(An address delivered at Paris, Ky., June 26, 1916.)
_Madame President_, _Ladies_, _Daughters of the Confederacy_:
I have several times promised your ex-president, Mrs. Leer, that I would
furnish her with a brief history of my observations and experiences as a
soldier, and have so far failed; but will now, ere it is too late, try
to comply with this promise.
But for the life of me I cannot see how I shall comply with this request
without (seemingly at least) appearing in the role of one given to self
praise or eulogy, and, modest man that I am, I hesitate; this will
explain why I have been so long complying with your request, and shall
constitute my apology.
The history of Kentucky Confederates was in most instances very similar
and their duties likewise similar. All were imbued with the spirit of
patriotism and love for the cause in which they had engaged, each
determined to do whatever he could to promote and advance the cause in
which he was enlisted. In this I claim to have done no more than other
Kentucky soldiers who fought under the "Stars and Bars."
And yet there may be some incidents, some experiences in my history so
different from others as to make them somewhat interesting by contrast,
and as others have kindly furnished you with a history of their
experience, you may be somewhat interested in making comparisons.
Now, so far as relates to my history as a _real_ soldier, the beginning
of that career was on the 8th of September, 1861. On the 22d of January
following I was twenty years old--quite a youth you are ready to say.
But I had been a soldier almost two years, being a charter member of
that little band of "Sunday" soldiers--the "Flat Rock Grays"--and which
constituted an integral part of what was known at that time as the
Kentucky "State Guard."
This little company of citizen soldiers were in their conceit and
imagination very important and consequential fellows. Invited to all the
noted gatherings and public affairs of the day, dressed in gaudy and
flashy uniforms and flying plumes, filled with pride and _conceit_, they
did not know they were nursing their pride against the day of wrath. One
only of two now living, I look back upon those days and scenes of
youthful pride and ambition, with a feeling of awe and reminiscence, and
wonder why and wherefore have I been spared through the labyrinth of
time elapsed and for what, alas! I am wondering.
The most of the "Grays" left home for the scenes of the war in August,
but I had not completed my arrangements and did not reach "Camp
Burnett," Tennessee, until September 7. Now the most trying and
impressing circumstances of these preparations was the last "good-bye"
to my dear old mother and sweetheart, both of whom survived the war; the
dear old mother greeting me on my return in a manner I shall leave to
the imagination of you ladies to describe. I was her "baby" and had been
mourned as lost more than once. But the sweetheart in the meantime had
become the wife of another and gone to a distant state to make her home.
Oh! the fickleness of woman and the _uncertainties of war_. Pardon me,
ladies, I mean no reflection, but it hurts to this day; yet God in His
wisdom and goodness knows I forgave her. Perhaps schoolday love is
remembered and still lingers in the heart of some of those I am
addressing, then she, at least, can appreciate this sentiment.
The 6th of September found me in this town (Paris, Ky.), where I began
preparations for the life of a soldier, by substituting my "pumps" for
"Brogans," which I knew would be more suitable, really indispensable for
a soldier on the march over rough and rugged roads. I sent back home my
pumps and horse, the latter afterward confiscated and appropriated by
the Yanks. Now I am sure my brogans presented a striking and ludicrous
contrast to my "clawhammer" blue broadcloth and gold buttons, and to
which I shall have occasion to refer again. But I was going to the war
and why should I care for comment or criticism? That night found me in
Louisville, a shy, cringing guest of the old Louisville Hotel, my
brogans giving me more concern than anything else, being in such
striking contrast to my clawhammer broadcloth and gold buttons. I recall
the scenes of that night and next morning with a distinctness that makes
me almost shudder to this day. If it were possible for you ladies to
imagine the excitement of those days, filled with the thousands of
exciting rumors that were heard every hour in the day, turn in whatever
direction you might, and the clangor and preparation for war, you might
have some idea of, and appreciate, my predicament. A solitary country
boy, who had seen but little of the world, on his road South in quest of
Southern rights on the field of battle. Were it not fraught with fearful
recollections it would now seem ridiculous. But the night was spent, not
in sleep, but in wild imaginings as to the outcome on the morrow and
what the morning would develop. Morning came and with reddened eyes and
unsteady step, I came down the winding stairs of the old hotel, my mind
filled with fearful misgivings. Going up to the office shyly I began
instinctively to turn the leaves of the register; imagine my surprise
when I read the names of Generals W. T. Sherman, L. J. Rousseau, Major
Anderson of Fort Sumter fame and other Federal officers, aides and
orderlies, who were stopping there; that humbug Kentucky "neutrality" no
longer being observed. I was now almost ready to call on the Lord to
save me. But my fears were intensified when a gentleman of middle age,
whom I had noticed eyeing me closely, walked across the room, putting
his hand on my shoulder and asked me to a corner of the room. "Angels
and ministers of grace defend me"--in the hands of a detective. I'm gone
now! Noticing my look of fear and trepidation, he said, "Compose
yourself young man, _I am_ your friend--the shoes you wear (Oh, the
tell-tale shoes! Why didn't I keep my pumps) lead me to believe you
meditate joining the army, and if I am not mistaken you are aiming to go
South to join the Confederates." I was now halting between two opinions;
was he aiming to have me commit myself, or was he really a friend? But
proceeding, he said, "It is but natural you should suspect me, but I am
your friend nevertheless, and am here to advise and assist young men
like you in getting through the lines (a somewhat calmer feeling came
over me now) and you will have to be very cautious, for I fear your
brogans are a tell-tale--(I had already realized THAT). You see," said
he, "excitement is running high and almost everybody is under suspicion,
myself with others." I ventured to ask his name, which he readily gave
me as Captain Coffee of Tennessee, to me a very singular name.
Feeling sure of his man and continuing, he said, "The train that leaves
here this morning will likely be the last for the state line (and sure
enough it was) and you will find excitement running high at the station;
they have guards to examine all passengers and their baggage, and when
you reach the station go straight to the ticket office, secure your
ticket and go to the rear of the train. Go in and take the first vacant
seat and for Heaven's sake, if possible, hide your brogans, for I fear
they may tell on you." I had by this time become thoroughly convinced
that he was really my friend and decided to take his advice.
But now the climax to the situation was, as I thought, about to be
reached. Looking toward the winding stairs I saw coming down them
(Coffee told me who they were) dressed in their gaudy regimentals (the
regulation blue and gold lace), Generals W. T. Sherman and L. J.
Rousseau, side by side, arm in arm, behind them the short, chubby figure
of Major Anderson of Fort Sumter fame and some other prominent officers
whose names I have forgotten, accompanied by their staff officers and
orderlies. A "pretty kettle of fish" for me to be caught with--I
thought. They passed into the dining room immediately. I shall never
forget the hook-nose, lank, lean and hungry look of General Sherman,
reminding me of Julius Caesar's description of Cassius. Later on I was
often reminded of this incident, when Sherman was pushing us through
Georgia, toward the sea in the celebrated campaign of '64. I was then
almost wicked enough to wish that I had at this time and there ended his
career. But, exchanging a few more words with Capt. Coffee, I called for
my satchel and took the "bus" for the station; arriving there I acted
upon the advice of my new made friend and adviser. Quickly procuring my
ticket and entering the car, I secured the rear seat and with fear and
trembling attempted to hide my brogans by setting my satchel on them.
(We had no suit cases then.) This was a morning of wonderful excitement
in the station for it was the last train to leave Louisville for the
State line and Memphis. There were thousands of people there crowding
every available foot of space--excitement ran high. The train guards or
inspectors--fully armed--were busy examining passengers and their
baggage. My heart almost leaped from my bosom as they came down the
aisle. But just before they reached the rear of the car the bell rang
and the train started. The guards rushed for the door, leaving me and
one or two others unquestioned and unmolested. Like "Paul, when he
reached the three taverns," I thanked God and took courage. I doubt if
the old station ever before or since saw such excitement and heard such
a shout as went up from the people therein assembled as the train pulled
out for Dixie. Many of these people were Southern sympathizers and
wished us God-speed and a safe journey.
That evening I joined my schoolboy friends and soldier comrades, the
"Flat Rock Grays," in Camp Burnett, Tennessee, the Grays dropping their
name and acquiring the letter "H" in the regimental formation of that
celebrated regiment commanded by Col. Robert P. Trabue and known as the
Fourth Kentucky, C. S. A. That night I slept in camp for the first
time--as to what I dreamed I am unable to say--it might have been of the
sweetheart. The next day was spent in getting acquainted with the dear
fellows whose comradeship I was to have and share for the next four
years. Here began the experiences of the _real_ soldier, that was to
include some of the most momentous events in American history. Only one
day, however, was spent in Burnett, for that night orders came for those
companies that had been supplied with arms to break camp early next
morning and take the train for Bowling Green--to "invade Kentucky." The
companies without arms, among which was Company H, was to repair to
Nashville where we procured arms, joining the rest of the regiment a few
weeks later at Bowling Green.
I have told you of the beginning, now it is proper and altogether
pertinent that I should refer to some of the closing scenes of my career
as a soldier. But I am here leaving a gap in my history, the most
important part of it, which will be found in other parts of this little
book.
Having received my furlough at Jonesboro, where I was wounded on August
31, 1864, the following six months were spent in hospitals; first at
Barnesville, later at Macon and then Cuthbert, Ga., and later still at
Eufaula, Ala. I had as companions in hospital experiences three other
Kentuckians, Captain E. F. Spears of this city, Paris, whom you all know
to have been a gentleman of the highest honor and noblest emotions--a
gentleman--Oh, how I loved him; and Lieutenants Hanks and Eales, noble
fellows and companionable comrades. Here were formed ties of
friendship--that death alone could sever.
But having sufficiently recovered from my wound, I decided the last of
March that I would make an effort to reach my command (the Orphan
Brigade) now engaged in a desperate effort to stay the progress of
Sherman's devastating columns now operating in South Carolina. The
"Orphans" in the meantime and during my absence had been converted into
cavalry. I was still on crutches and bidding Eufaula friends good-bye
(with regret) I started once more for the front.
The times were now fraught with gloomy forebodings and misgivings,
excitement running high. The South was in tears, terror stricken--the
Confederacy surely and rapidly was reeling to her doom. General Wilson's
cavalry was raiding through Alabama and Georgia with but little
opposition, destroying the railroads and almost everything else of value
as they moved across the country.
On the train I had very distinguished company in the person of General
"Bob" Toombs, who commanded the Georgia militia, a mythical organization
of the times, and Mrs. L. Q. C. Lamar of Mississippi, whose husband was
afterward a member of Cleveland's Cabinet. I was very much impressed
with the remarkable personality of this lady and felt sorry for her and
her family of seven children, fleeing terror stricken from the raiders.
Pandemonium seemed to reign supreme among these fleeing refugees, the
air being literally alive with all sorts of rumors about the
depredations and atrocities of the raiders. Numerous delays occurred to
the train, everybody on board fearing the raiders and anxious to move
on. General Toombs, excited and worried at these delays, determined to
take charge of the situation and see that the train moved on. With a
navy revolver in each hand he leaped from the train and with an oath
that meant business said _he_ would see that the train moved on--which
it did rather promptly, the General taking due credit to himself for its
moving, which the passengers willingly accorded him. Inquiring who this
moving spirit was, I was told that it was General "Bob" Toombs (by this
name, _"Bob" Toombs_, he was known throughout the United States).
Instantly there flashed into my mind the celebrated speech he made in
the United States Senate, in which he said that "erelong he expected to
call the roll of his slaves beneath the shadow of Bunker Hill
Monument"--and which speech did more to fire the hearts of the North
than almost anything said or done prior to the war.
But finally we reached Macon--where I had been in the hospital--and on
the afternoon of the second day after our arrival, Wilson's cavalry took
possession of the city. That night some of the fiends, that are to be
found in every army, applied the torch to the home of Senator Howell
Cobb, the Lanier Hotel and a number of other prominent buildings. I
could realize the excitement from the Confederate hospital on College
Hill, which overlooks the city, and which was terrifying and appalling
beyond anything I had ever before seen. The shrieks and cries of the
women and children almost unnerved me. Woe of woes! Horror of horrors! I
thought.
But I must do General Wilson the honor to say that he did not order or
approve of this fiendish piece of work, for he did all in his power to
prevent and stop it; and but for his efforts the city would no doubt
have been completely destroyed.
Of course I abandoned my attempt to join the old boys of the "Orphan
Brigade." I was now a prisoner, everything lost (save honor), gloom and
chaos were everywhere. Obtaining a parole from the Federal officer in
command (something new), I decided to join my comrades Knox and Harp,
each of whom, like myself, had been put out of business by wounds
received sometime before and who were sojourning with a friend in the
country near Forsythe, intending to counsel with them as to the best
course to be pursued next. Having enjoyed the hospitality of our host
and his good wife for several days, Knox and myself decided to go down
to Augusta for a last and final parting with the remnant of these dear
"old boys" of the "Orphan Brigade" whom we learned were to be paroled in
that city. We soon learned upon our arrival in the city that General
Lewis and staff would arrive next morning. Next morning the General and
staff rode through the city, the most sorrowful and forlorn looking men
my eyes ever looked upon; it was enough to make a savage weep. The cause
for which we had so long fought, sacrificed and suffered, lost,
everything lost, God and the world apparently against us, without
country, without home or hope, the old family being broken up and
separated forever, our very souls sinking within us, gloom and sorrow
overhanging the world; what would we do; what could we do? Learning from
General Lewis that the remnant of the little band of immortals who had
contributed so much to the history and renown of Kentucky in the great
conflict would be paroled at Washington, some twenty miles from Augusta,
Knox and myself proceeded to that place for a last and final farewell.
The associations of almost four years of the bloodiest war in modern
times up to that day were here, to be forever broken up. The eyes that
gleamed defiance in the battles' rage were now filled with tears of
sorrow at parting. The hand that knew no trembling in the bloody
onslaught now wavered and trembled--the hour for the last parting had
arrived, the long struggle ended forever--good-bye, John; farewell,
Henry; it is all over and all is lost, ended at last; good-bye, boys;
good-bye.
Are their deeds worth recording, worth remembering? It is for you, dear
ladies, rather than men, to say whether it shall be done or not, and in
what way. _I_ am content to leave it to you, knowing that it will be
well and faithfully done.
Resuming the closing scenes of my experiences at Washington and the
final sad leave-taking of these dear old "Orphans," I must revert to my
friend and well wisher (as he proved to be), General Toombs.
The Confederate Government had saved from the ruin that befell and
overtook it several thousand dollars in coin and which was being
transported across the country, whither, no one seemed to know--in
charge of a certain major.
Now Washington was the home of my hero of the train incident. The powers
that were left decided to distribute a part of this coin among the
faithful veterans who were being paroled at this point. The cavalry, who
did not enlist until later in '62, receiving $26, in some instances
more, while the Orphans received as their share only $3.50, a very
unfair and inequitable distribution, character of service and time being
considered. The cavalry in this, as in some other instances, receiving
the lion's share and getting the most of the good things that fell to
the lot of the "pooh" soldier. This money consisted mainly of "double
eagles," three of which fell to the remnant of my company. The
perplexing question now was how could we divide this money. The matter
was finally settled by the boys commissioning me to go down into the
town (a mile or more away) to see if I could exchange it for smaller
coins. Still on crutches, I finally consented, but it was a task. Going
into town and from home to home--all business houses long since
closed--I at last staggered on the home of General Toombs--not knowing
he lived there. I recognized at once the moving spirit of the train
incident. He and another gentleman were seated on the veranda engaged in
earnest and animated conversation. Saluting in military style, I at once
made known my business. The General protested that _he_ had no change,
but referring me to his guest, Major ----, who, he said, was in charge
of some funds in the house belonging to the government. The Major
remarked if I would wait awhile he would furnish me with the required
change, at the same time retiring to a back room of the house where I
soon heard the sound of a hammer or hatchet, presumably in the hand of
the Major, who was engaged in opening a box or chest. In the meantime
the General invited me to a seat on the veranda and began plying me with
numerous and pertinent questions--not giving me a chance to refer to
the train incident--asking to what command I belonged, when and where I
was wounded and how I expected to get home and many other questions, not
forgetting in his vigorous and vehement way (for which he was noted) to
deplore the fate of the Confederacy and denouncing the Yankee in
unmeasured and vigorous terms.
Finally after so long a time the Major returned with the required
change--all in silver and while not much, it gave me (already tired out)
great worry before I reached camp on my crutches. Of course I thanked
the Major and apologized for having put him to so much trouble, and
saluting him good day, I started for the gate, the General preceding me
and still asking questions. Opening the gate, for which I thanked him, I
tipped a military salute and started up the sidewalk. But the General
seemed very much interested in me and walking alongside the yard fence
he suddenly thrust his hand into his vest pocket, pulling out a twenty
dollar coin and quickly reaching across the fence, he said, "Here,
Lieutenant, take this from me. You will doubtless need it." Dumfounded
at this sudden change of affairs, I politely declined it, but the
General, in a spirit of earnest command, forcefully said, "Here, take
it, sir; you are a d--n long way from home and you will need it before
you get there." Comprehending the spirit which prompted it, I accepted
it and thanked him, extending him my hand, which he grasped with a
warmth that thrilled my soul to its very depths.
Thus the diamond in the rough that I had seen on the train at once
became the glittering jewel that sparkled and shed its brilliance to the
depths of my then thankful and weary soul. I love to think of this
incident and this great man (for he was truly a great man of his time)
and transpiring at the time it did and under--to me--such distressing
and discouraging circumstances, it is one of the happy and cheering
oases of my soldier life.
Going from Washington back to Augusta I met and spent the following
night in company with Hon. E. M. Bruce, one of the best friends I ever
had, whose friendship, magnanimity and generosity toward myself and
other Kentuckians was, as in my case, made practical, he presenting me
with three double eagles, which I was _compelled_ to receive as a
recompense for acts of friendship and assistance rendered him during the
trying times of the preceding four years. I have never known a grander
character than E. M. Bruce, a truer friend, a nobler man.
But now, with more than $80 of _real_ money, I was quite well equipped
for the return to dear "Old Kentucky," which I was glad to see after an
absence of almost four years, spent under the most dangerous and trying
circumstances to which it was possible for man to be exposed.
There were doubts in my mind as to what our status as citizens would be
and just how we would be received and regarded by some; returning as we
did, overcome, discomfited, defeated. But we well knew how we would be
received by those who loved us and whose sympathies were manifested in a
thousand ways not to be mistaken or misunderstood. Here in these
manifestations was recompense for the long years of absence amid
dangers, trials and suffering.
And now after a lapse of more than half a century, with its wonderful
history, we are still remembered by some of the kind and gentle spirits
that greeted us on our return, and other charming and lovely spirits of
the U. D. C., descendants of the noblest ancestry that ever lived and
inhabited this, the fairest land that God ever made.
These circumstances, these surroundings and inspiring scenes make
hallowed the lives of these few surviving old veterans, rendering it a
panacea for all that we as soldiers of the "lost cause" encountered and
suffered.
From the fulness of my heart I thank you, noble ladies, for your
kindness and patient attention. This opportunity to appear before you
today is more than a pleasure and I feel honored to find myself in your
presence and appreciate your happy greeting.