CHAPTER XIX.

PERSONAL EXPERIENCES.

DURING the winter and spring of 1863 the Federals advanced three times in heavy force against Liberty-cavalry, infantry, and artillery. On these occasions the noncombatants went in droves to the hills northwest of town for protection, stopping either at the home of John Bethel or that of Thomas Richardson. From Bethel's the movements of the troops could be seen. If the Confederates were beaten and pushed back on Snow's Hill, they often followed the pursuers when the latter retired.

While all this was occurring Allison's Squadron frequently took part. Not infrequently it was engaged alone with the enemy. James H. Burton, of the squadron, relates this experience: "On one occasion a part of the battalion was camped in the beech grove near Daniel Smith's, just north of liberty-about seventy-five men, portions of the three companies. Lieut. D. Brien was in command of the picket guard of ten men. He placed a vidette at the corner of the two streets, where stood the storehouse of William Vick that was burned. The picket guard were all the troops whose horses were saddled, when a stranger came along with a wounded horse and told us that a large force of Federals had fired on him at the forks of the pike, two miles west of Liberty. The guard went to meet them and did meet them not far from Salem Church. We fired a volley, and then the race back through the vil-

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lage and toward Snow's Hill began. All the guard had an even start, but by the time I reached Leonard Moore's (about the center of Liberty) I was at least seventy-five yards ahead and constantly gaining. I soon made the turn down the main street and heard no more bullets. When the Yankees began shooting down the main street I had made the turn for the bridge. Keeping the advantage to the end, I beat the other guards about one hundred yards. The boys guyed me for leaving them. I resented this, when Colonel Allison said he saw the race from start to finish and that I came out ahead only became I had the best horse."

Mr. Burton adds: "When the picket guard reached the command north of Daniel Smith's, the boys were mounted, and a running fight occurred to Dry Creek bridge. Here Company C, under Capt. R. V . Wright, stopped and waited for the Federals, then fired when they came up, checking them for a short time. At the Stanford home Company B, under Captain Reece, was left on the south side of the pike. His men, when the Federals approached, fired again, checking them the second time. Company A was left behind Asbury Church, and it held the enemy back till our company wagons, loaded with bacon, got well up Snow's Hill. The bacon was what we were fighting for. One of our men, Tom Coleman, was slightly wounded in the foot by a spent ball. In the skirmish at Dry Creek bridge Lieut. D. Brien's horse got away from him. He could not be caught, and seeing the Federals would get the animal, Brien ordered the men to shoot him. At Stanford's place a good roan horse came into our

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lines, and Lieutenant Brien got him. He had blood on the saddle and a Spencer rifle and belt of cartridges on the saddle horn. There were seventy-five men all told on our side, and fifteen hundred Federals. They thought we were the advance guard of Morgan's Cavalry. If they had known our real strength, they would have made short work of us. I never knew till I came to Arkansas that we hit any of the enemy, when Frank Dowell told me they used his barn for a hospital; that four died, and he thought four more died later. Dowell lived near the Dry Creek bridge."

A considerable fight came off near the intersection of the Murfreesboro and Lebanon roads, or the forks of the pikes. Lieut. Ed Reece, who took part, tells this incident in connection with the affair: Capt. Jack Reece's company of Allison's Squadron, which usually camped near Alexandria, left the camps on Helton Creek, going west toward Wilson County. They were scouting for Yankees. None being discovered, they made a fierce attack on John Barleycorn, intrenched at Isaac Smith's stillhouse, on the road leading north from the present store or post office called Mahone. Turning back toward Alexandria directly, they learned of an engagement going on near the forks of the pike and galloped in that direction. Reaching the scene of battle, Captain Reece and his troopers took a position in the woods and awaited orders. While there Colonel Allison and the remainder of the squadron arrived.

"Captain Reece," said Allison, "you have no business here. Withdraw your company." "Colonel Alli-

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son," was the reply [Captain Reece feeling the stimulus yet over the victory of John Barleycorn], "Company B will remain where it is." "Captain Reece, you are drunk," asserted Allison. "Colonel Allison," snapped Reece, "you're a damned liar."

At this the two urged their horses nearer each other and on horseback engaged in a savage fist-and skull battle. When both were nearly out of breath, and it was forced upon all that their energies were needed against the common enemy, comrades interfered.

Isaiah White was in this skirmish, and he says the Federals and Confederates were so near each other that he recognized acquaintances on the Federal side-Captain Hathaway, Colonel Blackburn, and others. H. L. Hale, recalling boyish memories of these occasions, says that there were times, as the Confederates were pushed back stubbornly through Liberty and north toward Snow's Hill, when the opposing forces were only a few hundred yards apart. Part of Stokes's Regiment was advancing one day, and he saw Miss Mattie Hathaway run out to the front gate and speak a few words to her sweetheart, Capt. W. L. Hathaway, while bullets were whizzing around them.

Skirmishes were so frequent that comparatively slight disturbances would put the citizens and soldiers in commotion. About sunset on one occasion a tremendous roar, somewhat resembling the roll of thunder, was heard westward. Confederates at supper in the writer's home hastened to the street. The sound grew louder as the moments passed. The mystery was soon solved. A Federal wagon train had been cap-

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tured, and the captors were forcing the teamsters to drive their fastest. This may have been the train mentioned elsewhere by Lieutenant Ridley. It proved a rich haul. That evening boxes were opened and the Confederates' hosts and hostesses given many fine presents.

The following notes may be of interest, some of them being illuminative of village life during war times:

In January, 1863, Maj. J. P. Austin and Capt. William Roberts, Confederates, with fifty men, left Liberty for the Andrew Jackson home to capture a squad of Federal couriers stationed there. Passing through Alexandria, then between Lebanon and Baird's Mills, they reached the Hermitage by midnight. The couriers having left, Morgan's men repaired to Lavergne, where, finding the enemy barricaded in a log house, they captured the latter, thirteen in number, and carried them to Liberty. By the way, during the time Morgan's men were in the county, says General Duke, they captured more Federals than there were effective men in Morgan's command.

In a sharp fight at Lavergne between DeKalb Federals and a force of Confederates Charley Blackburn, brother of Col. Joe Blackburn, was killed.

There were a number of tragedies in the county. Sim Adamson, who had been in the Confederate army, was killed near Alexandria. Mon Adkins, a Union soldier, was killed by Capt. Jack Garrison, at the latter's home, near Forks-of-the-Pike, at the close of the

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war. James Hays, a young man, and Mr. Bullard, an aged citizen, were brought to Liberty by Federals, tried by court-martial, and shot. A Confederate soldier was killed in a field near Salem Church. The killing of several Union soldiers at Smithville by Pomp Kersey's raiders is mentioned in this work. A Confederate prisoner named Parrish was killed one night in Alexandria by the Federal soldier guarding him. While conscripting to recruit Allison's Squadron at Alexandria John Bowman was slain.

Sometimes when the Confederates would chase the Federals out of Liberty it was a good opportunity for the wives of secessionists to get together and rejoice in secret. There was one lady, Polly Hayes Knight, who lived three or four miles away, truly a feminine fire-eater, and who frequently came to the writer's home with no other object, as she said, than to "indulge in a big laugh over some unhappy defeat of the Yanks." The stories she told and the laughter she and her listeners indulged in were really refreshing. One day while there Mrs. "Puss" Turner, the wife of a Unionist and one of the sweetest of the neighbor women, came in.

"I was passing the house of Spicy Combs just now," she said, [Spicy was the wife of a rather sorry Federal soldier named Bill Holly, but was always called by her former husband's name.] "She called me in to taste some sweet cakes she had just baked." "And you found them very crisp and nice?" she was asked. "I will let you say," said she, "when I tell you that I could

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have put my toe on the edge of one of those cakes and stretched the other side to the overhead ceiling."*

During the stay of Morgan's men at Liberty, Quirk's Scouts especially made friends with both Union and Confederate sympathizers. While snow was on the ground the soldiers would encourage the village lads to engage in cob battles and greatly enjoyed them. With Morgan's troops was a seventeen-year-old youth named John A. Wyeth. He is to-day one of the leading physicians and surgeons of New York and author of the finest life yet written of General Forrest. The writer of these annals recalls one Federal soldier whom the three boys in his home learned to love-Joe Baker, probably with a regiment of Kentuckians. He was kind-hearted and loved nothing better than to romp with the children. A well-remembered Kentucky Confederate trooper of Morgan's command was Jeff Citizen, who was bibulous. When drinking he disported on his calico mule and sang continuously and unmusically:

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*Was there at any time during the war a United States, Confederate States, or Tennessee statute or license providing for something in the nature of trial or special marriages for the soldiers? As a small lad the writer heard such a thing discussed at Liberty, and there was a mutual-consent contract of the kind there between a soldier from another State and a widow. They cohabited about six months, when the soldier was called to some other section. The marriage thus annulled by mutual consent, the woman some months later married another man according to the conventional law. This is not a dream; others remember the facts.

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I lay ten dollars down,
And bet them every one,
That every time we have a fight
The Yankees they will run.

Mr. B. G. Slaughter, formerly of Quirk's Confederate scouts, but after the war editor of the Winchester (Tenn.) Home Journal, wrote W. L. Vick in 1902, something of the scouts' stay in Liberty. He says that Captain Quirk had headquarters in the Methodist church, and his men were quartered near, taking meals with the villagers, Union and secession.* He recalled his own host's family, "a gentle wife and daughter and peaceful-faced old gentleman, who had a son-in-law in Stokes's Cavalry." Mr. Slaughter adds: "On one occasion we were on scout toward Murfreesboro-I think to a point about three miles from Liberty. We had just gone down a long slant through a wooded country to a branch emptying into Smith Fork (which flowed parallel with the pike). The bridge over the branch had been washed out, or else the floor had been removed by the Federals that morning as a trap should they force us to retreat. The place was a deep gulch. We had to take a stock path above the bridge to cross and get back to the pike. We had not gone far-little more than a mile-when we reached a glade to our right, where a dirt road intersected the pike at right angles, though pointing from us. Just beyond this

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*The writer of this history remembers having been often aroused from slumber by the songs of the scouts-Jim McGowdy, Bill McCreary, and others-singing "Lorena" or "Tenting on the Old Camp Ground." They were a jovial set.

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Captain Quirk called a consultation. It was decided that the Yankees were 'laying' for us, a larger force than ours. He called me by my camp name, 'Squirrel,' and ordered me to go back to camp and bring all our men fit for duty, cautioning me that the Yankees might cut me off just ahead. With a dash I began the daring ride. At the intersection of the dirt road and pike I saw two bluecoats under spur to cut me off. They commanded me to halt, but I went down the pike, the enemy in pursuit. They were no doubt confident of capturing me at the floorless bridge. They were gaining ground; but with a firm, steady pull old sorrel Charley cleared the breach, a distance of nearly twenty feet and deep enough to have killed rider and horse. The animal did not make a check on the other side. With a loud cheer and a parting shot I soon left the pursuers."

The bridge mentioned was probably near the present residence of Grant Roy, the county surveyor.

Alexandria did not escape the excitement of the times. Besides the encampment of local soldiers, General Wheeler, General Wharton, Colonel Smith, and Colonel Harrison (of the Eighth Texas) were familiar in that and the surrounding communities. They were camped on the various roads-Carthage, Statesville, Lebanon, and Murfreesboro. It was from Alexandria that General Morgan started on his famous raid through Ohio and Indiana.

Sometime during the war an old Scotch word "skedaddle," which was applied to milk spilt over the pail in carrying it, was made to take on new meaning.

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The Northern papers said the Southern forces were skedaddled by the Federals. The word soon became common. Many rich stories were told of how the DeKalb County noncombatants would flee from their homes when the enemy dashed suddenly into a community. Perhaps one of the best is that in which Hon. Horace A. Overall figured. A number of skedaddlers on a very cold night were sleeping in a barn at the head of one of the Clear Fork hollows, among them a rather simple-minded man. This man about midnight awoke his comrades with the startling news that the Yankees were coming. "How do you know its Yankees?" he was asked. "Because I hear Patsy Spurlock's dogs barkin' down the branch," was the reply. "But before I take the bitter cold," said Overall, crawling back into the hay, "you'll have to convince me that Patsy Spurlock's dogs won't bark at anything but Yankees."

The following, contributed to a newspaper some years ago by the writer, has to do with a very small lad's memories of the time that tried the soul:

It does not appear now that war times in our village were so unpleasant. But at moments the childish heart must have been filled with fear. I remember the sudden dash of soldiers into the village now and then, the popping reports, the scampering to a hiding place by noncombatants. One late afternoon some Confederates took the village, but all I remember of that occasion is that one of the men entered Joe Blackburn's stable and took out a fine stallion. On another afternoon old Mr. Bullard was executed east of the steam mill, and four Federals, ahold of his hands and feet, brought him up the street. I noted that his hair hung down and his coat tail dragged on the

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ground. There was a night when we were awakened by excited citizens on the street. Some one explained that "Uncle Ben Blades has been killed in his own house and is swelling badly." My mother told the informant to put a small bag of salt on his stomach, and it would prevent swelling. Jim Clark, a youth, had been killed on another occasion by Pomp Kersey's men. Often that day I looked across the fields toward his home, saw the crowd of sympathizing friends gathered before his burial, and wondered how he looked and how his father comported himself. General Wilder's men burned a storehouse in the village. Doubtless there was fear in many hearts, but I only noticed how black the smoke was that bulged out of the chimney. Then when he burned the big mill, and I stood looking out the south window, again I was attracted mainly to the black volume rolling up from the smokestack. I marveled greatly when I saw on the ruins of the store molten glass; that it could be melted was something I had not known. One late summer afternoon an ox team toiled up the village street, stopping in front of the John Hays storehouse, which, like all others, was vacant. Seven or eight dead bodies, piled on the cart like rails, were carried in and laid on the floor-all that was left of Kersey's guerrillas. In one room in our home there were two beds, my father occupying one with the youngest child, Bruce, and my mother the other with two children. Suddenly one midnight the hysterical wife of a Union soldier in night clothes rapped at the door, imploring us to admit her quickly. My mother opened the door, when the woman, in the darkness and while in terror crying that the Rebels had entered the town, jumped into the wrong bed!

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