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[Illustration:
YOURS FRATERNALLY,
MARCUS B. TONEY,
COMPANY B, CONFEDERATE VETERANS, FIRST REGIMENT STATE GUARDS,
TENNESSEE.]
THE PRIVATIONS OF A
PRIVATE.
THE CAMPAIGN UNDER GEN. R. E. LEE; THE CAMPAIGN UNDER
GEN. STONEWALL JACKSON; BRAGG’S INVASION OF KENTUCKY;
THE CHICKAMAUGA CAMPAIGN; THE WILDERNESS
CAMPAIGN; PRISON LIFE IN THE NORTH;
THE PRIVATIONS OF A CITIZEN; THE KUKLUX
KLAN; A UNITED CITIZENSHIP;
RETROSPECTION.
BY MARCUS B. TONEY.
_SECOND EDITION, REVISED AND ENLARGED._
NASHVILLE, TENN.; DALLAS, TEX.:
PUBLISHING HOUSE OF THE M. E. CHURCH, SOUTH,
SMITH & LAMAR, AGENTS.
1907.
COPYRIGHT, 1905,
BY
~MARCUS B. TONEY~.
Dedicatory.
TO THE BOYS WHO WORE THE GRAY—1861-65—AND
BATTLED FOR THEIR CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHTS,
AND REMAINED TRUE TO THE PRINCIPLES
FOR WHICH THEY FOUGHT,
AND TO THE MASONIC FRATERNITY,
THIS VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
“THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME” 9
CHAPTER II.
CAMPAIGN UNDER GENERAL STONEWALL JACKSON 27
CHAPTER III.
THE RETURN TO TENNESSEE 35
CHAPTER IV.
BRAGG’S INVASION OF KENTUCKY 39
CHAPTER V.
THE CHICKAMAUGA CAMPAIGN 56
CHAPTER VI.
CARRY ME BACK TO OLD VIRGINIA 66
CHAPTER VII.
ON THE RAPIDAN 70
CHAPTER VIII.
THE WILDERNESS CAMPAIGN 72
CHAPTER IX.
PRISON LIFE, POINT LOOKOUT, MD. 84
CHAPTER X.
PRISON LIFE AT ELMIRA, N. Y. 93
CHAPTER XI.
THE PRIVATIONS OF A CITIZEN 123
CHAPTER XII.
A UNITED CITIZENSHIP 130
CHAPTER XIII.
RETROSPECTION 135
THE PRIVATIONS OF A PRIVATE.
CHAPTER I.
“THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME.”
The purpose of this volume is to follow the life of a Confederate
private as I lived it and saw it lived by others in the great struggle
of 1861-65. The causes leading to the Civil War are history, and need
not be enumerated here, except to say that our New England cousins
first engaged in the African slave trade, but, finding their labor not
profitable in that section, sold their slaves to the Southern people,
and a few years afterwards looked upon the institution as horrible and
the Southern people as barbarians. Their continued onslaught against it
caused the separation of the Methodist Church, and we of the Southern
branch have been known as the Methodist Episcopal Church, South. Many
of the older people of that date predicted that the agitation of the
question would lead to the secession of the Southern states, which they
thought would be done peaceably. In their fight against slavery in the
South the abolitionists vilified and abused the Southern people; their
school primers were illustrated with pictures of Southern farmers with
whip in hand chastising brutally the poor blacks. The book written
by Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe and the drama therefrom, “Uncle Tom’s
Cabin,” were a libel upon the Southern people; yet they served their
purpose in inflaming the minds of the people North and prejudicing
the South against the North. Mrs. Stowe may have visited a Southern
plantation in which, the owner being absent, the overseer may have
treated some of the slaves in a cruel manner; but this would have been
an isolated case, and not representing the Southern people as a class.
Mrs. Stowe could have said she had visited the Southern plantations
and was surprised to see such a degree of harmony as existed between
master and servant, maid and mistress, who were living as one great
family in peace and harmony; that the master and servant had grown up
boys together, that the young servant had attended his young master to
school, and that they had played together the games common to young
people of that day; and that the maid had attended the mistress from
girlhood to womanhood, and there existed a mutual confidence between
them; and there was the old black mammy who had nurtured the young
master and mistress from her breasts, nursed them in her arms, and
sang them to sleep many a night with her plaintive and sweet lullaby.
Mrs. Stowe could have gone to black mammy’s and Uncle Tom’s cabin and
said she was surprised with what neatness it was kept, and that the
table was supplied from the products of the farm and old master’s
larder, and that the black folks dressed about as well as the whites,
and that on Sunday Uncle Tom put on broadcloth and high silk hat and
was better dressed than old master. After supper Mrs. Stowe could have
seen Uncle Tom take down his banjo and play “Billy in the Low Grounds”
and “Arkansas Traveler,” while the young pickaninnies danced around
him. Mrs. Stowe could have gone up to the mistress’s room of the old
plantation, and there have seen two old-fashioned wooden cradles, one
on each side of the bed, the one containing the white the other the
black baby; not that the blacks did not have time to attend to their
offspring, but they would neglect them.
I will say here that my black mammy did not have the affection for her
children that she displayed toward me. Next to my own mother, black
mammy was as gentle to me; but with her own children I have seen her
manifest an ungovernable temper, and twice in my boyhood I have seen my
father take her children from her and say: “That child has been whipped
enough!”
Mrs. Stowe could have visited our jails and penitentiaries and wondered
why there were so few black prisoners; she could have been told that
the blacks were imprisoned for murder and arson only, that for petty
crimes the master was responsible and stood between the law and the
slave; that they were not allowed to prowl after night without a pass
from the master, or the patrol would get them; hence the slaves kept
regular hours, which was beneficial to them.
Mrs. Stowe could have said that in some Southern states she found the
whipping-post where, after being tied and their clothing stripped to
the waist, the whites and blacks were given nine and thirty lashes for
petty crimes. Of course this was severe punishment to both whites and
blacks, but in those days it was not considered more cruel than prison
walls.
Mrs. Stowe could next have visited the asylums for the insane, and
reported them full of whites, but she was struck with the absence of
the blacks. The superintendent could have said to her: “Why should we
have any slaves here? They have nothing to worry them, they are not
troubled about finance or the business affairs of the world; old master
supplies their every want, looks after all their families, clothes and
feeds them, and furnishes his own physician in case of illness.”
Surely Mrs. Stowe could have said: “In all my travels I have never
seen a race happier or better satisfied with their lot—no thought of
to-morrow, what they shall eat, drink, or wherewithal be clothed. Why
should this condition of affairs be changed?”
Let us see. In 1860 I had two homes, both occupied by my negroes,
one in what was then Edgefield, opposite Nashville, and the other
near Lynchburg, Va. All my family except the blacks had crossed over
the river, and I decided to move the Lynchburg family to Edgefield,
Tenn., arriving during the heated campaign in 1860 which elected Mr.
Lincoln President. Whether or not his election was a _casus belli_,
I do not know, but I do know that the abolitionists of the North had
so outraged the feelings of the Southern people that we felt we did
not want any further affiliation with them. It is true that many of
our old people who had been reared under the shadow of the Hermitage
counseled against secession, and hoped that some compromise would be
effected and the Union preserved; but the secession of South Carolina
and the firing on Fort Sumter banished all their hopes, and war was
inevitable, especially after President Lincoln called for 75,000 and
then 300,000 troops to coerce the Southern states, as under our idea
of state rights at that time each state should have been allowed to
depart in peace; but such was not the case. The old Volunteer State was
expected to do her duty, and the Governor’s call met a hearty response,
and the enlisting began in April, 1861. The young ladies were as
enthusiastic as the young men; and if they found a fellow lukewarm, he
was threatened with a petticoat and was not allowed to hang up his hat
in their father’s hall.
I thought Virginia was to be the theater of war for probably six or
eight weeks. We would have a battle in which one Southern man would
whip five Yankees with cornstalks, England would intervene, peace would
be declared, and we should return home finding all our servants smiling
at our home-coming. Vain thought! Four years and three months I was
absent, and found no home on my return. The slaves were all free, but
morally and financially in a much worse state than when I left them.
Oh, if we could have had a Roosevelt across the water! But all the
nations stood aloof and said, “Sick ’em, and may the heaviest guns and
largest forces win!” There was too much revenue in war for some people
to want it stopped.
I thought the first regiment enrolled would reach the seat of war
early; and as the Rock City Guards, A, B, and C, were organized before
the war, I enlisted in Company B, in which there were one hundred and
four members, commanded by Captain James B. Craighead. We drilled in
Edgefield and on the Square from April 15 to May 10, 1861, when we were
mustered into the regiment, containing nearly one thousand men. Our
line extended across the Square. We elected as Colonel George Maney.
We were sent for a few days to Camp Harris (named for Governor Isham
G. Harris), on Elk River, near Estill Springs. While many of the young
men of the South were adepts in the use of arms, we were novices as to
cooking and washing. We knew that water and flour mixed made batter,
and we knew that meat when fried made gravy; so with this much of the
art acquired, we had fried dough, or what the boys called flapjacks. As
to the washing—well, let that pass.
Instead of leaving Camp Harris for Virginia, we were returned to Camp
Cheatham, where we were put through camp life and two daily drills.
While here the young ladies from the Nashville Academy of Dr. Elliott
presented us with a regimental flag by Miss Foster. Many cases of
measles, and many fatal, took place at the camp, and the doleful
dirge of the dead march often touched our hearts. We remained at Camp
Cheatham nearly six weeks, all chafing under the delay and fearing
the war would be over before we reached Virginia. We made one trip
as a regiment to Goodlettsville, June 22, to vote Tennessee out of
the Union. Soon thereafter we folded our tents and took the train for
Nashville, where we stopped a few hours and bivouacked on the lawn in
front of the Nashville Academy, where some three hundred young ladies
of the city gave us a luncheon and assembled to say good-by.
I will say right here that nothing shall be written by me that will
encourage young men to go to war. I would rather discourage, because
nothing in it tends to elevate the young. Separate men from home
influences and from the refining contact of female society, and they
degenerate very rapidly. I don’t suppose ten per cent. of the young
men who go to war maintain their integrity. This is my opinion after
careful study. I will say further that we left Nashville with as good a
lot of boys as ever went to the front.
After luncheon we fell in and marched to the N. and C. depot to the
tune of “The Girl I Left Behind Me.” I was too young to be leaving a
girl behind me; so I marched out with light step and joyous heart,
not dreaming of the shock of battle, the roar of cannon, the hissing
of bullets, and the groans of the wounded and dying. I looked to the
right as we were passing the girls, and saw tears gathering in many
eyes, for from the intuition of womanhood they knew that war meant
death and destruction, and that many of the boys going to the front
would fill soldiers’ graves; and such was the case, for Company B lost
seventy-one—only thirty-two reached home alive. It was only a short
march to the N. and C. depot; in those days the N. and C. was spelled
with small letters; now it is Nashville, Chattanooga, and St. Louis
Railway. In those days we had small engines, after the pattern of the
“General,” with wood-burner furnace and big smokestack; we had ten box
cars of 16,000 pounds capacity, and our speed was some fifteen miles
an hour; now we have engines, as 251, 252, of nearly ninety tons, and
developing a speed of sixty miles an hour with ten cars, including the
coaches and Pullman sleepers.
In those days the N. and C. Railway track was on stringers instead of
cross ties. The rails were laid on these stringers, and were flat like
bar iron, and were nailed to the stringers, as they were too thin to
use spikes. Sometimes the nails would draw out, and the end of a rail
fly up, tearing up coaches. In those days the box cars were small,
and 16,000 pounds was the maximum. Into these box cars we climbed and
stood as thick as pins in a pincushion. When a fellow got tired of
standing, he could climb to the top of the car, lie flat like a lizard,
and hold on to the running board. About every fifteen miles we had to
wood and water, and in order to rest themselves many of the boys would
crawl down and spread out on the ground. In those days the passenger
coaches were small, with little panes of glass; and in order to see
out, one would have to raise the window. The N. and C. had one train
from Atlanta to Nashville called the “owl train”—_out owl night_—left
Nashville at 8 A.M., and arrived in Atlanta next morning at eight
o’clock.
We reached Knoxville in two days, and much to our surprise went into
camp just north of the railroad track and in quite thick woods.
Knoxville was a small town in 1861, and had no houses north of the
railroad. Now she has nearly a city north of the railroad, and she has
crowded herself across the Tennessee River. It was while here that
we heard that up in Parson Brownlow’s home was a United States flag
unfurled to the breeze, and some daring soldier said it should not
flaunt, and went up to take it down; but Miss Brownlow, with pistol in
hand, said: “The man that touches that flag will die!” Of course the
Southern soldier did not die, as he had too much respect for the lady
to disturb her flag. Miss Brownlow afterwards married my friend H. M.
Aiken, and I had the pleasure of meeting her a few years ago, but said
to her that I was not the soldier that went after the flag.
After a few days in Knoxville we boarded the train and went as far
as Johnson City, where again we went into camp. Why those continuous
delays I have never been able to find out, and my readers can imagine
how we chafed under the delay, as the armies were gathering around
Manassas for battle. We fussed and fumed for a few days, when the rush
order came to run with all speed to Manassas. We sped the best we
could; but when we reached Lynchburg, Va., the battle had been fought
and won, many of the wounded had been brought to Lynchburg, and this
was our first sight of the bloody war. The first wounded man I saw
was Hon. H. A. Edmondson, of Roanoke, Va., who was a brother of John
K. Edmondson, before the war sheriff of Davidson county, Tenn. Having
nothing to do, we were held at Lynchburg, the City of Hills; and as we
bivouacked near Black Water Creek on a steep hill, we had no use for
a pillow, but if a soldier got crossways the hill he had a chance of
rolling into the creek, far below.
While our troops had such success at Manassas, General Garnett had
been killed at Rich Mountain. General Lee had been appointed to
command the Department of West Virginia, and hitherward we were
ordered; so we boarded the train for Millboro, Va., and stopped a few
days at Staunton, where we met many of General Garnett’s soldiers,
and they were in a bad plight, many of them without shoes and with
stone bruises on their heels. In a few days we were on the train for
Millboro, where we disembarked after some eight hours’ ride. Our
destination was Cheat Mountain, some eighty miles from the railroad.
[Illustration: PRIVATE HENRY H. COOK.]
This was our first march fully equipped. Besides our gun, knapsack,
haversack, and cartridge box, nearly all our boys had on one side a
six-shooter Colt’s revolver buckled around them, and on the other side
was a large Damascus blade (made at a blacksmith’s shop). This too
had a scabbard and belt. The accompanying picture of Private Henry H.
Cook, of Franklin, Tenn., will give my readers a full knowledge of the
uniform and accouterments, as Henry (now Judge Cook) had it taken just
before leaving home, and his Company (D, Williamson Grays) was next
to mine on the march. In Henry Cook’s hand can be seen a small book.
This is the pocket edition of the New Testament, which, when through
with the picture, he placed in his knapsack. Each one of us was given
a New Testament by our chaplain, Dr. Quintard, and on the fly leaf was
written: “God is our sun and shield.” We thought that “thrice armed is
he who is armed with the word of truth.”
From Millboro to Warm Springs, the first day’s march, was fifteen
miles, twelve of which were a gradual ascent. After we had trudged
along some five miles in a sweltering August sun, I tried to give my
six-shooter away, but could not find any one to accept it, and over
in the bushes I threw it. I then unbuckled my Damascus blade, made
an offer of that, but was likewise refused, and it was thrown into
the bushes. I then tried to give away a blanket, but no one would
accept, so away it went. I thought, probably, the war would end before
the winter. By the time we reached the summit of the mountain nearly
all the men in the regiment had disposed of their extra appendages
by leaving them in the bushes. Looking down from the crest of the
mountain, we could see in the valley, three miles distant, the hotels
and cottages of Warm Springs. The descent to the springs was easy
compared with the struggle up. Reaching the springs, we found a large
bathing pool into which, from an iron pipe, the apparently cool water
was gushing. Our men being thirsty, they crowded around the springs,
and the first one to get a drink yelled out: “It is as hot as h—ll!”
Of course the water was not cool, for it was one of the warm springs,
known for its curative properties. Near by, however, was a spring so
cold that one of the men said that it had ice in it. The next day
we marched toward Valley Mountain, and in the evening heard immense
cheering in our rear, the sound gradually coming toward the front;
and looking around, we saw the cause. Sitting on “Traveler,” clad in
fatigue cap and jacket, and polished sword dangling from his side,
with cap in hand as we gave a rousing cheer, rode General R. E. Lee,
the pride of the Confederate army. At that time General Lee did not
wear any chin whiskers; he had a large, dark mustache sprinkled with
a little gray. He was the very picture of a magnificent general and
horseman.
The third day from the Springs we pitched our tents near Valley
Mountain, and then came the rain every day for some ten days, putting
the roads in very bad condition. We were nearly sixty miles from the
railroad, and a two-horse wagon could haul only some four barrels of
flour, so with an army of about ten thousand men to feed it was a
difficult problem. Our rations consisted of two small biscuits for
breakfast and a like amount for supper. However, the country afforded
some cattle as fine as I ever saw. They were very fat; and if we did
not get enough bread and beef, we filled up on tallow. We had also some
fine blackberries, which were as large as if they had been cultivated.
One day I denied myself the usual two biscuits for breakfast, saved the
dough, and had blackberry pies without any sugar for dinner.
We had not been in Valley Mountain very long till one night after
nine o’clock taps the long roll sounded and we sprang to arms and took
up our march toward Mingo Flats. The night was as black as Egyptian
darkness. We crossed ravines and waded streams; and finally toward
daylight, wet and weary, my regiment halted near an old stable. It
would accommodate only a few, and the rest of us made a bed in the long
dewy grass and got a few hours’ sleep. The long roll seemed to be a
false alarm, and after daylight we marched back to camp very tired and
hungry, and without seeing a bluecoat.
One day I had been on picket duty near Mingo Flats, and on my return to
camp in the evening I passed near General Lee’s headquarters. There was
a spring near by where I knelt to drink. General Lee hailed me: “Don’t
drink out of that spring; my horse uses it. Come and drink out of this
spring near my tent.” Out of deference to the General’s request, I went
up and drank of the spring; and as I passed him sitting on a camp stool
I threw my hand to gun, palm extended, which is a private’s salute to
a general. General Lee returned it with the salute of the hand from
the brow, which is a general’s salute to a private. I mention this
incident to show General Lee’s regard for the private soldier. It made
no difference to him whether a man wore the stripes of a private or the
insignia of a major general: he had respect for the one and respect and
consideration for the other.
Twenty miles from Valley Mountain was a road running from Beverly,
Va., on the Baltimore and Ohio, to Staunton, crossing Cheat Mountain
at a place on the mountain called Cheat Pass. It was General Lee’s
object of this expedition to dislodge and destroy the enemy at this
place. The fort at the pass was garrisoned by some three thousand
men, while at Beverly they had some eight thousand men. Besides the
fortifications on the mountain, the enemy had felled large trees
outward from the fort and trimmed off the limbs and sharpened the many
ends, so with a gun and knapsack and without an enemy in sight it
would not be an easy matter to crawl through these obstructions to the
fort. The plan of the attack was for General Rusk with his Arkansas
brigade to cross Greenbrier River, which flowed near the base of the
mountain, and assault the fort in front, while General Lee’s troops
should take it in the rear. September 12, 1861, at 9 A.M. was the
hour, and the guns from General Rusk’s brigade were to be the signal
for our moving. We left Valley Mountain on the morning of September
10, with three days’ (scant) rations. We marched on the valley road
a while, and then commenced the ascent of Cheat Mountain. Our force
for this expedition consisted of the First, Seventh, and Fourteenth
Tennessee Regiments commanded respectively by Colonels Maney, Hatton,
and Forbes, with General S. R. Anderson as brigadier. The other troops,
commanded by Generals Donelson and Loring, moved down the valley road
near the base of the mountain. My brigade was to get in the rear of the
fortifications and cut off any reenforcements that might come. When
we reached the crest of Cheat Mountain I saw the roughest and wildest
country that I ever beheld, and we were to traverse it for twenty
miles. The mountain was cut up into peaks and crags. Of course we had
to march in single file, and our brigade stretched out some three
miles. General Lee and our commanders were in advance, and any command
from them was passed back from the front man to the next in the rear,
and so to the end of the line. We received and passed back many a time:
“Keep quiet, keep well closed up.” It was impossible to keep closed up;
sometimes my leader would be thirty feet ahead of me, while I would be
struggling over a huge bowlder or trying to crawl up the mountain by
the aid of a sapling. The night of September 11 we bivouacked on top
of the mountain only a few miles from the enemy’s fortifications. It
was about the roughest place I ever saw, and on account of the many
rocks it was difficult to find a place for a spread. My comrade, George
Keeling, was a delicate young man, and I carried his blanket, and after
scraping off a lot of stones I spread George’s blanket down, and we
bunked together, covering with my blanket. Soon after we had retired
it commenced to rain, and all night we had a continuous downpour. We
not only got thoroughly wet, but our rations of biscuits washed into
dough. Next morning I had a hard time carrying two wet blankets. We
were in line early, and took up our march, and soon formed in line of
battle on the Huttonville road, not far from the fortifications. In
marching single file to the road, a bridle path crossed our line, and
up this path, riding a magnificent horse, came a lieutenant of the
Federal army. He appeared in a deep study, and came near riding into
our line. We commanded “Halt”; and he looked up and said, “Did you
men come from the clouds?” He was Lieutenant Merrill, of the Engineer
Corps. He was en route to the fort, but he was our prisoner. While we
were in line on the road General Lee received a message from General
Rusk saying: “Greenbrier River is at flood height; could not cross.” We
then received orders to return to camp, but before we moved the enemy
fired into us from ambuscade, killing three and wounding eight of our
regiment. We had no litters with us, and had to carry the wounded down
the steep mountain side in blankets, four men to a blanket; and a new
detail had to be made very often, as a man’s fingers would cramp, and
we would put the poor soldier down on the ground and change hands. On
reaching the valley we had to carry the wounded some distance before
we reached a farmhouse, and there we had to leave them and return to
Valley Mountain, after falling in line several times on report that the
enemy was following us. When we reached the camp at Valley Mountain we
were in a bad plight, very hungry, and many of us barefoot. I was not
quite barefoot, as I had one foot shod, the other bare. This campaign
developed much measles and typhoid fever, and we filled the hotels at
Warm Springs. Miss Jane Thomas and Miss Lavinia Taylor came out from
Nashville to nurse the sick, and our boys ever remembered their kind
ministrations.
General Rosecrans had commenced to invade Virginia via Charleston,
and we received orders to meet his advance. On September 25, 1861, we
took up our line of march for Big Sewell Mountain, some one hundred
miles distant, and we made good mileage considering the downpour of
rain we passed through. We reached Big Sewell Mountain September 30,
and could plainly see the tents of General Rosecrans’s army. On the
night of October 3 we received orders to have our guns cleaned and in
shape for the following morning; so we were up at half past three on
the morning of October 4, and were ready to meet the enemy, as our
information was that they were to attack us in the early morning;
but we were disappointed. Upon looking over where the tents were the
previous evening, we saw nothing of them. General Rosecrans had fallen
back in the direction of Charleston. We started after him, but the road
was in such a bad condition that we had to return to our camp in an old
field on Big Sewell Mountain. We moved off the mountain October 11, and
remained near by till October 22; we were then ordered to Huntersville,
Va., where we remained till November 19, when we moved our camp on the
Monterey road. As the weather was getting quite cold, it was decided to
build winter quarters, and each mess vied with the others as to which
could build the best cabin. But there were to be no winter quarters
for us. Before the quarters were all completed we received orders to
join General Stonewall Jackson at Winchester, Va., about two hundred
and seventy-five miles distant; so on December 11 we took up our march
at 10 A.M., and we moved to Gatewood, ten miles distant. We passed
Warm Springs on the morning of the 13th, and on to Harrisonburg in a
few days, and we were in the beautiful Shenandoah. On this march we
had reveille before daylight, and soon after sunup we had eaten our
breakfast, put a couple of biscuits in our haversack for dinner, and
we would get into camp before sundown and soon have our supper. The
First Tennessee Regiment had a splendid band, and as we marched through
the beautiful towns of Bridgewater, Newmarket, etc., we would line up,
get in step, and have “music by the band”; and the ladies would come
out of the residences, lean on the front gates, and cheer us on our
way. We reached the quaint old German town of Strasburg on Christmas
Day; and if there was any whisky or eggnog left in that town, I did not
know it. Between Strasburg and Winchester we saw many locomotives being
hauled along the turnpike. General Jackson had captured them from the
Baltimore and Ohio Railway at Martinsville. On December 26 we went into
camp near Winchester on the Romney road.