Notes of a Private. John Milton Hubbard
replied “R. U. Brown, sir, a friend of yours.” Dick never heard the last of this story while the war lasted, and at the Reunion in Memphis many a one of the “old boys” greeted him with the same old words that rang in his ears just forty years before. He and Coleman, afterwards sutler of the regiment, I am happy to know, are still alive in Texas. Like others, who sickened and died or met death on the firing line, they were gloriously good fellows to have in camp.
It was during our stay in Missouri that we made an expedition to Charleston, situated in that vast flat prairie just west of the mouth of the Ohio, which we always reverted to with the keenest pleasure. The Federal Cavalry from Bird’s Point had been making almost daily visits to the town, which was strongly Southern in sentiment. This was thought to be a fine opportunity to show them “a taste of our quality,” or perhaps to capture the visiting detachment. But all was quiet in the village, as the enemy had made their visit and departed. Night was at hand and we were dirty, tired and hungry. It seemed to me that the whole population went to cooking for and feeding the soldiers. This was another one of those “big eating times” that we never did forget. When we were ready to depart, even the pretty maidens would say to us, “Which will you have in your canteen, whisky, water or milk?” It was thought best not to take any risk as to snake bites in the great swamp, which we had to recross, and I think the command took whisky to a man. The inhabitants must have enjoyed a freedom from intoxicants for a season, for their town “had gone dry” by an immense majority. We learned afterwards that there was a “whisky famine.” We never saw Charleston again, as we very soon received orders to advance into Kentucky and take post at Columbus. We were among the first troops to reach that point. The Kentuckians seemed to be pleased with our coming and recruiting went forward encouragingly. We pitched our tents out on the Clinton road and near the camp of the Haywood Rangers, commanded by Captain Haywood of Brownsville. This company, whose members seemed to have been reared in the saddle, had been with us from the beginning of our service, and, I may say here, that it stood by us till the end. The history of Company E is largely the history of Company D. The men of the two companies were brothers-in-arms, who could confidently rely upon the valor of each other, and those now living are loving friends to this day. Through the long hard winter, or till the evacuation of Columbus, the two companies guarded the Clinton and Milburn roads. For a while we reported directly to Albert Sydney Johnston. His noble personality and soldierly bearing were impressive and stamped him as a man born to command.
CHAPTER II.
SERVICE IN FIVE STATES.
The Armstrong Raid.
The reader will remember that in closing the previous chapter I stated that Company E had been ordered to leave Missouri and take post at Columbus, Kentucky. The company was not then designated by letter, as it belonged to no regiment, but was known as the Hardeman Avengers. In company with our sturdy friends, the Haywood Rangers, afterwards Company D of the Seventh Tennessee Cavalry, we reached Columbus the first day of September, 1861, being about the first troops to occupy an advanced post among a people, who were then making a rather unsuccessful effort to play the role of neutrals. We were now in a “hog and hominy” country, and the soldiering was of the holiday kind. We made long marches through the Purchase and saw many evidences of Southern sympathy. Indeed, the whole population seemed to be friendly to us, as even those with Northern sympathies prudently kept quiet. Then, as now, I accorded people the right to think as they pleased, and to act upon their convictions. Throughout the contest, I zealously held to the principle that we should not make war upon old men, women and children. In the light of this principle, I was able to enjoy to the fullest extent a ridiculous attempt at concealment of real sentiment. For instance, somewhere in the Mayfield country, the column was one day passing a farm house upon the veranda of which was sitting a corpulent old gentleman, whose adipose matter hung sufficiently low to largely cover his femurs, as he sat with his pedal extremities slightly elevated on the rude baluster. While he wildly gesticulated he lustily shouted, “Hurrah for Jeff Davis and the Southern Confederacy!” At another part of the house a little girl was making strenuous efforts to haul down the stars and stripes, which doubtless was emblematic of the real sentiments of the household. The old fellow “got the horse laugh.” In our peregrinations through the several counties of the Purchase it seemed to me that we were riding much to little purpose, as the Federals ventured little beyond their lines at Paducah. I learned afterward that these exercises made us take on the ways of a soldier, and taught us valuable lessons in the bivouac. These stood us in good stead when, afterwards, we were forced to use to the best advantage very scanty resources.
In this month of September, 1861, it was learned that a force of Federals had occupied an advanced camp on Mayfield creek near Blandville. The five companies of Tennessee Cavalry having been organized into what was, for some months, known as Logwood’s Battalion, were ordered to attack this force. Here we were to hear bullets whistle for the first time. The command seemed to be eager to enjoy the sensation of battle. As a private, I was supposed to be in profound ignorance of the “plan of campaign,” but I could see enough to know that the maneuvering was for the purpose of surrounding the camp and forcing a surrender. Our company was drawn up in the woods within gunshot of the enemy, but we had no clear view of their actions. There was random firing on both sides, but there was no fixed purpose to press the fighting. Green as we were, we would have gone into that camp, had we been so ordered. There were men in that line, who afterwards, as officers and privates, became famous fighters and, in many cases, went to death on the firing line. Almost any one of Forrest’s real veterans would, at a later day, have considered it a light undertaking, with the backing of five hundred such men, to have “gobbled up the whole thing”—perhaps without the firing of a gun. And yet nobody seemed to be blamed for the failure of this expedition, for we were all ignorant of real war. We had had another lesson in that which would eventually make us veterans. We had heard the buzz of bullets.
The engagement turned out to be a trifling affair, though there was some excitement in the ranks, especially about the time Mike McGrath of the Haywood Rangers had his horse shot under him and had to leave the scene mounted behind another soldier. It was not so funny then, but the little things done in the excitement gave occasion for joking when we got back to our quarters. There was a well known citizen who seemed to be acting as our guide. They called him Captain Blake. Sixteen years after that, while making an extensive trip in Texas for a well known newspaper, I found this Captain Blake holding a prominent office in the town of Granbury. Our short experience as soldiers together was then a pleasant reminiscence, but he, too, had become a veteran by coming south with the Kentucky troops and never returning to his home till after the surrender.
About this time we received into the company four Kentuckians, three of whom cut some figure as private soldiers and helped to make Company E noted for its steadiness in battle and promptness to act in emergencies. These were John Duncan, Cad Linthicum, Ranse Billington and an old fellow whom we all knew as “Old Fulton.” The first three were typical young men of the Purchase, reared in the hills bordering the Ohio river bottoms. They were true sportsmen in all that the term implies, but were never so busy in a game of poker, or so much interested in discussing the good points of “Forrest’s sorrel” or of “Treadwell’s gray” that they could not, on a moment’s notice, have mounted their own good steeds and been off at a rattling pace to an important picket post, or upon an adventurous scout. The sandy hair, the clear blue eye, the firm set jaw of Duncan—the rollicking manner, the girl-like cheeks, the merry shout in battle of Linthicum—the even temper, the great good humor, even when facing peril, of Billington, and the fine horsemanship of each made them men of mark among their comrades, while their apparent lack of fear and love of adventure won the absolute confidence of their superiors. Linthicum was wounded at Collierville, Tenn., in October, 1863, about the time that the Thirteenth Regulars with General Sherman and staff were hastily abandoning their train from Memphis to take refuge within the Federal works. Duncan was shot through both arms in the fight at Prairie Mound, Miss., where Jeffrey Forrest was killed. A few months before the surrender, these three men were transferred to Henderson’s Scouts, in which they found service exactly suited to their inclination.