Fox hunting; Horses; United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Personal narratives
The river was still rising rapidly, and word was brought that Kargé,
with more than half the brigade, would have to make a détour of fifty
miles and cross the Three Forks of the Obion far to the eastward,
joining us some days later, near Jackson. So we idled on, marching a
few miles each day, camping early, cooking the fat of the land for our
evening meal, cultivating the questionable friendship of the Rebel
population by forced contributions of subsistence, and leading, on the
whole, a peaceful, unlaborious, and charming picnic life. Finally,
taking Kargé again under our wing, we pushed on, resolutely and
rapidly, over flooded swamps, across deep, rapid rivers, and through
hostile towns, to our rendezvous; whence, under the command of two
generals, and as part of an army of eight thousand well-mounted cavalry
and light artillery, and all in light marching order, we started for
our more serious work.
The chief in command was a young and handsome, but slightly nervous
individual, who eschewed the vanities of uniform, and had about himself
and his horse no evidence of his military character that could not be
unbuckled and dropped with his sword-belt in case of impending capture.
He was vacillating in his orders, and a little anxious in his demeanor,
but he had shown himself cool and clear-headed under fire, and seemed
resolutely bent on the destruction of the last vestige of Forrest's
troublesome army. It would be tedious to tell all the adventures of
our forward expedition; how we marched in three columns over different
roads, each for himself, and with only a vague notion where and how
we should meet, and how we should support each other. As it afterward
proved, the details of the order of march had been given to the
commanders of the other brigades, while I had been forgotten; so that
the whole advance was vexed with cross-purposes and with the evidences
of a hidden misunderstanding. The _contretemps_ that thus came about
were annoying, and, in one instance, came near being serious: as we
were going into camp at Prairie Station, my advance reported having
come in sight of the camp-fires of the enemy; a skirmish-line was sent
forward, and only on the eve of engaging did they discover that we were
approaching Hepburn's Brigade, of our column, which had reached the
same point by another road.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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