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.