'Co. Aytch' - Maury Grays, First Tennessee Regiment by Samuel Rush Watkins (best love story novels in english .TXT) 📖

two inches of my head. I hallooed to our picket not to fire that it was "me," the videt. I went back, and says I, "Who fired those two shots?" Two fellows spoke up and said that they did it. No sooner was it spoken, than I was on them like a duck on a june-bug, pugnis et calcibus. We "fout and fit, and gouged and bit," right there in that picket post. I have the marks on my face and forehead where one of them struck me with a Yankee zinc canteen, filled with water. I do not know which whipped. My friends told me that I whipped both of them, and I suppose their friends told them that they had whipped me. All I know is, they both run, and I was bloody from head to foot, from where I had been cut in the forehead and face by the canteens. This all happened one dark night in the month of July, 1864, in the rifle pit in front of Atlanta. When day broke the next morning, I went forward to where I had shot at the "boogaboo" of the night before, and right there I found a dead Yankee soldier, fully accoutered for any emergency, his eyes wide open. I looked at him, and I said, "Old fellow, I am sorry for you; didn't know it was you, or I would have been worse scared than I was. You are dressed mighty fine, old fellow, but I don't want anything you have got, but your haversack." It was a nice haversack, made of chamois skin. I kept it until the end of the war, and when we surrendered at Greensboro, N. C., I had it on. But the other soldiers who were with me, went through him and found twelve dollars in greenback, a piece of tobacco, a gun-wiper and gun-stopper and wrench, a looking-glass and pocket-comb, and various and sundry other articles. I came across that dead Yankee two days afterwards, and he was as naked as the day he came into the world, and was as black as a negro, and was as big as a skinned horse. He had mortified. I recollect of saying, "Ugh, ugh," and of my hat being lifted off my head, by my hair, which stood up like the quills of the fretful porcupine. He scared me worse when dead than when living. AN OLD CITIZEN

But after the little unpleasant episode in the rifle pit, I went back and took my stand. When nearly day, I saw the bright and beautiful star in the east rise above the tree tops, and the gray fog from off the river begun to rise, and every now and then could hear a far off chicken crow.

While I was looking toward the Yankee line, I saw a man riding leisurely along on horseback, and singing a sort of humdrum tune. I took him to be some old citizen. He rode on down the road toward me, and when he had approached, "Who goes there?" He immediately answered, "A friend." I thought that I recognized the voice in the darkness—and said I, "Who are you?" He spoke up, and gave me his name. Then, said I, "Advance, friend, but you are my prisoner." He rode on toward me, and I soon saw that it was Mr. Mumford Smith, the old sheriff of Maury county. I was very glad to see him, and as soon as the relief guard came, I went back to camp with him. I do not remember of ever in my life being more glad to see any person. He had brought a letter from home, from my father, and some Confederate old issue bonds, which I was mighty glad to get, and also a letter from "the gal I left behind me," enclosing a rosebud and two apple blossoms, resting on an arbor vita leaf, and this on a little piece of white paper, and on this was written a motto (which I will have to tell for the young folks), "Receive me, such as I am; would that I were of more use for your sake. Jennie." Now, that was the bouquet part. I would not like to tell you what was in that letter, but I read that letter over five hundred times, and remember it today. I think I can repeat the poetry verbatim et literatim, and will do so, gentle reader, if you don't laugh at me. I'm married now, and only write from memory, and never in my life have I read it in book or paper, and only in that letter—

    "I love you, O, how dearly,
       Words too faintly but express;
     This heart beats too sincerely,
       E'er in life to love you less;
     No, my fancy never ranges,
       Hopes like mine, can never soar;
     If the love I cherish, changes,
       'Twill only be to love you more."

Now, fair and gentle reader, this was the poetry, and you see for yourself that there was no "shenanigan" in that letter; and if a fellow "went back" on that sort of a letter, he would strike his "mammy." And then the letter wound up with "May God shield and protect you, and prepare you for whatever is in store for you, is the sincere prayer of Jennie." You may be sure that I felt good and happy, indeed.

MY FRIENDS

Reader mine, in writing these rapid and imperfect recollections, I find that should I attempt to write up all the details that I would not only weary you, but that these memoirs would soon become monotonous and uninteresting. I have written only of what I saw. Many little acts of kindness shown me by ladies and old citizens, I have omitted. I remember going to an old citizen's house, and he and the old lady were making clay pipes. I recollect how they would mold the pipes and put them in a red-hot stove to burn hard. Their kindness to me will never be forgotten. The first time that I went there they seemed very glad to see me, and told me that I looked exactly like their son who was in the army. I asked them what regiment he belonged to. After a moment's silence the old lady, her voice trembling as she spoke, said the Fourteenth Georgia, and then she began to cry. Then the old man said, "Yes, we have a son in the army. He went to Virginia the first year of the war, and we have never heard of him since. These wars are terrible, sir. The last time that we heard of him, he went with Stonewall Jackson away up in the mountains of West Virginia, toward Romney, and I did hear that while standing picket at a little place called Hampshire Crossing, on a little stream called St. John's Run, he and eleven others froze to death. We have never heard of him since." He got up and began walking up and down the room, his hands crossed behind his back. I buckled on my knapsack to go back to camp, and I shook hands with the two good old people, and they told me good-bye, and both said, "God bless you, God bless you." I said the same to them, and said, "I pray God to reward you, and bring your son safe home again." When I got back to camp I found cannon and caissons moving, and I knew and felt that General Hood was going to strike the enemy again. Preparations were going on, but everything seemed to be out of order and system. Men were cursing, and seemed to be dissatisfied and unhappy, but the army was moving.

A BODY WITHOUT LIMBS—AN ARMY WITHOUT CAVALRY

Forrest's cavalry had been sent to Mississippi; Wheeler's cavalry had been sent to North Carolina and East Tennessee. Hood had sent off both of his "arms"—for cavalry was always called the most powerful "arm" of the service. The infantry were the feet, and the artillery the body. Now, Hood himself had no legs, and but one arm, and that one in a sling. The most terrible and disastrous blow that the South ever received was when Hon. Jefferson Davis placed General Hood in command of the Army of Tennessee. I saw, I will say, thousands of men cry like babies—regular, old-fashioned boohoo, boohoo, boohoo.

Now, Hood sent off all his cavalry right in the face of a powerful army, by order and at the suggestion of Jeff Davis, and was using his cannon as "feelers." O, God! Ye gods! I get sick at heart even at this late day when I think of it.

I remember the morning that General Wheeler's cavalry filed by our brigade, and of their telling us, "Good-bye, boys, good-bye, boys." The First Tennessee Cavalry and Ninth Battalion were both made up in Maury county. I saw John J. Stephenson, my friend and step-brother, and David F. Watkins my own dear brother, and Arch Lipscomb, Joe Fussell, Captain Kinzer, Jack Gordon, George Martin, Major Dobbins, Colonel Lewis, Captain Galloway, Aaron and Sims Latta, Major J. H. Akin, S. H. Armstrong, Albert Dobbins, Alex Dobbins, Jim Cochran, Rafe Grisham, Captain Jim Polk, and many others with whom I was acquainted. They all said, "Good-bye, Sam, good-bye, Sam." I cried. I remember stopping the whole command and begging them to please not leave us; that if they did, Atlanta, and perhaps Hood's whole army, would surrender in a few days; but they told me, as near as I can now remember, "We regret to leave you, but we have to obey orders." The most ignorant private in the whole army saw everything that we had been fighting for for four years just scattered like chaff to the winds. All the Generals resigned, and those who did not resign were promoted; colonels were made brigadier-generals, captains were made colonels, and the private soldier, well, he deserted, don't you see? The private soldiers of the Army of Tennessee looked upon Hood as an over-rated general, but Jeff Davis did not.

BATTLE OF JULY 22, 1864

Cannon balls, at long range, were falling into the city of Atlanta. Details of citizens put out the fires as they would occur from the burning shells. We could see the smoke rise and hear the shells pass away over our heads as they went on toward the doomed city.

One morning Cheatham's corps marched out and through the city, we knew not whither, but we soon learned that we were going to make a flank movement. After marching four or five miles, we "about faced" and marched back again to within two hundred yards of the place from whence we started. It was a "flank movement," you see, and had to be counted that way anyhow. Well, now as we had made the flank movement, we had to storm and take the Federal lines, because we had made a flank movement, you see. When one army makes a flank movement it is courtesy on the part of the other army to recognize the flank movement, and to change his base. Why, sir, if you don't recognize a flank movement, you ain't a graduate of West Point. Hood was a graduate of West Point, and so was Sherman. But unfortunately there was Mynheer Dutchman commanding (McPherson had gone to dinner) the corps that had been flanked, and he couldn't speak English worth a cent. He, no doubt, had on board mein lager beer, so goot as vat never vas. I sweitzer, mein Got, you bet. Bang, bang, bang, goes our skirmish line advancing to the attack. Hans, vat fer ish dot shooting mit mein left wing? Ish dot der Repels, Hans?

THE ATTACK

The plan of battle, as conceived and put into action by General Cleburne, was one of the boldest conceptions, and, at the same time, one of the most hazardous that ever occurred in our army during the war, but it only required nerve and pluck to carry it out, and General Cleburne was equal to the occasion. The Yankees had fortified on two ranges of hills, leaving a gap in their breastworks in the valley entirely unfortified and unprotected. They felt that they could enfilade the valley between the two lines so that no troop