BATTLE OF TWO RIVERS.--COL. TOM ANDERSON MEETS HIS BROTHER-
IN-LAW.--UNCLE DANIEL BECOMES AN ABOLITIONIST.--A WINTER
CAMPAIGN AGAINST A REBEL STRONGHOLD.
“Cease to consult; the time for action calls,
War, horrid war approaches.”--Homer
For a season battles of minor importance were fought with varying
success. In the meantime Col. Anderson had been ordered with his command
to join the forces of Gen. Silent, at Two Rivers.
Here there was quiet for a time.
“At length, however, orders came for them to move to the front. For a
day or so all was motion and bustle. Finally the army moved out, and
after two days' hard marching our forces struck the enemy's skirmishers.
Our lines moved forward and the battle opened. Col. Anderson addressed
his men in a few eloquent words, urging them to stand, never acknowledge
defeat or think of surrender. The firing increased and the engagement
became general. Gen. Silent sat on his horse near by, his staff with
him, watching the action. Col. Anderson was pressing the enemy in his
front closely, and as they gave way he ordered a charge, which was
magnificently executed.
“As the enemy gave back, evidently becoming badly demoralized, he looked
and beheld before him Jos. Whitthorne.
“The recognition was mutual, and each seemed determined to outdo the
other. Anderson made one charge after another, until the enemy in his
front under command of his wife's brother retreated in great confusion.
Col. Anderson, in his eagerness to capture Whitthorne, advanced too
far to the front of the main line, and was in great danger of being
surrounded. He perceived the situation in time, and at once changed
front, at the same time ordering his men to fix bayonets. Drawing his
sword and rising in his stirrups, he said:
“'Now, my men, let us show them that a Northern man is equal to any
other man.'
“He then ordered them forward at a charge bayonets, riding in the centre
of his regiment. Steadily on they went, his men falling at every step,
but not a shot did they fire, though they were moving almost up to the
enemy's lines. The rebel commander shouted to his men:
“'What are these? Are they men or machines?'
“The rebel line wavered a moment, and then gave way. At that instant a
shot struck Col. Anderson's horse and killed it, but the Colonel never
halted. He disengaged himself, and pushing forward on foot, regained his
line, and left the enemy in utter rout and confusion. Whitthorne
was not seen again that day by Anderson. The battle was still raging
on all the other parts of the line. First one side gained an advantage,
then the other, and so continued until night closed in on the
combatants. A truce was agreed to, and hostilities ceased for the time
being.
“The Colonel worked most of the night, collecting his wounded and
burying his dead. His loss was quite severe, in fact, the loss was very
heavy throughout both armies. Late in the night, while searching between
the lines for one of his officers, he met Whitthorne. They recognized
each other. Col. Anderson said to him:
“'Jo, I am glad to see you, but very sorry that we meet under such
circumstances.'
“Whitthorne answered:
“'I cannot say that I am glad to see you, and had it not been for making
my sister a widow, you would have been among the killed to-day.'
“The Colonel turned and walked away without making any reply, but said
to himself:
“'Can that man be my wife's brother? I will not, however, condemn him;
his blood is hot now; he may have a better heart than his speech would
indicate.”
“Thus meditating, he returned to his bivouac. In the morning the burying
parties were all that was to be seen of the enemy. He had retreated
during the night, and very glad were our forces, as the battle was
well and hard fought on both sides. The forces were nearly equal as to
numbers.
“Col. Anderson did not see the General commanding for several days; when
he did the latter said to him:
“Colonel, you handle your men well; were you educated at a military
school?'
“The Colonel answered:
“'No; I am a lawyer.'
“General Silent remarked:
“'I am very sorry for that,' and walked on.
“Tom wrote his wife a full report of this battle. He called it the
battle of Bell Mountain. It is, however, called Two Rivers. He said that
Gen. Silent was a curious little man, rather careless in his dress;
no military bearing whatever, quite unostentatious and as gentle as a
woman; that he did not give any orders during the battle, but merely
sat and looked on, the presumption being that while everything was going
well it was well enough to let it alone. In his report he spoke highly
of Col. Anderson as an officer and brave man.
“This letter of the Colonel's filled his wife's heart with all the
enthusiasm a woman could possess. She was proud of her husband. She
read and re-read the letter to my wife and Jennie, and called her little
daughter and told her about her father fighting so bravely. We were all
delighted. He spoke so well of Peter also. Said 'he was as cool as an
icebox during the whole engagement.' He never mentioned to his wife
about meeting her brother Jo on the field until long afterwards.
“The troops of this army were put in camp and shortly recruited to their
maximum limit. Volunteering by this time was very active. No longer did
our country have to wait to drum up recruits. The patriotic fires were
lighted up and burning brightly: drums and the shrill notes of the fife
were heard in almost every direction. Sympathizers with rebellion had
hushed in silence for the present--but for the present only.”
[Illustration: The Charge of Col. Anderson's Regiment 045]
“Uncle Daniel,” said Major Isaac Clymer, who had been silent up to this
time, “I was in that engagement, in command of a troop of cavalry, and
saw Col. Anderson make his bayonet charge. He showed the most cool and
daring courage that I have ever witnessed during the whole war, and I
was through it all. Gen. Pokehorne was in command of the rebels, and
showed himself frequently that day, urging his men forward. He was
afterwards killed at Kensington Mountain, in Georgia. We got the
information very soon after he fell, from our Signal Corps. They had
learned to interpret the rebel signals, and read the news from their
flags.”
“Yes, I have heard it said by many that our Signal Corps could do that,
and I suppose the same was true of the other side.”
“O, yes,” said Col. Bush, “that was understood to be so, and towards the
end of the war we had to frequently change our signal signs to prevent
information being imparted in that way to our enemy.”
“There was a Colonel,” said Major Clymer, “from Arkansas, in command
of a rebel brigade, in that battle, who acted with great brutality. He
found some of our Surgeons on the field dressing the wounds of soldiers
and drove them away from their work and held them as prisoners while the
battle lasted, at the same time saying, with an oath, that the lives of
Abolitionists were not worth saving.”
“Yes. The Colonel mentioned that in his letter and spoke of it when
I saw him. He said it was only one of the acts of a man instinctively
barbarous. His name was Gumber--Col. Gumber. He has been a prominent
politician since the war, holding important positions. You know, these
matters are like Rip Van Winkle's drinks--they don't count, especially
against them.”
“'But among Christian people they should,' said Dr. Adams.
“'That is true, but it does not. There are two distinct civilizations in
this country, and the sooner our people recognize this fact the sooner
they will understand what is coming in the future. But, returning to my
story, the winter was now coming on, and I had to make provision for the
families that were in my charge, so I called the women together and had
a council as to what we would do for the best; the first thing was to
arrange about sending the little girls to school. After discussing it,
we concluded to start them the next day to the common school. Our public
schools were said to be very good. So the next morning my wife, Mary and
Jennie all started with the children to school. They saw the teacher and
talked with her, telling her that their fathers were in the army, and
she entered them in school. They came and went, back and forth, and
seemed greatly pleased during the first week, but on Wednesday of the
second week, they came running home crying and all dirty, saying that
some of the school children had pelted them with clods and pebbles,
calling them Abolitionists. Little Jennie said to me:
“'Grandpa, what is an Abolitionist?'
“I replied: 'One who desires the colored people to be free, and not sold
away to strangers like cattle.'
“'Grandpa, do white people sell colored people like they sell cows?'
“'Yes, my child.'
“'Well, grandpa, is that right?'
“'I think not, my child. Would it be right for me to sell you away from
your mother and send you where you would never see her again?'
“'Oh! no, grandpa; you would not be so wicked as that. I would cry
myself to death; and mamma--what would she do without me, she loves me
so?'
“'Yes, said little Sarah, 'I love sister, too. I would cry, too, if you
sent her away where I could not see her. Why, grandpa, people don't do
that, do they? Your are only fooling sister.'
“'No, no, child; in the South, where the war is, there are a great
many colored people living. They are called slaves. They work for their
masters and only get what they eat and wear, and their masters very
often sell them and send the men away from their wives and children, and
their babies away from their mothers and fathers.'
“'Grandpa, do they ever sell white people?' asked Jennie.
“'No, my child.'
“'Well, why don't they sell white people, too?'
“'Oh, my child, the law only allows colored people to be sold.'
“'Well, grandpa, I don't think any good people ever sell the little
children away from their mothers, any way.'
“'No, my child, nor any grown people either.'
“'Well, grandpa, you wouldn't sell anybody, would you?'
“'No, my child, I would not.'
“'Well, then, grandpa, you are an Abolitionist.'
“'Yes, in that sense I am.'
“'Well, grandpa, I am one, too, and I will just say so at school,
and will tell the boys and girls who threw clods at us and called us
Abolitionists that they sell people like cows, and that they are not
good people.'
[Illustration: Pupils attacking the little Abolitionist 048]
“'Yes,' said little Mary Anderson, 'I know what colored people are.
They've plenty of them down where we came from. They call them
“niggers”. They are mighty good to me, grandpa, and my papa doesn't sell
'em. He is a good man. He don't do bad like those rebels, does he, ma?'
“'No, my child, your papa does not sell anybody. He is against it. He
never owned anyone. He does not think it right to own people.'
“'No; my papa don't, does he, ma? He is going to fight the people that
sell other people, ain't he, ma?'
“'Yes, my darling; but don't say any more. Let us go in and get our tea,
and you will feel better.'
“This interference of little Mary and her mother let me out of a scrape,
for I say to you, friends, that I was getting into deep water and would
have very soon lost my soundings if Jennie and little Sarah had kept
after me much longer. You see, the truth is that I had never been an
Abolitionist, but a Freesoil Democrat; but soon I became a full-fledged
Abolitionist after our flag was fired upon by the Secessionists.
“However, we all entered the house, and after tea, the children being
put to bed, we held another council and decided that inasmuch as there
was such great excitement in the country, and Allentown being such
a hot-hole of rebel sympathizers, it was not safe even to allow our
children to attend the schools. Jennie, however, being a good scholar
and having prior to her marriage taught school, we unanimously elected
her our family teacher, and setting apart a room, duly installed her on
the next Monday morning over our Abolition school, as we found on the
evening of our discussion with the children that they had converted the
household by their innocent questions.
“The next day I rode out to my son David's farm and saw Joseph Dent, the
man whom I had left in charge. I inquired of him if everything was all
right about the place, and he told me that he had moved his family into
David's house, as he feared some damage might be done to it, having seen
several persons prowling about at different times. He did not know who
they were, but was sure they meant mischief, as they were very abusive
of the Colonel, calling him a 'Lincoln dog,' after the manner of Dan
Bowen in his speech.
“Joseph said he was now prepared for them; that he had another man
staying with him, and if I would go with him he would show me what
they had done. I did as he asked me, he led the way into the house and
upstairs, where he showed me a couple of holes cut through the wall
in each room, just beneath the eaves, and standing in the corner was a
regular arsenal of war materials. I said to him that he seemed to be in
for war. The tears started in his eyes, and he said:
“'Uncle Daniel, I am an old soldier; was in Capt. David's company
when he was in the Regular Army. I came to him three years ago when my
enlistment was out. I will defend everything on these premises with my
life. I would be in the army now with the Colonel (I am used to calling
him Captain) if he had not asked me to stay here and take care of his
farm. These “secesh” will not get away with me and my partner very
easily, and should you hear of this fort being stormed, you bring some
men with you to pick up the legs and pieces of the fellows who shall
undertake it. Do not be afraid; we will take care of all here.'
“'Yes, Joseph, I see that. I will tell Jennie, and also write the
Colonel how splendidly you are doing.'
“'Thanks,' said Joseph, giving me the regular soldier's salute. 'Is
there anything wanted at your house, sir? Tell the Colonel's wife that
I will bring down anything that she may be wanting at any time. I will
certainly bring a load of wood in to-morrow.'
“We were in the habit of getting many things from the farm--butter,
eggs, chickens, potatoes, etc. All our wood came from there. Joseph was
very useful in many ways. I returned home satisfied that all was going
well at the farm.
“The weather was now getting cold and disagreeable; too much so, it was
thought, for any very serious army movements on our Western lines. The
rebels had collected a very heavy force at Dolinsburg, situated on a
high ridge, with hills sloping down to Combination River, one of the
tributaries of the Ohio. Here they had built an immense fortress, with
wings running out from either side for a great distance; on the outer
walls were placed large guns, sweeping and commanding the river to the
north. The rebels were well prepared with all kinds of war materials, as
well as in the numbers of their effective force, to defend their works
against great odds.
“Gen. Silent, who, it seems, always did everything differently from what
the enemy expected him to do, conceived the idea that he would try
to dislodge them. When the enemy heard that he was preparing to move
against them, they but laughed at such an attempt.
“The General, however, made ready, gave his orders, and his army was
soon in motion. The direction in which our army was to march was very
soon known, as it was impossible to keep any of our movements a secret,
on account of the great desire of newspapers to please everybody and
keep every one posted on both sides, the rebels as well as friends;
which prompted them to publish every movement made. This was called
'enterprise,' and it has been considered patriotic devotion by many,
especially the gold gamblers and money kings. This was not permitted
by our enemies; the publication of any secret expedition or movement of
their forces, by any one inside of their lines, would cost him his life;
and so in any army save our Union army. Why was this? It does seem to
me that this ought not to have been so. I have often thought of it, and
concluded it must have been fear. 'The pen is mightier than the sword'
has been truthfully said.
“Our Congress was afraid of the press, and were not willing to make laws
stringent enough for the army on this subject. The President was nervous
in this respect, and commanding Generals were afraid of criticisms; so
it was the only class that had the privilege of doing and saying what
it wished to, and, my friends, that is one of our troubles even now. Our
statesmen are afraid to speak out and give their opinions, without first
looking around to see if any one has a pencil and notebook in his hand.
This is getting to be almost unbearable, to find some person in nearly
every small assemblage of people, on the street, in the hotel, in the
store, even in your own private house, reporting what you have for
dinner, what this one said about some other one, what this one did or
said, or expects to do or say in the future. But I am wandering from my
story.”
“Well, Uncle Daniel, your discussions on all subjects are interesting,”
replied the Doctor.
“I have been thinking of what you said about the press during the war,”
said Col. Bush; “and taking what you said upon the subject of our great
ambition here in the North to get money, and let all else take care of
itself, I can see that the same sordid spirit pervaded the press during
our war; fortunes were made by many newspapers in that way; everybody
bought papers then; we sold the news to our own people for money and
furnished it to the rebels gratis. Get money, get money; that is our
worst feature, and most dangerous one it is, for the country's welfare.”
“I agree with you, Colonel,” spoke up Maj. Clymer, “but I would rather
hear Uncle Daniel talk. On any other occasion I would be delighted to
hear you.”
“I beg pardon, Uncle Daniel,” replied the Colonel. “I will hereafter be
a patient and delighted auditor.”
“Well, when the army was under way there was great excitement and alarm
throughout the North among the Union people. Our armies in the East had
not been successful, and the sympathizers with the rebellion all over
the country were again beginning to be rather saucy. They would
enjoy getting together and reading of our defeats and discuss, to our
disadvantage, the failures of our attempts to subdue the rebellion,
and in this way made it very uncomfortable for any person who loved
his country and desired its success. They would in every way try to
discourage our people by saying 'this movement now commencing will
only be a repetition of what we have already had so often lately in the
East.'
“But our army moved on, and during the march to the vicinity of
Combination River they were met by the enemy frequently, who were
trying to impede their march, and several severe skirmishes and
minor engagements occurred. They were now within some twenty miles of
Dolinsburg Fortress, when a sharp and very decisive engagement took
place between one battalion of cavalry, two batteries of artillery, and
three regiments of infantry on our side, where Col. Anderson was
the ranking officer, and therefore in command, and five regiments of
infantry, two batteries and one troop of cavalry on the side of the
rebels. They were posted behind a small stream, known as Snake
Creek, having steep banks. The action commenced, as usual, with the
skirmishers. After reconnoitering the position well, the Colonel
determined to send his cavalry and one regiment around some distance, so
as to cross the stream and strike the enemy's left flank. He could
not expect re-enforcements, if they might be needed, very soon, as he
marched on the extreme southern road, so as to form the junction with
the other troops on their extreme right, touching Combination River to
the south of the enemy's works, so as to be the extreme right flank
of our army. The enemy, finding his force was superior in numbers,
attempted to cross the stream with his infantry. The two batteries were
opened and poured shrapnel into the advancing column, dealing havoc and
slaughter on all sides. They tried to keep their line, but they soon
staggered, halted, and fell back. The Colonel then opened a destructive
musketry fire all along the line. Just at this moment he heard the
attack of his regiment of infantry and troop of cavalry on their flank.
He quickly advanced across the stream, and the enemy was in utter rout.
“He captured all his guns--six 12-pound Napoleons and four
howitzers--and a large number of prisoners. He followed closely on the
rear of the enemy, gathering in stragglers and squads of men until night
closed in and compelled him to desist and go into camp. When safety
from surprise was assured, he sent for one of the prisoners to get some
information about the road and the fortifications, commands, etc. After
ascertaining many things that he considered important, he found, upon
further inquiry, that his enemy upon that afternoon was commanded by
Col. Jos. Whitthorne, his wife's brother. He turned and said to Peter,
who was standing near:
“'This man seems to be my evil genius. I hope I will not meet him again.
It seems hard that I am to continually meet my own kindred in combat.
Is it possible that these people are willing to spill the blood of their
own friends and kindred, merely because they have failed to retain power
longer, and for that reason will destroy the Government?'
“'Yes,” said Peter; 'they will never be content except when they can
control other people as well as the Government. But see here, Colonel,
do you see this?' showing him a great rent in the breast of his coat and
vest; 'a pretty close call, wasn't it?'
“'By George! it was that!'
“'Well, never mind; but was not this about as nice a little fight as you
would wish to have for an appetiser?'
“'Yes, you are quite right; and that reminds me that I have not had a
bite to eat since four o'clock this morning. By the way, have you any
cold coffee in your canteen?'
“'O, yes, I have learned to keep that on hand. Here, help yourself.'
“The Colonel took a good drink, and turned to Peter and said:
“'What is the matter with that coffee?
“'Nothing; it is only laced a little.'
“'Laced? What is that?'
“'Why, I put a little brandy in it, that's all.'
“'That's all, is it? Well! that is something I have learned. Let me
taste it again.'
“Which he did, as Peter afterwards said, until there was none left. I
tell you these poor fellows were excusable for occasionally warming up
after a hard march or a battle. I have learned to look very leniently on
the shortcomings in that direction of the poor old unfortunate fellows
who are going through this hard world without a penny, after having
served their country faithfully. I see them nearly every day, forgotten,
neglected, no home, no friends to care for them; and to see them when
they pass by the American flag always salute it. I hope their fate will
be a better one in the next world.
“I well remember that during the war every one who cared for his country
would say, 'God bless the Union soldier and his family.' We all prayed
for them then; the good women in church, at home, in the hospital, at
the side of the sick, wounded or dying soldier, prayed fervently for
their safety here and hereafter. We loved him then, and say we do yet;
but we find the same men who reviled him then, complaining about the
pension list, and some saying: 'The Confederates fought for what they
believed to be right. We are all American citizens. Why not put all
on the same footing? Let us be brothers.' I tell you, my friends, the
people of this country are hard to understand. I heard the President of
the Southern Confederacy applauded this year. I was saddened by this,
and was glad that my time here could not be regarded as of great
duration. Can such things be? Am I dreaming? Where am I? Is it possible
that I am in Indiana and not in South Carolina? Am I under the Union
flag, and not the Confederate?”
Uncle Daniel here bowed his head, and in a whisper to himself, said:
“Is it so? Is it so?”