RESTFUL SUMMER DAYS END--THE UNION PEOPLE OF EAST TENNESSEE.
THOUGH every man in the Army of the Cumberland felt completely worn out
at the end of the Tullahoma campaign, it needed but a few days' rest in
pleasant camps on the foothills of the Cumberland Mountains, with plenty
of rations and supplies of clothing, to beget a restlessness for another
advance.
They felt envious of their comrades of the Army of the Tennessee,
who had cornered their enemy in Vicksburg and forced him to complete
surrender.
On the other hand, their enemy had evaded battle when they offered it
to him on the place he had himself chosen, had eluded their vigorous
pursuit, and now had his army in full possession of the great objective
upon which the eyes of the Army of the Cumberland had been fixed for two
years Chattanooga.
It was to Chattanooga that Gen. Scott ultimately looked when he
began the organization of forces north of the Ohio River. It was to
Chattanooga that Gens. Anderson, Sherman and Buell looked when they were
building up the Army of the Ohio. It was nearly to Chattanooga that Gen.
Mitchel made his memorable dash after the fall of Nashville, when he
took Huntsville, Bridgeport, Stevenson and other outlying places. It was
for Chattanooga that the "Engine Thieves" made their thrilling venture,
that cost eight of their lives. It was to Chattanooga that Buell was
ordered with the Army of the Ohio, after the "siege of Corinth," and
from which he was run back by Bragg's flank movement into Kentucky. It
was again toward Chattanooga that Rosecrans had started the Army of the
Cumberland from Nashville, in December, 1862, and the battle of Stone
River and the Tullahoma campaign were but stages in the journey.
President Lincoln wanted Chattanooga to relieve the sorely persecuted
Unionists of East Tennessee. Military men wanted Chattanooga for its
immense strategic importance, second only to that of Vicksburg.
The men of the Army of the Cumberland wanted Chattanooga, as those of
the Army of the Potomac wanted Richmond, and those of the Army of the
Tennessee had wanted Vicksburg, as the victor's guerdon which would
crown all their marches, skirmishes and battles.
But between them and Chattanooga still lay three great ranges
of mountains and a broad, navigable river. Where amid all these
fortifications of appalling strength would Bragg offer them battle for
the Confederacy's vitals?
"I don't care what Bragg's got over there," said Si, looking up at the
lofty mountain peaks, as he and Shorty discussed the probabilities. "He
can't git nothing worse than the works at War Trace and Shelbyville,
that he took six months to build, and was just goin' to slaughter us
with. And if we go ahead now he won't have the rain on his side. It
looks as if it has set in for a long dry spell; the country 'll be so
we kin git around in it without trouble. If the walkin' only stays good
we'll find a way to make Mr. Bragg hump out of Chattanooga, or stay in
there and git captured."
"Yes," assented Shorty, knocking the ashes out of his brierwood pipe,
and beginning to shave down a plug of bright navy to refill it, "and
I'll put old Rosey's brains and git-there agin all the mountains and
rivers and forts, and breastworks and thingama-jigs that Bragg kin
git up. Old Rosecrans is smarter any day in the week than Bragg is on
Sunday. He kin give the rebels cards and spades and run 'em out before
the fourth round is played. Only I hope he won't study about it as long
as he did after Stone River. I want to finish up the job in warm, dry
weather, and git home."
And his eyes took on a far-away look, which Si had no difficulty
interpreting that "home" meant a place with a queer name in distant
Wisconsin.
"Well," said Si reflectively, "old Rosecrans didn't study long after
he took command of us at Nashville, before plunking us squarely at the
Johnnies on Stone River. I think he's out for a fight now, and bound to
git it in short meter."
But the impatient boys had to wait a long Summer month, until the
railroads to the rear could be repaired to bring up supplies, and for
the corn to ripen so as to furnish forage for the cavalry.
But when, on the 16th of August, 1863, Rosecrans began his campaign of
magnificant strategy for the possession of Chattanooga, the 200th
Ind. had the supreme satisfaction of leading the advance up into the
mountains of living green to find the enemy and bring him to bay.
A few days' march brought them up onto the Cumberland Plateau. They had
now left the country of big plantations with cottonfields, and come upon
one of small farms and poor people. Si, with a squad, had been marching
far ahead all day as an advance-guard. They had seen no rebels, but all
the same kept a constant and vigilant outlook for the enemy. They were
approaching a log house of rather better class than any they had seen
since ascending the mountain. As they raised the crest of a hill they
heard a horn at the house give a signal, which set them keenly alert,
and they pushed forward rapidly, with their guns ready. Then they saw
a tall, slender young woman, scarcely more than a girl, dart out of the
house and attempt to cross the road and open ground to the dense woods.
Si sprang forward in pursuit. She ran like a young deer, but Si was
swift of foot, and had taken the correct angle to cut her off. He caught
her flying skirts and then grasped her wrist.
[Illustration: SHE RAN LIKE A DEER, BUT SI CUT HER OFF 123]
"Where are you goin', and what for?" he asked sternly, as he held her
fast and looked into her frightened eyes, while her breast heaved with
exertion and fear.
"I ain't goin' nowhar, an' for nothin'," she an swered sullenly.
"Yes you was, you young rebel," said Si. "You were goin' to tell some
sneakin' rebels about us. Where are they?"
"Wa'n't gwine to do nothin' o' the kind," she answered between gasps for
breath. "I don't know whar thar's no rebels. Thought they'uns had all
done gone away down the mounting till I seed yo'uns."
"Come, girl, talk sense," said Si roughly. "Tell me where those rebels
are that you was goin' to, and do it quick. Boys, look sharp."
A tall, very venerable man, with long, snowy-white hair and whiskers
came hobbling up, assisting his steps with a long staff with a handle of
a curled and twisted ram's horn.
"Gentlemen," he said, with a quavering voice, "I beg yo'uns won't harm
my granddaughter. She hain't done nothin' wrong, I'll sw'ar it, t'
yo'uns. We'uns 's for the Union, but that hain't no reason why we'uns
should be molested. We'uns 's peaceable, law-abidin' folks, an' ain't
never done nothin' agin the Southern Confederacy. All our neighbors
knows that. Ax any o' they'uns. If yo'uns must punish someone, take
me. I'm the one that's responsible for their Unionism. I've learned 'em
nothin' else sense they'uns wuz born. I'm a very old man, an' hain't
long t' live, nohow. Yo'uns kin do with me what yo'uns please, but for
my sake spare my innocent granddaughter, who hain't done nothin'."
Si looked at him in amazement. It was no uncommon thing for people to
protest Unionism, but sincerity was written in every line of the old
man's face.
"You say you're Union," he said. "If that's so, you've nothin' to fear
from us. We're Union soldiers. But what was that signal with the horn,
and where was this girl goin'?"
"She blowed the horn at my orders, to inform my neighbors, and she wuz
gwine on an arrant for me. Whatever she done I ordered her to do. Yo'uns
kin visit hit all on my head. But hit wa'n't nothin' agin yo'uns or the
Southern Confederacy."
"I tell you we're Union soldiers," repeated Si. "Can't you tell that by
our clothes?"
The old man's face brightened a little, but then a reminder of sorrowful
experience clouded it again.
"I've never seed no Union soldiers," said he. "The rebels come around
here dressed all sorts o' ways, and sometimes they pretend to be Union,
jest to lay a snare for we'uns. They'uns all know I'm Union, but I'm
too old t' do 'em harm. Hit's my neighbors they'uns is arter. But, thank
God, they'uns 's never kotched any o' them through me."
"I tell you we're genuine, true-blue Union soldiers from Injianny,
belong to Rosecrans's army, and are down here to drive the rebels out o'
the country. There, you kin see our flag comin' up the mountain."
The old man shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked earnestly at the
long line of men winding up the mountain-side.
"I kin see nothin' but a blue flag," said he, "much the same as some o'
Bragg's rijimints tote."
Si looked again, and noticed that only the blue regimental flag was
displayed.
"Wait a minnit, I'll convince him," said Shorty, and running down the
mountain he took the marker from the right guide of the regiment, and
presently came back waving it proudly in the sunshine.
The old man's face brightened like a May day, and then his faded eyes
filled with joyful tears as he exclaimed:
"Yes, thank Almighty God, that's hit. That's the real flag o' my
country. That's the flag I fit under with ole Jackson at New Orleans. I
bless God that I've lived to see the day that hit's come back."
He took the flag in his hands, fondly surveyed its bright folds, and
then fervently kissed it. Then he said to his granddaughter:
"Nance, call the boys in, that they'uns's may see thar friends 've come
at last."
Nance seemed to need no second bidding. She sped back to the porch,
seized the long tin horn and sent mellow, joyful notes floating far over
the billowy hills, until they were caught up by the cliffs and echoed
back in subdued melody.
"Don't be surprised, gentlemen, at what yo'uns 'll see," said the old
man.
Even while the bugle-like notes were still ringing on the warm air, men
began appearing from the most unexpected places. They were all of the
same type, differing only in age from mere boys to middle-aged men. They
were tall, raw-boned and stoop-shouldered, with long, black hair, and
tired, sad eyes, which lighted up as they saw the flag and the men
around it. They were attired in rude, home spun clothes, mostly ragged
and soiled, and each man carried a gun of some description.
They came in such numbers that Si was startled. He drew his men
together, and looked anxiously back to see how near the regiment had
come.
"I done tole yo'uns not t' be surprised," said the old man reassuringly;
"they'uns 's all right every one of 'em a true Union man, ready and
willin' t' die for his country. The half o' they'uns hain't got in yit,
but they'll all come in."
"Yes, indeed," said one of the first of them to come in, a
pleasant-faced, shapely youth, with the soft down of his first beard
scantily fringing his face, and to whom Nancy had sidled up in an
unmistakable way. "We'uns 've bin a-layin' out in the woods for weeks,
dodgin' ole Bragg's conscripters and a-waitin' for yo'uns. We'uns 've
bin watchin' yo'uns all day yisterday, an' all this mornin', tryin'
t' make out who yo'uns rayly wuz. Sometimes we'uns thought yo'uns wuz
Yankees, an' then agin that yo'uns wuz the tail-end o' Bragg's army. All
we'uns 's a-gwine t' jine all yo'uns, an' fout for the Union."
"Bully boys right sentiments," said Shorty enthusiastically. "There's
room for a lot o' you in this very regiment, and it's the best regiment
in the army. Co. Q's the best company in the regiment, and it needs 15
or 20 fine young fellers like you to fill up the holes made by Stone
River and Tennessee rain and mud."
"I'll go 'long with you, Mister Ossifer, if you'll take me," said the
youth, very shyly and softly to Si, whose appearance seemed to attract
him.
"Certainly we'll take you," said Si, "if the Surgeon 'll accept you, and
I'll see that you're sworn in on the spot."
"Nancy," said the youth diffidently to the girl, who had stood by his
side holding his hand during the whole conversation, "yo' done promised
yo'd marry me as soon's the Yankee soldiers done come for sure, and
they'uns 've done come, millions of 'em. Looky thar millions of 'em."
He pointed to the distant hills, every road over which was swarming with
legions of blue.
"Yes, Nate," said the girl, reddening, chewing her bonnet-strings to
hide her confusion, and stir ring up the ground with the toe of her
shoe, "I reckon I did promise yo' I'd marry yo' when the Yankee soldiers
done come for sure, and thar does seem t' be a right smart passel of 'em
done come already, with a heapin' more on the way. But yo' ain't gwine
t' insist on me keepin' my promise right off, air yo'?"
And she took a bigger bite at her bonnet-strings and dug a deeper hole
with the toe of her shoe.
"Yes, indeedy right off jest the minnit I kin find a preacher," replied
Nate, growing bolder and more insistent as he felt his happiness
approaching. "I'm a-gwine off t' the war with this gentleman's company
(indicating Si with a wave of his disengaged hand), and we must be
spliced before I start. Say, Mister Ossifer (to Si), kin yo' tell me
whar I kin find a preacher?"
Si and Shorty and the rest were taking a deep interest in the affair. It
was so fresh, so genuine, so unconventional that it went straight to
all their hearts, and, besides, made a novel incident in their campaign.
They were all on the side of the would-be bridegroom at once, and
anxious for his success. The Adjutant had come up with the order that
they should stop where they were, for the regiment would go into camp
just below for the day. So they had full leisure to attend to the
matter. The Tennesseeans took only a modified interest, for the presence
of the Union army was a much more engrossing subject, and they preferred
to stand and gaze open-eyed and open-mouthed at the astonishing swarms
of blue-clad men rather than to pay attention to a commonplace mountain
wooing.
"We have a preacher he's the Chaplain of the regiment," suggested Si.
"Any sort of a preacher'll do for me," said Nate sanguinely, "so long
's he's a preacher Hard Shell, Free Will, Campbellite, Winebrennarian,
Methodist, Cumberland Presbyterian and kind, so long 's he's a
regularly-ordained preacher, 'll do for me. Won't hit for you, honey?"
"Granddad's a Presbyterian," she said, blushing, "and I'd rather he'd be
a Presbyterian. Better ax granddad."
Nate hurried over to the grandfather, who was so deeply engrossed in
talking politics, the war, and the persecutions the East Tennesseeans
had endured at the hands of the rebels with the officers and soldiers
gathered around that he did not want to be bothered with such a
comparatively unimportant matter as the marriage of a granddaughter.
"Yes, marry her any way you like, so long as you marry her honest and
straight," said he impatiently to Nate. Then, as Nate turned away, he
explained to those about him: "That's the 45th grandchild that I've had
married, and I'm kind o' gittin used t' hit, so t' speak. Nate and her
've bin keepin' company and courtin' ever sense they wuz weaned, an'
bin pesterin' the life out o' me for years t' let 'em git jined. Sooner
hit's done the better. As I wuz sayin', we'uns give 80,000 majority in
Tennessee agin Secession, but ole Isham Harris" etc.
"I'll speak to the Adjutant about it," said Si, when Nate came back
glowing with gladness.
The young Adjutant warmly approved the enlistment proposition, and was
electrified by the idea of the marriage.
"I'll go and talk to the Colonel and the Chaplain about it. Why, it'll
be no end of fun. We'll fix up a wedding-supper for them, have the band
serenade them, and send an account of it home to the papers. You go and
get them ready, and I'll attend to the rest. Say, I think we'd better
have him enlisted, and then married afterward. That'll make it a
regimental affair. You take him down to Capt. McGillicuddy, that he may
take him before the Surgeon and have him examined. Then we'll regularly
enlist him, and he'll be one of us, and in the bonds of the United
States before he is in the bonds of matrimony. It'll be the first
marriage in the regiment, but not the first one that is ardently
desired, by a long shot."
The Adjutant gave a little sigh, which Si could not help echoing, and
Shorty joined in.
"Well, our turns will come, too, boys," said the Adjutant with a laugh,
"when this cruel war is over." And he whistled "The Girl I Left Behind
Me" as he rode back to camp.
The Surgeon found Nathan Hartburn physically sound, the oath was
duly administered to the young recruit, and he made his mark on the
enlistment papers, and was pronounced a soldier of the United States,
belonging to Co. Q, 200th Ind. He had been followed through all these
steps by a crowd of his friends, curious to see just what was the method
of "jinin' the Union army," and when Co. Q received its new member with
cheers and friendly congratulations the others expressed their eagerness
to follow his example.
Co. Q was in a ferment over the wedding, with everybody eager to do
something to help make it a grand success, and to fill the hearts of the
other companies with envy. The first and greatest problem was to
provide the bridegroom with a uniform in which to be married. The
Quartermaster's wagons were no one knew exactly where, but certainly a
day or more back on the road, and no one had started out on the campaign
with any extra clothing. Shorty, who considered himself directly
responsible for the success of the affair, was for awhile in despair. He
was only deterred from stealing a pair of the Colonel's trousers by
the timely thought that it would, after all, be highly improper for a
private to be wearing a pair of pantaloons with a gold cord. Then he
resolved to make a sacrifice of himself. He was the nearest Nate's
proportions of any man in the company, and he had drawn a new pair of
trousers just before starting on the march. They had as yet gotten very
slightly soiled. He went to the spring and laboriously washed them until
they were as bright as new, and, after they were dried, insisted on Nate
trading pantaloons with him. A new blouse was more readily found, and
as readily contributed by its owner. Si freely gave up his sole extra
shirt, and another donated a pair of reserve shoes. The Adjutant came in
with a McClellan cap. When the company barber cut Nate's long hair, and
shaved him, he was arrayed in his wedding uniform, and as Si had given
him a little drill in holding him self erect, he was as presentable a
soldier as could be found in the regiment, and quite as proud of himself
as the boys of Co. Q were of him. Then an other despairing thought
struck Shorty:
"'Tain't right," he communed with Si and the rest, "that the bridegroom
should have all the good clothes. The bride should have the boss togs
o' the two. If we was only back near Nashville she should have a layout
that'd out-rag the Queen o' Sheby, if it took every cent there was in
the company. But I don't suppose you could buy a yard o' kaliker or a
stitch o' finery within 50 miles o' this clayknob."
"What we might do," said Si reflectively, "would be to give her her
trowso futuriously, so to speak. We've just bin paid off, and hain't had
no chance to spend our money, so that all the boys has some. Every one
o' 'em 'll be glad to give a dollar, which you kin hand her in a little
speech, tellin' her that we intended to present her with her trowso,
but circumstances over which we had no control, mainly the distance to a
milliner shop, prevented, but we would hereby present her with the means
to git it whenever convenient, and she could satisfy herself much better
by picking it out her ownself. You want to recollect that word trowso.
It's the elegant thing for a woman's wedding finery, and if you use it
you'll save yourself from mentioning things that you don't know nothin'
about, and probably oughtn't to mention. My sisters learned it to me. A
girl who'd bin at boarding-school learned them."
"Good idee," said Shorty, slapping his leg. "I'll go right out and
collect a dollar from each of the boys. Say that word over agin, till I
git it sure."
Shorty came back in a little while with his hands full of greenbacks
"Every boy ponied right up the moment I spoke to him," he said. "And the
Captain and Adjutant each gave $5. She's got money enough to buy out the
best milliner shop in this part o' Tennessee."
Next came thoughts of a wedding-supper for the bride's friends. The
Colonel took the view that the large number of recruits which he
expected to gain justified him in ordering the Commissary to issue a
liberal quantity of rations. Two large iron wash-kettles were scoured
out one used to make coffee in and the other to boil meat, while there
was sugar and hardtack in abundance. The mountains were covered with
royal blooms of rhododendron, and at the Adjutant's suggestion enough
of these were cut to fill every nook and corner of the main room of the
house, hiding the rough logs and dark corners with masses of splendid
color, much to the astonish ment of the bride, who had never before
thought of rhododendrons as a feature of house adornment.
Then, just before 6 o'clock roll-call, Co. Q, with every man in it
cleaned up as for dress-parade, with Nathan Hartburn at the head,
supported on either side by Si and Shorty, and flanked by the Adjutant
and Chaplain, marched up the hill to the house, led by the fifers and
drummers, playing the reveille, "When the Cruel War is Over," "Yankee
Doodle," and everything else in their limited repertory which they could
think as at all appropriate to the occasion. The rest of the regiment,
with most of the officers, followed after.
The Chaplain took his place in front of the rhododendron-filled
fireplace. The bride and groom stood before him, with Si and Shorty in
support. All of Co. Q crowded into the room, and the rest looked through
the windows and doors. The Chaplain spoke the words which made the
young couple man and wife, and handed them a certificate to that effect.
Shorty then advanced, with his hand full of greenbacks, and said:
"Missis Hartburn: Co. Q of the 200th Ind., of which you are now a brevet
member, has appointed me to present their congratulations. We extend to
you the right hand of fellership of as fine a crowd o' soldiers as ever
busted caps on any field of battle. We're very glad to have your young
husband with us. We'll take care of him, treat him right, and bring him
back to you crowned with the laurels of victory. You just bet your life
we will. That's our way o' doin' things. Madam, Co. Q very much wished
to present you with a trou-- trou-- tro-- what is that blamed word, Si?"
"Trowso," whispered Si--
"with a trowso," continued Shorty, "but circumstances and about 150 mile
o' mud road over which we have no control prevented. To show, though,
that we really meant business, and ain't givin' you no wind, we have
collected the skads for a regular 24-carat trow-- trous-- trows-- trou--
tro-- (blamed the dinged word, what is it, Si?)"
"Trowso," prompted Si
"for a regler 24-carat trowso which I have the pleasure o' putting in
your lily-white hands, at the same time wishin' for the company, for you
and your husband, all happiness and joy in your married 'life. No more,
from yours truly."
Shorty's brow was beaded with perspiration as he concluded this
intellectual effort and handed the bride the money, which she accepted,
as she had done everything else on that eventful day, as some thing that
she was expected to do. The company applauded as if it had been a speech
by Daniel Webster, and then the supper-table was attacked.
Then came pipes, and presently the brigade band came over and serenaded.
A fiddle was produced from somewhere, and a dance started. Suddenly came
the notes of a drum in camp.
"Early for tattoo, ain't it?" said they, looking inquiringly at one
another.
"That's no 'tattoo," said Shorty; "that's the long roll. Break for camp,
everybody."