May 10, 1863, Mobile Register And Advertiser
Tullahoma, Tenn., May 3, 1863.
Since my last letter, I have had opportunities to explore and understand the topography and history of this point, and the country around it. Tullahoma is about the line of Coffee and Franklin counties. It is a wretchedly poor and “God forsaken” region, and is called “the barrens” of Middle Tennessee. Poor and sterile area in the palmy days of peace, the desolations of alternate armies that have swept over it have left it a desert. The Yankees swept off all the male and nearly all the female slave populations. The men have enlisted in the Yankee or Confederate Army, according tot heir preference, or been caught by the conscript-man, or run into the mountains for refuge; and there is nobody left but women, children, old men, and a few plough-boys. There is nobody else left to cultivate a crop, and almost nothing in the way of a crop, is being made. Horses and mules have been swept off, cattle killed, and the only thing between these poor people and starvation is the product of a few cows. They sell, or barter off, milk and butter to the army, at enormous prices. And they are such poor creatures, and their condition is so appealing, that a generous heart cannot feel like jewing them in their prices. Money is almost useless here; it will buy almost nothing at all. The country women come in with butter and eggs, but generally they will not sell them for money. They want to barter them off for salt, rice, or molasses. I encountered an old woman, the other day, who had several dozen eggs. I tried to buy them, but it was no go. I offered a high price, but she replied that she did not want money; she could not eat money, nor buy anything to eat with money. She wanted rice, and would barter the eggs for the rice–one dozen eggs for three pounds of rice. As nothing else would do, I made the swap, and she went on her way rejoicing. I tried another woman, for butter, but she would not snap her finger for money. But she was “honing” for molasses, and would barter butter for molasses. We traded, and as the molasses was being measured, her delighted urchins gathered round and stuck their fingers in the molasses for a taste. Such are pictures of the life around us.
But such is the desolation wherever vast armies have quarters, and especially upon the disputed territory which is alternately occupied by both armies.
I am sorry to say that Lincolnite traitors abound in this region. Numbers of them are now in the Yankee army. I can detect them by their sneaking look, and by the “cold shoulder” which they poke at a Confederate soldier.
Let me tell you of a Tennessee hag–a Lincoln she-devil, whom I encountered a few days ago. Her house being convenient, I went in, with a few others, and took a drink of water. The hag came out, looking furious, and TOTED off the water. I had hitched my horse in the yard–a very common yard–and she rudely ordered me to take my horse out of her yard. While I went to obey her behest, she whisked by and TOTED off the chair I had been sitting in, and slammed the door as she closed herself in her house. Not a word was said in reply by the polite and forbearing gentlemen in “stars and bars,” who were sitting in the piazza. This is a specimen of the hospitality we get from the Lincoln hags.–The ‘secesh’ women are much more polite. . . Bayonet.