The Project Gutenberg EBook of Thirteen Months in the Rebel Army
by William G. Stevenson
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Title: Thirteen Months in the Rebel Army
Being a Narrative of Personal Adventures in the Infantry, Ordnance,
Cavalry, Courier, and Hospital Services; With an Exhibition of the
Power, Purposes, Earnestness, Military Despotism, and Demoralization
of the South
Author: William G. Stevenson
Release Date: April 17, 2005 [EBook #15644]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THIRTEEN MONTHS IN THE REBEL ARMY ***
Produced by Janet Kegg and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed
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[Frontispiece illustration: COUNCIL OF WAR BEFORE
THE BATTLE OF PITTSBURG LANDING. (Page 145.)]
THIRTEEN MONTHS IN THE REBEL ARMY
[By William G. Stevenson]
Being
A NARRATIVE OF PERSONAL ADVENTURES
in
THE INFANTRY, ORDNANCE, CAVALRY, COURIER,
and
HOSPITAL SERVICES;
with
AN EXHIBITION OF THE POWER, PURPOSES,
EARNESTNESS, MILITARY DESPOTISM, AND
DEMORALIZATION OF THE SOUTH.
BY AN IMPRESSED NEW YORKER.
NEW YORK:
A. S. BARNES & BURR,
51 & 53 JOHN-STREET.
1862.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862,
BY A. S. BARNES & BURR,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States
for the Southern District of New York.
RENNIE, SHEA & LINDSAY,
STEREOTYPERS AND ELECTROTYPER
81, 83, & 85 CENTRE-STREET,
New York.
GEORGE W. WOOD, PRINTER,
No. 2 Dutch-st., N.Y.
* * * * *
[Transcriber's note: The following appeared before
the frontispiece and title page in the original book.]
A VIEW OF THIS BOOK
IN PROOF-SHEETS.
As our last form was going to press we received the
following note from a Minister of the Gospel of this
city, whose name is widely known, and as widely
respected, both in Europe and America.
A.S. BARNES & BURR, Publishers.
NEW YORK, Oct. 1, 1862.
Inscrutable "Dixie!" your "adversary has written a book," as
damaging to Rebeldom as the Monitor to the Merrimac. The
secrets of Rebel counsels and resources have been well
concealed, while National plans have been penetrated by
traitorous eyes and revealed by treasonable tongues. At last
the vail has been uplifted, and we have more of valuable,
reliable information, as to the internal condition of
Jeff-dom and its armies, than has leaked out since the fall
of Sumter.
"Thirteen Months in the Rebel Army" gave "An Impressed New
Yorker" rare opportunities of knowing what is to be known
outside of the Richmond Cabinet. Let a sharp-witted young
man make his way from Memphis to Columbus and Bowling Green,
and thence to Nashville, Selma, Richmond, and Chattanooga;
put him into the battles of Belmont and Shiloh; bring him in
contact with Morgan, Polk, Breckenridge, and a bevy of
Confederate generals; employ him consecutively in the
infantry, ordnance, cavalry, courier, and hospital services;
then put a pen in his hand, and if his sketches of men and
things in the land of darkness have not interest and value,
pray what would you read in war-time?
The writer has been favored with the perusal of the
proof-sheets of this remarkable book. Many of its incidents
had had the charm of personal narration from the lips of the
author; but it is only just to say, that the lucid, graphic
style of the author gives all the vividness of personal
description to the scenes and incidents of which he was an
eyewitness. That so many and such varied adventures should
have fallen to the lot of a single person, is passing
strange; and that he should have survived and escaped to
relate them, is, perhaps, yet stranger. That they were all
experienced substantially as related, none will doubt, when
the minute details of name, date, place, and surroundings
are found to be sketched with palpable truthfulness.
The temper of the book is scarcely less noteworthy than its
fund of incident and anecdote. Parson Brownlow's book and
speeches are brimful of invective. He's a good hater,
indeed. He claimed in his Academy of Music speech that, "If
there was any thing on God's earth that he was made for, it
was to pile up epithets against this infernal rebellion!"
_Chacun à son gout._ Our young author has struck a harder
blow at the Confederacy by his damaging facts, than if he
had intensified them with the vocabulary of profanity and
vituperation. There has been more than enough of bitter
words, North and South; it is now a question of strength,
and skill, and endurance. This book will teach us to respect
the energy, while we detest the principles, of this
stupendous rebellion.
* * * * *
PREFACE.
A WORD TO THE READER.
I give to you, in the following pages, a simple narrative of facts.
I have no motive to misrepresent or conceal. I have an honest desire
to describe faithfully and truly what I saw and heard during
thirteen months of enforced service in the Rebel army.
If I should seem to you to speak too favorably of individuals or
occurrences in the South, I beg you to consider that I give
impressions obtained when in the South. If my book has any value it
lies in this very fact, that it gives you an interior view of this
stupendous rebellion, which can not be obtained by one standing in
the North and looking at it only with Northern eyes.
I have confidence in truth; and unwelcome truth, is none the less
truth, and none the less valuable. Sure am I, that if the North had
known the whole truth as to the _power, the unanimity, and the
deadly purpose_ of the leaders in the rebellion, the government
would have been far better prepared for promptly meeting the crisis.
Look then candidly at facts, and give them their true weight.
As I am under no obligation, from duty or honor, to conceal what I
was compelled to see and hear in the South, I tell it frankly;
hoping it may be of value to my bleeding country, I tell it plainly.
I have no cause to love the Confederate usurpation, as will fully
appear, yet I refrain from abusive and denunciatory epithets,
because both my taste and judgment enjoin it.
For the accuracy of names, dates, and places, I rely wholly upon
memory. I kept memoranda during my whole service, but was compelled
to leave every thing when I attempted escape, as such papers then
found in my possession would have secured my certain death; but in
all material things I can promise the accuracy which a retentive
memory secures.
If an apology is needed for the constant recurrence of the personal
pronoun in these pages, let it be said that the recital of personal
incidents, without circumlocution, necessarily compels it.
With this brief word, I invite you to enter with me upon the
Southern service; you can stop when you please, or go with me to the
end, and give a huzza as you see me escape and reach the loyal
lines.
WILLIAM G. STEVENSON.
NEW YORK CITY, Sept. 15th, 1862.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
HOW I VOLUNTEERED.
Object in going to Arkansas. -- Change of Purpose. -- Young
Acquaintances. -- Questioned on Slavery. -- Letter to my Parents.
-- Unfortunate Clause. -- A Midnight Call. -- Warlike
Preparations. -- Good Advice. -- Honor among Lynchers. -- Arrival
at Court of Judge Lynch. -- Character of Jury. -- Trial
commenced. -- Indictment and Argument. -- Excitement increases.
-- Butler Cavins and his Lariat. -- The Crisis. -- The Acquittal.
-- No Safety from it. -- First Impulse and subsequent Reflection.
-- Attempted Escape. -- Night Ride. -- Helena. -- An Uneasy Boat
Ride. -- Memphis. -- "A Blue Jacket." -- Committee of Public
Safety. -- A Surprise. -- Dismissal followed by Unwelcome Letter
and Policeman. -- Recruiting Station. -- Volunteering 15
CHAPTER II.
INFANTRY SERVICE.
Character of our Regiment. -- No Escape. -- A Fixed Resolve. --
Randolph. -- Camp Life. -- Sabbath. -- Father Daly. -- Washing.
-- Fort Wright. -- Grand Defect. -- Rations. -- Stolen Waters. --
Mutiny. -- Sentence. -- Fort Pillow. -- Slaves. -- Aiding the
Rebellion. -- Deep Earnestness of the People. -- Strength of the
Fort. -- "Pillow's Trot Line." -- No Pay, and the Result. --
General Pillow described. -- Columbus, Ky. -- Hard Work. --
Pillow in the Ditch. -- The Batteries. -- Torpedoes. -- Battle of
Belmont. -- False Report. -- Troops cross. -- Untimely Joking. --
The Tide of Battle. -- A Charge. -- Cruelty. -- Victory. -- Why?
-- Loss. -- Burial of the Dead. -- How Not to Kill -- Accident.
-- The Military Bishop 40
CHAPTER III.
ORDNANCE SERVICE.
Transferred to Ordnance. -- Camp Beauregard. -- Was my Oath
binding? -- Resources of the Rebels. -- Cannon stolen. --
Manufactured. -- A Rifling Machine. -- Beauregard's Bells. --
Imported Cannon. -- Running Blockade. -- Silence of Southern
Papers. -- Small-Arms made. -- Altered. -- Abundant. --
Earnestness of all Classes. -- Imported Arms. -- England's
Neutrality. -- Ammunition imported. -- Manufactured. -- Smuggled.
-- A Railroad Episode. -- A Deserting Engineer. -- A New Hand at
the Throttle. -- Caution. -- A Smash Up and Pistols. --
Reconciliation. -- Result of Smash Up. -- Bowling Green. -- Size
of Army. -- Sickness. -- Personal. -- Kindness of Nashville
People. -- Moral and Religious Efforts for the Rebel Army. --
Vices prevalent. -- Seminaries and Schools disbanded 79
CHAPTER IV.
CAVALRY SERVICE.
New Field of Action. -- Promotion. -- Guerrilla Warfare. --
Characteristics. -- Tendencies. -- Captain J.H. Morgan. --
Character. -- Personal Appearance. -- Anecdotes. -- Success. --
Southern Cavalry superior to Northern. -- Advantages. -- Riding
Courier. -- General Johnson evacuates Bowling Green. --
Excitement in Nashville. -- Preparations for Defense. --
Commissary Stores. -- Vandalism. -- Rear Guard. -- Line of
Retreat. -- Dreadful Hardships. -- Losses. -- Forced March. --
Desolation. -- Cause of Retreat. -- Other Counsel. -- Accident.
-- No Union Feeling evident. -- Intolerant yet Sincere 108
CHAPTER V.
COURIER SERVICE.
New Duties. -- Battle approaching. -- Deserters and Scouts. -- A
Providence. -- Position and Forces of the Confederates. -- Orders
to prepare to move. -- My New Position. -- March to the
Battle-field. -- Federals off their Guard. -- Care of the
Confederates against Desertion. -- Council of War. -- A Dreary
Night. -- Awfulness of War. -- The Fight opened. -- Beauregard's
Address. -- The First Dead. -- _Détour_. -- Camp of 71st Ohio
Volunteers. -- Failure of Strategy. -- General Johnson killed. --
Death concealed. -- Furious Fighting. -- Horse killed. -- Sad
Scene. -- Rebels gaining. -- Struck by a Shell. -- Another Horse
killed. -- The Wounded Cavalryman and his Horse. -- Sleep in the
Camp of the 71st Ohio. -- Startling Reveille. -- Result of First
Day's Battle. -- Victory for the Rebels. -- Arrangements for
Second Day. -- Bloody Scenes. -- Grant's Attack. -- Rebels fall
back. -- Fluctuations of the Day. -- General Hindman blown up. --
Retreat determined on. -- Leaving the Field. -- Horrors of the
Retreat. -- Sleep among the Dying. -- Reach Corinth. -- Resolve 138
CHAPTER VI.
HOSPITAL SERVICE.
Wounded arriving. -- Care of my own Men. -- Appointment as
Assistant-surgeon. -- Discharge from Rebel Army. -- Dreadful
Scenes. -- Sickness. -- Nurses. -- Stoicism. -- Military Murder
of a Deserter. -- No Pay. -- Go to Mobile. -- Spirit of the
People on the Way. -- Met at Depot. -- No Means of Escape. -- The
Stagnant City. -- Surveillance of the Press. -- Forced Charity.
-- In charge of a Hospital. -- Selma. -- Kindness of Ladies. --
Piano. -- Artesian Wells. -- Model Hospital. -- Furlough to
Richmond. -- Rigid Discipline. -- Disappointment. -- Bitter
Thoughts. -- Crinoline and Volunteering. -- North asleep 175
CHAPTER VII.
MY ESCAPE.
Obstacles in the Way of Escape. -- Farewell to Selma. -- Gold
_versus_ Confederate Scrip. -- An unnamed Friend -- Conscription
Act. -- Swearing in a Regiment. -- Soldier shot. -- Chattanooga
reached. -- Danger of Recognition. -- Doff the Military. --
Transformation. -- A Bivouac. -- A Retired Ferryman. --
Conscience _versus_ Gold. -- Casuistry. -- Embarkation and
Voyage. -- Pistols and Persuasion. -- An unwilling Pilot. -- A
Night-reverie. -- My Companion's Pisgah. -- Selim. -- Secession a
destructive Principle. -- Practical Illustration. -- A third
Night in the Rocks. -- Home and the Welcome. -- The Dying
Deserter. -- One more Move--but how? -- My loss and Selim's
Gain. -- Off for Home. -- Federal Officer and Oath of Allegiance.
-- Plea for Treason. -- Sanctity of an Oath. -- _Résumé_.
-- Home 196
THIRTEEN MONTHS IN THE REBEL ARMY.
CHAPTER I.
HOW I VOLUNTEERED.
Object in going to Arkansas. -- Change of Purpose. -- Young
Acquaintances. -- Questioned on Slavery. -- Letter to my
Parents. -- Unfortunate Clause. -- A Midnight Call. --
Warlike Preparations. -- Good Advice. -- Honor among
Lynchers. -- Arrival at Court of Judge Lynch. -- Character
of Jury. -- Trial commenced. -- Indictment and Argument. --
Excitement increases. -- Butler Cavins and his Lariat. --
The Crisis. -- The Acquittal. -- No Safety from it. -- First
Impulse and subsequent Reflection. -- Attempted Escape. --
Night Ride. -- Helena. -- An Uneasy Boat Bide. -- Memphis.
-- "A Blue Jacket." -- Committee of Public Safety. -- A
Surprise. -- Dismissal followed by Unwelcome Letter and
Policeman. -- Recruiting Station. -- Volunteering.
Having spent my boyhood near Louisville, Kentucky, and falling in
love with the character of the young men of that chivalric State, I
found my way back to that region in the beginning of the year 1861,
from my home in the city of New York. In March, I went down the
Mississippi river to seek a school, and stopped in Arkansas, where I
hoped to find a relative who was engaged in teaching. Failing to
find either my kinsman or a remunerative school, I entered into
partnership with a young man from Memphis named George Davis, for
the purpose of getting out wine-cask staves, to be shipped to New
Orleans and from thence to France. We located in Phillips county,
Arkansas, bordering on the St. Francis river, more than 100 miles
from Memphis. The venture proved profitable, and with five hired
hands--Frenchmen--we were making money fast enough to satisfy a
moderate ambition, and I had time to look about me and study the
various phases of Arkansas society.
Frequent log-rollings--meetings of the neighbors to clear away the
dead timber which falls during the winter--brought me into contact
with the citizens for miles around. All sought acquaintance with the
stranger youth, and were generally courteous and friendly. In trials
of strength and skill, I occasionally gained an advantage which
made me friends among the older, but evidently waked up envy in the
breasts of some of the rougher young men. My refusal to drink with
the crowd, also widened the breach which I noticed was forming
without any cause on my part.
I was often sounded on the subject of slavery, which is the
touchstone always used in the South to test the character of a
new-comer. As a young man, I had no very fixed views upon the
subject. I had the impression that where it existed it should be
left to the control of those who were connected with it; and an
outsider, as I was, had better keep hands off, so far at least as
any direct efforts were concerned. Nor had I any disposition to
promulgate the anti-slavery convictions of my boyhood, since I well
knew they could have no good effect there; and as I had met a few
radical and half-crazy men in the North, whom I could not avoid
opposing, I was able to say some truthful things respecting them,
which conciliated my questioners. Yet I would not include the great
body of Northerners, whom I admitted I had met in my Kentucky
residence (I hailed from Kentucky), as of that hated class called by
them "abolitionist;" hence they still looked upon me with a shade of
suspicion.
Freedom of opinion in the South upon this subject is not tolerated
for a moment, and no honest anti-slavery man was safe for an hour in
that section. But as I was only a youth, they were willing to
suppose I knew but little of the subject, and I thought that they
were satisfied I was not a dangerous resident of their State. While
things were in this condition I concluded to write to my parents,
who I knew were anxious to hear from me; but I dared not direct a
letter to New York, and hence inclosed it in an envelope to a friend
near Louisville, Kentucky, with the request that he would "hand it
to my father as soon as convenient," not doubting that he would
direct and mail it to New York. In this letter, cautiously written,
I remarked, "This is a hard place to live in, as I had to ride ten
miles to get paper and ink to write this letter;" an unfortunate
statement, as will soon appear. The letter was deposited in the
post-office on April 16th. I went home, and, as if urged by a
guardian, though warlike, spirit, cleaned up my two six-shooters,
and, after examining my ammunition, laid them away unloaded. On the
night of April 17th, 1861, I was awakened out of a sound sleep about
11 o'clock by three men, who requested me to accompany them to
Jeffersonville, a small town on the St. Francis river, eight miles
distant. These men I had often met. One of them I regarded as a good
friend, and had some confidence in the other two. I asked for time
to dress and get ready, which they cheerfully granted. I carefully
loaded and capped my "Navies," and saddling my horse started with
them, like Paul, "not knowing what was to befall me there," but I
fear without much of the spirit of the good apostle, of whom I had
learned in the pious home of my childhood. I soon found these
"carnal weapons" essential safeguards in that place, though if I had
been an apostle I might not have needed them.
On the way to town my friend Buck Scruggs--he deserved a better
name--asked me to ride forward with him, and gave me this
information and advice. "You are now going to be tried by the
Phillips County Vigilance Committee on suspicion of being a Northern
man and an abolitionist. When you reach the grocery where they are
assembled, seat yourself on the counter in the back part of the
room, where if you have to defend yourself they cannot get behind
you. Make no studied defence, but calmly meet the charges at the
fitting time and in brief words. Keep cool, and use no language
which can be tortured into an offensive sense, and if possible I
will save you. If the worst comes, draw your pistols and be ready,
but don't shoot while ever there is hope, for you will of course be
killed the instant you kill any one else."
I listened very intently to this advice, given as coolly as if he
had been chatting about an every-day concern, and concluded that all
depended upon my coolness and steadiness of nerve when the final
struggle came, and resolved to sell my life dearly if it must be
sacrificed to the fury of a causeless persecution. To my
proposition to escape then, having a fleet horse, he would not
assent, as he had pledged his honor to take me to the Vigilance
Committee. Honor is as essential among lynchers as among thieves,
and all I could do was to brace myself for the encounter, of the
nature of which I had but an imperfect conception. About 12 o'clock
we reached the place, and I was ushered into the presence of fifty
or sixty as graceless scoundrels as even Arkansas can present, who
greeted me with hisses, groans, and cries of, "Hang him!" "Burn
him!" &c. Two-thirds of the mob were maddened by the vile liquor
which abounds in such localities, and few, if any, were entirely
sober. The hope that my innocence would protect me, which I had
cherished until now, vanished, for I well knew that drunken
cut-throats were blind to reason, and rather offended than attracted
by innocence.
Order was soon restored, and my friend Mr. Scruggs was called to the
chair. In this I saw a ray of hope. The constitution and by-laws of
the Vigilance Committee were read; the substance of which was, that
in the present troubled state of the country the citizens resolve
themselves into a court of justice to examine all Northern men, and
that any man of abolition principles shall be hung. The roll was
called, and I noticed that a large proportion of the men present
were members of the Committee; the others were boatmen and loafers
collected about the town. The court of Judge Lynch opened, and I was
put upon trial as an "Abolitionist whose business there was to
incite an insurrection among the slaves."
The first efforts of the chairman to get the witnesses to the point,
were unsuccessful. A mob is not an orderly body, and a drunken mob
is hard to manage. General charges were freely made without much
point. One cried out, because I refused to drink with them: "This
should hang him; he is too white-livered to take a dram with
gentlemen, let him swing." "Yes," shouted another; "he is a cursed
Yankee teetotaler, hang him." In a quiet way I showed them that this
was not the indictment, and that hanging would be a severe
punishment for such a sin of omission. To this rejoinder some
assented, and the tide seemed for a moment to be setting in my
favor, when another urged, "He is too 'tarnal smart for this
country. He talks like a Philadelphia lawyer."--Arkansas would be a
poor place for the members of the legal profession from the city of
brotherly love.--"He comes here to teach us ignorant backwoodsmen.
We'll show him a new trick, how to stretch hemp, the cursed Yankee."
At length the chairman got them to the specified crime. "An
abolitionist! An abolitionist!" they cried with intense rage,--some
of them were too drunk to pronounce the word,--but the more sober
ones prevailed, and they examined the evidence. The hearsay amounted
to nothing, and they plied me with questions as to my views on
slavery. I answered promptly, but briefly and honestly, that I held
no views on that subject to which they _should_ object, and that I
had never interfered with the institution since I came among them,
nor did I intend to do so. My calmness seemed to baffle them for a
moment, but the bottle was passed, and I noticed that all reason
fled from the great majority. Words grew hot and fierce, and eyes
flashed fire, while some actually gnashed their teeth in rage. I saw
that the mob would soon be uncontrollable unless the chairman
brought matters to an end, and suggested, that as there was no
evidence against me, they should bring the trial to a close, when to
my surprise they produced the letter written to my father but
thirty-six hours before, as proof conclusive that I was a Northern
abolitionist. I then saw, what I have had abundant evidence of
since, that the United States mail was subject to the inspection of
Vigilance Committees in the South at their pleasure. The ruffianism
of these scoundrels did not allow them even to apologize for their
crime. The only phrase in the letter objected to was the unfortunate
but truthful one, "This is a hard place." I never felt its force as
at that instant. It served as a catch-word for more abuse. "Yes, we'll
make it a hard place for you before you get out of it, you infernal
spy," &c. The chairman argued rather feebly as I thought--but he
understood his audience better than I did--that the letter was free
from any proof against me, that I was an innocent-looking youth and
had behaved myself correctly, that I evidently did not know much
about their peculiar institution, and he thought I had no designs
against it. They then went into a private consultation, while I kept
my place upon the counter, though gradually moving back to the
further edge of it. I saw the crisis was at hand, for smothered but
angry argument was going on in knots of men all over the room; my
life was suspended upon a breath, and I was utterly powerless to
change the decision, whatever it might be; but I must say that my
nerves were steady and my hand untrembling,--the unwonted calmness
of one who knew that death was inevitable if they should decide in
the affirmative on the charge, and who was determined to defend
himself to the last, as I well knew any death, they could _there_
inflict, was better than to fall into their hands to be tormented by
their hellish hate.
During the consultation, one Butler Cavins, who had a good deal of
influence (he owned about twenty slaves), left the grocery with five
or six others and was absent about ten minutes. He returned with a
coil of rope upon his arm, elbowing his way through the crowd, and
exclaimed, "Gentlemen, I am in favor of hanging him. He is a nice,
innocent young man. He is far safer for heaven now than when he
learns to drink, swear, and be as hardened an old sinner as I am." I
could not, even at the peril of life, refrain from retorting: "That,
sir, is the only truth I have heard from you to-night." My friends,
yet few, and feeble in the advocacy of my cause, seemed slightly
encouraged by this rebuff, and gained the ear of the rabble for a
little. Cavins could not be silenced. "This is a fine lariat, boys;
it has swung two abolitionists. I guess it will hold another. Come
on, boys," and a general gathering up in the form of a semicircle,
crowding nearer the counter, occurred. At the same moment jumping
back off the counter and displaying two six-shooters, I said, "If
that's your game, come on; some of you shall go with me to the other
world! The first man that makes another step toward me is a dead
man." There was one moment of dread suspense and breathless
stillness; hands were tightened on daggers and pistols, but no hand
was raised. The whole pack stood at bay, convinced that any attempt
to take me would send several of them to certain death. My friends,
who had kept somewhat together, now ranged themselves against the
counter before me, facing the crowd, and Buck Scruggs said, "He has
not been convicted, and he shall not be touched." James Niel and
Dempsey Jones, the other two who had aided in my arrest, joined
Scruggs; and their influence, added to the persuasive eloquence of
my pistols, decided the wavering. In twenty seconds, more than
twenty votes were given for my acquittal, and the chairman declared
in a triumphant voice, "He is unanimously acquitted." The unanimity,
I confess, was not such as I would have desired; but all agreed the
youngster had pluck, and would soon make as good a fighter as any of
them. With a forced laugh, which on some faces ill concealed their
hatred, while others made an unseemly attempt at coarse wit, they
adjourned, voting themselves a drink at my expense, which I must
perforce pay, as they had generously acquitted me! I confess to an
amiable wish that the dollar I laid on the counter of Cavins for a
gallon of whiskey might some day buy the rope to tighten on his
craven throat, though I did not deem it wise to give expression to
my sentiments just then.
As the bottle passed for the last time, the change of feeling was
most rapid, and I was greeted quite patronizingly by some who had
been fierce for hanging me. The more malignant shrunk away by twos
and threes, and soon the grocery was empty. My special friends, who
were now more than ever friends, having risked their own lives to
save me (I even then thought of One who had given up His life to
save me), advised, in earnest words--"Now, S., put thirty miles
between you and these fellows before to-morrow; for some of them are
enraged at their defeat, and if you stay here you are a doomed man."
My first impulse was to return home, attend to my regular business,
defy them, and, if necessary, sell my life as dearly as possible.
But what could one man, and he a youth and a stranger, do against a
corrupt and reckless populace? When suspicion was once aroused, I
knew that the least spark would kindle it into a flame. Society
there was completely barbarous in its character, so far as law was
concerned. The mob has ruled for years, and the spirit of rebellion,
now rampant all over the South, had taken form and expressed itself
in these vigilance committees, constituting as cruel courts of
inquiry as was ever the Inquisition.
Instances of recent occurrence of most atrocious character were in
my mind, showing that these men would persecute me to death, sooner
or later, if I remained. Only two nights before, a part of this same
gang had murdered a Mr. Crawford, who was a native of Sullivan
county, New York, but had lived in Arkansas sixteen years--a man
against whom no charge could justly be brought. A few days previous
to this murder a man named Washburne was whipped to death by four
ruffians, of whom Cavins was one. His only crime was that he was a
Northern man. His body was thrown into the St. Francis river, after
the diabolical deed was consummated. I had heard these horrible
recitals until my blood curdled, and I saw there was no hope but in
leaving this hell upon earth.
The simple knowledge that I had ever lived in New York would, I
think, have hung me without fail that night.
The causes of this mad lawlessness I may not fully understand. Some
of them lie upon the surface. Reckless men settled there originally,
and, living beyond the control of calmly and justly administered
law, they gradually resolved themselves into a court, the most
daring and active-minded becoming the self-elected leaders.
Then the system of slavery gives them almost unlimited power over
the persons and lives of large numbers of human beings, and this
fosters a spirit of despotism so natural to all men, even the most
civilized, when invested with supreme power.
And, still further, some fanatical men from the North, determined
violently to break the bonds of the poor slave, had been found in
recent years spreading incendiary works among the poor white
population and the negroes who could read, thus endangering the
lives of the masters and their families. As a matter of
self-defence, Northern men were watched with unremitting and
eagle-eyed vigilance.
But whether all this explains the fact or not, no Northern man's
life was safe for an hour in that section of Arkansas at the time of
which I speak. Hence I concluded that their advice was good, though
I must lose what interest I had in my business partnership. Then,
how was I to travel thirty miles before daybreak, as it was now two
o'clock? I immediately took the road to Helena, on the Mississippi
river. I will not record all my thoughts during that ride--homeless,
friendless, and, though innocent of crime, hunted like a very
murderer, in free and enlightened America!
How long is this system of terrorism to continue? This utter
disregard of law and the sanctity of human life? Among the
questions to be settled by this war, are not these important? Shall
an American citizen be allowed in safety to travel or reside
anywhere in his own land? Shall there be any freedom of opinion and
speech upon the question of slavery?
If it be said that the institution of slavery can not tolerate
freedom of thought and speech with safety to the master, then the
system is barbarous, and can not exist in a free land. Let it be
admitted that there are difficulties connected with the institution;
that John Brown raids, and incendiary emissaries, are wicked; that
unlicensed denunciations of all implicated in the system, are
grossly wrong. Still, can there be no calm and considerate
discussion of the rightfulness or sinfulness of the laws which
define and regulate slavery? Must all the cruelties and iniquities
which accompany its existence be left unchallenged, and their
authors uncondemned? Then is the whole system to be swept away as a
curse and enormity, which neither the civilization of the nineteenth
century nor a just God will longer tolerate?
The blood of hundreds of American citizens, shed on Southern plains
with dreadful tortures, cries from the ground, "How long, O Lord,
holy and true, dost thou not judge and avenge our blood on them that
dwell on the earth?" Has not the day of avenging already commenced?
The intensity of my emotions for three hours had exhausted me, and
now the temporary escape from imminent peril allowed me to sink down
almost to fainting, scarcely able for a time to keep my seat in the
saddle. A feeling of loneliness and utter desertion, such as I have
never else experienced, came over me, and I longed once more to be
in the free North, and at the home of my affectionate parents.
But as the day broke, I aroused myself to the realities before me,
and after procuring breakfast at a private house, rode into Helena,
in time to take the Memphis boat, which left at ten o'clock, A.M.
This boat, the St. Francis, No. 3, left Jeffersonville (where I was
tried and released) at seven o'clock in the morning, on its way down
the St. Francis river, thence to Helena, and thence up to Memphis.
As it left Jeffersonville four hours after my escape from that
place, the report that "an abolitionist had been tried that night
and ran off," had reached the boat at the wharf. When I took the
same boat at Helena at ten o'clock, I heard the excited crowds
detailing the incidents in which I had been so deeply interested a
few hours before.
It required all the skill in controlling the muscles of my face
which I could possibly command, to appear neither too much nor too
little interested in what was the theme of every tongue. I was
pleased to see that no one thought of the probability of the escaped
"abolitionist" having reached that boat, and hence I was not
suspected: at least, I thought so. Yet there was nothing in my
surroundings that gave me much encouragement, as the passengers, who
were numerous, were chiefly violent men and full of denunciation of
the North. I was already exhausted by the scenes through which I had
passed, and poorly prepared for another and more trying one, which
soon met me, and of course was not able to get much rest during the
day and night passed on the way to Memphis.
As the St. Francis touched the wharf on the morning of the 19th of
April, the very day that the blood of the Massachusetts sixth
regiment dyed the streets of Baltimore, shed by her murderous
rebels, I stepped upon the landing; meaning to look over the state
of things in the city, and see if I could get out of it in the
direction of Nashville, where I had friends who, I thought, would
aid me homeward.
But I had not left the wharf, when a "blue jacket," the sobriquet of
the military policemen that then guarded the city, stepped up and
said, "I see you are a stranger." "Yes, sir." "I have some business
with you. You will please walk with me, sir." To my expression of
astonishment, which was real, he replied, "You answer the
description very well, sir. The Committee of Public Safety wish to
see you, come along." As it was useless to parley, I walked with
him, and was soon ushered into the presence of that body, a much
more intelligent and no less intensely Southern organization, than
I had found in the grocery of Jeffersonville.
They questioned me as to my home, political opinions, and
destination, and received such answers as I thought it wise to give.
Whereupon they confronted me, to my amazement, with a member of the
Vigilance Committee which had tried me at Jeffersonville, one
hundred and twenty miles distant, thirty hours before. I was amazed,
because I did not imagine that any one of their number could have
reached Memphis before me. He had ridden after me the night of my
escape, and when I stopped for breakfast, he had passed on to
Helena, and taking an earlier up-river boat, had reached Memphis
some hours in advance of the St. Francis; long enough before me to
post the Committee of Public Safety as to my person and story when
before his committee. Even with this swift witness against me, they
were unable to establish any crime, and after consultation, they
told me I could retire. I was immediately followed by the policeman,
who handed me a letter written by the chairman, suggesting that I
would do well to go directly to a certain recruiting office, where
young men were enlisting under the Provisional Government of
Tennessee, and where I would find it to my interest to _volunteer_,
adding, substantially, as follows: "Several members of the committee
think if you do not see fit to follow this advice, you will probably
stretch hemp instead of leaving Memphis; as they can not be
responsible for the acts of an infuriate mob, who _may_ hear that
you came from the North." I was allowed no time for reflection, as
the policeman stood waiting, he said, "to show me the way." I now
saw at a glance, that the military power of the city had resolved to
_compel_ me to _volunteer_, and in my friendlessness I could think
of no way to escape the cruel and dread necessity.
Still the hope remained that perhaps I might make a partial promise,
and ask time, and yet elude the vigilance of the authorities. As the
M.P. grew impatient, and at length imperious, showing that he well
knew that he had me in his power, I walked on to avoid the crowd
which was beginning to gather, and soon reached the recruiting
station. I saw, the moment I was inside, that the only door was
guarded by bayonets, crossed in the hands of determined men. The
Blue Jacket, in a private conversation with the recruiting officer,
soon gave him my _status_; when, turning to me, the officer said,
with the air of a man who expects to carry his point, "Well, young
man, I learn you have come to volunteer; glad to see you--good
company," &c.
To which I replied, "I was advised to call and look at the matter,
and will take some time to consider, if you please."
"No need of time, sir--no time to be lost; here is the roll--enter
your name, put on the uniform, and then you can pass out," with a
glance of his eye at the policeman and the crossed bayonets, which
meant plainly enough, "_You do not go out before._"
To my suggestion that I had a horse on the boat which I must see
about, he replied very promptly, "_That could all be done when this
business was through._"
The meshes of their cursed net were around me, and there was no
release; and with as good a grace as I could assume, I wrote my
name, and thus I _volunteered_!
Does any reader say, "You did wrong--you had better have died than
have given your name to such an infamous and causeless rebellion?" I
can only answer: It is far easier to say what a homeless youth,
hunted for his life for two nights and a day, until exhausted,
faint, and friendless, in the midst of an excited and armed
populace, _should do_, than it was in the circumstances to do what
will stand the test of a high, calm, and _safe_ patriotism. Let none
condemn until he can lay his hand upon his heart and say, "No
conceivable pressure could overcome me."
CHAPTER II.
INFANTRY SERVICE.
Character of our Regiment. -- No Escape. -- A Fixed Resolve.
-- Randolph. -- Camp Life. -- Sabbath. -- Father Daly. --
Washing. -- Fort Wright. -- Grand Defect. -- Rations. --
Stolen Waters. -- Mutiny. -- Sentence. -- Fort Pillow. --
Slaves. -- Aiding the Rebellion. -- Deep Earnestness of the
People. -- Strength of the Fort. -- "Pillow's Trot Line." --
No Pay, and the Result. -- Gen. Pillow described. --
Columbus, Ky. -- Hard Work. -- Pillow in the Ditch. -- The
Batteries. -- Torpedoes. -- Battle of Belmont. -- False
Report. -- Troops cross. -- Untimely Joking. -- The Tide of
Battle. -- A Charge. -- Cruelty. -- Victory. -- Why? --
Loss. -- Burial of the Dead. -- How Not to Kill. --
Accident. -- The Military Bishop.
The fine horse, which was to have carried me to Nashville and thence
to Kentucky, was kindly disposed of by an auctioneer, and the price,
minus a handsome commission, handed to me, and then I commenced
service in the "Jeff. Davis Invincibles," Co. B, Second Tenn.
Volunteers, under command of J. Knox Walker, of Memphis. I still
entertained some hope of escape, as I had not yet taken the oath;
and I worked hard to obtain information which might aid my purpose.
I could find no one to trust, and dare not be too inquisitive about
roads and distances.
The first regiment raised in Memphis was composed largely of the
upper classes, and represented many millions of property. It was of
the same type as the 7th regiment of New York, whereas the second
contained about 750 Irishmen, chiefly Catholics, in character like
the fine 69th New York. We camped in the Fair Ground, a short
distance from the city, an inclosure of some seven acres, surrounded
by a high board fence, and guarded by thickly stationed sentinels.
As these sentinels were not from our newly-formed regiment, but from
trusted companies of older standing, I was soon convinced there was
no chance of escape, and resigned myself to the necessities of my
lot.
This being once settled, my first resolution was to master all the
details of military duty, and perfect myself in drill, feeling
conscious of ability soon to rise above the station of a private
soldier. This determination saved me from despondency, and was of
signal advantage in subsequent adventures.
On May 6th we received orders to proceed to Randolph, sixty-five
miles above Memphis, on the Tennessee shore of the Mississippi
river, arriving by boat on the 7th. The town of Randolph, which
formerly contained about three hundred inhabitants, is situated
above high-water mark on a narrow strip of land nearly three hundred
yards wide, behind which rises a bluff ninety feet high and very
steep. On this bluff, overlooking the town and the river, we
established our camp, and here commenced our real soldier's life.
The daily routine was as follows: Reveillé at 5 A.M.; drill from 51/2
to 71/2; breakfast, 71/2; fatigue call from 8 to 10; orderly call, 10;
dinner, 12, M.; fatigue from 1 P.M. to 4; drill and dress parade
from 41/2 to 71/2; supper, 8; tattoo, 9 P.M. The fatigue call did not
mean rest, but work.
Thus we toiled for eight weary weeks without rest, except as the
Sabbath--the blessed day of rest--gave us some relaxation. My
observation, even so early in my military life, convinced me that
the observance of the Sabbath is no less a physical necessity than a
religious duty--though I can not say that our regiment kept it with
a very intelligent view of its sacred character. Our chaplain,
Father Daly, celebrated mass in the morning, preached a sermon in
the afternoon, and in the evening settled the drunken rows--which
were entirely too numerous to recommend to a Protestant youth the
religion of which the priest was nevertheless a very favorable
representative. His influence was vastly important as a governing
power, and he wielded it wisely and kindly.
The idleness of the Sabbath was a great evil, as there was nothing
to read, and card-playing and cock-fighting were the chief
amusements. This was also our wash-day, and the ration of soap
issued for six men was only enough to wash one shirt; hence this was
given by lot to one of the mess, and the others were content with
the virtue of water alone. While our regiment was often commended
for its ability in building fortifications, no one ventured to
compliment its cleanliness.
Soon after we camped at Randolph I was appointed third sergeant, and
after serving a few days as such was promoted to orderly sergeant.
This position, of course, exempted me from actual labor in the
trenches, but I had to oversee a squad of workmen. During these two
months we, with three other regiments, built Fort Wright, an
irregular fortification, inclosing about thirty acres. The fort had
no spring of water within the line of intrenchment; and after long
deliberation about some means of supplying it with this
indispensable article,--during which time we carried every bucket of
water used from the river,--the engineers erected a small wheezy
second-hand steam-pump on the bank of the river, which was intended
to force the water up the bluff into a large cistern that had been
constructed for that purpose. The cistern held about a week's supply
for two thousand men; but they never seemed to think that a single
cannon-ball could smash up the pump and cut off our supply of water.
If this defect had been remedied, and the fort had been well armed
and manned, it would have been hard to take; but it never availed
any thing to the Confederate service. We built four batteries on
the bank of the river, three of them mounting three guns each, and
the lower one six guns. These guns were 32 and 64 pounders. Three
miles further up, above the mouth of Hatchie river, another battery
of three 32-pounders was built.
Our rations at this time were neither very lavishly given nor very
choice in quality, yet there was no actual suffering. For the first
month whiskey was served, and the men were satisfied to work for the
promise of forty cents a day extra pay and three drams. In the fifth
week the drams were stopped, and the extra pay never began. I am
letting that little bill against the Jeff. Davis government, and
some larger ones, run at interest. The reader will agree with me
that they are likely to run some time.
"Stolen waters are sweet," says high authority, but some of our
regiment seemed to set a higher value upon stolen liquor. While the
whiskey ration was continued, there was little drunkenness. The men
were satisfied with the limited amount given, and the general health
of all was good. When the spirit ration was stopped, illicit trade
in the "crathur" was carried on by Jews and peddlers, who hung
around the camp a short distance out in the woods. The search after
these traders by the authorities was so vigilant, that at last there
was no whiskey vended nearer than the little town of Covington,
eight miles distant. This, however, did not deter the men from
making frequent trips to this place after it. Various expedients
were resorted to, in order to bring it inside of the guard-lines.
Some stopped the tubes on their guns, and filled the barrel with
liquor. The colonel, while passing a tent one day, saw one of the
men elevate his gun and take a long pull at the muzzle. He called
out, "Pat, what have you got in your gun? Whiskey?"
He answered--"Colonel, I was looking into the barrel of my gun to
see whether she was clean."
The colonel walked on, muttering something about the curiosity of a
man's eyes being located in his mouth. He was no sooner out of sight
than Pat inspected his weapon again, and from the sigh of regret
which escaped him as he lowered it, I judged that it was "_clean
dry_."
During our stay at Fort Wright, we were all thrown into commotion
one day by a mutiny, which for a time threatened very serious
consequences. Some of the members of Captain Cosset's company, of
our regiment, having found a treasure in the shape of a barrel of
whiskey, which an unlucky trader had not concealed securely from
their vigilance, got drunk, "ov coorse," and determined to show
their independence of military rule by absenting themselves from
evening dress-parade. The colonel, noticing the small number present
from this company, instructed Lieutenant Beard, then acting captain,
to have all the absentees arrested and sent to the guard-house. When
parade was dismissed, and the company returned to their quarters,
the lieutenant gave the order to one of the sergeants, who was
himself intoxicated. On attempting to carry out the order, the
sergeant was badly beaten by one of the offenders. A private in the
company by the name of Whalen, here interfered and rescued the
sergeant from the hands of his assailant. At this moment the
regimental quartermaster, Isaac Saffarrens, a brother of the
redoubtable hero of Belmont, whose deeds of valor will be duly
chronicled, appeared on the scene of action, and attempted to arrest
the man Whalen, whose only crime had been committed in saving the
sergeant from further beating. Whalen told him that he would not be
arrested, as he had not created any disturbance. The quartermaster
then tried to seize him, and was knocked down for his trouble. By
this time a crowd of officers had hurried to the ground, and the
surgeon of the regiment, Dr. Cavenaugh, came to the assistance of
his brother officer, and got a pair of damaged eyes for his
interference. The drunken company, who were really the proper
subjects for punishment, now sided with Whalen, and loaded their
guns with the avowed intention of shooting all the officers if they
again attempted to take him. In the _mêlée_ that followed, one of
the officers shot Whalen, but the ball glanced from his forehead,
leaving only a red line on the skin, and he was soon on his feet.
He used no weapon but his fist; but he knocked the officers down as
fast as they approached. Reinforcements now arrived for the
officers. Colonel Walker, seeing that a general mutiny was imminent,
ordered out two batteries of light artillery and two companies of
infantry. The guns were placed so as to sweep the camp of the
mutineers, and they were summoned to surrender. They had intrenched
themselves behind a large mass of rock, whence it would have been
difficult to dislodge them without serious loss of life. After some
deliberation, they agreed to surrender if they were allowed to
retain their arms and return to duty. This proposition was of course
rejected, and the guns were double-shotted with grape, and a second
summons to surrender sent to them. This time they obeyed and threw
down their arms, which were secured, and they were soon strongly
guarded. I was detailed the same evening, with a number of others,
to guard these mutineers. During the night a fight occurred between
one of the mutineers and a prisoner in the guard-house. I interfered
between them, and was handsomely whipped by both of them. This was
too much for any one to stand, and seizing a gun from a sentinel I
pinned one of them to the wall of the guard-house with the bayonet,
and the other was bound by the guard. I now released the man I had
pinned to the wall, and was glad to find that he was only slightly
wounded in the side. He was also ironed and confined in the
black-hole.
Fourteen of these mutineers were tried in a few days by a general
court-martial. Whalen was sentenced to death. Four of the others
were sentenced to wear a ball and chain for a month, and lose six
months' pay. Three of these being non-commissioned officers were
publicly degraded, and put into the ranks. The remainder were
sentenced to wear a ball and chain for a month, and lose three
months' pay. Whalen's sentence was to have been carried out a month
from the time he was tried; but as there was a strong feeling of
indignation in the regiment about the severity of his sentence, a
recommendation for pardon was presented to General Pillow, and
Whalen was reprieved and sent to Memphis. He was at last pardoned,
and transferred into a regiment which went to Virginia. This was
done that he might not return to the regiment again and encourage
others to mutiny, holding out his own example of pardon as a
safeguard against punishment.
What effect this leniency had on the future conduct of this regiment
will be hereafter seen. It will be observed that this mutiny might
have occurred in any army. Others yet to be described had their
origin in the defects of the Rebel discipline, and will demonstrate
radical evils in their system.
One of the most serio-comic affairs that occurred during my service,
may be worth the narration. Shortly after reaching Randolph, one of
our sergeants named Brown imported his better-half from Memphis, and
for some days they agreed remarkably well; but the sergeant
obtaining a jug of whiskey one day, and imbibing too much of the
potent fluid, made up his mind that Mrs. Brown should not drink any
more, and informed her of his decision. He argued in a masterly way
that, as they two were one, he would drink enough for both; and she
being fond of the _crathur_, demurred to this proposition. Thereupon
ensued a very lively scene. Mrs. Brown, who weighed some fourteen
stone, and was fully master of her weight, intrenched herself behind
some boxes and barrels, with the precious jug in charge. Mr. Brown
first tried compromise, and then flattery, but she was proof against
such measures.
_Mr. Brown._ Mrs. Brown, my dear, jist come over to me now and we'll
argue the matter.
_Mrs. Brown._ No, you don't, Sergeant, ye don't catch me wid any ov
ye'r compromises. I have the jug now, and I'll hould on to it. So I
will.
_Mr. B._ Shure, Honey, I was only jokin' wid ye before. Ye may hev
half o' the crathur.
_Mrs. B._ Now, Sergeant, ye may as well hould ye'r tongue, for a
drap ov this liker ye'll never touch agin.
Maddened to desperation, the sergeant attacked Mrs. Brown, who
valiantly defended herself with half of a tent-pole which lay near
at hand. About this juncture, their "_discussion wid sticks_" was
interrupted by the captain ordering out a guard of four men to take
the pair and put them in confinement. As I was Orderly Sergeant, I
immediately attempted to carry out this order, and arrested the
sergeant first. I then advanced to seize Mrs. Brown, but she charged
with the tent-pole, and as the four men were engaged in carrying off
the sergeant, who resisted desperately, and called lustily to Mrs.
Brown for assistance, I was forced to beat a hasty retreat and seek
reinforcements, at the same time feeling a very unpleasant tingling
sensation across my shoulders from a blow Mrs. Brown had
administered with her stick. Being reinforced by several more men,
we surrounded the enemy, and she surrendered at discretion, and was
put under guard in the middle of the parade ground with her
affectionate spouse. Then ensued a scene which almost beggars
description.
_Mrs. B._ O Brown, ye cowardly spalpeen! to stand by and see yer
wife abused in sich a manner!
_Mr. B._ Now, honey, be aisy, can't ye? Shure I was tied before
they took ye.
_Mrs. B._ Shure it was meself that riz ye up out ov the streets, and
give ye six hundred dollars that I had in bank, and made a gintleman
ov ye; and now ye wouldn't rize yer hand to protect me!
Here Mrs. Brown again became very angry, and would have given her
lord a good drubbing, if the guard had not interfered and separated
them. Mrs. Brown became so furious that the colonel heard the
disturbance, and walked down from his quarters to see what it meant.
She immediately demanded to be released, but this the colonel
refused; and she then cited many illustrious military men who had
been tyrants in some cases, but never so daring as to put a woman
under arrest.
_Mrs. B._ Now, Colonel, I want to tell ye a thing or two. Gineral
Washington, nor the Duke of Willington, nor Napoleon niver put a
woman under guard, nor ye haven't any right to do it; and I'll have
ye court-martialed, accordin' to the Articles of War. So I will.
_Colonel._ Mrs. Brown, if you do not be quiet I will gag you.
_Mrs. B._ Ye'll gag me, will ye? Well, I'd like to see ye about it.
Ye would make a nice reputation to yerself, gaggin' a woman!
_Colonel._ Very well, Mrs. Brown, I will show you that I am in
earnest. Sergeant, place a gag in that woman's mouth.
_Mrs. B._ Och, Colonel dear, ye wouldn't be so bad as that, would
ye? Shure, Colonel, I'll be jist as quiet as a lamb. So I will.
_Colonel._ Well, Mrs. Brown, if you will promise to behave yourself
I will not gag you; but you must not make any more noise.
Mrs. Brown promised obedience and was soon after released, and went
to her tent to search for the precious jug and drown her sorrows in
another dram; but while the _mêlée_ had been going on I had smashed
the jug, and she came back again to bewail her sorrows with Brown,
who was still under guard. He was soon after released, and they
returned to their quarters a wiser if not a happier pair. That night
Mrs. Brown was heard to say:
"Sergeant Brown, ye made a fool ov yerself to-day."
"Yis, Missus Brown, I think we both made a fool of ourself. So I
do."
About the first of July we were ordered to Fort Pillow, which is by
land fourteen miles above, on the same side of the river. When we
reached that place, they were daily expecting an attack from the
gunboats, of which we had heard so much, but had not yet seen or
feared. Here the commanders wanted to exact the same amount of toil
as at Fort Wright; but the men drew up petitions, requesting that
the planters, who were at home doing nothing, should send their
slaves to work on the fortifications. General Pillow approved of
this plan, and published a call for laborers. In less than a month,
7000 able-bodied negro men were at work, and there would have been
twice as many, if needed. The planters were, and are yet, in bloody
earnest in this rebellion; and my impression, since coming North,
is, that the mass of Union-loving people here are asleep, because
they do not fully understand the resources and earnestness of the
South. There is no such universal and intense earnestness here, as
prevails all over the Rebel States. Refined and Christian women,
feeling that the Northern armies are invading their homes, cutting
off their husbands and brothers, and sweeping away their property,
are compelled to take a deeper interest in the struggle than the
masses of the North are able to do, removed as they are from the
horrors of the battle-scenes, and scarcely yet feeling the first
hardship from the war. Indeed, I do not doubt that regiments of
women could be raised, if there was any thing they could do in the
cause of the South. That they are all wrong, and deeply blinded in
warring against rightful authority, makes them none the less,
perhaps the more, violent.
The employment of slaves to do the hard work was of great advantage
in several respects. It allowed the men to drill and take care of
their health, as the planters sent overseers who superintended the
negroes. It kept the men in better spirits, and made them more
cheerful to endure whatever legitimately belongs to a soldier's
life, when they had slaves to do the toilsome work. These slaves
were not armed, or relied upon to do any fighting. I have no means
of judging how they would have fought, as I never saw them tried.
The natural situation of Fort Pillow is the best I saw on the
Mississippi river. It is built on what is called the First Chickasaw
Bluff. Fort Wright is on the second, and Memphis on the third bluff
of the same name. The river makes a long horseshoe bend here, and
the fort is built opposite the lower end of this bend, so that boats
are in range for several miles.
The first battery built here was just above high-water mark, and
nearly half a mile long. Bomb-proof magazines were placed in the
side of the hill; and more than twenty guns of heavy calibre, 32 and
64-pounders, were mounted on double casemate carriages; and it was
intended to mount many more. A formidable defence was this expected
to be against the gunboats.
We also made a fine military road, thirty feet wide, cut out of the
side of the bluff, and ascending gradually to the summit. It served
the double purpose of a road, and also a protection for riflemen; as
a bank was thrown up on the outer edge of it breast high. Where the
road reached the summit of the bluff, was placed a six-inch mortar,
mounted on a pivot carriage; and a little further on was a battery,
mounting three eight-inch mortars, which were cast in 1804, and
looked as if they had seen much service. A great extent of ground
was cleared on the summit, and extensive land defences laid out;
but while these were in progress we were ordered away.
The river was blockaded a short distance below Fort Pillow in a
novel, but not very efficient manner. Flat-boats were anchored in
the river about one hundred yards apart, and heavy chain-cables
stretched across them. This was intended to stop the boats which
should attempt to run past the fort, until the land batteries could
sink them. This all did very well, until a rise in the river, when
the boats lifted the anchors, broke the chains, floated away down
the river, and stuck on a bar several miles below. This blockade
was facetiously called by the men, "Pillow's trot-line."
Here again the independent character of the men composing our
regiment showed itself more strongly than at Fort Wright. The
regiment had now been without pay or bounty for nearly four months,
and the men determined to find out why it was not forthcoming. One
morning, at drill-call, the men in my own company marched out and
stacked their arms, refusing to drill. I then proceeded to call the
roll, but no one answered. I then reported to the captain that no
one had answered to roll-call, but that all the "_absentees were
present_" in camp. He ordered me to take a guard and arrest every
one who refused to fall into ranks. But the question now arose,
where was the guard to come from--no one would answer to the guard
detail?
The captain went to the colonel, and reported his company in a state
of mutiny. Colonel Walker immediately mounted his horse, and
galloping to our quarters, ordered the men to take their arms and
proceed to the drill-ground. Not a man moved to obey this order,
although a few would have done so had they not feared the vengeance
of their comrades. The colonel stormed and swore, and assured them
that he would have them all shot next morning, if they did not
return to duty; but finally, cooling down a little, he demanded of
them the reason for refusing to do duty. Some of them answered that
they wanted their money. He scornfully asked them, if they came out
to fight for the paltry sum of eleven dollars a month; upbraiding
them with their lack of patriotism. One of the men remarked, that
the officers could afford to be very patriotic, as they drew their
pay regularly every month. The colonel then got wrathful again, and
ordered out the rest of the regiment to quell the mutiny; but in the
mean time they had come to the same resolution, and refused to move.
He then placed all the commissioned officers of the regiment under
arrest, for not quelling the mutiny. As there was but one other
regiment at Fort Pillow at that time, they could not put it down by
force. In two days we were paid, and all returned peaceably to
duty. Colonel Walker was then put under arrest by General Pillow,
and tried by a court-martial, for allowing his regiment to be off
duty for two days, but he was acquitted.
General Pillow, from whom this fort received its name, is a short,
stoutly built man, about fifty years of age; has a mild, pleasant
expression when not excited; firm, large mouth; gray eyes; hair and
whiskers sprinkled with gray. He is fond of the good opinion of his
men, and does every thing consistent with military rigor to gain
their good-will; nevertheless, he is a strict disciplinarian, and
has punished several men with death for desertion and disobedience
of orders.
About the middle of August, General Pillow's division, including my
regiment, was ordered to Columbus. On our way we passed Island No.
10, which was then being fortified, and did not stop again until we
landed at Columbus, Kentucky. This town is situated on the east bank
of the Mississippi river, 140 miles above Fort Pillow, and 20 miles
below Cairo; while, directly across the river, lie two or three
houses which are designated by the name of Belmont.
The hardships of Fort Wright were here renewed; that is, hard work
and harder drill. At one time we worked twelve hours out of every
thirty-six, so that every other work-turn came at night. Generals
Polk, Pillow, Cheatham, and McGown were present day and night,
encouraging the men with words of cheer. General Pillow at one time
dismounted and worked in the trenches himself, to quiet some
dissatisfaction which had arisen. The night was dark and stormy, the
men were worn out, and many gave utterance to their dissatisfaction
at having to work on such a night. General Pillow was sitting on his
horse near by, and occasionally urging on the men the necessity of
pressing on with the work; when an old Mexican war veteran, named
W.H. Thomas, who was allowed some little latitude by his general
called out, "Old Gid, if you think there is so much hurry for this
work, suppose you get down and help us a while." The general, seeing
that he had an opportunity to gain popularity with the men,
dismounted, and laying aside his sword and cloak, worked for several
hours. This was a feather in his cap, in the eyes of the poor
fellows, for many a day.
An immense amount of work was performed here, and Columbus was often
called the "Gibraltar of the Mississippi river," and the Confederate
generals fancied that it could not be taken. The town itself is
built on a level plain scarcely above high-water mark, as it has
been submerged by some of the great floods of former years. A range
of hills running parallel to the river, rises directly north of the
town. On these hills most of the batteries were erected, and
extensive breastworks were also thrown up, since this was the
terminus of the Mobile and Ohio railroad, which it was important to
keep unobstructed, as the only land communication to Memphis and the
interior, should the river navigation be interrupted below Columbus.
On the river side were the heaviest batteries. A sand-bag battery
mounting six heavy guns, was constructed at the upper end of the
town, just in front of General Pillow's head-quarters. This battery
was constructed by filling corn-sacks with sand, and piling them up
in tiers, leaving embrasures for the guns. These tiers were carried
several feet above the heads of the men employed in working the
guns, so that they were comparatively safe; for if a ball struck the
battery, it was merely buried in the sand and no damage done. These
guns were thirty-two and sixty-four pounders, brought up from New
Orleans. About a mile north of the town, where the bluff juts out
flush with the river, a shelf had been formed by a landslide about
half way between the level of the river and the summit of the bluff.
This shelf was enlarged and leveled, and a battery constructed upon
it which completely commanded the river in the direction of Cairo.
This battery was large enough to mount ten or twelve heavy guns. On
the summit of the bluff was placed a large Whitworth rifled gun,
carrying a round shot weighing one hundred and twenty-eight pounds.
Minie shot of much heavier weight were also used in this gun. This
was one of four which ran the blockade in the Bermuda into
Charleston, South Carolina, in the early autumn.
All these works were constructed under the direction of competent
engineers, the chief of whom was Captain E.D. Pickett, since
adjutant-general to Major-general Hardee.
Torpedoes and other obstructions were placed in the river; but all
this kind of work was done secretly by the engineer corps, and the
soldiers knew but little of their number and location. Some of these
torpedoes were made of cast iron at Memphis and Nashville, and would
hold from one to two hundred pounds of powder as a charge. Others
were made of boiler iron, of different shapes and sizes. They were
to be suspended near the surface of the water by chains and buoys,
and discharged by wires stretched near the surface, which a boat
would strike in passing over them. I never learned that these
infernal machines did any damage, except that one of them nearly
destroyed one of their own transport boats, which had incautiously
ventured too near its resting-place.
After spending nearly two months in the monotonous camp life of
drill and fatigue duty, on the morning of the 7th of November I
experienced a new sensation, more startling than agreeable. I had as
yet been in no battle, and certainly had no desire to join in a
fight against my country and against my kindred, some of whom I had
no doubt were in the opposing army, as it was recruited where many
of them lived; and I knew they would be loyal to the old flag, and
ready to defend it with their lives. But the alarm came so suddenly
that I had no time to feign sickness, or invent an excuse for being
off duty.
Tappan's Arkansas, and Russell's Tennessee regiments, with a
battalion of Mississippi cavalry, about fifteen hundred men in all,
who were stationed at Belmont, across the river, were attacked,
about seven o'clock, A.M., by General McClernand, with a little over
seven thousand men, according to Union authorities. It was a
complete surprise to us. At first we thought it was a picket
skirmish with the cavalry; but soon Frank Cheatham, our brigadier,
came galloping through the camp, bare-headed, in shirt and
pantaloons, ordering us to "fall in," saying that the "enemy were
murdering the sick men in their tents across the river." The report
thus started soon took this form: "The Yankees have bayoneted the
sick men in Russell's regiment." This regiment was composed mostly
of Irishmen, as was ours. Instantly the rage of our men was such
they could scarcely be restrained, and many of them swore they would
swim the river if necessary, to reach the enemy, and would give no
quarter.
I called the roll of the company, as was my duty, and found
seventy-nine men out of one hundred and three present,--there was a
good deal of sickness then in the army. Soon four of the company
came in from the hospital, declaring they would have a share in the
fight; and fourteen who were on guard were added, making the company
nearly full.
Two steamboats soon had steam up, and by nine A.M., General Pillow,
with his brigade of three thousand five hundred men, was across the
river and in the fight.
Up to this time, the Federal force had driven the Confederates back
from their camps, and threatened their annihilation, but Pillow's
arrival stayed the retreat. By ten A.M., Cheatham's brigade of 2500
men, in which was my regiment, were also coming into the engagement.
By eleven A.M., both armies were fully employed. In the mean time
some of the guns on the fortifications at Columbus were trying their
range upon the Federal gunboats, which lay about three miles
distant, and replied fiercely to their challenges. But little
execution on either side was done by this firing. The carelessness
of the officers in our brigade nearly lost the day, early in the
contest. The men had but ten rounds of ammunition, which was soon
expended, and we were compelled to retire beneath the bank of the
river until more was supplied.
This incident developed a strange, and to me a very sad, trait of
human nature,--other illustrations of which I have observed
repeatedly since,--an unusual disposition to witticisms in the most
solemn circumstances, when it might be supposed that even the most
hardened would reflect upon the fearful fate sure to seize upon
some of them. One of the captains of our regiment, J.L. Saffarrens,
ran into the river waist-deep, in his desire for safety, when one of
his men called out, "Captain, dear, are ye off for Memphis? If ye
are, tell the ould woman the last ye saw ov me I was fighting, while
ye were runnin' away."
The gallant captain received a ball in the face, while stuck in the
mud into which he had sunk, and was taken to Memphis with the
wounded next day; but I never learned that he delivered the message
to the "_ould woman_." A curious little Irishman in our company,
nick-named "Dublin Tricks," who was extremely awkward, and scarcely
knew one end of his gun from the other, furnished the occasion of
another outburst of laughter, just when the bullets were flying like
hail around us. In his haste or ignorance, he did what is often done
in the excitement of rapid firing by older soldiers: he rammed down
his first cartridge without biting off the end, hence the gun did
not go off. He went through the motions, putting in another load
and snapping his lock, with the same result, and so on for several
minutes. Finally, he thought of a remedy, and sitting down, he
patiently picked some priming into the tube. This time the gun and
Dublin both went off. He picked himself up slowly, and called out in
a serio-comic tone of voice, committing the old Irish bull, "Hould,
asy with your laffin', boys; there is sivin more loads in her yit."
Another Hibernian called out to his men, "Illivate your guns a
little lower, boys, and ye'll do more execution."
Such jokes were common even amid the horrors of battle. However
unseemly, they served to keep up the spirits of the men, to which
end other spirits contained in canteens were also freely added. A
most reprehensible practice this, for men should go into battle free
from unnatural excitement, if they wish to serve the cause in which
they are engaged; and moreover, the instances of cruelty which
sometimes are perpetrated on the wounded and dying, are caused by
the drunkenness of such ruffians as are found in every army.
Our brigade, after receiving ammunition, executed a flank movement
on McClernand's left, next the river, while General Pillow was
holding their attention in front; this came very near surrounding
and capturing the Federal force. For five hours the battle raged
with varying success, the Rebel forces on the whole gaining upon the
Federals. Our regiment charged and took a part of the 7th Iowa.
A charge is a grand as well as terrible sight, and this one, to my
inexperienced eyes, was magnificent. I had often witnessed, with
wild delight, the meeting of thunder-clouds in our western storms,
the fierce encounter, the blinding lightning, the rolling thunder,
the swaying to and fro of the wind-driven and surging masses of
angry vapor, the stronger current at length gaining the victory, and
sweeping all before it. With an intenser interest and a wilder
excitement, did I watch these eight hundred men, as they gathered
themselves up for the charge. At the word, every man leaped forward
on the full run, yelling as if all the spirits of Tartarus were
loosed. In a moment comes the shock, the yells sink into muttered
curses, and soon groans are heard, and the bayonet thrusts are quick
and bloody. Brute strength and skill often meet, and skill and
agility usually win.
The Iowa men were overpowered, and threw down their arms, some four
hundred of them, and were sent to the rear, and afterward to
Memphis. It was reported that this Iowa regiment had murdered the
sick men early in the day, and it was said that some of them were
bayoneted after they surrendered. I saw nothing of this, but it may
have been so. If so, the author of that accusation was responsible
for the barbarity.
I do not doubt such cruelties do sometimes occur in the heat of
battle, as there are in all armies some brutal men; but I must do
the Rebel officers the justice to state, that they always condemned
them, and warned us against acts not sanctioned by the laws of
civilized warfare.
The Federals, though fighting well, so far as I know, commenced
falling back between two and three P.M. The retreat soon became a
rout, and was a running fight to their boats, some three miles. The
Confederates pressed them hard, and recaptured several pieces of
artillery lost in the early part of the engagement, and did sad
execution on the running men; even after they reached the
gang-planks of their boats many were shot. I know of no reason why
the Union soldiers were routed, unless it was the better fighting of
the Rebels. The forces were about equal, and neither had much
advantage in ground. General Polk, the commanding general of the
Rebels, was not on the ground until near the close of the action,
and deserved no credit for the success of his men. General Pillow
and Brigadiers Cheatham and McGown, were the efficient commanders
that day.
Our wounded, about seven hundred, were carried to the rear during
the engagement, and forwarded to Memphis, and we returned and
recrossed the river to our camps about seven P.M., completely
exhausted. Our company lost, in killed and wounded, twenty-three;
the regiment, one hundred and fifteen.
The next day parties were detailed to bury the dead. Ours numbered
three hundred. We dug trenches six feet deep and four wide, and laid
the bodies in side by side, the members of each company together,
the priest saying over them his prayers; the whole closed by three
volleys of musketry. The Federal dead were also gathered, and buried
in like manner, except the religious services and military salute.
Our company buried their dead just before sunset; and when the
funeral dirge died away, and the volleys were fired over their
graves, many a rugged man, whose heart was steeled by years of
hardship and crime, shed tears like a child, for those bound to him
by such ties as make all soldiers brothers. One of the worst men in
the company excused this seeming weakness to a companion thus: "Tim,
I haven't cried this twenty year; but they were all good boys, and
my countrymen." The next day when the roll was called, and they
answered not, we thought of their ghastly faces as we laid them in
the trench, and hearts beat quick. When we sat down to eat and
missed a messmate, the query went round, "Will it be my turn next?"
A comrade's faults were now forgotten, his good qualities magnified,
and all said, "Peace to his ashes."
I may here say, that if one is compelled to fight against his
friends, as I was, there are several ways in which he can avoid
taking life. A cartridge without a ball, a pretended discharge
without a cap, or an extra elevation of the piece, will save his
friends and not expose him to suspicion. Not rarely, also, in the
heat of battle, a hated officer meets his fate by a ball from his
own men, instead of the enemy.
The second day after the battle a sad accident added to the gloom. A
crowd had assembled to see the monster Whitworth rifled gun fired
off, as it had continued loaded since the day of the fight. She was
named the "Lady Polk," and the militant bishop and general was
present to add interest to the scene. The gunner warned the crowd
that there was some danger, but they heeded not, and pressed close
around. The general stood near, why should not others? I stood
within thirty feet, and as the gunner ran back with the lanyard, so
did I. The next moment occurred the most terrific explosion I had
ever heard. As the dust and smoke lifted, we saw the shattered
remains of nine men; two more died subsequently from wounds received
here. Both the percussion-shell and the gun had burst, and hence the
destruction of life. General Polk narrowly escaped; his cloak was
swept from him and cut in two as with a sword.
A word of this man, who laid aside his spiritual for military
duties, will close my history of soldiering on the Mississippi.
Major-general Leonidas Polk is a tall, well-built man, about
fifty-five years of age; hair slightly gray; wears side whiskers,
which are as white as snow; aquiline nose, and firm mouth. His voice
is a good one for command, and having a West Point education,
improved by many years of research on military science, it was
expected he would make a skillful general; but the people were much
disappointed by his display of generalship in the Western
Department, and many clamored for his removal. It was at one time
thought he would be called to the Confederate cabinet as Secretary
of State; but this was never done. Many of his old friends and
admirers were pained to hear the report circulated, that the good
bishop indulged in profanity when he got too deep in his potations;
and as these reports were in part confirmed, his reputation suffered
greatly.
CHAPTER III.
ORDNANCE SERVICE.
Transferred to Ordnance. -- Camp Beauregard. -- Was my Oath
binding? -- Resources of the Rebels. -- Cannon stolen. --
Manufactured. -- A Rifling Machine. -- Beauregard's Bells.
-- Imported Cannon. -- Running Blockade. -- Silence of
Southern Papers. -- Small Arms made. -- Altered. --
Abundant. -- Earnestness of all Classes. -- Imported Arms.
-- England's Neutrality. -- Ammunition imported. --
Manufactured. -- Smuggled. -- A Railroad Episode. -- A
Deserting Engineer. -- A New Hand at the Throttle. --
Caution. -- A Smash Up and Pistols. -- Reconciliation. --
Result of Smash Up. -- Bowling Green. -- Size of Army. --
Sickness. -- Personal. -- Kindness of Nashville People. --
Moral and Religious Efforts for the Rebel Army. -- Vices
prevalent. -- Seminaries and Schools disbanded.
On the 14th of November, I was breveted second lieutenant for the
time, that I might take charge of a shipment of ammunition to Camp
Beauregard, near Feliciana, a small town in Graves county, Kentucky,
near the New Orleans and Ohio railroad, about seventeen miles from
Columbus. This place was held by a brigade of about four thousand
men, under Brigadier-general John S. Bowen, as a key to the
interior, to prevent the Federal forces from attacking Columbus in
the rear.
Having now spent six months in the infantry, and mastered the
details of a soldier's common duties, I was heartily sick of the
life. I sought a transfer to the ordnance department and obtained
it, with the rank and pay of ordnance sergeant. Acting on the
ever-present purpose, to keep my eyes and ears open and my mouth
generally shut, to see and hear all and say little, I knew the
ordnance department would open a new field for observation, which
might perchance be of use in the future,--a future that was very
uncertain to me then, for I could see no daylight as to escape. I
may as well admit here, that whenever I reflected on the violation
of an oath,--the oath to bear true allegiance to the Confederate
Government,--I had some hesitation. An older and wiser head would
perhaps have soon settled it, that an oath taken under constraint,
and to a rebel and usurped power, was not binding. But I shrunk from
the voluntary breaking of even an involuntary bond, in which I had
invoked the judgment of God upon me if I should not keep it. To
this should be added the consideration, which perhaps had too much
weight with me, that as I was trusted by the authorities with a
position of some importance, my honor was at stake in fulfilling all
my obligations. The idea that I should betray those who were
reposing confidence in me at the time and become a deserter, with
its odium forever following me, was more than I could contemplate
with pleasure. I state this as the exact truth in the case, not as
an apology for my conduct. Under this general feeling, I confess I
strove more to acquire knowledge where I was, than to escape from
the Rebel service.
During the six weeks I was attached to the ordnance department, I
learned some facts which it were well for the North to know. Since
reaching home, I hear wonder expressed at two things: the vast
energy of the South; and their unexpected resources, especially in
the procuring of cannon, small-arms, and ammunition. How have they
secured and manufactured an adequate supply of these, during such a
protracted and destructive struggle?
In answer to this inquiry let me say: The immense supply of
cannon--to speak of them first--which that stupendous thief Floyd
traitorously placed in the Southern forts and arsenals during his
term of office, made a very good beginning for this arm of the
service. It was also said by Southern officers, that a large number
of guns which had been used in the Mexican war were still stored in
the South,--I have heard, at Point Isabel. These were soon brought
into use. Many old Mexican and Spanish brass guns were recast into
modern field-pieces. These were said to have made the finest guns in
the Rebel service, because of the large percentage of silver
contained in the metal.
Very early in the rebellion, an extensive establishment for the
manufacture of field artillery existed in New Orleans, which sent
out beautiful batteries. These batteries I saw in various parts of
the army. This factory was under the superintendence of Northern and
foreign mechanics. Memphis supplied some thirty-two and sixty-four
pounders, also a number of iron Parrott guns. These were cast in
the navy yard by the firm of Street & Hungerford. At Nashville,
Tennessee, the firm of T.M. Brennan & Co. turned out a large amount
of iron light artillery of every description; and shortly before
Nashville was evacuated, they perfected a fine machine for rifling
cannon, which I examined. They sent a spy North, who obtained, it
was said, at the Fort Pitt foundery the drawings and specifications
which enabled their workmen to put up this machine. This expensive,
and to them valuable machine, was removed to Atlanta, Georgia. In
escaping home I came through Nashville a few weeks since, and saw
about a dozen large cannon still lying at this foundery, which the
sudden flight of the Rebels from Nashville prevented them from
rifling or carrying away. All know that the Tredegar Iron Works in
Richmond, Virginia, is an extensive manufactory of guns of large
caliber. Indeed, every city of the South, having a foundery of any
size, boasts of furnishing some cannon.
Many of these guns were defective and even dangerous. One battery
from the Memphis foundery lost three guns in a month by bursting,
one of them at the battle of Belmont, November 7th. After the Rebel
reverses at Forts Henry and Donelson, and the retreat from Bowling
Green and Nashville, when General Beauregard took command of the
army of the Mississippi valley, he issued a call to the citizens for
bells of every description. In some cities every church gave up its
bell. Court-houses, factories, public institutions, and plantations,
sent on theirs. And the people furnished large quantities of old
brass of every description--andirons, candlesticks, gas fixtures,
and even door-knobs. I have seen wagon loads of these lying at
railroad depots, waiting shipment to the founderies. _The Rebels are
in earnest._
But the finest cannon have been received from England. Several
magnificent guns of the Whitworth and Blakely patents I have seen,
or heard described as doing good execution among the "Yankees." How
many have been imported I can not tell, but surely a large number.
In explanation of my ignorance upon this point, let me state this
fact. For some months after the blockade was declared, vessels from
Europe were running it constantly, and the Southern papers
boastfully told of their success. The Confederate authorities saw
the evil of this publicity, and many months ago prohibited the
notice of such arrivals. Hence we see no mention of them recently,
but it is a great mistake to imagine that there are none. The
constant arrival of new European arms and ammunition, the private
talk in well-informed circles, the knowledge of the latest European
news, and especially the letters from Confederate emissaries
regularly received in the South, convince me that the blockade is by
no means perfect. From the innumerable inlets all along the
southeastern coast, and the perfect knowledge possessed of these by
Rebel pilots, it is perhaps impossible that it should be so. The
wisdom of the South in compelling the papers to omit all mention of
the facts in this case, is most unquestionable. Well would it be for
the North if the press were restrained from publishing a thousand
things, which do the readers no good, and which constantly give aid
to the Rebel leaders.
As to small-arms, the energies of the South have been more fully
developed in their manufacture than is dreamed of by the North. As
early as April, 1861, Memphis had commenced the alteration of
immense quantities of flintlock muskets, sent South during Floyd's
term as Secretary of War. I saw this work progressing, even before
Secession was a completed fact there. New Orleans turned out the
best rifles I ever saw in the South. They were similar to the French
Minié rifle, furnished with fine sword-bayonets. The Louisiana
troops were mostly armed with these. At Nashville and Gallatin,
Tennessee, rifles were also made, and I suppose in every
considerable city in the South. In addition, it should be known that
thousands of Government arms were in the hands of the people, all
through the Southern States; how they procured them I do not know.
These were gathered up and altered or improved, and issued to the
troops. Many of the regiments went into the field armed with every
description of guns, from the small-bore squirrel-rifle and
double-barreled shot-gun to the ponderous Queen Bess musket and
clumsy but effective German Yager. The regiments were furnished as
fast as possible with arms of one kind, and the others returned to
the factories to be classified and issued again. Sword-bayonets were
fitted to double-barreled shot-guns, making them a very effective
weapon. Others were cut down to a uniform length of about
twenty-four inches, and issued to the cavalry. Common hunting-rifles
were bored out to carry a Minié ball, twenty to the pound, and
sword-bayonets fitted to them. One entire brigade of Tennesseans,
under General Wm. H. Carroll, was armed with these guns.
When recovering from sickness at Nashville, I spent hours of
investigation in the base of the capitol, used as an armory, where
an immense amount of this work had been done. I have been told that
the basement of our National capitol has been used to prepare bread
for loyal soldiers; _that_ basement was used to prepare them
bullets. At Bowling Green I saw many thousands of rifles and
shot-guns which had been collected for alteration, and the machine
shop of the Louisville and Nashville railroad was used as an armory.
Many of these guns were destroyed, and others left, when the town
was evacuated. Nor should it be forgotten that almost every man of
any position owned a pair of Colt's repeaters, many of them of the
army and navy size. These were eagerly bought up by the Confederate
authorities, who paid from thirty to sixty dollars apiece for them.
They were for the cavalry service. Add to these facts, that every
country blacksmith made cutlasses from old files, &c.; most of them
clumsy but serviceable weapons in a close encounter. Artillery and
cavalry sabers were manufactured at New Orleans, Memphis, and
Nashville, and probably at other places.
In short, at the beginning of the year 1862, there was rather a
surfeit than any scarcity of arms all over the South. Indeed, the
energies of the entire people were employed in the production of
every description of small-arms, and the enthusiasm displayed rivals
the example of ancient Carthage, in her last fruitless struggle
against the Romans. And this enthusiasm pervades all classes. I
doubt not, if the bow was considered a weapon of war now, the fair
maidens of the South would gladly contribute their flowing tresses
for bowstrings, if necessary, as did the women of Carthage. Their
zeal and self-denial are seen in the fact that the ladies have
given vast amounts of jewelry to be sold to build gunboats,
fortifications, &c.; the women of Alabama actually contributing
$200,000, as estimated, for the construction of a gunboat to protect
the Alabama river. Does the reader ask, Why such sacrifice? THEY ARE
IN EARNEST. They think they are fighting for property, home, and
life.
Yet after all that has been said, the largest supply of small-arms
comes from England and France. I have repeatedly heard it said that
300,000 stand of arms have been received from abroad;--that 65,000
came in one load by the Bermuda.
The imported guns are principally Enfield, Minié, and Belgian
rifles. The first Enfields received had been used somewhat,
probably in the Crimean and Indian wars. The crown marks on the
first importations, were stamped out with the initials of those who
had bought them from the government; the later arrivals, _exhibit
the crown marks uneffaced_. I have seen Enfield rifles of the
manufacture of 1861 and 1862, with the stamp of the "Tower" on the
lock-plate! Officers, in opening and examining cases of these, would
nod significantly to each other, as much as to say, "_See the proof
of England's neutrality!_" The French and Belgian rifles, among the
best arms ever made, are mostly of recent manufacture, and elegantly
finished. Yes, the South has arms in abundance, and good ones; and
they know how to use them, and _they are resolved to do it_.
The question is often asked, Where does the ammunition come from to
supply the Southern army? I would state in reply, that with the
cargoes of arms, ammunition was supplied, at the rate of a thousand
rounds for each gun. While engaged in the Ordnance Department, I
often issued boxes of ammunition, which were put up in London for
the Enfield rifle. The fixed ammunition of England is said by
Southern officers to be the finest in the world. But much was also
made at home. The largest laboratory for making cartridges, of which
I had any knowledge, was in Memphis, afterward removed to Grenada,
Mississippi. Powder-mills were established at various points, one of
the largest at Dahlonega, Georgia; and old saltpeter caves were
opened, the government offering forty-five cents per pound for
saltpeter, and exempting all persons employed in its manufacture
from military duty. Percussion caps were made in Richmond early in
1861, and great numbers were smuggled through the lines, in the
early part of the war. As to the supply of ammunition, my opinion
is, that the South will not lack while the rebellion lasts.
On the 17th of December, I left Camp Beauregard with a car-load of
ammunition, attached to a train of twenty-five box-cars, containing
the 27th Tennessee regiment, Colonel Kit Williams commanding, for
Bowling Green, where a battle was expected. Colonel Williams'
orders were, to go through with all possible dispatch. Here was a
new field for observation to me, and one of great interest. As soon
as I saw my special charge, the car of ordnance, all right, I doffed
my uniform for a fatigue dress, and took my position with the
engineer, determined to learn all I could of the management of the
locomotive. The knowledge I acquired pretty nearly cost me my life,
as will soon be seen,--a new illustration that "a little knowledge
is a dangerous thing."
We left Feliciana in the morning, and ran down the New Orleans and
Ohio railroad to Union City, 18 miles, thence on the Mobile and Ohio
road to Humboldt, which we reached by five o'clock in the evening.
It had now grown dusk. During this time, I had mastered the working
of the engine, when all was in good order; had noted the amount of
steam necessary to run the train, the uses of the various parts of
the engine, and had actually had the handling of the locomotive much
of the way. When we reached Humboldt, where we took the Memphis and
Clarksville railroad for Paris and Bowling Green, the engineer,
Charles Little, refused to run the train on during the night, as he
was not well acquainted with the road, and thought it dangerous. In
addition, the head-light of the locomotive being out of order, and
the oil frozen, he could not make it burn, and he could not possibly
run without it. Colonel Williams grew angry, probably suspecting him
of Union sentiments, and of wishing to delay the train, cursed him
rather roundly, and at length told him he should run it under a
guard; adding, to the guard already on the engine, "If any accident
occurs, shoot the cursed Yankee." Little was a Northern man. Upon
the threat thus enforced, the engineer seemed to yield, and prepared
to start the train. As if having forgotten an important matter, he
said, hastily, "Oh, I must have some oil," and stepping down off the
locomotive, walked toward the engine-house. When he was about twenty
yards from the cars, the guard thought of their duty, and one of
them followed Little, and called upon him to halt; but in a moment
he was behind the machine-shop, and off in the dense woods, in the
deep darkness. The commotion soon brought the colonel and a crowd,
and while they were cursing each other all round, the firemen and
most of the brakemen slipped off, and here we were with no means of
getting ahead. All this time I had stood on the engine, rather
enjoying the _mêlée_, but taking no part in it, when Colonel
Williams, turning to me, said,
"Can not you run the engine?"
I replied, "No, sir."
"You have been on it as we came down."
"Yes, sir, as a matter of curiosity."
"Don't you know how to start and stop her!"
"Yes, that is easy enough; but if any thing should go wrong I could
not adjust it."
"No difference, no difference, sir; I must be at Bowling Green
to-morrow, and you must put us through."
I looked him in the eye, and said calmly, "Colonel Williams, I can
not voluntarily take the responsibility of managing a train with a
thousand men aboard, nor will I be forced to do it under a guard who
know nothing about an engine, and who would be as likely to shoot
me for doing my duty as failing to do it; but if you will find
among the men a fireman, send away this guard, and come yourself on
the locomotive, I will do the best I can."
And now commenced my apprenticeship to running a Secession railroad
train, with a Rebel regiment on board. The engine behaved admirably,
and I began to feel quite safe, for she obeyed every command I gave
her, as if she acknowledged me her rightful lord.
I could not but be startled at the position in which I was placed,
holding in my hand the lives of more than a thousand men, running a
train of twenty-five cars over a road I had never seen, running
without a head-light, and the road so dark that I could only see a
rod or two ahead, and, to crown all, knowing almost nothing of the
business. Of course I ran slowly, about ten miles an hour, and
never took my hand off the throttle or my eye from the road. The
colonel at length grew confident, and almost confidential, and did
most of the talking, as I had no time for conversation. When we had
run about thirty miles, and every thing was going well, Colonel
Williams concluded to walk back, on the top of the box-cars, to a
passenger car which was attached to the rear of the train and
occupied by the officers.
This somewhat hazardous move he commenced just as we struck a
stretch of trestlework which carried the road over a gorge some
fifty feet deep. As the locomotive reached the end of the
trestlework the grade rose a little, and I could see through, or in,
a deep cut which the road ran into, an obstruction. What it was, or
how far ahead, I had almost no conception; but quick as thought--and
thought is quick as lightning in such circumstances--I whistled for
the brakes, shut off the steam, and waited the collision. I would
have reversed the engine, but a fear that a reversal of its action
would crowd up the cars on the trestlework and throw them into the
gorge below, forbade; nor was there wisdom in jumping off, as the
steep embankments on either side would prevent escape from the wreck
of the cars when the collision came. All this was decided in an
instant of time, and I calmly awaited the shock which I saw was
unavoidable. Though the speed, which was very moderate before, was
considerably diminished in the fifty yards between the obstacle and
the head of the train, I saw that we would certainly run into the
rear of another train, which was the obstruction I had seen.
The first car struck was loaded with hay and grain. My engine
literally split it in two, throwing the hay right and left, and
scattering the grain like chaff. The next car, loaded with horses,
was in like manner torn to pieces, and the horses piled upon the
sides of the road. The third car, loaded with tents and camp
equipage, seemed to present greater resistance, as the locomotive
only reached it, and came to a stand-still.
My emotions during these moments were most peculiar. I watched the
remorseless pressure of the engine with almost admiration. It
appeared to be deliberate, and resolute, and insatiable. The shock
was not great, the advance seemed very slow; but it plowed on
through car after car with a steady and determined course, which
suggested at that critical moment a vast and resistless living
agent. When motion ceased, I knew my time of trial was near; for if
Colonel Williams had not been thrown from the top of the cars into
the gorge below, he would soon be forward to execute his threat,--to
shoot me if any accident occurred. I stepped out of the cab on the
railing running along to the smoke-stack, so as to be out of view to
one coming forward toward the engine, and yet to have him in the
full light of the lantern which hung in the cab.
Exactly as I had surmised,--for I had seen a specimen of his fierce
temper and recklessness,--he came stamping and cursing; and jumping
from the car on to the tender, he drew a pistol, and cried out,
"Where is that cursed engineer, that did this pretty job? I'll shoot
him the minute I lay eyes on him."
I threw up my six-shooter so that the light of the lantern shone
upon it, while he could see me but indistinctly, if at all, and said
with deliberation, "Colonel Williams, if you raise your pistol you
are a dead man; don't stir, but listen to me. I have done just what
any man must have done under the circumstances. I stopped the train
as soon as possible, and I'll convince you of it, if you are a
reasonable man; but not another word of shooting, or you go down."
"Don't shoot, don't shoot," he cried.
"Put up your pistol and so will I," I replied.
He did so, and came forward, and I explained the impossibility of
seeing the train sooner, as I had no head-light, and they had
carelessly neglected to leave a light on the rear of the other
train. I advised the choleric colonel to go forward and expend his
wrath and curses on the conductor of the forward train, that had
stopped in such a place, and sent out no signal-man in the rear, nor
even left a red light. He acknowledged I was right. I then informed
him that I was an officer in the ordnance department, and was in
charge of a shipment of ammunition for Bowling Green, and would have
him court-martialed when we reached there, unless he apologized for
the threats he had made. This information had a calming effect on
the colonel, who at heart was really a clever fellow. He afterward
came and begged my pardon; we shook hands cordially, and were good
friends.
Having settled this talk of shooting, and put the responsibility
where it belonged, we had time to look at the damage done by the
collision. It was nothing compared with what it might and would have
been, if we had been running at high speed. Even as it was, it
stirred up the sleeping men not a little. The front train contained
a regiment of men, most of whom were asleep, while the employees
were repairing an accident to one of the truck-wheels of a car. They
had it "jacked up,"' and had all the lights available, including the
one from the rear of the train, to aid in their repairs. When we
struck them they were driven ahead some thirty feet, and of course
their disabled car was still more damaged. Our men were all suddenly
waked up, and some of them slightly bruised. The colonel himself was
thrown down by the shock, but fortunately did not roll off the car,
and was but little injured; and there were no lives lost, except of
three of the horses. But we had a toilsome night of it. The
_débris_ of the three cars which had been smashed up was carried
back through the cut, between the train and the steep sides, and
thrown down into the gorge, off the trestlework. The dead horses
were drawn up the bank with ropes, and the front train put in
running order, after six hours of hard work by as many men as could
be employed in such narrow quarters. As the day broke, the forward
train moved off; in a few minutes more we followed, and reached
Paris by seven o'clock, A.M., December 18, 1861. Thus began and
ended my railroad-engineering in Rebeldom. At Paris they found a
professional runner, and I resumed my uniform, very thankful to get
out of the profession so creditably. Reader, the next time I run a
railroad train in such circumstances, may you be there to see it.
On the 19th of December I reached Bowling Green, and found there a
larger army than I had before seen,--65,000 men at least,--under
General Albert Sidney Johnson as commander-in-chief, with Generals
Buckner, Hardee, Hindman, and Breckenridge on the ground. Floyd
came within a few days, bringing about 7000 more. Others were soon
added, for on the 25th of December the commissary-general issued
96,000 rations, and by January 1, 1862, 120,000 rations a day. The
number of rations shows the whole number attached to the army in
every capacity.
During the month of December, sickness in the form of pneumonia and
measles became fearfully prevalent, and by the middle of January
one-fifth of the army was said to be in the hospital. The prevalence
of disease was attributed by the surgeons to the constant rains,
the warm winter, and incessant labor day and night on the
fortifications.
Though up to this time I had enjoyed uninterrupted good health, the
pneumonia now seized me violently; and after a week of "heroic
treatment," I was put into a box-car and started for the hospital at
Nashville. This was the dreariest ride of my life thus far. Alone,
in darkness, suffering excruciating pain, going perhaps to die and
be buried in an unhonored grave, my "Christmas" was any thing but
"merry." And yet the month following my arrival in Nashville was
the most pleasant, on many accounts, that I had yet spent in Dixie.
I was carefully and tenderly nursed by Drs. Stout and Gambling and
the ladies of Nashville, who showed the true woman's heart in their
assiduous care of the poor suffering men, prostrated by disease and
home-sickness. Some of the ladies were strong Secessionists; but I
thought then, as I believe now, that most of them, not all, would
have shown the same kindness to any suffering soldiers who might
have come under their notice. I knew my mother would be a Good
Samaritan to a dying Rebel; why should not they to wounded
Unionists.
In two weeks I was convalescent, and yet I daily exhausted my
returning strength by gaining a knowledge of the Nashville
founderies, machine-shops, bridges, capitol, industry, and whatever
I thought worth visiting.
At this juncture I also found an old friend of my father's, who with
his interesting family did much to make my days of recovery pleasant
days; supplying many little things which a soldier's wardrobe and
an invalid's appetite needed. How much of a Rebel he was I could
never exactly make out, but I think his regard for my family held
deep debate with either love or fear of the ruling authorities, to
settle the question whether he should aid me to reach home. At
least, there was not in what he said in our frequent interviews that
entire outspokenness which would have prompted me to make a
confidant of him; hence I made no headway toward escaping to the
North. Indeed, I considered it the only safe way, in talking with
him, to show a guarded zeal for the Southern cause, lest, if he were
a hearty Rebel, he might betray me. I am now inclined to the opinion
that I was too suspicious of him, and that he was at heart a Union
man. At all events, I shall ever be grateful for his kindness to me.
I may as well record at this point what I know of the moral and
religious efforts put forth in the South in behalf of the soldiers,
and the effect of the Rebellion on the educational and religious
interests of the people generally. As a general truth, when the
recruits first came to the army, those with religious inclinations
or who had pious friends, brought along a Bible or Testament, but
these were in most cases soon lost or left behind, and the camps
were almost destitute of any good books. Religious publications were
not distributed to the soldiers except in the hospitals, and to a
very limited extent there. The regiments composed of Irish or French
Catholics, usually had a priest as chaplain; but I saw very few of
the Protestant chaplains who gave themselves up to the spiritual
care of their men. We had a good many ministers in the army of the
Mississippi valley, but they almost all held a commission of a
military, rather than a religious kind, and so far as I could judge,
were fonder of warlike than of heavenly ministrations. In the
hospital at Nashville, on the other hand, good men and women
endeavored faithfully to present the truths of the Bible and the
consolations of religion to the attention of the inmates. But, as I
have hinted, the army was not much benefited by the clerical
members attached to it, though their loss may have been felt by the
churches they had forsaken. There were but few of what are called
Gospel sermons, preached in the army anywhere within my reach during
my soldier life. As a consequence of the inherently demoralizing
effect of war, and this great destitution of conserving influences,
vice reigned almost unrestrained in the army. The few good and
devout men, and the infrequent prayer-meetings which were held,
seemed powerless to restrain the downward tendency of morals.
Profanity, the most revolting and dreadful, abounded, though
contrary to the Articles of War, and many of the officers were
proficient in this vice. Gambling, in all the forms possible among
soldiers, was the main amusement on the Sabbath-day. These were the
prominent vices, and, if possible, they were growing more and more
monstrous continually.
As for the effect of the war upon the country generally, I can not
give many facts, though I had some opportunity of observation, as
will be seen. Preaching was maintained in most of the churches in
the large cities; but in many of the smaller places, and in country
churches, service was suspended. This was true so far as my
observation reached, and it must have been so in other places, from
the fact that so great a proportion of the men were engaged in the
war. And even where preaching was kept up, every sermon I heard was
embellished and concluded by a grand flourish, about the duty of
praying and fighting for their homes and institutions. This
universally belligerent spirit was evidently unfavorable to the
progress of true and consistent piety. Schools and seminaries of
learning were chiefly closed, and they were not very abundant
before. In fine, I think if this Rebellion continues a year or two
longer, the South will be a moral wilderness.
CHAPTER IV.
CAVALRY SERVICE.
New Field of Action. -- Promotion. -- Guerrilla Warfare. --
Characteristics. -- Tendencies. -- Captain J.H. Morgan. --
Character. -- Personal Appearance. -- Anecdotes. -- Success.
-- Southern Cavalry superior to Northern. -- Advantages. --
Riding Courier. -- General Johnson evacuates Bowling Green.
-- Excitement in Nashville. -- Preparations for Defence. --
Commissary Stores. -- Vandalism. -- Rear Guard. -- Line of
Retreat. -- Dreadful Hardships. -- Losses. -- Forced March.
-- Desolation. -- Cause of Retreat. -- Other Counsel. --
Accident. -- No Union Feeling evident. -- Intolerant yet
Sincere.
While at Nashville, recovering from the typhoid pneumonia, I
resolved to seek a transfer to the cavalry service, as affording me
a new field of observation, and perhaps a more stirring and exciting
life. As Captain F----s was recruiting a company in and around
Nashville, I rode with him from day to day over the country, and
thus secured his advocacy of my wishes. On the 4th of February,
1862, I was transferred to his company, and entered it as orderly
sergeant, and a vacancy soon occurring, I was promoted to a
lieutenancy, Our company was to have been attached to a battalion
commanded by Major Howard of Maryland, formerly of the United States
army, and as my captain was in service on General Hardee's staff, I
acted as captain during the whole of my term in this branch of the
service. Shortly after, my company was attached to the command of
that celebrated guerrilla leader, Captain J.H. Morgan, at that time,
however, acting under the rules of regular warfare, and not, as now,
in the capacity of a highway robber.
The system of guerrilla warfare has been indorsed by an act of the
Confederate Congress, and is fully inaugurated over a large part of
the South. As there practiced now, it is distinguished from regular
warfare by two things: First, the troops are not under any brigade
commander, but operate in small bands, much at their pleasure, with
a general responsibility to the major-general commanding in their
department.
One result of this feature of the system is to develop a large
amount of talent in the ranks, as every man has an individual
responsibility, and constant opportunities to test his shrewdness
and daring. It also gives a perfect knowledge of all roads and
localities to the whole force in a given section, as some one or
more soldiers will be found in each gang, who, in their frequent
maraudings, have traversed every by-path and marked every important
point.
The second prominent characteristic of guerrilla warfare, is the
license it gives to take by force from supposed enemies or neutrals,
horses, cash, munitions of war, and, in short, any thing which can
aid the party for which he fights; _with the promise of full pay for
whatever he brings off to his head-quarters_. This is the essential
principle of the system, giving it its power and destructiveness. As
it displaces patriotism from the breast of the fighter, and
substitutes in its room the desire for plunder, the men thus engaged
become highway robbers in organized and authorized bands. Nor do
guerrilla bands long confine their depredations to known enemies.
Wherever a good horse can be found, wherever silver plate is
supposed to be secreted, wherever money might be expected, there
they concentrate and rob without inquiry as to the character of the
owner. Hence the system is destructive to all confidence, and to the
safety of even innocent and defenseless females.
It requires no prophet's ken to foresee that the Confederate
authorities have commenced a system which will utterly demoralize
all engaged in it; destroy the peace, and endanger the safety of
non-combatants, and eventually reduce to ruin and anarchy the whole
community over which these bands of robbers have their range.
This process has already commenced, and if the loyal troops were
withdrawn to-day from all Secessia, and the South allowed its
independence, the people would find themselves in the hands of
bandits to harass and plunder for months to come, and would have
long scores of wrongs to right, which have been inflicted upon
neutrals and friends of the Rebellion by its professed soldiers.
Should the contest continue for two or three years longer, the South
bids fair to lapse into the semi-barbarism of Mexico, or the
robber-ruled anarchy of Spain after the Peninsular war. The
legitimate tendency of the system is understood by the Southern
generals, and some of them resisted its introduction; but the
desperation of the whole Southern mind swept away opposition, and
they are now embarked on a stormy sea, which will assuredly wreck
the craft, if it be not sooner sunk by loyal broadsides.
How the government should treat these free-booters when captured, as
some of them have been, is plain, if the usual laws of war are to be
followed; they are to be punished as outlaws, and hung or shot. But,
in this case, can it be done safely? There were, when I left
Secessia, not less than 10,000 men organized as guerrillas. There
may be far more at this writing. Is it possible to treat such a
number as banditti, without inaugurating a more bloody retaliation
and massacre than the world has ever seen? I only raise the
question.
Morgan, as a citizen in times of peace, maintained the reputation of
a generous, genial, jolly, horse-loving, and horse-racing
Kentuckian. He went into the Rebellion _con amore_, and pursues it
with high enjoyment. He is about thirty-five years of age, six feet
in hight, well made for strength and agility, and is perfectly
master of himself; has a light complexion, sandy hair, and generally
wears a mustache, and a little beard on his chin. His eyes are keen,
bluish gray in color, and when at rest, have a sleepy look, but he
sees every one and every thing around him, although apparently
unobservant. He is an admirable horseman, and a good shot. As a
leader of a battalion of cavalry, he has no superior in the Rebel
ranks. His command of his men is supreme. While they admire his
generosity and manliness, sharing with them all the hardships of the
field, they fear his more than Napoleonic severity for any departure
from enjoined duty. His men narrate of him this--that upon one
occasion, when engaging in a battle, he directed one of his troopers
to perform a hazardous mission in the face of the enemy. The man did
not move. Morgan asked, in short quick words,
"Do you understand my orders?"
"Yes, captain, but I can not obey."
"Then, good-by," said Morgan, and in a moment the cavalryman fell
dead from his saddle. Turning to his men, he added, "Such be the
fate of every man disobeying orders in the face of an enemy."
No man ever hesitated after that to obey any command.
But Morgan is not without generosity to a foe. A Federal cavalryman
related to me, since my escape, an unusual act for an enemy. Losing
the command of his wounded horse, which goaded by pain plunged
wildly on, he was borne into the midst of Morgan's force. "Don't
shoot him!" cried Morgan to a dozen of his men who raised their
pistols. "Give him a chance for his life." The pistols were lowered
and the man sent back to his own lines unharmed. Few men have
appeared on either side in this contest who combine dash and
caution, intrepidity and calmness, boldness of plan with
self-possession in execution, as does Morgan. The feat reported of
him in Nashville, shortly after the Rebel army retreated through
it, illustrates this. Coming into the city full of Federal soldiers
in the garb of a farmer with a load of meal, he generously gives it
to the commissary department, saying, in an undertone, that there
are some Union men out where he lives, but they have to be careful
to dodge the Rebel cavalry, and he wishes to show his love for the
cause by this little donation. Going to the St. Cloud to dine, he
sits at the same table with General McCook, since cruelly murdered,
and is pointed out to the Federal officer as the Union man who had
made the generous gift. He is persuaded to take the value of it in
gold, and then, in a private interview, tells the Federal officer
that a band of Morgan's cavalry is camping near him, and if one or
two hundred cavalry will come down there to-morrow he will show them
how to take Morgan. The cavalry go, and _are taken_ by Morgan. So
the story goes. An equally successful feat it was, to step into the
telegraph office in Gallatin, Tennessee, at a later date, as he did,
dressed as a Federal officer, and there learn from the operator the
time when the down-train would be in, and arrest it, securing many
thousands of dollars without loss of men or time. Another anecdote
of his cool daring and recklessness is this. Riding up to a picket
post near Nashville, dressed in full Federal uniform, he sharply
reproved the sentinel on duty for not calling out the guard to
salute the officer of the day, as he announced himself to be. The
sentinel stammered out, as an excuse, that he did not know him to be
the officer of the day. Morgan ordered him to give up his arms,
because of this breach of duty, and the man obeyed. He then called
out the remaining six men of the guard, including the lieutenant who
was in charge, and put them under arrest, ordering them to pile
their arms, which they did. He then marched them down the road a
short distance where his own men were concealed, and secured all of
them, and their arms and horses, without resistance.
In an engagement Morgan is perfectly cool, and yet his face and
action are as if surcharged with electricity. He has the quickness
of a tiger, and the strength of two ordinary men. One cause of his
success is found in the character of his chargers. He has only the
fleetest and most enduring horses; and when one fails he soon finds
another by hook or by crook. His business in his recent raid into
Kentucky (July 28th), seemed to have been mainly to gather up the
best blooded horses, in which that State abounds.
Unless in some fortunate hour for the loyal cause he should fall
into the hands of the Federal forces, Colonel John H. Morgan will
become one of the most potent and dangerous men in the Rebel
service.
So far as my observation extended, the Southern cavalry are superior
to the loyal, for the kind of service expected of them. They are not
relied upon for heavy charges against large bodies of infantry
closely massed, as in some of the wars of the Old World during the
close of the last century and the first part of this; but for
scouting, foraging, and sudden dashes against outposts and unguarded
companies of their enemies. In this service, fleetness, perfect
docility, and endurance for a few hours or a day, are requisite in
the make-up of the horses used. And in these traits Morgan's blooded
horses are admirable. And then, with the exception of some of the
Western troopers, the Southerners are more perfect horsemen than our
loyal cavalry. They have been on horseback, many of them, from
youth, and are trained to the perfect control of themselves and
their steeds in difficult circumstances. In addition to these causes
of superiority, they have a vast advantage over the Federal troops
in the present contest from two causes: It is hard to overestimate
the advantage they find in a knowledge of the ground, the roads, the
ravines, the hiding-places, the marshes, the fords, the forests, &c.
But even more important than this is the sympathy they have from the
inhabitants, almost universally, who give them information by every
method, of the approach, strength, and plans of their enemies. Even
the negroes will be found often, either from fear or other motives,
to give all the information they can obtain to the Southerners. And
the Southerners know far better than we do how to obtain, and sift,
and estimate, the value of what the slaves tell them.
From these causes, we should look for and expect no little trouble
from the mounted men, who will continue to constitute a pretty large
element in the Rebel forces.
After commencing my service in the cavalry, we spent some three
weeks in scouting and foraging, having Nashville for our center.
During this time I rode as courier several times, on one occasion
riding sixty miles, from Nashville to Shelbyville, in seven hours.
Upon another occasion, my blooded horse made fourteen miles in a
little less than fifty minutes; but this was harder service than we
generally exacted from our horses. Upon reporting myself to General
Breckenridge, for whom this arduous service had been performed, he
merely said "_Très bien_"--from which I saw that he expected prompt
work from those who served him.
On Saturday the 15th of February, the report came that General
Johnson would evacuate Bowling Green, and Sunday morning we learned,
to the amazement of citizens and soldiers, that Fort Donelson was
taken. Never was there greater commotion than Nashville exhibited
that Sabbath morning. Churches were closed, Sabbath schools failed
to assemble, citizens gathered in groups, consulted hastily, and
then rushed to their homes to carry out their plans. Bank directors
were speedily in council, and Confederate officials were everywhere
engrossed in the plan of evacuation. A general stampede commenced.
Specie was sent off to Columbia and Chattanooga, plate was removed,
and valuables huddled promiscuously into all kinds of vehicles.
Hack-hire rose to twenty-five dollars an hour, and personal service
to fabulous prices. Government property was removed as fast as
transportation could be furnished. Vast amounts of provisions and
ammunition had been accumulated at Nashville, for the armies at
Donelson and Bowling Green; and so confident were they of holding
those points, that no provision had been made for retreat.
On Sunday the advance of the Bowling Green army began to come in,
and those who escaped from Donelson on Tuesday. The appearance of
these retreating forces increased the panic among the people, and as
the troops came in the non-combatants went out. By the 20th, all who
could get away were gone, and none but the military were prominent
in the streets, and the sick and wounded were sent southward. The
main body of the army camped on the Nashville side of the river.
Work was suspended on two fine gunboats in process of construction,
and orders given to be ready for their destruction at a moment's
notice. The railroad bridge was also prepared for the same fate.
In the mean time the citizens, believing that General Johnson would
make a stand, commenced a fortification, four miles from the city,
on the south side of the Cumberland, for the purpose of resisting
the advance of the gunboats. When it was announced that no defence
would be made, the people were highly indignant, because the
suddenness of this decision left the citizens no time for the
removal of their remaining goods. As the Confederate authorities
could not remove all their commissary stores, the warehouses were
thrown open, and the poor came and carried off thousands of dollars'
worth. Some of these people subsequently set up boarding-houses and
fed Union soldiers from the provisions thus obtained.
At length the railroad bridge and the gunboats were burned, and the
suspension bridge cut down. An act of pure vandalism was this last,
as it neither aided the Rebel retreat nor delayed the Federal
advance. Curses against General Floyd and Governor Harris were loud
and deep for this act, and General A.S. Johnson never recovered the
reputation lost during this retreat.
My company was constantly on scout duty, guarding the roads on the
north side of the river, protecting the rear of the retreating
hosts, and watching for the coming of Buell's advance. This whole
retreat, from Bowling Green to Corinth, a distance of nearly three
hundred miles as traveled by the army, and occupying six weeks, was
one of the most trying that an army was ever called upon to perform
in its own country and among friends. The army was not far from
60,000 strong, after General George B. Crittenden's forces were
added to it at Murfreesboro. The season of the year was the worst
possible in that latitude. Rain fell, sometimes sleet, four days out
of seven. The roads were bad enough at best, but under such
a tramping of horses and cutting of wheels as the march
produced, soon became horrible. About a hundred regiments were
numbered in the army. The full complement of wagons to each
regiment--twenty-four--would give above two thousand wagons. Imagine
such a train of heavily loaded wagons, passing along a single mud
road, accompanied by 55,000 infantry and 5000 horsemen, in the midst
of rain and sleet, day after day, camping at night in wet fields or
dripping woods, without sufficient food adapted to their wants, and
often without any tents, the men lying down in their wet clothes,
and rising chilled through and through; and let this continue for
six weeks of incessant retreat, and you get a feeble glimpse of what
we endured. The army suffered great loss from sickness and some from
desertion; some regiments leaving Bowling Green with six or seven
hundred men, and reaching Corinth with but half of this number. The
towns through which we passed were left full of sick men, and many
were sent off to hospitals at some distance from our route.
One of the most desperate marches men were ever called to encounter,
was performed by General Breckenridge's division between
Fayetteville and Huntsville. They moved at ten A.M., and marched
till one o'clock next morning, making thirty miles over a terrible
road, amid driving rain and sleet during the whole time. The reason
for this desperate work was, that a day's march lay between the
rear-guard and the main body of General Johnson's army, and there
was danger that it would be cut off. It cost the general hundreds of
men. One-fourth of the division dropped out of the ranks unable to
proceed, and were taken up by the guard, until every wagon and
ambulance was loaded, and then scores were deserted on the road, who
straggled in on following days, or made their way back to their
homes in Tennessee or Kentucky.
This retreat left a good deal of desolation in its track; for
although the officers endeavored to restrain their men, yet they
must have wood; and where the forest was sometimes a mile from the
camping ground, and fences were near, the fences suffered; and where
sheep and hogs abounded when we came, bones and bristles were more
abundant after we left. Horses were needed in the army; and after it
left, none were seen on the farms. And then the impressed soldiers,
judging from my own feelings, were not over-scrupulous in guarding
the property of Rebels. The proud old planters, who had aided in
bringing on the rebellion, were unwillingly compelled to bear part
of its burdens.
This long and disastrous retreat was rendered a necessity as soon as
Fort Henry, on the Tennessee river, was taken by the Federal forces,
as this river was opened, and they could throw an army in the rear
of the Confederates as far south as Florence, in Alabama, within a
few days. Indeed the Confederate officers expected this, and
wondered that the Federals failed to do it immediately, as this
movement would have cut off Johnson's retreat, and have forced him
to surrender, fight, or escape eastward through Knoxville, giving up
the whole West to the loyal forces. The delay of the United States
forces to take Fort Donelson allowed General A. Sidney Johnson to
reach Corinth by March. Here General Beauregard, in command of the
army of the Mississippi valley, and already there in person,
determined to make a stand.
Great difference of opinion existed among Southern officers as to
the expediency of this retreat. Many, among whom were Generals
Breckenridge, Hindman, and Bowen, counseled to assume the offensive,
and make a bold dash upon Louisville, Ky. This became the general
opinion subsequently; and had it been adopted as the policy in the
beginning, would have given a different phase to the war in the
West, at least for a time.
A ludicrous scene occurred at this time, 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 farm-house, 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 of 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 the buckshot from the shot-guns
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 from three to five hundred, from the rattling
of sabers and the volume of sound embodied in their unearthly yells.
At all events, their charge was terrific, and his wonder was that
any of his men escaped. How many of the Federals had fallen it was
impossible to estimate, but some were seen to fall, &c.
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.
Before we reached Shelbyville I met with my first wound,--though not
from the guns of the Federals. I had chosen a vicious but
noble-looking stallion for my Bucephalus, and in Rareyfying him into
submission to Rebel rule, he got the better of me, so far as to land
me about a rod over his head, and taking advantage of my being for
the moment _hors du combat_, ran over me, struck me with one of his
hind feet, and broke my kneepan. But so excited was I with the
contest, and smarting under my defeat, that unconscious of the
seriousness of my wound, I remounted, and rode four miles to camp at
a speed which cooled his ire and taught him some manners. He ever
behaved respectably after that, though I always doubted whether he
was at heart a true and willing fighter in the Secession ranks, any
more than his master. At the end of this race my knee had swollen to
twice its usual size, and was exceedingly painful. With difficulty I
dismounted, and for days was an invalid, for months lame, and even
now at times suffer from the old contusion. Like many another
disaster, this proved at length a blessing, as will yet be seen.
The state of society in Tennessee and Alabama, observed on our
retreat, calls for no special remarks, except as to its loyalty to
the Confederate usurpation. I am often asked respecting the Union
feeling in the seceded States, and can only answer, that while I was
there I did not see any. My position as an officer was not the most
favorable for finding it if it had existed, still I would have seen
the smallest evidences had they anywhere cropped out around me, as I
was on the lookout for this; and then my last months in the South
were spent among the citizens, where I must have seen any Union
sentiment if it showed itself at all. The truth is, and it should be
stated frankly: the whole people, men, women, and children, were a
unit, cemented together under a high heat in opposition to "the
invaders."
"But were there not many who if they had opportunity would have
proclaimed themselves for the United States Government?" That
question is answered in part by the conduct of most of the
inhabitants in the Southern cities and neighborhoods already
occupied by the loyal troops. Up to this writing, the developments
have not been very encouraging. Yet I doubt not there are some, who
in the depth of their hearts believe Secession wrong, and as a
principle destructive to all government, and who long for the return
of the peaceful and beneficent authority of the Constitution and
laws of the Union; but they are too few and timid to exert the
smallest influence. Nor dare they attempt it. The tyranny of public
opinion is absolute. No young man able to bear arms _dares_ to
remain at home; even if the recruiting officers and the conscription
law both fail to reach him, he falls under the proscription of the
young ladies and _must volunteer_, as I did, though from not quite
the same kind of force. And then, no expression of Union feeling
would be tolerated for a moment. From their stand-point, why should
it? They feel themselves engaged in a death-struggle, to defend
their property, honor, and life. Any hint of Unionism among them is
treachery to all their interests, and, besides, a rebuke upon their
whole rebellion. When the North becomes as deeply and generally
enlisted in the war as the South, and feel it to be a struggle for
existence as keenly as they do, no man here will dare to express
sentiments favoring the people or institutions of Rebeldom.
"But how," I am asked, "how can good and sensible men, and
ministers, even, thus take ground against a beneficent government,
and justify themselves in attempting its destruction?" Among the
facts I have noted in my brief life, one is this: That the masses of
men do not _reason_, but _feel_. A few minds give the cue, and the
herd follow; and when passion takes possession of the heart, its
fumes obscure the brain, and they can not see the truth. A general
impression reiterated in a thousand forms, always affirmed and never
denied, fills the mind, and is believed to be the truth. And thus it
is with the people. "Are they sincere?" Yes, as sincere as ever were
martyrs in going to the stake. This is demonstrated by their whole
conduct; and conduct is the test of sincerity, while it proves but
little as to the righteousness of the cause.
In addition it should be said, the common feeling is, "We are in for
a fight, and must carry it through; there is no hope for us but in
fighting; if we give up now, our institutions are ruined, and we
forever the vassals of the domineering and meddling Yankees." This
the leaders and prominent men feel most acutely, and hence they
will fight to the last, and keep the people up to that point as long
as possible. How long that will be depends upon the will of the
North, as no sane man doubts they have the power, and no loyal man
questions the right. But the spirit, the enthusiasm, the enlistment
of all the people with all their power and resources, are, with the
South, as yet far beyond any thing I have seen North.
I may here state that the Confederate authorities have complete
control of the press, so that nothing is ever allowed to appear in
print which can give information to the North or dishearten their
own men. In this it appears to me that they have an unspeakable
advantage over the North, with its numberless papers and hundreds of
correspondents in the loyal armies. Under such a system it is an
absolute impossibility to conceal the movements of the army. With
what the correspondents tell and surmise, and what the Confederates
find out through spies and informers of various kinds, they are able
to see through many of the plans of the Union forces before they
are put into execution. No more common remark did I hear than this,
as officers were reading the Northern papers: "See what fools these
Yankees are. General A---- has left B---- for C----. We will cut him
off. Why the Northern generals or the Secretary of War tolerate this
freedom of news we can not imagine." Every daily paper I have read
since coming North has contained information, either by direct
statement or implication, which the enemy can profit by. If we meant
to play into the hands of the Rebels, we could hardly do it more
successfully than our papers are doing it daily; for it must be
remembered that they only need hints and scraps of information,
which, added to the antecedent probabilities that our army is about
to proceed to a certain point, will enable them to forecast with
almost absolute certainty the movements of their enemies. Sure am I,
that if a Southern paper would publish such information of their
movements, as do the Northern of theirs, the editor's neck would not
be safe an hour.
Does any reader aver, "But we see information often quoted from the
Southern papers of their movements." Never, until they are made. It
is safe to conclude, if you see in a Southern paper any statement
that the army is about to do a certain thing, that they will not do
any such thing, but something very different. No, the Southern
government is now a complete military despotism, and for a
successful carrying on of the war against them I think we must
adopt, to some extent, the same rigid policy. Freedom of opinion is
a precious right, and freedom of the press a valuable boon, but when
the publication of news and the utterance of personal opinions
endanger the lives of our soldiers, and even the success of our
armies, surely it is the duty of the government to restrain that
utterance.
CHAPTER V.
COURIER SERVICE.
New Duties. -- Battle approaching. -- Deserters and Scouts.
-- A Providence. -- Position and Forces of the Confederates.
-- Orders to prepare to move. -- My New Position. -- March
to the Battle Field. -- Federals off their Guard. -- Care of
the Confederates against Desertion. -- Council of War. -- A
Dreary Night. -- Awfulness of War. -- The Fight opened. --
Beauregard's Address. -- The First Dead. -- Détour. -- Camp
of 71st Ohio Volunteers. -- Failure of Strategy. -- General
Johnson killed. -- Death concealed. -- Furious Fighting. --
Horse killed. -- Sad Scene. -- Rebels gaining. -- Struck by
a Shell. -- Another Horse killed. -- The Wounded Cavalryman
and his Horse. -- Sleep in the Camp of the 71st Ohio. --
Startling Reveille. -- Result of First Day's Battle. --
Victory for the Rebels. -- Arrangements for Second Day. --
Bloody Scenes. -- Grant's Attack. -- Rebels fall back. --
Fluctuations of the Day. -- General Hindman blown up. --
Retreat determined on -- Leaving the Field. -- Horrors of
the Retreat. -- Sleep among the Dying. -- Reach Corinth. --
Resolve.
General Breckenridge, about the 1st of April, let me know that he
would soon wish me to act on his staff as special _aid-de-camp_, and
advised me to instruct the next officers in command what to do in my
absence.
But, before proceeding further, let us return to the movements of
the Federal army under General Grant, which we left at Fort
Donelson in February.
During the month of March, this army was transported down the
Cumberland and up the Tennessee river in boats, and landed at
Pittsburg, near the foot of Muscle Shoals, beyond which large
transport boats could not pass. They camped about twenty miles from
Corinth, Mississippi, and were awaiting Buell's column, before
making an advance on Corinth.
Deserters and scouts gave Beauregard early notice of Grant's
flotilla at Pittsburg Landing, about the 1st of April. Let me here
repeat that the Rebel army has an incalculable advantage over the
Federal troops, because fighting on their own soil, and where every
man, woman, and child is a swift witness against "the invaders."
Beauregard and Johnson in conjoint command, resolved to attack Grant
at Pittsburg Landing before Buell should join him. And here occurred
one of those accidents, or providences, as a Christian man rightly
regards them, which decided the character of the contest and its
result. Grant was expecting Buell with reinforcements; Beauregard
was looking for Price and Van Dorn, with 30,000 Missouri and
Arkansas troops, who were coming down White River. They were
expected to come to Memphis by boat, and to Corinth by rail, and it
was hoped they would reach the Rebel forces by Sunday, the 6th of
April. Hence our attack was delayed from Saturday the 5th, when we
were ready to make it, in order to give time for at least the
advance guard of our reinforcements to come up. This delay prevented
the complete defeat and rout of Grant's whole force, as the
Confederates since believe. I merely give this as their opinion.
Indeed, my whole narration of events is intended to present the
facts as they appeared to those with whom I was constrained to act.
To give as clear a view as possible of the Southern side of that
destructive conflict, let the situation and strength of the Rebel
army be especially noted. On Thursday, the 3d of April, the
preparations for the attack were completed by the commanding
generals. Our army then presented a front toward Shiloh cross-roads
and church, which place was occupied by General Grant's advance. The
right wing, commanded by Brevet Major-general John C. Breckenridge
rested at Burnsville, ten miles east of Corinth, on the Memphis and
Charleston railroad. The center and left were massed at and near
Corinth, the center commanded by Major-generals Hardee and Bragg,
and the left by Major-general Polk and Brevet Major-general Hindman.
Breckenridge had 11,000 men, Bragg and Hardee about 20,000, Hindman
and Polk not far from 10,000. The whole Confederate force was
afterward stated in their official reports to be 39,000 men; it
probably reached 45,000, but certainly not more. This statement will
create surprise, and perhaps denial, but I know whereof I affirm in
this. At that time I did not know it, nor did the troops generally
have any clear idea of our force.
On Friday the 4th, orders reached us, at two P.M., to prepare five
days' rations, roll up our tents, leave them, and be prepared to
march in two hours, with forty rounds of ammunition. At the same
time an aid from General Breckenridge ordered me to go to his
head-quarters, with six reliable men. In a few minutes we answered
to the order, every man splendidly mounted, and ready for any
mission which he should designate.
With his quick eye he selected one for one duty and one for another,
until each had sped away; and turning to me, he said, "You will act
as a special _aid-de-camp_." This announcement I received with
especial gratification, as it would relieve me of all actual
fighting against the Old Flag, and give me an opportunity to see far
more of the progress of the battle which was to ensue than if I were
confined to the ranks. The special danger of the mission to which I
was called made no impression upon me. I can not recall any time
when I had a fear of falling, and I had none then. From that hour
until the close of the battle on Monday, I was near General
Breckenridge, or conveying dispatches to others from him; hence my
narrative of the scenes of the next three days will be mainly of
what occurred in General Breckenridge's division, and what I saw
while traversing the field of action, which I crossed and recrossed
twelve times.
On Friday, at eight P.M., we commenced to move toward Shiloh, in
silence, and with great circumspection, the army on different, but
converging roads. We made eight miles, and reached Monterey, a
little more than seven miles from Shiloh, at five o'clock on
Saturday morning. Here the different divisions formed a junction,
and marched forward prepared for action, though not immediately
expecting it. We proceeded with extreme caution until within three
and a half miles of Grant's pickets, and until our scouts had
determined their situation. We could get no nearer without bringing
on an engagement; and as General Beauregard had great confidence
that the reinforcements would arrive by morning, the afternoon of
Saturday was spent in making all necessary disposition of the forces
for an early and combined attack on Sunday morning.
While it is no part of my duty, in this narrative, to criticise
military movements, and especially those of the Union forces, I may
state that the total absence of cavalry pickets from General Grant's
army was a matter of perfect amazement to the Rebel officers. There
were absolutely none on Grant's left, where General Breckenridge's
division was meeting him, so that we were able to come up within
hearing of their drums entirely unperceived.
The Southern generals always kept cavalry pickets out for miles,
even when no enemy was supposed to be within a day's march of them.
The infantry pickets of Grant's forces were not above three-fourths
of a mile from his advance camps, and they were too few to make any
resistance. With these facts all made known to our head-quarters on
Saturday evening, our army was arranged for battle with the
certainty of a surprise, and almost the assurance of a victory.
Every regiment was carefully and doubly guarded, so that no man
might glide away from our ranks and put the Union forces on their
guard. This I noted particularly, as I was studying plans of escape
that night, that I might put the loyal forces on their guard
against the fearful avalanche ready to be hurled upon them. I
already saw that they would stand no fair chance for victory, taken
completely at unawares. But the orders were imperative to allow no
man to leave the ranks, and to shoot the first who should attempt it
on any pretence. Then of the nature of the ground between the
opposing forces I knew nothing, except that it was said to be
crossed and seamed by swamps, in many places almost impassable by
daylight, much more so at night. If, then, I should attempt to
desert, I must run the gauntlet of our own double guard, risk the
chance of making the three or four miles through woods and swamps in
deep darkness, and the more hazardous chance, on reaching the
Federal lines, of being shot by their pickets. I was therefore
compelled to relinquish the hope of escape that night--a sad
necessity, for if I had succeeded, it might have saved many Union
lives.
About eight o'clock P.M. a council of war was held among the
principal generals, and the plan of battle arranged. In an open
space, with a dim fire in the midst, and a drum on which to write,
you could see grouped around their "little Napoleon," as Beauregard
was sometimes fondly called, ten or twelve generals, the flickering
light playing over their eager faces, while they listened to his
plans and made suggestions as to the conduct of the fight. He soon
warmed with his subject, and throwing off his cloak to give free
play to his arms, he walked about in the group, gesticulating
rapidly, and jerking out his sentences with a strong French accent.
All listened attentively, and the dim light just revealing their
countenances showed their different emotions of confidence or
distrust in his plans. General Sidney Johnson stood apart from the
rest, with his tall straight form standing out like a specter
against the dim sky, and the illusion was fully sustained by the
light-gray military cloak which he folded around him. His face was
pale, but wore a determined expression, and at times he drew nearer
the center of the ring and said a few words, which were listened to
with great attention. It may be he had some foreboding of the fate
he was to meet on the morrow, for he did not seem to take much part
in the discussion. General Breckenridge lay stretched out on a
blanket near the fire, and occasionally sat upright and added a few
words of counsel. General Bragg spoke frequently and with
earnestness. General Polk sat on a camp-stool at the outside of the
circle, and held his head between his hands, seeming buried in
thought. Others reclined or sat in various positions. What a grand
study for a Rembrandt was this, to see these men, who held the lives
of many thousands in their power, planning how best to invoke the
angel Azrael to hurl his darts with the breaking of morning light.
For two hours the council lasted, and as it broke up, and the
generals were ready to return to their respective commands, I heard
General Beauregard say,--raising his hand and pointing in the
direction of the Federal camps, whose drums we could plainly
hear,--"Gentlemen, we sleep in the enemy's camp to-morrow night."
The Confederate generals had minute information of General Grant's
position and numbers. This knowledge was obtained through spies and
informers, some of whom had lived in that part of the country and
knew every foot of the ground.
Yet that was a dreary night to prepare for the dreadful battle of
to-morrow. The men were already weary, hungry, and cold. No fires
were allowed, except in holes in the ground, over which the soldiers
bent with their blankets round their shoulders, striving to catch
and concentrate the little heat that struggled up through the bleak
April air. Many a poor fellow wrote his last sentence in his
note-book that night by the dim light of these smothered fires, and
sat and talked in undertones of home, wife, and mother, sister or
sweetheart. Promises were made to take care of each other, if
wounded, or send word home, if slain; keepsakes were looked at again
for the last time, and silent prayers were offered by men unused to
look above. What an awful thing is war! Here lay, almost within
cannon-shot of one another, eighty or ninety thousand men--brothers
of the same race and nation, many of them blood relations;
thousands of them believing in the same Saviour, and worshiping the
same God, their prayers meeting that night at the throne of Heavenly
Grace;--yet waiting for the light of the holy Sabbath that they may
see how most surely to destroy one another! And yet the masses of
these have no ill feeling. It is human butchery, at the bidding of
arch-conspirators. Upon them be all the blood shed! A fearful guilt
is theirs!
What sleep the men could get on the cold, damp ground, with little
protection or fire, they secured during the early part of Saturday
night. On Sunday morning, the 6th of April, we were under arms and
ready to move by three o'clock.
General Hardee, one of the bravest men in the Confederate service,
led the advance and center, and made the attack. Had I not been
called to staff duty, I should have been in the advance with my
company. Glad was I that I was not called to fire upon the
unsuspecting soldiers of my Northern home. As the day dawned we
could hear the musketry, first in dropping shots, then volley after
volley, as the battle grew hotter. A little after daylight we
passed General Beauregard and staff, who were then over a mile in
rear of the troops engaged. He addressed each brigade as it passed,
assuring them of a glorious victory, telling them to fight with
perfect confidence, as he had 80,000 men available, who should come
into action as fast as needed; and wherever reinforcements were
wanted, Beauregard would be there. This boast of 80,000 men the
officers knew to be false, as he had not a man over 45,000; but as
he expected 30,000 under Price and Van Dorn he counted them in, and
added 10,000 more to strengthen confidence. But neither he nor any
other Confederate general asks any defence for such statements.
"Military necessity" will justify any course they choose to take in
advancing their cause. After we passed Beauregard, a few minutes of
"double quick" brought our division to Grant's advance pickets, who
had been surprised and cut down by Hardee's cavalry. This was the
first time many of the soldiers had seen men killed in battle, and
they stepped carefully around the dead bodies, and seemed to
shudder at the sight. General Breckenridge observing it, said
quickly, "Never mind this, boys; press on!" Before night, those who
remained walked over dead bodies in heaps without a shudder. We soon
reached an open field, about eighty rods wide, on the further side
of which we could see the camps, and the smoke of battle just
beyond. We here made a sharp _détour_ to the right, and ascended a
broken range of hills, pressing on for nearly a mile. Here we took
position just in front of General Albert Sidney Johnson and staff,
and awaited orders. General Breckenridge rode up to General Johnson,
and after conversing in a low tone for a few minutes, Johnson said,
so that many heard it, "I will lead _your_ brigade into the fight
to-day; for I intend to show these Tennesseans and Kentuckians that
I am no coward." Poor general! you were not allowed the privilege.
We then advanced in line of battle, and General Statham's brigade
was engaged first. "Boys," said Breckenridge, "we must take that
battery which is shelling Statham. Will you do it?" A wild shout of
"Ay, ay, sir," and "Forward to take that battery," was the word;
but before we reached the ground it was withdrawn. We now advanced,
cautiously, and soon entered the camp of the Seventy-first Ohio
Volunteers. By this time, ten o'clock A.M., the battle seemed to be
raging along the whole line.
A part of the original plan of battle was to have a space several
hundred yards wide between Breckenridge's left and Hardee's right,
and thus invite Grant's men into a trap. They refusing to be
entrapped, and keeping their front unbroken, Breckenridge sent me to
General Johnson for new instructions. When I had come within about
ten rods of Johnson's staff, a shell burst in the air about
equidistant from myself and the staff. The missiles of death seemed
to fill the air in every direction, and almost before the fragments
had found their resting-place, I reined up my horse and saluted.
General Johnson, who was in front of his staff, had turned away his
horse and was leaning a little forward, pressing his right knee
against the saddle. In a moment, and before the dispatch was
delivered, the staff discovered that their leader was wounded, and
hastened to his assistance. A piece of the shell, whose fragments
had flown so thick around me as I came up, had struck his thigh half
way between his hip and knee, and cut a wide path through, severing
the femoral artery. Had he been instantly taken from his horse
and a tourniquet applied, he might perhaps have been saved.
When reproached by Governor Harris, chief of staff and his
brother-in-law, for concealing his wound while his life-blood was
ebbing away, he replied, with true nobility of soul, "My life is
nothing to the success of this charge; had I exclaimed I was wounded
when the troops were passing, it might have created a panic and
defeat." In ten minutes after he was lifted from his horse he ceased
to breathe. Thus died one of the bravest generals in the Rebel army.
My dispatch was taken by Colonel Wickliffe and handed to Harris, who
directed me to take it to General Beauregard. When he had read it,
he asked--
"Why did you not take this to General Johnson?"
"I did, sir."
"Did he tell you to bring it to me?"
"General Johnson is dead, sir."
"How do you know?"
"I saw him die ten minutes ago?"
"How was he killed?"
I told him. He then dictated two dispatches, one to Governor Harris
and one to General Breckenridge, telling them to conceal the death
of Johnson, and bidding me not to speak of it to any one. So far as
the report of his death was circulated the officers denied it, some
affirming that it was Governor Johnson of Kentucky who was killed,
others admitting that General A.S. Johnson was slightly wounded. The
army knew not of his death till they reached Corinth.
When I returned to General Breckenridge's staff they had advanced
half a mile, and were furiously engaged within half-musket range
with both small-arms and artillery. About noon General Bowen's
brigade--Breckenridge's left--was forced to fall back for ammunition
and to reform, their place being supplied by two regiments of
Louisiana troops. Here, from two to four P.M., was the hardest
fighting in the battle. Breckenridge's own brigade losing nearly
one-fourth within two hours. The fire of the Union troops was low
and very effective. A battery here did fearful execution among the
Rebels with shell, grape, and canister. A wounded gunner belonging
to this battery told me the shells were fired with one-second fuses.
Our men were ordered to lie down and load, and yet many were killed
in this position, so accurate was the fire of the Federal troops. I
saw five men killed by the explosion of one shell.
About three o'clock I was sent to the rear with dispatches of the
progress of the battle, and asking reinforcements. When about half
way to Beauregard's staff, riding at full gallop, my first serious
accident occurred, my life being saved by but a hair's breadth. As
my horse rose in a long leap, his fore-feet in the air and his head
about as high as my shoulder, a cannon-ball struck him above the eye
and carried away the upper part of his head. Of course the momentum
carried his lifeless body some ten feet ahead, and hurled me some
distance further,--saber, pistols, and all. I gathered myself up,
and to my surprise was not hurt in the least. One second later, the
ball would have struck me and spared the horse. Thankful for my
life, I threw off my saber and my tight uniform-coat, gave my
pistols to a cavalryman near by, and started in search of another
horse. General Breckenridge had told me in the morning, if my horse
was killed to take the first unemployed one I could find. I knew
where some of the infantry field-officers had tied their horses in a
ravine in the rear, and while seeking them, I met a scene which
lives in my memory as if it were but yesterday.
I had just filled my canteen at a spring, and as I turned from it my
eye met the uplifted gaze of a Federal officer, I think a colonel of
an Illinois regiment, who was lying desperately wounded, shot
through the body and both legs, his dead horse lying on one of his
shattered limbs. A cannon-ball had passed through his horse and both
of his own knees. He looked pleadingly for a drink, but hesitated to
ask it of an enemy, as he supposed me to be. I came up to him, and
said, "You seem to be badly wounded, sir; will you have some water?"
"Oh, yes," said he; "but I feared to ask you for it."
"Why?"
"Because I expected no favor of an enemy."
Two other men coming by, I called them to aid in removing the dead
horse from his wounded limb. They did so, and then passed on; but I
seemed bound to him as by a spell. His manly face and soldierly
bearing, when suffering so terribly, charmed me. I changed his
position, adjusted his head, arranged his mangled legs in an easy
posture, supporting them by leaves stuffed under the blanket on
which we had laid him. In the mean time he took out his watch and
money, and requested me to hand him his pistols from the
saddle-holsters, and urged me to take them, as some one might rob
him, and I was the only one who had shown him kindness. I declined,
and wrapping them up in a blanket, placed them under his head,
telling him the fortunes of war might yet bring his own troops to
his side. He seemed overcome, and said, "My friend, why this
kindness to an enemy?"
As I gave him another draught of water, I said, "_I am not the enemy
I seem_;" and pressing his hand, I walked quickly on.
He could not live long, but I hope his friends found him as they
swept back over the ground the next day.
I soon found a splendid horse, and rode to General Beauregard for
orders, and reached my own general about four o'clock P.M. I found
that the Federal troops had fallen back more than a mile, but were
still fiercely contending for the ground. The Rebels were confident
of victory, and pressed them at every point. I had scarce time to
mark the condition of things however, until I was again dispatched
to the commander-in-chief. I had but fairly started, when I was
struck on the right side by a piece of a shell almost spent, which
yet came near ending my earthly career. My first feeling after the
shock was one of giddiness and blindness, then of partial recovery,
then of deathly sickness. I succeeded in getting off rather than
falling from my horse, near the root of a tree, where I fainted and
lay insensible for nearly an hour. At length, I recovered so far as
to be able to remount my horse, whose bridle I had somehow held all
the time, though unconsciously. I had ridden but a few rods when a
musket-ball passed through the neck of this, my second horse, but,
to my surprise, he did not fall immediately. A tremor ran through
his frame which I felt, convincing me that he was mortally wounded.
I dismounted, and stood watching him. He soon sank on his knees, and
then slowly lay down on his side. As his life-blood ebbed away, his
eye glazed, and making a last futile effort to rise, he fell back
again and died with a groan almost like the last agony of a human
being. The pain of my side and my knee, which was never entirely
free from pain, grew worse, and I saw that unless I found surgical
attendance and rest, I would soon be exhausted. In making my way to
the general hospital which was established on the ground where the
battle commenced, I met one of Forrest's cavalry, wounded in the
foot, and very weak from loss of blood. With my handkerchief and a
short stick, I made a simple tourniquet, which stopped the bleeding,
when I accompanied him to the hospital. After the dressing of my
wound, which was an extensive bruise, about five inches in diameter,
I took the cavalryman's horse, and started back to my command. When
I had reached the camp of the 71st Ohio Volunteers, my strength
failed, and after getting something to eat for myself and horse, and
a bucket of water to bathe my side during the night, I tied my horse
near the door of a tent, and crept in to try to sleep. But the
shells from the gunboats, which made night hideous, the groans of
the wounded, and the pleadings of the dying, for a time prevented.
Weariness at length overcame me, and sleep followed more refreshing
and sound than I hoped for under the circumstances.
The sharp rattle of musketry awakened me early, announcing the
opening of the second day's battle. But before I speak of Monday the
7th, I will state why the Confederates ceased to fight at half-past
five P.M., on Sabbath evening, when they had another hour of
daylight. They had already driven back the Federal forces more than
three miles along their whole line, had taken 4000 prisoners,
including most of General Prentiss's brigade, had captured about
seventy pieces of artillery, according to their statement, had taken
an immense baggage-train, with vast quantities of commissary,
quartermaster's, and medical stores, and had driven Grant's forces
under the shelter of their gunboats. Had the battle ended here, the
victory would have been most triumphant for the Rebels. Generals
Bragg and Breckenridge urged that the battle should go on, that
Grant's force was terribly cut up and demoralized, that another hour
would take them all prisoners, or drive them into the river, and
that then the transport fleet of more than a hundred boats, would be
at the control of the Confederates, who could assume the offensive,
and in five days take Louisville. Other officers argued that half of
their own troops were disabled or scattered, that it would risk the
victory already gained to push the remainder of Grant's forces,
which now turned at bay, might make a desperate stand. They
estimated their own loss at ten or twelve thousand men, and knew
that many, thinking the battle was over, had left their commands and
were loading themselves with plunder, from the pockets of the dead
and the knapsacks lying over the field or found in the Federal
camps. Some expressed strong confidence that Price and Van Dorn
would arrive during the night, and the victory would be easily
completed on the morrow.
While this argument lasted, the men were resting, the hour passed
away, and night spread her sable pall over the scene.
The night was spent in removing the wounded, and as much of the
captured stores and artillery as possible; but horses and wagons
were scarce, and most of the stores and some wounded were left. The
Confederates carried off thirty-six pieces of artillery, which were
not retaken. Hospitals were established on the road leading to
Corinth, and most of the wounded of the first day received every
attention possible under the circumstances; though the advance had
been made so suddenly, that insufficient attention had been given to
providing medical stores and surgical instruments. The scattered
regiments were gathered, reorganized, and put, as far as possible,
in order for battle, and Beauregard ordered a large cavalry force to
stretch themselves out in a line a short distance in rear of the
army, to turn back all stragglers, and gave them instructions to
shoot any unwounded man retreating. This was rigidly enforced, and
some who attempted to escape were shot. Orders were issued to shoot
any one found plundering the dead or wounded. Stragglers were forced
into the nearest regiment, and every thing done that could be to
insure success.
From the foregoing account it will be seen that the following
telegram, sent by Beauregard to Richmond, is not far from literally
true:
"BATTLE-FIELD OF SHILOH,
Via Corinth and Chattanooga, April 6, 1862.
"GENERAL S. COOPER, Adjutant-general,--We have this morning
attacked the enemy in strong position in front of Pittsburg, and
after a severe battle of ten hours, thanks to Almighty God, gained
a complete victory, driving the enemy from every position.
"The loss on both sides is heavy, including our commander-in-chief,
General Albert Sidney Johnson, who fell gallantly leading his troops
into the thickest of the fight.
"G.T. BEAUREGARD,
General commanding."
The morning of Monday, April 7th, was dark and gloomy; the men were
weary and stiffened by the exertions of the previous day, and from
the chilling effects of the rain which fell during the night. The
dead of both armies lay strewed over the field by hundreds, and many
of the desperately wounded were still groaning out their lives in
fearful agony. At five A.M. I was in the saddle, though, scarcely
able to mount, from the pain in knee and side; and in making my way
to General Beauregard's staff, my head reeled and my heart grew sick
at the scenes through which I passed. I record but one. In crossing
a small ravine, my horse hesitated to step over the stream, and I
glanced down to detect the cause. The slight rain during the night
had washed the leaves out of a narrow channel down the gully some
six inches wide, leaving the hard clay exposed. Down this pathway
ran sluggishly a band of blood nearly an inch thick, filling the
channel. For a minute I looked and reflected, how many human lives
are flowing past me, and who shall account for such butchery!
Striking my rowels into the horse to escape from the horrible sight,
he plunged his foot into the stream of blood, and threw the already
thickening mass in ropy folds upon the dead leaves on the bank! The
only relief to my feelings was the reflection that I had not shed
one drop of that blood.
I took my position on General B.'s staff at six o'clock in the
morning, and remained near him most of the day. The Federal forces
had already commenced the attack, and the tide of battle soon
turned. Grant's reinforcements had come up during the night, but
Beauregard's had not, and early in the day it became evident that we
were fighting against fearful odds. Beauregard sent forward 3000 of
his best troops, held as a reserve during the first day. They did
all that so small a number could do, but it was of no avail. Step by
step they drove us back, while every foot of ground was yielded only
after a determined resistance. The battle raged mainly on our left,
General Breckenridge's division doing but little fighting this day,
compared with the first day. General Grant seemed determined to
outflank our left, and occupy the road behind us, and as the
Confederates had not men enough to hold the camps they had taken,
and check this flank movement, retreat became necessary. About nine
A.M. I rode to General Beauregard for orders; when returning, I
heard the report that General Buell had been killed and his body
taken toward Corinth. This report that the Federal commander, as
many supposed Buell to be, was killed, and his body taken, revived
the flagging hopes of the Confederates. Of the fluctuations of the
battle from nine A.M. till three P.M. I can say but little, as it
was mainly confined to our center and left. During this time the
Rebel forces had fallen back to the position occupied by Grant's
advance Sabbath morning. The loyal troops had regained all the
ground lost, and whatever of artillery and stores the Rebels had
been unable to convey to the rear, and were now pressing us at every
point.
Just before the retreat, occurred one of the most remarkable
incidents of the battle; few more wonderful are on record. General
Hindman, than whom no more fearless, dashing, or brave man is found
in the Rebel service, was leading his men in a fearful struggle for
the possession of a favorable position, when a shell from the
Federal batteries, striking his horse in the breast and passing into
his body, exploded. The horse was blown to fragments, and the rider,
with his saddle, lifted some ten feet in the air. His staff did not
doubt that their general was killed, and some one cried out,
"General Hindman is blown to pieces." Scarcely was the cry uttered,
when Hindman sprang to his feet and shouted, "Shut up there, I am
worth two dead men yet. Get me another horse." To the amazement of
every one, he was but little bruised. His heavy and strong cavalry
saddle, and probably the bursting of the shell downward, saved him.
In a minute he was on a new horse and rallying his men for another
dash. A man of less flexible and steel-like frame would probably
have been so jarred and stunned by the shock as to be unable to
rise; he, though covered with blood and dust, kept his saddle during
the remainder of the day, and performed prodigies of valor. But no
heroism of officers or men could avail to stay the advance of the
Federal troops.
At three o'clock P.M. the Confederates decided on a retreat to
Corinth; and General Breckenridge, strengthened by three regiments
of cavalry,--Forrest's, Adams', and the Texas Rangers, raising his
effective force to 12,000 men,--received orders to protect the rear.
By four P.M. the Confederates were in full retreat. The main body of
the army passed silently and swiftly along the road toward Corinth,
our division bringing up the rear, determined to make a desperate
stand if pursued. At this time the Union forces might have closed in
upon our retreating columns and cut off Breckenridge's division,
and perhaps captured it. A Federal battery threw some shells, as a
feeler, across the road on which we were retreating, between our
division and the main body, but no reply was made to them, as this
would have betrayed our position. We passed on with little
opposition or loss, and by five o'clock had reached a point one and
a half miles nearer Corinth than the point of attack Sabbath
morning.
Up to this time the pursuit seemed feeble, and the Confederates were
surprised that the victorious Federals made no more of their
advantage. Nor is it yet understood why the pursuit was not pressed.
A rapid and persistent pursuit would have created a complete rout of
the now broken, weary, and dispirited Rebels. Two hours more of
such fighting as Buell's fresh men could have made, would have
demoralized and destroyed Beauregard's army. For some reason this
was not done, and night closed the battle.
About five o'clock I requested permission to ride on toward Corinth,
as I was faint and weary, and, from the pain in my side and knee,
would not be able to keep the saddle much longer. This was granted,
and I made a _détour_ from the road on which the army was
retreating, that I might travel faster and get ahead of the main
body. In this ride of twelve miles alongside of the routed army, I
saw more of human agony and woe than I trust I will ever again be
called on to witness. The retreating host wound along a narrow and
almost impassable road, extending some seven or eight miles in
length. Here was a long line of wagons loaded with wounded, piled in
like bags of grain, groaning and cursing, while the mules plunged on
in mud and water belly-deep, the water sometimes coming into the
wagons. Next came a straggling regiment of infantry pressing on past
the train of wagons, then a stretcher borne upon the shoulders of
four men, carrying a wounded officer, then soldiers staggering
along, with an arm broken and hanging down, or other fearful wounds
which were enough to destroy life. And to add to the horrors of the
scene, the elements of heaven marshaled their forces,--a fitting
accompaniment of the tempest of human desolation and passion which
was raging. A cold, drizzling rain commenced about nightfall, and
soon came harder and faster, then turned to pitiless blinding hail.
This storm raged with unrelenting violence for three hours. I passed
long wagon trains filled with wounded and dying soldiers, without
even a blanket to shield them from the driving sleet and hail, which
fell in stones as large as partridge eggs, until it lay on the
ground two inches deep.
Some three hundred men died during that awful retreat, and their
bodies were thrown out to make room for others who, although
wounded, had struggled on through the storm, hoping to find shelter,
rest, and medical care.
By eight o'clock at night I had passed the whole retreating column,
and was now in advance, hoping to reach Corinth, still four miles
ahead. But my powers of endurance, though remarkable, were
exhausted, and I dismounted at a deserted cabin by the wayside,
scarce able to drag myself to the doorway. Here a surgeon was
tending some wounded men who had been sent off the field at an early
hour of the first day. To his question, "Are you wounded?" I
replied that my wound was slight, and that I needed refreshment and
sleep more than surgical aid. Procuring two hard crackers and a cup
of rye Coffee, I made a better meal than I had eaten in three days,
and then lay down in a vacant room and slept.
When I awoke it was broad daylight, and the room was crowded full of
wounded and dying men, so thickly packed that I could hardly stir. I
was not in the same place where I had lain down; but of my change of
place, and of the dreadful scenes which had occurred during the
night, I had not the slightest knowledge.
As I became fully awake and sat up, the surgeon turned to me, and
said, "Well, you are alive at last. I thought nothing but an
earthquake would wake you. We have moved you about like a log, and
you never groaned or showed any signs of life. Men have trampled on
you, dying men have groaned all around you, and yet you slept as
soundly as a babe in its cradle. Where is your wound?"
How I endured the horrors of that night, rather how I was entirely
unconscious of them and slept refreshingly through them, is to me a
mystery. But so it was, and it seemed to be the turning-point of my
knee-wound, as it has never troubled me so much since.
I now rode on to Corinth, where I changed clothes, had a bath and
breakfast, and found a hospital and a surgeon. He decided that I was
unfit for duty, and must take my place among the invalids. After
dressing my wounds he advised rest. I slept again for six hours, and
woke in the afternoon almost a well man, as I thought.
Thus ended my courier service, and I then resolved that no earthly
power should ever force me into another battle against the
Government under which I was born; and I have kept my resolution.
General Beauregard's official dispatch of the second day's battle,
given below, was a very neat attempt to cover up defeat. It
expresses the general opinion of the people in the South as to the
battle of Pittsburg Landing.
"CORINTH, Tuesday, April 8, 1862.
"To the SECRETARY OF WAR, Richmond:
"We have gained a great and glorious victory. Eight to ten thousand
prisoners, and thirty-six pieces of cannon. Buell reinforced Grant,
and we retired to our intrenchments at Corinth, which we can hold.
Loss heavy on both sides.
"BEAUREGARD."
CHAPTER VI.
HOSPITAL SERVICE.
Wounded arriving. -- Care of my own Men. -- Appointment as
Assistant-surgeon. -- Discharge from Rebel Army. -- Dreadful
Scenes. -- Sickness. -- Nurses. -- Stoicism. -- Military
Murder of a Deserter. -- No Pay. -- Go to Mobile. -- Spirit
of the People on the Way. -- Met at Depot. -- No Means of
Escape. -- The Stagnant City. -- Surveillance of the Press.
-- Forced Charity. -- In charge of a Hospital. -- Selma. --
Kindness of Ladies. -- Piano. -- Artesian Wells. -- Model
Hospital. -- Furlough to Richmond. -- Rigid Discipline. --
Disappointment. -- Bitter Thoughts. -- Crinoline and
Volunteering. -- North asleep.
The wounded were now arriving in large numbers, but so exhausted by
the loss of blood, the jolting in rough wagons, and the exposure of
the fearful night, that many were too far gone for relief.
As I had, while at school in New York, frequented the hospitals, and
also attended two courses of medical lectures, I had gained a little
knowledge of wounds and their treatment. This fact, and a special
fondness if not aptitude for that study, decided my future course.
My first care was for the members of the company I had commanded
during the long retreat from Nashville; hence I went out to seek
them. Meeting them a short distance from Corinth, I had them taken
to a hospital established in an unfinished brick church in the north
end of the town, and here I remained, giving them all possible care
and attention.
Next morning, Dr. J.C. Nott, Surgeon-general of the Western division
of the Confederate service, appointed me as assistant-surgeon on his
staff. The scarcity of surgeons to meet the immense demand, and,
perhaps, a little skill shown in dressing wounds, secured me this
appointment. On the following Saturday, April 12, 1862, I obtained
an honorable discharge from the army, on account of my wounds,
but retained my position of assistant-surgeon, as a civilian
appointment.
During the ten days I remained at Corinth the town was a perfect
_aceldama_, though all was done that could be to save life and
alleviate suffering. Many of the best surgeons in the South arrived
in time to render valuable assistance to the army surgeons in their
laborious duties. Among these may be named Surrell of Virginia,
Hargis and Baldwin of Mississippi, Richardson of New Orleans, La
Fressne of Alabama, with many others of high reputation. During the
week following the battle the wounded were brought in by hundreds,
and the surgeons were overtasked. Above 5000 wounded men, demanding
instant and constant attendance, made a call too great to be met
successfully. A much larger proportion of amputations was performed
than would have been necessary if the wounds could have received
earlier attention. On account of exposures, many wounds were
gangrenous when the patients reached the hospital. In these cases
delay was fatal, and an operation almost equally so, as tetanus
often followed speedily. Where amputation was performed, eight out
of ten died. The deaths in Corinth averaged fifty per day for a week
after the battle. While the surgeons, as a body, did their duty
nobly, there were some young men, apparently just out of college,
who performed difficult operations with the assurance and assumed
skill of practiced surgeons, and with little regard for human life
or limb. In a few days erysipelas broke out, and numbers died of it.
Pneumonia, typhoid fever, and measles followed, and Corinth was one
entire hospital. As soon as possible, the wounded who could be moved
were sent off to Columbus, Okalona, Lauderdale Springs, and
elsewhere, and some relief was thus obtained. We were also comforted
by the arrival of a corps of nurses. Their presence acted like a
charm. Order emerged from chaos, and in a few hours all looked
cleaner and really felt better, from the skill and industry of a few
devoted women. A pleasant instance of the restraint of woman's
presence upon the roughest natures occurred in the hospital I was
attending. A stalwart backwoodsman was suffering from a broken arm,
and had been venting his spleen upon the doctors and male nurses by
continued profanity; but when one of his fellow-sufferers uttered an
oath, while the "Sisters" were near ministering to the comfort of
the wounded, he sharply reproved him, demanding--"Have you no more
manners than to swear in the presence of ladies?" All honor to
these devoted Sisters, who, fearless of danger and disease,
sacrificed every personal comfort to alleviate the sufferings of the
sick and wounded after this terrible battle.
An instance of most heroic endurance, if not of fool-hardy stoicism,
such as has few parallels in history, occurred during the contest,
which deserves mention. Brigadier-general Gladden, of South
Carolina, who was in General Bragg's command, had his left arm
shattered by a ball, on the first day of the fight. Amputation was
performed hastily by his staff-surgeon on the field; and then,
instead of being taken to the rear for quiet and nursing, he mounted
his horse, against the most earnest remonstrances of all his staff,
and continued to command. On Monday, he was again in the saddle, and
kept it during the day; on Tuesday, he rode on horseback to Corinth,
twenty miles from the scene of action, and continued to discharge
the duties of an officer. On Wednesday, a second amputation, near
the shoulder, was necessary, when General Bragg sent an aid to ask
if he would not be relieved of his command. To which he replied,
"Give General Bragg my compliments, and say that General Gladden
will only give up his command to go into his coffin." Against the
remonstrances of personal friends, and the positive injunctions of
the surgeons, he persisted in sitting up in his chair, receiving
dispatches and giving directions, till Wednesday afternoon, when
lockjaw seized him, and he died in a few moments. A sad end was
this, for a man possessing many of the noblest and most exalted
characteristics.
Two days thereafter, on the 11th of April, there was perpetrated one
of the most diabolical murders ever sanctioned by the forms of law.
It illustrates the atrocious wickedness of the rebellion, and the
peril of sympathy with the Union cause in the South. Patriotism here
wins applause, there a culprit's doom. The facts were these: When
the Rebels were raising a force in Eastern Tennessee, two brothers
by the name of Rowland volunteered; a younger brother, William H.
Rowland, was a Union man, and refusing to enlist was seized and
forced into the army. He constantly protested against his
impressment, but without avail. He then warned them that he would
desert the first opportunity, as he would not fight against the
cause of right and good government. They were inexorable, and he was
torn from his family and hurried to the field. At the battle of Fort
Donelson, Rowland escaped from his captors in the second day's
action, and immediately joined the loyal army. Though now, to fight
against his own brothers, he felt that he was in a righteous cause,
and contending for a worthy end.
In the battle of Pittsburg Landing he was taken prisoner by the very
regiment to which he had formerly belonged. This sealed his fate. On
the way to Corinth several of his old comrades, among them his two
brothers, attempted to kill him, one of them nearly running him
through with a bayonet. He was, however, rescued from this peril by
the guard. Three days after the retreating army had reached Corinth,
General Hardee, in whose division was the regiment claiming this man
as a deserter, gave orders to have Rowland executed. The general, I
hope from some misgivings of conscience, was unwilling to witness
the execution of his own order, and detailed General Claibourne to
carry out the sentence. About four o'clock P.M., some 10,000
Tennessee troops were drawn up in two parallel lines, facing inward,
three hundred yards apart. The doomed man, surrounded by the guard,
detailed from his own former regiment to shoot him, marched with a
firm step into the middle of the space between the two lines of
troops. Here his grave had been already dug, and a black pine coffin
lay beside it. No minister of religion offered to direct his
thoughts to a gracious Saviour. I fear he was poorly prepared for
the eternity upon which he was just entering.
The sentence was read, and he was asked if he had any thing to say
why it should not be executed. He spoke in a firm, decided tone, in
a voice which could be heard by many hundreds, and nearly in the
following words. "Fellow-soldiers, Tennesseans, I was forced into
Southern service against my will and against my conscience. I told
them I would desert the first chance I found, and I did it. I was
always a Union man and never denied it, and I joined the Union army
to do all the damage I could to the Confederates. I believe the
Union cause is right and will triumph. You can kill me but once, and
I am not afraid to die in a good cause. My only request is, that you
let my wife and family know that I died like a man in supporting my
principles. My brothers there would shoot me if they had a chance,
but I forgive them. Now shoot me through the heart, that I may die
instantly."
Such were his fearless, even defiant words, and I recall them with
the distinctness of a present thought, for it needed little
imagination to place myself in his stead. Had I succeeded in
escaping at any former period and been retaken, this would have been
my fate. While I saw the hazard, I was none the less resolved to
make the attempt, and soon.
After Rowland had ceased to speak, he took off hat, coat, and
necktie, and laying his hand on his heart, he said, "Aim here." But
the sergeant of the guard advanced to tie his hands and blindfold
him. He asked the privilege of standing untied; the request was not
granted. His eyes were then bandaged, he kneeled upon his coffin,
and engaged in prayer for several minutes, and then said he was
ready. The lieutenant of the guard then gave the word, "Fire," and
twenty-four muskets, half of them loaded with ball, were discharged.
When the smoke lifted, the body had fallen backward, and was still.
Several balls had passed through his head, and some through his
heart. His body was tumbled into the rough pine box, and buried by
the men that shot him. Such was the fate of a Tennessee patriot. His
blood will be required of those who instigated the Rebellion.
General Hardee said afterward, when the scene was described to him,
"I think the man was half crazy from brooding over his _fancied
wrongs_. His execution was necessary to prevent others from
deserting, but no sum of money could have induced me to witness it."
General, were they "fancied wrongs!"
This scene strengthened my purpose to disconnect myself from the
South as soon as I could get my pay, which was now many months in
arrears. I could not travel many hundreds of miles without means,
and in a direction to excite suspicion in the mind of every man I
might meet. But the paymaster was not in funds; and while he
approved and indorsed my bills, he said I must go to Richmond to
receive the money. I had not means to go to Richmond. My horses, of
which I owned two, I was determined to keep, to aid me off; hence I
was forced to continue in my position as assistant-surgeon for a
time.
On the 17th of April, the surgeon-general to whose staff I was
attached left Corinth for Mobile, nearly three hundred miles
distant, with a train conveying about forty wounded men. The journey
was tedious, and to the wounded, painful, as they occupied box-cars
without springs, and the weather was exceedingly warm. A few of the
men were left under the care of physicians by the way, being unable
to endure the motion of the cars. We proceeded leisurely from
station to station, stopping long enough to receive provisions for
all on board from the citizens on the line of the road, which were
freely and gratuitously furnished. Wherever we stopped long enough
to give the people time to assemble, crowds came to offer
relief,--ladies with flowers, jellies, and cakes for the poor
fellows, and men with the more substantial provisions. One rich old
gentleman at Lauderdale Springs, named Martin, sent in a wagon
loaded with stores. This exuberance of supplies thus voluntarily
furnished, is an index of the feeling of the masses in the South as
to the cause in which they have embarked their all.
At the end of two and a half days we reached Mobile, and were met at
the depot by a large company of ladies with carriages, to take the
wounded men to a spacious and airy hospital, prepared with every
necessary and comfort which could be devised. A large number of
servants were in attendance, to carry those too severely wounded to
ride in the carriages; and whatever water, and clean suits, and
food, and smiles, and sympathy, and Christian conversation, and
religious books, could do for their comfort, was done.
After seeing the men nicely cared for, and resting, I set myself to
investigations as to the possibility of escape from Mobile out to
the blockading fleet, in case I could not get my pay to go home by
land. I met no cheering facts in this search. There were about 4000
troops in and around the city. Fort Morgan was strongly guarded, and
egress was difficult, while the Union fleet lay far out. I gave this
up, as not feasible for the present, at least.
Mobile was stagnant commercially, business at a stand-still, many
stores closed, and all looked gloomy. The arrival from Havana of a
vessel which had eluded the blockading fleet, loaded with coffee,
cigars, &c., produced a temporary and feeble excitement. But so
frequent were these arrivals that the novelty had worn off: though
in this fact I see no ground for reproaching either the heads of
department at Washington or the commanders of the blockading
squadron at that point. The whole coast is indented with bays, and
interior lines of navigable water are numerous; so that nothing but
a cordon of ships, in close proximity along the whole coast, could
entirely forbid ingress and egress.
Another instance of the rigid surveillance of the press maintained
in the Confederate States is suggested by this incident. The city
papers of Mobile made no mention of this arrival, though all knew
it. Early in the year, Southern papers boasted of the number of
ships which accomplished the feat, giving names, places, and
cargoes; but months ago this was forbidden, and wisely for their
interests. Recently I have seen no mention in Southern papers of the
importation of cannon or any thing else, except in purposely blind
phrase as to time and place.
I returned to the hospital, feeling that my destinies were wrapped
up with it for a while yet. Here I witnessed an illustration of the
power of popular enthusiasm worthy of mention. A miserly old
gentleman, who had never been known, it was said, to do a generous
act, and who had thrown off all appeals for aid to ordinary
benevolent causes with an imperative negative, was so overcome by
the popular breeze in favor of the soldiers, that he came into the
hospital with a roll of bank-bills in his hand, and passing from cot
to cot gave each wounded man a five-dollar bill, repeating, with a
spasmodic jerk of his head and a forced smile, "Make yourself
comfortable; make yourself comfortable, my good fellow." I am afraid
he, poor fellow, did not feel very comfortable, as his money was
screwed out of him by the power of public opinion.
The Surgeon-general, a man as noble in private life as distinguished
in his profession, asked me to take charge of a hospital at Selma,
one hundred and eighty miles up the Alabama river, under the
direction of Dr. W.P. Reese, post-surgeon; and on the 21st of April
I left for that place, with twenty-three wounded men under my care.
We reached the town the next day, my men improved by the river
transit. Here we were again met by carriages, in readiness to convey
the wounded to a hospital, fitted up in a large Female Seminary
building, admirably adapted for the purpose, with spacious rooms,
high ceilings, and well ventilated. One wing of this building,
containing a large music-room, was appropriated to my charge. The
sick men of a regiment organizing there, occupied another part of
the building. The school, like so many others in the South, was
scattered by the war.
Here again we were burdened with kindness from the ladies. Wines,
jellies, strawberries, cakes, flowers, were always abundant, served
by beautiful women, with the most bewitching smiles. I had been so
long cut off from refined female society, that I appreciated most
profoundly their kind attentions. So intent were they upon
contributing to the comfort of the men who had been wounded in
protecting their homes, as they regarded it, that they brought a
piano into my ward, and the young ladies vied with each other in
delectating us with the Marseillaise, Dixie, and like patriotic
songs, interspersing occasionally something about moonlight walks in
Southern bowers, &c, which my modesty would not allow me to suppose
had any reference to the tall young surgeon.
Selma is a beautiful town of three or four thousand inhabitants,
situated on the right bank of the Alabama river, on a level plateau,
stretching off from the bank, which rises from forty to fifty feet
above the river by a steep ascent. A distinguishing feature of the
place is its Artesian wells, said to be equal to any in the world.
In the main street of the town, at the crossing of other streets,
are reservoirs, five in number, which receive the water thrown up
from a depth of many hundred feet, and in quantity far beyond the
demands of the inhabitants. The water is slightly impregnated with
mineral qualities, is pleasant to the taste, and regarded as
medicinal. The people of Selma are generally highly intelligent and
refined, and no more pleasant acquaintances did I form in the South
than here. Their zeal for the Rebel cause was up to fever heat, and
their benevolence for its soldiers without stint. The provisions for
the hospital were furnished gratuitously by a committee of the
Relief Association, and they appeared grieved that we made no more
demands upon them. That my hospital was a model of neatness and
perfection in its line, was attested by a report of Adjutant-general
Cooper, who visited incognito the hospitals through the South while
I was at Selma. He gave it the preference over all he had seen, in a
publication which appeared shortly after this time in the Southern
papers.
At the end of three weeks of attendance here, I obtained a furlough
for ten days, that I might go to Richmond to secure my pay. Securing
government transportation, I reached Richmond on the 15th of May,
exceedingly anxious to find the quartermaster in an amiable mood and
in funds; for upon my success here depended my hopes of a speedy
escape. Money will often accomplish what daring would not. But here
I was disappointed--at least partially. I secured but one-fifth of
my claim, which was admitted without question; but I was told that
the quartermaster of the Western division had funds, and I must get
the remainder there. My remonstrances availed nothing, and I left
the office in no amiable mood.
I now determined to avenge myself upon a faithless government, by
acquiring all possible information of the _status_ of the Rebel army
in and about Richmond, which might be of use to me and my country.
In this I also failed, from the exceeding, and, I must say, wise
vigilance of the authorities. My pass to enter the city allowed
nothing further--I must procure one to remain in the city, and this
was called for at almost every street corner; and then another to
leave the city, and only in one direction.
Although I appeared in the dress of an assistant-surgeon, with the
M.S. upon my cap, I could gain no access to the army outside of the
city, nor make any headway in my tour of observation; and as they
charged me five dollars per day at the Ballard House, I must soon
leave, or be swamped. I had not been so completely foiled in my
plans hitherto.
I left Richmond for Selma the 20th of May, reflecting bitterly upon
the character of a rebellion which, commenced in fraud, was
perpetuating itself by forcing its enemies to fight their own
friends, and then refused to pay them the stipulated price of their
enforced service. The longer I reflected, the more fully was I
convinced that I never would receive my pay. The conscription act,
which took effect the 16th of May, was being enforced with a
sweeping and searching universality. If I returned to Corinth to
seek the quartermaster there, the payment would be deferred, from
one excuse or another, until I should be forced into the service
again. The thought that the Rebel authorities were breaking their
pledges to pay me, that they might get their hated coils around me
once more, from which I had but partially extricated myself, almost
maddened me. I knew, moreover, that I could not long remain in
Selma, in my present situation. The men were all recovering, except
one poor fellow, who soon passed beyond the reach of earthly
mutilations, and no new shipments of wounded were coming on. And the
force of public opinion in Selma was such, that no man able to fight
could remain there. The unmarried ladies were so patriotic, that
every able-bodied young man was constrained to enlist. Some months
previous to this, a gentleman was known to be engaged for an early
marriage, and hence declined to volunteer. When his betrothed, a
charming girl and a devoted lover, heard of his refusal, she sent
him, by the hand of a slave, a package inclosing a note. The package
contained a lady's skirt and crinoline, and the note these terse
words: "Wear these, or volunteer." He volunteered.
When will the North wake up to a true and manly patriotism in the
defence of their national life, now threatened by the tiger-grasp of
this atrocious Rebellion? Hundreds upon hundreds of young men I see
in stores and shops, doing work that women could do quite as well;
and large numbers of older men who have grown wealthy under the
protection of our benign government, are idly grieving over the
taxation which the war imposes, and meanly asking if it will not
soon end, that their coffers may become plethoric of gold; while the
question is still unsettled whether the Rebellion shall sweep them
and their all into the vortex of ruin and anarchy. _The North is
asleep! and it will become the sleep of death, national death, if a
new spirit be not speedily awaked!_
CHAPTER VII.
MY ESCAPE.
Obstacles in the Way of Escape. -- Farewell to Selma. --
Gold _versus_ Confederate Scrip. -- An unnamed Friend. --
Conscription Act. -- Swearing in a Regiment. -- Soldier
shot. -- Chattanooga reached. -- Danger of Recognition. --
Doff the Military. -- Transformation. -- A Bivouac. -- A
Retired Ferryman. -- Conscience _versus_ Gold. -- Casuistry.
-- Embarkation and Voyage. -- Pistols and Persuasion. -- An
unwilling Pilot. -- A Night-reverie. -- My Companion's
Pisgah. -- Selim. -- Secession a destructive Principle. --
Practical Illustration. -- A third Night in the Rocks. --
Home and the Welcome. -- The Dying Deserter. -- One more
Move--but how? -- My Loss and Selim's Gain. -- Off for
Home. -- Federal Officer and Oath of Allegiance. -- Plea for
Treason. -- Sanctity of an Oath. -- _Résumé_. -- Home.
It was now evident that I could not avoid the conscription if I
remained longer, and yet I could not secure my pay; and how could I
travel hundreds of miles without means? I would have sold one of my
horses, but prices were low at Selma, far away from the seat of war,
and the pay must be in Confederate money, which was of little value.
This sacrifice I was unwilling to make, especially as I might need
every dollar I could procure to help me out of Dixie. Other
obstacles lay across the pathway of escape. Every military point was
guarded, and every railroad and public highway under military
control. It was hence impossible for me to escape, traveling in
citizen's dress; and yet I had no military commission, having left
the service when I entered the hospital. I resolved to retain my
officer's cap and martial uniform, and travel as a Confederate
officer on furlough, and if not questioned too closely might
succeed.
On the morning of May 26th I had made all the arrangements possible
for the welfare of my patients, and passing through I looked each in
the face, as a kindly farewell on my part, to which they might
return their adieu some days after, when they "found me missing." I
charged young Dr. Reese to take good care of the men till I
returned, as I thought of taking my horses up the Alabama river to
place them on a farm for pasture. Taking a last look at the
beautiful town of Selma, with a suppressed sigh that I should no
more enjoy the society of its fair ladies, I embarked on the _Great
Republic_ for Montgomery, the capital of the State, and for a time
the capital of the Confederacy. I reached this point in the evening,
having made sixty-five miles toward the north star. I remained at
Montgomery over night, and managed to obtain a military pass and
transportation from this point to Chattanooga, which was now in
possession of a large force of Confederate cavalry, organizing
themselves into guerrilla bands, while the Federal forces held the
north side of the Tennessee. While here it seemed necessary to
exchange my Confederate money into gold, as the only sure means of
paying my way when I should reach the Federal lines. But this was
not easily effected. The Confederates sent their gold to Europe by
millions to buy arms and munitions of war, relying upon the
patriotism of the people to keep up the credit of the national
currency; and lest brokers should undertake to depreciate it, they
passed a law imposing a heavy penalty upon any one who should
discount Confederate notes. For a time this succeeded in keeping up
the credit of the circulating medium; but all gold disappeared, and
silver change was unknown. But as I must have gold, I walked into a
broker's office and stated that I wished to purchase seven ounces of
gold, and exhibited a roll of Confederate notes. After a little
figuring, he said seven ounces would cost me two hundred and seventy
dollars of my money. I replied, "Weigh it out."
"Bullion or coin?"
I answered that coin was more convenient to carry. The coin was
weighed, and I retired, wondering if anybody had broken the law
forbidding the discount of Confederate scrip.
After leaving Montgomery by the railroad train for Chattanooga on
the morning of the 27th, I fell in with a soldier whose name I must
for the sake of his family, who showed me great kindness, conceal.
He said he was going home on furlough. As I then suspected and
afterward learned, he was deserting, while I was escaping. A
fellow-feeling, though at first unconfessed to each other, drew us
together, and at length I learned his whole history. My greater
caution and accustomed reticence, gave him but a meager idea of my
adventures or purposes. His story, reaffirmed to me when near death
some weeks later, is worth recital, especially as it illustrates
both the strength of the Rebel Government, and the desperate lengths
to which they go in pressing men into the service.
The conscription act passed by the Confederate Congress went into
operation on May 16th, 1862. By this law all able-bodied white male
citizens, between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five, were
actually taken into the service; that is, they were taken from their
homes, placed in camps of instruction, and forwarded to the armies
in the field as fast as needed. Another clause of the act required
the enrolling of all between the ages of thirty-five and fifty-five
years, as a reserve militia, to serve in their own State in case of
invasion. As their States have all been "invaded," this virtually
sweeps into the Southern army all white men able to bear arms
between eighteen and fifty-five years of age. Another clause
provided that all persons then in the army, under eighteen and over
thirty-five, might return home discharged from the service within
ninety days after the act took effect, _provided_, their regiments
were filled up with conscripts. By this provision the regiments
would be kept full. Still another clause directed that the
twelve-months men now in the service, should "be allowed" (i.e.,
_required_), "at the expiration of their twelve months to elect new
officers, and take the oath for two years or the war." Under this
last clause, the reorganization of the twelve-months volunteers was
going forward at Corinth, when the Fifth Tennessee regiment of
volunteers, composed of Warren county boys, Colonel J.B. Hill
commanding, determined they would not be forced to continue their
service, and especially out of their own State. Before this
determination had entirely taken form the officers were apprised of
the disaffection, and resolved, with true military decision, to
forestall the threatened mutiny. The regiment was marched out some
distance from camp and drilled for an hour or two, and then allowed
to stack arms and return to camp for dinner. While in camp their
arms were removed, and 30,000 men drawn up: 15,000 on each side of
a hollow square, with a battery of ten field-pieces loaded with
grape, gunners at their post, occupying a third side, while the
fourth was open. Into this space the regiment was marched, without
arms, and requested, _all of them who were free to do so_, to take
the oath. After its administration to the regiment in a body, the
colonel said if there were any members who had not voluntarily
sworn, they could step out in front of the ranks. Six men advanced,
two of them brothers, and remonstrated that they had cheerfully
volunteered for one year, had served faithfully, and endured every
hardship without complaint and without furlough; had left their
families without means of support, who must now be suffering; that
if allowed to go home and rest and make some provision for wife and
children, they would then return. Colonel Hill, who was from the
neighborhood of these men, knew the truth and felt the force of
their arguments, and was trying by kindness to satisfy their minds,
when General Beauregard rode up and asked--
"Colonel Hill, do these men refuse to swear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Unless they comply, have them shot to-morrow morning at ten
o'clock," said the general, and rode away.
Before ten o'clock they had all taken the oath; but one of the two
brothers, in his rage, declared he would desert. For this he would
have been shot, had he not acknowledged himself wrong and professed
penitence, though his resolution remained unshaken.
Some days after, this brother was placed upon picket duty, and, as
the night came on, he attempted to pass out through the lines of
cavalry pickets, when he was shot in the side, but not dangerously
wounded as he then thought. He crawled back into his own line, and
then reported himself as shot by a Federal picket. He was taken to
camp, the ball extracted, and he sent to Atlanta, Georgia, to
hospital. From this place he escaped and reached Montgomery on his
way back to Warren county, Tennessee. His wound healed externally.
This was the deserting soldier I met on the cars as we left
Montgomery for Chattanooga. I put him in temporary possession of one
of my horses; we united our destinies, and prepared for the future
as well as we could.
We reached Chattanooga on June 1st, and I found it, to my chagrin, a
military camp, containing 7,500 cavalry, under strict military rule.
We were now in a trap, as our pass here ended, and we were near the
Federal lines. How to get out of the town was now the problem, and
one of the most difficult I had yet met in my study of Rebel
topography. We put up at the Crutchfield House, stabled our horses,
and sat about in the bar-room, saying nothing to attract attention,
but getting all the information possible. I was specially careful
not to be recognized. The cavalry company I had commanded on the
long retreat from Nashville, was in Chattanooga at this time. Had
any one of them seen me, my position would have been doubly
critical; as it was, I felt the need of circumspection. It was clear
to me that we could not leave Chattanooga in military garb, as we
had entered it, for, without a pass, no cavalryman could leave the
lines. This settled, a walk along the street, showed me a Jew
clothing-store, with suits new and old, military and agricultural.
My resolution was formed, and I went to the stable, taking with me a
newly fledged cavalry officer, who needed and was able to pay for an
elegant cavalry saddle. Being "hard up" for cash, I must sell: and
he flush of money and pride, must buy. Thus I was rid of one chief
evidence of the military profession. A small portion of the price
purchased a plain farmer-like saddle and bridle. An accommodating
dealer in clothes next made me look quite like a country farmer of
the middle class. My companion was equally successful in
transforming himself, and in the dusk of the evening we were passing
out to the country as farmers who had been in to see the sights.
We safely reached and passed the outer pickets, and then took to the
woods, and struck in toward the Tennessee river, hoping to find a
ferry where money, backed, if necessary, by the moral suasion of
pistols, would put us across. I was growing desperate, and
determined not to be foiled. We made some twelve miles, and then
rested in the woods till morning, when selecting the safest
hiding-place I could find, I left my companion with the horses and
started out on a reconnoissance.
Trudging along a road in the direction of the river, I met a
guileless man who gave me some information of the name and locality
of a ferryman, who had formerly acted in that capacity, though now
no one was allowed to cross. Carefully noting all the facts I could
draw out of this man, I strolled on and soon fell in with another,
and gained additional light, one item of which was that the old
"flat" lay near, and just below, the ferryman's house. Thus
enlightened, I walked on and found the house and my breakfast. Being
a traveler, I secured without suspicion sandwiches enough to supply
my companion with dinner and supper, which he enjoyed as he took
care of the horses in the woods. A circuitous route brought me to
them, and I was pleased to see the horses making a good meal from
the abundant grass. This was an important point, as our lives might
yet depend upon their speed and endurance.
I laid before my companion the rather dubious prospect, that the
orders were strict that no man should be ferried across the river;
the ferryman was faithful to the South; he had been conscientious in
his refusal to many applications; no sum would induce him to risk
his neck, &c. All this I had heard from his lips, backed with a
_quantum sufficit_ of oaths, which for once I was rather willing to
hear, having already learned that the man who accompanies his
statements with a gratuitous and profuse profanity, is not usually
brave to make them good when the trial comes. To his boastful words
that "no white-livered traitor to the Southern cause should ever
cross that ferry to give information to the Yankees," I fully
assented, and advised him, to be doubly on his guard, as the
Federals were not far off, not hinting that _I_ wanted to cross. Yet
my purpose was formed: we must cross the river that night, and this
man must take us over, as there was no other hope of escape. Having
laid the plan before my companion, as evening drew on I again
sought the cabin of the retired ferryman. My second appearance was
explained by the statement that I had got off the road, and
wandering in the woods, had come round to the same place. This was
literally true, though I must admit it did not give to him an
impression of the whole truth. A rigid casuist might question the
truthfulness of my statement to the Secession ferryman; but a man
fleeing for his life, and hunted by a relentless enemy, has not much
time to settle questions in casuistry.
After taking supper with the ferryman, we walked out smoking and
chatting. By degrees I succeeded in taking him down near the ferry,
and there sat down on the bank to try the effect upon his avaricious
heart of the sight of some gold which I had purchased at Montgomery.
His eyes glistened as he examined an eagle with unwonted eagerness,
while we talked of the uncertain value of paper-money, and the
probable future value of Confederate scrip.
As the time drew near when my companion, according to agreement, was
to ride boldly to the river, I stepped down to take a look at his
unused flat. He, of course, walked with me. While standing with my
foot upon the end of his boat, I heard the tramp of the horses, and
said to him, in a quiet tone--"Here is an eagle; you must take me
and my companion over." He remonstrated, and could not risk his life
for that, &c. Another ten dollars was demanded and paid, the horses
were in the flat, and in two minutes we were off for--home.
During that dark and uncertain voyage, I had time not only to coax
into quietness my restive horse, but also to conclude that it would
never do to dismiss our Charon on the other bank, as half an hour
might put on our track a squad of cavalry, who, in our ignorance of
the roads and country, would soon return us to Rebeldom and a rope.
A man who would take twenty dollars for twenty minutes' work, after
swearing that his conscience would not allow him to disobey the
authorities, was not to be trusted out of your sight. Standing near
my companion, I whispered--"This man must pilot us to some point you
will know." I should have stated that this deserting soldier was
within sixty miles of his home, and had some knowledge of the
localities not far north from our present position. With this
purpose, I arranged, when we touched the bank, to be in the rear of
the ferryman, and followed him as he stepped off the boat, to take
breath before a return pull. "Now, my good fellow," said I, "you
have done us one good turn for pay, you must do another for
friendship. We are strangers here, and you must take us to the foot
of Waldon's Ridge, and then we will release you." To this demand he
demurred most vigorously; but my determined position between him and
the boat, gentle words, and an eloquent exhibition of my
six-shooter, the sheen of which the moonlight enabled him to
perceive, soon ended the parley, and onward he moved. We kept him in
the road slightly ahead of us, with our horses on his two flanks,
and chatted as sociably as the circumstances would permit. I am not
careful to justify this constrained service exacted of the ferryman,
further than to say, that I was now visiting upon the head, or
rather the legs, of a real Secessionist, for an hour or two, just
what for many months they had inflicted upon me. For six long miles
we guarded our prisoner-pilot, and, reaching the foot of the
mountain, the summit of which would reveal to my friend localities
which he could recognize, and from which he could tell our bearings
and distances, we called a halt. After apologizing for our rudeness
on the plea of self-preservation, and thanking him for his enforced
service, we bade him good-night, not doubting that he would reach
the river in time to ferry himself over before daylight, and console
his frightened wife by the sight of the golden bribe.
We were now, at eleven o'clock at night, under the shadow of a dark
mountain, and with no knowledge of the course we were to take, other
than the general purpose of pressing northward.
After making some miles of headway and rising several hundred feet,
we struck off at a right angle from the road, worked our way for a
mile among the rocks, and tying our horses, lay down under an
overhanging cliff and tried to sleep. But I wooed Somnus in vain.
My brain and heart were too full. On the verge of a Canaan, for
which I had looked and struggled daring thirteen wearisome months,
would I now reach it in peace, or must other perils be encountered,
and I perhaps thrust back into a dungeon to meet a deserter's fate?
The future was still uncertain, and my mind turned backward,
recalling childhood's joys and a mother's undying love. Oh, how I
longed for one gentle caress from her soft hand to soothe me into
sleep, and how vividly came back to my memory words committed long
ago,--words which, with slight change, tenderly expressed the
longing of my spirit that night. I sank into forgetfulness,
repeating over and over those sweet strains:
"Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight;
Make me a child again, just for to-night!
Mother, come back from the far-distant shore,
Take me again to your heart as of yore;
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep,--
Rock me to sleep, mother--rock me to sleep.
"Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years!
I am so weary of toils and of tears,
Toil without recompense,--tears all in vain,--
Take them, and give me my childhood again.
I have grown weary of dust and decay,
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away,
Weary of sowing for others to reap,--
Rock me to sleep, mother--rock me to sleep.
"Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,
Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you.
Two weary summers the grass has grown green,
Blossomed, and faded, our faces between;
Yet with strong yearning and passionate pain,
Long I to-night for your presence again;
Come from the silence so long and so deep,--
Rock me to sleep, mother--rock me to sleep.
"Over my heart in days that are flown,
No love like mother-love ever has shone;
No other fondness abides and endures,
Faithful, unselfish, and patient, like yours.
None like a mother can charm away pain
From the sick soul and the world-weary brain;
Slumber's soft dews o'er my heavy lids creep,--
Rock me to sleep, mother--rock me to sleep.
"Come, let your brown hair, lighted with gold,
Fall on your shoulders again as of old;
Let it fall over my forehead to-night,
Shading my eyes from the moon's pallid light,
For with its sunny-edged shadows once more
Happily throng the sweet visions of yore;
Lovingly, softly its bright billows sweep,--
Rock me to sleep, mother--rock me to sleep.
"Mother, dear mother, the years have been long,
Since last I was hushed by your lullaby song;
Sing then, and unto my soul it shall seem
That the years of my boyhood have been but a dream;
Clasp your lost son in a loving embrace,
Your love-lighted lashes just sweeping my face,
Never hereafter to part or to weep,--
Rock me to sleep, mother--rock me to sleep."
On the morning of June the third the sun rose beautifully over the
Cumberland Mountains, flooding the valley of the Sequatchie, as we
descended into it with lighter hearts than we had felt for many a
day. As we rode down the mountain, my companion recognized the
localities in the distance, and described the route which, in so
many miles, would bring us to his father's house. His side hurt him
severely that day, as the hardships of the way had given him a cold,
which threatened to inflame and reopen the wound he had received in
attempting to escape through the cavalry picket. He talked much of
home, and was sure his mother could cure him. Poor fellow! he was
already beyond his mother's help, though I did not then suspect it.
By nine o'clock we reached a farm-house, whose inmates, without
many troublesome inquiries, agreed to feed our half-starved horses
and give us some breakfast. My noble Selim sorely needed food and
grooming, and I could not but wish for a few days of rest for him.
He had been my companion in many a wild dash, and had learned to
respond to my patting of his finely-arched neck with a pricking up
of his ears and a toss of his head, as much as to say, "I am ready."
When first I formed Selim's acquaintance he was wild and
self-willed, and, as already related, gave me a blow upon the knee
from which I have not yet entirely recovered. But I had long ago
forgiven him this unkindness, for he had carried me through all that
terrible retreat from Nashville, had never failed me when a hard and
hazardous scout was on hand, had stood quietly at Corinth while I
lost two of his companions on the battle-field of Shiloh, and then,
as if grateful that I had saved him from their fate, he ever after
served me with entire docility. At Selma he bore me on many a
pleasant jaunt beside some fair one of that pleasant town, and now
he was with proud step bearing me toward my long-desired home. Did
he not deserve my special care?'
Everybody we met was Secession, and took for granted we were. Was I
not demonstrating my sentiments, by seceding from a government which
affirmed the right in its fundamental law?
By the way, if the South could make good their present effort for an
independent national existence, they would immediately change that
provision by which they allow each State to withdraw at pleasure.
The impression among the thinking minds with them is already fixed,
that the principle is destructive of all permanent national
authority, and existence even. A practical and almost fatal
illustration of the principle of secession was given at Corinth just
after the battle of Shiloh.
The Arkansas authorities, fearing the power of the Federal forces,
required all the troops from their State to return home and protect
their own citizens. General Hindman, who commanded the Arkansas
troops, was in favor of returning to their own State; but
Beauregard, as commander-in-chief of the Western army, resisted the
demand. Excitement ran high, and mutiny was imminent for some days.
Nothing but the resolute bearing of General Beauregard, threatening
to shoot the first man who should attempt to leave, saved the Rebel
army from destruction; for if the troops of one State had been
allowed to withdraw on the plea of protecting their own borders, why
should not all? This was well-understood, and hence resisted
resolutely and successfully. At a later day, and as if in pursuance
of a general plan, the Arkansas troops did go home; and thus they
avoided a mutiny, which, had it been fully developed, would have
involved at least 10,000 men. So rigid is the surveillance of the
press, that no publication, so far as I know, was ever made of this
affair, which threatened the disintegration of the whole Rebel army.
To return, we made some thirty miles, and ascending the Cumberland
range in the evening, we again sought rest among the rocks. This we
judged safest, since we knew not who might have seen us during the
day, of an inquiring state of mind, as to our purpose and
destination.
On the morning of June 4th, by a _détour_ to conceal the course from
which we came, and a journey of a dozen of miles, we reached the
home of my wounded friend. I shall not attempt to describe his
tearful, joyful meeting with his mother and three sisters, and the
pride of the good old father as he folded his soldier-boy to his
heart. My own emotions fully occupied me while their greetings
lasted. I thought of my own fond mother, who had not heard from me
for more than a year, and was perhaps then mourning me as dead,
perchance had gone herself to the tomb in grief for the loss of her
first-born son; of my reverend father, whose wise counsel I had
often needed and longed for; of my sweet sisters and little brother,
who every day wondered if their big brother still lived and would
ever come home.
After a kindly greeting to the stranger who had brought home their
wounded son, for they never suspected either that he had deserted or
that I was escaping to the hated Yankees, they introduced me to all
the comforts of their pleasant dwelling; and for the first time for
many months I began to feel somewhat secure. Yet they were all
Secessionists, and talked constantly of the success of the cause,
and I must, of necessity, conceal my views and plans.
The day after our arrival, the wounded soldier took to his bed and
never rose again. The hardships he had endured in the journey home,
acting upon a system enfeebled by his wound, terminated in
inflammation of the lungs, which within a week ended his life. I
watched by his bed, nursed him carefully, and told him what little I
knew of the better world, trying to recall all the sweet words of
comfort I had heard pious people pour into the ears of dying ones in
my childhood, when my father, as pastor, was often called to such
scenes. I was not an experienced counselor, but I knew there was One
Name of sovereign power. That Name I told him of as best I could.
About the 12th of June he passed into the Dark Beyond.
After the funeral ceremonies wore over, a letter came from the other
brother, detailing the manner in which they had been compelled to
swear in for the war, and saying that he would soon be home. He had
not reached when I left there. I fear he failed in his attempt.
But one more step was needed to make me safe; that was, to get
within the Federal lines, take the oath of allegiance, and secure a
pass. But how could this be accomplished? Should the Federal
authorities suspect me of having been in the Rebel service, would
they allow me to take the oath and go my way? I knew not; but well I
knew the Confederate officers were never guilty of such an
absurdity. Judging others by themselves, they put little confidence
in the fact that A.B. has sworn to this or that; and hence they
watch him as carefully after as before. The North should know that
oaths taken by Southerners before provost-marshals, in recovered
cities such as Memphis, Nashville, &c, are not taken to be observed,
as a general rule. They are taken as a matter of necessity, and with
a mental reservation, that when the interests of their State
demands, they are freed from the obligation. That this is a
startling statement I admit, and if called on for the proof I might
find it difficult to produce it; and yet from what I saw and heard
scores of times, and in different parts of the South, I know it to
be indubitably true.
An incident which occurred about the 20th of June, both endangered
my escape and yet put me upon the way of its accomplishment. I rode
my pet Selim into the village of McMinnville, a few miles from the
place of my sojourn, to obtain information as to the proximity of
the Federal forces, and, if possible, devise a plan of getting
within their lines without exciting suspicion. As Selim stood at the
hotel, to the amazement of every one, General Dumont's cavalry
galloped into town, and one of the troopers taking a fancy to my
horse, led him off without my knowledge, and certainly without my
consent. My only consolation was, that my noble Selim was now to do
service in the loyal ranks. My best wish for my good steed is, that
he may carry some brave United States officer over the last
prostrate foe of this ever-glorious Union.
The cavalry left the town in a few hours, after erecting a
flag-staff and giving the Stars and Stripes to the breeze. Within a
few days a squad of Morgan's cavalry came in, cut down the staff,
and one of them rolling up the flag and strapping it behind his
saddle, left word where General Dumont could see the flag if he
chose to call.
I left soon after the Federals did, but in an opposite direction,
with my final plan perfected. Spending two or three days more with
my kind friends on the farm, I saddled my remaining horse, and
telling the family I might not return for some time, I rode through
McMinnville, and then direct for Murfreesboro, at that time in
possession of the Union forces. When hailed by the pickets, a mile
from the town, I told them I wished to see the officer in command.
They directed me where to find him, and allowed me to advance. They
knew far less of Southern cunning than I did, or they would not have
allowed me to ride into the town without a guard. When I found the
officer, I stated that some Federal cavalry had taken my horse in
McMinnville a few days ago, and I wished to recover him. He told me
he could give me no authority to secure my horse, unless I would
take the oath of allegiance to the United States. To this I made no
special objection. With a seeming hesitation, that I might wake up
no suspicion of being different from the masses of farmers in that
region, and yet with a joy that was almost too great to be
concealed, I solemnly subscribed the following oath:
"I, A---- B----, solemnly swear, without any mental reservation or
evasion, that I will support the Constitution of the United States
and the laws made in pursuance thereof; and that I will not take up
arms against the United States, or give aid or comfort, or furnish
information, directly or indirectly, to any person or persons
belonging to any of the so-styled Confederate States who are now or
may be in rebellion against the United States. So help me God."
The other side of the paper contained a military pass, by authority
of Lieutenant-colonel J.G. Parkhurst, Military Governor of
Murfreesboro. I regarded myself as free from any possible
obligation to the Confederates when discharged from their service on
account of my wounds at Corinth. In voluntarily taking this oath, I
trust I had some just sense of its awful solemnity, for I have never
been able to look upon the appeal to God in this judicial form as a
light matter. How good men can, satisfy their consciences for the
deliberate violation of the oaths which so many of them have
deliberately taken to support the Constitution of the United States,
I know not. I know what they say in self-defence, for I have often
listened to their special pleading. The [Greek: prôton pseudos], as
my good Professor Owen of the Free Academy would term it--the
foundation falsehood--of the whole Secession movement, is the
doctrine of State Rights, as held by the South. "I owe _allegiance_
to my State, and, when it commands, _obedience_ to the United
States." This idea has complete possession of the leading minds, and
a belief in it accounts for the conduct of many noble men, who
resisted Secession resolutely until their State was carried for the
Rebellion. Whenever a State act was passed they yielded, and the
people were a unit.
In addition to this fundamental error, they aver that they are
engaged in a revolution, not a rebellion; and that the right of
revolution is conceded, even by the North, now endeavoring to force
them back into an oppressive and hated union; and that if we justify
our fathers in forswearing allegiance to the British crown, we
should not condemn the South in refusing obedience to a Union
already dissolved. If this were as good an argument as it is a
fallacious one, ignoring as it does the total dissimilarity in the
two cases, and assuming falsely that the Union is already dissolved,
it fails to justify the individual oath-breaking of many of the
leaders in the revolt. They swore to support the Constitution of the
United States at the very time they were meaning to destroy it. Some
of them took the oath as Cabinet officers and members of Congress,
that they might have the better opportunity to overthrow the
government. The truth must be admitted--and here lies the darkest
blot upon the characters of the arch-conspirators--they know not
the sanctity of an oath, nor regard its solemn pledges and
imprecations. They have shown, it has been eloquently said, the
utmost recklessness respecting the oath of allegiance to the nation.
Men who sneered at the North as teaching a higher law to God which
should be paramount to all terrene statutes, have been themselves
among the first to hold the supreme law of the land and their oath
of fealty and loyalty to that land, abrogated by the lower law of
State claims and State interests. It could not be sin in the man of
the North, if God and his country ever clashed, to say, that well as
he loved his country, he loved his God yet more. But what plea shall
shield the sin which claims to love one's own petty State better
than either country or God? They have virtually tunneled and
honey-combed into ruin the fundamental obligations of the citizen.
Jesuitism had made itself a name of reproach by the doctrine of
mental reservation, under which the Jesuit held himself absolved
from oaths of true witness-bearing, which he at any time had taken
to the nation and to God, if the truth to be told harmed the
interests of his own order, whose interests he must shield by a
silent reservation. The lesser caste, the ecclesiastical clique,
thus was held paramount to the entire nation; and oaths of fidelity
to the religious order, a mere handful of God's creatures, rode over
the rights of the God whose name had been invoked to witness
truth-telling, and over the rights of God's whole race of mankind,
to have the truth told in their courts by those who had solemnly
proclaimed and deliberately sworn that they would tell and were
telling it. The State loyalty as being a mental reservation evermore
to abrogate the oath of National loyalty:--what is it but a modern
reproduction of the old Jesuit portent?
But perjury however palliated, and whether in Old World despots or
in New World anarchists, involves, in the dread language of
Scripture, the being "clothed with cursing as with a garment." That
terrible phrase of inspiration describes, we suppose, not merely
profuse profanity, but the earthly deception which attracts the
heavenly malediction, the reply of a mocked God to a defiant
transgressor, vengeance invoked, and the invocation answered. "SO
HELP ME GOD!" is a phrase so often heard in jury-boxes and
custom-houses, beside the ballot-box, and in the assumption of each
civil office, that we do not at all times gauge its dread depth of
meaning. It is not a mere prayer of help to tell the truth, but like
the kindred Hebrew words, "So do God to me and more also!" it is an
invocation of His vengeance and an abjuration of all His further
favor if we palter with the truth. It means, "If I speak not truly
and mean not sincerely, so do I forswear and renounce henceforth all
help from God. I hope not His help in the cares of life. I hope not
His help for the pardon of sin. I ask not His grace,--nor hope from
His smile in death,--nor help at His hand into His eternal and holy
heavens. All the aid man needs to ask, all the aid which God has to
the asking heretofore lent, I distinctly surrender, if He the
truth-seeing sees me now truth-wresting." Now the risk of trifling
with such a thunderbolt is not small. The many noble, excellent, and
Christian men, who may have been heedlessly involved in this
Rebellion, in spite of past oaths to the nation, it is not our task
to judge. But the act itself, of disregarding such sworn loyalty to
their whole country,--the act in its general principles apart from
all personal partakers in it,--we may and we must ponder. Now in
this respect, if these views of our national oaths be just, our
present Rebellion has not been merely treasonable, but its
cradle-wrappings, its very swaddling-bands, have been manifold
layers of perjury,--its infancy has been "clad with cursing as with
a garment."[*] Can a jealous God consolidate and perpetuate a power
commenced in perjury?
[* Rev. W.R. Williams, D.D.]
After taking the oath, I told the officer that there were from seven
to ten thousand Rebel cavalry at Chattanooga, a detachment of whom
would surprise him some morning if he was not wide awake.
Having performed this first loyal act under my oath, I went out in
search of Selim. He was not to be found in Murfreesboro, and a
further search would have consumed time and thrown me back toward
the Rebel lines. Overjoyed at my escape from the last danger, and
not reluctant to make this contribution to the cause of my country,
I turned my now buoyant steps homeward, under the protection of the
Stars and Stripes. I rode into Nashville the 28th of June, with
feelings widely different from those which crowded my breast when
four months before I had ridden out of it in the rear of General
Johnson's retreating army. I was then, though pleased with the
excitement and dash of cavalry service, in a cause where my heart
was not, in a retreat from my own friends, and becoming daily more
identified in the minds of others with the Rebellion; now I was free
from its trammels, with my face toward my long-lost home, with a
wish in my heart, which has grown more intense daily, to aid my
country in her perilous struggle.
A few hours at Nashville enabled me to see my father's friend, who
had treated me so kindly when sick, and again thank him for his good
deeds, and then I left for home.
I will not ask the reader to follow me in my rapid journey through
Louisville and Cincinnati, and thence to New York. Nor need I
describe my joyful, tearful, welcome reception by father, mother,
sisters, and brother, as of one alive from the dead.
The story of my life in Secessiondom is ended. If the foregoing
pages, beside depicting my personal experience, have given any facts
of value to my bleeding country--facts as to the diabolical
barbarism of Southern society in trampling upon all personal
rights--facts showing the intense and resolute earnestness of the
whole Southern people in the Rebellion--facts demonstrating the
large resources of the Rebels in arms and men, and the absolute
military despotism which has combined and concentrated their
power--facts of the atrocious character of the guerrilla system
organized and legalized among them--facts exhibiting the efficiency
of every arm of their military service--facts showing the necessity
of restrictions upon the freedom of the press in times of war--facts
revealing the demoralizing influence of the doctrine of State
Rights in nullifying national fealty, and disregarding the
sanctities of an oath--facts which, if universally known and duly
regarded, would stir the North to a profounder sense of the
desperate and deadly struggle in which they are engaged than they
have ever yet felt--then my time and labor will not have been spent
in vain.
THE END.
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