had more mercy and understandin’ in me, jest on account of all the sufferin’ I’d seen, than I ever had. And as fer my head, why hit was better than hit ever was: with all I’d seen and knowed I could a-got a schoolin’ in no time. But you see I wouldn’t wait. I didn’t think that hit’d ever come back. I was jest sick of li vin’.
But as I say—they marched us down to Locust Gap in less’n four days’ time, and then they put us on the cars fer Richmond. We got to Richmond on the mornin’ of one day, and up to that very moment we hadthought that they was sendin’ us to join Lee’s army in the north. But the next mornin’ we got our orders—and they was sendin’ us out west. They had been fightin’ in Kentucky: we was in trouble thar; they sent us out to stop the Army of the Cumberland. And that was the last I ever saw of old Virginny. From that time on we fought it out thar in the west and south. That’s where we war, the Twenty-ninth, from then on to the end.
We had no real big fights until the spring of ’62. And hit takes a fight to make a soldier of a man. Before that, thar was skirmishin’ and raids in Tennessee and in Kentucky. That winter we seed hard marchin’ in the cold and wind and rain. We learned to know what hunger was, and what hit was to have to draw your belly in to fit your rations. I reckon by that time we knowed hit wasn’t goin’ to be a picnic like we thought that hit would be. We was a-learnin’ all the time, but we wasn’t soldiers yet. It takes a good big fight to make a soldier, and we hadn’t had one yet. Early in ’62 we almost had one. They marched us to the relief of Donelson—but law! They had taken her before we got thar—and I’m goin’ to tell you a good story about that.
U. S. Grant was thar to take her, and we was marchin’ to relieve her before old Butcher could git in. We was seven mile away, and hit was comin’ on to sundown—we’d been marchin’ hard. We got the order to fall out and rest. And that was when I heared the gun and knowed that Donelson had fallen. Thar was no sound of fightin’. Everything was still as Sunday. We was sittin’ thar aside the road and then I heared a cannon boom. Hit boomed five times, real slow like—Boom!—Boom!—Boom!—Boom!—Boom! And the moment that I heared hit, I had a premonition. I turned to Jim and I said: “Well, thar you are! That’s Donelson—and she’s surrendered!”
Cap’n Bob Saunders heared me, but he wouldn’t believe me and he said: “You’re wrong!”
“Well,” said Jim, “I hope to God he’s right. I wouldn’t care if the whole damn war had fallen through. I’m ready to go home.”
“Well, he’s wrong,” said Captain Bob, “and I’ll bet money on hit that he is.”
Well, I tell you, that jest suited me. That was the way I was in those days—right from the beginnin’ of the war to the very end. If thar was any fun or devilment goin’ on, any card playin’ or gamblin’, or any other kind of foolishness, I was right in on hit. I’d a-bet a man that red was green or that day was night, and if a gal had looked at me from a persimmon tree, why, law! I reckon I’d a-clumb the tree to git her. That’s jest the way hit was with me all through the war. I never made a bet or played a game of cards in my life before the war or after hit was over, but while the war was goin’ on I was ready fer anything.
“How much will you bet?” I said.
“I’ll bet you a hundred dollars even money,” said Bob Saunders, and no sooner got the words out of his mouth than the bet was on.
We planked the money down right thar and gave hit to Jim to hold the stakes. Well, sir, we didn’t have to wait half an hour before a feller on a horse came ridin’ up and told us hit was no use goin’ any farther—Fort Donelson had fallen.
“What did I tell you?” I said to Cap’n Saunders, and I put the money in my pocket.
Well, the laugh was on him then. I wish you could a-seen the
But as I say—they marched us down to Locust Gap in less’n four days’ time, and then they put us on the cars fer Richmond. We got to Richmond on the mornin’ of one day, and up to that very moment we hadthought that they was sendin’ us to join Lee’s army in the north. But the next mornin’ we got our orders—and they was sendin’ us out west. They had been fightin’ in Kentucky: we was in trouble thar; they sent us out to stop the Army of the Cumberland. And that was the last I ever saw of old Virginny. From that time on we fought it out thar in the west and south. That’s where we war, the Twenty-ninth, from then on to the end.
We had no real big fights until the spring of ’62. And hit takes a fight to make a soldier of a man. Before that, thar was skirmishin’ and raids in Tennessee and in Kentucky. That winter we seed hard marchin’ in the cold and wind and rain. We learned to know what hunger was, and what hit was to have to draw your belly in to fit your rations. I reckon by that time we knowed hit wasn’t goin’ to be a picnic like we thought that hit would be. We was a-learnin’ all the time, but we wasn’t soldiers yet. It takes a good big fight to make a soldier, and we hadn’t had one yet. Early in ’62 we almost had one. They marched us to the relief of Donelson—but law! They had taken her before we got thar—and I’m goin’ to tell you a good story about that.
U. S. Grant was thar to take her, and we was marchin’ to relieve her before old Butcher could git in. We was seven mile away, and hit was comin’ on to sundown—we’d been marchin’ hard. We got the order to fall out and rest. And that was when I heared the gun and knowed that Donelson had fallen. Thar was no sound of fightin’. Everything was still as Sunday. We was sittin’ thar aside the road and then I heared a cannon boom. Hit boomed five times, real slow like—Boom!—Boom!—Boom!—Boom!—Boom! And the moment that I heared hit, I had a premonition. I turned to Jim and I said: “Well, thar you are! That’s Donelson—and she’s surrendered!”
Cap’n Bob Saunders heared me, but he wouldn’t believe me and he said: “You’re wrong!”
“Well,” said Jim, “I hope to God he’s right. I wouldn’t care if the whole damn war had fallen through. I’m ready to go home.”
“Well, he’s wrong,” said Captain Bob, “and I’ll bet money on hit that he is.”
Well, I tell you, that jest suited me. That was the way I was in those days—right from the beginnin’ of the war to the very end. If thar was any fun or devilment goin’ on, any card playin’ or gamblin’, or any other kind of foolishness, I was right in on hit. I’d a-bet a man that red was green or that day was night, and if a gal had looked at me from a persimmon tree, why, law! I reckon I’d a-clumb the tree to git her. That’s jest the way hit was with me all through the war. I never made a bet or played a game of cards in my life before the war or after hit was over, but while the war was goin’ on I was ready fer anything.
“How much will you bet?” I said.
“I’ll bet you a hundred dollars even money,” said Bob Saunders, and no sooner got the words out of his mouth than the bet was on.
We planked the money down right thar and gave hit to Jim to hold the stakes. Well, sir, we didn’t have to wait half an hour before a feller on a horse came ridin’ up and told us hit was no use goin’ any farther—Fort Donelson had fallen.
“What did I tell you?” I said to Cap’n Saunders, and I put the money in my pocket.
Well, the laugh was on him then. I wish you could a-seen the
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