My father, Dr. Tomlinson Fort, was born in Burke County, Georgia,
July 14, 1787. He was the son of Arthur Fort, who was a soldier in
the Revolutionary War and a prominent man in the pioneer days of
Georgia. My father studied medicine at the Philadelphia Medical
College under the famous Dr. Rush to whose memory he was ever
attached. He returned to Georgia settling at Milledgeville, then
the capital of the State. He had a large medical practice, the most
extensive in middle Georgia, which he kept up until ill health
forced him to retire only a short while before his death in 1859.
He represented his county twelve years in the State legislature,
and his district two years in Congress. He was for years president
of the State Bank and trustee of the University of Georgia. He then
retired from political life. He served as a captain in the War of
1812, and was severely wounded while fighting against the Indians in
Florida. Had he lived until the Civil War I am sure that he would
have opposed secession. He was strong for the Union, and much
opposed to negro slavery. I remember hearing him say that he could
never look upon his slaves, which were about fifteen or twenty,
with any degree of satisfaction. He was a quiet, grave man of great
sobriety and learning. For general information I have never met
his equal. He had the confidence of all that knew him, the love of
family and friends. He was a most kind and sympathetic father. He
was the greatest man I have ever known.
My mother, before her marriage in 1824, was Miss Martha Low
Fannin of the Fannin family of Georgia. She was a woman of great
charm and of great strength of mind and heart. She had a large
family--thirteen children--nine of whom lived to be grown. Her
household consisted of ten or eleven servants. Ours was an open
house, friends and relatives always coming and going. Mother was a
busy woman and a very economical one, knitting our stockings and
making our cloth caps. She loved her children devotedly, which love
was returned by them.
I was born in Milledgeville, August 16, 1841; there I passed my
boyhood and youth. My early education was at a common school. The
school was carried on under the principle of the lash. It was
thought necessary to force knowledge by whipping. A child missing
two words in a lesson was usually whipped. My first teacher was an
Englishman named White. His invariable rule was to whip a pupil
found not studying his lesson. In one of my first reading lessons
I had to repeat "As high as the sky" in a peculiar singing manner,
which I could not do to please him. He stood over me with a hickory;
I was only a little boy, seven or eight, and I was frightened. At
last I said it in a way that suited him. He then grabbed me up, put
me on his shoulder, and marched around the room. Our next teacher,
Little, also whipped for the slightest offense. One day after school
hours several boys, among whom was I, went to the schoolhouse and
for revenge broke up the furniture. Fights between the teachers and
larger boys were the natural outcome of such system.
When a boy I was very fond of the woods and streams, and everything
connected with nature. My father took great pains to instruct me
in these matters, and in talking to him and asking questions, I
obtained a large insight into nature--much more than is usual with
boys of my years.
I was interested specially in birds. I remember that a couple of
bluebirds built their nest in a hole in a mulberry tree that grew
in the yard. One day I announced that the young had hatched, as
I could hear their chirpings when the parent birds approached the
nest. No one else could hear them and I was blindfolded to prove
my statement, which I successfully did. I timed the visits of the
old birds. On the average, once in twelve minutes a worm or some
insect was brought to the young. At about that time I had a small
collection of birds, which I had skinned and stuffed. These I
kept in my room. One day an old gentleman, Mr. Armstrong, who was
visiting in our house, when told of my fondness for birds, said to
me, "Young man, I have never known any one with an interest in such
things who ever amounted to anything." I was greatly mortified by
this harsh criticism, and made a bonfire of my birds. My mind and
temperament from childhood have been those of a naturalist.
Milledgeville is on the Oconee River at the mouth of Fishing Creek.
Swimming was the favorite sport with the boys of the town. I was in
the water a great deal and was a fine swimmer. To give an incident
I remember well: A boyhood friend, Joe Bell, was drowning; I caught
him by the hair and pulled him out, thus saving his life. At a later
time he saved mine in the following manner: During the Civil War, in
a mix-up in a swamp, we were fired upon by some of our own men.
Just as one of them had his gun leveled on me, his officer, who was
Joe Bell, recognized me and threw up the man's gun. We were quits.
[Illustration: JOHN P. FORT AT THE AGE OF TWELVE]
When sixteen years of age I entered the Freshman class of Oglethorpe
College. This was a Presbyterian school, situated at a little town
called Midway, about two miles from Milledgeville. The president
of the college was Rev. Samuel Talmadge, an eminent Presbyterian
divine. Two members of the faculty, Mr. James Woodrow, Professor
of Chemistry, and Mr. Charles Lane, Professor of Mathematics, were
living until a few years ago. I walked to and from college for four
years, carrying my dinner bucket. There were usually five or ten of
us walking together. I remember on one of these walks killing a dove
with a throw of my Latin grammar. There were two literary societies
at college, the Phi Deltas and the Thalians. I was president of the
Phi Delta during my senior year, but I never took a high stand in my
class, as I was not a student. I was more fond of nature. Especially
during vacations I was in fields and woods with rod and gun, and
became a proficient sportsman.
Two of my classmates are still living, Samuel Quarterman and his
brother Pratt. Sam lives near Albany, Georgia, and Pratt in Quincy,
Florida. Sidney Lanier, Georgia's most distinguished poet, was in my
class. I remember him as a slender young man of medium height, light
hair, hazel eyes, and aquiline features--an ideal picture of the
poet and musician he afterwards proved to be. I do not remember that
he was especially studious or wrote poetry while at college. I do
remember, however, his proficiency in playing the flute. The strains
of melody brought forth from this little instrument dwell with
me until now. Lanier learned so easily that he carried off first
honor in his class. Later we renewed friendship of college days. I
remember going with him to Brunswick, Georgia, and viewing with him
the broad marshes, which inspired his celebrated poem, _The Marshes
of Glynn_.
College days came to a close, and I began the study of law in the
office of Mr. William McKinley in Milledgeville. I was not old
enough to vote, but I was an ardent follower of Stephen A. Douglas
in the presidential election of 1860, and because of this, was
called by the boys at college the "Little Giant" although I, in
no way, resembled him in stature. I took a lively interest in the
stirring events of the time. The question of negro slavery usurped
the place of all other questions. Then came John Brown's raid which
created an incredible excitement. No "Free Soilers" like Horace
Greeley or William Lloyd Garrison dared visit the South for fear
of actual violence. Then came the secession of South Carolina,
Mississippi, Alabama, Florida. Georgia felt in honor bound to
follow. Then came the inauguration of President Lincoln and the
firing on Fort Sumter.
The proclamation of Mr. Lincoln calling for volunteers to overrun
the South consolidated the people of Georgia, and as one man we
offered our services in defense of our homes. The excitement was
intense. I know my father, if he had been alive, would have opposed
secession. Although she greatly disapproved of war and secession
my mother did not put a veto on her three sons going. On the night
that Georgia seceded all the houses in Milledgeville were illumined
except ours.
All my strongest feelings were aroused. I felt called to defend
my country. In May, 1861, I joined a company from my home town,
called after my father's old company, the "Baldwin Volunteers." I
entered as a private soldier. I was entirely ignorant of everything
pertaining to military affairs. If I had known as I afterwards did
the difference between the status of a soldier in the ranks and
a commissioned officer, I doubtless would have aspired to, and
obtained, a commission, but I refused to consider the matter at all.
I preferred to handle a gun, as this appealed to me as being more
in accordance with the patriotic fervor that encompassed my being.
I was a slender, immature young man of nineteen. It looked as if I
would be unable to endure the hardships of camp life, but I soon
became hardened to it, and became an efficient soldier; always up
on the company's line; always up on the march; always ready for any
duty. The rigor of camp life agreed with me and from one hundred and
thirty pounds I soon weighed one hundred and sixty.
It was the 9th of June, 1861, before arms could be obtained. Then
our company was transferred to a camping ground at Atlanta, where we
all duly signed articles of enlistment. We were attached to the 9th
Georgia regiment. We were the first regiment to enlist for the war.
All enlistments before that time had been for twelve months. The
magnitude of the peril and the hardship, blood, and strife incident
to our enlistment were not in the slightest anticipated. We thought
it would be a short campaign. We knew nothing of the disposition
of our opponents and of the bitterness and bloodshed that were to
follow.
Our officers were all elected by ballot. The colonel was a Mr.
Goulding, who soon dropped out. The captain of my company was
Benjamin Beck of Milledgeville. I was made first corporal without
asking for the position. Afterwards I was made a sergeant and acted
for a while as first sergeant. I had reason to know afterwards that
any office is preferable to the position of a private.
About the middle of June we were transported by rail in cattle and
box-cars to Richmond, Virginia. There the regiment was drawn up in
line of battle and we had our first dress parade. Our regiment was
soon ordered to Strasburg, Virginia; there we disembarked from the
train and commenced our march down the beautiful Shenandoah Valley
to Winchester. Large wagon trains were in attendance to transport
our tents and camp equipage. How great a change gradually came over
our transportation department! From several wagons to a company, we
were reduced eventually to one to the regiment, known as the skillet
wagon, as the men kept their cooking utensils in it.
Our regiment was armed with an ordinary smooth-bore musket which
shot a cartridge loaded with a ball and three buckshot. By actual
trial our guns with such a cartridge were only effective a short
distance, and would not bear the ball and shot at direct range more
than eighty yards. Our cartridges were gradually changed to one with
a single ball. Each soldier carried a belt of leather around his
waist to which was attached a cartridge box containing forty rounds
of cartridges and a cap box with about fifty percussion caps. This
musket was used up to the end of the war, although a large part of
the army gradually changed for Enfield rifles, a better gun with a
range two or three times as far as a muzzle loader. The Federals
had an immense advantage with their superior breech-loading Spencer
rifles, which carried three times as far as our rifles, and shot ten
times to our one. Toward the end of the war this was equivalent to
doubling the Federal force.
During our first marches our knapsacks and all camp equipment were
hauled in wagons. But soon we were required to carry our knapsacks;
but we eventually threw them away, and carried our clothing in a
roll. The shoes I wore were splendid,--made by a shoemaker at home,
and my socks had been knitted by my mother.
At Winchester we were attached to Gen. Francis S. Bartow's brigade.
The army was in command of Gen. Joseph E. Johnston, who rode down
our line, and I had my first sight of our commanding general. After
remaining in camp at Winchester, we were ordered to march farther
down the valley toward Martinsburg. Near there we were drawn up in
line of battle expecting an attack. While waiting we were suddenly
ordered across the valley toward Manassas Junction. We marched
all night; when the sun rose not more than one-fifth of the men
had reached our destination. I was among the foremost. In this
connection I wish to state that I had an extraordinary endurance on
long fatiguing marches. I never met a man in the army whom I thought
my superior in endurance.
Our brigade waited by the railroad expecting to be transported to
Bull Run. But as transportation was very limited the 9th Georgia was
left behind. We could hear the roar of battle, and early next day
we were upon the historic field of Bull Run, generally known as the
First Battle of Manassas. We marched over the battlefield only to
see the dead and wounded Federals. I saw the first dead I had ever
seen. It made an impression of horror upon me that I remember to
this day.
I recollect a day or two after the battle I came upon a horse,
wounded in the shoulder, standing in the shade of a tree. The wound
was such that he had no power to twitch or move the muscle of his
shoulder to frighten the great number of horse flies which were
sucking his blood. I was struck with the wise provision of nature
that gives the horse the power of shaking off insects by a twitch of
the skin.
General P. G. T. Beauregard, who commanded the Confederate forces,
rode down our line. We gave him a cheer, and I remember crying out,
"Let us go forward." My impression was the right one. If our victory
had been followed up, we could easily have captured Washington, and
the outcome of the war would have been very different. But we waited
and gave the aroused North full time to recover from their defeat,
and place large armies in the field.
While on picket duty on the hills in sight of Washington, our
regiment was under fire for the first time. I remember on one
occasion I had been standing with my hand upon a plank--I moved
away. A second afterwards a bullet struck the plank.
We remained several months inactive in camp, losing valuable time.
Camped near us was the 28th Georgia in which was my brother George
as a surgeon. We were also within a few miles of the 1st Georgia
Regulars, a splendid body of men, in which my brother Tomlinson was
a first lieutenant. So I had the pleasure of being near and seeing
my two brothers.
During the winter of 1861-1862 the hardships of camp life, caused
more than anything else by bad food and water, enfeebled my health.
While lifting a heavy log I sprained my back, and was ordered to a
hospital in Richmond. In Richmond I met my brother George, so did
not go to a hospital, but stayed with my brother, who, on account
of his poor health, was forced to leave the army. The surgeon who
examined me thought I was permanently disabled, so I obtained my
discharge from the ranks and went home with Brother George. At home,
in a few months, I partially recovered my health and insisted on
again entering the army. My mother would not consent to my entering
the infantry, therefore I bought me a good horse and proposed to
ride down to the seacoast where I would consider the matter, as
I was at that time exempt from service. But I went to Bainbridge
instead, intending, with a Mr. Campbell, to organize an artillery
company. But while there I met some college friends who had enlisted
in a cavalry company for the coast defense. I joined them as a
private and did some hard riding for three months along the Florida
coast. We were stationed at Newport, which is near the mouth of
the St. Mark's River in northwest Florida. This company was a
finely appointed body of men. They furnished their own horses and
were splendidly mounted. They were all young men of position and
education. There seemed to be no distinction between the officers
and men. I do not think there was a mess in the company that did not
have several servants to cook and wait upon its members.
I became a good rider, and before I left I was one of the best in
the troop. I was well mounted upon a fine horse I named "Red Robin."
I exchanged this horse for one called "Flying Ant," which was
considered a very vicious and dangerous animal, as she had disabled
two men before I took her in charge. I simply wished to show the
company that I could manage her, and I did. She was a splendid
horse. On leaving the cavalry for the infantry service I sold her,
including my fine cavalry saddle and equipment, to a prominent man
in Quincy, Florida, for fifty-five dollars in gold, which I was to
receive in a few days, but which I never did.
In January, 1863, I joined the 1st Georgia Regulars as second
lieutenant of Company B. The regiment had been ordered from Virginia
to Georgia to recruit its ranks. From there they were ordered to
Florida near the junction of the Chattahoochee and Flint rivers, and
there I joined them.
I shall not attempt to give in detail my life in this regiment--its
toils and privations, marches and battles. I shall only give
incidents in our campaigns that are personal, and I may often with
but a line pass over long periods of time.
At the time I joined the 1st Georgia, it was commanded by Major R.
A. Wayne. The colonel, and lieutenant-colonel had been disabled by
wounds and illness and never rejoined the regiment. Major Wayne
became colonel. He was personally one of the most fearless men I
have ever known. He was a gruff man, short and peremptory in manner,
in camp disliked by his officers and men, but in time of battle,
especially in great danger, commanding the respect of all.
During the spring and summer of 1863 we performed picket duty
along the coast near the mouth of the Appalachicola River. This
was useless from a military point of view, and our ranks were
more decimated by malaria than if we had been in many battles. We
were under the immediate command of General Howell Cobb. I have
never been able to understand why he kept us there with the daily
report of sickness and death. Oh! the chills and fever--and no
quinine! This medicine, so necessary in the treatment of malaria,
the enemy refused to pass into our lines. Three-fourths of our men
and officers were prostrated, many of them dying. It was a shameful
waste of life. The memory of the sufferings in those sickly camps
will remain with me always.
My brother Tomlinson was the captain in Company L in the regiment.
He was a good officer, beloved of his men and respected by the
officers of the command. He had been wounded twice severely, in the
Virginia campaigns, on the field of Malvern Hill he was left for
dead with a wound in the chest from a piece of shell, and at Second
Manassas with a ball through his leg. He was carried home from our
camp on the Appalachicola River so wasted with malaria, that I never
expected to see him again. All in the regiment were sick with this
disease that summer and I felt the effects of it through the entire
winter.
Early in 1864 we were ordered to march in all haste to Quincy, and
from there to entrain to Lake City. We rejoiced to leave our sickly
camp. Shortly before we left we were joined by a company of men,
which had been raised in Savannah as a command to operate heavy
artillery. They were men over fifty and boys under eighteen years of
age. They presented a most unmilitary appearance in motley civilian
clothes.
A large force of Federals had landed at Jacksonville and intended to
march to Tallahassee and take possession of the State of Florida.
Their cavalry were marching upon Lake City and were within a few
miles of the city when we arrived. Our small battalion and a company
of Florida cavalry were all the troops we had to receive them. About
a mile from Lake City where we expected to meet the enemy we formed
a line in the pine woods. Soon they were in sight, and, on seeing
our skirmishers, dismounted and proceeded to attack us. It was a
foggy morning and the enemy approached within seventy-five or one
hundred yards before we perceived each other. I was given command of
the skirmish line. I was instructed to try to draw them near to our
line. Both sides commenced firing. Soon the mists rose. The enemy,
seeing our line of battle, retreated with haste. They outnumbered
us two to one. We lost no men. While walking along the line of
skirmishers I was aware of bullets whistling near me, one going
through my cap. Then I realized that the white blanket strapped
to my shoulders made a target, I pulled it off and the firing,
especially at me, ceased.
After this skirmish fighting our forces were joined by Colquitt's
and Harrison's brigade and we marched forward at once and met the
enemy on the ever memorable battlefield of Olustee. It was not the
intention of our commanding officer, General Finnegan, to fight the
battle where it was fought. About a mile to the rear our line of
battle had been formed with a protection on one flank of Ocean Pond
and a swamp on the other. A regiment was sent forward to entice
the enemy to our line of defense; they became engaged and regiment
after regiment was sent forward to support them until the engagement
became general, resulting in a complete victory for our forces.
The battle of Olustee was fought in the open pine woods. The victory
was attributed to the courage and determination of the soldiers.
There were no special tactics or generalship displayed. It was
simply a continuous charge of the enemy to break our irregular
lines which had been formed behind logs and trees. In this strong
position our regiment of one hundred and fifty men was at the
extreme left, with a depression filled with logs in front. Here we
remained many hours resisting every attack of the enemy, who were
many times our number, to dislodge us. They were in plain view and
being above us presented a fair mark. At last under shot and shell
we rose and charged them. We had already withdrawn our skirmishers,
so we overran their skirmish line with our line of battle. They now
hastily withdrew and our victory was complete. The battle lasted
from noon until night. I think it probable that we killed and
wounded more men than we probably had in our command.
During the battle we were commanded by Capt. Henry A. Cannon of
Wayne County, Georgia. At the beginning of the battle, after all our
men were in position, I was standing within a few feet of Captain
Cannon. I whispered in his ear that it was his duty to lie down, or
protect himself behind a tree as I was doing. The enemy was charging
in front of us, and I was satisfied no one could stand before such
a fire. He refused to move, but stood with his sword drawn calling
on the men to be steady. I had hardly spoken before a ball struck
him. He staggered backward saying, "I am a dead man." With my left
arm under him I lowered him to the ground. He died at once. He was
a good officer and a brave man. We were together in the same mess.
I wrote to his wife an account of his death and sent her a small
amount of Confederate money that Captain Cannon had left with me.
The day before the battle, while riding near a great live oak tree,
he had said if he should die in battle he would like to be buried
under its branches, so he was wrapped in his military cloak and
buried there. In this battle I lost another friend, Lieutenant Dancy
of Lake City, Florida.
At that time I had but three or four men in my company. They were
tried and true soldiers and were too few to require any attention
from me. So I went into the battle with the arms of a private
soldier.
On hearing of the battle of Olustee my brother Tom returned to the
regiment, a very ghost of his former self. He was wholly unfit for
any kind of service and had to have a negro man to accompany him.
Strange as it may appear, camp life seemed to agree with him and he
soon reported for duty.
Our camp life in Florida's piny woods was varied with sham battles
between different regiments; the men used lighted pine burrs at
night as ammunition. Another entertainment was digging gophers
and often a rattlesnake out of their holes. We ate the gophers and
killed the snakes. I remember one rattler that measured over ten
feet and whose head was as broad as my hand, to stuff its skin took
a bushel of bran, and a straw was run through the hollow of its
fangs. I have never before or since seen such a serpent. It came out
of a gopher's hole to warm in the sun and its head was cut off by an
officer's sword.
The troops of both armies soon left Florida. Our regiment was
partly filled up with returning invalids and recruits. We stopped
at Savannah and were sent on Whitemarsh Island to aid in the coast
defense. There and upon Wilmington Island we performed picket
duty upon an extensive scale. For a short time we were engaged in
guarding a large number of Federal prisoners, who had been brought
from Andersonville to be turned over to the United States fleet
stationed at the mouth of the Savannah River. The United States
Government refused to exchange prisoners of war with the Confederate
States. The Confederate authorities wished to avoid feeding and
guarding so many prisoners. So several thousand were forced on
their government on the plea of sickness, although not one in ten
was really sick. These prisoners were taken down the river on flat
barges. I remember their shout of joy when they saw the Stars and
Stripes floating from the masts of the transports which waited to
receive them.
About this time General W. T. Sherman commenced his famous march
through Georgia, with nearly one hundred thousand men in his
command. There was no force to oppose them. And their course was
marked by fire and pillage. My mother's house in Milledgeville was
robbed of everything of value. My mother and sisters fled to Macon
just before this army of robbers had reached Milledgeville. All the
men that could be gathered together opposed Sherman's army as it
approached Savannah. Our regiment marched from Whitemarsh Island
and occupied a prominent position in the breastwork of defense.
General Sherman and his army confronted us and although twenty
times our number they refused to attack us, although we offered
them defiance for several days. General Sherman's tactics as a
general was exemplified here. He opposed us with an entrenched
line more than equal to ours and sent a large force to occupy
our flank, thus forcing us to retreat. Our regiment of about two
hundred and fifty men was commanded by Colonel R. A. Wayne, a cool,
fearless, officer. I was on duty as adjutant of the regiment. We
felt the hazard of our position. The rumor came along the line
that we were to be surrendered as prisoners. We were determined
to resist to the utmost. Suddenly at nightfall we evacuated our
entrenchments and crossed the Savannah River, leaving the city to
be occupied by General Sherman and his army. It was on a bitter
cold night, December 23, 1864, when we crossed the river. The scene
of our army at midnight crossing the river on the pontoon bridge
lighted by bonfires and the excitement over the evacuation are all
vividly impressed on my memory. The next morning when the sun was
barely above the horizon I looked across the wide rice fields of
Carolina, and saw the United States flag floating above the City
Hall of Savannah. The Federal army was delighted at the capture of
Savannah, especially of twenty-five thousand bales of cotton, which
were stored there. Though this was private property, it was ordered
shipped and sold for government account.
Our army when we left Savannah was under the command of General
Hardee. It contained only about eight thousand men, mostly reserves,
old men and boys. We never attempted seriously to oppose General
Sherman in his march through South Carolina. The march of that
army was a trail of fire and desolation. Their acts of vandalism
accomplished nothing except to embitter Southern people. Pillars of
smoke arising from barns and peaceful dwellings gave us notice that
Sherman's army had commenced its forward march. Our little regiment
was the rear-guard in nearly all of our march through the State. I
shall not give in detail the various scenes and incidents connected
with our marches and countermarches in front of the great Federal
army, nor shall I describe the scenes of confusion among the people.
We had less than ten thousand men of all arms, of these about five
thousand were infantry. The enemy pursuing us had more cavalry than
our entire force. We, who brought up the rear, would form in a good
position and dare this cavalry to attack us. They invariably refused
to do so. We were then forced to withdraw before their great force
of infantry could arrive to overwhelm us. Because of exhaustion and
sickness we lost probably about one-fourth of our army before we
reached Augusta. We passed below Columbia, but the main body of the
Federals took a direct line to South Carolina's capital with the
avowed purpose of its destruction.
I will now pass over the incidents of our Carolina campaign, until
we reached Cheraw on the Santee River. The enemy evidently expected
that we would give them battle here, because at this point we
had large commissary stores. But General Hardee had no idea of
attempting battle, except skirmishes. So we used every exertion to
get our army with all the supplies possible across the Santee River
and then burn the bridge.
Our little regiment, comprising less than two hundred men, was given
the dangerous duty of guarding the river until our cavalry could
retire behind us and then we were to cross the bridge ourselves.
Very soon we saw a dark line of horsemen among the trees. At first,
we supposed that they were the enemy, but they proved to be our
cavalry, about five hundred men. They came thundering down the road,
crossed the bridge, and were soon in our rear. Then in the woods
we saw a long line of infantry with their skirmishers in front
advancing slowly to attack our skirmish line. The immediate command
of our skirmishers was given to my brother, Captain Tomlinson Fort,
a calm, fearless officer. I, as adjutant, was instructed by Colonel
Wayne to ride along the line and to tell the men to fall back slowly
before the overpowering forces of the enemy. In returning to my post
beside the colonel, as was my duty, I had the narrowest escape from
death or capture that occurred to me during the entire war. I was
aware of the great danger I was incurring as I swiftly galloped
back in front of our skirmish line along the public road to rejoin
Colonel Wayne. As I emerged from the pines along the road, riding
very swiftly, suddenly I came upon two or three of the enemy's
skirmishers who had been firing at Colonel Wayne. I came into the
main road a few steps ahead of these men. I pulled up my horse and
suddenly turned to the left and at the same instant the men threw up
their guns and fired. By reason of my sudden turn I feel satisfied
that the balls all went in front of me. As I rode down the open road
a dozen or more skirmishers had some nice target practice at me,
but they did very poor shooting. A cup was cut from my haversack, I
think my hair was touched, and my horse was skipped by a ball. We
arrived at the bridge--with a large body of enemy skirmishers about
fifty yards behind us.
The bridge, a wooden-covered structure, had been saturated with
turpentine and rosin by a squad of our men who had instruction to
burn it as soon as we had crossed--I was among the last to cross.
The bridge was then smoking and burning, I remember being partly
stifled with smoke as I entered, with difficulty forcing my horse
through. The bridge burned like tinder and a few minutes after we
were across the flames were fifty feet high.
After we had marched a few hundred yards, our regiment received
orders to return to the bridge and see that it was entirely
destroyed. I never saw a better exhibition of discipline and courage
than was shown by our tired men. With no protection, and only a
narrow river separating them, they turned to face a force ten times
their number. Fortunately there was a natural entrenchment by the
river into which we filed and which fully protected us from the
enemy's fire across the river. Our situation was changed--the heavy
line of enemy skirmishers was along the open river and our men who
had been so long pursued were protected, so we had our revenge.
My brother Tomlinson, was stricken with a most acute case of
inflammatory rheumatism and had to be carried by his men, as he
did not wish to be left to fall into the hands of the enemy. After
we had crossed into North Carolina I managed to have him sent in a
wagon to Raleigh where he was taken care of by a kind lady, Mrs.
Polk, until his recovery.
I asked our commanding colonel that I be relieved from my position
as acting adjutant, and that I be assigned to command of Company
L, my brother's company. It now had no commissioned officer. My
request was complied with. Colonel R. A. Wayne called a meeting of
the officers of the regiment and proposed that on my being relieved
of my position that the thanks of the regiment be given to me. It
was agreed. The regiment was drawn up in line of battle, arms were
presented, and in the language of the order--"Thanks are returned to
Lieutenant Fort for his coolness and courage under fire." I was much
gratified at this compliment. I have the paper written in pencil by
Colonel Wayne, and have preserved it for my children so as to show
them that their father did not lose his presence of mind in times
of great danger, and that they are the children of a Confederate
soldier.
General Hardee's brigade was now joined to the army of General
Joseph E. Johnston. At Bentonville, North Carolina, Johnston
gathered together what forces he could, and fought the last great
battle of the war. It was a bloody, indecisive battle, and ought
never to have been fought. We were confronted with a force over four
times our superior in number and ten times in equipment. No valor or
strategy could overcome such immense odds.
On the evening of the last day our rifle pits on the extreme angle
in front of our main line were captured. To recapture them a
detail of ten men from each company in the brigade was made and I
was detailed to lead it. It appeared a very hazardous undertaking,
but we retook the pits with but little loss. I was the third man in
the pits. At midnight our army retreated across the river.
[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF THE COMPLIMENTARY ORDER ISSUED BY
COLONEL WAYNE]
As soon as we had a safe distance between us and the enemy, an order
came to send an officer from our division to Georgia to collect all
soldiers possible and bring them to the army. This order was given
to our regiment. Every officer except myself applied for the place.
Colonel Wayne was indignant at so many applications, and ordered me
to go. I at once made quick preparations to leave for Georgia. I
had written orders signed by the adjutant-general of General Joseph
E. Johnston's army for all authorities to forward me on my journey
with all means in their power. I was aided some by the railroads,
but I mostly depended upon walking, carrying a knapsack weighing
twenty-nine pounds. On my journey through the Carolinas and Georgia
I witnessed many scenes and incidents, some of an amusing, others
of a pathetic nature. I made a remarkably quick trip. A day or so
after I left the army a reorganization was made of our division. Our
regiment was raised to over one thousand men. Although not present
I was advanced to senior first lieutenant of the regiment. Many
officers were put back into the ranks.
While on the road I heard of the surrender of General Lee. It seemed
unbelievable, and I denied the report. I arrived in Macon two days
before its capture by General Wilson. An organization of cavalry
was hastily formed in which I was to receive an independent command
and join General N. B. Forrest in Alabama. But before this could be
accomplished in quick succession came General Johnston's surrender,
the capture of President Davis, and the death of the Confederacy.
In conclusion, Stonewall Jackson defined war as "Death." General
Sherman as "Hell." Whatever may be its definition it is always
unjustifiable, inhuman, barbarous; the cause has nothing to do with
the issue of the conflict. Success attends the side with resources
sufficient to overcome their opponents. For the last year of the
war it was the pure white flame of patriotism which alone sustained
the Confederacy,--its material resources were exhausted. No valor,
however great, could withstand the resources of the North sustained
by immigrants from Europe. The frown of civilization was upon the
institution of negro slavery and it had to go.
NOTE--At Cornelia, Georgia, on March 25, 1917, a little group
of patriotic women met to organize a Chapter of the United
Daughters of the Confederacy, and when asked to select a name
for the Chapter, the name of John P. Fort was suggested and
unanimously adopted, the ladies being anxious to show, in some
measure, their appreciation of his splendid war record and of
his loyal and unselfish devotion to this section of the State
since the War.