Mississippi in the Civil War

19/01/2023

January 19, 1862
One hundred and sixty-one years ago today.

On January 19, 1862, the North and the South met on a battlefield just west of Somerset, Kentucky and it had significant implications on the war itself. Feli...

06/12/2022

160 years ago today.
The Battle of Coffeeville, December 5, 1862.

The beginning of Confederate General Tilghman's report:
"At about 2:30 o'clock on Friday afternoon, 5th instant, while engaged in the town of Coffeeville with the various duties of my command, I learned that the enemy, emboldened by their successes heretofore, had pushed their advance within 1 mile of the town, and that, having commenced skirmishing with our rear guard of cavalry, Major-General Lovel, commanding First Corps, had gone out with a portion of my division to check them. I immediately rode out with a portion of my staff and body guard to the point selected by General Lovell on which to form…"

After battle quotes from both armies:

"I was in several pitched battles during the war in which large armies were engaged, led by great generals on both sides, but the Battle of Coffeeville, in my judgement, was the most skillfully fought of any in which I was engaged."
W. S. Eskridge, Tallahatchie County, Second Mississippi Cavalry, Ballentine's Regiment

"This action was fought under peculiar difficulties."
US Colonel T. Lyle Dickey, O. R., Series I, Vol. 17, Part 1, page 496.

"This was a bad planned battle, and should not have been fought...The great wonder is that we were not all cut to pieces."
Major Elbridge Ricker. Fifth Ohio Cavalry. Unpublished diary.

"...not to put too fine a point upon it, they came very near capturing our whole command, making a mess of the expedition..."
Chicago Tribune, “Doc. 63” From Rebellion Record, edited by Frank Moore.

"The whole affair was a complete success and taught the enemy a lesson I am sure they will not soon forget." CS General Lloyd Tilghman, O. R., Series I, Vol. 17, Part I, page 506.

"The affair was a brilliant one and very credible to our arms."
Charleston Courier, Charleston SC, "From Grenada," December 16, 1862.

"Firing just ceased. Night put a stop to pursuit. He [Union cavalry] will be careful how he comes up again." CS Major General Earl Van Dorn. O. R., Series I, Vol. 17, Part I, Reports, page 503.

"...we “slashed” them “beautifully” at Coffeeville..."
Memphis Daily Appeal, Printed in Grenada, MS, December 13, 1862.
For an in depth study of the Battle of Coffeeville and other action in our area in November and December of 1862, from my Mississippi Central Railroad Campaign web site:

https://www.angelfire.com/ms2/grantshilohvicksburg/Chapters/3TheBattleOfCoffeeville.html

Contact me if you would like a book on the Battle of Coffeeville. The Drug Store on Front Street may still have some left. If not, send me a private message.

Angelfire on Lycos, established in 1995, is one of the leading personal publishing communities on the Web. Angelfire makes it easy for members to create their own blogs, web sites, get a web address (domain) and start publishing online.

09/06/2022

158th anniversary. Brice's Crossroads, June 10, 1864. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7orZqYhSJ_U

The Battle of Brices Crossroads was one of the most spectacular tactical victories in America History. Join me in visiting the battlefield and discovering w...

06/12/2021

159 years ago today, December 6, 1862, the day after the Battle of Coffeeville:

At first light the next morning the battlefield was ghoulish with a scattering of frost-covered corpses. Their faces and postures were literally frozen in the throes of death; some peacefully, as if death had been quick and easy, and others hideously grotesque with pain and agony. They were loaded onto dead wagons and carried about, jostling stiffly over the battlefield, as more bodies were collected.

As jubilant as the Confederates were over the victory, the people in town were in just as much turmoil. The Yankees had indeed arrived—some of them were now dead and dying in the homes of Coffeeville. Ironically, the first Union soldiers to enter Coffeeville were not invaders, but instead, the wounded and captured.

Dr. Blackwell, Thirty-First Mississippi Infantry, described the scene in Coffeeville the morning after the battle:

Details were sent out this morning for the purpose of burying the dead left on the field by the enemy. After that duty was accomplished we took up the line of march for Grenada, where we hope to make a stand, at least until we can rest ourselves.

I would (wish) that I could give the reader my feelings as I passed through the village of Coffeeville. The utter destitution of inhabitants seemed to be painfully felt by all. The silence of death and of the grave seemed to partake of the general air of gloom that rested on the place.

The churches, and many of the homes, in Coffeeville were makeshift hospitals where the locals desperately tended the wounded. Some men of both sides were saved; others—muddy, mangled, and bloody—died in the beds of the residents.
The Charleston Courier (South Carolina) reported that ten Federals died of wounds in the “hospital” in Coffeeville during the night following the battle. This number is probably low, and does not include Confederates. It had been the most agonizing and chaotic night in the history of Coffeeville.

A postwar account gives more insight to the terrible scene the day after the battle:

The next day the Methodist church was filled with the wounded of both armies, the church having been converted into a hospital. The ladies acted as nurses, but nurses with scarcely medical aid or supplies. About all they could do was shroud the dead and comfort the dying.

***
The Confederate report states that forty-three Rebels were wounded. Lt. G. W. Pennington, Company I, of the Fourteenth Mississippi mentioned one man who received a slight wound: “In the engagement at Coffeeville on December 5, none killed, one slightly wounded in the shoulder by the falling of a limb cut off by a cannonball.”

Many Union prisoners were guarded on the battlefield overnight and brought in the next morning. Edwin E. Rice, Company A of Waul’s Texas Legion, reported that twenty-seven Union prisoners, including some wounded, were sent to the Texas camp between the depot and Derden Creek, and were guarded there all night. Others were probably kept at the local jail until the Confederates resumed their march for Grenada. Eventually, the Federal prisoners were sent by train to Mobile, Alabama.

Rice gave this account:
We had killed 7 and 43 wounded and the enemy 32 or 4 (34) killed, 35 not wounded (prisoners) and 17 wounded prisoners and (their) total wounded not known but supposed to be over a hundred. The Legion was ordered to take part but the orders didn’t reach us in time. 27 prisoners were sent to our camp, which we took charge of.

The Union report states that sixty-three of theirs were wounded. The worst were left on the field to die in the cold night. Those who survived the terrible night were captured the next morning and taken to Coffeeville.

The seriously wounded Confederates were also taken to town once the fight was over. Counting Union and Confederate, there were probably at least fifty of the wounded that were brought in needing serious care. The citizens were overwhelmed with casualties to treat.

One particularly sad story involved the death of a sixteen-year-old Federal:

One of the wounded was a federal soldier only sixteen years old. When he realized he would not recover, he asked one of the ladies to write a letter for him to his mother.

She wrote the letter as he dictated, held his hand as he signed it, and later gave the letter, his pocket knife, and a ring to a Yankee officer passing through who promised to forward them to his mother. She never knew whether the mother got them or not. The young soldier was buried in the cemetery, but the location of his grave and his name are forgotten.

***

Union burial details returned to Coffeeville under a flag of truce to secure their dead. William Lyman, Seventh Kansas, gave this account:

While at Water Valley a party from the 7th Kansas was sent out under flag of truce to recover the bodies of some of those killed in that engagement. I was one of that party. We went down below Coffeyville and met a party of the Confederates and the matter was duly arranged. The rebels were drawn up across the road, and we matched their formation while the officers of the two forces were conferring. If we looked as grim as the Johnnies, there was no love lost between us.

06/12/2021

Recollection of the Battle of Coffeeville by W. S. Eskridge, published June 8, 1910 Tallahatchie Herald, Charleston, MS
"I was in several pitched battles during the war in which large armies were engaged, led by great generals on both sides, but the Battle of Coffeeville, in my judgement, was the most skillfully fought of any in which I was engaged."
W. S. Eskridge

05/12/2021

159 years ago, December 5, 1862, The Battle of Coffeeville, from Dr. Thomas Blackwell's diary:

DECEMBER 5TH: Got up from my lair in the mud this morning at day light and had the uncomfortable sight of wet, wet, everything. Nothing seemed to have escaped the effects of the rain of the preceding night. The Artillery horses with flopped ears and drooping heads, seemed to bow quietly though painfully to the decree of the weather god.

Having sent forward my ambulance on yesterday for the purpose of procuring and cooking supplies, I now pressed forward to the front to find them, particularly, the supplies, for I had eaten nothing since 3 o’clock in the morning before, except part of a raw turnip which was given me by a soldier just before night, and I soon found myself treading my weary way through mud that was half leg deep, while there was a continual din of swearing teamster, urging their weary teams along and of cattle drivers on every side hollering and cracking their whips driving the living walking commissaries away from the clutches of the greedy yankees who were in close pursuit.

Ever and anon the clatter of a sabre would warn of the approach of a squad of cavalry. Toiling onward I finally found my son Thomas, whom I had sent forward on the day before to find the Ambulance and replenish my Haversack from the provision basket which was conveyed in that vehicle. He had rode my horse for the purpose of being more expeditious, and having failed to find either the Ambulance or wagon train, had bivouacked in a corner of a lot and used the rail for the purpose of making fires to keep himself warm during the night. Who can tell, adequately, how great was my disappointment? I am sure that I cannot and, therefore, will not make the attempt.

The next alternative was to endeavor to get something to eat from the citizens of the place, but alas; there were (no) citizens in the village. All had left, for fear of the enemy. While looking around through the village we met with my cousin J.L. Gause, a member of Gen’l. Lovell’s staff, to whom I applied for some assistance or relief in my extremity, but was told by him that he, also, was in a like destitute condition with myself. He, however, generously pointed out to me a stray chicken in the Court House yard which he said he had just started to kill, and kindly offered to relinquish his designs on the life of the forlorn and hapless chicken for my benefit if I would use it, which offer of his being declined by me, we separated and I next saw him with a dead fowl in his hand as he walked off in the direction of the vacated Hotel (?) …which was being occupied, for the present, by Genl. Lovell as his head quarters. (This is probably the old Baker’s Tavern. Ed.)

We now set about to search for the wagon train of the brigade and after a tiresome search of some two hours found them, and soon after we found Bill Barton and Gus Babb who gave us a piece of the most delicious cold corn bread and fried bacon that I ever tasted. It was, indeed, to me a feast fit for a prince. Oh, but it was good, and enjoyed with a relish and zest seldom realized. Soon afterward I found the Ambulance and Hospital wagon, and best of all I found a basket full of baked sweet potatoes and a fine joint of fresh pork nicely roasted and done to a turn with plenty of corn bread, biscuit and turnips. Reader, I will not excite your smile, by trying to tell you how voraciously we ate; but you may rest well satisfied that we did eat.

Soon after finishing my supper, breakfast or dinner, call it which you will for I now do not feel at all disposed to quarrel with you or any one else, the Regiment came up and all halted in the creek bottom near the depot and got their dinners and set about drying their blankets and resting. While the fires were brightly burning and the smoke curling in graceful festoons among the branches of the forest trees, giving to the whole scene an air of quiet and repose, the men stretched out lazily on the dry grass or leaves enjoying the luxury of rest after fatigue and quiet after eating, there was suddenly heard the booming sound of a distant cannonading, and soon the command “Attention”, “Fall in, Fall in” in every direction, and grasping their rifles and slinging their cartridge boxes, with the usual “forty rounds”, the men sprang quickly to their feet and each gained his place in the line, and at the word “Forward” set off in quick time to meet the foe who was attempting to cut off our rear and capture our stragglers.

After a march of four miles which was done in less than one hour we were thrown forward in line of battle, and soon the skirmishers were thrown forward. Soon the loud report of Artillery from the enemy was answered by ours. After some five or six shots had been exchanged without damage to us but killing seven of the Yanks, soon the pattering sharp crack of the rifle told that our skirmishers were up with the enemy and pressing them. In the course of a few minutes the firing would be by volleys and then again by single reports. Following the sound by the ear it was soon ascertained that the enemy were falling back, driven from the field by the gallant Tilghman and his command.

Our Brigade (Rust’s) commanded by Col. Orr of the 31st. Miss., was drawn up in the edge of a wood, which intervened between us and the position of the contest that was going on in our front, so near that we could hear the word of command, distinctly as it was given by the Officers on each side, we could not see the fray as it progressed. Frequently the request was sent and urged, to allow us and the Brigade on our right to file by the right flank and get into a position in the rear and cut off the retreat of the foe; yet we were, by orders from Genl. Lovell and Genl. Rust, compelled to remain inactive and were not allowed to fire a single cartridge. The firing continued steadily to recede, and in the space of one hour and forty minutes, ceased altogether.

The enemy had fled, leaving 86 of his number dead and 37 wounded and prisoners. Our loss five killed and twelve wounded. After the fight was over we were marched about a mile in the direction of Coffeeville and encamped for the night on that portion of the field where the battle first begun.

Near the place where our regiment was stationed for the night lay the body of a Yankee by the name of I.N. Porter, who was killed under the following circumstances, part of which we learned from some of the prisoners which we had taken. Before leaving his home in Kansas, Porter had facetiously told his friends that he intended to catch a “live rebel” and put him in a cage and take him around a la Menagerie for the purpose of exhibiting “the animal”.

Among the skirmishers thrown Out by the 23rd. Mississippi Regiment, was a youth, quite small for his age of sixteen (16) years. The Yankee had fired at the boy from behind a tree and missed him, whereupon the young Mississippian, boldly advanced upon him from under cover, and while in the act of shooting, the Yankee still remained behind the trunk of the tree from which he had first fired, and having a Colts revolving Rifle, fired upon the boy and struck him on the head, the ball running around on the outside of the skull under the skin and knocking him down and his gun firing at the instant but without effect. Observing the Yank approaching him, the boy, recovered from the stunning effect of the shot, sprang to his feet and gathering his gun in the right hand, sped with the swiftness and agility of a deer to the rear and the Yankee highly delighted and in great glee, began the pursuit for the purpose of capturing him and shouting at every bound to the top of his voice, “Stop you damned rebel”; “Stop you damned rebel!”

The Yank ran up within forty yards of our line and in front of the Company to which the boy belonged before he discovered his danger, which was not until the Company rose to their feet, (they were lying on the ground as was all of our troops who were not engaged in the fight), when throwing himself behind the body of an oak tree he called out to the Company to surrender. Scarcely had the word escaped his lips when the fire from the Company sealed them in eternal silence and he rolled over with his body and head pierced by twenty seven (27) bullets.

So much for the Yankee show of a “live rebel” as it was intended, boastfully to be carried out by this Kansas Jay hawker.

05/12/2021

I rarely post a long quote, such as this, but here is a lengthy passage from Dr. Thomas Blackwell's diary (31st Miss Infantry) describing the night of December 4, slogging through the mud in a rainstorm and camping on Moreland above Coffeeville.
About 4 O’clock in the evening, the rain began to fall, at first gently, but as night approached it became more violent. Still the column pressed forward, plunging through the mud and water in the darkness, over slippery hills, through foaming creeks, across muddy riverlets, bog, bog, slip, fall, and slide as best we could until the hour of 11 at night when we received orders to bivouac on the banks of a creek some seven miles from Coffeeville, and the rain pouring down in torrents. Kind and gentle reader, have you ever spent a night in the rain and cold, after a day of excessive fatigue and toil? If so, you can appreciate our doleful condition on this occasion.
(the eye) that has been hurt while the other is weeping profusely in sympathy for the ill usage of its fellow, you lose sight of your footing and fall rolling over into a gutty and find yourself nearly immersed or rather submerged in the turbid roaring current, and spreading out your arms to protect your body from serious injury, you lose your load of wood which has been gathered with so much toil and under so many difficulties.
But the rain continues to fall, and the cold to pinch, and with many execrations on your “bad luck” you first gather yourself up out of the gutty and after shaking the water from you dripping clothes, you set about gathering up the lost “tons” of wood, which you had just let fall. This accomplished and each having added his contribution to the pile, the fire is kindled near the trunk, and on the south side of some fallen tree, soon, despite the falling rain the ruddy blaze of the fire lights up the surrounding gloom and you look upon the faces of your companions, to find that they too have suffered the like mishaps with yourself.
And now while the fire burns gaily and cheerily, each related with glee his own particular, personal misadventure and all is forgotten in the present enjoyment.
But soon the appetite reminds the luckless soldier that he has eaten nothing since 3 o’clock in the morning. This is, indeed a serious matter for his consideration, but how to meet the demand is more than he can devine, for the “three days rations” have been consumed; the wagon with the commissaries and the cooking utensils are in the advance, where they may be parked for the night is more than he can tell, and supposing that he had any desirable quantity of commissaries and cooking utensils combined, how is he, dripping and wet as he is, to cook his food while the merciless and driving rain is railing in such copious and relentless fury? There is no help for it, and he is compelled to forego the enjoyment of his “beef and bread” and go supperless to bed for the night.
Start not, gentle reader, at the suggestion of going to bed under such circumstances, for I assure you that the weary soldier is not to be cheated out of his sleep by such, to you, apparently, desperate surroundings.
The query is now raised, and it is soon definitely ascertained how many blankets there are is the mess, sticks are soon cut with forks at one end, and are firmly set in the ground, the one at the point intended for the head and the other at the point for the foot of the bed. Then a pole is placed in the forks of the upright sticks and a blanket, the largest and best in the lot, is thrown across it and the edges brought down and fastened to the ground, giving it the outline, when viewed from head to foot the appearance of the roof of a house in miniature. Slight trenches or ditches are made, by the aid of pocket knives, or bayonets, in the land around the spot sheltered by the spreading blanket, and soon the remaining blankets are disposed of so as to afford the utmost possible protection from, and comfort in, the falling rain and sweeping wind.
And now for retiring to bed, which is done by drawing the hat over the face to prevent the falling drop, drop, drop, which percolates through the woven tissues of the blanket from giving the sleeper unnecessary annoyance by falling on his face, in his eye or maybe his ear, the knapsack properly placed for a pillow, he lays himself down with his feet to the fire with his wet boots or shoes, as the case may be, on his feet and drawing the remaining blanket over his weary body is soon in the dream-land where he revisits his home and his fireside, dreams of table spread by loving spouse or tender Mother and covered with the delicacies of home which have been prepared in anticipation of the long desired return, the union proceeds; the board is spread and surrounded by bright faces and dancing eyes of the little and loved ones, all bright, happy and joyous.
The soul is filled with a quiet happiness by the contemplation of the scene; the dishes are, one by one, all uncovered and the odor of savory dishes, prepared by careful hands that know how to cater to the particular appetite floats in grateful clouds to the olfactories and the hungry, worn and weary soldier is about to gratify his sharpened, goading desire for food, when, alas, alas, drop, drop, drop into his face, the merciless rain wakes him from the pleasant union which erewhile had beguiled the soul from the weariness, to the full consciousness, that the water is not only falling upon him from the clouds, but is running in slices under him and all around him.
The first oblivious sleep past, he only sleeps by short intervals, and still conscious of his uncomfortable condition; and when he turns himself, as he now frequently does, the wet blankets turn with him and clinging, from their saturated condition, closely to the person, places the movements under a restraint that is tiresome and most uncomfortable. Often he lifts his hat from his face and turns his eyes in the direction of the eastern horizon, vainly hoping to catch some sign of approaching day. But alas, the hours now are neither winged nor rosy in their flight, for it is still the relentless drop, drop, drop falling with measured regularity and unvarying certainty upon his face, neck or elsewhere, always giving the most vivid and painful sensation of discomfort. Such is a true but faint picture of a bivouac in the rain, and such a one I spent and shared with Capt. I.L.S. Hill, on this occasion.

05/12/2021

159 years ago, December 4, 1862

Edwin E. Rice, Company A of Waul’s Texas Legion, December 4, 1862, south of Water Valley:
Left camp at an early hour this morning (December 4), but it was with difficulty that I could march as I was very weak, having had very little to eat. Got some potatoes and biscuit about 9 o’clock which helped me. Marched through rain and any quantity of mud and camped at 9 P. M. 4 miles from Coffeeville. It rained all night and was the most unpleasant night I ever passed except one.

05/12/2021

159 years ago today: Dec 4, 1862

At about this time, 11:00 at night, on December 4, 1862, Coffeeville was hit by a driving rainstorm. The retreating Confederates wrote about the terrible conditions in the rain and cold that night. It was miserable.

The 31st Mississippi Infantry and the 14th Mississippi went into camp a couple of miles north of Coffeeville. Here are the accounts from Thomas Dabney Wier from Oxford to Coffeeville, followed in an accompanying posts from Dr. T. M. Blackwell, surgeon for the 31st Mississippi Infantry.
Thomas Dabney Wier
14th Mississippi Infantry
Retreat from Abbeville and the Coffeeville Account

December 1, 1862. Monday.
After standing in the rain all night we slung [our] knap sacks with wet blankets and took up the line of march as we [are] supposed to support some division. But near 12 M [midday] we find we are moving in the wrong direction for a fight. [At] 3 p.m. we find we are going to Oxford and retreating [and] that the Yanks had landed troops at Panola and were marching in our rear on Grenada. We bivouac at Oxford for the night, twenty-five miles from Pus Cus, [the] place of starting. (PusCus is now known as a forest and lake east of Oxford in the national forest.)

December 2, 1862. Tuesday.
We march only seven or eight miles, bivouacking on the south side of the little river Yocona. Here we cook 24 hours rations, which consists of one pone of bread. Several broke down and are straggling. (Several of the men were exhausted and left the line of march and rested. Most of these were captured by the Yankee cavalry.)

December 3, 1862. Wednesday.
By early dawn we take up the line of march. [At] 9 a.m. Captain Sam Harris, General Baldwin’s aide, rides up and tells Major Doss to form his regiment and see if his arms are all in order as we will probably need them in a short while. We are double-quicked off about 2 miles in front of the cavalry to hold a bridge. The wagons are lightened of their loads and hurried on. All the infantry go ahead of the First Brigade, which brings up the rear.

We stand in line of battle until dark when we move on expecting to go to a little town, Water Valley. But we take the wrong road and go five miles out of our way to the left. Bivouacked on Water Valley Creek [at] 2 OC [o’clock, a.m.] at night. (They probably went straight at the highway 7 and 9 split toward Paris, which would have put them to the left, or east, of Water Valley. The creek he refers to is probably the O'Tuckalofa.)

December 4, 1862. Thursday.
A little after sunrise we take up in the line of march. [At] 12 M [midday] we stop to cook. Get our fires kindled [and] a runner comes and says “you must push [because] the Yanks are cutting off our wagon train.” So we pushed off to the main road and the Army filed by us as we stood in line. [At] 3 pm we close in and start for Coffeeville.

It rains all day [and] night but we press through the mud which in many place[s] is over our boot tops and [with] no way to pass round, but we press on [with] very little murmuring. We are wet to the skin. [We] Bivouac 3 miles from town on the [railroad] in the rain. All we could do was make fires and keep warm until day. No sleep. No provisions. (This night march in the cold and driving rain is very much like Dr. Blackwell's account, given in a separate diary entry posted below. Dr. Blackwell and the 31st Mississippi and the 14th Mississippi probably camped with, or near, each other since they describe the same place, however Dr. Blackwell's account incorrectly says they are seven miles north of Coffeeville. They were probably 2-3 miles north of town.)

December 5, 1862. Friday.
Early in the morning we make our way to the Depot [in Coffeeville] [and] buy a few Sweet Potatoes to roast. [We] Kill a Shoat and broil it over some coals and By 12 M [midday] we are full once more.
In the evening we are ordered out to the edge of town to prevent the Yanks from getting our baggage wagons. Baldwin’s Brigade is lying in line of battle on each side of the road and the Yanks advance. We fire on them and get up and charge them for five miles, killing and capturing several. Came near to capturing their battery, but the speed and power of their horses were too much for our little exhausted Brigade. (The battle started around 3:00 pm and ended at dark. The Confederate pursuit was less than two miles.)

01/12/2021

159 years ago, December 1, 1862

George Powell Clarke
From Reminiscence and Anecdotes of the War for Southern Independence by George Powell Clarke, Sgt. Company C. 36th Mississippi Infantry, Harper Reserves, Decatur, Mississippi.

The warehouse is believed to have been in the vicinity of the depot or even the depot itself. Later, Mr. Clarke refers to the building as the depot.

“On the night of December 1, 1862, we went into camp, or rather bivouac, at Oxford, having retreated from Abbeville that day. Here on the following day occurred a scene that I shall find it difficult to describe. It was ludicrous and shameful- it was both amusing and vexatious- it was disgraceful and placed us in great danger. It will require a little stretch of faith on your part, dear reader, in order to believe part of the narration, but let me assure you that the whole scene is true and historical.

Now, if I can find language to describe it I will give it to you. In a large warehouse at Oxford was stored a large quantity of Government supplies, mostly of the commissary department. It was evident that within two or three days this would all fall into the hands of the enemy, and therefore it was ordered that what could not be removed should be destroyed.

Now, among other stores, was a large quantity of whiskey, perhaps a dozen barrels. The commanding officer ordered the heads to be knocked out of the barrels, and let the whiskey run out. A certain officer was entrusted with the duty of seeing this business attended to. This officer of course filled his canteen and let every other officer, that wanted to do so fill his. But mind you, no private need apply; but mind you again, they were not to be cheated in any such way as that.

Now in times past divers hogs had slept under the warehouse, and you are well enough acquainted with the habits of that dainty animal to know, that where he sleeps under a house, he is given to rooting out numerous holes for better accommodation of his rotund person. Such was the case under the warehouse in question. The officers within the house were getting hilarious, as barrel after barrel of the exhilarating fluid was bursted, and were paying no attention to what was going on outside, where a large number of soldiers had gathered, lured there by the delightful odor that had greeted their nostrils from afar.

I suppose by this time the reader would like to know what use I had for the hog holes under the house. Well, you see the floor of that house like the floors of a great many other houses, was well striped with cracks, and you see further, that the whiskey ran through the cracks and filled the hog holes under the house. This was soon noticed by the crowd of thirsty soldiers around the house, and I then witnessed the funniest, the most ludicrous, the most ridiculous performance that ever came under my observation.

There was at once an almost universal change from an upright, to a horizontal position gone through by the crowd of soldiers around the house. This movement was accompanied by an unslinging of canteens. A crawling motion was next noticed, followed by the disappearance of a myriads of heels under the house. Then heard from under the house that peculiar sounds you use to hear, when a schoolboy, filling your bottle in the spring, or branch. The soldiers were filling their canteens from the hog holes under the house.
The officers above, all unconscious of the performance going on under the house, were wading in the ‘Oh be Joyful,’ and getting on an extensive drunk as fast as the liquor could do it. Finally the gurgling noise ceased under the house, and looking under I saw the men drinking from the holes, as you have often drunk from a spring...I was an eye witness to the scene...

I never knew how it was exactly, but it seems our Regiment was left at Oxford that day, and the whole thing nearly got so drunk, including a majority of the officers. There was no discipline, no order...Late in the afternoon of the same day, the Federal cavalry began to pour into town, throwing bombshells as they came. We had one field officer who had either not been drunk, or had got sober, who got the men together, tumbled the drunk officers into ambulances, and struck out...Perhaps the reader can hardly credit the statement that officers in high positions, wearing brilliant uniforms, were so beastly drunk that they had to be picked up by the arms and feet, and tumbled, like so many hogs, into ambulances and wagons to prevent them from falling into the hands of the enemy; but as before stated the writer was an eye witness to the whole scene. Someone may be inquisitive enough to want to know if the writer drank any of the ‘red liquor’, as a prominent judge calls it.

Well, I have come to the conclusion long ago that it is not best to tell too much, but for the benefit of those who may want to know, I will say, that while I did not get drunk, I did drink some of the ‘red liquor’, and I will state further, that what I drank did not come out of the hog holes under the depot.”