To one who occupied a very small space in the War of the Rebellion--one who filled but a modest position among those who sought to protect the Nation's honor and life--it is a matter of difficulty, if not hazard, to attempt to enlighten, or even entertain, such a body as that to whom this paper is addressed. Certainly no attempt will be made, in this case, to enlighten. If any thing new is furnished that shall also prove interesting, the end will be subserved. There are those among us, members of Ohio Commandery, who contributed largely to the grandeur, the magnificence, the glory of that army of the Union from which this Order sprang. There are those among us who made pages, aye, chapters, of history where great deeds are emphasized in blood; deeds that "throbbed the Nation's heart." And this history is not for a day; not for our time alone. It will go on down the ages to be read by grand-children and their grand-children, who will point with pride to the illustrious achievements and say: "These were my ancestors who fought in that great war and did these glorious things!" What richer legacy can you hand down? This is fame! This is glory! And do not these come of honest ambition? But there are incidents, episodes, deeds that come under the observation only of the few--sometimes of the individual--which, little in themselves and seemingly inconsequential, help to make up the grand story. It is an old, old story now, but the story has become history. A full and true history of the late war has never been written--never will be. But little links can be picked up--even as we pick up battered bullets on old battle-fields--and these may be welded together to make a completer chain. And this is, perhaps, our duty, the duty of those who are permitted to enjoy the present. Let us also make it a pleasure.
I call this paper "Bugle Blasts" simply because that seems as appropriate as anything. It refers to some incidents and experiences in the cavalry; exciting and sometimes thrilling to those engaged, if not interesting to him who hears the tale told.
Late in the winter of '62, when the movement on Fort Donelson was begun, Buell began his movement on Bowling Green. The Third Division had the advance and was commanded by General O. M. Mitchell, or "Star Mitchell" as he was called in those days. February 10th Mitchell broke camp at Bacon Creek, Kentucky, made a forced march to Bowling Green, driving the rebel Hindman before him, and on February 22d started for Nashville. The Fourth Ohio Cavalry, his advance regiment, was before Nashville on the evening of the 23d, and received from the Mayor the surrender of the city. The Third Division went into camp and the Fourth Ohio Cavalry was placed eight miles in the front, at the outposts, on the Murfreesboro pike.
The cavalry of Buell's army had not received that attention requisite for the most efficient service, and the Fourth Ohio was no exception. There were no carbines in the regiment--only sabers and some unreliable revolvers. One company, however (that of the writer's), was armed with Colt's revolving rifles. These had been secured, some weeks before, while the company was on special duty at Upton, Ky., by requisition on Louisville, accompanied by considerable diplomacy, etc.--the "etc" to be literally translated, and not given too liberal a construction. I say the company was armed with this formidable weapon. Perhaps it were better to say loaded. The horse certainly was loaded when the trooper mounted with this instrument slung on his back, clanking saber at his side, and pistol in holster. It was cruelty to add the canteen and haversack! But in those days we had no "S. P. C. A."
About three o'clock in the afternoon of March 8th the Colonel came to our company headquarters and said he wanted the company to mount and go in pursuit of a body of rebel cavalry said to be in the neighborhood. Just as the order was issued an Orderly from Mitchell's headquarters rode up excitedly and reported that John Morgan had captured the regimental wagon-train, on its way out to camp with supplies, burned the wagons and taken off teamsters, horses, and mules. And this only one mile from camp--almost under our noses! Our Colonel's blood was up in an instant, and in stentorian voice he shouted, "Company C, turn out with your rifles!" This "_with your rifles_" had a flavor of business about it, and the response was not only quick, but nearly unanimous. Evidently, there was to be "music in the air," and there was an anxiety to have the rifles come in at the right moment with the Bass. Four other companies were ordered out. Then came the command, "Company C, forward with the rifles!" and we dashed forward up the pike toward Nashville. The report received was not a "grape-vine." Something near two miles from camp, in the middle of the pike, were the ruins of our wagon-train--some wagons still burning and some already in ashes. The teamsters and animals were gone and no signs of friend or foe.
As afterward learned, the attacking party were Lieut.-Col. Wood with a body of Mississippi cavalry and John Morgan's command. They had first quietly taken in the pickets and then made a dash, from the woods, on the train, capturing, with the teamsters, Capt. Braiden, an Aide of Gen. Dumont's. Gen. Mitchell himself barely escaped capture, having ridden along the pike about the same time. A halt was called and the road examined to ascertain which way the enemy had gone. The trace was found leading east through the woods. One Company was sent back to get re-enforcements, and, with them, to strike into the timber from the regimental camp to try and intercept the raiders. The original party, headed by Col. Kennett, dashed into the woods, and then occurred a chase the parallel to which has seldom been seen. "Forward!" was the word, and forward it was. The woods became a thicket, sometimes apparently impassable; but the horses, spurred by their riders, dashed at headlong speed through the trees, through the underbrush, under branches--thorns scratching the face and hands, projecting limbs tearing clothes and bruising bodies. Down hill and up hill, through marsh and bog, over logs and across streams, leaping obstacles, shouting, yelling, screaming, and hurrahing, away we went--mud and leaves flying and dead limbs crushing beneath horses' feet. Now the trail is lost and there is a halt to look for footprints. How much of a start the raiders have can not be known, but the trail must be fresh. Soon it is found and the horses gallop on as full of spirit as their wildly excited riders. When the tracks disappear in the forest leaves, the rebel course is now marked by plunder lost or cast aside--overcoats, canteens, saddles, blankets, the woods are full of them. Now and then an abandoned horse is seen. Finally, we strike a narrow pike, follow it a mile or so and learn that Morgan and Wood have divided their force, only the smaller part having taken the course we are pursuing. We were after Morgan and the main body, so turned back. It was precious time lost but the trail was again struck, where they had crossed the pike, and once more a plunge was made into the timber and cedars.
For miles the trees were so thick, and the foliage so dense, that it became impossible to ride other than single file; but, retarded as was our speed, the chase became hotter and more exciting than ever. The Yankee blood of the hunters was at fever heat and they determined to run the game to cover. The sight of an abandoned horse (and the hard-pressed enemy was now leaving his own as well as our animals) was the signal for a yell that the pursued might have heard and trembled at miles away. Then spurs were clapped into horses' flanks to urge them still faster on; and thus the column--if column that could be called which column was none--swept, dashed, plunged onward. Occasionally a trooper was dismounted by a projecting limb, and as he clambered out of the way, the sympathetic cry was wafted back from some comrade, "Say, what infantry rigi_ment_ does you'ns belong to?"
Now the Colonel's voice rings shrilly through the forest with the same old talismanic "forward!" The refrain is taken up, sent back along the column until the rearmost rider hears and shouts a returning echo, "We are coming, father Abraham!" No cowardice there. No lagging behind from choice. Every man was straining nerve and muscle to get ahead. We were fast gaining on the enemy and they knew it, trembling at every shout wafted to their ears. They grew desperate, dug the rowels into their horses, cursed their prisoners, threatened them, shot at them to make them keep up, and wounded one poor fellow to the death. These facts were gleaned afterward.
We had gained rapidly and thought them almost within grasp. But "the best laid plans of mice and men, etc., etc." Desperation nerved them and they flew down the pike, scattering the stones behind. But we ran them into the net prepared. The detachment that had gone out later from camp struck the pike opportunely and received the enemy warmly as we drove him into their arms. A brisk engagement followed, partly hand to hand. The fight was soon over, the enemy being routed, scattered and driven in every direction. At the onset Morgan, with his staff and a lot of blooded horses, broke away and escaped across Stone river. Our command being united and ready to move an inventory of affairs and effects was taken. The enemy left four dead on the field, four sound captives in our hands and two wounded. Of the ninety-four horses taken we recaptured seventy-five; of the forty-eight teamsters, thirty-one, and also Capt. Braiden. A number of rebels were wounded, but not seriously, and escaped. One of the two wounded prisoners--Warfield by name--was related to one of the most prominent and wealthy families of Cincinnati. The other was a Mississippian, by the name of Love. The writer visited the two in the regimental hospital that night. Love had a terrible wound, and knew it was mortal, but his last breath was expended in cursing and execrating the "Yankees" in the most horrible and vile language tongue could utter.
The chase being over, the command returned--all except the Company with the rifles, who were to continue the pursuit. Pushing on again we struck the Murfreesboro pike, near Lavergne, and got on the heels of one detachment, but these, knowing the country, broke for the cedars and escaped. We saw no more of them and returned to camp at 8 P. M., after a ride of about thirty miles, part of this on a keen run.
About a month after the incidents just related, the Fourth Ohio Cavalry had the honor of capturing Huntsville, Ala., the "Queen City of the Mountains." About the middle of March, 1862, Gen. Mitchell's Division of Buell's army left Nashville and pushed south to Murfreesboro, thence to Shelbyville, following the rebel Johnston, who had destroyed all bridges behind him. From Shelbyville a rapid advance was made to Fayetteville, then a hot-bed of Secession. Turchin's Brigade, with Simonson's Battery and the Fourth Ohio Cavalry, had the van. The Fourth broke camp early that morning, April 9th, at the loyal town of Shelbyville, with a three o'clock reveille and timely "Boots and Saddles." Passing by the infantry and Simonson's guns, the regiment rode briskly on to Fayetteville, through the town, over the stone bridge at Elk river, and camped on the same spot where Gen. Jackson had camped fifty years before, in 1812, a spot convenient, pleasant, and historic. News of the victory at Corinth reached us on the 10th, and there was enthusiastic joy and joyful enthusiasm throughout the camp. The command set out at once for Huntsville, the cavalry leading. Our route lay along a circuitous dirt road and through a mountainous country. Twelve miles brought us to the State line, marked by a high pole bearing the tattered remnants of a rebel flag.
