Well, as to “Old Fulton.” I should say he had been reared in an atmosphere of gall, wormwood and vinegar. With a desperate temper and no sweetness of soul, upon the slightest provocation he would fly into a towering rage. If asked as to his age, a tart reply, interlarded with oaths, was the result. His stringy hair and long flowing beard were evidences of age. His cadaverous appearance, high cheek bones, piercing gray eyes, alert head set in a long skinny frame, and his fiery passions would have presented an interesting study to the excursionist into the fields of anthropology. This old Kentuckian had joined the Tennesseeans for the purpose, as he said, of soon killing a few Yankees. He never gratified his supreme desire, for within a few months, having, perhaps, tired of camp life, he got his discharge and set his face towards Kentucky. After his departure, we could revert with amusement to “Old Fulton’s” effort to start a camp fire at Island No. 10, with wet wood. When the smoke had blinded the old man, and his patience and wind were exhausted, he leaped upon the pile of fagots and, uttering violent oaths, kicked them in every direction. This exhibition of temper was rather amusing.
About the first of October, 1861, Haywood’s and Neely’s companies were ordered to Camp Beauregard in Graves county to picket and scout for Bowen’s brigade. This was a charming place for holiday soldiering, situated near the village of Feliciana. As the cavalry was encamped outside the infantry lines and there was little fear of attack, the discipline was sufficiently lax to permit us to draw upon the surrounding country for luxuries. These consisted of such things as old hams, chickens and “peach and honey.” The boys did not neglect their opportunities. But life at Camp Beauregard was soon to be a thing of the past. The Federals were known to be making a move from Cairo. We reached Columbus just in time to witness the battle of Belmont across the river. This was the 7th day of November. Grant’s army was driven back to their transports. Here we saw Federal prisoners for the first time, and as many of them were wounded, we seemed to be a little nearer real war. Going into winter quarters we entered upon the monotonous duty of picketing the Milburn road. Dreary nights and weary days. Dull camp routine and nothing to excite interest. But there was to be a change. The news that Fort Donelson had fallen came in the last days of February. The excitement meant that we were leaving Kentucky. With our friends, the Rangers, we were ordered to Island No. 10. Here our hardships increased, as we were poorly supplied with tents and cold rains were falling. The gunboats were replying to our heavy guns, but to little purpose, as the range was poor. They would send an occasional shot clear into the timber, and there was no telling when one might land right in our camp. Our nervousness on this account soon wore off, as we were exposed thus for seventeen days. In the meantime, the river rapidly rose and there was a rushing current through Reelfoot Lake in our rear. This put us on an island. I know that our captain wished to be ordered to the main land. The order came, but there was great fear that it would be countermanded, as Mackall was just superseding McCown, who had given the order. There was hot haste to get beyond the reach of orders. After floundering around for a day in trying to reach a steamer, which it was said would be available in the back water, we concluded that our only resource was to reach a dry spot on the lake shore and collect a few old flatboats and to reach the east side. In making our way to the lake we found much of the back water up to the saddle skirts. We readily secured one old rickety boat, which would carry five men with their horses and accoutrements. As the lake here was five miles wide, and the water still rising, our crossing would surely be slow and perilous. At this juncture, Tom Joyner, George Bradford and I rode five miles along shore, secured a boat, and having led our horses aboard, pulled for the camp. Everything went well with the ten men and ten horses till we were “half seas over.” Then an adverse wind struck our boat, while the other boat, already much in advance seemed to glide over the water. It was exasperating, but we “hove to” by the side of a friendly raft of logs and awaited more propitious breezes or a lucky calm. We were fortunate in reaching land before nightfall and in getting a good supper at a farm house. But next morning the boats must be carried over that stretch of water in order to rescue our fellow soldiers from an impending peril. When we reached the camp only a detail had been left there to inform us that the rest of the command had gone aboard of a steamer in the back water, which was on its way to Randolph. One time happy they! Thrice and four times happy we! We had escaped the perils of the deep waters and the terrors of a Northern prison. Some of us had had a twenty-mile ride on Reelfoot, but strenuous effort had been rewarded.
We had a long ride to Bolivar, and reached home just in time to hear the guns at Shiloh. Four companies of infantry, one of artillery and one of cavalry, recruited in Hardeman county, were in that battle. Harrowing rumors of our losses came thick and fast, and little else was discussed. The death of Johnston and the retreat of the army seemed to us like a crushing defeat. Stragglers and wounded men from the army began to pass through the country and spread the news of the disaster. Then came the news that Island No. 10 had surrendered. It was a time for solemn thought—for quiet deliberation. The holding of the great river became now a doubtful proposition. This involved the abandonment of West Tennessee. A few of our men even now went to their homes to stay. The faithful set about reorganizing the company, which was to await orders. We were really making a fresh start for the war under discouraging circumstances. Our sacred honor and plighted faith to our state were involved. It was no time for faint hearts. Death before dishonor seemed to be the prevailing sentiment and when we got on the move, the old time spirit returned.
We had now seen scarcely a year of service, but had traversed parts of three states and crossed and recrossed the Mississippi river. At Trenton, we were to take our place as Company E in what was for many months known as the First Tennessee Cavalry under Colonel W. H. Jackson. In numbering by seniority, we took the seventh place, though some of the companies composing the regiment were among the first to volunteer. There was the usual jealousy on the part of some because an outsider had been placed over us as Colonel, but Jackson was a trained soldier, and constantly grew in favor with officers and men. If Jackson did not apparently have the dash of some other officers, his impression on soldiers was of solidity, good sense and firmness. Judging from incidents of the service, he must have had the implicit confidence of Van Dorn and Forrest. More could not be said of any soldier.
But we must give up Tennessee—a sad thought. After a clash with some Federal Cavalry at Lockridge’s Mill, in Weakley county in which there was more of stampede than of fighting on their part, we retired toward the state line. We moved out leisurely, as no force was crowding us. We heard the noise of battle at Memphis on the 6th of June, 1862, and camped that night at Germantown. We soon heard of the defeat of the Confederate fleet in front of the city and of the Federal occupation. Next day found us in camp on Coldwater river, a few miles from Holly Springs. Then began a series of marches and countermarches in North Mississippi and trips to the borders of Tennessee. In one of these, a detachment of our command came near capturing General Grant at the house of Josiah Deloach. This gave rise to the story, after the war, that for his timely warning on the occasion Grant made Deloach postmaster of Memphis.
If I were to attempt to record more than a tithe of the events incident to our service in Mississippi during our first summer there, or do more than to touch the high places, as I skim along, these reminiscences would be too tedious for perusal.
William J. Tate, who had been elected lieutenant at the late regimental reorganization, was now promoted to the captaincy of Company E. Suffice it to say here that he had no superior as an officer in the regiment, and I shall have something more to say of him, when I come to speak of his death.
But the Armstrong raid. This was an expedition into West Tennessee under the command of General Frank Armstrong. Advancing by way of Grand Junction, we encountered a Federal force near Middleburg the 29th of August. There was some fighting between the Second Missouri Cavalry under Colonel McCulloch and the Second Illinois under Colonel Hogg, who was killed. In a combat at close quarters between McCulloch and Hogg, the latter was killed by Tom Turner, a young Missourian, to save the life of McCulloch. Captain Champion of the Second Missouri was killed here. As his body was borne from the field by two of his troopers, I saw, for the first time, a dead Confederate, who had been slain in battle. As the purpose of the raid seemed to be the cutting off of the army at Bolivar by tearing up the railroad, which led to its base of supplies, we crossed Hatchie