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THE destruction of Miss A. M. Zollicoffer's studio at the home of her brother in law, J. B. Bond, Esq., in Maury County, occurred at night, last month, and she barely escaped from the flames. She had about $1,000 worth of paintings on hand. The most valuable of them all. in an historic sense, was a portrait of her father, Gen.
Zollicoffer, which she had just completed for the room named in his honor at the Tennessee Soldiers' Home. It was a contribution to the Home. In this calamity there will be sympathy throughout the South. There are living five of the six daughters to the General, besides Miss Z. the four others are Mrs. Wilson, of Nashville,
Mrs, Metcalf, of Fayetteville, Mrs. Sansom, of Knoxville, and Mrs. Bond. In the fire mentioned Mr. Bond lost a very fine law library.
WASHINGTON, GA., does well her part in keeping alive the spirit of patriotism. At the dedication of Confederate graves last month Capt. John T. Hester, a former citizen of the place, delivered the address. While paying tribute to the progressive spirit and the thrift of the people, he said:
Who does not love the home of his birth? Who does not love the land of the magnolia and the honeysuckle? Who does not love Georgia her hills and her valleys from mountains to her sea girt shores ? Who does not love his whole country, from the granite hills of New England to the prairies of the Lone Star State, from the shores of the Atlantic to the rocky cliffs of the Pacific ? But, what means this large assemblage of your citizens? Every eye that glistens a tear, every bosom that graces a garland, every flag that marks the resting place of a hero, tell us that we are here to honor the memory of the men who struggled and who died for the sovereignty of the States, and who, for full four years, stood as a stone wall of defense between your homes and the invaders of your country!
In speaking of individual achievements and heroism, he paid this beautiful tribute to Robert Toombs:
He who wore the insignia of rank deserves no more of our flowers and our tears today than the gallant privates in the rank and file of our army, who followed wherever he dared to lead. Yet there is one who drew his sword in defense of his country's rights, and if I could usurp the inspiration of the artist and wear the chaplet of the gifted sculptor, I would claim to chisel his name upon the highest niche of fame. Not alone because he was a soldier, not because he was allied to this people by education and association, but because in the legislative halls of our country, when danger threatened, he manifested the intrepidity of the warrior, the sagacity of the statesman, and the manliness of the Southerner.
On every grave was a card bearing the picture of a Confederate flag in colors, and under it the lines:
Of liberty born of a patriot's dream,
Of a storm cradled nation that fell.
In this connection special reference is made to Mr. Henry Cordes, of Washington, who has remitted more subscriptions more times to the VETERAN than any other person. He has shown patriotic zeal, for which he deserves gratitude and honor.
NASHVILLE is entertaining, as this issue goes to press, the Southern Baptist Convention, with delegates from Maryland to Mexico. There are many old soldiers among them, and each one is invited to call at the American building for a copy complimentary.
THE time for issuing has never been first of the month. It is nearer the fifteenth. Patrons who have subscribed recently may expect it about such time.
Confederate Veteran May 1893.
THE Selma Times gives an interesting sketch of Col. John H. Caldwell, of Jacksonville, Ala., concerning his experience with a Yankee during and after the war.
At the time of the battle of Seven Pines the Confederate was looking after his wounded when he found a young soldier in blue who was bleeding profusely from a wound in the thigh. He also had a sabre cut back of his ear. The officer gave him a canteen containing whisky, and told him. to drink freely of it, and that he would send for it later. Before the infirmary corps got there the Federals had rescued their comrade.
Soon after the war Colonel Caldwell was solicitor of his circuit, and wanted to go over into St. Clair County to prosecute some fellows who had been violating the law. They were bushwhackers during the war, and had sworn that if he went to Ashville they would kill him.
It was against the martial law for an ex Confederate to be caught with a pistol without a permit, and Colonel Caldwell went before the commander of the garrison at Jacksonville and stated his case.
The officer wrote a note to the young man who issued the permits directing him to "issue Colonel Caldwell an order to bear arms."
They talked of war times, the Colonel told this story, and the Federal, embracing him, said: "I am the soldier boy whose life you saved, and here is the wound in the thigh." And then throwing back his heavy locks he showed the sabre cut. " Yes, you cannot only get a permit to bear arms, but I will go along and help defend you with my life if necessary, for you are the man who saved mine."
IT is a humorous incident in the stories told upon Robert Toombs, mention of whom is made in the diary of Alexander H. Stephens, herein printed, that when he had gone to the National Capital, from his home at Washington, Ga., to visit a gentleman of wealth, who met him at the station with his carriage, and in the good cheer of meeting forgot to inquire for his baggage until they had journeyed quite a distance. Then, startled at the oversight, he said: "What did you do with your baggage?" "I broke it," was Toombs' cool reply.
THERE is an error on the editorial page, where the types make "in iniquity" read "in equity." 'Tis a pity that so mean a spirit ever actuated any people to be so ungrateful when possessing such fortunate and agreeable surroundings as to make this criticism necessary. The South will not be robbed of her old time glory.
IT is reported that the body of the Hon. Alexander H. Stephens will be finally buried about the time that Mr. Davis is buried at Richmond. It would be fitting in Georgia to have that ceremony to her distinguished son at the time Mr. Davis' body lies in state at Atlanta.
THE RICHMOND AND DANVILLE RAILROAD COMPANY WILL FURNISH TRANSPORTATION FOR PASSENGERS TO THE DAVIS BURIAL AT RICHMOND FOR A TRIFLE OVER ONE CENT PER MILE EACH WAY.
'TWILL BE A SIGHT WORTH SEEING.
Camp Hardee of Confederate Veterans, at Birmingham. Ala., proposes to have at the Annual Reunion, which takes place in that city on the 19th and 20th of July, the finest entertainment ever seen at such a meeting. The camp is erecting now a hall with seats to accomodate 6,000 people, with a stage 150 feet long. One of the prettiest scenes will consist of eleven of the most beautiful women, selected one from each of the Southern States. This will be in tableau. Each State boasts with reason of the beauty of its women, and eleven of the most beautiful women in all the South will be a sight as rare as it will be unique, and will never be forgotten. The most perfect type of beauty, the spiritual combined with the physical, finds its home in the Southern States. The creamy blonde of Virginia will contrast with the brilliant brunette of Texas and Louisiana. This feature is to be only one in a series of others, but if each State will do justice to herself there can be nothing left to imagination the real will excel it.
VIVID WAR INCIDENT.
On the morning of May 4, 1865, after the surrender of the Army of Tennessee by Gen.
Johnston at Greensboro, N. C., after being paroled I, with a few comrades, was at Salisbury, N. C., and left about 7 o'clock A. M. for our homes, all of us going westward, and all stepping at a lively gait. We were going towards Charlotte, N. C., and traveling parallel with the railroad. A few miles out from Salisbury I noticed clots or lumps of blood often in the road, and as the road was full of men, some walking and others riding, I thought it probable that a horse had been hurt and was bleeding. But soon I saw a man sitting on some railroad wood with, as I thought, a red bosomed shirt on, and upon getting close to him I saw he was red, but with his own blood. As I have already said, the road was full of men, but no one seemed to give the unfortunate man any attention until I got up opposite to him, when two men said something to him which I did not understand, but I heard him say in a very distinct voice, " No, there is no use trying to do any thing) for I am dying. But you can take that coat," which lay six or eight feet from him, "to my wife in Augusta, Ga. She is the daughter of Gen. Rains." During his talk he put his hand in the gaping wound, which had been made, as we supposed, by himself, and got out the blood and rubbed all over his arms. And the two men turned away from him and moved on) and I did so too. He was an officer of some rank, but I could not tell the rank. His uniform was what we called English cloth, though considerably worn. He was a fine looking man about thirty years of age. W. F. ALLISON.
Confederate Veteran May 1893.
RECENT COMMENTS UPON THE VETERAN.
None of these notices have appeared before this.
Chicago Letter in Pine Bluff (Ark.) paper: " The CONFEDERATE VETERAN should be in every Southern home."
Savannah (Ga.) News: "The VETERAN is the best Southern Confederate journal that has yet been published."
Gen. John Boyd, Lexington, Ky.: "The VETERAN is like our Kentucky whisky improves with age. Gen. E. Kirby Smith's picture is the best I ever saw of him,"
Isaac Garrett, Pembroke, Ky.: "Through Capt. CD. Bell I became a subscriber, and like it so well that I wanted my friends to have it, so I send you my check for thirteen subscriptions."
Col. E. E. Tansil, Dresden, Tenn,, with inclosed subscription for the VETERAN, adds: "Will try and send you a good list of subscribers at next meeting of our Bivouac. May it live long and prosper."
The VETERAN is sufficient, thinks a man of high character: We want but one war journal, and you are giving us that. Keep "the fly" out of the ointment, and we'll try to keep out rivals, especially "yanks."
Gen. George Reese, of Pensacola, Fla., after showing much patience with errors in list of subscribers sent by him, adds: "I hope you will have abundant success. The last number is a splendid one, and worth the year's subscription."
Robt. Chisholm, Esq., Birmingham, Ala.: "Your CONFEDERATE VETERAN is the best and cheapest periodical I have ever seen. I only wish you were in Birmingham so that I could help you to make for it the largest circulation in this country.".
A Republican said to a lady who was of a large party of Iowa journalists, when handing her a copy of the CONFEDERATE VETERAN: "I want you to see how a Confederate, who was himself a soldier, can write all about the war, all on his own side, and not say one offensive word."
Col. J. H. Moore, Canton, Ga., May 10: "Our mutual friend, Capt. Newman, of this place, and I succeeded, without much effort, in procuring the inclosed list of twenty subscribers to the VETERAN. All who have seen the VETERAN pronounce it first class and believe it will exactly fill a long felt need in the South."
Thos. D. Osborne, Louisville, Secretary Confederate Association of Kentucky: "The CONFEDERATE VETERAN for April has just arrived. It cannot be surpassed. I hope you will get a good many subscribers in Kentucky. At the next meeting of our association I will make a statement about it to the members."
Dr. John Young, with a good list from Springdale, Ark., adds: "It is a matter of astonishment to me that such enterprises are so rare in the South. By all means let the record before, since, and during the war be truthfully written, and the contrast be drawn, that generations yet unborn may read and judge."
John T. Moore, Henderson, Ky. : " We have a Confederate Association here of about sixty members, with Maj. M. M. Kimmel (Chief of Staff with Gen. Van Dorn) as Commander and Capt. R. H. Cunningham, who was Adjutant of Gen. McCausland's Brigade, Virginia Infantry. Our members represent eight different States." He sends eight subscribers.
Judge Pitkin C. Wright, Secretary Tennessee Press Association, Memphis, Tenn., May 6: " I am delighted to welcome the CONFEDERATE VETERAN and its Cunningham to the fold. * * * I have had but time to glance it over, but have seen enough to know that it is worthy of you and of the old veterans. What more could be said of it?"
Chas. F. Belser, President the Pythian Period, Nashville, April 27: * * * "I must beg your pardon, however, for delaying until this day the remittance of the exceedingly small subscription price. This I now hand you. As an offset of my negligence, I herewith offer the following names as yearly subscribers, and hand you herewith $2.50."
A zealous patron in Texas, who works diligently for the VETERAN and accepts no discount, begins a recent letter as follows : " As the ocean is composed of little drops of water, and the shore of little grains of sand, so must the 100,000 subscribers to the VETERAN be composed of individuals, and I hope your subscription may reach the 100,000 before 1894."
Col. W. A. Campbell, Columbus, Miss.: "Send me copies of April number. I will circulate them and try and get you a club from this place, among the members of our camp. I do not understand why every soldier of the war should not take it, as it is very interesting to all old soldiers specially. I would like to see your list go to a hundred thousand."
Phil. Samuel, Richmond, Va., May 9: "I saw yesterday a copy of the CONFEDERATE VETERAN, and was so much pleased with it that I determined to subscribe for it at once. I am the janitor of R. E. Lee Camp, No. I, Confederate Veterans, and an 'old Virginian,' and take the greatest interest in anything that stirs my memory about those glorious, though sad, days, and your paper was so full of such memories that I am determined to do what little I can to increase its circulation. I shall send you all the subscribers I can.
The Nashville American: "The CONFEDERATE VETERAN for April is being mailed to subscribers, with its remarkably large subscription list, age of the publication considered, as a supplement. Its title page contains a fine half tone picture of Gen. E. Kirby Smith and the 'Conquered Banner,' by Father Ryan, with the Confederate battle flag in colors. Of the other illustrations the monument in Hollywood Cemetery, Richmond, where Mr. Davis is to be buried next month, is excellent, as is also a family picture of the Kirby Smiths, with a dozen faces in it. Mr Cunningham's thrilling experience in the battle of Franklin, a story which has attracted much attention and caused historians to visit the field of carnage and elaborate his data. is republished. 'The Rebel Yell' is reproduced from the January issue, as is also the sketch of Jefferson Davis and his picture at eighty years. The subscription list, which nearly fills four seven column pages of the American, attests the popularity of the publication, and it exhibits an enthusiasm which is beyond precedent. The projector of the enterprise could well afford to publish it, with the scores of letters in its praise by representative Southern people. Vivid reminiscences from the siege of Jackson, Miss., by the editor, follows an editorial which emphasizes the spirit of the publication. This issue clearly excells all the preceding issues, and is not only a credit to Nashville, but to the journalism of the country."
Confederate Veteran May 1893.
Newman Brandon, Tobacco Port, Tenn.: "I read the CONFEDERATE VETERAN with much interest and pleasure. I was in my cradle when the greatest of modern dramas was being enacted, and the Southern soldiers were winning for themselves immortal glory. The magazine will do a great deal of good towards presenting a true history of the war. I send you two subscribers."
Courier Journal: "The editor, S. A. Cunningham, is a well equipped newspaper man. His description of the battle of Franklin has not been surpassed. Several hundred subscriptions have been sent out from Kentucky, and it is probable that there will be a thousand or more. It is the most attractive magazine of the Confederate history, and will win its place everywhere."
Col. A. Fulkerson, in sending three subscriptions, April 12: "I am greatly pleased with your periodical, and hope you will make it a success. I am sure it deserves the hearty support of every Confederate soldier, and I will endeavor to secure other subscriptions, and lose no opportunity to bring the VETERAN to the attention of all old comrades in Tennessee and Virginia within my reach."
Col. S. A. Champion, Nashville, Tenn.: "I received a letter from my little niece in Missouri, to whom I had sent a copy of your valuable journal, and in the letter she inclosed a dollar, saying: ' I have gotten you two subscribers for the CONFEDERATE VETERAN, and will get more.' I have taken so much interest in the CONFEDERATE VETERAN, mainly on your account, that you see Miss Eva thinks it belongs to me."
Master George Wilson, Rutherford, Gibson County, Tenn.: "I received the April number of the CONFEDERATE VETERAN, and read it with much interest. I am only a boy, but I feel by reading the CONFEDERATE VETERAN that I shall learn the true history of the boys in gray, something that can't be found in the common school history. I send you the following list. I would canvass for your valuable paper if I had time, but school is keeping me busy."
Adjt. J. Thos. Dunn, Portsmouth, Va., March 22, 1893: "The Committee of Arrangements of Stonewall Camp decided to change the time of memorial and dedication of monument. In compliance with the wishes of the Grand Commander, the Grand Camp will convene on the 14th of June. The memorial and decoration will take place the following day, the 15th of June. Col. R. C. Marshall, who is now Commander of Stonewall Camp, will deliver the oration, and Rev. B. D. Tucker, of Norfolk, will read a poem."
Geo. W. R. Bell, Cedar Springs, Cherokee County, Ala. : " We have in our county an organization known as the Cherokee County Confederate Veteran Association. We belong to the State Association and have elected delegates to attend the meeting in Birmingham in July. It does seem to me that every true Confederate Veteran ought to take it from a personal, if not a patriotic, consideration. I can say for myself that I am not only pleased, but delighted, with. its high moral tone and conservative, patriotic sentiment."
Manly B. Curry, Louisville, Ky.: "Through the solicitation of Mrs. P. P. H. I became a subscriber to the CONFEDERATE VETERAN. I take a number of papers, and when this one came I paid no attention to it, but happening to accidentally catch sight of your name, my curiosity was aroused, and I looked through the number. I feel repaid for having done so, I shall not only look forward to the coming of the paper in the future, but am interested in its welfare. * * * I am a son of Dr. J. L. M. Curry, of Richmond, Va. As one of the younger generation who has grown to manhood since the war, I want to make a suggestion: Our fathers, mothers, and big brothers were old enough to appreciate what was going on, and we love to hear them tell of their personal experiences, but they are now rapidly passing into old age and will soon be on the other side of the dark river. If you can get some of them to write you letters giving their personal experiences you will preserve in a permanent form exceedingly valuable information. Generals, literary people, and historians tell us of battles, but the annals of the privates, the sufferings of the women, and the make shifts which they resorted to to supply the necessities of life, exist only in the memories of a rapidly decreasing few. A letter by Mrs. Jefferson Davis, recently published in the Sunday papers, is somewhat in the line of what I mean. I don't think that you can have too much of this sort of material. Another thing, our opponents have published tons of literature giving the dark side of slavery. We have little telling of its bright side. Although I was born during slavery times and was old enough before its abolishment to appreciate its existence, I have seen so much against it that the very idea of it is abhorrent to me. I have read so much of the dark side that I wonder how those whom I love so dearly could have upheld such an institution. If I am so influenced, what must be the feelings of my children when they grow up ? Let each issue of your paper contain something telling of the bright side, of the corn shuckings, the quiltings, the barbecues, the big meetings, the weddings' etc., showing that the slaves enjoyed life and were not eternally skulking in dark corners dodging the whip of the brutal overseer, or quaking with terror at the bay of a blood hound. You advocate the building of monuments to our heroes. I tell you that unless something is done at once, and done persistently, to counteract the influence and misrepresentation of ' Uncle Tom's Cabin ' and the like, our children will look upon those whose memory those monuments are intended to perpetuate as objects of pity, if not of contempt. For the past eight years I have been living in St. Paul, Minn. I have talked with children there on the subject of slavery, and the poison is doing its work, and doing it effectually. Even at this day a man who owned slaves is looked upon as little, if any better, than a slave trader, a pirate, or a brigand, who held prisoners for a ransom. I am not talking theory, but actual experience. As soon as those who were the actual owners of slaves have died out in the South this feeling will gradually work its way into our own country. For God's sake do something to prevent the great names of our ancestors being the theme for a jest and the subject for taunts. Please pardon this long letter and tirade, but I feel deeply on this subject. I think something should be done to counteract the growing sentiment. I believe that the CONFEDERATE VETERAN is the medium through which it can be done."
COMRADES can get the regulation Confederate Battle Flag Badge, enameled in colors, to be worn in buttonhole of coat lapel, by sending their order, with 50 cents, to Capt. E. W. Averell, Jeweler, 215 1/2 Union Street, Nashville, Tenn.
Confederate Veteran May 1893.
ALEXANDER H. STEPHENS' PRISON LIFE.
A complete history of " The war between the States" will never be printed. Occasionally, after a lapse of several decades, new chapters will appear, seeming incredible, because the vigilant journalist has not " handed it in " sooner.
These reflections are given as introductory to a few chapters, it becomes my fortune to possess, concerning the surrender and imprisonment of the Confederate Vice President. Many items will appear of general interest, and altogether it will be interesting to those who most admired the extraordinary statesman. Strange as it may seem a dismal blank occurred in a Southern record of events just at this period.
Mr. Stephens' own language is used except where there are necessary abbreviations, and then the substance is given with the least change possible.
FORT WARREN, NEAR BOSTON, MASS.,
27 May, 1865.
This book was purchased this day of A. J. Hall, Sutler at this Post, by Alexander H. Stephens, a prisoner on the Fort, with a view of preserving in it some regular record of the incidents of his imprisonment and prison life. It may be interesting to himself hereafter, sometimes, should he be permitted to live, to refer to it and if his own life should not be spared it may be of interest, in like manner, to some one of his relatives and friends,
He knows it will be of intense interest to his dear and only brother, Hon. Linton Stephens, of Sparta, Ga. Besides, he feels sure that all his relatives will be exceedingly glad to peruse it, especially in the event that they never see him again. For these reasons the book has been purchased.
HIS ARREST AT LIBERTY. HALL,
Thursday, 11th May, 1865. This was a most beautiful and charming morning. After a refreshing sleep I rose early. Robert Hull, a youth of about 16 years of age, son of Henry Hull, Jr., of Athens, Ga, spent the night before with me. After writing some letters for the mail, my custom being to attend to such business as soon as breakfast was over, Robert and I were amusing ourselves at a game of cassino, when Tim came running in the parlor where we were, saying, " Master, more Yankees have come, a whole heap of them are in town galloping all about with guns.".
Suspecting what it meant, I rose, told Robert I expected they had come for me, and entered my bedroom to make arrangements for leaving if my apprehensions should prove correct. Soon I saw an officer with soldiers under arms approaching the house. The doors were all open. I met the officer in the library. He asked if my name was Stephens? I told him it was. "Alexander H. Stephens?" said he. I told him that was my name. He said he had orders to arrest me and put me in custody. I asked him his name, and to let me see his orders. He replied, his name was Capt. Saint, of the 4th Iowa Cavalry, or mounted infantry. He was then under Gen. Upton. He showed me the order. It was by Gen. Upton at Atlanta for my arrest, and that of Robert Toombs. No charge was specified. He was directed to go to Crawfordville and arrest me, and then proceed to Washington and arrest Mr. Toombs, and to carry both to General Upton's headquarters. I told Capt. Saint that I had been looking for something of this kind, at least had thought it not improbable for some weeks, and hence had not left home. Gen. Upton need not have sent any force for me. Had he simply notified me that he wished me at his headquarters I should have gone.
I asked the Captain if I would be permitted to carry any clothing with me, and how long I would be allowed to pack up. He said a few minutes as long as would be necessary. He said, " You may take a servant with you, if you wish." I asked him if he knew my destination. He said, first to Atlanta, and then to Washington City. I called in Anthony, a black boy from Richmond, who had been waiting on me for several years, and asked him if he wished to go, and that J would send him to his mother in Richmond from Washington. He was willing to go, and was soon ready. It was about 10 o'clock A. M. when Capt. Saint came to my house. In about fifteen minutes not much over we started for the depot. Friends and servants followed, most of them crying. My own heart was full too full, however, for tears. While Anthony was getting ready I asked Capt. Saint if I could write a note or two to some friends. He said I could. I wrote my brother in about these words:
CRAWFORDVILLE, GA., 11th May, 1865.
DEAR BROTHER I have just been arrested by Capt. Saint, of the Fourth Iowa Cavalry. The order embraces Gen. Toombs. We are both to be carried to Atlanta, and thence to Washington City, it seems. When I shall see you again, if ever, I do not know. May God enable you to be as well prepared for whatever fate may await me as I trust he will enable me to bear it. May his blessings ever attend you and yours. I have not time to say more. A kiss and my tenderest love to your dear little ones.
Yours most affectionately,
ALEXANDER H. STEPHENS.
This letter I sealed and addressed to him, and told Harry to send it over to Sparta immediately after I should leave. The Captain said he preferred I should not send the note then, that we would come back, and after that I might send it. I told him it was a note simply announcing my arrest and destination. I told him he might read it. I opened it and handed it to him. He still objected, and I tore the note up. At the cars a great many people had assembled. All seemed deeply oppressed and grieved. Many wept bitterly. To me the parting was exceedingly sad and sorrowful. When we left the depot the train backed up several hundred yards, where several soldiers, that seemed to have been put out there as scouts, got on. There was no stop until we reached Barnett. There we took another engine and started to Washington. About four miles from the town the train stopped at a shanty occupied by a supervisor of the track. Here I was put off, with about twenty soldiers to guard me. The Captain and the others went on to Washington. He said he expected to be back in an hour. He did not come until after dark. In the meantime there came up a cloud and a heavy fall of rain. The man of the house gave me dinner, fried meat and corn bread, the best he had, I was not at all hungry indeed, had no appetite, but I ate to show my gratitude for his hospitality share his homely but substantial fare.
Soon after dark the returning engine was heard coming. I was intensely anxious to know what had been the cause of detention. When what we supposed was the returning train came up it was nothing but the engine. The Captain had returned to bring his men some commissary stores and went back immediately. I asked him what was the cause of detention what
had occurred if Gen. ' Toombs was at home ? He answered evasively and left me in doubt and great perplexity. About 9 o'clock the train came. The ground was saturated with water, and I got my feet partially wet damp, this, together with the chilliness of the night, after the rain, gave me a sore throat, attended with severe hoarseness. When the train was under way for Barnett, I asked the Captain if he had Mr. Toombs. " No," he said, " Mr. Toombs flanked us." This was said in a rather disappointed, irate tone, and I made no further inquiries. About 11 o'clock we took the night schedule up train at Barnett for Atlanta. It was cool and clear, some panes of glass were broken out of the windows of the cars, and I was quite chilled by the exposure. This was one of the most eventful days of my life. Never before was I under arrest, or deprived of my liberty.
12th May. Reached Atlanta about half past 8 o'clock A. M. Morning clear and cool quite unwell carried to Gen. Upton's headquarters. He had gone to Macon, but was expected back that night. Capt. Gilpin, on Gen. Upton's staff, received me and assigned me a room. Anthony made a fire, and Capt. Gilpin ordered breakfast. Walked about the city under guard. The desolation and havoc of war in this city were heartrending. Several persons called to see me. Gen. Ira R. Foster called. He was allowed to address me a note, and I was allowed to answer it, but no interview was permitted. Col. G. W. Lee called. He was permitted to see me, to speak to me, but not permitted to have any conversation. John W. Duncan was permitted to visit my room and remain as long as he pleased. The same permission was extended to Gip. Grier. Grier and Duncan called several times during the day. Capt. Saint called and said he would send the surgeon of the regiment to prescribe for my hoarseness. The surgeon came and prescribed remedies that did me good. Maj. Cooper called and gave me a bottle of whisky. I started from home with about $590 in gold, which I had laid up for a long time for such a contingency. Gip. Grier offered me $100 additional in gold if I wished it. I declined it. John W. Duncan offered any amount I might want. Gen. Foster, in his note, also offered me any assistance in the way of funds I might need.
13th May. Did not sleep well last night. Gen. Upton called in my room early. I was so hoarse I could hardly talk. He informed me he had removed all guards, that I was on my parole. I told him I should not violate it. He seemed very courteous and agreeable. I learned from him that Mr. Davis had been captured. That Mr. C. C. Clay had surrendered himself. That Mr. Davis and party, with Mr. and Mrs. Clay, would be in Atlanta to night on their way to Washington also. Said he would send me in a special train to night to Augusta, but from there to Savannah I should have to go in the same boat with Mr. Davis and party. I had frequent talks with Gen. Upton during the day, and was well pleased with him. Several friends called again to day, Maj. Cooper, Duncan, Gip. Grier and others, several times. Duncan gave me a bottle of Scotch ale, which I put in my trunk. He also gave me the name of a banking house in Europe, with which he had funds, and authorized me to draw on it for any I might need.
This evening a Col. Peters came to renew his acquaintance with me. We talked pleasantly and agreeably of past events and associations.
REMINISCENCES OF OTHER DAYS.
From my window, just before night I took a bird's eye survey of the ruins of this place. I saw where the Trout House stood where Douglas spoke in 1860. Thought of the scenes of that day the deep forebodings I then had of all of these troubles, and how sorely
oppressed I was, at least, in their contemplation. Not much less so than I now am in their full realization and myself amongst the victims. How strange it seems to me that I should thus suffer, I, who did everything in the power of man to prevent them. God's providence is mysterious, and I bow submissively to his will. In my survey I could but rest the eye for a time upon the ruins of the Atlanta Hotel, while the mind was crowded with associations brought to life in gazing upon it. There is where, on the 4th September, 1848, for resenting the charge for being a traitor to the South I was near losing my life. And now I am a prisoner under charge, I suppose, of being a traitor to the Union. In all I am now I have done nothing but what I thought was right. In my whole life public life as well as private I have been governed by a sense of duty. I have endeavored in everything to do what was 'right under the circumstances surrounding me. The result be what it may, I shall endeavor to meet and bear with resignation.
At 9 o'clock p. M. Gen. Upton informed me that my train would start at Ilo'clock, that I might stop at home and get breakfast and take more clothing if I wished. The train that would carry Mr. Davis and party would leave two hours later, and I could remain until it reached Crawfordville. * * * I told Gen. Upton that there was another colored boy at my house, Henry, a brother of Anthony, whose mother was in Richmond. I should like, if there was no objection, to take him along with me to Fortress Monroe, whence I could send him to his home. He consented.
Sunday, 14th May. This is ever a memorable day to me. It is the anniversary of my step mother's death. It is the day on which was severed the last tie that kept the old family circle together around the hearthstone at the old homestead. My father died just one week before, on the 7th. This was in 1826. At half past II this morning the cars reached the depot at Crawfordville. My coming was known, and a large crowd was at the depot to see me. I hastened to my house, as I had much to do. Church was just out, preaching over and the congregation leaving. I could but give a hearty shake of the hand to many whose eyes were filled with tears. Nearly all my servants from. the homestead were at church. I learned that John had been over to Sparta and informed my brother Linton of my arrest. Also that he was sick. Oh ! what a pang that intelligence struck to my heart. In a hurried manner I had a repacking of clothes. Henry and Anthony were soon ready.
Such hurried directions as could be were given to the servants on the lot and at the homestead. The leaves taking were hurried and confused. The servants all wept. My grief at leaving them and home was too burning, withering, scorching for tears. At the depot there was an immense crowd old friends, black and white. They came in great numbers and shook hands. That parting and that scene I can never forget. It almost crazes the brain to think of it. I could not stand it until the other train arrived, but told the Captain to move off. This he did. When we arrived ' at Barnett we waited for the other train. Gen. Upton
came in to see me, and suggested that I would be more comfortable in the car he had on the other train. In a short time we were under way again. Reached Augusta some time before sundown. Gen. Upton had a carriage for me to ride in to the boat, which was four or five miles from the city, down the river. After the other train came up, which was half an hour behind us, Mr. and Mrs. Davis were put in a special carriage, some officer with them, Mr. Clay and Mrs. Clay in a separate carriage by themselves. Then, as our carriages passed each other, I for the first time saw them. They both bowed to me and I to them. Mr. Davis did not see me until we reached the boat. A major from Indiana rode in the carriage with me. Mrs. Davis' white nurse came and asked to ride in our carriage. We let her in. She had Mrs. Davis' infant in her arms. Guards were in front, on the side and in the rear some mounted on horses, some in wagons all well armed. After the carriages started, which looked much like a funeral procession, and we had got away from the depot, we found the streets lined on both sides with immense crowds of people. I recognized but one familiar face in the whole passage through the city, and that was Moore, of the Chronicle and Sentinel, although I bowed to several who bowed to me. All that I saw looked sad and depressed. When we reached the landing it was a long time before we got on the boat. The walk to the river's edge was rough. Deep ravines, without bridges, had to be crossed, and it was with great difficulty, even with assistance that I was enabled to get along.
The boat was a miserable affair to bear the name of steamboat. It was a river tug without cabin. There were a few berths which the ladies occupied. All the rest of us were put on deck except Mr. Davis. He stayed in the part of the boat occupied by the ladies. There was a covering over us, but the sides were open. Gen. Wheeler and four of his men we found on the boat.
(To be Continued.)
MONUMENT AT ATHENS, GA. Athens, Ga., has a very interesting monument, located in the center of an important thoroughfare. It cost $4,444, and the funds were raised through the zeal of Athens women. To the President, Mrs. James Rutherford, is due the honor of a handsomer monument than would otherwise have been erected. Misses Pauline Thomas, Bessie Mell and Mrs. Lizzie Minor are remembered as zealous workers.
Mrs. Rutherford, mentioned above, was a remarkable woman. She was sister of Gens. T. R, R. Cobb and Howell Cobb, two names that will forever be a part of the history of our Empire State. While the struggle for independence was in progress she took up every carpet in her house but one and made them into blankets for soldiers, and she openly declared her willingness to go into the fight. Her personal courage was illustrated in a memorable event near the close of the war: The Federals had pulled down the fence to a little field of young corn just back of her garden and turned a multitude of mules in it. She called a negro man, ordered him to drive them out and put up the fence, but he said, "No, Mistis, dem Yankees would kill me." "No," she said with emphasis, "I'll go with you, and they will not resent us." Sure enough the soldiers stood astounded upon seeing the lady and the negro clear the field, and when the negro had put up the fence they gave three cheers. Moreover, they never disturbed her premises again.
HE DESERVES HIS SWORD. W. A. Campbell, Columbus, Miss., March 27, 1893: "Mr. A. J. Story, of the Eleventh Alabama Volunteers, says that in the battle of the Crater, near Petersburg, he captured a Federal lieutenant colonel with a wooden leg, and that broken. He asked him when he lost his leg, and learned that it was at the first battle of Manassas. He gave Mr. Story his sword and pistol, and he left his sword with a Miss Belle Peay, of Richmond, Va. He offered the pistol to this lady, but she said she would keep the sword for him. He now says if this colonel is still living and would like to get his sword (if Miss Belle Peay is living), he might get it by writing to Richmond."
AN INCIDENT OF WAR TIMES.
In Florida May is quite a warm month. Open doors invite the perfume laden breeze, the sky, the air, the birds, the flowers. All nature is joyous, bouyant, riotous in happiness without that undertone of langour, and even melancholy, which comes later as the season advances. The May in question was the memorable May of 1865. Not many gave a thought to the charms of nature as every ear strained, every nerve throbbed, every heart ached to hear the news from Virginia. All felt that the cause was lost, but the feeling was not put into words, except in the sacredness of the most confidential friendship. The air was full of rumors of defeats, victories, terms of peace, unconditional surrender, European interference, etc. Everywhere the unsettled state of the country provoked deeds of lawlessness, but most hideous of all were the accounts of negro outrages, theft, murder, arson, and blacker crimes.
You sweet and gentle women who dwell now in sheltered homes enjoying the security of a native land at peace, whose fathers, brothers, husbands and sons come and go regularly, or if detained inform you by telephone or telegraph, or the slower but very sure postoffice service, of the changed programme, do you not wonder how we lived through those sorrowful years of war) especially through those last solemn days when all regular transportation was discontinued, the mails stopped, all official news cut off? Almighty God himself, who feeds the springs of life and hope, alone knows how we were supported. The negroes were as restless as the white people. A wonderful change was coming. Of that they felt certain, but what to do to reap its benefits they did not know. As a rule the negroes were astonishingly obedient. Having but little knowledge of the world beyond their own neighborhoods, the change was anticipated with mingled feelings of awe and delight. Their deliverers were coming, they could afford to be still and wait for "the salvation of the Lord," at least that seemed to be the temper of all the slaves on the plantation where I awaited the return of my husband from the Army of Virginia.
As the days swept by anxiety grew more intense. We undertook the most hazardous journeys, on foot of horseback, to see or hear from somebody who had returned from the seat of war. Getting home at dusk after one of these profitless jaunts, I delayed only long enough to tell my friends the result, and that I was too tired to take supper, I went to my room. It was up stairs, a very large, square room, with wide windows on three sides and a door on the other side opening into the hall, just at the head of the stair steps. The large, old fashioned bedstead stood in the center, to catch every breeze and to avoid contact with the walls) thereby securing immunity from insects which lead riotous lives in the land of the orange. A full moon floated in the dappled sky, under the clouds one moment, luminous, clear, brilliant the next. Fatigue, suspense, helplessness, the enervating influences of the night broke down all thoughts of self control. I threw myself on the bed and sobbed my strength, if not my life, away. I heard the shutters carefully closed down stairs, the doors locked and heavily barred. Over among the negro cabins silence and darkness reigned supreme. The big "white folks' house" shone in the moonlight. The quarters were low cabins, shaded by live oaks and magnolias. One ignorant of their proximity would never have suspected it, so entirely were they concealed by the abundant foliage in which they nestled.
Ah! there is the shadow,
I thought, finally recognizing the necessity of going to bed, " the shadow in this fair landscape, the shadow on our horizon, no matter how the conflict ends. But why magnify my personal sorrows while a whole nation weeps? This night is like many of its predecessors, and will pass probably as they have done. Confusion there will be, but in the end intelligence rules everywhere, and so it will in Dixie."
How inviting the wide, white bed! I was glad not to be obliged to shut out the air and the moonlight, as being up stairs it was not necessary to close either the window shutters or the door. How long I slept I did not know, but I suddenly became conscious that I was awake and the room. totally dark. The moon had gone down, I thought, as I raised up on my elbow. What sound was that ? Deep, regular breathing, such as could proceed only from healthy human lungs. One moment more made me certain that the human being was under the bed. My mind was in a wild turmoil. Should I scream the sound would arouse the sleeper, who must have entered the house for some nefarious purpose and been overtaken by sleep. Should I attempt to spring past him would I reach the door first ? Was he alone or were others outside ? Was it particular mischief directed to me or was it general disaster threatening the whole family ? I was not aware of coming to any conclusion concerning these momentous propositions, but in less time than it takes to tell about it I found myself flying down the steps screaming as never woman screamed before, all listeners, white and black, testified. The family were aroused instantly. The master of the house seized one pistol, his wife took the other, the children carried brooms, sticks, any available weapon of offense or defense. From the quarters rushed faithful Caesar, the carriage driver, with a big flaming light wood torch, the regular slogan of a Florida darkey, followed by a frightened crowd of all ages and both sexes. Screams, exclamations, questions, created a perfect Bedlam.
I'll go fust, Mars Joe, said Caesar. " Let me fling de light o' dis torch on him, dat 11 wake him. Ef he move den you shoot. An' you, Miss Lizzie, git out on de gal'ry, pint your pistol towards de yard, ef he jump over de bannisters den you shoot." These preliminaries being arranged Caesar, the self elected captain, marched valiantly forward, his master, with his pistol cocked, a little in front. The dismayed crowd of youngsters stopped in the hall below and on the turn of the steps, only a few bold field hands kept close to Mars Joe and Caesar. The stillness of awe fell upon us, expectation was on tiptoe, every moment we thought to hear the loud report of the pistol, followed by the death wail of some miserable wretch, but instead came a loud guffaw from Caesar, and a " well, is that all?" from his master. Caesar was not long in securing the trespasser, who proved to be none other than a picaninny not yet attained to the dignity of two garments, whose mammy had forgotten to count her brood at supper or bed time. He had climbed the steps and gone to sleep without attracting anyone's attention.
His adventure was very quietly begun, but it ended in shrieks and screams very natural as he received on his thinly clad person a fusillade of blows from his irate mammy, who was quite full enough of human nature to practice the long used art of abusing another to detract attention from her own carelessness.
M.M. Monteagle, Tenn., May 1, 1893.
THE FARMINGTON MONUMENT. The oldest village in Tennessee is Farmington. Its leading citizens, in war times, held to the cause of the Union, and there was very little sympathy manifested for the Confederates. Gen. Joseph Wheeler's cavalry corps had a hard fight in the vicinity, and lost many gallant men. Maj. McDowell, who commanded "Forrest's old battalion," was among the killed. The families removed the known to the cemeteries, but there were nine gallant martyrs whose identity could not be ascertained, and they were buried by the roadside. After the war Messrs. Bement Chapman, Cols. J. R. Neil, J. H. Lewis and others determined to erect a monument to their memory. Inclosed within a rock wall is the shaft, 16 feet high. The inscriptions are pathetic. One of them is as follows:
No useless coffin inclosed their breasts,
Nor in sheet nor shroud we buried them,
But they lie like warriors taking their rest,
With their martial cloaks around them.
The Dibrell Bivouac of Lewisburg maintains the fostering care of this sacred place, and decorates the place each year. May 16 is the date for the next gathering there. Thanks to Capt. W. G. Loyd, Adjutant of the Bivouac, for an invitation to attend.
SUGGESTIONS TO SUBSCRIBERS.
Don't buy post office orders for small amounts, postage stamps or postal notes are better, being less expensive. In sending stamps let them be of two cents each, One cent stamps are admissible, but larger are inconvenient. In sending clubs, where the work is complimentary, as It so generally Is, deduct cost of exchange.
Our earnest comrades and friends who are zealous for the CONFEDERATE VETERAN can do it a valuable service by disabusing the minds of indifferent persons who think it is specially for old soldiers, and assuring them it is of today, pulsating with full life in accord with the times. Its purpose is to show the South in a true light, and to honor those who sacrificed property, comfort, and often life, through their devotion to principle.
AN interesting event to the Southern people will be the burial of Jefferson Davis at Hollywood Cemetery, Richmond, Va., May 31st, 1893. The body was deposited in the vault of Army of Northern Virginia, at New Orleans, at the time of his death. There is now a
family lot in Hollywood, selected by Mrs. Davis.
A TERM born in equity, and nurtured by the vilest sentiment known to American citizenship, and so ingeniously used as to secure advocates among conservative people, is the
detestable prefix to our beloved South. OLD South is sometimes used in contra distinction. Let all who join in the spirit of progress (?) be careful of this phrase, remembering that the word "New" in such connection was conceived and its adoption urged by a class who came among us for spoils, and sought to put the "bottom rail on top." We have changed conditions) but the dear old South is good enough.
If any mistake the spirit of this VETERAN) through its disposition to respect and honor men who fought to maintain the Union, and who declared the war ended in 1865, they may know now and forever that it will never tody to a sentiment that compromises the Southern people of ante bellum times. No meaner spirit has ever prevailed than that which has sought to give outsiders the honor for the development of our God given resources.
THE war is not over with me,
said I to some Northern people, who manifested surprise at the remark. " We could not whip you with our guns, and I am now trying to do it with kindness."
We do not truckle to the sentiment of being deceitful for pilfer. Whether we of the South want it or not, we are destined to be one people, and we want to make the best of it. We are no more loyal to the principles of constitutional liberty now than when we tried to keep the stars and stripes out of Dixie. The Southern people (it will be remembered by actors of the time, and should be learned and remembered by succeeding generations) adopted a Constitution very similar to that for which our fathers fought. It seems now that the most important difference is becoming a political question, and the Confederate side may be adopted in the United States. It is that of making a single term for President, and for a term of six instead of four years.
Reconstruction is not a well understood term. If it means acceptance of the " situation " simply, then most men are reconstructed. It does not imply uncompromising belligerence to say that one is not reconstructed. The meaning generally is to detest the sentiment of concession for policy, which some have done who breathe the fragrance of air in Dixie.
People who will not tolerate insolence from an inferior class or race are quickly considerate. If a gentleman accidently collides with a ruffian he is prompt to "beg pardon," and if the other be resentful the instinct is to down him. Our people are very considerate of others, but they demand courtesy in return.
THE VETERAN is anxious to publish the truth for its own side) but in giving this letter it suggests that the conditions might have been such as to enable 35,000 men to hold out indefinitely against 46,000. However, this comment is not intended to condone the palpable error referred to :
In a costly cyclopedia, edited by Richard Gleason Greene, and published in New York by Dodd, Mead & Co., 1890, it is stated that at the second battle of Manassas, or Bull Run, the Federals under Pope, or commanded by Pope and McDowell, numbered only 35,000 men, against 46,000 Confederates commanded by Lee, Jackson, and Longstreet. Now if this is the truth it ought to be accepted and believed by both parties, but if untrue, no matter how high the authority that sustains it, it ought to be assailed and discredited. The idea of 46,000 Confederates under such leaders as Lee and Jackson, having to fight 35,000 Federals, commanded by Pope or anybody else, three days before they could rout them, is too absurd for a child to believe. Dr. Dabney, one of Jackson's chaplains, places the number of men under Pope and McDowell, including reinforcements from McLelland's army, at about 100,000. Jackson, in closing his report of the campaign, states that the "command occupied an isolated and perilous position " while contending with " greatly superior numbers of the enemy." Jackson and Dabney should be good enough authority for us. FELIX S. MOTLOW. Mulberry, Tenn.
THE Ladies' Memorial Association of Montgomery are building, on Capital Hill a monument to the Confederate dead in Alabama, which is to cost, when completed, $45,000. Notwithstanding this Herculean work for that Association, which was organized away back in war times, and has been heavily burdened for a generation, gave an entertainment for the great monument in which all alike are interested, and netted $143.85, which amount is credited in the list as coming through the President, Mrs. M. D. Bibb.
Confederate Veteran May 1893.
THERE is an important bit of unwritten history in the diary of Vice President Alexander H. Stephens. It is the pathetic fact that the renowned statesman, despite all constitutional law, seriously feared the result of his captivity. He did not show the defiance clearly manifest by the Chieftain, by some vilely called "arch traitor," his only superior in Confederate authority.
There is an exquisite sentiment of concern by him in the failure of his captors to secure Robert Toombs also, when they went to his home, Washington, Ga. His devotion to the man whose fame will ever be intensified by the declaration that "we were not whipped, but wore ourselves out whipping them," was remarkable. On an occasion I expressed surprise that he and Toombs were so very different in public matters and yet were so very intimate. He replied, "Toombs speaking and Toombs acting were very different things."
Mr. Stephens' timidity on this occasion would mislead as to his personal courage, for it will be remembered that he frequently challenged strong men to personal combat without hesitation, feeble as he always was, if he felt the least reflection upon his honor. The composure of Mr. Davis under trial did not mislead as to his desperation under outrageous treatment. When, being ignominiously shackled in prison, and he begged the guards to kill him. he taught a lesson of heroism that should not be forgotten.
IN connection with the personal courage of Mr. Davis, and his peril, which must have been far greater than that of Mr. Stephens, reference is made to a story which has been one of the sensations of daily papers recently. It is to the effect that while Mr. Davis was being sent to Fortress Monroe he was tried by a mock "court, "the court" being made by a number of officers on board the United States steamer Pontoosuc, then acting as guard of the transport Clyde, who determined to avenge the assassination of Mr. Lincoln by the execution of Mr. Davis. Ensign J. J. Kane, a noted marksman, now Chaplain of the Brooklyn Navy Yard, was selected to fire the fatal shot. The other passengers on the Clyde besides Mr, Davis were his wife, sister, and three children, Mr. Stephens, Mr. Reagan, Postmaster General, Clement C. Clay and wife, General Wheeler and staff, Colonel Johnson and Lubbuck, of Davis' staff, Major Morand, Captain Moody, Lieutenant Hathaway and several privates.
The event as reported by Kane is substantially as follows:
Mr. Davis was sitting in a steamer chair on the deck of the Clyde. It was a clear day, and I could see him as plainly as if he had been but one hundred feet away. I loaded an Enfield rifle I had picked up on the battle field of Fort Fisher, and resting the muzzle in an air port, aimed it at the heart of Davis.
I feel confident I could have sent a bullet to the target, but some influence prevented me from pulling the trigger.
' I can't do it,' I said to my comrades, but they urged me to fire, and said I would be justified in doing so. ' It would be murder,' I said, and one of them answered, 'Think of the death of Lincoln.' With that I took aim again, and even touched the trigger, but a
psychological force I now think was of divine origin prevented me from doing the act which would have ruined me forever after. I still hesitated, however, and was still aiming when the little daughter of Davis came on deck with a lady who was probably her mother, and ran into her father's arms. It was then impossible to shoot without endangering the life of the little girl, and I laid up the gun. A short time afterward, and before the child had left the arms of its father, the vessels drifted apart, making it impossible for any of the other officers to do the killing.
I have been thankful ever since that I was restrained from doing what would have been an extremely rash act, and I have never until now related the incident except with a requirement of secrecy.
What merciless times those were! It will shake the credulity of the Southern people now to consider the distrust of Northern people in regard to one another. The wife of Gen. Hancock, that noble woman who died recently, in her reminiscences of her honored husband, states: "The spy system was so thoroughly established during the war that nearly every household was invaded by one or more in the employ of the Government. On two occasions were these creatures detected in my own house. I reported the fact to Mr. Stanton, and commented to him upon the lack of confidence shown by the Government towards loyal officers and their families."
Think of spies in the homes of Confederate Generals! Such thing was never thought of in connection with Confederate privates.
OMISSION occurred in the brief sketch of Gen. E. Kirby Smith in the last VETERAN of his exact age. That he graduated from the West Point Military Academy in 1845 gave an approximate. He was born in St. Augustine, Fla., May 16, 1824. He came from an illustrious family of soldiers. His grandfather served both against the French and the British, being a major in the Revolutionary war. His father was a colonel in the war of 1812, and was afterwards made United States Judge of the Supreme Court of Florida. His elder brother, Ephraim, was killed in the Mexican war. General Kirby Smith married Miss Cassia Seldon, of Virginia, in 1863.
AN earnest plea is made to every person who is friendly to this enterprise to do as quickly as practicable what is merited. Write to correct errors in names of subscribers. If you like the publication and intend to subscribe, do so promptly, please. If you can procure other subscribers please do it right away.
Confederate Veteran May 1893.
MY KENTUCKY COMRADE, GRANT.
The following sketch is written for two reasons: First, to entertain the readers of the CONFEDERATE VETERAN, and then in the hope, if the man Grant is living, he may be found.
When Hood's army was thoroughly routed from its position, before Nashville, I escaped from a very hazardous position, where my immediate associates surrendered. It was a perilous run for a long distance, and I was stunned by the scene, wherein a company officer had the top of his head shot off just before me as we ran through an open field. I had hesitated before that, to consider whether I should shoot an enemy whose daring tread into our scattered army, ahead of all his comrades, had excited my admiration, and I was going to spare him when he made quick aim at one of my comrades. After marching in quick time through ravines away from the south bound turnpike along which the enemy had long sweep with rifle cannon, I finally got onto it, and ere the light of another day dawned I was west of Franklin, where a mule was lent me on which to continue my journey. More than three years had elapsed without a sight of home, from which I had never before been absent as many weeks. At Spring Hill, where the failure of a few weeks before to make battle had lost us a great victory, I caught up with Frank Cheatham, my Major General, and with assurance that the army would stay at Columbia several days, and with verbal permission to go to my home east of Columbia, I had made excellent headway on the little mule, considering that much of the time I had to flank the enemy to keep him from flanking me, and at nightfall I was at the head of the army while it waited for placing a pontoon bridge across Duck river.
A half hour before reaching the river I incidentally conversed with a young cavalryman who gave his name as Grant and his State as Kentucky. On our advance he was wounded at Spring Hill, and should not have been on the road but for the advancing enemy. He manifested very sincere attachment for me, and proposed to verify it by staying with me through the night in the rain, if I should fail to get by the vigilant guards at the river bank, and also at the pontoon entrance across the swollen river. Orders were to pass only the wounded, except with their regular commands. Grant gave me his crutch, and riding up to the first guard, he told him he was wounded, also that I belonged to his company and was detailed to go with and assist him. This excuse passed us to the bridge entrance, and just as the officer guarding it was about to test of our merit to pass as "both wounded," some intensely exciting circumstance induced him to leap from his place, and we rode on to the narrow bridge, without side protection.
We had gone to the center of the stream, and were waiting for the pontoon wagons to move off (for we were at the head of the army), when my mule stepped backward for a better position to rest. Unhappily, his backward movement was at such an angle that very soon his hind feet were at the edge of the bridge. It was evidently easier to have him go further back than to regain proper place on the bridge, and, as if bound by a spell, he so changed position that, sooner than I can write it, we were both head and ears under water. I was a poor swimmer, and the chill of the water that December night the 18th may be imagined. Fortunately, we fell at the upper side of the bridge, and on coming to the top, there was the merest edge of a plank on the under slope of a pontoon, on which I got hold with my finger tips. In falling, my little animal turned up a floor plank, and on clearing my eyes of the muddy water, I discovered that the large horse of my friend Grant was standing astride the opening, and with his heels on the ends of the planks directly over my head. I hallowed an appeal to move his horse forward, but it was unavailing. The monstrous animal, under a wounded man who could not swim, stepped backward, and down into the stream he fell. It seemed miraculous that he did not knock me from my hold, but I "tucked" my head under the best I could, and held my position. Grant fell on the bridge. Our animals swam to the right side of the river, and we were soon on them, riding through the suburbs of Columbia in the rain. My hat and blanket were floating ocean ward, and as the heavy drops of rain were like lumps of lead, to protect my head, Grant gave me his blanket and took the rain.
We spent the night together at a cottage, and we enjoyed warm "crackling" bread. Although no dry clothes were offered, we burroughed about two feet into a pile of cotton, and I had the sweetest and most refreshing sleep of my life. Grant was inclined to go home with me, but he wisely decided to avoid the risk of capture. From that cottage whose miserly owner of seventy years died, leaving a beautiful wife of twenty, who soon found a younger husband Grant and I journeyed a quarter of a mile together the next morning. Our roads forked, and have never since come together. He was in the cavalry service from Kentucky. Address S. A. CUNNINGHAM, Nashville.
OUR SOUTHERN WOMEN IN WAR TIMES.
VIVID REMINISCENCES BY MRS. JEFFERSON DAVIS.
The women of the South did not shrink from the prospect of great and painful economies, they also appreciated that their own patriotic duty was, as cheerfully as possible, to bid farewell to the men of their family who must go to the front, perhaps never to return. Sometimes hope buoyed them up, and they looked on the sunny side and believed that their dear ones would be spared because their cause was righteous. They did shrink, however, affrighted from the prospect of being left alone with a multitude of ignorant negroes who might be instigated to rebellion, without physicians to attend their children or priests to bury them if they died. These horrors oppressed them.
Many a woman, buckling on her husband's sword, asked him to show her how to load and shoot a pistol, adding, " not that I am afraid of any thing, but in case of need." Her next problem was how to handle that pistol, which was an object of almost as great dread as would be the foe it was to repel.
GOOD CONDUCT OF THE NEGROES.
All Southern women acknowledge with pride the good conduct of the rank and file of negroes on the breaking out of the war. They generally remained true to the families left in their charge, and protected the women and children to the best of their ability. In short, their course was a powerful testimonial to the life long kind and just exercise of their masters' power over them.
However, the crops failed frequently. The negroes grew to partake more or less of the excitement which pervaded the whole country, and this interfered with the needful, routine of their labor. Then again, the work horses were levied upon for the use of the Government. Thus were the means of cultivation narrowed. The fallow land grew impassable with weeds, the fences and levees fell, the fields which had waved with corn and the cotton blooms became a tangle of vines and bushes, "unprofitably gay with the blue flowers of the destructive morning glory, the execrated tie vine."
Moreover, all large balances of cash lay out of reach, invested, so that there was little wherewith to buy from the neighboring towns or cities, and as the prosperity of these centers was dependent upon the grain and cotton sent in from the plantations, want came upon all.
The very poor suffered in the absence of their breadwinners. Necessarily those better provided for gave of their surplus, and when they became sorely pressed themselves they shared whatever could be spared by their families, as the poorer classes expressed it, they "had a divide." * * *
The harbors were closed by the blockade. No supplies of clothing could be imported. The time came when the stock of cloth, shoes, medicines, machinery indeed, of almost every thing necessary to civilized people was nearly exhausted. The South had proved agriculture to be the most profitable employment, and had never fostered manufactures, besides, her operative classes were not suited to the care of machinery. Now the people found themselves confronted with new problems which they must learn to solve. All these needs must be supplied by the women.
The store each family possessed themselves, of quinine, and such other drugs as were needful for the diseases of a warm climate, was gradually relinquished for the use of the soldiers. Replenishment was impossible. Quinine had been proclaimed by the blockaders "contraband of war."
The women turned, undaunted, to the indigenous materia medica. Decoctions of willow bark, of dewberry root, orange flowers and leaves, red pepper tea and other "tisanes" took the place of the drugs.
One heart broken woman wrote to her husband: "Twenty grains of quinine would have saved our two children. They were too nauseated to drink the bitter willow tea, and they are now at rest, and I have no one to work for but you. Do not think of coming. I am well and strong, and am not dismayed. I think day and night of your sorrow. I have their little graves near me."
HOW CLOTHING WAS CONTRIVED.
The sheep were sheared, the wool was cleansed, carded and spun in the house. Small looms were set up and the warp adjusted under the eye of the practical weaver this being the mistress, generally. All the clothes for the plantation, as well as some cloth to exchange for other commodities, was woven for the winter use. In winter the cotton clothes were made for summer. Pretty homespun checks, brown, black, blue, or red and white, were manufactured for the ladies' and children's frocks. The ladies spun the wool and knitted the stockings and socks their children and husbands wore, also many for the soldiers.
When the longing for the silk stockings, habitually used, pressed upon refined women, the old pieces of black silk were picked to a "frazzle" and spun to make stockings and gloves for themselves and their daughters. Said one, putting out her nattily clad slender
little feet: "I could not bear to wear coarse stockings, my husband takes such pride in my small feet."
Towels and sheets were spun from cotton to replace the house linen which had been cut into bandages, or scraped into lint for the surgeons in the field. One handsome young woman) the daughter of an ex Minister to Spain, rises before me out of the haze of bygone years, stepping lightly to and fro winding bandages on the spindle of her wheel and talking pleasantly to her visitors, while her patriotic mother sat by cutting up the table linen which she had treasured for forty years, The daughter showed great callous knots on her shapely hands made by scraping lint, and mentioned them with an expression of gratitude to God that she could procure material for so much work.
A general officer's wife called to see the wife of the President and brought her, as the most acceptable present, a paper pattern of a glove like those she herself wore, beautifully embroidered and exactly fitted to her delicate hands. This paper pattern is still extant, and very precious to the recipient. It was very useful in providing the President's whole family with presentable gloves made from the sleeves and breast of an old Confederate uniform and the cast off black cloth garments of the gentlemen of the family.
Ladies plaited exquisite straw hats and bonnets, and learned every brand except that of Leghorn. The birds of the country furnished feathers for their adornment.
When new companies or battalions organized, for which flags were needed, the sisters and sweethearts of the men sacrificed their best silk frocks to make the flags. With cunning embroidery they emblazoned them in such royal style that they are wondrously beautiful even in this day of the Renaissance. Is it astonishing that our men wrapped these flags about their bodies and, like the stern Scotch father who gave another and another son "for Eachim," died one after the other to preserve them from capture?
The snippings left by the army tailors, pieces of gray and black cloth five or six inches across, were pieced together and then cut into jackets for the soldiers' children. Very acceptable these "Joseph's coats" proved to those who could boast no better covering.
Such rags as could be utilized in no other way were wound in balls and woven into carpets, which did duty in place of those long since cut up for horse and saddle blankets, and these home made carpets were contributed later as the need of them arose.
Bits of the clippings of the best gown were sewed neatly over the wornout house slippers of the women, and they straightway became dandy little congeners of the gown, and were dainty to look upon, as well as objects of pride to their owners.
Flannel was very scarce, and cost $15 or $20 a yard, but underwear was knitted of homespun wool, and was quite as comfortable as the woven. Dyes were made of the juice of plants. The raw silk wound from cocoons was dyed and twisted into very smooth thread. The finest and most even flax thread, nearly as strong as wire and quite as smooth and fine as sewing silk, was made in Virginia, and even now there is none so good in the market.
HOW WE LIGHTED OUR HOUSES.
Lamp wicks were plaited by hand and the oil was fried out of refuse pork. Sometimes wild myrtle berries were stewed until they yielded a pale green wax, which made beautiful and aromatic candles. The oil of peanuts served also for illuminating purposes. When none of these were to be had the resinous pine "fat pine" was cut into splinters and burned one at a time, while the overworked women sat around the flickering light and sewed until late in the night.
I once saw five soldiers' wives making clothes by this light, and while they worked they talked over the chances of their " men " coming home alive. " I don't expect mine," said one, " but God knows I do not want to complain. Since my baby died he hasn't any occasion to come." By " occasion " she meant inducement.
During all these laborious occupations the children had to be clothed, generally without the assistance of a sewing machine, they must be watched, fed, taught and disciplined. Night schools were established in the basements of the churches, where the ragged children were taught by the young ladies.
Great barrels of soap were made of the refuse of the hogs killed for family and plantation use. Was toilet soap required the need was supplied each time that a home cured ham was boiled for family use, and the old fashioned sweet flowers and herbs of the garden furnished the perfume.
The principal food in every house was pork or corned beef. The meat was cured under the supervision of the ladies of the family, and hams, sausages and "spareribs" were prepared in the most dainty manner. Pork, sugar, sorghum molasses, corn meal, fowls, eggs, butter every thing produced on the plantation were exchanged with grocers for other commodities. Any surplus of cotton, buttons, and such like drapers' stores, were exchanged in the same way.
A few sauces were invented to add zest to our poor fare, and some of these have been accepted by the world of gourmets. Wine was made of elderberries, bitter oranges, or wild cherries.
Hundreds of gallons of blackberry brandy were manufactured and sent to the hospitals for the soldiers.
OUR COFFEE AND TEA.
In order that the wounded might have tea and coffee, "substitutes" were made for home use of sassafras leaves, balm, or sage, and even orange leaves, were steeped in hot water sweetened with sorghum molasses. For coffee parched sweet potato shavings, parched corn or wheat, and parched carrots, were used.
All the coffee, tea, white or brown sugar, and every other scarce luxury, was sent to the soldiers. " Real coffee and sure enough tea" were for the sick and wounded, not for people in health.
The strong tension upon the nerves of the women was not relieved by pleasant new books or magazines. The newspapers were annals of ardent endeavor, some triumphs, but also of sorrow, wounds and death.
All work and no play began to tell upon our nervously organized women. Some of them turned for relief when any of the soldiers were home for reunions, called, from the absence of any refreshments save cold water, "starvation parties." To these came the young officers, who danced as gaily as though there were no serried ranks of the enemy confronting them to do battle to the death, perhaps, on the morrow. There were charades, private theatricals and tableaux. One lovely young woman, who has since bloomed into an authoress of much renown, personated a marble Niobe embracing her stricken children, and the sculptors of antiquity have left us no more beautiful statue.
OUR HOSPITAL NURSES.
The hospital nurses were largely women, and mostly ladies. What they did is recorded in the " Book of Life," but mortal pen would fail to depict their loving service amidst the horrors of military hospitals near the battlefields. The food was generally prepared by private families, delicate breads, strong broths, or ounces of the precious "real tea and coffee" were daily taken in baskets, and the soothing voices of the nurses could be heard whispering hopes of victory and home, or murmuring comforting texts from the Scriptures, while the sufferers were fed or cooling lotions poured upon the dressing of their wounds, I wish it were possible to give the names of these devoted women who administered to the wounded, soothed the dying, and received the little tokens and messages for their absent families. The list would be too long here, but their names are household words in every Southern home and "when shall their glory fade?"
HOW DEFEAT WAS BORNE.
How can justice be rendered to the wives of the common soldiers? On those women fell the burden of deprivation unheard of. In silence they sowed and reaped the land, clothed and tended their children, buried them when they sank under want and exposure, or themselves laid down in solitude and died.
It was the exception when the men in the field knew the trials to which their wives were subjected. The women were vocal in hope, silent in despair. The wives of the common soldiers labored and sorrowed without the expectation of earthly honor or eclat. For if the men of their household perished in battle it was only "collective glory" acquired for the army, for their cause, not for themselves, a nameless grave their share.
When the last sad days of the struggle drew nigh and every heart was cast down, the women were the most cheerful. When the young and old non combatants were summoned to man the trenches there were no tears and repinings. Such preparations as were practicable for the comfort of the aged or infirm citizen guards were quietly made, and the men were dispatched with as much cheer as trembling lips could summon.
At last, when Gen. Lee's half starved army must be withdrawn from. before the overwhelming force of the enemy, he sent an officer to inform Mr, Davis of the fact. The message was delivered in St. Paul's Church during morning service, where the President had gone to pray for his people. The congregation divined the purport of the dispatch, and though they expected, as the outcome of it, that their homes would be burned and the city laid waste, there was no panic, no plea for protection. The women gathered about Mr. Davis and said: " Leave us to our fate if you can save the country. Perhaps some time you may win Richmond back, but if not, we know you have done your best, and you must not grieve over us." In this spirit our women met defeat, starvation, labor, humiliation, and all the heart rending conditions of "reconstruction."
The placid, gray haired matrons of to day have covered with decorous pride the scars of that dread struggle, but they are no less veteran conquerors in a mortal conflict in which every noble aspiration and human effort was called forth, and answered with a cheerful "ad sum.'"
SAVED FROM A FEDERAL PRISON.
As well as I remember it was in 1863, and our line confronted Federals on the Rapadan in Virginia. All being quiet, the two great armies were taking a rest, but were preparing to spring upon each other at a moment's notice. I was ordered to take my company, which was Company I, Fourteenth North Carolina troops, and relieve our advance pickets. In taking command of the line I found that the soldiers of both sides had become quite free with each other in friendly exchange of papers, coffee and tobacco, and a game of cards to pass the time. The officer whom I relieved informed me that he and his men had made arrangements for exchange of courtesies next morning. Instructions came to me that evening to have no communication with the enemy, and to fire on them if they showed themselves in our front. Here came a temptation to surprise, kill and capture quite a number of them, thereby, perhaps, winning promotion and commendation from commanding officers, but a small still voice whispered to me in the silent hours of our lonely watch that night to give the enemy a chance for their lives before slaughtering them in cold blood. My sense of justice and honor decided in their favor. At daylight next morning a horseman rode from the woods in our front and dashed straight for my picket post, where I was surrounded by six brave soldiers armed with good and trusty rifles, and my lines extended on either side ready for action at the command. Many unarmed private soldiers followed close in the wake of the horseman loaded with papers, coffee, etc., for exchange. The horseman rode up in a few paces of my post and came to a halt, at the same time crying out, " Here is your papers, and I have a canteen of whisky for Col. Lee, of North Carolina, who was in West Point with me. I am Gen. Custer." He and his men were then as completely in the power of my men as he was when surrounded by the savage Indians who unmercifully slew him and his companions in arms. I did not give the command to fire and close from right and left upon them, but I ordered one of my soldiers to tell him our orders changed in the night, and I would give him one chance for his life, and that was retreat in haste, or I would be compelled to fire, though they were unarmed and defenseless. He turned and rode away out of my sight that day and forever, and I soon had good cause to thank God for letting him go unharmed. In the fall of 1864, at the battle of Cedar Creek, " the battle of Gen. Sheridan's famous twenty miles ride," I was shot through my lungs while leading the gallant Second Regiment of North Carolina troops in the morning charge. I was left that night in a private house in Strasburg by my friends as mortally wounded. I fell into the hands of Vermont troops, Col. Foster's regiment, Brig.Gen. Grant's brigade, and by their kindness was permitted to write to Gen. Custer, who was at Washington at the time. I never received an answer, but one day Gen. Grant's Adjutant General came into my room and informed me that I would not get a letter from Gen. Custer, but I was to be left within our lines when they fell back, which took place in about three weeks, and the friends who had been so kind to me came in and told me good bye, and bid me go home to my young wife I had married a short time before, who was thinking of me as dead. THOS. B. BEAL. Salisbury, N. C.
Confederate Veteran May 1893.
Of all extraordinary myths and illusions ever cherished, the popular idea of those in the North and East of the ease and luxrious idleness of Southern women is the most delusive.
Not of the "new" South do I write, but of the antebellum. days of slavery.
The most painstaking, indefatigable workers, mental and physical, the world ever knew were the wives and daughters of the Southern planter.
This statement may sound paradoxical nevertheless it cannot be gainsaid.
Take, for example, a cotton plantation of four hundred slaves, the master had his assistant or overseer, whose duty was to superintend the outdoor work of the field hands, but the master was no sluggard, he arose at dawn, and sometimes steadily pursued his work of general superintendence far into the night.
The mistress had more exhaustive duties still. She was the head and front of business. In her hands lay a heavy and a fearful responsibility. She was at once at the head of the sanitary and commissary departments.
The master filled the large square smoke house with provisions. "Mistis" carried the key. No planter's wife ever surrendered that scepter of power, the smokehouse key. It was she who saw that provisions were plentifully and justly dealt out. She saw that her people were well clad as well as well fed, and otherwise made comfortable.
Think of the amount of clothing required for four hundred people, and not a garment bought ready made and not a sewing machine in the land
The material was bought by the bale, cut into shape and made up. The planter's wife had to superintend, ofttimes cut, arrange and sew. No one could teach negro seamstresses but " mistis." Every detail, every preparation, and always the button holes, were left for her tired hands.
Outside of this responsibility and monotonous labor it was "mistis" who was called up at midnight to minister to some sufferer in the quarter. If not moved by that beautiful charity so inherent in the hearts of women, another very important impetus urged careful attendance upon sick slaves negroes were not neglected. Losing a "field hand" was equivalent to lossing fifteen hundred or two thousand gold dollars, therefore medical attention was prompt and efficient. A physician was often miles away, therefore "mistis" sometimes practiced medicine her store room was also her drug store. Blue mass and quinine were her favorite medicines, though paregoric, epsom salts and "number six" played quite an important part. Lard and molasses was her infallible remedy for croup and bad colds. On the intelligence, energy and benevolence of "mistis" much depended.
The plantation was altogether one vast family. The only seeming drone in this busy hive was the black mammy, who, though she toiled not with her hands, she, too, had her responsibilities, for to her were confided the children of her master. To her loyal heart this trust was as beautiful as it was sacred. The children were taught to respect and obey her, and she in turn gave her whole life to their welfare and happiness. I know of one Southern statesman whose home holds many rare and valuable pictures, but the most appreciated of all is the life size crayon of a withered, black face his mammy, whom he now cares for with a son's devotion.
On the plantation the slaves had comfortable dwellings in the quarter in sight and hearing of the planter's residence. The quarter was two long streets crossing each other midway. Each dwelling boasted a flower yard in front and vegetable garden in the rear. The plantation church stood a little way back, and all were required to attend services on Sunday. There was very little friction on a well ordered plantation. Well fed negroes are usually contented, their careless temperaments, reckless of to morrow's weal or woe, are easily satisfied.
The "mistis" of the quarter, the medical and clothing departments, was also "mistis" of the kitchen. The secrets of culinary success were taught by that inexorable teacher, experience, for verily there's no royal road to the mysteries of the successful concoction of dainties.
The purest and best training for boys and girls was on the ante bellum plantation. From the teachings of a well chosen governess, or from neighborhood schools, they had first a solid literary training though still under mammy's argus eye.
Within the home circle "mistis" reigned supreme. With the refining influence of her social jurisdiction, with books and music and flowers, with carefully chosen companions, she developed the characters of her daughters and sons into the beauty and chivalry of the South. Her life was concentrative in its aims and efforts, and every one within the radius of her influence was the better for it.
Plantation life, with its hearty, open handed hospitality, the old time Southern "mistis" entertaining with gentle grace and dignity, are things worthy of remembrance.
Mistis was the authority, the oracle of the plantation. It was she who was appealed to for favors) she who praised or scolded, she who stood between the offender and the overseer's wrath.
Ask some old time plantation darky who in slavery times was his best friend. My word for it, his dim old eyes will brighten as, in a flash of memory, he sees the crowning joy of the old home, and he will answer, with a smile, "MISTIS."
Mrs. C. C. Scott, in Arkansas Traveler.
Confederate Veteran May 1893. STORY OF FIVE PRIVATES.
The warrior's banner takes its flight To greet the warrior's soul.
It was in the early days of '61, just after the pressing call for volunteers rang over the South, that the real shock of contending armies closed in the death grapple which was to last for four awful years, and when volunteers for the armies of Virginia seemed almost to sign their death warrants as they mustered for the fray. Nothing daunted, the boys of the Confederacy, from Maryland to Texas, rushed forward to the defense of their beloved Southland. With all the chivalry and dauntless courage that has ever marked their race they sprung forward to the contest, and were ever ready to even die when duty called.
When the first regiment from South Carolina (Greggs) was ordered to Virginia, one evening just before leaving Charleston, there assembled in one of the most refined and charming houses in this old city by the sea, a party of young fellow volunteers of this regiment, representatives of some of the best families of this State. They had come to bid adieu to the young ladies of the house, whose brother was one of their number. Their ages ranged from seventeen to nineteen. They were bright, buoyant spirits, with high hopes and noble aspirations, whom even the dangers and uncertainties of the future could not tame. The tender mother and devoted, trembling sisters, filled with sad forebodings that this might be the last meeting for some of them, at least, yet they nerved themselves with fortitude to the terrible ordeal, and not a word was spoken to shake the determination of the young soldiers in the holy cause that called them forth. With firmest faith in the justice of their cause, and that God would do what was best, they surrendered them at their country's call, bade them farewell with sad but hopeful faces, and not until they had gone upon the long, dark journey from which but one ever returned, did they weep over the departure of their loved ones.
The following extract from an address by Charleston's gifted orator, Col. James Armstrong, who was with them in the fight and saw what he relates, will best give the last scene in the bloody drama of which the above sketch gives the first, and which recounts the splendid bearing and the death of four of these five young
That old Roman, Maxey Gregg, orders his brigade to charge, and with a yell that awakes the slumbering echoes of meadow and 'stream, they press irresistably along. The chivalrous Col. A: M. Smith falls mortally wounded, and the blue flag of South Carolina, which he told his men to die by but never let trail, wavers, for the boy hero, James Taylor, who bore it, had his breast fatally pierced by a bullet after being twice fatally wounded. It is for but a moment, for the daring young Shubrick Hayne takes it from his dying grasp, and again it floats on high. Alas! he too, falls to the earth to rise no more. It is now in the hands of the youthful but fearless Alfred Pinckney, but soon it drops from his nerveless grasp as he falls mortally wounded across the body of his friends. Then the fourth, Gadsden Holmes, sprang forward to rescue it, but fell pierced with seven balls before he reached the flag. It does not touch the earth, for an other hero rushes from the ranks of the color company and takes the falling standard, and again the Palmetto rustles in the breeze held by the stalwart arms of the lion hearted Dominick Spellman, who bore it through the fight. Many others perished beneath the withering flame, but the column moved victoriously on, and after a most stubborn and bloody resistance the enemy retreated, and the danger that menaced the capital of the Confederacy disappeared with the setting sun.
Another authority relating the same incident says: "The most touching and pathetic incident concerning this class of youthful heroes is that of the defense of their flag by some of the boys of Col. Gregg's regiment of South Carolina volunteers on the battlefield of Gaine's Mill, Va. * * * Thus in a few minutes were offered upon the altar of their country five as noble spirits as ever graced the annals of any history."
The fifth of the party, Lieut. Ingraham Hasel, a nephew of Commodore D. N. Ingraham, passed safely through the fight, and after the battle assisted in burying his dead comrades, and marked the spot on which they fell. They now lie in Carolina soil. He passed through the war from the firing on the Star of the West to the surrender at Appomattox, then in command of Company A, sharpshooters of brigade. He was only once wounded at Sharpsburg although he passed through many battles. His record is one of the most remarkable of the war.
PALMETTO. Charleston, S. C.