A Scene Among the Tennessee Yankees.

Mobile Register & Advertiser
September 13, 1863
p. 2, c. 6

The following sketch is communicated to the Texas Telegraph by one of Wharton's Rangers, in Tennessee:

Reaching camp at a late hour, and finding no forage, after most of the horses had already gone sixty hours on ten ears, it was no small matter for each company to send out half its number to hunt up and bring in forage on horseback. At best it was very scarce. The people, as they say, "had been eaten plum out." Two Union men in the neighborhood had been referred to, and we were ordered by Gen. Wharton to forage on them. As a specimen of the way this work goes, I will narrate a circumstance that came under my own observation.
Several of us mounted our jaded horses and proceeded to one of the houses indicated. Adj't John M. Claiborne was detailed to go up to the house and inquire if a certain man lived there.—Alighting, he walks to the door of the log cabin. Meeting a sad looking young lady, the Adjutant says, "good evening, Miss."
Young Lady—Good day, stranger.
Adjt.—Does Mr. Elisha Griffin live here?
Y.L.—No, stranger, Ain't no such man in these parts.
Adjt.—(Looking at paper with name on it—young lady at Papa, on bed, breathing hard)—Well, Elias Griffin, then.
Y.L.—Yes; he lives here.
Adjt.—Where is he at?
Y.L.—In bed; may be on his death-bed.
Ah! very sorry. Has he got anything to feed horses on?
Y.L.—(Coming towards Adjutant with hands up, saying)—Stranger he is got a little pile of corn, a mighty little pile. Please let us keep that. Sixteen gals in family, and no more as ten barls of corn. Stranger, if you take that we will starve.
Adjt.—Well, Madam, I can't rob a woman, if her brothers are fighting to rob my family. Is that all you have got?
Y.L.—That's so, shure and sartain.
Exit Adjutant to report his proceedings to the others, awaiting with hungry and jaded steeds. In the mean time the old gentleman in bed looked the picture of death, gasping and groaning as if despairing any longer of the pleasures of earthly bliss, but seems rather tenacious of having the silver cord rent in twain.
The Parson, displeased a little at our ill success, hears a noise of talking at the barn, and, coming closer, discovers Confederate soldier, and hears the voice of the old woman. He makes a proposition to examine further into the matter, expressing a doubt as to the truthfulness of the statement made by Unionists. Adjutant agreeing, got down and went into the barn. Loud talking by the old woman, and simpering of young ones, of whom four were present. Confederate soldier, deaf to all entreaty from young ladies and threats from old woman, with big stick, was about to come a Yankee trick by opening the lock of the door by main force.
Adjt.—Gents, hold on, and let us all reason together.
Conf. Soldier—The old gal reasons with a stick. See there. (Eyeing a huge hickory, the old lady standing with back to the door and facing the foe.)
Adtj.—Good evening, madam. (Old gal made no reply. Young ladies crowd around, discover brass buttons and cap, ask if he is an officer.) How much corn have you?
The gals get away and old lady crowds towards me. Confederate soldiers make a move for the door, and old lady, with action not suited to her years, resumes her original position on the defensive.
Old Lady—As God is my judge, we ain't got truck enough to keep soul and body together.
Adjt.—Well, madam, if I am permitted to see, I can assure you that not a man here shall touch your corn, and I will give you a safeguard until a letter can be gotten from Gen. Wharton.
Hesitating, he started close up to her stick, which seemed in awkward position for the simple purpose of supporting the infirmities of age.—Retreating and executing a flank movement, he could see nothing, and so told the old lady, unless he had a light.
Old Lady.—You can have a candle, and look through the crack.
Exit gal after the light. Taking the candle, he looks through a small crack, and sees a small amount of corn. Madam, is this all?
O.L.—That's all, stranger; and now it's near on to forty years me and the old man's been one, and I helped to make it all, until the gals got big enough to help.
Adj't—Madam, I am better posted in affairs than that. Where are Jim and Pete?
O.L.—(Hesitating).—They are in our army.
Adj't—Ah! Which do you call our army? (No reply). Madam, your boys are in Bill Stockes' Tennessee Federal Cavalry. (No reply). And they are daily robbing women and children. They steal niggers, horses, bacon; burn, pillage and destroy, and take ladies' wardrobes. Madam, I feel it my bounden duty to reciprocate their favors as far as possible. I must have some corn.
Old lady with hickory at 45 degrees. Her face assumes the face of an enraged panther, saying "You must walk over my dead body."
Young Ladies, all together.—Stranger, stranger, if you take that corn, then we beg you to kill us.
Tears streaming down their cheeks. Hardest of hearts melt. Boldest of plans defeated by such mature strategy. Exit Adjutant, with Confederate soldiers close at hand, and old lady calling for safeguard.
Horses were unfed that night. Whilst the old lady with her big stick, dying old man and crying gals haunt our dreams through the night.
Sequel. Upon inquiry, we find the old man was driving a wagon all that day, hauling away the corn. Gals were borrowed from neighbors for the purpose. The old man had only five in family, viz: himself, old woman, hickory stick, and the aforesaid boys in the Yankee army.

Article provided by Vicki Betts.