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Confederate Veteran

Misc


Confederate Veteran, Vol. VII, No. 3 Nashville, Tenn., March, 1899.

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PATRIOTIC SOUTHERN WOMANHOOD

Mrs. LaSalle Corbell Pickett

Under the impulse of our generous President's speech at Atlanta, suggesting that the government share in caring for the graves of Confederate dead, Mrs. LaSalle Corbell Pickett, widow of Gen. Pickett, wrote this for the VETERAN:

Years ago a Southern woman placed flowers upon the graves of Northern soldiers who had fallen in battle and been buried in sunny Southland. She did this in memory of the mothers and wives and sisters far away who could never kneel beside those sacred mounds and put tokens of fond remembrance over the dead. As she strewed fragrant blossoms on the resting places of the brave men who wore the blue she fancied that a sweet wind from the South might waft the fragrance of their passing breath to distant Northern homes, to fall with blessed comfort upon sorrowful hearts. In a more sacred sense, she trusted that upon the Frave of her loved one who lay in Northern ground some tender hand would drop a blossom, with a prayer for a Southern home left desolate. We know that these far-distant ,,raves are not forgotten when the May roses make the world glad, and we appreciate the kind hearts that do honor to our dead so far from us.

A strange and wholly unexpected result of the President's generous attitude is the movement to pension ex-Confederates-a suggestion that might be regarded as savoring of sarcasm were it not for the grave character of those in whose minds it has arisen. The Confederates are claiming no reward for their services of long ago. They did their best and are proud of their record, but they do not make application for pensions. It is true that the war tax imposes a heavy weight upon the South, and that she bears that burden uncomplainingly. The money which flows from Northern States into the pension fund returns to those States and becomes a part of their circulating medium. Many millions go annually from the treasury of the South and never return. She is not impoverished, because she cannot be, but for every dollar that goes out for Northern pensions by so much is she the poorer. Notwithstanding her heavy burdens, her progress in the past quarter of a century is the marvel of economic history. She does not pause in her onward march to reflect mournfully on what that progress might have been but for those burdens. She looks bravely forward to the grand future which is hers.

The South cheerfully responds to the demands made upon her by the nation. In addition to this tax, she supports her own disabled veterans and war widows and orphans, with no help except that which sometimes comes from some generous purse and loving heart whose heaven-born impulses are circumscribed by no lines of politics or geography. Thus she works earnestly for the right, happy in the present, hopeful of the future.

Confederate Veteran, Vol. VII, No. 4 Nashville, Tenn., April, 1899.

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STRANGE HISTORY OF A BULLET

Unknown

Capt. Connally T. Litchfield, commanding a company of Gen. J. E. B. Stuart's Cavalry, was severely wounded at Brandy Station, Va., in October, 1864. The pistol bullet entered the cheek just below the right eye. He was stunned, but did not fall from his horse, which was led to the rear by a private. The supposition was that he had fought his last battle for the Confederacy. The field surgeon probed, but failed to locate the bullet. The palate was touched in the search for it, which led to the belief that it had either been swallowed or spit out. After events proved this to be a mistake.

Getting a furlough, Capt. Litchfield went to his home, Abingdon, Va., where he remained until somewhat relieved. The war ended, but the wound was a painful reminder of the part the Captain had taken in the struggle for Southern independence. As the years came and went it became more and more troublesome. Violent pain in the face and head, accompanied by suppuration and free discharge of pus and water through the eye and nose led physicians to diagnose the case as "chronic nasal catarrh," for which he was treated, but that gave only temporary relief.

For years he suffered untold agony, and gradually lost the sight of the right eye. The pain seemed to center at the base of the nose, between the eyes. In course of time the suppuration was not so great. His affliction was then called neuralgia. He was in the habit of taking a morphine tablet when the pain became intolerable. This always nauseated him, and in July, 1897, during a violent fit of vomiting caused by morphine, he felt something hard drop into his mouth, and from the mouth it went into the pan. It proved to be the long-lost pistol bullet, which for thirty-four years had been the enemy of his comfort. Marked improvement in health followed this deliverance; but the right eye had become so diseased that, in order to save the other, it was removed by a surgical operation last summer. It has been well said that "Capt. Litchfield's experience rivals in interest any of the recorded capricious battle wounds." Friends decided that the interesting relic must be preserved as a souvenir of his gallant services. His nephew, V. L. Cunningham, of Chicago, has had it mounted in gold, to be worn as a watch charm by his uncle. It will be highly prized by the relative who will fall heir to it.

Confederate Veteran, Vol. VII, No. 4 Nashville, Tenn., April, 1899.

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BATTLE OF OAK HILL

B. G. Childress, Roscoe, Texas

The dedicatory exercises at the laying of the corner stone for the Confederate Monument at Van Buren, Ark., were interesting and worthy to so mark the final resting place of the unknown Confederate dead buried in the cemetery there. It is a fitting offering from the loyal daughters of Arkansas; Texas, Arkansas, Missouri, Louisiana, and the Indian Territory each having brave sons buried there. Most of the dead interred there had enlisted under Ben. McCullough and Sterling Price, and fell in the battles of Oak Hill and Elkhorn.

I was a member of the Third Texas Regiment, which did well its part on that memorable day. Saturday, August 10, was a terribly hot day-not only hot from the sun, but from Minnie balls, grape shot, and bombshells. The battle of Oak Hill was one of the most complete victories for the Confederacy achieved during the war. It opened at sunrise and continued about six hours. It was an open field fight from beginning to end. The Confederate forces did not exceed nine thousand men, and they were all recruits with very little discipline. The, were very poorly armed, some having squirrel rifles and shotguns, while others had Mississippi rifles and muskets. The enemy was largely composed of United States regulars, who were armed with their most improved weapons.

Late in the afternoon of August 2 we encamped on the field destined to become the scene of the battle of Oak Hill. Price's command was on the north side of Wilson Creek, on the road leading to Springfield, Mo.; McCullough's troops on and adjacent to Wilson Creek, about one and one-half miles down the creek, and on the south side, about ten miles from Springfield. On the 9th orders were issued to cook three days' rations and to be ready to march on notice. About sunset the men were ordered to lie on their arms. Gen. Ben. McCullough commanded the Confederate troops, and Gen. Lyon commanded the Federal troops, with headquarters in Springfield. Each had the same plan of attack and resolved to execute it at the same time, an extraordinary coincidence.

Lyon opened fire upon Price along his entire line. Siegall had fired upon McCullough at the same time. The rattle of musketry and the roar of artillery were deafening. About three hours after the battle had begun Gen. Siegall was routed by the Confederates. Then McCullough hastened with his entire command to the assistance of Gen. Price, who was hard pressed by his vigorous assailant. Charge after charge the brave and determined Lyon made at the head of his columns, and was killed within fifty or sixty steps of the Confederate lines. The weather was so hot it was like lighting in a furnace. Soon after Lyon fell the battle ceased. Before his death both lines were beginning to waver; but after McCullough swung into line with Price, the battle was soon ended, Lyon's men making a hasty retreat. They left their dying chieftain to the mercy of a victorious but magnanimous enemy.

The Federal loss was severe, about four hundred killed and twice that number wounded and taken prisoners while the Confederate loss did not exceed two hundred and fifty.

Confederate Veteran, Vol. VII, No. 5 Nashville, Tenn., May, 1899.

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THEODORE O'HARA

Unknown

Current Literature for September, 1898, contains the following very interesting points concerning the life of Theodore O'Hara, author of "Bivouac of the Dead:"

Theodore O'Hara, one of the few poets whose title to immortality rests on a single poem, but on that account is none the less secure, was born in Danville, Ky., February 11, 1820. The family subsequently lived in Frankfort. Theodore was a very precocious child, and with him study was a passion. He studied at Bardstown, in Kentucky, and there became noted as an accomplished scholar. He afterwards studied law with John C. Breckinridge as a fellow-student. In 1845 he held a position in the Treasury Department at Washington, but soon afterwards joined the United States army, with the rank of captain. He served with distinction through the Mexican war, and rose to the rank of major. He afterwards practiced law in Washington until 1851, when he joined other Kentuckians in assisting Lopez, who was trying to liberate Cuba. He was at one time editor in chief of the Mobile Register, and at another editor of the Louisville Times.

At the breaking out of the civil war he cast his fortunes with the South, and was placed in command of the Twelfth Alabama Regiment. Later he served on the staff of Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston, and was with him at Shiloh and caught the great chief in his arms when the bullet had done its deadly work. He was afterwards chief of staff to his lifelong friend, Gen. John C. Breckinridge. He died on a plantation in Alabama in 1867, and was buried at Columbus, Ga. In 1874 his remains, together with those of Gens. Greenup and Madison, and several distinguished officers of the Mexican war, were reinterred in the State cemetery at Frankfort, Ky.

THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD.

The muffled drum's sad roll has beat

The soldier's last tattoo;

No more on life's parade shall meet

The brave and daring few.

On Fame's eternal camping ground

Their silent tents are spread,

And Glory guards with solemn round

The bivouac of the dead.

No rumor of the foe's advance

Now swells upon the wind;

No troubled thought at midnight haunts

Of loved ones left behind;

No vision of the morrow's strife

The warrior's dream alarms;

No braying horn nor screaming fife

At dawn shall call to arms.

Their shivered swords are red with rust,

Their plumed heads are bowed;

Their haughty banner, trailed in dust,

Is now their martial shroud;

And plenteous funeral tears have washed

The red stains from each brow.

And their proud forms in battle gashed

Are free from anguish now.

The neighing steed, the flashing blade,

The trumpet's stirring blast,

The charge, the dreadful cannonade.

The din and shout are past;

No war's wild note, nor glory's peal,

Shall thrill with fierce delight

Those breasts that nevermore shall feel

The rapture of the fight.

Like the dread Northern hurricane

That sweeps his broad plateau,

Flushed with the triumph yet to gain,

Came down the serried foe.

Our Heroes felt the shock, and leapt

To meet them on the plain;

And long the pitying sky hath wept

Above our gallant slain.

Sons of our consecrated ground,

Ye must not slumber there,

Where stranger steps and tongues resound

Along the heedless air.

Your own proud land's heroic soil

Shall be your fitter grave,

She claims from war his richest spoil---

The ashes of her brave.

So 'neath their parent turf they rest,

Far from the gory field.

Borne to a Spartan mother's, breast

On many a bloody shield.

The sunshine of their native sky

Smiles sadly on them here,

And kindred hearts and eyes watch by

The heroes' sepulcher.

Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead!

Dear as the blood you gave,

No impious footsteps here shall tread

The herbage of your grave;

Nor shall your glory be forgot

While Fame her record keeps,

Or Honor points the hallowed spot

Where Valor proudly sleeps.

Yon marble minstrel's voiceful stone

In deathless song shall tell,

When many a vanished age hath flown,

The story how ye fell;

Nor wreck nor change, nor winter's blight,

Nor time's remorseless doom

Shall dim one ray of holy light

That gilds your glorious tomb

 

Confederate Veteran, Vol. VII, No. 6 Nashville, Tenn., June, 1899.

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THE TROUP ARTILLERY

W. A. HEMPHILL, OF ATLANTA CONSTITUTION

Just after the adoption of the ordinance of secession by the State of Georgia, January 19, 1861, the Troup Artillery, for several years previous a volunteer company of Athens, Ga, tendered its services to Joseph E. Brown, then Governor of Georgia. The company was at once placed under preparatory orders, and upon the fall of Fort Sumter, April 14, 1861, was ordered by Gov. Brown to hold itself in readiness to march upon a day's notice. In a few days thereafter the company received orders direct from the Confederate Secretary of War to proceed at once to Pensacola, Fla. Gov. Brown, being apprised of this, and being jealous of his command, countermanded the order, and on April 20, 1861, ordered the company to proceed at once to Savannah, GA., and await further orders.

A writer in the Athens (Ga.) Banner says:

Assembling early the next morning around the old flag pole which stood on the hill near the Baptist church, and where now stands the Confederate Monument, the company was marshaled and with its two pieces of artillery, marched to the Georgia railroad depot and took the train for Savannah.

Such a scene was never before witnessed in the town of Athens. Gathered upon the parade ground of the company along the streets leading to the depot and at the depot of the Georgia road were thousands and thousands of people, having come from all the surrounding country to witness the departure for the war of the first company that left this section.

Among the thousands at the depot were fathers and mothers, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, sweethearts and beaus, masters and servants, all to say good-by to "the bold soger boys" that were off for the war. With such a multitude and with such farewells as brought tears from the stoutest-hearted soldiers the scene beggars further description, and here we let the curtain fall.

The Troup Artillery rendezvoused at Savannah, and was there regularly mustered into the Confederate service and furnished with a full battery of six guns. Remaining there until July 4, 1861, the company was ordered to Richmond, Va., and so was ready for engaging in the first battle of Manassas. The quartermaster's department at Richmond failing to supply the necessary equipage, horses, etc., in time for the company to reach Manassas, it was then ordered to report to Gen. Robert E. Lee, who ordered the company to proceed at once to Huntersville, W. Va.

Arriving there after some three day's hard marching, the company became an active factor in the Northwest Virginia campaign under command of Gen. Robert E. Lee. This was the roughest and most trying campaign of the entire war, and soon acquainted the men with the hardships. the privations, and perils of war.

Campaigning in that country until early in the month of October, and when Gen. Rosecrans' army had been driven back across the Gauley River and into Ohio, the company was ordered to Yorktown, Va., and became from that time until the surrender at Appomattox an active and component part of the .\rmv of Northern Virginia. engaging in all of the principal battles fought by it, the grandest army of men that ever battled for cause and country.

At the battle of Gettysburg, on the second day of the fight, the artillery was in iine with the other companies of Cabell's Battalion, opening the fight at about half-past two in the afternoon. Soon after the fight commenced I was wounded, being shot through the lower jaw and throat by a shrapnel.

Our battery was immediately in front of the peach orchard, and in front of us was Sickles' Corps. We advanced a considerable distance that afternoon. The next day we fell back with Lee's army, having lost several in killed and wounded. Last year I visited the battlefield of Gettysburg for the first time since the fight. My wife and daughter accompanied me. I went to the place where our battery was in the fight, and where I was so severely wounded. What memories came trooping through my mind! I pointed out to my loved ones the different positions we occupied, to which they listened with thrilling interest. There were many changes in these long years, but I readily recognized the different places. I wish every soldier now living who was there then could return and visit that memorable battlefield. My visit there was one of the most interesting and pleasant of my life. Many of those who were brave participants in that awful struggle have "passed over the river." I could fancy they were present and were enjoYing with me the scenes and events of the past.

The government is doing a great work in laying out avenues and marking the different places occupied by both sides.

At the close of the war, when Gen. Lee surrendered at Appomattox, our battery was near Lynchburg. We buried our guns to keep them from falling into the hands of the enemy. I presume they are there buried to this day. Not long ago I was passing through Lynchburg and on the train was Gen. Webb, President of the New York College, and New York Commissioner for Gettysburg and Chickamauga battlefields. I related to him the story of burying the guns and pointed out the direction where they were. He seemed to be very much interested, and not long afterwards I received a letter from him telling me to go and unearth those guns and carry them to Gettysburg and put them in the position they were in during the fight, and that he would pay all expenses, which was very liberal on his part. Lieut. C. W. Motes, of this city, and myself have the matter under advisement, and we intend to carry out the instructions of Gen. Webb. There is no more prominent place on the field of Gettysburg than the position the Troup Artillery occupied in that fight, marked on Coulederate Avenue.

Some of the bravest men I ever saw were in this company. It is due to state that there was no more valiant soldier than Capt. H. H. Carlton, commander of the battery, who is living to-day in Athens, Ga., loved and respected by all who know him. He has two beautiful daughters, twins. One was the Georgia sponsor at Charleston, and the other her maid of honor. First Lieut. C. W. Motes lives in Atlanta, and is a worthy and popular citizen. It was at Bloody Bend, near Spottsylvania, that a most amusing and at the same time a most intrepid act was credited to the record of Lieut. Motes.

The Confederate forces were behind a small breastwork, and the Federal forces were preparing for the charge. The Troup Artillery was stationed near a blackjack swamp, and a little farther down the line Maxey's Texas Brigade had been stationed.

Suddenly the Federals charged the Texas brigade. The fight was furious; the brave Texans drove back the enemy time and time again. During one of these charges Gen. Maxey for some reason had gone to the rear for a few moments, and when the blue and gray columns met the Texans wavered and fell back, and the Yankees swarmed over the breastworks and into the trenches.

Just as this happened a few members of the Troup Artillery were sitting around a little fire, frying a piece of fat bacon. The grease was sputtering in the frying pan and the soldiers were smacking their mouths in anticipation of the rich repast in store (?) for them. Among the number was Lieut. Motes.

As the Yankees came over the breastworks the gun of the Troup Artillery nearest to them was wheeled around, and in a few moments the line of blue soldiers was being swept by a galling fire.

Lieut. Motes sprang up and dashed down to where the Texans were fighting, carrying with him the frying pan of hot grease. As he reached the scene of combat he put himself in front of the Texas Brigade, and, waving the frying pan over his head, led the charge, and the Yankees were soon driven back.

Gen. Maxey returned about that time and congratulated Lieut. Motes on his brave.y. Motes's appearance just then should be noted. The grease was all over his face and clothes, and, being hot, had blistered the skin wherever it touched. He still had hold of the old frying pan, which had served him well in the charge.

Rev. Charles Oliver, who now resides in Atlanta, was another member of this celebrated company. Napoleon never had a braver soldier in his army than Oliver. I have seen him enjoy a ba~tle as one would a football game. His black eyes would sparkle with delight, while a bright smile would play upon his face in real enjoyment of shot and shell and the flashing of the guns.

The next morning after the second day's fighting at Gettysburg Oliver showed up with three Yankee horses and other things that he had captured in the enemy's lines during the night.

Another member who lives in Atlanta also, Dick Saye, a carpenter, deserves mention here. At the battle of Fredericksburg a shell fell behind the breastworks where our battery was. The fuse of the shell was sputtering and burning. All fell to the ground to escape the explosion, but Dick Saye ran to it and, bravely picking up the dangerous shell, threw it over the breastworks, where it immediately exploded without doing any harm. If this had been done by a Federal soldier, he would have received a medal of honor, which is given only for distinguished acts of bravery.

Another heroic member of the Troup Artillery, Bill Mealer, lives in Atlanta. At Dam No. 1, near Yorktown, a cannon ball struck Bill on the leg below the knee. The lower part was held on by a small piece of the skin. Bill coolly took out his pocketknife and cut the skin in two and threw the foot and ankle away, saying: "Damn you, you never was any account, anyhow." Bill afterwards served in the cavalry, although having but one good leg. That was pluck for you.

I could go on and fill up pages with the brave deeds of the gallant members of this celebrated company.

If you visit the battlefield of Gettysburg, you will not fail to see the prominent position occupied by the Troup Artillery, as indicated by the tablets thereupon erected.

 

Confederate Veteran, Vol. VII, No. 6 Nashville, Tenn., June, 1899.

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THE TROUP ARTILLERY

W. A. HEMPHILL, OF ATLANTA CONSTITUTION

Just after the adoption of the ordinance of secession by the State of Georgia, January 19, 1861, the Troup Artillery, for several years previous a volunteer company of Athens, Ga, tendered its services to Joseph E. Brown, then Governor of Georgia. The company was at once placed under preparatory orders, and upon the fall of Fort Sumter, April 14, 1861, was ordered by Gov. Brown to hold itself in readiness to march upon a day's notice. In a few days thereafter the company received orders direct from the Confederate Secretary of War to proceed at once to Pensacola, Fla. Gov. Brown, being apprised of this, and being jealous of his command, countermanded the order, and on April 20, 1861, ordered the company to proceed at once to Savannah, Ga, and await further orders.

A writer in the Athens (Ga.) Banner says:

Assembling early the next morning around the old flag pole which stood on the hill near the Baptist church, and where now stands the Confederate Monument, the company was marshaled and with its two pieces of artillery, marched to the Georgia railroad depot and took the train for Savannah.

Such a scene was never before witnessed in the town of Athens. Gathered upon the parade ground of the company along the streets leading to the depot and at the depot of the Georgia road were thousands and thousands of people, having come from all the surrounding country to witness the departure for the war of the first company that left this section.

Among the thousands at the depot were fathers and mothers, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, sweethearts and beaus, masters and servants, all to say good-by to "the bold soger boys" that were off for the war. With such a multitude and with such farewells as brought tears from the stoutest-hearted soldiers the scene beggars further description, and here we let the curtain fall.

The Troup Artillery rendezvoused at Savannah, and was there regularly mustered into the Confederate service and furnished with a full battery of six guns. Remaining there until July 4, 1861, the company was ordered to Richmond, Va., and so was ready for engaging in the first battle of Manassas. The quartermaster's department at Richmond failing to supply the necessary equipage, horses, etc., in time for the company to reach Manassas, it was then ordered to report to Gen. Robert E. Lee, who ordered the company to proceed at once to Huntersville, W. Va.

Arriving there after some three day's hard marching, the company became an active factor in the Northwest Virginia campaign under command of Gen. Robert E. Lee. This was the roughest and most trying campaign of the entire war, and soon acquainted the men with the hardships. the privations, and perils of war.

Campaigning in that country until early in the month of October, and when Gen. Rosecrans' army had been driven back across the Gauley River and into Ohio, the company was ordered to Yorktown, Va., and became from that time until the surrender at Appomattox an active and component part of the .\rmv of Northern Virginia. engaging in all of the principal battles fought by it, the grandest army of men that ever battled for cause and country.

At the battle of Gettysburg, on the second day of the fight, the artillery was in iine with the other companies of Cabell's Battalion, opening the fight at about half-past two in the afternoon. Soon after the fight commenced I was wounded, being shot through the lower jaw and throat by a shrapnel.

Our battery was immediately in front of the peach orchard, and in front of us was Sickles' Corps. We advanced a considerable distance that afternoon. The next day we fell back with Lee's army, having lost several in killed and wounded. Last year I visited the battlefield of Gettysburg for the first time since the fight. My wife and daughter accompanied me. I went to the place where our battery was in the fight, and where I was so severely wounded. What memories came trooping through my mind! I pointed out to my loved ones the different positions we occupied, to which they listened with thrilling interest. There were many changes in these long years, but I readily recognized the different places. I wish every soldier now living who was there then could return and visit that memorable battlefield. My visit there was one of the most interesting and pleasant of my life. Many of those who were brave participants in that awful struggle have "passed over the river." I could fancy they were present and were enjoYing with me the scenes and events of the past.

The government is doing a great work in laying out avenues and marking the different places occupied by both sides.

At the close of the war, when Gen. Lee surrendered at Appomattox, our battery was near Lynchburg. We buried our guns to keep them from falling into the hands of the enemy. I presume they are there buried to this day. Not long ago I was passing through Lynchburg and on the train was Gen. Webb, President of the New York College, and New York Commissioner for Gettysburg and Chickamauga battlefields. I related to him the story of burying the guns and pointed out the direction where they were. He seemed to be very much interested, and not long afterwards I received a letter from him telling me to go and unearth those guns and carry them to Gettysburg and put them in the position they were in during the fight, and that he would pay all expenses, which was very liberal on his part. Lieut. C. W. Motes, of this city, and myself have the matter under advisement, and we intend to carry out the instructions of Gen. Webb. There is no more prominent place on the field of Gettysburg than the position the Troup Artillery occupied in that fight, marked on Coulederate Avenue.

Some of the bravest men I ever saw were in this company. It is due to state that there was no more valiant soldier than Capt. H. H. Carlton, commander of the battery, who is living to-day in Athens, Ga., loved and respected by all who know him. He has two beautiful daughters, twins. One was the Georgia sponsor at Charleston, and the other her maid of honor. First Lieut. C. W. Motes lives in Atlanta, and is a worthy and popular citizen. It was at Bloody Bend, near Spottsylvania, that a most amusing and at the same time a most intrepid act was credited to the record of Lieut. Motes.

The Confederate forces were behind a small breastwork, and the Federal forces were preparing for the charge. The Troup Artillery was stationed near a blackjack swamp, and a little farther down the line Maxey's Texas Brigade had been stationed.

Suddenly the Federals charged the Texas brigade. The fight was furious; the brave Texans drove back the enemy time and time again. During one of these charges Gen. Maxey for some reason had gone to the rear for a few moments, and when the blue and gray columns met the Texans wavered and fell back, and the Yankees swarmed over the breastworks and into the trenches.

Just as this happened a few members of the Troup Artillery were sitting around a little fire, frying a piece of fat bacon. The grease was sputtering in the frying pan and the soldiers were smacking their mouths in anticipation of the rich repast in store (?) for them. Among the number was Lieut. Motes.

As the Yankees came over the breastworks the gun of the Troup Artillery nearest to them was wheeled around, and in a few moments the line of blue soldiers was being swept by a galling fire.

Lieut. Motes sprang up and dashed down to where the Texans were fighting, carrying with him the frying pan of hot grease. As he reached the scene of combat he put himself in front of the Texas Brigade, and, waving the frying pan over his head, led the charge, and the Yankees were soon driven back.

Gen. Maxey returned about that time and congratulated Lieut. Motes on his brave.y. Motes's appearance just then should be noted. The grease was all over his face and clothes, and, being hot, had blistered the skin wherever it touched. He still had hold of the old frying pan, which had served him well in the charge.

Rev. Charles Oliver, who now resides in Atlanta, was another member of this celebrated company. Napoleon never had a braver soldier in his army than Oliver. I have seen him enjoy a ba~tle as one would a football game. His black eyes would sparkle with delight, while a bright smile would play upon his face in real enjoyment of shot and shell and the flashing of the guns.

The next morning after the second day's fighting at Gettysburg Oliver showed up with three Yankee horses and other things that he had captured in the enemy's lines during the night.

Another member who lives in Atlanta also, Dick Saye, a carpenter, deserves mention here. At the battle of Fredericksburg a shell fell behind the breastworks where our battery was. The fuse of the shell was sputtering and burning. All fell to the ground to escape the explosion, but Dick Saye ran to it and, bravely picking up the dangerous shell, threw it over the breastworks, where it immediately exploded without doing any harm. If this had been done by a Federal soldier, he would have received a medal of honor, which is given only for distinguished acts of bravery.

Another heroic member of the Troup Artillery, Bill Mealer, lives in Atlanta. At Dam No. 1, near Yorktown, a cannon ball struck Bill on the leg below the knee. The lower part was held on by a small piece of the skin. Bill coolly took out his pocketknife and cut the skin in two and threw the foot and ankle away, saying: "Damn you, you never was any account, anyhow." Bill afterwards served in the cavalry, although having but one good leg. That was pluck for you.

I could go on and fill up pages with the brave deeds of the gallant members of this celebrated company.

If you visit the battlefield of Gettysburg, you will not fail to see the prominent position occupied by the Troup Artillery, as indicated by the tablets thereupon erected.

Confederate Veteran, Vol. VII, No. 6 Nashville, Tenn., June, 1899.

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COL. JOHN BURKE

Judge C. C. Cummings

Judge C. C. Cummings, of Fort Worth, Tex., writes of the noted Texas scout for Lee, Beauregard, J. E. Johnston, Stonewall Jackson, and Jeb Stuart, leaders of the Army of Northern Virginia:

John Burke was born in Philadelphia in 1830, and at an early age was bereft of his parents and cast adrift to seek his fortune in his own way. At the age of eleven he made his way to New York City, where he mingled with the busy hum of men on the wharfs, in the streets, and around business offices, thus laying the corner stone, by these multiplied environments, of a resourceful character which fitted him as a child of destiny for a brilliant career. Possessing an exceptionally bright mind, he forged ahead of his fellows in "rustling up jobs." He was among the first of those who inaugurated the sensational feat of jumping off high bridges and casting himself headlong into the water. This he did with that dare-devil spirit of the Celt, for, as his name indicates, he is descended from the martyr, Robert Emmet, and the most eloquent of British statesmen, Edmund Burke, for whom he named a son.

He was both scout and spy. There is a difference between the two which I have never seen clearly defined. Literally, a scout means to hear and a spy means to see, and when Gen. Thomas Rosser says "he was the eyes and ears of Lee's army," we can appreciate the literal truth of this compliment to our hero. A scout is supposed to vibrate the lines of the contending forces and to learn, by hearing from others, the movements, strength, and force of the enemy. If taken in battle, he is treated as a regular prisoner of war. A spy is one who enters the lines of the enemy in disguise and spies out the land, and if captured, death by the most ignominious means is meted out to him; not because he is any worse than others, but because he is considered more dangerous.

John Burke followed the shoemaker's trade by day and studied law at night, by the dim light of a pine knot or tallow candle, until finally he was admitted to the bar, and associated himself with his brother-in-law, Pendleton Murrah, afterwards Governor of the State. He took rank at once as a criminal lawyer along with such men as Jennings, Ochiltree, Henderson, Culberson, and Clough.

At the first tap of the Confederate drum Burke enlisted at Marshall, and entered Wigfall's Regiment as a private in the company of Capt. Bass, who was afterwards colonel of the regiment. Early in the spring of 1861, before the battle of First Manassas, they were sent to the front in Virginia, and the regiment was always known as the First Texas of Hood's celebrated brigade. Burke's genius as a scout and spy developed itself at once on detached service in front of Washington, and by prompt and accurate reports of the strength and movements of McDowell's forces he aided Beauregard and Johnston in the first great victory at Manassas. He remained nominally with his company until the spring of 1862, and permanently left them at Yorktown to aid the several leaders of the Army of Northern Virginia in the capacity of scout and spy. He was with Jackson in his famous valley campaign that spring, and with Joe Johnston in locating his line around Richmond in his retreat from Yorktown, and with Johnston when he was wounded at Seven Pines.

He was Lee's most trusted scout. He had the honor of riding as scout and guide with Jeb Stuart around McClellan in front of Richmond, just before the seven days' battle.

In June, 1864, he accepted the position of adjutant general of Texas on Gov. Murrah's staff, and bade farewell to the Army of Northern Virginia.

During Col. Burke's expeditions as scout and spy he often went into the enemy's country in various disguises-at one time a truck farmer, at another a gentleman of leisure lounging around the capitol at Washington, invading the departments and gathering all sorts of valuable information. Fortunately he excelled as a mimic, and visiting in quick succession New York, Washington, and Philadelphia, going over the scenes of his old boyhood haunts, he was able to pick up army news from most reliable sources. By some means he possessed himself of a Federal major's commission of artillery and uniform, and this garb seemed best suited to his tastes. On one of these adventures he was captured in Philadelphia, heavily ironed and handcuffed, and was being conveyed by rail, under strong guard, to Washington, where death by hanging, after a drumhead court-martial, seemed to await him. As they were passing over a high trestle, the rumbling of the train indicated to him his position; and, remembering the many times he had jumped from High Bridge, in New York, he jumped overboard. It was night, and darkness threw a friendly veil over him. The trail rumbled on, and the guards made sure that, manacled as he was, he had saved them the job of a formal trial, and had gone in advance to his doom. But again he escaped, and in a few days was at Lee's headquarters, near Richmond. Again while scouting he drifted into the enemy's lines and was discovered and so hotly pursued that he abandoned his horse and ran into a thicket, and thence into a barn, which. happened to be empty-so empty that there was no place to hide. But he drew himself on to the crossbeams overhead, and breathlessly watched his pursuers search every nook and corner and then go away leaving him undisturbed.

Once he was riding a beautiful thoroughbred mare, captured by him a few days before, and was scouting in a lane bordered by high stone fences. Suddenly he discovered that the enemy were closing in before and behind him, and his only hope lay in a fearful leap, which he made. A shower of shot killed his horse and wounded him seriously. Reaching the house of a friend, his disguise was pierced by a servant girl, who disclosed his identity to the Federals. When they came in quest of Lee's famous spy he ran into the room of the beautiful daughter of his host, saying: "I am Burke; hide me, or I shall be killed!" The girl hastily turned down her feather bed, and he ensconced himself safely between it and the mattress. So once more he escaped detection. One of the most amusing of his escapades was when he ran into the house of a friend with the enemy close at his heels. His only refuge was in the wide-spreading hoopskirt of his hostess, which proved a safe retreat. It is said that Col Burke killed twenty adversaries during his service for the Confederacy. In 1897, after Gen. Rosser had lectured in Fort Worth, Howard W. Peak, son-in law of Col. Peak, wrote him a letter in regard to the reference in his lecture of Col. Burke's having "saved Lee's army."

He joined Gov. Murrah as his adjutant general at Austin, Texas in 1864, and served on his staff during the remainder of the war. Gov. Murrah went to Mexico on account of ill health, and here Col Burke remained with his old friend, the Governor, who had been so kind to him in his young days.

Returning to Texas, he resumed the practice of his profession at Marshall at the close of the war, and in 1865 married Miss Jennie Taylor. Col. Burke died at Jefferson, Tex., in 1872. His widow, now Mrs. F. M. Burrows, and two sons, John and Edmund Burke, and daughter, Alice, Mrs. Howard W. Peak, survive him and are residents of Fort Worth.

Confederate Veteran, Vol. VII, No. 6 Nashville, Tenn., June, 1899.

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A UNION SOLDIER'S TRIBUTE

Capt. William Rule

The address of Capt. William Rule, of Knoxville, Tenn., at the decoration of Federal graves near Nashville May 30 does him high credit. Capt. Rule served the cause of the Union in the great war, and has affiliated with the dominant party since. He was a true soldier, however, and in his integrity he now says in paying tribute to the memory of his dead comrades:

It had to come, and be it far from me at this day to step aside and lay the whole blame for it at the door of either party. It will do no good; it was inevitable. It is in the past, and we of to-day can well afford to turn our backs upon it, leaving it to the individual to work out his own conclusions in his own way to his own satisfaction, learning from it such lessons as may satisfy his own conscience.

The end came, and with it immortality for the name "Appomattox." There it was that the two great leaders of the opposing armies met to talk over terms under which the weaker could lay down arms but not honor; could furl the flag of the cause for which they had fought and failed. The great and magnanimous Grant was in solemn conference with the famous commander of the remnant of a great army of valorous American soldiers-Robert E. Lee, the able, pure, upright, chivalrous general who was too brave to prolong hostilities for his own fame when it involved a hopeless and useless sacrifice of human life. He and his ragged and hungry men may have for the moment felt the humiliation of capitulation, in which feeling they had the profoundest sympathy of the victorious chief to whom they had capitulated; but they had the proud satisfaction of knowing that so long as history is printed and read no man will ever dare to stand up and say that they had not defended their cause with as much valor and at as great cost as any similar number of soldiers ever did who were ever marshaled in any nation of the earth.

I shall not argue about which was right. In one sense both were right-both were honest. If it be true that actions speak louder than words, then it is not for me to say that the Confederate soldiers who fought so valiantly on so many bloody fields and endured so much suffering for four long years with so much fortitude were not sincere.

Comrade Rule pays high tribute to the South in the recent war with Spain, and he told this story:

A few weeks ago two fathers stood before two open graves in the national cemetery in Knoxville, into which were tenderly lowered two caskets, containing the remains of two Tennessee boys. One of these fathers was a soldier in the Union army, and he is an officer of high rank in the army now; one of the caskets held the remains of his son, who fell while leading his men up the heights of San Juan hill. The other father was once an officer in the Confederate service: the boy in the other casket was his son and that son too fell leading his men up San Juan hill. Both were lieutenants in the regular army; both were Tennessee boys, who attended the same Tennessee university, and each had poured out his life's blood following, the same flag on the same battlefield. and now the fathers-one who wore the blue, the other who wore the gray- mingled their tears over the biers of their precious boys who had sacrificed their young lives on the same altar of patriotism in defense of the same flag and the same country. Ah! tell me not, in the presence of such a scene as that, that Americans are not Americans, even though they may have radically differed in the past!

The Union veteran sees in the splendid valor of the Confederate soldier a legacy to the nation in which he has a share. The Confederate veteran, and they of his household, know that whatever good has accrued from the final results of that stupendous struggle he and his have it in an equal allotment.

The preservation of the union of American States, it is now universally conceded, is a national benediction, and few are left who would deprive the men who wore the gray of its choicest blessings, had they it within their power. The buoyant strains of "Dixie" revive lustrous recollections of heroic days, and all may join in cordial acclamation, all may stand in reverential awe with bowed and uncovered head while hearkening to the soul-stirring melody of the "Star-Spangled Banner." The time is at hand when we are indeed and in truth one people, with a common interest, a common ambition, a common purpose, a common destiny.

Confederate Veteran, Vol. VII, No. 7 Nashville, Tenn., July, 1899.

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SOME SINGULAR FATALITIES

C. E. Merrill, Nashville

The casualties of war are properly designated "fatalities." That word builder builded wiser than he knew, since few men can long participate with ordinary observation and intelligence in the thrilling events of war without becoming more or less fatalists, whether they admit it or not. The writer was promoted first lieutenant and detailed by Gen. Sidney Johnston at Bowling Green from the ranks of the Twenty-Second Mississippi Infantry to drill the Thirty-First Alabama (afterwards the Forty-Ninth) Regiment, two regiments from that State having been assigned the same number (the Thirty-First), and consented to surrender or hold the designated number by lot. Within two weeks Fort Donelson fell, and I kept with the Forty-Ninth on the way South. I was appointed adjutant of the regiment and afterwards adjutant general of the brigade (Gen. Thomas M. Scott's), and participated in the two days' battle at Shiloh and in every other battle fought under Bragg, Joe Johnston, and Hood save when at home on wounded furloughs.

But to return to the appointments of Fate. One day while our army occupied the parallel lines of breastworks against Gen. Sherman at New Hope Church in the summer of 1864, Dr. H. V. Weeden, of Alabama, assistant brigade surgeon, said: "M., get your horse and ride with me to the rear. I want to show you something." We rode back about a mile, to where our wagons were parked on a small spring branch. Pausing near an immense white oak tree, Dr. Weeden remarked: "See that poor fellow lying there? He was killed during the night. Two or three days ago he said to his company commander: 'Look here, captain, unless you detail me to drive a wagon or do other less hazardous work, I intend to desert. I feel somehow, but can't explain it, that I shall never see my wife and baby again unless I keep out of harm's way.' The captain remonstrated with him-tried joke and importunity, but to no purpose. 'John, you have ranked for nearly four years as the bravest man in our regiment; have led several forlorn hopes, and were the envy of the bravest. I cannot believe you will show the white feather now.' 'White feather or black,' retorted the soldier, with eyes full of mist and a sad, far-away expression, 'you must send me to the rear this day, or I shall desert to-night.' The captain, knowing what manner of man his favorite soldier was, sent him to the wagon train. Last night," continued Dr. Weeden, "the poor fellow took shelter, as you see, (for his body has not been moved) behind this tree- his head flush against it and his feet pointed straight away, as he thought, from any possible stray shot. During the night, however, his head got turned slightly away from shelter while he slept. It cannot be less than two thousand yards to Sherman's line. Some Union soldier, perhaps to reload, threw up his musket and sent a wild curving shot in this direction. Though it had nearly spent its force, it came down at an angle of about forty-five degrees, and landed as squarely in the poor fellow's eye as if it had been placed there with one's fingers. Does it not indeed seem that what is to be will be ?"

It certainly did, and still does.

Capt. Ed Hieronymus, now Inspector of Weights and Measures in the New Orleans (La.) Custom House -where he has been, except during a short interval, for six or seven years, because his efficiency defies the vicissitudes of party change-was one of Gen. John H. Morgan's boy captains from Kentucky during the great war (as you so pertinently designated the bloody years from 1861 to 1865.) Cheering on his men in one of the many battles Morgan fought in Tennessee and Kentucky, young Hieronymus was struck in the left side by the fragment of a shell, which resulted in the loss of three ribs. He wears a wire screen over the wound as protection from sudden impact. The second night after the battle he occupied a room with another Confederate soldier who had what was thought to be, and was, a slight wound in the foot. Capt. Hieronymus time and again kindly implored him to bear his sufferings less noisily, so that each of them might perhaps get an hour of refreshing sleep. But in vain. The slightly wounded man kept it up al} night, and died inside of twenty-four hours. Capt. Hieronymus, the "mortally w-ounded" young officer' is alive yet. It is hard to say, but surely the element of pluck must enter largely in contributing to such recoveries, and fate does the rest.

I knew two or three soldiers who died without a symptom of illness or a scratch anywhere on the body. The surgeons pronounced it nostalgia. Hundreds died of it on both sides of the line.

I read in the VETERAN the story of Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston's death at Shiloh with mingled emotions of pity and regret at the lack of common sense and presence of mind that would have saved to his country that valuable life. I refer to Col. Baylor's article. He was an aide on Gen. Johnston's staff at the time. The details are, in short, that Gen. Johnston received a very small wound just below the knee which he thought insignificant, as indeed it was, but an artery was cut. After a time he began to reel in his saddle, and was assisted to dismount by his friend and aid, Gov. Isham G. Harris. Lieuts. Baylor, O'Hara, and others hurried in search of a surgeon and ambulance. They were gone for a long time. Meantime Gen. Johnston had been removed to the rear, bleeding all the way. Lieut. Baylor returned and received into his lap, to relieve Gen. Preston, the head of the great soldier. "I looked down and saw," says the Lieutenant, "a stream of blood issuing from the wound. It had trickled away and settled in a dark pool six or eight feet off." What a long, long time the great, strong hero was dying! And, alas! the pity of it. If some one of the group had simply pressed his thumb firmly on the artery two or three inches above the wound, until some one could have tied a hard knot in a handkerchief and with a small stick twisted it, the knot above the wound, into an improvised tourniquet, Gen. Johnston would have been able to sit erect till the surgeon came. Really, there was no absolute need of a surgeon. At every little military school in the country (even in some of the common schools) students are taught in ten minutes how to stanch the flow of either venous or arterial blood. But it ought to need no schooling of any sort. Gen. Johnston's staff must have been completely overcome and rendered helpless in the presence of the sad and startling catastrophe. A nose bleed is more difficult to suppress. The great general ought not to have died. If he had lived-but alas! herein again comes the inevitable "fatality."

Our brigade was lying flat on the ground awaiting the order to rise and charge the Federals, who were cannonading, shelling, and sharp shooting us from their breastworks at Corinth October 3, 1862. Turning his head slightly, Sam K. looked up and remarked: "Better lie down, Adjutant. These balls are coming awful thick." "That doesn't matter," I started to reply. "No one can die till his time comes, and"- but before the sentence was completed a Minie ball struck the soldier square in top of the head, killing him instantly. If he had only been standing up!

To be killed and wounded, or rather to escape either casualty, is no sign of bravery or the reverse. I have known "dodgers" to be killed behind trees or as they ran away, and some of the bravest always in the front, who came through scores of battles without a scratch.

Col. Baylor says that after Gen. Johnston's death Gen. Beauregard called off our victorious troops at sundown. I was there, and the sun was an hour and a half high. In July, 1864, while Hood was in Atlanta, I met Gov. I. G. Harris for the first time, as he was discussing Gen. Beauregard's report of the battle, in which he said: "Night stopped the pursuit." I asked Gov. Harris if the report was correct. "No, sir," replied he, in his earnest, emphatic way. "When I rode back to report to Gen. Beauregard I found the latter in an ambulance near the church. The sun was two hours high. I reported that our troops had somehow been ordered to stop and stack arms, but thought it must be a mistake. 'No,' said Gen. Beauregard, 'I sent the order. We will gather up the fruits of the victory to-morrow. John Morgan is over east of the river. He will keep Buell back.' As if a few hundred cavalrymen could hold back twenty thousand infantry! I protested, but in vain. I told Gen. Beauregard he would regret the loss of those two hours as long as he lived. He only smiled."

In Washington, D. C., fifteen years after the above conversation, in 1879, I wrote up the interview for the Courier-Journal. Showing it to Gov. (then Senator) Harris, he said I had reproduced it almost word for word, and that he thought my memory most remarkable.

Confederate Veteran, Vol. VII, No. 7 Nashville, Tenn., July, 1899.

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THE RETREAT FROM NASHVILLE

Col. R. H. Lindsay, Shreveport, La., commander of the Sixteenth Louisiana Regiment, Gibson's Brigade:

In the April VETERAN I read with pleasure "Last Shot Fired at Battle of Nashville," which brought to my memory something not hitherto published.

About 11 A.M. of that day the Louisiana Brigade was in position, our right resting on the Franklin pike. A brigade of Negro troops made an assault on our line, but were soon badly demoralized by our fire. I sent out a detail of three men to capture the colors (we had no use for prisoners), and they returned with a handsome flag, on which was inscribed: "Presented by the Colored Ladies of Murfreesboro, Tenn." I gave it to the color bearer, and when Lieut. Gen. S. D. Lee came along he remarked on the handsome flag. He asked me to give three cheers, so it would go down the line and encourage the troops on our left wing. While standing with Gen. Lee a ball went through the rim of my hat. Again while looking for sharpshooters a ball passed through my hat, coming out at the crown, and the third shot tore a V-shaped hole in the shoulder of my overcoat. About three in the afternoon of that day I saw our men on the left giving way and the enemy sweeping up our line. Gen. Gibson ordered me to keep the trenches until we had orders to retreat. As I left the trench I met Gen. Edward Johnson running rapidly. He told me he was just from prison, and was too tired to go farther. Soon afterwards he was again a prisoner. With my color bearer I made for the pike, where our horses were. The enemy had some guns, and swept lanes in which were the retreating Confederates. About dark Gibson's Louisiana Brigade formed the rear guard to protect our badly demoralized army.

I quote from Gen. Lee's report of that evening: "At Nashville when Hood was defeated Gibson's Brigade was conspicuously posted on the left of the pike near Overton Hill, and I witnessed their driving back with the rest of Clayton's Division two formidable assaults of the enemy. I recollect near dark riding up to a brigade near a battery and trying to seize a stand of colors and lead the brigade against the enemy. The color bearer refused, and was sustained by his regiment. I found it was the color bearer of the Thirteenth Louisiana Volunteers and Gibson's Louisiana Brigade. Gibson soon appeared at my side, and in admiration of such conduct I exclaimed: "Gibson, these are the best men I ever saw. You take them and check the enemy." Gibson did take them, and did check the enemy.

Hood, in his "Advance and Retreat" gives to Gen. Gibson and his command the credit of staying the disorder in the army and stopping the panic. He says: "Gen. Gibson with the Louisiana troops succeeded in checking and staying the first and most dangerous shock which always follows immediately after a rout." Gibson's Brigade and Fenner's Battery acted as rear guard to the rear guard (old soldiers will appreciate the meaning of those words), and continued as rear guard until relieved by Gen. Ross and hits cavalry.

When we reached Franklin the Louisiana Brigade formed line from pike to railroad and kept the enemy in check until all of our wounded and ammunition train safely crossed the Harpeth River, then the brigade turned in good order and formed line on the outskirts of Franklin, our right resting on the pike. Here it was Gen. Lee was wounded in the foot. After this the enemy became more cautious, and our army crossed the Tennessee River and went to Tupelo, Miss.

Confederate Veteran, Vol. VII, No. 8 Nashville, Tenn., August, 1899.

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THE POPE AND THE CONFEDERACY

William E. Curtis

William E. Curtis, in special correspondence to the Chicago Record, gives some interesting facts in connection with the attitude of Pope Pius IX. toward the Southern Confederacy. While the pontiff never formally recognized the Southern States as a nation, his correspondence with the authorities at Richmond was highly considerate, and is very interesting.

The belligerency of the Southern States was recognized by Queen Victoria May 13, 1861; Emperor Napoleon, of France, did the same on June 10 of that year; the King of the Netherlands, June 16; Queen Isabella, of Spain, June 17; and the Emperor of Brazil, August 1. On October 12, 1861, Pope Pius IX. wrote to the archbishops of New York and New Orleans, making an appeal to their "apostolic zeal and their episcopal solicitude for the happiness and welfare of their respective people, exhorting them to make efforts in his (the pope's name, as well as in theirs, for the restoration of peace, the termination of the disastrous civil war then raging in America, and the reestablishment of concord and charitable love throughout the whole country." This letter was of a purely ecclesiastical character, and had designedly no bearing on politics. At the date on which it was written, New Orleans had been captured and Gen. Butler had proclaimed martial law there. The prelates to whom the Pope addressed these letters were Archbishop Hughes, of New York and Archbishop Odin, of New Orleans, both of whom complied with his request and ordered prayers for peace.

Mr. Curtis quotes extensively from Dr. Jose Ignacio Rodriguez, a most learned diplomatist and a recognized authority on diplomatic history. The latter considers that "the attitude of the two prelates, especially of Archbishop Hughes, who was a personal friend of Mr. Seward, in favor of the preservation of the Union, is a matter of historical and diplomatic record." Archbishop Hughes, in writing on the subject, stated: "If a division of the country should ever take place, the Catholics will have had no voluntary part in bringing about such a calamity." He aided the government substantially when a call was made on the State of New York for militia to sustain the laws; the Sixty-Ninth Regiment was mainly composed of Catholics, and Meagher's Irish Brigade and Cocoran's Legion were subsequently raised. He was also sent to Europe on a diplomatic mission. After the Trent affair, November, 1861, there seemed probability that the European powers would recognize the Confederate States, and at the request of Mr. Seward and Mr. Lincoln, Archbishop Hughes went to Europe to use his influence for the good of the United States. He sailed late in 1861, and returned to America in August, 1862. While there he had a satisfactory interview with Napoleon III., and did successful work in Rome. Letters received from Pius IX. shortly after his return show the effects of the prelate's influence. The contents of those letters were made known to Jefferson Davis sometime afterwards, and he opened correspondence with the Pope, to whom he wrote as follows:

To His Holiness, Pope Pius IX., Most Venerable Head of the Holy See and Sovereign Pontiff of the Holy Roman Catholic Apostolic Church:

The letters addressed by your holiness to the venerable heads of the catholic clergy of New Orleans and New York have been communicated to me, and I have read with emotion the terms in which your holiness has been pleased to express the profound sorrow which the carnage, ruin, and devastation of the present war, waged by the government of the United States against the States and the people which have elected me to be their President, have produced in your holiness. I refer to those letters by which your holiness directed the prelates above alluded to and their clergy to exhort the people and the authorities to exercise charity and show love for peace.

I deeply appreciate the Christian charity and sympathy which inspired your holiness when making such an earnest appeal to the venerable clergy of the Catholic Church to work for the reestablishment of peace and concord. It is for this reason that I consider myself bound by duty to assure your holiness, personally in my own name, and in the name of the people of the Confederate States, that we have been very deeply moved in our hearts by the feelings of love and Christian charity which have guided your holiness on this occasion, and to state furthermore that these people, though threatened with cruel oppression and horrible carnage, even in their own individual homes, wish, nevertheless, and so they have always wished with fervor, to see the end of this impious war; that in our prayers to the Heavenly Father we have expressed the same feelings with which your holiness is animated, that we have no ill will toward our enemies; that we do not covet any possession of theirs; that we struggle against them only to cause them to cease to devastate our country and shed the blood of our people, and that our only desire is to be allowed to live in peace under our institutions and laws which protect everybody, not only in the enjoyment of all temporal rights, but also in the free exercise of religion.

I pray your holiness to accept from myself and from the people of the Confederate States our sincere thanks for your holiness' efforts in favor of peace. May the Lord prolong the days of your holiness, and keep your holiness in his holy guard!

JEFFERSON DAVIS Pres. of Confed. States, etc.

To this letter Pope Pius IX. replied December 8 1863, as follows:

Illustrous and Honorable President, Greeting: We have just received, with all proper benevolence, the persons sent by you to deliver to us your letter of the 23rd of September ultimo. We have learned with pleasure through the said persons and through your letter what was the nature of the feelings of joy and gratitude which were excited in you, illustrious and honorable President, when given information about the letters written by us to our venerable brothers, John, Archbishop of New York, and John, Archbishop of New Orleans, on the 18th of October of the preceding year, wherein we made an earnest appeal to their compassionate feelings and episcopal solicitude, and exhorted them to endeavor, with fervent zeal and in our name, to induce the people of your country to put an end to the disastrous civil war which is raging there, so as to secure for your people the benefits of peace and concord and charitable love for each other.

It has been particularly gratifying to us to be informed that you and your people are animated by the same desires of peace and concord which we in the letters above referred to inculcated in the venerable brothers of ours to whom they were addressed. May God be willing to grant that the other people of America, and of the authorities who are at their head, seriously considering what a grave thing civil war is and how much misfortune and wrong it carries with it, should listen to the inspirations of a calmer spirit, and resolutely adopt a policy of peace!

As to us, we shall never cease to address the most fervent prayers to Almighty God, requesting him to inspire in the whole people a spirit of peace and charity and to free them from the great evils which now afflict them. We pray at the same time to merciful God to bestow upon you the light of his grace, and cause you to be attached to us by a perfect union.

Given at St. Peter, Rome, December 1. 1861. the eighteenth of our pontificate.

PIE IX.

Confederate Veteran, Vol. VII, No. 9 Nashville, Tenn., September, 1899.

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GENERAL LEE'S LAST OFFICE

Rev. J. William Jones, Chaplain General U. C. V.

When our great chieftain, after the close of the great "War between the States," turned his back upon offers of pecuniary assistance and positions with large salaries and bright promise of rich emoluments, and went to preside over Washington College, at Lexington, Va., in order, as he expressed it, to "teach young men to do their duty in life," he built with the first money he could secure for the purpose a commodious, neat, and substantial chapel. In the basement of this chapel was the college library, the office of his secretary, and Gen. Lee's own office. This latter was neatly but not extravagantly furnished with desks, bookshelves, chairs, and especially a large round table at which the President sat in an armchair, and on which he wrote, with letters, pamphlets, stationery, etc., conveniently arranged and always kept in that neat order which so eminently characterized the man.

Here he received members of the faculty, students, or other visitors with the cordial, ease and grace which made a visit to the office so pleasant.

On Wednesday, September 28, 1870, President Lee was at his post of duty, and after attending morning chapel service, as was his wont every day, he went into his office and was busy all the morning with his correspondence, etc. At 3 o'clock he went to his home for dinner, leaving a half-finished letter on his table. At 4 o'clock he presided over an important meeting of the vestry of his Church Grace Episcopal Church from which he did not return home until 7 o'clock. finding the family waiting tea for him. He started to ask a blessing, when he was smitten with the fatal disease from which he died soon after 9 o'clock on the morning of October 12.

His office has been kept ever since just as he left it. The half-finished letter, the inkstand, pens, letter heads, pamphlets. packages of letters, college reports, etc., all remind one of the great President who on that day left his busy workshop to enter so soon upon his glorious rest.

The visitor to this Mecca of our Southland-the tomb of Lee and the grave of Stonewall Jackson, "Lexington, in the Valley of Virginia"-will be sure to enter this beautiful chapel and look with interest on the pew the lamented President always occupied. Then he will gaze long and with intense gratification on the pure white marble just in the rear of the college platform in which the genius of Edward Valentine has produced one of the most superb works of art on this continent and given us a veritable "Marse Robert asleep."

He goes below and gazes with solemn awe on the vault in which sleep the ashes of America's greatest soldier, the world's model man; and then he turns into the office where there are such precious mementos, such hallowed memories of the greatest college President which this country ever produced.

May the office be ever preserved just as he left it, and future generations of students draw inspiration from the precious memories which cluster there!

August 28, 1899.

Confederate Veteran, Vol. VII, No. 10 Nashville, Tenn., October, 1899.

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CHAMP FERGUSON

B. L. Ridley, Murfreesboro, Tenn.

A typical mountaineer-such was Champ Ferguson. The times in which he lived called forth physical energy, egged on by passion. The acts of his adversaries prompted his motives, and raging war made his career in the strife of 1861-65 an epitome of blood.

Champ was at his home, a citizen, when the tocsin was sounded, and stayed there until his own precincts were invaded. A rabid fire eater-passed his house with a troop of Blues. Champ Ferguson's little three-year old child came into the porch waving a Confederate flag. One of the men in blue leveled his gun and killed the child. O anguish! how that father's heart bled. His spirit welled up like the indomitable will of the primitive Norseman. In a moment of frenzy he said that the death of his baby would cost the "bluecoats" a hundred lives. And it did. One hundred and twenty is believed to be the number he put to death.

He took to the woods, and for four years his war upon them was unrelenting and vengeance was never appeased. It increased with the raging torrent as his family and friends were much vilified and abused. In the Cumberland Mountains clans formed and terrorized the section by petty warfare until the caldron of fear and apprehension invaded every home. It grew with the years, and Champ became the terror of the Northern side, while Huddleston and Tinker Dave Beatty were that to the Southerners. The acts of the latter, because they belonged to the victorious side, are buried in the tomb, and the government perhaps honors their memory; but the acts of Champ Ferguson, because of the misfortunes of war, are bruited as the most terrible in history.

If the sea could give up its dead, and the secrets of men be made known, Champ Ferguson's actions as bushwhacker, in comparison, would excite only a passive and not an active interest. Champ was a mountaineer; rude and untrained in the refinements of moral life, he had entertained that strict idea of right that belongs to the mountain character. His nature had instilled into him the strongest incentive of wreaking vengeance for a wrong. His method was indiscreet, his warfare contemptible; but, in palliation, how was it compared to the open murder of starving out our women and children, burning our houses, and pillaging our homes? Champ Ferguson was well to do in this world's goods when the war began. Had he been let alone, a career of good citizenship would have been his portion. Had he lived in the days of the Scottish chiefs, the clans would no doubt have crowned his efforts; but now, since his flag has fallen, history marks his career as more awful than that of John A. Murrell, and caps it with a hangman's noose. The times in which he acted must be considered! the provocation, the surroundings, and then let history record Champ's actions.

In his zeal for the South to win he became hardened; and the more steeped in blood the more his recklessness increased until irritability occasioned by treatment of his home folk drove him to maniacal desperation.

In encountering these mountain bushwhackers it became the armies of both sides to help them when called upon to wage the war of extermination. A comrade has given me an account of the killing of Huddleston, the Federal hushwhacker, whose company was afterwards commanded by Tinker Dave Beatty. I mention it to show the madness of these mountaineers toward each other. This soldier friend says: "My recollection is that we traveled around Lebanon, Ky., on the night of December 25, 1862, and the next day we went to Columbia, Ky., and it was then that Capt. Ferguson went to Gen. Morgan and asked for two companies to scout with him that night, having heard that they were going to bushwhack Morgan's rear the next day. I did not know that Capt. Ferguson was with us until we had traveled several hours and we went into a house where they were having a Christmas dance. This was a short distance from Capt. Huddleston's house. When he reached it he was upstairs shooting at us. The house was a new log one and not completed. It had no floor upstairs, but a few plank on the joists. I thought that it was an outhouse where no one was living, and that he had gone there for protection. One of-my companions got Capt. Huddleston's horse after they had run him to the house from a thicket near by. The animal was a splendid bay mare and could run very fast. While Huddleston was shooting out of the window upstairs, and we were responding, some one ordered the house burned; but I was close behind a small meat house, and told him to come down-that we would give him quarter. He replied that he was true blue himself and would not come down. Then the house was set on fire, and some one in it put it out with water. About this time Capt. Huddleston was shot, and fell between the joists downstairs. He was brought out of the house, and Capt. Ferguson shot him afterwards. At the time Huddleston was shot some one in the house said: 'You killed him.' There was but one other man in the house, and he claimed to be sick. Ferguson killed him. We then went about three or four miles farther to a house, where two bitter enemies of Ferguson were in bed in a room by themselves. Capt. Ferguson went in advance to this house and into the room, pulled his dirk out of his boot leg and felt in bed with them and commenced cutting them. He killed one in bed and shot one as he went out the door, and our company captured the third man after he came out of the house. One of my companions was guarding the prisoner, when some one told him that he would guard him, and took him off. In a few minutes Capt Ferguson came up and asked where the prisoner was, and said that he would have the man shot who turned him loose. This seemed to frighten the guard, and he asked me what to do and said that he thought Capt. Ferguson was the man who took the prisoner from him. I told him I had no doubt of it, and that I thought he had killed him and was then talking for effect. We then went to Creelsboro, on the Cumberland River, reaching there about daylight after the hardest, coldest night of our lives, and joined the command near Burkesville."

In the "History of Morgan's Cavalry" Gen. Duke says: "The great opponent of Champ Ferguson in the bushwhacking business was Tinker Dave Beatty. The patriarchal old man lived in a cove surrounded by high hills. at the back of which was a narrow path leading to the mountains. Surrounded by his clan, he led a pastoral life which must have been fascinating, for many who entered into the cove never came away again. The relentless ferocity of all that section made that of Bluebeard and the Welch giants in comparison sink into insignificance. Sometimes Champ Ferguson, with his band, would enter the cove, carry off old Dave's stock, and drive him to his retreat in the mountains, to which no man ever followed him. Then, when he was strong enough, he would lead his henchmen against Champ and slay all who did not escape. He did not confine his hostility to Capt. Ferguson. There were not related of Beatty so many stories illustrative of his personal courage as of Ferguson. I heard of the latter, on one occasion, having gone into a room where two of his bitter enemies lay before the fire, both strong men and armed, and throwing himself upon therm he killed both, after a hard struggle, with a knife. Beatty possessed a cunning and subtlety which Ferguson, in a great manner, lacked. Both of the men were known to have spared life on some rare occasions. Champ caused a Union man to be released, saying that he did not believe him to be a bushwhacker. Subsequently, after a fit of silence, Ferguson said: 'I have a good notion to go back and hunt that man. I am afraid I have done wrong, for he is the very best shot in this part of the country; and if he does turn bushwhacker, he will kill a man at every shot.'"

 

Confederate Veteran, Vol. VII, No. 11 Nashville, Tenn., November, 1899.

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HEROES OF EIGHTH ALABAMA INFANTRY

S. W. Vance, Birmingham, Ala.

Comrade A. L. Scott, Eighth Alabama Regiment, Wilcox's Brigade, Army of Northern Virginia, is asking about his old comrade, Tom Hollman. On July 3, 1863, Wilcox's old brigade supported Pickett's Division in the Gettysburg charge and participated in the fight. I belonged I to Company G of the Eleventh Alabama, Wilcox's Brigade. In falling back, early in July, 1863, I came across a Capt. or Lieut. Scott, of the Ninth Alabama, who was badly wounded. Shot and shell were fallingg around us thick and fast, and he called me to assist him. I first thought he was a Federal, so devoted my attention to other wounded Confederates. The officer still pleaded with me to stop and help him, saying he belonged to the Ninth Alabama. I gave him water and bandaged his wounds, and he suffered intensely, begging me to cut his leg off with my pocket knife. As soon as I got to the line I sent some of his men to him, and he was immediately removed from the field. Capt. or Lieut. Scott will doubtless remember this incident, and myself in connection with it.

I went into the army very young, and served to the end. The badge of honor was bestowed on me at the battle of the Wilderness, and I remember the morning well. Wilcox's Brigade was at the head of the division, had marched early and late, and breakfasted by the light of the morning stars. I think it was Featherstone's Mississippi Brigade that had the day before held Gen. Grant in check until Longstreet could get up, but in doing this had given up about two miles of the woods on the plank road a little faster than Gen. Lee liked. Gen. Grant, the new commander of the Army of the Potomac, was "pushing the Rebels on to Richmond" with the belief that he could not be stopped. Gen. Grant had about 120,000 men and Gen. Lee about 55,000. Perhaps the latter was a little uneasy. He was sitting on his horse in the road when the Eleventh Alabama passed, and when Gen. Longstreet rode up to him he said: "Something must be done or the day is lost." Wilcox's Brigade was ordered to the left of the plank road, while Hood's Texas Brigade formed on the right. Both moved forward over the remains of the troops who had borne the brunt of the battle the previous day. Our men took position on the crest of a little ridge in the thick woods, and the sharpshooters were thrown out to meet the victorious enemy. We knew the bluecoats were coming, and every man did his duty bravely. Soon after we were in line we heard the Federals giving the order to forward. Our sharpshooters checked the advance of the enemy, but they were later compelled to fall back to the line. William Berry, a tall vidette, stood up in the rear and fired until shot dead; and my uncle, Joe Shuttlesworth, also stood in the rear and shot over our heads until mortally wounded. As the Yankees advanced our men poured volley after volley into their lines before their hitherto victorious progress could be stayed. Finally they faltered and began to give way; then the yell and charge. We drove them back three miles and recovered all the ground lost the day before.

Next morning Gen. Jenkins, of South Carolina, was killed, and Gen. Longstreet wounded; and but for these unfortunate incidents, which stopped the advance for several hours, I have always believed that Gen. Grant would have met the fate of his predecessors. The delay gave them time to reform the lines and bring up their reserves. On that morning Gen. Woodsworth, of the Federals, was killed, and we got his sword, a very handsome one.

The Wilcox Brigade made a fine record at Frazier's Farm, where they captured sixteen of the finest guns in the Federal army. The loss in officers and men was severe and the fighting terrific, many of our most valuable soldiers being killed or wounded.

Joe Shuttleworth, known in the regiment as "Joe Shuck," was a young sharpshooter, weighing about one hundred pounds, with sharp features. He stood up bravely in the rear of his company until he was mortally wounded. He was borne from the field to the hospital. I got permission to see him late in the afternoon, and found him in a dying condition, though he talked cheerfully and told me this story, which was verified by one of the litter bearers: As the ambulance corps was taking him from the battlefield one of the bearers of the litter was wounded and fell, letting his suffering burden fall to the ground. Sitting on his war horse, Traveler, Gen. Lee witnessed the incident with manifest tenderness and sympathy. Lifting his hat, Joe said: "Don't be uneasy. That is the Eleventh Alabama, Wilcox's Brigade, and they are filling the road with dead Yankees." Gen. Lee answered: "I know they are, my brave boy." Just then the Rebel yell burst forth, and Joe said: "I told you so." He died in the hospital that night.

Confederate Veteran, Vol. VII, No. 12 Nashville, Tenn., December, 1899.

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FLAG OF TERRY'S TEXAS RANGERS

Unknown

An event well worthy of elaborate mention is that of the return of the battle flag of Terry's Texas Rangers, Eighth Texas Cavalry. Comrades H. W. Graber, George B. Littlefield, S. B. Christian, W. D. Cleveland, and R. Y. King, a committee from the Rangers, and J. J. Weiler, now of Texas, petitioned for its return, setting forth that it was lost by their command during an engagement near Coosaville, Ala., October I3, 1864, and found by J. J. Weiler, of the Seventeenth Indiana Regiment, and turned over to the State of Indiana. Gov. James A. Mount, of Indiana, attended by a committee of Union veterans, went to Dallas, where he was met by Gov. Sayers and Confederate associations of Texas. The ceremonies attending the return of this flag were interesting and in every way creditable.

The return of this flag was all the more cordial because of the return, a few years ago, of the flag of the Fifty-Seventh Indiana Regiment, captured by Corporal W. M. Crooks, of Texas, in the glare of carnage at Franklin, November 30, 1864. Comrade Crooks was greatly honored by the men of that regiment at its formal return, an account of which appeared in the VETERAN for July, 1897.

It is a coincidence that at this sitting a letter comes from a prominent member of the Woman's Relief Corps of Indiana, who writes of having spoken to a friend, prominent in that State, about the use of the word "rebel" in describing the flags in their State capitol. He replied to her that it was done many years ago, that it ought not to be so, and that he would see to having it changed. All these things show the virtue of persistence in righting things that will be of increasing importance as the decades pass.

In his address Gov. Mount said: "We come to-day to return to its original owners a flag which was once borne bravely in bloody conflict. We come bearing the flowers of love and of peace, returning this flag that it may be a testimony and a symbol of a reunited people, reunited in fact, reunited in heart, in sympathy, and in brotherly love."

To Gens. Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson he paid a splendid tribute, feeling and tender and manly.

Gov. Mount read a poem by Frank L. Stanton. of Atlanta:

But now I'm in the Union. I see there, overhead,

The flag our fathers fought for; her rippling rills of red

All glorious and victorious; the splendor of her stars---

And I say: "The blood of heroes dyed all her crimson bars."

I'm for that flag forever, 'gainst foes on sea and shore.

Who shames her? Who defames her? Give me my gun once more.

We'll answer where they need us-when the war fires light the night;

There's a Lee still left to lead us to the glory of the fight.

We're one in heart forever---we're one in heart and hand;

The flag's a challenge to the sea, a garland on the land;

We're united-one great country; freedom's the watchword still;

There's a Lee that's left to lead us---let the storm break where it will.

"Rejoicing in this union that will henceforth be defended by the brave Texans as valiantly as by Indianians, clothed with authority from the Legislature, which is expressive of the voice of the people, it becomes my pleasant duty to return to your excellency this battle flag, so gallantly carried in war by Terry's Texas Rangers, braver men than whom never drew sword in battle. Take this flag, and may it henceforth be an emblem of unity and good will between the great States of Indiana and Texas and a seal ot their fidelity to the national Union."

After music, Gen. Cabell introduced Gov. Sayers, who said:

"Cold indeed would be the heart that could not be warmed by such a scene as this. A short time ago the President announced that the time had come when it was the duty of the nation to care for the graves of the dead heroes of the South as well as for those of the North. From Maine to California and from far-away Washington to the remote borders of Southwest Texas-all over this country there went up a shout of approval from the people as with one voice. From the mountain top end 'from the valleys came words of commendation and indorsement.

"You, my ex-Confederate comrades, have listened to the words of eulogy by Gov. Mount of your gallantry and devotion, and on this point let me bear testimony. For fourteen years I represented this people, in part, in Congress, and while during that time in the debates and speeches many bitter and acrimonious things have been said, I never, during all those years. however fierce passion might burn, heard fall from the lips of a Northern soldier one word, one syllable in disparagement to the Southern soldier.

"I will tell you what is going, to happen. This is but the forerunner of other scenes like this. The day is not far distant when all over this country the survivors of the war will meet and celebrate their victories together. The war cost us much. Everything worth having costs labor, anxiety, and oftentimes blood and death. The government, North, East, and West, strong in resources, met the chivalry of the South. Four years of weary, bloody strife ensued, the most gigantic contest of the ages, and finally Appomattox came and Lee surrendered, the great, heroic, magnanimous Grant refusing to take his sword. And then Gen. Grant issued his order that rations be distributed among Lee's starving followers, and that the men take their horses home with them for use on the farms. In what land, under what sky, after four years of death and desolation, could you witness such a scene as this, save in our country? Judge Reagan, the last living member of President Davis's Cabinet, sits on this stage to-day. Ex-Confederates have sat in the House and in the Senate of the Congress, have been members of the council chamber of the President and ambassadors to represent the republic at the courts of foreign nations. In no country, with no people under the sun, could such a thing as this have taken place, save in our country.

"I only arose to be the organ for the transmission of this flag to these brave men, but my feelings would not permit silence.

"Gov. Mount and staff, when you go home you will take with you the best wishes, the earnest prayers, and the heartiest good will of all this people."

The band played the "Star-Spangled Banner," the entire audience standing and cheering the glorious old anthem. Gen. H. W. Graber then introduced Hon. James F. Miller, of Gonzales, President of the Terry Rangers' Association, who, on the part of the Rangers, received the flag.

I would add, in regard to this last flag of my regiment, that it was presented to us by Miss Flora McIver and her sister, and was made out of a silk dress of ante - bellum days. John McIver brought the flag to us when we were returning from the last great raid made by Gen. Joseph Wheeler in Tennessee in the fall of 1864. The Rangers saw this flag for the first time when preparing to recross the Tennessee River near Florence, Ala. We were charmed with its beauty, and vowed to defend it, remembering the noble ladies who gave it.

We only had the flag about a month, when it was lost in passing through the woods on the day of the engagement with Gen. Wilder's Cavalry, October 22, 1864. When lost the flag was wrapped in an oilcloth case, which slipped off the flagstaff unknown to our standard bearer, Commandant Jones.

 

 

 

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