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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. VIII, No. 1 Nashville, Tenn., January, 1900. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CONFEDERATE MONUMENT AT FRANKLIN Unknown Address of welcome by Dr. Hanner: " Comrades, Ladies, and Fellow-Citizens: It is a proud privilege to welcome you in behalf of the Daughters of the Confederacy. There are occasions when words are empty sounds and meaningless nothings; when the intense feelings find fit expression in the cordial grasp of the hand and the kindly beaming of the eye; when silence is more eloquent than affected and labored rhetoric; when the warm heart, overflowing with kindness, goes out in emotion inexpressible in words. Such is the welcome Franklin Chapter of the Daughters of the Confederacy extends to you. Though orphaned and bereft, their deathless loyalty and devotion to their mother seeks a faint expression in the erection of this memorial to her soldier sons. The work of the living is ever ennobling in commemorating the glories and heroism of the past. The self-sacrifice and devotion of the women of the South in our glorious but unsuccessful attempt to establish our independence and a government for ourselves is illustrated by the undying veneration accorded to the veterans of that struggle by their daughters. The Roman patrician gloried in the images of his ancestors, the Anglo-Saxon exulted in the deified heroes of the Valhalla; but the pride of the ancestry of the one and the mythological worship of the other pale into insignificance. before the homage and heart tribute paid to you, my comrades, by the Daughters of the Confederacy. "They welcome you to the gladness of this hour, which witnesses the consummation of a work, loyally conceived, nobly conducted, and successfully achieved. 'The end crowns the work.' Did I say 'end?' No; this does not terminate their filial devotion. It knows no limit, but will be perpetuated to successive generations, and the pages of future history will glow with a record of the continued loyalty of the daughters, as well as the bravery and chivalry of the sons, of the South. "Let this occasion arouse all the enthusiasm of your nature and kindle afresh that patriotism that never fails. Ennoble the history of our common country in the future as you have done in the past, and coming ages will proclaim that you were as noble as citizens as you were brave as soldiers. "The shadows of the evening are lengthening on our pathway; the twilight approaches. Let the evening song of our declining years, more plaintive and heart touching than the rans des apache of the Swiss herdsman, utter its passionate longing in the strains of our Southern bard: Yes, give me the land where the ruins are spread, Where the living tread light o'er the hearts of the dead. Yes, give me the land with graves in each spot, And names in the graves that shall ne'er be forgot. Yes, give me the land of legends and lays, Enshrining the memory of long-vanished days. Yes, give me the land that bath story and song, To tell of the strife of the right with the wrong. Yes, give me the land of the wreck and the tomb, There's a grandeur in graves, there's a glory in gloom; For out of the gloom future brightness is born, As after the night comes the sunrise and morn. "I bid you thrice welcome to our hospitality, to our homes, and to our heart of hearts." ADDRESS OF GENERAL GORDON Gen. Gordon's address was eloquent, chaste, and evoked high enthusiasm. The following are extracts: Five and thirty years ago to-day there occurred upon yonder field one of the most dramatic and sanguinary conflicts recorded in the annals of warfare. If we give first an account of the battle, it will enable us to understand more fully the matchless prowess and splendid heroism of the brave and patriotic men who fell upon this field, and whose memories and deeds we honor to-day. About 2 o'clock in the afternoon of that tragic and memorable day the Confederate army, commanded by Gen. J. B. Hood, appeared near the crest of you range of hills that looks down from the South upon this beautiful valley, but not in view of the Federal army, commanded by Gen. Schofield, that then encircled your devoted little city as a huge anaconda. The Confederate army was halted near the southern crest of the hills, and was kept under cover thereof, preparatory to making dispositions for battle. until about 4 o'clock. In the meantime the Confederate officers had been inspecting the enemy's position with field glasses, and had discovered that he was fortified immediately south of the town, and extending to the east and west-his wings apparently resting on the stream that bounds the town in an abrupt bend on the north. About this time (4 o'clock) Gens. Hood and Cheatham rode to where Gen. Brown and his brigade commanders were, the speaker among the number, where the Columbia pike crosses the hills coming north. After they had examined the enemy's position from that point, Gen. Hood said to Cheatham: "General, get your command ready to go at the work immediately; we have no time to lose. Tell your officers to go with the men, to stop at nothing, and to sweep everything before them." Gen. Cheatham turned to us and said: "Gentlemen, you have heard Gen. Hood's orders. Get your commands ready to move forward immediately." The speaker had examined the enemy's position with a strong field glass, and had discovered. that his defenses of earthworks were formidable, especially in the vicinity of where the pike leading into the town crossed them; and when he heard Gen. Hood's orders to sweep everything before us he felt that a desperate and death-dealing struggle was about to ensue. And it was. I had observed that, in addition to the enemy's main and rear line of fortifications, there was, from six to eight hundred paces in front of that, another line of works, but extending only two or three hundred paces on each side of the pike leading into the town, and that this short and isolated line was well manned. So that in our immediate front Cheatham's right brigade and Cleburne's left two lines of fortifications had to be stormed and taken if we were victorious. Our commands were promptly moved into the positions. Brown's Division of Cheatham's Corps formed to the left of the pike leading into Franklin, with his right wing resting on the pike, which was to be his right guide in moving to the assault. Cleburne's Division was formed on the right of the pike mentioned, with his left wing resting thereon. The brigade formation of Brown's Division was Gist's and Gordon's Brigades in the front line-Gordon on the right, Gist on the left-Gordon's right wing resting on the pike. Carter's and Strahl's Brigades formed the second line of battle in this division-Carter supporting Gist and Strahl supporting Gordon-the supporting lines being ordered to keep within two hundred paces of the front line. Bate's Division was moved to the left of Brown's thus making the formation of Cheatham's Corps Cleburne's Division on the right, Brown's in the center and Bate's on the left. Gen. Stewart's Corps was on the right of Cheatham's. Only one division of Lee's Corps (Johnson's) had arrived, and that was held in reserve. When these dispositions were made the advance was ordered. We were-one and a fourth to one and a half noises away on the elevation of hills that looked down upon the then solemn and tranquil valley-to begin the charge in a regimental movement that our tactics designated, "double column at half distance," in order that we-might move with more facility and precision, and also more easily pass obstacles, such as fences and small groves of trees that here and there interspersed the otherwise open plain upon which the mighty struggle was soon to take place. In describing the battle I can speak only from personal knowledge of the action of the men and officers near me in the fight. As the array of columns which has been mentioned, with a front of two or more miles in length, moved steadily down the heights into the valley below, with flying banners, beating drums. and bristling guns, it presented the most magnificent and spectacular military pageant ever witnessed by that veteran army, or perhaps any other during that great international war. It presented a scene so imposing and thrilling in its grandeur that the sense of ensuing danger was lost in the sublime emotions inspired by the surpassing martial panorama. When we had arrived within four or five hundred paces of the enemy's first and short line of entrenchments our columns were deployed from the march into two lines of battle, and were halted for a few moments and aligned, preparatory to the charge upon this line. The speaker here dismounted to charge with the men on foot. Immediately after the alignment just mentioned was made the "charge" was ordered, and, with an impetuous rush and a startling shout, we dashed wildly forward on this line. The enemy delivered one volley at our rushing ranks and precipitately fled for refuge to his rear and main line of defense. When they fled the shout was raised by some one of the charging Confederates: "Go into the works with them! Go into the works with them!" This cry was quickly caught up and wildly vociferated from a thousand straining throats as we rushed on after the flying forces we had routed-killing some in our running fire, capturing others who were slow of foot and sustaining but little loss ourselves until, perhaps, within a hundred paces of their main line and stronghold, when it seemed to me that hell itself had exploded in our faces. Men fell right and left, fast and thick, and the field was covered at this point with a mantle of dead and dying men. They had thus long reserved their fire for the safety of their routed comrades, who were fleeing to them for protection, and who were just in front of and mingled with our pursuing forces. When it was no longer safe to; those in the works to reserve their fire to protect their comrades they opened upon us (regardless of their own men, with whom we had mingled in the run ) such a storm of shot and shell, canister and musketry, that the very air was hideous with the terrifying shrieks of the mad messengers of death. The booming of cannons, the bursting of bombs. the screaming of shells, the rattle of musketry, the shouting of the combatants, and the falling of men-all made a scene of surpassing terror and appalling grandeur. Such a din was there, As if men fought on earth below, And fiends in upper air. It yet seems a mystery and a wonder how any of us ever reached the works alive. Amidst this scene Gen. Cleburne came charging from our left, through his men and mine, diagonally toward the enemy's works, looking like a war god in a battle picture. His horses running with great speed, would have plunged over and trampled the speaker to the ground if he had not checked his own pace as he ran on foot to let the charger pass. This was near the works, and Gen. Cleburne must have fallen immediately after this, though I saw him no more. On we rushed, Granberry's men and mine mingling as we approached the enemy's works, on reaching which the most of us halted in the ditch on the outside, amid the dead and dying men of both armies. From the time the enemy opened the fire they had reserved so long they slew friend and foe alike. We reached the works with but few men, and these were well-nigh exhausted, having charged at full speed for more than half a mile. Some of our comrades in their impetuosity went over the works at this point, but were clubbed to the earth with musketry or pierced with bayonets. But, as staled, the most of our small number halted in the ditch on the outside, seeing that it was futile death to attempt to overcome, in a hand-to-hand struggle, such superior numbers, especially in our exhausted condition. So we did not break the line at this point. But for quite a while, however, we fought them across their breastworks, both sides lying low and putting their guns under the head logs that were on the earthworks, firing nervously, rapidly, and at random, and not exposing any part of the body except the hand that fired the gun. While this melee, which now seems like a hideous dream, was going on across the works we were exposed to a dangerous and destructive enfilading fire of the enemy on our left, there being an angle in their works; and also to the fire of some of our own forces of Gen. Stewart's Command from our right rear. there being another angle in the works in that direction. Our position at the works was just to the left of the famous old gin house, between that and the pike-some of my men and myself, in the rush and confusion, having crossed to Cleburne's side of the pike, reached the works with some of Granberry's men. Finally, the fatality to us, as we crouched and fought in the ditch, became so great from these three fires- front, left, and rear-that some of the men shouted to the enemy across the line that if they would "cease firing" they would surrender. Amid the uproar this was not heard, and a signal of surrender was made by putting our hats or caps on their bayonets fixed on their guns and holding them up above the works. The first of these signals that were seen were perforated by the enemy's bullets. I suppose they thought it was our heads, or they did not know what it meant. At length, however, they heard and understood our men and, amid the fearful din, we distinctly heard the command, "Cease firing!" given on the other side of the works; and in a moment more all was comparatively quiet in our immediate front, and the men walked over the works and surrendered. It was fatal to leave the ditch and attempt to escape to the rear. Every man who attempted it-and a number did-was at once shot down. I ordered them to remain in the ditch until I told them they could surrender. When all had walked over the works except one of my men and myself he asked if I was not going over. I replied in the negative, saying that I would remain under cover of the dead in the ditch until night, which was approaching. He said he would remain with me. But the bullets from our right rear and the enfilading fire on our left (and which had never ceased) fell so thickly about us that I finally said, "We shall be killed if we remain here," at the same time handing him a white handkerchief and telling him to put it on his bayonet and walk over the works. He did so, and I followed him. As I jumped down on the inside of the works a Federal soldier struck at my head with the butt of his gun but the stroke was averted from my head by another Federal soldier pushing the gun as it came down, causing it to give me only a glancing blow upon the shoulder, saying as he did so: "Don't strike him. He is surrendering." I was immediately placed in charge of two soldiers, who were ordered to hurry me to the rear. There was great confusion, not to say consternation, in the enemy's ranks, even after we surrendered. I heard officers cursing their men and saw them striking them with their swords to hold them at the works. And when I arrived, in charge of the escort mentioned, at the pontoon bridge across Harpeth River, about a half mile from where I was captured, I saw hundreds of stragglers from the Federal army huddled and attempting to cross the stream, but were kept back by officers with drawn swords and pistols, who were urging them to return to the field they had abandoned. Reverting again to the battle, I remark that the main line of the enemy's defenses was broken by the left of Gordon's Brigade, under the splendid leadership of Col. Horace Rice, commanding his (the Twenty Ninth) and my old regiment (the Eleventh Tennessee infantry) consolidated, some of the soldiers being killed fifty or more paces within the enemy's line, Col. Rice himself being wounded after he had crossed the works. But at this critical juncture, and before the rout could be Bade general, Opdykes's Brigade of Federal reinforcements arrived at the critical moment in front of Rice with the small force he was leading, and pressed them back to the works they had taken, but which they held till the Federals retreated during the night. Col. Frank A. Burr, an ex- Federal soldier and a brilliant writer, in an account of this battle, published in 1883, gives me the credit of leading the men who broke the main line of the Federal defenses, but I am not entitled to this honor. It belongs to my friend and comrade and colonel, Horace Rice, long since dead. The gallant ensign of this consolidated regiment, Serg. Dru, leading the charge, sprang upon the works, was shot down, and fell inside of the line, with this standard in his hand. (Showing the battle flag of the Eleventh Tennessee Infantry.) This dark discoloration which we see is the blood of that martyr, Serg. Dru, who fell and died upon it. These tattered fragments, these bullet holes, and this faded blood speak a more eloquent and glorious history for that regiment than all the eulogies that my poor tongue can utter. I do not exhibit this flag and speak thus so much to individualize heroic deeds and special commands as to indicate the general prowess courage, and self-sacrifice that characterized He action of that valiant, war worn. and battle-scarred army known in history as the Army of Tennessee. Other flags were perforated and other commands decimated on that momentous day, other deeds performed that deserve equal and honorable mention. The opposing forces in this battle were nearly equal in numbers, the Confederates having about 19,000 infantry actually engaged and the Federals about 22,000. But, as already stated, the Confederates were the attacking force, and the Federals were so well fortified as to render one man defending equal to about four attacking. The casualties in this battle were appalling, especially on the Confederate side. In general and field officers, especially, they were greater in proportion to numbers engaged than in any battle of the war. Six general officers were killed, six wounded, and one captured-total, thirteen. Of the four brigadier generals of Brown's Division, Carter, Gist, and Strahl were killed and Gordon captured, and Maj. Gen. Brown severely wounded; so that this division was commanded next day by a colonel. Maj. Gen. Cleburne and Brig. Gen. Granberry, of his division, were killed. Maj. Gen. John Adams, of Gen. Stewart's Corps, was killed, himself and horse falling upon the enemy's works. Gens. Cockrell, Quarles, Scott, Manigault, and one other general officer, whose name I cannot now recall, were wounded. Thirteen regimental commanders were killed, thirty-two wounded, and nine captured. Besides these, many other field and line officers were killed and wounded, and about six thousand of the rank and file lay dead or disabled on the field at the close of that memorable day. The Federal loss, I think, was about one-third as great as the Confederate. The infantry forces actually engaged lost 33 per cent. In Stewart's Corps the loss was 28 per cent; in Cheatham's, 35 per cent. The loss in Stewart's Corps by divisions was: Loring's, 23; Walthall's, 25, and French's, 45 per cent. In Cheatham's Corps, by divisions, the loss was: Bate's, 16; Brown's, 31; and Cleburne's, 52 per cent. In Loring's Corps, Johnson's Division (the only division of this corps that was in the battle and in the second charge), the loss was HI per cent. In Forrest's Cavalry Corps, which did valiant service, the loss in Jackson's and Chalmers's Divisions was 5 per cent. Pickett's Division, in its famous charge at Gettysburg, lost 21 per cent. while the loss in this battle (Franklin) of the entire infantry engaged was 33 per cent, or 12 per cent greater than that of Pickett at Gettysburg. Military statistics of foreign and American battles, as compiled by Lieut. Col. Dodge, of the United States army, show the following losses: Prussians, up to Waterloo, in eight battles, 18 per cent; at Konniggratz, nearly 4 per cent. Austrians, up to Waterloo, in seven battles, 11 per cent; since, in two, 8 per cent. French, up to Waterloo, in nine battles, 22 per cent; since, in nine, nearly 9 per cent. Germans, since 1745, in eight battles, 11 per cent. English, in four battles, nearly 10 per cent. Federals, in eleven battles, nearly 13 per cent. Confederates, in eleven battles, 14 per cent; at Franklin, 33 per cent. These statistics prove that the battle of Franklin was the bloodiest of modern times. In concluding the account of this great conflict, I doubt if in any of the bloody battles of the world, from Marathon to Waterloo, from Waterloo to Balaklava, and from Balaklava to Gettysburg, there was more desperate daring than was displayed on some portions of this famous field. With these facts before us we are better prepared to appreciate the patriotic virtues and splendid manhood of the brave and self-sacrificing officers and men who died here and whose names and deeds we this day commemorate by dedicating to their honor and glory this beautiful and durable monument, erected by the love and gratitude of the noble women of this community, and especially by the Franklin Chapter of the Daughters of the Confederacy, after years of persistent effort and patient perseverance. And on behalf of every surviving soldier of this battle, and in the name of every sister whose brother and every widow-whose husband died on this field, and in behalf of Confederate soldiers everywhere, I want to thank these noble, true, patriotic, and generous Southern women, and all other contributors, who, after so many years of effort, have at last completed this enduring testimonial to the prowess. and patriotism. to the valor and virtue of the martyred heroes who perished here. We can never do adequate honor to their names and memories. They died as it became men to die-in defense of the laws, constitution, and independence of their country. Be it said to their glory that they never engaged in a cruel, criminal, and commercial war of aggression, but strictly in a war of defense. We simply withdrew from a voluntary Union of sovereign States in the same solemn dignified, and peaceable manner in which we entered that Union. This was not done, however, until the terms of that Union had been repeatedly violated and the Constitution of the country and the decision of our highest courts had been denounced and disregarded by the people of the North. The compact of Union had been broken by the Northern States, and the Southern States were no longer bound thereby. So the act of these States in withdrawing therefrom was not an act of treason and rebellion as charged. Besides, the States were sovereign and the units of power. New York, Virginia, and Rhode Island expressly reserved the right, in their acts ratifying the Federal Constitution, to withdraw from the Union whenever the interest and happiness of their people required it. And a reciprocity of principles should surely admit-the right of every other State to withdraw whenever the interest and happiness of its people demanded it, especially when there was no provision in the Constitution disallowing the right to secede. Nor was there any provision to coerce a State, should it secede. This was emphatically denied by Hamilton, Livingston, Madison, and others who took a leading part in the formation of the Constitution. No. We did not want war and we did not inaugurate it. All we asked was to be let alone. But the North., which had become more populous and powerful than the South, determined to preserve her commercial interests, hence the war. If the people of the North had believed that they could have been happier and richer without the South than with her, what rational ground would they then have to expend six billions of money and sacrifice a half million of lives to keep the South in the Union? If the South had been allowed to go in peace, as she desired to do, the North would have lost her richest taxing district-the best patron of her manufacturing and tariff-protected establishments. The South would have opened free trade with Europe, and this would have tended to paralyze, if not pauperize, the great manufacturing industries of the North, and especially of New England. Such a loss was more than they were willing to bear, hence her war of subjugation. Mr. Lincoln disclaimed that the war was to free the slaves, but to save the Union. To save the Union for what purpose? The one I have mentioned-namely, to preserve and augment the commercial interests of the North. I have deemed it appropriate to say thus much (though it is little of what could be said) in vindication of the cause for which we fought and our comrades died from the charge of treason and rebellion that we hear and read from day to day. If the charge were not constantly uttered and reiterated, published and republished, I should not have thought it expedient to make any vindication on this solemn and sacred occasion. We were and are no more traitors and rebels than George Washington and his contemporaries. If they had failed, they too would have been called rebels and traitors; but as they succeeded, they have been honored and exalted as heroes and patriots. This is the difference between the accidents of success and failure. And thus we see that the merit of a cause is not to lie judged by its success or failure. Finally, let no man, unchallenged, asperse the memory of our sacred dead, our fallen comrades, with the charge of treason and rebellion. They fell in defense of the liberty and independence of their country consequently were heroes and patriots. But let their history in granite, so fittingly summarized in the mottoes on this monument, vindicate their memory, pronounce their eulogy, and perpetuate their example. Peace to their spirits! Honor to their ashes!
Confederate Veteran, Vol. VIII, No. 2 Nashville, Tenn., February, 1900. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THE PRISONER OF WAR T. M. Page, St. Louis, Mo. Much ill feeling has been harbored, North and South, because prisoners of war suffered and died cruelly behind both armies. That ulcer of war is not peculiar to this conflict or age. All warfare has left its aftermath of recrimination over cruel suffering of its prisoners. And so history will repeat itself until nations have become wise and humane enough to apply a simple and sure preventive. The problem is one of human nature. In time of war the brave, who are also proverbially generous, and often gentle to helplessness, go to the front and there satiate natural hostility by killing and capturing at fairly equal hazard to themselves. Few and exceptional, even in ancient records, are instances of cruelty to prisoners from civilized men who captured them. And in modern times there would be no cruelty to captives if they were guarded by their captors. But as prisoners pass to the rear they fall into custody of inferior men, those who let others do the fighting and who have no opportunity to exercise the natural impulse of hostility to a foe, except upon the captives. And, as long as such refuse guard prisoners, the evil of prison cruelty -an evil as old as the war prison itself-will persist, causing innocent combatants to misunderstand and hate each other after the fight is ended. What is true of the mass which shuns the battlefield is true of the Senate and Cabinet. Excepting only the few who perform higher and imperative duty in difficult places because of exceptional fitness, no man of courage and military age is in the rear in an emergent time of war. The simple remedy, therefore, for the ancient evil of cruelty to prisoners of war is to make guarding them a duty more important to the State and honor to the guard than service at the front. This duty should be intrusted to picked men. The reader must understand that what follows does not refer to or concern the men who held the front and captured prisoners. It is not in the least degree censorious or critical of them. It refers only to the other breed of men-the shirkers and skulkers, high and low, who, in or out of uniform, kept far in the rear and satiated their natural impulse of hostility to foemen be, making things unpleasant to the only foes within their reach. As North and South have united honestly in the large effort to make and maintain this the greatest, freest, and most exemplary country on earth! it is very important that the subject here in hand should be freed from the error, misunderstanding, and ignorance which have so long been stumbling-blocks in the path of sincere reconciliation. For until facts which have for almost a generation been unknown to many become familiar to all, by candid acceptance of official record as law to every American, candid cooperation must, in the nature of things, continue imperfect. September 19, 1863, about one thousand veterans, most of them Longstreet's, fell into the hands of their enemies, on the front, near the spot where Gen. Preston Smith fell. "Take them to the rear!" shouted the man in authority, while the artilleryman with the bandaged head went into convulsions of enjoyment. About noon the next day we reached the Chattanooga railway building, and lay at rest on its planked floor until disturbed by approaching din of battle and taker s of panic all around us. Our guards loaded and put us to bed again, commanding us to lie flat and be still. This displeased us, but did not stop the approaching tumult or stay its surrounding consequences, which by sunset became a dense multitude of stragglers and men on artillery horse in cut harness, all hurrying toward the pontoon bridges. It was to us a novel experience which partly soothed the first gnawings of a hunger that was to riot in us yet many other days. We crossed the Tennessee River nine meals behind our usual menu, and marched, unfed, to Stevenson, Ala., toward Forrest, who was behind the Federal army negotiating famine for Chattanooga. At Stevenson we got one light lunch of hard-tack and a parole covenanting that we would be exchanged within ten days. It was a faithless device to bind us if rescued by Forrest. As we did not meet him, we went to prison, and there pondered on that punic faith for weary months. One of these paroles was sent to Attorney-General Bates, of President Lincoln's Cabinet, who handed it to Mr. Lincoln, who in turn sent the order to the prison for my immediate release, according to its stipulations. I was sought out, catechized, and told by the executive officer of the prison while he filled up my descriptive list that I would soon be a paroled prisoner en route to Dixie. From Stevenson we were taken to the penitentiary in Nashville, and there fed so meagerly as to make it a saying that if ever age or ailing impaired our appetites we would return to Nashville and gaze over that stone wall. Thence we were sent to Louisville, where prisoners of war were being shot in retaliation for devilment of Kentucky bushwhackers. What more immediately interested us was the inexperience of the home guards who sentineled the barrack in which we ate and could be "flanked" by foragers of average experience. During roll call for departure our blankets were taken from us on the plea that they were United States property stolen by us, red-handed, on the battlefield, from virtuous foemen. Many of these blankets had never been in Federal hands before. Mine were English, a blockade pair, extra heavy, and then urgently needful because I had stripped for battle to one cotton shirt, and the northwest wind was spitting sleet. They were taken, and that blizzard so upset me that three days after my arrival in prison the surgeon took my bunk mate aside and told him to telegraph any friends within reach that I could not live forty-eight hours. I overheard, and answered: "You are mistaken. I will capture another pair of blankets on the battlefield." For many years the surgeon who prophesied told it as a war item that by all the science of his profession I was then a dying man, saved only by the luck of overhearing him and mulish resolve to upset the diagnosis. Camp Douglas then contained the most of Morgan's Command, the Chickamauga and Cumberland Gap prisoners, and a few score Missourians; the morning report of October 31, 1863, accounted for 5,625 present. The total number present October 4 was 6,204. The roll compiled a few days before October 4 called for 6,291. These official figures reveal that in the month of October about ten per cent of the prisoners disappeared. Some escaped; but most of that 539 missing died in that month of exposure, hardship, and debility resulting from hunger. Col. C. V. DeLand was commandant and Capt. L. C. Rhines executive officer. The latter saw fit to establish a medical corps of ten Confederates who had left home and practice of medicine to fight in line for Dixie; and these gentlemen were put in charge of the prison sick, first in the barracks and later in a hospital established for the prisoners. It chanced that chief control of both appointments was assigned to the one who had given me over to the grave, and although a new acquaintance, perhaps in apology for his prophecy, he chose me as his secretary in both positions. It thus became my daily duty to fill out reports of sick, tickets of admission to the "dead house," requisitions for hospital rations, and superintend all writing in the office of the prison hospital. This involved familiarity with matters then and afterwards known to very few, most of whom are now dead. Understanding at the time the importance and exceptional nature of the insight into what was happening, I preserved records which are yet in my possession, and do not trust to memory. Most efficient among the ten surgeons were Drs. Brunson, Holloway, and Cook, of Eddyville, Lexington, and Henderson, Ky. The second yet lives, and, in common with all other survivors of that imprisonment, can verify the careful accuracy of this digest of a contemporary record. The exceptional duty began October 23, from which time, being on parole as Surgeon Brunson's private secretary, I had free access to all prison records not only of the prison hospital but also of the Federal headquarters office. During that winter the death rate did not vary much from that of October, but in the following summer bowel disorders culminating in flux increased the average to twenty deaths each day, and scurvy became virulent. Mrs. Morris and other ladies of Chicago sent in seed, and prevailed on the commandant to allow the prisoners to cultivate vegetables in the ground between the fence and the dead line as an antidote to the latter scourge. When this crop was ripening, almost ready for harvest, it was confiscated as contraband of war and eaten by the Federal officers and guards. The prisoners, rotting with scurvy, could not even raid and rob their own garden. Throughout that summer there were no drugs remedial to bowel disorders accessible to the prison surgeons; consequently simple diarrhea, in the reduced stamina of the prisoners, ran quickly into dysentery, flux, and death. After many applications for medicine the ten surgeons signed a memorial and delivered it to the commandment. As secretary the writer prepared all these applications, the last of which briefly and simply prayed for permission to write one letter to a single person, either in Baltimore, Louisville, or St. Louis, this letter to be read and mailed by the commandant, same to be a brief request to buy and forward certain drugs. This petition guaranteed receipt, within ten days, of supply sufficient to last the prisoners one year, prepaid, involving the Government in no expense of any kind. This memorial was returned by Dr. Whitehill the post surgeon, indorsed "Respectfully disapproved, as all medicine is strictly contraband of war, excepting only such as is supplied by and through these headquarters." To the helpless agony of this situation smallpox added its own horror. The victim was removed to an isolated hospital miles away out in a sandy waste, a removal which was a bleak, fatal journey to many men when the phenomenally cold winter of 1863-64 came on. Those who survived both this journey and the pestilence were brought back into the prison while yet infectious, imperiled by the exposure of the transfer. When the time comes for the critical historian to impartially use his materials he will place the annals of Camp Douglas side by side with those of Andersonville, and immortalize the eloquent contrast. In the first men died of pestilence and famine in a land of plenty, refused the succor of friends at hand eager to supply everything; in the last; according to their own sworn evidence, men sickened upon the same corn meal and bit of other food on which the Confederate soldier then marched and fought; and for the same reason because the war policy at Washington was one of starvation to all, whether foe or friend, in that beleaguered Southland. When that day of posterity's judgment dawns the world will know that noncombatants of the stronger people blocked exchange of prisoners because they preferred that their defenders should die in prison rather than be exchanged for difficult enemies full of fight, and so elected at the same time when the weaker sent the forsaken sick to their homes without cartel or equivalent, a free gift of pity to misfortune. This fact is of record in the files at Washington, and has been printed history for almost a generation. But how many Northern men know it? And there also, in the archives at Washington, must be the books of record of Camp Douglas, in the two principal volumes of which the hand that now writes this page recorded the daily annals of that prison. When prisoners who had been stripped of their blankets soon after capture were freezing to death in their bunks every cold night, it was a serious question with the ten surgeons how to fill dead admits. The safest and usual diagnosis was "debilitas." But when a boyhood friend of Dr. Brunson so perished that surgeon resolved to report truly once, regardless of consequences. At his dictation his secretary wrote, in his roundest, plainest hand: "Frozen to death." It fell like dynamite in the headquarters office. The assistant post surgeon came down in heat and asked what that meant. Brunson, a reliable Confederate soldier, was prepared to answer. He said it meant that the man, reduced by hunger and hardship until his stamina was low, had frozen in his bunk for lack of blankets and fire, it meant that the truth was written for once. The official stormed; but Brunson well known to friend and foe as an able surgeon, challenged him to summon an request of reputable Chicago surgeons to meet him in a post-mortem investigation and show any other cause of death. This made the Federal surgeon more calm. He presently retired to his quarters, and there was no post-mortem investigation. But an order was issued permitting fires to burn in the barrack stoves on the coldest nights, which more than compensated Brunson for the ordeal he gallantly met. The new generation of this republic should know two facts about its greatest war, which were concealed for years by political policy, exactly as the same policy concealed the proposal of the Confederacy to send cotton to New York to Federal commissioners, who should sell it, buy food and medicine, take them to the Southern prisons, and issue them to Federal prisoners. This proposal, suppressed at the time, was made public soon after the war; yet how many Northern people to this day know of the offer? The two facts referred to are: First, that Benjamin F. Butler, in the heat of party dissension, made public his orders from superiors to prevent exchange of prisoners when posing as commissioner for exchange. Secondly, that the official records on file in Washington testify that out of each thousand prisoners fewer died in the South, notwithstanding the blockade and impoverishment which overwhelmed both its army and inhabitants, than perished in the North, where all things necessary to health and survival existed abundantly. These two facts will one day be familiar to the world, and balance the scale of humanity in prison treatment justly between the two sections. For that day the Southern people can, afford to wait. Their present duty is to collect and preserve the evidence. Space here remains for only a few glimpses of the less gloomy side of experience in Camp Douglas. The prison sutler was a brother-in-law of Gen. Sweet, the second commandant. When food became so scant that all the cats and all the rats and one stray dog had been eaten this sutler began to smuggle in eatables and sell them to the prisoners. The camp guards were then smuggling in five-cent baker's loaves and selling them for fifty cents greenback. The suffer sold flour costing $6 for 20 by the barrel. One of Morgan's men then wrote: "My Dear Dad: Please send at once $100 or a coffin." This letter came back to its writer, indorsed by the examiner: "Do you think we are all damn fools up here?" To test this very question crucially, a Kentucky gentleman called on Gen. DeLand with two boxes. They contained cigars, and the Colonel was asked to smoke one box and send the other to the son of the visitor. On examining, the Colonel found one box contained prime Havanas, and the other a much inferior domestic smoke. To officially settle the question as to profane folly, he wisely smiled and kept the first and sent the other to the son of a Solomon-for the son found a greenback bill inside each wrapper of the lower layer of his "stogies." and bribed a guard to let him out of prison with one of them. Several escaped in empty barrels. More burrowed out under the fence in tunnels. Others organized parties, attacked the sentinels on the parapet of the fence with missiles, and so fought their way out. A dungeon was constructed for escapers who were retaken. One sunset it contained nine such. Next morning it was empty and ventilated by a tunnel. The stray dog above mentioned was the subject of festive invitations to a chosen few. Next day its owner posted a reward for it. During the night an unknown poet wrote, large, under the notice: For want of meat That dog was eat. A large volume could be filled with incidents and inflictions experienced in Camp Douglas. The survivors of that imprisonment will identify the incidents at sight and with thrills of unwonted emotion. Some of them may wonder why these details are so incomplete. Nothing is here written about the severe punishment of the men because they were so hungry that they ate cats, rats, and dog with zest of the many murders and brutalities wrought by guards of the rank and file-not even of the midnight frolic of the drunken, dastardly brutes who dragged a score of prisoners from bed and flogged them with cartridge belts. Against the urgent warning of many comrades that it would be certain death to so enrage such creatures, I laid the facts before the commandant in such shape as to compel official investigation. All such incidents are omitted, because relating to men of no authority or responsibility. The survivors of that imprisonment ought to arrange for a general meeting in some Confederate reunion, for no body of men was ever more tried in any ordeal which tests human nature and proves it creditable to mankind. Confederate Veteran, Vol. VIII, No. 2 Nashville, Tenn., February, 1900. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THRILLING EXPERIENCES Col. J. L. Rapier From the New Orleans Times-Democrat of January 31, 1894, we take the following interview by a reporter of that paper with Col. John L. Rapier, of the Mobile Register, one of the most gallant officers who served in the Confederate army. Concerning the swamp and everglades adjacent to Camp Parapet and Carrollton, out toward Kenner and Butte, he said: I know much about that country, for it was through that portion that I made my escape from a Yankee prison in New Orleans in 1864. I had been ordered from Virginia to Mobile, and I was sent down to Fort Gaines as adjutant of the reenforcing battalion. Fort Gaines surrendered to Admiral Farragut's fleet on August 5, and the garrison was sent to New Orleans by sea. We were first put in the Picayune Press, way down in the third district, but a few days afterwards a large portion of the prisoners were transferred from the Picayune to the Union Press, way up town. During my first night at the Union Press I had quite an amusing experience. There had been an escape from that prison, and at the very hour that we were transferred to it the Yankee guard was doubled. Twice during the early part of the night, while roaming around the prison, I was mistaken by one of the Yankee sentinels for one of the guards, a member of the old guard mistaking me for one of the new guard, and the new guard taking me for one of the old guard. This twice-repeated mistake suggested to me that maybe the sentinel at the gate would also mistake me for a Yankee soldier, and I immediately determined to try my escape by the direct route through the front door. I walked past all the guards and reached the post at the gate and passed the sentry. I sauntered slowly out on the sidewalk, and was marching off down the street when the sentry hailed me and asked where I was going. I replied that I was going to St. Mary's Market to get a cup of coffee. "Well," said he, "I can't let you do it. The orders are that none of the guard can leave without the lieutenant's permission." I said: "Where's the lieutenant ?" "He's asleep. You can wake him up and ask him, if you want to." "No," I said, "I don't want to wake him; for if you wake a man up and ask his permission he will be sure to be disagreeable and refuse." He then said: "Well, you can ask the corporal." "Where's the corporal?" I replied. The corporal answered for himself: "Here I am!" I then asked for his permission to go and get a cup of coffee, hut he declined, and said: "Ask the sergeant." I stood there talking a few moments, and the sergeant came up, and I then asked his permission, but he declined to give it, and said the lieutenant was the only one who could grant leave. I still objected to waking the lieutenant, and I then took a camp stool and sat down near the curb. The sergeant took another stool and the corporal a box, and in a short time we were busy discussing the war and telling anecdotes of various generals. The Federals proved to be good conversationalists, and after we had fully discussed the merits of the various Federal generals the corporal said: "But the Rebels have got one man that tops them all." "Who do you mean ?" I asked. "Gen. Lee," he replied. "You are mighty right!" said I; and we warmly lauded the great general for some moments: Then I asked: "How about Stonewall Jackson ?" "Well," said the corporal, "there's no use discussing him; he was a genius. He was too slick for any of our fellows; and as for fighting, why he could whip the devil." I never knew just how it was. I don't believe I grew too enthusiastic over old Stonewall. The other fellows admired him as much as I did, evidently, and showed it, too; but, any way, our eulogies were brought to a sudden stop, for the sergeant, seizing his lantern, quickly crossed the sidewalk, and, holding it up to my face looked intently at me, and cried: Why, damn it! you are a Rebel officer. What are you doing out: here?" "I did want to get a cup of coffee," I said, "but you fellows wouldn't let me do it." "Well, you had better get along in there where you belong, for you have been sitting out here an hour; and if you didn't get coffee, you got enough fresh air. You get along back in there, right away!" and, following me, as I reentered the prison gate he said, "I say, partner, don't mention this little thing to anybody, will you, please" and I promised him that I wouldn't. If I remember correctly, we remained about three weeks in the Union Press. At that time all cartels for the exchange of prisoners had been suspended; and, as the Federals had many men and the whole world to draw from, it became a mathematical calculation only as to how long it would take for them to exhaust there sources of the Confederacy in regard to supplying the places of those taken from its army either by death or imprisonment. However, there was at that time in one of the Confederate prisons a son of a distinguished admiral of the Federal service, and a special cartel was entered into for the exchange of this man and several of his brother officers. The prisons of New Orleans were gone over and eighteen men selected from them to exchange, rank for rank and man for man, for these Federals. I was one of the number, and I was removed with my seventeen comrades to the office formerly occupied by Hewitt, Norton & Co., on Common Street. Here we were placed under a special guard off the United States regulars. While it seemed certain that we should be exchanged in a very few days, it was my idea of my duty to the Confederacy, a sense of duty shared equally by my companions, that we should escape, and thus, as far as we were concerned, keep the Federals in the Confederate prisons. To accomplish this end several of us began to plan for our escape. This was rendered very difficult, because we were so few, and the roll was called as often as eight or ten times a day. Work at boring a hole through the brick wall was impracticable night or day on account of the stillness and for the reason that with such a small number of men we would have been discovered immediately. We resolved upon a plan, therefore, to ask permission to scrub out the prison every day for exercise. The lieutenant of the guard granted us this permission, and as we could make as much noise as we pleased while doing it, we would pass a couple of hours daily pretending to scrub, while really one of us be at work at the wall all the time. We made several attempts to complete the work, but each time after we had progressed somewhat the Yankee lieutenant would appear and introduce a brick mason, and calmly walk up to the point of operation, no matter how well concealed it was, and order the mason to close up the gap. Being found out so frequently excited our suspicions that all was not fair in that prison. About this time I noticed that one of the sentinels, every time I passed him, would say something to me,-but what it was I never could catch; and when I would ask him to repeat he would decline to do it or make some remark about the weather. Finally, however, I caught the words: "Ye have a spy amongst ye's." When I caught these words the mystery was explained, and the alertness of the lieutenant of the guard no longer a surprise. We found who the traitor was, but I won't name this wretch. He lives here in New Orleans now. We were not long in fastening his guilt upon him, and it was the unanimous decision of the younger prisoners that he should die by strangulation. This undoubtedly would have been his fate had it not been for Paymaster Richardson, of the Confederate States navy, who was the oldest man among us and the one to whom we naturally locked for counsel and advice. He was a most excellent Christian gentleman, and, learning what was our intention, he argued with each of us quietly and separately that such action would be murder, and he promised to work it so that the traitor would be removed from our midst. He agreed to call him out and tax him with his treachery and to defy him to clear himself of the charge that was brought against him; he would make him sign a confession, and forward it to Gen. Canby, and ask that he be removed from among us. Mr. Richardson exacted from us that we should remain silent and let him do the talking. That afternoon about three o'clock we assembled in the front room, our Judas alone being out on the gallery. He was summoned to appear before us. He declined to come, evidently suspecting that something was up, and we went out to him. Mr. Richardson accused him of being a spy, and showed him a copy of a letter which he had written to the Federal authorities, asking to be taken out of the prison, as he was suspected by his comrades, and reminding the authorities that he had really not been captured, but had deserted the Confederate cause, and that he had taken the oath of allegiance and that the position that was forced upon him now was one of great danger to him, and that he soon would be useless, for he could no longer be an effective spy, as he was suspected by his comrades. The rascal blanched as these charges were brought out against him. In reply he began: "I pledge my word of honor as a gentleman"--- He got no farther, for one of our young hot-heads cried out excitedly, "Don't trifle with what don't belong to you!" and, springing forward, seized him by the throat, and was about hurling him over the balcony into the street below, when the cry, "Look out!" made him conscious of the presence of Lieut. Dougherty, of the First Regulars, who commanded us to desist; and, as he was backed by twenty-one muskets, pointed right at us, we had to desist. We were then taken and shut up in the back room of the prison, while Judas had the whole front part to himself. His first act was to send out for a mint julep; and, placing himself where we could all see him, but not reach him, he drank it off leisurely, defying us as he drank. But the matter was soon settled. An appeal to the Federal commander, telling him that we thought it very unfair to have a spy put in among us, asserting our right as prisoners to attempt to escape, and the right of his sentinels to shoot us in case we were caught in the attempt, soon brought an order to remove the obnoxious individual from the prison. Very soon after this things began to go our way--- that is, as far as favoring our escape. Within a week the guard of the First Regulars was removed, and the guard detail for our prison was taken from one regiment and another, new men and new officers each day. We soon found that they had not been apprised of our numerous efforts to dig holes, and were totally unaware of our intense desire to go. One among the various places where we had begun boring was in a small closet under the stairs. The attempt had been discovered, but the hole in the brick work had not been built up. The door had simply been closed and nailed tightly. This door we now pried open, breaking the points of the nails, and when the door was closed it had the appearance of being securely nailed. We now kept one man constantly in that closet during all of the daylight hours, working away at the bricks and mortar. The progress of the work was necessarily slow, for we had been deprived of our pocket knives and everything with which such work could be done, and the only implements we had left were a chisel and an ear syringe. Cups of water were passed in to the operator, who passed hours moistening the mortar with the aid of the syringe. Then the next man would use the chisel. Whenever roll was called a quick signal would bring the workman out of the closet to answer to his name. Finally all of the bricks were taken out except the last row and the mortar fastening on the other side, and on the evening of the 13th of October, at 7 o'clock, all was ready for the attempt. Paymaster Richardson could not accompany us on account of a severe wound in the thigh, but he aided in our escape very materially. He performed on the flute beautifully, and, taking his instrument, he sat across the room from the sentinel who stood at the foot of the stairs on duty, scarce ten feet from the closet door, and there discoursed delicious music. It was my lot to start first, and when the gallant paymaster saw me approach the closet door he began to play "Home, Sweet Home." The sentinel leaned upon his musket and drank in the music. He wasn't watching rebel prisoners then. His thoughts and his heart were way off in his Michigan home. Passing through the hole, we found ourselves in the medical purveyor's office, next door. Walking to the front part of the building and lighting a match, we soon undid the fastenings of the front windows and stepped out upon the balcony on Common Street. The Yankees had built a bulkhead to the front gallery of our prison to keep us from escaping bv that route, and that very bulkhead served us in this juncture, as it kept the sentinel on the gallery of the prison from seeing us. Quickly passing along from balcony to balcony, we reached Baronne Street, and turned up that street and went as far as the balconies extended. Capt. Joe Walker followed me with a piece of improvised rope, it being his intention to lash it to the gallery for us today there. We suffered very much from thirst. Although wading in water, we knew that to drink the swamp water meant fever and possibly death. All the next night we kept steadily on through swamp and stubble fields, until about 2 o'clock in the morning we struck a sugar plantation, where the cane relieved our thirst very considerably. We were under the impression that we had passed the last line of pickets, when suddenly, about three o'clock in the morning, we came upon an outpost of negro troops. The loud cursing between the sentinel on duty and the corporal of the guard apprised us of our proximity to the camp and our danger. We counted five stacks of muskets, and saw the sleeping forms of a score of negro soldiers. The sergeant, with two or three of the men, was seated at the camp fire, and the sentinel was walking his beat and loudly demanding that the relief should come, as he had been on duty over time. We were delayed here some fifteen minutes, and Fendall insisted upon capturing the whole gang. We had two revolvers and one Bowie knife, and I have no doubt but that we could have effected the capture; but what could we do with them after we had captured them was the question in my mind. Fendall wanted to take them along with us as far as we could, and then, if we could not deliver them within the lines of the Confcderacy, to kill them. It looked to me as if it would be almost impossible to take them to the Confederate lines after we captured them, and to capture them with the intent to kill them afterwards seemed to me, even in that desperate hour, too much like murder; so, with the aid of Mr. Scott, I persuaded my impulsive friend out of his notion, and, quietly crossing a deep ditch, we flanked the guard and went on our way. At daylight we concealed ourselves among the cane at the edge of the swamp, and waited all day. While there we saw many Yankees-solitary individuals, squads of five and six, and groups. Some seemed to be wandering aimlessly about, some were driving cattle, none evidently apprehensive of danger; and it would have been an easy thing for us to have taken off ten or twenty of them during the day, as at times they passed within twenty feet of us. Our third night we marched through sugar plantations until about midnight, when we struck a cotton plantation, where the hands had been picking cotton and had left wine casks at intervals along the plantation road. These casks contained water, and from these we had our first drink of water since leaving town. The casks were at intervals of about a hundred yards apart, and I don't think we skipped a single one, stopping at each as if it was a magnificent spring and gorging ourselves with pure Mississippi water. Our road now became terrible. It had been raining, and the Louisiana mud clung to our shoes, and each step increased the amount we had to raise, so that we found ourselves compelled every thirty or forty yards to stop and scrape the mud off of our shoes. We reached the river bank about two o'clock in the morning, and started Up the levee toward Bonnet Carrel At daylight we hid in the willow copse behind the levee, and here we watched the Yankees passing to and fro. The next night's march brought us, about two o'clock, to Bonnet Carre proper. Here we broke into the provost marshal's office and destroyed his blanks and literature, left our cards, and, quickly crossing the cultivated fields, which were not more than a mile or two wide, we started due north through the swamp toward Lake Maurepas. At daylight it was cloudy and drizzling rain. We had no compass, and marched due north, or as near as we could. That swamp was a frightful place. Enormous cypress logs lay prostrate in every direction, and we had to climb them continually. Toward evening we became so fatigued that we were not able to climb over them, but had to walk around them. Naturally, in doing this, we soon lost our course. We debauched on the banks of Lake Maurepas, and found that we had lost direction bysome two miles. Having unconsciously borne to the eastward, we were within a few hundred yards of the Yankee pickets on Pass Manchac, and had to beat our way westward. Lake Maurepas has no beach; the water comes right up to the canebrake, and, though very shallow, is filled with stumps and cypress knees, which made wading almost impossible; so we had to take refuge in the canebrake for relief. We were compelled to crawl in many places on our hands and knees. A hundred yards or so of this kind of traveling and we would take to the water again. In this way, after about three hours' hard work, we had traversed two and a half or three miles, which brought us to the cabin of a German who was known to Scott as an ardent Union sympathizer. We told him that we were Rebel deserters trying to force our way into New Orleans and to freedom from military duty. We at once became heroes in his eyes, and he treated us very nicely, giving us a supper of turnips and Irish potatoes mashed and stewed together. We passed the night with him, and next morning he gave us breakfast with the same bill of fare as at supper. We then asked him for a boat, and he said that we did not need one; becoming suspicious, he asked where was the boat we came in. We then told him that we were escaped Confederate prisoners making our way to the Confederacy, and that he had to give us a boat or we would kill him and take his boat. The old man instantly concluded that he had warmed a set of vipers; and, because there was no help for it, he gave us a boat, exacting a solemn promise to return the boat if we could. He gave us a little pirogue, so small that when we three were seated in it the gunwhale was scarcely two inches above the water. We headed our course north for the mouth of Blind River, and as the wind was north the little wavelets struck us broadside and soon began to fill our boat. Fendall and Scott baled while I paddled, and I made a job of it, never having had a paddle in my hands before. I succeeded in paddling both legs of my breeches off during the day's run. To add to our discomfort, when we were within about two miles of the mouth of Blind River we discovered the Yankee gunboat Commodore, which was doing duty on the lakes, coming through Pass Manchac, but luckily for us, our insignificance saved us from discovery by her. But it had the effect of making me paddle more vigorously than ever. After reaching Blind River and wending our way for two or three miles, we entered White Oak Bayou, where one bayou entered another, each succeeding one being smaller than the last. We passed our whole day in that canoe. The swamp grass was so thick in places that the canoe would become stalled in eight or ten feet of water; then, when we would pull at the grass, it would come up by the roots. Hour after hour we lost in this way at intervals of the day. Finally night fell upon us. We seemed to have reached the head of the bayou network, and were informed by a French squatter that we were on Bear Island. We made our way through to the woods about a mile, and took possession of a deserted log hut, where we passed the night. There were no roads on Bear Island; the forest trees were blazed, and the next day's march was through that country. We saw droves of wild turkeys and deer, quite tame, for they had never been hunted. Crossing the Amite River, our day's march brought us within a short distance of Ponchatoula, which port we reached the next afternoon about three o'clock-seven days and nights out from New Orleans, and having made fifty-one miles, I believe as per the mileposts of the Illinois Central. I had seen some hard marching in Virginia under old Stonewall, but this march was the hardest I ever made. From Ponchatoula we went by easy stages up the (now) Illinois Central to Jackson, Miss., then by rail to Meridian, and from Meridian to Mobile. I don't believe that bloodhounds even could track a man far in that swamp; everything smells the same, dank and fetid. What you eat and what you touch and what you tread on---all have the same odor. Yes, the escape was a success. Thirteen out of the eighteen officers confined made good their escape; not one was recaptured, and the special exchange was therefore effectually broken off. John L. Rapier was born at Spring Hill, Mobile County, Ala. He lived in New Orleans from three years of age until the breaking out of the civil war, which he entered at the age of eighteen years and six months as a member of St. Paul's Company of Chasseurs a Pied. They left New Orleans April or, 1861, for the war. He served at Pensacola five months when the command was transferred to Virginia, and he was appointed sergeant major of the battalion the day after the battle of Seven Pines, and adjutant during the seven days' battle. He received commission as second lieutenant in January, 1864. After service at Drury's Bluff, he was ordered to Mobile in March, 1864. He was captured by Farragut in the battle of Mobile Bay, Admiral Watson, then Farragut's flag lieutenant, receiving his surrender. He was taken to New Orleans in August, 1864, and escaped in October, 1864. After the war he became a newspaper man--- first as partner of Maj. Hy St. Paul, in publishing the Times, and then with John Forsyth as publisher of the Register. He has been President of the Register Company for over twenty years. Confederate Veteran, Vol. VIII, No. 3 Nashville, Tenn., March, 1900. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THE FIFTH AND SIXTEENTH TENNESSEE B. L. Ridley, Murfreesboro, Tenn. Did you ever hear of the Lion of Lucerne? "hewn out of the living rock" close by Lake Lemon near the beautiful city of Lucerne, Switzerland, to perpetuate the memory of the nine hundred mountaineer Swiss guards who in 1791 defended Louis XVI. from the raging mob in the Palace of the Tuilleries. It is carved out of limestone on the side of a perpendicular cliff in the shape of a lion, and the present age considers it the chief attraction of the mountains, as setting before the eye the spirit, the determination, and the valor of the people. Did you ever liken the device to the memory of our mountain soldiers in the Confederate era, and note how upon every battlefield their deeds were parodied? We have a beautiful city in our Cumberland range that I always think of as Lucerne. Instead of a lake, it-is environed by the limpid waters of the Collins and Barren Fork Rivers, with their cascades and sparkling water falls. The beautiful mountain of Ben Lomond overlooks it, and that section of people are big-hearted and brave. I often think of the record made by two regiments in that country and of their commanders coming from that beautiful mountain town: the if the Fifth Tennessee, commanded by Col. (afterwards Gen.) Ben T. Hill, and the Sixteenth Tennessee, commanded by Col. John H. Savage, more familiarly known as. the "Old Man of the Mountains." The Fifth Tennessee (changed later to the Thirty-Fifth) was made up from Warren, Grundy, Van Buren, Cannon, Bledsoe, and Sequatchie Counties; and the Sixteenth Tennessee, from Warren, 'White, Dekalb, Coffee, Van Buren, Putnam, and Grundv. Through curiosity take the records of the Federal and Confederate armies in the war of the rebellion and follow the ramifications of those regiments until the surrender, and it will interest you. Col. Hill had led his regiment in forty-two skirmishes and battles before being made provost marshal general of Coven. Joe Johnston's army at Dalton. Afterwards he became brigadier general of cavalry. He claimed to his death that his was the last command to surrender on the east side of the Mississippi. Do you remember of having heard of that compliment paid Hill's Regiment at Corinth, Miss., in 1862, in the way of a general order issued to the army and read at dress parade to our soldiers throughout? Here it is: "General (orders No._____. Headquarters Western Department, Corinth, Miss., May 29, 1862. The general commanding mentions with greats pleasure to the army the distinguished conduct of Col. B. J. Hill and his regiment, the Fifth Tennessee Volunteers, in an affair with the enemy yesterday. This order is issued with the greater satisfaction that the gallant officer and his command have been before conspicuous for their action on the field. By command of Gen. Beauregard. George W. Brent, Acting Chief of Staff." On May 28 Gen. Cleburne ordered Col. Hill to storm the Federal position at Shelton Hill, in front of Corinth. His regiment charged into a perfect gauntlet of Federal columns concealed behind a ridge of plum bushes, and before he was aware that the regiment ordered to support his flanks had failed to charge he rushed to the muzzles of the enemies cannon and dislodged them. This prompted the order from Gen. Beauregard, and has ever been pointed to as one of the most daring achievements of the war. If I had been in that regiment, or even had a relation there, I would have that order written in letters of gold and hung up in my parlor for my family and friends to look upon. Did you ever read the report of Gen. Daniel S. Donnelson, of the battle of Murfreesboro (Stone's River)? Let me quote vou what he says about Col. Savage's regiment, the Sixteenth. This regiment, with three companies of Col. Chester's, held in my judgment the critical position of that part of the field (this was the advance on the Cowan house, Wednesday, December 31st, 1862) Col. Savage finding the line he had to defend entirely too long for the number of men under his command, finally threw out the greater part of his command as skirmishers to deceive the enemy as to his strength, and he held his position with characteristic and most commendable tenacity for over three hours. The point being held assured the winning of Wednesday evening's battle." Now, if I had such distinguished people to speak of my actions thus, the goal of my military ambition would be filled. After thirty-eight years; when I see the "Old Man of the Mountains" still living, Gen. Hill gone nineteen years ago, but his splendid wife In good health, and a few survivors of both the Fifth and Sixteenth Tennessee Regiments, I say, like Brother Shandy to Uncle Toby: "Peace and comfort rest for evermore upon thy head." The Tennessee Division of U. C. V. are to meet in McMinnville this year, and I am looking forward with so much pleasure to shake hands with those old veterans from the mountains that contributed so much to establish our Southland as among the valiant people of the world. I cannot forget McMinnville the times, scenes, places, faces. They roll before me. On the lath or hotly of April, 1863, Gen. Morgan had his headquarters there, while his command was guarding the right wing of the Army of Tennessee at Liberty. The enemy advanced upon the place with a strong force of infantry, cavalry, and artillery. The only cavalry force there was Morgan's escort, about fifty strong, and about ninety infantry under Maj. Wyckliffe, Ninth Kentucky. After skirmishing, the enemy dashed into the town eight abreast, driving out Gen. Morgan and several officers who had been there on sick leave. Among them were Col. Cluke, Lieut Col. Martin, and Maj. Dick McCann. Gen. Duke says: "McCann's horse was shot in the melee, and fell bringing him to the ground. He sprang to his feet, and, standing in front of the charging column, shouted, 'You have got the old chief at last!' seeking to produce the impression shalt he was Gen. Morgan, and so favor the latter's escape." He was ridden over, severely sabered, and captured; but, having been placed ire an bid stable and allowed a canteen of apple brandy, he got the guard drunk and dug out under the logs during the night, effecting his escape. All the officers escaped uninjured. The infantry retreated in perfect order to the mountain, two or three miles away. "So Minnville was in the wake of the armies and in the disputed territory of Bragg and Rosecrans. Had the old Fifth and Sixteenth been there that day, instead of a stampede there would have been the rattling of musketry and "hot times in the old town." Gen. Hill, who died in the Hill was in the practice of law there. If you want to see how his memory is revered and Col. John H. Savage is respected; strike one of those mountaineers, and he will tell you that Ben Hill was one Of the boys and that the "Old Man of the Mountains" always did his duty. When Ben Hill went into a fight, instead of "Forward!" he always said "Come on boys! Recollect the mountains !" He had a smile upon his face in battle that almost made one forget to dodge the bullets, and when the Fifth was called upon they always remembered what Beauregard said of them at Shelton Hill, Corinth, and Gen. Pat Cleburne at Shiloh. I want to see a monument erected to the memory of the mountaineers of the Cumberland in the sixties, and McMinnville is the proper place. Let the statue of a typical Confederate soldier be placed on the shaft and the Lion of Ben Lomond be sleeping at his feet. "A monument for the soldiers Built of a people's love, And brazened and decked and panoplied With the hearts ye build it of. And see that ye build it stately, In pillar and niche and gate, And high in pose as the souls of those It would commemorate." Confederate Veteran, Vol. VIII, No. 3 Nashville, Tenn., March, 1900. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THE "BARBARA FRIETCHIE " MYTH J. William Jones, Richmond, Va. The myth upon which Whittier founded his beautiful poem which represents Stonewall Jackson as ordering his soldiers to fire on Dame Barbara Frietchie as his column passed through Frederick City during the Maryland campaign of September, 1862, has been so often refuted that it would seem useless to do so again. But inasmuch as it has gone into the school readers which even Southern teachers are unwise enough to introduce into their schools, and Southern parents careless enough to allow their children to use, and inasmuch as the story, with varying details; appears at intervals in the papers, I think that it would be well to preserve in the VETERAN the facts which so fully brand with falsehood this vile slander on the reputation of Stonewall Jackson, who was as tender and kind to helpless women as he was fierce and terrible to armed enemies in the field. While Secretary of the Southern Historical Society and editor of "Southern Historical Society Papers" I published an article from the facile, painstaking, and accurate pen of Gen. Jubal A. Early, in which he triumphantly showed: 1. That no United States flag was waved in the face of the Confederate column as it passed through Frederick City. 2. That no troops passed the house of Dame Frietchie at all. 3. That Stonewall Jackson, with his staff and couriers, rode some distance ahead of his column, and along a street fully. three hundred yards from the dame's residence, and so completely obscured by the conformation of the ground and other buildings that she could not possibly have seen him even from an "attic window." 4. Barbara Frietchie, on the testimony of her nephew and other members of the family, was at that time ninety-six Years old, bedridden, and paralyzed, unable to get to "the attic" or the window of her own room without being carried, and unable to wave a flag even if she had been carried there 5. It was morally impossible that Stonewall Jackson could have ordered his men to fire on a woman, old or young, even if she had "flaunted the Union flag in his face." This article of Gen. Early's, which was published in ''Southern Historical Society Papers" (Vol. VII., pp. 435-439), I sent to Mr. Whittier, who was then living, with a courteous letter, in which I called his attention to the overwhelming proof that he had been imposed upon by the parties who gave him the incident, and asking him for a note acknowledging his mistake. But he did not deign a reply to my letter. No doubt "the great American poet," who used his genius so generally in misrepresenting and slandering the South and her people, thought that "the Rebel Jackson" deserved no better treatment, and that "poetic license" justified him in thus slandering and branding with infamy "the traitor against the Union." But I send you the following letter to the New York Sun from the graceful pen of Capt. W. Gordon McCabe, of Richmond, which clearly treats several phases of this story: "The 'Barbara Frietchie' lie dies hard. It has been 'nailed' time and again, but at intervals of every five years or so it 'bobs' up again serene and cheerful, finds 'patriotic' champions from Brooklyn (generous asylum ever of exploded war myths) to Waterbury, Conn. But some of the later champions take the very soul out of the myth and the point out of the poem by allowing that the aged Barbara waved her little flag in welcome to the Union forces, and not in defiance of Stonewall Jackson and his ragged 'Rebels.' Mr. J. C. Houghton, in your issue of January 24, says: 'I am glad to see that you have rescued Barbara Frietchie from the realm of myth. Mr. Whittier took a poet's license in making her defy with her flag the Rebel general in a previous march through Frederick.' No one, so far as I know, has ever contended that Barbara Frietchie never existed. She was the wife of a citizen of Frederick, who was said to be descended from one of the Hessians brought over to subdue the American colonists. It is a perfectly well-known fact that Stonewall Jackson did not pass through Frederick along with his corps, but rode rapidly through the town with a small cavalry escort about an hour before his troops marched through the streets. Neither he nor his troops passed Barbara Frietchie's house. There is not one single incident in Whittier's poem that has a historical foundation. It is pure poetic myth from start to finish. "The following letter from Barbara Frietchie's own nephew, which appeared in the Baltimore Sun in August, 1874, Will give the doughty champions of the myth pause for reflection. It will be seen that twenty-five years ago the bottom was knocked out of the 'patriotic episode' by one 'who could speak with authority.' " 'Sir: I have just read a communication in the Sun purporting to set forth certain facts in relation to the life and character of the late Barbara Frietchie, the heroine of Whittier's celebrated war poem. I am the nephew of "Dame Barbara," and had the settling up of her husband's estate in the capacity of administrator. This necessarily threw me into frequent communication with the ancient and venerable dame. Barbara Frietchie, my venerable aunt, was not a lady of twenty-two summers, as your correspondent alleges, but an ancient dame of ninety-six winters when she departed this life; and it is but truth to add that she never saw the inside of the Federal hospital in this city. She died on December 18, 1862. None of the Federal soldiers from the hospital attended the old lady's remains to their last resting place. This, to my certain knowledge, was a fact, no Orders to that effect having been given. Therefore none of those convalescing invalid soldiers were at my old aunt's funeral. " 'Now, a word as to the waving of the Federal flag in the face of the rebels bv Dame Barbara on the occasion of Stonewall Jackson's march through Frederick. Stonewall Jackson with his troops did not pass Barbara Frietchie's residence at all, but passed up what is popularly called the "Mill Alley," about three hundred yards above her residence, then passed due west to Antietam, and thus out of the city. But another and stranger fact with regard to this matter may be here presented-viz., the poem by Whittier represents our venerable relative (then ninety-six years of age) as nimbly ascending to her attic window and waving her small Federal flag defiantly in the face of Stonewall Jackson's troops. Now what are the facts at this point? Dame Barbara was, at the moment of the passing of that distinguished general and his forces through Frederick, bedridden and helpless, and had lost the power of locomotion. She could at this period only move, as she was moved, by the help of her attendants. These are the true and stern facts, proving that Whittier's poem upon this subject is fiction, pure fiction, and nothing else, without even the remotest semblance or resemblance of fact. Valerius Ebert " Frederick City, Md., August 27" "So the deed of 'derring do' that challenges a place for Barbara Frietchie alongside of Roman Cloelia or Scottish Katherine Douglas vanishes into thin air. The utmost that can be contended for is that she may have waved a Union flag to welcome Union troops. Even this is highly improbable-well-nigh impossible, indeed, for a poor old bedridden dame of ninety-six; but granting it to be true, wherein consists the extraordinary heroism of the act? As this myth is an exceedingly tough one to kill, because of its stirring setting, it might be well for 'the curious' interested in such matters to cut out Mr. Ebert's letter and paste it in their scrapbooks. The myth is sure to 'bob up' W. Gordon McCabe. "Richmond, Va., January 27, 1900." Many, even among our Southern people, will think that this "beautiful poem" ought not to be spoiled by too nice an examination of its truthfulness; but we cannot afford to allow this base slander of our great chieftain to be perpetuated. Mr. Whittier states: "The poem was written in strict conformity to the account I had of ill from respectable and trustworthy sources. It has since been the subject of conflicting testimony, and the story was probably incorrect in some of ills details. . . . It is admitted that Barbara Frietchie was no myth-that she was intensely loyal and a hater of the Rebellion," etc. The following stanzas are from this poem: Bravest of all in Frederick town, She took up the flag the men hauled down. In her attic window the staff she set, To show that one heart was loyal yet. Up the street came the Rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. Under his slouched hat left and right He glanced. The old flag met his sight. "Halt!"---the dust-brown ranks stood fast. "Fire!"---out blazed the rifle blast. It shivered the window pane and glass; It rent the banner with seam and gash. Quick as it fell from the broken staff Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf; She leaned far out the window sill And shook it forth with a royal will.
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