Produced by David Widger
UNCLE DANIEL'S STORY
OF “TOM” ANDERSON
And
Twenty Great Battles.
By John McElroy
1886.
“UNCLE DANIEL” IS PRESENTED TO THE PUBLIC. A TRUTHFUL
PICTURE, IN STORY, BASED UPON EVENTS OF THE LATE WAR. THIS
VOLUME IS DEDICATED TO THE UNION SOLDIERS AND THEIR
CHILDREN.
The Author
New York, Jan. 1st, 1886.
UNCLE DANIEL'S STORY.
CHAPTER I.
DARK DAYS OF 1861.--A FATHER WHO GAVE HIS CHILDREN TO THE
COUNTRY.--RALLYING TO THE FLAG.--RAISING VOLUNTEERS IN
SOUTHERN INDIANA.
“The more solitary, the more friendless, the more
unsustained I am, the more I will respect and rely upon
myself.”--Charlotte Bronte
ALLENTOWN is a beautiful little city of 10,000 inhabitants, situated on
the Wabash River, in Vigo County, Ind., in the vicinity of which several
railroads now center. It is noted for its elevated position, general
healthfulness, and for its beautiful residences and cultivated society.
Daniel Lyon located here in 1850. He was a man of marked ability
and undoubted integrity; was six feet two inches in height, well
proportioned, and of very commanding and martial appearance. In 1861,
he was surrounded by a large family, seven grown sons--James, David,
Jackson, Peter, Stephen, Henry and Harvey--all of whom were well
educated, fond of field sports and inclined to a military life. The
mother, “Aunt Sarah,” as she was commonly called by the neighbors, was
a charming, motherly, Christian woman, whose heart and soul seemed to be
wrapped up in the welfare of her family. She was of short, thick build,
but rather handsome, with dark brown hair and large blue eyes, gentle
and kind. Her politeness and generosity were proverbial. She thought
each of her seven sons a model man; her loving remarks about them were
noticeable by all.
Daniel Lyon is at present 85 years old, and lives with one of his
granddaughters--Jennie Lyon--now married to a man by the name of James
Wilson, in Oakland, Ind., a small town conspicuous only for its rare
educational facilities.
[Illustration: Uncle Daniel telling his Story 017]
On the evening of the 22d of February, 1884, a number of the neighbors,
among whom was Col. Daniel Bush, a gallant and fearless officer of
the Union side during the late war, and Dr. Adams, President of ------
College, dropped in to see Uncle Daniel, as he is now familiarly called.
During the evening, Col. Bush, turning to the old veteran, said:
“'Uncle Daniel,' give us a story from some of your experiences during
the war.”
The old man arose from his easy-chair and stood erect, his hair, as
white as snow, falling in profusion over his shoulders. His eyes, though
dimmed by age, blazed forth in youthful brightness; his frame shook with
excitement, his lips quivered, and tears rolled down the furrows of his
sunken cheeks. All were silent. He waved his hand to the friends to be
seated; then, drawing his big chair to the centre of the group, he sat
down. After a few moments' pause he spoke, in a voice tremulous with
emotion:
“My experience was vast. I was through the whole of the war. I saw much.
My story is a true one, but very sad. As you see, my home is a desolate
waste. My family consists now of only two grand-children; wife and sons
are all gone. I am all that is now left of my once happy family. My God!
My God! Why should I have been required to bear this great burden? But
pardon this weakness in an old man. I will now begin my story.
“In the month of ------, 1861, my nephew, 'Tom' Anderson,--I called the
boy Tom, as I learned to do so many years before, while visiting at his
father's; he was the son of my eldest sister,--his wife, Mary, and their
only child, a beautiful little girl of two years (called Mary, for her
mother), were visiting at my house. Their home was in Jackson, Miss. One
evening my good wife, Tom, his wife, my son Peter, and I were sitting on
our front porch discussing the situation, when we heard a great noise a
couple of blocks south of us. The young men stepped out to see what the
trouble was and in a very short time they returned greatly excited. A
company of men were marching down the street bearing the American flag,
when a number of rebel sympathizers had assaulted them with stones,
clubs, etc., and had taken their flag and torn it to shreds. It seemed
that a Mr. 'Dan' Bowen, a prominent man in that part of the State, had
been haranguing the people on the question of the war, and had denounced
it as 'an infamous Abolition crusade,' and the President as a
villainous tyrant,' and those who were standing by the Union as
'Lincoln's hirelings, and dogs with collars around their necks.' This
language stirred up the blood of the worst element of the people,
who sympathised with secession, and had it not been for the timely
interposition of many good and worthy citizens, blood would have been
shed upon the streets.”
Here Col. Bush asked:
“What became of this man Bowen?”
“I understand that he now occupies one of the highest positions the
people of Indiana can give to one of her citizens. You see, my friends,
that we American people are going so fast that we pass by everything and
forget almost in a day the wrongs to our citizens and our country.”
“But to return to what I was saying in connection with the young men.
Tom Anderson was in a state of great excitement. He said he had almost
been mobbed before leaving home for entertaining Union sentiments, and
feared that he could not safely return with his family. My son Peter
suggested that, perhaps, they (being young) owed a duty to their country
and could not perform it in a more satisfactory manner than to enter the
service and do battle for the old flag. To this suggestion no reply was
made at the time. I said to them:
“'This seems to me a very strange condition of things, to see a
Government like this threatened in its permanency by the very people
that have controlled and profited most by it.' Tom replied:
“'Uncle, I have given a great deal of thought to this subject. You know
I was born in Ohio. My father was an Episcopal minister, and settled in
Mississippi while I was but a boy. My father and mother are both buried
there, leaving me an only child. I grew up and there married my good
wife, Mary Whitthorne. We have lived happily together. I have had a good
practice at the law; have tried to reconcile myself to their theories of
human rights and 'rope-of-sand' government, but cannot. They are very
_different_ from our Northern people--have _different_ theories of
government and morals, with _different_ habits of thought and action.
The Pilgrim Fathers of the North who landed at Plymouth Rock were men of
independence of thought; believed in Christianity, in education and
universal liberty. They and their progeny have moved almost on a line
due west, to the Pacific Ocean, infusing their energy, their ideas of
government, of civil liberty, of an advanced Christian civilization,
with a belief in man's equality before the law. These ideas and thoughts
have become imbedded in the minds of the Northern people so firmly that
they will fight to maintain them; will make them temporarily a success,
and would make them permanent but for their habit of moving so rapidly
in the direction of business and the accumulation of wealth, which
prepares the mind to surrender everything to the accomplishment of this
single object. The Southern inhabitants are almost entirely descended
from impetuous, hot-blooded people. Their ancestors that landed at
Jamestown, and later along the Southern Atlantic coast within our
borders, were of an adventurous and warlike people. Their descendants
have driven westward almost on a parallel line with the Northern people
to the borders of Mexico, occasionally lapping over the Northern line.
Their thoughts, ideas, manners and customs have been impressed upon the
people wherever they have gone, by the pretense, always foremost and
uppermost, as if a verity, that they were the most hospitable and
chivalric of any people in America. Their civilization was different.
Their arguments were enforced by the pistol and bowie-knife upon their
equals, and slaves subjected to their will by the lash and
bloodhound--the death of a man, white or black, being considered no more
than merely a reduction of one in the enumeration of population. They
have opposed common schools for fear the poorer classes of whites might
have an opportunity of contesting at some time the honors of office,
that being the great ambition of Southern society. They would not allow
the slave to be educated for fear he might learn that he was a man,
having rights above the brute with which he has always been held on a
par. The aristocracy only were educated. And this was generally done in
the North, where the facilities were good; and by sending them from home
it kept down the envy and ambition of the poorer classes, where, if they
could have seen the opportunity of acquiring knowledge it might have
stimulated them to greater exertion for the purpose of storing their
minds with something useful in extricating themselves from an obedience
to the mere will of the dominating class. Those people, one and all, no
matter how ignorant, are taught to consider themselves better than any
other people save the English, whose sentiments they inculcate. They are
not in sympathy with a purely Republican system of Government. They
believe in a controlling class, and they propose to be that class. I
have heard them utter these sentiments so often that I am sure that I am
correct. They all trace their ancestry back to some nobleman in some
mysterious way, and think their blood better than that which courses in
the veins of any Northern man, and honestly believe that one of them in
war will be the equal of five men of the North. They think because
Northern men will not fight duels, they must necessarily be cowards. In
the first contest my judgment is that they will be successful. They are
trained with the rifle and shotgun; have taken more pains in military
drill than the people of the North, and will be in condition for war
earlier than the Union forces. They are also in better condition in the
way of arms than the Government forces will be. The fact that they had
control of the Government and have had all the best arms turned over to
them by a traitorous Secretary of War, places them on a war footing at
once, while the Government must rely upon purchasing arms from foreign
countries, and possibly of a very inferior character. Until foundries
and machinery for manufacturing arms can be constructed, the Government
will be in poor condition to equip troops for good and effective
service. This war now commenced will go on; the North will succeed;
slavery will go down forever; the Union will be preserved, and for a
time the Union sentiment will control the Government; but when reverses
come in business matters to the North, the business men there, in order
to get the trade of the South, under the delusion that they can gain
pecuniarily by the change, will, through some 'siren song,' turn the
Government over again to the same blustering and domineering people who
have ever controlled it. This, uncle, is the fear that disturbs me most
at present.'”
“How prophetic,” spoke up Dr. Adams.
“Yes, yes,” exclaimed all present.
Col. Bush at this point arose and walked across the floor. All eyes
were upon him. Great tears rolled down his bronzed cheeks. In suppressed
tones he said:
“For what cause did I lose my right arm?”
He again sat down, and for the rest of the evening seemed to be in deep
meditation.
Uncle Daniel, resuming his story, said:
“Just as Tom had finished what he was saying, I heard the garden gate
open and shut, and David and Harvey appeared in the moonlight in front
of the porch. These were my second and youngest sons. David lived some
five miles from Allentown, on a farm, and Harvey had been staying at his
house, helping do the farm work. They were both very much excited. Their
mother, who had left. Mary Anderson in the parlor, came out to enjoy the
fresh air with us, and observing the excited condition of her two sons,
exclaimed:
“'Why, my dear boys! what is the matter?'
“David spoke to his mother, saying:
“'Do not get excited or alarmed when I tell you that Harvey and I have
made a solemn vow this evening that we will start to Washington city in
the morning.'
“'For what, my dear sons, are you going?' inquired the mother, much
troubled.
“'We are going to tender our services to the President in behalf of the
Union. Harvey is going along with me, believing it his duty. As I was
educated by the Government for the military service, I deem it my duty
to it, when in danger from this infamous and unholy rebellion, to aid in
putting it down.'
“Their mother raised her hands and thanked God that she had not taught
them lessons of patriotism in vain. She laid her head upon David's manly
breast and wept, and then clasped Harvey in her arms and blessed him as
her young and tender child, and asked God to preserve him and return him
safely to her, as he was her cherished hope. Peter, who had been silent
during the entire evening, except the bare suggestion to Tom to enter
the service, now arose from where he was sitting, and extending his hand
to David, said:
“'My old boy, I am with you. I shall commence at once to raise a
company.'
“David turned to his mother and laughingly said:
“'Mother, you seem to have taught us all the same lesson.'
“His mother's eyes filled with tears as she turned away to seek Mary.
She found her in the parlor teaching her sweet little daughter her
prayers. My wife stood looking at the pretty picture of mother and child
until little Mary Anderson finished, kissed her mamma, and ran off to
bed; then entering the room she said:
“'Mary, my child, I am too weak to speak. I have held up as long as I
can stand it,' and then burst into tears. Mary sprang to her at once,
clasping her in her arms.
“'Dearest auntie, what is the matter? Are you ill?
“'No! no! my child; I am full of fear and grief; I tremble. My sons are
going to volunteer. I am grieved for fear they will never return. Oh!
Mary! I had such a terrible dream about all the family last night. Oh!
I cannot think of it; and yet I want them to go. God knows I love my
country, and would give all--life and everything--to save it. No, I
will not discourage them. I will tell you my dream when I have more
strength.'
“Just then my blessed old wife fainted. Mary screamed, and we all rushed
into the parlor and found her lying on the floor with Mary bending over,
trying to restore her. We were all startled, and quickly lifted her
up, when she seemed to revive, and was able to sit in a chair. In a few
moments she was better, and said:
“'I am all right now; don't worry. I was so startled and overcome at the
thought that so many of my dear children were going to leave me at once
and on such a perilous enterprise.'
“To this Peter answered:
“'Mother, you ought not to grieve about me. Being an old bachelor, there
will be but few to mourn if I should be killed.'
“'Yes; but, my son, your mother loves you all the same.'
“Just then a rap was heard at the window. It being open, a letter was
thrown in upon the floor. I picked it up. It was addressed to 'Thos.
Anderson.' I handed it to him. He opened it, and read it to himself, and
instantly turned very pale and walked the floor. His wife took his arm
and spoke most tenderly, asking what it was that troubled him.
“'Mary, dear, I will read it,' he said, and unfolding the letter, he
read aloud:
“'Jackson, Miss., June -- 1861.
“'Dear Tom--You have been denounced to-day in resolutions as
a traitor to the Southern cause, and your property
confiscated. Serves you right. I am off to-morrow morning
for the Confederate Army.
Good-by.
Love to sister.
“'Your enemy in war,
“'JOS. WHITTHORNE.
“'Mary sank into a chair. For a moment all were silent. At last Tom
exclaimed:
“'What is there now left for me?”
“His wife, with the stateliness of a queen, as she was, her black hair
clustering about her temples and falling around her shoulders and neck,
her bosom heaving, her eyes flashing fire, on her tip-toes arose to her
utmost height. All gazed upon her with admiration, her husband looking
at her with a wildness almost of frenzy. She clenched both hands and
held them straight down by her side, and exclaimed in a tone that would
have made a lion cower:
“'Would that I were a man! I would not stop until the last traitor
begged for quarter!'
“Tom flew to her and embraced her, exclaiming:
“'I was only waiting for that word.'
“She murmured:
“'My heavens, can it be that there are any of my blood traitors to this
country?'
“The household were by this time much affected. A long silence ensued,
which was broken by David, saying:
“'Father, Harvey and I having agreed to go to Washington to enter the
army, I wish to make some arrangements for my family. You know I have
plenty for Jennie and the babies, and I want to leave all in your hands
to do with as if it were your own, so that the family will have such
comforts as they desire.'
“David's wife, Jennie, was a delightful little woman, with two beautiful
children--Jennie, named for her mother, and Sarah, for my wife. I said
to David that I would write to his brother James, who was a widower,
having no children, to come and stay with Jennie. I at once wrote James,
who was practicing medicine at Winchester, Va., that I feared it would
be 'unhealthy' for him there, so to come to me at once. This being
done and all necessary arrangements made, David and Harvey bade all an
affectionate farewell and started for their farm, leaving their mother
and Mary in tears. As their footsteps died away their mother went to the
door, exclaiming, “'Oh, my children! will I ever see you again?' “That
night we all joined in a general conversation on the subject of the war.
It was arranged that Peter should start next morning for Indianapolis to
see the Governor, and, if possible, obtain authority to raise a regiment
under the call of the President. This having been decided upon we all
retired, bidding each other good night. I presume there was little
sleeping in our house that night save what little Mary did, the poor
child being entirely unconscious of the excitement and distress in the
family. The next morning Peter took the train for Indianapolis, Tom went
down town to ascertain the latest news, and I took my horse and rode
out to David's farm, leaving the two women in tears, and little Mary
inquiring: “'What is the matter, mamma and aunty?' “I rode on in a deep
study as to the outcome of all this trouble. I came to David's house,
unconscious for a moment as to where I was, aroused, however, by hearing
some one crying as if in despair. I looked around and saw it was Jennie.
She stood on the door-step in great grief, the two children asking
where their father had gone. “'Good morning, my daughter,' I said, and,
dismounting, I took her in my arms, and laying her head on my shoulder
she sobbed as if her heart would break.
“'O! my dear husband, shall I ever see him again? O! my children, what
shall I do?' was all she could say.
“I broke down completely, this was too much; the cries of the little
children for their papa and the tears of their mother were more than I
could stand. He had never left them before to be gone any great length
of time. I took Jennie and the children into the house. There was a
loneliness and a sadness about the situation that was unendurable, and
I at once ordered one of the farm hands to hitch the horses to the wagon
and put the family and their little traps in and get ready to take them
to my house, and turned David's house over to his head man, Joseph Dent
(he being very trusty) to take charge of until David should return. With
these arrangements I left with the family for Allentown. On our arrival
the meeting of the three women would have melted the heart of a stone.
I walked out to the barn and remained there for quite awhile, thinking
matters over to myself. When I returned to the house all had become
quiet and seemingly reconciled. For several days all was suspense;
nothing had been heard from any of our boys; I tried to keep away from
the house as much as possible to avoid answering questions asked by the
women and the poor little children, which I knew no more about than they
did. But while we were at breakfast on the morning of ------, Jennie
was speaking of going out to her house that day to look after matters at
home and see that all was going well. Just at this moment a boy entered
with a letter, saying:
“'Mr. Burton sent me with this, thinking there might be something that
you would like to see.'
“Mr. B. was the Postmaster, and very kind to us. He was a true Union
man, but the opposition there was so strong that he was very quiet; he
kept the American flag flying over his office, which was burned on that
account a few nights later, as was supposed, by Southern sympathizing
incendiaries. These were perilous times in Southern Indiana.”
“Yes! Yes!” said Col. Bush. “We had a taste of it in Southern Ohio, where
I then resided; I know all about it. The men who were for mobbing us
at that time are now the most prominent 'reformers,' and seem to be the
most influential persons.
Uncle Daniel continued:
“I opened the letter and read it aloud. It ran substantially as follows:
“'We arrived at Columbus, O., on the morning of ------, when
there was some delay. While walking about the depot I
chanced to meet your old friend the Governor. He was very
glad to see me, and said to me, “Lyon, you are the very man
I am looking for.” I asked, “Why, Governor? I am on my way
to Washington to tender my services to the President in
behalf of the Union.” The Governor answered, “You are
hunting service, I see. Well, sir, I have a splendid
regiment enlisted, but want to have a man of some experience
for their Colonel, and as you have been in the Regular Army
and maintained a good reputation, I will give you the
position if you will take it. I grasped him by the hand and
thanked him with all my heart. This was more than I could
have expected. So, you see, I start off well. We are now in
camp. I am duly installed as Colonel. Harvey has been
mustered in and I have him detailed at my headquarters. He
seems to take to soldiering very readily. I have written
Jennie all about matters. I hope she and my darling children
are well and as happy as can be under the circumstances.
“'Your affectionate son,
“'David Lyon.'
“He did not know that I had them at my house, and all were assisting one
another to keep up courage. This letter affected the whole family, and
caused many tears to fall, in joy as well as grief; joy that he had
succeeded so well at the beginning, and grief at his absence. That
evening Jennie received her letter from the 'Colonel' as we now called
him, all becoming very military in our language. Her letter was of the
same import, but much of it devoted to family affairs. This made Jennie
happy. We all retired and rested well that night, after pleasing the
children by telling them about their father being a great soldier, and
that they must be good children, and in that way cause their mother to
write pleasant things about them to their good papa.”