now about the first of December, and I had a hard ride before me, for at least fifty miles of it was to be across the Yazoo Delta. On the last but one day of my ride I got within fifty miles of my home, and determined not to sleep the next night till I got home. Staying all night about a mile from the old town of McNutt, I requested my landlord to give me a breakfast before it was light, which he did. The road to McNutt and for a mile beyond was good, but then came an almost impassable swamp. As soon as I struck this swamp I was obliged to halt and wait for daylight. Pushing on, about dark I reached the place where my wife had made her home most of the war, but there learned she had moved back to our old place on the river. I knew she had intended to do so if she could get some houses built, because the few negroes who had remained faithful desired it, and would otherwise have left. It was ten miles further, but I went on, and finally got home.

        I found the next morning she had succeeded in having some cabins built for the negroes, built by their own labor from logs, but warm and comfortable. For herself she had a little house with a few rooms, built to some of the chimneys which were left standing after the fire, and was better situated than I had expected. The soldier's dream I had in Georgia was at last realized--I was home with my wife and children, though not this time for long.

        On my way home this time I spent the night in the village of Greensborough, in Webster county, and staid all night with the family of a neighbor and friend of

Bolivar county, who was himself in the transportation department of the government, and was not at home. His mother was a very old lady (the name was Worsham) and quite uneducated, but the most inveterate "gold bug" I have ever known, for not only did she believe in gold, but she would not take, when she could help it, anything but twenty dollar pieces. Some four years before the war the old lady sent me word one day that she had two thousand dollars she wanted to lend me, she had just collected it from some one to whom it had been loaned, and she wanted to lend it again. I went to see her and agreed to take the money at ten per cent, but in addition she insisted on having a bolt of calico when the interest was paid. I agreed to this also, and every Christmas she would come herself to get her interest and her bolt of calico. One part of the contract was that when she wanted her money it was to be paid to her in twenty dollar gold pieces, no other kind of money would do.

        The first of January, 1861, came round, and this time she not only wanted her interest and bolt of calico, but she wanted all her money in twenty dollar gold pieces. I finally got up about thirteen hundred dollars in twenty dollar pieces, but was obliged to pay the rest in smaller coin. The old lady went off and bought a negro girl paying all her small money, about eight hundred dollars, for her, and then sold her for about that much in confederate money a year or two later, but she told me with great glee she still had all her twenty dollar gold pieces left that I had paid to her. I never saw or heard of the old lady again. A citizen in the town, or near the town, had a very fine horse for sale, and I sent him word I would pass that way again in a few weeks and if I liked the horse I would buy him. I was told he would take nothing but gold, and as my wife had always

kept some hid away, though no large sum, I took with me as I went back the price of the horse, one hundred and forty dollars, and got him. He was indeed one of the finest horses I had ever owned and had been raised by his owner. I had broken down several horses during the war, and had two killed, and was glad to find this horse. I was not to ride him very long.

CHAPTER XX.

Rejoin army at Tupelo--Disastrous condition as seen by General Taylor--Brigade furloughed two weeks--A young recruit to Bolivar troop from New York, but native of Alabama, Henry Elliot--Reorganization of cavalry at Columbus--Appointed on examining board--Legislature in session--Speeches by prominent men--General Forrest--General Taylor's opinion of him--Military execution--Ordered towards Selma.

        All fear of actual outrage at the hands of the federals, who now and then raided the county from their station at the mouth of the White river, had been removed from the minds of the people, except those who were either soldiers at home or passing through, or members of the "featherbeds", and even the families of these were not now molested. For myself, I could not safely stay at home on the bank of the river, and we went a few miles back to an abandoned place belonging to a relative, and there my wife remained till I returned to the army, when she fearlessly went back to her own home. While at home many citizens came to see me, that is to say, many of the few, who were in the county. All were anxious of course to know my opinion of the condition, how long the war would last, what the final result would be, and the fate of the south if we were conquered.

        I did not yet feel whipped myself, but I did not deny that we were in great danger, that the prospects were gloomy, that there was no longer hope of intervention, or recognition by any foreign power, and that the re-election of Mr. Lincoln precluded any hope of help from opponents of the war in the north, but I advised that everybody

at home go to work the best they could, for I felt assured that no property would be confiscated if we were beaten, our only property loss would be our slaves, except the loss already sustained, which of course was enormous. There was, in fact, no other course left to the people, though it was the fixed purpose of the army in the field, to fight it out to the end. If success came at last to our arms, all would be well, if defeat, our wives and children would at least be able to live, though in diminished comfort as compared with the happier times before the war. This was my reasoning as a soldier with a command still in the field, and with hope not entirely gone, for was not the great Lee still holding his own, and had not Johnston been recalled to a command?--alas, too late to save his splendid and devoted army from defeat and almost destruction, but still he had been recalled, and this alone revived the hope of the army in their last desperate struggle.

        About the 10th of January, 1865, and before my leave had expired, I started back to the army, for I knew General Hood had crossed the Tennessee river and was retreating to Tupelo, and my anxiety would not permit me to remain longer away. I reached Tupelo about the same time my brigade did. It was neither demoralized nor whipped, but it was in bad shape from loss of men and horses. Some of the bravest men of the command had been left to sleep their last sleep in the soil of Tennessee. I recall as I write, no names, but the brave Captain King of my regiment from Noxubee county, and Sergeant Orin Kingley of the Bolivar troop, my neighbor and friend at home. Not having been with the brigade in this disastrous campaign into and retreat from Tennessee, to my great regret I cannot from personal knowledge give an account of its hardships and its gallant services, especially on the retreat. In Captain Sykes' letter to me, before

quoted, he mentions the capture of a train of cars by the First Mississippi regiment, and as I learned, this was a gallant exploit.

        Armstrong's brigade was almost wholly a Mississippi brigade, and it was known as such, but in the histories of the state which I have seen no mention is made of it, or of its services in this campaign, and I have carefully examined to see.

        Before the command had left Georgia, Captain Taylor of the First Mississippi had been ordered to report to General French with his company, and took part in the operations of that officer in his attack on Altoona, but he was not separated long from his regiment. There was no braver or better officer in the regiment or in the whole command.

        After the war it was my pleasure, as well as an honor, to know well that favorite of Mississippians, the gallant Walthall, who commanded the rear in Hood's retreat, and who had Armstrong in his rear, all the time, and he often told me of the services of the brigade and its splendid commander, and I wish I had taken notes of what he said, but I did not. But while the brigade was still intact, though it had suffered heavily in men and horses, where now was the army, then full of hope and confidence in their general, which on the 18th of July, 1864, had been turned over to General Hood? Let General Taylor, who succeeded General Hood in the command, tell what he found when he got to Tupelo:

        "It is painful to criticise Hood's conduct of this campaign. Like Ney, 'the bravest of the brave,' he was a splendid leader in battle, and as a brigade or division commander unsurpassed; but arrived at higher rank, he seems to have been impatient of control, and openly disapproved of Johnston's conduct of affairs between Dalton and Atlanta Unwillingness to obey is often interpreted by governments

into capacity to command. Reaching the southern bank of the Tennessee, Hood asked to be relieved, and a telegraphic order assigned me to the duty. At Tupelo, on the Mobile and Ohio railway, a hundred and odd miles north of Meridian, I met him and the remains of his army. Within my experience were assaults on positions in which heavy losses were sustained without success; but the field had been held; retreats, but preceded by repulse of the foe, and followed by victory. This was my first view of a beaten army, an army that for four years had shown a constancy worthy of the 'Ten Thousand,' and a painful sight it was. Many guns and small arms had been lost, and the ranks were depleted by thousands of prisoners and missing. Blankets, shoes, clothing, and accouterments were wanting."

        But I forbear to quote further or to dwell longer on this painful scene. Almost all the remnants of this gallant army were hurried to General Johnston in North Carolina, there in a few weeks more to lay down their arms forever. General Jackson's division was kept in Mississippi. General Armstrong's brigade, as stated by him in his letter before quoted, were furloughed for two weeks to recruit horses, and indeed men if any could be found. Our orders were to rendezvous near Columbus in two weeks; and though it would take me four days to get home, and four to get back, leaving me only a few days at home, I turned and went with the Bolivar troop who went home. I would have gone to stay a day, for in those days a ride across the state and back was nothing to me.

        While at home this company got a recruit, I must not omit to mention, for of him I must speak again. His name was Henry Elliot, a boy about sixteen years old, perhaps a few months older. He was from the State of New York, I forget now from what part, and he and a

boy two or three years older, named Joe Clark, whose father, at the breaking out of the war, was a merchant, renting a house and store from me at my landing, and who was a northern man and had gone home, had in some way made their way to Bolivar county, arriving there about the time I had started to Tupelo. A raid captured Clark and returned him to his parents. Henry Elliot said he was a southern boy, and had come south to join the army. He and Clark had made acquaintance, and Clark knowing Bolivar county and many people, they had come there. How they managed it I don't know, but both had the romantic idea of fighting for southern rights. Henry Elliot told me that he had been born near Marion, Alabama, that his father had moved north, and his mother being dead, had married again, that he had an aunt still living near Marion when he had last heard from her. He was a bright and even a lovable boy, as I thought after two months' acquaintance with him. Such boys, and many of them, we had in the army from the beginning, and many lay already, sleeping their last sleep, on the battle fields of the south, but these for the most part had been boys, not only born in the south, but living there when the call to arms first stirred the blood of the people. But Henry Elliot had been, from the commencement of the war, then a child of about twelve years of age, living where nothing but censure of the south could be heard, and yet he said, intending to come south and make his home when he grew to be a man, he thought he ought to come and fight for her liberties. He was without clothes, except what he had on, but some were provided for him, and he was furnished by some one with a horse and gun, and joined the company.

         I was soon on my way back to the command, and it was not many days before the whole brigade was together once more near Columbus, Mississippi, as General Armstrong

says, in better condition and ready for the field again. There was a concentration of all the cavalry which could be got together, and a reorganization at or near Columbus, under that great but untaught soldier, Bedford Forrest, now holding the high rank of lieutenant-general. What can I say of this man whose marvelous career to this time had been one of almost continuous success. I knew him well, had known him long, but except for the short time before mentioned at Columbia, Tennessee, I had not been with him or under his command till now. Without a uniform, and this did not much change him, he looked like an old country farmer. His manner was mild, his speech rather low and slow, but let him once be aroused and the whole man changed; his wrath was terrible, and few, if any, dared to brave it. There has long been talk of raising a monument to his memory in Memphis, and it will no doubt be done, but to portray him rightly there ought to be two, one the farmer-like Forrest, the other Forrest leading his men to battle, or when in anger.

        So much has been said and written, and is now being said and written, about General Forrest, that I make no apology for quoting at some length from what General Taylor said of him after assuming the command of this department at Meridian. He met him the same day he himself arrived and took the command.

        "Major General Maury, in immediate command at Mobile, and the senior officer in the department before my arrival, had ordered General Forrest with his cavalry to Mobile, in anticipation of an attack. Forrest himself was expected to pass through Meridian that evening, en route for Mobile. Just from the Mississippi river, where facilities for obtaining information from New Orleans, were greater than at Mobile, I was confident the enemy contemplated no immediate attack upon the latter place.

Accordingly, General Maury was informed by telegraph of my presence, that I assumed command of the department and would arrest Forrest's movement. An hour later a train from the north bringing Forrest in advance of his troops, reached Meridian and was stopped, and the general whom I had never seen, came to report.

        "He was a tall, stalwart man, with grayish hair, mild countenance and slow and homely of speech. In few words he was informed that I considered Mobile safe for the present, and that all our energies must be directed to the relief of Hood's army, then west of Atlanta. The only way to do this was to worry Sherman's communications north of the Tennessee river, and he must move his cavalry in that direction at the earliest possible moment. To my surprise, Forrest suggested many difficulties and asked numerous questions; how he was to get over the Tennessee, how he was to get back if pressed by the enemy, how he was to be supplied, what should be his line of retreat in certain contingencies, what he was to do with prisoners if any were taken, etc. I began to think he had no stomach for the work; (I suspect Forrest was trying in his own way to find out what sort of a new commander he had), but at last having isolated the chance of success from the cause of failure, with the care of a chemist experimenting in his laboratory, he rose and asked for Fleming, the superintendent of the railway, who was on the train by which he had come. Fleming appeared, a little man on crutches (he had recently broken a leg), but with the energy of a giant, and at once stated what he could do in the way of moving supplies on his line, which had been repaired up to the Tennessee boundary. Forrest's whole manner changed. In a dozen sharp sentences he told his wants, said he would leave a staff officer to bring up supplies, asked for an engine to take him back to his troops twenty miles north, informed me he would

march with the dawn, and hoped to give an account of himself in Tennessee.

        "Moving with great rapidity, he crossed the Tennessee river, captured stockades with their garrisons, burned bridges, destroyed railways, reached the Cumberland river below Nashville, drove away gunboats, captured and destroyed several transports with immense stores, and spread alarm over a wide region. The enemy concentrated on him from all directions, but he eluded or defeated their several columns, recrossed the Tennessee and brought off fifteen hundred prisoners and much spoil. Like Clive, nature made him a great soldier, but he was without the former's advantages. Limited, as was Clive's education, he was a person of erudition compared with Forrest, who read with difficulty. In the last weeks of the war he was much with me and told me the story of his life. His father, a poor trader in negroes and mules died when he was fifteen years old, leaving a widow and several children dependent on him for support. To add to his burden, a posthumous infant was born a few weeks after his father's death.

        "Continuing the paternal occupation in a small way, he continued to maintain the family and give some education to the younger children. His character for truth, honesty and energy was recognized, and he gradually achieved independence and aided his brethren to start in life. Such was his short story before the war. . . . The accusations of his enemies that he murdered prisoners at Fort Pillow and elsewhere are absolutely false. The prisoners captured on the expedition into Tennessee of which I have just written were mostly negroes, and he carefully looked after their wants himself, though in rapid movement and fighting much of the time. These negroes told me of Mas' Forrest's kindness to them."

        The design was to organize the cavalry under Forrest

into two divisions, one to be commanded by General Jackson and the other by General J. R. Chalmers, and great pains were taken. Many vacancies had been made in company and regimental officers, which had not yet been filled, and a court under the act of congress before alluded to was ordered by General Taylor to examine and pass on the qualifications of those entitled by seniority to succeed. He appointed me a member of that court; and as we would be engaged for some weeks, I went into the city of Columbus, where Forrest, Chalmers and Jackson had their headquarters, to be convenient to it. This was about the first of March, 1865, and I remained in Columbus most of the time till the work of our examining board or court was finished, the commands of the different brigades being all within easy reach of that place.

        The legislature had been in session at Columbus for some time, though the seat of the state government was at Macon, and was still in session when I took up my quarters in that city. There were many leading citizens of the state present besides the members, and some of these were anxious to give their views as to the situation and the remedy for the dangers which, it could no longer be concealed, threatened our cause. Among others, afterwards Governor Alcorn made a speech which I heard, and remember his theme. He said, and in this he spoke truly, that the whole civilized world was against the south on the question of negro slavery, and he advocated an immediate declaration, to be put in force at once by acts of the legislatures and the confederate congress, to free the negroes at the end of twenty years. This, he thought, would excite sympathy for us abroad and bring recognition of our independence, with its attendant advantages. He went further, and advocated the raising of negro soldiers, to be officered by white men, with the promise to these soldiers to free them as soon as the war ended. He

was able and eloquent in stating his views, and many agreed with him; but it was too late, even if the south could have been won over to his plan. Two years sooner this scheme, if carried into effect, might have done some good; but I doubt if at any time, even when, as now, the confederacy was in its dying agonies (though not even yet admitted), it would have met the approbation of the great mass of the southern people, even if it would have assured independence. To have made soldiers out of the negroes would never have done in the south, however well it suited the north. I agreed with him as to the emancipation plan at the end of twenty years, for slavery had long seemed to me to be a stumblingblock in the way of our success, and twenty years would have given the south time to prepare for and meet the change--that is, upon the expectation we were to win our fight.

        On the night of the 4th of March, as I find by a letter written that day to my wife, Colonel Orr, the member of congress from the district in which Columbus was situated, was to speak. He had heralded his appearance while on his way from Richmond, by a telegram to the legislature not to adjourn till he reached Columbus. Colonel Orr had commanded the Thirty-first Mississippi regiment, one of those engaged in the battles around Vicksburg, and in the siege of Vicksburg, at this time a member of congress, and known to be a member of the committee on foreign affairs, and coming now direct from congress and after the Hampton Roads conference with Mr. Lincoln, it may be imagined with what interest-- fear with many, hope with few--this message had been received, and how anxiously his arrival was awaited. He came, and had a crowded house to hear him.

        To my infinite surprise, instead of hopeful, cheering words, his whole speech was a severe arraignment of President Davis, especially for some of his military

appointments, particularly that of General Pemberton. In painful silence the large audience listened. There was no applause, for if there were any who agreed with him, they felt the indecency of giving expression to their approval of his speech. True, most men felt the president had made mistakes, especially in the appointment of General Pemberton and the removal of General Johnston; but all true southern men, especially all true soldiers, sympathized with instead of blaming him, for all knew that his heart was wrung with anguish at the results of his action and at the censure he knew had in the minds of many fallen upon him, though too proud to speak in his own behalf.

        When the speech was ended a gentleman in the audience rose and said he would reply to it the next night in the same place. This was James S. Phelan, an eminent lawyer of Aberdeen, who was one of the first confederate states senators from Mississippi, but now one of the judges of a military court, of which General J. Z. George was also a member. The house was again crowded, to hear Judge Phelan, Colonel Orr being present, and I pitied him while he listened to the scathing rebuke for his speech which Phelan gave him, and which he several times interrupted, trying to explain. Judge Phelan also made an able defense of the president, without defending Pemberton, but he stated a conversation he had with the president about this very matter, and he showed the difficulties under which Mr. Davis labored all the time, so well and so pathetically that he won for him the sympathies of his audience, and was loudly applauded at the close of his speech.

        A few days after this rumors of a federal raid to Tupelo suspended the labors of the examining board, and General Chalmers' division was ordered to meet it. Colonel Pinson remained in command of the camp, and I went in

command of the regiment. The command went dismounted, and on cars, and the trip was extremely disagreeable, the more so as we found it a false alarm. We got back to camp on the 11th of March, and I went on into Columbus, where I had left my horse, it being understood the brigade would follow next day, as the whole command was about to march towards Selma, Alabama. The legislature had adjourned while I was away. I find from some letters I wrote my wife from Columbus, that while in that city I paid ten dollars a day at a private boarding house for my board, and five dollars a day at a stable for my horse. The board was either very fine or the money was very poor. I remember a few days before we left I paid eighteen dollars a pound for some coarse brown sugar for my coffee.

        About the fifteenth of March we took our leave of Columbus, but as we were leaving the whole command was halted to witness a military execution, the second I had seen during the war, for they were almost unknown to the cavalry, though it was known a good many had taken place in the army under General Bragg, who was a severe disciplinarian.

        The first I had seen was a poor fellow who had been convicted by the military court of being a spy, and the command was placed in line to see him die. I am glad to say I was not near enough to see his face or hear him speak.

        The one now to die had been convicted of desertion, and as he marched past the line, he seemed to me to be about forty-five years old. He met his death bravely, and it was over in a minute, but what a pity it was, for in a few weeks more the war was to end, and who knows what made him desert, perhaps a starving wife and children. I never knew or inquired his story, nor do I wish to know now, but I have often thought of him and

wondered if perhaps he did not have an excuse, good in the sight of heaven, though not sufficient to meet the demands of military law.

        I have said that our brigade was now in the division commanded by General Chalmers. The command, and especially my regiment, parted with General Jackson with regret, for we had served under him for three years, and he was highly esteemed by both the men and officers as a brave but cautious commander. General Chalmers was known to be a gallant soldier, and there was no objection to him, but naturally the brigade preferred Jackson. However, we still had Armstrong, though Starke's regiment had been taken from the brigade and given to Starke, now promoted to be brigadier-general, and also in our new division. It seemed to me that, as our army grew smaller, and companies and regiments were from time to time consolidated, the crop of brigadiers increased, and the same may be said of all the generals. We had enough, I think, when the war ended, to supply an army five times as large as ours was.

CHAPTER XXI.

Last letter to my wife, very gloomy--Cross Warrior river, move to Marion--New York recruit sees his aunt--Thrown in Wilson's front--Night march, fall back on Selma--Enemy attack Selma--How General Taylor escaped--Description of battle--Regiment nearly all killed, wounded or captured--Brave Federal sergeant saves my life--Took my pistol aud hat, but didn't want Confederate money--Sorrowful night--Federal band plays "Dixie," insult to injury.

        General Taylor estimated the force Forrest had now at eight thousand men, but unless he had some other commands besides Chalmers' Mississippi division, and Jackcon's Tennessee division, it could not have been so large, for I am confident these two divisions did not have more than five thousand effective men in them. But they were veterans who had remained steadfast throughout the war, and who were not yet ready to say, "hold, enough." As long as they had a government to fight for, the men of these two divisions, and now with them, would fight to the end. Chalmers' division moved first, Armstrong in front, to meet the enemy where he could found, with little thought that this was to be their last march, and to Armstrong's brigade its last fight, for he alone, without the whole of his brigade, was to meet the shock of the last battle of the war so far as I know in this department, or indeed anywhere else.

        In this I think we were more fortunate than our comrades of the other divisions, and one brigade, which by some mistake or by some one's fault, whose name I know not, never reached Selma. If they had been able to do so, the result would have been far different, but regrets now, as

well as then, are vain and useless. We halted a day at Pickensville on our march, but were suddenly ordered from that place, and soon reached Eutaw, near the Warrior river. Here I wrote for the last time during the war to my wife, and from this letter I will quote to show the situation as it then was, or as I viewed it.

EUTAW, ALABAMA, March 27th, 1865.

         . . ."While we are halted here, waiting for a pontoon to be laid across the Warrior river, I thought I would write to you, though I am afraid it may be some time before you get the letter, as I understand the bottom is overflowed. We are now on the march to Selma, Alabama, about sixty miles from here. I don't know where we will go from there, but as the enemy are reported advancing on Selma from Pensacola, I suppose we will go to meet them. . . . Our prospects for a successful and honorable ending of the war are gloomy, and unless the God of nations and of battles interposes His Almighty power, or raises up friends for us abroad, I see no hope for us. This you know was what I thought when I was at home a few weeks ago, yet I do not wish my opinion made public, as I do not want to increase the demoralization and discouragement. We have rumors now that General Johnston has routed Sherman in North Carolina, and if this be true it will enable us to hold on for some time yet, and in the providence of God may bring about a better state of things.

        "I am sorry to say a great many have deserted, not so many, I think, from our cavalry, though some from it. I saw a poor fellow shot for desertion a short time ago. He belonged to the brigade, and was shot in presence of it, but I fear it has failed to check the evil. There are men enough at home to-day, who belong to the army, to drive the Yankees from the south, and gain our

independence, without help from any quarter, but they will not come out and cannot be driven out. They basely prefer to dodge about the swamps like runaway negroes, and try to save their miserable lives, to coming manfully to the assistance of their comrades in the field, who may be ultimately overborne by numbers and forced to yield."

         . . . All the men in the field felt very bitterly towards the skulkers at home, whose numbers had been for some time increasing, though all at home or absent from the army were not skulkers, but many true soldiers, debilitated from disease or wounds, were, at the time I wrote, absent from our brigade, and this was no doubt true of all the other commands in the army, infantry, artillery and cavalry alike.

        But if we could have had them all, we could not have defeated the overwhelming force our enemy had; no, not if we could have had every man in the south would we have been able now to cope with this force.

        It is also true that on various pretexts men stayed at home who ought to have been in the army, not deserters in the legal sense, for they had never been in the army, or had at an early day got out. There were a good many of this class, and these were worse than the real deserters, and were to a great extent responsible for desertions from the army. There were a good many "fire eaters," who went out at first, expecting to win fame and glory in a little time, but who were like the seed in the parable, which was sown on stony ground, which "forthwith sprung up, because they had no deepness of earth; and when the sun was up they were scorched; and because they had no root they withered away." Some of this class were loud in their blame of our generals for surrendering, and said the fight ought to have gone on while a man was left to hold a gun. Later I will give an instance.

        But it seems to me I am taking up too much time with this digression, but to be perfectly candid I hesitate about proceeding with my story, and would be glad if I could leave out what I have yet to say of our brigade in the war, for though thirty-five years have passed, it is painful to think of, and though as I view it through the lapse of years, glorious in its ending, painful to tell.

        We crossed the Warrior river, and moved directly to Marion. We now knew that the enemy we had to meet was not from Pensacola, but was a strong cavalry force under General Wilson, who was rapidly nearing Selma from north Alabama.

        Selma was one of the few places of importance in the interior, which was left in our possession, and which had so far escaped the ravages of the war. An arsenal was located at the place, and many guns had been cast there, as I now recall, from iron gotten at the mines near Monte Vallo, and there was a large supply of ammunition also stored there. This was Wilson's objective point, and events proved him to be an able soldier. When we reached Marion, the young recruit from New York, Henry Elliot, sought and obtained permission to visit his aunt, who lived near the place. He found her, but I suspect was rather coldly received, as I gathered from him when he returned next morning to camp, though she had, he told me, given him a little money. She did not share his enthusiasm, and I have no doubt told him he had much better have stayed in the north, for I noticed he seemed depressed.

        The romance of the war was indeed gone, only a sense of duty sustaining the cause, both in the army and among those citizens who had not yet yielded to the spirit of submission, which was spreading abroad and casting its baleful influence over the army like a dark shadow presaging our coming doom.

        From Marion we moved on the last day of March, leaving our wagon trains behind us, and which we were not to see again, and going not directly to Selma, but to some point on a road leading directly north from that place, by which road it was now understood Wilson was advancing with no one in his front to oppose him.

        On the morning of the 1st of April we reached this road, at a point some fifteen or twenty miles north of Selma. Forrest, with his usual impetuosity, had reached it before us with his body guard and a few other men, and had received the charge of Wilson's advance guard, literally cutting it to pieces. This affair, I think, delayed a little the advance of Wilson, or made him more cautious, for he did not come in sight of the brigade, and late in the afternoon we were ordered to fall back to Selma. We marched till late in the night, it being very dark, and at one place I remember we were much delayed in crossing a bridge over a narrow stream with steep banks, a bridge in such bad fix that it was necessary the men should lead their horses over it. This took a long time, and Colonel Pinson, having crossed, went on some distance, to stop and get the men in order as they came up in the darkness, leaving me to hurry them forward. I went across the bridge myself, and then dismounted and waited: Once, becoming impatient, I went over the bridge to where I had left our adjutant, Johnson, to hurry up the men, and it seeming to me that he was getting along too slow, I spoke rather sharply to him, which before the dark of next day I would have given anything if I had not done. He was a brave soldier and a good officer, and a great favorite with me as with all the command, and never before had I done so.

        Finally all had crossed, and we all got together again, going into camp till daylight. Later in the day, the 2nd of April, we moved on into Selma, crossing, I remember,

some five or six miles north of that place a deep stream with steep banks and a good bridge, which struck me as a good place to make a stand; but we moved on and through the breastworks which had long before been thrown up for the defense of the place, though it had never been garrisoned, halting near the bank of the Alabama river in a beautiful grove just east of the town but inside the works. These works extended in a semi-circle around the town, and at some little distance from the main part of the town, going, as I remember, to the river on each side; and to have been properly garrisoned would, I think, have taken twenty thousand men, perhaps more. Here, at our bivouac, forage was procured for the horses and rations for the men, and here we rested till three or four in the afternoon. We had not seen a soldier; we did not know where Chalmers was with the other brigade of the division and a part of ours. Jackson with his division was way off towards Tuscaloosa. Before I proceed with my own account of what befell us on this fateful day, I will give General Taylor's account of the command Forrest had with him and where the other part was, and the supposed reasons why it was not on hand to aid in the defense of Selma, and his dramatic account of his own escape, for he was in Selma, though we did not see him.

        "Our information of the enemy had proved extremely accurate, but in this instance the federal commander moved with unusual rapidity, and threw out false signals. Forrest with one weak brigade (this was Armstrong's), was in the path, but two of his brigadiers permitted themselves to be deceived by reports of the enemy's movements towards Columbus, Mississippi, and turned west, while another went into camp under some misconception of orders. Forrest fought as if the world depended on his arm, and sent to advise me of the deceit practiced on two of his brigades, but hoped to stop the enemy if he

could get up the third, the absence of which he could not account for. I directed such railway plant as we had to be moved out on the roads, retaining a small yard engine to take me off at the last moment. There was nothing more to be done. Forrest appeared, horse and man covered with blood, and announced the enemy at his heels, and that I must move at once to escape capture. I felt anxious for him, but he said he was unhurt and would cut his way through, as most of the men had done, whom he had ordered to meet him west of the Catawba. My engine started towards Meridian and barely escaped. Before headway was attained, the enemy was upon us, and capture seemed inevitable. Fortunately the group of horsemen near prevented their comrades from firing, so we only had to risk a fusilade from a dozen, who fired wild. The driver and stoker, both negroes, were as game as possible, and, as we thundered across the Catawba bridge all safe, raised a loud "Yah, Yah" of triumph, and smiled like two sable angels."

        Rested and refreshed we moved late in the afternoon towards the works again, taking a road that led a little northeast, but did not pass through the works on this road, but when we reached them, turned and moved west along them. I remember where the works crossed the road I speak of, there was a small force, some two or three hundred Alabama state troops, posted. We marched perhaps a mile inside the works, till we came to the road by which we had entered. The First Mississippi was at the head of our column, and I was with Pinson at the head of the regiment. Just in front of us Generals Forrest and Armstrong, with some members of their respective staffs, were riding. In front of the works at this place, was an open field for half or three quarters of a mile, and the road ran through this, gradually ascending to a ridge beyond which we could not see. On the brow

of this ridge several horsemen were seen, there may have been twenty-five or thirty. Naturally, we supposed they were our picket, they were too far off to distinguish uniforms, but soon a good many more appeared, and it was evident it was the enemy. Twenty minutes sooner and they would have been in the works without firing a shot. Whose business it was to look after a picket on the road I don't know, but I do know that there ought to have been one there. It is a fact moreover, that no troops were in the works at this point when we reached this road. Our regiment was dismounted (I don't remember whether Ballentine's was or not just then) and deployed in front of the works on the left of the road, the horses, except field officers', being sent with usual horseholders to a clump of woods a quarter of a mile in the rear.

        We advanced a little ways, perhaps a hundred and fifty yards, when about an equal force of the enemy appeared, dismounted; their horses had been withdrawn beyond the ridge and where not in sight, and shots were exchanged at long range, without damage to us or, I presume, to them. I never understood the purpose of deploying us in front of the works, but we were soon recalled, and our regiment occupied the works to the left, extending from the road to a deep but narrow ravine, which the works crossed, and which ran for a little ways in front of the works on our extreme left. Near the road was a special fortification or fort, in which a few hundred men could find shelter, and embrasures for guns through the main works. Here one, I believe two guns were now placed. Ballentine's regiment was in the works on the right of the road, and I believe this is all of Armstrong's brigade that was present, though there may have been another regiment still farther to the right; if so, I have forgotten it.

        About half way to the extreme left of the First Mississippi,

which rested on the ravine spoken of, there was a high earthworks projecting at right angles from the breastworks, perhaps thirty feet, as well as I now recall the scene. This was, I suppose, intended to prevent an enfilading fire if an enemy should gain possession of the works on either side of it. This has a technical name; I believe it is salient. Near this work I had my horse tied; he was a very fine one I had lately been able to buy from a citizen of Greenboro, Mississippi. I walked up then to the fort, and it was agreed between Colonel Pinson and myself that if an assault was made on the works I should take charge of the left, as the line was a long one, and because of these works mentioned the left could not be seen from the fort, and Major Simmons should remain near the right and near him. Forrest, Armstrong, Pinson and myself, with some other officers, were at the fort, and an occasional shell was fired at the ridge which hid the enemy from us. They presently brought up a gun and returned our fire, and we all supposed this would be about the extent of the fight that day, for none of us thought the enemy would assault the works, exposed as they would be in an open field for some hundreds of yards. I make no doubt Forrest was either cursing Chalmers for not coming up, or praying that he might come in the night. While we were all looking--the sun was nearly down--long, dark line of men appeared on the brow of the ridge; they moved slowly forward for a while, and then broke into a cheer and charged, full three thousand men, as I was afterwards told by an officer in the charge. We could not have had more than one thousand men in a line at least four hundred yards long; the First Mississippi having, I know, about four hundred. I hastened to my place in line, and was barely in time to caution the men not to fire till I gave the word, as they were as yet too far away for our fire to be effectual.

        Behind the dismounted men now rapidly approaching could be seen in the distance, on the brow of the ridge, a strong column of mounted men, waiting the favorable moment when one should come, to charge. I could not restrain the men near me; they began firing too soon. But as the enemy came nearer I could plainly see the deadly effects of our fire, though it did not check the enemy, who by this time had gotten so near that they were in equal danger in advancing or retreating. I could not see what was going on at the right, because of this salient I have mentioned; but in my immediate front the enemy had gotten to the ravine and were crowding into it for protection from our fire. At the particular point spoken of they were, many of them, within twenty feet of the breastworks. Stepping on the banquette at the base of the parapet, I fired my Tranter five times into the struggling mass, and had commenced to reload when I heard wild cheering to the right. There were four companies with me (two I remember, Captain Cravens' and Captain Montgomery's); and knowing the enemy in my immediate front were in fact repulsed, and that two companies would be able to hold the works, I ordered the two nearest me to follow to the right. As I came round the salient I saw Forrest, Armstrong, their staffs, and some other mounted men, with one or two caissons, going at headlong speed towards the city.

        Then it was that "bloody with spurring, fiery red with haste" he burst into the presence of General Taylor, where he was seated on his engine as stated by him.

        I knew that all was lost. The right of the regiment was rapidly retreating, Pinson with them, and calling halt at every step. There was no time to speak to him, and hastily calling to the men near me, unhitching my horse at the same time, we fell back to the ravine, in our rear, my horse falling dead before we got to it, though

only a little way, perhaps a hundred feet, to the point where I wanted to enter it. I could see the enemy pouring over the works to the right, not a hundred yards away, and the mounted column fast approaching. By the time I reached the ravine, with the men who were near me, the enemy was on its brink and firing down upon us. Seeing it impossible to get away, I gave the last order I ever gave during the war, and that was to the men to throw down their arms. In a moment a crowd of blue coats was around us. I suppose I had fifty men with me under Captain Cravens. Captain Montgomery had got across the ravine, and he was one of the few men of the regiment who escaped either death, wounds or capture.

        I saw at the time no commissioned officer with our captors, the first man getting to me being a sergeant, as I knew from his chevrons. He demanded my pistol. After having fired it, I had commenced to reload it, but only got two cartridges in, without capping those. I handed it to him, and he asked for my pocketbook. I took it out, and said to him, "I have a locket with a portrait of my wife, which I would like to keep." He said, "Certainly," and I opened the book to take it out. As I did so he saw confederate money in it, and said if this was all the kind of money I had, he did not want it. This was the "unkindest cut of all." Replying I had no other money, I put the book back in my pocket. He looked up and said, "Give me your hat." Now my hat was a new one which had been smuggled from Memphis into Bolivar county, and my wife had looped it on one side and embroidered a star on it. I prized it highly, and hated to give it up. The sergeant himself was bareheaded, having lost his hat in the charge, and would take no denial, so I gave it to him with as good a grace as possible. All this took much less time to do than to tell. He ordered us all to the rear, guarded by the men with

him. As we went back the sergeant kept by my side, for he knew my rank and was proud of his capture. Firing still continued towards the city, as our fleeing men were pursued.

        As we went back towards our fort, spoken of at the works, we met some stragglers of the federal army, and one of these stepped to me, and putting his gun, a Spencer carbine, at my breast, with an oath, was about to shoot me, when the brave sergeant at my side threw his gun up, and standing between us cursed him for a cowardly scoundrel, who had shirked the fight, and now wanted to murder prisoners. For one brief moment, helpless and unarmed, I thought I was gone.

        We were soon at the fort and we could hear this incident discussed by our captors, and some thought no prisoners ought to be taken in retaliation, it was said, for the killing of federals the day before, in the charge on General Forrest's small command, which I have related, for it was a rumor, as I found afterwards, that some of their men had offered to surrender and had been refused quarter. It was of course not true, but I make no doubt it cost some of our men their lives that day.

        There were brutal men in both armies, like the coward who wanted to kill me in cold blood, but they were the exception and not the rule. I had to this time looked anxiously for a commissioned officer, for while my little sergeant, he was a small man, was I was sure too brave to be cruel, yet I much preferred to see some officer of rank. The sun was down and a major belonging, as I was told, to General Wilson's staff, came up, and to him I introduced myself and related what had happened and what we heard, and he at once called the sergeant to him and gave him stringent orders to see that we were protected. I knew at the time the name of this sergeant

and of this major also, but have long since forgotten them. As the dusk came on, Colonel Pinson, who to that time I hoped had escaped, Major Simmons, Captain Taylor, Lester and other officers, and men of the regiment and of Ballentine's regiment were brought to us until the work around the embrasures would not hold them all. In fact, the first Mississippi cavalry had fought its last fight and almost to a man had been killed wounded or captured. A fate to be preferred I thought to that of our comrades in the division and brigade who by some blunder had failed to be with us, and who yet in a few weeks were compelled to yield. I will never forget the horrors of that night, as we talked over the fights, took note of who was with us, and wondered who were gone, for while nearly every one had some tale to tell of who he had seen fall, yet we did not know all. The federal loss in front of our regiment had been very heavy, and all night long ambulances were running gathering up their wounded and even some of their dead. We knew that our dead and wounded were lying on the field the whole night long, and we were powerless. For the dead they were at rest, "no sound could awaken them to glory again," but for the wounded in that chilly night, the second of April, 1865, we thought of their sufferings and it intensified our own sorrows. All at once, with a sudden crash of sound, the air of "Dixie" broke upon our ears from a band just far enough away to mellow its tone. It seemed like adding insult to injury. There was no sleep for us that night, and I longed yet dreaded to see the daylight come.

        I have never seen the report which General Wilson made of this battle, neither Forrest nor Armstrong ever made a report, and its story is now written for the first time. The sole reference to it is the brief statement of

General Taylor, which I have quoted, but there are men yet living, how many I do not know, the gallant Armstrong among others, who when they read this story, as I hope some will do, will again share with me the fierce excitement of the fight and the sorrows of that night of defeat.

CHAPTER XXII.

Walk over battle-field under guard--Dead and wounded--Henry Elliott, tribute to him--Adjutant Johnson mortally wounded--Put in stockade--Kind treatment by federal officers and men--March to Columbus, Georgia--Lieutenant-Colonel White, of Indiana--Conversation with him--Colonel Pinson and myself paroled at Columbus--Make our way back to Mississippi--The war over--Death of Mr. Lincoln, sorrow at the South--Meridian, Ragsdale House, cost of coffee at meals--Trip home and incidents--Home again, negroes free--Doubts as to future--Determined to stand by the state to the end.

        The long night came to an end at last, and the morning dawned upon as woebegone a lot of cavalrymen as was ever seen during the war. Tired, hungry, sleepy and dirty, we were a hard looking set I imagine if we looked as bad as we felt. It was not long before the sergeant, who had taken me prisoner and then saved my life, came to see how I was getting along, for he seemed to have taken a fancy to me. He was wearing my hat, and I have no doubt took it home with him, if he lived to get home, as I hope he did. As long as I was with the federals, this man was always, when he could, trying to do something for me. His, according to my recollection, was an Iowa regiment. For a hat I had picked up on the field before we got to the fort a coarse hat, such as was worn by the federal soldiers, which must have been the one he dropped, as I had seen no other one bareheaded except him. One of the Bolivar troops, L. M. Hunter, who but recently died an honored citizen of the county, had a good hat, which fitted me, and kindly exchanged with me.

        In the course of the morning Colonel Pinson, Captain Taylor and myself requested permission to go over the field and see our dead and wounded. This was promptly granted, and a guard went with us. From the works to as far as some of our men had gone trying to escape, nearly half a mile, we found them lying, though some of our wounded had been picked up and were in hospital under the care of our surgeons.

        As we went over the ground we found that the pockets of the dead had been turned, but little repaid the trouble of the vandals. One brave fellow, I knew him well, who had gotten farther than any other of those who were dead, had his pockets also turned out, and by his side lay a small Bible. He had been noted for his piety as well as for his courage, and his influence for good was marked. He belonged, I think, to Captain Lester's company, but this matters little, he was a good man, a brave soldier, and went to his reward.

        As we passed along we came to Henry Elliot, lying upon his back helpless with both legs and one arm broken. There he had lain the long night through, with no one to aid him or even give him a drink of water. Pale, but composed, the seal of death was on his face, but he was fully conscious, and he told me when he first was hit he stopped and tried to surrender, but the man who first got to him shot him again and again and left him for dead. The guard who was with us said it was because he had on a federal uniform, but this was not true, though he did have on a pair of sky blue pants. Even if it had been true it was a cruel, cowardly act, for to look at him was to see he was only a young boy. I recall that on the day before, in the midst of the fight, I noticed him and spoke to him and he had answered with a bright smile.

        Poor boy, we could do nothing for him, but in a little

time he was taken to the hospital, where before another day his brave and cheerful spirit went to its home, and he sleeps in the soil of the state he loved so well, and within a few miles of the place of his birth.

        Years ago I wrote his romantic story for the "Memphis Appeal," and in that letter applied to him those beautiful lines of Moore, when the Peri, a child of air, seeking a gift which would give her entrance to the gates of Eden, caught from a dying hero and patriot the

                        "Last glorious drop his heart had shed,
                        Before his free-born spirit fled."

        And--

                        "Be this," she cried, as she winged her flight,
                        "My welcome gift at the gates of light,
                        Though foul are the drops that oft distil
                        On the field of warfare, blood like this
                        For liberty shed, so holy is
                        It would not stain the purest rill
                        That sparkles among the bowers of bliss;
                        Oh, if there be on this earthly sphere
                        A boon, an offering heaven holds dear,
                        'Tis the last libation Liberty draws
                        From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her cause."

        A kind lady in Bolivar county who knew his story and had the address of his father wrote him an account of Henry's tragic but glorious death; but whether his relatives at Marion ever knew I do not know.

        Passing on, our guards took us to the hospital hastily prepared for our wounded, and there we found among others our Adjutant Johnson, and were shocked to learn from the surgeon in charge, Doctor Montgomery, that his hours were numbered. We saw him, and all that we could say to cheer him we did, but at last had to bid him a final adieu, for that night he died. Many others of the regiment and the brigade were there, and we saw them all; some lived and some died, but I do not recall the

names of others. Altogether, about one hundred in the regiment were killed and wounded, a heavy loss for the number engaged, and about as many more in Ballentine's regiment. Having seen all that we could see, we were returned to our place of confinement in the fort. As we had walked over the field a fellow had taken a fancy to Colonel Pinson's hat, and would have taken it away from him, but our guards proved to be as kind-hearted as no doubt they were brave, and would not permit it.

        In Selma there was a stockade capable of holding several thousand men, and with rude barracks, provided long before for federal prisoners, and it seemed like the very irony of fate that we should be placed in them, but late that afternoon we were all marched to the stockade. Many were already there, and the place was well filled. It had the usual dead-line, beyond which no man could step and live. But while these precautions were taken, we were kindly treated; rations, which were much needed, were provided in abundance, and all prepared to make the best of the situation. Colonel Pinson and myself were invited to eat with the officer in command of the regiment guarding us (Lieutenant-Colonel White, of Indiana, I think, for I know later we were placed in his charge), and, of course, were taken out of the stockade for that purpose and returned to it when we had eaten. Nothing could have been in better taste than the courtesy shown us; and though we talked of the fight and of the war, not a word was ever said which could have made us feel that we were prisoners. Other officers of this regiment extended the same hospitalities to other of our officers, and everything, in fact, was done which could be done to make us comfortable. I am glad to say this.

        The next day I succeeded in getting one of the boys to shave me, all but a mustache, and cut my hair as close as possible, for "graybacks" were plentiful in this stockade,

and this was a necessary precaution. I don't know where the razor and scissors were found; I suppose we must have gotten some kind-hearted enemy to get them for us in town. For myself, I was quite unwell at the time, and sought and obtained without trouble a parole which would enable me to spend the time in the city, only being required to report every morning at the barracks. There was a lady living in the city, a Mrs. Marye, whom I had known at home, and I went to her house and was gladly received, and by her kindly cared for while we stayed in Selma. Her husband was not at home, having run away from the enemy, so she said; but I had reason to believe he was secreted in the house, as he was not a soldier, and he had no reason to run that I knew of. She had sought and obtained a federal guard--two, I believe--who remained in the house, and had not been molested.

        General Wilson remained in Selma about a week, and then crossed the Alabama river, taking all his unwounded prisoners with him. It was late of an afternoon before we, the prisoners, got over, and we were marched till late in the night. The prisoners, except the officers, were not closely guarded, and hundreds escaped, which, I think, was part of his plan, to scatter them. Others, the next day on the march, were paroled and scattered all along the road. At our halt the next day about noon, horses were taken from citizens, and before long all the officers were mounted, on all sorts of nags, mules, ponies and old plow-horses, with every variety of saddles and bridles. My friendly enemy the sergeant brought me a pretty roan pony, with a better saddle and bridle than most had, but the pony had one drawback--he was blind. However, with the business I had before me it did not make much difference, only requiring a little extra care in his management.

        We were, all told, about fifty officers mounted, some had escaped in the darkness of the night before, and we were now turned over to the exclusive control of Lieutenant-Colonel White, commanding the Indiana regiment spoken of. He was kind but vigilant. General Wilson was moving, as events proved, to Columbus, Georgia, and met with no opposition on the way except a slight skirmish at Montgomery, Alabama. Colonel White always invited Colonel Pinson and myself to mess with him on our halts, and often invited one or the other of us to ride with him at the head of his column on the march.

        We were the officers highest in rank among his prisoners. By some means, after we had passed Montgomery, he had news that General Lee had surrendered, and it was on the day that he had heard this that, riding with him, occurred a conversation which I detailed in a letter to the New York Sun in the campaign of 1876, when Mr. Tilden was a candidate for President, the Sun supporting him.

        The Sun published altogether four letters from me in that campaign, under the non de plume of Pro Patria, a much abused term, and one often used by demagogues.

        In my first letter I related the circumstances of my capture, the cowardly attempt on my life, and my rescue by the prompt action of the sergeant, and the conversation I had with Colonel White. He began by saying they had information that General Lee had surrendered, that he thought it true, and said, "You had all just as well give it up for you can not hope to win." I said, "I hope it is not true that Lee has surrendered, you can hardly have reliable information, but if it be true (alas it was true) the south is not yet conquered, we can fight a long time, and will I hope yet compel a recognition of our independence. But," I said, "Colonel, if you are right and we are or will be whipped, I hope the men who

have fought us in the field will be the power which will decide our fate and not the politicians who have staid at home."

        He said, "Of that you need have no fear, the people of the north will be so grateful to the soldiers that they will control this and we will be generous." It was in the hopes that Colonel White might be living and see the letter that I wrote, and failing in that, other soldiers might see it and support Tilden, who represented the moderate sentiment of the north, as opposed to the extreme or "bloody shirt" sentiment of the Republican party of the day, which now, thank heaven, no longer exists, or if it does, it is only with a few, whose hatred of the south outweighs every other consideration, and with as much reason as the man had who did not "like Dr. Fell," in the old jingle which I used to hear when I was a boy. I have lost this letter or I would copy it here.

        At Columbus, Georgia, I thought for a time that General Wilson had met with a serious check (I could hear but not see the fight), but he did not, and was soon in possession of that place, and here halted for a day or two. I had not been well for some time, indeed had been very sick just before going into Columbus, Mississippi, as a member of the examining board, and I now asked to be paroled. Captain Lester also was sick, and a major belonging to an Alabama command, who was a prisoner, was also sick. General Wilson agreed to give us paroles, and decided also to parole Colonel Pinson, to effect an exchange for one of his colonels he had left wounded in Selma. He left a good many wounded, but was especially concerned for this colonel, whose name I have forgotten, but who had been in command of one of his brigades.

        We who were to be paroled went to General Wilson's headquarters, and there received our paroles in due form,

and the Alabama major told us he had a friend in the city, a Mr. Redd, who he knew would give us shelter till the enemy had all left. We were allowed to keep our old horses, or rather nothing was said about them, and we did keep them. I had exchanged my blind poney for another horse with one of the officers of my regiment, as I had got tired watching for his every step, and guided by the major, we went to Mr. Redd's. He received us kindly, and we hid our horses in his back yard. Colonel Pinson did not go to the house with us for some reason, but was to follow and find the way, which the major said would not be difficult, as his friend was an old as well as prominent citizen of the place. Meanwhile the enemy were leaving, and I supposed had all left town, and Pinson did not come. Late in the afternoon I concluded to go and see if I could find him. I went straight to the main business street, and when I got to it, found a mob of negroes, and white people also, who seemed to be looting the stores, and I judged it safest to go back to Mr. Redd's. On my way back I met a provost guard of federals left to bring up stragglers, and when the officer in command, he was a lieutenant, saw me he turned his command towards me. Supposing he wished see if I were paroled, I stopped until he came up and took my parole from my pocket, remarking at the same time, "I have a parole." He was now in reach of me and stooping over he lifted my hat from my head saying, "I don't want to see your parole, I was looking for a better hat than mine, yours is not as good," and he stuck it back on my head and moved on. Nothing in all my life ever before or since, I think, made me so angry, and if I had but had a weapon, I believe in spite of consequences I would have killed him, at least I felt that way at the time, though no doubt prudence would have prevailed. I stood still in helpless anger for awhile,

and then went to my haven of refuge, where I told my adventures to sympathetic hearers. I spent the night quietly at Mr. Redd's, and enjoyed the luxury of a bed, with a seat at table for supper and breakfast.

        Hearing nothing from Colonel Pinson, next morning, before breakfast, the major proposed we should go down town and inquire for him, supposing that some good Samaritan had taken him in for the night. Lester was too sick to go with us; he had a high fever and was confined to bed. Leaving our horses, we went to the main business street, where the major had some acquaintances, and were sitting on a goods box talking to some of the citizens, when the major said, "Yonder comes Pinson now." I looked, and said, "No, that is not Pinson," but as he came nearer I saw the major was right. Pinson was a tall, fine-looking man, and he was now mounted on an old, broken-down horse, the same it is true he had been riding, but much too small for him, so that it looked as if his feet almost touched the ground, and on his head, instead of his hat, was a boy's cap, which did not half cover his head. The major and myself both burst into uncontrollable laughter, and it vexed the colonel, for he said, "The Yankees did not take my hat, I lost it last night where I stayed all night." However, he soon joined in the laugh, for with the little cap he looked comical. We soon went to Lester, and finding him too sick to think of travel, and that he was in good hands, we bade adieu to him and to our Alabama friend, and at once commenced our long ride to Mississippi. Before we left the colonel got himself a hat, not a very good one, but much better than his cap.

        With the horses we had, we necessarily traveled slowly, but we met with hospitality along the road, and whiled away our time talking of the past. We had been together for four years and three of those years in our present

positions, without ever once having a cloud to come between us, and this few, if any, one the colonel and the other the lieutenant-colonel of the same regiment, could say. I never knew a nobler man, a braver one I know was not in our army. Of the future we talked little; we both knew the war was to all intents and purposes ended, though neither could then admit it to the other. When at last, a few days later, we parted, it was I know with mutual regard and mutual respect. He became a prominent merchant in Memphis, and died in his prime, and all too soon, but I do know that he was full of honors if not of years, even in his last profession, and died before he could feel the chilling blasts of neglect, and the lip service which would give him praise for his past, while it would perhaps deny him the well earned rewards which would alone make life in old age happy and serene.

        His wife still lives, an honored lady, and still bears his name, and will while she lives have the love and respect of his surviving comrades, till time calls them to him.

        When we arrived at Montgomery, we heard of the assassination of Mr. Lincoln, and this seemed to me to fill the cup of bitterness the south was now draining to overflowing, for he was a kind-hearted man, and having saved the union, the object of all his exertions, and the cause for which the people of the north had poured out so much blood and treasure, we felt that in him we would have a friend, who would be not only willing, but able to stay the hands of our enemies, the politicians of the time, whose voices were still for war, though the south lay bleeding and helpless at their feet.

        The south mourned Mr. Lincoln with a deep grief, perhaps, with a better reason than did the north, and thank heaven, no southern man, or man in any way connected with the south, had anything to do with the foul and cowardly deed which removed him from earth. By

the time we reached Selma, we knew of General Johnston's surrender in North Carolina, and this ended the war, though General Taylor was yet to make his terms with the enemy. This of course settled the question of exchange for the federal colonel, but Pinson visited him, found him improving, and left him with the certainty that he would soon be able to return to his home. We also visited some of our wounded, not yet recovered from their wounds, but these were in a fair way to recover, and soon to leave for their homes, though some whom we had left in the hospital had died. The railroad from Meridian was open at the time to a point about ten or twelve miles from Selma, and we made our way to that place, and finally got to Meridian.

        I called at once on General Taylor, and found Governor Clark who had come down from Macon, with him, and it was soon agreed there was nothing left for me to do, but to make my way home as best I could; but first I went up with the governor to Macon to spend a night, as I learned Major Montgomery of the "featherbeds" was there, and was going home, and I wished his company. When I got to Meridian I was out of money, and I had to stay a day or two before I could get away. Fortunately, one of the first men I met was a member of my own regiment who had been wounded, and was on some post duty, and to my inquiry as to whether he had any money, said "yes, a man who owed him had just paid him seventeen thousand dollars, and I could have all or any part of it." I took three thousand dollars and advised him at once to invest the balance in something, to make the best trade he could, but by all means to buy something He wanted to know why, if I thought it was going to be worthless, and I told him in a week it would not be worth the paper it was printed on. Whether he took my advice I do not know. He lived in Macon (and

was after the war a prosperous merchant there, till he died a few years ago), and when I went to that place a few days later, I arranged to have the debt paid, costing me I believe ten dollars in greenbacks afterwards.

        I put up at the Ragsdale House, at that time a large barnlike two-story house, and I remember there was genuine coffee to be had at five dollars a cup extra, and I took two cups each meal while I was there. What the regular fare was I have forgotten. Major Montgomery and I started together to go home, and made our way by rail to the nearest point to Carrollton, and then the best way we could to that place, where we got some help to the Yazoo river at the point where the city of Greenwood now stands. It then had the same name, but there was no town there. Our plan was to cross the Yazoo at this place and walk to McNut, as the road to that place was not under water, and there take dugouts home, as the bottom was overflowed. There was a white boy paddling a skiff in the river, and we offered him a hundred dollar bill, new issue, to put us over the river, and he would not do it. Some steamboats were anchored out in the stream on a trading expedition for cotton, a sure sign the war was over, and from the captain of one of these, the major borrowed five dollars in greenbacks, and we finally made our way to McNut, walking the eighteen or twenty miles. At this place we found quite a number of the Bolivar troop making dugouts, and we all started together in a sufficient number of boats to make our way home.

        As we were paddling up the Bouge Phalia, a considerable stream in Bolivar county, I stopped my boat to talk a little while with a distinguished citizen, not only of the county, but of the state, holding at the time a high civil office. He and his wife came to the bank to hear the news, and I told them that all was over, for before that time General Taylor, on the 8th of May, had surrendered,

and of course deep regret was felt and expressed. This gentleman had been an ardent and uncompromising secessionist, and his wife, a lady of culture, was if anything, more so. She expressed the sentiment that we ought never to have surrendered while there was a man left to hold a gun.

        In my boat was a young man of the Jewish faith, Theodore Frank, and there had been no truer soldiers than he and his friend, David Reinach, another young man of the same faith, who had joined the Bolivar troop early in the war, and while I was still the captain, and who had been faithful to the end. As we pulled off from the bank and had gotten out of hearing, Theodore Frank said to me with a most serious expression on his face, "Colonel, do you think Mrs.--ought to have said what she did, when she has two sons and two sons-in-law who are not in the army." I admitted it did not look altogether right, but told him he at least could console himself with the thought that he had done his duty. This young man did not live very long after, but his friend and comrade both in the war and in the ancient faith, is living still, a prosperous and honored citizen.

        We paddled to within three miles of my home and there finding dry ground, I got out and walked, and not far from my house met my wife riding her pony, my eldest son being with her and the youngest riding behind her. She did not know me, for I was without a beard, except a mustache, and she had not for many years seen me without one. Besides, I was wearing a uniform jacket which she had never seen, and this is now the sole relic I have of the war, of all that I wore, my pistol the sergeant took, and my sabre I last saw buckled round the waist of a federal lieutenant, and recognized it from the marks I had on it. My trunk, I found when I got back to Meridian, had been broken into and all my clothes stolen.

I had in it a handsome uniform, but when we were ordered in haste from Marion, apprehending we were going to have a rough time, I put on this jacket. As a matter of fact, I had worn it in some shape during the whole war, for it was made from a military overcoat which I wore for three years, but still had enough good cloth in it to make this jacket.

        It was not long till we were at the houses my wife had succeeded in having built, and at last I was at home with my wife and all my children around me, and this time to stay till Death should claim me for his own. I found that my wife had agreed with the negroes, perhaps in all a dozen were still with her, the faithful Jake Jones among the number, that if they would make a crop, in addition to caring for them as usual, she would give them at Christmas one-fourth of what cotton they made if any sale could be found for it, and they had agreed.

        I spent the night quietly talking over the future, which looked gloomy indeed, for I had on my hands to care for, educate and support, at that time seven children, the youngest nearly four years old. The negroes, I knew, would be free, my stock of horses and mules were nearly all gone; some horned cattle and hogs, it is true, we had, and we might manage to live, but so far as I could see, that would be about all, but I knew I had a brave wife, and together we looked the future in the face and determined to conquer fate, and not let it conquer us.

        The next morning I assembled all the negroes, and told them the southern armies had all surrendered, and that the war was over, and they were free. I told them the contract they had made with their mistress I would carry out if they wished to stay, and advised them to stay, and this they did, till the end of that year.

        The war over, and I had the future to face, and had much rather have faced the enemy. All sorts of wild

schemes were talked about, going to Mexico and joining Maximilian, going to Honduras, and some did actually go. For myself, I could not have gone without basely deserting these helpless ones, and I made my mind up to do as Governor Clark, that "noblest Roman of them all," in his proclamation advised the people of the state to do:

        "Let all citizens fearlessly adhere to the fortunes of their state, and aid the returned soldiers to obtain civil employment, maintain law and order, condemn all twelfth-hour vaporers, and meet stern facts with fortitude and common sense."

        I was a Mississippian, and through good and evil I had from the time I could first remember, stood by her fortunes, and whatever her fate was now to be, I for one would share it.

        Pages yet to come will briefly tell this part of my story.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Changed condition--President Johnson's plan of reconstruction--Negroes, old Uncle Hector--Negro problem always serious--General Alcorn's opinion of right policy--Reconstruction under act of congress--Negroes voting--Convention, carpet-baggers and scallawags--Our new clerk, Florey--Negroes on juries.

        A new era, an unknown future now lay before the people of the state. Like the great archangel and his legions,

                        "Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky,"

they lay stunned and helpless under the feet of their foes. The president of the United States, Andrew Johnson, a southern man, was looked upon as a renegade, as a traitor to his people, and almost his first public utterance was that "treason must be made odious." Yet events proved that Mr. Johnson's plan for reconstruction was merciful and statesmanlike compared to that of the crowd of haters of the south and southern people which soon obtained the control of the federal government. It is true he caused Governor Clark to be arrested and confined in prison, and he would not permit the legislature to meet, and arbitrarily appointed a governor of his own choosing, but he gave us one of the best and ablest citizens of the state, Judge William Sharkey, and through him had a convention called to undo the work of the secession convention and start the state anew with a constitution and laws suitable to the changed condition of things.

        This convention was elected by the old voters of the state, for it was no part of Mr. Johnson's plan to disfranchise the white people and give suffrage to their slaves, and it was composed of many of the ablest men of the state, without regard to whether they had been soldiers or not. From Bolivar county went my friend and comrade of the first year of the war, Lieutenant Jones, of the Bolivar troop, and from every county in the state went equally true men, but they were all men who recognized the changed condition of the state and gave a loyal adherence to it.

        They plainly saw that no good and much evil would result from any attempt to even indirectly antagonize the policy of the government, and like the southern soldiers who having fought till they no longer had a government to fight for, refused to continue a resistance by a guerrilla war, which would have been as criminal as it would have been unavailing, prepared to acquiesce in this policy and guide the state out of troubled waters to a new haven of peace.

        The legislature elected under the provisions of this new constitution were in the main actuated by the same spirit, and under the provisions of this new constitution and the laws enacted by this legislature the courts were being held and the laws administered, and we were gradually becoming accustomed to the change made by the freedom of the negro, though the constant presence of soldiers in almost every county warned us that there were dangers yet ahead and by how frail a tenure we held the liberty accorded to us. Judge Sharkey and General Alcorn were elected to the senate, and among the able, true southern men elected to the house of representatives was my friend and colonel, R. A. Pinson. These gentlemen men all went to Washington, but were not permitted to take their seats.

        Meantime the old soldiers, as well as all the citizens, were trying to start over in the race of life. The negroes, considering the fact that soldiers had been sent into every county, and agents of the freedman's bureau were busy with them, were doing well. They had not as yet lost the habit of obedience to the white people, though few, if any, after the first year, would remain with their old owners. My own, or rather those who had been my own negroes, at the end of the first year left me for another employer, and a neighbor's negroes came to me. They had an idea they were not really free as long as they remained with their old masters. One old man I had, Uncle Hector, as he had been called from the time I could remember, I talked to and told him he was too old to make a living by work, and that he had better stay with me, that as long as I was able to make a living for myself, he should not suffer. But he too left me, and it was not long till I heard he was destitute and went to see him and provided for his wants for the short time he had to live. I had a real affection for the old man; he had been born a slave to my family, being a son of native Africans, and I remembered his mother, and of how much afraid I was of her when I was a little boy. The people of the north never did understand the feeling of the master for his slave, nor that of the slave for his master, till they were taught to believe that their owners were enemies, and that they were as good as white people.

        Few southern men regretted the freedom of the negro, and no southern soldier fought for his continued enslavement. This is absolutely true, though the people of the north have never believed it, and I suppose never will. All thoughtful men in the south had been troubled with the negro question, not as one which before the war promised immediate danger to the south, but as a dangerous one for their descendants, not because of any apprehension

from the north, for this the south never had till the war proved we were too weak to cope with that great power, but because with four millions of slaves in 1860, it was easy to see that by the time I am now writing, 1900, there would be perhaps ten millions of slaves, and where could profitable employment be found for this immense host, when already in the cotton states, where cotton was the only industry which profited by slave labor to any great extent, immense areas of territory had been worn out and rendered almost worthless. The result was that when the war began, the fertile deltas of Mississippi and of Arkansas and Louisiana were rapidly filling up with slaves, and would soon have been overrun, and only Texas would have been left to absorb the surplus. A very large part of the area of this great state is, if I am correctly informed, not suitable for raising cotton, and hence would not have been profitable for slaves.

        At one fell swoop the war settled this problem for the south, but left another, hard to adjust, even under the plan of reconstruction proposed by President Johnson, but under the reconstruction measures adopted by congress, one which threatened for a time the direst consequences, the absolute destruction of Anglo-Saxon civilization in the states of the south, where the negro was in the majority.

        On the fourth Monday in October, 1866, and while the controversy between the president and congress as to reconstruction was still going on, a circuit court, the first since the fall of 1861, was held at Beulah, a little village on my plantation of that name, which had but recently sprung up, and where a temporary court house had been erected. The old court house and jail in the town of Prentiss, commodious brick buildings, had with the entire town been ruthlessly destroyed by the federals, and with less reason than my house and property had been, for

there was no force of ours occupying it at the time, or had ever been at any time, so far as I was informed. There was no hotel in Beulah, or at least at the time not sufficient hotel accommodations, and as by this time I had managed to add to the houses my wife had built, I opened my house, about half a mile away, to the visiting lawyers and such other gentlemen as I could accommodate. The court was held by Judge J. S. Yerger, a great lawyer and great judge, the last he was to hold in Bolivar county, for in the following summer he died suddenly at Vicksburg, while holding his court at that place, the spring term in 1867, having been pretermitted because of high water.

        I have known in my life many of the circuit judges of the state, both before and since the war, but he was easily the greatest I have known. To a profound knowledge of the law, he added on the bench a manner peculiarly his own, strict, but kind, no man ever took liberties with him, but all could easily approach him. His court had in those days both equity and common law jurisdiction, as well as criminal, and he was equally at home presiding as chancellor or as judge.

        Among the prominent men and lawyers who were at my house, was J. L. Alcorn, then one of the senators of the state in congress, though not admitted to his seat as yet, as indeed he never was under the election by which he then held his title.

        He had been after his election, and up to the time I am speaking of, most of the time in Washington City trying to get his seat, and was just from that city, then--according to General Taylor, who had visited it after the war, with the kind purpose of interceding for the release of Governors Clark and Watts of Alabama, as well also as to get permission to see President Davis--worse than Vanity Fair, as depicted by Bunyan, that greatest of

dreamers. It was not, however, with the moral condition of that city, but its political condition, or rather the purpose of the leaders of the Republican party towards the south, that I was interested in at the time.

        Our legislature was then in session, and had rejected or refused to ratify the fourteenth amendment to the constitution, and curious to say, upon a report made by Judge H. F. Simrall, the chairman of the committee on state and federal relations, who a few years later became a republican. General Alcorn was a very able man, and at this time possessed the confidence of all the people of the state. I asked him what the chance was for the president in his controversy with congress, over reconstruction, and what his own prospects were for obtaining his seat in the senate. There were, I think, a dozen gentlemen present, among others, General Chalmers, though I do not now recall the names of the others, none of whom are living to-day as I suppose, and he talked for an hour in reply to my question, without interruption. He told the result of his observation, and his information obtained after repeated interviews with the leaders in congress. He said, among other things, and the result proved to be true, that the president was without power and influence in his party, that the legislature had made a mistake in refusing to ratify the fourteenth amendment, that it would be forced on the state, and indeed it was only the logical sequence to the freedom of the negro, and the success of the federal government, and resistance to the policy of the dominant party in this matter, was more like a childish display of spite, than a thoughtful, earnest desire and purpose to bring the state into full accord with the government as it was hereafter to be conducted; and that the certain consequence of this course would be to bring harsher and severer measures, since it would be construed to mean that we were still in a rebellious mood, though

no longer able to resist in the field. He said, moreover, that by the course the legislature was pursuing in this matter, it was weakening the influence of our friends and of the moderate men in the Republican party, and giving our enemies just what they wanted, an excuse for the violent and extreme course they had determined on. As to the president, it was idle to expect any hope or help from him.

        I have not, of course, given his exact language, for what has taken me only a few lines to record, took him an hour to deliver and explain, but his speech made a deep impression on me, and the results, when a few months later congress passed the reconstruction act over the president's veto, fully verified his predictions. From the passage of this act in March 1867, till the removal of Governor Humphries from office by force, the state had in fact two governments, one military which was supreme, and the other by sufferance, civil. At first the military commander only proposed to fill vacancies in offices as they occurred, and thus left to the people some measure of their ancient rights to be governed by men of their own selection, as long as those men lived, who had been chosen at the last election held, in which white people only participated. But the congress passed a supplemental reconstruction bill, providing for a registration of negroes, with the avowed purpose of conferring on them the right to vote and hold office, and at the same time depriving a great many of the white people of these rights, which heretofore they had enjoyed even under the president's plan of reconstruction.

        This filled to overflowing the cup of bitterness the south was called upon to drink, for it is impossible to conceive that the ingenuity of hate could have devised anything which would have so humiliated the white people of the state as this cruel and unnecessary act by

which the former slave was placed upon a political equality with his master, in many cases superior to his master, for often the slave could vote while the master could not.

        The people of the north did not understand the character the negro; to them, or the vast majority, he was a white man with a black skin, while we of the south knew him to be not only an alien race, but so vastly inferior that no fit comparison now occurs to me.

        Whatever traits of character he had which raised him from a condition of barbarism he owed to his association with the white man, and to-day it is well known that if he were even now removed from this association he would relapse into the lowest grade of humanity.

        But the absurd cry of "manhood suffrage" was raised, and that platitude of the declaration of independence "that all men are created equal," written by a slaveholder and adopted by a convention composed largely of slaveholders, was the cry, and the negro race as far as congress and the military authorities in the state could control was made the equal of the white man. These reconstruction measures and the adoption about two years later of the fifteenth amendment to the Constitution of the United States was a political blunder, but one which in theory will never be abandoned, for no political party with any hope of success can ever advocate the repeal of this amendment.

        In the fall of 1867 the first registration of voters ever had in the state was made under the authority of the military, and a little later the first election at which negroes voted was had for delegates to a convention ordered to make a new constitution.

        It was a curious thing to watch the negroes vote. There were under the orders only five voting places in the county, one in each district, and this arrangement

was kept up as long as the carpet-baggers, who afterwards came into power, held control.

        Some six or seven hundred negroes voted in Beulah, and few, if any, white men, for these, with few exceptions, were disfranchised in this election. The negroes stood in a long line, patiently waiting each till his turn should come, and had no more idea what he was doing or who he was voting for than "the man in the moon" had.

        I have tried to recall the name of the man who was voted for, but I cannot, and neither can I find his name in any book or history I have. This much I do remember, he was a stranger, and I don't believe even claimed to live in the county. But this made no difference, he was just as good as the great majority of members of that body, who had the effrontery to say in the preamble to the constitution they adopted "we the people of the State of Mississippi . . . do ordain this constitution." There were among the carpet-baggers and a few scallawags who were members of that convention some very smart men, who must have inwardly smiled when they voted for this misnomer of the membership of this convention. In the fall of 1867 our October term of the circuit court was presided over by Thomas J. Shackleford, a citizen of Canton, Madison county, who had been appointed by the military commander to fill the vacancy occasioned by the death of the lamented Yerger, but he only held one term of our court, being by the same authority appointed to a vacancy on the bench of the high court of errors and appeals, and he was succeeded by B. F. Trimble, appointed by the same authority.

        Judge Trimble was well known to the citizens of the county, having lived in it and practiced law before the war, and after the war till his appointment. He had taken no part in the civil war, and had been in Kentucky

during that time, but he was acceptable to the bar and the people, and was a good judge.

        The constitution adopted by the convention of 1868 was, strange to say, submitted to the people for ratification, and was defeated because of the provisions of certain sections, from four to thirteen inclusive, which were so extreme and objectionable that practically all the white people of the state would have been disfranchised, and Governor Humphries having been removed from office by the arbitrary act of the military commander then controlling the state, the reign of the carpet-bagger was inaugurated all over the state under military authority. No vacancy had occurred among the county officers of Bolivar county, and as between the races perfect quiet prevailed, there had been no cause for interference with the internal affairs of the county, but the hungry swarm who hung around the military headquarters at Vicksburg could no longer be appeased, and many a county afforded good pickings, and few had better than Bolivar. Ames was in possession of the governor's office, and wanted men to suit him in the different counties, and we were not surprised when claimants appeared demanding possession.

        I was in the village one day in November, 1868, when a stranger rode into it, and looking neither to the right nor to the left, rode straight to the clerk's office, as if he knew exactly where he was going, and what he wanted. None of us who were looking on had ever seen him before. He was a small and very youthful-looking man, white, and was all alone. In less than half an hour our clerk, P. M. Davidson, a gallant ex-confederate who had been disabled by wounds in the fight near Sharon, as before related, came out and showed us an order from, I believe, General McDowell, commanding the department, directing him to turn over the offices of circuit and

probate clerk to the bearer, H. T. Florey, who was commissioned to hold them both. This was followed by the removal of all the county officers, and the appointment of carpet-baggers and scallawags, some white and some colored, to fill them.

        And now for the first time the negro was organized into a political machine, he had executive committees, loyal leagues, in Bolivar county, under the control of Florey, who, young as he was, was the recognized leader of this crowd of cormorants. He had a big drum at his office, which could be heard for miles around, and when this drum beat, like the great war drum of the Aztecs, it summoned the faithful, and they came from far and near. Of all the race of carpet-baggers with whom it was my fortune to come into contact, this young man, almost a boy, was the most remarkable. He seemed to be without personal courage, for he passed without notice and without resentment insults from white and black alike, yet he must have had a high degree of courage. He desired to control and did control the negro for his own purposes, but he never seemed to desire to excite their hostility to the white people, except politically. He was wise enough to see it was only through the white man that he could acquire money, and that the negro left to himself, without the guidance and direction of the white man, would never be able to fill the coffers of the state and counties, that he and his friends might empty them.

        Meantime the white people looked on in helpless anger and disgust, unable to resist yet unwilling to submit. At last, in 1869, the constitution was again submitted to a vote of the people, sections four to thirteen, inclusive, separately, and these were rejected, and the constitution thus purged was adopted. In the election held under it, a carpet-bag mulatto, named Bowles, was elected to represent the county in the house or representatives, and a

"lily white," named Dowd, was elected to the senate. Where they came from I don't know. Dowd disappeared from public view in a short time, at least I have no further recollection of him, but Bowles remained for some time to vex the people.

        In the fall of that year, at the October term of the court, negroes were for the first time put on juries. I was on the panel for the week, and so great was my disgust that I at once applied for, and easily obtained, a license to practice law, thus escaping what I thought would have been a degradation. Up to that time I had struggled to maintain myself on my plantation, which gradually dwindled down to a small farm, but had wholly failed to adapt myself to the new condition of farming, and from that time on gave it up. I never had cause to regret my change of business, and at once obtained a good practice, putting into practical use the legal education I had.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Civil government under carpet-baggers--Visit to Jackson--Legisture of 1870--Governor Alcorn tempted by seat in senate--Judges, jury trial, and negroes as jurors--General Starke, sheriff of Bolivar--B. K. Bruce--His manners and conservatism--Campaign of 1873--Alcorn and the chancellor--Correspondence with Governor Alcorn--Campaign of 1875--Rout of carpet-baggers by taxpayers.

        The year 1870 opened with a new civil government, and the reign of the carpet-bagger and his negro dupes and allies was inaugurated under the forms of law, It so happened that business took me to Jackson at the commencement of the session of the legislature. I wanted an injunction for a client, and went there to look for a judge to whom I could apply for it. It was doubtful in the minds of many lawyers after the adoption of the new constitution, whether the judges who had been in office, could continue to act, and as I knew new judges would be immediately appointed, I went to Jackson to avail myself of the first one I could catch. I had to wait a day or two, and became "a looker-on in Venice." The convention which framed the new constitution, is alluded to in Lowry & McCardles school history of Mississippi as the "black and tan convention." I never saw it in session, but if it was blacker than this legislature, I am glad I did not.

        I stood one morning in the rotunda of the capitol, up stairs, when the house went into the senate chamber for some purpose, and took careful note of the members as they passed. It seemed to me two thirds were negroes, including in that term every shade of color which showed

a trace of negro blood. A few of these had been slaves, and were without education, but the majority I think, were carpet-baggers, like the most of their white associates. White men and negroes walked arm in arm or side by side, and the sight was stranger to me than the transformation of King George's portrait into that of General Washington, as a sign to Jonathan Doolittle's Union Hotel, was to Rip Van Winkle when he first saw it after his long nap of twenty years. Truly, it seemed to me, to quote (from memory) the language of the immortal Prentiss in his speech on his contested election in the house of representatives, "the bright star that answered to the name of Mississippi on the flag of the Union had been plucked from its place, and only the stripes were left behind."

                        "To this complexion had we come at last."

        Of all the members of that legislature, there were only two I had ever known before, one who had been a slave, Merriman Howard from Jefferson county, who had been the house servant and carriage driver for my nearest neighbor, in the days when I lived in that county, Mr. Wade Harrison, and the other in the senate, a man named O. S. Miles, a white man from some northern state, who had lived in that county a good many years, and who had made haste to join in with the carpet-baggers, and was rewarded with this seat. These were the sort of men who were to make our laws, and to rule the proud men of the state. There was but one rift in the cloud, but one hope for the people, and that was in the proud, imperious man who was the governor, James L. Alcorn. His plan to unite the old whigs of the state, and through them control the negro, was a failure, but all who knew him well were satisfied with his patriotic desire and purpose, if he could, to overthrow as soon as possible the alien rule which had been fastened upon the state, but there

were limits to his power, and the majority of the white people turned from him, and without practically a unanimous support from them he could do but little. While he remained governor he did his best, and all fair minded men must admit, saved the state from some oppressive measures, but unfortunately for the state, he was tempted with a seat in the United States senate, a temptation few men can resist, and a year later was out of the way. In talking of these things I had almost forgotten what I had gone to Jackson for. I was in the senate chamber when the newly appointed supreme judges took the oath and drew for terms. Simrall drew the nine years' term, Tarbell six, and Judge Peyton three years.

        As soon as this ceremony was over, Judge Peyton went into the consultation room of the judges, and I followed him with my injunction bill. He wanted to know why I had not applied to the circuit judge, and I told him it was a matter of some doubt whether we had one, and he listened to the bill and gave me the fiat, and this was his first official act. I suppose the bill is now in the chancery clerk's office; the style and case I remember well.

        Governor Alcorn had said that the policy of his party was to give the people "judges learned in the law above their fellows," and no doubt he desired to do so, but the fact is, he had but a small part of the bar to make his selections from, for as a rule the ablest were unwilling to take office under his administration.

        He appointed for my district Charles G. Shackleford, of Canton, an old citizen of the state, who had gone in with his whole heart with the carpet-baggers.

        Judge Trimble had incurred the undying hostility of these people by, among his last official acts, admitting to bail Edwin Yerger, who had, in a private difficulty, killed Colonel Crane, the mayor of Jackson, and who would not have been confirmed if appointed.

        I had known Edwin Yerger when I was a boy at Oakland College, at which place he was a student, older than myself. He was a proud, high-spirited boy, and had been suspended from the college, to which he never returned, for an act which won the applause of all the students. Professor John Chamberlain, a brother of the president, owned a negro who was often very impertinent to the students and one day was to Yerger, who then and there administered to him a sound thrashing. He did not wait to see the result, but left the college. The arrest, trial, conviction and sentence of Yerger by a military court, his escape from that sentence through the exertions of his great kinsman, William Yerger, his indictment afterwards and final acquittal, and the purchase of his dwelling in the city of Jackson by the state for an asylum for the deaf and dumb, would all make an interesting chapter in the history of the state, but I can do no more than allude to it in passing on the events of the time. It would, perhaps, more properly belong to the history of remarkable trials in the state, and some day it may be some one qualified to write of these matters will do so.

        Under Judge Shackleford's administration of the law, the juries were in the main composed of negroes, wholly uneducated and ignorant, but always ready to convict when told to do so by the district attorney, Charles W. Clarke, a carpet-bagger with little knowledge of the law, but wholly unscrupulous. The negroes when charged with crime, while they voted with the carpet-baggers, always wanted white men on the juries which tried them. Before such juries as we had, Clarke was a very successful prosecutor, and seldom failed to convict. As a rule, negro jurymen, when white men were on the jury, would not long hang out against them. I remember a case in point.

        Two white men were indicted for the murder of a negro woman, and it was in fact a cruel and cowardly murder. I forget their names. When first arrested, the chief criminal (both in fact were admitted to bail by an incompetent magistrate), but the most guilty, had friends who made his bail, a straw bail, and left and was never seen again in the county. The other, a mere boy, accessory to the crime, was tried. The jury was composed of eleven negroes and one white man, a young fellow who had recently come into the county and was working as a common laborer on some plantation, and nobody knew him. The boy's conviction seemed certain, his attorney was a poor lawyer, and still worse speaker, and some of the white men, chief among whom was our carpet-bag clerk, Florey, made up a purse and employed General Chalmers to go into the case and try and save the poor fellow's life. The evidence had then been closed, but Chalmers made a speech to the jury, intended for the white juror. He was one of the ablest criminal lawyers the state had ever had, and especially successful with juries. The case went to the jury early in the afternoon, and a verdict was expected in a short time. But the time went on, darkness came, and the court adjourned till morning. Late in the afternoon of the next day the jury agreed, and when brought into court, to the disgust of the district attorney, and I suspect of the judge, they returned a verdict of not guilty. The young white man who was on the jury said that when the jury retired he proposed a verdict of manslaughter, but the negroes would hear to nothing but a plain verdict of guilty as charged, which would have meant death, and were so insolent about it that he got mad and refused to agree to any but not guilty; and finally, one by one, they came to him and that was the verdict.

        I only give this as an instance to illustrate some parts of

the history of those times, and to show to what conditions the intelligent people of the state had been reduced.

        The governor, to carry out his plans to bring the old Whigs to his support, appointed as our sheriff, Brigadier General Peter B. Starke, an old citizen of the county, and whom I have mentioned in connection with my war memoirs. He had long been a personal and political friend of the governor, and was entirely broken up by the war, but he failed to bring any support to the cause the governor had at heart, and was very unpopular. At the same time he appointed as assessor, B. K. Bruce, a mulatto, who had a fair education, and almost the manners of a Chesterfield. I have seldom known a man with better manners, and as things then were in the state the county was fortunate in having him in it. To his conservatism, and that of Florey's, so far as keeping down hostility on the part of the negroes, we owe it that while the population was so largely composed of that race, this, the county of Bolivar, escaped the riots and disorders which vexed other counties in the state. He was afterward sheriff, and then wisely foreseeing the inevitable overthrow of carpet-bagism in the state, ran for and was elected by the last legislature, composed of negroes and carpet-baggers, in 1874, to the senate of the United States. Afterwards, as is well known, he became, twice I believe, register of the treasury, and in all the positions he held, I think he acquitted himself creditably. Other negroes have done so, and are doing so to-day, but these are the exception to the rule, for the great mass are now, and will be for years to come, if not always, ignorant, and a menace to the white civilization of the south, if restored to political control, such as they once had in the palmy days of carpet-baggers. They would again become the dupes of unscrupulous demagogues, and neither the good people

of the north desire this, nor will the people of the south submit to it.

        This is not alone because the negro has been a slave, and not because of any unkind feeling the white man of the south has for him, for the negro recognizes in the white man of the south his best friend; in trouble he went to him, even when the carpet-bagger ruled, and to-day he comes to him for help in his troubles, and he is never turned away.

        But the pride of race will forever prevent the amalgamation of the two races. They must forever remain distinct and separate, and thoughtful patriotic men north, as well as south, know this to be true, and it is best for both races that it should be so.

        All other races of men who have come to our land, soon become, or may, lost and absorbed into the dominant Anglo-Saxon race, for all other races have in them the elements which in time may bring them into a higher scale of being; the negro alone has not. This may seem a harsh and unkind judgment, but any one acquainted with the history of the African race, in his native land, and that of the other races of men on the globe, and who is unbiased will, I think, admit it, and further admit that it is as I have said, the association with and the restraining influence of the white which have brought the negro in the United States to his present superiority over his ancestor in Africa. He has what I think he ought not to have had, political rights equal to the white man; he is educated at the expense of the white man, he is entitled to and will receive the equal protection of the laws "for his life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness," and this is right, and now, since it has been given to him, the equal protection of his political rights, but he was not created the equal of the white man, and no law can make him the equal.

        Another anecdote illustrative of the negro character as it was in the days of the carpet-baggers, occurs to me. An unfortunate negro had committed murder, killing one of his own race, and was convicted and sentenced to be hanged. On the day fixed for the execution thousands of negroes from all parts of the county came to see it, not singly and as individuals, but in their organized societies, with music and banners. Bruce was then our sheriff, and as soon as he found it out, promptly stopped the societies outside of the town, and compelled them to disband before coming into it. The truth is, for a time the negro did not seem to know what to do with his freedom, and under all the circumstances they were not so much to blame.

        After the inauguration of the civil government nothing of special interest occurred till 1873, except the increasing taxes, but in that year an effort was made to put the state once more in the hands of the intelligent people of the state, but it was an indirect effort. The white people organized under the name of the Democratic Conservative party, but at a convention held in Meridian it was decided not to make nominations for state officers.

        Ames, whose term in the senate was soon to expire, was the nominee of the Republican party for governor, and Governor Alcorn, also a member of the senate, determined to oppose him, and it was the general opinion that the best way to defeat Ames was to support Alcorn, who, though a Republican, was an old citizen and large property holder, and all his interests were with the best people of the state.

        Alcorn came to the county of Bolivar to speak, and a very large crowd of negroes and very few white men turned out to hear him. Our chancery court was in session, and the chancellor, a carpet-bagger named Stafford, announced his purpose to reply to him. Stafford was a

harmless man of his class, fat and good-natured, and wanted to get along easy with everybody. In the course of his speech Alcorn was specially severe on the men who then held the state offices, and upon the auditor, Major Gibbs as he was called. He said of him, that Ames, when he was governor under his military appointment, had told him that "Gibbs was a thief." Stafford rose in his place and said, "Governor Alcorn, when was it that Governor Ames told you Major Gibbs was a thief?" Turning to him and shaking his hand at him, Alcorn replied, "on the same day and at the same time that he told me you were a thief." I have seen a good many men put down in my state when interrupting a speaker, but never before or since did I see a man so completely silenced as Stafford was. I had no idea at the time that Ames had ever told Alcorn anything of the kind, but only a few months before he died, I asked the governor about this, and he said it was true that Ames had told him so, at one time when Ames was first governor, he was very friendly with him, and talked freely to him about his associates in office, of whom he then seemed to be ashamed. I have no doubt he was, as he had been educated at West Point, where it is supposed, no doubt rightly, that only the highest principles of honor are taught, but the politics of that day, if not of any day, will sometimes corrupt the "elect" themselves.

        When the Meridian convention was being held, I was in Jackson, and returned home before news of its action had reached Bolivar, for that was before the days of railroads and telegraphs in this county. I went at once to the clerk's office to see the clerk, and not finding him in his office I went to his bed room. It was a hot day in August, and there were two beds in the room. In one was Florey and the circuit clerk, a white man named Lease, and in the other Bruce and a big Irishman, who

held some office in the county, named Sullivan. Florey wanted to know the news, and I told him the Democrats would make no nomination for governor, but would support Alcorn. His reply was that "politics makes strange bed fellows." There was a plain example of it before my eyes, a big negro and a big white man lying beside each other in the same bed, on that hot day in August.

        The white people did not support Alcorn as was expected and hoped by those who knew him best, and he was defeated. Governor Alcorn remained in the senate till his term expired in 1877, and never afterwards held any public office except to serve one term as a member of the Board of Supervisors of his county, and as a member of the Constitutional Convention of 1890, which adopted the present franchise provision of the constitution of the state, which he supported and advocated in the convention, and which has been sustained by the Supreme Court of the United States.

        So much has been said and written about this able and distinguished man in the days of his activity, during the carpet-bag regime, and so little was he understood then, and even now, that I make no apology for publishing the following correspondence had with him a few years before his death, and with no thought of publication at the time, though fortunately I have preserved it.

ROSEDALE, MISS., December 18, 1891.

HON. J. L. ALCORN, Jonestown, Miss.

        My Dear Sir--I have been looking over the "Memoirs of Mississippi" just received, and I naturally turned first to look at the sketches of some of my friends of the old time, among others yours. It gave me special pleasure to see in yours the splendid tribute paid, not only to your talents and courage, but to your patriotism and fealty to your race and state by Claiborne, not because

to one who has known you so long as I have this was necessary. But your contemporaries of the stormy time, when you held the helm and controlled the destinies of the state, and however they may at the time have differed from you, as I myself have done, yet always did justice to your singleness of purpose, to do good and only good to your people, and gave you credit for what you did accomplish, and not blame that you could not do more, are fast passing away, and a generation of young men are coming to the front who perhaps need to be informed in what estimate men like Claiborne held you. It is deeply to be regretted that the manuscript of his second volume of the "History of Mississippi" was lost, for many reasons, not the least among which is the loss of the history of your administration. Few of your old friends at that time did you full justice, and few who did had the moral courage to speak out. I have always said if the white people of the state had stood by you, and elected you governor in 1873, as they could have done, that the revolution of 1875, would have been accomplished two years sooner, and two years more of misrule would have been spared to the state.

        Do you remember our accidental meeting on a train at Grenada, in September, 1873, and that we hurried through Memphis to a steamer just ready to leave, because the yellow fever was then epidemic in that city? I remember it well, and with what anxiety you looked forward with the hope that the white people of the state, recognizing your earnest desire to come to their aid, would give you credit in advance for all you hoped and expected to do, and trust you as one of themselves without such pledges and assurances as would at that time have rendered your defeat certain and all your efforts abortive. I remember it well and how earnestly I tried to second your efforts.

        I remember too, how in my house at Beulah, after the ineffectual appeal of Judge Sharkey and yourself to the senate of the United States to be admitted to that august body as senators of the state, you told to myself and others the true state of public sentiment in congress, and in the north, and the weakness of President Johnson in his own party, and predicted the results which were to follow. But your warnings, as well as your advice, were not heeded. All these things and more, no doubt, will yet be told in the true story of your public life, which has yet to be written in full. I consider the loss of Claiborne's manuscript a public misfortune in that full justice would also have been done to that old friend of yours and mine, the old hero, Governor Clark. This I know because I had much correspondence with Claiborne about it, and gave him many facts as to the governor's life not generally known. In the "Memoirs of Mississippi" you will find a sketch of General Clark written by me, which is necessarily short, but I hope you will like it. But I must not weary you. Believe me, that while not always agreeing with you, I always did justice to you, as Claiborne has done, and always have been,

         Sincerely your friend,

F. A. MONTGOMERY.

EAGLE NEST, December 23, 1891.

COLONEL F. A. MONTGOMERY, Rosedale, Miss.:

        My Dear Sir--The receipt of your letter of the 18th instant, now before me, gave me great pleasure. My long acquaintance with you, the intimate acquaintance I have enjoyed, has ripened a friendship which began long since and has continued unbroken until the present time, and makes me regard what you say as the opinion of a strong and impartial friend. It is true, as you say, that the generation of men who shared with us the

responsibilities of the trying period through which we have passed are now rapidly passing away. Soon the men of the reconstruction period will be no more. To me there is a regret that will go with me to the grave that I could not have served the people of Mississippi and of the south more profitably than I did. I had studied the question of reconstruction. I had studied the temper of the northern people and I had determined to yield to the inevitable. I bore with great patience the complaints and abuse of the people who criticized my course. It was but natural. Their words were but the language of my own heart when I gave way to my passions. But I had determined to look facts in the face and by a stern discipline to follow in the course that my judgment told me was necessary to reach the haven of rest for the people of the state. I had been before the war accused of an inordinate pride. A proud man I was justly said to be, and now when I was accused of being a negro leveler of my own race, a man who sought to bring my own race down to a level with the ignorant and vulgar, my mortification had reached its maximum, but I had determined on my course. I had enjoyed an early acquaintance with Colonel Claiborne, I had exchanged views and opinions with him. He took me severely to task for the course I intimated to him I intended to adopt. I knew him to be a man of strong and vigorous mind, a man of independence of thought, and I took pains to suggest to him my convictions as to the true course to be pursued. The correspondence I had with him would have been shown to the world had not his manuscript of the second volume of Mississippi history been destroyed. He was of the opinion I could not reach the point which I finally attained. He was of the opinion that the passions of the State of Mississippi would not tolerate me as far as they did. He said to me

that I would be assassinated, that I would fall a martyr under a cloud that would cover me in my grave, but when I succeeded in establishing myself in the opinion of yourself and others Claiborne became enthusiastic in my praise. You, my dear colonel, were among my friends, and to-day my heart goes out to you in respect and love. If I could have been elected to the office of governor in 1873 I would have vindicated myself in the judgment of all thinking men, but I am consoled with the reflection that I had the confidence of such men as Claiborne and Clark and that to-day I enjoy the friendship and confidence of such living men as yourself.

        Your friend,

J. L. ALCORN.

        I am glad to have preserved this correspondence and to be able to give it to the world. Governor Alcorn lived nearly four years after this, and circumstances made me his near neighbor for the last two years of his life, and gave me the privilege of joining with his old friends and neighbors in paying to his remains the last tribute of respect. They, like those of Governor Clark, lie upon a high mound, the work of the prehistoric and forgotten race, and near to his magnificent home, where his great delight was to dispense a generous hospitality to his friends.

        At his burial there were no more sincere mourners than the numerous negroes from his plantations, many of whom had been his slaves. I was deeply touched to see among the stones already there, one to his young son Hal Alcorn, as he was called, who, when a boy of sixteen, had joined the Bolivar troop and been taken prisoner in Georgia, and had died while in prison and been buried far from his home and friends, among an indisguishable number of like heroic sons of the south.

        The year 1875 dawned upon an impoverished state and impoverished people, but its close was to bring redemption from misrule. The histories of the state have told this story, but none have done it full justice. I will only concern myself with the efforts made in Bolivar county, and the results achieved here. Many of the best people of the state despaired of relief, but they did not for that reason hold back from the work. A few men met in the court-house to organize a tax-payers' party to assist in the great fight about to be made. Among them I recall the names of Governor Clark, Colonel Green Clay of the great family of that name in Kentucky, Colonel Strother and others, of whom, I am proud to say, I was one. Nearly every member of this little meeting had belonged to the old Whig party, but willingly called themselves Democrats, for that party alone promised at that time in the north any relief from the intolerable evils under which the south was then groaning. It alone, with a few noble exceptions, seemed to have any sympathy for us. It is this which united the Whigs and Democrats of the state, and kept them united long after the necessity for it had passed away, if it were not for fear of the negro in politics. It is true he is no longer a menace to white supremacy, but with a division of the white people into two parties, he would certainly be in politics again, and even under the present franchise law there are many thousands who could, if they would, qualify themselves to vote, and would certainly hold the balance of power. This is in the highest degree unfortunate, for ours is a government of parties, and where there cannot be two parties there are sure to be two factions, and the only question is who can get the spoils. The result is, that the ablest men, as a rule, refuse to take part in a factional fight and stand aloof, while the weak and

incompetent, like the froth that rises to the top of the glass, come to the front.

        This condition of political affairs in the state is unfortunate for another reason. With the necessity, real or supposed, of all the white men standing together in state and local affairs, they are not free to divide on national issues. The test of loyalty to the party in state elections made by the politicians in the state, is not whether a man has been true to his race and to Anglo-Saxon civilization, but whether he has voted or will vote for the Democratic nominee for president, though he may believe, as hundreds, perhaps thousands, do in the state sometimes, his election would be a great disaster to the country.

        These men are not deceived by the absurd bugbears of "imperialism" or "militarism." They remember they belong to a race which has never been conquered or enslaved, since the bold barons of England wrested from the tyrant John the Magna Charta, or since William of Orange overthrew James. This much and no more I will say about the politics of the time. In 1875 there was in fact but one party in Bolivar county, for the negroes registered about four thousand votes, and the whites only about three hundred. Our little meeting sent as delegates to the convention that met in Jackson, Governor Clark, Colonel Clay and Colonel Strother, and some others, and Governor Clark was chosen as chairman. This was in fact the tax-payers' convention before mentioned. There were no state officers to be elected that year, and no nominations to be made, but the meeting did great good in encouraging the timid and strengthening the cause. We also organized an executive committee, and I had the honor to be its chairman. The great object hoped for in the state was to elect a legislature composed of our best men. Members of the house of representatives,

half the senate, and all county offices were to be elected. Fortunately for us in Bolivar, there were more aspirants for office among the negroes and the few white carpet-baggers than there were offices, and this resulted in a split of which we were quick to take advantage.

        The great object we had was to elect Colonel Clay to the legislature, and he with a negro was nominated by the faction opposed to Florey. The Florey crowd nominated Dr. Shelby, a good man and a Democrat, and also put up a negro. Colonel Clay made a bold and active canvass, and his uncle, the celebrated Cassius M. Clay, came from Kentucky to help him. As Cassius M. Clay had, in days gone by, at the risk of his life, been an abolitionist, he gave effective help. The result of the election so far as the legislature was concerned, was to elect both Colonel Clay and Dr. Shelby, so that we sent two Democrats to the house instead of one. All men know what that legislature did towards redeeming the state; it is in all the histories of the state. A negro named Luke Moore came within one vote of defeating the redoubtable Florey for chancery clerk, in fact, on the first count had beat him one vote, but on a recount, which Florey succeeded in having made, be got a majority of one vote, and the certificate of election. Luke Moore concluded, on the advice of Governor Clark and myself; to contest, and we felt sure of winning his case for him, but on the day of the contest Florey paid him five hundred dollars to withdraw from the contest, and he did so without consulting his counsel. The last I saw of my client as I left the place in disgust, he had hundreds of his witnesses around him clamoring for their witness fees, as they all knew he had money. I expect when they got through with him he had but little left, especially as the governor and I had taken care to get our fee.

CHAPTER XXV.

Campaign of 1876--John R. Lynch--Twenty negro laws, his anecdote--Elected to legislature--Commissioner to Washington City in 1882 and 1884 in interest of levees--Captain Eads-- Congressman Jones from Kentucky--Funeral of Mr. Davis in New Orleans--Elected to legislature from Coahoma county-- Appointed circuit judge--Moral influence of the bar--Golden wedding tributes--Conclusion--The Star of Mississippi.

        The year 1876 was in the State of Mississippi, politically, an exciting one, when Mr. Tilden was the candidate of the Democrats for president and General Hayes the candidate of the Republicans, and the last in which there has been much of a contest in the state over that office. In Bolivar county we made an earnest effort to carry the county for Mr. Tilden, organized societies with red shirts, gave barbecues, and besides our home orators, of whom we had many among the young lawyers of the county, who have since rose to distinguished places in the history of the state and county, we imported and paid negro orators, and the negro when he has some education and can talk at all is a natural orator, but all to no avail, for the county went by a large majority for Hayes. I believe we did by extraordinary efforts carry the box at the county site, Rosedale. There was much more excitement in Bolivar county than in the election the preceding year, and there were times when it seemed almost impossible to avoid a collision between the races, but fortunately this was avoided. We gave a big barbecue in Rosedale, and there was a time during the day that there was great

danger. A negro named Jones, the clerk of the court in Desha county, Arkansas, the county immediately opposite to Bolivar, came into town and desired to speak, but as I knew nothing about him I declined to let him appear as one of our speakers, and this incensed him, and late in the afternoon when all the white men had gone home and none left except a few who lived in the village he gathered a crowd around him and began an inflamatory harangue to a crowd of excited and many of them intoxicated negroes, and there would have been trouble, but I stopped him and advised him to go back to Arkansas, where he belonged. He stopped speaking and in a short time left the county, though not without a little gentle compulsion. As a matter of fact I had him safely carried over the river to his own state, and he made his way home as best he could. I met him a good many times after this and he always laughed about his experience in trying to make a Democratic speech when he was not invited, and was especially civil and polite.

        In the canvass John R. Lynch, who was a candidate for congress and afterwards became prominent in his party, came to Rosedale to make a speech. This man had been a slave, the favored body-servant of one of the wealthy men of Natchez, Mr. Suzette, I believe; had some education, and was naturally very bright. I remember our Democratic elector, my friend Warren Cowan, was present. There was a big crowd of negroes and very few white men to hear him; in fact, the crowd was so great he had to speak in the open air. Lynch, negro though he was, had few superiors as a stump-speaker, and perhaps none before such an audience as he then had. He told many amusing anecdotes, and among others the following. The confederate congress in its day had passed what was known as the twenty-negro law, a very foolish measure, as I thought then and think

now. This law exempted from compulsory service in the confederate army all men who owned as many as twenty negroes. He told his story well, better than I can repeat it. His master, he said, owned hundreds of negroes, but had a neighbor who did not own many. Just after the passage of the twenty-negro law his master sent him on some errand to this neighbor, and he found him very much depressed. Going into the kitchen after he had delivered his message, and while he was waiting an answer, he asked the cook what was the matter with her master. She said, "Why, don't you know? Master scared dey gwine to put him in the army 'case he ain't got twenty niggers; he ain't got but nineteen." He returned home with the gentleman's answer to his master's message, and bearing a request for the loan of a negro. This was flatly refused. A month later he again had an errand to the gentleman, and this time he was all wreathed in smiles. Going again to the kitchen, he again applied to the cook for information as to the changed demeanor of her master, and her reply was, "Sally had a baby last night, and master's got twenty niggers now." Lynch carried the crowd with this, and it took as well with the white men who heard him. Judge Cowan suggested to me that he ought to reply to Lynch, but I persuaded him not to do it. It is certain he would have gotten the worst of it.

        In 1879 I was elected to the house of representatives of the state, and held this office for three consecutive terms, when I declined to be a candidate again. In 1882, while in my seat in the house, I received a telegram that a break in the levee had overflowed the town, and the water was a foot deep in my house. I hastened to get my family to Memphis, and hurried back to the closing days of the session, as experience had already taught me that the time of all others when a legislator

ought to be in his seat is when the legislature is coming to an end. The legislature passed a resolution empowering the governor to appoint three commissioners to go to Washington City and see what aid could be obtained towards rebuilding the levees, for there were perhaps a hundred breaks, but it refused to give a dollar towards paying the expenses of the commissioners.

        Governor Lowrey appointed Governor Alcorn, Colonel W. A. Percy and myself. Governor Alcorn could not go, but Colonel Percy and I did go.

        Few men have lived in Mississippi whose lives promised more to the state than Percy's, an able lawyer, a gentleman of unblemished honor, a confederate soldier, he had already won distinction as a member of the memorable legislature of 1876, but inexorable death removed him in the prime of his days and usefulness. What he might have become if he had lived longer it is idle to speculate on. That he would have been a wise adviser in these days when faction seems ready to disrupt the party of the white man in the state of Mississippi (for Democratic party there is none) is certain, and it may be his influence would have prevailed and saved the party from the dangers which now seem to me to threaten it. To our great regret Senator Lamar was not in Washington when we got there, and did not return till we were ready to leave, but Senator George and most of our congressmen were, and from them all we received a cordial welcome, and were introduced to some of the leading men of both parties. Especially I recall the courtesies shown us by General Chalmers, then the member from the district in which the levees were, though he lost his seat soon after in the contest with Lynch, who was claiming his seat, and from now Senator Money, and from Colonel Muldrow. We were invited to go before the committee on rivers and harbors in the house, and the committee on commerce in

the senate, of which, as I remember, Senator Frye was chairman. We were given a hearing by these committees and Colonel Percy ably presented the cause of the dwellers, in the lands of the Delta. We were met with the objection by some leading southern Democrats, as well as some Republicans, that money could not be appropriated to protect private property, for this was the narrow-minded view then taken of this great question of levee protection. A better day has dawned, and it is now the settled policy of the government to aid in the building of levees as an important part of river improvement, and I do not doubt that the time will soon come when this great work will be wholly done by the government.

        We found in Washington one great engineer who espoused our cause, and this was Captain Eads. He was a great man, and then a member of the river commission, and we had the pleasure of hearing him present his views on this question to the river and harbor committee of the house. I remember his main argument well but I will not here repeat it.

        There was a man on this committee whose name I remember was Jones, from a mountain district in Kentucky. How he ever came to be in congress, and being there, how he ever got to be on this committee, is a mystery to me. This man continually interrupted Eads with questions of all kinds, and evidently annoyed him very much. Everbody was disgusted with him, and for myself I felt like I would like to have him in Bolivar county and give him a good ducking. Presently he said, "Captain Eads do you believe it possible to control the waters of the Mississippi river so as to prevent overflows?" Eads looked at him a moment before replying and then said: "I would have a great contempt for the human mind if I did not believe it could do it." There is no doubt he was right. Give the engineers of these times

the means and a free hand and they can do almost anything. Jones subsided, nor did he again interrupt, either that night or the next, for he was given a hearing the next night also.

        Through the river commission in the lower levee district we got about four hundred thousand dollars, and were thus enabled with such means as the levee board had, again to present an unbroken front for a time at least to the angry floods when they came. In 1884 Colonel Percy, Mr. Hancock, a son of General Hancock, then living in Coahoma county, and myself were again appointed to go to Washington on the same errand. What good we accomplished I do not know, but I do know that this was the beginning of the efforts which General Catchings has so successfully carried out to educate the northern mind on the importance of this work, not alone to protect a few people in the delta, as seemed to be the first impression, but to do a great work by which all the people of the Union would be benefitted, for prosperity to the great Delta of Mississippi means largely prosperity to many states.

        Colonel Lamar was this time in the city and that thorough gentleman, Mr. Arthur, was the president. He granted us an interview, and, with Colonel Lamar to introduce us, we went at the appointed hour. The ante-rooms of the white house were filled with people, men and women, seeking an audience, and I could not but be sorry for them as the doors all opened to us. Some of them no doubt never did get in. Mr. Arthur received us with the ease and courtesy of a gentleman, and said to us that he understood our condition and knew what we wanted, and that he would approve any measure congress could be induced to pass for our relief. More than this we could not ask.

        It was at the 1884 session of the legislature that Mr.

Jefferson Davis was present as the guest of the state, to which I have before alluded. Five years later, in December, 1889, he died. A meeting of leading citizens was immediately held in the city of Jackson and a committee appointed from different parts of the state to attend his funeral in New Orleans, and I received notice that I was appointed as one of this committee. I at once went to New Orleans, and found there an immense crowd from all parts of the south, and many from northern states.

        The confederate cavalry association was permitted to guard his remains, under the command of Colonel George Moorman, and in my turn I stood at the head of the open casket in which he lay.

        As I looked upon his worn features, worn, not alone with age but with sorrow, I could not but feel a pang of regret that he must go down in history among the great men who have been unsuccessful.

        Before the war I had never been what was known as a Jeff Davis man; he was a Democrat and I was a Whig, but the force of circumstances, or that destiny which shapes the lives of men, had made him the embodiment of southern ideals, and for a time the vicarious sufferer for the supposed sins of the south, for I will never agree that in seceding from the union the south sinned, nor do I say that the north sinned in again, and without the "consent of the governed" (the claptrap of the demagogues of the day), planting the flag of the union over the stars and bars. Each side was right from its own standpoint; it was a family quarrel in which the strongest conquered. May the tongue be palsied, and the hand withered, which would again stir up strife between the sections, or try to diminish the glory of either flag, or the men who defended it while it waived amid fire and

smoke above the brave men who fought or died beneath its folds.

        Mr. Davis and the cause he loved have passed away, and I leave them now, firm in the faith that some Gibbon or Macaulay, in a time to come, will truly tell their immortal story, and do equal justice to their brave foes.

        In the fall of 1893, I determined for business reasons to become a citizen of Coahoma county, and in 1895, to my surprise and against my wish, I was nominated by a Democratic convention to be one of the candidates for the house of representatives, and was elected, and had the honor to serve one session as a member of the legislature from that fine county.

        At the close of the session, Governor McLaurin appointed me the circuit judge of my district. I had long been his friend, admired his talents and hoped, which hope has been realized, to see him in a position where they could be used to the best advantage in the interest of his state and country. But one man in Mississippi history achieved as great a triumph in overcoming opposition to his ambition to be a senator from the state, and this was the incomparable Lamar. That Governor McLaurin may, like this great man, rise to the height of his great place, is my earnest wish.

        I held the office of circuit judge for one short term, and retired from it with the warmest gratitude to the great lawyers of my district, who gave me their support throughout my term, and without which my services would have been useless to the state and a burden to myself.

        A long knowledge of the bar as a citizen, as a practitioner, and as a judge, has convinced me that as a moral power, a power for good or evil in a community, the local bar of any county exerts a wider and deeper influence

than does even the church. I say this with all due reverence for the church, which is everywhere a power for good, but it is my matured conviction. Where the local bar is composed of high-toned, honorable men, who scorn the dirty work of the shyster, public sentiment, public and private morals, will always be improved and purified. To the great honor of the bar this is the rule, and the converse the exception.

        Near the middle of my term as circuit judge time brought to my faithful wife and myself the fiftieth anniversary of our marriage, the 12th day of January, 1898. The legislature was in session at the time and did us the unusual honor, each house separately, of passing complimentary resolutions and signing them with the names of the members present, and appointed a committee, my friends, the Hons. W. C. Weathersby and M. L. Franklin, to attend and present them to us at our home on that day. These will be souvenirs to be prized and preserved, but the one which touched us most are the following lines written by my friend Colonel J. L. Power, the secretary of state, but forever to be known as the great philanthropist of the state.

        He has never been a rich man, no great college bears his name to commemorate his deeds, but thousands have lived to bless him, and when in the fullness of time he passes away thousands will mourn the good man. I myself could tell many instances of his unostentatious kindness, but this I know would be distasteful to him, and I forbear.

        These lines were signed by each member of the state government, and I append them just as received:

TO JUDGE FRANK A. MONTGOMERY AND WIFE, on the
Fiftieth Anniversary of their Marriage, January
the 12th, A. D. 1898:

                        Accept dear good friends on this Jubilee day
                        The greetings of those who have known you so well;
                        May the joys that thus far has brightened your way
                        Increase with your years and in richness excel.
                        May your last days be best, and when they shall cease
                        Secure may you be in the Good Shepherd's fold,
                        Where naught can molest, where you'll find all is peace,
                        A fitting finale to your wedding of gold.

• A. J. MCLAURIN, Governor,
• J. L. POWER, Secretary of State,
• W. D. HOLDER, Auditor Public Accounts,
• A. Q. MAY, State Treasurer,
• WILEY N. NASH, Attorney-General,
• JNO. M. SIMONTON, Land Commissioner,
• A. A. KINCANNON, State Supt. of Ed.,
• E. W. BROWN, Clerk Supreme Court,
• HELEN D. BELL, State Librarian,
• WIRT ADAMS, State Revenue Agent.

        On the 17th of February, 1898, the faithful friend, the loving wife, was indeed "secure in the Good Shepherd's fold," but over that time I must draw a veil.

        But I must bring these memoirs to a close. I am glad to have written them, incomplete as I know they are. In looking them over I see no sentiment I have expressed which I would retract.

        If in the slightest degree they have added anything to the history of my state and its heroic sons, and anything to the history of the great war in which I bore my part, I am satisfied.

        The shadows are falling round me, but there are no

clouds to obscure my vision of the future of my country, great and glorious as it now is, and becoming more and more united as time rolls on.

        The star of Mississippi which once seemed to have been quenched in the blood of her sons, and made the paradise of slaves, once more shines with renewed luster amid the bright galaxy of her sisters, and with them henceforth "one and inseparable" will shine on forever!

INDEX.

• Abolition sentiment, 17.
• Adams, General Wirt, 45, 84, 87.
• Adairsville, Georgia, 162.
• Alatoona, 177.
• Alcorn Agricultural College, 10.
• Alcorn, J. L., 228, 267, 275, 281, 283-287.
• Alleghany College, Meadville, Pa., 15.
• Ancestors, 5.
• Armageddon, 35.
• Armstrong, General Frank C., 84, 150; letter from him, 182, 194, 195, 242.
• Armstrong driven to Jonesboro, 200.
• Army of Mississippi, 39.
• Arsenal at Meadville, 19.
• Arthur, President, 296.
• Atlanta, fall of, 201.

• Baldwin, author of Armageddon, 35.
• Battalion organized, 53.
• Battalion increased, 61.
• Battalion increased to regiment, 72.
• Battle ground 22d of July, 190.
• Battle 28th of July, Lick Skillet road, 192.
• Beal, Captain, killed, 88.
• Beasley, Lieutenant, killed, 72.
• Beasley, Adjutant, mortally wounded, 142.
• Benton, Mississippi, 155.
• Beulah, 34.
• Birth place, 4.
• Bolivar county, 32.
• Bolivar troop, 39.
• Bragg, General, 73.
• Brandon, Mississippi, letter home, 132.
• Brittain's lane, 88.
• Brown, Governor, 13.
• Brown's, John, raid, 35.
• Bruce, B. K. 279.

• Camp meetings, 24.
• Camp, in, 45.
• Campaign, 1875, 290; 1876, 291.
• Cartersville, Georgia, 164.
• Cassville, Georgia, 165.
• Catching's, Thomas C., first race for congress, 33.
• Chalmers, General, 228.
• Chamberlain, Dr., president of Oakland College, 7-9.
• Chambers, Hal, member of congress, 81, 82.
• Charleston, Mo., 57.
• Chattahoochee, 181.
• Cheatem, General Frank, 53.
• Clark, Charles, 12, 29, 38, 39, 43, 133.
• Clark, Charlotte, marriage to her, 29.
• Clay, Captain, of Natchez Fencibles, 12.
• Clay, Green, race for legislature, 290.
• Clay, Cassius M., 290.
• Cleburne, General Pat., 197.
• Coe, Milford, 45.
• Columbia, Tennessee, 112.
• Columbus occupied, 61.
• Columbus, Mississippi, 225.
• Cotton's, Rev., adventure with robber, 25.
• Corinth, battle of, 91, 92.
• Correspondence with secretary of war, 103, 108.
• Cosby, General, 122, 147.
• Crawfordville, Mississippi, 216.
• Currency before the war, 32.
• Customs of the times, 22.

• Davis, General Reuben, 137.
• Davis', General Joe, place, 149.
• Davis, Mr. Jefferson, 9, 109, 202, 297.
• Dallas, battle at, 171, 172.
• Denmark, battle of, 86, 87.
• Dixie, 245.
• Drake, Rev. B. M., 24.
• Duffield, General, mustering officer, 13.
• Dueling an imperious custom, 27.
• Duncan, Dr., of Ohio, 7.

• Eads, Captain, 295.
• Elected to board of police, 37.
• Elected to legislature, 293.
• Elliot, Henry, boy from New York, 223, 226, 236, 248, 249.
• Etowah river, 168.
• Eutaw, Alabama, 234.
• Execution, military, 231.

• Fairburn, Georgia, 203.
• Fayette, scout to, and incidents, 133.
• Fight in Coldwater bottom with Grierson, 97.
• First fight, 67.
• Florey, clerk, 271.
• Foote, Henry S., 9.
• Forrest, General, 112, 145, 226, 227.

• Gayden, Frank, 57, 58.
• Goldbug, 218.
• Grampus, 60.
• Grant, General, 111.
• Gregg, General, 101.
• Grenada, 102.

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  Page 304

• Gunboats 61.
• Gunboats and Grampus, 63.

• Hardee, General, 163, 202.
• Hatchie river, rout federal cavalry, 90.
• Herndon, Lieutenant D. C., elected mayor, 61.
• Herrin, Gadi, 69, 79; killed, 171.
• Herrin's Captain, exploit, 131.
• Hickman, Ky., 60.
• High, Private, killed by lightning, 131.
• Hinds, General Thomas, 12.
• Hogg, Colonel, killed, 85.
• Holly Springs, army at, 94.
• Homicides, rare among slaves, 21.
• Hood, General, 182, 188, 201.
• Hovey, General, fights with him, 80, 81.
• Humphries, Governor, removed from office, 268.
• Hunt, Mr. David, founder of Oakland College, 7, 11.

• Indians, 26.
• Insanity almost unknown among slaves, 21.
• Introduction, 1, 3.

• Jackson, General Andrew, 4, 5.
• Jackson, General W. H., 84, 164, 154; Id. 161, 194, 223, 232.
• Jackson besieged, 129.
• Jackson, driven through, 157.
• Jones, Jake, 112, 113.
• Johnston, Albert Sidney, 71.
• Johnston, General Joseph E., 163; battle order, 165; removal, 182.
• Johnson, Adjutant, killed, 249.

• Kennedy, Captain T. B., 205.
• King's battery, 149.
• King, Captain, of Noxubee, killed, 221.
• Kilpatrick's raid (General) 193.
• Kingsley, Orrin, killed, 221.

• Lafayette, Ala., 207.
• Lauderdale Springs, Miss., 216.
• Levees, 33.
• Legislature of 1870, 274, 275.
• Lexington, Miss., 135.
• Lee, General S. D., 143, 147, 192.
• Lincoln's election (President), 36; his assassination, 256.
• Lindsay, Colonel, commands regiment, 72.
• Lovejoy Station, 202.
• Lynch, John R., 271.

• Marion, Ala., 236.
• Martin, General W. T., 50.
• McGehee, Miles H., 38, 77.
• McMackin, General, hotel keeper, 14.
• Memphis, 47, 49.
• Medon, 85.
• Mechanicsburg, 128.
• Meridian, 152.
• Militia muster, Meadville, Pa., 19.
• Militia drills in Mississippi, 23.
• Mississippi, a nation, 39.
• Mike, Captain, 143.
• Montgomery, Major, 116.
• Moscow, 145.
• Moorman, Colonel Geo., 154.
• Music of the times, 23.

• Napoleon, old town, 31.
• Negroes in Meadville, Pa., 17; in south old times, 21.
• Negro preachers and fiddlers, 23.
• New Madrid occupied, 55.
• Newnan, Georgia, 181.
• New Hope Church, 169.
• Negroes as jurors, 273, 277, 278.

• Oakland College, 6, 10.
• Organization of regiment, 74.
• Ordered to Georgia, 150.
• Orders from General W. H. Jackson, 203, 206, 209, 210, 211.
• Orr, Colonel, member congress, 229.

• Pemberton, General, 100, 127, 129.
• Percy, Colonel W. A., 294.
• Phelan, James S., 230.
• Pioneer Methodist preachers, 25.
• Pillow, General G. J., 46, 56.
• Pinson, Colonel R. A., 90, 146, 154, 177, 195, 239, 242, 255, 256.
• Polk, General, 71, 152, 176.
• Pontotoc, 143.
• Power, Colonel J. L., 299.
• Prentiss, S. S., duels with Mr. Foote, 27.

• Quilting bees, 25.

• Railroad, one in state, 22.
• Ragsdale House, 258.
• Review, Jackson's division, 135.
• Reconstruction, 268.
• Reign of carpet-bagger, 271, 274.
• Ripley, 91.
• Richland, Miss., barbecue and flag, 138.
• Roster of Bolivar troop, 47, 49.
• Ross, Colonel, 136.
• Ross and Pinson ordered to Tennessee valley, 139.

• Saunders, Ned, 70.
• Selma, Ala., 237 to 242.
• Sergeant, Federal, 243.
• Sharkey, Judge, 130.
• Sherman, General, 139, 148.
• Sharon, Miss., 153.
• Sillers, Joseph, 116, 117.
• Sims, Captain, of Texas, 205.
• Simral, Judge H. F., 267.
• Southern society--old-time cotton planters, 20.
• Spring Hill, 112.
• Starke, General Peter B., 147.
• Stafford, Chancellor, 281.
• Stripes only left on flag, 275.
• Star shines again, 301.
• Sykes, Captain E. O., now circuit judge, 103.
• Sykes Captain Thos. B., 216.
• Sykeston, Mo., 56.

• Tappan, General, 64.

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  Page 305

• Taylor, General Dick, 128, 160, 185, 222, 226; his opinion of Forrest.
• Taylor, Captain J. R., 222.
• Texans on a spree, 213, 214.
• Thompson, General M. Jeff., 53, 75.
• Trimble, Judge, 270, 276.
• Tuscumbia, Ala., 140.
• Tupelo, 221.
• Tyler, General, West Point, Ga., 206, 207.

• Union City, 53.

• Van Dorn, General, 91, 111, 112.
• Villages, old, 4.
• Villipigue, General, 75.
• Vicksburg, fall of, 126.
• Vote of Bolivar county in 1857, 37.

• War over, 259, 260.
• Watson's battery, 64.
• Watson, Gus., 64.
• Wallace, Count, 134.
• West, Colonel Cato, 5.
• Wheeler, General, 162.
• White, Lieutenant-Colonel, of Indiana, 250, 252.
• Wilson's raid (General), 236, 251, 253.

• Yates, Dr., of Meadville, Pa., 19.
• Yancey's opinion (Mr.), 132.
• Yazoo Delta, cross in dug-out, 114, 115, 258.
• Yerger, judge William, 151.