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Humorous, Pathetic, and Descriptive

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Title: Incidents of the War: Humorous, Pathetic, and Descriptive

Author: Alfred Burnett

Release date: December 4, 2007 [eBook #23733]

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INCIDENTS OF
THE WAR: HUMOROUS, PATHETIC, AND DESCRIPTIVE ***

[Transcriber's note: Obvious printer's errors have been
corrected, all other inconsistencies are as in the original.
Author's spelling has been maintained.

Page 204: A word was missing after "The Major was right,
for a little" "while" has been added.]

ALF BURNETT.
From A Photograph By Winder.

Incidents of the War:

HUMOROUS, PATHETIC,

AND

DESCRIPTIVE.

By

ALF BURNETT,

COMIC DELINEATOR, ARMY CORRESPONDENT, HUMORIST,
ETC., ETC.

CINCINNATI:
RICKEY & CARROLL, PUBLISHERS,
73 WEST FOURTH STREET.
1863.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by
RICKEY & CARROLL,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United
States for the Southern District of Ohio.

STEREOTYPED AT THE
FRANKLIN TYPE FOUNDRY,
CINCINNATI.

SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR.
BY ENOS B. REED.

The author of the following sketches, letters, etc., has been known to us
for lo, these many years. We have always found him "a fellow of infinite
jest," and one who, "though troubles assailed," always looked upon the
bright side of life, leaving its reverse to those who could not behold the
silver lining to the darkling clouds of their moral horizon. We could fill a
good-sized volume with anecdotes illustrating the humorous in Mr.
Burnett's composition, and his keen appreciation of the grotesque and
ludicrous—relating how he has, many a time and oft, "set the table in a
roar," by his quaint sayings and the peculiar manner in which they were
said; but we are "admonished to be brief," four pages only being allotted to
"do up" the veritable "Don Alfredus," better known by the familiar
appellation "Alf."

Mr. Burnett has been a resident of Cincinnati for the past twenty-seven
years, his parents removing thereto from Utica, New York, in 1836. Alf, at
the Utica Academy, in his earliest youth, was quite noted as a declaimer; his
"youth but gave promise of the man," Mr. B., at the present time, standing
without a peer in his peculiar line of declamation and oratory. In 1845, he
traveled with Professor De Bonneville, giving his wonderful rendition of
"The Maniac," so as to attract the attention of the literati throughout the
country.

Perhaps one great reason for Mr. Burnett's adopting his present
profession was a remark made by the celebrated tragedian, Edwin Forrest.

Mr. B. had been invited to meet Mr. Forrest at the residence of S. S. Smith,
Esq. Mr. Burnett gave several readings, which caused Mr. Forrest to make
the remark, that "Mr. B. had but to step upon the stage to reach fortune and
renown." "Upon this hint" Mr. B. acted, and at once entered upon the duties
of his arduous profession. In his readings and recitations he soon discovered
that it was imperative, to insure a pleasant entertainment, that humor should
be largely mingled with pathos; hence, he introduced a series of droll and
comical pieces, in the rendition of which he is acknowledged to have no
equal. As a mimic and ventriloquist he stands preeminent, and his
entertainment is so varied with pathos, wit, and humor, that an evening's
amusement of wonderful versatility is afforded.

Mr. Burnett is a remarkably ready writer—too ready, to pay that care and
attention to the "rules," which is considered, and justly so, to be
indispensable to a correct writer. To illustrate the rapidity with which he
composes, we have but to repeat a story, which a mutual friend relates. He
met Alf, one afternoon, about five o'clock, he being announced to deliver an
original poem in the evening, of something less than a hundred verses. In
the midst of the conversation which ensued, Alf suddenly recollected that
he had not written a line thereof, and, making his excuses, declared he must
go home and write up the "little affair." In the evening a voluminous poem
was forthcoming, Alf, in all probability, having "done it up" in half an hour
"by Shrewsbury clock."

Mr. Burnett has contributed various poems to the literature of the country,
which have stamped him as being possessed of a more than ordinary share
of the divine afflatus. Among them is "The Sexton's Spade," which has
gained a world-wide celebrity. The writer has been connected with Mr.
Burnett in the publication of two or three papers, which, somehow or other,
never won their way into popular favor: either the public had very bad taste,
or the "combined forces" had not the ability to please, or the perseverance
to continue until success crowned their labors.

In the commencement of the war, Mr. Burnett was on a tour of the State,
in the full tide of prosperity. Immediately after Sumter fell, he summoned to
him, by telegraph, his traveling agent, together with Mr. George
Humphreys, who had, as an assistant, been with him for years. A

consultation was held, which resulted in the determination of all three to
enlist in the service of their country. The agent repaired to Chillicothe and
joined the 27th Ohio; Humphreys joined the 5th Ohio, and Mr. Burnett
enlisted as high private in the 6th Ohio, and served with his regiment in
West Virginia, throughout that memorable campaign.

Mr. Burnett was subsequently engaged by the Cincinnati Press, Times,
and Commercial, as war correspondent. His letters were read with great
avidity, and were replete with wit, humor, and interesting anecdote. His
extensive acquaintance enabled him to gather the earliest information, and
his letters were always considered among the most reliable. A number of
them will be found in the succeeding pages.

That "Incidents of the War" will be found instructive and entertaining, we
can but believe, although Mr. Burnett's professional engagements precluded
the possibility of his devoting that time and attention to its preparation
which was almost imperative. It lays no particular claim to merit as a
literary production—being a collection of letters and incidents, which Mr.
B.'s publishers thought would be palatable to the public in their present
form.

In the volume will be found several pieces for the superior rendition of
which Mr. Burnett has been highly extolled. At the close will be found a
famous debate, which, although not an incident of the war, is peculiarly
spirited, and was delivered by Mr. Burnett before General Rosecrans.

For the graphic illustrations accompanying the volume, Mr. Burnett is
indebted to Messrs. Jones & Hart, engravers, and Messrs. Ball & Thomas,
photographic artists.

Mr. Burnett is still engaged in giving readings and recitations, in city and
village, and, since the death of Winchell, stands almost alone in his
profession. Upon a visit to England, some years since, he gained the praise
of the English press and public, as a correct delineator of the passions,
mimic, and humorist. He is never so well pleased as when before an
audience, and receiving the applause of the judicious.

In conclusion, let us hope that "Incidents of the War" may be welcomed
by that large number who have had relatives in the armies of the Union, and
whose names may, perchance, be found in its pages, while we know the
numerous friends of Mr. Burnett will hail its appearance with unfeigned
delight.

CONTENTS.

Page

CHAPTER I 13
Preparatory Remarks — Camp-Life — Incidents of the Battle of
Perryville — Brigadier-General Lytle — Captain McDougal, of
the 3d Ohio — Colonel Loomis — After the Battle — Rebels
Playing 'Possum — Skeered! That Aint no Name for it — Camp
Fun, in a Burlesque Letter to a Friend.

CHAPTER II 23
General Nelson — The General and the Pie-Women — The
Watchful Sentinel of the 2d Kentucky — The Wagon-Master of
the 17th Indiana — Death of General Nelson — His Funeral —
Colonel Nick Anderson's Opinion of Nelson.

CHAPTER III 37
Description of a Battle — The 2d Ohio (Colonel Harris) at
Perryville — Major-General McCook's Report — Major-
General Rousseau's Report — Sketch of Major-General A. McD.
McCook.

CHAPTER IV 47
Looking for the Body of a Dead Nephew on the Field of
Murfreesboro — The 6th Ohio at Murfreesboro — The Dead of
the 6th — The 36th Indiana — Putting Contrabands to Some
Service — Anxiety of Owners to Retain their Slaves — Conduct
of a Mistress — "Don't Shoot, Massa, here I Is!" — Kidd's

Safeguard — "Always Been a Union Man" — Negroes Exhibiting
their Preference for their Friends.

CHAPTER V 57
Cutting Down a Rebel's Reserved Timber — Home Again —
Loomis and his Coldwater Battery — Secession Poetry — Heavy
Joke on an "Egyptian" Regiment.

CHAPTER VI 64
General Turchin — Mrs. General Turchin in Command of the
Vanguard of the 19th Illinois — The 18th Ohio at Athens —
Children and Fools Always Tell the Truth — Picket Talk —
About Soldiers Voting — Captain Kirk's Line of Battle.

CHAPTER VII 70
Comic Scenes — Importation of Yankees — Wouldn't Go Round
— Major Boynton and the Chicken — Monotony of Camp-Life —
Experience on a Scouting Expedition — Larz Anderson, Esq., in
Camp — A Would-be Secessionist Caught in His Own Trap —
Guthrie Gray Bill of Fare for a Rebel "Reception" — Pic Russell
Among the Snakes.

CHAPTER VIII 80
Fun in the 123d Ohio — A Thrilling Incident of the War —
General Kelley — Vote Under Strange Circumstances — Die,
But Never Surrender.

CHAPTER IX 87
Our Hospitals — No Hope — A Short and Simple Story — A
Soldier's Pride — The Last Letter — Soldierly Sympathy — The
Hospitals at Gallatin, and Their Ministering Angels.

CHAPTER X 99
Sports in Camp — Anecdote of the 63d Ohio and Colonel Sprague
— Soldier's Dream of Home — The Wife's Reply.

CHAPTER XI 107

The Atrocities of Slavery — The Beauties of the Peculiar
Institution — A Few Well-substantiated Facts — Visit to
Gallatin, Tennessee.

CHAPTER XII 124
General Schofield — Colonel Durbin Ward — Colonel Connell
— Women in Breeches — Another Incident of the War — Negro
Sermon.

CHAPTER XIII 135
Letter From Cheat Mountain — the Women of the South —
Gilbert's Brigade.

CHAPTER XIV 143
Confessions of a Fat Man — Home-Guard — The Negro on the
Fence — A Camp Letter of Early Times — "Sweetharts" Against
War.

CHAPTER XV 156
The Winter Campaign in Virginia — Didn't Know of the Rebellion
— General W. H. Lytle — Drilling — A Black Nightingale's
Song.

CHAPTER XVI 167
Old Stonnicker and Colonel Marrow, of 3d Ohio — General
Garnett and his Dogs — "Are You the Col-o-nel of This Post?"
— Profanity in the Army — High Price of Beans in Camp — A
Little Game of "Draw."

CHAPTER XVII 172
Hard on the Sutler: Spiritualism Tried — A Specimen of Southern
Poetry — Singular — March to Nashville — General Steadman
Challenged by a Woman — Nigger Question — "Rebels
Returning."

CHAPTER XVIII 181
Going Into Battle — Letter To the Secesh — General Garfield,
Major-General Rosecrans's Chief of Staff — General Lew

Wallace — The Siege of Cincinnati — Parson Brownlow —
Colonel Charles Anderson.

CHAPTER XIX 188
An Episode of the War — Laughable Incident — Old Mrs.
Wiggles on Picket Duty — General Manson — God Bless the
Soldiers — Negro's Pedigree of Abraham Lincoln — A Middle
Tennessee Preacher — A Laconic Speech.

CHAPTER XX 194
Union Men Scarce — How They Are Dreaded — Incidents — The
Wealthy Secessionists and Poor Union Widows — The John
Morgans of Rebellion — A Contraband's Explanation of the
Mystery — Accident at The South Tunnel — Impudence of the
Rebels — A Pathetic Appeal, etc.

CHAPTER XXI 201
A Friendly Visit for Corn into an Egyptian Country — Ohio
Regiments — "Corn Or Blood" — "Fanny Battles" — The
Constitution Busted in Several Places — Edicts Against Dinner-
horns, by Colonel Brownlow's Cavalry — A Signal Station
Burned — Two Rebel Aids Captured.

CHAPTER XXII 207
Reward for a Master — Turning the Tables — Dan Boss and His
Adventure — Major Pic Russell — A Visit To the Outposts With
General Jeff C. Davis — Rebel Witticisms — Hight Igo, Ye
Eccentric Quarter-Master — Fling Out to the Breeze, Boys.

CHAPTER XXIII 216
Defense of the Conduct of the German Regiments at Hartsville
— To The Memory of Captain W. Y. Gholson — Colonel Toland
Vs. Contraband Whisky.

CHAPTER XXIV 222
War and Romance — Colonel Fred Jones — Hanging in the Army
— General A. J. Smith vs. Dirty Guns.

CHAPTER XXV 232

A Trip into the Enemy's Country — The Rebels twice driven back
by General Steadman — Incidents of the Charge of the 1st
Tennessee Cavalry, under Major Tracy — The 35th and 9th Ohio
in the Fight — Colonel Moody and the 74th Ohio — Colonel
Moody on the Battle-field.

CHAPTER XXVI 240
A Wedding in the Army — A Bill of Fare in Camp — Dishonest
Female Reb — Private Cupp — To the 13th Ohio.

CHAPTER XXVII 248
The Oath — A Conservative Darkey's Opinion of Yankees — Visit
to the Graves of Ohio and Indiana Boys — Trip from
Murfreesboro to Louisville — Nashville Convalescents — A
Death in the Hospital — Henry Lovie Captured.

CHAPTER XXVIII 256
General Steadman Superseded by General Schofield, of Missouri
— Colonel Brownlow's Regiment — His Bravery — A Rebel
Officer Killed by a Woman — Discontent in East Tennessee —
Picket Duty and Its Dangers — A Gallant Deed and a Chivalrous
Return.

CHAPTER XXIX 263
An Incident at Holly Springs, Miss. — The Raid by Van Dorn —
Cincinnati Cotton-dealers in Trouble — Troubles of a Reporter.

CHAPTER XXX 268
A Reporter's Idea of Mules — Letter from Kentucky — Chaplain
Gaddis turns Fireman — Gaddis and the Secesh Grass-widow.

CHAPTER XXXI 279
A Visit To the 1st East Tennessee Cavalry — A Proposed Sermon
— Its Interruption — How ye Preacher is Bamboozled out of $15
and a Gold Watch — Cavalry on the Brain — Old Stonnicker
Drummed Out of Camp — Now and Then.

CHAPTER XXXII 289

An Incident of the 5th O. V. I. — How To Avoid the Draft — Keep
the Soldiers' Letters — New Use of Blood-hounds — Proposition
to Hang the Dutch Soldiers — The Stolen Stars.

Debate Between Slabsides and Garrotte. 303

Sermon From "Harp of a Thousand Strings." 308

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

Portrait of Alf Burnett.
Skeered! That aint no name for it.
Runaway scrape in Virginia.
Sports in camp.
Fat volunteer.
Old Stonnicker drummed out of camp.
Debate between Slabsides and Garrotte.
Sermon—"Harp of a thousand strings."

Incidents of the War.

CHAPTER I.
Preparatory Remarks — Camp-Life — Incidents of
the Battle of Perryville — Brigadier-General
Lytle — Captain McDougal, of the 3d Ohio —
Colonel Loomis — After the Battle — Rebels
Playing 'Possum — Skeered! That Aint no Name
for it.

In a two-years' connection with the army, a man with the most ordinary
capacity for garnering up the humorous stories of camp may find his
repertoire overflowing with the most versatile of incidents. A connection
with the daily press is, however, of great service, especially as a letter-
writer is expected to know all that occurs in camp—and more too!

The stories that I shall relate are no fictions, but veritable facts, to most
of which I was myself an eye-witness.

The hardships of camp-life have been so often depicted by other pens
that it will be unnecessary for me to bring them anew before the public. A
few jolly spirits in a regiment frequently sway the crowd, and render the
hours pleasant to the boys which otherwise would prove exceedingly
wearisome; and many a surgeon has remarked, that it would amply
remunerate Government to hire good, wholesome amusement for the
benefit of the soldiers when not on active duty. Frequently, when visiting
various hospitals, have I noticed the brightening eye of the patients as I
have told them some laughable incident, or given an hour's amusement to
the crowd of convalescents—a far preferable dose, they told me, to quinine.
A word of praise to the suffering hero is of great value.

I remember, the day after the battle of Perryville, visiting the hospital of
which Dr. Muscroft was surgeon. I had assisted all day in bringing in the
wounded from the field-hospital, in the rear of the battle-ground. The boys
of the 10th and 3d Ohio were crowded into a little church, each pew
answering for a private apartment for a wounded man. One of the surgeons
in attendance requested me to assist in holding a patient while his leg was
being amputated. This was my first trial, but the sight of the crowd of
wounded had rendered my otherwise sensitive nerves adamant, and as the
knife was hastily plunged, the circle-scribe and the saw put to its use, the
limb off, scarce a groan escaped the noble fellow's lips. Another boy of the
10th had his entire right cheek cut off by a piece of a shell, lacerating his
tongue in the most horrible manner: this wound had to be dressed, and
again my assistance was required, and I could but notice the exhilarating
effect a few words of praise that I bestowed upon his powers of endurance
had. This was invariably the case with all those whom it was my painful
duty to assist. The effect of a few words of praise seemed quite magical.

Men frequently fight on, though severely wounded, so great is the
excitement of battle, and I am cognizant of several instances of men
fainting from loss of blood, who did not know they were wounded, until,
several minutes afterward, they were brought to a realization of the fact
through a peculiar dizzy, sickening feeling. Brigadier-General (then
Colonel) Lytle, who commanded a brigade during that battle, it is said, by
boys who were near him, after the severe wound he received, fought on
several minutes. A field-officer, whose name I have forgotten, being shot
from his horse, requested to be lifted back into the saddle, and died shortly
afterward. Captain McDougal, of Newark, Ohio, commanding a company
in the 3d Ohio, who, with sword upraised, and cheering on his noble boys,
received a fatal shot, actually stepped some eight or ten paces before
falling. Colonel Loomis, of the celebrated Loomis Battery, who did such
service in that engagement, says he saw no dead about him; yet there they
lay, within a few feet of his battery. Loomis at one time sighted one of his
favorite pieces, taking what he called a "fair, square, deliberate aim," and,
sure enough, he knocked over the rebel gun, throwing it some feet in the
air; at the sight of which he was so elated that he fairly jumped with delight,
and cheer after cheer rang out from the men of his command, and it was not
until a whizzing shot from the remaining guns of the rebels' battery warned

him that they were not yet conquered, that his boys were again put to work,
and eventually quieted their noisy antagonists. At one time, during that
fight, the rebels tried to charge up the hill from "Bottom's farm-house," but
were repulsed. At that time the 10th and 3d Ohio, aided by the 15th
Kentucky Regiment, were holding the eminence; the rebels were protected
by a stone wall that skirted the entire meandering creek, giving them, at
times, the advantage of an enfilading fire; our boys were partly covered by
what was known as "Bottom's barn." Many of our wounded had crawled
into this barn for protection, but a rebel shell exploding directly among the
hay set the barn on fire, and several of our poor wounded boys perished in
the flames.

Colonel Reed, of Delaware, Ohio, was in command at Perryville, some
time after the battle, and it is a disgraceful fact that the rebels left their dead
unburied. At one spot, in a ravine, they had piled up thirty bodies in one
heap, and thrown a lot of cornstalks over them; and on the Springfield road,
to the right, as you entered the town of Perryville, a regular line of
skirmishers lay dead, each one about ten paces from the other; they had
evidently been shot instantly dead, and had fallen in their tracks; and there
they laid for four days. One, a fine-looking man, with large, black, bushy
whiskers, was within a few yards of the toll-gate keeper's house, (himself
and family residing there,) who, apparently, was too lazy to dig a grave for
the reception of the rebel's body.

As a matter of course, the first duty is to the wounded, but these people
seemed to pay no attention to either dead or wounded. And it was not until a
peremptory order from Colonel Reed was issued, that the rebel-
sympathizing citizens condescended to go out and bury their Confederate
friends; and this was accomplished by digging a deep hole beside the
corpse, and the diggers, taking a couple of fence-rails, would pry the body
over and let it fall to the bottom: thus these poor, deluded wretches found a
receptacle in mother Earth.

Accompanied by Mr. A. Seward, the special correspondent of the
Philadelphia Inquirer, the day after the fight I visited an improvised hospital
in the woods in the rear of the battle-ground. There we found some twenty
Secesh, who had strayed from their command, and were playing sick and

wounded to anybody who came along. They had guards out watching, and,
as I suspected they were playing sharp, I bethought me of trying "diamond
cut diamond;" so I dismounted, and having on a Kentucky-jeans coat, I
ventured a "How-de, Boys?"

They eyed us pretty severely, and ventured the remark that they needed
food, and would like some coffee or sugar for the wounded boys. I went
inside the log-house, telling them I would send some down; that we were
farming close by there; "Dry-fork" was the place; we would send them
bread. After we had gained their confidence, they wanted to know how they
could get out of the State without being captured; said they had not been
taken yet, although several of the Yanks had been there; but the "d—d
fools" thought they were already paroled.

We told them that as soon as they got well we would pilot them safely
out. They said they had already been promised citizens' clothing by Mrs.
Thompson and some other rebel ladies. They then openly confessed that
there was only one of them wounded, and that they had used his bloody
rags for arm-bandages and head-bandages only for the brief period when
they were visited by suspicious-looking persons; but, as we were all right,
they had no hesitancy in telling us they were part of Hardee's corps, and
were left there by accident when the rebel forces marched.

By a strange accident they were all taken prisoners that afternoon by a
dozen Federal prowlers, who kindly took them in out of the wet.

Skeered! That Aint No Name for It.

About a mile and a half to the rear of the field of battle there stands, in a
large, open field, a solitary log-house containing two rooms. The house is
surrounded by a fence inclosing a small patch of ground. The chimney had
been partly torn away by a cannon-ball. A shell had struck the roof of the
building, ripping open quite a gutter in the rafters. A dead horse lay in the
little yard directly in front of the house, actually blocking up the doorway,
while shot and shell were scattered in every direction about the field in front

and rear of this solitary homestead. I dismounted, determined to see who or
what was in the house—

"Darkness there, and nothing more."

A board had been taken from the floor, exhibiting a large hole between
two solid beams or logs. An empty bedstead, a wooden cupboard, and three
chairs were all the furniture the house contained. Hurrying across the field,
we caught up with a long, lank, lean woman. She had two children with her:
a little boy about nine, and a girl about four years of age. The woman had a
table upon her head. The table, turned upside down, contained a lot of
bedding. She had a bucket full of crockery-ware in one hand, and was
holding on to the table with the other. The children were loaded down with
household furniture of great convenience. As it was growing dark, I
inquired the nearest road to Perryville. The woman immediately unloaded
her head, and pointing the direction, set one leg on the table, and yelled to
the boy—

"Whoray up, Jeems; you are so slow!"

"How far is it, madam?"

"O, about a mile and a half. It aint more nor that, no how."

"Who lived in that house?" said I, pointing to the log-cabin I had just left.

"I did."

"Were you there during the fight?"

"Guess I was."

"Where was your husband?"

"He wor dead."

"Was he killed in the battle?"

"No; he died with the measles."

"Why didn't you leave when you found there was going to be a fight?"

"I did start for to go, but I seed the Yankees comin' thick, and I hurried
back t'other way; and jest as I e'enamost got to the brush yonder, I seed the
'Confeds' jest a swarmin' out of the woods. So, seeing I was between two
fires, I rund back to the house."

"Wasn't you afraid you'd be killed?"

"Guess I was."

"What did you do when they commenced firing?"

"I cut a hole in the floor with the ax, and hid between the jists."

"Did they fight long upon your ground?"

"It seemed to me like it wor TWO WEEKS."

"You must have been pretty well scared; were you not?"

"Humph! skeered! Lor bless you, skeered! That aint no name for it!"

Skeered! That ain't no name for it.

Camp Fun in a Burlesque Letter to a Friend.

The other morning I was standing by Billy Briggs, in our tent.

"Hand me them scabbards, Jimmy," said he.

"Scabbards!" said I, looking round.

"Yes; boots, I mean. I wonder if these boots were any relation to that beef
we ate yesterday. If they will only prove as tough, they'll last me a long
time. I say, Cradle!" he called out, "where are you?"

Cradle was our contraband, with a foot of extraordinary length, and heel
to match.

"What do you call him Cradle for?" I inquired.

"What would you call him? If he aint a cradle, what's he got rockers on
for?"

Cradle made his appearance, with a pair of perforated stockings.

"It's no use," said Billy, looking at them. "Them stockings will do to put
on a sore throat, but won't do for feet. It is humiliating for a man like me to
be without stockings. A man may be bald-headed, and it's genteel; but to be
barefooted, it's ruination. The legs are good, too," he added, thoughtfully,
"but the feet are gone. There is something about the heels of stockings and
the elbows of stove-pipes, in this world, that is all wrong, Jimmy."

A supply of stockings had come that day, and were just being given out.
A pair of very large ones fell to Billy's lot. Billy held them up before him.

"Jimmy," said he, "these are pretty bags to give a little fellow like me.
Them stockings was knit for the President, or a young gorilla, certain!" and
he was about to bestow them upon Cradle, when a soldier, in the opposite

predicament, made an exchange. "Them stockings made me think of the
prisoner I scared so the other day," said Billy.

"How's that?" said I.

"He saw a big pair of red leggings, with feet, hanging up before our tent.
He never said a word, till he saw the leggings, and then he asked me what
they were for. 'Them!' said I, 'them's General Banks's stockings.' He looked
scared. 'He's a big man, is General Banks,' said I, 'but then he ought to be,
the way he lives.' 'How?' said he. 'Why,' said I, 'his regular diet is bricks
buttered with mortar.'"

The next day Billy got a present of a pair of stockings from a lady; a nice,
soft pair, with his initials, in red silk, upon them. He was very happy.
"Jimmy," said he, "just look at 'em," and he smoothed them down with his
hand—"marked with my initials, too; 'B,' for my Christian name, and 'W'
for my heathen name. How kind! They came just in the right time, too; I've
got such a sore heel."

Orders came to "fall in." Billy was so overjoyed with his new stockings
he didn't keep the line well.

"Steady, there!" growled the sergeant; "keep your place, and don't be
moving round like the Boston post-office!"

We were soon put upon the double-quick. After a few minutes, Billy gave
a groan.

"What is it, Billy?" said I.

"It's all up with 'em," said he.

I didn't know what he meant, but his face showed something bad had
happened. When we broke ranks and got to the tent, he looked the picture of
despair—shoes in hand, and his heels shining through his stockings like two
crockery door-knobs.

"Them new stockings of yours is breech-loading, aint they, Billy?" said
an unfeeling volunteer.

"Better get your name on both ends, so that you can keep 'em together,"
said another.

"Shoddy stockings," said a third.

Billy was silent. I saw his heart was breaking, and I said nothing. We held
a council on them, and Billy, not feeling strong-hearted enough for the task,
gave them to Cradle to sew up the small holes.

I saw him again before supper; he came to me looking worse than ever,
the stockings in his hand.

"Jimmy," said he, "you know I gave them to Cradle, and told him to sew
up the small holes; and what do you think he has done? He's gone and
sewed up the heads."

"It's a hard case, Billy; in such cases, tears are almost justifiable."[Back to
Contents]

CHAPTER II.
General Nelson — The General and the Pie-
Women — The Watchful Sentinel of the 2d
Kentucky — The Wagon-Master of the 17th
Indiana — Death of General Nelson — His
Funeral — Colonel Nick Anderson's Opinion of
Nelson.

A great many stories have been told about General Nelson, with whom
the writer was upon the most intimate terms. That Nelson was a noble,
warm-hearted, companionable man, those even most opposed to his rough
manner, at times, will readily admit.

Nelson was strongly attached to the 6th Ohio. From his very first
acquaintance he said he fell in love with it, and his feeling was reciprocated,
for the 6th was as ardently devoted to him.

At Camp Wickliffe the General was very much annoyed by women
coming into his camp, and he had given strict orders that none should be
admitted on the following Sunday, as he intended reviewing the division
that day. His chagrin and rage can only be imagined by those who knew
him, when, upon this veritable occasion, he saw at least thirty women
huddled together, on mares, mules, jacks, jennies, and horses. The General
rode hastily to Lieutenant Southgate, exclaiming—

"Captain Southgate, I thought I ordered that no more of those d—d
women should come into my camp. What are they doing here?"

"I promulgated your order, General," replied Captain Southgate.

"Well, by ——, what are they here for?" and riding up to the bevy of
women in lathed and split bonnets, he inquired, in a ferocious manner,
"What in —— are all you women doing here?"

Now, the party was pretty well frightened, but there was one with more
daring than the rest, who sidled up to the General, and, with what was
intended to be a smile, (but the General said he never saw a more "sardonic
grin" in his life,) she answered for the party, and said:

"Sellin' pies, Gin'ral."

"Selling pies, eh! Selling pies, eh! Let me see 'em; let me see 'em, quick!"

The woman untied one end of a bolster-slip, and thrust her arm down the
sack, and brought forth a specimen of the article, which Nelson seized, and
vainly endeavored to break. It was like leather. The General gave it a
sudden twist and broke it in two, when out dropped three or four pieces of
dried apple.

"By ——, madam, you call them pies, do you? Pies, eh! Those things are
just what are giving all my boys the colic! Get out of this camp every one of
you! Clear yourselves!"

The camp was thus cleared of pie-venders, who escaped on the double-
quick.

General Nelson was a strict disciplinarian, and frequently tested his
pickets by a personal visit. Upon one occasion he rode through a drenching
rain to the outposts; it was a dark night, and mud and water were knee-deep
in some parts of the road. A portion of the 2d Kentucky was on guard, and
as the General rode up he met the stern "Halt" of the sentinel, and the usual
"Who comes there?"

"General Nelson," was the reply.

"Dismount, General Nelson, and give the countersign," was the sentinel's
command.

"Do you know who you are talking to, sir? I tell you I am your General,
and you have the impudence to order me to dismount, you scoundrel!"

"Dismount, and give the countersign, or I will fire upon you," was the
stern rejoinder.

And Nelson did dismount, and gave the countersign, and at the same time
inquired the sentinel's name, and to what regiment he belonged. The
following day the man was sent for, to appear forthwith at head-quarters.
The soldier went with great trepidation, anticipating severe treatment from
the General for the previous night's conduct. Imagine his surprise when the
General invited him in, complimented him highly, in the presence of his
officers, and requested, if at any time he required any service from him, to
just mention that he was the soldier of the 2d Kentucky who had made him
dismount in mud and rain, and give the countersign.

On another occasion he was riding along the road, and was accosted by
two waggish members of the 6th Ohio.

"Hallo! mister," said one of the boys, "won't you take a drink?"

"Where are you soldiers going to?" inquired the General.

"O, just over here a little bit."

"What regiment do you belong to?"

"Sixth Ohio."

"Well, get back to your camp, quick!"

The boys, although they knew him well, took advantage of the fact that
the General displayed no insignia of his rank, and replied:

"They guessed they'd go down the road a bit, first."

"Come back! come back!" shouted the General. "How dare you disobey
me? Do you know who I am, you scoundrels?"

"No, I don't," said one of the boys; and then, looking impudently and
inquiringly into his face, said: "Why! ain't you the wagon-master of the 17th
Indiana?"

Nelson thought activity the best cure for "ennui," and consequently kept
his men busy. One day, calling his officers together, he ordered them to
prepare immediately for a regular, old-fashioned day's work; "for," said he,
"there has been so little work done here since the rain set in, that I fear
drilling has fallen in the market; but if we succeed in keeping up that
article, I am sure cotton must come down."

He was exceedingly bitter in his denunciations of the London Times and
rebel British sympathizers, remarking to me, one evening, that he was
exceedingly anxious this war should speedily end, "for," said he, "I would
like nothing better than to see our people once more united as a nation; and
then I want fifty thousand men at my command, so that I could march them
to Canada, and go through those provinces like a dose of croton."

I was present at the Galt House, in Louisville, when General Nelson was
shot by General Davis, and immediately telegraphed the sad news to the
daily press of Cincinnati. The following was my dispatch:

General Nelson Shot by General Davis.

Louisville, September 29.

Eds. Times: I just witnessed General Jeff C. Davis shoot General Nelson. It
occurred in the Galt House, in the entry leading from the office. The wound
is thought to be mortal.
Alf.

Later.—General Nelson Dead.

Louisville, September 29, 10 A.M.

General Nelson is dead. I will telegraph particulars as soon as possible.

Alf.

THIRD DISPATCH.

Particulars of the Affair.

Louisville, September 29, 11 A.M.

Eds. Times: Jefferson C. Davis, of Indiana, went into the Galt House, at
half-past eight o'clock this morning. He met General Nelson, and referred to
the treatment he had received at his hands in ordering him to Cincinnati.
Nelson cursed him, and struck Davis in the face several times. Nelson then
retired a few paces, Davis borrowing a pistol from a friend, who, handing it
to him, remarked, "It is a Tranter trigger—be careful."

I had just that moment been in conversation with the General.
Alf.

The particulars were afterward given in a letter, which is here inserted:

Louisville, September 29, 1862.

The greatest excitement of the day has been in discussing the death of
General Nelson, and the causes which led to the terrible denouement.

Sauntering out in search of an "item"—my custom always in the morning
—I happened to be in the Galt House just as the altercation between
General Nelson and General Jeff C. Davis was reaching its climax, and of
which I telegraphed you within ten minutes after its occurrence. From what
I learn, from parties who saw the commencement, it would seem that
General Davis felt himself grossly insulted by Nelson's overbearing manner
at their former meeting; and seeing him standing talking to Governor
Morton, Davis advanced and demanded an explanation, upon which Nelson
turned and cursed him, calling him an infamous puppy, and using other
violent language unfit for publication. Upon pressing his demand for an
explanation, Nelson, who was an immensely powerful and large man, took

the back of his hand and deliberately slapped General Davis's face. Just at
this juncture I entered the office. The people congregated there were giving
Nelson a wide berth. Recognizing the General, I said "Good morning,
General," (at this time I was not aware of what had passed). His reply to me
was: "Did you hear that d——d insolent scoundrel insult me, sir? I suppose
he don't know me, sir. I'll teach him a lesson, sir." During this time he was
retiring slowly toward the door leading to the ladies' sitting-room. At this
moment I heard General Davis ask for a weapon, first of a gentleman who
was standing near him, and then meeting Captain Gibson, who was just
about to enter the dining-room, he asked him if he had a pistol? Captain
Gibson replied, "I always carry the article;" and handed one to him,
remarking, as Davis walked toward Nelson, "It is a Tranter trigger."

Nelson, by this time, reached the hall, and was evidently getting out of
the way, to avoid further difficulty.

Davis's face was livid, and such a look of mingled indignation,
mortification, and determination I never before beheld. His hand was
slowly raised; and, as Nelson advanced, Davis uttered the one word, "Halt!"
and fired. Nelson, with the bullet in his breast, completed the journey up the
entire stairs, and then fell. As he reached the top, John Allen Crittenden met
him and said, "Are you hurt, General?" He replied, "Yes, I am, mortally."
"Can I do any thing for you?" continued Crittenden. "Yes; send for a
surgeon and a priest, quick."

A rush was made by the crowd toward the place as soon as he was shot.
No effort, as far as I can learn, has been made to arrest General Davis.

A few minutes after the occurrence I was introduced to the Aid of
Governor Morton, who told me he saw it all, from the very commencement,
and that, had not Davis acted as he did, after the gross provocation he
received, Davis would have deserved to have been shot himself.

It is a great pity so brave a man should have had so little control over his
temper. Although very severe in his discipline and rough in his language,
the boys of his division were devotedly attached to him, because he was a
fighting man. The 6th Ohio, especially, were his ardent admirers. He was

hated here, bitterly hated, by all Secessionists; this of itself should have
endeared him to Union men.

The Louisville Journal, this afternoon, in speaking of the affair, says:

"General Nelson, from the first, thought the wound was a mortal one, and
expressed a desire to have the Rev. Mr. Talbott, of Calvary Church,
summoned. This gentleman resides about three miles below the city, but
was unable to get home on Sunday after service, and passed the night at the
Galt House. He immediately obeyed the summons, as he was well
acquainted with the General. The reverend gentleman informs us that the
dying man spoke no word concerning the difficulty, and made no allusion to
his temporal affairs, but was exceedingly solicitous as to the salvation of his
soul, and desired Mr. Talbott to perform the rite of baptism, and receive him
into the bosom of the Church.

"After five minutes' conversation, to ascertain his state of preparedness,
the clergyman assented to his wish, and the solemn ordinance was
administered with unusual impressiveness, in the presence of Dr. Murray,
the medical director, Major-General Crittenden, and a few other personal
friends. When the service concluded, he was calm, and sank into his last
sleep quietly, with no apparent physical pain, but with some mental
suffering. The last audible words that he uttered were a prayer for the
forgiveness of his sins. That appeal was made to Almighty God. Let, then,
his fellow-mortals be proud of his many virtues, his lofty patriotism, and
undaunted courage, while they judge leniently of those faults, which, had
they been curbed, might have been trained into virtues. Let it not be said of
our friend—

"'The evil that men do lives after them,
The good is oft interred with their bones.'"

The Funeral.

The funeral of General Nelson took place yesterday afternoon. The
corpse of the General was incased in a most elegant rosewood coffin,

mounted with silver. The American flag, that he had so nobly fought under
at Shiloh, was wrapped about it; his sword, drawn for the last time by that
once brave hand, lay upon the flag. Bouquets were strewed upon the coffin.

Major-General Granger, Major-General McCook, and Major-General
Crittenden, and Brigadier-General Jackson, assisted by other officers,
conveyed the remains from the hearse to the church-door, and down the
aisle. As they entered the building, Dr. Craig commenced reading the burial
service for the dead. As soon as they reached the pulpit, and set down the
corpse, the choir chanted a requiem in the most impressive manner. Rev. Dr.
Craig then read the 15th chapter of the First Epistle of St. Paul to the
Corinthians, 21st to the 29th verses:

"For since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the
dead.

"For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive."

After the reading of this, the Rev. Mr. Talbott, he whom General Nelson
had sent for immediately upon being shot, and who had administered to his
spiritual welfare, and received him into the Church, delivered one of the
most beautiful and eulogistic discourses I ever heard.

He said that the General had been, in private life, one of the most
congenial and warm-hearted of men; his hand ever open to the needy. He
had known him well.

The last half-hour of his life was devoted entirely to the salvation of his
soul; he did not refer to worldly matters. Mr. Talbott told him he must
forgive all whom he thought had injured him. His reply was, "O! I do, I do
forgive—I do forgive. Let me," said Nelson, "be baptized quick, for I feel I
am fast going."

Mr. T. then administered to him the sacred rite, and in a few minutes,
conscious to the last, smiling and serene, he passed to "that bourne from
which no traveler returns."

"A more contrite heart and thorough Christian resignation," said the
divine, "I never saw."

The discourse over, the body was conveyed again to the hearse.

Lieutenant-Colonel Anderson, of the 6th Ohio, had command of the
escort, which consisted of two companies of the 2d Ohio, and two
companies of the 6th, all being from his old and tried division. No relatives,
I believe, were here, except Captain Davis, a foster-brother, belonging to
the 2d Minnesota Regiment.

General Nelson's gray horse was led immediately behind the hearse, the
General's boots reversed and fastened in the stirrups. An artillery company
and cavalry squadron completed the cortège, which moved slowly down
Second Street to the beat of the muffled drum.

He has gone to his long home! Though rash and impetuous at times, we
must not forget our country has lost a noble defender, a man of true courage
—one who was looked up to by his division.

To-day he was to join them; and as I went through the old Fourth
Division, last Sunday, the boys were all in a jubilee, because Nelson was
going to be with them, and they remarked, "If he is along, he'll take us
where we'll have fighting!"

As I have before told you, everywhere Secessionists are rejoicing at his
death, and Kentucky ones especially. The Union men of Kentucky have lost
a noble defender.

Yesterday General Rousseau's division of ten thousand men was
reviewed. They are a splendid body of men.

There will be no examination of Jeff C. Davis before the civil authorities,
but the affair is to be investigated by a court-martial.

A singular incident is related of General Nelson. It is said that the Rev.
Dr. Talbott, who resides a few miles from the city, wished to return home on
Sunday night last. Nelson refused him the pass. On Monday morning it was

this reverend gentleman who was sent for by Nelson, and received Nelson
into the Church, and who performed the funeral services to-day.

Yours, Alf.

The gallant Colonel Nick Anderson, who so bravely led the 6th Ohio at
Shiloh, and more recently at Murfreesboro, in speaking of Nelson, says:

"And what is said will be assented to by all who shared his familiar
moments, that, outside of his military duties, he was a refined gentleman.
Whatever may be said of his severe dealing with his subordinates, his
violent manner when reprimanding them, every one who knew him will
bear witness that it was only to exact that iron discipline which makes an
army irresistible. His naval education, in which discipline is so mercilessly
enforced, will explain clearly his intensity of manner when preparing his
forces for the terrible trials of the march or the battle-field. However much
he was disliked by subordinate and inefficient officers, he was beloved by
his men, the private soldiers.

"How carefully he looked after all their wants, their clothing, their food
—in short, whatever they needed to make them strong and brave! for it was
a maxim with him, that, unless a man's back was kept warm and his
stomach well supplied, he could not be relied upon as a soldier. All who
know Buell's army will bear witness to the splendid condition of Nelson's
division.

"General Nelson earned his rank as major-general by no mysterious
influences at head-quarters, but by splendid achievements on the battle-
field. It has been said that his division was the first to enter Nashville; so it
was the first in Corinth; but these are the poorest of his titles to distinction.
It was his success in Eastern Kentucky, in destroying the army of General
Marshall; and, greatest of all, his arrival, by forced marches, at Pittsburg
Landing, early enough on Sunday afternoon, the 9th of April, to stop the
victorious progress of General Beauregard, that placed him among his
country's benefactors and heroes, and which will 'gild his sepulcher, and
embalm his name.'

"But for Nelson, Grant's army might have been destroyed. His forced
march, wading deep streams, brought him to the field just in time. An hour
later, and all might have been lost."

An officer of his division has recounted to me some thrilling incidents of
that memorable conflict.

"It was nearly sunset when Nelson, at the head of his troops, landed on
the west bank of the river, in the midst of the conflict. The landing and
shore of the river, up and down, were covered by five thousand of our
beaten and demoralized soldiers, whom no appeals or efforts could rally.
Nelson, with difficulty, forced his way through the crowd, shaming them for
their cowardice as he passed, and riding upon a knoll overlooking his
disembarking men, cried out, in stentorian tones: 'Colonel A., have you
your regiment formed?' 'In a moment, General,' was the reply. 'Be quick;
time is precious; moments are golden.' 'I am ready now, General.' 'Forward
—march!' was his command; and the gallant 6th Ohio was led quickly to
the field.

"That night Nelson asked Captain Gwynne, of the 'Tyler,' to send him a
bottle of wine and a box of cigars; 'for to-morrow I will show you a man-of-
war fight.'

"During the night Buell came up and crossed the river, and by daylight
next morning our forces attacked Beauregard, and then was fought the
desperate battle of Shiloh. Up to twelve M. we had gained no decisive
advantage; in fact, the desperate courage of the enemy had caused us to fall
back. 'General Buell,' said my informant, 'now came to the front, and held a
hasty consultation with his Generals. They decided to charge the rebels, and
drive them back. Nelson rode rapidly to the head of his column, his gigantic
figure conspicuous to the enemy in front, and in a voice that rang like a
trumpet over the clangor of battle, he called for four of his finest regiments
in succession—the 24th Ohio, 36th Indiana, 17th Kentucky, and 6th Ohio.
'Trail arms; forward; double-quick—march;' and away, with thundering
cheers, went those gallant boys. The brave Captain (now Brigadier-General)
Terrell, who alone was left untouched of all his battery, mounted his horse,
and, with wild huzzas, rode, with Nelson, upon the foe.

"It was the decisive moment; it was like Wellington's 'Up, guards, and at
them!' The enemy broke, and their retreat commenced. That was the
happiest moment of my life when Nelson called my regiment to make that
grand charge.

"Let the country mourn the sad fate of General Nelson. He was a loyal
Kentuckian; fought gallantly the battles of his Government; earned all his
distinction by gallant deeds. All his faults were those of a commander
anxious to secure the highest efficiency of his troops by the most rigid
discipline of his officers, and in this severe duty he has, at last, lost his life.

"His death, after all, was beautiful. He told Colonel Moody, in Nashville,
that, though he swore much, yet he never went to bed without saying his
prayers; and now, at last, we find him on his death-bed, not criminating or
explaining, but seeking the consolations of religion. Requiescat in pace!"
[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER III.
Description of a Battle — The 2d Ohio (Colonel
Harris) at Perryville — Major-General McCook's
Report — Major-General Rousseau's Report —
Sketch of Major-General A. McD. McCook.

"Then shook the hills with thunder riven,
Then rushed the steeds to battle driven,
And, louder than the bolts of heaven,
Far flashed the red artillery!"

Many of you have, no doubt, looked upon the field of battle where
contending hosts have met in deadly strife. But there are those whose eyes
have never gazed upon so sad a sight; and to such I may be enabled to
present a picture that will at best give you but a faint idea of the terrible
reality of a fiercely-contested field.

Imagine thousands upon thousands on either side, spreading over a vast
expanse of ground, each armed with all the terrible machinery of modern
warfare, and striving to gain the advantage of their opponents by some
particular movement, studied long by those learned in the art of war.

Then comes the clang of battle; steel meets steel, drinking the blood of
contending foes. The sabers flash and glitter in the sunlight, descending
with terrible force upon devoted heads, which were once pillowed on the
bosoms of fond and devoted mothers. Jove's dread counterfeit is heard on
every hand; the balls and shells go whistling and screaming by, the most
terrible music to ears not properly attuned to the melody of war. Thousands

sink upon the ground overpowered, to be trodden under foot of the flying
steed, or their bones to be left whitening the incarnadined field. Blows fall
thick and heavy on every hand. The cries of the wounded and the orders of
the commanders mingle together; and, to the uninitiated, all appears
"confusion worse confounded."

But there is a method in all this seeming madness; and that which appears
confusion is the result of well-laid plans. But as there is "many a slip 'twixt
the cup and the lip," so there are slips in the actions of the best regulated
armies. Gunpowder, shot, shell, and steel are not always to be implicitly
relied upon: even they sometimes fail in carrying out what were conceded
to be designs infallible; so true it is that "man proposes, but God disposes."

It has been my province to witness battles wherein Western men were the
heroes; and that Western men will fight, has been pretty well authenticated
during the present war. I have noticed the brave conduct of the gallant
troops, the fighting boys of the various regiments of the West, and have
never known them to falter in the hour of danger. They left their homes
totally uneducated in warfare; they are now veterans—each a hero.

The conduct of the 2d Ohio at Perryville is spoken of thus by a
correspondent:

"The brigade of Len Harris was in the center, and met the shock
simultaneously with the left and right. The whole brigade was in the open
fields, with the rebels in the woods before them. Long and gallantly did
they sustain their exposed positions. An Illinois regiment, of Terrell's
brigade, flying from the field, ran through this brigade, with terrible cries of
defeat and disaster; but the gallant boys of the 2d Ohio and 38th Indiana
only laughed at them, as, lying down, they were literally run over by the
panic-stricken Illinoisans. Hardly had they disappeared in the woods in
Harris's rear when the rebels appeared in the woods in his front. At the same
time Rousseau came galloping along the line, and they received him with
cheers, and the rebels with a terrible fire. Terrible was the shock on this part
of the line, but gallant was the resistance. Up the hill came the rebels, and
made as gallant a charge as ever was met by brave men. But, O! so terrible
and bloody was the repulse! Along the line of the 2d Ohio and 38th Indiana
and Captain Harris's battery, I saw a simultaneous cloud of smoke arise.

One moment I waited. The cloud arose, and revealed the broken column of
rebels flying from the field, but, in the distance, a second rapidly advancing.
The shout that arose from our men drowned the roar of cannon, and sent
dismay into the retreating, broken column."

In Major-General McCook's report of that battle, he says it was "the
bloodiest battle in modern times for the number of troops engaged on our
side," and "the battle was principally fought by Rousseau's division; and if
there are, or ever were, better soldiers than the old troops engaged, I have
neither seen nor read of them." Speaking of the new troops, General
McCook points out those under the command of Colonel Harris, saying:
"For instance, in the Ninth Brigade, where the 2d and 33d Ohio, 68th
Indiana, and 10th Wisconsin fought so well, I was proud to see the 94th and
98th Ohio vie with their brethren in deeds of heroism." The 94th and 98th
were new troops, and the example of the old soldiers in Colonel Harris's
brigade, and the distinguished courage and good judgment of the Colonel,
gave them confidence, and they stood in the storm like veterans.

General Rousseau's Report of the Battle.

... "I then returned to Harris's brigade, hearing that the enemy was close
upon him, and found that the 33d Ohio had been ordered further to the front
by General McCook, and was then engaged with the enemy, and needed
support. General McCook, in person, ordered the 2d Ohio to its support,
and sent directions to me to order up the 24th Illinois also, Captain Mauf
commanding. I led the 24th Illinois, in line of battle, immediately forward,
and it was promptly deployed as skirmishers by its commander, and went
gallantly into action, on the left of the 33d Ohio. The 2d Ohio, moving up to
support the 33d Ohio, was engaged before it arrived on the ground where
the 33d was fighting. The 38th Indiana, Colonel B. F. Scribner
commanding, then went gallantly into action, on the right of the 2d Ohio.
Then followed in support the 94th Ohio, Colonel Frizell. I wish here to say
that this regiment, although new, and but few weeks in the service, behaved
most gallantly, under the steady lead of its brave Colonel Frizell. Colonel
Harris's whole brigade—Simonson's battery on its right—was repeatedly

assailed by overwhelming numbers, but gallantly held its position. The 38th
Indiana and 2d Ohio, after exhausting their ammunition and that taken from
the boxes of the dead and wounded on the field, still held their position, as
did also, I believe, the 10th Wisconsin and 33d Ohio. For this gallant
conduct these brave men are entitled to the gratitude of the country, and I
thank them here, as I did on the field of battle....

"I had an opportunity of seeing and knowing the conduct of Colonel
Starkweather, of the Twenty-eighth Brigade, Colonel Harris, of the Ninth
Brigade, and of the officers and men under their command, and I can not
speak too highly of their bravery and gallantry on that occasion. They did,
cheerfully and with alacrity, all that brave men could do...."

"I herewith transmit the reports of Colonels Starkweather, Harris, and
Pope, and also a list of casualties in my division, amounting, in all, to 1,950
killed and wounded. My division was about 7,000 strong when it went into
the action. We fought the divisions of Anderson, Cheatham, and Buckner.

"I am, very respectfully, your obedient servant,

"Lovell H. Rousseau."

It will not be amiss here to give a brief outline of the early history,
coming down to a recent date, of the renowned hero, Major-General A. McD.
McCook, United States Volunteers.

He was born in Columbiana County, Ohio, April 22, 1831. At the age of
sixteen he entered the Military Academy at West Point, as a cadet. He
graduated in July, 1852, and was commissioned Brevet Second Lieutenant,
in the 3d Regiment United States Infantry. After being assigned to duty for
a few months, at Newport Barracks, Ky., he was ordered, in April, 1853, to
join his regiment, then serving in the Territory of New Mexico. Here he
remained nearly five years, constantly on active duty in the field, and
participating in all the Indian campaigns on that wild and remote frontier.
His long services and good conduct were mentioned in General Orders by
Lieutenant-General Winfield Scott. In January, 1858, he was ordered from
New Mexico to West Point, and assigned to duty in the Military Academy,

as instructor in Tactics and the Art of War. On the breaking out of the
rebellion he was relieved from duty there, and ordered, in April, 1861, to
Columbus, Ohio, to muster in volunteers. Before his arrival there he was
elected Colonel of the 1st Ohio Volunteers, a three-months regiment,
already on its way to the seat of war in Virginia; and hastening to join the
command, to which he was elected without his knowledge or solicitation,
soon had an opportunity of exhibiting those admirable qualities as a field-
officer for which he has since become so justly distinguished. His coolness
in the unfortunate affair at Vienna, and his consummate military skill in the
management of his command at Bull Run, were universally commended. At
the close of that eventful conflict he marched his regiment back to
Centerville in the same good order in which it had left there, an honorable
exception to the wide-spread confusion and disorder that prevailed
elsewhere among the National forces.

When the three-months troops were mustered out of the service he
received permission to raise the 1st Regiment Ohio Volunteers, a three-
years regiment; but on the 3d of September, 1861, and before his command
was ready to take the field, he was appointed Brigadier-General of
Volunteers, and assigned to command the advance of the Federal forces
then in Kentucky, at Camp Nevin. Here, and at Green River, he organized
his splendid Second Division, with which he afterward marched to
Nashville, and thence toward the Tennessee River.

On the 6th of April, 1862, alarmed by the sullen sound of distant artillery,
and learning the precarious situation of Grant's army, he moved his division,
over desperate roads, twenty-two miles, to Savannah, and there embarked
on steamboats for Pittsburg Landing. After clearing a way with the bayonet
through the army of stragglers that swarmed upon the bank of the river,
soon after daylight on the morning of the 7th of April, the Second Division
of the Army of the Ohio advanced through the sad scenes of our defeat the
day before, and deployed, with stout hearts and cheers, upon the field of
Shiloh. General McCook fought his troops that day with admirable
judgment. He held them in hand; his line of battle was not once broken—it
was not once retired; but was steadily and determinedly advanced until the
enemy fled, and the reverse of the day before was more than redeemed by a
splendid victory.

In the movement on Corinth, a few weeks after the battle of Shiloh,
General McCook had the honor of being in the advance of General Buell's
army corps, and his skirmishers were among the first to scale the enemy's
works.

The rank of major-general of volunteers was soon after conferred upon
him, in view of his distinguished services—a promotion not undeserved.

After the evacuation of Corinth, the command of General McCook was
moved through Northern Alabama to Huntsville, thence to Battle Creek,
where his forces remained for two months, in front of Bragg's army at
Chattanooga. Upon the withdrawal of Buell's army from Alabama and
Tennessee, General McCook moved his division, by a long march of four
hundred miles, back to Louisville.

Here he was assigned to command the First Corps in the Army of the
Ohio, and started on a new campaign, under Buell, in pursuit of Bragg. The
enemy were met and engaged near Perryville, and two divisions of
McCook's corps (one of them composed of raw recruits) bore the assault of
almost the entire army of General Bragg. The unexpected and unannounced
withdrawal of General Gilbert's forces on his right; the sad and early loss of
those two noble soldiers, Terrell and Jackson, and the tardiness of
reinforcements, made the engagement a desperate one, and resulted in a
victory, incomplete but honorable, to the Union forces. After the battle of
Chaplin Hills, Bragg's army, worn and broken, fled in dismay from
Kentucky. The army corps of Major-General McCook was afterward moved
to Nashville, and he assumed command of the Federal forces in that
vicinity.

On the 6th of November, 1862, on the arrival of Major-General
Rosecrans, who succeeded Major-General Buell in command, General
McCook was assigned to command the right wing in the Department of the
Cumberland. On the 26th of December, 1862, the Army of the Cumberland
moved from Nashville to attack the enemy in position in front of
Murfreesboro. General McCook commanded the right. On the evening of
December 30 the two armies were in line of battle, confronting each other.
Rosecrans had massed his reserves on the left, to crush the rebel right with
heavy columns, and turn their position. Bragg, unfortunately, learning of his

dispositions during the night, massed almost his entire army in front of
McCook, and in the gray of the following morning, and before we had
attacked on the left, advanced with desperate fury upon the right wing.
Outnumbered, outflanked, and overpowered, the right was forced to retire,
not, however, until its line of battle was marked with the evidences of its
struggle and the fearful decimation of the enemy. To check the advancing
rebel masses, already flushed with anticipated victory, the Federal reserves
moved rapidly to the rescue. The furious onslaught of the enemy was
resisted, and the right and the fortunes of the day were saved.

The rebels, whipped on the left and center, checked on the right, foiled in
every attack, having lost nearly one-third of their numbers, fled from the
field on the night of the 3d of January, and the victorious Union army
advanced through their intrenchments into Murfreesboro. The great battle of
Stone River, dearly won, and incomplete in its results, was yet a victory.

The right was turned and forced to retire in the first day's fight. Whether
this was attributable to accidental causes, that decide so many important
engagements, or to the superior generalship of the rebel commander, it is at
least certain that generalship was not wanting in the disposition of the
forces under General McCook; nor was courage wanting in his troops.

Major-General McCook now commands the Twentieth Army Corps.[Back
to Contents]

CHAPTER IV.
Looking for the Body of a Dead Nephew on the
Field of Murfreesboro — The 6th Ohio at
Murfreesboro — The Dead of the 6th — The 35th
Indiana — Putting Contrabands to Some Service
— Anxiety of Owners to Retain their Slaves —
Conduct of a Mistress — "Don't Shoot, Massa,
here I Is!" — Kidd's Safeguard — "Always Been a
Union Man" — Negroes Exhibiting their
Preference for their Friends.

On the gory field of Murfreesboro, upon the ushering in of the new year,
many a noble life was ebbing away. It was a rainy, dismal night; and, on
traversing that field, I saw many a spot sacred to the memory of my loved
companions of the glorious 6th Ohio. I incidentally heard of the death of a
nephew in that fight. I thought of his poor mother. How could I break the
news to her! Yes, there was I, surrounded by hundreds of dead and
wounded, pitying the living. O, how true it is that—

Death's swift, unerring dart brings to its victim calm and peaceful rest,
While those who live mourn and live on—the arrow in their breast!

With anxious haste I sought his body during that night. Many an
upturned face, some with pleasing smile, and others with vengeance
depicted, seemed to meet my gaze.

Stragglers told me to go further to the left. "There's where Crittenden's
boys gave 'em h—l!" Just to the right of the railroad I found young

Stephens, of the 24th Ohio. His leg was shattered. He called me by name,
and begged me to get him some water, as he was perishing. I went back to
the river, stripped three or four dead of their canteens, and filled them, and
returned. He told me that young Tommy Burnett was only wounded. He
saw him carried back. This relieved my anxiety. The next day the dead were
buried. There, amid the shot and shell and other debris of the battle-field,
the dead heroes of the 6th lie, until the last trump shall call.

A few days afterward I met one of the officers of that regiment. Of him I
eagerly inquired as to its fate. A tear fell from his manly eye as he
exclaimed, "O, sad enough, Alf! Our boys were terribly cut up; but they
fought like tigers—no flinching there; no falling out of line; shoulder to
shoulder they stood amid the sheeted flame; and, though pressed by almost
overwhelming numbers, no blanched cheek, no craven look, not the
slightest token of fear was visible. The boys were there to do or die. They
were Ohio boys, and felt a pride in battling for their country and her honor."
And when I asked of names familiar, the loss, indeed, seemed fearful.
"What became," said I, "of Olly Rockenfield?" "Dead!" was the reply. "And
George Ridenour?" "Wounded—can not live!"

Dave Medary, a perfect pet of the regiment, a boy so childlike, so quiet in
his deportment, yet with as brave a heart as Julius Cæsar—Little Dave was
killed! I saw his grave a few days after. It was half a mile to the left of the
railroad; and, although it was January, the leaves of the prairie-rose were
full and green, bending over him as if in mourning for the early dead.

Jack Colwell—few of the typos of Cincinnati but knew Jack, or Add, as
he was frequently called—poor Jack died from want of attention! His
wound was in the leg, below the knee. I saw him a week after the battle, and
the ball was not yet extracted.

Adjutant Williams, Lieutenant Foster, Captain McAlpin, Captain Tinker,
Lieutenant Schaeffer, young Montaldo, Harry Simmonds, A. S. Shaw, John
Crotty, and many others, were wounded or killed in the terrific storm of
shot and shell sent by the rebel horde under Breckinridge. At one time every
standard-bearer was wounded, and for a moment the flag of the 6th lay in
the dust; but Colonel Anderson seized it and waved it in proud defiance,

wounded though he was. The Colonel soon found claimants for the flag,
and had to give it up to those to whose proud lot it fell to defend it.

O! the wild excitement of a fight! How completely carried away men
become by enthusiasm! They know no danger; they see none—are
oblivious to every thing but hope of victory! Men behold their boon
companions fall, yet onward they dash with closed ranks, themselves the
next victims.

There are few in the Army of the Cumberland who have not heard of the
35th Indiana, commanded by Colonel Mullen, of Madison, and as fine an
Irish regiment as ever trod the poetic sod of the Emerald Isle. On their
march up from Huntsville, Alabama, toward Louisville, Kentucky, on the
renowned parallel run between Buell and Bragg, the command were short
of provisions. Half-rations were considered a rarity. Father Cony, who is at
all times assiduous in his duties to his flock, had called his regiment
together, and was instilling into their minds the necessity of their trusting in
Providence. He spoke of Jesus feeding the multitude upon three barley
loaves and five small fishes. Just at this juncture an excitable, stalwart son
of Erin arose and shouted: "Bully for him! He's the man we want for the
quarter-master of this regiment!"

Early in January General Rosecrans issued his orders that all the men that
could possibly be spared from detail duty should be immediately placed
into the ranks, and that negroes should be "conscripted" or captured to take
their places as teamsters, blacksmiths, cooks, etc. By this means the Third
Division of the Army of the Cumberland, then under General James B.
Steadman, was increased eight hundred men—men acclimated—men who
could shoulder a musket. This was all done in less than three weeks. The
negroes were all taken from rebel plantations.

One morning Colonel Vandeveer, of the 35th Ohio, commanding the
Third Brigade, sent an orderly to my tent to inquire if I would not like to
accompany an excursion into the enemy's country. As items were scarce, I
at once assented; and, although scarce daybreak, off we went. The Colonel
informed me that, as I was a good judge of darkeys, General Steadman had
advised my going with the party.

We called first at Mrs. Carmichael's, and got two boys, aged,
respectively, fifteen and seventeen. Mrs. Carmichael begged, and, finally,
wept quite bitterly at the prospect of losing her boys—said those were all
she had left—(she had sent the others South). She plead with us not to take
"them boys"—said "they wern't no account—couldn't do nothing nohow."
But the mother of these boys told our men a different story, and begged us
to take the boys, "For," said she, "dey does all de plantin' corn and tendin' in
de feel. Dey's my chill'n, and if I never sees 'em agin, I want de satisfaction
of knowin' dey is free!"

Mrs. Carmichael's supplications for the negroes not to be taken from her
were quite pitiful. She said they had been allers raised jest like as they were
her own flesh and blood, and she just keered for 'em the same. But, as Mrs.
Carmichael had two sons in the rebel army, the boys were taken. Upon the
first order to come with us they seemed delighted, which caused the
mistress to become very wrathy. I told the boys to go to their cabin and get
their blankets, as they would need them. Judge my surprise when this kind-
hearted woman, who had just informed me that she had "allers treated them
boys as if they were her own flesh and blood"—this woman seized the
blankets from the half-naked boys, and fairly shrieked at them: "You nasty,
dirty little nigger thieves! if them Yankees want to steal you, let 'em find
you in blankets; I'm not a-going to do it!" I merely inquired if that was the
way in which she treated her other children—those in the rebel army?

From thence we went to Mrs. Kidd's, who had a husband and two sons in
the rebel service. On our approach she endeavored to secrete some of the
blacks, but they wouldn't "stay hid." The cause of the visit was explained.
The rebels had been driving most of the likely negroes South. They were
using them against the Government; and it was thought, by some, that they
might as well work for as against the Union. They were raising their crops,
running their mills, manufacturing their army-wagons, etc., besides
supporting the families of the rebels, thus placing every able-bodied white
man of the South in the hands of the government. The Federal service
needed teamsters and hospital nurses and cooks.

Mrs. Kidd seemed quite a reasonable woman—said she thought she
understood the policy of the North, and that the South knew that slavery

was their strength. I made the remark, that, probably, if her husband knew
she would be left without help, perhaps he would be induced to return and
respect the old flag that had at all times, while he was loyal to it, defended
him.

This little speech on my part elicited a rejoinder from a young miss, a
daughter of Mrs. Kidd, sixteen or seventeen years of age, who flirted
around, and with a nose that reached the altitude of at least "eighty-seven"
degrees, exclaimed—

"I don't want my par nor my brothers to come home not till every one of
you Yankees is driven from our sile!"

Some of the boys were busy hunting for a secreted negro, one whom this
young lady had stored away for safety. A soldier opened a smoke-house
door, at which the young Secesh fairly yelled—

"There aint no nigger there! You Yankees haint a bit o' sense! You don't
know a smoke-house from a hut, nohow!"

Supposing the negro, who we felt almost sure was there, might possibly
have escaped, we were about retiring with those already collected, when I
suggested, loud enough for any one to hear about the building, that the
whole squad should pour a volley through that rickety old dormer-window
that projected from the room, when, much to our astonishment, and amid
roars of laughter, appeared a woolly head, white eye-balls distended, the
darkey yelling loud and fast—

"Don't shoot, massa! don't shoot! here I is! I's a comin'! De missus made me
clime on dis roof. I wants to go wid you folks anyhow!"

Mr. Crossman's plantation was then visited; but, as the rebels had driven
him away because of his Unionism, and taken his horses, his property was
undisturbed by us.

From thence we visited Nolinsville—met a gang of twenty "likely-
looking boys," stout, healthy fellows, who had clubbed together to come to
the Union camp. They told us the rebs were only four miles off, "scriptin'

all the niggers dar was in de fields, and a-runnin' 'em South." These were
added to our stock in trade.

On our way back, a couple of old, sour-looking WOMEN were standing on
the steps that were built for them to climb a fence, who, seeing so many
blacks, inquired what we were taking them for. "To work," was the reply.
"The rebels were about to run them South, and we wanted them to work for
us."

"Now who told you that?" they inquired.

"The negroes themselves, madam. Many of them came voluntarily, to
escape being sent South."

"O, yes! you Federals git your information from the niggers altogether."

"Yes, madam!" facetiously replied Captain Dickerson, of the 2d
Minnesota Regiment, "that's a fact. All the reliable information does come
from them."

On our homeward trip we called at what is known as "Kidd's Mills,"
between Concord Church and Nolinsville. There were there quite a number
employed upon the lumber and grist. A selection was made from the lot.
They all wanted to come, but some were too young, and others too old.

Old man Kidd said he had a "safeguard from the Gineral. The Gineral
had been up to see his darters, Delilah and Susan, and give him a
safeguard." Upon examination it was found to be a mere request. Requests
don't stand in military (not arbitrary enough). Then the old man declared he
had always been a Union man—"allers said this war wern't no good—that
the South had better stand by the old flag."

I at once told him if such was the case he was all right—to just get his
horse and come with me, and if he had "allers" been a "Union man" or a
non-combatant, why, they would all be returned to him.

The negroes were grouped around with anxious faces, and with rather
astonished looks; and, as Mr. Kidd went to the stable, a venerable, white-

haired old darkey, who had been told to stand back—he was too old to join
the Union teamsters—came forward, and begged to be taken. "Why, I does
heap o' work. I tends dis mill; I drives a team fustrate. Please take de ole
man, and let him die free!"

Another negro, too old to take, spoke up and said: "What was dat de old
man Kidd told you?"

"Why," I replied, "he said he had always been a Union man."

"De Lor' bress my soul! Did he say dat he was a Union man?"

"Yes!"

"Well! well! well! Dat he was a Union man! Well! well! well! And he's
gwine to de Gineral for to tell him dat; and dat ole man is a member ob de
Church! Well! well! well! Why, look heah, my Men', when de rebs was here
only a few weeks ago—when dey was here, dat ole man got on his white
hoss, and took de seceshum flag, and rode, and rode, and waved dat rebel
flag and shouted, and more dan hollered for Jeff Davis, and now he Union
man! He wants de Gineral to gib up dese here colored people—dat's what's
de matter wid him!"

In an hour after we arrived in camp, sure enough, the old Kidd and other
parties were there, expecting or hoping to get their darkeys back; but
General Steadman told them if the negroes wished to return, they could do
so, but, if they chose rather to work for "Uncle Sam," why, his orders were to
use them.

"Well, Gineral, you just tell my niggers that they can go home with me,"
said Kidd.

"O! they can if they want to." So, out goes Kidd, smiling as a "basket of
chips."

"Boys, the Gineral says you can all go home with me."

"If you want to," was my addition to his sentence.

Not a negro stirred from the line. After a brief consultation, in an under
tone, at which Kidd, I noticed, was becoming very impatient, Kidd broke
the quietude by saying:

"Come on, boys—come, Jim."

Jim looked over to Bob and said: "Bob, what are you going to do?"

"Me! Ise gwine to stay for de Union!"

Old man Kidd looked beaten. "Well, Jim, what will you do?"

"O! I does what Bob does!"

This same old Kidd had been in the habit of going over the country
enlisting recruits for the rebel service—telling them that he was an old man,
or he would go himself; that the old folks expected to be taxed to take care
of the soldiers' families; that if they wanted corn or any thing from his mill,
while they were in the army, to come and get it. By such language he
induced several men, who had only small families, to enlist. One of them
was indebted to Kidd about thirteen dollars, and after he had been in the
army a month or two, Kidd dunned him for the old bill, remarking:

"Well, John, you're in the army now, gittin' your regular pay now—guess
you can pay that little bill now, can't you?"[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER V.
Cutting Down a Rebel's Reserved Timber — Home
Again — Loomis and his Coldwater Battery —
Secession Poetry — Heavy Joke on an "Egyptian"
Regiment.

Just after General Schofield took command of the Third Division, Roddy
Patterson, aided by a division of infantry, made his appearance near our
camp, and, as we were weak in numbers, fortifications were erected in
every direction, trenches dug, and efforts made to place the troops in the
best trim to give the rebs a "fine reception."

There was one splendid piece of timber-land that might possibly come in
possession of the rebels and do us much mischief. General Schofield
ordered it cleared, and soon twelve hundred axes were resounding through
the vast forest, and Abe's rail-splitters were at work forming "abatis" from
the fallen trees, while earthworks commanding the position were soon
erected.

Captain Stinchcomb was the provost-marshal of the division, and old
man Jordan was in the habit of going to him with all his grievances. The
soldiers had made an awful gap in his reserved timber before he found it
out; but, as soon as he did so, he made for head-quarters, and found the
Captain at dinner.

Scene I—Act 1—Enter Old Man.

"Look a-heah, Gineral Stinchcomb, them boys of yourn is cuttin' all my
timber down!"

Captain Stinchcomb, affecting great surprise, exclaimed, "Is it possible!
is it possible!"

"Y-a-a-a-s; all my resarve, too! There! there! do you hear that? Them's
trees a-fallin', and them's the boys yellin' as they fall."

"What are they cutting them for, Mr. Jordan?"

"God only knows! I don't. I think just for to be doin' mischief. Nauen else
in this world."

"Why didn't you stop them?" inquired Stinchcomb.

"O! kase I was afeared. There! there! do you hear that agin? Them's my
trees!"

"Well, you'd better go right down and order them to stop."

"O, no, Gineral. It wouldn't do a bit of good. Them there boys would just
cuss the life out of me. They only laugh at me. Won't you please go and
have it stopped? Won't you?"

Suffice it to say, when Captain S. got there it was too late.

There are many little incidents connected with the army, which, being
jotted down in my "day-book," during service, belong to the public.

"Home Again" is a song ever joyous to the soldier, and I remember a
little incident in relation to that song and a serenading party of "young and
festive cusses" belonging to Uncle Sam's service.

There is residing near Murfreesboro a Secession family consisting of a
rebel widow and four sprightly daughters.

Now, our "blue-coats" are proverbial for their gallantry in presence of the
ladies, and the Secesh girls smile as benignly upon a Federal soldier, if he

be good-looking, as they would upon the most ultra fire-eater of the South.
The mothers don't like this—but mothers can't help themselves in many
instances. Our boys will visit and enjoy a lively chat with the girls
whenever occasion offers. A quartette, of fine vocal abilities, belonging to
the gallant Rousseau's division, had practiced several beautiful ballads,
preparatory to a grand serenade to the daughters of the buxom widow.

Night threw her mantle o'er the earth just as the serenaders started upon
their expedition. Arriving in dew course of time, they commenced their
melodies. The moon was peeping out from behind the far-distant hill as
they commenced,

"Roll on, silver moon,"

at which I suggested to the party there should be a big premium, just now,
on "silver moons." The serenaders smiled grimly, in token of admiration of
the "goak," and commenced—

"Thine eyes, like the stars that are gleaming,
Have entered the depths of my soul."

Now, the repetition of "my soul" sounded to me exactly like mice-hole,
and I suggested the propriety of substituting a rat-hole, at which several
became wrathy, and proposed a mustard-plaster for my head.

The young ladies, aroused from their nocturnal slumbers, glided like
sylphs to the windows, and threw several bouquets to the "gallant
choristers," after the reception of which, and sundry pressures to fond hearts
of the "beautiful flowers," the quartette commenced the song of "Home
Again," etc., and

"O, it fills my soul with joy, to meet my friends once more."

This brought the widow to the window, who, hastily flinging back the
shutter, screamed out, at the top of her voice: "If it will give you Yankees
any greater joy to get home than it will me, I hope to gracious you'll stop
your confounded noise and go home and meet your friends, for you've got
none here."

This was a bomb-shell thrown right at the party, and such a crouching
down and gradual sliding off you can scarcely imagine. To be led, as 't
were, to the seventh heaven of bliss by the fair daughters' presentation of
beautiful bouquets, and then to have all their hopes blasted by the termagant
voice of the mamma! If any of my readers ever visit Rousseau's division
and inquire for the serenaders, my word for it, the gentlemen concerned will
have no recollection of the serenade.

Colonel Loomis, whose name is now engraven in history, and whose
battery is mentioned with pride everywhere in the Army of the Cumberland,
was, during the Virginia campaign, Captain Loomis. He was late Chief of
Artillery upon Rousseau's staff. Captain Loomis, with his train, arrived in
Cincinnati one Sunday morning, on his way to the Army of Virginia. Upon
each caisson and every piece of artillery was plainly painted "Coldwater
Battery."

Services in a church on Sixth Street were just concluded, and the warlike
array attracted the congregation's attention, and the rather splendid figure of
the young though "venerable-looking" Captain Loomis demanded a large
share of attention. The pastor of the church introduced himself, spoke with
admiration of the fine appearance of the Captain's men, etc., and, with a
hearty pressure of the hand, remarked:

"Captain Loomis, yours is a noble motto; stick to that, stick to that, my
young soldier. You have many hardships to undergo, but your glorious
motto of Cold Water will carry you safely through."

Loomis, for the first time, caught the idea of the parson, but was too
courteous to undeceive the preacher by informing him that his battery was
raised in the town of Coldwater, Michigan. I have spent many a pleasant
hour with the Captain, but never could "see" the "cold water" part of his
battery.

A very pretty and pathetic little poem was handed me by one of
Secessia's daughters, upon a prolific theme, entitled

The Dying Soldier.

My noble commander! thank God, you have come;
You know the dear ones who are waiting at home,
And O! it were dreadful to die here alone,
No hand on my brow, and my comrades all gone.

I thought I would die many hours ago,
And those who are waiting me never could know
That here, in the faith of its happier years,
My soul has not wandered one moment from theirs.

The dead were around; but my soul was away
With the roses that bloom round my cottage to-day.
I thought that I sat where the jessamine twines,
And gathered the delicate buds from the vines.

And there—like a bird that had folded its wings,
At home, 'mid the smile of all beautiful things,
With sweet words of welcome, and kisses of love—
Was one I will miss in yon heaven above.

By the light that I saw on her radiant brow,
She watches and waits there and prays for me now.
My captain, bend low; for this poor, wounded side
Is draining my heart of its last crimson tide.

Some day, when you leave this dark place, and go free,
You will meet a fair girl—she will question of me!
She has kissed this bright curl, as it lay on my head;
When it goes back alone, she will know I am dead.
And tell her the soul, which on earth was her own,
Is waiting and weeping in heaven alone.

My Mother! God help her! Her grief will be wild
When she hears the mad Hessians have murdered her child;
But tell her 'twill be one sweet chime in my knell,
That the flag of the South now waves where I fell!

It is well, it is well, thus to die in my youth,
A martyr to Freedom and Justice and Truth!
Farewell to earth's hopes—precious dreams of my heart—
My life's going out; but my love shall depart,
On the wings that my soul has unfurled,
Going up, soft and sweet, to that beautiful world.

A Joke on an "Egyptian" Regiment.

A well-known commander was drilling a brigade at "Kripple Kreek," a
short time since, and in it was a slim portion of the "1159th" Illinois. Quite
a large number of this regiment have deserted upon every occasion offered,
the men generally being very inattentive. The commanding officer of "all
that is left of them" was severely censured, the other day, for dereliction of
duty. The General swore by the Eternal he wished the Colonel of the
"1159th" would "go home and join his regiment."[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER VI.
General Turchin — Mrs. General Turchin in
Command of the Vanguard of the 19th Illinois —
The 18th Ohio at Athens — Children and Fools
Always Tell the Truth — Picket Talk — About
Soldiers Voting — Captain Kirk's Line of Battle.

It is well known by all that General Turchin has been fully vindicated.
Captain Heaton, of Columbiana County, who was an eye-witness of his
trial, and who knew the noble Russian, said to me, in speaking of this
gallant soldier, "He looked like a lion among a set of jackals!" General
Turchin was basely persecuted. He came out of the ordeal unscathed. The
correspondent of the Gazette, who was in Huntsville, gave an account of
affairs under Rousseau, who was as rigid in the punishment of rebels as
Mitchel was before him. The court-martial convened to try Turchin for
punishing traitors bid fair to last for months, under Buell's management.

Mrs. Turchin, before the arrest of her husband, had been making the
campaign of Northern Alabama in his company, enduring, with the utmost
fortitude, and for weeks together, all the hardships incident to a soldier's
life. To ride on horseback, forty or fifty miles per day, was to her a mere
matter of amusement, and in the recent march of the 19th Illinois, from
Winchester to Bellefonte, she is said to have taken command of the
vanguard, and to have given most vigorous and valuable directions for
driving off and punishing the infamous bushwhackers who infested the
road. These and similar things had so much excited the admiration of
Colonel Turchin's men, that they would have followed his gallant lady into
the field of battle with all the enthusiasm that fired the hearts of the French

chivalry when gathered around the standard of the Maid of Orleans. As
soon as Colonel Turchin was arrested, Mrs. Turchin suddenly disappeared.
The next that was heard from her she was in Washington City; and now the
story goes, that when she left the South she hastened to Chicago, enlisted
the sympathies of noble-hearted men in the cause of her husband, prevailing
upon a delegation of noble Illinoisans to accompany her to Washington,
and, with their assistance, secured the confirmation of the Colonel as a
brigadier-general of volunteers. Truly, in the lottery matrimonial, Colonel
Turchin had the fortune to draw an invaluable prize.

All that has been alleged against Generals Turchin and Mitchel
authorizing the sacking of Athens, Alabama, appears to have reacted; and,
except General Rousseau, they were the most popular officers in that
region.

The 18th Ohio was stationed at Athens, and encamped upon the fair-
grounds. Here they were assailed by Scott's rebel cavalry. They resisted for
some hours, when, learning through their scouts that an overwhelming force
of the enemy were advancing against them, they thought best to retire,
which they did in good order. As they passed through the town, on their
way to Huntsville, some rash, inconsiderate rebel sympathizers jeered at
and insulted them, cheering lustily for Jeff Davis and the Southern
Confederacy. One or two of them, also, seized their guns, and when the
rebel forces made their appearance, joined them in pursuit of our soldiers. A
feeling of vindictive wrath sprang up in the minds of the boys of the 18th,
and when they met the 19th Illinois and other troops, who, under command
of Colonel Turchin, were coming to the rescue, they naturally magnified
their own loss, and told the rescuers exaggerated stories of the manner in
which they had been treated by the citizens of Athens.

Under those circumstances the whole force re-entered the town, driving
the rebels before them, and, in the midst of great excitement, vowing
vengeance. Then came the inevitable result: some good soldiers were
carried away into acts of unwarrantable violence, and a few unprincipled
scoundrels seized upon the opportunity to plunder, pilfer, and steal. But the
mass of the forces entered the place under the impression (as appears from
the testimony before the court-martial) that it was to be sacked and burned,

as a just and proper military punishment. This impression was,
unfortunately, not corrected by Colonel Turchin, because it was, in all
probability, unknown to him. It arose, no doubt, from the fact that a general
order had been issued, or, as reported, was about to be issued, denouncing,
in severe terms, all citizens who should fire upon, or in any way molest our
troops, and threatening both them and their property with destruction. Such
a proclamation or order was, in fact, issued about this time.

Notwithstanding it was generally understood that the plundering of
Athens was permitted, at least three-fourths of the soldiers voluntarily
abstained from laying their hands upon a single dollar's worth of private
property.

Now, as to the outrages themselves, I unhesitatingly pronounce that they
have been greatly exaggerated. To say that the town was in any way
"ruined" is simply an exhibition of ignorance on the part of those who are
not acquainted with the facts, and a falsehood on the part of those who are.

Some three or four stores were broken into, and the most valuable part of
the merchandise abstracted; the contents of the apothecary's shop were
badly injured, and articles of value were taken from at least a dozen houses;
some thousands of dollars' worth of horses, mules, and "niggers" were taken
out of the town and suburbs; two or three scoundrels abused the persons of
as many colored women; and this was the extent of the "ruin" inflicted upon
Athens. I visited it more than a month ago. I saw no sign of "ruin,"
dissolution, or decay, and I am too good a friend of the Athenians not to say
that I consider their beautiful town as being to-day the most flourishing in
all North Alabama; and if a citizen from any other place, especially from
Huntsville, should go to Athens and say otherwise, nothing but the presence
of the military would prevent him from getting a thrashing upon the spot.

It is an old and trite saying, that "children and fools always tell the truth."
Captain Moar and Lieutenant Wood, of General Steadman's staff, went out
with a full expedition. It was under Colonel Bishop, of the 2d Minnesota;
but these staff officers preceded the party. We arrived at the proposed field,
where we were to bivouac for the night. A house was near, and Colonel
Moar proposed to go there and order supper. There were four females in the
house. All pretended to be glad to receive us. We brought them sugar and

coffee, articles they had not enjoyed for over a year. While supper was
preparing, Lieutenant Wood, seeing a very pretty little girl, said to her,
"Come here, sissy."

The child reluctantly advanced, and as the Lieutenant placed her upon his
knee, the little innocent looked up and said, "I Hate Yankees!"

The mother tried to catch the eye of the child.

Lieutenant Wood said, "O, no, you don't!"

"Yes, I do," reiterated the child.

"Why, sissy, what makes you hate Yankees?"

"'Cause mother told me I must," was the child's reply.

The mother blushed crimson, and said, very confusedly, "Why, Hattie! I
Never!"

Picket Talk.

I have often heard pickets chaff one another. Just after the capture of New
Orleans, one of our boys, on picket duty, as light dawned, discovered a
rebel just lighting his breakfast-fire up a ravine. Our picket called out to the
rebel to stop building fires and come over and take breakfast with him. The
rebel replied:

"No, I shan't, You haven't got any coffee."

"Yes, I have," says the Union soldier.

"Well, you haven't any sugar?"

"Yes, we have. We've got Orleans."

The man who makes the assertion that our boys in the field, when called
upon to vote on resolutions, are influenced by fear of officers, is most
grossly mistaken. Why, your American soldier is the most independent
"cuss" in the world; and if a regiment is in line, and asked to vote, you may
rest assured they vote as they please, and are governed by the dictates of
their own consciences. The great address that was sent from the army was
voted upon in this way: The regiments were drawn up in line, the address
read, and the color-bearers were asked, "Do you indorse the address to
which you have listened?" From every one came the hearty "I do!" when
the colors were ordered two paces front. The regiments then voted on the
address, the "ayes" stepping out in line with the colors, and, if there had
been any "noes," they were to stand fast; but I have yet to hear of the man
who did so. They rallied on their colors to a man, and stood with an
unbroken front.

During the fight this side of Chapel Hill, Captain Kirk, one of the
General's aids, seeing two rebels a little way off, on a by-road, put spurs to
horse and gave chase. We all watched him very eagerly until he ascended
the hill, when three more rebs joined the two, and made a stand. Kirk,
thinking discretion the better part of valor, reined in his horse, when, to the
infinite amusement of the staff, young Lu. Steadman (a son of the General,
and, though but sixteen years of age, a gallant boy) exclaimed: "Father,
father, look yonder; Kirk has formed a line of battle!" It is scarcely
necessary to say that Kirk soon changed his base on a double-quick.[Back to
Contents]

CHAPTER VII.
Comic Scenes — Importation of Yankees —
Wouldn't Go Round — Major Boynton and the
Chicken — Monotony of Camp Life — Experience
on a Scouting Expedition — Larz Anderson, Esq.,
in Camp — A Would-be Secessionist Caught in his
Own Trap — Guthrie Gray Bill of Fare for a
Rebel "Reception" — Pic Russell among the
Snakes.

Army of the Cumberland, Third Division,
Camp near Triune, Tenn., May 2, 1863.

"What will become of all of us women?" said an excited female to
Colonel Vandeveer, one morning. "The States-rights men 'scripted all the
young men, and you are drivin' all the old away. What will we ladies do?"

"Import Yankees," was the gallant Colonel's reply.

"We are raising a big stock especially for this market, and can spare any
quantity."

"O! but Yankees don't suit us; we'd rather have our own people," was
Secesh's reply.

"O! if that's the case, you women had better use your influence to get the
traitors to lay down their arms and return to their homes, and behave
themselves as honest men should, and that will end this little dispute, and
you can have all the men you want."

"Well, Colonel, we are all tired of this war, and would be mighty glad to
know our kinfolks were on their way home; but it will be mighty grindin' to
'em to have to come back and acknowledge that they couldn't lick you
Yankees."

Deserters from the rebel army, I am told by citizens, are fast making their
appearance wherever they can get the protection of our forces, and as we
advance they will no doubt increase.

The provost-marshal of the division was kept busy administering the oath
to those who came in from the surrounding country to Triune. Many very
laughable incidents occurred at the swearing-in.

One long, lean, lank specimen of the rebel order came up to Captain
Stinchcomb, who was proposing the oath.

"Hallo, mister, are you the captain of these ridgements around here? Dr.
Wilson, my neighbor over across Spring Bottom, said I must come over to
the feller what swored in folks, and get the Constitution, and keep it as long
as you folks staid around here."

Wouldn't Go Round.

Captain Airhardt, who was well known as the Topographical Engineer of
this division, and one of the best-natured men in the world, was engaged in
strengthening the fortifications around the camp near Triune, and in doing
so had occasion to use some fifty men from the 2d Minnesota. As the boys
had worked faithfully for four hours, the Captain thought he would issue a
ration of whisky to each, and, not having any himself, he borrowed some
from General Steadman's tent, without leave, from a keg the General had
been keeping for his own medical purposes. He drew off about a gallon.
The boys were drawn up in line, and the Captain commenced the issue, and
as each man received his portion he was ordered to fall out. They did so,
however, seeking the first opportunity to retire to the other end of the line,
and again resume a position in the ranks. The Captain went after
reinforcements of the creature comfort from the before-mentioned keg, and

the reinstated members of the ditch-diggers were again ready for active
service.

This state of things continued as long as the whisky lasted, and as the
Captain handed the last ration, he looked at the few remaining boys, whom
he supposed would have to go without any, and expressed his sorrow that
he hadn't enough to go round. The fact was, every body had had at least
three drinks.

I spent a very pleasant evening among a party of ladies who reside near
our camp. Our officers are very attentive to them, and the ladies seem
thankful for the protection. The house was furnished in elegant style. We
had music, songs, and an elocutionary entertainment; every thing passing
off pleasantly. As I am above suspicion myself, I may remark that I fear for
the hearts of several of this brigade. Mine is already engaged; had it not
been, I could not swear to the consequences of that visit. One really pretty
specimen of Secesh sang "The Bonnie Blue Flag," by particular desire. She
acknowledged she used to go it strong for dissolution, but let us hope she is
becoming enlightened.

Major Boynton and the Chicken.

Miss Mollie Jordan is a peculiar specimen of ye Southern maiden. I heard
a good story illustrative of her rebellious nature some time ago:

Our troops were then stationed at Concord Church, and, in their
peregrinations for fodder, came out this way, and, among other things, took
off several contrabands belonging to Miss Mollie. Some time afterward she
rode into camp and inquired for Colonel Vandeveer, and riding right up to
him, she said, "How do, Colonel?" The Colonel tipped his hat, a la
militaire, in token of recognition. "Colonel, you've been out our way and
stole all my niggers, and I've just ridden into camp to see if you would be
magnanimous enough to lend me my blacksmith to shoe this horse?"

The Colonel assisted her in alighting; had her boy hunted up, and the
horse shod.

Dinner being ready, the lady was invited to partake of the repast; and, as
she noticed a chicken upon the table almost as large as a turkey, she looked
across at the Colonel, and then at the good-looking Major Boynton, and
inquired whom she was dining with.

"O, with the Major, Miss. Why did you ask?" said the Colonel.

"I merely wished to know who stole my chickens; for those were
particular pets of mine, and the only ones of that breed in the country."

The reader can imagine the laugh that took place at the Major's expense.
As a matter of course, neither the Major nor the Colonel knew any thing as
to where the servant-man had bought the fowls.

The Tennessee cavalry were out again yesterday, with Colonel
Brownlow, and touched up the Alabamians. They brought in six prisoners.
The rebels massed their men and undertook to charge us, but our Tennessee
boys stood their ground, and the rebels backed out. They outnumbered us
three to one; but they were not aware of that, or perhaps they would have
given us fits. Now Brownlow is a daring, dashing fellow, and, in fact, all the
officers and men seem made of the same material.

I suppose you will begin to think I've got cavalry on the brain, I talk so
much of those boys; but they, at present, are the only ones out this way
doing the fighting. When this bully division of infantry does go in, you can
depend upon it somebody will get hurt.

All the regiments are quartered in elegant little pup-tents, as they call
them. These tents are handsomely sheltered with evergreens and various
bushes, presenting a picturesque appearance. The Lancaster, Chillicothe,
and Cincinnati boys are vieing with each other as to who shall have the
neatest camp.

A chicken-fight is to take place this evening between two game-cocks.
One is owned by the fat boy of the 35th, the other by the new grocery-
keeper of this brigade—he with the yellow vest and spectacles. Spectacles
can whip fat boy, sure, so I must hurry up to see it done. We are striving our

best to break up this love of cruel sports, but fear our efforts will be
fruitless.

The weather is delightful; garden truck is progressing finely; the wheat
and oat-fields are waving delightfully, while the corn is becoming like a
man drinking whisky—elevated. With the above horrid joke I close.

Yours, dismally, till I see my love,
Alf.

Reminiscence of Camp Life in Virginia, in 1861.

Camp Beverly, Va., July 31, 1861.

A soldier's life becomes irksome when he is encamped for any great
length of time at any one point. A change of scenery, or the busy bustle of a
march, wearisome though it be, makes the hours pass lightly. This is our
eighth day at this place, and beautiful though the surroundings are, yet they
begin to weary the eye. The boys want action, and if no prospect of a fight
is here, they wish for still further progress.

The chief product of this never-ending and infernal mountainous region
seems to be rain and ignorant people. It rains from Monday till Saturday,
and commences fresh on Sunday; and if you put a question of the most
commonplace order, the only answer you are likely to receive is the vacant
stare of those you speak to. The first relief to this monotony occurred a few
days since. Captain Bracken, editor of the Indianapolis Sentinel, who is in
command of a splendid cavalry company, sent me an invitation to
accompany him upon a scouting excursion, as a number of houses in the
vicinity needed a little examination; so, accompanied by his two lieutenants
and our gallant Major, Alex. Christopher, together with the ever-affable
Andy Hall, the scouts, mounted upon as fine horses as could be selected by
Captain Bracken, started jovially on duty. "Now up the mead, now down the
mead," and then over hill and dale they sped. Soon the outer pickets were
passed, and we were in the enemy's country, where, 'tis said, the faster your

horse travels the less likelihood there is of being shot by guerrillas. In the
course of the afternoon we visited several houses, at one of which quite a
quantity of contraband stuff was found, which was placed in our canteens.

Runaway scrape in Virginia.

At dusk we commenced a homeward tramp; and having to pass a house
in which I had previously enjoyed the hospitality of its inmates, I alighted
to refresh myself with a cool drink of water, the balance of the party going
on. I had but just mounted my horse, when he took fright, and in a moment
he was beyond control. Your humble servant clung with tenacity to the
brute, and although I told him to "whoa," he wouldn't do it. Now he takes a
by-road; away he flies with lightning speed; 'tis getting dark, and the fool
horse is running further and further from camp. I tried kicking the animal so
as to induce him to believe that it was me that was forcing him to his utmost
speed, but 't was no go. Then, as I came near falling, I "affectionately"
threw my arms around his neck, thinking, if life was spared, what a fine
item this runaway would make. In vain I tried kicks, seesawing, jerks,
coaxing, whoaing; in despair, I gave a loose hold of the reins to the
runaway, hoping he would get tired, endeavoring, however, to keep him in
the middle of the road. He jumped ditches, turned curves, until I began to
think I would make a good circus performer, and eventually hire out to John

Robinson, if safely delivered from this perilous expedition. At last he took
me off my guard: turning abruptly to the left on a by-road, your
correspondent went to the right, heels up in the air for a brief space—in
fact, a balloon ascension; the balloon's burst was the next vivid thing in my
mind, for I remembered scratching in the air, and then an almost
instantaneous collision with mother Earth, alighting upon the right side of
my head, from which the blood gushed in a slight attempt at a deluge. As
luck would have it, some friendly folks came to my rescue, and bathed my
head with camphor; I remounted, and, in a few minutes, met my
companions, who were in search for me. They wet my lips with some of
that stuff in the canteens. On arriving at camp, and sending for a surgeon,
my wounds were dressed. A broken bone in my right hand, a terrific black
eye and disfigured forehead, a sprained leg and battered side were the result
of my excursion. This is the first letter I have been able to write since.

Last Saturday the whole regiment was in the finest spirits at seeing
among us the kindly face of Cincinnati's universally-beloved citizen, Larz
Anderson, and it did one good to see the hearty shake of hands our gallant
officers and men gave him. He leaves for home to-day, laden with, no
doubt, messages of love to many. God bless and speed him on his journey.

Captain Burdsall arrived to-day from Cheat Mountain. His command will
remain here a few days, acting as mounted scouts. The Captain received a
serious kick from his horse a week or two ago, and has been confined to his
bed ever since. This company has been a very valuable auxiliary to the
brigade, both at Cheat River Mountain and this place. We are sorry to hear
of their intended return to Cincinnati in a few weeks.

The battle-field of Rich Mountain is about four miles from this place, and
to-day I met with an old veteran, upon whose ground they fought. He is a
thorough Union man, and was a prisoner in the hands of the Secession
party. The rebels, to spite the old veteran, dug a trench around his house, for
burying their dead, only eighteen inches below the surface. They also
ruined his well by throwing in decayed horse-flesh—in fact, ruined his old
homestead, by cutting down his fruit-trees, and various other specimens of
Vandalism.

An incident occurred during the preparation for that battle worth
mentioning. Mr. ——, an old man of this town, a Representative in the
Legislature, one who was elected as a Union candidate, and then basely
betrayed his constituents, and afterward was re-elected as a Secessionist—
this man, on the eve of the battle, having partaken freely of liquor, heard of
the advance of our army, and, mounting his horse, rode hastily to the rebel
camp, to inform them of the intended attack. He passed the outer pickets,
but was halted by a full company of Georgians, who, hearing of the advance
of our men, had been thrown out to reconnoiter. He, much frightened,
supposing he was mistaken and was in the Union men's camp, begged them
not to shoot, exclaiming, "I am a Union man." Scarce had the lying words
passed his lips when a dozen balls pierced his body.

An announcement, made last night, that the rebels were advancing upon
this post, put the boys in excellent humor. Every piece was put in order, and
preparations made for a warm reception of the rebel gentry. Extra pickets
were sent out by Colonel Bosley, who has entire command of this post,
Captain Wilmington being field-officer of the day. The guests, however, did
not arrive, thus greatly disappointing the boys, who had a magnificent
banquet in store for them. The bill of fare consisted of
Bullet Soup—with Gunpowder Sauce;
Bayonets—drawn from Scabbards;
Minié Muskets—nicely ranged;
Twelve Six-pound Dumplings—U. S. on the margin;
2,600 Harper's Ferry Clickers;

besides numerous little delicacies in the way of Colt's "Revolving Pudding-
hitters" and "Derangers," lightning-powder, Bowies, slashers, etc.

But as they refused the banquet, why, we will keep it, for the time being,
ready for them in case of an intended surprise party.

A serenade in camp is sweet music, indeed. Last night the Guthrie
Serenading Club, consisting of E. P. Perkins, W. B. Sheridan, Charlie
Foster, Captain Wilmington, Zeke Tatem, W. Craven, and S. B. Rice, gave
the denizens of this town and camp a taste of their quality. The hills
resounded with sweet sounds.

"Music soft, music sweet, lingers on the ear."

Captain Pic Russell had an acquisition to his company a few evenings
since—in fact, a Secession emblem: a snake seven feet long—a regular
"black sarpent"—quietly coiled himself in the Captain's blanket. He was, as
soon as discovered, put to death. This region, of country abounds in
serpents, the rattlesnake being a prolific article.

I must close, as the mail is about to start.

Yours, Alf.[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER VIII.
Fun in the 123d Ohio — A Thrilling Incident of the
War — General Kelley — Vote Under Strange
Circumstances — Die, but Never Surrender.

Fun in the 123d Ohio.

One of the boys furnished me with a copy of his experiences of camp,
entitled "Ye Chronicles of ye One Hundred and Twenty-third Regiment."

1st. Man that is born of woman, and enlisteth as a soldier in the One
Hundred and Twenty-third Ohio, is few of days and short of rations.

2d. He cometh forth at reveille, is present also at retreat, yea, even at
tattoo, and retireth, apparently, at taps.

3d. He draweth his rations from the commissary, and devoureth the same.
He striketh his teeth against much hard tack, and is satisfied. He filleth his
canteen with apple-jack, and clappeth the mouth thereof upon the bung of a
whisky-barrel, and after a little while goeth away, rejoicing in his strategy.

4th. Much soldiering has made him sharp; yea, even the seat of his
breeches is in danger of being cut through.

5th. He covenanteth with the credulous farmer for many turkeys and
chickens; also, at the same time, for much milk and honey, to be paid for

promptly at the end of each ten days; and lo! his regiment moveth on the
ninth day to another post.

6th. His tent is filled with potatoes, cabbage, turnips, krout, and other
delicate morsels of a delicious taste, which abound not in the Commissary
Department.

7th. And many other things not in the "returns," and which never will
return; yet, of a truth, it must be said of the soldier of the One Hundred and
Twenty-third, that he taketh nothing that he can not reach.

8th. He fireth his Austrian rifle at midnight, and the whole camp is
aroused and formed in line of battle, when lo! his mess come bearing in a
nice porker, which he solemnly declareth so resembled a Secesh that he was
compelled to pull trigger.

9th. He giveth the provost-marshal much trouble, often capturing his
guard, and possesseth himself of the city.

10th. At such times "lager" and pretzels flow like milk and honey from
his generous hand. He giveth without stint to his own comrades; yea, and
withholdeth not from the One Hundred and Sixteenth Ohio Volunteer
Infantry, or from the lean, lank, expectant Hoosier of the Eighty-seventh
Indiana.

11th. He stretcheth forth his hand to deliver his fellow-soldiers of the
One Hundred and Sixteenth from the power of the enemy; yea, starteth at
early dawn from Petersburg, even on a "double-quick" doth he go, and
toileth on through much heat, suffering, privation, and much "vexation of
spirit," until they are delivered. Verily I say unto you, after that he suffereth
for want of tents and camp-kettles. Yea, on the hights of Moorfield his voice
may be heard proclaiming loudly for "hard tack and coffee," yet he
murmureth not.

12th. But the grunt of a pig or the crowing of a cock awakeneth him
from, the soundest sleep, and he goeth forth until halted by the guard, when
he instantly clappeth his hands upon his "bread-basket," and the guard, in
commiseration, alloweth him to pass to the rear.

13th. No sooner hath he passed the sentry's beat than he striketh a "bee-
line" for the nearest hen-roost, and, seizing a pair of plump pullets,
returneth, soliloquizing: "The noise of a goose saved Rome; how much
more the flesh of chickens preserveth the soldier!"

14th. He even playeth at eucher with the parson, to see whether or not
there shall be preaching in camp on the following Sabbath; and by
dexterously drawing from the bottom a Jack, goeth away rejoicing that the
service is postponed.

15th. And many other things doeth he; and lo! are they not recorded in
the "morning reports" of Company B? Yea, verily.

A Thrilling Incident of the War.

Captain Theodore Rogers, son of the Rev. E. P. Rogers, of New York
City, formerly of Albany, N. Y., enlisted in May, 1861. After a varied
experience he returned home, and, on the 7th of January, 1862, was
married, in Cazenovia, New York, to the adopted daughter of H. Ten Eyck,
Esq., a young lady who, we may be allowed at least to say, was every way
worthy of the hand of the gallant soldier. The bridal days were passed in the
camp, where a few weeks of happiness were afforded them.

Six months roll away, and the battle at Gaines's Mills opens. Mr. Rogers,
having left home as first lieutenant, was, on account of his superior qualities
as a soldier and as a man, promoted to the office of captain. His
indefatigable efforts to discharge the duties of his position seriously
impaired his health, and, previous to the battle referred to, he was lying sick
in his tent. But the booming of the enemy's cannon roused the spirit of the
soldier, and he forgot himself in his desire to win a victory for his country.

An account of the last scene is given by an officer in the rebel army, and,
coming from such a source, its accuracy can not be questioned. Colonel
McRae, while passing through Nassau, N. P., on his way to England, sought
an introduction to a lady, who, he was informed, was from Albany. Finding
that she knew Dr. Rogers and his family, she writes that his whole face

lighted up, and he said: "O, I am so glad! I have been longing for months to
see some one who knew the family of the brave young soldier who fell
before my eyes."

He then said: "It was just at evening on Friday, June 27, at the battle of
Gaines's Mills, as your army was falling back, I was struck with the
appearance of a young man, the captain of a company, who was rushing
forward at the head of his men, encouraging them, and leading them on,
perfectly regardless of his own life or safety. His gallantry and bravery
attracted our notice, and I felt so sure that he must fall, and so regretted the
sacrifice of his life, that I tried hard to take him prisoner. But all my efforts
were vain; and when at last I saw him fall, I gave orders at once that he
should be carried from the field. It was the last of the fight, and in a few
moments General Garland (also of the Confederate army) and I went in
search of him, and found him under the tree whither I had ordered him to be
carried."

Here the voice of the Colonel trembled so that he was hardly able to
proceed. Recovering himself, he added: "I took from his pocket his watch,
some money, and three letters—one from his wife, another from his father,
and the third from his mother. As General Garland (who has since been
killed) and I read the letters, standing at the side of the youthful husband
and son, we cried like children—tears of grief and regret for the brave and
honored soldier, and at the thought of those who would mourn him at
home."

The Colonel said: "Tell his wife and father and mother that, though he
was an enemy of whom we say it, he died the bravest and most gallant man
that ever fell on the battle-field—encouraging and leading his men on,
going before them to set the example. Tell them, also, that we saw him laid
tenderly in his grave, (by himself,) and that, when this hateful war is over, I
can take his wife to the very spot where her husband lies."

Colonel McRae was very anxious to know whether the letters and watch
had been received by his wife, as he said that he gave them into the hands
of Colonel T——, of the 23d Regiment, who had promised to send them by
a flag of truce.

From all that could be gathered, the lamented youth never spoke a word
after receiving his death-wound.

While in the Army of Virginia I obtained the following facts in regard to
the shooting of Colonel (now General) Kelley. A Staunton (Virginia) paper
contained the following boastful article:

"Colonel Kelley, the commandant of a portion of Lincoln's forces at
Philippa, was shot by Archey McClintic, of the Bath Cavalry, Captain
Richards. Leroy and Foxall Dangerfield, (brothers,) and Archey McClintic,
soldiers of the Bath Cavalry, were at the bridge, when a horse belonging to
their company dashed through the bridge without its rider, whereupon these
soldiers attempted to cross the bridge for the purpose of seeing what had
been the fate of the owner of the riderless horse, when they were met by a
portion of the enemy, led on by Colonel Kelley. As they met, Archey
McClintic shot Colonel Kelley with a pistol. Seeing that they would be
overcome by the number of the enemy, this gallant trio wheeled and
retreated through the bridge. As they were retreating, they heard the enemy
exclaim, 'Shoot the d—d rascal on the white horse!' meaning McClintic,
who had shot Colonel Kelley. They fired, and broke the leg of Leroy P.
Dangerfield. As McClintic was able to unhorse the colonel of a regiment
with an old pistol, we hope that no soldier will disdain to use the old-
fashioned pistol. They are as good as any, if in the proper hands."

From the same paper I cut the following:

"We have been informed that the gallant men who were under the
command of Captain J. B. Moomau, in the precipitate retreat from Philippa,
positively refused, after going a mile or two, to retreat any further. They
were told that, if they would not retreat any further, they had better send a
flag of truce to the enemy and surrender. It was proposed to decide the
matter by a vote, when the men unanimously voted that they would rather
die than surrender. The word 'surrender' does not belong to the vocabulary
of the brave men of our mountains. They are as heroic as Spartans. They are
willing to die, if needs be; but surrender, never! Though the enemy were
constantly firing Minié muskets at them, they were not at all alarmed, and,
being true republicans, they were resolved to take the vote of the men
before they would agree to send a flag of truce, or think for a moment of

surrendering. Who ever heard of a vote being taken under such
circumstances? They were flying before the superior and overwhelming
force of the enemy, yet they were sufficiently calm and self-composed to
get through with the republican formality of taking the vote of the company.
The men then under the command of Captain Moomau, of Pendleton, were
his own company and some fifty belonging to the company of Captain Hull,
of Highland, who had become separated from the other portion of their own
company. Such soldiers will never be conquered—they may be killed, but
they will never surrender."

A few days afterward these "never-surrender" Spartan chaps were
brought into camp, the most hang-dog looking set of villains I ever met.
[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER IX.
Our Hospitals — No Hope — A Short and Simple
Story — A Soldier's Pride — The Last Letter —
Soldierly Sympathy — The Hospitals at Gallatin,
and their Ministering Angels.

Our Hospitals.

I have visited many of the hospitals, both on the field and those located in
cities where every convenience obtainable for money was profuse. Those in
Nashville, Gallatin, and Louisville were, at all times, in the most perfect
order. Still, in the field, and often in cities, cut off as Nashville and
Murfreesboro sometimes are, the men suffer from the want of many little
things. Miss Louisa Allcott, of Boston, who has been kindly administering to
the wants of the sick and wounded in the hospitals, says:

One evening I found a lately-emptied bed occupied by a large, fair man,
with a fine face, and the serenest eyes I ever met. One of the earlier comers
had often spoken of a friend who had remained behind, that those
apparently worse wounded than himself might reach a shelter first. It
seemed a David and Jonathan sort of friendship. The man fretted for his
mate, and was never tired of praising John, his courage, sobriety, self-
denial, and unfailing kindliness of heart—always winding up with—"He's
an out-and-out fine feller, ma'am; you see if he aint." I had some curiosity
to behold this piece of excellence, and, when he came, watched him for a
night or two before I made friends with him; for, to tell the truth, I was
afraid of the stately-looking man, whose bed had to be lengthened to

accommodate his commanding stature—who seldom spoke, uttered no
complaint, asked no sympathy, but tranquilly observed all that went on
about him; and, as he lay high upon his pillows, no picture of dying
statesman or warrior was ever fuller of real dignity than this Virginia
blacksmith.

No Hope.

A most attractive face he had, framed in brown hair and beard, comely-
featured and full of vigor, as yet unsubdued by pain, thoughtful, and often
beautifully mild, while watching the afflictions of others, as if entirely
forgetful of his own. His mouth was firm and grave, with plenty of will and
courage in its lines, but a smile could make it as sweet as any woman's; and
his eyes were child's eyes, looking one fairly in the face, with a clear,
straightforward glance, which promised well for such as placed their faith
in him. He seemed to cling to life as if it were rich in duties and delights,
and he had learned the secret of content. The only time I saw his composure
disturbed was when my surgeon brought another to examine John, who
scrutinized their faces with an anxious look, asking of the elder: "Do you
think I shall pull through, sir?" "I hope so, my man." And, as the two passed
on, John's eyes followed them with an intentness which would have won a
clearer answer from them had they seen it. A momentary shadow flitted
over his face; then came the smile of serenity, as if, in that brief eclipse, he
had acknowledged the existence of some hard futurity, and, asking nothing,
yet hoping all things, left the issue in God's hand, with that submission
which is true piety.

At night, as I went my rounds with the surgeon, I happened to ask which
man in the room probably suffered the most, and, to my great surprise, he
glanced at John.

"Every breath he draws is like a stab; for the ball pierced the left lung,
broke a rib, and did no end of damage here and there; so the poor lad can
find neither forgetfulness nor ease, because he must lie on his wounded

back or suffocate. It will be a hard struggle, and a long one, for he possesses
great vitality; but even his temperate life can't save him. I wish it could."

"You don't mean he must die, Doctor?"

"Bless you, there is not the slightest hope for him, and you'd better tell
him so before long—women have a way of doing such things comfortably;
so I leave it to you. He won't last more than a day or two at furthest."

I could have sat down on the spot and cried heartily, if I had not learned
the propriety of bottling up one's tears for leisure moments. Such an end
seemed very hard for such a man, when half a dozen worn-out, worthless
bodies round him were gathering up the remnants of wasted lives, to linger
on for years, perhaps burdens to others, daily reproaches to themselves. The
army needed men like John, earnest, brave, and faithful, fighting for liberty
and justice, with both heart and hand—a true soldier of the Lord. I could
not give him up so soon, or think with any patience of so excellent a nature
robbed of its fulfillment, and blundered into eternity by the rashness or
stupidity of those at whose hands so many lives may be required. It was an
easy thing for Dr. P—— to say, "Tell him he must die," but a cruelly hard
thing to do, and by no means as "comfortable" as he politely suggested. I
had not the heart to do it then, and privately indulged the hope that some
change for the better might take place, in spite of gloomy prophesies, so
rendering my task unnecessary.

A Short and Simple Story.

After that night, an hour of each evening that remained to him was
devoted to his ease or pleasure. He could not talk much, for breath was
precious, and he spoke in whispers; but from occasional conversations I
gleaned scraps of private history, which only added to the affection and
respect I felt for him. Once he asked me to write a letter, and, as I settled
with pen and paper, I said, with an irrepressible glimmer of female
curiosity, "Shall it be addressed to mother or wife, John?"

"Neither, ma'am: I've got no wife, and will write to mother, myself, when
I get better. Did you think I was married because of this?" he asked,
touching a plain gold ring he wore, and often turned thoughtfully on his
finger when he lay alone.

"Partly that, but more from a settled sort of look you have—a look young
men seldom get until they marry."

"I don't know that; but I'm not so very young, ma'am—thirty in May, and
have been what you might call settled these ten years, for mother's a widow.
I'm the oldest child she has, and it wouldn't do for me to marry till Lizzie
has a home of her own, and Laurie has learned his trade; for we're not rich,
and I must be father to the children, and husband to the dear old woman, if I
can."

"No doubt you are both, John; yet how came you to go to the war, if you
felt so? Wasn't enlisting as bad as marrying?"

"No, ma'am, not as I see it; for one is helping my neighbor, the other
pleasing myself. I went because I couldn't help it. I didn't want the glory or
the pay; I wanted the right thing done, and the people said the men who
were in earnest ought to fight. I was in earnest, the Lord knows; but I held
off as long as I could, not knowing what was my duty. Mother saw the case,
gave me her ring to keep me steady, and said 'Go;' so I went."

A short story, and a simple one; but the man and the mother were
portrayed better than pages of fine writing could have done it.

A Soldier's Pride.

"Do you ever regret that you came, when you lie here suffering so
much?"

"Never, ma'am. I haven't helped a great deal, but I've shown I was willing
to give my life, and perhaps I've got to; but I don't blame any body, and if it
was to do over again, I'd do it. I'm a little sorry I wasn't wounded in front. It

looks cowardly to be hit in the back; but I obeyed orders, and it don't matter
much in the end, I know."

Poor John! it did not matter now, except that a shot in front might have
spared the long agony in store for him. He seemed to read the thought that
troubled me, as he spoke so hopefully when there was no hope, for he
suddenly added:

"This is my first battle—do they think it's going to be my last?"

"I'm afraid they do, John."

It was the hardest question I had ever been called upon to answer; doubly
hard with those clear eyes fixed upon mine, forcing a truthful answer by
their own truth. He seemed a little startled at first, pondered over the fateful
fact a moment, then shook his head, with a glance at the broad chest and
muscular limbs stretched out before him.

"I'm not afraid; but it is difficult to believe all at once. I'm so strong, it
does not seem possible for such a little wound to kill me."

The Last Letter.

"Shall I write to your mother now?" I asked, thinking that these sudden
tidings might change all plans and purposes; but they did not: for the man
received the order of the Divine Commander to march with the same
unquestioning obedience with which the soldier had received that of the
human one, doubtless remembering that the first led him to life, the last to
death.

"No, ma'am—to Laurie, just the same; he'll break it to her best, and I'll
add a line to her, myself, when you get done."

So I wrote the letter, which he dictated, finding it better than any I had
sent, for, though here and there a little ungrammatical or inelegant, each
sentence came to me briefly worded, but most expressive, full of excellent

counsel to the boy, tenderly bequeathing "mother and Lizzie" to his care,
and bidding him good-by in words the sadder for their simplicity. He added
a few lines, with steady hand, and, as I sealed it, said, with a patient sort of
sigh, "I hope the answer will come in time for me to see it." Then, turning
away his face, he laid the flowers against his lips, as if to hide some quiver
of emotion at the thought of such a sudden sundering of all the dear home
ties.

Those things had happened two days before. Now John was dying, and
the letter had not come. I had been summoned to many death-beds in my
life, but to none that made my heart ache as it did then, since my mother
called me to watch the departure of a spirit akin to this, in its gentleness and
patient strength. As I went in, John stretched out both his hands.

"I knew you'd come! I guess I'm moving on, ma'am."

He was, and so rapidly that, even while he spoke, over his face I saw the
gray veil falling that no human hand can lift. I sat down by him, wiped the
drops from his forehead, stirred the air about him with the slow wave of a
fan, and waited to help him die. He stood in sore need of help, and I could
do so little; for, as the doctor had foretold, the strong body rebelled against
death, and fought every inch of the way, forcing him to draw each breath
with a spasm, and clench his hands with an imploring look, as if he asked,
"How long must I endure this, and be still?" For hours he suffered, without
a moment's respite or a moment's murmuring. His limbs grew cold, his face
damp, his lips white, and again and again he tore the covering off his breast,
as if the lightest weight added to his agony; yet, through it all, his eyes
never lost their perfect serenity, and the man's soul seemed to sit therein,
undaunted by the ills that vexed his flesh.

Soldierly Sympathy.

One by one the men awoke, and round the room appeared a circle of pale
faces and watchful eyes, full of awe and pity; for, though a stranger, John
was beloved by all. Each man there had wondered at his patience, respected
his piety, admired his fortitude, and now lamented his hard death; for the

influence of an upright nature had made itself deeply felt, even in one little
week. Presently, the Jonathan who so loved this comely David came
creeping from his bed for a last look and word. The kind soul was full of
trouble, as the choke in his voice, the grasp of his hand betrayed; but there
were no tears, and the farewell of the friends was the more touching for its
brevity.

"Old boy, how are you?" faltered the one.

"Most through, thank heaven!" whispered the other.

"Can I say or do any thing for you, anywheres?"

"Take my things home, and tell them that I did my best."

"I will! I will!"

"Good-by, Ned."

"Good-by, John; good-by!"

They kissed each other tenderly as women, and so parted; for poor Ned
could not stay to see his comrade die. For a little while there was no sound
in the room but the drip of water from a pump or two, and John's distressful
gasps, as he slowly breathed his life away. I thought him nearly gone, and
had laid down the fan, believing its help no longer needed, when suddenly
he rose up in his bed, and cried out, with a bitter cry, that broke the silence,
sharply startling every one with its agonized appeal, "For God's sake, give,
me air!"

It was the only cry pain or death had wrung from him, the only boon he
had asked, and none of us could grant it, for all the airs that blow were
useless now. Dan flung up the window; the first red streak of dawn was
warming the gray east, a herald of the coming sun. John saw it, and, with
the love of light which lingers in us to the end, seemed to read in it a sign of
hope, of help, for over his whole face broke that mysterious expression,
brighter than any smile, which often comes to eyes that look their last. He
laid himself down gently, and stretching out his strong right arm, as if to

grasp and bring the blessed air to his lips in fuller flow, lapsed into a
merciful unconsciousness, which assured us that for him suffering was
forever past.

As we stood looking at him, the ward-master handed me a letter, saying it
had been forgotten the night before. It was John's letter, come just an hour
too late to gladden the eyes that had looked and longed for it so eagerly—
yet he had it; for after I had cut some brown locks for his mother, and taken
off the ring to send her, telling how well the talisman had done its work, I
kissed this good son for her sake, and laid the letter in his hand, still folded
as when I drew my own away.

On my visit to the hospital at Gallatin, I was called to the bedside of a
dying boy, who belonged in Columbus, Ohio. There I met Dr. W. P. Eltsun,
Dr. Armington, Dr. Landis, and other surgeons, all working faithfully for the
suffering men; but Death had marked this boy for his own. I took his almost
pulseless hand in mine, wiped the cold sweat from his brow, and, as I did
so, he murmured, in a soft tone—a tone of sweet sadness—and with a half
vacant stare, "Mother, is that you? O, how long I've waited for your
coming! Tell sister I'm better now. Good-by, Charlie. Halt! who goes
there?" and then a sudden start seemed to bring him to a realization of his
situation, and he quietly gazed at me for a moment, called me by name, and
said, "Alf, will you write a letter for me to-morrow?" This I promised,
should he be able to dictate to me what I should write. In a few minutes he
again called the sweet name of "Mother! Mother!" and with the words
"good-by" upon his lips, and a smile of joy beaming on his face, he fell into
that sleep that knows no waking.

There were three ministering angels, who had left all the luxuries of a
home, attending in this hospital. They had volunteered as nurses, and had
come from Indianapolis, to render all the aid they could to our country's
noble defenders. Indiana should remember the names of Miss Bates, Miss
Cathcart, and Mrs. Ketchum.

The Ensign-Bearer.

Written Expressly for Mr. Alf. Burnett, by Miss Cora M. Eager.

Never mind me, Uncle Jared, never mind my bleeding breast;
They are charging in the valley, and you're needed with the rest;
All the day through, from its dawning till you saw your kinsman fall,
You have answered fresh and fearless to our brave commander's call,
And I would not rob my country of your gallant aid to-night,
Though your presence and your pity stay my spirit in its flight.

All along that quivering column, see the death-steeds trampling down
Men whose deeds this day are worthy of a kingdom and a crown.
Prithee, hasten, Uncle Jared—what's the bullet in my breast
To that murderous storm of fire, raining tortures on the rest?
See, the bayonets flash and falter—look I the foe begins to win!
See, see our faltering comrades! God! how the ranks are closing in!

Hark! there's muttering in the distance, and a thundering in the air,
Like the snorting of a lion just emerging from his lair;
There's a cloud of something yonder, fast unrolling like a scroll;
Quick, quick! if it be succor that can save the cause a soul!
Look! a thousand thirsty bayonets are flashing down the vale,
And a thousand hungry riders dashing onward like a gale.

Raise me higher, Uncle Jared; place the ensign in my hand;
I am strong enough to wave it, while you cheer that flying band.
Louder! louder! shout for Freedom, with prolonged and vigorous
breath;
Shout for Liberty, and Union, and—the victory over death!
See! they catch the stirring numbers, and they swell them to the breeze,
Cap, and plume, and starry banner, waving proudly through the trees.

Mark! our fainting comrades rally—mark! that drooping column rise;
I can almost see the fire newly kindled in their eyes.
Fresh for conflict, nerved to conquer, see them charging on the foe,
Face to face, with deadly meaning, shot, and shell and trusty blow;
See the thinned ranks wildly breaking; see them scatter toward the sun!
I can die now, Uncle Jared, for the glorious day is won.

But there's something, something pressing with a numbness on my
heart,

And my lips, with mortal dumbness, fail the burden to impart.
O, I tell you, Uncle Jared, there is something, back of all,
That a soldier can not part with when he heeds his country's call.
Ask the mother what, in dying, sends the yearning spirit back
Over life's broken marches, where she's pointed out the track?

Ask the dear ones gathered nightly round the shining household hearth,
What to them is brighter, better than the choicest things of earth?
Ask that dearer one, whose loving, like a ceaseless vestal flame,
Sets my very soul a-glowing at the mention of her name;
Ask her why the loved, in dying, feels her spirit linked with his
In a union death but strengthens? she will tell you what it is.

And there's something, Uncle Jared, you may tell her, if you will,
That the precious flag she gave me I have kept unsullied still;
And—this touch of pride forgive me—where Death sought our gallant
host,
Where our stricken lines were weakest, there it ever waved the most;
Bear it back, and tell her, fondly, brighter, purer, steadier far,
'Mid the crimson strife of battle, shone my life's unsetting star!

But, forbear, dear Uncle Jared, when there's something more to tell,
And her lips, with rapid blanching, bid you answer how I fell;
Teach your tongue the trick of slighting, though 'tis faithful to the rest,
Lest it say her brother's bullet is the bullet in my breast.
But, if it must be that she learn it, despite your tender care,
'T will soothe her bleeding heart to know my bayonet pricked the air.

Life is ebbing, Uncle Jared; my enlistment endeth here;
Death, the conqueror, has drafted—I can no more volunteer.
But I hear the roll-call yonder, and I go with willing feet
Through the shadows to the valley where victorious armies meet.
Raise the ensign, Uncle Jared—let its dear folds o'er me fall;
Strength and Union for my country, and God's banner over all.[Back to
Contents]

CHAPTER X.
Sports in Camp — Anecdote of the 63d Ohio and
Colonel Sprague — Soldier's Dream of Home —
The Wife's Reply.

Sports in camp.

Army of the Cumberland,
Camp near Triune, Tenn., May 12, 1863.

There are, at all times, sunny sides as well as the dark and melancholy
picture, in camp life. Men whose business is that of slaughter—men trained
to slay and kill, will, amid the greatest destruction of life, become oblivious
to all surrounding scenes of death and carnage.

I have seen men seated amid hundreds of slain, quietly enjoying a game
of "seven-up," or having a little draw. Yet let them once return to their
homes, and enjoy the society and influence of the gentler sex, and they will
soon forget the excitement and vices of camp, and return to the more useful
and ennobling enjoyments of life.

Yesterday a lively time, generally, was had in camp. After the drilling of
the division, a grand cock-fight occurred on the hill. Some of the boys, who
are regular game-fanciers, brought some splendid chickens, and, as a
consequence, a good deal of money changed hands. The birds fought nobly:
three were killed, one of them killing his opponent the first round, and
instantly crowing, much to the amusement of the Sports. This fighting with
gaffs is not a cruel sport, as one or the other is soon killed.

Snakes are not so prevalent in these parts as they were when we first
came: then it was not uncommon to find a nice little "garter" quietly
ensconced in one's pocket, or in your pantaloon leg, or taking a nap in one
corner of your tent.

A prize-fight occurred in the division a few days ago. A couple of sons of
Ethiopia, regular young bucks, feeling their dignity insulted by various
epithets hurled at each other, from loud-mouthing adjourned to fight it out
in the woods—a big crowd following to enjoy the fun. A ring was soon
formed, and at it they went, a la Sayers and Heenan. Umpires were
improvised for the occasion, and time-keepers, etc., chosen.

The first clash was a butter and a rebutter, their heads coming together,
fairly making the wool fly. This was round first.

Round 2d.—35th Ohio darkey came boldly to the scratch; as he only
weighed sixty-five pounds more than his opponent, and with the slight
difference of one foot six inches higher, he pitched in most valiantly, and
received a splendid hit on the sconce, which made him feel as if a flea bit
him. After full ten minutes skirmishing, during which time neither struck
the other, both retired to the further corner of the ring, until time was
called.

Round 3d.—Minnesota Ethiopian, who had been weakening in the pulse
for some time, came up shaky, and was received with laughter by his
opponent; but the little fellow hit out splendidly, and launched an eye-
shutter at the stalwart form of the 35th darkey. First blood claimed for the
2d Minnesota.

Round 4th was, per agreement, a rough and tumble affair, as the
spectators were growing impatient; and such "wool-carding" was never
before exhibited. Both fought plucky; but the 2d Minnesota having but just
recovered from a sick of fitness, as he said, was about being overpowered,
when the officer of the day interfered; and thus ended the dispute for the
time. Betters drew their money, as the fight was a draw.

Ball in Camp.

Last night we had a fancy-dress ball, a recherché affair, a fine dancing-
floor having been laid down in Company I's ground. A first-rate cotillion
band was engaged, and played up lively airs. Your correspondent had a
special invitation to be present, and enjoyed the party amazingly.

The belles of the evening were Miss Allers, the Widow Place, Miss
Stewart, Miss Austin, and Miss Dodge, all of Minnesota.

Miss Dodge wore an elegant wreath of red clover, mingled with beech-
leaves, and was dressed in red and white—the red being part of a shirt,
kindly furnished by one of the friends of the lady; the white was expressly
manufactured by the Widow Place, dressmaker and milliner for this
regiment.

Miss Stewart is a beautiful creature, of a bronzed hue, from excessive
exposure to the sun. She also wore a wreath of young clover, mingled with
bunches of wheat.

Miss Allers was rather undignified in her actions; her dress we thought
too short at the bottom, and too high in the neck; however, Miss A. was
dressed in Union colors, having an American flag for an apron, and blue
and red dress, with a neat-fitting waste—of materials.

But the one in whom we felt the deepest interest was the Widow. She had
all the grace and elegance of a hippopotamus, and her style was enchanting.
She wore a low-necked dress, with a bouquet of cauliflowers and garlick in
her bosom, a wreath of onion-greens in her hair, full, red dress, and
elaborate hoops, which continually said, "Don't come a-nigh me." Her
bashful behavior was the talk of the evening, and the gay Widow and your
correspondent, when upon the floor, were the cynosure of all eyes. The
dance continued until the Colonel ordered a double tattoo sounded, so that
we could hear it. Several intruders were put out, for conduct unbecoming
gentlemen. The ball was strictly private, as no commissioned officers were
allowed to participate.

However, the officers were truly amused at the fun, and, as women have,
ere this, been dressed in men's clothes, there is no reason the boot shouldn't,
this time, be on the other leg.

Miss Austin's dance of the Schottische, with double-soled military boots,
was excellent. Miss Austin belongs in Louisville, and has long been known
as a female auctioneer.

The 9th Ohio band has arrived, and the boys are delighted. This is a new
band, all Cincinnati musicians, and they are truly welcome to the camp.

Boys want to hear from home as often as possible. It will be well for the
girls to bear this in mind, and write often. Letters of love, we may say,
alphabetically speaking, are X T Z to those who get them.

Anecdote of the 63d Ohio and Colonel Sprague.

The 63d boys love Colonel Sprague; they are not exactly afraid of him,
but many a one would rather be whipped, any day, than take a reprimand
from him. For instance: several nights ago one of the men, instigated by the
love of good eating, and not having the fear of God before his eyes,
attempted to pinch, as they say in the 63d, a can of fruit at the sutler's tent.
But, unluckily for him, the sutler saw him, sprang out of bed, caught him by
the collar and took him prisoner. As soon as the sutler got hold of him he
began to address him in language more forcible than polite. "You d—d
thief, I'll pay you for this; I'll take you before the Colonel, and, if I had my
boots on, I'd take it out in kicking you."

"I'll tell you what," said the soldier, "I'll wait here till you put your boots
on, and you may kick me as much as you please, if you won't take me
before the Colonel."

The following exquisite poem was handed me by Colonel Durbin Ward,
of the 17th Ohio. I wish I knew the author. They are beautiful lines:

The Soldier's Dream of Home.

You have put the children to bed, Alice—
Maud and Willie and Rose;
They have lisped their sweet "Our Father,"
And sunk to their night's repose.

Did they think of me, dear Alice?
Did they think of me, and say,
"God bless him, and God bless him,
Dear father, far away?"

O, my very heart grows sick, Alice,
I long so to behold
Rose, with her pure white forehead,
And Maud, with her curls of gold;
And Willie, so gay and sprightly,
So merry and full of glee—,
O, my heart yearns to enfold ye,
My smiling group of three.

I can bear the noisy day, Alice—
The camp life, gay and wild,
Shuts from my yearning bosom
The thoughts of wife and child;
But when the night is round me,
And under its starry beams
I gather my cloak about me,
And dream such long, sad dreams!

I think of a pale young wife, Alice,
Who looked up in my face
When the drum beat at evening
And called me to my place.
I think of three sweet birdlings,
Left in the dear home-nest,

And my soul is sick with longings,
That will not be at rest.

O, when will the war be over, Alice?
O, when shall I behold
Rose, with her pure white forehead,
And Maud, with her curls of gold;
And Will, so gay and sprightly,
So merry and full of glee,
And more than all, the dear wife
Who bore my babes to me?

God guard and keep you all, Alice;
God guard and keep me, too,
For if only one were missing,
What would the others do?
O, when will the war be over,
And when shall I behold
Those whom I love so dearly,
Safe in the dear home-fold?

The Wife's Reply.

Dedicated to the Author of "The Soldier's Dream of Home."

You say you dream of us, Willie,
When fall the shades of night,
And you wrap your cloak around you
By the camp-fire's flickering light;
And you wonder if our little ones
Have bowed their curly heads,
And asked a blessing for you,
Before they sought their beds!

It was but this very night, Willie,
That our Willie came to me,
And looking up into my face,

As he stood beside my knee,
He said, "Mamma, I wonder
When will this war be o'er,
For O, I long so much to see
My dear papa once more."

My heart was full of tears, Willie,
But I kept them from my eyes,
And the answer that I made him
Opened his with sad surprise—?
"Suppose he should never come, Willie!"
"But, mamma, I know he will,
For I pray to Jesus every night
To spare my father still."

I clasped him in my arms, Willie,
I pressed him to my breast;
His childish faith it shamed me,
And my spirit's vague unrest;
And I felt that our Heavenly Father,
From his throne in the "City of Gold,"
Would watch you and guard you and bring you
Safe back to the dear home-fold.

We think of you every night, Willie;
We think of you every day;
Our every prayer wafts to Heaven the name
Of one who is far away.
And Rose, with her pure white forehead,
And Maud, with her curls of gold,
Are talking in whispers together,
Of the time when they shall behold

The father they love so dearly;
And Willie, with childish glee,
Is bidding me "not to forget to tell
Papa to remember me."
So we think of you every night, Willie

By the camp-fire's fitful gleams,
Until the war shall be over,
Let us mingle still in your dreams.
A. L. Y.[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER XI.
The Atrocities of Slavery — The Beauties of the
Peculiar Institution — A few Well-substantiated
Facts — Visit to Gallatin, Tennessee.

The Atrocities of Slavery.

A late number of the Atlantic Monthly gives the following in relation to
General Butler and his administration in Louisiana:

Among the many personal anecdotes are the following, which are almost
too horrible to be published, but for the impressive lesson they convey. One
of the incidents was related more briefly by the General himself, when in
New York, in January last. We quote from the writer in the Atlantic.

Just previous to the arrival of General Banks at New Orleans, I was
appointed Deputy Provost-Marshal of the city, and held the office for some
days after he had assumed command. One day, during the last week of our
stay in the South, a young woman of about twenty years called upon me to
complain that her landlord had ordered her out of her house, because she
was unable longer to pay the rent, and she wished me to authorize her to
take possession of one of her father's houses that had been confiscated, he
being a wealthy rebel, then in the Confederacy, and actively engaged in the
rebellion.

The girl was a perfect blonde in complexion; her hair was of a very pretty
light shade of brown, and perfectly straight; her eyes a clear, honest gray;

and her skin as delicate and fair as a child's. Her manner was modest and
ingenuous, and her language indicated much intelligence.

Considering these circumstances, I think I was justified in wheeling
around in my chair, and indulging in an unequivocal stare of incredulous
amazement, when, in the course of conversation, she dropped a remark
about having been born a slave.

"Do you mean to tell me," said I, "that you have negro blood in your
veins?" And I was conscious of a feeling of embarrassment at asking a
question so apparently preposterous.

"Yes," she replied, and then related the history of her life, which I shall
repeat as briefly as possible:

"My father," she commenced, "is Mr. Cox, formerly a judge of one of the
courts in this city. He was very rich, and owned a great many houses here.
There is one of them over there," she remarked, naively, pointing to a
handsome residence opposite my office in Canal Street. "My mother was
one of his slaves. When I was sufficiently grown, he placed me at school, at
the Mechanics' Institute Seminary, on Broadway, New York. I remained
there until I was about fifteen years of age, when Mr. Cox came on to New
York and took me from the school to a hotel, where he obliged me to live
with him as his mistress; and to-day, at the age of twenty-one, I am the
mother of a boy five years old, who is my father's son. After remaining
some time in New York, he took me to Cincinnati and other cities at the
North, in all of which I continued to live with him as before. During this
sojourn in the Free States I induced him to give me a deed of manumission;
but on our return to New Orleans he obtained it from me and destroyed it.
At this time I tried to break off the unnatural connection, whereupon he
caused me to be publicly whipped in the streets of the city, and then obliged
me to marry a colored man; and now he has run off, leaving me without the
least provision against want or actual starvation, and I ask you to give me
one of his houses, that I may have a home for myself and three little
children."

Strange and improbable as this story appeared, I remembered, as it
progressed, that I had heard it from Governor Shepley, who, as well as

General Butler, had investigated it, and learned that it was not only true in
every particular, but was perfectly familiar to the citizens of New Orleans,
by whom Judge Cox had been elected to administer justice.

The clerks of my office, most of whom were old residents of the city,
were well informed in the facts of the case, and attested the truth of the
girl's story.

I was exceedingly perplexed, and knew not what to do in the matter; but,
after some thought, I answered her thus:

"This department has changed rulers, and I know nothing of the policy of
the new commander. If General Butler were still in authority, I should not
hesitate a moment to grant your request; for, even if I should commit an
error of judgment, I am perfectly certain he would overlook it, and applaud
the humane impulse that prompted the act; but General Banks might be less
indulgent, and make very serious trouble with me for taking a step he would
perhaps regard as unwarrantable."

I still hesitated, undecided how to act, when suddenly a happy thought
struck me, and, turning to the girl, I added—

"To-day is Thursday: next Tuesday I leave this city With General Butler
for a land where, thank God! such wrongs as yours can not exist; and, as
General Banks is deeply engrossed in the immediate business at head-
quarters, he will hardly hear of my action before the ship leaves—so I am
going to give you the house."

I am sure the kind-hearted reader will find no fault with me that I took
particular pains to select one of the largest of her father's houses, (it
contained forty rooms,) when she told me that she wanted to let the
apartments as a means of support for herself and her children.

My only regret in the case was that Mr. Cox had not been considerate
enough to leave a carriage and a pair of bays on my hands, that I might have
had the satisfaction of enabling his daughter to disport herself about the city
in a style corresponding to her importance as a member of so respectable
and wealthy a family.

And this story, that I have just told, reminds me of another, similar in
many respects.

One Sunday morning, late last summer, as I came down-stairs to the
breakfast-room, I was surprised to find a large number of persons
assembled in the library. When I reached the door, a member of the staff
took me by the arm and drew me into the room toward a young and delicate
mulatto girl, who was standing against the opposite wall, with the meek,
patient bearing of her race, so expressive of the system of oppression to
which they have been so long subjected. Drawing down the border of her
dress, my conductor showed me a sight more revolting than I trust ever
again to behold. The poor girl's back was flayed until the quivering flesh
resembled a fresh beefsteak scorched on a gridiron. With a cold chill
creeping through my veins, I turned away from the sickening spectacle,
and, for an explanation of the affair, scanned the various persons about the
room.

In the center of the group, at his writing-table, sat the General. His head
rested on his hand, and he was evidently endeavoring to fix his attention
upon the remarks of a tall, swarthy-looking man who stood opposite, and
who, I soon discovered, was the owner of the girl, and was attempting a
defense of the foul outrage he had committed upon the unresisting and
helpless person of his unfortunate victim, who stood smarting, but silent,
under the dreadful pain inflicted by the brutal lash.

By the side of the slaveholder stood our Adjutant-General, his face livid
with almost irrepressible rage, and his fists tight-clenched, as if to violently
restrain himself from visiting the guilty wretch with summary and
retributive justice. Disposed about the room, in various attitudes, but all
exhibiting in their countenances the same mingling of horror and
indignation, were other members of the staff—while near the door stood
three or four house-servants, who were witnesses in the case.

To the charge of having administered the inhuman castigation, Landry
(the owner of the girl) pleaded guilty, but urged, in extenuation, that the girl
had dared to make an effort for that freedom which her instincts, drawn
from the veins of her abuser, had taught her was the God-given right of all
who possess the germ of immortality,—no matter what the color of the

casket in which it is hidden. I say "drawn from the veins of her abuser,"
because she declared she was his daughter; and every one in the room,
looking upon the man and woman confronting each other, confessed that
the resemblance justified the assertion.

After the conclusion of all the evidence in the case, the General
continued in the same position as before, and remained for some time
apparently lost in abstraction. I shall never forget the singular expression on
his face. I had been accustomed to see him in a storm of passion at any
instance of oppression or flagrant injustice; but on this occasion he was too
deeply affected to obtain relief in the usual way. His whole air was one of
dejection, almost listlessness; his indignation too intense, and his anger too
stern, to find expression even in his countenance.

Never have I seen that peculiar look but on three or four occasions
similar to the one I am narrating, when I knew he was pondering upon the
fatal curse that had cast its withering blight upon all around, until the
manhood and humanity were crushed out of the people, and outrages such
as the above were looked upon with complacency, and the perpetrators
treated as respected and worthy citizens, and that he was realizing the great
truth, that, however man might endeavor to guide this war to the advantage
of a favorite idea or a sagacious policy, the Almighty was directing it surely
and steadily for the purification of our country from this greatest of national
sins.

But to return to my story. After sitting in the mood which I have
described at such length, the General again turned to the prisoner, and said,
in a quiet, subdued tone of voice—

"Mr. Landry, I dare not trust myself to decide to-day what punishment
would be meet for your offense, for I am in that state of mind that I fear I
might exceed the strict demands of justice. I shall, therefore, place you
under guard for the present, until I conclude upon your sentence."

A few days after, a number of influential citizens having represented to
the General that Mr. Landry was not only a "high-toned gentleman," but a
person of unusual "AMIABILITY" of character, and was, consequently,
entitled to no small degree of leniency, he answered that, in consideration of

the prisoner's "high-toned" character, and especially of his "amiability," of
which he had seen so remarkable a proof, he had determined to meet their
views, and therefore ordered that Landry give a deed of manumission to the
girl, and pay a fine of five hundred dollars, to be placed in the hands of a
trustee for her benefit.

Beauties of the Peculiar Institution—A Few Well-

substantiated Facts.

A Mr. P——, deceased, of Gallatin, Tenn., for years a slave-trader, had
children both by his wife and her body-servant, a beautiful mulatto woman
—thus making, generally, the additions to his family in duplicate. One of
his illegitimate daughters—a beautiful, hazel-eyed mulatto girl—is now the
waiting-maid of his widow. This bright mulatto girl is married to a slave
belonging to a prominent member of Congress from Tennessee, and has a
son, a particularly apt and intelligent boy, whom the rebel women used to
send around the camps, head-quarters, and street corners, to obtain the latest
news, and report the same to them. Although but eight years old, he was too
shrewd to remain quietly a slave. When the daughter of a Federal officer
opened a little school, to teach a few contrabands, he came, and learned
very rapidly. But his intellectual growth was suddenly stopped by the
interference of his grandmother, who followed him to the school one day,
and dragged him from the room in a perfect rage, threatening to kill him if
he ever dared enter a free-school again, at the same time declaring to him
that "he was not President Lincoln yet."

Another instance: The wealthy and prominent Colonel G——, of
Gallatin, Tenn., a very respectable and high-toned gentleman, who is
reputed a kind-hearted and benevolent man, remarkably lenient toward his
slaves, whose praise is in the mouths of our Northern soldiers for his kind
hospitalities, finding that his slaves, in view of the coming difficulties, did
not increase fast enough for profit, called them all together on the 1st of
January, 1862, and said to them: "Now, wenches, mind, every one of you
that aint 'big' in three or four months, I intend to sell to the slave-trader." He

afterward chuckled over it, adding that it "brought them to terms."
Comment needless.

In the fall of 1861, in Piketon, Ky., at the headwaters of the Big Sandy,
were two families—one known as the Slone family, the other as the
Johnson family. The slaves of the former were all liberated about seventeen
years before, by a will, stipulating that they should remain with his wife and
work the plantation while she lived. Mrs. Slone died about two years after
her husband, and not only emancipated these slaves, according to the last
will and testament of her deceased husband, but, as they had taken more
care of the old lady in her declining years than her sons, she thought it but
equitable and right to disinherit the sons and leave the remnant of a once
large estate, reduced to $9,000, to the slaves. But the gloating avarice of her
gambling sons, backed by a vile public sentiment, prompted these unnatural
sons to attempt to break the wills of their father and mother. After litigating
the case about twelve years, and having been defeated in the highest courts
in Kentucky, they went back and set up a claim of $2,000 against their
father's estate, when these despoiled slaves had to deposit the last of their
estate as security, having been for more than twelve years thus harassed and
perplexed by vexatious lawsuits. When the Union army under General
Nelson came into that country, and had that trumpeted battle at Ivy
Mountain, and our troops reached Prestonburg, twenty-five miles from
Piketon, these hunted and plundered ones concluded that now was the time
for them to escape to the "promised land." They gathered together their
little all, cut fifty or sixty saw-logs, made a raft, loaded their worldly goods
on it, and floated down the river. When they reached Prestonburg, General
Nelson had them arrested, cut their raft to pieces, and sent them back to
Piketon. Afterward, when our troops, under the intrepid Garfield, moved up
the river, and made their head-quarters at Piketon, these tormented and
persecuted ones were told that now they might avail themselves of the
Government boats to go down the river and leave the land of their
tormentors.

The Johnson family slaves were liberated, at the death of their owner, by
a will, the writer and executor of which had run off into the rebel army,
carrying it with him. A distant relative of Mr. Johnson, a worthless,
shiftless, ignorant fellow, moved upon the plantation, and claimed not only

the property, but the slaves. "When our troops were about leaving Piketon,
the most intelligent of the Slone family asked of Captain H——, A. A. Q.
M., the privilege of using a push-boat to transport the family down the river.
Consent was given them, and, the next morning, the two families gathered
together, the old and young, men and women and children, numbering fifty-
nine souls, and started down the river. Colonel C——, commanding the
post, had them arrested, and ordered them back. One of his own officers
represented to him that these people had an order for the boat from General
Garfield, and, becoming alarmed, he let them go upon their way. Soon,
however, the biped hounds were on their track, in hot pursuit. Two slaves,
married into these families, had escaped and followed this boat-load.
Although their villainous masters had fought in the rebel army, they were
furnished with passes to pursue their fleeing slaves, under the protection of
the United States arms. These pursuers, weary and exhausted, stopped at a
slave-trader's above Paintsville, where a large bend in the river enabled
them to gain several miles by a cross cut, took horses, and arrived at foot of
Buffalo Shoals just as the boat-load of fifty-nine frightened souls were
going over it. They at once leveled their rifles, and ordered the boat to lie-
to, supposing their slaves were aboard. They did so, and occupied a small
vacant hut on the bank of the river, awaiting a Government boat that would
be down on the following morning. Early the next morning, (Sunday,) two
lewd fellows of the baser sort, pursuing them in a skiff, landed at the place
of rendezvous, and were about to rush into the cabin, when the leader of the
negroes stopped them, saying:

"Porter and Radcliff, you can't enter here; we have none of your slaves."

But the boldest of these desperadoes, tiger-like, crouched on his hands
and knees, and got in the rear of the cabin. Then, suddenly rushing upon the
old man, said, "Damn you, I'll shoot you any way," and fired, the ball
lodging in the abdomen. He continued to fire, indiscriminately, into the
group of women and children, hitting one girl in the knee, and a younger
child on the side of the head. Then these cowardly miscreants rushed away,
but not until a ball from the rifle of one of these freedmen took effect in the
thigh of Radcliff. These men seemed to love the negro so well that they
were not willing to let even freedmen leave the State, if they have but the

least taint of African blood in their veins; and now they stand as sentinels
around the tottering bastile, lest some of the victims escape.

Another instance: In Hospital No. 2, in Gallatin, there is now at work a
girl eighteen years of age, of pure Anglo-Saxon blood. This girl's reputed
mother says, that when her own child was born, it was taken away from her,
and this white child put in its place. She is satisfied it was the illegitimate
child of her master's daughter, which she had by her own father.

In September, 1862, at Stevenson, Alabama, in collecting contrabands to
work on the fortifications, we found a white man, sixty-three years old, who
had all his life been compelled to herd with negroes. He had been forced to
live with four different black women as his wives, by whom he had twenty-
eight children. Colonel Straight, of the 51st Indiana Regiment, saw one of
the old man's daughters, and said she was as white and had as beautiful blue
eyes as any girl he ever saw in his own State. His was the same sad story—
that he was an illegitimate son of his master's daughter, in Virginia; was
taken to the slave-pen, where, with one hundred and twenty-seven others,
he was raised for the market. We started him to Governor Morton, of
Indiana, as a specimen of the men made chattels, and for which the South
was fighting. He was captured on his way North. This is wickedness,
"naked, but not ashamed."

We copy the following from the Montgomery (Alabama) Advertiser:

One Hundred Dollars Reward—Or Fifty Dollars if arrested in the State, will be
paid for the arrest and confinement in jail, so that I may get him, of my boy
Lewis, who left home on Sunday, the 14th inst. Lewis is about five feet,
seven inches high, light complexion, nearly white, spare made, well dressed,
wore mustache and goatee, quick to reply when spoken to, has "traveled,"
and may attempt to pass for a white person; he may endeavor to get to
Richmond, where his mother and family reside.
William Foster.

Tuskegee, Ala., June 14, 1863.

We suppose that this "nearly white" slave, who, it is suspected, will try to
"pass for a white person," is William Foster's grandson, or perhaps his own
offspring. Foster, no doubt, thinks that the negro is indebted to slavery for
his moral and religious training. We advise the conservative journals to
copy the above advertisement, and comment indignantly on the practice of
amalgamation. The occasion will be a good one; and we assure them that
the instances are as plenty as blackberries in Dixie.

At Athens, Alabama, in the summer of 1862, when that noble, earnest,
and efficient officer, General Turchin, was court-martialed because he hurt
the rebels of that State, General G—— was invited to make his head-
quarters at Dr. Nicklin's, one of the largest slaveholders in that part of the
State, a devoted member of the Methodist Episcopal Church, and really a
highly cultivated and courteous gentleman. One day he charged the General
with being radical. The General said, "No, I'm only a Republican; but I
have a most radical commissary on my staff." The next day the radical
commissary was invited to the house by Mrs. N——, who said she "wanted
to see a Yankee who would not deny being an Abolitionist." While at dinner
the Doctor proposed to investigate the causes of our wide differences.
Captain H—— remarked at the same time:

"Would it not be better, while enjoying your hospitalities, to talk upon
subjects of agreement?"

"No," said the Doctor; "we arrive at truth only by comparing notes."

"Then," the Captain said, "I must be a freeman, and talk from my own
platform."

"Certainly," was the answer.

"Then," said the Captain, "you are on trial. You must give a reason for the
hope within you. We charge you with having commenced a wicked and
causeless war. And now give us your reasons for it."

"Well, in the first place, the Abolitionists are fighting against the Bible,
and against God. The Bible, an express revelation from Heaven, says,
'When these servants, or slaves, are to be procured of the heathen round

about you, of them shall ye buy, and they shall be your possession forever.'
That settles the question of moral right; and in relation to the political
question, you were for excluding us from the territories, when they were
manifestly ours equal with yours. We had the same right there with our
property that you had. Equality of rights was the cardinal principle of our
Government. In your political action you strike a blow at the very
foundation of our Government—equality of rights."

To which Captain H—— replied: "Though not much of a theologian, I
have, nevertheless, looked into the Levitical law, and found a paragraph like
the following: 'He that stealeth a man, or selleth him, or if he be found in
his hands, shall surely be put to death.' Let us analyze this 'stealeth a man'—
the foreign slave-trader—'and selleth him'—the American slave-seller, or, 'if
he be found in his hands'—the American slaveholder. If you will show me
how any of these can escape punishment, then I will pursue the Biblical
argument. In regard to the political question, the citizen of Ohio and the
citizen of Alabama are treated just alike. A citizen of Ohio can take his
household goods, merchandise, and cattle into the territories. A citizen from
Alabama has the same right, but he can not take his slave; nor yet can a
citizen of Ohio. Hence, they have equal rights."

At the close of the discussion the Doctor said, that "his neighbors were
greatly alarmed when the Union army came into the district, for fear the
slaves would leave them; but I said to my slaves, 'If you prefer to go away
and leave me, do so: come and tell me; don't sneak away at night with your
little bundle, but come right up and tell me, "We want to leave," and I will
give you five dollars, and let you go, with this condition, that you never
show your faces around my plantation.'"

Captain H—— looked as though it were doubtful, but said nothing.
About a week afterward, the Doctor said to the General—

"I want you to take a ride with me over to the plantation. You Northern
men don't know how well our slaves love us. Whenever I go to see them,
they run out to meet me; inquire after my wife and children with as much
interest as your children would inquire after you."

The General said he "would be glad to avail himself of the opportunity to
see the workings of their system," and started off with the Doctor.

On the way down, the Doctor remarked that he "had another reason for
wishing him to go down;" that "there were three cases of insubordination,
and I want to show you my mode of controlling slaves. When I told your
Abolition commissary, Captain H——, the other day, how I managed my
boys, I saw he did not believe one word I said. Now I want you to see for
yourself; then you can convince him."

Arriving at the plantation, sure enough, the slaves came out, and made
special inquiries about his wife and family. The General said that the
saddest sight of all was, that all these women and children gave promise to
increase the number of slaves—girls eleven years old were among these.

The Doctor called up the culprits and addressed the principal offender.
"Aleck," said he, "unless you submit to the mild punishment of our
plantation discipline, all order and discipline will be lost. You know my
rule. I have told you before, whenever you are not satisfied, just say so, and
I will let you go. What do you say, Aleck, Bob, and Dick?"

Bowing very low, the darkeys said, "Well, den, massa, gib us de fibe
dollars and we go."

He turned pale, and, being utterly dumfounded, after regaining himself,
and not giving them the money, said, "Be off, then!" He had too much of the
Southern chivalry to back out, and came away a wiser if not a better man,
but said "nary word" about convincing the Abolition commissary.[Back to
Contents]

CHAPTER XII.
General Schofield — Colonel Durbin Ward —
Colonel Connell — Women in Breeches —
Another Incident of the War — Negro Sermon.

Triune, Tenn., April 29, 1863.

The last letter I wrote you was from the Missouri army. I am so
continually flying around that I have won the cognomen of "the kite." It is
astonishing what a charm there is in camp life; boys that have been away
but a short time feel a craving to once more resume their duties among their
comrades. With me 'tis a great pleasure to get back to the familiar faces of
this splendid division.

Our new commander, General Schofield, is fast winning the devotion of
his troops; his policy in Missouri meeting the cordial approbation of men
and officers here. Leniency is played out; nothing but the most extreme
rigor of military law will bring these traitors to a realization of the
villainous stand they have taken. Nothing but the driving of every enemy
from our lines, as we go, will bring the misguided citizen to his senses. The
men and women, who have been allowed so many privileges, have all along
been acting as spies. A few days since, a little boy, only eight years of age,
was caught going over to his "uncle Palmer's;" he said his mother wanted
him to go over and get a chicken, as the "sogers" ate all theirs up, and his
mother was sick. The picket was about to let the child pass, on such an
errand as that, and being such a small specimen of humanity. The lieutenant
of the guard questioned the child closely, but could not glean any
information of importance. As the child started off, down the road, he again
called him, and, upon searching, found in the heel of his little stocking,

sewed in, a full description of the entire camp and fortifications. The boy
knew nothing of this, but was merely an instrument in the hands of the
parents. As a matter of course the house was immediately searched, but the
whole mystery is solved in the fact that several of the Secesh dam-sells
were quite favorites in camp.

General Schofield is driving all known sympathizers beyond his lines,
and permitting none but the undoubted Union men to remain.

A few nights since, as I was about retiring beneath the umbrageous shade
of a lovely maple, a voice from above shouted, "Is 'Alf' here?"

"Yes, sir," was the response.

The voice emanated from the epigastrium of a huge fellow-wanderer in
this wilderness, who was mounted upon a fiery steed.

"You are sent for by the commanding officers of the First Brigade, and I
have orders to take you there, peaceably, if I can; forcibly, if I must."

As our camp was just getting wrapped in the arms of "Murphy," and not
wishing to disturb them in their slumber, I consented to go. It was about a
mile, over hill, through woods and thicket, to their camp. I preferred
walking; but the gentle persuader on the horse induced me to "double up,"
and, after various efforts, I succeeded in mounting. I told the driver I was a
poor rider, and convinced him of it before long. As the horse objected to my
being placed so far back on his haunch, and I couldn't get forward, there
naturally arose a dispute, which eventuated in the horse running off with
both of us. After being duly deposited on the ground, the horse seemed
delighted, and expressed his pleasure by kicking up his heels. After various
vicissitudes, I was safely deposited at the head-quarters of the First Brigade,
under the command of Colonel Connell.

Upon the announcement that "Alf" had "arriv," I heard the stentorian
lungs of Colonel Durbin Ward ask: "Dead or alive?"

With fear and trembling I entered the tent, and found Colonel Connell,
with nearly all his officers. I think Byron says something about there being

"A sound of revelry by night."

Well, so there was. Byron can prove it by me. O, shades of the "vine-clad
hills of Bingen," but the "Isabella" was profuse! I remember being kept
busy for two hours telling yarns and riddles, and the next day was accused
of borrowing a horse and leading him home. My medical adviser, Dr.
Wright, of the 35th Ohio, kept with me until the roads forked, and then he
deviated.

Yesterday I paid a visit to the lamented Bob McCook's "Old Ninth"
Regiment. The men are in splendid condition—the pride of the division.
They are noted as the most ingenious battalion in the Army of the
Cumberland. They have improvised a turning-shop, and manufacture
chessmen, checkers, and every variety of specimens in that line. They have
a flying-Dutchman, revolving swing, quoits, bag races, etc., while the
lovers of horse-racing and cock-fighting can be duly amused every day in
the week by members of the different regiments, each tenacious of the fair
fame of his favorite battalion. Last night a fine game-cock, belonging to the
2d Minnesota, whipped one owned by the 35th Ohio, and, as a matter of
course, the 2d Minnesota are in high glee, "crowing" over their chicken.

The 2d Minnesota, the 35th Ohio, and 9th Ohio Regiments are wedded.
Each will vie with the other for the laurels in case of a fight. We have here,
close at hand, the 17th, 31st, and 34th Ohio, besides those already
mentioned. Our force is adequate for all the rebels dare send against us.

The voice of the boys is universally for the Union, against all traitors,
whether those who openly meet them in the field, or the more dastardly
coward that remains at home and backbites, and aids the enemy by words of
comfort, and spreading dissensions in the rear.

The soldiers are unanimous upon the war question. They want no milk-
and-water policy, and all they ask is, that the friends at home will back them
in the field. Let all, whether Democrat, Republican, Abolitionist, or Pro-
slavery, unite upon the Union. Let us have the Government sustained,
regardless of all else. People at home have no right to dictate to our leaders
what policy they should pursue. They are presumed to know what is best. If
slavery falls, why sympathize with the owners? What claims have they

upon your sympathies? A strange change has come over the people since
former years. One party accused the other, and all who were opposed to
slavery, as having "nigger on the brain." Now it is reversed. The rebel
sympathizer, the ultra pro-slavery man, is the individual who is now
troubled with this complaint.

Let us hope our whole people will be thoroughly united at the coming
elections, and let their motto be: "We are unalterably opposed to the
secession of one inch of the territory of the American Union." Then I, for
one, and I know it is the universal feeling of this entire division, will not
care if the man who comes in on that platform be Democrat, Whig, or
Republican; he should have the support of all true lovers of his country.

Women in Breeches.

Whether the women in modern times have taken the cue from the poet's
words,

"Once more unto the breech, dear friends,"

and merely added the plural, making it "breeches," I know not; but the
present war for the Union has elicited much enthusiasm among the gentler
sex, causing them, in many instances, to lay aside their accustomed garb,
and assume the exterior of the sterner portion of creation; in proof of which
the following story of the war is given:

A young woman arrived in Chicago from Louisville, Ky., whose history
is thus related in the Post of that city:

"She gave her name as Annie Lillybridge, of Detroit, and stated that her
parents reside in Hamilton, Canada. Last spring she was employed in a dry-
goods store in Detroit, where she became acquainted with a Lieutenant W
——, of one of the Michigan regiments, and an intimacy immediately
sprang up between them. They corresponded for some time, and became
much attached to each other. Some time during last summer, Lieutenant W
—— was appointed to a position in the 21st Michigan Infantry, then

rendezvousing in Ionia County. The thought of parting from the gay
lieutenant nearly drove her mad, and she resolved to share his dangers and
be near him. No sooner had she resolved upon this course than she
proceeded to the act. Purchasing male attire, she visited Ionia, enlisted in
Captain Kavanagh's company, 21st Regiment. While in camp she managed
to keep her secret from all; not even the object of her attachment, who met
her every day, was aware of her presence so near him.

"Annie left with her regiment for Kentucky, passed through all the
dangers and temptations of a camp life, endured long marches, and sleeping
on the cold ground, without a murmur. At last, the night before the battle of
Pea Ridge, (or Prairie Grove,) in which her regiment took part, her sex was
discovered by a member of her company; but she enjoined secrecy upon
him, after relating her previous history. On the following day she was under
fire, and, from a letter she has in her possession, it appears she behaved
with marked gallantry, and, with her own hand, shot a rebel captain, who
was in the act of firing upon Lieutenant W——. But the fear of revealing
her sex continually haunted her. After the battle, she was sent out, with
others, to collect the wounded, and one of the first corpses found by her was
the soldier who had discovered her sex.

"Days and weeks passed on, and she became a universal favorite with the
regiment, so much so that her Colonel (Stephens) frequently detailed her as
regimental clerk, a position that brought her in close contact with her lover,
who, at this time, was either major or adjutant of the regiment. A few weeks
subsequently she was out on picket duty, when she received a shot in the
arm that disabled her, and, notwithstanding the efforts of the surgeon, her
wound continually grew worse. She was sent to the hospital at Louisville,
where she has been ever since, until a few weeks ago, when she was
discharged by the post surgeon, as her arm was stiffened and rendered
useless for life. She implored to be permitted to return to her regiment; but
the surgeon was unyielding, and discharged her. Annie immediately hurried
toward home, and, by the aid of benevolent strangers, reached this city. At
Cincinnati she told her secret to a benevolent lady, and was supplied with
female attire. She declares that she will enlist in her old regiment again, if
there is a recruiting officer for the 21st in Michigan. She still clings to the
lieutenant, and says she must be near him if he falls or is taken down sick;

that where he goes she will go; and when he dies, she will end her life by
her own hand."

Another Incident of the War.

A few weeks since, a captain, accompanied by a young soldier,
apparently about seventeen years of age, arrived in this city, in charge of
some rebel prisoners. During their stay in the city, the young soldier alluded
to had occasion to visit head-quarters, and at once attracted the attention of
Colonel Mundy, as being exceedingly sprightly, and possessed of more than
ordinary intelligence. Being in need of such a young man at Barracks No. 1,
the Colonel detailed him for service in that institution. He soon won the
esteem of his superior officers, and became a general favorite with all
connected with the barracks. A few days ago, however, the startling secret
was disclosed that the supposed young man was a young lady, and the fact
was established beyond doubt, by a soldier who was raised in the same
town, with her, and knew her parents. She "acknowledged the corn," and
begged to be retained in the position to which she had been assigned;
having been in the service ten months, she desired to serve during the war.
Her wish was accordingly granted, and she is still at her post.

We learned the facts above stated, and took occasion to visit the barracks,
and was introduced to "Frank Martin," (her assumed name,) and gleaned the
following incidents connected with her extraordinary career during the past
ten months:

Frank was born near Bristol, Penn., and her parents reside in Alleghany
City, where she was raised. They are highly respectable people, and in very
good circumstances. She was sent to the convent in Wheeling, Va., at
twelve years of age, where she remained until the breaking out of the war,
having acquired a superior education, and all the accomplishments of
modern days. She visited home after leaving the convent; and, after taking
leave of her parents, proceeded to this city, in July last, with the design of
enlisting in the 2d East Tennessee Cavalry, which she accomplished, and
accompanied the Army of the Cumberland to Nashville. She was in the

thickest of the fight at Murfreesboro, and was severely wounded in the
shoulder, but fought gallantly, and waded Stone River into Murfreesboro,
on the memorable Sunday on which our forces were driven back. She had
her wound dressed, and here her sex was disclosed, and General Rosecrans
made acquainted with the fact. She was accordingly mustered out of
service, notwithstanding her earnest entreaty to be allowed to serve the
cause she loved so well. The General was very favorably impressed with
her daring bravery, and superintended the arrangements for her safe
transmission to her parents. She left the Army of the Cumberland, resolved
to enlist again in the first regiment she met.

Negro Sermon delivered at Triune, Tenn.

Camp near Triune, Tenn., May 16, 1863.

Last Sunday week there was a grand revival meeting of the numerous
contrabands, at the Brick Church, near the village. The house was crowded
by the most fashionable black belles in the county, many of them dressed "a
la mode." An old man arose, and stated that he had formerly been a circus
preacher, and "done been ober de country from station to station, preachin'
de gospel," and he now felt like "talkin' to de brudders and sistern." He
commenced his discourse:

"My Belubed Bredern—I haben't got no Bible. De rebels, when dey
squatulated from dis place, done toted dem all off wid 'em. Derefore, I am
destrained to make a tex' myself, and ax you,

"'Whar Do You Lib?'

"Is your dwellin' in de tents of wickedness? Now, my belubed bredern, de
world am a whirlin' and a whirlin', jest as it allers hes bin. Dish here world
nebber stan' still for de Yanks or for de rebs, but keeps on its course jest de
same, and why shouldn't you do so likewise?

"If de Lord is a smilin' on us dark sheep ob de flock, and Fader Abraham
has got his bosom ready for to deceib us, why should we not be preparred

for de glory ob dat day?

"My tex' requires ob you, 'Whar do you lib?'

"Is you strollin' round, wid no hope of de future freedom starrin' you in
de face? Massa Linkum has done tole you, dat if you work for de salvation
ob de Union, dat you shall be saved, no matter what de Legislatur' ob
Kaintuck may say to de reverse contrary dereof—dat is, if de Union be
saved likewise; and Massa Linkum is de man what will stand up to de rack;
so, derefore, I ax you, 'Whar do you lib?'

"De good book done tole you dat you can't serb two masters; but dat is a
passenger ob Scriptur' I nebber could understan' wid all my larnin', for de
most ob us has been serbin' a heap o' masters durin' dis comboberation ob
de white folks, wherein we colored gemmen is interested; derefore I ask,
agin and agin, de momentus question ob 'Whar do you lib?'

"Now, my brudders, I is perfec'ly awar dat many ob you don't lib much,
but dat you jest 'sassiate round;' you isn't de right stripe; you don't lib
nowhar.

"Wharfor is dis state ob society, after all de white folks am a doin for
you?

"Look aroun' an' aroun' you, an' see de glorious names oh our colored
bredern what is fitin' an a fitin' for you in de army. Dars Horace Greeley and
Fred Douglass; dars Jack Mims and Wendal Phlips; dars Lennox Ramond
and Lloyd Garrison. De last-mentioned colored pusson is a tic'lar friend ob
mine, and is named after a place whar dey now is trainin' a lot ob our race.
De Garrison was named after de garrison.

"Den dars Mrs. Beechum Sto; look at dat lady; isn't she going from de
camp to de camp just like de Martingale—what de English people had in de
las' war in Florence; and don't dey call her de Florence Martingale ob dis
hemisphere?

"Be ye also ready to answer de question as to 'Whar do you lib?'

"So dat de glorification ob Uncle Abraham Linkum shall resound ober de
earth, and we darkeys no longer hab to hoe de corn, but lib foreber on de fat
ob de lan'. Brudder Jerry will please pass aroun' de hat."[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER XIII.
Letter from Cheat Mountain — The Women of the
South — Gilbert's Brigade.

Letter from Cheat Mountain.

Camp of 6th Ohio, at Elkwater, Va., 1861.

The trees begin to look barren, the bronzed hue of the surrounding hills
admonishing us that October, chill and drear, is upon us. Every thing in
nature is cheerless, and, adding to nature, man has, with despoiling hands,
laid waste the country for miles about our present location. Pen can not
describe the devastation of an army: orchards are swept away; of fences
scarce a trace is left; houses are converted into stables, fodder-cribs, and
store-houses; corn-fields are used as pastures; forests must fall to supply our
men with fire-wood; in fact, with the soldier nothing is sacred. And why
should any thing be sacred in this "section," where traitors have been
fostered, and where every vote cast was for secession? Let them reap the
harvest they themselves have sown.

The farmers come daily into camp, whining because our men cut down
their sugar-trees, or "find" a few cabbages or apples; but, as the Colonel is
aware that the boys must be kept in fire-wood, he is heedless of their
whimperings.

The cold is telling fearfully upon the men at night, and I fear, if a supply
of clothing is not soon forthcoming, much suffering will be the

consequence. It is a burning disgrace to somebody, that such things should
be, and it is galling to our regiment to see Indiana troops, just mustered into
service, passing our encampment with large, heavy overcoats, and every
thing about them denoting comfort and an attention to their wants. The cold
frosts are beginning to leave their imprints; already snow is capping the
mountain-tops, and God help us if we get winter-bound in this "neck of
woods." Some few are glorying in the thought of the fine deer and bear
hunts they will have. The latter I can't bear to think about, and the former a
man must be deranged to think of catching upon, these mountains.

The paymaster has been disbursing his funds for the past three days, and
the boys are all in excellent spirits. Theodore Marsh and Leonard Swartz
will go home heavily laden with the hard earnings of this regiment. How
many hearts will be gladdened by the receipt of the little pittances sent, and
how loth many will be to use the money when they remember the toil
endured to obtain it! But let the friends rest assured that the money was not
thought of. A purer, a more noble thought and higher aim animated the
breasts, of those who have so nobly suffered—a determination to see their
country's honor maintained.

Our pickets have scoured the country around, far and near, but no signs
of the enemy can be found. There is no doubt but that they have retired for
the winter. There will, however, be plenty left to guard the interests of the
Federal army until spring, when, no doubt, the campaign will be opened
with vigor, if not sooner settled.

In the reconnoissance by our regiment, a week since, traces of Captain
Bense and his party were found in the Secession camp; several of Hall &
Cobb's (our sutlers) checks being found in their camp, and a prisoner,
afterward brought in, said they had been forwarded to Richmond, Va.

A rumor that this regiment is to be immediately ordered to Cincinnati set
the boys fairly dancing; but Madame Rumor is so frequent a visitor that the
more sensible scarcely noticed her arrival. The most authentic rumor is, that
Colonel Bosley is to be made a brigadier-general. "We shall see what we
shall see."

The sky is threatening, and dark as midnight, the air intensely cold, and
we are hourly expecting a regular old snow-storm. Chestnuts, fine and ripe,
are abundant; there are hundreds of bushels all over these hills, while wild
grapes are as abundant as hops in Kent.

Yesterday, a wild-cat was shot and brought into camp by one of the 3d
Ohio boys. He was about three feet in length, and a "varmint" I shouldn't
like to meet on a dark night.

Yours, Alf.

The Women of the South.

A great deal has been written about them, and there is no doubt but they
are a thousandfold more bitter than the men. They were, and many are yet,
perfectly venomous; and the more ignorant, the more spiteful they seem.
The following act was blazoned forth as wonderfully heroic in its character,
just after our forces occupied Philippa, Beelington, and Beverly:

"The two noble heroines, Misses Abbie Kerr and Mary McLeod, of
Fairmont, Marion County, who rode from their home to Philippa, a distance
of thirty-odd miles, to apprise our forces there of the approach of the
enemy, arrived in Staunton by the western train, on Wednesday night last,
and remained till Friday morning, when they went to Richmond. While here
they were the 'observed of all observers,' and were received with a cordial
welcome. Great anxiety was manifested by all to hear a detailed account of
their interesting adventures from their own lips.

"They left Fairmont at six o'clock on Sunday morning, and hastened,
without escorts, to Philippa. They had not gone a great distance before they
found that a shoe of one of the horses needed fixing. They stopped at a
blacksmith's shop for that purpose, and while there a Union man came up
and questioned them very closely as to who they were, and on what mission
they were going. Miss McLeod replied to his interrogatories, telling him
that their surname was Fleming, and that they were going to Barbour
County, to see their relations. Their interrogator seemed to be very hard to

satisfy, and it taxed the ingenuity of Miss McLeod to improvise a story
which would succeed in imposing upon him. As soon as the horse-shoe had
been fixed, they again proceeded upon their way, but had not gone far
before their evil genius, their interrogator at the blacksmith's shop, dashed
by them on horseback. They perceived that his suspicions had not been
allayed, and that he was going on in advance of them to herald the approach
of spies. They allowed him to pass out of sight, in advance, and then
destroyed the letters they had in their possession, that the search of their
persons, to which they then anticipated they would be required to submit,
might not betray them. When they arrived at the village of Webster, they
found it in commotion, and many persons were anxiously awaiting their
arrival, in the eager hope of capturing the spies.

"They were there subjected to a rigorous cross-examination. The heroines
were calm and self-possessed—answering questions without hesitancy, and
expressing a perfect willingness to have their persons searched by any lady
who might be selected for that purpose. They were allowed to pass on, after
being detained for some time, though there were some in the crowd who
were very much opposed to it. As soon as they got out of sight of that
village they rode very rapidly, for fear they might still be arrested by some
of those who were so much opposed to allowing them to proceed. They
arrived at Philippa about two o'clock in the afternoon of the same day, and
told Colonel Porterfield that the enemy would attack his camp that night or
the next morning.

"These ladies then went to the house of a Mr. Huff, about a mile and a
half from Philippa, where they stayed all night. The next morning they
heard the report of the firing at Philippa, and, in disguise, accompanied by a
countrywoman, returned to Philippa, on foot, to see what had been the
result. They moved about among the enemy without being detected or
molested in the least degree. Going into one of the houses, they found
James Withers, of the Rockbridge Cavalry, who had concealed himself there
to prevent the enemy from capturing him. These ladies immediately told
him that they would effect his rescue, if he would trust to them. He very
readily consented; whereupon these ladies disguised him as a common
countryman, by furnishing him with some old clothes; they then gave him a
basket of soap, with a recipe for making it, that he might pass as a peddler

of that necessary article. With these old clothes, and a basket of soap on his
arm, and gallantly mounted upon a mule, accompanied by his guardian
angels, he passed safely through the crowds of the enemy, and was brought
by them, safe and sound, into the camp of his friends at Beverly, after a
circuitous and hard ride over precipitous mountains, where persons had
seldom, if ever, ridden before. His fellow-soldiers and friends rejoiced
greatly when he arrived, for they thought that he was either killed or taken
prisoner by the enemy; they rejoiced that the supposed 'dead was alive,' and
the 'lost was found.' He is now known in our camp as the 'peddler of soap.'
The heroic conduct of these ladies will live in history, and they will become
the heroines of many a thrilling story of fiction, in years to come."

We have no doubt but that their names will live in history. Benedict
Arnold is still in the memory of every American, loathed and despised, as
Davis and his crew will eventually be, without doubt.

Gilbert's Brigade.

In May last, the 124th Ohio was near Franklin, Tenn., a part of General
Granger's division, and belonging to Gilbert's brigade. Friend "Esperance,"
in writing about the regiment, says: "We are encamped near Franklin, in a
beautiful situation as regards the view of the country; and in a military point
of view it is excellent, being surrounded with sufficient elevations of land to
enable our fortifications to sweep the whole country in every direction. The
brigade is composed of the 113th, 124th, 125th, and the 121st Ohio
Volunteers, and the 78th Illinois. The 124th Ohio was organized in
Cleveland, but contains two companies from Cincinnati—company G,
under the command of William A. Powell, of your city, and company I,
under the command of Captain J. H. Frost, also of Cincinnati. Captain
Powell has been in the service ever since the commencement of the war; he
has served in Virginia and Maryland, also in Missouri, in General Fremont's
Body-guard. He was again in Maryland last summer, at Cumberland, in
command of a company in the 84th Ohio Volunteer Infantry, and is, in all
respects, strictly a military man, very generally liked by his company, and
respected by his superior officers. Captain Frost has also been in the service

before, and is much liked by his men, and esteemed by all who know him
here. The health of the regiment is good, and of the two companies from
Cincinnati especially so.

"With regard to the army of General Rosecrans, it is by us considered
invincible. General Rosecrans is looked upon as a host in himself. Every
soldier appears anxious to meet the enemy; the idea of a defeat never seems
to enter into their imagination, but all are enthusiastic in their expectation of
being able to restore the South and South-west of our common country to
subjection to the Constitution, and obedience to the laws."

A chaplain of an Indiana regiment recently married one of the Hoosier
boys to a Tennessee girl, and concluded the ceremony by remarking, the
oath was binding for three years, or during the war![Back to Contents]

CHAPTER XIV.
Confessions of a Fat Man — Home-guard — The
Negro on the Fence — A Camp Letter of Early
Times — "Sweethearts" Against the War.

Confessions of a Fat Man—home-guard.

The fat volunteer.

The moment the flag was threatened, large bodies of men were called
upon to rally to its defense. Being large and able-bodied, I enrolled with the

home-guard. The drill was very severe in hot weather, and I wanted an
attendant, a fan, and pitcher of ice-water.

I am constantly reminded that one of the first requirements of a soldier is
to throw out his chest and draw in his stomach. Having been burned out
several times, while occupying an attic, I have had considerable practice in
throwing out my chest; but by what system of practice could I ever hope to
draw in my stomach? I can't "dress up;" it's no use of my trying. If my vest
buttons are in a line, I am far in the rear. If I toe the mark, a fearful bulge
indicates my position. Once we had a new drill-sergeant, who was near-
sighted. Running his eye along the line, he exclaimed sharply:

"What is that man doing in the ranks with a base drum?"

He pointed at me; but I hadn't any drum; it was the surplus stomach, that
I couldn't, for the life of me, draw in. I am the butt of numberless jokes, as
you may well suppose. They have got a story in the Guards, that, when I
first heard the command "order arms," I dropped my musket, and, taking
out my notebook, began drawing an order on the Governor for what arms I
needed. They say I ordered a Winans steam-gun, with a pair of Dahlgren
howitzers for side arms! Base fabrication! My ambition never extended
beyond a rifled cannon, and they know it!

Although, in respect to size, I belong to the "heavies," my preference is
for the light infantry service. My knapsack is marked "Light Infantry!" One
evening the spectators seemed convulsed about something, and my
comrades tittered by platoons, whenever my back was turned. It was a
mystery to me till I laid off my knapsack. Some wretch had erased the two
final letters, and I had been parading, all the evening, labeled, "Light Infant!"

The above is one of the thousand annoyances to which I am subjected,
and nothing but my consuming patriotism could ever induce me to submit
to it. I overheard a spectator inquire of the drill-sergeant one day:

"Do you drill that fat man all at once?"

"No," he returned, in an awful whisper; "I drill him by squads!"

I could have drilled him, if I had had a bayonet.

Specifications have been published in regard to my uniform, and
contractors advertised for; the making will be let out to the lowest bidder. In
case the Guards are ordered to take the field, a special commissary will be
detailed to draw my rations.

That reminds me of a harrowing incident. On last night's drill an old
farmer, who dropped in to see us drill, took me aside, and said he wanted to
sell me a yoke of powerful oxen.

"My ancient agriculturist," said I, smiling at his simplicity, "I have no use
for oxen."

"Perhaps not at present," quoth he, "but if you go to war you will want
them."

"For what?" said I, considerably annoyed.

"Want 'em to draw your rations!"

The Guards paid me a delicate compliment at their last meeting: elected
me Child of the Regiment, with the rank of a First Corpulent. I was about to
return thanks in a neat speech, when they told me it was no use; that a
reporter, who was present, had got the whole thing in type—speech and all
—and I could read it in the evening paper. I got his views, and held my
own.

Yours for the Union, including the Stars, also the Stripes.
Fat Contributor.

"What are you going to do, you bad woman's boy?" said Mrs. Wiggles, as
her youngest son passed through the kitchen into the garden.

"Down with the Seceshers!" he shouted; and she looked out just in time
to see the top of a rose-bush fall before the artillery-sword of her son, that
the youngster held in his hand.

"You had better go to Molasses Jugtion, if you want to do that," she said,
restraining his hand as 't was lifted against a favorite fuschia, that she had
trained with so much care.

"Dear me!" she murmured, half to herself; "what a terrible thing war is,
when children show signs of such terrible consanguinity!"

The Negro on the Fence.

"Hearken to what I now relate,
And on its moral meditate."

A Wagoner, with grist for mill,
Was stalled at bottom of a hill.
A brawny negro passed that way,
So stout he might a lion slay.
"I'll put my shoulder to the wheels,
If you'll bestir your horse's heels."
So said the African, and made
As if to render timely aid.
"No," cried the wagoner, "stand back!
I'll take no help from one that's black;"
And, to the negro's great surprise,
Flourished his whip before his eyes.
Our "darkey" quick "skedaddled" thence,
And sat upon the wayside fence.
Then went the wagoner to work,
And lashed his horses to a jerk;
But all his efforts were in vain;
With shout, and oath, and whip, and rein,
The wheels budged not a single inch,
And tighter grow the wagoner's pinch.
Directly there came by a child,
With toiling step, and vision wild,
"Father," said she, with hunger dread,
"We famish for the want of bread."
Then spake the negro: "If you will,
I'll help your horses to the mill."

The wagoner, in grievous plight,
Now swore and raved with all his might,
Because the negro wasn't white;
And plainly ordered him to go
To a certain place, that's down below;
Then, rushing, came the wagoner's wife,
To save her own and infant's life;
By robbers was their homestead sacked,
And smoke and blood their pillage tracked.

Here stops our tale. When last observed,
The wagoner was still "conserved"
In mud, at bottom of the hill,
But bent on getting to the mill;
And hard by, not a rod from thence,
The negro sat upon the fence.

A Camp Letter of Early Times.

Our camp is alive; our camp is exuberant; our camp is in a furore. "Who's
that man with 'Secesh' clothes?" says one; and "Who's that big-faced,
genial, good-natured looking feller?" says another. "Are they prisoners?"
"Maybe it's the paymaster; and that short, chunky man is here to watch the
other feller, and see that the money is paid all on the square." "No, it aint
one nor t' other—'tis Cons Millar, the ever-vigilant and hard-working Cons,
of the Commercial; and the good-natured looking feller is Invisible Green, or,
as he is familiarly called, Bill Crippen, of the Times." They have brought
sunshine into camp, for a merrier set of soldiers the sun never shone on than
are the Guthrie Grays to-night. Cons has just had supper, and Bill is
"spreading devastation" over the table of Captain Andrews. They have both
been up inspecting intrenchments, which are in statu quo, the brave Lee
having retreated some sixteen miles, or, more politely speaking, "fallen
back." So I suppose we will soon have to creep up on the gallant gentleman
once more, and see if he can not be induced to fall still further back.

The news of the gallant conduct of our Cincinnati boys at the late fight
under Rosecrans sent a thrill of pleasure to the hearts of all our men, and a
feeling of envy that we were not with them to share the glory of that day.
Colonel Lytle, Stephen McGroarty, and the other brave fellows' names, are
on the lips of all, and a fervent "God bless them" is frequently uttered. Our
encampment now may be said to extend over four miles, a brigade of
twelve thousand; and I can assure you they make a formidable appearance.
Three splendid batteries, three or four fine cavalry companies, and any
quantity of men, are yet on the way.

One of the best Secesh tricks I have heard of was attempted, a short time
since, by a rebel telegrapher. When Lee was about to advance upon this
point, wishing to ascertain the number of troops here, he sent out this
operator, with pocket implements, to attach to our wires. So, carefully
picking his way through the woods, Mr. Operator came upon a secluded
part of the road; climbing the pole, he attached his battery, and "click, click,
click," he inquires of our operator at head-quarters, "How many troops have
you altogether, that can, at any pressing event, be sent to aid us if we attack
Lee?" Just as he concluded the query, one of the ever-vigilant pickets of the
Indiana regiments, who infest the woods and roads in every direction,
espied the gentleman, and brought him into camp with his non-confiscated
horse. A minute more and the fellow, doubtless, would have been fully
informed, as he had guarded against cipher-telegraphing by telegraphing
that the cipher-operator was out, and the general wanted an immediate
answer.

Our boys continue to scour the woods, and constantly are finding Secesh
documents. The following beautiful poem is from the pen of Miss M. H.
Cantrell, of Jonesboro, Tennessee, and was found in the pocket of a
"Secesher," who had invaliantly fled, dropping his overcoat and love-
epistles. It is entitled:

Sweetharts Against War.

O Dear! its shameful I declare
To make the men all go

And leive so manny sweetharts here
Wit out a single bough.

We like to see them leave 'tis true,
And wold not urge them stay;
But what are we poor girls to do
When you are all away?

We told you we cold spare you here
Before you had to go,
But Bless your Harts, wernt aware
That we would miss you sow.

We miss you all in manny ways,
But troth will ware out;
The gratest things we miss you for
Joy going withe out.

On Sunday when we go to church,
We look in vane for sum
To mete us smilin on the porch,
And ask to see us home.

And then we dont enjoy a walk
Since all the bows have gone;
For what the good to us plain talk
If we must trip alone?

But what the use talkin thus
We will try to beecontent
And if you cannot come to us
A message may bee cent.

And that one comfort any way
Although we are Apart,
There is no reason why we may
Not open hart to hart.

We trust it may not ever come
To any War like test,
We want to see our Southern home
Secured in peaceful rest.

But if the blood of those we love
In freedoms cause must floo,
With fervent trust in Lov Above
We bid them onward go.
Written By your friend,
M. H. Cantrell.

I inclose you the original document. I suppose the aforesaid lovyer did
"onward go," and, no doubt, is still going, if he has not already reached the
town of Jonesboro, and met his gal upon "the porch" as she returned from
church.

Snake-hunting has given way to trout-fishing. As a matter of course, the
noise of camp has driven all trout four miles from our present abode; but
scarcely a day passes but our men return with a nice string of these
delicious denizens of the brooks hereabouts.

I have often, heretofore, thought I would like much to be a cavalry
soldier, but I'll swear I wouldn't like to be a cavalry horse; for, of all the
hay-forsaken, fleshless-looking animals eyes ever gazed upon, the horses
out here take the premium. Well, 'pon my word, I took Captain Bracken's
horse (the roan I once rode) a quart of oats, sent from Beverly; well, the
horse wouldn't eat them; he didn't know what they were! and I had to break
or smash some of them so that he might smell the "aroma," to facilitate his
knowledge, and he was too weak to inhale air enough to inflate his nostrils,
so that he could smell the dainty meal I had in my kindness brought him.
Captain Bracken promised to have them parched and made into a tea for the
animal.

September 30.—What a jump of time! Well, I'll tell you the cause. The
morning I intended to post this letter the entire regiment was ordered to
make an advance upon Mingo Flats, a Secession hole fifteen miles from this

place. They were accompanied by Howe's battery and an Indiana regiment.
The boys were not more than fairly started when a terrific rain-storm set in.
O! what a pitiless, deluging rain! The very thought of that sprinkle of
twenty hours of unceasing torrent makes me, even now, feel as if I should
forever have an antipathy against drinking water. Onward the boys trudged,
seemingly not caring a cuss if school kept or not. The Elkwater soon
assumed a rather formidable appearance; night came on, and with it an
increase of the flood. We stood up against trees to rest; some crawled in
fence-corners; a few, more lucky, found an old log stable and a smoke-
house; these were quickly filled from "pit to dome," as Fred Hunt would
say, for some slept on rafters, cross-beams, etc. Still it poured down; still
the fountains of heaven gushed forth, fifth, tenth, or twentieth; anyhow, it
continued to rain, and at daybreak it rained yet, and the regiment moved on
to Mingo Flats; drove in the rebel pickets; heard the Secesh varmints beat
the long roll; knew they were scared; and still it rained! Colonel Sullivan,
of the Indiana regiment, was in, command: sent out a big gun; boys went on
a big hill; found the enemy were eight or ten thousand strong; big gun
ordered back, and as we only had two thousand men, remembered the
axiom about "discretion being the better part of valor;" obeyed the aforesaid
axiom. Still, recollect, it kept raining in torrents; dripping down Quarter-
master Shoemaker's pants into his boots; running over Colonel Anderson's
back. Major Christopher looked dry, in order to get a drink: but that was a
failure. Captain Westcott looked sad; in fact he said it was the wettest time
he ever knew or heard tell of—wondered if old Noah ever explored these
big hills.

Captain Russell picked out a fine hill to locate upon, if this really
intended to be another deluge. Captain Clark observed he was fond of heavy
wet. Jules Montagnier said it was due time to dry up. Still it rained. The
regiments were ordered to fall back. Well, the mud was so infernal slippery
it was very easily done; some fell forward in the vain endeavor to fall back.
After killing seven or eight poor, pauper-looking, "Secesh varmints," the
boys set fire to Marshall's store, the enterprising proprietor being away from
his business—a very notorious Secessionist, having donated $25,000 to the
C. S. A. The building made a beautiful fire, and our boys brought away a
fine lot of saws, augers, and various other articles of dry goods. The loss of

the augers, Colonel Anderson says, will be a great bore to Marshall. Please
don't forget how infernal hard it was raining all this time.

Well, they reached the first ford on their return trip; a sad misnomer now,
for it was an unfordable ford. The water of old Elkwater was rearing and
plunging, and furiously wild. Every mountain (and there are myriads) was
sending out its wet aid to swell the raging torrent; the regiment, at this time,
only three miles from the Secessionists. A bold front had to be put on, as it
was a sure thing, if the rebels found out the weakness of our force, we were
goners. There was no doubt, however, but that they were terribly frightened,
as they had heard we were twenty thousand strong. Anxiously the boys
waited the falling of the mighty waters. It had now rained twenty-six hours.
Large trees came whistling by with lightning speed; the river seemed wild
with delight, and the waves clapped their hands, leaping higher and higher;
but, as you know, (no reflection meant,) Mr. Editor, a drunken man will get
sober if not supplied with more liquor, so the river will subside if not
furnished with the "aqueous fluid."

Colonel Anderson was the first to cross the stream. His horse plunged in
boldly, but was within an ace of being carried away by the still almost
resistless current. There goes "Shoemaker," the easy, good-natured "Ned,"
as he is called. Yes, sure enough, there he does go, for his horse has
plunged, and the torrent is too wild, for they are both beyond their depth,
and the horse is going down, down. Every eye is bent upon "Shoe." He is
carried further and further. He grasps a tree and pulls himself up, looking
the picture of despair. The major says, "H-o-l-d, b-o-y-s! d-o-n't b-e i-n t-o-
o m-u-c-h h-u-r-r-y;" but they, eager to get back, walked a foot-bridge of
rough timber and old logs, very narrow. Several crossed upon this, Captain
Russell making a very narrow escape with his life. Colonel Anderson,
perceiving the danger, ordered that no more should cross, threatening to
shoot the first man who should disobey the order. This, as a matter of
course, was done to deter the men from hazarding their lives needlessly.
Colonel Anderson had but just given the order, when Frank Guhra, a private
in Captain Clark's company, made the attempt, reached the middle of the
stream, lost his balance, fell, and in a moment was whirled out of sight, the
current running at the rate of twenty miles an hour. Several lost their guns.
It was three or four hours before they succeeded in crossing.

Upon their return to camp an unwelcome sight was presented; the water
had swept nearly every thing away. The tents had been, many of them, three
and four feet in water; some had to take to trees to save life. The water had
subsided, leaving a nasty slime, a foot thick, all over the camp-ground.
Camp-kettles, knapsacks haversacks, and numerous floatable, light articles,
had passed down stream—Captain Wilmington losing every thing. I saw the
Captain trying to borrow a pair of pantaloons, he running around in his
drawers. An old resident of this locality (Mr. Stonnicker) says this is the
biggest flood ever known in this region. By the by, Mr. Stonnicker has a
beautiful daughter, Miss Delilah, who seems to be fairly "the child of the
regiment," especially of the officers. I will not mention names, as the wives
at home would be jealous.

I see you talk of sending out a gentleman to take money home to the
families of the volunteers. But cuss the paymaster, "or any other man." Why
don't the paymaster come? Send me some papers. I can't get any without a
peck of trouble.[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER XV.
The Winter Campaign in Virginia — Didn't Know
of the Rebellion — General W. H. Litle —
Drilling — A Black Nightingale's Song.

The Winter campaign in Virginia.

Your correspondent has been sick. Your correspondent has been in bed;
has had the rheumatism in his back, neck, arms, legs, toes; is down with the
mountain-fever; tries in vain to sleep; howling dog, belonging to Captain
Russell's "brigade," keeps up such an infernal howling it makes me mad:
wish Russell had to eat him, hair and all. It was raining when I last wrote;
think we had just been flooded out. Well, the very next day we were again
ordered over that Godforsaken road, when the clouds again blackened up,
and five hundred men tramped it. What have the Sixth done that the
heavens should open their floodgates? All I wonder is, how the boys stand
it. But they do bear up under it nobly, remembering the Shakspearian
passage, slightly altered:

"The same clouds that lower upon the house of Abe Lincoln
Look frowningly upon Jeff Davis."

The boys are truly "ragged and sassy;" very many are shoeless, and with
a flag of truce protruding from the rear. The service in these woods wears
out more clothing than ordinary service should. Some of the boys are
careless, but many are, helplessly, nearly naked. Our officers have used
every exertion to get apparel, but the apparel is, like a paymaster, "hard to

get hold of." Our men have been sorely tantalized by seeing regiment after
regiment of the Indiana troops paid off, before their very eyes. In fact, they
have been running round camp, with five, ten, and twenty-dollar gold
pieces, shaking them in our faces. Add Colwell—Corporal Add—paid an
Indiana boy of the 17th Regiment three slices of bacon and half a pound of
coffee just for the privilege of hefting and rubbing his eye with an eagle.
Colwell is a good printer; Colwell is a good writer; and, last and best of all,
he can eat more gingerbread than any other one man in the army: he wants
Wash Armstrong to send him a box of the article.

Since the accidental shooting of Lieutenant Moses Bidwell, by Adams, of
the 17th Indiana, we have had another accident. Mr. Hopkins has had his
collar-bone broken, and his shoulder-blade thrown completely out of place,
by the falling of a tree.

We are having jovial times out here, rain or shine. A convocation of good
fellows met at Captain Abbott's quarters, 3d Ohio. Captain Abbott is from
Zanesville. Captain McDougal of Newark, Captain Dana of Athens, Captain
Rossman of Hamilton, Lieutenants House and Swasey of Columbus,
Lieutenants Bell and Dale of Newark, not forgetting Miles—the smiling,
good-natured Miles—of the 17th Indiana, Quarter-master Shoemaker, Andy
Hall, J. W. Slanker, W. B. Sheridan, and Self, all of the 6th Ohio, made up
the party. The landlord filled his flowing bowl, and stories, songs, and
recitations were the order of the evening, and the

"Glow-worm 'began' to show the matin to be near"

ere we started to separate.

Miles invited those who would, to go over to his palace, and promised us
a sardine supper; accordingly, but few refused the invitation. Now, Miles
had a jug of oil, just from the Thurston House, Paris, Bourbon County, Ky.
This oil was put to good use; and soon a box of herring was opened, and the
oil again distributed, and then some speeches were made.

The meeting was called to order by the fat Quarter-master, Shoemaker.

A motion was made that we adjourn and go to Cincinnati. This was voted
down. Motions were continually made to take a drink. These were carried,
every pop, by Sherry, your correspondent being the only one having the
moral courage to vote in the negative.

Now, Miles is from Columbus; a jolly, good fellow, and, when the time
for retiring arrived, proffered me his bed, provided I would notice him in
my next letter. This I promised, and accepted his hospitality. The party
dispersed, and Miles was soon in the arms of Morpheus; he had fallen
asleep making an eloquent appeal to the chair. I had just got into a nice
doze, when I was aroused by the sound of a voice.

"Gen'l'men, you're all my frens, every one of you. But, gen'l'men, I invite
you, freely, to my sardines. You, 'specially, Ned Shoemaker; 'specially you,
Andy Hall, and all of you.

"The country is a momentous question,"——

Here I ventured to inquire of him as to whom he was addressing his
conversation?

"Why, my frens," replied he. "Isn't that Ned Shoemaker?" pointing to a
barrel, upon the top of which was my hat; "and are not those my
companions," pointing to a pile of cheese-boxes, herring-kegs, etc., that
were strewn around.

He was much astonished when I assured him his friends had departed an
hour since, at least.

Didn't Know of the Rebellion.

Going out with a party of scouts, one day, in Virginia, we espied, away
up a little ravine, a log-house, completely isolated. Anticipating a good,
substantial meal, we rode up to the domicile, where an old woman, with a
face with all the intelligence of a pig beaming from it, came to the door,

looking the very picture of consternation. We dismounted, and asked for
something to eat.

"What! wittles?" exclaimed the horrible-looking creature. "Whar did you
come from? And what be sogers doin' on here?"

"Well, I came from Indianapolis," said Captain Bracken, "and am after
something to eat. Are there any Secesh in these parts?"

"Any what?"

"Secesh."

"Why, gracious, what's them?"

"Are you and your folks for the Union?"

"Why, sartain; thar's the old man neow."

Just at this moment there came a gaunt-eyed, slim-livered, carnivorous,
yellow-skinned, mountain Virginian—no doubt belonging to one of the first
families, as his name was Rhett.

"Look-a-hear," continued the old woman; "this ere soger wants to know
if you be for Union?"

The old man looked, if any thing, more astonished than the old woman at
the soldier. In the course of conversation we asked the man, "What he
thought of the war?"

"What war?" exclaimed the old fellow; "the Revolution?"

"Yes. The rebellion, we call it."

"Ah! we gin the Britishers fits, didn't we?"

It was evident the man knew nothing of the rebellion going on.

When asked if he heard the fight, the other day, only six miles from his
house, he opened his eyes widely, and said he "heard it 'thunderin'' mighty
loud, but couldn't see no clouds, and didn't know what to make on it."

The fact was, these people live up in this place; raise what little will keep
them from year to year; never read a paper, ('cause why, they can't); and
they scarcely ever visit anybody.

There are many cases of this kind within a few miles of this place, where
as much pent-up ignorance is displayed. If North Carolina is any worse, in
Heaven's name send no more money to distant heathen, but attend to those
at home.

General William H. Lytle,

Of whom our city has cause to be justly proud, has won for himself a
name, engraven on the scroll of honor, as one of our country's heroes. A
brief mention of his military career may be summed up as follows:

He was, during the Mexican campaign, on General Scott's line, and,
although but a mere youth, he commanded an independent company of
volunteer infantry, from Cincinnati, that was afterward attached to the 2d
Ohio, on Scott's line, and commanded by Colonel William Irwin, of
Lancaster, Ohio. They were stationed most of the time at the "Rio Frio,"
keeping open the line of communication between the cities of Puebla and
Mexico. Brigadier-General Robert Mitchell, of Kansas, and Brigadier-
General McGinnis, of Iowa, were captains in the same regiment. At the
termination of that war General Lytle studied and entered into the practice
of the law.

In 1857 he was elected Major-General of the First District of Ohio
Volunteers. On the 19th of April, 1861, he was ordered by the Governor of
Ohio to organize a camp for four regiments of infantry, and the day after
receiving this order General Lytle took into Camp Harrison the 5th and 6th
Ohio Infantry, and shortly after the 9th and 10th Ohio. The latter regiment
tendered him the colonelcy, which was accepted; and he led it through the

Virginia campaign, under McClellan and Rosecrans, up to the date of
Carnifex Ferry, where he was wounded, September 10, 1861. Recovering
from his wounds, he reported for duty in January, 1862, and was placed by
General Buell in command of the Camp of Instruction at Bardstown, Ky.,
relieving General Wood. In March he was relieved, and reporting at
Nashville, was placed in command of Dumont's brigade, Major-General O.
M. Mitchel's division, at Murfreesboro, and made, with General Mitchel,
the campaign in Northern Alabama, and conducted the evacuation of
Huntsville, August 31, 1862, under orders from Major-General Buell. He
commanded the Seventeenth Brigade up to the battle of Chaplin Hills,
where he was again wounded, October 8, 1862. During the following winter
he was promoted to Brigadier-General, dating from November 29, 1862,
and reported for duty to the Army of the Cumberland in the spring of 1863,
and was assigned to the command of the First Brigade, Third Division, of
the Twentieth Army Corps.

A Tribute To the Tenth Ohio.

When Colonel Mulligan was in Cincinnati, he and the noble William H.
Lytle were invited to the dedication of the Catholic Institute. It was the 22d
of November, 1861. Lytle had just recovered from his Carnifex Ferry
wound. The Colonel was called upon for a speech. He said:

"When I go back and tell my men how, for their sakes, you have received
me to-night, they will feel very proud. They often think of you, my fellow-
citizens; and the brother, mother, wife, or sister, among you, in spirit visits
the soldier as he rests in his chill tent at night.

"It does not become me to speak of my own regiment, for I know that he
who putteth his armor on can not boast as he that puts it off. But, as it is
distant, and can not hear my words, I may say this much: the Tenth has been
ever true to the motto inscribed upon its flag—'God and the Union.'"

The Colonel paid a feeling tribute to John Fitzgibbons, the dead color-
bearer of the Tenth, and hoped that the memory of his deeds, of Kavanagh,

and others, who fell on the field in defense of their country, might inspire
their countrymen to rise and avenge them.

Drilling.

Sweet Amy asked, with pleading eyes,
"Dear Charley, teach me, will you,
The words I've heard your captain say?
I should so like to drill you!"

"What! little one, you take command!
Well, Amy, I'm quite willing;
In such a company as yours,
I can't have too much drilling.

"Stand over, then, and sing out clear,
Like this: 'Squad! stand at ease!'"
"O, Charles! you'll wake papa, up stairs;
Don't shout like that, love, please."

"Now, stand at ease, like this, you see!
And then, I need scarce mention,
The next command you have to give,
Is this one: 'Squad! attention!'

"Now, Amy, smartly after me;
(You're sure, dear, it won't bore you?)
'Forward, march! Halt! Front! Right dress!'
There, now, I'm close before you.

"'Present arms!'" "Well, it does look odd."
"You don't believe I'd trifle!
We hold our arms out, just like this,
In drill without the rifle.

"Now say, 'Salute your officer!'"
"O, Charles! for shame! how can you?

I thought you were at some such trick,
You horrid, naughty man you."

Charles "ordered arms" without command;
She smoothed her ruffled hair,
And pouted, frowned, and blushed, and then
Said softly, "As you were!"

A Black Nightingale's Song.

Shortly after our troops occupied one of the towns in Virginia, a squad
occupying a tent near a dwelling heard delightful music. The unknown
vocalist sang in such sweet, tremulous, thrilling notes, that the boys strained
their ears to drink in every note uttered.

On the following day they made some excuse to visit the house, but no
one was there. Once they observed a sylph-like form, but she was not the
person; and so they lived on, each night hearing the same divine music.

One night, when they were gathered together, the voice was again heard.
"By Jove!" said one, "I'm bound to find out who that is; she must be
discovered." A dozen voices took up the remark, and a certain nervous
youth was delegated to reconnoiter the place. He crept on tiptoe toward the
dwelling, leaped the garden-wall, and finally, undiscovered, but pallid and
remorseful, gained the casement. Softly raising his head, he peeped within.
The room was full of music; he seemed to grow blind for a moment, when
lo! upon the kitchen-table sat the mysterious songster, an ebony-hued
negress, scouring the tinware, and singing away. Just as he was peering
through the window, the ebony songster discovered him. The soldier's limbs
sank beneath him, and the black specimen of humanity shouted:

"Go 'way dar, you soger-man, or I'll let fly de fryin' pan at your head!
You musn't stan' dar peekin' at dis chile."

The soldier left, his romantic vision dispelled.

Our Hoosier Boys.

Dedicated To The Brave Soldiers Of Indiana.

From East to West your camp-fires blaze,
Hoosier boys! our Hoosier boys!
On Vicksburg's hights our flag you raise,
Hoosier boys! our Hoosier boys!
And on Virginia's trait'rous soil,
In answer to your country's call,
The echoes of your footsteps fall,
Hoosier boys! our Hoosier boys!

While Southern suns upon you beat,
Hoosier boys! our Hoosier boys!
You sternly march the foe to meet,
Hoosier boys! our Hoosier boys!
Two winters, numbered with the past,
Have o'er you swept with stormy blast,
Since home's dear walls inclosed you last;
Hoosier boys! our Hoosier boys!

By Richmond's fields, baptized with blood,
Hoosier boys! our Hoosier boys!
By precious dust 'neath Shiloh's sod,
Hoosier boys! our Hoosier boys!
By every martyred hero's grave,
By sacred rights they died to save.
We'll cherish in our hearts the brave
Hoosier boys! our Hoosier boys!

While yet a vacant place is here,
Hoosier boys! our Hoosier boys!
From hearts and homes will rise the prayer,
Hoosier boys! our Hoosier boys!
"God bless our gallant men and true,
And let foul treason meet its due!"

That faithful hearts may welcome you
Home again, our Hoosier boys![Back to Contents]

CHAPTER XVI.
Old Stonnicker and Colonel Marrow, of 3d Ohio
— General Garnett and his Dogs — "Are You the
Col-o-nel of This Post?" — Profanity in the Army
— High Price of Beans in Camp — A Little Game
of "draw."

Old Stonnicker and Colonel Marrow, of 3d Ohio.

A Peculiar specimen of the "genus Virginia" had a great deal of trouble
while our army was encamped at Elkwater. Stonnicker's fences and sugar-
camp were used for fire-wood, corn-field for fodder, apple-trees stripped.

Stonnicker's family were sick. One of his oldest gals had the "soger's
fever." He "guessed she must o' cotched it from either the 3d Ohio or 17th
Ingeeana Regiment, as the officers kept a comin' there so much."

One day he sent for Colonel Marrow, and the Colonel obeying the
summons, Stonnicker said:

"Colonel, one of my children is dead, and I haven't any thing to bury the
child in."

The Colonel, a kind-hearted gentleman, had a neat coffin made; lent the
old man horses and an ambulance, and attended personally to the burial, at
which the old man took on "amazingly."

An hour or two after the funeral, old Stonnicker strolled up to the
Colonel's quarters.

"Colonel," said he, as the tears rolled down his cheeks; "Colonel, what
shall I do?"

The Colonel, thinking he was mourning over the loss of his lately-buried
child, replied:

"O, bear up under such trials like a man."

"Wal, I know I orto; but, Colonel, can't you do something for me? It is
too bad! I feel so miserable! Boo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!"

"O, come, be a man," said the Colonel; "any thing I can do for you shall
be done, willingly."

"O, Colonel! I knowed it; I knowed it. My old woman allers said you was
a fust-rate feller; and, Colonel, ef you'll only pay me for them two stacks of
hay your men took from my field, I shall be mighty glad, for I want the
money."

It is needless to say that the Colonel's sympathies instantly ceased, and,
turning on his heel, he might have been heard to say, "O, d——n you and
your hay."

General Garnett and His Dogs.

It was said by the boys that at the battle in which General Garnett was
killed, a favorite dog of his was with him on the field. During the three
months following I saw not less than fifty dogs, each one said, positively, to
be the identical dog belonging to the rebel general.

Are You the Col-o-nel of this Post?

I was seated one day in the telegraph office at Beverly. Prince was the
telegrapher, and he was communicating with some female at Buckhannon,
telling her to come over on the next train. While enjoying a lump of white
sugar dissolved in hot water, sent by Uncle Peter Thomson, especially to
cure my cold, a big, brawny Irishman entered the office, and, as I was
rigged out in the Secession uniform of Captain Ezzard, of the Gate City
Guards, Atlanta, Georgia, I was mistaken for a general by the said Irishman,
who accosted me much after this style:

"Good mornin' to ye, sur. And how are yees dis mornin'?"

"Good morning, sir," said I.

"Sure, sir," said he; "are you the Col-o-nel of this post? for it was him I
was towld to ax for—for a pass to get to see my wife, who lives five miles
away from here, adjoining the white church, forninst the first woods to the
right as you go to Huttonsville."

As soon as he finished his speech I informed him I was not the Col-o-nel,
but that Colonel William Bosley was the gentleman he must see. I told him,
moreover, that "the Colonel was a very cross man; very strict in his
discipline: if he didn't approach him "just so," he would very likely refuse
any pass, and kick him into the bargain."

"Thank you, sur; thank you, sur. O, but I'll approach him right. Never fear
me!"

I pointed him to the marquee, in front of which was a large stake, or post,
for hitching horses.

"There," said I, "you see; that's the post."

"Well, sur; plaise to tell me what I must do?"

"You must go three times round the post; make your bow; place your
hands behind you; walk to the entrance of his tent, and inquire, 'If he
commands that post?' Tell him you want to see your wife, and the pass, no
doubt, will be given you."

The Irishman did as requested. Colonel Bosley said he knew there was a
joke up, and humored it; and after putting all sorts of grotesque questions to
the man, he was allowed to go on his way, rejoicing.

High Price of Beans in Camp—a Little Game of "Draw."

Beans were excessively high, one season, in our army. I have seen
Charley Brutton and Lieutenant Southgate and Captain Frank Ehrman, and
other officers, pay as high as five cents apiece for them. Brutton said he
intended to make bean-soup of his. Often, while I stood looking at parties
around a table, I heard remarks like these:

"Ten beans better than you."

I suppose he meant that his ten beans were better than his opponent's ten
beans. Then some one of the party, seated at the end of the table, would say:

"I see them ten beans."

Well, so did I, and everybody else about there. We couldn't help but see
them. Why, therefore, need he make so superfluous a remark? Then the
other would say:

"I call you."

But I didn't hear him call. All he would do was, to lay his beans on the
pile in the middle of the table, and soon they all spread out some pictures
and dots that were printed on white pasteboard. Then one man reaches out
his hand and draws over the beans to his side; and he smiles complacently,
and all the others look beat and crabbed. And this they call a little game of
draw.

Charley Clark and Captain Westcott say 'tis a bad practice; and they
ought to know.

Profanity in the Army.

It is astonishing how rapidly men in the service become profane. I never
before appreciated the oft-quoted phrase, "He swears like a trooper." Young
men whom I have noticed, in times gone by, for their urbanity and quiet
demeanor, now use language unbecoming gentlemen upon any occasion.
But here it is overlooked, because "everybody does it;" but, to my mind,

"'Tis a custom more honored in the breach than the observance."

Gambling, too! O, how they take to it! "O, it's just for pastime," says one.
Yes; but it is a pastime that will grow and grow, and drag many a one to
ruin. Among the many ways that the boys have of evading the law against it
in camp is, going off into the woods and taking a "quiet game," as they term
it. Chuck-a-luck, sweat-cloth, and every species of device for swindling are
resorted to by the baser sort.[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER XVII.
Hard on the Sutler: Spiritualism Tried — A
Specimen of Southern Poetry — Singular —
March to Nashville — General Steadman
Challenged by a Woman — Nigger Question —
"Rebels Returning."

Hard on the Sutler—spiritualism Tried.

The officers of some regiments will drink—that is, they can be induced.

There was a sutler, a great devotee to the modern science—if science it
can be called—of spiritualism. The officers found this out, and determined
to play upon his credulity. The quarter-master was quite a wag, and lent
himself to the proposed fun. His large tent was prepared: holes were made
in it, and long black threads attached to various articles in the apartment,
and one or two persons stationed to play upon these strings.

The party met as per agreement; every thing was arranged; the credulous
sutler present. While enjoying the evening, the crowd were surprised to see
things jumping around; a tumbler was jerked off a table, no one near it;
clothing lifted up from the line running through the length of the tent. Some
one suggested "spirits." All acknowledged the mystery, while some would,
and others would not, accept the spiritual hypothesis as a correct solution.
The matter must be tested, and the sutler was appointed chief interrogator.

"If," said he, "there are really spirits, why can they not prove it, by
knocking this candlestick from my hand?"

"Why can't they?" echoed others.

And, sure enough, no sooner said than done, and done so quickly that no
one but the performer was the wiser, whose knuckles, he said, pained him
for a week afterward. Another of the party said to the spirit, "Fire a pistol."

Bang! was the reply.

The sutler became terrified. Again it was agreed that they should try
questioning by the rapping process. The sutler proceeded:

"Are there any spirits present?"

Rap! rap! rap!

"Is it the spirit of a deceased relative?"

Rap! rap! rap!

"Whose relative is it? The Quarter-master's?"

Rap.

"The Adjutant's?"

Rap.

"Mine?"

Rap! rap! rap!

Here the sutler was requested to ask if there was anybody in the room
who had committed any crime. The question was asked, and

Rap! rap! rap! was the reply.

"Is it the Quarter-master?"

Rap.

"Is it the Colonel?"

Rap!

"Is it the Adjutant?"

Rap!

"Is it the Surgeon?"

Rap!

"Is it m-m-e?"

Rap! rap! rap!

"O yes; I know it!" exclaimed the conscience-stricken sutler. (The first
case of the kind I ever knew.) "O yes; I confess I was a Methodist class-
leader, and now, here I am, drinking whisky, and selling it, and getting three
prices from the boys for every thing I sell. O! I'll go and pray!" And he
accordingly departed. The sutler reported, in the morning, that he had
prayed, and felt much relieved. It so wrought upon his mind that the joke
had to be explained to him, to prevent his being driven to distraction.

A Specimen of Southern Poetry.

From the appended exquisite gem of "Southern poetry," it will be seen
that they wish to raise the black flag. Well, why don't they raise it? Let us
hope that for every black flag they raise, Uncle Abraham will raise a black
regiment. It is from the Chattanooga Rebel, and is entitled

The Black Flag.

Raise now the sable flag! high let it wave
O'er all Secessia's hills and flowery vales,
And on its sable folds the motto trace,
"For victory or death!" The hated foe
Have gathered in our lovely land, and trod,
With desecrating steps, our State's proud Capital.
They've pillaged in our cities, burned our homes,
Exiled our stanch, true-hearted patriots,
Arrested loyal citizens, and sent
Them to those hungry bastiles of the North,
The ignominious "Chase" and "Johnson's Isle."
Our clergy—God's anointed—who refused
To take a black, obnoxious oath, to perjure
Their own souls, they placed in "durance vile."
The noble daughters of the "sunny South,"
Whose hearts were with their country's cause, they
forced
To yield obedience to their hated laws,
Nor heeded cries of pity; whether from
Matron staid, beseeching them to leave her,
For her little ones, her own meat and bread;
Or from the bright-eyed boy, with manly grace,
Who brooks, with sorrowing looks, the insults she
Is forced to bear, and dares not to resent;
Or from the gray-haired sire, whose cord of life
Is nearly loosed, who, in enfeebled tones,
Prays them to cease their vexing raids, and let
An old man die in peace. Nor will they list
To maiden fair, whose virtue is their goal.
They've desolated every home where once
Abundance bloomed, and with the weapons of
A warrior (?)—fire and theft—have laid our homes
In ashes, plundered their effects, and sworn
Th' extermination of Secessia's sons.
Then raise the ebon flag! with Spring's warm breath
Let it unfurl its night-like folds, and wave
Where noble "Freeman" fills a martyr's grave.

Then strike! but not for booty, soldiers brave;
Fight to defend your liberties and homes—
The joy it gives to see the Vandals fall,
And catch the music of their dying groans.
Go! burn their cities, scourge their fertile lands;
Teach them retaliation; plow their fields,
And slay by thousands with your iron hail;
Scorn every treaty, every Yankee clan.
Defy with Spartan courage. Vengeance stamp
Upon your bayonets; and let the hills and
Vales resound with Blood—your battle-cry.

Singular.

Civilians are often puzzled, in reading reports of battles, to understand
how it is that a thousand troops in a body can "stand the galling fire of the
enemy" for an hour or more, and come out with but two or three killed and
half a dozen wounded; or how they can "mow down the enemy at every
shot" for a long time, and yet not kill over a dozen or so of them. Every
thing that is done now-a-days is a complete "rout;" all the enemy's camp
equipage, guns, ammunition, etc., are taken. Will somebody wiser than I am
please explain?

The Modern Troubadour.

A Camp Song.

Gaily the bully boy smoked his cigar,
As he was hastening off for the war;
Singing—"To Secesh land, thither I go:
Rebuels! rebuels! fight all you know!"

'Lize for the bully boy gave nary weep,
Knowing full well he'd his promise keep,
And make her his little wife; so this was her song—
"Bully boy! bully boy! come right along!"
In Camp, Near Tennessee Line,
October 7, 1862.

At five o'clock this morning struck tents at camp, a few miles this side of
Bowling Green, and were on the march for "any place where ordered." I am
thus indefinite, because the publication of the "ultimate destination" is
contraband news. Yesterday we were encamped in a wildly picturesque part
of Kentucky—intensely rocky—abounding in caverns and subterranean
streams; to-day we marched through what has been a delightful country,
beautifully rolling land, and highly-cultivated farms; but now, what a sad
picture is presented! Scarce a fence standing; no evidences of industry; all
is desolation, and the demon of devastation seems to have stalked through
the entire State with unchecked speed—houses burned, roads neglected,
farms destroyed, in fact, nothing but desolation staring you in the face, turn
which way you will.

Early this morning the road was very dusty, but by nine o'clock we had a
splendid representation of "Bonaparte crossing the Alps," minus the Alps,
and nothing but active marching kept the boys from feeling the extra
keenness of old Winter's breath. Still, the boys trudged merrily on, feeling
confident the present march is not to be fruitless in its results, as preceding
ones have been. This campaign now presents an active appearance, every
thing indicating a head to conceive and the will to do.

At three o'clock to-day we passed through the neat-looking town of
Franklin. It looks very new, most of the houses being substantial bricks.
Here we met General Fry, the man who slewed Zollicoffer. The General is
of plain, unostentatious appearance, a keen eye, lips compressed, the whole
countenance denoting determination and quickness of perception.

General Steadman Challenged by a Woman.

Riding along to-day with General Steadman, who, in his province as
commander of this brigade, had called at the dwellings on the road-side, to
see about the sick soldiers left in the houses, the General knocked at a door,
and a voice within yelled "Come in." Obeying the injunction, he opened the
door, and inquired how many men were there, and, also, if they had the
requisite attention shown them. After a few minutes' talk with the soldiers,
General Steadman entered into conversation with Mr. Reynolds, the owner
of the property, who, among other things, asked the General when he
thought the war would end; to which the General replied:

"Not till the rebels lay down their arms, or the Secessionists get perfectly
tired of having their country devastated."

This reply brought in a third party—old Mrs. Reynolds, a regular spitfire,
a she-Secessionist of the most rabid, cantankerous species—a tiger-cat in
petticoats. This she specimen of the "Spirit of the South," of the demon of
desolation, had bottled up her venom during the conversation of her son,
but could hold in no longer; her vial of wrath "busted," the cork flew out,
and the way she came at the General was a caution to the wayfarers over
this road, at any rate.

"O, yes! and that's all you nasty Yankees come here for, is, to destroy our
property, invade our sile, deserlatin' our homes. This 'ere whole war is
nothing but a Yankee speculation, gotten up by the North, so that they can
steal niggers and drive us from our homes."

"Well, madam, as it is not my province to quarrel with a woman, I shall
not talk to you. You get excited, and don't know what you're talking about."

"O! but I'll talk to you as much as I please. You're all a sneaking set of
thieves. You can just take yourself out of my house, you dirty pup. You're
drunk."

The General very placidly listened to the old termagant, and merely
remarked, "It was too cold to go out of the house just then; he guessed he'd
warm himself first."

"Get out, quick," said she, opening the door. "I'll let you know I'm a
Harney. Yes, I'm a grand-daughter of General Harney, of Revolutionary
fame."

"Well, madam, I have before told you I don't want to quarrel with a
woman, but if you have any of the male Harneys about the house, who will
give me the tenth part of the insolence that I have listened to from the lips
of 'one old enough to know better,' I will soon show him of what mettle I'm
made."

"Jeemes, give me your six-shooter," fairly shrieked the old woman; "I'll
soon show him. I'll fight you at ten paces, sir!"

The General laughed at her last remark; seeing which, she became
perfectly furious. Her sons and daughters begged her to desist from such
talk; but the more they cried "Don't," the less she "don'ted."

The family, by this time, had been made aware that it was a real General
at whom this insolence of tongue was being hurled, and the tribulation of
the son was great. The General, after thoroughly warming himself, quietly
walked out with his staff. The son followed to the door, making all sorts of
apologies for his mother—that she had been sick, was peevish, and, at
times, out of her head. I suggested to him, that I didn't think she would be
so apt to go out of her head if John Morgan had come along, instead of a
Union man.

Lucky for that house and its inmates that the 9th Ohio, or any of General
Steadman's command, were not apprised of the proceedings. The General,
in the kindness of his heart, and for the sake of the soldiers quartered there,
placed a guard around her house, to prevent her being troubled in the least
while the regiments were passing.[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER XVIII.
Going into Battle — Letter to the Secesh —
General Garfield, Major-General Rosecrans's
Chief of Staff — General Lew Wallace — The
Siege of Cincinnati — Parson Brownlow —
Colonel Charles Anderson.

Going into Battle.

Many wonder if men wear their coats and knapsacks, and carry blankets,
when going into battle. That depends upon circumstances. Sometimes,
when marching, they find themselves in battle when they least expect it.
Upon such occasions, soldiers drop every thing that is likely to incommode
them, and trust to luck for the future.

Many wonder if regiments fire regularly, in volleys, or whether each man
loads and fires as fast as he can. That, also, depends upon circumstances.
Except when the enemy is near, the regiments fire only at the command of
their officers.

You hear a drop, drop, drop, as a few of the skirmishers fire, followed by
a rattle and a roll, which sounds like the falling of a building, just as you
may have heard the brick walls at a fire.

Sometimes, when a body of the enemy's cavalry are sweeping down upon
a regiment to cut it to pieces, the men form in a square, with the officers and
musicians in the center. The front rank stand with bayonets charged, while

the second rank fires as fast as it can. Sometimes they form in four ranks
deep—the two front ones kneeling, with their bayonets charged, so that, if
the enemy should come upon them, they would run against a picket-fence
of bayonets. When they form this way, the other two ranks load and fire as
fast as they can. Then the roar is terrific, and many a horse and rider go
down before the terrible storm of leaden hail.

Letter To the Secesh.

My Dear Rebs: Having just learned that Vicksburg has gone up—Port
Hudson caved—Jackson surrendered—Bragg unwell—I thought I would
ask you a few questions, for instance:

How are you, any how?

How does "dying in the last ditch" agree with your general health?

How is the Constitution down your way?

Do you think there is any Government?

How is King Kotting?

Is Yancey well and able to hold his oats?

Has Buckner taken Louisville yet?

I understand Tilghman has quit hanging Union men.

Is Floyd still rifling cannon, and other small arms?

How is the Southern heart?

Are you still able to whip five to one?

What is your opinion of the Dutch race?

When will England and France recognize you?

What have you done with the provisional government of Kentucky?

Where is the Louisville-Bowling-Green-Nashville-Atlanta Courier
published now? Say—

What do you think of yourselves any how?

A prompt answer will relieve many anxious hearts.

Yours, in a horn, A Lincoln Man.

General Garfield, Major-General Rosecrans's Chief of
Staff.

The rather brilliant career of the General is worthy of a more extended
notice than I have room for.

General Garfield was born in Cuyahoga County, Ohio, in 1831. It is said
that, in his early love of freedom, he formed a strong attachment for horses,
and, to gratify this feeling, he ran away from home and became a driver on
the canal. Possessing remarkable endurance, and great strength, with no
small amount of combative spirit, he soon became a "shoulder-hitter,"
whipping all opponents who were any way near his own age, and becoming
a terror to the quarrelsome rowdies who had previously ruled the ditch.

During the hight of his wild career he attended a revival meeting, became
converted, found new and wealthy friends, who supplied him with funds to
attend college, and, in 1856, he graduated at William's College,
Massachusetts, with the highest honors.

Returning to Ohio, he at once settled as a clergyman and president of the
college at Hiram, Portage County. He here became very popular as an
eloquent divine, as a lecturer before lyceums, and as a profound scholar.

The success of his school was without a precedent. Two years ago he was
elected, by an immense majority, as a member of the State Senate. At the
first call for troops, he at once entered the field, and rallied round him some
of the ablest boys to be found in the State.

General Garfield is what would be called, by ladies, a really handsome
man; has large, blue eyes, an expressive mouth, the outlines of which
denote good nature. It was prophesied at once, after his enlistment, that,
"Let Rev. Mr. Garfield have a chance at the rebels, and he would die in the
field, or win a victory." He has, at all times, so far, been on the winning
side.

Humphrey Marshall—the barn-door of the Southern Confederacy—it is
said, once beat General Garfield, during the early Kentucky campaign.
Marshall was in a trap, and, wanting a little time, called upon Garfield with
a white flag, who was commanding a brigade, and asked—

"Is there no way to settle this without fighting?"

"No, sir," said Garfield, "none but to fight—somebody has got to get
hurt."

But Marshall didn't see it in that light—retired to consult—and, in the
mean time, beat a hasty retreat, and thus beat Garfield.

General Lew Wallace.

General Lew Wallace was formerly colonel of the 11th Indiana (three-
months men,) known as Zouaves, who were noted for their daring bravery
and dash. When the regiment returned to Indiana to be reorganized for the
war, General Wallace remained quiet a few days, when the trouble in
Missouri aroused his energies, and he issued a spirited call to his fellow-
citizens, which was responded to with the greatest enthusiasm. They
flocked to his standard, and were sent to the Department of Missouri, and
thence to Paducah, after which he was promoted to a generalship in the
division of General C. F. Smith.

General Wallace made himself a legion of friends in his able management
of affairs during the memorable siege of Cincinnati by the rebels. At a
public meeting in Columbus, Ohio, a Flagg was raised, and the following
war poem recited:

The Siege of Cincinnati.

Who saved our city, when the foe
Swore in his wrath to lay it low,
And turned to joy our tears of woe?
Lew Wallace.

Who taught us how to cock the gun,
And aim it straight, and never run,
And made us heroes, every one?
Lew Wallace.

And told us how to face and wheel,
Or charge ahead with pointed steel,
While cannon thundered, peal on peal?
Lew Wallace.

Who, when all in bed did sleep,
About us watch and ward did keep,
Like watch-dog round a flock of sheep?
Lew Wallace.

Who made us all, at his commands,
With fainting hearts and blistering hands,
Dig in the trench with contrabands?
Lew Wallace.

Who would have led us, warriors plucky,
To bloody fields far in Kentucky?
But Wright said, No!—and that was lucky?
Lew Wallace.

Who sat his prancing steed astraddle,
Upon a silver-mounted saddle,
And saw the enemy skedaddle?
Lew Wallace.

And who, "wha hae wi' Wallace" fed,
On pork and beans and army bread,
Will e'er forget, when he is dead,
Lew Wallace?

Parson Brownlow.

The Knoxville Register thus laments the release of the Parson from the
prison of that city:

"In brief, Brownlow has preached at every church and school-house,
made stump-speeches at every crossroad, and knows every man, woman,
and child, and their fathers and grandfathers before them, in East Tennessee.
As a Methodist circuit-preacher, a political stump-speaker, a temperance
orator, and the editor of a newspaper, he has been equally successful in our
division of the State. Let him but once reach the confines of Kentucky, with
his knowledge of the geography and the population of East Tennessee, and
our section will soon feel the effect of his hard blows. From among his own
old partisan and religious sectarian parasites he will find men who will obey
him with the fanatical alacrity of those who followed Peter the Hermit in
the first Crusade. We repeat again, let us not underrate Brownlow."

The gallant Colonel Charles Anderson, of the 93d Ohio, in a speech in
Columbus, said:

"The South laugh at the little shams of the hour with which they agitate
us; but their purpose is deep and dark. They mean to carry out their system
of 'oligarchy' at whatever cost. Looking upon slavery as I now do, having
seen it from every side, and knowing that the South intend the destruction
of this Union—were I to stand before the congregated world, I would

declare it—I will hew slavery from crest to hip, from hip to heel, and cut
my way through white, black, and yellow—nerve, muscles, bone—tribes
and races, to the Gulf of Mexico, to save the Union."[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER XIX.
An Episode of the War — Laughable Incident —
Old Mrs. Wiggles on Picket Duty — General
Manson — God Bless the Soldiers — Negro's
Pedigree of Abraham Lincoln — A Middle
Tennessee Preacher — A Laconic Speech.

An Episode of the War.

During the early part of the rebellion, when the rebels were in force on
Munson's Hill, McClellan laid a plan to surround and capture them. This
plan was only known to McClellan, General Scott, and Colonel Scott, a
relation of the General, by marriage. As the troops started out at night, for
their assault, a signal rocket went up from Washington. On their arrival at
Munson's Hill, the bird had flown. McClellan, being informed of this,
immediately called on General Scott, finding there Colonel Scott. He
immediately said to the General: "The enemy have been warned of our
movements by a rocket; they must have been so warned by one of us.
Which is the traitor?" No answer was given. McClellan then called on the
President, and mentioned the above facts, stating his conviction that
Colonel Scott was the delinquent, and insisted upon his immediate
imprisonment, or his banishment, or his own resignation. Then followed
General Scott's resignation, then his journey to Paris, and the self-
banishment of Colonel Scott.

A Laughable Incident.

Considerable merriment and not a few immodest expressions were
elicited at Washington, one day, by the action of the patrol, who
perambulate the Avenue on horseback, a terror to all fast riders. On this
occasion they made an onslaught upon the darkeys, who, for some time
past, had luxuriated in the uniform of United States volunteers. How the
articles of wearing apparel were obtained by the contrabands alluded to we
have not inquired. The patrol rode up to each unfortunate "Sambo" that
made his appearance, and proceeded to divest him of each of the articles
enumerated, save where the bare necessity of the case would not admit of
such a procedure. Caps, vests, and coats rapidly disappeared from
"Sambo's" body, and were deposited in the street at the feet of the horses.

"Take off your breeches," we heard escape the lips of one of the patrol.
The darkey grinned, then rolled his eyes, gazed at some ladies passing, and
then, with an astonished countenance, looked up into the face of the patrol.
"Massa," he said, "I aint got nuffin else on when I take dese off." This was
something of a puzzle to the guard on horseback, and so, not wishing to
shock the modesty of the street, "Sambo" was allowed to depart with his
linen and trowsers.

Old Mrs. Wiggles on Picket Duty.

"As for sleeping on a picket," said Mrs. Wiggles to the three-months
volunteer who had dropped in to see her, "I don't see how they can do it
without hurting them. Sleeping on a post would be a good deal more
sensible, unless there's a nail in it, which might be prejudicious for the
uniform. Every one to his taste, and such things as where a man shall sleep
is at his own auction; but nobody can help thinking that either a picket or a
post is a very uncomfortable place to sleep on. At any rate, there isn't much
room for more than one in a bed."

General Manson.

Brigadier-General Manson was in camp at Glenn's Fork, Pulaski County,
eighteen miles from the scene of the Mill Spring battle, and, with his
brigade, made a forced march that distance, over horrible midwinter roads,
arriving just in time to engage honorably in the fight. The gallant 10th
Indiana lost seventy-five men. Its colonel, commanding the brigade as
above, is an officer of great bravery and ability. His conduct at the battle of
Rich Mountain, in Western Virginia, as colonel of that regiment, and his
experience in the war with Mexico, constitute a happy preface to his late
brilliant achievement. This same 10th Indiana is fully up to the feat of rapid
marches. At one time, being detailed to go to Greensburg from
Campbellsville, to repel an anticipated attack of Secesh, the march was
made by the Hoosier boys in three hours, a distance of twelve miles, eight
of which was over a dirt-road that had had the advantage of a hard rain the
night previous.

God Bless the Soldier.

A young and beautiful lady of Louisville (Minnie Myrtle) says; "God
bless the soldier!" O, could we but look into the almost bursting heart of the
rough-clad, tired soldier, as he plods his way, weary and worn, casting a
glance, at intervals, to see one kind smile, to hear one kind and gentle voice
to remind him of home, and the "loved ones" left far behind to the mercies
of a cold and heartless world—could we but look into that fond heart and
see the aching void, we would clasp that hand tenderly, and draw him
gently to our homes, a welcome guest. O, did you but think, for a moment,
of the sacrifice made by the ones you term "striplings," you would smother
the thought before it rises to your pure lips, and your cheeks would burn
with the sisterly blush, and your lips would breathe a prayer instead for the
wanderer.

Come with me to yon snow-covered cabin. 'Tis a rude hut; but pause ere
you enter, and behold the scene: An aged mother, bowed in deep and

earnest prayer; and, as she prays for her jewels, a smile, not of sadness, but
a settled calmness, gives place to one of extreme agony; her boys—she has
but two, the pride of her declining years—both she gave, as did "Abraham
of old," a living sacrifice upon the "altar of her country." Come with me to
yonder habitation, not of wealth, but comfort. Hark! What shriek was that
which rent the air? A widowed mother kneels beside the fatherless babe,
and asks God in mercy to let the bitter cup pass from her. Another sacrifice
to the dark and bloody ground! Pause, then, sisters, and give that thought
not utterance. Your lips should breathe a prayer for the friendless soldier. If
you have a brother, then love the soldier for your brother's sake; and if you
have none, the honest-hearted soldier will be a brother and protector. But,
O, for the love of God, speak kindly to the soldier.

A Negro's Pedigree of Abraham Lincoln.

A full-blooded African, who was taken prisoner on the steamer Lewis, on
which he is now employed as a cook, in the service of the United States,
was encountered one evening by the surgeon of one of the naval ships, who
asked him his name. "Nathaniel," replied the negro. "Any other name?" said
the doctor; to which Sambo replied: "Why, de last name is always de
massa's name—Massa Johnson." "What do the people say this war is
about?" asked the doctor. Nat replied: "Why, sir, dey say that some man,
called Linkum, is going to kill all de women an' de children, an' drive de
massa away; and all de colored folks will be sold to Cuba." Nathaniel then
proceeded to give some new and highly interesting particulars respecting
the genealogy of the family of the Chief Magistrate of the United States.
"Dey say his wife was a black woman, and dat his fadder and mudder come
from Ireland," said he, speaking with emphasis. The doctor indignantly
refuted the aspersions cast upon the family of the President, and disabused
the mind of the negro of the false impressions which he had received from
the Secessionists of the place.

One morning I accosted a contraband named Dick, who was employed in
the fort. "Have you any other name?" said I. "Dey calls me Dick, de Major,"
was his answer. In reply to interrogatories, he gave an account of his life. "I

was born in Virginny," said he, holding on the rim of a slouchy felt hat, and
raising it at every inquiry. "Massa sold me, fore I was old 'nuff to know my
mudder, to a preacher man in Florida. Bimeby massa die, and missus, she
had a musical turn o' mind, and swapped me off for a fiddler; but de people
all got de laf on de ole 'oman, for in two or free months the old fiddler died,
and she lost us both," and the darkey laughed vehemently.

A Middle Tennessee Preacher.

A Secesh preacher, who was elected to a captaincy in the Home-Guards
at Chattanooga, hearing they were likely to be called out, sent in the
following note:

"dear curnel i beg to resind my commishen. Being a disciple of Krist i
can not take up the sord."

A Laconic Speech.

An amusing sword presentation took place one day in camp. The 78th
Pennsylvania presented a sword to their colonel, William Sirwell. Captain
Gillespie spoke as follows:

"Here we are, and here it is. This is a bully sword, and comes from bully
boys; take it, and use it in a bully manner."

Colonel Sirwell replied:

"Captain, that was a bully speech. Let's all take a bully drink."[Back to
Contents]

CHAPTER XX.
Union Men Scarce — How they are Dreaded —
Incidents — The Wealthy Secessionists and Poor
Union Widows — The John Morgans of Rebellion
— A Contraband's Explanation of the Mystery —
Accident at the South Tunnel — Impudence of the
Rebels — A Pathetic Appeal, etc.

Camp near Gallatin, Tenn.,
November 20, 1862.

A trip from the tunnel to Gallatin, and back, is a good day's sport, for it
behooves all to be on the alert, to avoid being captured by citizen guerrillas.
A number of this brigade have already been "gobbled up," while out
hunting luxuries at farm-houses. This became so frequent that the General
in command issued an order prohibiting the boys from leaving camp
without special permission.

Folks at home have frequently heard of the strong Union sentiment
pervading Tennessee, but, "cuss me" if I haven't hunted in vain for the
article during the past two weeks, and, with no exception whatever, save
among the laboring class, have I found an out-and-out Union man. They
answer with a "double meaning," when questioned, and are professed Union
men while the army is here, and strong Secessionists when the rebel army
can protect them.

The fact is, all the true Union men have been driven by the merciless foe
into the woods—at any rate from their homes. Acts of the most fiendish
barbarity have been committed, and the aiders and abettors are within a few

miles of this camp, unmolested, enjoying the comforts of a home, while the
true patriot, driven from his family to the hills of his native State, is

"Unsheltered by night, and unrested by day;
The heath for his barracks—revenge for his pay."

An incident occurred in General Fry's division a few days since. Two of
the 2d Minnesota Regiment, John A. Smith and Mr. Mervis, both of St.
Paul, went out, by permission of their captain, in search of butter and eggs.
They took two good horses with them, and although a week has passed,
neither men nor horses have returned. The sequel proves that these men
were captured by armed residents of this neighborhood, as yesterday a
company were sent out for forage, and with them a number of servants were
sent for eatables. Arriving at the house of 'Squire McMurray, a well-known
Secessionist, who has two sons in the rebel army, the boys made inquiries
of the servants in regard to their missing comrades, and found out they had
been taken by a party of guerrillas from near this very house. The old
scoundrel McMurray openly exulted over the fact, and thought it very
comical to have the "Yankees" jerked up once in awhile. "It will teach
them," said he, "to stay at home." The boys wanted to purchase some
chickens and turkeys, but he refused to sell to "Yanks," swearing his turkeys
were not fattened for "Down-easters." Mrs. McMurray hurriedly came out,
and ordered all her black servants in the house, as she said she didn't want
her niggers contaminated with "sich white trash."

About two hours after this conversation the brigade teams drove up, and
soon drove off with ten loads of corn and oats, amounting to sixty dollars.
'Squire McMurray refused to receive a voucher offered by the Quarter-
master, and said they were of no account to him—it was only a trick of the
Abolition Government to rob the farmers; they had already sixty wagon-
loads, and he guessed he could spare a few more. This man has a splendid
farm, finely stocked with valuable imported Cashmere sheep, some of them
worth from four to five hundred dollars apiece. This man is living in luxury,
and upon ground that should be occupied by the poor and devoted families
of those who, by his connivance, have been driven forth upon the world. Yet
the great shield of the law—the law he has so basely violated, the
Constitution he has, and yet does, openly defy—is made his safeguard. Is it

at all astonishing our men weary of this favoritism, this premium upon
traitors?

Let me tell your readers of what I was an eye-witness, a few evenings
ago. You that have comfortable homes and warm firesides, with no war at
your doors, can have but a faint idea of the horrors that are broadcast over
this once happy country. A poor woman came to the commanding General
of this brigade and begged for protection. She lived eight miles from this
camp, and the rebels had threatened to burn her barn and house. Now, what
do you think was this woman's offense? Her husband had joined the Union
army at Nashville last August, and when, a few days afterward, he returned
to arrange his family affairs, the "guerillas" found out his return, and five of
the incarnate fiends walked into his house, and while he was seated at the
table, partaking of his breakfast, these men shot him—there, in the presence
of his wife and six children, these fiends, that our worthy President
deliberately "commutes," murdered their only protector; and now, not
satisfied with their former atrocity, they return to drive the poor widow and
her children from the desolate little homestead!

O! if there is one hell deeper than another, please, God, send these
wretches, who would persecute a poor woman thus, to it!

The General, upon hearing the story of her troubles, sent out two
companies of the 2d Minnesota Regiment to guard and bring into camp her
children, and what few chattels were left. Company A, under Captain
Barnes, and Company G, under Captain Keifer, were assigned to perform
this act of deserved charity.

It was ten o'clock at night, cold and windy, the rain penetrating to the
very bones, and dark as Egypt, when the two companies returned with Mrs.
Crane and her six children. One rickety wagon, a mangy old horse, a cow,
some bedding, and a few cooking utensils, were the trophies of the trip.
These things told a tale of poverty, but they were all the poor widow of the
murdered soldier possessed.

The children were all barefooted, and most scantily attired; the little ones
shivered with the cold, and the older ones wrapped their tattered garments
closer as the wind played rudely with them. A little four-year-old boy eyed

the soldiers with a side glance, and clung to his mother, as she held her
infant to her breast.

If I were to decide what to do in such a case, I would quickly turn out Mr.
'Squire McMurray, and let Mrs. Crane and her little ones possess the well-
stocked farm. To-day the General is endeavoring to get transportation to
Indiana for this family, at the expense of the Government.

An old negro resident near this camp, in conversation, a few days since,
said to me:

"Look-a-heah! all you white folks, when any debbeltry is done, allers lay
it to Massa John Morgan."

"Well," said I, "don't he do a large share of it?"

"Yes, he does do a heap; but, Lor bress you, massa, gib de debble his due;
he don't do de half what de white folks say. You see dat tunnel, don't you?"
said he, rolling the white of his eyes to the obliteration of all sight of the
pupil.

"Yes, I see it," I replied.

"Well, sah! Massa Morgan had no more to do wid dat tunnel dan you do
yourself. Morgan warnt no way nigh dis place when dat was done; de folks
what lib all round here was de Morganses what do dat work; why, dey done
toted rails for free days, and packed 'em in dat tunnel, and we darkeys had
to help 'em, and den dey set 'em on fire, and sich a cracklin' as you nebber
heard, and in less dan a week ebbery body all over de country was a-tellin'
about how as John Morgan burnt de tunnel."

Impudence of the Rebels.

"Here, sir, I've got an order for you," said an acknowledged well-known
rebel citizen, as he entered the head-quarters of the General commanding
the Third Brigade of the First Division of the Ohio. From the pompous

manner of the Tennesseean, the General didn't know, for a moment, but that
he was about being ordered under arrest by the citizen. The General merely
replied in his usual style:

"The hell you have, sir! Who is it from?"

"From General Fry, sir."

"Ah! let me see it."

The order was produced. It requested the General not to allow too much
of any one man's stock of corn to be taken. The General read the request,
and instantly inquired of the Tennesseean: "Are you a Union man?" and as
instantly received the reply of "No, sir, I am not."

"Then, G——d d——n you, sir, how dare you have the impudence to
come within my lines?"

The Tennesseean, seeing he had a man of the pure grit to deal with, shook
slightly in his boots, and did not put on so much "style," and was about to
explain something, when the General interrupted him with a quick order to
leave forthwith, or he would have a dozen bayonets in his rear "d——n
quick."

"But, General, how shall I get out of camp? Won't you please give me a
pass?"

"Me give a pass to a rebel! No, sir. How did you get within my lines?"

"Why, sir, I just walked straight in."

"Well, sir, you can just walk straight out, and if ever I see you inside my
lines again, I'll have you sent where you belong; and, after this, when you
have any 'order' for me, if it is from General Halleck, 'or any other man,'
don't you dare to bring it, but send it in to me, or you will rue the day."

A Pathetic Appeal.

I found the following "pathetic" appeal from the women of New Orleans.
It was laid carefully by, with a lock of hair, bearing the inscription, "To
Mary Looker, from her cousin Jane. Please send this appeal to all our male
friends around Gallatin."

"AN APPEAL FROM THE WOMEN OF NEW ORLEANS.

"To every Soldier:

"We turn to you in mute agony! Behold our wrongs, fathers! husbands!
brothers! sons! We know these bitter, burning wrongs will be fully avenged.
Never did Southern women appeal in vain for protection from insult! But,
for the sakes of our sisters throughout the South, with tears we implore you
not to surrender your cities, 'in consideration of the defenseless women and
children.' Do not leave your women to the merciless foe! Would it not have
been better for New Orleans to have been laid in ruins, and we buried
beneath the mass, than subjected to these untold sufferings? Is life so
priceless a boon that, for the preservation of it, no sacrifice is too great? Ah,
no! ah, no! Rather let us die with you! O, our fathers! rather, like Virginius,
plunge your own swords into our breasts, saying, 'This is all we can give
our daughters.'

"The Daughters of the South.

"New Orleans, May 14, 1862."[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER XXI.
A Friendly Visit for Corn into an Egyptian
Country — Ohio Regiments — "Corn or Blood" —
"Fanny Battles" — The Constitution Busted in
Several Places — Edicts Against Dinner Horns,
by Colonel Brownlow's Cavalry — A Signal
Station Burned — Two Rebel Aids Captured.

Camp at Triune, Tennessee,
April 26, 1863.

Last Thursday was a "gay day" for a portion of the Third Division.
General Schofield, thinking it requisite to lay in a good supply of
provender, ordered out one hundred and fifty wagons, to go on an errand of
mercy to our benighted "brethren of the South," and borrow of them some
corn, oats, and fodder, for Federal horses. Well, as it is a recognized breach
of etiquette to send such a train without escort, therefore, the General sent a
retinue, consisting of the 35th Ohio, under Colonel Long; 9th Ohio, Colonel
Josephs; 17th Ohio, Colonel Durbin Ward; 31st Ohio, Colonel Phelps; also,
the 87th Indiana, Colonel Shyrock; and the 2d Minnesota, under Colonel
George; together with two pieces belonging to the 4th Regular Battery,
under Lieutenants Rodney and Stevenson. We went forward with the
determination of obtaining food—"peacefully, if we could; forcibly, if we
must;" but we had to use the rebel women's motto, lately made public in
Richmond, "Food or Blood." Our new commander accompanied the
expedition. We started, after partaking of an early breakfast, and crossed
Harpeth River about nine o'clock. I had forgotten to mention that the 1st
East Tennessee Cavalry were along: the rebels haven't forgotten it, however,
as they were ordered to the front, and, as I am fond of seeing them "go in," I

was appointed chief aid and bottle-holder to the command under Majors
Burkhardt and Tracy, and had a splendid opportunity of seeing the
"Secession elephant." After passing through the town of College Grove, we
commenced feeling our way carefully, as we wished to make our visit a sort
of "surprise party" to the "brethren in arms;" as a matter of course, this was
only the "by-play," for while the Tennessee boys were unloading their
muskets, the teamsters were loading corn and oats from Secesh cribs. They
are excellent cribbage-players by this time.

As our cavalry advanced, the rebel cavalry fell back, declining to hold
any communication. Major Tracy and "ye correspondent" went off the main
road, in pursuit of knowledge, and came upon half a dozen negroes working
in a field. The Major introduced "ye innocent lamb" as General Morgan,
and demanded of the darkeys if any d——d Yankees had been about there
lately. The darkeys replied very evasively; would not say a word that would
injure the cause of the Union forces; denied all knowledge of them or their
whereabouts. There were some two or three hundred fat sheep on the farm,
and a good lot of cattle. I suggested the propriety of driving them within our
lines, but was astonished when the Major told me it was "against orders" to
do so. All the males of the family who owned the negroes and other cattle
were in the rebel army—the master and two sons. While talking there, we
heard firing, and so started for the fun, and soon came upon some of the
"gentry," yclept "butternuts." The Major had about twelve men in the lead; a
few others, with the colors, remaining a quarter of a mile to the rear—the
regiment a mile in rear of the advance. When we arrived at what is known
as Tippets's farm, the rebels, who were sheltered by Wilson's house, poured
a volley down the road, and without inquiring the cause of such unkind
treatment, on their part, this "individual" retired some twenty yards. I have
before heard the sound of the Enfield-rifle ball, and have heard many
persons say, 'tis "quite musical;" but "I can't see it." The boys advanced in
the most daring manner on the open road, while the valiant and "noble
chivalry" of Alabama kept continually retreating. In order to obtain a better
view of the fight, and watch the maneuvers of the combatants, I went upon
the side-hill of an open field to the left of the road, and while quietly
looking on, three rebs came out from behind Wilson's house, and, without
as much as saying, "By your leave," they blazed away at me. Isn't it a
shame that these fellows should act so? Why, they "busted the Constitution

all to the devil," in firing at me. The Major kindly rode up and told me, in
his usual bland and benign style, that I was a d——n fool; that "them fellers
was a-shootin' at me." I merely replied that I guessed he was mistaken, as I
saw the bullets plowing the field some twenty yards in front of me. While
this conversation was going on between the Major and myself, the rebels
reloaded their guns and gave us another trial of their skill, and settled the
dispute at once, as I had asseverated; their bullets would not reach that
distance. The Major was right, for a little while the nastiest shriek I ever
heard came from that volley. The Major's horse didn't like it much, and
cavorted like the "fiery, untamed steed" ridden by the fair "Adah Isaacs."
Then we changed our base: we went toward the chaps, and, when they
would get ready to fire, put spurs to our horses and ran from them. This so
delighted the "rebs," that we gratified them with two or three trials, and
every time we ran, they shouted and said bad words. After placing five men
in ambush, we retired, as if leaving the field, and as the traitors were
advancing directly into the trap of three hours' hard setting, the Wilson
family came to the door and told them to go back, as the "Yankees" were in
the orchard there by Tippets's house. The men were then within two
hundred yards of the ambush, and, upon being so informed, hastily wheeled
their horses and left on a double-quick. This act on the part of a citizen rebel
so exasperated the men that Wilson was given one hour to get out of the
house with his furniture, as all houses used for military purposes, signal
stations, etc., would meet with destruction.

While the house was burning, the women boasted they had warned them,
and would do it again. One virago-looking Secesh asseverated, in a voice of
unearthly screechiness, that they had lots of "Southern friends, and millions
of money."

The citizens along the road will learn a lesson by this occurrence. It will
teach them not to make signal stations of their houses.

Blowing Horns Unconstitutional.

Another source of annoyance to our men was the frequent blasts upon
dinner-horns. These "quiet, peaceful" citizens, as our men advanced, gave
the enemy information by this blasted method. Upon being questioned as to
the "cause why" they did so much blowing, they replied, "They were calling
in the boys from the field, for fear they would get shot;" and Mrs. Tippets
said, "'T was near dinner-time." One of the men said he would like
something to eat, and went in the house, but no sign of dinner preparation
could be seen. Major Tracy took the horn from Mrs. Tippets, at which the
lady (?) protested most violently; said there "was no reason in that man,"
and asked me, "if it wasn't agin the Constitution for that feller to take that
horn."

I told her, in a pacific manner, that that was nothing; Tracy took from ten
to fifteen horns a day. She didn't see the joke, and I became disgusted with
her want of penetration, and left.

Mr. Wilson and a man who was in his employ were brought into camp as
prisoners. Mr. Wilson protested he didn't tell the States-rights men any
thing, and held that he "couldn't hender the women talkin'."

About four o'clock we commenced a retrograde movement for the "old
camp," and soon caught up with the big train, filled with all the delicacies
of the season, for the brute portion of our division.

The Miss Fanny Battles who is now so sweetly sojourning in the
Seminary at Columbus, Ohio, under the guardianship of "Uncle Samuel,"
was a resident of this county. Our troops were encamped upon the Battles
farm for a month. Miss Battles was very industrious in circulating about the
country. When she was taken, she had her drawers stuffed with letters, and
was trying to steal through our picket-lines. The Secretary of State, or those
connected with the bureaus, will, we hope, see that there are no more such
drawers allowed within the lines.

The Difference.

At the house of a Mr. Bolerjack are the wounded men belonging to the
1st Tennessee Cavalry. I called there yesterday, and, in conversation with
Mr. B., he expressed surprise at what he termed the difference between our
wounded and the rebel wounded. He said that he had a house full of Secesh
at one time, but that they kept moaning and groaning all night and day, and
kept his family busy, while our men have never muttered, but, on the
contrary, are always cheerful, and only anxious to get back in their saddles.
[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER XXII.
Reward for a Master — Turning the Tables —
Dan Boss and his Adventure — Major Pic Russell
— A Visit to the Outposts with General Jeff C.
Davis — Rebel Witticisms — Hight Igo, ye
Eccentric Quarter-master — Fling Out to the
Breeze, Boys.

Reward for a Master—Turning the Tables.

The darkeys of Secession masters fairly flocked into camp on many
occasions. When near Lebanon, Ky., a bright darkey, very witty, kept the
camp alive with his humor. During the day some Kentuckians had posted up
in camp an advertisement: "One Hundred Dollars Reward. Ran away from
the subscriber, my man Bob," etc. Jim Duncan, the darkey I have referred
to, soon after issued the following, and posted it beside the other:

Fifty Cents Reward.—Ran away from dis chile, an' leff him all alone to take
care of his-seff, after I done worked twenty-six years for him faithfully, my
massa, "Bill Duncan." Massa Bill is supposed to have gone off wid de Secesh
for to hunt for his rights; and I 'spect he done got lost. Any pusson 'turnin'
him to dis chile, so dat he can take keer ob me, (as he allers said niggers
couldn't take keer demselves,) will be much oblige to dis chile.

N. B.—Pussons huntin' for him will please look in all de "lass ditches,"
as I offen heern him tellin' about dyin' dar.

'Specfull' submitted, Jim.

The poster created a great deal of merriment in camp, while the residents
thought Jim a very sassy nigger.

Dan Boss and His Adventure.

All railroad men know Dan Boss, of the Pittsburg, Fort Wayne, and
Chicago Railroad. Dan was in Louisville, on Government business, during
the raid, with a lot of cars. Dan thought he would ride out a few miles on
the Bardstown pike one fine afternoon, with a friend, and for this purpose
hired a fine horse and buggy. Dan went out gaily, and in fine spirits,
jokingly observing he was about to reconnoiter. Only ten miles from the
city Dan was captured. The rebels demanded a surrender of all his personal
effects, which consisted of a rare lot of old passes over all the railroads in
the United States, several "bottles," etc. Dan told them he was all right on
the goose, and they told him to turn round and go back; upon which Dan
was delighted, thinking he had deceived them, when he was accosted by
several more of the gang, who wanted to try the speed of Dan's horse. Dan
begged for the horse; said it wasn't his, to which the rebs replied, "Well! as
it is not 'yourn,' why, we'll take care of it," and then drove off, leaving Dan
and his friend to foot it home.

Major Pic Russell

Says that, on the march to Louisville from Huntsville, Ala., he met
hundreds of stragglers from Bragg's army. One tall specimen of Secesh,
going back to his Southern home, the Major halted.

"Hallo!" said the Major, "where are you going?"

The fellow looked at the Major very intently, and replied, "Home, sir."

"Where do you live?" inquired Russell.

"Lewis County, Alabama!"

"Why," said the Major, "you don't think you will ever be able to walk all
that distance, do you?"

"Well, I do," was his response. "I tell you, Major, I wouldn't take five
hundred dollars for my chance."

The distance to his home was over seven hundred miles, through
Kentucky, Tennessee, and Northern Alabama.

The Major told me it was a common sight to see them trudging along,
singing merrily, no doubt thinking of "Home, sweet home."

A Visit to the Outposts with Gen. Jeff C. Davis.

General Davis I found an active, intelligent gentleman, with an eye
denoting great determination, and very pleasing in his conversational
powers; always on the alert, leaving nothing to subordinates that he could
do himself. The General's division commanded the Shelbyville pike. I spent
two nights with Colonel Heg, who had a brigade occupying the most
dangerous position. The 25th Illinois and 8th Kansas were in his brigade.

Colonel Heg's regiment is mostly composed of Norwegians, or
Scandinavians. They are generally from, and are known as the 15th
Wisconsin; are a splendid body of well-disciplined men, and all speak our
language fluently. I heard an amusing anecdote of one of their captains,
who, a short time since, took a lot of rebel prisoners. As this Norwegian
captain had them drawn up in line, he said to them, in broken English, and
in accent very like the German: "Say, you fellers, you putternuts, I vant you
all to schwear a leetle. It do you goot to schwear mit de Constitution. I
schwear him tree year ago; now you schwear him. Now, recollect, you
schwear him goot; no d——n nonsense. You schwear him, and keep him
down, and not puke him up again!"

The 24th Illinois are close at hand, also the 8th Kansas. These boys are in
view of the rebels every day.

There is in the 24th Illinois Regiment a very clever officer who has an
intolerably red nose. He says he can't "help it;" he strives to temper it, but it
is no go. A friend inquired of him, how much it cost to color it out here; his
reply was, "$2.50 a canteen."

The "rebs" played quite a trick upon the chaplain of the 24th Illinois.
After they received his papers, they refused to send any in return. This
would have been termed a nasty Yankee trick, had any of our boys
committed such a breach of faith with them. But such is Southern honor.

Rebel Witticisms.

The following is copied from the Chattanooga Rebel:

If it is true that General Marmaduke hung the regiment of armed negroes
at Helena, he certainly made a center shot at old Abe's emancipation-
insurrection scheme; for he "knocked the black out" every time he hung a
darkey.

We do not know for certain that the price of negroes is going up; but
there must have been a slight advance upon a regiment of them at Helena,
the other day, if the wires were correct.

Grant's permitting his dead soldiers to decay and create a stench around
Vicksburg presents the worst feature of the Yankee die-nasty we have yet
had to chronicle.

Richmond papers announce that Hooker has again, "changed his base."
He took it out of the saddle awhile ago, to go and tell old Abe "how the
thing was did."

The soil of the South is becoming so fertilized with. Yankee bodies, that
we will be able to raise nothing but wooden nutmegs after the war.

The "typos" of the Rebel suggest the necessity of the immediate return of
Vallandigham, and our finishing up the Yankee raid on Vicksburg. Both
exciting subjects cause too heavy a "run" on the capital "V" box.

The Yankee officers who lead armed negroes against the Southern people
will have "a high old time," for our boys will certainly hang them "as high
as Haman."

The Chicago Tribune says: "There are already twenty thousand colored
troops in the Federal army." Does he mean the blue-bellied ones, or the
black ones?

"Breakers ahead" for Yankee merchantmen! The Alabama and Florida! If
they are not breakers to the ships, they will soon break all the ship-owners.

The Yankee corpses lying around Vicksburg are becoming fetid as fast as
the living ones are becoming de-feated.

Hight Igo, ye Eccentric Quarter-master.

Everybody in the Third Division of Crittenden's corps knows the Quarter-
master of the 35th Indiana, Hight Igo; in fact, his fame is not confined to
General Van Cleve's division. No, sir! not by any means! His eccentricities
are the theme of conversation from Triune to Stone River, from "Kripple
Kreek" to Nashville.

His first introduction to the favorable notice of high military authority
occurred at Louisville. Shortly after the gallant 35th came into service, he
stopped General Wood one day in the streets of Louisville, to inquire upon
the subject of "yarn socks." The General informed him he never transacted
business on the street, and suggested the propriety of calling at head-
quarters. A short time after this the General met Igo on the street, and
having heard something queer about Igo's forage account, requested
information in regard thereto. Igo coolly remarked: "General, I never
transact business on the street. You will please call at my quarters, when I
shall be happy to afford you an insight into my affairs."

The next day a couple of the General's staff-officers called upon the
incorrigible Igo, to investigate matters, and they investigated "in a horn."
Igo remarked that, if they had waited until next morning to make their
report, things would have worked; but they foolishly went into the presence
of the General immediately upon their arrival; and when they reported
"Quar-hic-termaster Igo's busi-ness all-hic-sound," the General "couldn't
see it," and dispatched another officer, who could resist the blandishments
of whisky-punch long enough to conduct the investigation.

The result of this move was a rather tart request—from the Quarter-
master-General's Department—for Lieutenant Igo to send all the papers
belonging to his department to Washington, for adjustment; a request which
our friend complied with by heading up vouchers, receipts, requisitions,
etc., in an ammunition-keg, with a letter stating that, inasmuch as the
Department had a great many more clerks at its command than he had, and
were probably better acquainted with the "biz" of making out quarterly
reports or returns, they might be able to understand how things stood
between him and the Government; confessing, at the same time, that he
"couldn't make head or tail out of the blasted figures." In due course of mail
Igo received a communication from the Department, informing him that if
he did not immediately send in his report for the quarter ending on the 31st
of October, he would find himself in Washington, under arrest. To this Igo
answered thus:

Sir—Yours of — date received. Contents noted. I have long been desirous
of visiting the city of "magnificent distances," but have not hitherto been
able to realize sufficient funds at any one time to gratify that desire; I
therefore gratefully avail myself of your obliging offer to defray the
expenses of my journey, and most respectfully suggest the propriety of your
"going on with your rat-killing." I am, sir, your obedient servant,

MARTIN IGO,
Lieutenant and A. A. Q. M., 35th Ind. Vols.

This closed Igo's official correspondence with the Department at
Washington. He had the "good luck" to be captured by Morgan last fall,
and, of course, Morgan destroyed all his papers. That struck a balance for
him for the quarter ending last October. He had another stroke of good

fortune at Stone River, on the 1st of January, in having a wagon captured.
Of course, all his papers were in that identical wagon. He was very
indignant that a battle did not take place about the last of March, as that
would have saved him a heap of trouble. Do not think, however, that our
Quarter-master has done any thing that will not bear investigation, for a
more honest or conscientious man is not to be found in the Quarter-master's
Department; but Igo has a holy horror of vouchers and invoices, and
receipts all in triplicate; and small blame to him for it.

Fling out to the Breeze, Boys!

Dedicated to the Second Brigade, Second Division, M'cook's Corps.

by W. A. Ogden.

Fling out to the breeze, boys,
That old starry flag—
Let it float as in days famed in story;
For millions of stout hearts
And bayonets wait,
To clear its old pathway to glory.

When the first wail of war
That was heard on our shore
Re-echoed with fierce promulgation,
Columbia's brave sons
Then rallied and fought,
In defense of our glorious nation.

From East, West, North, and South,
Their numbers did pour,
Alike seemed their courage and daring;
While boldly they stood,
As the fierce battle raged,
Each nobly the proud contest sharing.

Those patriots have passed—
They now sleep 'neath the sod;

But their flag shall be our flag forever!
We'll boldly march forward,
And strike to the earth
The fiends who it from us would sever.

Hark! hark! from the South
Comes a sound, deep and shrill—
'Tis the sound of the cannon's deep rattle!
Up! forward! brave boys,
And beat back with a will
The foe from the red field of battle.

We'll rally and rally,
And rally again,
To our standard now pennoned and flying;
And we swear, 'neath its bright folds
Of crimson and gold,
To own it, though living or dying.

Then fling to the breeze, boys,
That dear, blood-bought flag—
It must float as in days famed in story;
For millions of stout hearts
And bayonets wait,
To clear its old pathway to glory.[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER XXIII.
Defense of the Conduct of the German Regiments
at Hartsville — To the Memory of Captain W. Y.
Gholson — Colonel Toland vs. Contraband
Whisky.

Camp near Gallatin, Tenn.,
December 14, 1862.

After a careful investigation of the facts relative to the late fight at
Hartsville, having visited the battle-field, and having conversed with
numerous officers and privates who were wounded in that engagement, I
am satisfied that gross injustice has been done the noble raw recruits of the
106th and 108th Ohio Regiments. I am not biased in the least on account of
their being Cincinnati men, although I confess to a city pride; and I feel the
greatest satisfaction in telling you that those regiments acted in the most
heroic manner. That a few acted cowardly and shirked their duty, there is no
doubt; but that the entire regiments should bear the blame is very hard.

I notice the Louisville Journal is particularly severe on the men and
officers; and, also, that W. D. B. "pitches in," and terms them "Scott's
Cowardly Brigade."

W. D. B. goes into minutiæ in regard to Scott, who, he says, commanded.
He is entirely mistaken. Scott, finding the place a dangerous one, requested,
a week previously, to be allowed to rejoin his regiment, and his request was
granted. The Scott who had command, and was relieved, belonged to
Turchin's old regiment, and was their Lieutenant-Colonel. Scott told
Colonel Moore of the dangers of the post, and Colonel Moore, feeling his

weakness, protested against being left there. The fault lies beyond these
new regiments.

Why were three regiments of raw recruits placed in such a dangerous
position, with but two guns and a handful of cavalry? As soon as the fight
began, a courier was sent to Castilian Springs, a distance of only five miles,
for reinforcements. The brigade was sent, but arrived too late. Instead of
marching by column, on a double-quick, these men were deployed as
skirmishers. The 106th and 108th Ohio and 104th Illinois held the ground
for full two hours, until completely surrounded and driven to the brink of
the river, where another large force of rebels awaited them. Yet these
undisciplined men are called cowards—these men, who bravely held the
ground, against odds of three to one, against the disciplined rebels
belonging to the 2d and 9th Kentucky, and under the immediate command
of Morgan! Yet these men are to bear the disgrace and receive the
anathemas of the press, in order to shield some imbecile officer!

I paid a visit to the hospital to-day, and I tell you it was a pitiable sight to
see a large room crowded with the gallant wounded. They told me they
didn't care for the wounds, but to be so maligned was more than they could
bear. One noble fellow read the remarks of the Louisville Journal, and the
big tears rolled down his manly cheek, as he made the remark to me, "Good
God! is that all the thanks we get for fighting as we did?"

Newspapers may publish what they please, but here is a fact that speaks
loud in praise of the daring Ohio boys, and proves that the 106th and 108th
fought well: it is, that Company G, of the 106th, lost every commissioned
officer, two sergeants, one corporal, and twelve privates.

Colonel Moore, Lieutenant-Colonel Hapeman, and Major Wiedman
refused to be paroled.

Lieutenant Gessert, of the 106th, tells me he was present, a week since,
when a colored boy came to Lieutenant Szabo, of the 106th, who was on
picket. The boy stated that he overheard Morgan tell his master he was
laying a plan to "capture them d——d Cincinnati Dutch within three days."
The boy was sent to head-quarters, where he repeated his story, but no
notice was taken of it.

To-day, Dr. Dyer, surgeon of the 104th Illinois, who went over the field
directly after the fight, and assisted in dressing the wounds of our men,
handed me a green seal ring belonging to Adjutant Gholson. The rebels had
stripped the body of boots, coat and hat, and, fearing this ring would be
taken, the Doctor placed it in his pocket.

The Doctor says a rebel captain took a fancy to his (the Doctor's) hat, and
insisted upon buying it—swore he would shoot him if he didn't sell it; and
told him he went in for raising the black flag on the d——d Yankees.

The Doctor quietly went on with his work, attending to the wounded,
while the rebel captain was robbing the dead.

I telegraphed you in regard to Adjutant Gholson's death. He died
heroically leading his command. His praise is upon every tongue. I will
send his body home on to-day's train.
Alf.

The lines following are a touching tribute to the memory of one of the
noblest young men sacrificed in the war. Captain Gholson was a brave,
earnest, talented, honorable man, in whose death his many friends feel a
sorrowing pride:

To the Memory of Captain W. Y. Gholson.

'Neath Western skies I'm dreaming,
This drear December morn,
Of joys forever vanished,
Of friendships rudely torn;

Of the friend so lately taken
From the heartless world away;
Of the well-beloved warrior
Now sleeping 'neath the clay.

The links of youthful friendship,
Unsullied kept through years,
Grim Death hath rudely shattered—
Ay, dimmed by Memory's tears.

Thou wilt be missed sincerely
By the well-remembered band,
Who've proved, through endless changes,
United heart and hand.

Thy mother's pain and anguish
Through life will never cease;
The grief she's now enduring
No earthly power can ease.

A father mourns the idol
Which God hath taken home,
Hath borne to sunnier regions,
Where guardian spirits roam.

And for the grieving sister,
Whose joyous days are o'er,
There cometh gleams of sunshine
From yonder golden shore.

From the throne of God eternal,
Where the angel roameth free,
He speaketh words of music
To parents dear, and thee.

To friends and weeping kindred
He speaketh words of cheer:
"Be ye prepared to meet me,
Prepared to meet me here."
Lizzie A. F.

Colonel Toland vs. Contraband Whisky.

"Volunteer" told me a good story of one of the gallant 34th Ohio and
Colonel Toland.

During their stay at Barboursville, the Colonel noticed, one day, an
extraordinary number of intoxicated soldiers in camp. Where they obtained
their whisky was a mystery to the command. The orders were very strict in
regard to its prohibition. After considerable effort, the Colonel succeeded in
finding out the guilty party. The culprit had a little log hut on the banks of
the Guyandotte River, and was dealing it out with a profuseness entirely
unwarranted. The Colonel sent his orderly for Corporal Minshall, of
Company G. On his arrival, the Colonel said:

"Corporal, you will take ten men, sir, and go to the whisky-cabin on the
banks of the Guyandotte, seize all the whisky you find, and pour it out."

"All right," said the Corporal; "your order will be obeyed forthwith."

The Corporal got his men together, and ordered them to string all the
canteens they could find around their necks. On arriving at the cabin, they
seized upon and "poured out" the whisky. After a thorough loading-up, the
Corporal returned and reported at head-quarters.

"You poured it out, did you?" inquired the Colonel.

"Yes, sir," categorically replied the Corporal.

The Colonel noticed a canteen about the Corporal's neck, and thought he
smelled something, and, looking him steadily in the face, repeated:

"You poured it out, sir, did you?"

"Yes, sir," emphatically replied the Corporal.

"And where did you pour it, sir?"

"In our canteens, Colonel," he replied.

For a moment his eyes flashed with anger; but, on second thought, the
joke struck him as being too good, and the pleasant smile so characteristic
of the Colonel wreathed his face in a moment.

"Well, Corporal," continued he, "I suppose that is some of the 'poured-
out' in your canteen, eh?"

"Yes, sir," he replied, with the utmost sang froid, and, at the same time,
gracefully disengaging the strap from his neck, said, "Won't you try some,
Colonel?"

"I don't care if I do," said the Colonel; whereupon he imbibed, saying, as
he lowered the vessel, "Not a bad article—not a bad article; but, Corporal,
next time I send you to pour out whisky I will tell you where to pour it."
[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER XXIV.
War and Romance — Colonel Fred Jones —
Hanging in the Army — General A. J. Smith vs.
Dirty Guns.

War and Romance.

During the late movement against Vicksburg the national transports were
fired upon by a rebel battery at Skipwith Landing, not many miles from the
mouth of the Yazoo. No sooner was the outrage reported at head-quarters
than the Admiral sent an expedition to remove the battery and destroy the
place. The work of destruction was effectually done; not a structure which
could shelter a rebel head was left standing in the region for several miles
around.

Among other habitations destroyed was that of a Mrs. Harris, a widow
lady, young, comely, and possessed of external attractions in the shape of a
hundred and fifty "negroes," which she had contrived to save from the
present operation of "the decree," by sending them up the Yazoo River. But
Mrs. Harris was a rebel—intense, red-hot in her advocacy of Southern
rights and her denunciation of Northern wrongs. Although she had not taken
up arms against the Government, she was none the less subject to the
indiscriminating swoop of the Proclamation; her niggers, according to that
document, were free, and if the Confederacy failed, she could only get pay
for them by establishing her loyalty in a court of justice. Her loyalty to the
Yankee nation?—not she! She was spunky as a widow of thirty can be. She
would see Old Abe, and every other Yankee, in the happy land of Canaan

before she would acknowledge allegiance to the Washington Government.
Nevertheless, being all she possessed of this world's valuables, she would
like to save those niggers.

"Nothing easier," suggested Captain Edward W. Sutherland, of the United
States steam-ram Queen of the West, who, attracted by her snapping black
eyes, engaged in a friendly conversation with the lady after burning her
house down. "Nothing easier in the world, madam."

"How so, Captain? You don't imagine I will take that odious oath, do
you? I assure you I would not do it for every nigger in the South."

"But you need not take that oath, madam—at least not the oath."

"I do not understand you, Captain," said the widow, thoughtfully.

"I said you need not take the oath of allegiance; you can establish your
loyalty without it—at least," with a respectful bow, "I can establish it for
you."

"Indeed! How would you do it, Captain?"

"Simply enough. I am in the Government service; I command one of the
boats of the Western navy—technically denominated a ram, madam—down
here in the river. Of course, my loyalty is unimpeached, and, madam, I
assure you it is unimpeachable. Now, if I could only say to the Government,
those niggers are mine"——

The Captain waited a moment, to see what effect his speech was
producing.

"Well!" said the widow, impatiently tapping with her well-shaped foot
one of the smoking timbers of her late domicile.

"In short, my dear madam, you can save the niggers, save your
conscientious scruples, and save me from a future life of misery, by
becoming my wife!"

The Captain looked about wildly, as if he expected a sudden attack from
guerrillas. The widow tapped the smoldering timber more violently for a
few minutes, and then, turning her bright eyes full upon the Captain, said:

"I'll do it!"

The next arrival at Cairo from Vicksburg brought the intelligence that
Captain Sutherland, of the ram Queen of the West, was married, a few days
since, on board the gunboat Tylor, to Mrs. Harris, of Skipwith Landing.
Several officers of the army and navy were present to witness the ceremony,
which was performed by a Methodist clergyman, and Admiral Porter gave
away the blushing bride. She is represented to be a woman of indomitable
pluck, and, for the present, shares the life of her husband, on the ram Queen
of the West.

Colonel Fred Jones.

I was with him on his last trip from Cincinnati to Louisville, and from
thence to the army. Little did I think it was the last meeting. Noble Fred! He
has left a name that will never be erased from honor's scroll. A writer in the
Cincinnati Commercial, who knew him from boyhood up, says:

"He is a native of this city, and favorably known as one of our most
brilliant young men.

"Colonel Jones was a graduate of Woodward High School, of this city,
receiving his diploma, with the highest honor of his class, in 1853. He then
entered the law-office of Rufus King, Esq. as a student, and evinced, in the
pursuit of a legal education, a remarkable zeal and talent. Two years ago he
was elected Prosecuting-Attorney of the Police Court, which office he held
at the breaking out of the war, in 1861. It was but a few days after the first
call for troops, when he threw his business into the hands of a brother
lawyer, and became a soldier. He was first an adjutant to General Bates, but,
in June, 1861, he received a lieutenant-colonel's commission in the 31st
Ohio, with which he went into active service. He was afterward transferred,

with the same rank, to the 24th Ohio, of which regiment he became colonel
in May last.

"He distinguished himself at the Battle of Shiloh, to which, indeed, he
owed his promotion. He enjoyed the highest reputation with his superiors as
an officer.

"Colonel Jones was about twenty-seven years of age, of fine appearance,
with a peculiarly happy manner and disposition. He was a very fine
extempore orator, and possessed great military ardor from childhood. The
writer, a fellow-student, remembers him as captain of a company of school-
boys, at Woodward, which, drilling for pastime, became very proficient in
tactics.

"We can pay no more eloquent tribute to his memory than the mute
impression his history will impart. He is dead! Our city has offered no
heavier sacrifice in any of her sons, and parted with no purer of the jewels
which have been so rudely torn from her."

Hanging in the Army.

Head-quarters 3d Division, 14th Army Corps,
Murfreesboro, June 6, 1863.

William A. Selkirk, who resided in an adjoining county, murdered, in a
most brutal manner, a man by the name of Adam Weaver. Selkirk was a
member of a roving band of guerrillas. He entered, with others, the house of
Weaver, who was known to have money, and demanded its surrender.
Weaver, not complying, was seized, his ears cut off, his tongue torn out, and
he was then stabbed. These facts being proved to the court, Selkirk was
condemned to death.

At twelve o'clock, yesterday, the crowd commenced congregating at the
Court-house, eyeing with curiosity a large, uncovered ambulance, in which
was built a platform. The trap was a leaf, acting as a sort of tailboard to the
wagon. This trap, or leaf, was supported by a strip of wood that ran into a

notch, similar to the old figure-four trap. Attached to the ambulance were
six splendid horses. At one o'clock two regiments of infantry, under Colonel
Stoughton, arrived upon the ground and formed in line. The ambulance and
military then moved along to the jail; the rough wooden coffin was placed
in the vehicle, and the prisoner then, for the first time, made his appearance.
He had a pale and care-worn look, and a decidedly Southern air. His step
was firm, and he got into the wagon with but little assistance. He was
accompanied by Father Cony, chaplain of the 35th Indiana. The procession
then moved off toward the gallows, erected a short distance from the town,
upon the Woodbury pike. The eager crowd thronged the avenues leading to
the place of execution—rushing, crushing, cursing and swearing, laughing
and yelling. Samuel Lover, the Irish poet, describes, in his poem of
"Shamus O'Brien," a hanging, thus:

"And fasther and fasther the crowd gathered there,
Boys, horses, and gingerbread, just like a fair;
And whisky was sellin', and 'cosamuck' too,
And old men and young women enjoying the view;
And thousands were gathered there, if there was one,
Waiting till such time as the hanging would come."

The morbid appetite depicted upon that sea of upturned faces was terrible
to think of.

By the kindness of Colonel Stoughton, I was given a very prominent
place in the procession.

General Order No. 123, from head-quarters, was read. The prisoner then
knelt, and was baptized by the clergyman before mentioned. After the
baptism was over, Rev. Mr. Patterson, of the 11th Michigan, made a most
fervent and eloquent prayer, the prisoner on his knees, with eyes uplifted to
heaven, and seemingly praying with all the fervor of his soul. After Mr.
Patterson had finished praying, the prisoner was told he had five minutes to
live, and to make any remarks he wished. Selkirk arose, with steady limbs,
and said:

"Gentlemen and friends: I am not guilty of the murder of Adam Weaver; I
did not kill him. I hope you will all live to one day find out who was the

guilty man. I believe my Jesus is waiting to receive my poor soul. I am not
guilty of Weaver's murder. I was there, but did not kill him."

He then knelt down and joined in prayer. After prayer was over, he stood
up, and stepped on the scaffold again, to have the fatal rope placed around
his neck. While the rope was being adjusted, he prayed audibly, and his last
words on earth were:

"Sweet Jesus, take me to thyself. O, Lord, forgive me for all my sins;"
and again, as the person who escorted him was tightening the rope, he said,
"For God's sake don't choke me before I am hung." Then, when the black
cap was drawn over his eyes, he seemed to know that in a few seconds he
would be consigned to "that bourne from whence no traveler returns," and
said, "Lord, have mercy on my soul."

The words were scarcely uttered, when that which was, a few moments
before, a stout, healthy man, was nothing but an inanimate form. As the
"black cap" was about being put on him, Sarah Ann Weaver, the youngest
daughter of the murdered man, Adam Weaver, made her appearance inside
the square, and quite close to the scaffold. She asked Captain Goodwin and
Major Wiles the privilege of adjusting the rope around his neck, but they
would not grant it. She is a young woman of about seventeen years, rather
prepossessing and intelligent looking. She stood there unmoved, while the
body hung dangling between heaven and earth. She seemed to realize that
the murderer of her father had now paid the penalty with his life. I asked
her what she thought of the affair, and she curtly remarked: "He will never
murder another man, I think." After the body had remained about fifteen
minutes swinging in the air, and surgeon Dorr pronounced life extinct, it
was cut down and put in a coffin. The assemblage departed, some laughing,
some crying, and some thinking of the fate of the deceased.

General A. J. Smith vs. Rusty Guns.

Last winter General Smith's head-quarters were on board the steamer Des
Arc; he was in command of a division of Grant's army. One day, on a trip
from Arkansas Post to Young's Point, there were on this boat three

companies of a nameless regiment. Now it happened that these men had
rather neglected to clean their guns, which the sharp eye of the old veteran
soon discovered. It was in the morning of our third day out, the wind was
blowing terribly, and the weather unusually cold, rendering it very
unpleasant to remain long on the hurricane-roof, that the General came
rushing into the cabin, where nearly all the officers were comfortably seated
around a warm stove.

"Captain," exclaimed the General, in no very mild tone, addressing
himself to the commander of one of the aforesaid companies, "have you had
an inspection of arms this morning?"

"No, General," timidly replied the Captain, "I have not."

"Have you held an inspection of your company at any time since the
battle of Arkansas Post, sir?" sharply asked the General.

"No, sir; the weather has been so unpleasant, and I thought I would let
my men rest awhile," hesitatingly replied the Captain, already nervous,
through fear, that something disagreeable was about to turn up.

"You thought you'd let them rest awhile? Indeed! The d——l you did!
Who pays you, sir, for permitting your men to lay and rot in idleness, while
such important duties remain unattended to? What kind of condition are
your arms in, now, to defend this boat, or even the lives of your own men,
in case we should be attacked by the enemy this moment? What the d——l
are you in the service for, if you thus neglect your most important duty?"
fairly yelled the old General. And then, starting menacingly toward the
quaking captain, said he, imperatively:

"Mount, sir, on that roof, this moment, and call your men instantly into
line, that I may examine their arms."

"And you," resumed he, turning to the lieutenants, who commanded the
other companies, "are fully as delinquent as the captain. Sirs! I must see
your men in line within ten minutes."

It is scarcely necessary to state that the officers in question made the best
of their time in drumming up their men, whom they found scattered in all
parts of the boat. Finally, however, the companies referred to were duly
paraded on the "hurricane," and an abridged form of inspection was gone
through with. The General, finding their arms in bad condition, very
naturally inflicted some severe talk, threatening condign punishment in case
such neglect should be repeated.

But during the time in which one of these companies was falling in,
which operation was not executed with that degree of promptness, on the
part of the rank and file, satisfactory to the lieutenant commanding, that
officer called out, in a most imploring strain, "Fall in, gentlemen! Fall in,
lively, gentlemen!" That application of the word "gentlemen" fell upon the
ear of General Smith, who, turning quickly around, hastily inquired:

"Are you the lieutenant in command of that company, sir?" addressing
the individual who had given the command in such a polite manner.

"Yes, sir," replied the trembling subaltern.

"Then, who the d——l are you calling gentlemen?" cried the General. "I
am an old soldier," continued he, approaching and looking more earnestly at
the lieutenant, "but I must confess, sir, that I never before heard of the rank
of gentleman in the army. Soldiers, sir, are ALL supposed to be gentlemen,
of course; but, hereafter, sir, when you address soldiers, remember to say
soldiers, or men; let us have no more of this 'bowing and scraping' where it
is your duty to command."

Then, turning upon his heel, his eyes snapping with impatience, the old
gentleman gave vent to the following words:

"Gentlemen! gentlemen, forsooth! And rusty guns! Umph! The d——l! I
like that! Rusty guns! and gentlemen!"[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER XXV.
A Trip into the Enemy's Country — The Rebels
twice driven back by General Steadman —
Incidents of the Charge of the 1st Tennessee
Cavalry, under Major Tracy — The 35th and 9th
Ohio in the Fight — Colonel Moody and the 74th
Ohio — Colonel Moody on the Battle-field.

A Trip into the Enemy's Country.

Triune, Tennessee,
March 8, 1863.

After a four-days' trip, without tents, we are once more in camp. Last
Tuesday afternoon General Steadman ordered Colonel Bishop, of the 2d
Minnesota, to take his regiment, a section of the 4th Regular Battery, under
Lieutenant Stevenson, and six hundred of Johnson's 1st East Tennessee
Cavalry, and proceed forthwith to Harpeth River. Anticipating a fight, I
went with the detachment. As we passed through Nolinsville and Triune the
few butternut inhabitants gazed with apparent envy at our well-clad
soldiers. About nine o'clock at night we reached the river. Here the infantry
bivouacked for the night; the artillery planted their pieces in eligible
positions, while the cavalry crossed the river and commenced to search for
rebel gentry who were supposed to be on short leave of absence at their
homes. Quite a number of citizen soldiers were thus picked up. Major
Tracy, of the cavalry, then proceeded, with a dozen men, to the residence of
General Starnes, and surrounded it, hoping to find the General at home. But

the bird had flown the day previous. The Major, however, being a searching
man, and full of inquiry, looked under the beds, and in the closets, and
asked who was up-stairs. "No one," was the reply, "but my brother, and he
has never been in the army." Major Tracy took a candle, went up, saw the
young man, and asked where the man had gone who had been in bed with
him. The young man protested no one had been there, and Mrs. Starnes
pledged her word, on the "honor of a Southern lady," that there was no one
else in the house. But Tracy turned down the sheets, and, being a discerning
man, discovered the imprint of another person in the bed, and, from the
distance they had slept apart, he felt sure it was not a woman. So telling
Mrs. S. he hadn't much faith in the honor of a Southern woman, under such
circumstances, he thought he would take a peep through a dormer-window
that projected from the roof; there, sure enough, sat Major Starnes, a son of
the rebel general, in his shirt-tail, breeches and boots in hand, afraid to stir.
It was a bitter cold night, and the poor fellow shook like an aspen leaf. He
presented at once a pitiable yet ludicrous aspect. After collecting some
twenty or thirty horses, they returned to their head-quarters, this side of the
river. At night, not relishing the thought of sleeping on a rail, I had the good
fortune of sharing a bed with Lieutenant Stevenson, who commanded the
battery.

As we anticipated, an early "reveille of musketry" awoke the party, and
mounting my sorrel Rosenante, I proceeded to investigate "why we do these
things," or to learn what the quarrel is all about. Crossing the river, I caught
up with Major Tracy just as he was returning from his expedition to General
Starnes's house. It was about eight o'clock as we came in sight of College
Grove, a little village about a mile beyond Harpeth River. Here we turned
toward Triune, and had left College Grove half a mile to the rear, when we
heard the rebels firing upon a few stragglers of the Tennessee Cavalry.
Major Tracy promptly countermarched his battalion, which was in the rear,
and double-quicked back to the school-house at the town, and within a
hundred yards of the rebel cavalry, who were drawn up in a line, in the front
and rear of some houses, on the right of the road. The Major, seeing they
outnumbered him two to one, halted, and sent word back to Major
Burkhardt to reinforce. He then formed a line of battle across the road,
awaiting the other battalion. Just as it arrived, Major Tracy thought he saw
signs of wavering in the rebel line, and immediately ordered Squadron E to

"Forward, by platoons! Double-quick! Charge!" and galloping to the front,
along with Lieutenant Thurman, away they go. The rebels waver, break, and
now comes the chase. The Major gains upon their rear, and brings rebel No.
1 to the dust, by the aid of a Smith & Wesson revolver. The Major, now
wild with excitement, threw his cap in the air, and, hallooing for the boys to
follow, continued the chase. The race was fully a three-mile heat, in which
we captured fifty-nine rebels. Thirteen were wounded by the saber, four
very severely. There were not more than fifteen or twenty of our men close
on their rear at one time, and as the rebels turned out on the road-side to
surrender, the Tennessee boys never stopped to make sure of them, but
yelled to them to drop their guns and dismount, and if they stirred before
they returned, they would murder them. After going as far as the few
thought it safe, they returned to camp, bringing the prisoners, horses, and
various implements of warfare, "sich" as fine English shotguns and the like.

This was certainly one of the most gallant affairs of the season, and may
be considered among the most successful charges of the war; for, while not
a man of ours was injured, fifty-nine rebels were taken, and I saw more
saber cuts that day than any time since I have been with the army.

At noon, General Steadman arrived with the 35th and 9th Ohio, together
with another section of battery, under Lieutenant Smith, commanding
Company I, 4th Regular Artillery, and the whole brigade moved at once
across the river, and marched out in search of the enemy. We soon came
upon their picket-fires, the pickets having skedaddled. We rested for the
night at Riggs's Cross-roads, and continued the march in the morning. By
nine o'clock we met the rebels, drawn up in line of battle, about a mile north
of Chapel Hill. The Tennessee Cavalry were in the advance; General
Steadman and staff occupied the crest of a hill, in full view of the rebels,
and where we all could see the movements of the butternuts; the 9th Ohio
arriving, was immediately deployed to the right, the 2d Minnesota and 35th
Ohio and 87th Indiana to the left, the battery taking the center. The rebels,
consisting of two thousand five hundred of Van Dorn's forces, ran helter
skelter through Chapel Hill, and turned to the left—the Tennessee Cavalry
again proving their valor by sabering half a dozen of the 7th Alabamians.
The rebels, as they retreated across Spring Creek, formed a line, and gave
us a brisk little brush; but our men steadily advanced, driving them back,

and, crossing the creek, were in their late camp. We skirmished and drove
them some three miles beyond the river, and found we were within one mile
of Duck River, eleven miles within and beyond their line. Not knowing
what forces might come to their aid, the General did not further pursue
them; but, on returning, we destroyed their camp, setting fire to all the
houses and large sheds they had been using for shelter. A church, among the
rest, was destroyed, as it had been used by rebel officers for head-quarters.
On the return, a great many colored men, women, and children begged to be
allowed to come with us.

To-day, (the 8th,) Sabbath devotions were disturbed by General
Steadman ordering the 35th Ohio and a section of battery, under Lieutenant
Rodney, of the 4th Artillery, to feel the rebels at Harpeth; so again I thought
I might catch an item, and went to the front. The impudent scamps had
crossed, and were within four miles of our camp. The Tennessee Cavalry
drove them back across the river. The rebels occupied a hill on the opposite
side, adjoining the residence of Doctor Webb. After several little brushes by
cavalry, our artillery opened upon the line formed by two thousand six
hundred rebels, under Patterson and Roddy, of Van Dorn's division, who
were supported by two regiments of infantry. They stood but two rounds
from the Napoleons, before moving off in disorder. Our line advanced,
when, much to our astonishment, the rebels opened up a battery from in
front of Doctor Webb's house, which was sharply replied to by Lieutenant
Rodney, who sent his compliments to the "gay and festive cusses," inclosed
in a twelve-pounder, and directed to Doctor Webb's house; it was safely
delivered, as we saw it enter the house. Again their four-pounder belched
forth, and one of their shots fell directly in front of the 35th Ohio
ambulance, but luckily it did not burst. After holding our position four
hours, and driving the rebels back to their dens, we returned to camp.

Colonel Moody and the 74th Ohio.

In the fight at Murfreesboro, General Rosecrans said the 74th Ohio
behaved nobly. After General McCook's right had been turned, the whole
rebel force came against General Negley's division, to which this regiment

belongs. After the 37th Indiana had retired, it being terribly cut up, the 74th
was ordered to take its place amid such a shower of shot and shell as has
scarcely fallen during the war.

This regiment did not leave its position until an order came from Colonel
Miller, commanding the brigade; then, slowly and stubbornly, it came from
that well-fought field, leaving many of its members, "who never shall fight
again," dead upon it. On the Friday following that bloody Wednesday, they
were "in at the death," in the triumphant charge of our left. Its commander,
Colonel Moody, is "the fighting Parson" of the Cumberland Army. Calmly
and steadily he led his men into the seven-times heated furnace of battle,
and,

"As the battle din,
Came rolling in,

his voice of cheer and encouragement was heard above its roar. Just before
they came into the whizzing storm, he said: "Say your prayers, my boys,
and give them your bullets as fast as you can." A conspicuous mark, he was
struck by balls in three places, and his horse shot from under him; but he
took no notice of the hits. Once, during the thickest of the fight, he rode
along the line, and was cheered by his men even in the roar of battle.

Side by side with Colonel Moody rode, during both battles, the gallant
Major Bell, the new field-officer of this regiment. Ohio's 74th is justly
proud that she has the experience of a gray-headed Colonel united with the
"dash" of a young Major. This regiment has won for itself a place among
the "crack" regiments of our army; and General Rosecrans told it to-day that
he would have to call it "the fighting regiment."

Colonel Moody on the Battle-field.

The Ohio Statesman, speaking of Colonel Moody at the late battle at
Murfreesboro, has the following:

"Colonel Moody has been so long accustomed to 'charge home' upon the
rebellious 'hosts of sin,' from the pulpit, that he finds himself in no
uncongenial position in charging bayonet upon the rebellious hosts of Davis
and the Devil upon the battle-field. And, as in the former position he ever
acquitted himself right valiantly, so, in this latter position, he is equally
heroic and unconquerable.

"His escape from death in the late fight was so wonderful as to seem
clearly Providential. His friends and members of his church in Cincinnati
had presented him with a pair of handsome revolvers. One of these he wore
in the breast of his coat during the fight. A partially-spent Minié-ball had
struck him on the breast, pierced his coat, and, striking the butt of his pistol,
splintered it to pieces directly over his heart, but went no further. The stroke
was so violent as to hurl him from his horse by the concussion, and he lay,
for a moment, insensible. Consciousness soon returned, and, mounting his
horse, he raged on through the battle like an enraged lion. He won the most
hearty congratulations from General Rosecrans himself. So much for
having one's life saved by a bosom friend."[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER XXVI.
A Wedding in the Army — A Bill of Fare in Camp
— Dishonest Female Reb — Private Cupp — To the
13th Ohio.

A Wedding in the Army,

And, as it is from the pen of the worthy Chaplain, J. H. Lozier, it is
perfectly reliable.

About as pleasant and romantic a wedding as anybody ever saw, lately
took place in this department. Immediately after the battle, a soldier of the
15th Indiana took sick, from exposure in the fight, and was taken to
Hospital No. 5. Among the attendants there was a pretty little "Yankee girl,"
whose charms occasioned an affliction of the heart which baffled the skill
of all the doctors, and they were compelled to call for the services of the
chaplain.

There are obstructions in "the course of true love," even in Tennessee,
and one of these was the difficulty of procuring "the papers," as there was
no clerk's office in the county, or, at least, no clerk to attend to the office.
Again were the resources of the General commanding brought into
requisition, and again did he prove himself "equal to the emergency." The
following document, authorized by General Rosecrans, dictated by General
Garfield, and promulgated by Major Wiles, shows how men get licenses to
marry in those counties in this department where martial law alone exists:

State of Tennessee,

Rutherford County. Greeting:

To any person empowered by law to perform marriage in Tennessee:

You are hereby authorized to join together in marriage Joseph A.
Hamilton and Francillia L. Bean, and this shall be your authority for so
doing.

Witness my hand and official seal of the Provost-Marshal-General,
Department of the Cumberland.

WILLIAM M. WILES,
Major 44th Indiana, and Provost-
Marshal-General,
Department of the Cumberland.

State of Tennessee,
Rutherford County.

Be it remembered that, on this 12th day of May, A. D. 1863, personally
appeared before me, Major William M. Wiles, Provost-Marshal-General,
Department of the Cumberland, one W. T. Mendenhall, Assistant Surgeon
of Hospital No. 5, of lawful age, who, being duly sworn, on oath says that
he is acquainted with Joseph A. Hamilton and Francillia L. Bean; that said
parties are of legal age to marry, without the consent of their parents or
guardians, and that he knows of no lawful reason why said parties should
not marry.

[Signed] W. T. MENDENHALL.
Subscribed and sworn to this 12th day of May, A. D. 1863.

WILLIAM M. WILES,
Major and Provost-Marshal-General,
Department of
the Cumberland.

Now, therefore, I, William M. Wiles, Major of 44th Indiana Volunteers,
and Provost-Marshal-General, Department of the Cumberland, in
consideration of the fact that this county has been placed under military law,
and civil courts and laws, with their officers, are not in existence, do
empower John Hogarth Lozier, a regularly ordained minister of the
Methodist Episcopal Church, and Chaplain of the 37th Regiment of Indiana
Volunteers, to join in Holy Matrimony the above-named parties, and this
shall be his full and proper authority for so doing.

Given this 12th day of May, A. D., 1863. Witness my hand and seal, the
day and year above mentioned,

W. M. WILES,
Major and Provost-Marshal-General,
Department of
the Cumberland.

Accordingly the happy pair, together with a large concourse of officers
and soldiers, and a delightful sprinkling of pretty Northern belles, met on
the battle-field, in a grove on the banks of Stone River, on the precise spot
where the bridegroom, with his regiment, the noble 15th Indiana, fought on
the memorable 31st of December. A large, flat rock stood up prominently,
and upon this the bride and groom, with their attendants, and the chaplain,
took their position, while an eager throng gathered around to witness the
interesting ceremony. After announcing the "license," as above given, the
chaplain asked the usual questions as to "objections." There was a moment's
silence, in which, if any man had dared to object, he would have done so at
the peril of an immediate "plunging bath" in Stone River, for the boys were
determined to see the ceremony completed. The chaplain then proceeded, in
solemn and impressive tones, to perform the ceremony, at the conclusion of
which they dropped upon their knees, and a solemn invocation being
uttered, they arose, and having pronounced them husband and wife, he
introduced them to the audience. Then followed a rare scene of unrestrained
social enjoyment. The mingling of shoulder-straps with plain "high-
privates," and of "stars" with "stripes," was truly refreshing. We observed
three Major-Generals, McCook, Crittenden, and Johnson, besides any
amount of "lesser lights," among the crowd.

I see, by a late Chattanooga Rebel, that the editor of that "delectable
sheet" is in grief because he has been told that Miss Fannie Jorden, who
resides near our camp, is about to marry Captain Kirk, of General
Steadman's staff. The Rebel says: "We are sorry to hear that the niece of the
gallant Colonel Rayne has so far forgotten herself as to engage to marry one
of the 'Lincoln horde.'"

We have had the pleasure of meeting Miss Fannie upon several
occasions. She is a very nice young lady, and is not aware of any such
engagement. Captain Kirk is pretty good-looking; but, we rather guess he is
not on the right side of Jorden this time. If the young lady marries, 'tis more
likely she will emigrate to Minnesota than Ohio. We sincerely hope our
neighbor of the Rebel will not have cause to "come to grief." He had better
mind his own business, and let the soldiers here attend to the "Union"
unmolested.

A strange family feud, quite "Corsican" in its character, came to light
some time ago, while we were at Cunningham's Ford.

There were two families, Bently by name, residing there. These brothers
had not spoken to each other for forty years. They nor their families have
had any intercourse whatever; never recognizing each other, though they
had resided side by side, farms adjoining. One could not go to church, or
meeting of any kind, or to town, without passing his brother. While we were
there, the elder brother died, and he was buried by his children. The other
family knew nothing of it, until told by our soldiers. The cause of the
estrangement was, that, in dividing the land left them, more than forty years
ago, one claimed the line was drawn some ten feet too far south, thus losing
to the other about six acres of ground, the value, at that time, being about
twenty-five cents per acre. This feud is now an inheritance, we suppose, to
be handed down forever. Can't you send out a missionary?

Those who can afford it are now enjoying in camp all the luxuries of the
season. I received an invitation to dine out yesterday. The following bill of
fare was partaken of in a beautiful arbor:

BILL OF FARE.

Mock Turtle Soup.

Turkey. Roast Beef.
Ham and Eggs. Roast Mutton, with Currant Jelly.
Radishes. Lettuce. Onions and Potatoes.
Custard. Lemon Pies. Pound Cake. Jellies.

The whole concluding with elegant "Mint Juleps," with straws in them.

In the 1st Brigade, under Colonel Connell, each company has a large
brick cooking-range erected, and their system is really worthy of emulation.
This entire division is supplied with fine fresh bread every day. The division
baker has three Cincinnati bake-ovens, from which he turns out from three
to five hundred loaves a day, besides pies innumerable. It is under the
foremanship of Mr. John Wakely, a well-known Cincinnati baker. This
arrangement is a great saving to the Government in the way of
transportation, etc.

I heard a first-rate story, which, although it did not occur in this division,
is too good to lose. A private soldier, named Cupp, who is a German,
belonging to the 1st Missouri Cavalry, and now one of the body-guard of
General Granger, was out to the front a few days ago, and seeing a "stray
rebel," "made for him." The chase commenced—away went Mr. Reb and
Cupp. Having the fleetest horse, Cupp gained upon him rapidly, crying,
"Halt! halt! halt!" every leap his horse would make. But the rebel, bent on
getting away, heeded not the call. At length the Dutchman reached his rear,
and, swinging his saber heavily over his head, charged the rebel, and
brought him to a "dead stand."

"Ah ha!" said the now excited Cupp, "how you vass all de viles? D——n
you, anoder time I hollers halt I speck you stop a leetle, unt not try to fool
mit me so long, you d——d rebel."

Dishonest Female Reb.

A rebel sympathizer and his wife, a cross-eyed specimen of the genus
homo, came within our lines and delivered themselves up, to be where they
could get something to eat. Captain Parshall, of the 35th Ohio, being
Provost-Marshal of Triune, and supposing them honest refugees,
endeavored to secure comfortable quarters for the woman at the house of
Dr. Williams. Dr. Williams is a stanch Union man, and willing to do all in
his power for suffering humanity. The Doctor told the Captain that the lady
was welcome, but that his wife was away from home.

Captain Parshall had kindly provided quarters for the husband who, as he
was about going, gazed cautiously around, and eyed the Doctor from head
to foot, then looked at the woman with an "affectionate" stare, and, with a
long-drawn sigh, exclaimed:

"Well, Doctor, I guess I'll risk her with you."

In about an hour the Captain was startled with the sudden appearance of
Doctor Williams, much excited, who begged that he would have that
woman taken away, right off, as she was a thief.

The Captain went over immediately, and interrogated the woman, but she
stoutly denied the charge. The Captain, however, noticed a very heavy bust
where a bust shouldn't be with so hatchet-faced a woman, and asked her
what she had in her bosom.

She replied, that was common with her "every grass;" but the Captain
"couldn't see it," and indelicately placed his masculine fingers within the
sacred precincts, and drew forth two children's dresses, one from each side;
finding she was fairly caught, she begged for mercy; said she didn't know
what "possessed her," and declared that was all she had. The Captain told
her he would have to hang her if she didn't deliver up every thing. She
became frightened, and then commenced the peeling of petticoats, shawls,
chemises, pillow-slips, etc., much to the amusement and contempt of all
honest people.

Suffice it to say, the woman, with her husband, was sent back to Dixie, to
feed upon corn-bread and water, as the Union people of this neighborhood
didn't wish to be contaminated by such trash.

The Doctor's wife has since returned. She told me the story, and declares
she won't leave the Doctor to keep house any more, as she won't trust him
alone.

To the Thirteenth Ohio.

by Martha M. Thomas.

Our Fathers House is threatened, boys!
The Union, grand and free,
Has warmed an adder in its heart
That saps its great roof-tree.
We've sworn to hold it pure, boys—
A first love's holy shrine;
A home for all the homeless, boys,
For "auld lang syne."

Its foemen are our brothers, boys;
But still we must not falter;
Though dear to us those who offend,
They must die by lead or halter.
Our Father's House is ours in trust,
From Washington's own line;
The Union knows no Pleiad lost
For "auld lang syne."

The rafters of the old house, boys,
Must never know pollution;
Its cement was our father's blood,
Its roof the Constitution;
And though, like prodigals astray,
Its sons eat husks with swine,
And feel the rod, we'll kill the calf,
For "auld lang syne."

Then let the bugle sound, my boys
And forward to the strife;
We'll thrash our rebel brothers well,

E'en though it cost our life.
And when we've whipped them into grace
And made each dim star shine,
We'll open wide our Father's door,
For "auld lang syne."[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER XXVII.
The Oath — A Conservative Darkey's Opinion of
Yankees — Visit to the Graves of Ohio and
Indiana Boys — Trip from Murfreesboro to
Louisville — Nashville Convalescents — A Death
in the Hospital — Henry Lovie Captured.

The Oath.

BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.

Hamlet—Swear on my sword.
Ghost (below)—Swear!—[Shakspeare.

Ye freemen, how long will ye stifle
The vengeance that justice inspires?
With treason how long will you trifle,
And shame the proud name of your sires?
Out, out with the sword and the rifle,
In defense of your homes and your fires.
The flag of the old Revolution
Swear firmly to serve and uphold,
That no treasonous breath of pollution
Shall tarnish one star on its fold.
Swear!
And hark, the deep voices replying
From graves where your fathers are lying,
"Swear, O, swear!"

In this moment who hesitates, barters
The rights which his forefathers won,
He forfeits all claim to the charters
Transmitted from sire to son.
Kneel, kneel at the graves of our martyrs,
And swear on your sword and your gun:
Lay up your great oath on an altar
As huge and as strong as Stonehenge,
And then with sword, fire, and halter,
Sweep down to the field of revenge.
Swear!
And hark, the deep voices replying
From graves where your fathers are lying,
"Swear, O, swear!"

By the tombs of your sires and brothers,
The host which the traitors have slain;
By the tears of your sisters and mothers,
In secret concealing their pain
The grief which the heroine smothers,
Consuming the heart and the brain
By the sigh of the penniless widow,
By the sob of her orphans' despair,
Where they sit in their sorrowful shadow,
Kneel, kneel, every freeman, and swear;
Swear!
And hark, the deep voices replying
From graves where your fathers are lying,
"Swear, O, swear!"

On mounds which are wet with the weeping
Where a nation has bowed to the sod,
Where the noblest of martyrs are sleeping,
Let the winds bear your vengeance abroad,
And your firm oaths be held in the keeping
Of your patriot hearts and your God.
Over Ellsworth, for whom the first tear rose,

While to Baker and Lyon you look;
By Winthrop, a star among heroes,
By the blood of our murdered McCook,
Swear!
And hark, the deep voices replying
From graves where your fathers are lying,
"Swear, O, swear!"

A Conservative Darkey's Opinion of Yankees.

There was a large Union meeting in Nashville, and an old house-servant
of one of the most aristocratic rebel families, who hates "Lincolnites" and
"poor white trash" as heartily as Jeff Davis does, was walking slowly along
the square as the grand procession was forming. Soldiers were moving
about in great numbers, the cavalry galloping to and fro, regiments were
forming to the sound of lively music, citizens and visitors thronged the
sidewalks, children ran about with banners, and thousands of flags fluttered
like fragments of rainbows, from the various buildings. The conservative
contraband paced slowly along, rolling his distended eyes in all directions,
apparently overwhelmed by the exhibition and bustle around him.
Approaching our friend, he exclaimed:

"My God! what are we Southern folks coming to? Massa said, a year
ago, dat de Yankees done gone away forever. Now dey is swarmin' about
thicker dan locusses. Dey runs dere boats on our ribber; dey is pressin' all
our niggers; dey lib in our houses; dey drivin' our wagons, and ringin' our
bells; dey 'fisticatin' our property; dey eatin' up our meat and corn; dey done
killed up mose all of our men; and, 'fore God, I spec dey are gwine to marry
all our widders!"

And, heaving a deep groan from the bottom of his continental waistcoat,
he shook his head in sadness, and passed slowly onward, to the joyful
chimes of the church-bells and the soul-stirring strains of "Yankee Doodle."

Visit to the Graves of Ohio and Indiana Boys.

Traversing the field of battle, near Murfreesboro, a few days after the
rebel defeat, I could but contrast, in my mind, the terrible quiet with the
terrific din and roar of battle of which it was the late scene.

The debris of battle is strewn for miles and miles. Thousands upon
thousands of cannon-balls and shell lie upon the field. The woods present
the appearance of having been visited by a tornado, and here and there a
pool of blood marks the place where some devoted hero has rendered up his
life.

The heavy cedar wood is nearly three miles from Murfreesboro, to the
right of the pike, going south. The rocks bear evidence of the struggle, for
thousands of bullet and shell traces may be seen. The smaller branches of
trees are cut as if a severe hail-storm had visited the spot. Let us dismount
and read the names of those soldiers who fell here. They have been given a
soldier's funeral. Ah! the names here denote this as a part of the gallant
Rousseau's division; for on rough pieces of board we read: W. McCartin,
Hamilton, Ohio, Company F, 3d Ohio; F. Burley, Hamilton; John Motram,
Company I, Cardington, Ohio; H. K. Bennett, Company A, 3d Ohio; M.
Neer, Company D, 3d Ohio. And close beside, a brother Indiana soldier
sleeps—Joseph Guest, 42d Indiana.

Just across the pike, on the left going south, is the grave of A. Hardy, 6th
Ohio; and opposite this is the spot where Lieutenant Foster, of the noble
6th, yielded up his life, and was buried. Close by is a log house, perforated
with shot and shell. Here some of our wounded sought shelter during the
storm of iron hail, but were mercilessly driven out by the shot poured into
their intended refuge. To the left of this house are numerous graves. Among
them, Francis Kiggins, Company K, H. Borrien, Company H, W. Keller,
Company H, all of the 24th Ohio; Alf Goodman, 58th Indiana; Noah Miller,
58th Indiana; E. D. Tuttles, Company B, C. McElvain, Company A, Levi
Colwright, James Wright, C. A. McDowell, Company K; J. B. Naylor, H.
Lockmeyer, A. B. Endicott, Company A; J. Cunningham, E. Skito, J.
Reavis, H. Cure, Company D, all of the 58th Indiana.

Near this the 26th Ohio lost John Tagg, John Karn, F. Singer, and Charles
Bartholomew; Mark E. Rakes, of the 88th Indiana, and George Kumler and
William Ogg, of the 93d Ohio, are buried here, together with John Van
Waggoner and Lieutenant Black, of the 58th Indiana. And still further to the
left, along the Chattanooga Railroad, are the remains of Elias M. Scott, 82d
Indiana; near this, but across the road, on the skirt of a wood, are Sergeants
Potter and Puttenry, of the 24th Ohio, Henry Allen, of the 65th Ohio, and
Frank Nitty, of the 58th Indiana. Continuing our course to the left, just
crossing a dirt-road leading toward Murfreesboro, upon a little knoll, are the
ruins of a once handsome mansion. Behind an upright Southern timber-
fence, just back of the still-standing negro-quarters, there is a beautiful
cluster of prairie-roses in full leaf. The waving branches, as they bend to the
right, cover the graves of three Cincinnati boys, two of whom I knew
intimately. Go ask their comrades, and they will bear willing evidence to
the chivalrous bearing of the two noble youths, Ally Rockenfield and little
Dave Medary. Beside them is the grave of W. S. Shaw, whom I did not
know personally. I am told he died while bravely doing his whole duty. The
branches of the same friendly rose-bush, bending to the left, cover the
graves of Captain Weller, Lieutenant Harmon, and Major Terry; all of the
24th Ohio, forming a beautiful emblem of the unity of those two splendid
regiments, the 6th and 24th. Continuing still further to the left, we cross
Stone River, where our forces did such good fighting under Crittenden. Just
after crossing this stream, upon the first knoll, beneath a large oak, are the
remains of Sergeant Jacob McGillen, of Hamilton. He belonged to the 69th
Ohio. An incident in regard to this noble youth was told me by a gentleman
who knew him well. When that noble man, William Beckett, of Hamilton,
was doing all in his power to assist in raising the 69th Regiment, a number
of the "Southern Rights" sympathizers tried to dissuade McGillen from
joining—bidding him to hold off until substitutes were called for, and then,
if he would go, they would buy him. He, however, spurned their base offers,
and enlisted; and, when crossing the river amid the leaden hail, he received
a bullet in his arm; he hastily tied up the wound, and, though weakened
from loss of blood, rejoined his command, and the second ball piercing his
breast, he fell. Nearly opposite his resting place lies Captain Chandler, of
the 19th Illinois.

I have been told, by those high in command, that more individual
prowess was manifested upon this battle-field than any during the war.
There were more hand-to-hand encounters, more desperate fighting—men
selling their lives as dearly as possible. As to their General, there is but one
acclamation: General Rosecrans has endeared himself to the whole army;
they love him as a child should love its father; and all are satisfied that, had
it not been for the surprise upon the right, and Johnson's defeat, the battle
would have ended with the total annihilation of the Southern army.

Nashville Convalescents—A Death in the Hospital.

On my way back to Nashville I called at the different hospitals, and saw
quite a number of the wounded. The surgeons were doing all they could
toward sending them home. Doctor Ames and Doctor Stevens, of the 6th
Ohio, in fact, all the surgeons seemed assiduous in their attentions to the
wounded. As a matter of course, many thought they were neglected; but
there were so many to be attended to.

I met Major Frank Cahill. He told me he had six thousand convalescents
under his charge at Nashville.

General Mitchell was kept very busy, although but few passes were given
to any going South; but Lieutenant Osgood, his chief business man, was up
night and day, ready, at all times, to expedite those going in search of the
wounded Union soldiers. Lieutenant Osgood certainly did more business in
one day than many men, who are called fast, could do in a week. To know
that he did his duty, I will state that Secessionists hated him, and Union men
spoke in high terms of him.

A young lad, who had been sick for a long time, died; his name was
William Stokes, and his home was near Dayton, Ohio. The boy had been
honorably discharged, but there were no blanks, and red tape forbids a
surgeon, no matter how high his position, to grant the final discharge
without the blank forms. For five weeks this poor home-sick boy, only
eighteen years of age, worried along, continually speaking of his mother
and home; but the inexorable law kept him there to die.

Henry Lovie Captured.

At Bowling Green I met Henry Lovie, the artist; he had been grossly
abused by a party of a dozen butternuts, at a little town called "Cromwell,"
(what's in a name?) They accused him of being a nigger-thief—a d——d
Abolitionist, and were sworn to hang him. His servant, however, happened
to have his free papers, and Lovie, exhibiting to them passes from
McClellan, Rosecrans, and other "high old names," they were disposed to
cave a little. "Our traveling artist" for Frank Leslie took a horse for self and
one for servant, riding twenty-eight miles, fearing the butternuts might
receive reinforcements, and reached Bowling Green by early dawn, through
mud, slush, snow, and rain. Lovie wants to enlist a company to go and take
"Cromwell," and requested me to see Tom Jones & Co. in regard to the
matter.[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER XXVIII.
General Steadman superseded by General
Schofield, of Missouri — Colonel Brownlow's
Regiment — His Bravery — A Rebel Officer
Killed by a Woman — Discontent in East
Tennessee — Picket Duty and Its Dangers — A
Gallant Deed and a Chivalrous Return.

Camp near Triune, Tennessee,
April 24, 1862.

I arrived in camp day before yesterday, and immediately reported for
duty.

Last night General Schofield took command of this division, General
Steadman having been assigned to the Second Brigade. General Schofield
comes to us with the highest recommendations for gallant daring, and his
appearance among the boys was the signal for a neat ovation. He was
serenaded by a crowd of singers, and, upon the conclusion of a patriotic
song, he came to the front of his head-quarters and made a telling speech,
which was enthusiastically received by his command. General Steadman
being called for responded, regretting to part with his old command, but
rejoicing that he had been superseded by a gentleman and a soldier so
worthy of the position that had been assigned him. General Steadman
assured the General that he had as fine a set of soldiers as were to be found
in the Army of the Cumberland; men who had been tried and never found
wanting; men whom he assured General Schofield would go wherever
ordered, and against any foe. After the adjournment of the public
demonstration, the two generals, with their staffs, were handsomely

entertained by Captain Roper, where song, sentiment, and recitation were
the order of the evening—Colonel George, Colonel Vandeveer, Colonel
Long, and other notables being among the guests.

While thus enjoying ourselves, the General received a telegraphic
dispatch from head-quarters, announcing the capture of McMinnville by our
forces.

The command of the Third Division, we feel confident, is in vigilant
hands. Brigadier-General Schofield has heretofore proved his efficiency in
Missouri. His staff consists of Major J. A. Campbell, A. A. S.; W. M.
Wherry, Aid-de-camp; A. H. Engle, Aid-de-camp and Judge Advocate;
Captain Kirk, Quarter-master; Captain Roper, Commissary; Captain Budd,
Inspector of Division, and Doctor Gordon, Medical Director.

The East Tennessee Cavalry still continue to prove their gallantry. I spent
a pleasant afternoon with them yesterday, and paid a visit to their hospital. I
saw six of the noble fellows who were wounded in a late fight. About ten
days ago, Colonel Brownlow, a regular "chip of the old block," took a part
of the regiment out some twelve miles from camp, toward Duck River, and,
coming upon a large party of secesh, gave them a "taste of his quality." A
short time after, the Colonel, with nine of his men, became detached from
the main body, and found themselves completely surrounded by the rebels,
and were within thirty yards of the foe, who ordered the Colonel to
surrender. A moment's parley with his men, and the Colonel, with the boys,
rode toward the rebels, and, with a few adjectives, quite unparliamentary to
ears polite, much to their surprise, dashed through their line. This audacity
saved them; for, before they had time to recover from their surprise,
Brownlow and his men were beyond their reach. I was told, by one of the
prisoners, that, at one time, twenty rebels were firing at that "little cuss in
the blue jacket," as they called the Colonel, during the day's performance.
Several splendid charges were made by these Tennesseeans.

James Mysinger, of Company I, from Green County, after being mortally
wounded—the noble fellow—fired three shots. The Colonel dismounted to
assist the dying soldier, who, with tears in his eyes, said:

"Colonel, I've only one regret—that I am not spared to kill more of those
wretched traitors. Tell me, Colonel," continued he, "have I not always
obeyed orders?"

"Yes, Mysinger, you are a noble fellow, and have always done your
duty," said the Colonel, patting him on the cheek, and brushing the cold
sweat from his brow.

"Now, Colonel," said he, "I am ready to die."

Oliver Miller, Company C, received a severe wound in the arm. He is
only seventeen years of age. John Harris received three balls. Robert Adair
was wounded in the head. William Riddle was completely riddled,
receiving one ball and four buck-shot. David Berry had his thigh broken,
jumping from his horse. Berry's father was murdered by rebels at
Cumberland Gap. His head was placed upon a block and cut off, by order of
Colonel Brazzleton, of the 1st East Tennessee rebel cavalry. Nearly all these
men have not only their country's wrongs to avenge, but the wrongs heaped
upon their fathers, mothers, and sisters. I spent an hour in conversation with
these wounded men, and all were laughing and talking in the best of spirits.
Such men are invincible.

A brother of Colonel Brownlow, who is now on a visit to this camp,
informs me that he had it from the most reliable source, that the rebels in
and around Knoxville were actually suffering for food. An order was issued
by the rebel commander at Knoxville, a few days since, to seize all the
hams, sides, and bacon belonging to private parties, leaving only fifty
pounds for each family. A Mrs. Tillery, of Knox County, residing twelve
miles from Knoxville, when her house was visited for the purpose of being
pillaged, in the fulfillment of this order, expostulated with the lieutenant in
command. She told him that fifty pounds would not keep her family two
weeks, and she had no way of obtaining more. Notwithstanding her
entreaties, the rebel lieutenant ordered fifty pounds to be weighed and given
to her. He had scarcely given the order when Mrs. Tillery drew a pistol and
shot the lieutenant through the heart. The rebel detail left the meat, and took
off the corpse of their commander. The spirit of discontent is manifesting
itself in various ways among even the most ultra rebels. They are getting
tired of seeing their country devastated by the two armies, and are anxious

for a settlement; and it only awaits the daring of a few to inaugurate a
"rebellion within a rebellion," which, if once started, will spread like wild-
fire.

Picket Duty and its Dangers.

Of all the duties of a soldier, outpost duty is the most trying and
dangerous. Courage, caution, patience, sleepless vigilance, and iron nerve
are essential to its due performance. Upon the picket-guards of an army
rests an immense responsibility. They are the eyes and ears of the encamped
or embattled host. Hence, if they are negligent or faithless, the thousands
dependent upon their zeal and watchfulness for safety, might almost as well
be blind and deaf. The bravest army, under such circumstances, is liable,
like a strong man in his sleep, to be pounced upon and discomfited by an
inferior foe. For this reason the laws of war declare that the punishment of a
soldier found sleeping on his post shall be death.

But although the peril and responsibility involved in picket duty are so
great, the heroes who are selected for it rarely receive honorable mention in
our military bulletins. Their collisions with the enemy are "skirmishes." The
proportion of killed and wounded in these collisions may be double or triple
what it was at Magenta or Solferino, but still they are mere "affairs of
outposts." "Our pickets were driven in," or "The enemy's pickets were put
to flight," and that is the end of it. Presently comes the news of a brilliant
Union victory; and nobody pauses to consider that if our pickets had been
asleep, or faithless, or cowardly, a Union defeat might, nay must, have been
the consequence.

We forget what these men endure—their risks, their privations, their
fatigues, their anxieties, their battles with themselves, when sleep—more
insidious than even the lurking enemy in the bush—tugs at their heavy
eyelids, and their overwearied senses are barely held to their allegiance by
the strongest mental effort. The soldier who rushes to the charge at the
command of his officer is animated by the shouts of his comrades,
inspirited by the sounds of martial music, and full of the ardor and

confidence which the consciousness of being intelligently led and loyally
supported engenders. He sees his adversaries; he fights in an open field; his
fate is to be decided by the ordinary chances of honorable war. Not so the
picket-guard. He is surrounded by unseen dangers. The gleam of his
bayonet may, at any moment, draw upon him the fire of some prowling
assassin. If he hears a rustling among the leaves, and inquires, "Who goes
there?" the answer may be a ball in his heart.

A Gallant Deed and a Chivalrous Return.

In the recent movement of Stoneman's Cavalry, the advance was led by
Lieutenant Paine, of the 1st Maine Cavalry. Being separated, by a
considerable distance, from the main body, he encountered, unexpectedly, a
superior force of rebel cavalry, and his whole party were taken prisoners.
They were hurried off as rapidly as possible to get them out of the way of
our advancing force, and, in crossing a rapid and deep stream, Lieutenant
Henry, commanding the rebel force, was swept off his horse. As none of his
men seemed to think or care any thing about saving him, his prisoner,
Lieutenant Paine, leaped off his horse, seized the drowning man by the
collar, swam ashore with him, and saved his life, thus literally capturing the
captor. Paine was sent to Richmond with the rest of the prisoners, and the
facts being made known to General Fitz-Hugh Lee, he wrote a statement of
them to General Winder, Provost-Marshal of Richmond, who ordered the
instant release of Lieutenant Paine, without even parole, promise, or
condition, and, we presume, with the compliments of the Confederacy. He
arrived in Washington on Saturday last. This act of generosity, as well as
justice, must command our highest admiration. There is some hope for men
who can behave in such a manner.

But the strangest part of the story is yet to come. Lieutenant Paine, on
arriving in Washington, learned that the officer whose life he had thus
gallantly saved had since been taken prisoner by our forces, and had just
been confined in the Old Capitol prison. The last we heard of Paine he was
on his way to General Martindale's head-quarters to obtain a pass to visit his
imprisoned benefactor. Such are the vicissitudes of war. We could not help

thinking, when we heard this story, of the profound observation of Mrs.
Gamp: "Sich is life, vich likevays is the hend of hall things hearthly." We
leave it to casuists to determine whether, when these two gallant soldiers
meet on the battle-field, they should fight like enemies or embrace like
Christians. For our part, we do not believe their swords will be any the less
sharp, nor their zeal any the less determined, for this hap-hazard exchange
of soldierly courtesy.[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER XXIX.
An Incident at Holly Springs, Miss. — The Raid of
Van Dorn — Cincinnati Cotton-dealers in Trouble
— Troubles of a Reporter.

An Incident at Holly Springs, Miss.—The Raid of Van Dorn.

The amount of public and private property captured and destroyed by the
enemy is estimated at something over six millions of dollars. He had
considerable skirmishing with our troops, whose effective force Colonel R.
C. Murphy, commandant of the post, says was less than three hundred. The
Confederates lost ten or twelve in killed and wounded, and we six or seven
wounded, none fatally. Colonel Murphy says he received information from
Grant too late to make the necessary arrangements for the defense of the
place. Though there were less than three hundred effective Union soldiers in
town, all the civilians, tradesmen, speculators, and promiscuous hangers-on
to the army were captured, swelling the number who gave their parole to
about fifteen hundred. The raid, as you may imagine, delighted the residents
of Holly Springs, who turned out en masse to welcome their brief-lingering
"deliverers," and were very active in pointing out the places where
Northerners were boarding. Not a few of the precious citizens fired at our
troops from the windows, and acted as contemptibly and dastardly as
possible. The women, who had been rarely visible before, made their
appearance, radiant, and supplied the rebel Yahoos with all manner of
refreshments. "Good Union men," who had sold their cotton to the Yankees,
shook the Treasury-notes in the faces of the Union prisoners, saying they

had been paid for their property, and had the pleasure of burning it before
the "d——d Abolition scoundrels' eyes."

Cincinnati Cotton-Dealers in Trouble.

A number of cotton-buyers were robbed of whatever money they had on
their persons, and some of them are said to have lost from five to ten
thousand dollars apiece, which is, probably, an exaggerated statement. W.
W. Cones, of Cincinnati, saved a large sum by an ingenious trick. He had
twenty-eight thousand dollars on his person when the enemy entered the
place, and immediately throwing off his citizen's garb, he attired himself in
the cast-off gauntlets of a private soldier, entered the Magnolia House,
employed as a hospital, and, throwing himself upon a bed, assumed to be
exceedingly and helplessly sick, while the foe remained. As soon as the
rebels had departed, he became suddenly and vigorously healthy, and
walked into the street to denounce the traitors. He declared his eleven hours'
sickness caused him less pain, and saved him more money than any illness
he ever before endured. D. W. Fairchild, also of the Queen City, in addition
to losing fifty bales of cotton, was robbed of his pocket-book, containing
forty-five dollars, in the following manner: When captured, he was taken
before General Jackson, popularly known as "Billy Jackson," considered a
high representative of chivalry and soldiership in this benighted quarter of
the globe. Jackson inquired of Fairchild, in a rough way, if he had any
money with him? To which the party addressed answered, he had a trifling
sum, barely sufficient to pay his expenses to the North. "Hand it over, you d
——d nigger thief," roared the high-toned general, who, as soon as the
porte-monnaie was produced, seized it, thrust it into his pocket, and rode off
with a self-satisfied chuckle. What a noble specimen of chivalry is this
Jackson! He has many kindred spirits in the South, where vulgar ruffians
are apotheosized, who would, at an earlier time, have been sent to the
pillory. "Sixteen-string Jack," and all that delectable fraternity, whose lives
bloom so fragrantly in the pages of the saffron-hued literature of the day,
would have spat in the faces of such fellows as Jackson, had they dared to
claim the acquaintance of persons so much their superiors.

When the rebels were playing the part of incendiaries in town, they set
fire to the building containing a great quantity of our ammunition, shells,
etc. The consequence was a tremendous explosion, which broke half the
windows, and many of the frames, in town, rattled down ceilings, unsettled
foundations, and spread general dismay. Women and children screamed,
and rushed like maniacs into the streets, and fell fainting with terror there.
For several hours the shells continued to burst, and, I have heard, two or
three children were killed with fragments of the projectiles. Two days after,
I saw families suffering from hysterics on account of excessive fright, and
several seemed to have become quite crazed therefrom.

Troubles of a Reporter.

One morning, hearing that John Morgan was at Elizabethtown, Ky., I
determined to go as near as possible, and find out the condition of things,
and see the fight that was in expectancy. Proceeding as far as I could by rail,
I hired a carriage and horses, hoping to reach Munfordville in time for a big
item.

I had proceeded some five miles when a party of eight men, whom I at
once determined were guerrillas, rode hastily to the carriage, and demanded
my credentials. I exhibited a free pass over the Ohio and Mississippi
Railroad, four Provost-Marshal's passes, a permission to leave the State of
Ohio, also one to leave Kentucky, and a ten-cent Nashville bill. I was afraid
to show them my letter from General Starbuck, of the Daily Times.

After looking at them awhile, they were passed round to the balance of
the fiendish-looking rascals, and I was kept in terrible suspense ten minutes
longer.

I tried to get off several of my well-authenticated bad jokes, but I choked
in the utterance, and my smile was no doubt a sardonic grin. I wiped the
perspiration from my brow so frequently that one of the most intellectual of
the "brutes" relieved the monotony of the occasion by observing that it was
a very hot day, to which I acquiesced, feeling quite glad to have a guerrilla
speak to a prisoner.

The countryman who had driven me thus far was speechless. He thought
of his carriage and horses, and visions of their being immediately possessed
by Morgan or Forrest had rendered him powerless. After a few questions as
to where we left the train, and as to the number of passengers on board, the
citizen cavalry, or Union guards, as they proved to be, told us we might
proceed, that we were all right, but to be very careful, as Forrest was
reported near that region; they hardly thought it safe to attempt to get to
Green River.

This brewed fresh trouble to me, the owner of the horses and carriage
refusing positively to proceed on the journey. In vain I expostulated, telling
him I would pay for his horses out of the sinking fund of the Times office, in
case of their loss. It was no go, and I was compelled to retreat. I felt very
much like building some fortifications in the woods, and making a stand,
but, remembering the saying, "Discretion is the better part of valor,"
retreated, and fell back upon the National Hotel, in Louisville, with all the
luxuries prepared by Charley Metcalf, Major Harrow, and Colonel Myers.
[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER XXX.
A Reporter's Idea of Mules — Letter from
Kentucky — Chaplain Gaddis turns Fireman —
Gaddis and the Secesh Grass-widow.

A Reporter's Idea of Mules.

Junius Browne, describing a mule and his antics, says: "Now, be it
known, I never had any faith in, though possessed of abundant
commiseration for, a mule. I always sympathized with Sterne in his
sentimental reverie over a dead ass, but for a living one, I could never
elevate my feeling of pity either into love or admiration. The mule in
question, however, seemed to be possessed of gentle and kindly
qualifications. He appeared to have reached that degree of culture that
disarms viciousness and softens stubbornness into tractability. I believed the
sober-looking animal devoid of tricks peculiar to his kind, such as
attempting to run up dead walls in cities, and climb trees in the country,
mistaking himself for a perpetual motion, and trying to kick Time through
the front window of Eternity. I was deceived in the docile-looking brute. He
secured me as his rider by false pretenses. He won my confidence, and
betrayed it shamefully. That he was a good mule, in some respects, I'll
willingly testify; but in others, he was deeply depraved. He exhibited a
disposition undreamed of by me, unknown before in the brothers and sisters
of his numerous family. In brief, he was a sectarian mule; a bigot that held
narrow views on the subject of religion; believed Hebrew the vernacular of
the devil, and regarded the Passover with malevolent eyes. Confound such a
creature, there was no hope for him! Who could expect to free him from his

prejudices? He hated Moses for his fate, and Rebekkah for her forms of
worship. He was insane on Judaism. He was a monomaniacal Gentile. Who
could make out a mental diagnosis, or anticipate the conduct of a mule
afflicted with religious lunacy? Well for your correspondent had he
discovered beforehand the bias of the brute, or suspected he was a
quadruped zealot! Much might have been saved to him, and more to a
number of unoffending gentlemen from church, as the sequel of my 'o'er
true tale' will prove.

"The train got off about eight o'clock, on a cloudy, rainy, muddy, suicidal
morning, and the material that composed it was worthy of illustration by
Cruikshank. The procession was singularly varied, and supremely bizarre.
There were the army-wagons, with sick and wounded soldiers, lumbering
heavily along; the paroled prisoners wading through the mire; cotton-
buyers, on foot and on horseback; members of the twelve tribes of Israel,
with all possible modes of conveyance—in broken buggies, in dilapidated
coaches, on bare-boned Rosinantes, on superannuated oxen, with
fragmentary reins, rope reins, and no reins; spurring, swearing, hallooing,
and gesticulating toward Memphis, in mortal terror lest the rebels would
capture them again, and some of their hard-earned gains. Pauvre Juils! They
would have excited the pity of a pawnbroker, if he had not known them, so
frightened and anxious and disconsolate they looked. They could not have
appeared more miserable if they had just learned that a brass watch they had
sold for silver had turned out gold. The mule trotted along briskly and
quietly enough until he beheld the grotesque vision of the heterogeneously-
mounted Israelites. Then he displayed most extraordinary conduct. He
pawed, he hawed, he kicked, all the while glancing at the sons of Jerusalem,
and braying louder and more discordant every moment. I could not
understand the mule's idiosyncrasies. Possibly, I thought, the doctrine of the
metempsychosis may be true, and this brute, in the early stages of its
development, once have been in love. He has a fit on him now, I fancied—
he is once more possessed of a petticoat. Why not? If love converts men
into asses, why should not asses, in their maddest moments, act like men in
love? The mule's ire was culminating. I dug my spurs into his side. Vain
effort! He was bent on mischief, and malignant against the persecuted race.
If he had been in the House of Commons, (and many of his brethren are
there,) I know he never would have voted for the admission of Jews into the

English Parliament. Before I could anticipate his movement, he rushed at
several pedestrian Hebrews and kicked the wind out of their stomachs and
three pairs of green spectacles from their noses. While endeavoring to
recover their glasses, the mule knocked their hats off with his hoofs, and
impaired the perfect semicircle of their proboscis, thus imitating the rebels
—by destroying their bridges totally. The infuriated brute then ran for an
old buggy, and, by supreme perseverance, kicked it over, and its two
Hebrew occupants, into the road, where they fell, head-foremost, into the
mire, growling profanely, like tigers that have learned German imperfectly,
and were trying to swear, in choice Teutonic, about the peculiar qualities of
Limburger cheese. In their sudden subversion, the Israelites dropped three
fine watches out of their pockets, and the mule, with an unprecedented
voracity, and determined on having a good time, ate the chronometers
without any apparent detriment to digestion. The owners of the watches
were frenzied. They glanced at my beast, and were about to devour him,
hoping thereby to get the timepieces back. They did not violate the third
commandment. They could not. They were too mad. They merely hissed
rage, like a boiling tea-kettle, and grew purple in the face, and spun round
in the road, from the excess of their wrath. Your correspondent was
alarmed. He feared the mule would devour the Hebrews themselves, and he
knew, if that were done, the animal would explode, and said animal had not
been paid for. No time was given for reflection. Off ran the mule again, and
made a pedal attack on a small Hebrew with a huge nasal organ, seated on
top of a decayed coach, drawn by a horse, a cow, and three negroes. The
quadruped made a herculean effort to kick the diminutive Shylock from his
seat, but all in vain. The altitude was too great, and, in the midst of his
exertions, he kicked himself off his feet, and fell over into a gulley, in
which he alighted and stood on his head, as if he had been trained in a
circus. The position was admirable, and so worthy of imitation that I stood
on my head also, in two feet of mire, and beckoned with my boots for some
passing pedestrians to come and pull me out, as they would a radish from a
kitchen-garden. The mule resumed his normal position speedily, and went
off in his well-sustained character of a Jew-hunter. I was less fortunate.
Three teamsters drew my boots from my feet, and tears from my eyes,
before they could extricate me. And when I was removed from terra firma,
I resembled a hickory stump dragged out by the roots, or a large cat-fish
that had left his native element, and, seized with a fit of science, had

endeavored to convert himself into a screw of the Artesian well. Placed feet
downward on the ground again, I could not thank my deliverers or swear at
the mule. I was dumb with astonishment and the mud, having swallowed
eighteen ounces avoirdupois weight of the sacred soil of Mississippi while
endeavoring to express my admiration of the performance of the mule.
When I had removed the mire from my optics, in which cotton-seed would
have grown freely, I beheld the mule in the dim distance. I could not see the
brute plainly, but I could determine his course by the frequent falling of a
human figure along the road. I knew the figures were those of his enemies,
the much-abused Hebrews—that he was still wreaking his vengeance on the
representatives of Israel—that he was fulfilling the unfortunate destiny of a
misguided and merciless mule. Strange animal! Had the honest tradesman
ever sold his grandfather a bogus watch? or inveigled his innocent sire into
the mysterious precincts of a mock-auction? Alas! history does not record,
and intuition will not reveal.

"My narrative is over. I did not go to Memphis. I returned, limping, to
town, mentally ejaculating, like many adventurous gentlemen who, before
me, have recklessly attempted to ride the peculiar beast, 'D——n a mule,
any how!'"

Letters from Kentucky.

Early in September, 1862, I was sent by General Starbuck & Co.,
proprietors of the Cincinnati Daily Times, to reconnoiter in Kentucky. My
first stop was a very pleasant one—at the Galt House, Louisville. From that
place I wrote incident after incident concerning the most inhuman barbarity
that had been enacted by citizen guerrillas and butternut soldiers. Louisville
was in a foment of excitement, and if the rebels had only possessed the
dash, there was scarce a day but they could have made a foray upon the
"Galt," and captured from forty to fifty nice-looking officers, from
brigadier-generals down to lieutenants.

It was supposed the Government could spare them; else why were they in
the North, when they should have been in the South?