"Co. Aytch" Part 13

"For the want of a nail, the shoe was lost, For the want of a shoe the horse was lost, For the want of a horse the general was lost, For the want of a general the battle was lost."

Forrest's cavalry had been sent off somewhere. Wheeler's cavalry had been sent away yonder in the rear of the enemy to tear up the railroad and cut off their supplies, etc., and we had to find out the movements of the enemy by "feeling for them" by sh.e.l.ling the vacant woods. The Yankees were at that time twenty-five miles in our rear, "a hundred thousand strong," at a place called Jonesboro. I do not know how it was found out that they were at Jonesboro, but anyhow, the news had come and Cheatham's corps had to go and see about it.

Stewart's corps must hold Atlanta, and Stephen D. Lee's corps must be stretched at proper distance, so that the word could be pa.s.sed backward and forward as to how they were getting along. As yet it is impossible to tell of the movements of the enemy, because our cannon b.a.l.l.s had not come back and reported any movements to us. We had always heard that cannon b.a.l.l.s were blind, and we did not suppose they could see to find their way back. Well, our corps made a forced march for a day and a night, and pa.s.sed the word back that we had seen some signs of the Yankees being in that vicinity, and thought perhaps, a small portion- about a hundred thousand-were nigh about there somewhere. Says he, "It's a strange thing you don't know; send out your feelers." We sent out a few feelers and they report back very promptly that the Yankees are here sure enough, or that is what our feelers say. Pa.s.s the word up the line. The word is pa.s.sed from mouth to mouth of Lee's skirmish line twenty-five miles back to Atlanta. Well, if that be the case, we will set fire to all of our army stores, spike all our cannon, and play "smash" generally, and forsake Atlanta.

In the meantime, just hold on where you are till Stewart gets through his job of blowing up a.r.s.enals, burning up the army stores, and spiking the cannon, and we will send our negro boy Caesar down to the horse lot to see if he can't catch old Nance, but she is such a fool with that young suckling colt of hers, that it takes him almost all day to catch her, and if the draw-bars happen to be down, she'll get in the clover patch, and I don't think he will catch her today. But if he don't catch her, I'll ride Balaam anyhow. He's got a mighty sore back, and needs a shoe put on his left hind foot, and he cut his ankle with a broken shoe on his fore foot, and has not been fed today. However, I will be along by-and-by. Stewart, do you think you will be able to get through with your job of blowing up by day after tomorrow, or by Sat.u.r.day at twelve o'clock? Lee, pa.s.s the word down to Cheatham, and ask him what he thinks the Yankees are doing. Now, Kinlock, get my duster and umbrella, and bring out Balaam.

Now, reader, that was the impression made on the private's mind at that time.

CHAPTER XIV

JONESBORO

THE BATTLE OF JONESBORO

Stewart's corps was at Atlanta, Lee's corps was between Atlanta and Jonesboro, and Cheatham's corps, then numbering not more than five thousand men-because the woods and roads were full of straggling soldiers, who were not in the fight-was face to face with the whole Yankee army, and he was compelled to flee, fight, or surrender. This was the position and condition of the grand Army of Tennessee on this memorable occasion.

If I am not mistaken, General Cleburne was commanding Cheatham's corps at that time. We expected to be ordered into action every moment, and kept see-sawing backward and forward, until I did not know which way the Yankees were, or which way the Rebels. We would form line of battle, charge bayonets, and would raise a whoop and yell, expecting to be dashed right against the Yankee lines, and then the order would be given to retreat. Then we would immediately re-form and be ordered to charge again a mile off at another place. Then we would march and counter march backward and forward over the same ground, pa.s.sing through Jonesboro away over the hill, and then back through the town, first four forward and back; your right hand to your left hand lady, swing half round and balance all. This sort of a movement is called a "feint." A feint is what is called in poker a "bluff," or what is called in a bully a "brag." A feint means anything but a fight. If a lady faints she is either scared or in love, and wants to fall in her lover's arms. If an army makes a feint movement, it is trying to hide some other movement.

"h.e.l.lo, Lee, what does Cleburne say the Yankees are doing at Jonesboro?"

"They are fanning themselves."

"Well keep up that feint movement until all the boys faint from sheer exhaustion."

"h.e.l.lo, Stewart, do you think you will be able to burn up those ten locomotives, and destroy those hundred car loads of provisions by day after tomorrow?"

"Lee, ask Cleburne if he feels feinty? Ask him how a fellow feels when he feints?"

Cleburne says: "I have feinted, feinted, and feinted, until I can't feint any longer."

"Well," says Hood, "if you can't feint any longer, you had better flee, fight, or faint; Balaam gets along mighty slow, but I'll be thar after awhile."

At one o'clock we were ordered to the attack. We had to pa.s.s through an osage orange hedge that was worse than the enemy's fire. Their breastworks were before us. We yelled, and charged, and hurrahed, and said booh! booh! we're coming, coming, look out, don't you see us coming? Why don't you let us hear the cannon's opening roar? Why don't you rattle a few old muskets over there at us? Booh! booh! we are coming. Tag. We have done got to your breastworks. Now, we tagged first, why don't you tag back? A Yankee seems to be lying on the other side of the breastworks sunning himself, and raising himself on his elbow, says, "Fool who with your fatty bread? W-e are too o-l-d a-birds to be caught with that kind of chaff. We don't want any of that kind of pie. What you got there wouldn't make a mouthful. Bring on your pudding and pound-cake, and then we will talk to ye."

General Granberry, who, poor fellow, was killed in the butchery at Franklin afterwards, goes up to the breastworks, and says, "Look here, Yank, we're fighting, sure enough."

Meynheer Dutchman comes out; and says, "Ish dot so? Vel I ish peen von leetle pit hungry dish morning, und I yust gobble you up for mein lunch pefore tinner dime. Dot ish der kind of mans vot I bees!"

Now, reader, that is a fine description of this memorable battle. That's it-no more, no less. I was in it all, and saw General Granberry captured. We did our level best to get up a fight, but it was no go, any way we could fix it up. I mean no disrespect to General Hood. He was a n.o.ble, brave, and good man, and we loved him for his many virtues and goodness of heart. I do not propose to criticize his generalship or ability as a commander. I only write of the impression and sentiment that were made upon the private's mind at the time, and as I remember them now. But Atlanta had fallen into the hands of the Yankees, and they were satisfied for the time.

DEATH OF LIEUTENANT JOHN WHITTAKER

At this place we built small breastworks, but for what purpose I never knew. The Yankees seemed determined not to fight, no way we could fix it. Every now and then they would send over a "feeler," to see how we were getting along. Sometimes these "feelers" would do some damage. I remember one morning we were away over a hill, and every now and then here would come one of those lazy-looking "feelers," just bouncing along as if he were in no hurry, called in military "ricochet." They were very easy to dodge, if you could see them in time. Well, one morning as before remarked, Lieutenant John Whittaker, then in command of Company H, and myself were sitting down eating breakfast out of the same tin plate. We were sopping gravy out with some cold corn bread, when Captain W. C. Flournoy, of the Martin Guards, hallooed out, "Look out, Sam; look! look!" I just turned my head, and in turning, the cannon ball knocked my hat off, and striking Lieutenant Whittaker full in the side of the head, carried away the whole of the skull part, leaving only the face. His brains fell in the plate from which we were sopping, and his head fell in my lap, deluging my face and clothes with his blood. Poor fellow, he never knew what hurt him. His spirit went to its G.o.d that morning. Green Rieves carried the poor boy off on his shoulder, and, after wrapping him up in a blanket, buried him. His bones are at Jonesboro today. The cannon ball did not go twenty yards after accomplishing its work of death. Captain Flournoy laughed at me, and said, "Sam, that came very near getting you. One-tenth of an inch more would have cooked your goose." I saw another man try to stop one of those b.a.l.l.s that was just rolling along on the ground. He put his foot out to stop the ball but the ball did not stop, but, instead, carried the man's leg off with it. He no doubt today walks on a cork-leg, and is tax collector of the county in which he lives. I saw a thoughtless boy trying to catch one in his hands as it bounced along. He caught it, but the next moment his spirit had gone to meet its G.o.d. But, poor John, we all loved him. He died for his country. His soul is with his G.o.d. He gave his all for the country he loved, and may he rest in peace under the shade of the tree where he is buried, and may the birds sing their sweetest songs, the flowers put forth their most beautiful blooms, while the gentle breezes play about the brave boy's grave. Green Rieves was the only person at the funeral; no tears of a loving mother or gentle sister were there. Green interred his body, and there it will remain till the resurrection. John Whittaker deserves more than a pa.s.sing notice. He was n.o.ble and brave, and when he was killed, Company H was without an officer then commanding. Every single officer had been killed, wounded, or captured. John served as a private soldier the first year of the war, and at the reorganization at Corinth, Mississippi, he, W. J. Whitthorne and myself all ran for orderly sergeant of Company H, and John was elected, and the first vacancy occurring after the death of Captain Webster, he was commissioned brevet second lieutenant. When the war broke out, John was clerking for John L. & T. S. Brandon, in Columbia. He had been in every march, skirmish, and battle that had been fought during the war. Along the dusty road, on the march, in the bivouac and on the battlefield, he was the same n.o.ble, generous boy; always, kind, ever gentle, a smile ever lighting up his countenance. He was one of the most even tempered men I ever knew. I never knew him to speak an unkind word to anyone, or use a profane or vulgar word in my life.

One of those ricochet cannon b.a.l.l.s struck my old friend, N. B. Shepard. Shep was one of the bravest and best soldiers who ever shouldered a musket. It is true, he was but a private soldier, but he was the best friend I had during the whole war. In intellect he was far ahead of most of the generals, and would have honored and adorned the name of general in the C. S. A. He was ever brave and true. He followed our cause to the end, yet all the time an invalid. Today he is languishing on a bed of pain and sickness, caused by that ball at Jonesboro. The ball struck him on his knapsack, knocking him twenty feet, and breaking one or two ribs and dislocating his shoulder. He was one of G.o.d's n.o.blemen, indeed- none braver, none more generous. G.o.d alone controls our destinies, and surely He who watched over us and took care of us in those dark and b.l.o.o.d.y days, will not forsake us now. G.o.d alone fits and prepares for us the things that are in store for us. There is none so wise as to foresee the future or foretell the end. G.o.d sometimes seems afar off, but He will never leave or forsake anyone who puts his trust in Him. The day will come when the good as well as evil will all meet on one broad platform, to be rewarded for the deeds done in the body, when time shall end, with the gates of eternity closed, and the key fastened to the girdle of G.o.d forever. Pardon me, reader, I have wandered. But when my mind reverts to those scenes and times, I seem to live in another age and time and I sometime think that "after us comes the end of the universe."

I am not trying to moralize, I am only trying to write a few scenes and incidents that came under the observation of a poor old Rebel webfoot private soldier in those stormy days and times. Histories tell the great facts, while I only tell of the minor incidents.

But on this day of which I now write, we can see in plain view more than a thousand Yankee battle-flags waving on top the red earthworks, not more than four hundred yards off. Every private soldier there knew that General Hood's army was scattered all the way from Jonesboro to Atlanta, a distance of twenty-five miles, without any order, discipline, or spirit to do anything. We could hear General Stewart, away back yonder in Atlanta, still blowing up a.r.s.enals, and smashing things generally, while Stephen D. Lee was somewhere between Lovejoy Station and Macon, scattering. And here was but a demoralized remnant of Cheatham's corps facing the whole Yankee army. I have ever thought that Sherman was a poor general, not to have captured Hood and his whole army at that time. But it matters not what I thought, as I am not trying to tell the ifs and ands, but only of what I saw. In a word, we had everything against us. The soldiers distrusted everything. They were broken down with their long days' hard marching-were almost dead with hunger and fatigue. Every one was taking his own course, and wishing and praying to be captured. Hard and senseless marching, with little sleep, half rations, and lice, had made their lives a misery. Each one prayed that all this foolishness might end one way or the other. It was too much for human endurance. Every private soldier knew that such things as this could not last. They were willing to ring down the curtain, put out the footlights and go home. There was no hope in the future for them.

THEN COMES THE FARCE

From this time forward until the close of the war, everything was a farce as to generalship. The tragedy had been played, the glory of war had departed. We all loved Hood; he was such a clever fellow, and a good man.

Well, Yank, why don't you come on and take us? We are ready to play quits now. We have not anything to let you have, you know; but you can parole us, you know; and we'll go home and be good boys, you know;- good Union boys, you know; and we'll be sorry for the war, you know; and we wouldn't have the negroes in any way, shape, form, or fashion, you know; and the American continent has no north, no south, no east, no west-boohoo, boohoo, boohoo.

Tut, tut, Johnny; all that sounds tolerable nice, but then you might want some favor from Uncle Sam, and the teat is too full of milk at the present time for us to turn loose. It's a sugar teat, Johnny, and just begins to taste sweet; and, besides, Johnny, once or twice you have put us to a little trouble; we haven't forgot that; and we've got you down now-our foot is on your neck, and you must feel our boot heel. We want to stamp you a little-"that's what's the matter with Hannah." And, Johnny, you've fought us hard. You are a brave boy; you are proud and aristocratic, Johnny, and we are going to crush your cursed pride and spirit. And now, Johnny, come here; I've something to whisper in your ear. Hold your ear close down here, so that no one can hear: "We want big fat offices when the war is over. Some of us want to be presidents, some governors, some go to congress, and be big ministers to 'Urup,' and all those kind of things, Johnny, you know. Just go back to your camp, Johnny, chase round, put on a bold front, flourish your trumpets, blow your horns. And, Johnny, we don't want to be hard on you, and we'll tell you what we'll do for you. Away back in your territory, between Columbia and Nashville, is the most beautiful country, and the most fertile, and we have lots of rations up there, too. Now, you just go up there, Johnny, and stay until we want you. We ain't done with you yet, my boy- O, no, Johnny. And, another thing, Johnny; you will find there between Mt. Pleasant and Columbia, the most beautiful country that the sun of heaven ever shone upon; and half way between the two places is St. John's Church. Its tower is all covered over with a beautiful vine of ivy; and, Johnny, you know that in olden times it was the custom to entwine a wreath of ivy around the brows of victorious generals. We have no doubt that many of your brave generals will express a wish, when they pa.s.s by, to be buried beneath the ivy vine that shades so gracefully and beautifully the wall of this grand old church. And, Johnny, you will find a land of beauty and plenty, and when you get there, just put on as much style as you like; just pretend, for our sake, you know, that you are a bully boy with a gla.s.s eye, and that you are the victorious army that has returned to free an oppressed people. We will allow you this, Johnny, so that we will be the greater when we want you, Johnny. And now, Johnny, we did not want to tell you what we are going to say to you now, but will, so that you'll feel bad. Sherman wants to 'march to the sea, while the world looks on and wonders.' He wants to desolate the land and burn up your towns, to show what a coward he is, and how dastardly, and one of our boys wants to write a piece of poetry about it. But that ain't all, Johnny. You know that you fellows have got a great deal of cotton at Augusta, Savannah, Charleston, Mobile, and other places, and cotton is worth two dollars a pound in gold, and as Christmas is coming, we want to go down there for some of that cotton to make a Christmas gift to old Abe and old Clo, don't you see? O, no, Johnny, we don't want to end the war just yet awhile. The sugar is mighty sweet in the teat, and we want to suck a while longer. Why, sir, we want to rob and then burn every house in Georgia and South Carolina. We will get millions of dollars by robbery alone, don't you see?"

PALMETTO

"Hark from the tomb that doleful sound, My ears attend the cry."

General J. B. Hood established his headquarters at Palmetto, Georgia, and here is where we were visited by his honor, the Honorable Jefferson Davis, President of the Confederate States of America, and the Right Honorable Robert Toombs, secretary of state under the said Davis. Now, kind reader, don't ask me to write history. I know nothing of history. See the histories for grand movements and military maneuvers. I can only tell of what I saw and how I felt. I can remember now General Robert Toombs' and Hon. Jeff Davis' speeches. I remember how funny Toombs' speech was. He kept us all laughing, by telling us how quick we were going to whip the Yankees, and how they would skedaddle back across the Ohio river like a dog with a tin oyster can tied to his tail. Captain Joe P. Lee and I laughed until our sides hurt us. I can remember today how I felt. I felt that Davis and Toombs had come there to bring us glad tidings of great joy, and to proclaim to us that the ratification of a treaty of peace had been declared between the Confederate States of America and the United States. I remember how good and happy I felt when these two leading statesmen told of when grim visaged war would smooth her wrinkled front, and when the dark clouds that had so long lowered o'er our own loved South would be in the deep bosom of the ocean buried. I do not know how others felt, but I can say never before or since did I feel so grand. (I came very near saying gloomy and peculiar). I felt that I and every other soldier who had stood the storms of battle for nearly four long years, were now about to be discharged from hard marches, and scant rations, and ragged clothes, and standing guard, etc. In fact, the black cloud of war had indeed drifted away, and the beautiful stars that gemmed the blue ether above, smiling, said, "Peace, peace, peace." I felt bully, I tell you. I remember what I thought-that the emblem of our cause was the Palmetto and the Texas Star, and the town of Palmetto, were symbolical of our ultimate triumph, and that we had unconsciously, nay, I should say, prophetically, fallen upon Palmetto as the most appropriate place to declare peace between the two sections. I was sure Jeff Davis and Bob Toombs had come there for the purpose of receiving the capitulation of and to make terms with our conquered foes. I knew that in every battle we had fought, except Missionary Ridge, we had whipped the Yankees, and I knew that we had no cavalry, and but little artillery, and only two corps of infantry at Missionary Ridge, and from the way Jeff and Bob talked, it was enough to make us old private soldiers feel that swelling of the heart we ne'er should feel again. I remember that other high dignitaries and big bugs, then the controlling spirits of the government at Richmond, visited us, and most all of these high dignitaries shook hands with the boys. It was all hands round, swing the corner, and balance your partner. I shook hands with Hon. Jeff Davis, and he said howdy, captain; I shook hands with Toombs, and he said howdy, major; and every big bug that I shook hands with put another star on my collar and chicken guts on my sleeve. My pen is inadequate to describe the ecstasy and patriotic feeling that permeated every vein and fiber of my animated being. It was Paradise regained. All the long struggles we had followed the Palmetto flag through victory and defeat, through storms and rains, and snows and tempest, along the dusty roads, and on the weary marches, we had been true to our country, our cause, and our people; and there was a conscious pride within us that when we would return to our homes, we would go back as conquerors, and that we would receive the plaudits of our people-well done, good and faithful servants; you have been true and faithful even to the end.

JEFF DAVIS MAKES A SPEECH

"Sinner come view the ground Where you shall shortly lie."

I remember that Hon. Jeff Davis visited the army at this place, and our regiment, the First Tennessee, serenaded him. After playing several airs, he came out of General Hood's marquee, and spoke substantially as follows, as near as I can remember:

"SOLDIERS OF THE FIRST TENNESSEE REGIMENT:-I should have said captains, for every man among you is fit to be a captain. I have heard of your acts of bravery on every battlefield during the whole war, and 'captains,' so far as my wishes are concerned, I today make every man of you a captain, and I say honestly today, were I a private soldier, I would have no higher ambition on earth than to belong to the First Tennessee Regiment. You have been loyal and brave; your ranks have never yet, in the whole history of the war, been broken, even though the army was routed; yet, my brave soldiers, Tennesseans all, you have ever remained in your places in the ranks of the regiment, ever subject to the command of your gallant Colonel Field in every battle, march, skirmish, in an advance or a retreat. There are on the books of the war department at Richmond, the names of a quarter of a million deserters, yet, you, my brave soldiers, captains all, have remained true and steadfast. I have heard that some have been dissatisfied with the removal of General Joe E. Johnston and the appointment of General Hood; but, my brave and gallant heroes, I say, I have done what I thought best for your good. Soon we commence our march to Kentucky and Tennessee. Be of good cheer, for within a short while your faces will be turned homeward, and your feet will press Tennessee soil, and you will tread your native heath, amid the blue-gra.s.s regions and pastures green of your native homes. We will flank General Sherman out of Atlanta, tear up the railroad and cut off his supplies, and make Atlanta a perfect Moscow of defeat to the Federal army. Situated as he is in an enemy's country, with his communications all cut off, and our army in the rear, he will be powerless, and being fully posted and cognizant of our position, and of the Federal army, this movement will be the ultima thule, the grand crowning stroke for our independence, and the conclusion of the war."

ARMISTICE IN NAME ONLY

About this time the Yankees sent us a flag of truce, asking an armistice to move every citizen of Atlanta south of their lines. It was granted. They wanted to live in fine houses awhile, and then rob and burn them, and issued orders for all the citizens of Atlanta to immediately abandon the city. They wanted Atlanta for themselves, you see.

For weeks and months the roads were filled with loaded wagons of old and decrepit people, who had been hunted and hounded from their homes with a relentless cruelty worse, yea, much worse, than ever blackened the pages of barbaric or savage history. I remember a.s.sisting in unloading our wagons that General Hood, poor fellow, had kindly sent in to bring out the citizens of Atlanta to a little place called Rough-and-Ready about half way between Palmetto and Atlanta. Every day I would look on at the suffering of delicate ladies, old men, and mothers with little children clinging to them, crying, "O, mamma, mamma," and old women, and tottering old men, whose gray hairs should have protected them from the savage acts of Yankee hate and Puritan barbarity; and I wondered how on earth our generals, including those who had resigned-that is where the shoe pinches-could quietly look on at this dark, black, and d.a.m.ning insult to our people, and not use at least one effort to rescue them from such terrible and unmitigated cruelty, barbarity, and outrage. General Hood remonstrated with Sherman against the insult, stating that it "transcended in studied and ingenious cruelty, all acts ever before brought to my attention in the dark history of war."

In the great crisis of the war, Hardee, Kirby Smith, Breckinridge, and many brigadiers, resigned, thus throwing all the responsibility upon poor Hood.

[Author's note: In the Southern army the question was, who ranked?

Not who was the best general, or colonel, or captain-but "who ranked?"

The article of rank finally got down to corporals; and rank finally bursted the government.]

I desire to state that they left the army on account of rank. O, this thing of rank!

Many other generals resigned, and left us privates in the lurch. But the gallant Cheatham, Cleburne, Granberry, Gist, Strahl, Adams, John C. Brown, William B. Bate, Stewart, Lowery, and others, stuck to us to the last.

The sinews of war were strained to their utmost tension.

A SCOUT

At this place I was detailed as a regular scout, which position I continued to hold during our stay at Palmetto. It was a good thing. It beat camp guard all hollow. I had answered "hear" at roll-call ten thousand times in these nearly four years. But I had sorter got used to the darn thing.

Now, reader, I will give you a few chapters on the kind of fun I had for awhile. Our instructions were simply to try and find out all we could about the Yankees, and report all movements.

One dark, rainy evening, while out as a scout, and, after traveling all day, I was returning from the Yankee outposts at Atlanta, and had captured a Yankee prisoner, who I then had under my charge, and whom I afterwards carried and delivered to General Hood. He was a considerable muggins, and a great coward, in fact, a Yankee deserter. I soon found out that there was no harm in him, as he was tired of war anyhow, and was anxious to go to prison. We went into an old log cabin near the road until the rain would be over. I was standing in the cabin door looking at the rain drops fall off the house and make little bubbles in the drip, and listening to the pattering on the clapboard roof, when happening to look up, not fifty yards off, I discovered a regiment of Yankee cavalry approaching. I knew it would be utterly impossible for me to get away unseen, and I did not know what to do. The Yankee prisoner was scared almost to death. I said, "Look, look!" I turned in the room, and found the planks of the floor were loose. I raised two of them, and Yank and I slipped through. I replaced the planks, and could peep out beneath the sill of the house, and see the legs of the horses. They pa.s.sed on and did not come to the old house. They were at least a half hour in pa.s.sing. At last the main regiment had all pa.s.sed, and I saw the rear guard about to pa.s.s, when I heard the captain say, "Go and look in that old house." Three fellows detached themselves from the command and came dashing up to the old house. I thought, "Gone up, sure," as I was afraid the Yankee prisoner would make his presence known. When the three men came up, they pushed open the door and looked around, and one fellow said "Booh!" They then rode off. But that "Booh!" I was sure I was caught, but I was not.

"WHAT IS THIS REBEL DOING HERE?"

I would go up to the Yankee outpost, and if some popinjay of a tacky officer didn't come along, we would have a good time. One morning I was sitting down to eat a good breakfast with the Yankee outpost. They were cavalry, and they were mighty clever and pleasant fellows. I looked down the road toward Atlanta, and not fifty yards from the outpost, I saw a body of infantry approaching. I don't know why I didn't run. I ought to have done so, but didn't. I stayed there until this body of infantry came up. They had come to relieve the cavalry. It was a detail of negro soldiers, headed by the meanest looking white man as their captain, I ever saw.

In very abrupt words he told the cavalry that he had come to take their place, and they were ordered to report back to their command. Happening to catch sight of me, he asked, "What is this Rebel doing here?" One of the men spoke up and tried to say something in my favor, but the more he said the more the captain of the blacks would get mad. He started toward me two or three times. He was starting, I could see by the flush of his face, to take hold of me, anyhow. The cavalrymen tried to protest, and said a few cuss words. The captain of the blacks looks back very mad at the cavalry. Here was my opportunity, now or never. Uncle negro looked on, not seeming to care for the cavalry, captain, or for me. I took up my gun very gently and c.o.c.ked it. I had the gentleman. I had made up my mind if he advanced one step further, that he was a dead man. When he turned to look again, it was a look of surprise. His face was as red as a scalded beet, but in a moment was as white as a sheet. He was afraid to turn his head to give a command. The cavalry motioned their hands at me, as much as to say, "Run, Johnny, run." The captain of the blacks fell upon his face, and I broke and ran like a quarter-horse. I never saw or heard any more of the captain of the blacks or his guard afterward.