Charles C. Nott

“ She bounds past, the airs and graces fly back as swiftly as they flew away; and in five minutes she is as vain a little Gipsy as ever she was before.
But it is one o'clock—horses and men are hungry, and just beyond us is a house. We see chickens, cows, sheep and pigs, but no smoke rises from the chimney. We halt; the sergeant enters the open door; comes back and reports it just what we want—a deserted house. In a few minutes the horses are unsaddled and tied to the fence, munching the corn we find in two large cribs. ”

“ On the summit of a long hill is a farm house, and as we thus approached it on a gallop, I saw a group of men, and rows of cavalry horses tied to the fences. For a moment I thought my pursuit was over, but a closer glance through the dim twilight told me these were too few for the squadron—it was the picket guard taking their last rest before going out on their posts for the night. "Your men are about two miles ahead of you, captain," said the officer of the picket, and we rode on. ”

“ Down a deep ravine behind the house is a beautiful spring. Gigantic oaks rise over it, and the water flows from a bank of fine, white sand—so fine and white that it seems an alabaster fountain. Here I unroll my towel and make my toilet, and then climb the hill for breakfast, which is ready.
This duty done, we resume the march. I am ordered not to enter Paris, and, therefore, turn off and strike across the country, to regain the direct road from Paris to the Holly Fork. A very blind road it is, winding through woods, and frequently lost. ”

“ The sky is black as ink—the darkness is such that we can see nothing but the half-burnt brands of the fires. The wind howls through the trees like a pack of wolves, and scatters our fires so that the coals fly over our heads, and fall on our blankets and beds. The rain is not come yet, but is coming—we shall be drenched, and then have to sit up in the darkness and shiver till daylight. ”

“ It is three in the morning, and the men have left their cavalry couches, and are silently rolling their blankets and saddling their horses. We leave the field as we entered it, replacing the fence and turning toward Buena Vista. How surprised the owner will be when, harvesting his corn, he stumbles on the traces of our mysterious bivouac. The country still sleeps in the chill, silent moonlight, and very chilly and silent are we; but by and by the day breaks, and, as the sun rises, we descend into the dark, damp valley of the Obion. ”

“ The bridle-road, worn smooth by cavalry horses, runs down in deep hollows and climbs up high hills—but always in the woods. Fallen trees lie across it, frequently compelling us to zig-zag round them; and when we look out from the openings on the brow of the higher hills, we see nothing but woods—unending woods. One or two melancholy figures have met us; clad in their sombre dress, and mounted on their ambling mules, they have silently nodded and passed on. ”

“ Twice I take out my knife and meditate the last resort, and twice my hand is stayed by the thought that there may be no shoemaker in all Tennessee. It grows later and lighter, and I shall miss the morning roll-call for the first time since I have been in service. But the colonel saves me from breaking my rule. He thinks it too bad to make the men stand out in the wet, and has ordered the buglers not to sound the reveille. While resting, I betake myself to the goose—now truly a waterfowl and wetter than he ever was in his life—and manage to breakfast between the struggles. ”

“ From New York to Fort Henry might once have been an interesting journey, but campaigning has robbed travelling of its charm, and henceforth I fear it will be but dull work for me. The railroad bore me swiftly to the mouth of the Ohio; I have looked again on Cairo in its dirt and mud, Paducah with its dusty streets and hospitals, and now I am on the banks of the Tennessee. ”

“ But at length we remember the hospital tent, and the hospital steward produces a piece of white something from his stores, which is bound around a stick and made into a flag.
Under circumstances such as these, the doctor climbs into the ambulance, I mount my horse, and we start. The rain somewhat abates, and diminishes to a drizzle, which is a great relief; but the ambulance drags along snail-like through the mud. We, who are mounted, do not ride faster than a walk, yet repeatedly have to wait, and watch it crawling after us among the trees. ”

“ Many talked to me of the danger of the cavalry service—only one ever named this other word, which is much the heavier. The men have no responsibility, and are at rest; the sergeant, lately so anxious, has made his report, performed his duty, and has no more responsibility: he now sleeps as soundly as the others.
The man on guard will be relieved of his in an hour or two, and he will lie down and slumber too. But I hear the distant barking of dogs, and start up at the sound, for we have learnt to observe the movements of our own cavalry at night by this sign. ”

“ I said I thought bringing fifty men into a private house to dinner, and that on Sunday, was a little too much; but she said quite earnestly that she could do nothing better on Sunday than care for Union soldiers. Soon one man, and then another, came in, whose looks more than their words assured us of a warm and living patriotism to which we had long been strangers. From them I learnt that there were many more hiding in the surrounding woods, and that a party of rebel citizens had recently been amusing themselves by arresting Union men, and sending them off to Memphis. ”

“ We struggle through till we come to the trees where the horses should be tied, and to the little knoll where the tents should be pitched. We look around in vague astonishment—horses, and men, and tents have vanished; all is darkness and silence; our camp has gone. ”

“ But while I am telling you this we have come out on the Paris road, and have turned toward the Holly Fork. The causeway and the bridge are unchanged, and the little store is still empty and open. We reach the cross-road, on the top of the hill, and then turn to the right. This leaf-covered road leads through tall woods and secluded farms. We see no one in the wide-spreading fields, nor about the distant farm-houses: they might be thought deserted but for the smoke that lazily rises and floats away. ”

“ I say to the other, "if you hear any alarm, and when it is time to relieve guard." "Yes, sir:" and I lie down. I unclasp my belt, and draw my sabre and pistol close beside me. You do not know how much like friends they seem. The corn leaves feel cold and damp; the night is dark; and the wind wails mournfully. I draw my buffalo close, and wish I were warm and asleep. For a moment I raise my head, for up the road I hear the tramp of horses. It is slow and regular; the sergeant returning with the men on picket. They come in, fasten their horses, and lie down under their blankets ”

“ It is a pleasant Spring morning, and I am ordered to take my company and "scout to and beyond Conyersville, with two days' rations." There is a stir and bustle through our tents, and great delight at the thought of going out. Some are bringing up horses from the picket ropes; others are rolling blankets, and strapping them behind the saddles; others are packing away coffee, pork and hard biscuit in a pair of rude saddle-bags, which we have made from an old tent, and now carry on a led horse. ”

“ I looked at the stream—at the log, beneath which lay my sabre—and at the tree, beneath which lay my horse; and then, making an effort, I stepped upon the log, and crossed into the thick brushwood on the other side. But a few steps were taken when I was glad to sit down upon a fallen tree. I felt stunned and faint, yet hoped I was gathering strength and would soon be able to go on. As I was thus seated the question arose, What should I do? Fort Henry, I knew, was eastward of me. Should I go there?—it was but thirty-five or forty miles. No! the country between must be swarming with rebels. ”

“ Soon Bischoff leads his horse and mine up to the tent, and soon after the first sergeant reports all ready. The men are drawn up in line; they "count off by fours;" the order is given, "by two's to the right," and we are marching slowly over the high hills and through the tall oaks which belt the Tennessee.
Though it is a March morning, the air is as soft and balmy as it will be in New York next May; and in the distance, the opening buds throw a mist-like haze over the forests. Here and there a crow starts from some tall tree, and caws familiarly as he flies away ”

“ There is no light umbrella, nor rattling omnibus in camp; nor dry stockings, nor warm fire to find, at home. The tents are tired of shedding rain, and it oozes through; there were no spades to trench them, and it runs under. There is water above, and mud beneath, and wet everywhere. No fun in soldiering now.
An officer says, "Captain, you will report immediately for orders." So I wrap my blanket round me, and toil over to the colonel's tent. The colonel is a young man, but an old soldier, and has the only fire in camp. ”

“ We have two squadrons out, but they were not expected here, and King's camp is only a dozen miles or so away. 'Tis an even chance whether they are our men or the enemy's. "Close up." "Form fours." "Draw sabre." In a minute we shall be in a fight, or—jogging along as quietly as before. We reach the top of a little hill, and on another road before us are moving the dust and figures of a body of cavalry—but through it are seen the blue jackets and sabres of our troops, and in another moment we recognize them as our own men. ”

“ We descend to the little stream that bounds Paris; we climb the hill, and enter its empty streets. The men are riding by file, and intent as I am on my object, I am struck with the strange, spectral appearance of this long line of horsemen slowly winding through the silent town. ”

“ What have we done that we must suffer so? I have always been for the Union, but the young men are all against it." His son, a young man, and evidently a rebel, seems equally wretched. I tell him I must feed my horses, and he points to the barn yard, and says there is corn there. Generally these people receive us with some show of welcome, but he seems utterly indifferent. I ask him if he will not see that his property is not abused; that perhaps there is some crib or stack he does not want touched; but he shakes his head, and walks up and down the piazza, paying no more attention to us. ”

“ It runs through thick woods—through a swamp—along the edge of a little millpond—over its rickety bridge, and close to its little mill. It is so dark, indeed, that we can hardly find the major's, and even ride a little way past the gate. At length we turn in, and the lieutenants ride on to wake the people up and inform them that we are coming. Being rather grander people than usual, they have not gone to bed. Now, walking into a man's house and taking possession of it is not an agreeable task. ”

“ We approach it—the dogs are as silent as the men. I am before it, and check Ida to her slowest walk—the column behind me hardly moves, and the horses seem to tread lightly. We are past, and no cur has yelped or person seen us—our first strategic movement is successful. "It was done first rate," whispers the sergeant behind me; "we got ahead of the dogs that time."
On our left there is a corn field, with the tall Southern corn still standing. We halt, and two men dismount, and, in the shadow of a tree, take down the high rail fence. ”

“ These Tennessean women work harder, I think, than ours do at home. All day long, as you ride, you will hear the droning spinning wheel in almost every house, and beside it the clack of the heavy hand loom. The wives and daughters of the poorer farmers do all the garden work, and much besides that ours hand over to the men. We see black women grubbing out bushes in the fields, and white ones ploughing, harrowing, and hauling grain, with ox teams, to the mill. ”

“ It seems at first rather odd that a book originally written for school-girls, should be so exactly the book which is most interesting to men—even to those who have served—but it is precisely those little details, which one would think of writing only for children, which give to all the clearest idea of the realities of military life, and which best recall the daily pleasures, trials and anxieties of a campaign, when graver events have dimmed our recollection of them. ”

“ Frequently I was roused by the wagon stopping. Sometimes they heard dogs barking—sometimes voices, and once a gun. At length I woke, to find the wagon standing in front of a house, and young Washam thumping on the door. Soon a man came out.
"Why, boys," he said, "what on earth are you doing here this time o' night?"
"Why you see, Mr. Derringer," said one of the "boys," "here's a wounded Union officer, hurt in the fight on the Obion. Joel Wade brought him to our house, and we've brought him here; and now we want you to take him to Paducah." ”

“ One poor boy, carried in the arms of two soldiers, had his foot knocked off by a shell; it dangled horribly from his limb by a piece of skin, and the bleeding stump was uncovered. I stopped to tell the men to tie his stocking round the limb, and to put snow upon the wound. "Never mind the foot, captain," said he, "we drove the rebels out, and have got their trench, that's the most I care about." Yet I confess the sights and sounds were not as distressing as I anticipated. The small round bullet holes, though they might be mortal, looked no larger than a surgeon's lancet might have made. ”

“ Thirty years ago two brothers came from Massachusetts and put up their little spinning-mill near Paris. The mill has grown larger as they have grown older, and they are now among the wealthy men of the place. Situated as they are—from the North—from hated Massachusetts;—for years employing free labor, and owning slaves only through their Southern wives; they have had to be most circumspect in every word and act, giving no sign of loyalty, but, I doubt not, secretly exulting at each success of the national arms. ”