A UNIONIST FROM THE REBEL ARMY--HIS TESTIMONY--SOUTHERN
HOSPITALS--PATRIOTISM--FEMALE RECRUITING--CRINOLINE--"SWEET LITTLE
MAN"--CONFEDERATE SYSTEM--NORTH AND SOUTH CONTRASTED--REBEL
IMPRESSMENT--BROTHERS' CRUELTY--DYING FOR THE UNION--FATE OF A
TENNESSEE PATRIOT--ON THE MISSISSIPPI--INVISIBLE ATTRACTION--AN
IMPORTANT QUESTION--MORAL SUBLIMITY--CONTRABAND'S JUBILEE.
At one of the hospitals near Vicksburg I met a man who had served a year
in the Confederate army, having been conscripted by the rebels, and
remained that length of time before he found an opportunity to escape.
He was an educated, and highly intelligent young man, and it was deeply
interesting to listen to his account of the Southern side of this
rebellion. He told me that the Southern people, and especially the ladies,
were much more patriotic than the people of the North.
After a battle, the citizens, both men and women, come with one accord to
assist in taking care of the wounded; bringing with them, gratuitously,
every article of comfort and convenience that their means will admit, and
their patriotism suggest.
Farmers come to the hospitals with loads of provisions, and the women
come with fruits, wines, jellies, etc., and cheerfully submit to the
hardships and fatigue of hospital labor without the slightest
remuneration. Said he: "The women down South are the best recruiting
officers--for they absolutely refuse to tolerate, or admit to their
society, any young man who refuses to enlist; and very often send their
lovers, who have not enlisted, skirts and crinoline, with a note attached,
suggesting the appropriateness of such a costume unless they donned the
Confederate uniform at once."
I have often thought of this trait of the Southern ladies' character, and
contrasted it with the flattering receptions so lavishly bestowed upon our
able-bodied "home guards," by the New-England fair ones who profess to
love the old flag and despise its enemies. And I have wondered if an
extensive donation of "crinoline" would not be more effectual in filling
up our ranks, than graceful bows and bewitching smiles. And I would mildly
suggest that each package of crinoline be accompanied by the following
appropriate lines:
Now, while our soldiers are fighting our battles,
Each at his post to do all that he can,
Down among rebels and contraband chattels,
What are _you_ doing, my sweet little man?
All the brave boys under canvas are sleeping,
All of them pressing to march with the van,
Far from their homes where their sweethearts are weeping;
What are _you_ waiting for, sweet little man?
You, with the terrible warlike mustaches,
Fit for a colonel or chief of a clan,
You with the waist made for sword-belts and sashes,
Where are your shoulder-straps, sweet little man?
We send you the buttonless garments of woman!
Cover your face lest it freckle or tan;
Muster the apron-string guards on the common--
That is the corps for the sweet little man.
All the fair maidens about him shall cluster,
Pluck the white feathers from bonnet and fan,
Make him a plume like a turkey-wing duster--
That is the crest for the sweet little man.
Give him for escort a file of young misses,
Each of them armed with a deadly rattan,
They shall defend him from laughter and hisses
Aimed by low boys at the sweet little man.
And now, while I am contrasting the conduct of the North and South, I may
as well give another testimony in favor of the confederate system.
The following testimony comes from one who has served in the rebel army in
the capacity of surgeon. He says: "The confederate military authorities
have complete control of the press, so that nothing is ever allowed to
appear in print which can in any way give information to the North or
prove a clue to Southern movements. In this it appears to me that they
have an unspeakable advantage over the North, with its numberless papers
and hundreds of correspondents in the loyal army. With what the
correspondents tell and surmise, and what the Confederates find out
through spies and informers of various kinds, they are able to see through
many of the plans of the Union forces before they are put into execution.
No more common remark did I hear than this as officers were reading the
Northern papers: 'See what d--d fools those Yankees are. General A---- has
left B---- for C----. We will cut him off. Why the Northern generals or
the Secretary of War tolerate this freedom of news we cannot imagine.'"
And he further adds: "Every daily paper I have read since I came North has
contained information, either by direct statement or implication, by which
the enemy can profit. If we meant to play into the hands of the rebels, we
could hardly do it more successfully than our papers are doing it daily.
Sure am I that if a Southern paper contained such information of their
movements as do the Northern of ours, the editor's neck would not be safe
an hour. But some will say: 'We often see information quoted from the
Southern papers of their movements.' Never, until the movement has been
carried out. It is always safe to conclude, if you see in a Southern paper
any statement with regard to the movement of troops, or that the army is
about to do a certain thing, that it will not be done, but something
different."
Freedom of opinion and of the press is certainly a precious boon, but when
it endangers the lives of our soldiers and frustrates the plans of our
Government, surely it is time to adopt measures to control it, just as
much as it is necessary to arrest the spies who come within our lines.
Another relates the following touching incident of the Southern style of
increasing their army, and punishing offenders: "When the rebels were
raising a force in Eastern Tennessee, two brothers by the name of Rowland
volunteered. A younger brother was a Union man, and refusing to enlist,
was seized and forced into the army. He constantly protested against his
impressment, but without avail. He then warned them that he would desert
the first opportunity, as he would not fight against the cause of right
and good government. They were inexorable, and he was torn from his family
and hurried to the field. At the battle of Fort Donaldson, Rowland escaped
from the rebels in the second day's fight, and immediately joined the
loyal army. Though now to fight against his own brothers, he felt that he
was in a righteous cause, and contending for a worthy end. In the battle
of Pittsburg Landing he was taken prisoner by the very regiment to which
he had formerly belonged. This sealed his fate. On his way to Corinth
several of his old comrades, among them his two brothers, attempted to
kill him, one of them nearly running him through with a bayonet. He was,
however, rescued by the guard, and brought to camp. Three days after the
retreating army had reached Corinth, General Hardee, in whose division was
the regiment claiming this man as a deserter, gave orders to have Rowland
executed. About four o'clock in the afternoon, the same day, some ten
thousand Tennessee troops were drawn up in two parallel lines, facing
inward, three hundred yards apart. The doomed man, surrounded by the
guard, detailed from his own regiment to shoot him, marched with a firm
step into the middle of the space between the two lines of troops. Here
his grave was already dug, and a black pine coffin lay beside it. No
minister of religion offered to direct his thoughts to a gracious Saviour.
The sentence was read, and he was asked if he had anything to say why it
should not be executed. He spoke in a firm, decided tone, in a voice which
could be heard by many hundreds, and nearly in the following words:
'Fellow-soldiers, Tennesseeans--I was forced into Southern service against
my will, and against my conscience. I told them I would desert the first
opportunity I found, and I did it. I was always a Union man, and never
denied it; and I joined the Union army to do all the damage I could to the
Confederates. I believe the Union cause is right, and will triumph. They
can kill me but once, and I am not afraid to die in a good cause. My only
request is, that you let my wife and family know that I died in supporting
my principles. My brothers there would shoot me if they had a chance, but
I forgive them. Now shoot me through the heart, that I may die instantly.'
"After Rowland had ceased to speak, he took off hat, coat and neck-tie,
and laying his hand on his heart, he said, "Aim here." The sergeant of
the guard advanced to tie his hands and blindfold him. He asked the
privilege of standing untied, but the request was not granted. His eyes
were bandaged, he knelt upon his coffin and engaged in prayer for several
minutes, and then said he was ready. The lieutenant of the guard then gave
the word, 'Fire!' and twenty-four muskets were discharged. When the smoke
lifted, the body had fallen backward, and was still. Several bullets had
passed through his head, and some through his heart. His body was tumbled
into the rough pine box, and was buried by the men who shot him."
Such was the fate of a Tennessee patriot, who was not afraid to declare
his love for the Union, and his faith in its final triumph, in the very
presence of some of the leading traitors, and of thousands of his
rebellious countrymen, a moment, before sealing his patriotism with his
blood.
On board of a transport, on the Mississippi river, as we glided toward our
destination, I sat quietly listening to the variety of topics which was
being discussed around me, until a peculiarly sweet voice caused me to
turn and look in the direction from whence it proceeded.
Reader, has your heart ever been taken by storm, in consequence of the
mere intonations of a voice--ere you beheld the individual who gave them
utterance? On this occasion, I turned and saw "one of God's images cut in
ebony." Time had wrinkled his face, and the frosts of four-score winters
had whitened his woolly locks, palsied his limbs, and dimmed his vision.
He had been a slave all his life, and now, at the eleventh hour, when "the
silver cord was almost loosed, and the golden bowl well nigh broken," he
was liberated from bondage, and was rejoicing in freedom from slavery, and
in that freedom wherewith Christ makes His children free.
By some invisible attraction, a large crowd gathered around this old,
decrepid slave, and every eye was fixed upon his sable withered face, as
he gave a brief and touching history of his slave life.
When he had finished, the soldiers eagerly began to ask questions--but
suddenly the old colored man turned querist, and raising himself up, and
leaning forward toward the crowd, he asked, in a voice strangely thrilling
and solemn, "Are any of you soldiers of the Lord Jesus Christ?"
One looked at another with evident embarrassment; but at length some one
stammered out--"We don't know exactly; that is a hard question, Uncle."
"Oh no," said he, "dat is not a hard question--if you be soldiers of
Christ you _know_ it, you must know it; de Lord does not do His work so
poorly dat His people don't know when it's done. Now jes' let me say a
word more: Dear soldiers--before eber you lebe dis boat--before eber you
go into anoder battle--enlist for Jesus; become soldiers ob de blessed
Redeemer, and you are safe; safe when de battle rages, safe when de chills
ob death come, safe when de world's on fire."
One of the men, desirous of changing the conversation, said: "Uncle, are
you blind?" He replied: "Oh no, bless de Lord, I am not blind to de tings
ob de spirit. I see by an eye ob faith my blessed Saviour sitting at de
right hand ob God, and I'll soon see Him more clearly, for Jesus loves dis
old blind darkie, and will soon take him home."
Now, when we talk of moral sublimity we are apt to point to Alexander
conquering the world, to Hannibal surmounting the Alps, to Caesar crossing
the Rubicon, or to Lawrence wrapping himself in the American flag and
crying "Don't give up the ship!" But in my opinion here was a specimen of
moral sublimity equal to anything that ever graced the pages of history or
was ever exhibited upon a battle-field--a poor old, blind, palsied slave,
resting upon the "Rock of Ages," while the waves of affliction dashed like
mountains at his feet; yet, looking up to heaven, and trusting in the
great and precious promises, he gave glory to God, and triumphed over pain
and disease, rejoicing even in tribulation.
While the old slave was talking to the soldiers a number of young darkies
came forward, and when the conversation ceased they all struck up the
following piece, and sang it with good effect:
Oh, praise an' tanks! De Lord he come
To set de people free;
An' massa tink it day ob doom,
An' we ob jubilee.
De Lord dat heap de Red Sea waves,
He jes' as strong as den;
He say de word--we las' night slaves,
To-day de Lord's free men.
CHORUS--De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
We'll hab de rice an' corn,
O nebber you fear if nebber you hear
De driber blow his horn.
Ole massa on his trabbles gone
He lebe de land behind;
De Lord's breff blow him furder on,
Like corn-shuck in de wind.
We own de hoe, we own de plow,
We own de hands dat hold;
We sell de pig, we sell de cow,
But neber chile be sold.
CHORUS--De yam will grow, etc.
We know de promise nebber fail,
An' nebber lie de Word;
So, like de 'postles in de jail,
We waited for de Lord.
An' now He open ebery door,
An' trow away de key,
He tink we lub Him so before,
We lub Him better free.
CHORUS--De yam will grow, etc.
Then a collection was taken up among the soldiers and presented to the old
blind colored man, who wept with delight as he received it, for said
he--"I hab no home, no money, an' no friend, but de Lord Jesus."