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This page is part of The Georgia GenWeb Project a AHGP Project and is hosted by USGENNET |
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Confederate Veteran Misc Confederate Veteran, Vol. XIII, No. 2 Nashville, Tenn., February, 1905. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A WOMAN'S MEMORIES OF THE SIXTIES Mrs. Maria Evans Claiborne, St. Louis, Mo. The first of September, 1861, marked the real beginning of the Civil War for me. For it was on that date that my husband, Col. Mark L. Evans, left me and our happy home at Gonzales, Tex., to go to the warùand to his death on the battlefield. He had responded to the second call for volunteers, and had received a commission to raise a company for Terry's Texas Rangers, a regiment of cavalry under the command of Col. Frank Terry, of Sugar Land, Fort Bend County, Tex. Of this command many brave men fell in battle, "foremost in the fight," while others were spared to fortunate careers in civil life. Prominent among those who fell were the gallant Col. Terry, Lieut. Frank Batchelor, and Capt. A. G. Harris; while of the living left were Col. A. M. Shannon, of Galveston; Capts. John R. Baylor, of Rockport; Friend, of Cuero; and George Littlefield, of Austin. The Terry Rangers started for Richmond, Va., journeying first to Houston and thence to New Orleans. Arriving at the Crescent City, they were ordered instead to Kentucky, where they remained in camp for about two months, only a few skirmishes occurring meanwhile. The prospect for a speedy peace, of which we were so confident at the outset, having proved delusive, early in December I set out from Gonzales, Tex., to join my husband at Bowling Green, Ky. Nor did we yet dream of a four years' war. At this time, December, 1861, all of the ports on the Gulf Coast of Mexico were blockaded by the Federals, and I had to go by land. There were but few railroads in Texas at that period, and I had to travel to Alleyton, fifty miles, by stage, that being then the terminus of what is now the Southern Pacific Railroad. From Alleyton I went to Houston, and thence to Beaumont by train. There I took a boat on the Natchez River to Niblett's Bluff, where I had again to journey by stage through Louisiana to New Iberia, on the Bayou Teche. I went by boat again to Brashear City, and from thence to New Orleans by railway. This journey, long and tedious, I made alone with my two small children. Arriving in New Orleans, we were glad indeed to rest for two weeks at the home of my mother there. The very sad news of the death of Col. Terry was received while there. He was killed in battle at Woodsonville, Ky., on December 17. An extract from my husband's letter, which conveyed the shocking news to me, will perhaps not be amiss, since it gives in its every word a faithful account of this first great loss in the regiment, bringing home to us the realization of what the conflict might mean for ourselves: "HEADQUARTERS TEXAS RANGERS, CAMP TERRY, NEAR CAVE CITY, December 19, 1861. "My Dear Wife: At the earliest moment practicable I hasten to lay before you a short report of our late battle, fought on Tuesday, the 17th, near Woodsonville, on Green River. On last Sunday our entire regiment was engaged in attacking the enemy's pickets along Green River, on a front of at least thirty-five miles. We killed five or six and took a good many guns, mules and horses, and prisoners. On Tuesday last we started from here in advance of Gen. Hindman's Legion of Infantry, numbering two thousand, two hundred men, ninety cavalry from Mississippi, and our cavalry of Texas Rangers, numbering two hundred and eighty, for Green River. "The General brought a battery of four six-pounders. We reached Rowlett's Station, one mile from Green River, about 11:30 AM. Ice Jones and company were sent to the left to reconnoiter, and soon the firing was heard between these pickets and Jones's company, and in a few minutes Ice came galloping in and reported to Col. Terry that the enemy were coming up the hill on our left flank in force. Col. Terry sent him back to still keep watch of their movements and report from time to time. "By this time the firing got closer, and shot after shot was heard, and in a few minutes the shots appeared very close to us, and soon a shower of bullets came whistling over our heads, and the enemy came up in a hundred yards of us. Col. Terry raised his hat and waved it, and shouted: 'Charge, my brave boys, charge!' I was close to him when he gave the command, and we all started at a gallop, the Colonel leading everybody. The enemy were posted in a thick skirt of black-jack on our left, about four hundred strong, and only about one hundred and twenty of us charged them, and such a charge! The boys raised the yell, and every one dashed ahead upon the bright bayonets and right in the face of a hail of bullets. We routed them, shooting them down right and left and putting them to flight in every direction. We charged right over them, and I never saw men fall as they did. One tried to run his bayonet into me, but was shot by Mr. Thomas, of Capt. Wharton's company. All the enemy, we found, were of the Thirty-Second Indiana. "Col. Terry made a desperate charge upon about a dozen, and fell dead, having received a ball in the chin and coming out in the back of his head. His horse was shot from under him about the same instant. I have the honor to know that I shot "the Dutchman's brains out that killed him. I emptied my six-shooters into the crowd, and saw several fall dead. "Poor Terry! He was a gallant colonel, and won the admiration of everybody by his manly courage and by his kind heart and noble disposition. I got down and took hold of him and tried to raise him up, but he was a corpse and very much disfigured. I called up four men to help carry him off the field. His son Dave was perfectly thunderstruck when he came up and saw his dead father, and he fell upon him and screamed as if his heart would break. It was a heartrending sight to see the Colonel's brains all shot out lying beside his dead horse, and others lying around, wounded and dead; and the enemy lying round, dead and wounded, and the wounded groaning and calling for water. "We routed them from their stronghold and were masters of the field. Capt. Ferrill fought them on the other side of the railroad and killed about thirty. We killed about twentyfive òor thirty in our charge, and part of our men followed them up in the field and killed a good many. Our men were then called off and ordered to form again. The artillery was brought up and commenced playing on the enemy, and made lanes through their ranks. We threw shells at them, which did some execution. They threw three shells at us. One sung over my head and burst in the air in our rear. Two Arkansas companies of infantry engaged a part of their right flank and killed sixteen. Our killed were: Col. Terry, Corporal Dunn, of Company K, and Privates Beall and Lofton, of Company D. Lieut. Morris, Company K, was mortally wounded; severely wounded, John Jackson, Capt. Walker, Company K. Capt. Ferrell fought a gallant fight and lost two men and seven horses. Capt. Walker had two horses shot, while there was one horse shot in my company and Col. Terry's. It was a desperate and hard-fought battle, and lasted about one and three-quarters of an hour. I was in the thickest of the fight, and had a chance to know for once what it is to be in a battle and to smell the smoke of the cannon's opening roar. "All our boys fought gallantly, and every one showed that he felt the reputation of Texas was at stake. That day added a bright page to the already wide fame of the Texas Rangers. But we have lost our Colonel, and many a sad heart and solemn face is in camp; and the whole army is awe-struck and grieved at our sad misfortune. "I was ordered by Gen. Hindman after the Colonel's death to take charge of the regiment, as I was the ranking officer in the field present, and I felt a heavy responsibility. But Maj. Harris has arrived from Bowling Green, and takes command to-day. Gen. Johnston is sending a large force up to this place, and bloody work may be expected if the enemy come on this side of the river. They are reported to be thirty thousand strong. "Write to me soon and give my love to my friends. I will try to get to see you and my darling children soon. Your affectionate husband, M. L. EVANS." The State of Louisiana being then under martial law, I was obliged before leaving the city to go before the provost marshal to be identified before I could obtain a passport out of New Orleans. Having secured this, I went from New Orleans to Columbia, Tenn., the home of my childhood and youth, my school days having been spent at the famous old schools, the Female Institute and the Tennessee Conference Female College. That I might continue to have the advantages of these schools, upon my mother's change of residence to Texas, in 1853, I was left by her with her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Garrett L. Voorhies. My mothers three brothers were all supporters of the Confederate cause and closely identified with it, as their names (Col. William Milton Voorhies, Rev. James G. Voorhies, and A. 0. P. Nicholson) will recall. On January 1, 1862, I left Columbia for Nashville to join my husband and to procure a boarding place nearer him. This we found in the pleasant country home of Mr. William Shaw, about ten miles out of the city, and a mile or two from the Gallatin Pike. Mr. Shaw was then the sheriff of Davidson County, and his lovely home was in a beautiful valley surrounded on all sides by high hills. While there the sad news came that the Federals had attacked Fort Donelson, on the Cumberland River, and a bloody battle was being fought. We could hear distinctly the booming of the cannon. It sounded like a terrible thunderstorm in the distance. The result was the fall of Fort Donelson and the loss of many lives, while many were taken prisoners. Then came the awful news that the Confederate army in Kentucky was falling back into Tennessee, and soon could be heard the rumbling of the artillery and the heavy army wagons on the Gallatin turnpike. Many hearts ached, and every face showed it. Our next news was that Gallatin had been burned by the Federals. There was much anxiety on every hand. Under these conditions I feared that I might be left within the Federal lines; and to add to my anxiety, I had with me a brother ill with rheumatism caused from exposure in the army. Mr. Shaw kindly offered to convey me and my brother, H. Clay Evans, across the Cumberland River to Nashville. We gladly accepted his kindness, and within an hour my brother and I, with my two small children and our baggage, were piled by Mr. Shaw into an express wagon, he accompanying us, and hurried away over the rugged roads. Soon we came to the turnpike, and just in sight came a long line of army ambulances, the sick and wounded from the hospitals at Bowling Green, Ky. a gloomy sight indeed. Just as they had passed us, we saw several men approaching in Federal uniforms, and with them one of the men who had been sent out for information. As they reached us this man spoke to us and said: "You see I am in the hands of Federal officers." This so shocked and grieved me that I could not restrain my feelings, and I began to weep, when one of the officers, spoke up gravely: "That is too severe a joke." Then he assured me that they were Confederates, and had only fortunately captured some Federal clothing, and introduced himself to me as none other than the "Rebel, John Morgan." After thus relieving my fears, Gen. Morgan, knightly soldier that he was, kindly offered to escort me himself safely into Nashville. He informed me that they were the rear guard of Johnston's army, the procession of the sick and wounded which we had just viewed being the last to proceed. And so, Gen. Morgan leading the way, we once more went on our journey, reaching Nashville in a few hours. Arriving there, we found the streets so crowded that we could scarcely make our way through; but Gen. Morgan's presence opening the way, we found it less difficult again because of his valuable assistance. The scenes of this memorable day I can never forget. We saw Gen. Forrest's command as they came in from Fort Donelson after their terrible battle and their long march through mud and water; it was a pitiful sight that I shall always remember. From the veranda of the St. Cloud Hotel, as we passed it, we saw Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston addressing the army and giving his marching orders. Among the regiments drawn up in line for these orders, and ready, every man of them, to obey, were the Terry Texas Rangers, who at that moment, to my proud, anxious heart, seemed of all that body of brave men the bravest and the best. We found it difficult to secure a lodging place, being obliged to seek one hotel after another, finding every one filled to overflowing, until finally we reached the Planters', where, although at that time but a third-class hostelry, I felt very fortunate in finding a comfortable stopping place for the night. There I parted with gallant John Morgan and my good friend, Mr. Shaw, thanking them both for their valued services. In Nashville all business was suspended, of course, every house closed, and all was excitement. I had failed to find among the crowds that thronged the streets the one face of all for which I was looking, and it was not until the next morning that I saw my husband. Standing out on the little veranda outside my room and looking out upon the crowd of soldiers that filled the street below me, I recognized my husband at a little distance from me. He had passed my hotel and his back was to me; but seeing the Texas star on his hat, and sure that it was he, I called to him aloud, "Mark! Mark!" Turning quickly in the direction of my voice, he saw me waving, and rode back to me. He had left his regiment on the early evening before, riding all night that he might be in time to see me safely across the Cumberland River and within the Confederate lines. He arrived at Mr. Shaw's only about an hour after we left. Passing over our joyful meeting, mingled as it was with the shadows of impending disaster and all the nameless sorrows of war, our stay in Nashville was short, being but one night and the day following. The city was in great confusion, every one fleeing who could get means of conveyance. Not a vehicle of any kind but had already been pressed into service. It was on Sunday when the first news came that our army in Kentucky was falling back into Tennessee. Many were at church, and the first news was announced by the ministers from their pulpits. The people were almost instantly wild, many going from church to the stations at once. Train after train was sent out heavily loaded with refugees. Among these a great many were the students from the many schools of the city and the section surrounding it, many going directly to trains without packing trunks or taking a meal---no one thinking of sleep that night. Then indeed "There was hurrying to and fro, And lips all pale." On the river, throughout the blackness of the night, there burned a broken line of red fire from boat to boat of all the many stored with commissary supplies, which had been set afire and floated down the river. Leaving Nashville, I went with my children for a few days back to my old home at Columbia until my husband should arrive with his regiment. All along the way down as we journeyed we saw stationed at the bridges the men who, at a moment's warning, were to set fire to them. And even as we passed, like electric signals in the distance, we could see the smoke of the burning bridges, over which we had just passed in safety. This was the case as far as Franklin. From Columbia I journeyed with my husband and our children by railway to Decatur, Ala. The army was arriving there on the Tennessee River in large forces daily, moving on down to Corinth, Miss., where, it was thought, a stand would be made, as the Federals, many thousands strong, were landing near luka. When I passed Corinth on my journey homeward toward New Orleans, there were thirty-five or forty thousand encamped around the town, the camps extending for miles. It was one grand military camp of infantry, cavalry, and artillery. On every side the accouterments of war---locomotives and army wagons, horses, pack mules, ambulances, and cannon---were everywhere to be seen, with stores of deadly cannon balls and shells of every kind. From Decatur I went direct to New Orleans, where I received the news from Shiloh in a brief telegram from my husband, dated April 9, which read: "Just in from the battlefield. Safe." On the same date he wrote me concerning the battle. Before I could reply to this letter I received a telegram from my husband, stating that he would be one of the military escort to accompany to New Orleans Gen. Johnston's remains, which would arrive on the next day, the 10th of April. As will be remembered, the remains of the, distinguished commander lay in state in the city hall in New Orleans, after which they were placed temporarily in Mayor Monroe's vault, being removed after the war to Austin, Tex., and buried in the State Capitol grounds. Passing over the grand military funeral given by the city of New Orleans as a last honor to the lamented Gen. Johnston, the greatest spectacle of sorrow I ever witnessed, my stay in New Orleans was shortened by the threatened attack on Fort Jackson, on the Mississippi River just below the city. It was reported that the Federals were firing on this fort, and, all news being suppressed, we decided that Texas would be a safer refuge, so we started once more homeward over the terrible route we had traveled a few months before. So on the morning of April i8, 1862, we left New Orleans. That evening the Federal gunboats arrived under Farragut, and New Orleans had fallen. We had but barely escaped the triumphal entry of Ben Butler, and fortunate we were to have escaped his merciless rule. Back again to our home in Gonzales, Tex., we journeyed from New Orleans, my husband accompanying us on the journey. Arriving there, my husband could remain but a few days with us to see us safely settled, when he was obliged to hurry from us again to join his regiment. It was on the 1st of May that he left on his return trip, which proved to be a long and tedious one. It was the 31st of May that I had word from him that he had reached Vicksburg, Miss., at which point he had crossed the Mississippi, landing just as two gunboats of the enemy appeared in sight and fired upon one of the Confederate batteries; but receiving no reply, they retired, "it being evident," he wrote, "that they were only trying to get the range of our guns. But in this they failed." The greater part of this trying journey by my husband and two or three companions was made in an open skiff on the river, each taking a turn at the oars. In this way they made all the way from Monroe La., to Vicksburg, the country all being then under water. Letters now came less often even than before; for the Federal lines separated us, and they had always to come by hand, as chance might afford an opportunity now and then of a hasty note's being intrusted to some soldier returning home. By a friend so returning my husband sent me late in September, 1862, a few hurried lincs written in pencil on two leaves torn from his small memorandum book. Long before he had written me on the 17th of June from Camp Lookout: "We have plenty of good water, but hard living. Nothing but flour, bacon, and beans. The coffee and sugar are played out. None to be had, and the boys are learning, to do without." Week followed week, and no letters. Nothing to break the desolate silence, until finally news came- --vague, conflicting rumors only---that my husband had been wounded, how severely no one could tell certainly. Some cheered me with the assurance that he was only slightly wounded and that he would soon return home; others were sure that he had been wounded mortally. Every one showed tenderest sympathy; but it was hard to know whom to believe, so conflicting were the reports received. Finally one desolate day there came a letter, short and simply worded. It read: "Harrodsburg, Ky., October 21, 1862. "Mrs. Evans, Dear Madam: It has fallen to my lot to inform you of the melancholy fate of your lamented husband, and may God help you and give you fortitude in your bereavement. "Capt. Evans was ordered into the battle of Perryville on the 8th inst. to charge a battery, which he did most gallantly. But he received a fatal wound in the head by a Minie ball which fractured his skull. He was brought to my home, where he had good attention until the i8th inst, when at forty minutes past six he expired. He lay in a drowsy state all the time, and never opened his eyes; he talked very little, and his talk was like a man who is very drowsy. His Masonic brothers helped to get his coffin and to bury him. He and Col. McDaniel, of Georgia, were buried at the same time. Their bodies now lie in the Masonic grounds, where they can be removed. "Anything that you would desire me to do shall be done with pleasure. Most truly your friend, B. MILLS." "NOTE---The Indian boy [Capt. Evans's body servant] attended him most faithfully. My wife has his clothes, a ring, and a lock of his hair, which will all be kept for you. His brother and some friends remained with him for three days, when the enemy came and they left him in my charge. B. MILLS." Following this painful letter, a few weeks later came another from my husband's warm friend and comrade, Lieut. Frank Batchelor, the details of which giving so vivid a picture of war and its horrors, I have been moved to quote from it that portion which describes the scene of my husband's death: "The painful task is mine to inform you of the death of your dear husband, Maj. Mark L. Evans, who died at Harrodsburg, Ky., in October, last, of wounds received while gallantly leading a charge of the Texas Rangers in the battle of Perryville. I was with him but a few minutes before he was shot. The enemy had turned a battery upon us to cover the retreat of some of their cavalry, who were falling back before our skirmishers. One of their shells burst near my horse, causing him to spring round so suddenly that my girth broke and threw me to the ground. Our regiment was now ordered to retire before the enemy's galling fire; but Evans, seeing my situation, stopped till I had refixed my saddle and remounted, when we rode at swift gallop till we reached the regiment. Just then we were ordered to charge the enemy, strongly posted on a hill. I rode to my company, while he went to his post as major, acting as lieutenant colonel of the regiment. He had been major, in fact, since the resignation of Lieut. Col. Walker, though his promotion had not been declared officially. "We were thus separated, and I did not see him again during the charge. After it was over a soldier told me that he was killed I immediately started hack, determined to bring off his body, but was met by one of our company, who told me that he was not dead, but mortally wounded and insensible; that Lieut. J. W. Baylor had taken him from the field, and that he would not live many minutes. Our company had but one commissioned officer besides myself, and I could not leave it, so I sent his brother Clay with two others to see that everything was done that could be and not to leave him. This they did, and got an ambulance and took him to Harrodsburg, in advance of our retiring army, to the house of a Mrs. Mills, who rendered every assistance dictated by sympathy and kindness. He was struck by a large-sized musket ball just above the right temple and ranged over the skull, tearing the flesh out some four inches and a half in length by one in width and leaving the skull bare and slightly fractured. "The morning we left Harrodsburg I called to see him for the last time, and assisted in dressing his wounds. The surgeon told me that there was hardly room for hope; but I could not bear to write you till I could give encouragement to hope or be forced to state the worst. I therefore delayed this letter till the announcement of your husband's death appeared in the Louisville papers. "I found Mark entirely sensible, but so stunned by his wound that he spoke only when roused up, and then in monosyllables. The physicians forbade talking upon any subject likely to excite him, so nothing passed between us about home." And so alone, among strangers, neither brother nor comrade with him, my husband died, his life a sacrifice to the cause that he so bravely defended, because he was so strongly convinced of its justness. His history thus early brought to an untimely end was not sadder than that of many another on both sides of that contending army that marked its passage with the ashes of desolation. Wherever they rise---those "low, green tents whose curtains never outward swing" let us deck the turf that wraps their clay with our prayers and hopes that they lived not in vain. The following article is from the Confederate Veteran, Vol. XIII, No. 5 Nashville, Tenn., May, 1905. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A BAREFOOTED BOY DEAD AT GETTYSBURG Capt. John H. Leathers The war between the North and South furnishes us on both sides of that terrible conflict, thousands of examples of courage and bravery unexcelled in the history of the world. The heroes of that war were not confined to the men who held high positions. There were heroes whose names have never been mentioned, and who in thousands of instances fill unknown graves; but they were none the less heroes. The incident I am about to relate is a true one, and furnishes an illustration of courage and daring unsurpassed in any war. During the fall and spring of 1861 and 1862, when Stonewall Jackson's army was in camp at Winchester, both armies had been busy after the battle of Bull Run in recruiting and preparing for the conflict which both sides knew would be a long and bloody one. The North was aroused and amazed at the defeat at the battle of Bull Run. Thus the men of the North and millions of money were brought into requisition to stamp out the rebellion. The South, on the other hand, rose to a man, and we might add to a woman, in defense of their homes and what they believed to be their rights. The flower of the youth of the Shenandoah Valley flocked to Stonewall Jackson. "The common people" also came with the same patriotic impulse to join his forces, and among these many sturdy sons of the mountains of Virginia. Among them was a young mountaineer by the name of Jo Ersom. Jo was a boy about nineteen years of age, about "six foot" tall, as straight as an arrow, with big black eyes, dark complexion, and long, straight black hair, looking half Indian. He was dressed as a mountaineer and barefooted. He had never been to school a day in his life, and had never worn shoes except in the roughest winter weather. From his appearance, the boys, who were always ready to give every one a nickname that seemed to suit, dubbed him "Killoola," and he went by that name all through the war. At first he was imposed upon by the other soldiers who had been in the war long enough to learn a thing or two, and he was made the "hewer of wood and drawer of water" for the entire company, which he bore without a murmur. He drilled along with the company, and soon filled his place as a member in the ranks. In the battle of Kernstown, four miles above Winchester, in a terrific little fight between Jackson and Shields, Jo received his first baptism of fire, and he behaved so splendidly that he at once earned the confidence and respect and affection of the entire command. From that day on he was known as a brave soldier. It is known to those who are familiar with the history of the war that after the defeat of Hooker at Chancellorsville Lee immediately prepared for the invasion of Pennsylvania, and sixty days after the battle of Chancellorsville the great struggle at Gettysburg took place. Before starting out on the campaign Gen. Lee endeavored to provide his army with the best arms and equipments he could obtain, and as far as possible with new clothing. Many of these new things he managed to get through the blockade from England, and among other things thus brought through was a splendid lot of English army shoes, which were distributed through the army to those who most needed them. Jo, who rarely ever wore shoes at all because his feet did not suit shoes, drew a pair of these English army shoes, of which he was very proud. He could wear them only a little while at a time, but he would not sell them for love or money; and on the march from Virginia to Gettysburg he would wear them until his feet commenced to hurt, then he would take them off and go barefooted, carrying his shoes on his gun, and then put them on again, and so on until the army reached Gettysburg. It is known to those who are familiar with the history of the war that both in the first and second day's fight at Gettysburg the Confederates drove everything before them. It was in the first day's fight that poor Jo lost his life. Jackson s corps, then commanded by Gen. Ewell, advanced upon the enemy, who had intrenched themselves on the crest of a long and rocky bill. Jo was in the ranks of his company, and started in this charge with his shoes on. After the line advanced through a wheat field some quarter of a mile or more, he began to lag behind, and, finding that, with the quickening pace of the men who were then about ready to charge, he could not keep pace with them, he stopped, took off his shoes, tied them together with the leather shoe strings and threw them across his left arm, and hurried forward over the rough and stony ground barefooted to regain his place in the ranks. As the enemy's skirmish line was broken, the order was given for the Confederates to charge the breastworks of the Federals on the crest of the hill some four hundred yards distant. The charge was made with the terrific yell of the Confederates and met by the galling fire of tile Federals, who were waiting for the charge; and when the smoke of the battle cleared away, the Confederates occopied the position the Federals had been driven from. Among the dead lying on the very top of these earthworks was poor Jo Ersom, barefooted, and his shoes lying across his left arm. This poor, untutored mountain boy had given all he had to give to his country---his young life's blood. Confederate Veteran, Vol. XIII, No. 5 Nashville, Tenn., May, 1905. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- REVIEW OF GENERAL MILES'S CRUELTY TO MR. DAVIS Bennett H. Young Smarting under some criticism spoken in the Congress of the United States in connection with his acting as Adjutant General of the State of Massachusetts while being on the pay roll of the United States, Gen. Nelson A. Miles has made what he calls "A Statement of the Facts Concerning the Imprisonment and Treatment of Jefferson Davis while a Military Prisoner at Fortress Monroe, Va., in 1865 and 1866." It is unfortunate for Gen. Miles that he has allowed this statement to be so long delayed. He now himself reopens the subject. It is nearly forty years since these transactions which affected Mr. Davis's imprisonment took place, and they have hecome a part not only of the history of the United States but of the world. It is very late to change or modify them. They are transactions of the past, over which no man has control. They must stand or fall by what was said or done at the time of their happening. I propose briefly to review Gen. Miles's treatment of President Davis in the light of historical facts, and to show that the four decades which have passed since the horrible occurrences at Fortress Monroe have not mitigated nor palliated the outrage that was perpetrated upon that helpless, defenseless prisoner. It is always just to judge men by their surroundings. The country was in a high state of excitement. The Confederate army had surrendered. Mr. Davis, Mr. Clay, and others had been charged with connection in the assassination of Mr. Lincoln, a charge which even their enemies were forced quickly to withdraw in shame and confusion. As I understand the defense of Gen. Miles it is fourfold. First, that there was some fear that Mr. Davis might attempt to escape; secondly, that Mr. Davis was not treated unkindly; thirdly, that he is not responsible for having manacles put upon Mr. Davis; and, fourthly, that Mrs. Davis and Mrs. Clay thanked him for what he had done for Mr. Davis and Mr. Clay. It is necessary to get a few facts before the mind in order to properly discuss this question. Gen. Lee had surrendered his armies at Appomattox on April 9, 1865; Gen. Joseph E. Johnston had surrendered his armies in North Carolina on the 26th of April, 1865 Gen. Taylor had surrendered his armies on the 4th of May, 1865; and on the day following that on which Mr. Davis was put in irons by order of Gen. Miles the armies of the United States which had engaged in the great civil conflict were to be mustered out at the country's capital and return to the pursuits of peace. Mr. Davis reached Fortress Monroe on the 19th of May, 1865 his jailer, Gen. Miles. was present to receive him. At that time Mr. Davis was fifty-six years of age and had lost the use of one eye by neuralgia, and the terrible physical and mental strain through which he had passed had resulted in extreme emaciation and feebleness. Something in Gen. Miles's character suggested to the ironsouled Stanton and marble-hearted Halleck his fitness for the work to which he was assigned. and that a mere hint from his superiors would be sufficient to secure from him a ready compliance with any cruel or vindictive measure or any bitter humiliation which should he meted out to Mr. Davis. Mr. Davis was manacled on the 23d of May, 1865, four days after his arrival. He had been placed in a stone casemate at Fortress Monroe. He had been given a cot and a coarse mattress and a hair pillow, and the food furnished to him was such as that given to strong, healthy soldiers. This was brought on a tin plate, placed upon a table standing by his side, and the soldiers who bore it and paced by his cell were forbidden to speak a single word to their invalid and infirm captive. In the small room occupied by Mr. Davis two sentinels were stationed, who walked up and down night and day on each side of his cot, and in an adjoining room an officer and other soldiers were stationed. Outside of this door paced other sentinels, whose tramp, tramp, tramp resotinded along the echoing masonry of the fortress night and day. No man who came in contact with Mr. Davis except his surgeon was allowed to speak to him, and after a while even his surgeon was forbidden to speak to him except professionally. All books except the Bible and prayer book were refused. No papers were permitted to enter his cell. his correspondence with even his wife and children was examined by Gen. Miles, and sentences and paragraphs oftentimes cut out. These were the existing conditions when, on the 23d of May, 1865, Gen. Miles issued peremptory orders to Capt. Jerome E. Titlow, of the Third Pennsylvania Cavalry, to enter Mr. Davis's cell with a blacksmith and to place upon his feet manacles of iron about five-eighths of an inch thick and connected together by a chain of like weight. Mr. Davis resisted, and was threatened with the bayonet. At last he was thrown upon his couch, soldiers sat upon his limbs, and by force the manacles were riveted on his ankles, connected with the chain. Gen. Miles was then twenty-six years of age. No plea of infancy will avail as a justification of his cruel and malignant wrong. In 1902 he caused to be issued a pamphlet, which was printed in Washington by Gibson Bros. In this pamphlet, as a quasi-justification of his conduct, are published the rewards offered by Andrew Johnson, President of the United States, for Mr. Davis, Mr. Clay, Mr. Thompson, and others, and he revamps the old story that Mr. Davis was hunted down and captured in the disguise of a woman. He even had the temerity to quote from the records of the Bureau of Military Justice, which have been scorned and eschewed by the honest men of the Republican party even in those days of political excitement and passion. To justify this inhuman thing, Gen. Miles quotes an order of Gen. Halleck. That order is in the following words: "FORT MONROE, May 22, 1865. "To Brevet. Maj. Gen. Miles, Commanding, etc. "The commanding general of the district is authorized to take any additional precautions he may deem necessary for the security of his prisoners. "H. W. HALLEcK, U. S. V., Commanding." But his chief reliance is a stibsequent order issued by Charles A. Dana, Assistant Secretary of War, which is in the following words: "FORTRESS MONROE, May 22, 1865. "Brevet Major General Miles is hereby authorized and directed to place manacles and fetters upon the hands and feet of Jefferson Davis and Clement C. Clay whenever he may think it advisable in order to render their imprisonment more secure. "By order of the Secretary of War. "C. A. DANA, Assistant Secretary of War." In some recent statement Gen. Miles claims that this was an order to put manacles on Mr. Davis. Charles A. Dana is dead. Gen. Miles now seeks to place upon this dead man the responsibility of his crime. It will be observed that in both of these orders the manacling of Mr. Davis was left within the discretion of Gen. Miles. There has never yet been a line produced which directed Gen. Miles to manacle Mr. Davis. It was left to Gen. Miles's discretion, and he exercised that discretion in a way which is bound to invoke the sharpest criticism and the profoundest contempt. When this horrible order was to be executed, Mr. Davis pleaded that it be delayed until Gen. Miles could be communicated with. Gen. Miles put himself in such a position that he could not hear the plea of this weak and despairing prisoner. He had left the fort so that no appeal could reach his ears, and there was nothing left for his subordinates but to enforce his hideous and shocking order. The execution of this plan to humiliate Mr. Davis was conceived, we have a right to assume from accompanying circumstances, by the Secretary of War, the Assistant Secretary of War, and Gen. Halleck, Commanding General. They were unwilling to assume the responsibility of such a crime against a helpless man who represented a brave and chivalrous people, and so they put the execution of it within the discretion of Gen. Miles; and it seems that Gen. Miles most willingly carried out the suggestion, if not the desires, of his superiors, and exercised the discretion and enforced the order in the most brutal way, aid thereby forever placed a stain upon American honor. That it was unnecessary, cruel, humiliating, Mr. Davis worst enemies are compelled to admit. Among all the men living in this day of refinement, of justice, of intelligence, and humanity Gen. Miles is the only person who is willing publicly, as far as known, to justify his conduct toward Mr. Davis. Gen. Miles' effort to unload upon Gen. Halleck, Mr. Stanton. Secretary of War, and Charles A. Dana, Assistant Secretary of War, cannot avail against the cold, hard facts of the orders which they issued and those which he issued. They may have wanted it done, but they were unwilling to require it to be done. Gen. Miles alone had the power to do this thing, and he did it with cheerfulness, alacrity, and brutality; and now. after nearly forty years of deliberation, he attempts to justify it on the ground that there was some information as to efforts of the prisoner to escape. This statement about plots and conspiracies is too ridiculous to merit the notice of intelligent people. There was not in all the Southland one soldier who had a gun. The armies of the South were scattered, and its soldiers had returned to peaceful pursuits. The armies of the United States, on the day following the one on which Mr. Davis was manacled, were mustered out of service; Lee, Taylor, and Johnston had surrendered; there was not a single Confederate gunboat afloat; and all the South was in grief and sorrow because of the misfortunes brought upon it by the stern decrees of fate. As Gen. Miles at this time was brevet major general, we have a right to assume that he was a man of intelligence, and his succeeding military history shows him to have been a man of courage; but there is nobody in the world who will believe that Gen. Miles had any reliable information of any plot or effort on the part of Mr. Davis to escape or on the part of his friends to effect his escape. Around Fortress Monroe was a great army. Mr. Davis was in his cell, and was feeble and invalid. Would anybody in the world to-day believe there was any intention or desire on the part of his friends to attempt to free this prisoner? This story of plots and conspiracies was conjured up by Gen. Miles after forty years' writhing under the memory of this awful wrong that he had committed against this helpless man. It was inexcusable, and as brutal as it was unjustifiable. There is also an effort on the part of Gen. Miles to say that Mrs. Davis thanked him for courtesies shown her husband. All that he ever got from this woman is this: "FORT MONROE, VA., May 23, 1865. "Please receive my thanks for your courtesy and kind answers to my questions of this morning (May 23). I cannot quit the harbor without begging you again to look after my husband's health for me. "Yours very respectfully, VARINA DAVIS." Mrs. Davis did not know of the terrible scene that had taken place that morning in his cell, when Mr. Davis was, by brutal force, manacled under orders of Gen. Miles. It seems that Gen. Miles had had decency enough to answer Mrs. Davis's questions about her incarcerated husband, and in her desolation and grief she thanked him even for that; and then, with the faith of a woman in man, especially a man who wore a uniform, she asked him to "look after my [her] husband's health for me." Vain prayer! for before the ink had dried upon this communication Gen. Miles had issued the order to manacle her husband, and had left the fort to prevent an appeal from the hopeless prisoner. He also published a letter from Mrs. Clay, dated July 27, 1865. Mrs. Clay simply said that she had written him twice and that he had responded. For this she offered him her heartfelt gratitude. She prayed Gen. Miles's kind offices for the prisoners and thanked him for them. He published another letter from Mrs. Clay, dated Septemher 4, 1865, in which she says: "Accept my heartfelt thanks for your great kindness in forwarding my dear husband's letter. May you never be placed in a condition to realize the mingled joy and sorrow its reception gave me! This is all. He had given Mrs. Clay a letter from her hushand, probably the first she had received, and the faithful, loving, womanly soul was grateful for that much. But this is no justification of Gen. Miles. Gen. Miles also filed the affidavit of John S. McEwan, dated May 13, 1866, in which he attempts to show that Gen. Miles had said to Surgeon Craven that he wanted him to take charge of the health of the State prisoners, and to make any suggestions or recommendations that he thought would benefit their health. Gen. Miles's own orders and instructions show beyond all question that if he ever said any such thing it was not sincere or honest, but uttered to deceive. He also attempted to get a letter from James Curry, dated September 2, 1866, and also one from James Whytal; but all these people could say was that they were satisfied that Gen. Miles had practiced all the leniency to Mr. Davis that his duty to the government required. This is no vindication. It is an opinion of subservient subordinates. He also files a letter from H. S. Burton, Brigadiel General, hut Gen. Burton was careful to say that he did not come to Fortress Monroe tintil December 12, 1865. The same is true of Maj. William Hays, but he did not arrive at Fortress Monroe until February 15, 1866, nine months after Mr. Davis had come. Some other letters were gotten, but none of them reached the real question in issue. The truth is, almost all of them admit that they knew nothing about the facts. Gen. Miles has waited nearly forty years to try to justify his conduct. A thousand times in his imagination, doubtless, there has come before him the shocking scene in the casemate at Fortress Monroe on the 23d of May, 1865, when he forced this indignity and humiliation on this brave and noble man. After forty years of consideration Gen. Miles has not been able to devise an excuse that will even mitigate or palliate, much less justify, his conduct. It would have been far better if Gen. Miles, after viewing all the circumstances, had frankly confessed that he had done a great wrong, and said that it was under circumstances of excitement and passion, and, the war having passed away, with calm and cooler thought or on reflection, he would not have placed Mr. Davis in irons and would not have subjected him to the indignities inflicted upon him. Then all the world would have respected him, would have recognized the manliness and the courage which had prompted such a statement; but it can only despise and condemn as disgusting an effort now to justify his conduct, and to unload upon a dead man the responsibility of his action, when the order of the dead man shows that the whole responsibility was left within the discretion of Gen. Miles. Nor will it avail for Gen. Miles to attempt to justify his conduct by expressions of gratitude from two broken-hearted women, whose husbands were then threatened with trial before a military commission, or for treason before the courts. The only gratitude which they expressed was, first, by Mrs. Davis for information about her husband; and, secondly, from Mrs. Clay for the courtesy of sending a letter which her imprisoned companion had written her. Gen. Miles makes further pretense that Mr. Davis was ironed because there was some change of the doors of the casemate, being changed from wood to iron, and the manacling was a precaution against attempted escape. That this is a mere pretense is shown by the fact that it was never heard of or mentioned until Edwin M. Stanton, Secretary of War, on the 28th of May, 1865, called upon Gen. Miles to know whether irons have or have not been placed upon Jefferson Davis. If they have been, when was it done, also for what reason, and "remove them." Up to this time nothing was heard of the doors to the casemate. In the then state of the public mind Secretary Stanton would not stand for this foul wrong against the helpless captive. Gen. Miles concluded that he must have some excuse for this blot on a brave nation. Nothing was then heard of Dana's or Halleck's orders; no claim that they had ordered this manacling. As they were living, it was not safe to charge that they had directed it, and this excuse was withheld until forty years had elapsed and Dana and Halleck were dead. If this excuse was not available while those who Gen. Miles says were responsible for it were alive, surely the American people will not receive it now, after forty years of suppression, and long after the men whose names it seeks to dishonor have ceased to live. It is bad enough to wrong the living, it was inexcusable to torture Mr. Davis with the chains which his cruel jailer put upon his emaciated limbs; but it is absolutely dreadful to stalk behind the skeletons of these dead men, who can make no protest nor speak a single word in defense of their good name and character. Gen. Miles also, in his published vindication, seeks to create the impression, by a letter received from some Confederate in Alabama, that the Southern people had confidence in him and would gladly follow him in war. Southern men did follow him in war, Southern men might again follow him in war; but this great wrong of his, this brutal outrage upon Mr. Davis, will burn, burn, burn in their souls forever, and the people of the Southland must always regard Gen. Miles's conduct, under the circumstances, as malignant, cruel, and unjustifiable, and such that no unbiased man can excuse, explain, or palliate. Confederate Veteran, Vol. XIII, No. 6 Nashville, Tenn., June, 1905. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- VIVID WAR EXPERIENCES AT RIPLEY, MISS C. M. Cole C. M. Cole, of Memphis, Tenn., sends a letter written by his mother to "Cousin Blanche" in Franklin, Tenn. It was never seen by the person to whom addressed. RIPLEY, Miss., November 2, 1862. My Dear Cousin Blanche: While sitting here by the fire this quiet, calm, holy Sabbath morning (how unlike the stormy days so lately passed!) it occurred to me to redeem the promise I made in my last to mother---that I would write to you next. I avail myself of the thought with some comfort, if not with gladness; for, O cousin, I have so much to tell. Just one short year ago the month of October was made a happy one to us by your and our dear mother's visit. A bitter contrast, indeed, the month just past presents. We little thought then that our quiet, isolated little town would be the theater of war, with every one of its grim horrors enacted in detail here in our midst, except an actual battle, and within the sound of hundreds of cannon. It is a long and sad story, cousin, and I close my eyes and press my bewildered head in the effort to bring back sense enough to enable me to tell it to you. You have no doubt heard and seen from the papers of our attempt upon Corinth and its miserable failure. "The half has never been told you," cousin; and it never will be told, for it would take every drop of the blood that has been poured out like water and a page as broad as the blue sky itself to write and contain a true history of the wrongs endured by this unhappy people. I can tell only what we have seen and suffered. I wrote mother a long letter, or sort of journal, giving some account of our experiences the past summer. Though bad enough, it was as but a tame preface to what has followed; and to relieve myself, at the risk of boring you with a long, stupid letter, I must tell you the whole story. The unhappy events of the last five weeks have so burned into my heart and brain that it will be a relief to tell somebody. I can yet thank God, though peace and liberty are no longer ours, we yet possess our lives and usual health. First, to begin with, you must know that on the 28th of September Van Dorn's and Price's armies met here, "forming a junction" to march on Corinth with the intention of driving the enemy from their stronghold. Their armies, some twenty-five or thirty thousand, lay encamped in and around Ripley two days, sweeping everything that was to eat, that could be bought for love or money. Cornfields and cribs, potato patches and gardens, meat houses and pantries suffered to the last point of endurance. (We little thought that worse was in store for us.) You who live in a rich country, overflowing with the necessaries and comforts of life, can form but little idea of the evils attending the march of a large army through a poor country, though that army be our friends. They left many of their sick here in hospital (Mrs. Sandford's house, between ours and Mr. Davis's, you know). Some of them were sad cases, over whom I shed the heartiest tears of sympathy that I ever shed in my life. They commenced fighting at Corinth on Friday, I think, and on Saturday harassing rumors began to reach us of the repulse of our army, and on Sunday nearly all day long the heavy boom of countless cannon reached our ears and aching hearts, keeping us in the most painful suspense, yet hoping that all was not lost, as they were still fighting. But Sunday night brought the fearful certainty of our defeat, when we were awakened at one o'clock with the heavy tread of cavalry and baggage wagons on their retreat, and by morning the town was full of soldiers, some wounded, all famished and begging for something to eat, if but a piece of bread, and alas! all retreating before the pursuing enemy. Cousin, this was terrible, and my heart was nearly breaking, but it had not come to the worst yet. All that miserable morning we were cooking to feed famishing men, when some officers of Van Dorn's staff arrived. (I forgot to tell you in the right place that Van Dorn and staff made our house their headquarters when on their way up to Corinth, and resumed their old quarters on their return.) And one of the officers advised papa to move his family from town, as it was probable that Van Dorn would make a stand here and give the pursuing enemy a fight. This alarm spread, and now began a scene of terror and confusion indescribable. Many fled from town, I and my children and eight of our negroes hurriedly packing what valuables we could get into our one wagon and buggy. Some of us riding, most of us walking, we bid a tearful and despairing adieu to our dear home. O cousin, can you for a moment picture to yourself my feelings when I turned to take "a last, fond look," as I then thought, at the sweet home on which we had lavished so much of all that love of comfort could crave (that a limited purse would allow), thinking but to return and find it in ashes or at least sacked and gutted by a brutal enemy? I looked back again and again, but could not see my poor, deserted home for the blinding tears; and, to add to my distress, Sister Martha and family were undecided about leaving, and I left them harassed with suspense as to their fate. I left papa and Willie to follow at last, when all hope was gone; also to "do the honors" to Gen. Van Dorn and staff, who arrived shortly after I left. I also left Mary and George (two of the servants, you know) for the same purpose, who were to fly, too, at the last moment for safety. Van Dorn gave papa to understand that he would not make a stand here, that there was but little danger of a fight in our immediate vicinity, and advised him to send for me to come home, as it was far better for me to be here. So he sent Willie in the night out to Mrs. Embrey's, where had taken refuge, to tell me to come home, which I did early Tuesday morning; and well, indeed, it was for our dear home that I did. When I got within a mile of town, my heart sank when I saw the Yankee pickets, and I exclaimed to Bettie: "God help us; all is lost." We got home in safety. Not so Willie and Charlie, who were two or three hundred yards behind. The ruffians (the road was lined with them out to where the pickets were) halted Willie and made him take off his new boots and hat and sent the poor boy home almost crying in his helpless rage, bootless and hatless. The Yankees had got in town about midnight, close on the heels of our retreating army; in fact, but three or four hours behind them. Well, indeed, it was for us, as I said before, that I got home as soon as I did; for not more than fifteen minutes after some of the ruffians entered the house, and, on seeing me, they turned short and went out saying: "This is not the place we thought it." They evidently came to pillage. They pretend that they are allowed to pillage only houses deserted by the family. We soon found out the difference between a tired and famished friendly army and a tired, famished, infuriated foe. The ruffians came into the kitchen, demanding with frightful oaths that we should cook for them; and cook for them we did, until Mary and I were both "broke down" and could do no more, threats and oaths notwithstanding. Cousin, I know I shall be swelling my letter to an almost unpardonable length when I tell you of all the trials and indignities that we were subjected to during the five miserable days that we were held in "durance vile" by the enemy. But tell it I must, and I claim your sympathy and forbearance. Did you ever read Coleridge's "Ancient Mariner?" I, like him, would stop a "wedding guest" and compel him to listen to my story. I now come to a part of my story, cousin, so horrible that my fainting heart almost stands still when I recall it. Our retreating army left here in hospitals large numbers of wounded (I do not recall how many) without medical attention or provisions and but few nurses. The care of the poor fellows fell heavily on the few in the distracted state of the town, Sister Martha and myself principally, we being the nearest. We did the best we could for them, sent them clothes and bedclothes and cooked for them, but the Yankee ruffians would often snatch it from the stove before it was done. I seized a moment one day when none of the ruffians were in my house or yard and ran down to the hospital to see if I could not do something for the poor fellows, and 0, my God, may I never more behold such a sight! The two rooms were crowded; the bare, hard, blood-stained floor was so nearly covered that I could scarcely pass between their miserable pallets. A few were on cots. Here lay a poor fellow shot through the lungs, every breath he drew almost a death pang, there a poor little smooth-faced, curly-haired boy only seventeen years old, with his knee and arm shattered, moaning piteously; some with their arms just cut off, some with their legs off, others wounded in every imaginable part. I spoke a few trembling, horrified words to some I passed, until I came to a poor boy shot through the bowels, who was in his last agonies, and giving vent to his dying thoughts in broken words and moans, and none to listen to him. I could brave it no longer, my woman s heart failed me, and I sank on the blood-begrimed floor by his side, crying fit to kill myself, offering such words of sympathy, comfort, and consolation as rose to my lips from my full heart. O, I thank God that he at least was "willing and ready to die, trusting and believing in God's mercy," and glad to give his life to "such a glorious cause." These were his trembling, broken, dying words. Some of the poor fellows entreated me to take them to my house, which we did as soon as our Yankee masters would allow us, as they had to be paroled before they could be removed. We took three---with their nurses, making five---one sick and two wounded. Two got well enough to leave in a week or ten days; the other, badly wounded in the shoulder, lingered three weeks after he was wounded, and died at last, poor fellow, leaving a family of ten children near Florence, Ala. The citizens that remained in town took the poor fellows from the hospital as fast as possible, until nearly every house is now a "private hospital." Many died at the hospital. I saw five poor fellows taken out at one time on a litter to be buried in one grave, unshrouded and uncoffined, and scarcely even a "martial cloak around them," unless their poor, soiled blankets be called such. I was seized with another fit of crying at the dismal sight, for which I was laughed at by a squad of Yankee brutes that were standing at my gate. Several have died in private houses, some have left for their homes, others will die or linger out a maimed, miserable existence. Of all the sad phases of war, this is the most horrible I know; yet others approach it so nearly in horror that it is hard for such sufferers as we have been to decide. I have heard of some things even worse than wounds and death. And now, cousin, while the memory is still fresh and my very pen burns to write it, listen to me while I tell you of some of the wrongs and indignities heaped upon this little rebellious town by our enemies. They broke open every store in town, of course, ruining and destroying what they did not take off. The square was strewn with goods; even the fence around the courthouse was festooned with muslins and tarlatans. They robbed the meat houses and pantries, leaving some families without a mouthful to eat. They took all the corn and fodder, took every horse worth the taking, shot down our cows and hogs wherever they found them, leaving them to rot and fill the atmosphere, already polluted with their hateful breath. Worse than all, they entered houses and addressed coarse and indecent language to women (thank God! I did not suffer this), and in two well-known cases offered worse insult still. Are wounds and death worse? They completely gutted houses that had been left by families too timid to stay. I will give you Mr. Hunt's (Ellen Rogan's father, you know) as an example. They broke up the furniture, took off every article of bed clothing, clothes, and goods, cut open the beds, scattering the feathers, broke up the china and table ware, ruined the piano and sewing machine, heaped unmentionable filth on the bureaus and mantels, poured lard and messed it all over the floor, and did everything else that their diabolical ingenuity could invent. They treated some families in the country that were at home just as badly. I will give Judge Rogan's as another example. They took everything they had in the world to eat and wear---bedclothes and goods that the family had laid up---and they went two days without anything to eat, and afraid to go out after it. His two daughters spent one night in the woods, fearing for their lives and for their honor. The Yankees took off three or four hundred negroes from the town and vicinity. Scarcely an owner but lost some. Many had been sent off down South the day before the Yankees got in. "Our loss" in that respect was our gain, for every soul on the place was sincerely rejoiced when old Nelse (our "boss" negro, you know) took his departure for Yankeedom. Mr. Davis lost none, having sent off those he suspected of being unfaithful. The last night of their stay in this place was the climax of our miseries. I haven't words to express the horror of that night. We suspected late in the evening that we were to have a bad night of it, from the conduct of some of the brutes, and papa and I concluded not to go to bed and to keep lights burning, determined that we would not be "caught napping" when our fate came, whatever it was. The first "warning note" came about eleven o'clock, when it was presumed, I suppose, that innocence and helplessness ought to be asleep. A woman s screams smote upon our ears, scream after scream for ten minutes at least (it seemed an age to me), then all was still. We knew not whether help had come to the poor sufferer or that some dread crime had been committed and the victim silenced. Midnight passed and all was yet still, and hope began to whisper that villainy was satiated, and that we, Sister Martha, and her helpless daughters would escape. Not yet. Again the despairing shrieks of a woman and her children reached us from another part of town, and again and again during that long, long night these screams were heard. O, my God! were they all brutes that their officers would not or could not prevent these outrages? A nameless dread seized me, and I shook and shivered with an ague. Our glowing fire could not warm me. O, cousin, can you imagine how frightful all this was? for I am utterly unable to tell it. Well, our turn came at last, and papa had made up his mind to submit quietly, if possible. The ruffians knocked at the door (or rather "lumbered") and demanded admittance. Papa opened the door and asked to know their business. One raised his pistol and ordered him to stand, while the others proceeded to sack the house; but we were pretty well prepared for them, and they found but little to reward their pains. After rummaging and pulling out the contents of every trunk, drawer, box, and satchel, one of them placed his pistol against papa's breast and demanded his purse and watch. Papa meekly "forked" his purse over, with twenty-five or thirty dollars in Confederate bills (he had stocked it for them, and was afraid to offer less), and politely informed them that he had no watch; hadn't worn one in ten years. They annihilated him with curses and threats, and demanded to know if that was all his money, what he had done with it, and if there was not a gold watch in the house. Then my poor, dear, good, honest papa told the first untruth I ever heard him utter. Fifty dollars would cover our losses on that night, and glad, indeed, was I to escape so lightly. But no money could hire me to undergo such another night of fear and dread. When they left, I went to the door and listened anxiously for the alarm from Sister Martha, for I knew she was alone and had been kept in such nervous terror for the last five days and nights; but I could not hear her, and in a few minutes she sent one of the negroes for Willie and one of our soldiers we had here (one of our hospital nurses) to come and stay with her until morning. The ruffians had been there and tried to break in, rousing her from sleep, but she screamed so and got the servants all up that the rascals thought it better to let her alone. Poor Sister Martha, she too, like me, had feared the worst. I should not have suffered so that night had I known that mere robbery was all that I had to fear; but I had seen and heard so much of their lawless deeds and worse threats that we knew not what to fear. Cousin, I could fill a dozen pages with my own individual wrongs and indignities, and I long to do so, but I fear you are long since worn out with my loquacity. We suffered enough, you may be sure, but not so much as many of our friends and neighbors. In a property point of view papa lays his damages at nearly four thousand dollars, but I fear this is but a "first installment." It nearly kills me to have to endure the coarse, bullying ruffians stalking into my house, making all sorts of demands with oaths and threats, not but that I have the courage to answer them sometimes as they should be, as I could give you some amusing instances. This got to be so unbearable one day that I went to old Rosecrans himself to implore (?) his protection, and I tell you I made a most moving appeal; but he is an old ruffian himself, and I shall never waste any more of my "eloquence" on such. He answered my demands promptly enough for the time by sending a guard who went straight off again as soon as they had cleared our premises. He also answered me politely enough, as much so as he could answer a Rebel; but I listened to him talk (not to me) for a quarter of an hour. and I "set him down" as an uncivilized old Hessian, as he really is. Enough of him. December 28, 1862. Nearly two months ago, my dear cousin, I laid down this long letter, thinking I would reserve this sheet to tell you how we were doing up to the time I should meet with an opportunity of sending it to you. None has yet offered, and the "spirit moves" me to continue my story to the present. The Yankees still continue to dash in, capturing citizens, straggling soldiers, horses and mules, and, what is worse, the scanty supply of provisions that we got with so much difficulty. Several weeks ago the notorious Col. Lee and his jayhawkers came down upon us in the "dead of night," surrounding every house, creeping stealthily around and peeping in at the windows. I could not but think of the stories of the early settlers and their Indian foes. They made a clean sweep of citizens, horses, and mules that time, took our last remaining horses (and not a horse in town to go to mill on), and took all our flour, meal, and meat, except enough to last two days. The most of our meat was hid where they couldn't find it (hush). They took ten bushels of potatoes that we had just bought. It is not worth while to get provisions of any kind, and we don't keep much, you may believe. You will have heard before reading this how Van Dorn, with three or four thousand cavalry, dashed into Holly Springs about a week ago, capturing eighteen hundred Yankees. He burned up three million dollars worth of arms, stores, clothing, blankets, etc., after supplying his men with boots, blankets, blue coats and pants, and fine arms. We heard the explosion of the magazine here, shaking the houses and rattling the windows over forty miles off. It was a good blow, well laid on; but alas! we have had to suffer part of the penalty. Van Dorn, after burning bridges, tearing up the road, destroying stores, etc., returned through our devoted town on his way back to the main army. It was no retreat, for he had accomplished what he was sent to do; but close on his heels came the Yankee bloodhounds, wreaking vengeance on our devoted heads, innocent and unresisting women and children being the suffers from their cowardly hands. They of course bring no supplies when on these raids. They boastingly state in their correspondence with the Northern papers that they "subsist on the enemy," but don't tell that they take the bread from women and children (for the men are long since gone), and also the only means to make more---the horses, stock, and negroes. They, as usual, took our scanty supply of food and made us cook it, Christmas Day as it was. They came and demanded quilts and comforts. I told them I had none that I could spare. They answered insolently: "It makes no difference about that; go and get them too." I almost cried that I had to give my nice comforts to. such swine, and I had none but nice ones. The officer with this party told papa that he had understood there was not a Union man in town. Papa told him: "Not one that I know of." Do you not wonder that they have never arrested papa? If in time past my ambitious heart was troubled that he did not aspire to high position and influence, I now at least have my compensation. He "pursues the even tenor of his way, and commands the respect of even his enemies, demons as they are, by his rare truth and honesty. But the storms of the last twelve months have not left him unscathed. He has been sick in body, as in mind, all summer. He is old, gray, bent, and disheartened. Poor papa, he shares the universal dilapidation that has settled on everything that meets the eye---deserted houses, broken windows, burnt fences; and occasionally a seedy, half-famished, frightened human being threading his way through the ruins completes the picture of desolation. A sad one, cousin, but "o'er true." I try to think sometimes that we have not suffered more than other border towns, but as far as we can hear or know no other place has suffered so much. Perhaps they mean to make an example of us by stamping out with booted heel and bayonet the fires of patriotism that burn so "sturdily" in this rebellious little town. But they will have to take Herod's plan and strangle the very children in the cradles first. That they are fast coming to. They already need only the torch and tomahawk to put their cruel warfare on a level with that of the savage Indians. Well, cousin, here I am at the end of my third or fourth sheet---I don't know which--- and have filled them all with one subject. Indeed, there's little else to tell of, surely little that is good, though I don't mean to be ungrateful. We are alive, we are well, God is above us, the sun yet shines, hope is yet within us and trust in God, and our cause has not deserted us. We have a little store, too, stowed away in dark corners and holes, like the squirrels (even which God does not forget), to keep the wolf hunger from our door. We have too what so many in this wretched country have not---warm, comfortable clothes for ourselves and children. Neither do we have the misery of seeing those near and dear to us suffer, for Sister Martha and her children are alike well supplied. Ought we not to be grateful? I am grateful, He knows. But surely we have suffered enough. Dear cousin, this letter is shamefully long, I know; but if you never read it in the world, one of my objects at least will be accomplished. I have lightened my heavy heart by pouring out the story of our wrongs. Somebody will read it and give me my "meed" of sympathy, and who more heartily than my warm-hearted, noble-minded little cousin? Confederate Veteran, Vol. XIII, No. 6 Nashville, Tenn., June, 1905. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- SOUTHRONS REMEMBERED C. M. Cole Fred Hollman Every burial ground of the Southern soldier bears the handiwork of the loyal women of the South. Every bit of greensward and every granite headstone is a tribute to the hearts and hands of those who will not forget. Not a springing shrub of fragrant bloom but tells the story of the Southern heart's devotion. Did you ever step from a stately national cemetery into a graveyard of the Confederate dead? Is there not something powerfully pathetic in the forces which have cared for the resting places of the gray? And not while the sun gleams brightly and the moon smiles softly will the women of the South forget their dead. Every veteran's tomb is to them a hallowed spot. Each day there is another company marching to the final muster. But the mounds freshly turned are no more sacred than the trenches dug in 1861. The luster of the South has never dimmed. Such names as Johnston, Gordon, Lee, and Jackson stand out boldly like stars in a blue-black sky. And yet the rank and file are not forgotten. The memories of the unnamed heroes who made with their bodies a rampart for Minie ball and shrapnel, who sank alone and uncared for on the field, are in the same grand class as those who earned a higher fame. There is a world of human honesty in the human world, after all. Have you not seen a general's monument engarlanded with the subtle, scented blossoms and seen the same sweet burden laid on the unmarked grave beside it? It all means that the South will not forget its dead. Four decades have passed since the stars and bars rippled in the Richmond breezes, but the picture is still bright in the Dixie heart. Forty years have passed since the guns roared at Manassas, Vicksburg, Seven Pines, and Malvern Hill; but the echo is not yet spent. The dead are not forgotten. Whose was the greater suffering, that of the men who toiled in the smoke and flame of the battle line or the frailer ones who remained in suspense at home? Those years will not be forgotten. Only the Great Alchemist shall say why he molds the hearts of his children in the crucible. The glory of the Southern soldiery shall not depart. The loyalty of the Southern heart brightens with time's fleeting lapse. Death, the grim conscript officer, calls for more, more, and yet more recruits. The battalions dwindle, weaken, but they are soldiers still. The reveille calls, and they lay down their arms this time to go, and fear not. Mayhap they are thinking of that reunion in the great encampment. And when the last soldier marches down alone. Then the bugler calls no more, when the minute guns are silent and the drumsticks crumble into dust, they will not be forgotten. Through the splendor of the golden days and the incense of the mellow nights the voices of the dead will call again, and the men and women of the South will come---come with their flowers and prayers and tears. For though "we see through a glass, darkly," the dead are not forgotten. Confederate Veteran, Vol. XIII, No. 7 Nashville, Tenn., July, 1905. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "DIED FOR THEIR STATE." JEFFERSON DAVIS AND THE HONORS PAID TO HIM. Benjamin J. Williams [The Lowell (Mass.) Sun says: "The communication printed below is from the pen of Mr. Benjamin J. Williams, of this city, and treats of a subject of deepest interest to the people of this country, North and South. It treats of Mr. Jefferson Davis and his connection with the Southern Confederacy from a Southern standpoint. The writer handles a subject unfamiliar to our readers, who, if they do not agree with the sentiments expressed, will at least find it a very interesting and instructive communication."] Dear Sir: The demonstrations in the South in honor of Mr. Jefferson Davis, the ex-President of the Confederate States, are certainly of a remarkable character and furnish matter for profound consideration. Mr. Davis, twenty-one years after the fall of the Confederacy, suddenly emerges from his long retirement, journeys among his people to different prominent points, there to take part in public observances more or less directly commemorative respectively of the cause of the Confederacy and of those who strove and died for it, and everywhere he receives from the people the most overwhelming manifestations of heartfelt affection, devotion, and reverence, exceeding even any of which he was the recipient in the time of his power; such manifestations as no existing ruler in the world can obtain from his people, and such as probably were never before given to a public man, old, out of office, with no favors to dispense, and disfranchised. Such homage is significant, startling. It is given, as Mr. Davis himself has recognized, not to him alone, but to the cause whose chief representative he is. And it is useless to attempt to deny, disguise, or evade the conclusion that there must be something great and noble and true in him and in the cause to evoke this homage. As for Mr. Davis himself, the student of American history has not yet forgotten that it was his courage, self-possession, and leadership that in the very crisis of the battle at Buena Vista won for his country her proudest victory upon foreign fields of war; that as Secretary of War in Mr. Pierce's administration he was its master spirit, and that he was the recognized leader of the United States Senate at the time of the secession of the Southern States. For his character there let it be stated by his enemy, but admirer, Massachusetts's own Henry Wilson. "The clearheaded, practical, dominating Davis," said Mr. Wilson in a speech made during the war, while passing in review the great Southern Senators who had withdrawn with their States. When the seceding States formed their new Confederacy, in recognition of Mr. Davis's varied and predominant abilities, he was unanimously chosen as its chief magistrate; and from the hour of his arrival at Montgomery to assume that office, when he spoke the memorable words, "We are determined to make all who oppose us smell Southern powder and feel Southern steel," all through the Confederacy's four years unequal struggle for independence, down to his last appeal as its chief in his defiant proclamation from Danville, after the fall of Richmond, "Let us not despair, my countrymen, but meet the foe with fresh defiance and with unconquered and unconquerable hearts," he exhibited everywhere and always the same proud and unyielding spirit so expressive of his sanguine and resolute temper, which no disasters could subdue, which sustained him even when it could no longer sustain others, and which, had it been possible, would of itself have assured the independence of the Confederacy. And when at last the Confederacy had fallen, literally overpowered by immeasurably superior numbers and means, and Mr. Davis a prisoner subjected to the greatest indignities, his proud spirit remained unbroken; and never since the subjugation of his people has he abated in the least his assertion of the cause for which they struggled. The seductions of power or interest may move lesser men---that matters not to him. The cause of the Confederacy as a fixed moral and constitutional principle, unaffected by the triumph of physical force, he asserts to-day as unequivocally as when he was seated in the executive chair at Richmond, in apparent irreversible power, with its victorious legions at his command. Now when we consider all this, what Mr. Davis has been, and, most of all, what he is to-day in the moral greatness of his position, can we wonder that his people turn aside from timeservers and self-seekers and from all the commonplace chaff of life and render him that spontaneous and grateful homage which is his due? And we cannot indeed wonder when we consider the cause for which Mr. Davis is so much to his people. Let Mr. Davis himself state it, for no one else can do it so well. In his recent address at the laying of the corner stone of the Confederate monument at Montgomery he said: "I have come to join you in the performance of a sacred task, to lay the foundation of a monument at the cradle of the Confederate government which shall commemorate the gallant sons of Alabama who died for their country, who gave their lives a freewill offering in defense of the rights of their sires won in the war of the Revolution, the State sovereignty, freedom, and independence which were left to us as an inheritance to their posterity forever." These masterful words, "the rights of their sires won in the war of the Revolution, the State sovereignty, freedom, and independence which were left to us as an inheritance to their posterity forever," are the whole case; and they are not only a statement, but a complete justification of the Confederate cause to all who ace acquainted with the origin and character of the American Union. When the original thirteen colonies threw off their allegiance to Great Britain, they became independent States "independent of her and each other," as the great Luther Martin, of Maryland, expressed it in the Federal convention. This independence was at first a revolutionary one, but afterwards, by its recognition by Great Britain, it became legal. This recognition was of the States separately, each by name, in the treaty of peace which terminated the war of the Revolution. And that this separate recognition was deliberate and intentional, with the distinct object of recognizing the States as separate sovereignties and not as one nation, will sufficiently appear by reference to the last chapter of the sixth volume of Bancroft's "History of the United States." The "Articles of Confederation between the States" declared that each State retains its sovereignty, freedom, and independence. And the Constitution of the United States, which immediately followed, was first adopted by the States in convention, each State casting one vote as a proposed plan of government, and then ratified by the States separately, each State acting for itself in its sovereign and independent capacity through a convention of its people. And it was by this ratification that the Constitution was established, to use its own words, "between the States so ratifying the same." It is, then, a compact between the States as sovereigns, and the Union created by it is a federal partnership of States, the Federal government being their common agent for the transaction of federal business within the limits of the delegated powers. As to the new States which have been formed from time to time from the territories, when they were in the territorial condition the sovereignty over them respectively was in the States of the Union; and when they respectively formed a constitution and State government and were admitted into the Union, the sovereignty passed to them respectively, and they stood in the Union each upon an equal footing with the original States, parties with them to the constitutional compact. In the case of a partnership between persons for business purposes it is a familiar principle of law that its existence and continuance are purely a voluntary matter on the part of its members, and that a member may at any time withdraw from and dissolve the partnership at his pleasure; and it makes no difference in the application of this principle if the partnership by its terms be for a fixed time or perpetual, it not being considered by the law sound policy to hold men together in business association against their will. Now, if a partnership between persons is purely voluntary and subject to the will of its members severally, how much more so is one between sovereign States! It follows that just as each State separately, in the exercise of its sovereign will, entered the Union, so may it separately, in the exercise of that will, withdraw therefrom. And, further, the Constitution being a compact to which the States are parties, "having no common judge, each party has an equal right to judge for itself as well of infractions as of the mode and measure of redress," as declared by Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Madison in the celebrated resolutions of 1798, and the right of secession irresistibly follows. But aside from the doctrine either of partnership or compact, upon the ground of State sovereignty, pure and simple, does the right of State secession impregnably rest. Sovereignty, as defined by political commentators, is "the right of commanding in the last resort." And just as a State of the Union, in the exercise of this right, by her ratification of the Constitution, delegated the powers therein given to the Federal government and acceded to the Union, so may she, in the exercise of the same right, by repealing that ratification, withdraw the delegated powers and secede from the Union. The act of ratification by the State is the taw which makes the Union for it, and the act of repeal of that ratification is the law which dissolves it. It appears, then, from this review of the origin and character of the American Union that when the Southern States, deeming the constitutional compact broken and their own safety and happiness in imminent danger in the Union, withdrew therefrom and organized their new Confederacy they but asserted, in the language of Mr. Davis, "the rights of their sires won in the war of the Revolution, the State sovereignty, freedom, and independence which were left to us as an inheritance to their posterity forever," and it was in defense of this high and sacred cause that the Confederate soldiers sacrificed their lives. There was no need for war. The action of the Southern States was legal and constitutional, and history will attest that it was reluctantly taken in the last extremity in the hope of thereby saving their whole constitutional rights and liberties from destruction by Northern aggression, which had just culminated in triumph at the presidential election, by the union of the North as a section against the South. But the North, left in possession of the old government of the Union, flushed with power, and angry lest its destined prey should escape, found a ready pretext for war. Immediately upon secession, by force of the act itself, the jurisdiction of the seceding States, respectively, over the forts, arsenals, and dockyards within their limits, which they had before ceded to the Federal government for federal purposes, reverted to and reinvested in them respectively. They were, of course, entitled to immediate repossession of these places, essential to their defense in the exercise of their re-assumed powers of war and peace, leaving all questions of mere property value apart for separate adjustment. In most cases the seceding States repossessed themselves of these places without difficulty, but in some the forces of the United States still kept possession. Among these last was Fort Sumter, in the harbor of Charleston, S. C. South Carolina in vain demanded the peaceable possession of this fortress, offering at the same time to arrange for the value of the same as property, and sent commissioners to Washington to treat with the Federal government for the same as well as for the recognition of her independence. But all her attempts to treat were repulsed or evaded, as likewise were those subsequently made by the Confederate government. Of course the Confederacy could not continue to allow a foreign power to hold possession of a fortress dominating the harbor of her chief Atlantic seaport; and the Federal government having sent a powerful expedition with reenforcements for Fort Sumter, the Confederate government at last proceeded to reduce it. The reduction, however, was a bloodless affair; while the captured garrison received all the honors of war, and were at once sent North with every attention to their comfort and without even their parole being taken. But forthwith President Lincoln, at Washington, issued his call for militia to coerce the seceding States. The cry rang all over the North that the flag had been fired upon; and amidst the tempest of passion which that cry everywhere raised the Northern militia responded with alacrity, the South was invaded, and a war of subjugation, destined to be the most gigantic which the world has ever seen, was begun by the Federal government against the seceding States in complete and amazing disregard of the foundation principle of its own existence, as affirmed in the Declaration of Independence, that "governments derive their just powers from the consent of the governed," and as established by the war of the Revolution for the people of the States respectively. The South accepted the contest thus forced upon her with the eager and resolute courage characteristic of her proud, spirited people. But the Federal government, though weak in right, was strong in power, for it was sustained by the mighty and multitudinous North. In effect, the war became one between the States: between the Northern States, represented by the Federal government, upon the one side; and the Southern States, represented by the Confederate government, upon the other, the border Southern States being divided. The odds in numbers and means in favor of the North were tremendous. Her white population of nearly twenty millions was twofold that of the strictly Confederate territory, and from the border Southern States and communities of Missouri, Kentucky, East Tennessee, West Virginia, Maryland, and Delaware she got more men and supplies for her armies than the Confederacy got for hers. Kentucky alone furnished as many men to the Northern armies as Massachusetts. In available money and credit the advantage of the North was vastly greater than in population, and it included the possession of all the chief centers of banking and commerce. Then she had the possession of the old government, its capital, its army and navy, and mostly its arsenals, dockyards, and workshops, with all their supplies of arms and ordnance and military and naval stores of every kind and the means of manufacturing the same. Again, the North, as a manufacturing and mechanical people, abounded in factories and workshops of every kind immediately available for the manufacture of every species of supplies for the army and navy; while the South, as an agricultural people, were almost wanting in such resources. Finally, in the possession of the recognized government, the North was in full and free communication with all nations, and had full opportunity (which she improved to the utmost) to import and bring in from abroad not only supplies of all kinds, but men as well, for her service; while the South, without a recognized government and with her ports speedily blockaded by the Federal navy, was almost entirely shut up within herself and her own limited resources. Among all these advantages possessed by the North, the first, the main, and decisive one was the navy. Given her all but this, and they would have been ineffectual to prevent the establishment of the Confederacy. That arm of her strength was at the beginning of the war in an efficient state, and it was rapidly augmented and improved. By it, the South being almost without naval ~force, the North was enabled to sweep and blockade her coasts everywhere, and so, aside from the direct distress inflicted, to prevent foreign recognition; to capture one after another her seaports; to sever and cut up her country in every direction through its great rivers; to gain lodgments at many points within her territory, from which numerous destructive raids were sent out in all directions; to transport troops and supplies to points where their passage by land would have been difficult or impossible; and, finally, to cover, protect, and save, as by the navy was so often done, the defeated and otherwise totally destroyed armies of the North in the field. But for the navy, Grant's army was lost at Shiloh; and but for it, on the Peninsula in the second year of the war, McClellan's army, notwithstanding his masterly retreat from his defeats before Richmond, was lost to a man, and the independence of the Confederacy established. After a glorious four years' struggle against such odds as have been depicted, during which independence was often almost secured, when successive levies of armies amounting in all to nearly three millions of men had been hurled against her, the South, shut off from all the world, wasted, rent and desolate, bruised and bleeding, was at last overpowered by main strength---outfought never, for from first to last she everywhere outfought the foe. The Confederacy fell, but she fell not until she had achieved immortal fame. Few great established nations in all time have ever exhibited capacity and direction in government equal to hers, sustained as she was by the iron will and fixed persistence of the extraordinary man who was her chief, and few have ever won such a series of brilliant victories as that which illuminates forever the annals of her splendid armies; while the fortitude and patience of her people, and particularly of her noble women, under almost incredible trials and sufferings, have never been surpassed in the history of the world. Such exalted character and achievement were not all in vain. Though the Confederacy fell as an actual physical power, she lives, illustrated by them eternally in her just cause, the cause of constitutional liberty. And Mr. Davis's Southern tour is nothing less than a veritable mortal triumph for that cause and for himself as its faithful chief, manifesting to the world that the cause still lives in the hearts of the Southern people, and that its resurrection in the body in fitting hour may yet come. Here in the North, that is naturally presumptuous and arrogant in her vast material power, and where, consequently, but little attention has in general been given to the study of the nature and principles of constitutional liberty as connected with the rights of the States, there is, nevertheless, an increasing understanding and appreciation of the Confederate cause, particularly here in the New England States, whose position and interests in the Union are in many respects peculiar, and perhaps require that these States quite as much as those of the South should be the watchful guardians of the State sovereignty. Mingled with this increasing understanding and appreciation of the Confederate cause, naturally comes also a glowing admiration of its devoted defenders; and the time may yet be when the Northern as well as the Southern heart will throb reverently to the proud words upon the Confederate monument at Charleston: "These died for their State." BENJAMIN J. WILLIAMS. [The foregoing comes in an old clipping from Dr. T. J. Scott, of Alvin, Tex., who was a surgeon on Gen. Wheeler's staff during much of the war, and is now the surgeon of his U. C. V. Camp and local surgeon of the Gulf, Colorado, and Santa Fe Railroad. This is perhaps the first as well as the strongest vindication of Mr. Davis and the South to appear in print from New England after the war.]
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