REMINISCENCES OF ROUSSEAU.
All failures find their special apologies, and some curious ones were
originated by the admirers of McClellan to account for the singular
ineffective policy of that officer. That policy is now generally known
as the "McNapoleonic," in contradistinction to the Fabian policy, from
which it differed only in that Fabian attained valuable results, while
McClellan did not. Every thing was to have been effected by the young
Napoleon, according to his admirers, by pure, unalloyed strategy, and
the rebellion and its armies were to be crushed without bloodshed. This
great strategist, according to these authorities, was without parallel;
all the rest of the generals, like Thomas, Grant, Hooker, etc., were,
according to the McClellan theory, _only_ "fighting generals." Their
battles were mere massacres; Grant was a butcher; they quote his
Wilderness campaign even to this day to prove it, and declare that he
lost a hundred thousand men in his battles north of the James, but
never reflect that McClellan lost ninety thousand without doing any
fighting, and while retreating instead of advancing to that same river.
Sheridan, to their mind, is a mere raider, without an idea of strategy,
and Thomas, Hooker, Hancock, and all the rest, were "_only_ fighting
generals."
Belonging to this "despised" class of fighting generals, of which
Hooker and Sheridan, as I have endeavored to show, despite this
McClellan theory, are brilliant graduates, are Major Generals John
A. Logan, of Illinois, and Lovell H. Rousseau, of Kentucky. Each of
these four is endowed mentally, and constituted by nature, to be a
leader of men. Hooker and Sheridan have been confirmed generals by
education. Rousseau and Logan owe every thing to nature, and are
leaders, not generals, intuitively. The first two have been educated
at West Point into being good directors of armed battalions, but it
goes "against the grain" with either to confine himself solely to the
direction of a battle, and hence they are often seen in battle obeying
the dictates of nature, and leading charges which they should direct.
Rousseau and Logan never enjoyed the advantages of West Point, and, as
nature is unchecked in them by education, he who hunts for them on the
battle-field must look along the front line, and not with the reserves.
Neither Logan nor Rousseau would be content--it can not really be
said that they are competent--to direct a battle on a grand scale: it
would simply be an impossible task on the part of either, for they are
neither educated nor constituted naturally to be commanders, in the
technical sense of the term. They are neither strategists nor even
tacticians. Both are bold, daring, enthusiastic in spirit; one has a
commanding presence, and the other an inspiring eye, and the natural
and most effective position of each is at the head of forlorn hopes, or
leading desperate charges to successful issues.
The same contrast in person between "Fighting Joe Hooker," tall,
towering, and always graceful, and "Little Phil Sheridan," short,
quick, and rough, can be traced between Rousseau, a huge, magnificent,
ponderous, and handsome figure, and "Black Jack Logan," a somewhat
short but graceful figure, in whose forehead is set the finest pair of
eyes ever possessed by a man. The _personnel_ of these four warriors
differs very much. Hooker and Rousseau are very different types of the
tall and elegant "human form divine," and Logan and Sheridan illustrate
the graceful and the graceless in little men; but the great hearts of
each beat alike, and on the battle-field the daring and boldness of
each are equally conspicuous and effective.
Of all these heroes, however, Rousseau is most naturally a leader. His
whole career, civil and military, illustrates him as such; and only in
a country of the extent of ours, with such varied and complex interests
existing within each other, could any man attain the success with which
he has been rewarded, without at the same time gaining such fame as
would have made his name as familiar in every home as household words,
and invested him with a national reputation. It is a fact illustrative
of the vast extent of the late war, and of the existence of the various
sectional interests which were second to the great, absorbing feeling
of devotion to the whole Union, that there are thousands of people
in the East who do not know aught of the geographical position of
Western battle-fields, or the history of the military career of the
more distinguished officers of the Western armies. The case is also
reversed, and such distinguished men as Meade, Hancock, and Sickles,
and hundreds less renowned, are hardly known at the West. The people
of the East, naturally absorbed in the interests which are nearest
and dearest to them, are intimately acquainted with the history and
achievements of the chosen leaders of their sons and brothers of
the Potomac armies, but know little in detail of the leaders of the
Western armies. To the people of the East, Rosecrans is a myth of whom
they remember only that he met disaster at Chickamauga; and of Thomas
they know little more than that he was the hero of that same defeat.
They know little of McPherson, McClernand, Dodge, Blair, Oglesby,
Osterhaus, and others, save that they "were with Grant" at Vicksburg
and elsewhere. Indeed, the whole army of the West enjoy in the East
a mythical existence, and Logan and Rousseau live in our memories as
undefinedly, though as firmly, as many of the characters of romance.
Nine out of every ten who are asked to tell who and what they are will
be puzzled for a reply, and will state much that is pure romance, and
nothing illustrative of their characters. And yet no two men have been
more prominent or more popular in the armies with which they were
connected than these two rising men of the West.
General Rousseau, of whom it is proposed to speak in this chapter, is
not a strategist nor a tactician according to the rules of West Point,
in whose sciences he is uneducated save by the practical experience of
the past four years of war. He makes no pretensions to a knowledge of
engineering, or strategy, or grand tactics, is not even versed in the
details of logistics; but of all those who have won reputation as hard,
pertinacious, and dashing fighters, none more deserve their fame than
he. His battles have been brilliant, if short; desperate and bloody
contests, in which more has resulted from courage and the enthusiasm
imparted to the men than from strategy and tactics. If examination is
made into Rousseau's career, it will be found that he has ever been in
the front line of battle, not only at Buena Vista, in our miniature
contest with Mexico, at Shiloh, Perryville, and Stone River, but
in every aspect, and under all circumstances of his career, always
ahead, and leading his people in politics as in war. A self-educated
and self-made man, of strong intellectual and reasoning powers, quick
to resolve and prompt to act, he appears at all times in that noble
attitude of one who has led instead of following public sentiment. In
youth he was left the junior member of an orphaned family, of which his
habit of decision made him the head and chief dependence. Emigrating
in 1841 to Indiana, he made himself, by his talents, the leader of a
party which had never attained success before his advent, and never
won it after his retirement. His personal popularity retained him a
seat in the Senate of Indiana for six years. In the middle of the term
for which he was elected in 1848, he returned to Kentucky, and began
the practice of law at Louisville. The Democrats of the Indiana Senate
insisted he should resign, because a non-resident, but his constituents
would not allow him to retire; and Rousseau threatened in retaliation
to return to reside in Indiana and again run for the Senate. The
Democrats were afraid of this very thing, and opposition to Rousseau's
retention of his seat for the rest of the term was silenced. The
Democrats contented themselves with trying to throw ridicule on him by
calling him "the member from Louisville."
Returning to Kentucky in 1849, Rousseau was one of the few of her sons
who were prepared to second or adopt the views then agitated by Henry
Clay in regard to emancipating slaves. In 1855, when "Know-Nothingism"
had swallowed up his old party--the Whig--and held temporarily a great
majority in his city, county, and state, Rousseau became the leader of
the small minority which rejected the false doctrines of the "American"
party. His bitter denunciation of its practices, its tendencies to
mob violence, and his persistent opposition to its encroachments on
individual rights, nearly cost him his life at the hands of a mob who
attacked him while defending a German in the act of depositing his
vote. He was shot through the abdomen, and confined for two months to
his bed, but had the satisfaction to know, when well again, that the
party he had fought almost single-handed had no longer an organized
existence. He was also instrumental, in 1855, in saving two of the
Catholic churches of Louisville from destruction at the hands of a
mob of Know-Nothings, and gained in popularity with both parties,
when the passion and excitement of the time had passed away, by these
exhibitions of his great courage and sense of right and justice.
It was not merely, however, through the political excitement of the
day that Rousseau won his popularity and established his character.
For many years past--for at least two generations before the war--the
courts of Kentucky have been noted for the many important and exciting
criminal trials which have come up in them, and no bar presented finer
opportunities for a young criminal lawyer. From the time of Rousseau's
return to Kentucky in 1849 to the period when he went into the army
in 1861, no important criminal case was tried in the Kentucky courts
in which he did not figure on one side or the other. In 1843, the old
system of pleading in the common law courts of England, as it existed
before it had been clipped and modified by legislation, was in vogue
at the Indiana bar, and on his advent in that state Rousseau soon
found that no lawyer could practice respectably there without special
pleading. A lawyer who was not a special pleader would in those days
frequently find his case and himself thrown out of court, without
exactly understanding how it was done. He therefore studied special
pleading as a system in itself, taking the old English authors on the
subject, and, after a few years' hard study and practice, soon made
himself one of the best special pleaders in the West. When he returned
to Kentucky, this system, not so thoroughly in use there, gave him
several triumphs, which at once established his character and gave
him plenty of practice. As a jury lawyer Rousseau has had no rival in
his district since 1855; and the late Attorney General of the United
States, James Speed, acknowledges himself indebted to Rousseau for
several of his worst defeats before juries. Knowing the particular and
peculiar legal talents of Rousseau, the attorney general employed him
to aid in the prosecution of Jeff Davis for treason, and to assist
Hon. John H. Clifford and William M. Evarts in the important duty of
endeavoring to define treason.
There occurred in Louisville in 1857 a trial of a very remarkable
character, which illustrates in a very interesting manner Rousseau's
legal ability and his decision and daring. A family of five or six
persons, named Joyce, were murdered, and their bodies burned in their
house near the city. Suspicion fell upon some negroes on the adjoining
plantation, and they were seized by the neighbors and threatened with
hanging if they did not confess. One or two of them were hung up for
a few moments and then let down nearly exhausted, but still persisted
in declaring their innocence. Another, however, tied to a stake, and
the fagots fired around him, agreed to confess, and, to avoid death
by burning, confessed that himself and the others arrested with him
had committed the murder. The negroes--four of them, all belonging to
one man--were thrown into jail to await their trial. Their master was
satisfied that they were innocent, and determined to engage the best
available counsel for them. This was easier to propose than to do, for
so great was the excitement among the people that, extending to the
lawyers, no other counsel besides Rousseau could be retained, and he
was compelled to undertake the defense unaided. He had always been very
popular in the district in which the murder had been committed, and
many of his old friends from the neighborhood visited him, and urged
him not to sacrifice his popularity with them by defending such abased
and brutal criminals as these negroes. In vain Rousseau urged that the
greater the guilt the greater the necessity for a lawyer. His friends
could listen to no reason, and saw no justification in defending
negroes who deserved to be hung according to their own confession. When
Rousseau intimated that he did not believe the confession, and alluded
to the manner in which it had been extorted, they would go away in
disgust, and many cursed him for "a damned abolitionist."
When the trial came on, the people of the district in which the murder
had been committed crowded the court-house night and day. The sole
surviving member of the family, a young man also named Joyce, occupied
a seat within the railing of the court-room, while the crowd of his
friends were kept outside of the bar. The feeling of animosity in the
crowd against the negroes was only kept from breaking out into fury
by the certainty of their conviction and punishment by law; but fears
were justly entertained that some development of the trial might so
excite the by-standers as to cause the instantaneous hanging of the
negroes. This fear was fully justified, and an attempt to hang them was
only frustrated by the prompt action and daring of Rousseau. The sole
evidence for the prosecution was that of the negro who had confessed,
and he was put upon the stand, after the usual preliminaries, to
give his statement in open court. The negro went on, in a hesitating
manner, to give, with many contradictions, the story of how the murder
had been committed, and the house fired in several places. He stated
that, after the house was almost encircled in flames, the youngest
child of the murdered family, a little girl of two years, who had
been overlooked in the hurry of the massacre, aroused by the light,
sat up in bed and asked, calling to her mother, to know "if she was
cooking breakfast." At this part of the evidence there was a deathlike
stillness through the court-room. The crowd, horrified, seemed afraid
to draw a breath for a moment, and the negro witness himself appeared
to fully comprehend the danger of the situation and hesitated. At
last one old gentleman--I think he was one of the jury--shading his
eye with his hands as if to shut out the scene, uttered, in a pitiful
tone through his clenched teeth, the sound which I can only express by
"tut! tut! tut! tut!" The half hissing sound could be heard all over
the court-room, and as it was heard a cold shudder ran through the
crowd, followed a moment after by crimson flushes of passion on bronzed
cheeks. In the midst of the silent excitement--for it was an excitement
so profound as almost robbed men of the power of speech--young Joyce
sprang to his feet and exclaimed,
"I want all my friends who think these negroes are guilty to help me
hang them."
He was answered by a wild shout and by the click of hundreds of
pistols. As he had spoken, young Joyce drew a huge knife from a sheath
fastened to his body, and, encouraged by the answering cry of his
friends, sprang toward the negroes. As he did so, however, Rousseau,
who stood between him and the prisoners, caught him by the throat with
one hand, and with the other clasped the wrist of the arm which held
the uplifted knife. It was but the work of a moment for a powerful man
like Rousseau to thrust Joyce back again in his seat and pinion him
there while he turned and confronted the crowd, who had made a rush for
the negroes, but who were being beaten back by the sheriff and one or
two policemen. As soon as they saw the position of young Joyce, still
held in his chair by the powerful arm of Rousseau, the crowd made a
rush in that direction. Rousseau was again prompt and decisive.
"Mr. Joyce," he said, "tell your friends that while they hang the
negroes I'll attend to you."
Joyce waved his friends back with the only hand left free, and quiet
again succeeded. It is hardly probable that even this promptness would
have saved Rousseau had he not been personally popular with the crowd.
As the crowd shrank back he released Joyce and turned abruptly to the
judge, who had ordered the sheriff to summon a force of the police to
protect the prisoners, and said,
"Don't do any thing of the sort. Don't do any thing of the sort, your
honor. We can protect the prisoners and ourselves. There are enough
true men here to protect them from the fury of this young man."
"Where are your friends?" cried the still furious crowd.
"You are!" exclaimed Rousseau, turning abruptly to them--I might say on
them. And then, without a single second's hesitation, he began a brief
speech, in which he passionately urged and entreated them to aid him
in preventing Joyce, whom he characterized as "this unfortunate young
man," from committing a deed which would forever be a curse to him as
long as he had a memory of it, and which would forever disgrace them
as a law-abiding community. While he was yet speaking the crowd calmed
down, and when he had finished painting the enormity of the offense
and the remorse of the young man if he had been permitted to commit so
great a crime, they cheered him, and through the room went frequent
and repeated whispers, "He's right;" "he's right;" "Rousseau's always
right!"
The trial thenceforth proceeded in quiet until the announcement of
the verdict of "not guilty," when another terrible scene ensued; but
provision having been made for such an occurrence, the negroes were
carried off to jail for protection. The people were satisfied that the
negroes were guilty, and the verdict (obtained by Rousseau by showing
the inconsistencies of the confession and the circumstances, the
threats and the terror, under which it was extorted) only increased
their passion. The jail was surrounded, and the night after the
acquittal the negroes were taken out by the mob and hung on the trees
in the City Hall grounds. During the riot the mayor of the city, Mr.
Pilcher, while endeavoring to quiet the crowd, was struck by a missile
in the head, and died soon after from the effects of the injury
received.
This and several other trials eventually resulted in increasing
Rousseau's popularity. Two or three of his most important cases
embraced the defense of men accused and undoubtedly guilty of aiding
negroes to escape from slavery. It is hardly comprehensible that less
than a decade ago this offense was considered the most criminal act a
man could commit in Kentucky, or that men were sentenced to fifteen
years' hard labor for such offenses, or that convicts are still working
out their term for these offenses in Southern penitentiaries. To engage
in the defense of such criminals a few years ago, even in the latitude
of Louisville, was to be set down as an "abolitionist," and but few of
the Kentucky lawyers of the decade just before the war cared to bear
such a character. Rousseau, without courting the reputation, did not
fear it; and his manly bearing in all such cases, and in the political
excitement of the time, so advanced him in popular estimation that in
1860 he was elected to the State Senate of Kentucky without opposition
and as the candidate of both parties, whose only rivalry with regard
to him was as to which should first secure his acceptance of the
nomination. It was while holding this position as state senator that
Rousseau began his bold opposition to Kentucky neutrality, which
brought him so prominently before the country, and opened to him that
career in which he has won so much honor and such a high rank.
The true story of Kentucky neutrality is one of the most romantic
episodes of the war. The visionary schemers who planned the Southern
Confederacy were guilty of dozens of chimerical and fallacious schemes,
whose shallowness is now so apparent that one wonders how the Southern
people were ever deceived by them. The rebel leaders declared--and
declared it so often that they actually believed it themselves--that
the Northern people would not fight. They boasted, and boasted so
frequently that they began after a time to believe, that one Southern
man could really whip five Yankees. They deceived themselves for so
many years with the doctrine of States Rights that leaders and people
began to believe that a fraction of the body corporate could exist
without the aid of the rest, and offered to this modern and enlightened
age a national illustration of Æsop's fable of the stomach's folly.
When the schemes of the rebel leaders were culminating, and they found
that the people of the Border States were not disposed, like those of
the Cotton States, to be hurried, regardless of consequences, into a
war in which they had nothing to gain and every thing to lose, they
instituted, with a shrewdness worthy the fame of a Philadelphia
lawyer, the no less visionary schemes that there could be law without
power, and that a portion of the body, and that portion the heart,
could suspend its operations while the rest was being violently
agitated. In Tennessee, where the first-named scheme was successful,
the rebels deceived the Union men into advocating the doctrine of "no
coercion." In Kentucky, where their complete success in carrying out
the second design was frustrated only by the sagacity of Rousseau,
the rebels deceived the Unionists into advocating the doctrine of
"neutrality." Twice the people of Tennessee voted against co-operation
with the rebel states; and when the rebels again dared to test the
question at the polls, they embodied in the contest the principle
that "the general government could not coerce a sovereign state," and
into the support of this doctrine the anti-secessionists foolishly
acquiesced. The first act of the President in calling for troops to
enforce the laws was construed into coercion, and the state seceded.
Three times the State of Kentucky voted by large majorities against
secession, but the rebels did not despair, and, having failed to get
the people to secede, or to declare against the right of coercion, they
endeavored, with but partial success, to commit the authorities and the
Unionists to what was called "a strict neutrality."
The rebels in Kentucky were under the leadership of a Cassius-like
character named Simon Bolivar Buckner. He had been in the secrets and
the interests of the dis-union leaders for years before the first overt
act of secession was committed, and for three or four years previous
to 1861 had been engaged in schemes for carrying the state out of the
Union, and for furnishing troops to the rebel army that was to be. The
principal of these schemes was the organization of the very irregular
militia of the state into a strong body, known as the "State Guard."
Buckner, by every means in his reach--and his associates in treason,
who were also in power, gave him great assistance--fostered this
scheme. He created a martial spirit among the young men of Kentucky,
and by the aid of Tilghman, Hunt, Hanson, and others, who eventually
became rebel generals, extended this spirit to every part of the state.
He was a man eminently fitted for such a task, and by his duplicity and
skill undermined the faith in and love for the Union existing among
the young men who formed the State Guard. Years before the majority of
them suspected that secession would ever be attempted, they had grown
to look upon the institutions, doctrines, and even the flag of the
Union with indifference, if not contempt. The flag of Kentucky became
the flag of the guard, and Buckner even attempted to expel that of the
government from the organization. The various uniforms of the different
militia organizations of different districts were discarded, under
Buckner's orders, for a uniform of gray, which eventually proved to be
that of the rebel army. The various arms of the different companies
were discarded for weapons of a uniform calibre. The organization,
which had originally embraced only companies, was extended to divisions
and regiments, and brigades were formed and drilled in encampments as
such. In fact, nearly a year before South Carolina seceded, the State
Guard of Kentucky, with Simon Bolivar Buckner as Inspector General
commanding, was simply a body of recruits for the embryo rebel army.
It is slightly foreign to the subject, but I may as well add here the
fact I have never heard stated before, that, at the same time, and
undoubtedly for the same purpose, the martial spirit of the youth of
all the Southern States was being encouraged. Militia organization of
the various states were being thoroughly remodeled and systematized,
the best of arms obtained, uniforms of the same kind purchased, and,
to all appearances, the rebel army, as it afterward existed, was being
recruited in 1858-9 and '60.
This organization, under Buckner, existed when neutrality was
instituted, and the new doctrines gave it and the traitors who led it
additional strength, while it served to cloak their designs. Great
numbers of the leading Unionists of the state joined with the rebel
leaders in support of this doctrine, ridiculous and inconsistent as it
now appears to have been. A large majority of the people who had voted
against secession also became committed to the visionary doctrine,
until it came to be the accepted policy of the state; so that, when
Lovell Rousseau, in the Senate, in May, 1861, denounced neutrality as a
mask of the secessionists on the one hand, and a disgraceful yielding
of the Unionists on the other, he found few who agreed with him, and
less who seconded him in his avowed purpose of abolishing neutrality,
and placing the state, at all times, in her proper position as a true
member of the Union, amid the disasters of war as well as in the
prosperity of peace.
The public were not prepared to follow him, and he was forced to
accept neutrality as a compromise between union and secession, between
right and wrong, but doing so under public protest in the Senate
of the state, and declaring on every occasion which offered that it
was a debasing position, which he intended to abandon as soon as he
could induce the state to follow him. He found little support in this
honorable war upon neutrality until the secessionists, under Buckner,
went a step farther, and proposed, after hostilities had fairly begun,
to make the neutrality of Kentucky an "armed neutrality," urging that
the state troops be armed to resist encroachments from either rebel
or Union troops. In this proposition Rousseau saw an opportunity for
forcing a direct issue with the rebels, and he was quick to take
advantage of it. He saw in it actual aid to the rebellion. Against
this scheme, which proposed the appropriation of three millions of
dollars to arm the "Kentucky State Guard," he at once began a crusade
as earnest as it was untiring. He denounced the State Guard and its
leaders as secessionists and traitors, stormed at them in Senate-halls
and on the stump, and not only defeated the bill, but succeeded very
happily in dividing the State Guard into two rival organizations,
known as the "Home Guards" (Unionists) and "State Guardsmen" (rebels).
He called it at the time "separating the sheep from the goats." It
was a most fortunate achievement; for it not only saved thousands of
young men belonging to the State Guard from being unwittingly drawn
into the rebel army, but precipitated the designs of the rebels, and
hastened the defection which was inevitable. This was accomplished
under personal difficulties, opposition, and dangers, which only made
the labor more delightful to a person of Rousseau's temperament. He
delights in opposition; is in his element only when in the minority,
and strongly opposed; and his belligerent disposition led him to gladly
accept not only the numerous stump and street discussions and disputes,
but even street quarrels and fights with the secessionists. The rebel
sympathizers seldom dared attack him openly, his bold front, at all
times maintained, making them prefer to exercise their strategy and
trickery against him rather than come to open warfare. Upon him, as the
head and front of the offending party, they poured all their abuse and
vituperation, but dared to do little more.
This split in the State Guard soon proved a serious affair, and the
"defection," as the traitors called the retirement of the Union men,
became quite general. Every incident increased the feeling; every
day saw the differences of opinions and the breach grow wider. On
one occasion Buckner was reviewing the regiment of the Guard which
was stationed at Lexington, Ky. The feeling between the partisans
composing the regiment had become quite demonstrative, and on this
occasion Captain Saunders D. Bruce, a Union officer of the regiment
(subsequently colonel of the Twentieth Kentucky Infantry, now a
resident of New York, and editor of the "Field, Turf, and Farm"
newspaper), made his appearance in the line with two small United
States flags as guidons for his company. Buckner, noticing them,
approached Captain Bruce, ordered him to the front, in full view
of the regiment, explained to him that Kentucky was neutral in the
"unfortunate struggle" then going on, and directed him to replace the
guidons by flags of the state. Bruce, without replying, turned to
his company, and, as if about to obey, gave the orders, "Attention,
company;" "Shoulder arms;" "Right face;" "Forward march," and away went
the "Lexington Chasseurs" out of the line, and for that matter out of
the State Guard. No attempt was made to stop the company, or to call
Bruce to account for his "insubordination."
No sooner had the work of dividing the State Guard been thus
accomplished, than Rousseau hastened to Washington to obtain permission
from the President to raise troops in the state for the United
States service. While on the way to Washington, he had an interview
with General McClellan, then commanding the Western Department, at
Cincinnati, and found him opposed to his scheme. McClellan sent to
Washington his aid, Colonel Key (subsequently dismissed the service
for disloyal utterances), to represent Rousseau's scheme as rash and
ill-advised. At the same time, others were sent to Washington by the
"mild-mannered" Unionists to urge the President not to grant Rousseau
permission to raise troops, arguing that it would at once precipitate
the invasion of the state by the rebels. Rousseau consequently found
great difficulty in obtaining the required authority, but went at the
question boldly.
He was introduced to the President and the cabinet by Secretary Chase,
who was his energetic friend in the matter, and who subsequently
aided him materially in getting around the President's objections to
the project. Before he had finished shaking hands with the stalwart
Kentuckian and soldier, the President good-humoredly said, "Rousseau, I
want you to tell me where you got that joke about Senator Johnson, of
your state."
The "joke" alluded to was one of the neatest of Mr. Lincoln's numerous
dry humors, and was as follows: A state senator from Paducah, Ky., John
M. Johnson by name, who had made himself notorious as a secessionist,
wrote to Mr. Lincoln in May, 1861, a very solemn and emphatic protest,
in the name of the sovereign State of Kentucky, against the occupation
and fortification of Cairo, on the Illinois side of the Ohio River.
Mr. Lincoln replied in a letter written in his own peculiar vein,
apologizing for the movement, promising it should not be done again,
and declaring that if he had half suspected that Cairo, Illinois, was
in Dr. Johnson's Kentucky senatorial district, he would have thought
twice before sending troops there. Rousseau had heard the story, and
had repeated it in a speech in the Senate, and an explanation of how
it had gained publicity was what the President requested. Rousseau
explained.
"The joke was too good to keep, sir, and so Johnson told it himself."
The interview, thus auspiciously began, proved a failure. Cameron and
Chase were the only ones in the cabinet who favored the enlistment of
troops in Kentucky; and on their declaring this opinion, the President
advised them not to be too hasty, remarking,
"You know we have seen another man from Kentucky to-day."
"I don't ask you to say who that man was, Mr. President," said
Rousseau, suspecting it to have been Colonel Key, and anxious to
forestall him, as he had declared his intention to oppose the scheme;
"but Colonel Key is not a Kentuckian, and does not know or comprehend
our people. If you want troops in my state, I can and will raise
them; and I think it is your duty to our people in Kentucky to begin
the work of enlistment there, for if the rebels raise troops and we do
not, why, naturally, many young men will be led away from duty by their
sympathies for kindred and associates; while if you begin the work of
enlistment, the loyal youth will have something to guide and direct
them in the right course."
In this way Rousseau represented to the President what he had done
in the way of defeating the schemes of the rebels to arm themselves
at the expense of Kentucky, and in dividing the state militia into
two classes. He had inspired the loyal Home Guards with an _esprit de
corps_, which would save the greater part of them from any connection
with the secessionists; but he represented also that there were
thousands of young men in the state who had not decided to follow
either the rebel or loyal banner, and that, knowing this, the rebels
were recruiting in every part of the state. Thousands of the young and
thoughtless would be, and hundreds were being, drawn into the rebel
army by this means, and he argued that the government ought to recruit
in this neutral state as an encouragement to the young men to join the
loyal army.
But the President took time to consider, and Rousseau withdrew. The
next day Mr. Chase drew up in regular form the authority Rousseau
desired, and Cameron signed it and gave him a commission as colonel,
the rank dating from June 15th, 1861. Both Chase and Cameron promised
to endeavor to obtain the President's sanction of the act, that
Rousseau might feel perfectly free to go to work. Rousseau was granted
another interview with the President, who, after some farther
conversation on the subject, indorsed Rousseau's original application
to be permitted to raise troops as follows:
"When Judge Pirtle, James Guthrie, George D. Prentice, Harney, the
Speeds, and the Ballards shall think it proper to raise troops for the
United States service in Kentucky, Lovell H. Rousseau is authorized to
do so."
This he handed to Rousseau and asked, "Will that do?"
Rousseau read it carefully, and then replied, somewhat disappointed,
"No, Mr. President, that won't do."
"Why not, why not, Rousseau? These men are good Union men."
"Yes, sir, good men and loyal, Mr. Lincoln, but nearly all of them
differ with me on this subject, are committed to the abominable
doctrine of neutrality, and it would be too late when the majority of
them conclude that it would be proper to raise troops. Then I fear the
state will have seceded. I had hoped, sir, that what the War Department
has done in my case would be acceptable to you."
"What has Cameron done?" asked the President.
"He has, by the advice of Mr. Chase, authorized me to raise two
regiments in Kentucky."
"Oh!" said Mr. Lincoln, after reading the documents, "if the War
Department has acted in the matter, I have nothing to say in
opposition."
Rousseau, fearful that too much might be said, at once arose, shook the
President's hand, and vanished.
On his return to Kentucky, Rousseau, in deference to the President's
wishes, as implied in the indorsement of his paper, consulted James
Speed, and through him called a meeting of the gentlemen named, and
also of others in the city of Louisville and interior counties of the
state. Much to the surprise of Mr. Speed, only himself, his brother
Joshua, Bland and John P. Ballard, Samuel Lusk, Morgan Vance, and John
H. Ward, a minority of the meeting, hardly respectable in numbers, were
in favor of the project. Pirtle, Guthrie, Prentice, Harney, Bramlette,
Boyle, and others, opposed it strongly, and in the end adopted
resolutions to the effect that the time had not come; that it was then
impolitic, unwise, and improper to enlist troops for the United States
service in Kentucky; but adding that when the time did arrive, they all
wished Rousseau, in whom they expressed every confidence, to head the
movement. Rousseau had made up his mind that such would be the result
of their deliberations (from which he had retired before the final
action), and had decided upon his course; so that when Joshua Speed
next day handed him the resolutions, Rousseau was neither surprised nor
chagrined, but very much disgusted. A few minutes after leaving Mr.
Speed on this occasion, he met Bramlette, subsequently governor of the
state, and that gentleman began to defend the majority of the meeting
of the night before for their action in the matter, when Rousseau
interrupted him by asking if any thing had been said in opposition to
the enlistment of troops by him in other states. Bramlette replied in
the negative, when the two parted, and Rousseau immediately began the
enlistment of Kentuckians, but established his camp and swore in his
recruits in Indiana. Being compelled to do this was very humiliating
to Rousseau, but it did not dishearten him, and he went at his work
energetically. There were greater obstacles in his way at that time
than the mere opposition of men as to time and place. When he began
the work of enlistment, the government had no credit in Kentucky, and
the expenses of enlisting and feeding his two thousand recruits were
defrayed by himself and a gentleman living in Indiana named Samuel
Patterson, whose name, for the sake of his devoted loyalty, deserves
to go down to history. Despite these obstacles, despite the fact that
every paper in the state ridiculed the project and laughed at the
projector, nevertheless Rousseau's recruits--the rebels called them
"Rousseau's ragamuffins"--increased in numbers and grew in discipline
until they became formidable, and eventually saved the city from rebel
occupation.
From the time that loyal recruiting began, the issue between unionism
and secession became direct, and neutrality was practically a dead
letter. The mask of the rebels was stripped off, and the people were
no longer deceived by the schemes of the secessionists. Throughout
Kentucky, and particularly in Louisville, where the issue was
most saliently presented, singular scenes were the result of the
situation; and from this time until the occupation of the state by
the contending armies, Louisville was in a curious condition. Rebel
and Union recruiting stations were found in the same streets, and
presenting the same appearance, save that the rebels dared not plant
their flag, and displayed only that of Kentucky. Squads of Union and
rebel recruits daily passed each other on the streets _en route_ to
their camps, and saluted each other with groans, and hisses, and
ridicule, but attempted no violence. Day was made noisy with the
huzzas of the rebels "for Jeff. Davis and the Confederacy," and night
made hideous by rebel songs from rebel throats that had not the lame
excuse of being husky with liquor. Many of their songs were set to
very beautiful airs, and often large crowds of enthusiastic young men
would gather in the principal drinking saloons of the city and join
in these choruses, producing a very beautiful melody, but uttering
devilish poor sentiments. Frequently these songs were inspired by the
appearance of some well-known Union man, around whom they would gather,
like the witches in Macbeth, and at whom they sung their songs as if in
defiance. These scenes and songs often led to dangerous encounters and
riotous proceedings. The division of sentiment created by this state of
affairs entered into families, and extended even to the congregations
of churches. I remember one sad instance, in the family of Col. Henry
Clay, son of the sage of Ashland, and the one who fell so gloriously
at Buena Vista. In 1861, his two sons, Thomas and Henry Clay, were
living at Louisville. One of them, Thomas, became fascinated with the
manner and imbued with the ideas of Buckner, and followed him to the
Confederacy, and, as it happened, to ruin and to the grave. Henry, the
younger brother, a more thoughtful, quiet young man, less enthusiastic,
but more persistent than Thomas, joined the Union army, and served,
until his early death, on the staff of Gen. Richard W. Johnson. One of
the most amusing instances of the effects produced by the prevailing
sentiments occurred in one of the churches at Louisville, where, on
the occasion of a prayer-meeting, a notorious secessionist and a
prominent Union man had what was called at the time "a praying match."
During the prayer-meeting the minister asked the secession brother
to pray, which he did, asking, among other things, the "removal of
our evil rulers." He did not explain whom he meant by "evil rulers,"
but the congregation knew; so, not waiting to be called on, the Union
brother requested the congregation to join him in prayer, and prayed
for "the rulers set over us, and the removal from his place of power
of Kentucky's traitorous governor." This was a positive defiance; the
rebelliously-inclined brother felt it his duty to reply, and did so
in a regular secession prayer, asking the blessing of heaven on "the
Confederate government, rulers, and people," and "confusion upon the
councils of the Northern abolitionists and vandals." To close the bout
and end the affray of words, the Unionist replied in a regular true
blue Union prayer, asking that God would bless and prosper the Union
cause, smile upon her arms, lead her soldiers to triumph, smite the
traitors, and bring back to their allegiance our misguided brethren of
the South; and capped the climax which he had reached by giving out the
hymn beginning
"Oh, conquer this rebellious will."
The secessionist did not reply, and thus the Unionist won his first
victory. He was a graduate of West Point, but I do not know that what
he learned there aided him much in his praying match.
The excitement of this conflict of ideas and passions reached its
culminating point at Louisville on the day following the battle of
Bull Run, and produced one of the most remarkable scenes I have ever
witnessed. The first telegraphic news of the battle, published on the
morning after the engagement, was of a highly favorable character,
and the Unionists of Louisville ate their breakfasts and digested the
good news of the first great victory with the firm conviction that
Mr. Seward was right, and that the war would be over in ninety days,
if not sooner. That morning every thing was _couleur de rose_ to even
less sanguine natures than Mr. Seward. About noon of the same day
the bad news began to arrive, but the people knew nothing definite
regarding the final result of the battle until about three o'clock
P.M., when the afternoon editions of the papers made their appearance.
Then the news of the rebel victory spread like wildfire, and in half
an hour--at the time, it seemed as if it were instantaneous--the
whole city was a perfect pandemonium. The rebel flag, which had until
then shrunk from the light, flaunted from buildings and dwellings,
from carriage windows in the hands of women, on omnibuses, and carts,
and trucks, and wagons in the hands of men wild with excitement.
Men on horseback, with the rebel flag flying, dashed wildly through
the principal streets, crying with husky voices, "Hurrah for Jeff.
Davis." The streets were alive with drunken and noisy rebels, who
hooted at Unionists, cheered secessionists, embraced each other, and
yelled themselves hoarse in bravos for "Jafe Davis." For nearly two
hours the rebels had full possession of the city, and crowded about
their ringleader, a notorious fellow named John Tompkins, with every
expression of their delight. It was decided, and Tompkins announced his
intention, to raise a flag-staff and display the rebel flag from the
roof of the Courier newspaper office, and to aid him in this the rebels
gathered around him. But it was destined that this feat should not be
accomplished. One of the policemen of the city, named Green, having
received orders to suppress all noisy demonstrations such as Tompkins
was guilty of in hallooing for Davis and the Confederacy, approached
him and ordered him to desist. The only reply was a repetition of the
offense. Green again repeated his order, explaining that these were
his instructions, when Tompkins drew a pistol, and, retreating a few
steps, fired at the policeman. Simultaneously Green had also retreated
a few steps, drawing his pistol at the same time, and, in answer to the
other's ineffective fire, shot the rioter directly through the heart,
killing him instantly. Never was a riot so cheaply suppressed nor so
instantaneously. In ten minutes after the death of the ringleader the
rioters dispersed, rebel flags disappeared, the huzzas for Davis were
hushed: not a rebel remained on the streets, not a flag was to be seen
unfurled, not a huzza was to be heard, and Louisville slept sounder
that night than she had slept for months.
The secessionists of Louisville did not, however, entirely desist from
their efforts to aid the rebels, but on the 17th of August they called
a meeting of sympathy with the South. At night, in pursuance of the
call, they early mustered their strength at the court-house. Their
leaders were on the stand, which was handsomely decorated with white or
"peace" flags, awaiting the filling of the hall by their friends, and
somewhat anxious at the appearance of numerous well-known Unionists, or
"abolitionists," as they were then called by the rebel sympathizers.
Every thing was in readiness to open the peace meeting, and James
Trabue, the principal secession leader, had risen to call the assembly
to order, when James S. Speed, late United States Attorney General,
quietly walked upon the stand and approached the desk prepared for the
chairman. He called the attention of the house by rapping on the desk
with his cane, knocked aside with an air of contempt the "peace" flags
on either side of him, and was about to speak, when he was interrupted
by the clamor of the rebel leaders, who insisted that the house was
theirs, and that the meeting was to be addressed by them. Amid the
excitement, and above the clamor which ensued, was heard the stentorian
voice of Rousseau, proposing Judge Speed as president of the meeting.
He immediately put the question to a vote. A deafening "Ay!" drowned
the "Noes" of the rebels, and, perfectly calm and cool, Mr. Speed
reached forward, removed the white flags from the stand, and unfurled
two small star-spangled banners in their stead. In an instant, as if by
preconcerted arrangement, from different parts of the hall, large and
small United States flags were unfurled, and ten minutes afterward the
secessionists had left the hall, amid the groans of the loyal citizens.
Judges Speed and Harlan, and Messrs. Wolfe, Rousseau, and others,
followed in strong Union anti-neutral speeches, and the meeting adopted
several very strong resolutions. Next to Rousseau's establishment of
the Union recruiting camp opposite Louisville, this affair was the
first determined step taken by the Unionists of Kentucky to keep the
state in the Union.
Meantime Rousseau had quietly, but rapidly, filled up his two regiments
as authorized, and they were sworn into the service. Fremont was then
in want of troops in Missouri, and sent his aid, Richard Corwin, of
Ohio, to inspect Rousseau's force, and, if found available for field
service, to make application at Washington for it. An intimation
came to Rousseau that he would be sent to Missouri (he was growing
anxious to go to any department in which active work would afford him
opportunities to win promotion and reputation), and he determined to
invade Kentucky soil at least once before going, and so announced his
intention of parading his corps through the streets of Louisville. A
delegation of rebel and neutral citizens waited on him, and begged him
to forbear his intention, representing that the indignant citizens
would rise up in their anger and attack his soldiers.
"By Heaven!" exclaimed Rousseau, "the d--d scoundrels shall have enough
of it, then, before I am done with them."
The march of the brigade through the city was undisturbed, and it
returned to camp without having received any more deadly volley than a
few curses from the neutrals and secessionists. One of the effects of
the parade, and the announcement of the intention to send Rousseau to
Missouri, was the presentation of an appeal to the President, signed
by the principal of the Union men, protesting against the removal
of Rousseau from the vicinity of the city. A copy of this protest
was shown by a friend to Colonel Rousseau. When he read it he grew
furiously enraged, cursing the protesting individuals as a set of
marplots who had opposed him at every turn, and he immediately took
steps to break up camp and be on the march to Missouri before the
countermanding order could come. He was stopped in the midst of his
preparations, however, and ordered by President Lincoln to remain in
camp at "Camp Joe Holt," the name given to his encampment, in honor of
the Secretary of War, Colonel Joseph Holt, now Judge Advocate General
of the Army. It was a fortunate order, that, for the fair "City of the
Falls."
Buckner had not been idle all this time, and recruiting for "Camp
Boone," the rebel Kentucky encampment, had proceeded really under
his directions, but ostensibly in opposition to his wishes; and a
few thousand Kentuckians, and a large force of Tennesseeans and
other Southern troops, had gathered upon the southern border of the
state for the purpose of seizing Louisville and other places, and
establishing a defensive line along the Ohio River. Had that project
not been frustrated by the position and force of Rousseau, the fate
of the Confederacy would not have been sealed as soon as it was. The
line of the Ohio, occupied in force by the rebels, would have been
very difficult to break. If the Ohio River had been blockaded by rebel
guns, the Union forces along it would have been fed and moved with
great difficulty. Subsequently to the frustration of this project by
Rousseau, Kentucky furnished ninety thousand men to the Union army,
few or none of which would have been raised with the state under rebel
occupation, and numbers of whom would have been conscripted into the
rebel army. These would have been some of the results of the occupation
of the Ohio, and serious disasters they would have proved to the Union
cause. In the prosecution of this scheme, Buckner labored with a zeal
that one could confidently expect from a man of his Cassius-like
proportions. In the prosecution of the plan he went to Washington,
represented himself as a Union man, and obtained from Generals Scott
and McDowell much valuable information. When about to return to
Kentucky he called upon General McDowell, and, in parting with him,
placed both hands upon McDowell's shoulders, looked him steadily in the
eye, and said,
"Mack, I am going back to Kentucky to raise troops for my country."
McDowell wished him "God speed" in the undertaking, and they parted.
Buckner returned to Louisville, halted but a day, and hastened
southward to the rebel "Camp Boone" to doff his garb of neutrality for
the Confederate gray. A change can not be said to have been necessary,
for, as the rebels practiced neutrality in Kentucky, it was _bona fide_
rebellion, and wore the same outward garb. Three nights after the
countermanding of the order to Rousseau to march to Missouri, Buckner
invaded Kentucky and occupied Bowling Green. On the next day, September
17, 1861, he advanced with a large force upon Louisville, and Rousseau,
the rejected, with the "Home Guards," which he had preserved from the
defection which seized the State Guard, were the only defenders of
the city to be found. On the night of September 17, 1861, Rousseau
crossed the Ohio River, and marched through the uproarious streets of
the excited and endangered city to meet the invader. With this little
band he penetrated forty miles into the interior of the state, hourly
expecting to meet the enemy, and intending to fight him whenever and
wherever he did meet him. He made the passage of Rolling Fork River,
and occupied the heights of Muldraugh's Hills, where Buckner was
reported to be, but found the rebel had retired to Green River.
Ever since this memorable era, Kentucky has persisted in showing
herself on every important occasion as belonging to the neuter gender
of states, and her unenviable position on several questions of national
interest within the last five or six years has all been owing to
the influence of the same class of politicians as those who opposed
action in 1861. A few independent, energetic men, with opinions of
their own, and a spirit of progress consonant with that of the Union,
like Rousseau, Cyrus H. Burnham, and one or two others, have hardly
proven the leaven to the corrupt whole. Many of those who were neutral
when the success of secession was doubtful, when the constitutional
amendment was pending, would now like to present a different record;
and one or two of this class have written me, since the publication
of this sketch in "Harper's Magazine," to prove that they were not
neutrals in 1861. I have not considered their claims worth notice.
There are any number of men in Kentucky who would now like to have
it appear that they stood with Rousseau in 1861, but it would be
falsifying history to say so. I have written here the true story of
Kentucky neutrality, and do not propose to alter it. The sponsor of
that neutrality--the editor of the Louisville Journal--has corroborated
this story as I tell it. On the evening of the 17th of June, 1862,
exactly one year after having rejected Rousseau, and driven him to
encamp his troops in another state, the Union men of Louisville
welcomed him from the battle-field of Shiloh at a grand banquet, at
which George D. Prentice, the editor of the Journal, thus narrated the
trials and efforts of Rousseau, and condemned, as mistaken, himself and
his neutral comrades who had opposed Rousseau:
"We have come together," he said, "to honor a man, a patriot, a hero,
whom we can scarcely honor too much. A great debt is due to General
Rousseau from our city, from our state, from our nation. At the hands
of Louisville he deserves a civic wreath and a marble statue. He has
stood between her and desolation. We all know what bitter hostilities
on the one side, and what deep apprehensions and misgivings on the
other, he had to contend against when he undertook the bold enterprise
of raising a brigade to resist the rebellion. The best patriots among
us doubted, and hesitated, and faltered, and attempted to divert him
from his purpose, and he was even constrained by their appeals to go
beyond the river, and erect upon the soil of another state the glorious
standard around which he invoked Kentuckians to rally. Denounced,
maligned, and cursed by all the rebels, he received, at best, but a
cold, reluctant, and timid support from the masses of our loyal men.
When he came, one day, from his encampment with two full and splendid
regiments to pass a single hour in our city, the city of his home and
his love, he marched his gleaming columns through our streets amid
an almost deathless stillness, his enemies awed to silence by the
appalling spectacle before them, and his friends scarcely deeming it
prudent to give expression to the enthusiasm secretly swelling in their
bosoms. It must have been with a keen sense of disappointment, if not
of injustice and ingratitude, that he returned to the Indiana shore.
But ere long there came to us all a night of mystery and terror.
Suddenly the electric telegraph between our city and Nashville ceased
to give forth its signs, and the railroad train, anxiously awaited for
hours, came not. In every loyal soul there was a deep presentiment of
impending calamity. It pervaded and burdened the atmosphere. Brave men
gazed into each other's faces and whispered their fears. Then it was
that all loyal eyes and hearts turned instantly to General Rousseau and
his brigade. A signal apprised him of apprehended danger, and in an
incredibly brief space of time, in less than two hours, he crossed the
Ohio, and passed with his brigade so noiselessly through our streets,
that even our citizens, living within thirty yards of his route, heard
him not, and before midnight he was far on his way to meet the expected
invaders. He took his position between Louisville and that rebel army
which would have seized and despoiled her. He was her shield and her
sword. He was her salvation. For this, among other things, we tender
him our gratitude to-night; for this, we tender him our gratitude
forever."
This episode of neutrality must always remain the most remarkable event
of Rousseau's career. Very few lives find two such opportunities, and
half the credit due Rousseau has been lost to him by the fact that
it occurred amid a revolution which saw many more startling events.
Only the Union people of the interior of Kentucky seemed to appreciate
the magnitude of his service, and on every occasion expressed, in
their strange way, their admiration of and gratitude to the man. The
Army of the Ohio, under Sherman and Buell, was known to them only as
"Rousseau's Army." They never talked and hardly ever heard of Sherman,
or Buell, or Thomas; and Rousseau could never make them clearly
understand that he was not the supreme power and highest authority. His
popularity among the Union people of the state had a rather pleasing
illustration in October, 1862, when he was on the march to Perryville.
At Maxville the mountaineers from the district gathered around his
quarters in great numbers, and almost every family of the many which
visited the general had with it an infant named after him, either
"Lovell" or "Rousseau." When the first infant was presented, instead
of blessing it in the usual patriarchal style, the general picked out
one from among a number of silver half dollars he had and gave it to
the child's mother. Several of the other infant Rousseaus received
other half dollars, until the general began to suspect that the infants
would be produced as long as the money lasted, and so he announced a
suspension of specie payment. The children, however, continued to make
their appearance, until it became apparent that the name was never
likely to die out among the mountaineers. Rousseau used to tell with
great glee how two blind and deaf brothers presented themselves at his
quarters, and said that they "had walked five miles to _see_ Rousseau
and _hear_ him talk." The demonstrations of the poor mountaineers of
Chaplin Hills, as the region was called, greatly affected the general,
and, as a singular mode of expressing his gratification, he always
insisted on calling the battle of Perryville, which he fought next day
in the vicinity of Maxville, "the battle of Chaplin Hills."
Although Rousseau's military career was of the greatest credit to
him, nothing of it reflects such honor on the soldier, or illustrates
so nobly the character of the man, as did his conduct during the
operations which I have sketched. Still, his military career won for
him as great popularity with the army as his action in destroying
neutrality had done with the people. His principal achievements were
at Shiloh, Perryville, Stone River, the pursuit and defeat of Wheeler
in Tennessee, the defense of Fortress Rosecrans, and in the admirably
conducted and highly successful raid into Alabama. At Shiloh his post
was subordinate, and he will not occupy the foreground of the pictures
which history will paint of that field, though he won recognition from
Sherman, McClernand, and Grant for his gallantry. At Perryville the
glory is all his own, while no story of Stone River can be truthfully
written that does not give him much of the credit for that very
desperate "rough-and-tumble" fight, where, holding the reserve line,
he sent word to Rosecrans that, "though the right wing was gone," he
"would not budge a step--not a d--d inch, sir."
Without having the education, Rousseau had in him the military instinct
which lights the fire and gives inspiration to others, and his every
battle displays him in this light. During the engagement at Perryville
he displayed great courage, and inspired his men with the same spirit.
He laid no claim to tactical ability, and did not endeavor to manœuvre
his troops, but by his presence with them kept them well together, and
retained his organization during the whole day, although withstanding
with a single division the repeated attacks of Cheatham's, Buckner's,
and Anderson's divisions of Bragg's army, under the latter's personal
direction. Perhaps like a reckless general, but certainly like a
brave man, he was always with the front line, and as he rode among
the men encouraging them, they hailed him with enthusiastic cheers.
At one time during the battle, seeing preparations making on the part
of the rebels to repeat an attack on Harris's brigade, by which they
had just been repulsed, Rousseau dashed up to the commanding officer
of the Second Ohio, Major Anson McCook, who was on foot fighting his
regiment, and was warning him of the approaching attack, when the men
of the regiment, with shouts and hurrahs, gathered around him, hugging
his legs and grasping his hands, throwing their caps in the air, and
swearing to die with him. It was one of the most singular scenes ever
witnessed on a battle-field, and was subsequently alluded to by rebel
officers who had witnessed it, and who stated to our prisoners taken
during the day that they frequently saw and recognized Rousseau riding
up and down the line during the battle.
Rousseau was much predisposed, by reason of his mental organization, to
excitability under fire, but it did not detract from his administrative
power. He was as clearly administrative in danger as the more
phlegmatic Thomas or Grant, but in a different way. Rousseau made
very little, if any, use of his aids. If he had an order to give, he
galloped across the field and gave it himself. If he had an advance
to order, it was done by leading the troops in person. During this
battle of Perryville, General McCook sent me to inform Rousseau, who
was on the extreme left of the line, that his right was being turned
and was falling back. Rousseau galloped to the endangered part of the
line and rallied the troops in retreat, beating and cursing them into
line, and actually breaking his sword over the head of one demoralized
individual, who was thus brought to a stand. The enemy, however,
continued to advance, and Rousseau was compelled to look around for
farther assistance. Seeing Captain Charles O. Loomis's battery in
position, in reserve, commanding a little valley into which the enemy
had deployed, and through which they were rapidly advancing, he rode up
to Captain Loomis and ordered him to open with canister. Loomis had not
perceived the advancing enemy, and explained to Rousseau that he had
been ordered into reserve by General McCook, and told to reserve his
fire for close work.
"Close work!" exclaimed Rousseau; "what the devil do you call that,
Captain Loomis?"
He pointed down the valley, and Loomis saw in an instant the
advancing foe and his own danger. Loomis was a minute-man--one of the
quickest-witted and brightest-eyed men I ever met--and in a second
his six guns were pouring a destructive cross-fire into the rebel
ranks that at once played havoc with the enemy and encouraged our own
forces. The enemy thus advancing had flanked Lytle's brigade, and it
was now falling back toward Loomis's position, but Rousseau's personal
direction and appearance (Lytle had been left for dead on the field),
and the opening guns of Loomis, soon reassured the men in retreat, and
the line re-formed. About the same time Sheridan's brigade was ordered
in on the left by General Buell, and the enemy were speedily and
bloodily repulsed.
His conduct in this engagement gained Rousseau his promotion to a major
generalcy. The commission read, "promoted for distinguished gallantry,"
and was the first of the numerous promotions for gallantry issued
during the war for the Union. His great popularity with the troops may
be said to have dated from this day; and it grew still greater after
the battle of Stone River, where, though commanding the reserves, he
was among the first engaged. The love of the men became so intense
that it broke out on every occasion. On the march, in camp, on parade,
their admiration grew demonstrative, and cheers greeted him wherever he
went. During the winter of 1862-'63, while the troops were in camp at
Murfreesborough, great numbers of rabbits were frequently frightened
from their burrows, when an entire regiment would start in pursuit with
noisy yells. The demonstrations of admiration for Rousseau and these
noisy pursuits of the rabbits became so frequent that it was a common
remark, whenever the cheering of the soldiers was heard, that they were
either after "Rousseau or a rabbit."
I have said that Rousseau was clearly administrative under all
circumstances. He was once, and once only, known to betray any
considerable nervousness under fire. It was during a brief engagement
fought at Chehaw Station, when on his famous Alabama raid. He had sent
forward Colonel Thomas Harrison, of the Eighth Indiana Cavalry (better
known as the Thirty-ninth Mounted Infantry), to destroy a part of the
railroad in his rear--the expedition then being on its return, having
performed its principal purpose. Colonel Harrison unexpectedly became
briskly engaged with the rebel forces under General James H. Clanton.
Rousseau was some distance in the rear of the fight, and the extent of
the engagement was only known to him by the amount of the firing and
the number of wounded men brought to the rear. One of his aids--Captain
Elkin--observed Rousseau's nervousness gradually increasing, as evinced
by his twirling his long black mustache, and repeating aloud, but
evidently communing with himself,
"I shouldn't have got into this affair. I'm very much afraid this isn't
judicious."
Elkin penetrated through the swamps to Harrison's front, and returned
with the information that the enemy were being driven, and that the
result was not at all doubtful.
"There's no reason," he said, "to be uneasy about Harrison, general."
"Uneasy about Harrison!" exclaimed the general. "Tom Harrison can whip
all the militia in Alabama. But what shall I do with my poor wounded
boys? We are a thousand miles from home, and no way to carry them
comfortably?"
He had to leave his wounded, and he took rather odd but effective means
to have them well cared for. Having succeeded in capturing a company
of Montgomery Cadets, the members of which were all young boys of less
than seventeen years of age, he had them drawn up near his quarters,
and released them unconditionally, with this suggestion:
"Boys," he said, "go home and tell your parents that Rousseau does not
war on women and children; and, mark you! do _you_ see that they don't
make war on wounded prisoners."
The Cadets were modest enough to be glad to be considered and laughed
at as boys on condition of their release; and on returning home showed
their gratitude to Rousseau by taking as good care of his wounded as
they were permitted to do.
When Sherman sent Rousseau on this raid to the rear of Hood's army (it
was Joe Johnston's when Rousseau started), he did not anticipate his
early return, nor expect him and his force to escape capture. When
Rousseau reported to him on his return from the raid, Sherman was
as much surprised as delighted, He made Rousseau detail the work of
destruction which he had accomplished. After he had done so, Sherman
said,
"That's well done, Rousseau, well done; but I didn't expect to see you
back."
"Why not?" asked Rousseau, somewhat surprised.
"I expected you to tear up the road, but I thought they would gobble
you."
"You are a pretty fellow," said Rousseau, laughingly, "to send me off
on such a trip."
"You proposed it yourself," returned Sherman; "besides, I knew they
wouldn't hurt you, and I thought you would pay for yourself."
On the occasion of the passage of Rolling Fork of Salt river there
occurred an incident which is illustrative of the view which I have
taken of the character of Rousseau as a natural-born leader. When
giving the command to cross the river, which was then flood-high--it
was a very cold morning besides--Rousseau rose in his saddle, and
crying out to his men, "Follow me, boys! I expect no soldier to
undergo any hardship that I will not share!" he sprang from his horse,
entered the ford, and waded to the other shore. His men followed with
cheers and bravos, and the brigade followed, soon disappearing on the
wood-lined road which leads to the summit of Muldraugh's Hills.
I have not space here to enter as I could wish into the details of
Rousseau's military career. He must always remain a representative of
one of the peculiar phases of the late war, and every event I could
give will in the future be valuable; but at this time it is impossible
to allude farther to his military career. He left the army soon after
the battle of Nashville (during which engagement he held the left
position of Thomas's line at Fortress Rosecrans, near Murfreesborough),
and returned to Louisville at the request of his friends, to contest
with Robert Mallory, Esq., the latter's place in Congress. That
congressional race was nothing more nor less than a crusade against
the remnant of slavery left by the war in Kentucky, probably as a
punishment for her attempted crime of neutrality. It was another
brilliant triumph won by the exercise of the same decisive action which
has always characterized him. The Convention which nominated Rousseau
was, in political parlance, merely a "pocket convention," and its
nominee found, on leaving the military field to examine the political
course, that he had really no party to back him. He had to build up a
party, and without hesitation he decided that it should be an avowedly
abolition party in principle and purpose. He began by announcing that
he favored the adoption by the State of Kentucky of the constitutional
amendment abolishing slavery, and denounced slavery as unjust, unwise,
and impolitic--a curse and blight on the state. When he first made the
speech in which he declared this, the people wildly stared at him, and
when he had done they pronounced him insane. They were so completely
blinded by their prejudices that they could or would not see the truth
of his arguments, and at last he resorted to ridicule with better
effect.
"I wish to say again," he said, on one occasion, "that slavery, thank
God, is dead. Its own friends have destroyed it. They placed it at
the foundation of Jeff Davis's government, and invited, nay, forced
us to assail it. They forced the whole liberal world to make war upon
it, and presented to us the alternative to destroy slavery or see
our government perish. Our duty was a plain one, to kill slavery and
rebellion with it, and let the government live. Both of these things
are accomplished facts, and in the whole Christian world there remain
but three slave states--_Cuba, Brazil, and Kentucky_."
This climax, so ridiculous to every Kentuckian with any state pride
in his soul, was hailed wherever heard with shouts of laughter; and
Rousseau once remarked that it was a curious fact that the laughter
generally began with the returned rebel soldiers, who possess less
pro-slavery prejudices than the rebels who stayed at home. Rousseau
generally followed up this effective ridicule with what he called
his "special argument against slavery." "We in Kentucky," he would
say, "are in the habit of arguing the slavery question more from the
economical than the moral stand-point;" and he would then go on to
show how the institution had curtailed the prosperity of Kentucky and
of the South. "But," he would add, "I wish to add a little argument of
my own. I want to tell you why slavery will not pay. It is because we
have a God in heaven, who has arranged the affairs of men in such a way
that wrong and injustice won't pay, and don't pay. Has not the South
lost more in the destruction of houses, and fences, and railroads, and
crops, and other property, and expenditures for munitions of war, etc.,
in the last four years of a rebellion, carried on for the benefit of
slavery, than it wrung out of the sweat of the slave in the forty years
preceding? Add to this the half a million of her brave sons who died
or were crippled in battle and in camp, half the entire arms-bearing
population of the rebel states, and tell me if slavery was a paying
institution to them? And do you think it can be restored now and not
lead to a bloodier and fiercer war? And why is this? Simply because God
in his wisdom has arranged the world so that in the long-run a system
of wrong will not and can not pay."
After four weeks active canvassing of the district Rousseau was
returned to Congress by a heavy majority, although the opposition
pro-slavery party employed a former United States officer to make the
race in order to split the Union or amendment vote. The scheme failed.
Rousseau's personal popularity, and his positive, determined, and
patriotic stand, carried him successfully through, and he was shortly
after nominated for the Senate, which position he will doubtless
attain. In these crusades against neutrality and slavery Rousseau has
established a character for firmness and persistence which have made
him a most popular leader and the first man of his state; and he is
already accepted as the true successor in principles, purposes, and
patriotism of the late great leader in Kentucky, Henry Clay.
The very close intimacy existing between Sherman and Rousseau is
a fine illustration of the rule that opposite natures are often
kindred spirits. Two natures in greater contrast can hardly be
conceived. Rousseau has none of Sherman's nervousness of thought or
action, while Sherman has nothing of the excitability of Rousseau
under fire. Rousseau is personally a most conspicuous--perhaps _the_
most conspicuous officer in the United States army, while Sherman
is among the most commonplace in appearance. Yet their friendship,
which began early in the war, is hardly the less remarkable than that
existing between Grant and Sherman, and is much more demonstrative,
because Rousseau and Sherman are of affectionate and demonstrative
dispositions, while Grant is rather cold and formal. Sherman was very
fond of quoting Rousseau's speech about him, delivered at the banquet
to the latter at Louisville in 1862. Rousseau had then said of Sherman:
"Of all the men I ever saw, he is the most untiring, vigilant, and
patient. No man that ever lived could surprise him. His enemies say
he was surprised at Shiloh. I tell you no. He was not surprised, nor
whipped, for he fights by the week. Devoid of ambition, incapable of
envy, he is brave, gallant, and just. At Shiloh his old legion met him
just as the battle was ended, and at the sight of him, placing their
hats upon their bayonets, gave him three cheers. It was a touching and
fitting compliment to the gallant chieftain. I am thankful for this
occasion to do justice to a brave, honest, and knightly gentleman."
When Sherman first read this speech, immediately after the battle, when
he was still laboring under the insanity charge, he jumped from his
seat, ran around his quarters from tent to tent, reading the speech to
all his staff, and swearing that there was "one sensible man in the
country who understood him."
As may be rightly suspected from this article, Rousseau is rather a
hero of mine. He has many of the most admirable qualities of man; and
in long years of intercourse with him I saw a great deal to admire,
and but little to condemn. I defy any man with an honest love of bold,
albeit rugged honesty, to know the man and not to admire him. He was
loyal, true, and affectionate to the back-bone. He stuck to his friends
to the last, and only the firmer in adversity. The strong pressure
of his mighty hand gave you no fear of what the clenched fist might
do, but inspired confidence. He was, perhaps, too unsuspicious, and
too hopeful and buoyant: these were the faults of his character, if
faults it had, for knaves frequently imposed on him in the guise of
honest poverty, and his hopeful nature sometimes led him to promise
his friends more than he had the power, but not more than he had the
disposition to perform.
Rousseau is fully six feet two, perhaps three inches high, and
otherwise Herculean in build and strength. When mounted--he always
rides great, ponderous, and invariably blooded horses--he displays
to great advantage, and no more graceful and impressive figure can
be conceived than Rousseau mounted. He was born a gentleman, and his
elegant manners are as natural as his bravery and high sense of honor
are intuitive.