The Charge of Three Hundred Yankees
     by William G. Stevenson from Thirteen Months in the Rebel Army

A ludicrous scene occurred at this time (the retreat from Nashville in February 1862), illustrating the liability to panic to which even brave men are sometimes subject. While resting at Murfreesboro, of course we were liable to be overtaken by Buell’s cavalry, and as Colonel Morgan was not a man to be caught asleep, he kept scouting parties ever on the alert, scouring the country on different roads for miles in the direction of the Federal army.  

I was in command of a squad of eight men, with whom I made a long and rapid march in the direction of Lebanon, and when returning by a different route, night overtook us some fifteen miles from camp. After getting supper at a farmhouse, we were again in the saddle at ten o’clock of a calm, quiet evening, with a dim moon to light us back to camp. We jogged on unsuspicious of danger, as we were now on the return from the direction of the Federal cavalry. 

Within ten miles of camp, near midnight, we passed through a lane and were just entering a forest, when we became aware that a cavalry force was approaching on the same road; but who they were, or how many, we had no idea. We were not expecting another party of our men in this direction, and yet they could hardly be Federals, or we would have heard them, as we had been near their lines and among the friends of the Southern cause.

Acting on the principle that it is safer to ask than to answer questions in such circumstances, I instantly ordered them to “Halt,” and asked, “Who comes there?” Their commander was equally non-committal, and demanded, “Who comes there?”

“If you are friends, advance and give the countersign,” said I; but scarcely was the word uttered when buckshot from the shotguns of the head of the column came whistling past us in dangerous but not fatal proximity. Thus challenged, I instantly ordered, “Draw saber – Charge!” and with a wild yell we dashed at them, determined to keep our course toward our camp, whoever they might be. To our surprise they broke and ran in disorder, and we after them, yelling with all the voice we could command.

I soon saw, from their mode of riding and glimpses of their dress, that they were Confederates; but as we had routed them, though seven times our number, - there were sixty-five of them, - we determined to give them a race. Keeping my men together, yelling in unison, and firing in the air occasionally, we pressed them closely six or seven miles. When within three miles of camp, I drew my men up and told them we must get in by another route, and, if possible, as soon as they.

A rapid ride by a longer road brought us to the lines in a few minutes, and we found the whole force of over a thousand cavalrymen mounting to repel an attack from a formidable force of Federal cavalry, which had driven in the scouting party of sixty-five men, after a desperate encounter. I immediately reported the whole affair to Morgan, when, with a spice of humor which never forsakes him, he told me to keep quiet; and, calling up the lieutenant who was in charge of the scouting party, ordered him to narrate the whole affair.

The lieutenant could not say how many Federal cavalry there were, but there must have been three to five hundred, from the rattling of sabers and the volume of sound embodied by their unearthly yells. At all events, their charge was terrific, and his wonder was that any of his men escaped. How many Federals had fallen it was impossible to estimate, but some were seen to fall, etc.

When Morgan had learned the whole story, with the embellishments, he dismissed the lieutenant. But the story was too good to keep, and by morning the scare and its cause were fully ventilated, greatly to the chagrin of Major Bennett’s battalion, to which the routed men belonged. They were questioned daily about “those three hundred Yankees who made that terrific charge;” and whenever a loud noise of any kind was made, even by a mule, it was asked, with a serious face, if that was equal to “the unearthly yells of the Yankees.” Indeed, for weeks, “the three hundred Yankees” was a by-word of ridicule, in reply to any boast from one of Bennett’s men.