EAST OF THE MISSISSIPPI.

Prostrated by two years of constant devotion to work work so severe, stern, and exacting as to have prevented me from giving the slightest attention to my family, even when heavily afflicted and persuaded that under existing administration nothing would be accomplished in the “Trans-Mississippi Department,” a month after the close of the Red River campaign I applied for relief from duty.  After several applications this was granted, and with my wife and two surviving children I retired to the old Spanish-French town of Natchitoches.  The inhabitants, though impoverished by the war, had a comfortable house ready for my family, to which they invited me, with all the warmth of Southern hearts and all the good taste of the Latin race.  Here I remained for several weeks, when information of my promotion to lieutenant-general came from Richmond, with orders to report for duty on the east side of the Mississippi.  The officers of my staff, who had long served with me, desired and were permitted to accompany me, with the exception of Brent, now colonel of artillery, who could not be spared.  Colonel Brent remained in west Louisiana until the close of the war, attaining the rank of brigadier.  Of his merit and services I have already written.

The Red River campaign of 1864 was the last Federal campaign undertaken for political objects, or intrusted to political generals.  Experience taught the Washington Government that its enormous resources must be concentrated, and henceforth unity of purpose and action prevailed.  Posts on the Mississippi between Memphis and New Orleans were strengthened, intervening spaces closely guarded by numerous gunboats, and parties thrown ashore to destroy all boats that could be found.  Though individuals, with precaution, could cross the great river, it was almost impossible to take over organized bodies of troops or supplies, and the Confederates on the west were isolated.  The Federal Government now directed its energies against Richmond and Atlanta.

Upon what foundations the civil authorities of the Confederacy rested their hopes of success, after the campaign of 1864 fully opened, I am unable to say; but their commanders in the field, whose rank and position enabled them to estimate the situation, fought simply to afford statesmanship an opportunity to mitigate the sorrows of inevitable defeat.

A grand old oak, on the east bank of the Black River, the lower Washita, protected my couch; and in the morning, with two guides, the faithful Tom following, I threaded my way through swamp and jungle to the Mississippi, which was reached at sunset.  A light canoe was concealed some distance from the river bank, and after the short twilight faded into night this was borne on the shoulders of the guides, and launched.  One of the guides embarked to paddle, and Tom and I followed, each leading a horse.  A gunboat was lying in the river a short distance below, and even the horses seemed to understand the importance of silence, swimming quietly alongside of our frail craft.  The eastern shore reached, we stopped for a time to rub and rest the cattle, exhausted by long-continued exertion in the water; then pushed on to Woodville, some five and twenty miles east.  This, the chief town of Wilkison county, Mississippi, was in telegraphic communication with Richmond, and I reported my arrival to the war office.  An answer came, directing me to take command of the department of Alabama, Mississippi, etc., with the information that President Davis would shortly leave Richmond to meet me at Montgomery, Alabama.  While awaiting telegram, I learned of the fall of Atlanta and the forts at the entrance of Mobile Bay.  My predecessor in the department to the command of which telegraphic orders had just assigned me was General Bishop Polk, to whom I accord all his titles; for in him, after a sleep of several centuries, was awakened the church militant.  Before he joined Johnston in northern Georgia, Polk’s headquarters were at Meridian, near the eastern boundary of Mississippi, where the Mobile and Ohio Railway, running north, is crossed by the Vicksburg, Jackson, and Selma line, running east.  To this point I at once proceeded, via Jackson, more than a hundred miles northeast of Woodville.  Grierson’s and other “raids,” in the past summer, had broken the New Orleans and Jackson Railway, so that I rode the distance to the latter place.  It was in September, and the fierce heat was trying to man and beast.  The open pine forests of southern Mississippi obstruct the breeze, while affording no protection from the sun, whose rays are intensified by reflection from the white, sandy soil.  Jackson reached, I stopped for an hour to see the Governor of Mississippi, Clarke, an old acquaintance, and give instructions to Brigadier Wirt Adams, the local commander; then took rail to Meridian, eighty miles, where I found the records of the department left by General Polk, as well as several officers of the general staff.  These gentlemen had nothing especial to do, and appeared to be discharging that duty conscientiously; but they were zealous and intelligent, and speedily enabled me to judge of the situation.  Major-General Maury, in immediate command at Mobile, and the senior officer in the department before my arrival, had ordered General Forrest with his cavalry to Mobile in anticipation of an attack.  Forrest himself was expected to pass through Meridian that evening, en route for Mobile.

Just from the Mississippi river, where facilities for obtaining information from New Orleans were greater than at Mobile, I was confident that the enemy contemplated no immediate attack on the latter place.  Accordingly, General Maury was informed by telegraph of my presence, that I assumed command of the department, and would arrest Forrest’s movement.  An hour later a train from the north, bringing Forrest in advance of his troops, reached Meridian, and was stopped; and the General, whom I had never seen, came to report.  He was a tall, stalwart man, with grayish hair, mild countenance, and slow and homely of speech.  In few words he was informed that I considered Mobile safe for the present, and that all our energies must be directed to the relief of Hood’s army, then west of Atlanta.  The only way to accomplish this was to worry Sherman’s communications north of the Tennessee river, and he must move his cavalry in that direction at the earliest moment.

To my surprise, Forrest suggested many difficulties and asked numerous questions:  how he was to get over the Tennessee; how he was to get back if pressed by the enemy; how he was to be supplied; what should be his line of retreat in certain contingencies; what he was to do with prisoners if any were taken, etc.  I began to think he had no stomach for the work; but at last, having isolated the chances of success from causes of failure with the care of a chemist experimenting in his laboratory, he rose and asked for Fleming, the superintendent of the railway, who was on the train by which he had come.  Fleming appeared a little man on crutches (he had recently broken a leg), but with the energy of a giant and at once stated what he could do in the way of moving supplies on his line, which had been repaired up to the Tennessee boundary.  Forrest’s whole manner now changed.  In a dozen sharp sentences he told his wants, said he would leave a staff officer to bring up his supplies, asked for an engine to take him back north twenty miles to meet his troops, informed me he would march with the dawn, and hoped to give an account of himself in Tennessee.

Moving with great rapidity, he crossed the Tennessee river, captured stockades with their garrisons, burned bridges, destroyed railways, reached the Cumberland River below Nashville, drove away gunboats, captured and destroyed several transports with immense stores, and spread alarm over a wide region.  The enemy concentrated on him from all directions, but he eluded or defeated their several columns, recrossed the Tennessee, and brought off fifteen hundred prisoners and much spoil.  Like Clive, Nature made him a great soldier; and he was without the former’s advantages.  Limited as was Clive’s education, he was a person of erudition compared with Forrest, who read with difficulty.  In the last weeks of the war he was much with me, and told me the story of his life.  His father, a poor trader in negroes and mules, died when he was fifteen years of age, leaving a widow and several younger children dependent on him for support.  To add to his burden, a posthumous infant was born some weeks after the father’s death.  Continuing the paternal occupations in a small way, he continued to maintain the family and give some education to the younger children.  His character for truth, honesty, and energy was recognized, and he gradually achieved independence and aided his brethren to start in life.  Such was his short story up to the war.

Some months before the time of our first meeting, with two thousand men he defeated the Federal General Sturgis, who had five times his force, at Tishimingo; and he repeated his success at Okalona, where his opponent, General Smith, had even greater odds against him.  The battle of Okalona was fought on an open plain, and Forrest had no advantage of position to compensate for great inferiority of numbers; but it is remarkable that he employed the tactics of Frederick at Leuthen and Zorndorf, though he had never heard these names.  Indeed, his tactics deserve the closest study of military men.  Asked after the war to what he attributed his success in so many actions, he replied:  “Well, I got there first with the most men.”  Jomini could not have stated the key to the art of war more concisely.  I doubt if any commander since the days of lion-hearted Richard has killed as many enemies with his own hand as Forrest.  His word of command as he led the charge was unique:  “Forward, men, and mix with ’em!” But, while cutting down many a foe with long-reaching, nervous arm, his keen eye watched the whole fight and guided him to the weak spot.  Yet he was a tender-hearted, kindly man.  The accusations of his enemies that he murdered prisoners at Fort Pillow and elsewhere are absolutely false.  The prisoners captured on his expedition into Tennessee, of which I have just written, were negroes, and he carefully looked after their wants himself, though in rapid movement and fighting much of the time.  These negroes told me of Mass Forrest’s kindness to them.  After the war I frequently met General Forrest, and received many evidences of attachment from him.  He has passed away within a month, to the regret of all who knew him.  In the States of Alabama, Mississippi, and Tennessee, to generations yet unborn, his name will be a “household word.”

Having devoted several hours at Meridian to the work mentioned, I took rail for Mobile, a hundred and forty miles.  This town of thirty thousand inhabitants is situated on the west bank of the Alabama (here called Mobile) River, near its entrance into Mobile Bay, which is five-and-twenty miles long by ten broad.  A month before my arrival Admiral Farragut had captured Fort Morgan at the eastern mouth of the bay, after defeating the Confederate fleet under Admiral Buchanan, who was severely wounded in the action.  Two or three of Buchanan’s vessels had escaped, and were in charge of Commodore Farrand near Mobile.  The shallow waters of the bay were thickly planted with torpedoes, and many heavy guns were mounted near the town, making it safe in front.  Mobile had excellent communications with the interior.  The Alabama, Tombigby, and Black Warrior Rivers afforded steam navigation to central Alabama and eastern Mississippi, while the Mobile and Ohio Railway reached the northern limit of the latter State.  Supplies from the fertile “cane-brake” region of Alabama and the prairies of eastern Mississippi were abundant.  Before they abandoned Pensacola, the Confederates had taken up fifty miles of rails from the Pensacola and Montgomery line, and used them to make a connection between the latter place and Blakeley, at the eastern head of the bay, opposite Mobile.  From the known dispositions of the Federal forces, I did not think it probable that any serious attempt on Mobile would be made until spring.  Already in possession of Fort Morgan and Pensacola, thirty miles east of the first, and the best harbor on the Gulf, the enemy, when he attacked, would doubtless make these places his base.  It was important, then, to look to defensive works on the east side of the bay, and such works were vigorously pushed at Blakeley, above mentioned, and at Spanish Fort, several miles south.  I had no intention of standing a siege in Mobile, but desired to hold the place with a small force, so as to compel the employment of an army to reduce it; and for this its situation was admirably adapted.  The Mobile River, forty miles long, and formed by the Alabama and Tombigby, is but the estuary at the head of Mobile Bay, silted up with detritus by the entering streams.  Several miles wide, it incloses numerous marshy islands in its many channels.  These features make its passage difficult, while the Mobile and Ohio Railway, trending to the west as it leaves the town to gain the high land above the valley, affords a ready means for the withdrawal of a limited force.

The officer commanding at Mobile was well qualified for his task.  Major-General D.H.  Maury, nephew to the distinguished Matthew Maury, formerly of the United States navy, graduated from West Point in time to serve in the war with Mexico, where he was wounded.  A Virginian, he resigned from the United States cavalry to share the fortunes of his State.  Intelligent, upright, and devoted to duty, he gained the respect and confidence of the townspeople, and was thereby enabled to supplement his regular force of eight thousand of all arms with a body of local militia.  It was a great comfort to find an able officer in this responsible position, who not only adopted my plans, but improved and executed them.  General Maury had some excellent officers under him, and the sequel will show how well they discharged their duty to the end.

From Mobile to Meridian, and after some days to Selma, ninety miles east.  The railway between these last places had been recently laid down, and was very imperfect.  There was no bridge over the Tombigby at Demopolis, and a steam ferry was employed.  East of Demopolis, the line passed through the cane-brake country, a land of fatness.  The army of Lee, starving in the trenches before Richmond and Petersburg, could have been liberally supplied from this district but for lack of transportation.

Here it may be asserted that we suffered less from inferiority of numbers than from want of mechanical resources.  Most of the mechanics employed in the South were Northern men, and returned to their section at the outbreak of war.  The loss of New Orleans, our only large city, aggravated this trouble, and we had no means of repairing the long lines of railway, nor the plant.  Even when unbroken by raids, wear and tear rendered them inefficient at an early period of the struggle.  This had a more direct influence on the sudden downfall of the Confederacy than is generally supposed.

Selma, a place of some five thousand people, is on the north bank of the Alabama River, by which it has steam communication with Mobile and Montgomery, forty miles above on the opposite bank.  In addition to the railway from Meridian, there was a line running to the northeast in the direction of Dalton, Georgia, the existing terminus of which was at Blue Mountain, a hundred and odd miles from Selma; and, to inspect the line, I went to Blue Mountain.  This, the southern limit of the Alleghanies, which here sink into the great plain of the gulf, was distant from the Atlanta and Chattanooga Railway, Sherman’s only line of communication, sixty miles.  A force operating from Blue Mountain would approach this line at a right angle, and, drawing its supplies from the fertile country near Selma, would cover its own communications while threatening those of an enemy from Atlanta to Chattanooga.  On this account the road might be of importance.

Returning to Selma, I stopped at Talladega, on the east bank of the Coosa River, the largest affluent of the Alabama, and navigable by small steamers to Rome, Georgia.  Here I met Brigadier Daniel Adams, in local command, and learned much of the condition of the surrounding region.  After passing Chattanooga the Tennessee River makes a great bend to the South, inclosing a part of Alabama between itself and the Tennessee State line; and in this district was a small Confederate force under Brigadier Roddy, which was enabled to maintain an exposed position by knowledge of the country.  General Adams thought he could procure wire enough to establish communication with Roddy, or materially shorten the courier line between them; and, as this would duplicate my means of getting news, especially of Forrest, he was directed to do so.  I had no knowledge of Hood’s plans or condition, saving that he had been defeated and was southwest of Atlanta; but if he contemplated operations on Sherman’s communications, which was his true policy, he must draw supplies from Selma, as much of the country between the Tennessee and Alabama Rivers was sterile and sparsely populated.  Accordingly, I moved my headquarters to Selma and ordered the collection of supplies there, and at Talladega; then took steamer for Montgomery, to meet the General Assembly of Alabama, called in extra session in view of the crisis produced by Hood’s defeat and the fall of Atlanta.  Just as the steamer was leaving Selma, I received dispatches from Forrest, announcing his first success after crossing the Tennessee river.  Traveling alone, or with one staff officer, and unknown to the people, I had opportunities of learning something of the real state of public sentiment in my new department.  Citizens were universally depressed and disheartened.  Sick and wounded officers and men from Hood’s army were dissatisfied with the removal of Johnston from command, and the subsequent conduct of affairs.  From conversations in railway carriages and on river steamers I had gathered this, and nothing but this, since my arrival.

Reaching Montgomery in the morning, I had interviews with the Governor and leading members of the Assembly, who promised all the assistance in their power to aid in the defense of the State.  The Governor, Watts, who had resigned the office of Attorney-General of the Confederacy to accept his present position, was ever ready to cooeperate with me.

Late in the afternoon a dispatch was received from President Davis, announcing his arrival for the following morning.  He came, was received by the State authorities, visited the Capitol, addressed the Assembly, and then received leading citizens; all of which consumed the day, and it was ten o’clock at night when he took me to his chamber, locked the door, and said we must devote the night to work, as it was imperative for him to return to Richmond the next morning.  He began by saying that he had visited Hood and his army on his way to Montgomery, and was gratified to find officers and men in excellent spirits, not at all depressed by recent disasters, and that he thought well of a movement north toward Nashville.  I expressed surprise at his statement of the condition of Hood’s army, as entirely opposed to the conclusions forced on me by all the evidence I could get, and warned him of the danger of listening to narrators who were more disposed to tell what was agreeable than what was true.  He readily admitted that persons in his position were exposed to this danger.  Proceeding to discuss the suggested movement toward Nashville, I thought it a serious matter to undertake a campaign into Tennessee in the autumn, with troops so badly equipped as were ours for the approaching winter.  Every mile the army marched north, it was removing farther from supplies, and no reenforcements were to be hoped for from any quarter.  Besides, Sherman could control force enough to garrison Chattanooga and Nashville, and, if time were allowed him to accumulate supplies at Atlanta by his one line of rail, could abandon everything south of Chattanooga, and with fifty thousand men, in the absence of Hood’s army, march where he liked.  The President asked what assistance might be expected from the trans-Mississippi.  I replied, none.  There would not be another gun fired there; for the Federals had withdrawn their troops to concentrate east of the river.  The difficulty of bringing over organized bodies of men was explained, with the addition of their unwillingness to come.  The idea prevailed that the States west of the Mississippi had been neglected by the Government, and this idea had been encouraged by many in authority.  So far from desiring to send any more men to the east, they clamored for the return of those already there.  Certain senators and representatives, who had bitterly opposed the administration at Richmond, talked much wild nonsense about setting up a government west of the Mississippi, uniting with Maximilian, and calling on Louis Napoleon for assistance.  The President listened attentively to this, and asked, “What then?” I informed him of the work Forrest was doing, pointed out the advantages of Blue Mountain as a base from which to operate, and suggested that Hood’s army be thrown on Sherman’s line of railway, north of Atlanta.  As Johnston had been so recently removed from command, I would not venture to recommend his return, but believed that our chances would be increased by the assignment of Beauregard to the army.  He still retained some of the early popularity gained at Sumter and Manassas, and would awaken a certain enthusiasm.  Apprehending no immediate danger for Mobile, I would strip the place of everything except gunners and join Beauregard with four thousand good troops.  Even the smallest reenforcement is inspiriting to a defeated army, and by seizing his railway we would force Sherman to battle.  Granting we would be whipped, we could fall back to Blue Mountain without danger of pursuit, as the enemy was chained to his line of supply, and we certainly ought to make the fight hot enough to cripple him for a time and delay his projected movements.  At the same time, I did not disguise my conviction that the best we could hope for was to protract the struggle until spring.  It was for statesmen, not soldiers, to deal with the future.

The President said Beauregard should come, and, after consultation with Hood and myself, decide the movements of the army; but that he was distressed to hear such gloomy sentiments from me.  I replied that it was my duty to express my opinions frankly to him, when he asked for them, though there would be impropriety in giving utterance to them before others; but I did not admit the gloom.  In fact, I had cut into this game with eyes wide open, and felt that in staking life, fortune, and the future of my children, the chances were against success.  It was not for me, then, to whimper when the cards were bad; that was the right of those who were convinced there would be no war, or at most a holiday affair, in which everybody could display heroism.  With much other talk we wore through the night.  In the morning he left, as he purposed, and I returned to Selma.  My next meeting with President Davis was at Fortress Monroe, under circumstances to be related.

Some days at Selma were devoted to accumulation of supplies, and General Maury was advised that he must be prepared to forward a part of his command to that place, when a message from Beauregard informed me that he was on the way to Blue Mountain and desired to meet me there.  He had not seen Hood, whose army, after an ineffectual attack on Altoona, had left Sherman’s line of communication, moved westward, and was now some fifteen miles to the north of Blue Mountain.  Having told me this, Beauregard explained the orders under which he was acting.  To my disappointment, he had not been expressly assigned to command Hood’s army, but to the general direction of affairs in the southwest.  General Maury, a capable officer, was at Mobile; Forrest, with his cavalry division, I had sent into Tennessee; and a few scattered men were watching the enemy in various quarters all together hardly constituting a command for a lieutenant-general, my rank.  Unless Beauregard took charge of Hood’s army, there was nothing for him to do except to command me.  Here was a repetition of 1863.  Then Johnston was sent with a roving commission to command Bragg in Tennessee, Pemberton in Mississippi, and others in sundry places.  The result was that he commanded nobody, and, when Pemberton was shut up in Vicksburg, found himself helpless, with a handful of troops, at Jackson.  To give an officer discretion to remove another from command of an army in the field is to throw upon him the responsibility of doing it, and this should be assumed by the government, not left to an individual.

However, I urged on Beauregard the considerations mentioned in my interview with President Davis, that Sherman had detached to look after Forrest, was compelled to keep garrisons at many points from Atlanta to Nashville, and, if forced to action fifty or sixty miles north of the former place, would be weaker then than we could hope to find him later, after he had accumulated supplies.  I mentioned the little reenforcement we could have at once from Mobile, my readiness to take any command, division, brigade, or regiment to which he might assign me, and, above all, the necessity of prompt action.  There were two persons present, Colonel Brent, of Beauregard’s staff, and Mr. Charles Villere, a member of the Confederate Congress from Louisiana.  The former said all that was proper for a staff officer in favor of my views; the latter, Beauregard’s brother-in-law, warmly urged their adoption.  The General ordered his horse, to visit Hood, and told me to await intelligence from him.  On his return from Hood, he informed me that the army was moving to the northwest, and would cross the Tennessee river near the Muscle Shoals.  As this plan of campaign had met the sanction of President Davis, and Hood felt confident of success, he declined to interfere.  I could not blame Beauregard; for it was putting a cruel responsibility on him to supersede a gallant veteran, to whom fortune had been adverse.  There was nothing to be said and nothing to be done, saving to discharge one’s duty to the bitter end.  Hood’s line of march would bring him within reach of the Mobile and Ohio Railway in northern Mississippi, and supplies could be sent him by that road.  Selma ceased to be of importance, and my quarters were returned to Meridian.  Forrest, just back from Tennessee, was advised of Hood’s purposes and ordered to cooeperate.  Maury was made happy by the information that he would lose none of his force, and the usual routine of inspections, papers, etc., occupied the ensuing weeks.

My attention was called about this time to the existence of a wide-spread evil.  A practice had grown up of appointing provost-marshals to take private property for public use, and every little post commander exercised the power to appoint such officials.  The land swarmed with these vermin, appointed without due authority, or self-constituted, who robbed the people of horses, mules, cattle, corn, and meat.  The wretched peasants of the middle ages could not have suffered more from the “free companies” turned loose upon them.  Loud complaints came up from State governors and from hundreds of good citizens.  I published an order, informing the people that their property was not to be touched unless by authority given by me and in accordance with the forms of law, and they were requested to deal with all violators of the order as with highwaymen.  This put an end to the tyranny, which had been long and universally submitted to.

The readiness of submission to power displayed by the American people in the war was astonishing.  Our British forefathers transmitted to us respect for law and love of liberty founded upon it; but the influence of universal suffrage seemed to have destroyed all sense of personal manhood, all conception of individual rights.  It may be said of the South, that its people submitted to wrong because they were engaged in a fierce struggle with superior force; but what of the North, whose people were fighting for conquest?  Thousands were opposed to the war, and hundreds of thousands to its conduct and objects.  The wonderful vote received by McClellan in 1864 showed the vast numbers of the Northern minority; yet, so far from modifying in the smallest degree the will and conduct of the majority, this multitude of men dared not give utterance to their real sentiments; and the same was true of the South at the time of secession.  Reformers who have tried to improve the morals of humanity, discoverers who have striven to alleviate its physical conditions, have suffered martyrdom at its hands.  Years upon years have been found necessary to induce the masses to consider, much less adopt, schemes for their own advantage.  A government of numbers, then, is not one of virtue or intelligence, but of force, intangible, irresistible, irresponsible resembling that of Cæsar depicted by the great historian, which, covering the earth as a pall, reduced all to a common level of abject servitude.  For many years scarce a descendant of the colonial gentry in the Eastern States has been elected to public office.  To-day they have no existence even as a social force and example.  Under the baleful influence of negro suffrage it is impossible to foretell the destiny of the South.  Small wonder that pure democracies have ever proved ready to exchange “Demos” for some other tyrant.

Occasional visits for inspection were made to Mobile, where Maury was strengthening his defenses.  On the east side of the bay, Blakeley and Spanish Fort were progressing steadily, as I held that the enemy would attack there, tempted by his possession of Pensacola and Fort Morgan.  Although this opinion was justified in the end, hope may have had some influence in its formation; for we could meet attack from that quarter better than from the west, which, indeed, would have speedily driven us from the place.  The loss of the Mobile and Ohio railway would have necessitated the withdrawal of the garrison across the bay, a difficult operation, if pressed by superior force.

The Confederate Congress had enacted that negro troops, captured, should be restored to their owners.  We had several hundreds of such, taken by Forrest in Tennessee, whose owners could not be reached; and they were put to work on the fortifications at Mobile, rather for the purpose of giving them healthy employment than for the value of the work.  I made it a point to visit their camps and inspect the quantity and quality of their food, always found to be satisfactory.  On one occasion, while so engaged, a fine-looking negro, who seemed to be leader among his comrades, approached me and said:  “Thank you, Massa General, they give us plenty of good victuals; but how you like our work?” I replied that they had worked very well.  “If you will give us guns we will fight for these works, too.  We would rather fight for our own white folks than for strangers.”  And, doubtless, this was true.  In their dealings with the negro the white men of the South should ever remember that no instance of outrage occurred during the war.  Their wives and little ones remained safe at home, surrounded by thousands of faithful slaves, who worked quietly in the fields until removed by the Federals.  This is the highest testimony to the kindness of the master and the gentleness of the servant; and all the dramatic talent prostituted to the dissemination of falsehood in “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” and similar productions can not rebut it.

About the middle of November I received from General Lee, now commanding the armies of the Confederacy, instructions to visit Macon and Savannah, Georgia, if I could leave my department, and report to him the condition of affairs in that quarter, and the probabilities of Sherman’s movements, as the latter had left Atlanta.  I proceeded at once, taking rail at Montgomery, and reached Macon, via Columbus, Georgia, at dawn.  It was the bitterest weather I remember in this latitude.  The ground was frozen and some snow was falling.  General Howell Cobb, the local commander, met me at the station and took me to his house, which was also his office.  Arrived there, horses appeared, and Cobb said he supposed that I would desire to ride out and inspect the fortifications, on which he had been at work all night, as the enemy was twelve miles north of Macon at noon of the preceding day.  I asked what force he had to defend the place.  He stated the number, which was utterly inadequate, and composed of raw conscripts.  Whereupon I declined to look at the fortifications, and requested him to order work upon them to be stopped, so that his men could get by a fire, as I then was and intended to remain.  I had observed a movement of stores in passing the railway station, and now expressed the opinion that Macon was the safest place in Georgia, and advised Cobb to keep his stores.  Here entered General Mackall, one of Cobb’s subordinates, who was personally in charge of the defensive works, and could not credit the order he had received to stop.  Cobb referred him to me, and I said:  “The enemy was but twelve miles from you at noon of yesterday.  Had he intended coming to Macon, you would have seen him last evening, before you had time to strengthen works or remove stores.”  This greatly comforted Cobb, who up to that moment held me to be a lunatic.  Breakfast was suggested, to which I responded with enthusiasm, having been on short commons for many hours.  While we were enjoying the meal, intelligence was brought that the enemy had disappeared from the north of Macon and marched eastward.  Cobb was delighted.  He pronounced me to be the wisest of generals, and said he knew nothing of military affairs, but had entered the service from a sense of duty.

Cobb had been Speaker of the United States House of Representatives, and Secretary of the Treasury in the administration of President Buchanan.  Beloved and respected in his State, he had been sent to Georgia to counteract the influence of Governor Joe Brown, who, carrying out the doctrine of State rights, had placed himself in opposition to President Davis.  Cobb, with his conscripts, had been near Atlanta before Sherman moved out, and gave me a laughable account of the expeditious manner in which he and “his little party” got to Macon, just as he was inditing a superb dispatch to General Lee to inform him of the impossibility of Sherman’s escape.

While we were conversing Governor Brown was announced, as arrived from Milledgeville, the State capital, forty miles to the northeast.  Cobb remarked that it was awkward; for Governor Brown was the only man in Georgia to whom he did not speak.  But he yielded to the ancient jest, that for the time being we had best hang together, as there seemed a possibility of enjoying that amusement separately, and brought the Governor in, who told me that he had escaped from Milledgeville as the Federals entered.  People said that he had brought off his cow and his cabbages, and left the State’s property to take care of itself.  However, Governor Brown deserves praise at my hands, for he promptly acceded to all my requests.  With him were General Robert Toombs, the most original of men, and General G.W.  Smith, both of whom had been in the Confederate army.  Toombs had resigned to take the place of Adjutant-General of Georgia; Smith, to superintend some iron works, from which he had been driven by Sherman’s movements, and was now in command of Governor Brown’s “army,” composed of men that he had refused to the Confederate service.  This “army” had some hours before marched east toward Savannah, taking the direct route along the railway.  I told the Governor that his men would be captured unless they were called back at once; and Smith, who undertook the duty in person, was just in time.  “Joe Brown’s army” struck the extreme right of Sherman, and suffered some loss before Smith could extricate it.  To Albany, ninety miles south of Macon, there was a railway, and some forty miles farther south, across the country, Thomasville was reached.  Here was the terminus of the Savannah and Gulf Railway, two hundred miles, or thereabouts, southwest of Savannah.  This route I decided to take, and suggested it to the Governor as the only safe one for his troops.  He acquiesced at once, and Toombs promised to have transportation ready by the time Smith returned.  Taking leave of Cobb, I departed.

Several years after the close of the war General Cobb and I happened to be in New York, accompanied by our families, but stopping at different inns.  He dined with me, seemed in excellent health and spirits, and remained to a late hour, talking over former times and scenes.  I walked to his lodgings with him, and promised to call with my wife on Mrs. Cobb the following day at 1 o’clock.  We were there at the hour, when the servant, in answer to my request to take up our cards, stated that General Cobb had just fallen dead.  I sprang up the stair, and saw his body lying on the floor of a room, his wife, dazed by the shock, looking on.  A few minutes before he had written a letter and started for the office of the inn to post it, remarking to his wife that he would return immediately, as he expected our visit.  A step from the threshold, and he was dead.  Thus suddenly passed away one of the most genial and generous men I have known.  His great fortune suffered much by the war, but to the last he shared its remains with less fortunate friends.

Traveling all night, I reached Thomasville in the early morning, and found that there was telegraphic communication with General Hardee at Savannah, whom I informed of my presence and requested to send down transportation for Governor Brown’s troops.  There was much delay at Thomasville, the railway people appearing to think that Sherman was swarming all over Georgia.  At length I discovered an engine and a freight van, which the officials promised to get ready for me; but they were dreadfully slow, until Toombs rode into town and speedily woke them up.  Smith returned to Macon after my departure, found transportation ready for his men, brought them to Albany by rail, and was now marching to Thomasville.  Toombs, who had ridden on in advance, was not satisfied with Hardee’s reply to my dispatch, but took possession of the telegraph and threatened dire vengeance on superintendents and road masters if they failed to have the necessary engines and carriages ready in time.  He damned the dawdling creatures who had delayed me to such an extent as to make them energetic, and my engine appeared, puffing with anxiety to move.  He assured me that he would not be many hours after me at Savannah, for Smith did not intend to halt on the road, as his men could rest in the carriages.  A man of extraordinary energy, this same Toombs.

Savannah was reached about midnight, and Hardee was awaiting me.  A short conversation cleared the situation and enabled me to send the following report to General Lee.  Augusta, Georgia, held by General Bragg with a limited force, was no longer threatened, as the enemy had passed south of it.  Sherman, with sixty or seventy thousand men, was moving on the high ground between the Savannah and Ogeechee Rivers; and as this afforded a dry, sandy road direct to Savannah, where he would most readily meet the Federal fleet, it was probable that he would adhere to it.  He might cross the Savannah river forty or fifty miles above and march on Charleston, but this was hardly to be expected; for, in addition to the river named, there were several others and a difficult country to pass before Charleston could be reached, and his desire to communicate with the fleet by the nearest route and in the shortest time must be considered.  Hardee’s force was inadequate to the defense of Savannah, and he should prepare to abandon the place before he was shut up.  Uniting, Bragg and Hardee should call in the garrison from Charleston, and all scattered forces along the coast south of Wilmington, North Carolina, and be prepared to resist Sherman’s march through the Carolinas, which he must be expected to undertake as soon as he had established a base on the ocean.  Before this report was dispatched, Hardee read and approved it.

Meanwhile scores of absurd rumors about the enemy came in.  Places I had passed within an hour were threatened by heavy columns; others, from which the enemy was distant a hundred miles, were occupied, etc.  But one of importance did come.  The railway from Savannah to Charleston passes near the coast.  The officer commanding at Pocotaligo, midway of the two places, reported an advance of the enemy from Port Royal, and that he must abandon his post the following morning unless reenforced.  To lose the Charleston line would seriously interfere with the concentration just recommended.  Hardee said that he could ill spare men, and had no means of moving them promptly.  I bethought me of Toombs, Smith, and Governor Brown’s “army.”  The energetic Toombs had frightened the railway people into moving him, and, from his telegrams, might be expected before dawn.  Hardee thought but little of the suggestion, because the ground of quarrel between Governor Brown and President Davis was the refusal of the former to allow his guards to serve beyond their state.  However, I had faith in Toombs and Smith.  A short distance to the south of Savannah, on the Gulf road, was a switch by which carriages could be shunted on to a connection with the Charleston line.  I wrote to Toombs of the emergency, and sent one of Hardee’s staff to meet him at the switch.  The governor’s army was quietly shunted off and woke up at Pocotaligo in South Carolina, where it was just in time to repulse the enemy after a spirited little action, thereby saving the railway.  Doubtless the Georgians, a plucky people, would have responded to an appeal to leave their State under the circumstances, but Toombs enjoyed the joke of making them unconscious patriots.

In the past autumn Cassius Clay of Kentucky killed a colored man who had attacked him.  For more than thirty years Mr. Clay had advocated the abolition of slavery, and at the risk of his life.  Dining with Toombs in New York just after the event, he said to me:  “Seen the story about old Cassius Clay?  Been an abolitionist all his days, and ends by shooting a nigger.  I knew he would.”  A droll fellow is Robert Toombs.  Full of talent and well instructed, he affects quaint and provincial forms of speech.  His influence in Georgia is great, and he is a man to know.

Two days at Savannah served to accomplish the object of my mission, and, taking leave of Hardee, I returned to my own department.  An educated soldier of large experience, Hardee was among the best of our subordinate generals, and, indeed, seemed to possess the requisite qualities for supreme command; but this he steadily refused, alleging his unfitness for responsibility.  Such modesty is not a common American weakness, and deserves to be recorded.  General Hardee’s death occurred after the close of the war.

In this journey through Georgia, at Andersonville, I passed in sight of a large stockade inclosing prisoners of war.  The train stopped for a few moments, and there entered the carriage, to speak to me, a man who said his name was Wirtz, and that he was in charge of the prisoners near by.  He complained of the inadequacy of his guard and of the want of supplies, as the adjacent region was sterile and thinly populated.  He also said that the prisoners were suffering from cold, were destitute of blankets, and that he had not wagons to supply fuel.  He showed me duplicates of requisitions and appeals for relief that he had made to different authorities, and these I indorsed in the strongest terms possible, hoping to accomplish some good.  I know nothing of this Wirtz, whom I then met for the first and only time, but he appeared to be earnest in his desire to mitigate the condition of his prisoners.  There can be but little doubt that his execution was a “sop” to the passions of the “many-headed.”

Returned to Meridian, the situation of Hood in Tennessee absorbed all my attention.  He had fought at Franklin, and was now near Nashville.  Franklin was a bloody affair, in which Hood lost many of his best officers and troops.  The previous evening, at dusk, a Federal column, retreating north, passed within pistol-shot of Hood’s forces, and an attack on it might have produced results; but it reached strong works at Franklin, and held them against determined assaults, until night enabled it to withdraw quietly to Nashville.  This mistake may be ascribed to Hood’s want of physical activity, occasioned by severe wounds and amputations, which might have been considered before he was assigned to command.  Maurice of Saxe won Fontenoy in a litter, unable from disease to mount his horse; but in war it is hazardous to convert exceptions into rules.

Notwithstanding his frightful loss at Franklin, Hood followed the enemy to Nashville, and took position south of the place, where he remained ten days or more.  It is difficult to imagine what objects he had in view.  The town was open to the north, whence the Federal commander, Thomas, was hourly receiving reenforcements, while he had none to hope for.  His plans perfected and his reenforcements joined, Thomas moved, and Hood was driven off; and, had the Federal general possessed dash equal to his tenacity and caution, one fails to see how Hood could have brought man or gun across the Tennessee River.  It is painful to criticise Hood’s conduct of this campaign.  Like Ney, “the bravest of the brave,” he was a splendid leader in battle, and as a brigade or division commander unsurpassed; but, arrived at higher rank, he seems to have been impatient of control, and openly disapproved of Johnston’s conduct of affairs between Dalton and Atlanta.  Unwillingness to obey is often interpreted by governments into capacity for command.

Reaching the southern bank of the Tennessee, Hood asked to be relieved, and a telegraphic order assigned me to the duty.  At Tupelo, on the Mobile and Ohio Railway, a hundred and odd miles north of Meridian, I met him and the remains of his army.  Within my experience were assaults on positions, in which heavy losses were sustained without success; but the field had been held retreats, but preceded by repulse of the foe and followed by victory.  This was my first view of a beaten army, an army that for four years had shown a constancy worthy of the “Ten Thousand”; and a painful sight it was.  Many guns and small arms had been lost, and the ranks were depleted by thousands of prisoners and missing.  Blankets, shoes, clothing, and accouterments were wanting.  I have written of the unusual severity of the weather in the latter part of November, and it was now near January.  Some men perished by frost; many had the extremities severely bitten.  Fleming, the active superintendent mentioned, strained the resources of his railway to transport the troops to the vicinity of Meridian, where timber for shelter and fuel was abundant and supplies convenient; and every energy was exerted to reequip them.

Sherman was now in possession of Savannah, but an interior line of rail by Columbus, Macon, and Augusta, Georgia, and Columbia, South Carolina, was open.  Mobile was not immediately threatened, and was of inferior importance as compared with the safety of Lee’s army at Petersburg.  Unless a force could be interposed between Sherman and Lee’s rear, the game would be over when the former moved.  Accordingly, I dispatched to General Lee the suggestion of sending the “Army of Tennessee” to North Carolina, where Johnston had been restored to command.  He approved, and directed me to send forward the men as rapidly as possible.  I had long dismissed all thought of the future.  The duty of a soldier in the field is simple to fight until stopped by the civil arm of his government, or his government has ceased to exist; and military men have usually come to grief by forgetting this simple duty.

Forrest had fought and worked hard in this last Tennessee campaign, and his division of cavalry was broken down.  By brigades it was distributed to different points in the prairie and cane-brake regions, where forage could be had, and I hoped for time to restore the cattle and refit the command.  With our limited resources of transportation, it was a slow business to forward troops to Johnston in North Carolina; but at length it was accomplished, and the month of March came round to raise the curtain for the last act of the bloody drama.  Two clouds appeared on the horizon of my department.  General Canby, a steady soldier, whom I had long known, had assumed command of all the Federal forces in the southwest, and was concentrating fifty thousand men at Fort Morgan and Pensacola against Mobile.  In northern Alabama General Wilson had ten thousand picked mounted men ready for an expedition.  At Selma was a foundry, where the best ordnance I have seen was made of Briarsfield iron, from a furnace in the vicinity; and, as this would naturally attract the enemy’s attention to Selma, I endeavored to prepare for him.  The Cahawba River, from the northeast, enters the Alabama below Selma, north of which it separates the barren mineral region from the fertile lands of the river basin; and at its crossing I directed Forrest to concentrate.

Wilson, with the smallest body, would probably move first; and, once disposed of, Forrest could be sent south of the Alabama River to delay Canby and prolong the defense of Mobile.  For a hundred miles north of the gulf the country is sterile, pine forest on a soil of white sand; but the northern end of the Montgomery and Pensacola Railway was in our possession, and would enable us to transport supplies.  In a conference with Maury at Mobile I communicated the above to him, as I had previously to Forrest, and hastened to Selma.  Distributed for forage, and still jaded by hard work, Forrest ordered his brigades to the Cahawba crossing, leading one in person.  His whole force would have been inferior to Wilson’s, but he was a host in himself, and a dangerous adversary to meet at any reasonable odds.

Our information of the enemy had proved extremely accurate; but in this instance the Federal commander moved with unusual rapidity, and threw out false signals.  Forrest, with one weak brigade, was in the path; but two of his brigadiers permitted themselves to be deceived by reports of the enemy’s movements toward Columbus, Mississippi, and turned west, while another went into camp under some misconception of orders.  Forrest fought as if the world depended on his arm, and sent to advise me of the deceit practiced on two of his brigades, but hoped to stop the enemy if he could get up the third, the absence of which he could not account for.  I directed such railway plant as we had to be moved out on the roads, retaining a small yard engine to take me off at the last moment.  There was nothing more to be done.  Forrest appeared, horse and man covered with blood, and announced the enemy at his heels, and that I must move at once to escape capture.  I felt anxious for him, but he said he was unhurt and would cut his way through, as most of his men had done, whom he had ordered to meet him west of the Cahawba.  My engine started toward Meridian, and barely escaped.  Before headway was attained the enemy was upon us, and capture seemed inevitable.  Fortunately, the group of horsemen near prevented their comrades from firing, so we had only to risk a fusillade from a dozen, who fired wild.  The driver and stoker, both negroes, were as game as possible, and as we thundered across Cahawba bridge, all safe, raised a loud “Yah! yah!” of triumph, and smiled like two sable angels.  Wilson made no delay at Selma, but, crossing the Alabama River, pushed on to Montgomery, and thence into Georgia.  I have never met this General Wilson, whose soldierly qualities are entitled to respect; for of all the Federal expeditions of which I have any knowledge, his was the best conducted.

It would have been useless to pursue Wilson, had there been troops disposable, as many hundred miles intervened between him and North Carolina, where Johnston commanded the nearest Confederate forces, too remote to be affected by his movements.  Canby was now before the eastern defenses of Mobile, and it was too late to send Forrest to that quarter.  He was therefore directed to draw together and reorganize his division near Meridian.