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Updated: June 21, 2025
His usual stolid temperament showed signs of wear. "Airin' th' lungs that way sounds like a critter gittin' set to make war medicine. A hardtail don't need no hardware but his hoofs to make a man regret knowin' him familiar-like " Drew had reached another wagon. "Ordnance? Buford's?" He repeated the well-worn question without hope. "Yeah, what about it?"
Harry and Dalton rode with one of the brigades, and they closely followed those who went down the right bank of the stream called Willoughby Run, opening a rapid fire as they advanced upon a vigilant enemy who had been posted the night before in protected positions. Buford's men met the attack with courage and vigor.
Upon the call of troops from North Carolina for the defence of Charleston, he attached himself to Col. Graham's regiment, under Gen. Rutherford, and was there captured. Immediately after being exchanged, he returned to North Carolina and joined the command of Capt. Adlai Osborne, and about three month's afterward was killed in a skirmish at Buford's Bridge, S.C.
Buford's division held the Confederate right wing. Drew, acting as courier for the Kentucky general, saw Forrest with his tough, undefeated, and undefeatable escort riding ahead. They had Wilson's Cavalry drawn up to meet them. But they had handled Wilson before, briskly and brutally. This was the old game they knew well. Drew saw the glitter of sabers along the Union ranks and smiled grimly.
The fact was that the excellent Federal defense had come as a very unpleasing surprise upon the rather too cocksure Confederates. Buford's cavalry and Reynolds's infantry had staunchly withstood superior numbers; while Lieutenant Bayard Wilkeson actually held back a Confederate division for some time with the guns of Battery G, Fourth U. S. Artillery.
Buford's Kentuckians lay in wait along the Cumberland, hoping perhaps to echo, if only faintly, their earlier successes against the gunboats and supply transports. And at Nashville a battle was shaping.... Drew had ridden in to report when the first of the new retreat orders came.
One Sunday, after the news had come to the settlement that Buford's men had been killed by the British in cold blood, the eloquent old man went into his pulpit and preached about the duty of fighting.
The Whigs were still greatly exasperated when they called to remembrance Tarleton's cruelty at Buford's defeat, where no quarter was given. The victory was complete, and reanimated the Whigs throughout the whole country.
Within three miles of Major Buford's, he leaped the fence and stuck across the fields that he might go around and avoid the risk of a painful chance meeting with his old friend or any of the Deans. What a land of peace and plenty it was the woodlands, meadows, pasture lands! Fat cattle raised their noses from the thick grass and looked with mild inquiry at him.
Along the banks of the now turbulent Duck River not a bridge or boat remained to aid their pursuers. Buford's Scouts had had a hand in that precaution. "Yeah, an' Forrest's waitin' for the Yankees to try an' smoke him out. It's 'bout like puttin' your hand in a rattler's den to git him by the tail, I'd say. But I'd feel a mite safer was theah an ocean between us.
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