Part 6

I believe that he was the only man struck that day in our company, but in rear of the 3rd gun that had been put out of action, a bunch of canteens, hanging on a forked post were all rendered useless by pieces of shell or bullets coming through the embrasure. The Yankee three-inch rifle was a dead shot at any distance under a mile. They could hit the head of a flour barrel more often than miss, unless the gunner got rattled. The shell consisted of three parts, a conical head with smaller cylinderical base, a cap to fit, that base loosely and a ring of lead that connected the head and base. When fired the cap at butt was thrown forward on the cylinderical base of the cone, expanding the lead ring into the grooves of the rifle, the cone exploding by percussion cap on striking. It was the most accurate field piece of that date. Our smooth bore 12 pounders were always at a disadvantage in artillery duels, but with time fuses and at masses of men, or at a battery in open field, 800 to 1,000 yards, they did good service, and with canisters they could sweep the earth.

After Lovejoy's station, we were moved up to the city, and put into a casemated fort for a short time in the outskirts of the city, whilst evacuation was going on, and were among the last of the commands to leave the doomed town, whence we retreated with a portion of the infantry toward Macon, Ga. Burning stores of all kinds were located by the soldiers, mail cars sacked, and letters and packages of all kinds gone through at road side fires in search of money, the useless letters feeding the fire. This was on the night of September 2, 1864. Rations on the retreat got very short and for once our men were forced to live off the country. When bivouac was made for the night above Macon, for the success of our own particular mess, all scattered after "retreat" roll call in different directions. About midnight they had all come in, and pots, kettles, ovens, and hot coals were in demand. Henry Donoho had shelled out about a peck of cornfield beans from the nearly ripe pods in the fields.

Walter Guild turned up with a long stick across his shoulder, with two large pumpkins stuck on each end. Ed King and Jim Maxwell each had a sack of sweet potatoes, grabbled in a field a mile and a half away.

The Rosser boys had corn too hard for roasting, but all right to grate on an old half canteen grater.

Rube, Aleck Dearing's servant had half a shoat and Jim Bobbett, my own servant, had two ducks.

Some one owned a big brass kettle, that would hold about half a barrel, which the wagons hauled, and it was soon on the fire, filled with the sliced pumpkins, to be stewed down. Some did one thing, and some another, and by an hour before day, that feast was ready, and several more along the same lines in the camp. We ate our fill, filled haversacks, distributed the balance to whoever wanted it and were ready to move at daylight. I believe that it was the only meal I remember during the war, where everything was the proceeds of plunder.

We had been pretty close to a famine for a day or two, but this was surely a feast.

It was all contrary to military law, but soldiers were not going to sit still and starve, when something to eat could be had out of the fields for the taking, and the officers could not be expected to sit up nights to come around and inspect our pots and kettles, and if they did, they could prove nothing, and so, for the occasion and the recognizing necessity, nothing was ever said about it. The men were on hand ready and able to do duty, and the tangle of the crisis was soon straightened out and our rations coming through the regular channels. From Macon, by way of Griffin, where a few days were spent in camp and thence to West Point on the Georgia-Alabama line, where preparations were made to cut loose from the railroad, and traverse northeast Alabama with Hood's army to strike for middle Tennessee by way of Decatur and Florence, west of the mountains. This was now ----, so that we had been months and days in reaching in a roundabout manner since the fall of Atlanta, on Sept. 2. Hood's infantry and cavalry had been somewhere south, and southwest of Atlanta. Sherman was fixing to destroy, and strike out southeast across Georgia, and Hood was preparing to strike out for middle Tennessee and Nashville.

With our guns and wagons, we joined the army wagon train, making its way northwestward, during a very rainy spell of weather. Traveling through the flat piney woods was awful. The white loblolly mud was often axle deep in the road, and turning out in these flats did not seem to better the matter much.

The writer had now been appointed a Sergeant, and been given a pie bald pony to ride at the head of his 4th Detachment of gun caisson. One day his pony got both feet on same side into a deep rut under the loblolly and down flat broadside he went and the writer disappeared. When he emerged he was greeted with the well known yell, "Come out of that, I see your ears sticking out." When the mud dried, it flaked off and I was not much worse off temporarily than the balance of the crowd and they were welcome to the fun.

Finally, we reached the Tennessee valley, in Morgan County, and marched westward. The sites of the old plantation homes were now marked only by groups of chimneys, the plantations a dreary waste. Reaching vicinity of Decatur about ---- we found it garrisoned by a Federal force with entrenchments, but Hood's objective point for crossing the Tennessee river was between Tuscumbia and Florence. Near Tuscumbia, our battery was again in camp for a few days. As from West Point to Florence in a direct line is about 200 miles by the route traveled by us 250 or 275 miles of continuous march. We were not sorry to get a chance to rest, wash, clean and repair up. Here, in the garden spot of Alabama, prior to the war, food was scarce. The beef issued to us could not produce a bead of fat, on the top of the pot, when boiled. Bacon or salt pork, when we got any was generally rancid. But we got here one unusual luxury in the way of food, a fine young fat mule had its back broken by the fall of a tree, cut down in camp. So it was killed and the boys took possession and divided it out. It was very fat. The fat from its "innards" was "tryed" out like oil and saved in bottles and cans for "breadshortening" for which it answered well. The meat was very fine, much better than any beef we had gotton for a long time. But the boys made all sorts of fun over it. We had some left to carry along on the march, and a soldier would pull out a hunk from his haversack, throw up his head and let out a big mule bray, "a-h-h-h u-n-k, a-h-h-h u-n-k, a-h-h-h u-n-k," bite off a mouth full and go to chewing.

The crossing of the Tennessee on the night of Nov. 20, 1864, over a pontoon bridge at south Florence was to officers and men of Lumsden's battery only one of many disagreeable experiences. No more than our whole army had gotton used to experiencing in such campaigns in all sorts of weather and conditions, its locality merely makes it stand out in the memory, a little more prominently than other such experiences. Notified in the afternoon to be ready in our turn to cross over, then again to fall into the line on the South bank after dusk; moving on to the bridge after dark, and occupying several hours in crossing, moving a few paces in the bridge, then halting and standing shivering in a drizzling rain, until again a few paces could be gained. Then at the north bank, getting our teams up the steep banks through mud axle deep, by doubling teams and all hands at the wheels and getting through the night, hovering over roadside fires along streets of Florence and roads beyond until daylight brought a possibility of finding a place to make a temporary halt for feed and rest for man and beast.

On November 27th, reaching the vicinity of Columbia, where Schofield was entrenched with an army of about the same size as Hood's, a demonstration was made of an attack on his lines, but the main position of our army crossed Duck river above Columbia and struck for Spring Hill on the turn pike between Columbia and Franklin.

On 29th, the Battalion of Reserve Artillery was ordered to leave guns and caissons, with horses and drivers, under charge of one Commissioned officer south of Duck river. The captains, two Lieuts., Non-Commissioned officers and cannoneers were ordered to follow the infantry brigades; the object being to be able to man any batteries that might be captured from the enemy in this move against his rear. Lumsden was ordered to report to Brig. Gen. Reynolds and to keep right up with his brigade under all circumstances. It was nearly dark when we found ourselves in a half mile of Spring Hill, and there, we remained all night, without any attack being delivered on the enemy hurrying northward along the pike, wagons, artillery and all other vehicles kept on a rush with their infantry on east side of the pike to protect against our attack.

Time was lost during the day in building rough bridges across creeks waist deep to infantry, which had better have been waded, for the few hours so lost, prevented a successful attack at Spring Hill which Hood had planned to demolish Schofield.

Forrest was trying to delay their advance toward Franklin, and sometimes succeeded in getting possession of pike for a short time, capturing teamsters shooting down teams in their harness and setting fire to their wagons.

But their rear passed Spring Hill before daylight the next morning, with Hood's infantry pursuing their rearguard closely into Franklin, where a strong line of entrenchments had been prepared around the edge of the city from Harpeth river above the same below town, and a strong line of rifle pits out in front of the regular trenches.

On the afternoon of Nov. 30, 1864, Hood attacked these entrenchments about 4:00 p.m. Reynolds' brigade was on the right of the pike, somewhat to the right of the historic genhouse. As this brigade started in the charge on the first line of rifle pits, Lumsden's command was close behind with no weapons but their bare hands. Gen. Reynolds noticed it and riding up called out to Capt. Lumsden: "Captain, take your men back behind the hill to our rear." And so it was done; though as soon as our infantry reached the valley and the bullets ceased to fly so thickly about the top of the hill, the whole company was soon at the top of the ridge, watching the terrible struggle in our front over the Federal entrenchments on the outskirts of Franklin.

Away in the night, the flashing rifles revealed the firing of two armies with a bank of six feet of earth between them, until finally it gradually ceased. Before daylight we got certain intelligence that the enemy was gone through Corporal Tom Owen, gunner to 2nd piece, who with another prospecting companion or two had been into the town and returned with a bucket of molasses and some other eatables.

Here we were left by Gen. Reynolds' brigade, and where our horses, guns and caissons came up, Lumsden's battery was again in its usual fighting trim, and moved on to Nashville where it was on Dec. 4th, in the front trenches on the left of the Grannary White Pike, in the yard of a fine brick house, which the enemy had destroyed just outside of their fortifications, known as the "Gales house". Our lines were so close to those of the enemy across a narrow valley of cleared fields, that no one could expose any portion of his body on either work, without drawing the fire of his enemy opposite. Some of the boys found good quarters inside of the old furnace, within a few steps of our guns, those of us in the outside wishing there were a few more furnaces. Talk about not dodging! Whenever one of us had to move about, he had to dodge from one cover to another. But there was one comfort, our infantry kept our enemies dodging also. About Dec. 10th, we were relieved from this position by another battery, and ordered to the extreme left of the army and put in position on a small hill, about 700 yards west of the Hillsboro pike, opposite the house of Robert Castleman, who lived on the east side of said pike some three and a half miles south of Nashville, and three quarters of a mile, southwest from the extreme western end of Hood's line, on the Hillsboro pike. Here, we were ordered to entrench.

The omission was not noticed until after the volumes had all been printed.

These special pages must therefore be put in an insert and read in their proper place, after which again the history takes up the further retreat of the remnant out of Tennessee.]

Major John Foster of the Engineers, with a detail of 100 men had already started on the work. Hood's orders were that it should be a regular fort enclosing the top of hill. As yet, it was simply a redoubt, facing a ridge some 800 yards away that ran nearly perpendicularly to the general direction of the army's line of battle at the extreme left end of the army. Between the ridge and the location of redoubt were cultivated fields, and had been some woods, through which Richland Creek meandered towards the north west. The woods our engineers had cut down, so as to give an uninterrupted view of the lands in our front, and gave a cover for skirmishers who might be driven back towards redoubt and also gave cover for an enemy line of skirmishers to approach to within 100 yards of redoubt under cover, when they had driven back the defending skirmishers.

Major Foster's force had started the redoubt shortly after the remnant of Hood's Army (after Franklin) had aligned itself before Nashville and entrenched somewhere about December 1st to 3rd, it being perhaps a mile or more from extreme left of Hood's Army to the Cumberland River. Gen. Chalmers with Cavalry, and the remnant of Ector's Brigade of infantry as a support, guarding the gaps between left of Hood's entrenchments at Hillsboro pike, to Cumberland River. From the date of our arrival at fort location we had rain snow, and sleet, and the ground frozen hard, so that it was impossible to make any rapid progress on the redoubt laid off for 4 embrasures for our 4 Napoleon guns. Stretched blankets and the tarpaulins from for our guns and ammunition were the only cover for officers or men. I well remember that, the day before the battle of the 15th, my servant Jim Bobbett brought me a change of clean under clothing, for which I had to scrape off the snow on a log at Richland Creek, strip and bathe in its icy waters to make a change.

By the 15th (the day of the battle) we had manerals so long. At my gun we had lost private Horton and Corporal Gunner Ed. King. Hilen L. Rosser at another gun had part of his head shot away. That night as I was pouring some water for Lumsden to wash, he was picking something out of his beard, and said: "Maxwell, that is part of Rosser's brains", out of the 40 men that we had at guns, we had only 22 left, balance having been killed or captured. A Federal officer rode around Lieut. A. C. Hargrove and demanded his surrender, and cut down at his head with his sabre. Hargrove caught the blow on his arm, but it beat down his arm to his head enough to "hurt like thunder", as Hargrove expressed it.

Hargrove grabbed a loose tree branch and struck at Yank's horse which about that time got a bullet from our infantry line and ran away from Hargrove, so that he made it to our new line.

That night we buried Horton near the Franklin pike, where we bivouaced. I cut his name on a head board, and Command to which he belonged.

A detail was sent to the house that had been used as a hospital to bring his body. A long, tall, red-headed private, John Walker, was one of that detail. He had been carrying a great long navy revolver for months for use in such circumstances. When asked how many times he shot it. He laughed and said it was as much as he could do to persuade himself that he was able to get out with it.