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The privates and non-commissioned officers were marched from Meridian, Miss., to Cahaba, Ala. This was a violation of the spirit if not the letter of the terms of the surrender. On the march some ten days were consumed. They were placed in a pen or stockade and were subjected to the usual process of searching, and anything of any value found on their persons appropriated by their captors. They were not the first occupants of the pen. It already contained Union prisoners, literally half-clothed, some having only a shirt, some pantaloons without shirt, and some only a part of pantaloons, and all alive with grey-backs. The rations issued were substantially the same as those issued to the officers, consisting of one pint of corn meal a day and a piece of fresh pork, one inch square every other day, although some times the authorities forgot or failed to issue the rations for a day or two, very much to the disgust of the boys. If the prisoners had been fastidious or over-particular they might have complained of the custom to the prison authorities, which cut up the meats for distribution on the same log on which the dead soldiers were placed before burial. A Dutch skillet was allowed to each mess of ten men, as the only cooking utensil. During the time of their imprisonment the rains were frequent and heavy, and the cooking being done out of doors, our men were obliged often to partially shelter the fire with their bent bodies while cooking, to prevent the fires from being put out. The wood used for fuel was green white pine. The Alabama River overflowed its banks and for two weeks the pen was flooded, the water standing from two to four feet in depth. Cord-wood was floated in, out of which scaffolding was constructed by the prisoners to keep themselves out of the water. During this time the rations were eaten raw. It is needless to say that under such conditions, without shelter, exposed to the rain, but poorly fed, men died every day from exposure and want, and that those who survived were weak as children. Their imprisonment which seemed so long to them, at last was ended. The officers were sent North on parole December 10, 1864, but the enlisted men not until April, 1865, at which date they were started North, and in their enfeebled condition, although buoyed up by the hope of meeting friends and seeing home, it took them five days to march from Jackson to Black River bridge, a distance of forty miles, and when they came into the camp of their old regiment these brave fellows looked so gaunt, famished and woe-begone that they were but counterfeits of their former selves.

The terms of the surrender may be said to have been fairly observed, except that the colored soldiers were sent to Mobile to labor at the salt-works. Their officers shared the fortunes of the officers of the white troops. Most of the prisoners of this expedition took passage soon after their arrival at Vicksburg on the steamer Sultana, an account of the wreck of which is given hereafter.

During their imprisonment, the officers were treated fairly well. They were kept in prison at Meridian, Miss., about a week. The prison was a stockade made of poles with the ends in the ground and a scaffolding around the outside, near the top, on which the vigilant Johnny sentinel paced his beat. There was a dead line within the stockade, to which our boys paid marked respect. There were two log cabins in the centre of the stockade, entirely destitute of furniture, paved with sand and the steady companion of the boys--the gray-back. There were probably more gray-backs than grains of sand. They kept the boys employed when otherwise time would have lagged most slowly. The boys were not without money . They had dead loads of Confederate New Issue. They sold their horses for 0 to ,000 a piece. It was a poor scrub that would not bring 0 in the market of Meridian. Watches brought from 0 to ,500; knives and cork-screws from to 0, and other articles in proportion. The people had the money and wanted to get rid of it. They were permitted to buy what the town afforded--not furnished in their rations, which were liberal in bacon, corn meal, and salt. After a week at Meridian, they were sent to Enterprise, a village fifteen miles below Meridian. When unguarded, they were put on their parole of honor not to leave the limits of the town. They took possession of a big tobacco warehouse, converting it into a dormitory and headquarters, but took their meals at the houses of the citizens in town, they being glad to take the rations of the boys, with what else they could buy, and a consideration in New Issue, in exchange for table board. Early in December they marched from Enterprise to Memphis. There they were ordered to report at Camp Chase, Columbus, Ohio, where they were exchanged and reported to the regiment at Gravelly Springs, Ala., late in January, 1865.

The following officers of the regiment were in the action of Sulphur Branch Trestle:

Major Eli Lilly. Captain Nation. Lieutenant Harrod. Lieutenant J. W. Watts. Lieutenant Dunlevy. Lieutenant Canfield. Lieutenant Leisure. Lieutenant Riley. Lieutenant Jones. Acting Adjutant Geo. Armstrong. Assistant Surgeon E. W. Magann.

Lieutenant Leisure, wounded, but not taken prisoner.

Surgeon Magann was left to care for the wounded. They were not made prisoners, the enemy leaving them behind in their march. Lieut. Jones was slightly wounded by concussion of a shell, being insensible for a portion of the battle, but recovered before it ended.

The following is a list of those who were either killed or mortally wounded:

Chauncey Kimball, Co. A. William Harvey, Co. B. Joseph Hutton, Co. B. Charles A. Kirkhoff, Co. B. Andrew J. McGahey, Co. B. Charles Beckly, Co. H. Cassander T. Houston, Co. B. Stephen A. Woodruff, Co. B. Henry Dorman, Co. K. Abram S. Foreman, Co. K. Curtis W. Hancock, Co. K. George Myers, Co. K. Josiah Saucer, Co. K. William Torney, Co. L. William S. Peckham, Co. L. John J. Maple, Co. M. Levi Maple, Co. M. George H. McGee, Co. M. Lewis Pickering, Co. M. Sergeant Peckham, Co. M, killed. Henry G. Hiatt, Co. G, killed.

The following are the names of those who were made prisoners and died in rebel prisons:

Henry A. Rariden, Co. A, starvation. John Robert, Co. A, starvation. Clay Trahune, Co. A, exposure and starvation. W. J. Foster, Co. B, exposure and starvation. George O. Houston, Co. D. Kelita Mendenhall, Co. E, exposure and starvation. Lewis Jones, Co. G, exposure and starvation. George W. Bowers, Co. G, exposure and starvation. John R. Williams, Co. H, exposure and starvation. Henry Brown, Co. M, exposure and starvation. Columbus Jessup, Co. M, exposure and starvation.

The following were made prisoners at Sulphur Branch Trestle and lost by the explosion and burning of the steamer Sultana, on the Mississippi River, a few miles above Memphis, on the morning of April 27th, 1865:

Total killed at Sulphur Branch Trestle, 21 Died in prison, 11 Lost on the Sultana, 51 -- 83

NOTE.--The last dispatch sent out of the fort the day of the surrender was carried by John McCorkle, of Company B, and a member of the 3d Tennessee Cavalry. They left the fort about 7 o'clock A. M., and accomplished the feat by their coolness and "bold riding."

SULPHUR BRANCH TRESTLE. BY CORPORAL J. A. BROWN, CO. L.

On Sunday, the 25th day of September, 1864, the mounted portion of the 9th Indiana Cavalry, about two hundred in number, were called to do battle at Sulphur Branch Trestle, Alabama. Firing began on the skirmish lines at 5 o'clock in the morning, and was kept up at a lively rate until about 8 o'clock, when the battle began in earnest. There were with us about one hundred of the Third Tennessee Cavalry, and there were also about three hundred colored troops that were stationed in the fort. We were ordered to dismount and corral our horses and climb the hill and enter the fort, except myself and ten men, who were ordered to guard the horses, until the battle became so hot that it was considered unsafe to remain outside of the fort. We remained with the horses until a cannon-ball or slug or something of the kind--anyhow, it was something from a rebel gun--landed in about fifteen feet of us. It tore a hole in the ground large enough to bury a small-sized cow, and threw dirt all over us. We then thought it was time to desert the horses and let them take care of themselves, and climb the hill and get into the fort as soon as we could conveniently without hurting ourselves, and up the hill we went, and when we arrived at the entrance to the fort we asked where the 9th Indiana Cavalry was stationed. We were told that they were on the opposite side of the fort. So we had to go through the center of the fort to get to where our boys were stationed. That was the most dangerous trip I ever experienced in my life. There were a lot of barracks in the fort and the rebel cannon were playing on them and knocking them all to pieces, and throwing the loose boards in every direction. It made the hair raise on our heads as we went dodging through the barracks among the flying boards and shell and cannon ball, but we finally got to our men in safety.

The colonel commanding the fort was killed in the beginning of the battle, and Major Lilly, of our regiment, took command, and, by the way, Major Lilly was a hustler. He was one of the bravest officers that ever went to the front. During the hottest of the battle one of our men got scared so badly that he wanted to surrender. So he pulled off his shirt and placed it upon the end of his bayonet and held it up as a flag of truce. That got the enemy excited and they went for us hotter than ever. They made charge after charge, but some of our boys pulled that old dirty shirt down and made the fellow put it on again. We kept the rebs at bay as long as we had ammunition, but at 1 o'clock we were out of ammunition, and there we were about 800 strong, with no ammunition and surrounded by ten thousand rebels. So we surrendered. We were then conducted out of the fort and taken to the woods and a rebel guard placed around us until they got ready to start to Dixie with us. While we were waiting there a rebel captain that some of our boys had shot in the heel in the fight rode around among us and cussed us for an hour. He swore that if he knew which one of us damned Yanks it was that shot him in the heel he would shoot his heart out. But we did not tell who it was, and I don't think he has found out to this day.

Well, along towards night the rebs got ready to start with us for Dixie. Then fun began; we marched nearly all night through the mud and under rebel guard. Sometime after midnight we were halted and allowed to lie down in the woods on the ground without undressing, but before daylight we were rousted out and on the go again. This kind of business was kept up for three long days, until we had marched something over one hundred miles, with about enough to eat to make one good square meal. With the Alabama red mud enough sticking to each foot to make about three brick we finally arrived at Tuscumbia, Ala., where the rebs were operating a kind of a one-horse railroad. There they piled us into a couple of freight trains and we were hauled around over half of the State of Mississippi and back again into Alabama, and were finally landed at Cahaba, Ala., at the end of ten days from the time we were made prisoners. We were then stripped and examined, and robbed of everything that we possessed that was of any value. We were then marched into the prison pen. The prison pen was a large cotton warehouse, surrounded by a stockade with an elevated walk around the outside of the building. On this walk the rebel guards were stationed about every forty feet with loaded guns ready and anxious to kill any poor Yankee who might see fit to set a foot across the dead line. There was also a walk on the inside of the building around next to the wall, and a rebel guard was stationed there about forty feet apart. The dead line was a mark they made about eight feet from the inside wall, all around the inside of the building, and no prisoner was allowed to step across that line. If he did the orders were to shoot him on the spot, and the order was obeyed to the letter, but we were generally careful to keep off of that dead line.

I shall never forget the morning that we were first marched inside of that prison. The old prisoners that were there before us on seeing us march in all seemed glad to see us, and yelled at the top of their voices, "Fresh fish! fresh fish! Hands on your pocket-books," just as if we had not already been robbed of everything we had by the rebs. But we soon got used to that for we had not been there long until we yelled "fresh fish" to other new prisoners that kept coming in every few days. There were on an average about three thousand of us there during the six months that we were there. Sometimes there were as many as thirty-five hundred of us. When there was that many we could not all lie down at one time inside of the prison. There was a cook yard in front of the prison about seventy-five feet square, enclosed with a stockade. We were allowed to pass out into the cook yard during the day so that we could cook the little grub that was allowed us. Our rations consisted of one pint of corn meal per day and a piece of fresh pork, about one inch square, every other day, but that was not issued to us very regular. Sometimes they would forget to issue rations to us for a day or so at a time. It did not seem to disturb the rebels in the least to forget to issue rations to us. We were divided into messes consisting of ten men to the mess, and every ten men were allowed one old-fashioned Dutch skillet and lid. In this we did the entire cooking for the ten men or mess. So we were engaged in cooking all day, if we happened to have enough to cook to keep the skillet going. It rained nearly the entire time we were there. It seemed to us that it rained at least forty days in each month, consequently we had to do the most of our cooking in the rain. I have stood in a stooping position over the skillet for hours at a time to keep the rain from drowning out the fire while cooking. Our wood that we used for cooking with was generally green white pine, nearly as hard to burn as green buckeye. We were allowed to go outside of the prison to carry the wood in. They would let five of us out to the wood-pile at a time; we would rush out and chop a load of wood and then carry it in. We would form what we called the wood line, and go out as our turns would come. I have stood in the wood line many times for a half day at a time in the rain, and then perhaps I would not get to go out after wood. We would do this work by turns and when we were not busy in this way were busy fighting "gray-backs." That part of the business we had to attend to whether we got dinner or not, for if we had neglected to kill off the "gray-backs" once a day at least we were in danger of being eaten up alive.

We had a regular police force of our own men. It consisted of about thirty men. It was their duty to keep order in the prison and to punish any one who did not conduct himself in a proper manner. If any two got into a fight the police would at once form a ring and let them fight it out. They would make it their business to see fair play. There were three or four fights in the prison every day. That was a natural consequence where there were so many men huddled in together that it was almost impossible for them all to lie down at one time, and half-starved, it was natural for some of them to get cross and be ready to get up and fight at a moment's notice; but they were so weak and in such a famished condition that they seldom ever hurt one another in a fight. We also had a few dishonest men in the prison; they would steal anything they could get their hands upon. The police would sometimes punish them very severely for their misdemeanors--such as stealing, but there was no punishment for a fair fist fight.

We undertook to break out of the prison one morning about 4 o'clock, and captured all the rebel guards inside the prison. We took their guns from them and put them in the privy and placed a guard over them and kept them there nearly an hour, but the rebels on the outside got wind of it a little too soon for us, and there happened to be more rebel soldiers there at that time than they usually kept at that point; they rolled a big cannon up to the door of the prison and scared us out of the notion of breaking out at that time. The rebs called that a mutiny and issued an order that we should have nothing to eat until we delivered up the leaders of the mutiny. Then we thought that starvation stared us in the face sure, for we had no idea that there was one among our number that would give away the leaders; but alas! the leaders were sadly disappointed, for after three days of starvation, some one--I never could find out who he was--got so hungry that he gave the plot away and informed on about twenty of the leaders. The rebs took the informer out of the prison at once and gave him his freedom for his information. If they had not taken him out of the prison he would have fared badly among the prisoners for being a traitor.

They took the leaders of the mutiny out and punished them in various ways. Some they put in dungeons, some in chains, and one fellow was sentenced to be put in a four-foot square box for one hundred days. Some of them were never heard of by us after they were taken out. We supposed that they were killed. We were always scheming for some place to get out. So the next thing we were up to was tunneling out. We had a tunnel dug about fifty feet, and in a few more days our tunnel would have let us out on the bank of the river, when the river raised and filled our tunnel full of water, so that was all work for nothing. I had two special friends as fellow prisoners--George W. Addington and William Collins. We three stuck together like brothers. One day the rebs took Addington out. Myself and Collins did not know what had become of him. We thought that, perhaps, they had killed him for some imaginary offence. Well, things went on as usual for about a week when a reb came in and took Collins out, and no explanation was given, so we thought that he was gone up also, but in another week the same reb came in and called for me. That scared me nearly out of my boots, for I thought my time had come sure, but to my surprise he took me to the hospital where I found my friends Addington and Collins busily engaged in washing clothes for the hospital. I will say now before I go further that the hospital was for Federal prisoners only, and they required prisoners to do all the work about the hospital. Addington had managed in some way to get the job of washing for the hospital, and as soon as he could make an excuse for calling in help he sent for Collins and myself. We got that washing business down to a regular system. We would wash sheets and pillow-slips on Monday, shirts and drawers on Tuesday, colored clothes on Wednesday, odds and ends on Thursday, and on Friday we would boil "gray-backs," that is, we would wash the clothes of prisoners that came out to the hospital sick. When a prisoner was brought out of the prison sick they would take him to an out house, strip him of his prison clothes, and take him to another room and put hospital clothes on him, and every Friday we had to boil and wash all clothes that accumulated in that way. Sometimes it would be a sickening job, but it was far better than lying in prison. We three had to work about four hours each day. This gave us about half work and we received about half enough to eat at the hospital, except occasionally we got something extra. We got it in this way: The managers of the hospital were all rebs and aristocrats, and they had negro women to carry their meals to their private rooms. Of course they got plenty to eat and sometimes there was something left. This the waiters always saved for us, and about two or three times a week, after dark, our door would be pushed open and we would see a tin pan slip in and it always had something in it good to eat, such as cold biscuits and cold beef-steak, and it was always good, and we felt very thankful to the colored people that run such risk in furnishing it to us, for if they had been caught at it they would have been punished severely for it. We were not allowed to speak to any of the colored attendants about the hospital, but we often talked to them when there were no rebs in sight. I once saw a prisoner that was sick but convalescing so that he was able to walk about some, come out of the ward in search of a fresh drink of water. He asked a colored woman for a tin cup to drink out of, and the rebel doctor happened to hear him, and he was sent to the prison for the offence. The next morning the poor fellow was brought back on a stretcher dead. About the first of March, 1865, the Alabama river raised and overflowed and spread itself all over the town and was from two to four feet deep inside of the prison. Our boys had a terrible time of it then for about two weeks. The rebs floated wood inside the prison for the prisoners to roost on. Our boys had to eat what little grub they got raw, and sleep while sitting on a pile of wood. This happened while I was at the hospital, consequently I missed the fun of having to sit on a wood pile for two weeks and eat raw grub. While at the hospital we always had hash for dinner. I remember one day the hash had soured, and we liked it better, because it made a change. About the time the river went down to its proper level we were all paroled; then we started for Vicksburg by rail until we got to Jackson, Miss., about fifty miles south of Vicksburg; there we had to take it afoot. It took me just eight days to walk from Jackson, Miss., to Black River, forty miles. When I got there, there was just one man with me, about twenty behind us, the others being ahead of us. At Black River there was a pontoon bridge--a rebel guard on the south side and a Yankee guard on the north side. We arrived there about sundown and had to stay on the rebel side all night. Our boys on the north side were allowed to bring us over some coffee and hard-tack, which we enjoyed very much, as it was the first coffee that we had tasted for six long months. The next morning we were transferred to the north side and amongst friends. We staid at the hospital in Vicksburg a few days and then took a hospital boat for St. Louis, and from there home.

LYNNVILLE.

While stationed at Pulaski, Tenn., details from the regiment were frequently ordered out upon reconnoitering parties, and upon these occasions generally met Roddy, Duke, Wheeler, or other cavalry commanders in that department, in skirmishes, which, as a rule, were bloodless. They were all exciting, however, and accustomed the boys to the use of their carbines. Of these affairs, what was termed in the regiment as "The Lynnville Fight," was the most sensational, and resulted in more racket than was ever raised by the same number of men in so short a time.

On Sunday, September 2, 1864, at 8 o'clock A. M., pursuant to orders, the regiment marched out on the Nashville Pike, Companies B and L in the advance. The movement was occasioned by reports to the effect that Wheeler with a considerable body was in the neighborhood with the purpose of destroying the railroad. After advancing about six miles a message was received by courier from Capt. Owings, of Co. F, occupying with his company the block house near Lynnville, for the purpose of protecting the railroad, to the effect that the rebels were in town in heavy force, and that he would not be able to hold his position long.

Major Lilly was ordered to go to his relief with seventy men of Companies B and L. Advancing at a gallop, Lieut. Harrod, with sixteen men of Company B, leading the column, within one-half or three-quarters of a mile of the town, from a slight elevation, a full view was obtained of the rebels. Halting for a moment, Major Lilly ordered a charge to be made with the sabre. Harrod, with his sixteen men in advance, supported by the fifty-five B and L men, under command of the Major, forming quickly, were soon observed by the rebels. The advance was formed in double, the support in single rank. The orders "forward," "trot," "gallop," "charge," were given in quick succession, and in a moment all were hidden in a cloud of dust. The rebels in the town proved to be the 3d and 4th Georgia Cavalry. The attack was a surprise to them. Lieut. Harrod, being at the front and right of his platoon, had a fair view of the town and the enemy, and as the charge was made, says the Georgia boys began to run when our advance was fully a quarter of a mile away, and when they reached the south side of the town the Johnnies were going out of the north side in great haste and apparent confusion. For the next five minutes the race was lively. Our boys returned their sabres to their scabbards and drawing their carbines and revolvers began firing. The rebels threw away in their haste guns, blankets, haversacks, muster rolls, and whatever encumbered them; and between the discharge of fire-arms, the shouts of our men and the clatter of the horses' hoofs, the natives were thoroughly aroused. The pursuit was kept up for about five miles, the fleeing Johnnies making a stand upon coming up to the main force of Wheeler's rear guard. Two of the enemy were killed and eight captured. The wounded, if any there were, made their escape.

Corporal George R. Parsons, Co. B, mounted on a fast horse, was said to have got nearer the body of the enemy's forces than any other man. Capt. Nation, who was with the regiment without his company, by special permission, with a blow of his sabre delivered upon the side of the head, after a command to halt, unseated a Confederate, mounted upon a large mule. The mule got away. William Johnson was slightly cut by a ball, and the horse of Sergt. Foster was badly shot. Capts. Wall, Nation and Moorehouse took part in the charge. The boys, in the presence of Wheeler's rear guard, and so near his main body of perhaps 8,000 men, did not care to push matters further, and so quietly withdrew to Lynnville for refreshments, and to rest their horses.

General Rousseau was near Wheeler's rear and left flank. Wheeler was between us with only one way open to the South. During the after part of the night Wheeler moved in the direction of Lawrenceburg, and the 9th was ordered back to Pulaski. On Monday evening, September 3d, the 9th was ordered to Lawrenceburg to head off Wheeler if possible. Rousseau was pressing him with between 2,000 and 4,000 infantry and artillery. Wheeler's forces were estimated at 8,000--nearly all mounted, with a battery of light artillery. His artillery was used very little. The 9th reached Lawrenceburg about 7 o'clock on the morning of the 4th, just in time to see the 9th Ohio Cavalry assist Wheeler's rear guard out of town. About 8 o'clock A. M. the 10th Indiana Cavalry was ordered to the front and became engaged with a strong rear guard of the enemy in a thick wood. They drove them back two or three miles, when the 10th was in turn pressed back. Major Lilly, who was with Gen. Granger when it was reported to him that the 10th Indiana had been driven back, requested of the general that he be permitted to take his battalion to the front. The general, who had heard of the efficient manner in which the Lynnville affair had been conducted, granted the request. Col. Jackson received permission to lead the remainder of the regiment.

The loss to the enemy was 25 killed and 150 wounded. The 9th lost none killed and none seriously wounded.

September 5th the regiment reached Athens, Ala. September 6th returned by Elk River to Mussel Shoals and Shoal Creek, going into camp at night on the bank of the stream, with the other bank held by a Confederate force under command of a Col. Anderson. The bridge spanning the stream being unsafe for horses, on the 7th the regiment crossed by a dangerous ford, Companies B and L in advance, and soon engaged with Anderson, who was driven to Florence, Ala., a distance of seven miles, in about four hours, near which place he succeeded in crossing the Tennessee River.

THE REPUBLIC OF JONES.

While held at Enterprise, our men learned of the existence of a government within the State of Mississippi, of which most readers of history are to this day ignorant. They were informed that early in the days of secession Jones County, which touches Clarke County on the southwest, by its leading citizens, withdrew from the Confederacy, declaring themselves a free and independent people, organized a special and distinct government, under the name of the "Republic of Jones," adopted a constitution modeled after that of the United States, elected a President and officers of State, and refused to contribute men or money to the cause of the Rebellion. The census of 1860 gives the population of Jones County at 3,323. So that the standing army of Jones could not, if made up of the able-bodied males, have been very formidable.

The cause which compelled the brave people of Jones to sever their connection with the most of mankind, seems to have been plunder. In the absence of C. S. A. troops, marauding parties sallied forth, capturing mules, horses, cotton, grain, and whatever else could be easily transferred, and when pursued or upon the approach of troops, hastily retreated and disbanded, seeking safety in swamps or other places difficult of access, remaining in hiding until the apparent danger had passed. It is stated that the Republic did not in any manner contribute to the cause of the C. S. A.

While the prisoners never became thoroughly posted in the principles of that Republic it looked at one time as if they would get, in an unpleasant manner, a knowledge of its practical workings. Enterprise was about forty miles from the seat of government of Jones. Held at Enterprise were about 100 officers of various regiments, besides the officers of the 9th Cavalry and 3d Tennessee Cavalry captured at Sulphur Branch Trestle. The commander of the post was a Major Edward Ward, a resident of Indiana before the war, who had gone South in 1858, engaged in business, became identified with the people and interests of that section, and united his fortunes with those of the Confederacy at the breaking out of the war. He had not been so long away from the North as to have grown indifferent to his old home--he still had a soft place in his heart for Indiana. He invited the officers of the 9th to his headquarters and treated them as hospitably as his position and condition would allow. At roll-call at 10 o'clock, October 15, 1864, Major Ward informed the prisoners that he had just received information through his scouts that the Republic of Jones was threatening to capture the prison camp and massacre the prisoners, for the alleged reason that the imprisoned officers had commanded negro troops. He said he would not be able to protect them against the superior force and did not know what to do. The proposition of Major Lilly, following the announcement of the commander of the post, must have been in the nature of a surprise: "If you can not protect us allow us to protect ourselves." Major Ward asked what he meant by that. Major Lilly explained that he meant that the commander should place arms and ammunition in the hands of the prisoners, and then if they were murdered no blame could attach to him. Major Ward said that the arming of prisoners was without precedent, and would certainly be dangerous when they were numerically stronger than their guard. Major Lilly admitted that the proceeding was unusual, but the circumstances justified the innovation, and proposed that all the prisoners pledge their honor as officers and men to use the arms only in defence of themselves against the anticipated attack, and to surrender them when the danger was ended. The pledge was taken, and in the afternoon two wagon loads of muskets and one of ammunition were delivered to the prisoners, the guards were taken off, and each officer selected his gun and put it in condition for immediate use. Lieut. Harrod, who had not sufficiently recovered the use of his leg--wounded at Sulphur Branch Trestle--to be able to walk, was confined to the camp. Thus armed and equipped, the unwonted spectacle was presented of the Yank and Johnny marching side by side against the common enemy--Major Lilly, in the full uniform of the United States Army, with his gun at a right shoulder, by the side of a rebel, marching in the picket squad to the front. It was perhaps the earliest instance of the fraternizing of the Blue and the Gray.

The prisoners remained on duty three days and nights without being attacked. The enemy had learned that their plans were discovered and preparations made to meet them. A fight upon fair terms was not what they wanted, and they had withdrawn.

True to their pledged word the prisoners surrendered and stacked their arms--no gun nor man missing. They had shown that they were as honorable as brave, and from that time until they were sent North they were allowed greater freedom of movement--the guards simply patroled the camp. Citizens were allowed free access to camp, but the prisoners were not permitted to talk to them or the negroes on politics or the war.

THE HOOD CAMPAIGN.

Atlanta had fallen. Sherman, before starting on his "march to the sea," detached the Fourth and Twenty-fourth Corps, under command of Schofield, and sent them by forced march to Pulaski to watch Hood, who was at Florence, and to retard his advance into Tennessee until Thomas, who was at Nashville, could concentrate enough troops to--as Sherman pithily said--"take care of him." The main body of the 9th Cavalry had shortly before this been sent to Nashville to secure horses for mounting the regiment; a small number of each company only remained to guard the camp and stores.

About the 15th of November the forces from "the front" arrived, and soon our peaceful camp was the scene of warlike preparation. The beautiful slope which we had so long occupied was cut into rifle-pits, and just north of regimental headquarters a breast-work was raised, commanding the approaches from south and east.

Receiving information that indicated an advance of the enemy on Columbia by the way of Winchester, the works were abandoned. The infantry took up their line of march for Columbia, and the remnant of the 9th hastily loaded the camp equipments and stores and boarded the train for Nashville on the 23d of November, arrived on the morning of the 24th, and rejoined the main body who were encamped across the river in Edgefield. The remounting being completed, the cavalry forces at Nashville were rapidly organized as the seventh division of the cavalry corps--Gen. Knipe commanding. The first brigade, Gen. J. H. Hammond commanding, was composed of the 9th and 10th Indiana, the 2d and 4th Tennessee and 19th Pennsylvania.

On the 27th the first brigade moved through the city and down the Franklin Pike a few miles and went into camp; on the 28th, passed through Franklin to Spring Hill and went into camp, awaiting orders from the front. On the 29th moved to the left of the Columbia Pike and were all day in the saddle marching and counter-marching, slowly falling back, almost constantly within hearing of the fighting at the front.

On the night of the 29th marched across to the Triune Pike to repel an alleged flanking movement of the enemy, who failed to appear at that point. At day-light we went into camp, and after a hasty breakfast, snatched an hour of needed sleep. Soon the unwelcome "boots and saddles" sounded, and we resumed our weary waiting and watching, nearly always within sound of musketry, but not seeing the rebels nor hearing the "zip" of the unfriendly bullet. We marched and counter-marched, always halting nearer Nashville.

To those of us who had not yet seen a rebel under arms the suspense, the constant expectation of battle, was more trying than actual fighting afterwards proved. On this day when the sound of musketry drew nearer and nearer, we were drawn up in line, and with drawn sabres awaited the appearance of the enemy and an order to "charge." Expectation sat in a thousand pale faces as

"Each looked to sun and stream and plain As what they ne'er might see again."

Suddenly the rattle of musketry seemed to roll away and all was still. Another time when the sound of battle approached our position, we dismounted and in line awaited the onset.

In the evening the distant boom of cannon announced that a battle was on somewhere, and while we sat on our horses, weary but alert, the bloody battle of Franklin was being fought miles away. At last night fell, and exhausted men and horses sank gratefully to sleep.

Our camp was at the base of a wooded hill, in a field adjoining the Nolansville Pike. Next morning, December 1st, the horses, that had not been unsaddled, were put in line and held while breakfast was prepared and eaten. Before this was completed out-post firing was heard--a cavalryman came galloping, saying the enemy was upon us. The command hastily mounted and moved out on the pike, just before reaching which Companies D and G were halted, and, under command of Major Lyon, went into line, facing the rear. The regiment moving at a rapid walk, moved up the pike and disappeared. In a few minutes the rebels opened an irregular but furious fire from the brow of the hill under which we had camped. At the first discharge a horse went down; directly a man was shot; another horse fell. Thicker and thicker came the bullets; fiercer and fiercer grew the rebel yell. Major Lyon rode up and down the line shouting, "Give 'em hell, boys." It was the "baptism of fire" for the boys, but no one faltered. When ordered to wheel to the right, by fours, to march to the rear, behind a stone wall on the other side of the pike, they executed the movement as deliberately as on dress parade. Dismounted and sheltered by the stone wall the men were comparatively safe, but the horses suffered severely. Before they could be led to the rear, out of range, fifteen had fallen.

The rebels did not advance from the brow of the hill, but blazed away with constantly increasing vigor. A "jackass battery" opened on us. The boys did not flinch from this new experience, but kept steadily to their work with the coolness of veterans. Our Maynard carbines were weak weapons, useless at long range--our fire must have been ineffectual as to casualty, but being breech-loaders the boys were enabled to fire with such rapidity that the enemy over-estimated our numbers and hesitated to advance, but began creeping round our flanks on either side. And still the Major said "give 'em hell, boys," and held us to the work until our ammunition was exhausted. About this time Adjutant Payne, who was on the staff of Gen. Hammond, came back with orders to retreat. Everybody was willing, but it was easier said than done.

Almost surrounded, no ammunition, many more men than horses, the pike in possession of the foe, it was not a comfortable prospect. Hurrying to the rear we mounted--some without horses, mounted behind a comrade; again another would hold to a stirrup or a horses' tail to keep up with the rapid trot. No one thought of dashing to safety at the expense of a dismounted comrade. A horse was killed throwing its rider against a tree breaking his collar bone. Instantly he was placed behind a comrade and away again. On and on through wood and field, rushing through rail fences, tearing down stone walls with bleeding hands and still behind, and from either side, the rebel yell and hissing bullet.

At last, most welcome sight, the guidons of a cavalry regiment drawn up in line to receive us and check the enemy. Feeling sure of safety for all, we dashed forward, leaving the dismounted men two hundred yards behind. To our surprise and indignation this regiment wheeled into column and trotted away before we reached them leaving us to follow. The abandoned, dismounted men took to a cornfield and many of them escaped. Two privates of Co. D, Lieut. Swayne and some enlisted men of Co. G, were taken prisoners. Later on we reached the regiment standing in line on the pike. From this place we moved slowly toward Nashville until night came on. Going into camp near the road we enjoyed what we had fairly earned--a night's repose without alarm.

On December the 8th the command returned to Nashville. The morning was lowery and by noon began to rain. A strong northwest wind froze the water as it fell and soon the road was a glare of ice. The horses unshod or smooth shod had but precarious footing. Fortunately no serious accident occurred. The men were chilled and shivering. When the column halted for any purpose the red cedar rails on either side were soon ablaze; but before the cheerful flame could infuse warmth in the chilled fingers the bugle sounded "forward" and the grateful heat was left to waste its comfort on the frosty air. We left a fiery as well as a frozen track that day. Before nightfall we went into camp within two miles of the city. Soon, amid the lurid flame of burning rails, the smoking hot coffee, crisp sow-belly and luscious hard-tack, we forgot the discomfort of our cheerless ride--the song and laugh went round until one by one each voice was hushed and the camp was wrapped in silence.

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