marched on, struck Chickamauga Creek, followed it about half a mile to
the ferry, when cries and shrieks fell upon our ears, evidently a woman
in great agony. Our minds were readily carried back to the time when
such cries were often extorted from the poor slaves by the cruel hand of
the master. And could it be possible that such a scene was being enacted
in this valley now under the very eye of the power that had abolished
it? It seemed incredible, yet we feared it, and we hastily turned our
steps in the direction of the sound. As we approached, it still became
more hideous and different voices could be discerned. Up high on the
hill we at last discovered the place whence the noise proceeded, from a
rough log negro hut. Passing a neat white house about fifty rods below
the shanty, we were informed of the cause by a woman unconcernedly
smoking her pipe. She "reckoned they were shouting up there". A little
suspecting the cause, yet we were bent on investigation. We met a young
woman on the way with long, flowing disheveled hair, looking very much
excited.
Charley asked "What's the row up there?"
"An old 'oman 'fessed 'ligion this morn'".
Now we are at the door, and such a sight I never saw before. Here two
large negro women and two young white girls, 16 and 17 years old about,
from all appearances raving maniacs, still screeching, yelling, jumping,
hugging, dancing, crying, shaking hands, and uttering incoherent
sentences, foaming at the mouth, with perspiration rolling down their
cheeks in streams. No cessation, but each making as much noise as though
a dagger was at their hearts. The spell appeared to be partially broken
upon one of the girls seeing us. She stopped, looked at us with a
mesmeric glare for a few minutes, then shrunk sheepishly into a corner,
where she remained quietly until her sister (I suppose) returned to her
from covering the negro woman, and commenced violent demonstrations,
such as bumping her head against the wall, etc. until both soon moved.
We looked on thus for over half an hour. I was filled with amazement and
sometimes provoked to laughter. I had heard of such excitement in
revival meetings where enthusiastic preachers and brethren were at work,
working up the imagination of the victim. But to find it in such a
sequestered place with but four solitary women was such as I never
dreamt of. The superstitious character and education of the negro caused
me to wonder less at them than the white girls, which looked awful. But
when I remembered the unconcern of the people in the white house, I
concluded it was nothing strange after all for these ignorant people
(for I consider it nothing but ignorance of the true standard of the
human soul).
A revival is going on there, it seems, and the old woman said God had
been allowing her to go on in her "devilment" for a long time, but this
morning "Jesus stood right squar' in her way and she found him right in
the chair," and then again she started. The girls I suppose came to see
her and were taken with the influence. I felt it my duty to do what I
could to restore these poor creatures to their senses, and believe if I
had entered the room and spoken firmly to them in earnest, the spell
would be broken and the excitement quieted.
But modesty prevented me from making the experiment, and we went on in
quest of berries. Found plenty of beautiful ones in a field adjoining,
and we soon filled our pails and started for camp in another direction.
The shouting which we heard a mile away at first, still continued while
we were within hearing. Reached camp before 2 P. M. tired and very warm,
having walked at least fourteen miles, well pleased with our success at
berrying. Told our story of the revivalists in camp, which caused much
amusement. I shall always consider it as one of the greatest
psychological phenomena.
[Sidenote: 1865 Blackberries Once More]
Chattanooga, Friday, June 16. Rained heavy last night. Called out at 4
A. M. to harness up before breakfast. Out to drill immediately
afterwards. Captain Simpson put us through the maneuvers for the first
time, drilled us accurately with mechanical precision, but he is not
loud enough, will never make a good drill master, but will do. Feasted
on blackberry pie and sauce from yesterday's picking. On guard to-night.
Oh, dear!
Chattanooga, Saturday, June 17. Another battery drill this morning; did
not go out, being on post. Awful hot. My weekly letters from home have
ceased their coming, owing to their expectations of my arrival home.
This is making a bad matter worse. Two men received sick furloughs,
start to-morrow.
Chattanooga, Sunday, June 18. To-day has passed like a hundred others
which I have endeavored to note down in my diary. How can I find
anything to individualize this day from others, the same mechanical
duties, the same lazy nothing to do. The evening closes over us into
night quietly. The very atmosphere seems an earnest voice. Discussion is
not heard nor the merry laugh of the jester. The soldiers group together
under the arbor in front of the quarters, conversing in an undertone of
services rendered, hardships endured, and of brave comrades who are no
more. With a thoughtful sigh for home and friends I close the book.
Chattanooga, Monday, June 19. Grazing day. Started out 8 A. M., crossed
the ridge and way out to Chickamauga. Grazed horses on our way back.
Made a flank movement on a magnificent patch of dewberries and
blackberries. Ordered by our superior officer to "go in". We tied our
horses and fulfilled our orders to the letter. Those who had buckets,
filled them, those who didn't, did better, staid there an hour. I ate
long after berries had ceased to be a luxury. Reached camp 2 P. M. 20th
Indiana Battery Heavy Artillery turned their guns over to-day. Has the
good work begun?
Chattanooga, Tuesday, June 20. Drill early. Returned to get four
letters, one from sister Jane, tugging bravely on amidst her sixty-four
pupils. The next from Hannah, jubilant at the immediate prospect of
relief from her confinement. Third from J. L. Bugs are threatening
crops, too bad. Fourth, from Miss B. of Ohio, the "J" in her name
converted to "Jones". Judges I am a "literary gentleman", declares she
looks with more anxiety for my letters than any other, ha! ha! Keep
calm, keep calm!
On duty drawing forage. Topic of the day, 20th Indiana Battery going
home, guns and horses, etc. turned over. This is looked upon as an
opening for the reserve, it being a '62 organization, but it was sent
for directly from the State. Other batteries cleaning up harness, etc.
Chattanooga, Wednesday, June 21. Griff, D. Evans and myself have
contracted for a two days' pass from Captain Simpson. I was excused from
guard last night, and this morning 7 A. M., after morning drill, we
started out on a bold pedestrian excursion to Lookout Mountain and Lula
Lake. Two days' rations of hard-tack and sugar and cup in haversack was
all equipage taken along. The "King of Day" came down upon us in full
force, but nothing daunted we scaled the point in its precipitous and
direct route. Pantingly we reached the photograph gallery and rested.
Seized with a sudden desire to carry off some memento of our excursion,
we seated ourselves on the cliff and had ourselves taken, by the sun.
Carried off our plate picture for $6.50, and on to Lula through Summer
Town, and camp of the "Butterfly Brigade" who were all out drilling in
their white gloves.
[Sidenote: 1865 Mountain Scenery]
Our tramp along the summit of the mountain was a pleasant walk of about
eight miles, slightly undulated and timbered with a stunted growth of
oaks, with an occasional house and patch of corn. Here as everywhere,
enterprising Uncle Sam has his saw mills, shingle machines, etc. But
here abruptly amid rocky scenes, craggy cliffs, we came to a precipice,
and beneath us was Lula Lake. A wooden flight of stairs led us down
about forty-five feet and on a level with this lake, which was certainly
a diminutive thing, but a thing of great loveliness in its wild beauty.
My pen is altogether too tame to give an adequate description of this
romantic mountain scenery. The lake consists of a circular basin about
thirty yards in diameter hollowed out of the solid rock which rises
forty to eighty feet around the wall carved by the skillful hand of
nature. The water rushes in at the top, down in a cascade at an angle of
forty-five degrees. The margin is solid rock. There lay a frail raft by
the shore on which we each in our turn circumnavigated the lake, causing
the swallows in the rocks to fly away in consternation at this abrupt
entrance on their solitude. This spot seemed to have a sweet solitude,
and I almost wished myself an Indian to live and die amidst such
scenery.
Climbing the rocks on the south of the stream we worked our way down to
the Lula Falls, several hundred yards below. We found the declivity
thickly covered with a rich growth of laurel, and fine specimens of
huckleberries, which were ripe and nice. We picked our cans full as we
went. After climbing down a great many breakneck places we reached the
foot of the falls which in beauty is equal, if not superior, to the
Lake. It consists of a tiny stream falling from a shelf eighty feet
high, perpendicularly dropping over solid rock. In its descent it is
broken into a white sheet of spray. We slaked our thirst and mashed our
berries in sugar, and ate our dinner with a keen relish. Before leaving,
desiring to experience the sensation, we stripped and took a huge shower
bath by placing ourselves under the spout. Found the sensation more
romantic than pleasant. It fell too hard, but made us clean.
The water continued in an eastward direction, and we reasoned that by
following it we would come out into Chattanooga Valley and off Lookout
Mountain. For a distance of about two miles, we followed this rocky
chasm. On either side towering cliffs reared their heads a hundred feet
above us, while we clambered over massive piles of stone, jumping across
crevices, crawled and slid, etc., making our locomotion in a very odd
way, the creek half the time whirling unseen beneath the rocks. This was
hard work, and our shirts were wringing with sweat, yet all enjoyed it,
at least I did.
But by climbing a little raise we at last found ourselves in quiet
Chattanooga Valley, ten miles from town, and about 4 P. M., seated
'neath the trees, we picked blackberries. Made sauce for supper again,
then walked leisurely toward camp. This valley is good land and well
settled. We saw good fields of corn, etc. but little signs of war. The
people are the same ignorant, illiterate class. These people seem to
have no idea as to distances whatever, showing their general ignorance
forcibly. A woman told us "it was a heap o' distance" to Chattanooga; "A
right smart ways" to dry valley; "A good chance" to the next house;
"Only a bit" to the spring. As night drew on we felt our fatigue and we
sought shelter. Asked one man for the privilege of lying down on his
porch out of the dew, but he said he "never made a practice of keeping
no one", so we concluded to bivouac with a small squad of negro soldiers
who were out logging. Having traveled at least fifteen miles we could
rest anywhere.
Chattanooga, Thursday, June 22. Daylight found us snoring away in a most
ridiculous condition, wallowing in the sand around the negroes' fire,
but I had a good night's rest. We pulled out early, breakfasted on
blackberries, hard-tack and cold water from the spring, then made for
camp. It was very hot before we reached it, by 9 A. M. Tired indeed, but
of the many excursions of the kind I have participated in, I never
enjoyed one better.
But things had changed wonderfully while we were gone. Camp in an
uproar. Before I entered the tent, a two-months' furlough was thrust in
my face, of one of our boys disapproved at Thomas's headquarters,
because it is said light artillery would soon be mustered out. This they
thought was convincing evidence that we are homeward bound. Yesterday's
mail brought Keeler's commission as second lieutenant, and before night
he was mustered in. To-day he wears the straps in all his dignity,
officer of the day. Can't touch him with a ten foot pole. Quartermaster
Sergeant Malish promoted to first sergeant, Hiram James quartermaster
sergeant and M. Dziewanowski reinstated as first gun sergeant. The
latter gives much satisfaction. Lieutenant Waite and his remnant of the
3rd Wisconsin Battery reported here this morning to be consolidated on
orders dated in May. Owing to recent orders Captain Simpson will not
receive them. They have gone into "pup tents."
Chattanooga, Friday, June 23. After a good night's rest, I feel very
tired yet. It will take some time to get over the effects of that tramp.
Some batteries are cleaning up ordnance, etc. The reserve is gradually
dissolving. The command will undoubtedly go home together when it goes
at all. Assistant Inspector General ---- inspected all our condemned
goods, knapsacks and Company property.
Chattanooga, Saturday, June 24. A dull, quiet morning until 9 A. M. when
I was ordered to the guard house for duty. Three of us reported there.
We were to guard prisoners to work on the road leading to water. Kanouse
took them out two hours before noon; reported at camp for dinner. After
dinner laid in guard house all day. Relieved at night by officer of the
day, having done nothing. No great stir.
[Sidenote: 1865 Last Sunday in Camp]
Chattanooga, Sunday, June 25. Another Sabbath has been added to the long
list of those passed in a soldier's camp, in the same listless,
irreverent way. But now that I am once more on the eve of a change, my
mind is more reconciled to camp. In contrast, many times during the day
have I thought of my home which I have never seen. Fancy has a wide
range to build my ideal home, and then place the inmates who are
anxiously waiting for Jenk's return. Wrote a letter to John and that is
all.
HOMEWARD BOUND
Chattanooga, Monday, June 26. That for which we have so long waited, for
which so many hard words have been uttered because of its long delay,
for which so many officers have been roughly abused for its being
withheld--_We are ordered to the States. To be mustered out._ Hurrah!!
Hurrah!!!
Boys went out grazing as usual this morning. 9 A. M. here comes an
orderly which set the Captain a-jumping, Lieutenants a-crowing and
privates run wild. In less time than it takes to write, all hands, cooks
and negroes included, were at work cleaning off the guns so that they
will be received by ordnance officers. Water, brush and rags and every
available cleanser used until they would pass. Boys came in with horses
at noon and another stock of good feelings passed around. Afternoon well
spent in cleaning, counting and gathering harness and other stores.
Commence turning them over to-morrow. Never since we last threw up works
in front of the enemy, did the boys work with such a will. All past
grievances forgotten in pleasant anticipations of the future.
Chattanooga, Tuesday, June 27. Daylight found us in our boots and
stirring. 7:30 A. M. the Battery moved out followed by battery wagons,
forge and four wagon loads of ordnance. I on detail along. Ordnance
officer ready to receive us. Lieutenant A. Sweet superintended the
counting of everything by the clerk, which is a very tedious job.
Captain Simpson disposed of ammunition. I was on duty with Lieutenant
Sweet and rode fast and heavy as orderly for him, bringing reports,
etc. to and from camp. To-night everything is gone except the horses,
which will be turned over to-morrow.
Great anxiety is expressed by all to reach home by the Fourth of July,
which at present looks very probable. Camp looks forlorn and
disorganized, everything upside down, boxes being made to be carried by
express, knapsacks packed as though there was no time to do it
to-morrow, but nobody notices it. All of the reserve are under home
orders to-day. Fortune smiled on us this time in being first; aye, it
laughed outright upon us. But, dear Journal, I cannot write, I feel too
_good_.
[Illustration: The Development of a Soldier
Jenkin Lloyd Jones
Enlisted Aug. 14, 1862
At Memphis 1863
Mustered out July 18, 1865]
[Sidenote: 1865 Going Home]
Chattanooga, Wednesday, June 28. It is evening and the great work of
turning over is accomplished in spite of lazy quartermaster. Through the
unceasing efforts of our officers we are here on the depot platform
ready to take the 4 A. M. train for "Home, Sweet Home." Left our old
camp at 6 P. M. in high glee, and departed with hearty demonstrations
for the Old Guard House where we all suffered from military agony.
Captain Nicklin, inspector general, who has often been abused and
everybody else received his portion of "big injun tigers", etc. But I
must go to sleep.
Chattanooga, Thursday, June 29. Aroused from our out-of-doors slumbers
by the familiar notes of the old bugle at 3 A. M. Washed, and got
aboard, and started 4 A. M. exactly. Ran very quietly and on time to
Decherd, Tenn., which we reached by 12 M. Here we changed engines. Took
an engineer unscrupulous and drunk, who ran the train at a dangerous
rate between stations, then stopping for time and getting more whiskey.
At times we traveled at the rate of thirty-five miles to the hour over a
very poor track, in spite of the remonstrance of our officer. The
conductor persisted in allowing him to draw us through.
[Sidenote: 1865 A Final Tragedy]
Stopped to wood up. Many of the boys got off to pick blackberries which
were very plenty. At the instant the signal was given to start, the
drunken brute threw full power on the engine starting up with great
suddenness, and we were soon under full headway. Poor Frank King was on
the ladder between the cars, and he lost his hold and fell on the rails,
the forward trucks of the car I was on, passing over his lower
extremities. The shuddering cries of the wounded man pierced the ears of
all on board, and one and all strove to stop the train, but the engineer
instead increased his power. Not until the boys locked the brakes so
tight that his drive wheels flew over on the rail, did he stop, and then
he made a mad effort to proceed, which resulted in breaking loose
towards the forward end of the train.
Swift feet carried men back to where the unfortunate man lay. An
engineer of the southern train was bathing his temples with water and
endeavoring to stay the flow of blood, but he was gone beyond the power
of human skill, his legs badly crushed and spine injured so that he died
in a few moments without uttering an audible word. The train was backed
up and the corpse put into a vacant car with his bereaved brother Fred,
and we proceeded in the same reckless manner. The boys by this time were
filled with just indignation, and at Murfreesboro, as the now perfect
demon rushed into the nearest saloon to imbibe once more of the "devil's
beverage", he was surrounded by a crowd, rushed out of doors and handled
roughly, pistols were presented, and his life was in jeopardy, when he
said "that he did not care if he killed every d----."
Captain Simpson and Lieutenant Sturges of Battery E, 1st Ohio,
telegraphed to Nashville the facts, and demanded another engineer of the
conductor, but he refused, so Sergeant Dziewanowski and three or four
others of our boys rode on the engine to watch him. Ran very well to
Lavergne, fifteen miles from Nashville, when he discovered his boiler
was almost dry, water all gone. Watered and he was obliged to run the
engine alone to pump the water into the boiler. Ran down the track a
mile and a half, and came back under all the speed he could raise.
Without letting up struck the train, mashing in the forward cars, and
knocking everybody in the train down nearly. By this time two pistols
were fired at the villain, and a stone struck him on the head. He rushed
on for Nashville, his fireman leaving him to his fate. After some delay
another engine hitched on to us and we proceeded with caution. Five
miles from town we found his engine on the road, he having taken himself
to the woods. Reached depot by 10 P. M. and slept in the depot.
Louisville Depot, Nashville, Friday, June 30. Before dawn this morning
Davie Evans and myself were aroused from a heavy sleep to go and watch
the corpse of F. King. The body lay in an old freight car covered with
coarse sacks. By it sat his brother Fred, the only mourner, writing the
sad tidings to their dear ones, whose hearts are bounding in
anticipation of the joyful meeting. Oh, how uncertain are human joys.
One moment of time often turns the brightest picture into a painful
blank. 9 A. M. we started in search of a coffin. Returned at 10:30 A. M.
with a rough board one, and the undertaker took charge of it; his
brother even, not allowed to see the cold clay close over him.
In the meantime the Company had gone into the exchange barracks a mile
distant. Faint for want of breakfast we followed and procured a good
substantial meal, which answered for both breakfast and dinner. Captain
Simpson reported as ordered to General Thomas. Received instructions to
return the detached men to their command. The 3rd to proceed with us to
the States; the 8th boys must go back to Murfreesboro, a disappointment
to them. Transportation procured. We expect to leave for Louisville 7:50
P. M. The 1st Illinois and Battery E, 1st Ohio, to go along. All are
much pleased with our good luck in getting off so soon. Nashville is the
same as ever, a low-down, demoralized hole.
Soldiers' Home, Louisville, Ky., Saturday, July 1. 7 A. M. We have
completed another ride in the dark, of 183 miles. Rode in second-class
passenger cars, very crowded, and no sleep. Have had a splendid
breakfast (for soldiers) at the Soldiers' Home. Served in a manner which
reminds us very forcibly that we are nearing civilization. Officers are
working for the boys handsomely, will try to get us off 5 A. M. This
hall is a musical one just now; four of the batteries, light
artillery--all going home.
Kokomo, Ind., Sunday, July 2. Crossed the Ohio River yesterday about
noon, into "God's country" as the boys call it. Said assertion was
rendered true, having a good dinner at the Soldiers' Home. But when they
put us in cattle cars two hours late, to go North, the spirit dampened.
Started at 2 P. M. northward, an extra train, made slow time.
Now we travel through a country never darkened with slavery and
rebellion. The contrast was very great. I almost imagined I was
transferred into the Elysian fields of mythology. The fields teemed with
golden harvest, grain nearly all cut, droves of cattle grazed in rich
pastures of tame grass, pretty little children could be seen gathered
around district school-houses, and sweet girls appeared in neat calicoes
with "nary" a "swab" in their mouths. Above all, we were welcomed. White
handkerchiefs are waved enthusiastically from every house and hamlet,
stars and stripes were thrown out triumphantly to the breeze as we
passed along, each demonstration drawing forth ringing response from the
joyous soldier boys. At Henryville an entire school of young ladies
turned out to welcome the "extra" train with soldiers, the building
being draped with a large flag. At Seymour a great arch had been erected
over the railway on which was inscribed "Welcome Home, Brave Soldiers."
Night soon overtook us now. It was 10 P. M. when we arrived, sleepy and
well shaken, at Indianapolis, of which we knew no more than to hastily
jump into another string of dirty box cars, and rush on through broken
slumbers to Kokomo Junction, where we arrived 5 A. M. Are now waiting
for an engine down from Chicago to take us up.
Soldiers' Rest, Chicago, Monday, July 3. We left Kokomo 8 A. M. and had
a very pleasant ride through a beautiful country teeming with good
crops, etc. The same cordial welcome shown as yesterday. Reached this
place 5 P. M. last evening and marched through crowds of inhabitants out
to see "the boys coming home", with a bright new flag proudly floating
in the breeze, to the Soldiers' Rest where we were furnished a splendid
supper by the fair ones of Chicago. Slept where we might. I rested on
depot platform. Have had another good breakfast, and am impatiently
waiting 9 A. M. when the train leaves for Madison, Wisconsin. Captain
Simpson has telegraphed for permission to let the boys go home and spend
the Fourth.
HOME AT LAST
[Sidenote: 1865 Home]
After almost three years' absence, I found my valley home at dusk on the
third of July, 1865. And what a happy union it was. Father, mother,
sisters and brothers, all together. The circle unbroken during the
terrible three years that had rolled over us since I parted to try my
fate in a soldiers' camp. The bitter tears of anguish then, were
replaced by those of unbounded joy. All the hardships and privations of
my campaign were amply repaid at this joyful union.