THE CLOSING CAMPAIGN.
A weeks' stay in the vicinity of Corinth, Miss., and orders were
received for the transfer of Stewart's and Cheatham's corps to the East
to aid Hardee in an effort to prevent a junction of the armies of Grant
and Sherman.
AN ARCTIC RIDE.
Transportation by rail was furnished only to the sick and barefooted,
who were ordered to report at Corinth at daylight, Jan. 10th. Weakened
by an attack of chill and fever I joined the sick squad, which left camp
at 1 a. m., tramped through the mud and rain, waded several streams and
reached Corinth in the early morning with our clothing wet to our knees.
In this condition, with no opportunity to dry our drenched garments, we
rode in a box car without fire on a cold winter day from 8 a. m. until 3
p. m. The car was crowded and the heating arrangements were confined to
such exercise as we could take in the limited space we were forced to
occupy. I had never been taught to "trip the light fantastic toe" and
the figures I cut that day were more continuous than graceful. At
3 p. m. I told the Oglethorpes, who were with me, John Kirkpatrick and
Will Dabney among them, I remember, that while I was willing to die in
a soldierly way in battle, I did not propose to freeze to death, and
suggested that in order to secure an opportunity to thaw, we stop at the
next station, which chanced to be Baldwin, Miss. The motion was carried
unanimously, though not by a rising vote, as we already occupied from
necessity a standing position, our car having no furniture except a
floor and a door. To give the reader some gauge of the condition of the
railroads in that section at that stage of the war, it is only necessary
to say that we had traveled only 31 miles in 7 hours. We were kindly
received by a Mr. Kent, an old citizen of Baldwin, who regretted his
inability to furnish us anything but shelter and fire, as he had been
foraged upon by Yankees and Confederates alike until there was very
little meal in the barrel or oil in the cruse and "no prophet in all the
land to bless the scanty store." When the evening meal was ready,
however, he came to our room and with an apology to my comrades for
failing to include them in the invitation, he pressed the writer to
share his humble fare. Whether this discrimination in my favor was due
to my good looks, my winning ways or the appearance of chronic hunger in
my face, has remained to this day an unsolved problem. And yet whatever
may have been the right solution, it gives me pleasure through this
humble record to waft back over the waste of years my earnest
appreciation of his kindness to a sick and underfed Confederate.
CLEANED UP FINANCIALLY.
No train passed next morning and we tramped down the railroad for 12
miles, stopping at Saltillo for the night. None of us were well, the
weather was cold and to avoid sleeping on the damp, bare ground we began
to reconnoiter for better lodging. By reason possibly of the favorable
impression made by the writer on our host at Baldwin, I was made
spokesman for the occasion. Knocking at the residence of a Mrs. B. I
stated our condition in as impressive language as I could command and
emphasized our desire to avoid the exposure of sleeping on the cold,
damp ground. To this she replied that she was a widow, living there
alone, that she knew nothing of us, and that while she disliked to turn
off Confederate soldiers, she could not feel that it would be proper or
prudent for her to entertain a company of utter strangers. "Well,
madame," I replied, "I appreciate your position and if you feel the
slightest hesitancy, we will not insist." "Walk in sir," she replied,
"You can stay." She told me afterwards that if I had pressed my appeal
she would have turned us away, but that my failure to do so convinced
her that we were gentlemen. It may be as well to confess that I had
anticipated such an objection and had framed my reply to meet it.
During the evening she told us with quivering lips, of the death of her
soldier boy in Virginia, of her sad mission in visiting the battle field
to recover his body and lay it away in the old family burying ground,
and spoke so feelingly of her attachment to our cause that on retiring
to our room I remember that we entertained some fears that an offer of
compensation for our entertainment might offend her. The sum total of
our financial assets, as I recollect it, was a $20 Confederate bill
owned by Will Dabney. On taking our leave next morning we tendered it in
payment of our bill, thinking, of course, that she would decline it with
thanks, but we had reckoned without our host or at least without our
hostess. She accepted it with the remark that it would exactly square
the account, and we were turned out on the cold charity of the world
without a cent.
'Twas the last of our assets,
Gone glimmering alone.
All its blue-backed companions
Were wasted and gone,
No bill of its kindred
Nor greenback was night,
Not even a "shinplaster"
To spend for pie.
In justice to our kind-hearted hostess, and lest some reader should
imagine that her charges were really extravagant, it is proper to say
that she had given five hungry soldiers a sumptuous supper and
breakfast, had lodged us on snowy feather beds and had accepted in
payment what was equivalent to one dollar or less in good money. If the
condition of our finances needs any explanation it may be found in the
fact that our last pay day had occurred just 12 months and ten days
before.
* * * * *
But I am spinning out these little incidents at too great length.
Resuming our march we were overtaken by our command and tramped with it
to Tupelo, where we remained 12 days. On January 25th we boarded the
cars for Meridian, but the train was overloaded and we traveled only 18
miles in 12 hours, not very rapid transit. In order to lighten the load
two cars were detached and in one of them Lieut. Goetchius and ten of
the Oglethorpes, including the writer chanced to be passengers. After
two days' tramp through the "Prairie Lands" of Mississippi, our squad
secured transportation, rejoining our command at Meridian, Jan. 29.
Thence by rail to McDowell's Landing, by boat to Demopolis, by rail to
Selma and by boat to Montgomery, reaching that place 1 p. m., Feb. 1st.
The preceding night was a very cold one and as we were deck passengers
and no heating arrangements had been provided, a fire was built of fat
pine on a pile of railroad iron. Frank Lamar, I remember, sat on the
leeward side of the fire with the black smoke pouring into his face all
night, and next day could have played the role of negro minstrel without
the use of burnt cork. The writer kept his temperature above the
freezing point by volunteering as an aid to the fireman in the engine
room.
Leaving Montgomery Feb. 2d, we reached Columbus, Ga., late in the
afternoon and on our arrival were met by a delegation of ladies, who
greeted us with a speech, a song and a supper. My journal, I regret to
say, records the fact that the supper was last but not least in the
degree of appreciation meted out to the trio by the boys. Passing
through Macon Feb. 3d, we arrived at Midway at 2 a. m. of the 4th and
remained there a day drawing clothing and blankets. Leaving the railroad
we marched through Milledgeville on the 5th, but did not stop to
investigate the condition of Gov. Brown's "collard patch." Reaching
Mayfield on the 7th we boarded the cars again, lay over at Camak and
arrived at Augusta on the evening of the 8th, the brigade going into
camp near Hamburg and the Oglethorpes remaining with friends and
relatives in the city.
A SAD HOME-COMING.
Sixteen miles away, embowered in a grove of oak and elm, lay the home I
had left, holding within the sacred shadow of its walls all that I loved
best on earth. For nearly two months no tidings had come to me from
them. We had been so constantly on the move that the letters written had
never reached me. The latest message received had told me of my father's
illness, but its tone gave me hope of his early recovery. Our passage
through Augusta gave me the privilege of revisiting the old homestead,
but it was a sad home-coming. Twice since I had left it last the family
circle had been broken and the shadow of death had fallen on its
hearthstone. A few short months before in the autumnal haze of a
September day, as sweet a sister as brother ever owned had breathed out
her young life just as she was budding into womanhood. And now only a
week before I entered its portals again my father, worn out by the added
burdens imposed by the absorption of younger physicians in the military
service, had been laid away beneath the shadow of the trees in the city
of the dead. The reader will pardon, I trust, the filial tribute to his
worth that comes unbidden from my heart today. Beyond and above any
partial judgment born of the love I bore him, I have always thought him
the best and purest man I have ever known. It may be that no human life
can claim perfection and yet if his knew aught of fault or blemish in
all the years from boyhood to the grave, no human eye could see it. In
lofty purpose and in lowly, unremitting faithfulness to duty he lived
above the common plane of men, serving his generation by the will of
God, doing justly, loving mercy, walking humbly in all the paths his
Master's feet had trod and dying in the noontide of his usefulness, he
left to those who loved him, a name as pure and stainless as the snows
that winter's breath have heaped upon his grave.
* * * * *
After ten days' rest at home, in company with eight comrades of the
Oglethorpes, I left Augusta Feb. 20 to rejoin my command in upper South
Carolina, reaching it after six days' tramp, near Pomaria. I recall
only two or three incidents of that trip, that are seemingly worthy of
record in these pages. The night of Feb. 21 was spent near the residence
of Mr. Johnson Bland, who kindly sent to our bivouac an ample supply of
edibles for our evening meal. After they had been disposed of, the negro
messenger, who had brought the supplies, entertained us with a learned
disquisition on a species of ghosts, which he termed "hanks." Harrison
Foster, with his usual taste for scientific research, wanted to know how
the presence of these hanks could be detected and was informed that if
in traveling at night he felt the sudden touch of a warm breath of air
on his face he might rest assured that it was a "hank." Possibly to test
the sincerity of his conviction on the subject or to guard our slumbers
from the disturbing influence of an inroad of these restless spirits of
the night, Harrison gave the negro a gun and posted him as a lone sentry
in an adjacent graveyard.
The next night was spent at the residence of Major Dearing. The family
were all away and Mr. Smith, who had charge of the plantation, kindly
gave us the use of the dwelling for the night. It was very handsomely
furnished and to the credit of our squad I desire to record the fact
that while silver forks and spoons were lying loosely around the dining
room, not one of them disappeared when we took our departure. There were
no Ben Butlers among us. Two nights later we slept in a Universalist
church, said to be haunted, not by "hanks," but by the ghost of its
former pastor, Mr. Stitch. My journal records the further fact that on
the evening before we rejoined our command the entire squad suffered
from an aggravated attack of the "blues." In whatever way the fact may
be accounted for, there is but one other similar entry for the four
years' service. An hour or two after reaching the camp of our regiment
we began the march for Chester, reaching that place March 5th. Remaining
there until the 10th we left by rail for Charlotte, but by reason of an
accident, failed to arrive at our destination until the evening of the
11th. On the 12th we moved on to Salisbury, remained there until the
17th, when the train took us to Smithfield. A march of 16 miles on the
18th enabled us to rejoin our corps near Bentonville.
OUR LAST BATTLE.
During the Confederate Reunion in Atlanta, Ga., in '98, a man with
kindly eyes and grizzled beard approached me with extended hand and
said, "Do you know me?" His face seemed familiar, but I was forced to
confess that I could not exactly place him. "Do you know where I saw you
last?" I was compelled to admit that I was still in the dark as to his
identity. "Well," said he, "it was behind the biggest kind of a pine."
"Now I know you, Sam Woods," said I. That pine supplied the missing link
in my memory and furnished likewise a link in the present sketch.
Our junction with Hardee's force had placed us again under Joe
Johnston--the same Joe whose displacement at Atlanta had perhaps as much
to do with the collapse of the Confederacy as the failure of Pickett's
charge at Gettysburg, the Joe of whom Bill Arp said he would walk ten
miles on a rainy night to look into his hazel eyes and feel the grip of
his soldier hand--the Joe of whom Capt. Picquet said, as he rode by us
on his mettled bay at the battle of Resaca, "Boys, I always feel safer
when that man is around"--the same Joe who, when asked by Col. Geo. A.
Gordon at Dalton how he managed to manoeuver an army in the woods in
battle, replied, "Well, Colonel, I have to depend largely on my corps
commanders; they rely on the Major Generals, who in turn depend on the
brigadiers, the brigadiers on the Colonels, the Colonels on the
Captains, but," said he, "thank God, we all have to rely on the private
at last."
By 10 a. m., March 19th, the day after our arrival at Bentonville, we
were in line of battle, fronting a large part of Sherman's army. Our
regiment depleted by sickness and death and capture and possibly "French
leave" as we came through Georgia, had only a hundred men in its
ranks--the Oglethorpes only nineteen. We had no field officer and, as I
remember, only one captain, one lieutenant and an orderly sergeant for
the ten companies. At one stage in the fight that followed the orderly
sergeant was the ranking officer in the regiment.
Soon after taking our position, near the extreme right of the line, an
assault was made by the enemy and was repulsed. About midday Gen. Bate,
commanding our corps, gave the order to advance. In our front and gently
sloping upwards for three hundred yards was an old field dotted with
second growth pines, and two hundred and fifty yards beyond its highest
point on the descending slope lay the Federal breastworks awaiting us.
Closing in to the left as we advanced, we passed over the bodies of the
enemy who had been killed in the assault and whose faces, from exposure
to the sun, had turned almost black. Reaching the top of the slope we
came in view of the Federal line and if our eyes had been closed our
ears would have given us ample evidence of the fact. The rattle of the
Enfields and the hiss of the minies marked the renewal of our
acquaintance with our old antagonists of the Dalton and Atlanta
campaign. Down the slope we charged until half the distance had been
covered and the enemy's line is only a hundred yards away. The "zips" of
the minies get thicker and thicker and the line partially demoralized by
the heavy fire suddenly halts. Frank Stone is carrying the colors
(Cleburne's division flag--a blue field with white circle in the center)
and he and I jump for the same pine. It is only six inches thick and
will cover neither of us fully, but we divide its protective capacity
fairly. Fifteen or twenty feet to my left there is an exclamation of
pain and as I turn to look Jim Beasley clasps his hand to his face as
the blood spurts from his cheek.
My cartridge box has been drawn to the front of my body for convenience
in loading as well as for protection and as I look to the front again a
ball strikes it, and strikes so hard that it forces from me an
involuntary grunt. Frank hears it and turns to me quickly, "Are you
hurt?" I said I believed not and proceed to investigate. The ball
passing through the leather and tin had struck the leaden end of a
cartridge and being in that way deflected had passed out the right side
of the box instead of through my body. Thirty or forty feet to the right
the gallant color-bearer of the First Florida, whose heroism at Franklin
has already received notice in these records, is making his way alone
towards the breastworks at half speed, with his flag held aloft, fifty
yards in front of the halted ranks. Inspired by his example or
recovering from the temporary panic, the line moves forward again, and
the enemy desert their breastworks and make for the rear at a
double-quick. Leaping the entrenchments, a hatchet, frying pan and
Enfield rifle lie right in my path. Sticking the pan and hatchet in my
belt, I drop my Austrian gun and seizing the Enfield I see across the
ravine a group of the enemy running up the hill. Aiming at the center of
the squad I send one of their own balls after them, but the cartridge is
faulty and fails to reach its mark. We pursue them for half a mile and
the disordered ranks are halted to be re-formed. Capt. Hanley, formerly
of Cleburne's staff, calls for volunteer skirmishers and John
Kirkpatrick is first to respond. Turning to me he says, "Come on
Walter." The writer is not advertising for that sort of a job, but the
call is a personal one and not caring to let the boys know how badly
scared I am, I step out of the ranks. Will Dabney, though laboring under
a presentiment that he was to be killed that day, joins us, as do others
whose names are not recalled. Deploying and advancing through the woods
we are soon in range of the minies again. Lieut. Hunter, a little to our
left, is struck and tumbles forward on his head. Will calls out to me
that Hunter is killed, but he is mistaken. The lieutenant regains his
feet and finds that the wound is confined to his canteen. Advancing
further I find a lady's gaiter and a glass preserve dish dropped by the
enemy and probably stolen from some Southern home. Capt. Matt Hopkins,
of Olmstead's regiment, picks up a book similarly dropped, but does not
carry it long before a minie knocks it from his hand. The line of battle
follows in our wake but before it reaches us a ball strikes John Miller,
passing directly through his body, and he turned to the color-bearer and
said, "Frank, I'm killed." Frank replied, "I hope not John." The line
presses on and John lies down under the pines to die. In a little while
Frank is disabled by a wound in the side and turns the colors over to
Billy Morris. The regiment reaches the position occupied by the skirmish
line and under heavy fire we are ordered to lie down. Sam Woods and the
writer seek the shelter of a large pine and while kneeling together
behind it a minie passes through Sam's hand and thigh and he limps to
the rear. Advancing again, we are halted just before night by a pond
or lagoon in our front. A friendly log lies near its edge and we lie
down behind it. A Federal battery open on us and the color-bearer
of Olmstead's 1st Ga. regiment is knocked six or eight feet and
disemboweled by a solid shot as it plows through the ranks. As the
litter-bearers are carrying off another wounded man from the same
regiment he begs piteously for his haversack, which has been left
behind. They are under fire and refuse to halt. One of the Oglethorpes,
in pity for the poor fellow, leaves the protection of his log and
running up the line secures the haversack, takes it to him, then hastens
back to his position.
Night comes on, the firing ceases and the fight is ended. We have driven
the enemy more than a mile, have captured a number of prisoners and have
suffered comparatively little loss. Of the 19 Oglethorpes only one has
been killed and three wounded, though thirteen others bear on their
bodies, clothing or equipment marks of the enemy's fire, some of them in
three or four places. Frank Stone, in addition to the wound in his side
and a hole through his sleeve, has a chew of tobacco taken off by a ball
that passes through his pocket. John Kirkpatrick has his canteen
ventilated, Sol Foreman and Will Dabney find the meal in their
haversacks seasoned with minies instead of salt, and the writer, in
addition to the demoralization of his cartridge box, finds a hole in
his haversack and thirteen in his folded blanket, all probably made by a
single ball. Relieved from our position in the line by Harrison's
regiment, by the aid of torches we find John Miller's body and near it a
naked arm taken off at the elbow by a cannon ball. Placing them on a
blanket, John Kirkpatrick, Will Dabney, the writer and another comrade
carry them nearly half a mile to an open field and give them as decent
burial as we can.
War's casualties, alas, are not all counted on the battlefield. From
dread suspense that comes between the battle and the published list of
slain and wounded, from the wearing agony of a separation that seems so
endless, and the weary watching for footsteps that never come again,
they fall on gentle hearts in lonely homes far removed from the smoke
and din of musketry and cannon, not suddenly, perhaps, but sometimes
just as surely as if by deadly missile on the firing line. John was an
only child and far away in his Georgia home his stricken parents
rendered childless by his death, mourned in their loneliness for "the
touch of a vanished hand" until broken hearted they, too, were laid away
in the narrow-house appointed for all the living.
On the following day the remainder of Sherman's army came up and two
divisions secured a position in our rear, but were driven back. A
regiment of Texas cavalry made a successful charge in this engagement,
holding their bridle reins in their mouths and a navy pistol in each
hand. A gallant son of Gen. Hardee went in with them as a volunteer and
was killed in the charge. Our division was not engaged, there being only
skirmishing in our front. Harrison Foster and Billy Morris were on the
picket line and under a misapprehension of an order of Gen. Bate, who
was riding over the line with his crutches strapped to his saddle, they
advanced to a point within close range of the Yankee trenches. Subjected
to a heavy fire, they took refuge behind a pile of rails. While lying
there Billy was struck in the face and the pain of the wound led him to
think that he was severely hurt. An investigation, however, showed that
a minie ball had shattered a rail and had driven a splinter into the
flesh. There was renewed skirmishing on the 21st, but as a company our
last gun had been fired. Johnston, finding his force of less than 20,000
men too small to cope with Sherman's entire army, evacuated his position
on the 22d and retired to the vicinity of Smithfield. Here we remained
until April 10th, when under an Act of the Confederate Congress, the
army was re-organized. The numbers in each military organization had
become so reduced that it was found necessary to consolidate divisions
into brigades, brigades into regiments, and regiments into battalions.
The 1st, 57th and 63rd Ga. were merged into the First Volunteer Regiment
of Ga., the 54th Ga. forming a battalion. The Oglethorpes alone of the
ten companies of our regiment, retained their separate and original
organization. Lieut. Wilberforce Daniel was made captain, with Charles
T. Goetchius and Geo. W. McLaughlin as first and second lieutenants.
Lieut. A. W. Blanchard was promoted to the captaincy of Co. K, formed of
companies E, F, and G, and the writer, at Capt. Blanchard's request, was
made an officer in the same company, Will Dabney being also transferred
and given the position of orderly sergeant. I am glad to be able to say
to the credit of the Oglethorpes, that the consolidation not only failed
to reduce the rank of any of their officers, as was the case in other
companies, but that it resulted in the promotion of them all and in
addition to this another company in the new regiment was practically
officered by them.
As soon as the re-organization had been completed we began our southward
march, passing through Raleigh and Chapel Hill and reaching the vicinity
of Greensboro on April 16th. Appomatox had become history, and a truce
of ten days was agreed upon by Johnston and Sherman, with a view to
ending the war. On the 17th and 18th rumors were current that the army
was to be surrendered and numbers of the troops left their commands,
unwilling to submit to the seeming humiliation. To stop this movement
Johnston issued an order informing the army that negotiations for peace
were going on between the governments, and on April 28th the terms of
the Military Convention, agreed to on the 26th were published. Lee's
surrender had shattered the last hope of Confederate success and a
prolongation of the struggle would have been a useless and criminal
sacrifice of life.
A report of President's Lincoln assassination had reached our camp and a
number of us went over one night to the quarters of Gen. John C. Brown,
our division commander, to ascertain the correctness of the rumor. To
the question, "Is Lincoln dead?" he replied, "Yes, he's very dead."
"Well, General, what do you propose to do when you get home?" "I am
going to join the Quakers," he said, "My fighting days are over." On May
2d our paroles arrived and were signed up and on the 3rd we began our
march for Georgia, making the trip of 230 miles in 11 days. In evidence
of South Carolina's loyalty to the cause, even in its dying hours, I
recall the fact that while passing through its territory on our homeward
march, no man or woman refused to accept Confederate money for any
purchase made by us. Although then
"Representing nothing on God's green earth,
And naught in the waters below it,"
in Carolina, at least,
"Like our dream of success--it passed."
Reaching Augusta May 13th, we divided the teams allowed us for
transportation and with one dollar and twenty cents in silver paid us at
Greensboro for fifteen months' service, we bade our comrades in arms a
tender and affectionate farewell, broke ranks for the last time, and
turned our weary steps homeward.
The flag we had followed for four years was furled forever and the
Southern Confederacy was a thing of the past.
CONCLUSION.
I would be doing violence to the expressed wishes of an old comrade and
messmate, one whose friendship for me was born at the camp fire, and was
strengthened and intensified by common hardship and danger, if I were to
close these records without adding a word in behalf of the cause for
which we fought. Were these four wasted years? Was the war on the part
of the South only a wicked rebellion, as our Northern friends have been
pleased to term it?
Speaking only for myself as a humble unit in the four years' struggle,
and yet feeling assured that I fairly represent a vast majority of my
Confederate comrades, I can say that I never kneeled at my mother's knee
in childhood with a deeper sense of duty nor a purer feeling of devotion
than impelled me when, with her tear-wet kiss upon my boyish lips, I
left the old homestead to take my humble station under the "Stars and
Bars." I can say further that looking backward over the record of the
years, that Providence has kindly granted me, no four of them come back
to me with a deeper sense of satisfaction than those which marked my
service as a Confederate soldier. The convictions formed in those old
days of the absolute righteousness of the cause for which we fought have
only strengthened with the passing years. While the South failed in its
purpose to secure separate national existence I have never felt that in
the struggle it had anything to regret but failure. Despite the
tremendous odds against which it fought, despite the fact that it
entered the contest without an army, without a navy, without military
supplies, with the sentiment of its border States hopelessly divided,
and with the sympathies of the world against it, but for the loss of its
ablest Western leader in his first battle, it would not, as I believe,
have had even failure to regret. If Albert Sidney Johnston had not
fallen on that fateful April Sabbath when Grant's demoralized and beaten
legions were cowering under the river bank at Shiloh, he would, in my
belief, have duplicated in the West, Lee's victories in the East and
Appomatox and Greensboro would have had no place in Southern history.
Even in '64, if President Davis had heeded the appeals of Gov. Brown and
Gen. Johnston, of Howell Cobb and Joe Wheeler, Sherman's constant
apprehension during the Dalton and Atlanta campaign would have become a
reality. Forrest, the greatest cavalry leader of the war, and, in the
opinions of Lee, Johnston and Sherman, the most brilliant genius
developed by it, would have been turned loose on Sherman's rear; Atlanta
would never have fallen, Lincoln would have failed of re-election and
the "reconstruction" that followed in the wake of the war would have
been confined to the geography of the country, rather than to Southern
State governments at the hands of carpet-baggers. Lincoln expected such
a result and bent every energy to end the war before the peace sentiment
of the North could find expression in the election of McClellan. The
failure to utilize Forrest's genius in the destruction of Sherman's
communication, the removal of Johnston and the resultant fall of
Atlanta, turned the tide and the Confederacy was doomed.
Defeat brought with it some measure of humiliation, and yet it is
pleasant to remember that our short-lived republic stands in history
today "without a blot upon its honor and with no unrighteous blood upon
its hands." With its territory scorched and scarred by a foe, in whose
military lexicon the word "humanity" found no place, the South struck no
blow below the belt. It fought with rifles, not with firebrands, and
made its war upon armed foes, not upon helpless women and children. It
had no brutal Shermans, nor Sheridans, nor Butlers, nor Hunters in its
ranks, but it is pleasant to know that it left to the world the legacy
of a Lee and a Stonewall Jackson, whose military record stands unmarred
by the faintest shadow of a stain and unparalleled in Anglo Saxon
history. While the North fought, not for the flag, not through sympathy
for the slave, but by the admission of Lincoln himself, just as surely
for commercial greed as if the dollar mark had been woven into every
banner that led its hosts to battle, it is a pleasant reflection that
the South sought only to free itself from an alliance that had become
offensive and dangerous to its liberties. And while Lincoln has been
canonized as a martyred saint, I am glad to know that Jefferson Davis or
Robert E. Lee would have suffered a thousand martyrdoms before they
would have penned a proclamation deliberately intended not only to
beggar a whole people but to subject innocent and helpless women and
children to the horrors of a servile insurrection.
And so I feel assured that when in coming years posterity, unblinded by
prejudice or passion, shall give to all the claimants in the Pantheon of
Fame their just and proper meed, as high in purest patriotism as any
rebel that fell at Lexington or starved at Valley Forge, as high in
lofty courage as any hero that rode with Cardigan at Balaclava or
marched with Ney at Waterloo, or fell beneath the shadow of the spears
with brave Leonidas, will stand the rebel soldier of the South, clad in
his tattered grey, beneath whose faded folds is shrined the Stars and
Bars of an invisible republic, that lives in history only as a memory.
ROSTER OF THE "OGLETHORPES," 1862-1865.
Co. B. 12th Ga. Battalion. Co. A, 63rd Ga. Reg.
OFFICERS.
Capt. J. V. H. Allen--Promoted Major 63rd Ga. July, 1863.
Capt. Louis A. Picquet--Wounded May 28, '64, leg amputated.
Capt. Wilberforce Daniel--Died in 1898.
Lieut. W. G. Johnson--Died since the war.
Lieut. *A. W. Blanchard--Wounded June 27, '64, promoted
Capt. Co. K, 1st Ga., 1865.
Lieut. C. T. Goetchius--Living in Augusta, Ga., 1900.
Lieut. Geo. W. McLaughlin--Living in Augusta, Ga., 1900.
1st Serg. *W. A. Clark--Promoted 1st Lieut. Co. K,
1st Ga., April 10, '65.
2d Serg. *O. M. Stone--Promoted 1st Lieut. 66th Ga., '62.
2d Serg. J. W. Stoy--Captured July 23, '64, near Atlanta.
3d Serg. W. H. Clark--Promoted Asst. Surgeon, C. S. A., March, '63.
3d Serg. E. A. Dunbar--Promoted ensign, 1864.
3d Serg. R. B. Morris--Living in Augusta, Ga., 1900.
4th Serg. Jno. C. Hill--Living in Augusta, Ga., 1900.
5th Serg. S. C. Foreman--Wounded Jonesboro, Aug. 31, '64.
Com. Serg. *W. J. Steed--Wounded June 27, '64, arm amputated.
1st Corp. *Burt O. Miller--Promoted Lieut. 47th Ga., May 5, '64.
1st Corp. Geo. G. Leonhardt--Wounded Atlanta, July 22, '64.
2d Corp. E. Thompson.
3d Corp. B. B. Fortson--Promoted ensign, died near Tuscumbia,
Nov. 6, '64.
4th Corp. *L. A. R. Reab--Captured at Kennesaw, June 27, '64.
5th Corp. J. H. Warren--Living in Virginia, 1900.
6th Corp. W. H. Foster--Living in Augusta, Ga., 1900.
7th Corp. W. H. Pardue--Wounded at Kennesaw, June 27, '64.
PRIVATES.
*John Q. Adams--Wounded accidentally, Thunderbolt, July 12, '63.
W. F. Alexander--Living in Oglethorpe Co., 1900.
R. H. Allen--Living in Burke Co., 1900.
J. K. Arrington--Living in Alabama, 1900.
Philip Backus--Died since the war.
C. T. Bayliss--Killed at Kennesaw, June 27, '64.
Henry Beale.
*Jas. A. Beasley--Wounded at Bentonville, March 19, '65.
C. W. Beatty--Died of disease, Aug. 31, '63.
*D. C. Blount.
Thos. Blount.
Geo. W. Bouchillon--Died since the war.
Jas. W. Bones.
Henry Booth--Wounded Peach Tree Creek, July 20, '64.
*T. F. Burbank--Wounded near Kingston, May 19, '64.
*W. W. Bussey--Wounded Huntsville, Aug. 11, '62, and Kennesaw, June 27,
'64.
*J. L. Bynum--Wounded Atlanta, July 22, '64.
Wm. Byrd--Living in Columbia Co., 1898.
H. T. Campfield--Living in Augusta, Ga., 1900.
Jno. A. Carroll--Wounded June 18, '64, died of wound.
J. H. Casey--Wounded June 18, '64, died of disease July, '64.
Andy Chamblin--Died since the war.
W. L. Chamblin--Wounded and captured, Kennesaw, June 27, 64, leg
amputated.
H. A. Cherry--Died since the war.
H. C. Clary--Living in Augusta, Ga., 1900.
E. F. Clayton--Transferred to 12th Ga. Batt., killed March 25, '65.
W. A. Cobb.
*J. R. Coffin--Captured, Kennesaw, June 27, '64.
W. S. Coffin.
W. C. Colbert--Died since the war.
W. C. Corley.
A. N. Cox--Transferred to 24th So. Ca., June, '64.
H. C. Cox--Transferred to 24th So. Ca., June, '64.
C. M. Crane--Promoted Q. M. Serg. 1st Ga., Apr. '65.
Floyd Crockett--Died since the war.
H. M. Cumming--Acting Asst. Surgeon 63d Ga., '64.
M. B. Crocker--Died of disease in hospital July 20, '64.
Miles H. Crowder--Wounded, Atlanta, July 22, '64, leg amputated.
*Wm. A. Dabney--Wounded, Kennesaw, June 25, '64, promoted 1st Serg.
Co. K, 1st Ga., April 10, '65.
Jno. B. Daniel--Living in Atlanta, Ga., 1900.
John M. Dent--Living in Waynesboro, Ga., 1900.
*Joseph T. Derry--Captured, Huntsville, Aug. '62, captured, Kennesaw,
June 27, '64.
*Edgar R. Derry--Ordnance Serg. 12th Ga. Bat.
Wm. F. Doyle--Died since the war.
Wiley Eberhart.
J. R. Edwards.
J. L. Eubanks--Died since the war.
R. R. Evans--Living in Atlanta, Ga., 1900.
R. C. Eve--Promoted Asst. Surgeon, C. S. A.
*W. R. Eve--Captured at Kennesaw, June 27, '64.
J. L. Fleming--Living in Augusta, Ga., 1900.
L. F. Fleming--Disabled in R. R. accident, July 5, '62.
W. T. Flannigan.
H. Clay Foster--Wounded, Atlanta, July 22, '64.
J. A. Garnett--Died of disease, Atlanta, June 19, '64.
Joel Gay.
C. G. Goodrich--Living in Augusta, Ga., 1900.
J. H. Goodrich.
Jno. C. Guedron--Died since the war.
Wm. Guedron--Died since the war.
Jno. A. Grant--Living in Atlanta, Ga., 1900.
S. M. Guy--Killed at Atlanta, July 22, '64.
S. H. Hardeman.
C. A. Harper--Died since the war.
J. E. Harper--Died since the war.
*Geo. A. Harrison--Captured, Kennesaw, June 27, '64.
R. W. Heard--Wounded, Kennesaw, June 29, '64.
J. T. Heard--Died since the war.
W. M. Heath--Died of disease, June, '64.
Geo. S. Heindel--Died since the war.
B. T. Hill--Died since the war.
H. L. Hill--Killed near Kingston, May 19, '64.
A. M. Hilzheim--Fatally wounded and captured, June 27, '64.
*V. G. Hitt--Promoted Asst. Surgeon in '62.
H. W. Holt--Transferred to Co. K, 63d Ga., Aug. '64.
John Hood.
T. J. Howard--Living in Lexington, Ga., 1900.
*W. T. Howard--Captured, Kennesaw, June 27, '64.
F. T. Hudson.
J. T. Hungerford--Died since the war.
Theo. Hunter.
J. H. Ivey.
H. B. Jackson--Wounded near Dallas, May 27, '64.
J. A. Jones--Living in Texas, 1900.
W. H. Jones--Living in Columbia Co., 1900.
M. S. Kean--Died since the war.
Jno. C. Kirkpatrick--Living near Atlanta, Ga., 1900.
Cephas P. Knox--Fatally wounded near Kennesaw, June 18, '64.
W. T. Lamar--Living in Augusta, Ga., 1900.
Frank Lamar--Died since the war.
R. N. Lamar--Promoted Lieut. of Cavalry, Jan. 10, '65.
E. H. Lawrence--Died since the war.
J. W. Lindsey--Captured, Huntsville, Aug. 11, '62.
D. W. Little--Died since the war.
M. S. Lockhart--Wounded near Kennesaw, June 19, '64.
E. J. Lott--Fatally wounded and captured, June 27, '64.
T. E. Lovell--Died since the war.
A. T. Lyon--Company bugler.
A. D. Marshall--Captured, Kennesaw, June 27, '64.
C. O. Marshall--Transferred and promoted Lieut., '64.
Jno. T. May--Transferred to 12th Ga. Batt.
J. P. Marshall--Living in 1900.
T. W. McAfee--Living in Chattanooga, 1900.
A. W. McCurdy--Wounded near Dallas, May 28, died June 12.
J. T. McGran--Died since the war.
*J. K. P. McLaughlin--Wounded, Atlanta, July 22, '64.
L. H. McTyre.
J. M. Miles.
T. A. Miles.
Jno. T. Miller--Wounded June 18, '64, near Kennesaw, killed
at Bentonville, March 19, '65.
Wm. Megahee.
G. T. Mims.
*A. L. Mitchell--Wounded June 27, '64, at Kennesaw, arm amputated.
Geo. K. Moore--Died since the war.
*W. B. Morris--Wounded June 27, '64, Kennesaw.
Geo. D. Mosher--Living in Savannah, 1900.
St. John Nimmo--Transferred to Barnwell's Battery.
A. J. Norton--Missing near Murfreesboro, Dec. '64.
*H. J. Ogilsby--Wounded July 22, '64, Atlanta.
*J. H. Osborne--Promoted Serg. Major 1st Ga., April, '65.
F. C. O'Driscoll.
Alex Page.
S. A. Parish--Living in 1900.
J. O. Parks.
J. H. Patton.
J. F. Phillips--Missing June 16, '64, died in prison.
J. C. Pierson--Transferred to 5th Ga., June, '64.
A. Q. Pharr--Died since the war.
A. Poullain--Transferred to 7th Ga. Cavalry.
T. N. Poullain--Died of disease Nov. 12, '63.
Geo. P. Pournelle--Missing June 27, '64, Kennesaw, probably killed.
Jabe Poyner--Living in Oglethorpe Co., 1898.
R. A. Prather--Living in 1898.
Joe Price.
W. H. Prouty--Died since the war.
W. H. Pullin.
R. A. Quinn--Wounded July 22, '64, Atlanta.
R. Quinn, Jr.
J. T. Ratcliff--Died of disease Nov. 5, '64, Tuscombia.
R. R. Reeves--Living in Columbia Co., 1900.
*W. H. Reeves--Wounded June 27, '64, Kennesaw.
Aaron Rhodes--Living in 1900.
J. Z. Roebuck--Died since the war.
Jere Rooks--Living in Richmond Co., 1900.
Obe Rooks--Fatally wounded July 22, '64, Atlanta.
B. F. Rowland--Wounded June 27, '64, Kennesaw.
W. Radford--Living in Columbia Co., 1900.
J. J. Russell--Living in Atlanta, Ga., 1900.
A. M. Rodgers--Died since the war.
Chas. Richter.
J. B. Rogers--Died since the war.
Geo. D. Rice--Died since the war.
J. M. Savage--Missing in Tennessee, Dec., '64.
W. N. Saye--Living in Atlanta, 1900.
R. Stokes Sayre.
P. A. Schley--Living in Richmond Co., 1900.
J. L. Shanklin.
C. D. Sellars.
W. A. Sims--Died since the war.
M. C. Smith--Died since the war.
W. J. Smith--Wounded June 18, '64, near Kennesaw.
J. T. Steed--Wounded May 15, '64, died of disease, Oct. 10, '64.
-- -- Stevens--Died in '63, Thunderbolt.
Geo. R. Sibley--Q. M. Serg. 12th Ga. Batt.
A. W. Shaw--Died since the war.
*F. I. Stone--Wounded March 19, '65, Bentonville, promoted
ensign, '65.
F. M. Stringer--Died since the war.
J. J. Stanford.
Robert Swain--Transferred to Co. K, 63d Ga., killed
Sept. 3d, '64, Lovejoy Station.
Jas. Sullivan.
Elijah Stowe--Company fifer.
Floyd Thomas--Captured June 27, '64, Kennesaw.
J. E. Thomas--Died since the war.
Whit Thomas--Living in Richmond Co., 1900.
Jas. Thompson--Died of disease in '65, Montgomery.
R. F. Tompkins.
J. W. Tucker--Missing Dec. 1, '64, near Murfreesboro.
Miles Turpin--Company drummer.
*Geo. J. Verdery--Living in North Augusta, 1900.
*Eugene F. Verdery--Wounded July 20, '64. Peachtree Creek.
R. W. Verdery--Died since the war.
J. C. Welch--Died of disease, Dec. '64.
R. A. Welch--Living in Richmond Co., 1900.
John Weigle--Wounded June 27, '64, Kennesaw, died of wound July 13.
W. H. Warren--Died since the war.
J. W. White--Died since the war.
G. W. Whittaker--Living in Richmond Co., 1900.
J. W. Whittaker.
J. O. Wiley--Wounded July 22, '64, Atlanta.
J. E. Wilson--Died Since the war.
R. T. Winter--Living in Richmond Co., 1900.
S. F. Woods--Wounded March 19, '65, Bentonville.
H. Womke--Drowned April 18, '63, Thunderbolt.
J. F. Wren.
W. T. Williams--Died since the war.
S. M. Wynn--Died since the war.
-- -- Wynn--Died '62, Knoxville, Tenn.
* In addition to those registered above as survivors in 1900,
those marked with an asterisk are known or reported to me as still
living. I regret my inability to secure a complete list of the
survivors.
ADDENDA.
OGLETHORPE INFANTRY, CO. B.
When the Oglethorpes offered their services to the Confederate
government in '61 the married men in its ranks were, by a vote of the
Company, excluded from the enlistment except as commissioned officers.
After the departure of the Company for the seat of war the members, who
were left behind, effected a new organization and were known as "Co. B."
Their purpose was to organize for home defence, but in November, '61,
they were ordered to Savannah by Gov. Brown, and were assigned to the
9th Regiment Ga. State troops, then in process of formation. Gen. W. H.
T. Walker had thrown up his commission in Virginia because President
Davis had seen fit to take from him the brigade he had organized and had
assigned to its command his brother-in-law, Dick Taylor, who was
subordinate in rank to every Colonel in the brigade. Gen. Walker could
not brook what he deemed a pure case of nepotism, and on his return to
Georgia he was placed in command of the brigade of State troops, to
which the Oglethorpes, as Co. A, 9th Ga., had been assigned. The
Company, on account of their proficiency in the manual of arms and in
company evolution, became a sort of pet of Gen. Walker's and when his
quarters were visited by ladies from Savannah the Oglethorpes were
ordered out to drill for the benefit of his fair guests. Mr. Frank H.
Miller, who was a lieutenant in the company and afterwards adjutant of
the regiment, by Gen. Walker's appointment, relates a characteristic
incident that occurred during the General's service at Savannah as his
commanding officer. One of his men had "run the blockade," had spent the
night in Savannah and while hustling back to camp in the early morning
hours, was overhauled by the sergeant in charge of the guard at the
General's quarters. The soldier did not relish the idea of being placed
under arrest for his escapade and backing himself against a tree he drew
his knife and threatened to carve up any man who laid hands on him. The
noise awakened Gen. Walker, who was sleeping in a tent near by, and
rushing out en deshabille, he shouted, "What the d--l is the matter out
here?" The sergeant, who seemed to be suffering with a nervous chill,
stammered out, "He won't be arrested, General. He says he'll kill
anybody that touches him." The General rushed up to the man and said,
"Give me that knife, sir." The soldier handed it over with a smile on
his face and the General saw as he took it that the weapon was entirely
bladeless. Turning to the sergeant he said, "Turn that man loose. I
won't have any man arrested who can back out a whole guard with a knife
that hasn't got a blade in it." And the "blockade runner" went scot
free.
In May, '62, their six months term of service having expired, the
company was mustered out at Augusta. A majority of its members soon
effected a re-organization for regular Confederate service and the new
company was ordered to Corinth, Miss., and for a time was assigned to
the 5th Ga. Regiment, then serving in the brigade of Gen. John K.
Jackson. Before leaving this camp the 2d Battalion Ga. Sharpshooters was
organized, under the command of Major Jesse J. Cox, of Alabama, and the
Oglethorpes became Co. C of that famous organization known in the Army
of Tennessee, as "Cox's Wild Cats." For the remaining years of the war
this battalion was identified with every movement and did gallant
service in every engagement of the Western Army. As "Sharp-shooters" it
fell to their lot to serve almost continuously on the skirmish line,
opening every battle in which their division was engaged. Transferred
from Tupelo to Chattanooga in the summer of '62, they took part in
Bragg's Kentucky campaign and at its close were stationed for a time at
Knoxville and then at Bridgeport, rejoining Bragg again in time to
participate in the battle of Murfreesboro, Dec. 31, '62. During that
engagement, at Gen. Polk's request, the battalion, with Jackson's
brigade, was temporarily detached from Hardee's corps and was sent into
the famous cedar thicket where they were exposed to the concentrated
fire of Rosecranz's parked artillery and lost half their number. Among
the casualties sustained by the Oglethorpes was the loss of their
gallant commander, Capt. E. W. Ansley, and the brave color-bearer of
the battalion, Edward H. Hall. Lieut. M. G. Hester succeeded to the
captaincy and the colors were given to Geo. F. Bass of the Oglethorpes,
who seem to have furnished all the ensigns for the battalion. During the
Kentucky campaign the colors had been borne by Corporal M. V. Calvin,
and after the transfer of Bass to another command, they were entrusted
to another Oglethorpe, Wm. Mulherin, who carried them with marked
gallantry until his capture at the battle of Nashville, in the winter of
'64.
Through the battles of Chickamauga and Missionary Ridge, with Johnston
through the hundred days from Dalton to Atlanta, and with Hood at
Franklin and Nashville, the "Wild Cats" sustained their hard-earned
reputation as a fighting organization, closing up their soldierly record
with the surrender of Johnston's army at Greensboro in April, '65, at
which date Lieut. George P. Butler was in command of the Oglethorpes. A
number of the gallant survivors of the company are still living in or
near Augusta, among them, Orderly Sergeant Wm. K. Thompson, Serg. M. V.
Calvin, Corp. Brad Merry, Corp. W. H. Miller, Musician W. B. White,
Evans Morgan, W. H. Hendrix and W. D. Shaw.
SHIPS THAT DID NOT PASS IN THE NIGHT.
Brad Merry's name recalls an incident that occurred at the Charleston
Reunion in 1899. Brad and the writer had agreed to make the homeward
trip together. On reaching the train I failed to meet him. The coaches
were crowded, but I finally secured a seat with a stranger, who after
the formation of a railroad acquaintance, proved to be Rev. T. P.
Cleveland, living near Atlanta. After a pleasant chat about our mutual
friends in Atlanta and elsewhere, I strolled through the train in search
of my friend Brad. Finding him in a forward coach, I chanced to say,
with no special reason for making the statement, that I had a seat with
a Rev. Mr. Cleveland. "What's his full name?" asked Brad, with a look of
interest. "T. P." I replied. "Tom Cleveland! Why there isn't a man in
the world I'd rather see. We were old schoolmates. Where is he?" Taking
him back to my coach I said, "Mr. Cleveland, here's an old friend of
yours, Brad Merry." The meeting was a very joyous one. As the glamour of
the old days came over them and with glowing faces and happy hearts they
talked of the long ago, a lady stepped across the aisle and said,
"Didn't I hear this gentleman call you Mr. Brad Merry?" "You certainly
did, madam," said Brad. "Why, Mr. Merry, I know you. Your battalion was
camped near my father's house for a long time and you and your comrades
came over nearly every evening and sang for us. We had mighty pleasant
times together in those old war days." Brad's smile reached from his
chin to the back of his neck as he grasped her hand and said, "I am
delighted to see you again. I remember you distinctly. Your father had
three girls, Virginia, Alabama and Tennessee." "Well," said she, "this
is Virginia," and pointing across the aisle to her sister, "there's
Alabama." The ride to Augusta was no longer tiresome or tedious. In the
renewal of their old time acquaintance and the revival of so many
personal memories the hours sped swiftly and when I left the train Brad
was using all his persuasive power to induce the entire party to stop
over at Berzelia and brighten for a time his Pinetucky home.
They were strangers to me, but I enjoyed their happiness and was glad to
have been the unconscious instrument in bringing them together again.
But for the accident of my finding that special seat vacant, these four
ships would have "passed in the night," possibly to hail each other no
more until with wearied sail they cast their final anchor in the harbor
that lies beyond the sunset.
OGLETHORPE INFANTRY, CO. B.
(Company A, Ninth Regiment Georgia State Troops.)
OFFICERS.
Edwin W. Ansley, Captain.
Frank H. Miller, First Lieutenant.
Thomas H. Holleyman, Second Lieutenant.
M. G. Hester, Third Lieutenant.
Ed. F. Kinchley, Commissary.
W. C. Sibley, Secretary and Treasurer.
G. E. Boulineau, Orderly.
G. W. Hersey, Second Sergeant.
S. A. Verdery, Third Sergeant.
Ed. E. Dortic, Fourth Sergeant.
W. A. Paul, First Corporal.
J. M. Weems, Second Corporal.
W. H. Frazer, Third Corporal.
James Heney, Fourth Corporal.
PRIVATES.
Armstrong, Pat.
Bruckner, J. D.
Butler, G. P.
Barrow, Wm.
Bailie, G. A.
Butt, Wm. P.
Cheesborough, Wm.
Chenell, John.
Calvin, M. V.
Cress, J. G.
Cheesborough, C. M.
DuBose, Robt. M.
Davis, Jas. S.
Duvall, R. B.
Davies, John N.
Day, John H.
Fleming, Peter L.
Gartrell, Jas. M.
Glover, Wm.
Heard, Henry.
Henry, Jacob A.
Hett, Ed.
Hitt, Dan W.
Hubbard, Jas. C.
Jonas, Chas H.
Kerniker, Ed.
Kenner, Jas. H.
Lane, Lucius A.
Mulherin, Wm.
Marshall, Jno. D.
Merry, Brad.
Nunn, Tom P.
Norris, W. B.
Nelson, Tom C.
Niblett, Jas. M.
O'Hara, Thos.
Parker, Gustave A.
Phinizy, Thos. A.
Page, Alexander.
Richmond, H. P.
Roulette, Mike.
Shackleford, J. H.
Setze, Jno.
Shaw, Alfred W.
Simmons, R. R.
Smythe, Wm. W.
Stevens, Jno.
Samuel, Wolfe.
Shaw, Wm. A.
Tant, Wm. D.
Tuttle, Dan W.
Thomas, Wm.
Thompson, Wm. K.
Travis, Luke.
Tant, Alexander.
Verdery, Eugene.
White, Wm. B.
Wiley, Landly J.
Wingfield, W. J.
Woodard, C. B.
Wolfe, Mike.
Youngblood, Sam. M.
Young, Jas. R.
MUSTER ROLL OF OGLETHORPE INFANTRY,
COMPANY C, 2D GA. SHARPSHOOTERS.
OFFICERS.
Captain, Edwin W. Ansley.
First Lieutenant, M. G. Hester.
Second Lieutenant, Jas. M. Weems.
Third Lieutenant, E. E. Dortic.
First Sergeant, Wm. K. Thompson.
Second Sergeant, Walter H. Frazer.
Third Sergeant, Geo. P. Butler.
Fourth Sergeant, Wm. A. Griffin.
Fifth Sergeant, J. D. Marshall.
First Corporal, W. H. Miller.
Second Corporal, Thos. O'Hara.
Third Corporal, Bradford Merry.
Fourth Corporal, M. V. Calvin.
Secretary, Henry P. Richmond.
Musicians, W. B. White, E. A. Young.
PRIVATES.
Anderson, W. F. E.
Bruckner, J. D.
Bunch, G. M.
Bass, Geo. F.
Boddie, John S.
Boulineau, W. A.
Cheesborough, C. M.
Carroll, J. R.
Cleckley, A.
Duke, J. B.
Duke, John F.
Duke, B. F.
Duvall, R. B.
Duddy, Wm.
Epps, W. D.
Fowler, J. C.
Gardiner, H. N.
Gates, Wm.
Hall, E. H.
Hall, A. G.
Helmuth, F.
Hendrix, W. H.
Hinton, G. W.
Isaacs, Wm.
King, Jesse.
Kerniker, Edward.
Lamback, Geo. F.
Mulherin, Wm.
Manders, J. J.
Morgan, Evan.
Mathis, J. T.
Nelson, T. C.
Peppers, J. M.
Peppers, A. H.
Roberts, Chas. P.
Roulett, M.
Robinson, James.
Shaw, A. W.
Shaw, W. D.
Stephens, E. A.
Samuels, W.
Tobin, John.
Tant, Alex.
Talbot, J. M.
Taylor, Wm.
Tuttle, D. W.
Wise, T. C.
Wolff, M.
Young, J. R.
SUPPLEMENT.
As this is my first, and will probably be my last attempt at authorship,
in deference to the possibly too partial judgment of friends, I have
ventured to include in the volume two additional sketches in no way
connected with the memories, which precede them. Yielding to the same
kindly criticism I have added also a war poem, intended to perpetuate an
incident whose hardly paralleled pathos has not, I trust, been marred by
the poetic dress in which I have attempted to preserve it.
ONE OF MY HEROES.
Personal courage, when from the lack of selfish ends, it rises to the
plane of real chivalry, has always met with willing homage from the
hearts of men. I do not know that hero-worship has entered largely into
my own mental or moral makeup, and yet for thirty years and more my
heart has paid its silent and yet earnest tribute to one, who in
unadulterated grit and innate chivalry was the peer of any man I have
ever known. I have called him my hero, but he was mine, perhaps, only by
right of discovery. I found him in a little Florida village in the
winter of '66. There was nothing in his appearance to indicate the hero.
No title, civil or military added dignity to his name. So far as I know
no stars or bars had gilded the old grey uniform he had laid aside with
Lee's surrender. He was simply plain Bob Harrison. Of his lineage or
earthly history I learned but little. I know that he was the son of a
Methodist minister who, some years before, had moved to Florida from
South Carolina, and who, by right of apostolical succession, was not
only a good preacher but a good fisherman as well. I know, further, that
in one of the battles in Virginia my friend had been shot through the
lungs and had been left upon the battlefield to die.
The surgeons in their hurried rounds passed by on the other side,
declining to waste their time on one, who in a few short hours would be
beyond the reach of human aid. Despairing of any relief from them, he
had tied his handkerchief around his chest to staunch the life blood
that was ebbing away, and through the long, long lonely night had waited
for death or help to come. On the morrow the burial corps had found him
still living, and in the hospital he was nursed back to partial health
again. The press had placed his name among the dead, and far away in his
Southern home loving ones mourned for him until one summer's day his
feeble footsteps on the walk and his pallid arms about their necks
brought to their hearts a resurrection just as real as that which
gladdened Mary and Martha at the tomb of Lazarus. Of his service as a
soldier I know no more than I have written. My claim for him is based
upon incidents that occurred when the war had ended and his record as a
soldier had been made up.
At the date and in the section of which I write the tide of lawlessness
that followed in the wake of war had not yet reached its ebb. During my
stay a party of toughs came to the village and for a week or more
terrorized the place. An effort was made to secure their arrest by civil
process, but from lack of nerve in the officers, or failure to secure a
posse, the effort failed and the gang was having its own sweet will
without let or hindrance.
At this juncture Bob Harrison rode into the village one day from his
country home. The lady, at whose boarding house these men were stopping,
told him of their misdoings. He was living six miles away and had no
personal grievance against them. His wounded lung had never healed and
frequent hemorrhages from it had paled the color in his cheeks and
weakened a body none too strong when in perfect health. But the appeal
stirred the chivalry of his nature and he did not hesitate a moment. He
went to them and in vigorous English denounced their conduct as
ungentlemanly and dishonorable and told them it must stop.
That afternoon a challenge came to him to meet them at a designated
place next morning to answer for the insult he had given. He rode in
before breakfast and at the appointed hour he was promptly on hand armed
with a brace of pistols and a bowie knife. For three hours he offered
satisfaction in any shape they chose to take it, and with any weapon
they might select, but his nerve had cowed them and the offer was
declined. Then he said to their leader, "You have been making threats
against my friend, Charlie P-- for some fancied wrong. He has a wife
and children to mourn him if he falls. I have none. I stand in his shoes
today and any satisfaction you claim from him you can get from me here
and now." The bully failed to press his claim. The gang soon left the
village and quiet reigned again.
A short time prior to this incident a young lady had made her home in
the village--a stranger, without relatives or friends. A citizen of the
place taking advantage of her unprotected condition, began to circulate
rumors reflecting on her character. These reports reached Bob Harrison's
ears. She was bound to him by no ties of blood or special friendship,
but her helplessness was claim enough. He called on the author of the
slander and asked to see him privately. The man showed him into a room
and Bob locked the door and put the key in his pocket. "Now, Mr --,"
he said, "you have circulated slanders about Miss --. She has no
relative here to protect her and I have come to put a stop to it. I
don't propose to take any advantage of you. I am going to lay these two
pistols on this table. You will stand with your face to that wall and I
will stand with my face to this. When I give the word if you can secure
a pistol first you are at liberty to shoot. If I get one first, I am
going to shoot. You have got to do that or you have got to sit down at
this table and sign a "lie bill." The man looked into Bob's eyes a
moment and said, "I'll sign the lie bill," and Miss --'s name was safe
from slanderous tongues from that day on.
In neither of these cases did he have the slightest personal interest.
His conduct was prompted solely by the chivalry of the man. He impressed
me as ordinarily one of the gentlest and mildest mannered of men and yet
I believe he would have led a forlorn hope to certain death without a
tremor.
With the close of winter I returned to my Georgia home and over the gulf
of silence that has intervened since that spring day in '67, no tidings
have come to me of my friend, Bob Harrison. If he still lives my heart
goes out in tender greeting to him today, and if he sleeps beneath the
daisies I trust this little tribute to his worth will cause the sod that
lies above him to press none the less lightly over his manly heart.
BEN HILL AND THE DOG.
A REMINISCENCE.
Just fifty years ago in the unceiled, unpainted and largely unfurnished
rooms of an "Old Field School," holding a blue-backed speller in my
boyish hands, I sat with a row of barefoot urchins on a plain pine bench
and watched with sleepy eyes the mellow sunshine creeping all too slowly
towards the 12 o'clock mark cut by the teacher into the school room
floor. This primitive timepiece that marked the boundary line between
school hours and the midday intermission, known in schoolboy vernacular
as "playtime," was never patented, although it had the happy faculty of
never running down and never needing repairs. To the student of today
reveling in the luxuriant appointments of the present public school
system there may come sometimes a touch of pity for the simple methods
and the meagre equipment of the old field school, whose teachers in
addition to the inconvenience of having to "board around," were
sometimes forced to receive partial compensation for their work in home
made "socks." Such of my readers as may be disposed to discredit the
free and unlimited knitting of socks as a circulating medium for the
payment of school salaries, are respectfully referred to my friend, W.
J. Steed, for the historical accuracy of this statement.
And yet--and yet, minimizing as we may the limited advantages of those
old school days in the '40's, and magnifying as we do the wondrous
advance in educational methods and appliances in all grades from the
kindergarten to the university, the fact remains that "there were giants
in those days" who seem to have no successors. Examples might be
multiplied both in our state and national life, but I give only two. The
places of George F. Pierce in the pulpit and of Benjamin H. Hill in the
forum and on the hustings have never been filled. It may be true that
Dame Nature requires after the production of great men a period of
repose and rest, and if my limited observation is not at fault she is
enjoying a good long nap. Whatever may have been the explanation of the
fact mentioned, the privilege of hearing these men in their palmy days,
of feeling the "cold chills" creep up the spinal column as they soared
to the empyrean heights of impassioned oratory, of losing consciousness
of time and place and environment under the magic spell of their almost
superhuman eloquence, furnished some measure of compensation for the
meagre advantages, on educational lines, of the last generation.
The writer's first opportunity to hear Ben Hill occurred at Mount Moriah
camp ground, in Jefferson county, in the presidential campaign of 1856.
On the disintegration of the old Whig party Mr. Hill had aligned himself
with its residuary legatee, the American party, and was canvassing the
State as an elector on the Fillmore ticket. He was 33 years of age, just
in the rosy prime of a superb physical and intellectual manhood. I was
only a boy and knew nothing of parties or party politics, but I remember
that for three hours and more he held the rapt and untiring interest and
attention of that vast audience.
At the close of the speech Major Stapleton announced that a messenger
had been sent to Mr. Stephens asking a division of time with Mr. Hill at
the former's appointment in Burke county, on the next day. Mr. Hill was
sitting on the pulpit steps, and when the announcement closed he said,
"Yes, I am not afraid to meet "Little Aleck," nor big Aleck, nor big Bob
added to them," alluding to Mr. Toombs. Mr. Stephens did not consent,
but met Mr. Hill afterwards at Lexington, Ga., in the same campaign.
Out of this debate grew Mr. Stephens' challenge and Mr. Hill's refusal
to accept it, an incident which had large influence in ending the reign
of the code duello in Georgia.
Two years later I had the privilege of hearing Mr. Hill again in the
State campaign for governor. A joint canvass of the State had been in
progress, but after a few discussions Governor Brown found that he was
no match for Mr. Hill on the "stump," and he wisely cancelled further
engagements. In giving his reasons for such action he said that Mr. Hill
was too much of a sophist, that he could make the worse appear the
better cause, and to enforce the point he related the "pig and puppy"
anecdote, a favorite illustration with political speakers in those days.
In the speech I refer to, delivered at Covington, Ga., Mr. Hill gave his
opponent the benefit of a statement of the reasons he had assigned for
his withdrawal, with the anecdote included, and then with the smile that
always gave premonition of a happy retort, he said, "And now,
fellow-citizens, in this campaign I have made no effort to make anything
out of anybody but Mr. Brown, and if I have made nothing better than a
pig or a puppy it was the best I could do with the material I had to
work upon."
Mr. Hill never employed the anecdote argument in his speeches, but if
used against him no man of his time or perhaps of any other time was
able to turn its edge more readily or more effectively on his opponent I
recall only one passage from the address and as it has not been
preserved in his published speeches I give it in illustration of his
style at that date. After disposing of his opponent and the State
campaign he turned his attention to national issues and in urging his
audience to resist Northern encroachments on their rights closed a burst
of impassioned oratory with these words: "Has the spirit of Southern
chivalry folded its wings for an eternal sleep in the grave of Calhoun?
Shall the breezes, which blow from the 'cowpens' where the infant days
of Jackson were spent, now fan the brows of a nation of slaves? Rise,
freemen of Georgia! Arise in your might. Shake off this Delilah of party
for she is an harlot and will betray you to your destruction. Arise!
drive back the invader from your thresholds, or like Samson of old, pull
down the pillars of the temple and perish in one common ruin." Its
effect upon the audience may be inferred from the fact that it has
lingered in my memory more than forty years. I heard Mr. Hill no more
until some years after the war. His nerve in putting an end to the
seizure of cotton by Federal agents in the South in '65, his "Davis
Hall" and "Bush Arbor" speeches and his "Notes on the Situation" had
given him the very highest place in Southern esteem and affection. And
then came his acceptance of an interest in the State Road Lease and his
speech at the "Delano Banquet," which placed him under the ban of
popular distrust and postponed the day when Southern character and
Southern history was to find its brave and complete vindication at his
hands in the halls of Congress. During this shadowed period in his life
I heard him several times in Atlanta, and on one of these occasions
occurred the incident which forms the title of this sketch. Chafing
under the criticisms and abuse to which he had been subjected he boldly
defended the consistency of his record and pointed proudly to the day in
'65 when the lips of every public man in Georgia were sealed except his
own. "And now, my friends," said he, "when the lion of military
government had prostrate Georgia in its cruel grasp, these men, who are
now decrying me, were hiding away in quiet places afraid to face him.
But when largely through my persistent efforts his clutch was loosened
and he was recalled to his den in Washington, the whole breed,
Mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound,
And cur of low degree,
left their hiding places and came out barking, not at the lion, but at
me, yelping, "Radical!" "Radical!" "Radical!" The words had barely left
his lips when a huge dog standing in the centre of the aisle, began
barking loudly and vigorously, with his eyes fixed on Mr. Hill. I do not
know that the speaker, in imitation of a certain minister's reputed
habit of inserting, "Cry here," at the close of the pathetic passages in
his manuscript, had inserted "Bark here" in his notes, but I do know
that the impromptu illustration fitted in so pertinently that the storm
of applause, that greeted it, would have lifted the roof if such a
result had been possible. For several minutes there was perfect
pandemonium. As the wave of sound rolled and swelled and rose and fell
to rise in larger volume than before the speaker faced the audience with
the shadow of a smile upon his face and when the last ripple of applause
had died away he said: "My friends, I meant no reflection on that dog."
I have had the privilege of hearing Toombs, Stephens, Johnson and Howell
Cobb, the first two, a number of times. I claim no ability to make
intelligent comparison among these distinguished Georgians. But basing
an estimate simply upon their effect upon myself and upon others as I
have observed it, I should say that while in epigrammatic force, in the
ability to pack thought into limited space, Mr. Toombs had no equal
among them, yet in effective oratory, in the power to sway an audience
at his will, whether in the domain of ice-cold logic or in the higher
realms where only angels soar, Mr. Hill probably towered above them all.
The peroration to his appeal for the pardon of Wm. A. Choice had few
equals in all the range of English forensic literature. It has not been
preserved, and in the forty years that have elapsed since its delivery,
my memory retains but a single sentence, and with that I close this
sketch: "Even from the lips of the murdered man, a voice comes back to
us today, as soft as evening zephyrs through an orange grove and as
warm as an angel's heart. 'Forgive him, save him, for he knew not what
he did.'"
* * * * *
THE REBEL CHAPLAIN AND THE DYING BOY IN BLUE.
The touching incident recorded in the following verses occurred on a
bloody Western battlefield in the old war days in the '60's. Rev. J. B.
McFerrin, formerly of Nashville, Tenn., and now in Heaven, an able and
honored minister of the Methodist church, and for four years a
Confederate chaplain in the army of Tennessee, was the Christian hero of
this tenderly pathetic story. His untiring devotion to the sick and
wounded amid the dangers and hardships of camp and field are gratefully
remembered by his surviving comrades, while his gentle kindness to a
stricken foe, will be embalmed in the loving memory of every veteran of
both the "Blue and Grey."
'Twas evening on the battle field;
O'er trampled plain, with carnage red
The lines in blue were forced to yield.
Leaving their dying and their dead.
All day 'mid storm of shot and shell,
With smoking crest, war's crimson tide
Had left its victims where they fell,
Nor heeding if they lived or died.
And now the cannon's roar was dumb,
The "Rebel Yell" was hushed and still;
The shrieking shell, the bursting bomb
Were silent all on plain and hill.
From out the lines of faded grey
To where the battle's shock was spent,
A rebel chaplain made his way,
On mercy's kindly mission bent.
He kneeled beside a stricken foe,
Whose life was ebbing fast away,
And then in gentle words and low,
He asked if he might read and pray?
"No, no," the wounded man replied,
"My throat is parched, my lips are dry,"
And in his agony he cried
"Oh, give me water, or I'll die."
The chaplain hurried o'er the strand
And in the stream his cup he dips,
Then hastening back, with gentle hand
He pressed it to his waiting lips.
"Now shall I read?" he asked again,
While bleak winds blew across the wold,
"No," said the soldier in his pain,
"I'm growing cold, I'm growing cold."
Then in the wintry twilight air
His "coat of grey" the chaplain drew,
Leaving his own chilled body bare,
To warm the dying boy in blue.
The soldier turned with softened look,
With quivering lip, and moistened eye,
And said: "If you, in all that book
Can find for me the reasons why,
A rebel chaplain such as you,
Should show the kindness you have shown
To one who wears the Union blue,
I'll hear them gladly, every one."
In tender tones the good man read
Of love and life beyond the grave,
And then in earnest prayer he plead
That God would pity, heal and save.
Above the "Blue"--above the "Grey"
Shone no Cathedral's lofty spire,
Yet I am sure the songs that day
Were chanted by an Angel Choir.
The evening darkened into night,
The shadows fell on wold and strand,
But in their hearts gleamed softer light
Than ever shone on sea or land.
And ere the wintry night was o'er,
Beyond the sunset's purpled hue,
The stars rose on a fairer shore
To greet the dying boy in blue.
Long years have come and gone since then,
Long years the good man lived to bless
With kindly deed, his fellow men,
And then to die in perfect peace.
And when in Heaven's eternal day,
They met before His throne of light,
There was no blue, there was no grey,
For both were robed in God's own white.
* * * * *
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Obvious errors in spelling and punctuation have been
silently corrected in this etext.
End of Project Gutenberg's Under the Stars and Bars, by Walter A. Clark