My Trip to the Sequatchie Valley, East Tennessee,
on a Recruiting Expedition.

Nashville Daily Union
May 17, 1862, p. 2, c. 3-6

On Sunday last, May 4, my guide and self having previously made the necessary preparations for the expedition, started by train to Shelbyville. On the way, about 8 miles this side of Murfreesboro, the cars were brought to a stand by the removal of a rail from the tracks-a pile of burning cotton and the wire of the telegraph cut, was a pretty sure indication that mischief was brewing somewhere. We were told by a negro that Morgan had been there with a large body of men, and was in the immediate neighborhood then. A consultation was held and we decided to return to Nashville. The train returned about two miles, the conductor keeping a sharp lookout ahead when we were again brought to a stand by his saying, "Here, they are all around us; go on to Murfreesboro." The rail was soon replaced, and the cars got to the latter town. For myself, believing that we should be taken-cars and all-I allowed them to leave me. I went into an empty house near by to change my uniform for a citizens' dress, which I had taken along to use in case of necessity, but I changed my mind instead of my dress and started on the road to Murfreesboro. I had not gone a hundred yards before I saw two horsemen coming towards me. I wheeled round and made towards the house I had left and the horsemen passed on; it appears that it was one of Morgan's men with a prisoner. I now changed my dress and resolved to hide in the woods until night; I took up the railroad about a quarter of a mile with some dozen men, white and black; lounged about with them awhile on the bank, when a number of Morgan's men were observed looking at the replaced rail. My white companions proposed going to talk with them, and advised me to go down, saying "they'll not hurt you; may be make you take the oath." I thought the risk too great, and declined; a negro whispered to me "they'll betray you: remain here and we'll conceal you." As soon as they were gone, I said, "Boys, I rely on you now." "Come along, Marse, we'll hide you." One took my bundle with the uniform and went one way to hide it in some hay stacks, and I went with another towards a gin house, where he assured me I should be perfectly safe. On arriving at the gin house I looked across a field and to my satisfaction, saw a regiment of our cavalry going in pursuit of the Morganites. I joined them, got a horse and sword and fell into the ranks, and you had better believe I was spoiling for a fight now. We rode all day, and after taking a circuit of about thirty-five miles, were nearing Murfreesboro, when the regiment was reinforced by Gen. Dumont, and the pursuit renewed; the result you already know. I slept in camp at Murfreesboro that night; I returned next morning for my bundle and found it all right, and the proceeded to Shelbyville, where I found my guide waiting.

Monday soon we started on our march to Huntsville, to confer with Gen. Mitchell, who then held Bridgeport, a point about twelve miles from Jasper, the town we were making for. The General have us the necessary transportation passes &c., and expressed his deep sympathy for the people we were going to, and regretting his inability to render them immediate relief.-Wednesday morning we left in the cars for Bellefont, (all the bridges being destroyed between there and Chattanooga). If any body wants to see a specimen of Jeff Davis' operations in governing the Confederacy, go on the Memphis and Charleston Railroad and he will see it-such destruction and woe never was seen by any body. About four miles east of Bellefonte is a river across which the bridge is burned; a passenger car bangs on the abutment, and the engine, tender and baggage car in the river. Here we met the troops returning from Bridgeport; they had abandoned all the country east as not being of any importance to hold; here, then, we had to leave our protectors and push into an enemy's country. Nothing daunted, we pushed on to Stevenson; some danger was apprehended, but in what shape it would turn up we could not foresee. It was evening-about four o'clock-when we got there; a line of houses on one side of the road is all there is of it. Men were sitting about in squads. I said to my guide, "Prepare your tale; we shall be questioned by these fellows; I see by the way they look at us they mediate no good to us." We walked up the track, not looking towards them; one fellow said "Come by." We replied, "It is getting late, and we want to get out to some place to remain the night," and walked on.

Presently they arose en masse and commanded us to "Hold on there!" We sat down on the ties till they came up. "Where are you going, gentlemen?" "We want to know the news, that's all." "Where's General Mitchell?" "Where are the men that are gone up the road?" "How many men are there at Huntsville?" "Is Mitchell going to burn Huntsville?" "Is Scottsville burned?" these and many more such questions being answered, the direct personal inquiry began, this was conducted by some of them in a pompous, exacting and impertinent manner, especially towards me, as I now had on my uniform. A man in the crowd knew my guide, so that he was comparatively safe. Where did I live? Where was I going? Was I in the army? What was my grade? &c., &c. I replied that I lived in Nashville, and was sent out to meet seven men sent to Jasper with a flag of truce and to return with them. I was an assistant surgeon in the army and had to attend to some sick men scattered around there. The tale seemed to take well, and, after a great deal more such close and inconvenient questioning, we were allowed to go on. (The seven men sent to jasper were taken prisoners that evening near Stevenson, an sent to Chattanooga.) I now suggested to my guide the propriety of travelling at night, and lie in the mountains by day. Said he, "my belief is that those fellows will get us yet. They'll go back, caucus a little, get on their horses and head us on the road." We hurried on a couple of miles, when a deep creek ran across the road, with no sign of a crossing place. Sitting down a few minutes to consult, the sound of persons talking was heard distinctly. No time was to be lost, so we waded the creek, we landed, completely drenched, and hid in the woods for an hour, until we were out of their reach. I will not tell of the weary march all that night through the mountains, across bayous, wading creeks, up one craggy steep, turning point after point of the spurs, until we got to Battle Creek, at its junction with the Tennessee River, and within a few miles of Jasper. Battle Creek is about thirty yards wide, and twelve feet deep, and could not be waded; neither was there any ferry to be found. So we toiled up the bank, mile after mile, closely scanning every nook and cranny for some canoe or skiff to cross. Early in the morning we got to a place where my guide said we surely should find a person to take us across-he knew him to be a Union man. Said he, "They know my voice around this country, and if any of the Secesh know of my being here, they'll do their best to get me. You call Jose, Jose." I did so, and a woman's voice answered, "Who is that?" Where's Jose, said I, a friend wants him? "He ain't here." Can I get across the creek? "No, you had better not-this country in here is full of cavalry scouts. Pete Larkin's men were here for Jose yesterday; he's in the mountains; all the boys are in the mountains now-they dare not show themselves." My guide suggested that we leave for some other point immediately; "for," said he, "if they are about here, they have undoubtedly heard our conversation." We marched away from them at double quick, crossing fields of wheat wet with dew, which , although we were already wet, was more disagreeable than fording creeks. Getting out of that supposed danger, we laid down among the rocks to rest, and wait for day. Then cautiously reconnoitering the people going out to work, we found none about but those known to my guide as Secesh, and not to be approached. Most of the forenoon was thus spent, when hunger forced us to make up to an old man to inquire about a crossing on the creek. Fortunately he was a Union man; he had been there but a short time, and came from Knox county, driven out by Secesh. Said he, "Go through this field, you will find two women washing on the bank of the creek; there is a canoe by which you can cross." I approached the women alone. Good morning, madam; can I cross here? "Yes, sir, where's the canoe; but ain't you a Federal, sir?" Yes. "Well, I thought you was by your clothes. My boy went down to Bridgeport when G en. Mitchell was there, and he told me the kind of dress they wore. But if you cross you had better take up the creek, for I saw two of Pete Larkin's scouts ride down just now; they are gone down to ______, to take him, and ______, they say, they are bound to have them to day." I called up my guide. Said I, what do you propose to do? "Well," said he, "it looks squally, but don't be in a hurry; they can not find us. I can hide from them." "Don't ye trust yourselves too far," said the woman, "For God's sake be careful." I asked her if she could procure me an old hat, pants and vest, to disguise myself, and madam, can you get us anything to eat, we have had nothing since yesterday morning. "Lord, love your souls, haven't ye? Go up the mountain and hide; I'll go to the house and get all you want." In half an hour all our necessities were bountifully supplied, and we were in the hands of friends, with repeated assurances of solicitude for our safety. We rested all day, slept soundly for several hours, and at evening the women returned to our hiding place with a fresh supply of food. "You must go away from here now," said they, "you have been here long enough to be seen, and if you remain until morning, you will be taken. A man, I believe, passed by you to-day, and if he saw you they'll hunt you down." After blessing us, and wishing us in a place of safety, these good creatures left us, and we took up our march to the house of a Union man over the hill. I now began seriously to consider that to cross the creek would be attended with too much danger, and with too little result, and said to my guide that I thought we had better return to Nashville. Our papers we could leave in the hands of some trustworthy man for distribution, and that those who could escape had better make their way to Nashville as they best could, it being out of the question for us to try to go back in companies of more than two or three. At nine o'clock, a company of five of us got together, perched on a high rock, carrying on a conversation in a whisper, listening and watching attentively in every direction for intruders. It was decided that my plan was the best, and that all who would go to Nashville should strike his own course, and get there as he best could. at [sic-starts at left edge with no capital letter] twelve o'clock Friday night I left my guide to return on my solitary march to Nashville. Commencing at the foot of one of the mountains, I struck on a due west course up, up, up the mountain, a steep precipitous route of over two miles, to the top; thence, without interruption or seeing a human being for twenty miles, when I struck the Nashville and Chattanooga Railroad. Proceeding up this road, carefully avoiding observation. All went on well until I got to Deohard, a small village which I got into before I thought. Here, as at Stevenson, I saw groups of men sitting about the doorways, and before I had time to consider I was hailed, "Come here." "Hold on." A crowd of men got around me, and the usual question: "Where do you come from? Where are you going?" etc., etc. I saw at once my folly of getting into their power a second time, but had no chance left to get off. I had procured a change of dress on the mountains, and had my uniform tied up in a bundle. I now assumed another character, that of a journeyman harness maker. They formed themselves into a jury, and each one was required to question me. "Where do you come from?" Nashville. Hem, Nashville. "Where are you going to?" To Nashville. "What do you do here?" I am in search of work. Whilst the Confederates were at Nashville I had plenty of work and supported my family, since the Federals had got there all work had ceased, and my family were in want, I dare not wait to see them starve, so I put out into the country for some. Hem. "Where have you been?" I first went to Shelbyville, thence to Fayetteville, thence to Stevenson; got nothing to do, and am about to return to my family in Nashville. I am tired, and ready to starve. What would you do? All this time I had my bundle of uniform sitting on it not to attract too much attention to it. At this time two scouts rode into the place. The citizens called them over to question me inquisitively. "Who are you?" A man looking for work. "What can you do?" I am a harness maker. I am also an Englishman. "Have you got your papers?" No, sir, I have been in the country but four years. "Where did you land when you came into the country?" At New York. "How long did you stay there?" Nine or ten months. "Where did you go then?" To Cincinnati. "How long did you stay there?" About the same time. "Where did you go then?" To Louisville. "How long did you stay there?" Over a year. "What did you leave there for?" A harness maker of Nashville came to Louisville and offered to employ seventy hands to go to Nashville to make government work; cartridge boxes, cap boxes, bayonett scabbards, and artillery harness, etc., etc. I went with him. "How long were you there?" From the time the work began until the Federals came. "Let me see," said the fellow calculating, "one year in New York, one year in Cincinnati, one year in Louisville, that's three, and one year in Nashville. He has got three times as much North in him as South; keep that fellow a prisoner. I guess, young man, I can find something for you to do. Get up behind me. Well, sir, I replied. Pull round your horse and I'll get up. "Keep yourself in that room, and consider yourself my prisoner, and if you attempt to get away it will be the worse for you." And he rode off striking the spurs into his horse shouting, "Texas, by God." The citizens then took up the questioning. Who did I know in Nashville? Did I know so and so? A more decent looking man took me into a back room, and said, privately, I want to know whether you are all right. We don't want to hurt your, we want to know whether you are all right. I asked, Do you want to know whether I am Union or Secesh? My principles are always right. I try to act at all times rightly. He meant to ask if I was a spy, but did not do so in so many words, so that I did not then understand him. The horseman again galloped up to question me again. "Have you a pass?" No. "How did you get out of Nashville without a pass?" I had a pass to get out, but it was only to get out of the city. "Don't you think it imprudent to travel about the country without a pass?" I admitted that it was, and asked him to give me one. He said that he had "no authority to give it." "Guess you had better get up behind me." The citizens remonstrated, and said that if he took me to Winchester-a town two miles off, where they had a Provost Marshal-he would examine me and simply give me a pass to go on. He said "what shall we do with him?" An old scoundrel suggested, "take him to Col. Stearns, he'll know what to do with him." The horseman looked at him with all the scorn possible, and said "Stearns, hell," and rode off. The citizens said to me, "you may go on; keep out of the way of that horseman and you may escape." During this searching examination, I carefully kept my bundle with the uniform under me, sitting on it when possible. I do not know how it was they did not search for papers or evidences of identity about my person. They did not, and I made tracks for the woods for concealment until night should enable me to proceed. I prospected around in the bush, the planters houses lay in all directions, and I could see the scouts arrive in small squads, and make arrangements to remain during the night. As soon as it was dark enough I took a course that I supposed would take me back to the Railroad. After walking some time, I concluded that I was lost in the woods. Sitting down to pause awhile, and determine what to do, resolved finally to take the first road leading north and follow it. After some couple hours search, I found a road, and went about ten miles; then finding a route going west, followed it about the same distance; still no sign of Railroad. The country I was now in was a perfect wilderness. I asked myself the question again, "Where am I?" I must know at all hazards. I'll risk the first house I come to. Seeing one soon after, I made up to it. A man and his family were sitting at breakfast. Said I, "If you please sir, where am I?-how far is it to Elk River-how far to the Railroad?" Well, sir, Elk River is about a hundred yards from here, and to the railroad is about two miles." "How can I cross the river, sir?" "There is a ferry about half a mile down." "Thank you-good morning, sir." I found the river, and in ten minutes found a fording place, and waded through the swift stream, not being willing to be caught at a ferry. By dodging farm houses and numerous strolling parties (Sunday being a loafing, lounging day in general in such backwoods places,) I got on well enough to Tullahoma-another hot secesh crib. I was cautioned by a woman who lived near that place, that almost everybody in that neighborhood was a self-constituted scout, to act singly or collectively as case may require. I gave that town a wide berth; and the only incident that happened was my meeting in a cross road a young fellow on horseback who as soon as he saw me, gave a loud scream and set off at a gallop; whether it was to scare me, or I had scared him, I know not, as I did not hear any more of him. It accelerated my speed for a [illegible]. No incident worthy of note occurred after this, for night came on, and I marched on my weary way. Early in the morning I reached out pickets at Wartrace, where they warmed and fed me. I threw off my disguise and resumed my uniform. The food given me in the mountains had lasted me, and a small piece of corn dodger still remained. Crippled and worn out with fatigue-not having been in a house since I left Huntsville-I got into camp. Colonel Barnes and other officers kindly cared for me. I was among friends again. My enemies were behind me. If ever I have occasion to go that way again, it will be with my sword by my side, and they may rest assured that I will give them their deserts, certain [?] as they are.

P. M. Radford,
Co. D, First Tenn. Volunteers, Gov. Guards.

Article transcribed by Vicki Betts.