Читать книгу One of Morgan's Men - John M. Porter - Страница 14

From the time of John M. Porter's capture at Fort Donelson and his release to his reaching General Albert Sidney Johnston's army, the strategic picture in the trans-Appalachian west changed dramatically. With the fall of Forts Henry and Donelson, General Grant's Federal forces controlled the Tennessee and Cumberland rivers and could move into the interior of the Confederacy at will. General Johnston had no alternative but to withdraw below those rivers. He selected Corinth, Mississippi, as the site where the widely scattered elements of his army and other Confederate forces in the Gulf states could converge. Corinth was the site of the crossing of the north-south Mobile and Ohio Railroad and the east-west Memphis and Charleston Railroad; moreover, it was situated below the great bend of the Tennessee River. Covering the rear of Johnston's army as it retreated from Nashville to Murfreesboro and from Murfreesboro to Decatur, Alabama, and on to Corinth, was Captain John Hunt Morgan's squadron of Kentucky cavalry.

After secreting himself home upon his release from captivity, Porter followed on horseback in the wake of the retreating Confederate army all the way to northern Alabama in an effort to rejoin his comrades. All of Kentucky and all of west and central Tennessee were occupied by Federal troops by then, making Porter's travels perilous.

In a few days we were again at Dover in view of the field of recent strife. But how different was the scene from the appearance of it when we arrived there from Clarksville on the twelfth of February before. The boat we were on was bound for Nashville, and had a regiment of Yankee cavalry on board. By a little strategy we remained on the boat till we got to Clarksville, although they wanted us to get off at Dover.

When we went ashore at Clarksville we proceeded to a hotel and, although without any money except Confederate currency, the proprietor told us we could stay till morning, it being late in the evening. The proprietor was of the name of Spurrier, the same who keeps at this time the Spurrier House in Louisville. We gave him some Confederate money for his pay, which he was even then willing to take although its circulation had been interdicted by the Yankees, of whom there were, at that time in the city, some nine thousand and perhaps more.¹

The night was spent at the hotel, and morning found us in no very desirable position. Our desire was to make our way out of the city and get to our homes. The Red River footbridge in the suburbs of Clarksville was strictly picketed by Yankee troops and there was no other means out than over that bridge. The waters were high; all canoes, skiffs, and boats were guarded, and we were compelled to cross that bridge.

Partly by strategy and partly by the influence of friends and by making the impression that we were wood choppers and wanting to go over the river for the purpose of cutting cord wood, we obtained a pass from the officer in command. Thus equipped, we were permitted to go over the bridge and were then ferried across the water from the end of the bridge to the hill on the side next to Russellville, the entire bottom being over-flowed several feet in depth.

After being safely ferried over by the Yankee guards we were on a good turnpike, and, once again, felt free. We felt as if we could walk to our homes during the day and before its close.

We walked on as speedily as possible and continued until, becoming very much fatigued, we halted for the night near Camp Boone at the house of a Mr. Mimms where we were kindly and hospitably entertained by that family who were ardent Southerners. The Mimms's house is on the pike from Clarksville to Russellville.²

The next morning Dr. Porter was too unwell to proceed further, and, at the urgent solicitation of the kind family, he concluded to remain until he got better. He remained until he was able to travel, and then went to Cousin Jane Porter's near Elkton, Kentucky. Gray, Bailey and I started on towards Russellville and soon found a wagon going to that place, and, as it was not loaded, we were permitted to ride on it.³

At about sunset, we reached the suburbs of Russellville. We had been stationed there for some weeks before going to Fort Donelson, and were afraid of being recognized by someone and then arrested by the soldiers who were garrisoning that town. We were very cautious and had reason for it. Dismounting from the wagon at the edge of town, each of us took a different route through town, one going by one street and another by another, agreeing as we separated to meet on the Morgantown Road on the opposite side of town, and if one got through and waited a certain time without hearing from the others, he was to take care of himself, being satisfied of the capture of the others. We fortunately passed through without being interrupted, and all met as per agreement and proceeded about three or four miles to the house of a Mr. Withers where we spent the night, representing ourselves as workmen who had been engaged on the railroad near the Tennessee River, and were going north.⁴

The next day we walked on in the snow and slop and mud, the march being very tiresome. When we got to the Pleasant Hill Church, near the old tanyard of Mr. Anderson, we went in and lay down on the benches for the purpose of resting ourselves and remained there for some time. Bailey left us near there and went to his cousin Eaton Davis's home nearby.⁵

Joseph Gray and I went to Uncle Moody's, who lived only a few miles from the church. We remained there till after supper and he kindly furnished us a horse a piece, and we rode home to Sugar Grove, arriving there about ten o'clock at night. It was the night of March 6, 1862, that we got home. Rumors of various kinds had been put in circulation in regard to our detection and probable arrest. We had been seen and recognized indeed before we got home. The report of it had been circulated, and fortunately we heard it and prepared to leave as soon as possible. Gray was sent on his way to his home in Hardin County near Elizabethtown. This left Bailey and myself alone to make our way out to the Confederate army which had retreated from Bowling Green and at that time was moving on toward Corinth, Mississippi.⁶

I spent the day of the seventh of March at home, and at dark, Bailey sent me a message, saying he would meet me at midnight at a Mr. Proctor's, in Logan County, about twelve miles distant. Bidding our home ones farewell, I set out in the darkness upon a journey the length of which I had no idea of, nor did I scarcely know by what route I would go. The army was in retreat, I knew. But where it was, where it would stop, and how and when I should reach it were matters of which I could form no idea. It was literally taking a leap in the dark. That the trip would be full of peril and adventure, I well knew, yet Bailey and I were determined to rejoin our command.⁷

At about eleven o'clock that night, the seventh of March, I arrived at Mr. Proctor's. The family had gone to bed not knowing that Bailey and I were to meet there. I awoke the family and made known to them the object of my unseasonable visit, and as Bailey had not yet got there, I lay down to take a few moments sleep. I had not been more than an hour in bed when Bailey, true to his promise as he always was, aroused me for the night's ride. Saying farewell again, I went to the gate and found Bailey and several friends who had come to see us start. Among them were Hickman Gray, Frank Bailey and, I believe, Calvin Kuykendall, Jerry Bailey and perhaps some others whom I do not now remember. They had ridden ten or fifteen miles, and were going to return to their homes before day to avoid being seen by the pro-Federal citizens.⁸

After a few minutes conversation, we bade them good night and rode off on our long and uncertain journey. It was quite cold and the ground hard frozen. Wind was keen and cutting, and it seemed that our horses made more than common noise going over the frozen ground. We went up the Franklin Road till we got near the South Union Depot, and, as we had learned at Mr. Proctor's that the enemy was there in a body, we turned to the right about half a mile from the station and crossed the railroad south of it, and went directly to the house of Mr. John McCutchen in order to warm ourselves, as by this time we were extremely cold. It was before day, but we aroused the family and were received kindly. We remained there till after an early breakfast, when we again set out.⁹

After cautiously feeling our way, and traveling neighborhood roads, we reached, at night-fall, Dickson Beard's home on the edge of Tennessee. The family was “loyal,” but being acquaintances, we were secure. A good night's rest for us and our horses was succeeded by another day's march, or rather ride, through a section of country that, at that time, was full of Major General Don Carlos Buell's Federal forces on their march in pursuit of the retreating Confederate army under General Albert Sidney Johnston. This was in that part of Kentucky and Tennessee between Franklin in the former and Gallatin in the latter State. We traveled by-roads, except the Louisville and Nashville Turnpike, and also the Louisville and Nashville Railroad. After being almost in the midst of the Yankees several times during the day, we, at night, found another safe retreat at the hospitable house of Mr. Thomas Dobbins, a relative of our family who lived at that time, and at this date, near Gallatin, Tennessee.¹⁰

This day was Sunday, but “Sunday shone no Sabbath day to us.” Bailey was here taken quite sick with diphtheria, and as a consequence of which we remained for two or three days, the Yankees all the time passing down two roads near us. As soon as he was able to ride, although before he got well, we again set out, going north and east of Gallatin, and, reaching the Cumberland River at Canoe Branch Ferry, we crossed over and proceeded directly and rapidly to Lebanon. We expected to encounter the enemy at Lebanon but found none there, as they had not ventured up that far east of Nashville.

Here we debated as to whether we should go by way of Alexandria and McMinnville and thence to New Market, Alabama, or to go directly to Murfreesboro, and at that place fall in the rear of the Confederate army. The last named route was extremely dangerous, while the other, being further east, was quite safe, although circuitous. We at length determined to go by way of Murfreesboro, and run all risk of encountering the enemy.

Our progress was not very rapid, as we felt our way cautiously and with a good deal of discretion. We had learned to take affairs calmly and were prepared for any emergency. Near Black's Shop we spent the night, and in the morning of the next day we rode into Murfreesboro and found the last of the Confederate soldiers leaving the town. This body of men was the cavalry squadron commanded by John H. Morgan, who at that time was a captain. Here we learned for the first time definite information about the whereabouts of the Confederate army and the place of concentration.¹¹

Major General Don Carlos Buell, commander of the Army of the Ohio. (Library of Congress.)

After leaving Murfreesboro we traveled leisurely, going about thirty miles a day, passing through the towns of Shelbyville and Fayetteville, and on in the direction of Huntsville, Alabama. Then, when we arrived at a point about twelve miles, I think, from Huntsville, we were compelled to stop a day or two on account of rains and high water, the streams being impassable. We concluded, after waiting a few days, during which time the rain continued to fall, to go directly to Decatur, Alabama, on the Tennessee River, and, accordingly, we did so. During the next three days we made our journey to Decatur. We swam a good number of angry streams and had calamities enough to, in some degree, try our nerves. I remember we stayed overnight with a family in a section of the country known as “Nubbin Ridge,” because, I suppose, corn grew in “nubbins” on account of the land being poor, and it was poor too. The next night we stayed with a wealthy planter named, I believe, Bibb, a son, perhaps, of an ex-governor of Alabama. At both of these places we were kindly taken care of, and every attention was paid to us. Bibb lived only a few miles from Decatur, near a place called Mooresville. The day we left Mr. Bibb's we reached Decatur, crossing the Tennessee River on horseback over the railroad bridge which had been prepared for the use of the retreating army.¹²

We found our old company, the “Guides,” encamped in the suburbs of the place, and once more, amid shouts and cheers, greeted our comrades. Well do I remember the joy which filled my bosom in again seeing my friends, and the pleasure it afforded us all to recount to each other the events which each had experienced during the previous two months. We carried to them the latest information from their friends at home. We told them all we knew about how the Federals were doing in Kentucky and what had transpired after they had left Bowling Green. We told them how we had been captured, how we had escaped, our travels, and everything connected with ourselves from the time of our separation. They in turn told us what had occurred on their retreat, how and what they did at Nashville and everywhere they had stopped. Altogether we had a perfect “jollification.”

The army was at this time concentrating at Corinth, Mississippi. A few days after we arrived at Decatur we proceeded on our march to Corinth, which occupied us some three or four days or perhaps five days, passing through the towns of Tuscumbia, Courtland, Barnesville, and others, where we camped and had a good time generally. We finally got to Corinth and went into camp. It was evident that a serious battle would soon be fought. Troops were rapidly concentrating at that place.¹³

The object of the organization of our company, as given in the first part of this sketch, being that of guides, it was evident that we could no longer be of service in that capacity, inasmuch as we were wholly and entirely unacquainted with the country in which we had been thrown by the stern fortunes of war. Consequently, the company was disbanded by order of General Johnston, and the members were left free to act as they chose and were at liberty to attach themselves to any company or command they might select.

Of course, it was but natural that we should seek to place ourselves under the command of Captain John Hunt Morgan, who had at this time won very considerable fame. And, although all of our company did not at once join Morgan, still a large majority of the “guides,” in a few weeks, were in his command.

It cannot, I think, be said that it is egotism when I affirm that each and every one of that gallant company won more or less notoriety before the war closed. And, they contributed their full share toward making up that glorious and undying record of gallantry and daring which Morgan's cavalry afterwards won. As officers and private soldiers, they share the largest in the honors given now and which shall be given in the future history of our country to the fame of that cavalry command which attracted the eyes of the civilized world and the likes of which has never been witnessed. It would be a pleasure to write down the names and deeds of each one, but it would comprise so much that it cannot be done. For a complete history of Morgan's Cavalry, reference is made to its history as written by Basil W. Duke, though in it many deeds and acts of individual daring and bravery are, as a matter of course, omitted.¹⁴

Youthful John Hunt Morgan, as he appeared when he commanded Morgan's Squadron of Kentucky Cavalry in the fall of 1861 and spring of 1862. (Hunt-Morgan House Deposit Photographic Collection, University of Kentucky Special Collections.)

The Battle of Shiloh was fought and won, and lost. That is to say, it was won on the first day and lost on the second, and the army again fell back to Corinth, from which place it had gone to battle. To describe the conditions of the roads and the country is not my purpose, more than to say that the route of the retreating army from Shiloh to the town of Corinth, some twelve or thirteen miles distant, was the worst that perhaps ever was traveled.¹⁵