We had traveled over much of Fayette and Hardeman counties, but bivouacked on Clear Creek on the night of December 23rd. We had been bountifully fed right here when on our way to Randolph the year before and had slept on this ground part of a night on the Armstrong raid. When I think of this place I think of chicken pie. The rank and file were confident that we would go into Bolivar, only a few miles distant, the next morning, and have a jolly Christmas right at home. That was not to be. Our scouts and spies reported that the Federals in great force were strongly fortified and were ready for us. They had evidently heard from Holly Springs. Van Dorn drew off to Middleburg, seven miles southwest of Bolivar where a small garrison was protected by a brick storehouse with a hall above, through the walls of which they had made many portholes. Here we needed some kind of artillery. The Federals stood bravely to their guns and refused to comply with our demand to surrender. It was a detachment of the Twelfth Michigan infantry, which the community thought to be about as devilish a lot as ever came south.
At Middleburg I saw the prettiest line of battle in action that I saw in the whole war. It was Ross’ Texas brigade advancing on foot with a firing line of skirmishers several rods in advance. As we stood to the rear in reserve, I could but take pride in this fine body of Texans, as Sul Ross, afterward governor of Texas, was my schoolmate. He was a noble young fellow at college, a gallant Indian fighter before the war, a successful general in the Confederate army, an incorruptible statesman after the war and, finally, the most popular man in Texas. I was glad to call him friend. I have passed Middleburg many times since then, but always think of Ross’ line of battle. “After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well.”
Van Dorn retired, without molestation from the Federals, while Grant hastened to break camp on the Tallahatchie and to fall back to Memphis. The object of the expedition had been pretty fully accomplished.
When Van Dorn reached Ripley on his way south, Dr. Bob Mayes and I concluded that we would take a short respite from camp life and make an expedition of our own into Alabama. While maturing our plans we fully realized that we had to take the chances of being reported absent without leave. We reasoned that it was mid-winter and that neither army would make an offensive move for some time. Then everybody was in good humor because of our late success, and besides we knew that we were not serving under martinets in the persons of our high officers--a rather common conclusion in those days. So at the first favorable opportunity we two moved by the left flank and took the road to Guntown. This was the same road along which Sturgis advanced and retreated when Brice’s Cross Roads became a famous place. We passed the cross roads and the now noted Dr. Agnew and Brice residences around which the battle was to be fought. We could not tell when we might come into contact with a Federal scouting party from Corinth or a squad of bushwhackers. In such an emergency, we were not to show our weakness to the enemy, but were to bluff them, if we could, and take to the woods in good order. We had seven shots apiece and plenty of ammunition. We questioned citizens in regard to the roads and the prospects of trouble. When we struck the wild country east of the Tombigbee, we were always on the alert and were cautious how we let any man approach us. The further we went the wilder the country appeared. Rough, rocky roads wound along the streams and down through the valleys, which lay between the lofty hills. Excellent places to be shot at.