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Title: The life record of H. W. Graber: A Terry Texas Ranger, 1861-1865; sixty-two years in Texas
Author: Graber, H. W.
Language: English
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[Illustration: H. W. GRABER]
The Life Record of
H. W. Graber
A Terry Texas Ranger
1861-1865
Sixty-two Years in Texas
Copyright 1916 by H. W. Graber
Index
Page
Chapter 1 My Earliest Recollections......................... 9
Chapter 2 I Abandon the Printer’s Trade and Take Up.........
Surveying......................................... 14
Chapter 3 Indian Troubles—My First Venture in Business...... 22
Chapter 4 My First Military Experience...................... 28
Chapter 5 Our First Engagement.............................. 43
Chapter 6 An Accidental Injury—Shiloh—The “Mark-Time” Major. 56
Chapter 7 I Am Wounded and Captured......................... 73
Chapter 8 The Escape of Major Ousley........................ 91
Chapter 9 In Prison at Louisville, Where I Was Honored With.
Handcuffs......................................... 98
Chapter 10 Camp Chase—Fort Delaware—I Change My Name for the.
First Time and Am Finally Exchanged............... 107
Chapter 11 The Inhumanity of the Federal Government.......... 136
Chapter 12 I Rejoin My Command............................... 142
Chapter 13 Middle Tennessee and Kentucky..................... 144
Chapter 14 I “Swap” Horses With a Federal.................... 156
Chapter 15 The Battle of Perryville.......................... 169
Chapter 16 I Refuse to Become a Teamster..................... 176
Chapter 17 Omissions in Preceding Chapters................... 186
Chapter 18 General Johnston’s Failure to Strike—Sherman...... 190
Chapter 19 Georgia Service—A Negro’s Preference—A Hazardous..
Undertaking....................................... 208
Chapter 20 I Sell a Ten Dollar Gold Piece for Fifteen Hundred
Dollars........................................... 231
Chapter 21 My Service With Captain Shannon................... 237
Chapter 22 We Receive Notice of Johnston’s Surrender—I.......
Decline to Be Paroled and Resolve to Make My Way..
Out............................................... 244
Preface The Reconstruction Period......................... 262
Chapter 23 Upon My Return From the Army I Find My Business...
Affairs in Bad Shape.............................. 266
Chapter 24 The Affair at Hempstead........................... 271
Chapter 25 I Narrowly Escape Capture......................... 285
Chapter 26 I Save the Life of an Enemy....................... 306
Chapter 27 I Get Back Into the Business World................ 316
Chapter 28 I Assist in Establishing the Masonic Institute.... 326
Chapter 29 I Remove to Waxahachie and Go Into Business There. 339
Chapter 30 The Tap Railroad.................................. 344
Chapter 31 Business Troubles................................. 366
Chapter 32 I Start Anew...................................... 373
Chapter 33 The Methodist School at Waxahachie................ 377
Chapter 34 My Later Business Experiences..................... 380
Chapter 35 The Confederate Veterans’ Home.................... 389
Chapter 36 My Appointments in the U. C. V.................... 395
Chapter 37 The Terry Rangers’ Flag........................... 401
Chapter 38 Roosevelt’s Visit to Texas........................ 424
Chapter 39 My family......................................... 434
Chapter 40 In Conclusion..................................... 441
Preface
The purpose of this narrative is to hand down to my children, and to
present to my friends, an intimate, personal account of a life which has
not been without interesting episodes, and which has been lived during
the most eventful period that this Nation will, in all probability, ever
know.
Though a large portion of my story will deal with incidents which
occurred during the great sectional strife of the sixties, it is not
intended as a history of that great calamity, but is meant, simply, to
be an account of incidents with which the writer was personally
associated.
The Great Strife which so nearly disrupted our country is over. For many
years we of the South have been dwelling amicably with those of the
North—this is as it should be. We are, united, the greatest country on
the face of God’s footstool. And to both the North and the South belongs
the credit.
The mistakes of certain Northern fanatics, which were not, I believe,
dictated by general Northern sentiment, have long been rectified. The
Government at Washington today is, I know, truly representative of the
entire country. The tragic blunders which were evident in the South
during what has been called the “Reconstruction Period” would not be
possible today. The country has become a unit.
In perfect love and friendship for all the good people of the United
States, irrespective of location, and with no sectional feeling other
than an abiding love for my South, I write this story. I hope it may be
found to be not without interest.
H. W. GRABER.
My Earliest Recollections
CHAPTER I
I was born in the city of Bremen, Germany, on the 18th day of May, 1841.
My father was a native of Prussia, and my mother of the Kingdom of
Hanover. They were married in the city of Bremen in 1839. There were
five children born unto them; a daughter, the oldest of the family, died
in Bremen; the others moved with the family to Texas. I was educated at
a private school, starting at six years old, up to the time of our
removal to Texas in 1853.
In connection with the ordinary literary course, the French and English
languages were taught in the higher grades in which I had just entered,
but when father decided to move to Texas, he had me drop the French and
employed an additional private teacher to come to our home and give me
English lessons, which enabled me to speak the English language on our
arrival in Texas.
Our father was a manufacturer of fine mahogany furniture and established
a profitable trade on this with New York, exporting more of his
furniture than was sold at home, though he had quite an extensive local
trade, as his styles and work were very popular, all of his furniture
being hand carved.
The great Revolution of 1848, which caused great stringency in financial
affairs of the country, forced him to mortgage his home, and from this
he never recovered. It was this condition that induced his removal to
Texas.
Father and I came to Texas a year in advance of the balance of the
family, for the purpose of getting acquainted with the country and its
conditions. Then, the year following the rest of the family came over.
We settled in Houston, Texas. We came over on a large sailing ship, as
steamships were very few, and we came by way of New Orleans, where we
found a great yellow fever epidemic, though we escaped it this year.
I forgot to mention that, when a child about four years old, I was
playing on the river front, sliding up and down on a plank with one end
in the water, the other end on the steps leading down to the water, when
I lost my hold, slid into the river and under the bottom of a schooner,
coming out on the opposite side, where one of the sailors caught me by
the hair just as I started under the third time. I was carried home
unconscious. This proved my first narrow escape from death, of which I
had many during life.
Soon after our arrival in Houston, father worked in an undertaking
establishment for a man by the name of Pannel, but during the first
summer, both father and mother were taken sick with typhoid fever and
died within one week, leaving me, the oldest of the family, then
thirteen years old, to take care of the rest of the children.
We had an uncle, father’s brother, living on Spring Creek, in the upper
part of Harris County, who took charge of our sister and a younger
brother until I could make provisions for them to come back to Houston,
there to get the benefit of the schools.
During the yellow fever of that fall my brother, next to me, died with
yellow fever.
I forgot to mention that soon after arrival in Houston I secured a
position in the large retail grocery establishment of F. Bauman, and,
subsequently, in the wholesale grocery establishment of C. E. Gregory,
where I soon became shipping clerk and an expert marker of freight, with
the marking brush; so much so that when a lot of freight was turned out
on the sidewalk (to be shipped by ox-wagon, which was the only means of
transportation out of Houston before the day of railroads) and when
marking this freight, passersby would stop and watch me, as I was the
youngest shipping clerk in Houston, which of course made me feel very
proud.
After a year or more in the service of this wholesale establishment I
was offered a position in a retail dry goods establishment of G. Gerson,
where I became familiar with the dry goods business. After about a year,
Gerson decided to open a general merchandise establishment at Waxahachie
and place his cousin, Robert Angleman, in charge of the same, and, for
this purpose, loaded about a half dozen ox-wagons with part of his
Houston stock and employed me to go to Waxahachie and clerk for
Angleman.
In place of going up to Waxahachie on the stage, our only means of
travel then, I begged them to allow me to go with the wagons, as I was
anxious to camp out and hunt on the way, but I took a great fancy to
driving one of the wagons, the driver of which permitted me to learn,
and I became somewhat expert in handling six yoke of oxen, each one of
which had a name, such as “Red” or “Ball,” or “Jerry.” The oxen seemed
to know their names when called on to move up, followed by the crack of
the big whip, and it is hardly necessary to say when this outfit entered
Waxahachie, preceded by this team, this little boy was driving, popping
his whip as loud as any of the men. I felt I was the biggest man among
them.
Angleman’s business proved a great success—selling goods for cash and
also taking pecans in trade for goods at fifty cents a bushel. These
pecans were shipped by wagon to Houston and from thence to New York,
where they netted from sixteen to eighteen cents per pound. Angleman’s
business was the first Jewish establishment in Waxahachie, and
ultimately grew to be the largest business in that section of the
country.
My sojourn at Waxahachie of about two years proved the most pleasant of
my life, as everybody seemed to be my friend, and took a special
interest in me because I was the only orphan child in the place and was
without a home. While there I boarded at both hotels; first at the
Rogers House and next at the Ellis House.
CHAPTER II
I ABANDON THE PRINTER’S TRADE AND TAKE UP SURVEYING.
After two years in Waxahachie, I decided to move back to Houston, where
I concluded to learn the printer’s trade, and for this purpose secured a
position in the office of the Houston Telegraph, which, at that time,
perhaps, had the largest circulation and was the leading paper in the
State. It was published by Allen & Brockett. Soon after entering this
office and acting as printer’s devil for a while, they promoted me to
the job office, where I became expert in doing fancy work, such as
marriage notices, ball invitations, etc., but I was unable to collect
any salary; these people were always hard up for money, and I never got
anything out of it but my board and sufficient money for clothing. I
finally became disgusted and went to Galveston, where I had an offer
from a man by the name of Spratt, who published a little paper called
the Ignis Fatuous or Jack o’ the Lantern. As the name indicates it was a
humorous paper, containing criticisms in a humorous vein, of leading
politicians of the city and the State. It was one of the most popular
periodicals then published, selling at ten cents a copy, by newsboys,
without having any left over each week. Here, too, I failed to get my
pay, though I set up the whole paper and made up the forms, which were
sent up to the Gazette’s office on Friday, where it was struck off ready
for the sale of the paper on Saturday. I did my work at Spratt’s home,
where he had set apart a room containing cases. I had board at the same
place.
Spratt was a billiard fiend and, as soon as he got the money for his
papers on Saturday, he would stay in town, play billiards until his
money was exhausted, come home about Tuesday, and then prepare to
furnish matter for the next issue. I worked with him for about sixty
days. Failing to get my pay, I became disgusted and concluded that the
printer’s trade was a good thing for me to drop. I then went back to
Waxahachie and again went to work with the Angleman house and formed the
acquaintance of an old land surveyor by the name of James E. Patton, who
employed me to go with him on surveying expeditions, just for company,
paying me a good salary. I furnished my own horse and arms, the latter
of which he never carried. He was firm in the belief that Indians would
never trouble him, although it was said that he was taken prisoner by
the Indians, having been caught surveying lands down on Chambers’ Creek
in Ellis County. They turned him loose, which was considered one of the
most remarkable cases of Indian generosity ever known on the frontier,
as they always killed surveyors whom they caught locating land.
It was also related of this old man, that, in the early days, when he
surveyed lands in Ellis County, he substituted chain carrying by
hobbling his ankles just the length of a vara, and stepped off the land,
in place of measuring it with a chain. Colonel Patton was one of the
most popular surveyors and land locaters in Texas. His compensation for
locating headright certificates was one-half of the land, which made him
one of the richest men in lands, at the time of his death, in that
section of the State.
My first trip with Colonel Patton was to Fort Belknap, Texas, where he
had formed the acquaintance of a man by the name of Gibbons, who moved
there from Arkansas and owned about a dozen negroes, with whom he
cultivated a considerable plantation just across the river from Fort
Belknap. Gibbons had an Indian wife, a Delaware, who was dark complected
like other Indians, but she had a younger sister, who married General
Tarrant, an old Texas pioneer and Indian fighter, after whom Tarrant
County is named. General Tarrant made his home in Ellis County and he
and Colonel Patton were great friends. General Tarrant happened to be on
a visit at Gibbons’ when we arrived there on our first expedition, and
we were made to feel at home before starting out surveying.
It was the custom there for surveyors to make up a party of a half dozen
or more to go on these expeditions, for protection against Indians who
were then roaming over that whole section of the country. There was an
Indian agency about twelve or fifteen miles below Belknap, in charge of
Captain Shapley Ross, the father of General L. S. Ross, then a boy like
myself. This agency was composed of remnant tribes of Indians, probably
a half dozen or more, whom the Comanche Indians had run in off the
range. These Indians had the protection of the United States Government
and, of course, pretended to be friendly. The most uncivilized Indian in
this agency was the Tonkawa, who, it was claimed, were cannibals. I
remember as we passed through Keechie Valley, on our way to Weatherford,
we stopped at a store for about an hour, resting and talking, when the
storekeeper told us of a trouble he came very near having the day
before. It seems a Tonkawa Indian had offered to trade him a pony for a
young Kentuckian, who had just come out from his State and was clerking
in the store. He asked the Indian what he wanted to do with the
Kentuckian if he accepted his offer. The Indian told him that he wanted
to eat him. The young man got a gun and was about to shoot the Indian,
when the storekeeper stopped him and made the Indian leave.
There was another Indian agency at Camp Cooper, about forty miles west
of Belknap, presided over by a man by the name of Neighbors. This agency
had a tribe of the Southern Comanches, who were also run in by the
Northern Comanches, or Apaches. These Southern Comanches claimed to be
friendly with the whites in order to have the protection of the United
States Government, but they, and occasionally the Ross Agency Indians,
were believed to be responsible for many of the raids on our exposed
frontier; especially the Indians at the upper agency at Camp Cooper.
These raids became frequent; one of them culminating in the murder of
two families in Jack County, and the carrying off of a little boy and
girl as prisoners. Being hotly pursued by Rangers and citizens, they
were forced to abandon the boy, whom they threw into the brush to be
found by the pursuers. He made the statement that he was taken upon a
horse, behind a red-headed white man, who seemed to be the leader of the
band. This red-headed white man was seen in the Indian camp, located up
on the Canadian River, at different times, by scouts.
Major Neighbors, while on a visit to Fort Belknap, became involved in a
dispute with one of the citizens, who charged that his Indians were
responsible for many of the raids on our frontier. The dispute resulted
in a fight and Major Neighbors was killed by the citizen. His death
created quite an excitement on the frontier, as he was a United States
officer and the Government asked an investigation of the affair, but
there was never anything done about it.
While on my first trip with Colonel Patton, while we were making our
headquarters at Gibbons’, we found General Tarrant and his wife, the
sister of Mrs. Gibbons. This lady, by the way, was as fair as most of
the white women on the frontier. Their adopted son, Jesse, was about my
age. Gibbons had two sons, one about my age, the other a year younger.
We boys became great friends, and sometimes engaged in hunting and
fishing.
One day we four decided to go fishing at the mouth of a creek, where it
emptied into the Brazos, about three-quarters of a mile below the house.
We cut fishing poles at a thicket near the creek. After fishing a while
without any result, we got tired and commenced shooting with our
pistols, of which each had one. All boys of our age always then went
armed with six-shooters, the custom of the frontier. After shooting at a
log in the creek, thereby emptying our pistols, we did not reload, not
deeming it necessary just then, and decided to go in bathing in the
river. The river being very low, was only running on the Fort Belknap
side, and we had to walk a considerable distance on a sand bar to the
water. Having just stripped ourselves of our clothing, ready to go in,
we heard voices calling on the south bank of the river and discovered a
group of men beckoning to us to come over to them. These proved to be
General Tarrant, Colonel Patton, Gibbons, his overseer and a blacksmith,
who, with his wife, occupied a log cabin on Gibbons’ place, he being at
work for the troops at the Fort.
When we reached this party of men we were asked where we had been. When
we told them that we had cut our fishing poles at a thicket, they
commenced laughing and guying this blacksmith, telling him that his wife
had mistaken us for Indians and concluded that this was a sufficient
explanation of the alarm about Indians that she had created. This
blacksmith insisted on going down to this thicket, saying that he was
satisfied that his wife was not frightened and made no mistake; that she
must have seen Indians there, but they would not hear to it, and in
going up to the house, stopped at the cabin and told this woman that it
was us boys that she saw, in place of Indians. She, too, insisted that
they were mistaken, that there were surely Indians in that thicket, but
they paid no further attention to the matter and went home.
It was the custom there to tie all horses in the yard, around the house,
which was done that night. When we woke next morning we found all of our
horses gone. When they then investigated the thicket where we boys cut
our fishing poles, they found plenty of Indian signs, such as small
pieces of buffalo meat and moccasin tracks. The matter, of course, was
reported to the commandant of the fort, who got his troops ready to
start in pursuit the next evening. This was about the character of
protection afforded by the United States troops. If rangers had been
stationed there, they would have been in the saddle in less than an hour
and continued the pursuit until the Indians were caught up with.
CHAPTER III
INDIAN TROUBLES—MY FIRST VENTURE IN BUSINESS.
This bold raid of these Indians stirred up General Tarrant and he
determined to raise about five hundred volunteers in the frontier
counties, to break up a big Indian camp, under a celebrated chief,
Buffalo Hump, that was known to exist on the North Canadian, and for
this purpose he canvassed the frontier counties and had no trouble in
having volunteers sign to go out on the expedition. He fixed the time of
departure from Fort Belknap on the fourth day of July, which was most
unfortunate, as the time of his canvass was in the early part of May,
when during the long interim the Indians had been quiet, and had made no
raids into the settlements. The volunteers who subscribed had lost
interest in the matter and would not go.
I was one of twenty who subscribed to go from Ellis County, and believe
I was the only one that ever started. About this time Colonel Patton had
arranged to start on another surveying expedition, in conjunction with a
party of surveyors, in charge of Gid Rucker, who had a contract for
running the center line of a twenty-mile reserve, granted by the State
to the Memphis & El Paso Railroad Company. This center line was run on
the thirty-second parallel. Colonel Patton went along to locate land
certificates, of which he had a great many, and was anxious to see the
country up on Hubbard’s Creek in Young County. Hubbard’s Creek is a
tributary of the Clear Fork of the Brazos.
When we reached Weatherford we found General Tarrant very sick, not
expected to live, and he died a few days afterwards, which, of course,
broke up the expedition for which I had enlisted. Colonel Patton then
induced the railroad company’s surveyors to make me a proposition and
pay me two dollars per day to simply go along as company, they being
anxious to have a sufficient crowd to overawe any attack Indians might
contemplate.
After reaching the eightieth milepost, Colonel Patton had them run down
ten miles to the southern boundary of the reserve, which was done, and a
most magnificent country developed. It seems Colonel Patton had
requested Mr. Rucker to get a sketch of that section of the country from
the General Land Office at Austin, and gave him money to pay for such
sketch, and when he asked for this sketch Rucker told him that they told
him at the Land Office that the whole country was vacant; that there had
been no surveys recorded in that section. Colonel Patton then struck out
alone, riding around and, after a few hours’ investigation, became
disgusted, having found quite a number of rock piles and blazed trees,
indicating that the country was not vacant and had been well surveyed
over by others.
Colonel Patton then told me that he was going back home, his whole trip
was a failure, that he wouldn’t stay with a crowd that had deceived him
so grossly. He planned to go back by himself, but I told him he should
not do so—if he was going back I would go with him. The whole party
started back to the center line, where we quit work. It was now late at
night, the moon shining brightly, and we were about ten miles away from
water, which we needed for our horses, before we could go into camp.
After riding over the high, rolling prairie on this beautiful night,
some seven or eight miles, coming over a ridge we discovered a few camp
fires in the bottom of Hubbard’s Creek, which, of course, were thought
to be Indian fires by our party. After consultation, we decided to make
a charge on them and scatter them. For this purpose we drew up in line,
having altogether about twenty men, and moved on them cautiously. When
within a few hundred yards of the bottoms, we were halted by a vidette
picket, who from his brogue, proved to be an Irishman. This indicated to
our party that the camp was of United States troops, and not Indians.
On arriving in camp we found Major Van Dorn with a troop of cavalry, on
his way from Fort Phantom Hill to Camp Cooper. The major, of course, was
glad to have us camp with him. During the night, Mr. Rucker learned that
Colonel Patton intended going straight for the settlements, without
company except myself. Major Van Dorn sent for Colonel Patton and begged
him to go to Camp Cooper with him, where he would no doubt find company
from there to Fort Belknap, and then again from Fort Belknap to
Weatherford, all of which were dangerous routes for one or two men to
travel alone, on account of Indians, but Colonel Patton wouldn’t listen
to such advice, claiming the Indians would never bother him and he would
have no trouble in getting back to the settlements with me.
The next morning we struck out in a straight line for the settlements,
all alone, without taking any provisions, as the old man was mad with
Rucker and would not ask for them, nor accept any when they were
offered.
This ride to the settlements proved one of the most trying the old
gentleman had ever been subjected to. It was, likewise, for me. We were
without water for a day and a half, when we struck running water in the
North Fork of Palo Pinto, and the second evening, late, we found a small
cornfield, about three or four acres, with a board shed and a pile of
ashes, indicating that this corn was made by some parties who had camped
there and finally abandoned on account of Indian depredations. We then
found a well-beaten path from this, leading in the direction we were
traveling. About six or eight miles from there we found a house, the
home of a frontier settler, with a wife and two children. All were much
rejoiced at seeing us and insisted on our staying a week, which, of
course, we had to decline and left the next morning, on our way home to
Waxahachie, which was reached in due time. This ended my frontier
visitation, determined never to go outside of the settlements again,
which I never did.
Soon after reaching Waxahachie, I was induced to accept a position with
a Mr. Leander Cannon at Hempstead, Austin County, who was then
conducting the largest mercantile business in that section of the State.
After serving about a year in the dry goods and clothing department, I
was induced by Mr. Cannon to take charge of his books, which I did for
about six or eight months, when he decided to sell out and offered me
his business, giving me all the time I needed to pay for it, if I would
enter into copartnership with one J. W. Fosgard, his former bookkeeper,
who was an educated, college man, from Sweden. Fosgard was very
egotistic and overbearing and I knew we could never get along,
therefore, I declined Mr. Cannon’s generous offer. He sold out to
Fosgard alone.
A short time after, I had an invitation to join R. P. Faddis in the
purchase of the business of Young & Bush, who, at the time, had a better
stock of goods than Cannon and made us a very attractive offer, giving
us all the time we wanted to pay them. This offer we accepted,
constituting the firm of Faddis & Graber. Faddis was the bookkeeper of
Young & Bush, and was a very popular man with the trade, which was
largely composed of the leading and richest planters in that section of
the Brazos country, and we soon built up a profitable business, though
unfortunately, for us, our country soon became involved in sectional
troubles, which prevented our restocking our reduced stock of goods and
finally culminated in secession and war.
War Record
CHAPTER IV
MY FIRST MILITARY EXPERIENCES.
R. P. Faddis was a native of Minnesota, raised and educated there, and
was about nine years my senior. He was more familiar with the true
conditions in the North than I was.
When war was threatened, before Sumter was fired on, minute companies
were organized in many of the important towns of Texas; forts and
arsenals on our frontiers were taken possession of by the State, and the
garrisons shipped North. A Captain Stoneman collected about five hundred
picked troops at Fort Brown and refused to surrender. Colonel Ford, an
old commander of Texas Rangers, collected about three hundred men and
demanded the surrender of the fort, which was refused.
An old New Orleans boat, called the General Rusk, was dispatched to
Galveston for reinforcements. On its arrival there, telegrams were sent
to Houston, Hempstead and Navasota, which places had organized
companies, for the companies to report by twelve o’clock that night for
passage on the General Rusk, for Brazos, Santiago. Twelve o’clock that
night found four companies aboard of this boat, coasting down the Gulf
in a storm, without ballast, rolling and making us all seasick; nearly
five hundred men lying on the lower deck. We finally arrived at Brazos
Santiago, where we found some other citizen soldiers in the old army
barracks, including the Davis Guards, under command of Captain Odium and
Dick Dowling.
After two weeks’ camping on Brazos Santiago Island, Captain Stoneman
surrendered Fort Brown, and, after disarmament, was sent North with his
troops. We then returned home and resumed our civic avocations.
We next organized a cavalry company, commanded by a Captain Alston;
Hannibal Boone, First Lieutenant, and W. R. Webb, Second Lieutenant. I
was offered the second lieutenancy, but declined, saying I would only
serve in a private capacity. I was not a military man, and never
expected to be. In about thirty days we were called to hasten to
Indianola on horseback, where they had collected more troops, which had
refused to surrender. We immediately started there and, when near
Victoria, we got information that these troops had also surrendered,
making it unnecessary to go any further, and we again returned home to
resume our several pursuits. The company then disbanded and largely
merged into a new company, organized for frontier protection against
Indians. I remained at home, attending to my business with Faddis.
A couple of young Englishmen had come to Hempstead about a year before
and started a foundry and machine shop, the second one in the State.
They were both experts in their business and good men, receiving the
financial support of the community, and soon owed our firm a large
amount of money for advances to their hands and monies loaned.
In July, 1861, the same year, Colonel Frank Terry, a large sugar planter
in Fort Bend County, and Thomas Lubbock of Houston, returned from the
battle of Manassas, where they had served as volunteer aides on the
staff of General Beauregard and through their intrepid daring and
valuable services, were commissioned to raise a regiment of Texas
Rangers.
Immediately upon their return, they issued a call for volunteers, to
serve during the war, in Virginia; the men to furnish their own
equipment. The response was prompt; in less than thirty days ten
companies of over one thousand men were on their way to Houston to be
mustered into the service of the Confederate States Army for the war.
The personnel was of the highest order, some of the best families in
South Texas were represented, many were college graduates, professional
men, merchants, stockmen and planters; all anxious to serve in the ranks
as privates; all young, in their teens and early twenties; rank was not
considered and when tendered, refused; the main desire was to get into
this regiment.
I told Faddis our firm must be represented, on which we agreed, and that
I wanted to join, but he insisted that it was his time to go, that I had
been out twice, and I finally had to yield him the right. He then
subscribed to join. The day he was ordered to Houston to be mustered in,
he declined to go and frankly told me that he only signed to keep me
from going, and he did his best to persuade me not to go. He said that
the South was deceived in the spirit and strength of the North; that the
North had every advantage of us—they had the army and navy, the
arsenals, the treasury and large manufactories, as well as five men to
our one; the whole world open to them, while we had nothing, our ports
would be blockaded and we would be forced to depend upon our own limited
resources, and, as to relying upon the justice of our cause, in the
language of Abraham Lincoln, “might was right and would surely conquer.”
I told him I could not agree with him and was satisfied the war would
not last three months. As soon as we could drive these people back into
their own territory, they would be willing to let us alone. “I am going
to take your place, Faddis.” I had about an hour to arrange for board
for my young brother and sister and Faddis agreed to look after them and
pay their board out of my interest in the business, which he pledged
himself to continue for our mutual benefit.
When we parted I expected to return inside of three months; he expected
he would never see me again, as I might be killed and, if I should
return, that I would be a crippled, subjugated man.
Faddis continued the business as far as he was able and finally, to
protect us, had to take over the foundry and machine shop, arranging
with our Englishmen to run it for him. He then, to keep out of the army,
turned his attention to repairing old guns, making swords and other
arms, and finally, on the persuasion of his English friends, cast a
nine-inch Armstrong gun, the only one ever successfully made in the
Confederacy.
This drew the attention of the Confederate Government, who impressed our
property, paid him eighty thousand dollars for it and gave him a permit
to stay in Brownsville and run cotton into Mexico, returning with goods.
On my return from the army, after four years, I heard of him through a
party who knew him in Brownsville. This party reported that Faddis had
more gold than he knew what to do with, and I concluded that I was
fixed, too, but I was unable to communicate with him, as we had no
mails, and did not hear from him until after two years, when he returned
to Hempstead broke. He had lost all in grain speculations in Chicago.
I next proceeded to Houston, where I was mustered in with the balance of
the regiment, to serve in Virginia, during the war. While in camp at
Houston, we organized our company, electing John A. Wharton of Brazoria
County captain of the company; who, on his election, made up a speech,
in which he said that he had no ambition to gratify more than to command
Company B, that he expected to return captain of Company B and did not
want any promotion. He was offered by the balance of the regiment in
connection with our company, the office of major. The balance of the
commissioned officers of the company were Clarence McNeil, first
lieutenant and Theodore Bennett, second lieutenant; and the
noncommissioned officers were distributed among the different sections
from which the company was made up; nobody caring for an office of any
kind, as a private was generally the equal of any officer in command.
All went to do their patriotic duty and contribute their mite for the
success of the cause.
We now started on horseback. After reaching Beaumont we returned our
horses to Texas, having to take boat to Lake Charles, Louisiana, from
whence we were forced to walk to New Iberia, carrying our saddles and
other equipment on wagons, across the country. At New Iberia we again
took boat for New Orleans; this was the only route open, as our ports
had been blockaded for some time, both at Galveston and at the mouth of
the Mississippi River.
During our stay in New Orleans for three or four days, we had a good
rest and waited for the balance of the companies to catch up. Colonel
Terry received a telegram from General Albert Sidney Johnston at Bowling
Green, Kentucky, stating that he had been ordered to take command in
Kentucky, and requested Colonel Terry to urge the men to come and serve
under him and, by way of inducement, authorized him to say that we
should be mounted on the best horses that Kentucky afforded and that we
should always remain a separate and distinct command, never to be
brigaded with any other troops as long as he lived. General Johnston was
well acquainted with the character of Texans, regarding them as fearless
and enthusiastic people, proud of their Texas history; and, knowing the
young men composing this regiment would endeavor to emulate the example
of the heroes of the Alamo, Goliad and San Jacinto, on which point, he
was not mistaken. General Johnston had been connected with the army,
under General Houston, and had also engaged in sugar planting near the
Kyle and Terry plantation in Fort Bend and Brazoria Counties, where a
great friendship sprang up between him and Colonel Terry. Colonel
Terry’s influence with the men of the regiment was unlimited and he had
no trouble in persuading the men to accept General Johnston’s offer and
serve with him in Kentucky.
While in New Orleans Colonel Terry made an official visit to General
Twiggs, an officer of the old army, who had resigned, and tendered his
services to the Confederacy, and who was then in command at New Orleans
and the Southwestern territory. Colonel Terry, while there, asked
information on the matter of obtaining cooking utensils and tents. When
General Twiggs, who had served many years on the frontier of Texas,
laughed him out of countenance, saying, “Who ever heard of a Texas
Ranger carrying cooking utensils and sleeping in a tent?” It is needless
to say that this matter was not mentioned again by Colonel Terry.
Our company arrived at Nashville, Tennessee, ahead of the balance of the
regiment, where we were quartered in the Fair Grounds, there to await
the arrival of the rest of the companies. I forgot to mention we started
out with the name of the “Texas Rangers,” with a reputation we had never
earned, but were called on to sustain; how well we did it, we leave
history to record our services during the four years we served the Army
of the West. While I would not make any invidious distinction as between
our regiment and others who served under Forrest, Wheeler and Wharton, I
am proud to be able to say that opportunities were afforded us, largely
by accident, that demonstrated our ability to meet every expectation of
department commanders, as evidenced by the following expressions during
the war:
“With a little more drill you are the equals of the old guard of
Napoleon.”—General Albert Sidney Johnston. “I always feel safe when the
Rangers are in front.”—General Wm. J. Hardee. “There is no danger of a
surprise when the Rangers are between us and the enemy.”—General
Braxton Bragg. “The Terry Rangers have done all that could be expected
or required of soldiers.”—Jefferson Davis.
While camped in the Fair Grounds, the citizens of Nashville, largely
ladies, came rolling in, in carriages and buggies; all anxious to see
the Texas Rangers, about whom history had written so much about their
fearlessness and being great riders. Colonel Terry called on not a few
of our men to ride horses that were taken out of buggies and carriages,
for the purpose of showing their horsemanship—the most popular feature
being a deposit of gold coins on the ground, the rider to run at full
speed, stooping down and picking them up. This extraordinary feat, in
connection with their general appearance; being armed with shotguns,
six-shooters and Bowie knives, seemed to sustain their idea of the Texas
Rangers that fought at the Alamo, Goliad and San Jacinto and served
under Jack Hayes, Ben McCollough and other Indian and Mexican fighters.
The regular army equipment for cavalry was the saber, the carbine and
six-shooter. This difference in equipment alone indicated that the Texas
Ranger expected and would fight only in close quarters. After a pleasant
stay at Nashville of nearly two weeks, we were ordered to go by rail to
Bowling Green, Kentucky, where we found an army of infantry and
artillery and three regiments of cavalry. Here we drew our horses by lot
and it was my good fortune to draw first choice out of about a thousand
horses tied to a picket rope. When all were ready to make their
selection I was directed to where these horses were tied and ordered to
make my selection, which I was not permitted to do with any degree of
deliberation. Having about a thousand men waiting on me, all anxious to
make their selection, a comrade, seeing I was confused and embarrassed,
offered to exchange his thirty-second choice for my choice, paying me a
liberal bonus. I was glad to accept it, mainly to get time to look
around among the rest of the horses, believing I would stand a better
chance to get a good mount. I had got short of money by that time, as we
paid our own expenses, except transportation, and this comrade was glad
to pay me for my first choice. We had no time to take out a horse and
try his gaits, and it proved largely guesswork in the selection of the
horses. The best gait for cavalry service is a long swinging walk and
fox trot; unfortunately my thirty-second choice proved a pacer.
After drawing our horses and preparing everything ready for active
service, the regiment under Colonel Terry was ordered on a scout to
Glasgow, Kentucky, where we were kindly received by its citizens and
took up our quarters at the Fair Grounds. Here the regiment spent
several days pleasantly, feasting on the good things brought in by the
ladies of the town.
The second day Colonel Terry ordered Captain Ferrell, with his company
and Company B, of which I was a member, to the little town of Edmonton,
Kentucky, where it was reported a part of a regiment of Federal cavalry
were quartered.
We started at night, which proved to be one of the coldest we had ever
been out in, riding all night. When nearly daylight, we reached the
suburbs of the town. I was riding a very spirited and nervous horse,
which refused to be quieted, while riding in line. In order to keep him
quiet, I had loosened the strap on his curb, which proved to be a
mistake. Nearing the town, the order came down the line “Silence in
ranks,” and soon my horse got to prancing. I jerked him by the reins,
throwing him on his haunches, when the hammer of my shotgun struck the
horn of the saddle and fired off my gun, which raised the alarm in town.
Immediately the order was given “Form fours; Charge!” which excited my
horse to such an extent that he broke ranks and flew up the line to the
front. Carrying my shotgun in my right hand, I was unable to check him
without the curb and he ran away with me, carrying me up into the town
on the square, about three hundred yards in advance of my command, where
I succeeded in checking him. For this I was reprimanded by Captain
Ferrell, who would not receive my explanation that the horse ran away
with me and claimed that I was too anxious to get there first.
Had the garrison not received information that we were moving on them
for an attack and left during the night for Mumfordsville, instead of
occupying the town as we expected, I no doubt would have been killed in
this, our first charge.
Captain Ferrell had orders from General Johnston to try to capture a spy
by the name of Burrell, who was making this town his headquarters and
who always stopped at the hotel. As soon as we entered the square we
were ordered to surround the hotel, which was done promptly. Captain
Ferrell then called the proprietor to the door, told him to tell the
ladies in the house to rise and dress, as he would have to search the
house for Burrell. The hotel man said that Burrell was there the evening
before, but left for Mumfordsville and was certainly not in the house.
Captain Ferrell told him that it made no difference, but to hurry up, he
was going to search the house.
The house was partly a two-story building, which had been added to the
gable end of the one-story building and the stair landing, built against
the gable of a one-story house, with a solid wood shutter covering, and
opening into the attic of the one-story building. The ladies took their
own time about getting ready for our search, perhaps nearly an hour;
some of them in the meantime coming to the door and repeating the
proprietor’s statement—that Burrell had left the evening before. When
they announced ready, I being near the door, dashed in ahead of all the
rest and up the stairs, when I discovered the wooden shutter, which I
jerked open, peering into the dark attic. Daylight had now fairly lit up
the surroundings and I discovered, through the light of the cracked
shingles, what I took to be a bundle of clothing at the far end, under
the corner of the roof. I cocked both barrels of my gun and called out,
“Come out; I see you; I’ll shoot if you don’t.” He answered, “Don’t
shoot.” If he had not answered I, no doubt, would have concluded, and
perhaps others that followed me, too, that it was an old bundle of
plunder. Proceeding down stairs with the prisoner, Burrell, who proved
to be quite an intelligent and good-looking gentleman, I carried him
into the parlor, where the ladies had congregated. They were all in
tears, with some of our boys laughing at them and telling them they were
story tellers.
Captain Ferrell, immediately on entering the square, detailed two men
for each road leading into the town, to picket these roads about
one-half mile from town. We built log fires on the square to keep us
warm during the day until about three o’clock in the evening. A citizen
then came in and, in an excited manner, told Captain Ferrell that a
large cavalry force was moving in between us and Glasgow, with a view of
cutting us off from our main command. The pickets arrested everybody
coming into town and by three o’clock we had about fifteen or twenty
prisoners, including some four or five Federal soldiers, who rode in on
them, thinking the town was still occupied by Federal troops. On
receiving information about this large cavalry force moving on a road
between us and Glasgow, Captain Ferrell gave the order to mount and form
fours, selecting what prisoners (about seven or eight, including
Burrell) and the soldiers, to take with us, and turning the balance of
them loose. He then placed me in charge of the prisoners, with four
others to help guard them. We then commenced our retreat to Glasgow.
When about three miles from town, another citizen dashed up to Captain
Ferrell, who rode in advance of the column, and reported the same large
cavalry force occupying our road some few miles ahead of us. Captain
Ferrell, who, by the way, was an old frontiersman, Indian and Mexican
fighter, dropped back and ordered me to tie Burrell’s ankles together,
under the horse’s body and if we got into a fight and he attempted to
escape, to not fail to kill him the first one. I don’t think I ever did
anything during the war that I hated as bad as I did to tie this man’s
ankles under the horse, but it was my orders from a man I knew would not
permit any plea for its modification, and I had to obey.
After riding about eight or ten miles, in this way, feeling sorry for
Burrell in his pitiful plight, I couldn’t stand it any longer and told
him if he would promise me he would not make a break when the guns
opened, that I would unloose the ropes and free his legs, for which he
thanked me. Then I told him to be careful and carry out his promise, for
if he did attempt a break, I would surely shoot him.
It seems that the report of these citizens proved only a ruse to induce
us to liberate our prisoners, as we were never fired on or again heard
of any Federal Cavalry in our front and safely reached Glasgow, where we
still found the balance of the regiment in camp.
Colonel Terry sent our prisoners to Bowling Green, highly pleased with
the capture of Burrell, for whom he had a special order by General
Johnston. I am satisfied Burrell was sent to Richmond, Virginia, and was
ultimately exchanged, as I saw the name of a Colonel Burrell, commanding
Kentucky troops mentioned in a war history, published in the North some
years after the War and on which point I trust I was not mistaken, and
that he is still in the land of the living.
CHAPTER V
OUR FIRST ENGAGEMENT
We now took up our line of march for Ritters, a point on the Louisville
& Nashville Pike, between Cave City and Woodsonville, with Hindman’s
Brigade of infantry and a battery of four pieces, camped at Cave City, a
few miles in our rear, and established our permanent camp, for the
purpose of scouting and picketing. This camp at Ritters in winter proved
to be a very trying one to us, raised in Texas in a mild and genial
climate. We had a great deal of snow and rain and the exposure on scouts
and picket duty soon developed pneumonia, measles and other troubles,
necessitating our patients to abandon camp life. They were sent to the
hospital at Nashville, where the ladies of Nashville were daily awaiting
trains. They would not permit patients to be carried to the hospital but
would take them to their private homes for personal care and treatment.
They showed a partiality for the Texas Rangers, no doubt largely through
sympathy, as we had left our distant, comfortable homes, burning all
bridges behind us, to fight for them and their country. Our regiment
soon dwindled down from a membership of one thousand to not more than
about four hundred for duty; many of the sick were permanently rendered
unable to return, while a great many died.
After serving nearly a month in the capacity of picket and scouts,
General Hindman, anxious to bring on an engagement with the enemy, who
were camped on Green River at Woodsonville and Mumfordsville, conceived
the idea of moving his camp. Instead of avoiding a collision, as he had
orders to do, he moved right toward the enemy’s lines, ordering Colonel
Terry, with our regiment, to move about a mile in his advance.
I was on picket duty, with part of a company, at Horse Cave, about three
miles south of the main pike from Bowling Green to Louisville, when
Captain Ferrell of the regiment, with part of his company, came by and
took us along, moving towards Woodsonville on a dirt road running
parallel with the pike on which were Hindman’s Brigade of infantry; with
the Louisville & Nashville Railroad running between the two. Just as we
came in sight of Rowlett Station, a point on a high ridge this side of
Woodsonville, we discovered the regiment, with Colonel Terry and General
Hindman about fifty feet in advance, moving in the direction of Rowlett
Station. Colonel Terry and General Hindman then discovered a Federal
line of infantry lying down behind a rail fence in front of them.
Hindman’s infantry were at least a mile behind, coming on, when they
discovered the enemy. General Hindman ordered Colonel Terry to withdraw
the regiment and let him bring up the artillery and infantry, and
dislodge them from their position. In the meantime, Captain Ferrell, in
command of the party I was with, had discovered the enemy in our front,
which was just across a railroad cut, spanned by the pike bridge.
Colonel Terry, in place of obeying the order of General Hindman to
withdraw, answered, “General Hindman, this is no place for you; go back
to your infantry,” and called on Captain Walker, who was in the rear
with the balance of the regiment, to come on, form into line and charge.
Simultaneously with his charge on the west side of the railroad, we,
under Ferrell, charged the enemy in front of us, behind the rail fence.
As soon as we moved forward, other Federals, behind trees and rocks, on
small hills on both sides, opened fire on us. Their troops behind the
fence held their fire until we got within fifty yards of them, then
turned loose. In less time than it takes to tell it, we charged them,
delivering our fire of double-barreled shotguns, breaking down the fence
and getting among them with our six-shooters. In a few minutes we had
run over them, although they numbered two to one, and to save themselves
many of them “possumed” on us, and feigned being dead, and by that means
saved their lives, though the main portion of them fled towards
Woodsonville, where, down in the edge of the timber, they were met by
heavy reinforcements. In this charge we lost a number of our best men,
killed and wounded. Among the killed was Colonel Terry, which proved an
irreparable loss, as no doubt, considering his fearlessness and dash, as
also his ability as a commander, he would have proven another Forrest, a
Napoleon of cavalry. General Hindman brought up his infantry and
artillery, a battery of four pieces, with which he opened on their fort
at Mumfordsville, and also on their line of infantry in the woods about
a half mile below us. The fort responded, but largely overshot us and
our battery. This proved our first baptism by fire. General Hindman was
notified by a scout that the enemy was crossing Green River in very
heavy force, near the Mammoth Cave, moving in our rear, which
necessitated falling back to Cave City. We brought off the bodies of our
dead and wounded, the remains of Colonel Terry being sent to Texas in
charge of Captain Walker, who was wounded, and the balance of the
wounded were sent to hospitals at Nashville.
The enemy we fought at this point proved to be the Thirty-second Indiana
Regiment, under Colonel Wilich, a German regiment, said to be the best
drilled regiment in Rousseau’s Army.
We next established our camp at Bell Station, a few miles in advance of
Cave City, where we continued scouting and picketing for the army. Both
armies now remained quiet for several months, collecting reinforcements
for a final clash; the rigors of the winter affecting our army perhaps
more than it did the Federal army, as they were used to a colder
climate. Our regiment was especially affected.
While encamped at Bell Station, I had a messmate by the name of
McDonald, who was taken sick with pneumonia and was unwilling to be sent
to the hospital at Nashville. He insisted on being taken to some good
private family in the neighborhood. I succeeded in finding the family of
Isaac Smith, an old gentleman who had six sons in Breckenridge’s Brigade
of infantry, and living about three miles from our picket stand with his
wife and two daughters. These good people were willing to take McDonald
and nurse him, our own surgeon attending him and myself assisting in
nursing him, frequently spending the night there. The oldest daughter
was also very sick, attended by a citizen doctor in the neighborhood,
who also took a deep interest in McDonald.
One day I received orders to report to the command; that Bowling Green
was being evacuated. We were ordered to join the army as quickly as
possible, Hindman’s Brigade having already arrived at Bowling Green.
This information proved to be bad news for McDonald, who was already
convalescent, but still very weak. He begged and pleaded to be taken to
Bowling Green and Nashville, saying he did not want to be captured. Old
Mr. Smith, then perhaps fifty-five years old, decided to hitch up his
wagon, as he had no buggy or hack, and haul McDonald to Bowling Green in
a wagon, as he wanted to refugee and stay with his boys in the army; he
feared to stay at home, surrounded by ugly Union neighbors.
We now put a mattress in the wagon, with plenty of bedclothing. We put
McDonald in the wagon, well protected from the cold, and, after a sad
parting with the family, proceeded to the Bowling Green pike, the old
man driving the wagon and I following on my horse. We reached Bowling
Green near night, just in time to witness the last cannon shot striking
one of the main pillars of the railroad bridge, which was an iron
extension, and saw it drop into the river. We crossed on a covered
wooden pike bridge.
On our arrival in town, we inquired for a good place to leave McDonald
for the night, which we were unable to find, but were recommended to go
out about two miles to a Mr. Roe’s, who had a large flouring mill. This
we did, and found excellent quarters for McDonald and myself for the
night; old Mr. Smith driving back to town and taking the Nashville pike
to try to find Breckenridge’s Brigade of Infantry, with which his sons
were connected.
During the night we had a very heavy snow. Mr. Roe had his buggy hitched
up and drove McDonald to the railroad station in town, myself following.
Roe was unable to remain with us, as we were expecting the enemy to
cross the river any moment and enter the town, hence left us by the side
of the track and returned home.
After a while, Colonel Wharton, with about fifteen or twenty men out of
our regiment, was ordered to destroy the depot and proceeded to fire it.
A train with a few passenger coaches and an engine to pull it, was
standing on the track on the outside, waiting for orders to move. A good
many convalescent soldiers from the hospital, including my friend
McDonald, squatted down by the roadside, waiting for the coaches to be
opened. As soon as the fire started in the station, the enemy opened a
battery on the place, using shells, which exploded all around us. The
engineer got scared, uncoupled his engine and pulled out, leaving our
train at the mercy of the artillery fire. Looking around for some kind
of a vehicle to take McDonald out of there, as he was too feeble to
attempt to ride my horse, I rode up town and found a two-horse wagon,
loaded with hams, flush to the top of the bed, which the driver had
taken from our commissary building and was hauling home. I stopped and
told him that I had a sick friend down at the station; that I wanted him
to go down there and haul my friend away. He said he wouldn’t go down
there for anything in the world. I pulled out my gun and told him to go;
and he went.
Arriving at the place, we cut open some infantry baggage that had
blankets tied to the knapsacks and put about a half dozen blankets on
top of the hams, lifting McDonald and laying him on top, covering him
with more blankets. In the meantime, the station was about consumed and
the artillery had ceased firing. After getting up on the square and
finding our troops had all left, I told this man that he would have to
drive on the Nashville Pike until we could catch up with our command,
which he did most reluctantly and only under the persuasion of my gun.
About a mile and a half below town we found our regiment drawn up in
line of battle. I sent for our surgeon, who examined McDonald and said
to the driver, “You will have to drive on down the road until we catch
up with my ambulances.” The driver said that he wouldn’t go any further;
said I, “If you don’t, we will have to hold on to this team until we
unload; I am going to save these hams for our regiment.” They were meat
that belonged to our commissary. He said that he wouldn’t go any
further, that we could take his team and wagon and go to —— with it.
The fellow was evidently afraid that we would force him into the army;
he thereby lost his team and wagon, which we had no idea of taking, and
he could have saved them by continuing with us.
Our army now took up its long line of retreat for Nashville; our
regiment covering the rear without any engagements, or the firing of a
single gun. On reaching Nashville, crossing the Cumberland River on the
suspension bridge about midnight, we got information that Port Donaldson
had surrendered, which made it necessary for our troops to leave
Nashville in great haste, which they did; protected in the rear by our
regiment. The army continued to Shelbyville, while we were ordered to
Fort Donaldson, to cover the escape of many men of the Fort Donaldson
army, whom we met scattered all along the road. The weather was most
severe.
The winding up of this winter I had a sad experience. About midnight,
the second night out, we pulled into a cedar grove by the side of the
road, the ground of which was soft and muddy. We tied our horses to the
trees around us, and arranged as best we could, to get a little rest and
sleep, putting down our oilcloths next to the mud, then our saddle
blankets and each having a good blanket and overcoat for cover. My
messmate, John Cochran, laid by me, and we soon dropped into a sound
sleep, being tired and worn out, and without having had a bite of
anything to eat that day and no forage for our horses.
Waking up some time during the night, I felt a curious feeling about my
head. Putting my hand to my head I found my hair clotted with blood. I
woke up Cochran, my companion, and told him that some one had struck me
over the head with a gun, which proved a mistake. Our horses being tied
in the cold, without any feed, had pulled the length of the rope and
commenced pawing, when one of them pawed me on the head with a sharp
shoe, which caused a deep cut of my scalp. We then decided we would move
through the woods until we could strike some house, and soon struck a
country road. After traveling perhaps a mile, we discovered a little log
house by the side of the road and through the cracks of the batten door,
we saw a bright fire burning on the inside. We knocked on the door,
which was answered by a very old gentleman, whom we told that we wanted
to come in and dress my wounds. He asked who we were. We told him we
were Confederate soldiers, camped near there and the cause of my hurt.
He received us very kindly, invited us into his main room, which
contained a double bed where his old wife was sleeping. As soon as she
saw my bloody condition, she jumped up, dressed, heated some water and
with nice clean towels, commenced bathing my head and dressing my
wounds. She then went to work, put some clean sheets and pillowcases on
the bed and insisted on our lying down and taking a good nap, while she
prepared breakfast for us.
While we told them that it was dangerous for us to sleep in a bed, as we
were not used to it and it would give us a cold, we were compelled to
take the bed on their refusal to listen to anything else.
When we awoke next morning after daylight, the old lady had a splendid
breakfast of fried chicken prepared for us, fine biscuit and good
Confederate coffee—made of rye and parched sweet potatoes; everything
on the table was neat and spotlessly clean and I do not think we ever
enjoyed a meal during the whole war better than we did this.
When we prepared to leave, we asked the old gentleman for our bill; he
seemed to feel hurt, and said, “The idea of charging a Confederate
soldier for anything he had!” This was out of the question with him; all
he asked, if we ever happened in that neighborhood, in twenty miles of
him, to be sure to make him another visit, for he hoped to meet us
again. Thanking them for their exceeding kindness, we then walked back
to camp, where we found many of our comrades still in deep sleep, with
no forage for the horses.
In the course of a few hours the bugle called to saddle up, and we
resumed our march to Shelbyville, and caught up with a good many of our
retreating infantry. Here we spent two days and had our first taste of
an attempt at discipline by Major Harrison, who was then in command;
Colonel Wharton being sick somewhere on the line of our retreat.
It seems that Major Harrison met a couple of our men in town without
permission and ordered them to return to camp immediately, which they
refused to do. When he returned to camp he ordered these men arrested by
the camp guards and placed on the pike, marking time. A Mr. Sam Ash of
Company B (now still living in Houston) went to these men and led them
back to camp, telling them that no such disgraceful punishment should be
inaugurated in the regiment. The infantry were passing frequently and we
considered it a disgrace to the Texas Ranger to submit to such
punishment. Major Harrison finally yielded and passed the incident, but
to a great extent, lost the respect of the command.
The army now continued its retreat through Shelbyville, Huntsville,
Decatur to Corinth, Mississippi, without incidents of note, except the
burning of bridges behind us. We also destroyed the magnificent bridge
across the Tennessee River at Decatur.
It may be not out of place, before going further, and to give the reader
a better idea of the character of the Texas Rangers, to mention an
expression of Hardee’s. While passing through Huntsville, Alabama, some
ladies, in company with General Hardee, were standing on the sidewalk,
watching us pass, cheering and waving their handkerchiefs at us, when
one of them remarked to General Hardee, saying “General, the Rangers are
the best soldiers you have; are they not?” He told them no, he was not
stuck on them, saying that they would not submit to any discipline or
drill; but he was willing to say that in a battle, or when called on to
meet a forlorn hope, the Rangers always responded. General Hardee was
one of the strictest disciplinarians in our army and wrote the military
tactics that were used by both sides.
We soon arrived at Corinth, where we were assigned a camp ground about
two miles from the place, near a spring and we here witnessed new
additions to the main army. Occasionally scouting parties from the
regiment were sent out in different directions towards the Tennessee
River, which duties were always performed to the satisfaction of the
commanding officers.
CHAPTER VI
AN ACCIDENTAL INJURY—SHILOH—THE “MARK-TIME” MAJOR.
Our regiment, one night, was ordered out to report at daylight to some
point up the Tennessee River, the night being very dark—one of the
darkest nights we ever traveled in—and branches and small streams very
boggy. Colonel Wharton, at the head of the regiment, was riding a very
fast walking horse. We struck many places in these branches where it was
only possible for one horse to cross at a time, and Wharton, as soon as
across, would strike out in his fast walk, leaving the rest of his
command to come on as best they could. This threw the rear end of the
regiment considerably behind and we had to lope at full speed to catch
up with our file leaders after crossing these bad places. In one of
these races to catch up, my horse stumbled and fell, pitching me over
his head, with my left arm extended, and I sustained a dislocation of my
left arm. Considerably stunned by the fall, and suffering great pain
from this dislocation, a comrade was sent back with me to Corinth, where
I had a surgeon to replace my arm, with instructions to carry it in a
sling until it got well. Our regiment returned the next night without
having discovered any of the enemy and was then ordered to prepare three
days’ rations, as was also the rest of the army.
In the meantime, the enemy had landed a large force, under General
Grant, at Pittsburg Landing. Our regiment was ordered out with no one
knowing where they were going, until they moved in the direction of
Pittsburg Landing. They were immediately followed by the whole army, and
on the fifth of April, they engaged the enemy and fought the battle of
Shiloh; our regiment was moved about on the field from right to left. As
the dense woods did not afford an opportunity for mounted cavalry, they
were unable to do much fighting, except, about ten o’clock the first
day, they were dismounted and ordered to charge through a thicket at Owl
Creek, which they had to do single file, and were shot down by a large
infantry force as fast as the men made their appearance in the open.
Soon realizing that it was impossible to dislodge the enemy from their
position with this handful of men, they were immediately ordered to fall
back. This proved the extent of their active engagement, but they served
as a corps of observation on both flanks until Tuesday evening.
After the second day’s engagement, Grant’s army having been reinforced
on Sunday night by the whole of Buell’s army (as large as our army
originally), our army was compelled to retreat, which was done in a
heavy rain, rendering the road to Corinth almost impassable for
artillery and ambulances. Realizing that our army was in great danger of
being annihilated, General Beauregard sent for General Breckenridge, who
was on the field with his Kentucky Brigade, ordering him to cover the
retreat and try to save the army. General Breckenridge responded that he
would protect the army if it cost the last man he had. This occurred on
Tuesday after the battle. Our regiment, what was left of it, and Colonel
Forrest, with about fifty men, were ordered to support General
Breckenridge. Breckenridge’s Brigade was drawn up near the old
battlefield. In their front, about a quarter of a mile away, two lines
of battle of the enemy were seen to form with a brigade of cavalry,
mounted, in their front, covering their movement. Breckenridge’s Brigade
was then moved to the rear a short distance, to a position where they
were hid by lying down. Our regiment, in command of Major Harrison, and
Colonel Forrest with his fifty men, soon formed in front of
Breckenridge, preparing to charge the enemy.
As heretofore stated, Colonel Harrison, up to this time, on our retreat,
did not have the confidence or respect of the men on account of a
blunder he committed at the small town of Jimtown in Kentucky, which
caused him to be dubbed the “Jimtown Major;” then again, on account of
his ordering some boys to mark time on the Shelbyville Pike, was dubbed
the “Mark-time Major.”
A large number of the regiment had been congregated on the pike, at the
point from which Ash had led the prisoners, and when Major Harrison
reached the spot, after hearing what had been done, he was met by angry
glances on every hand for presuming to treat two gentlemen so
inconsiderately. Disregarding their menacing looks Major Harrison called
out, “Is there an officer of my regiment present who will execute my
orders?” when Pat Christian (then a lieutenant in Company K) stepped to
the front, with a salute, and said, “Major, I will.” Then Major Harris
ordered him to get a file of men and bring the two prisoners back to
complete their sentence, and to inform him instantly if interfered with.
It was here that Christian, afterwards captain of his company, and then
major and later lieutenant colonel, first attracted the attention of the
regiment, afterwards so devoted to him, for his gallantry and his good
traits of character, and here that the regiment had its first lesson in
military discipline, under an officer temporarily unpopular, who
afterwards won their high respect.
For the first time since our retreat, he was in command of the regiment,
Colonel Wharton having been wounded, and very soon the enemy commenced a
scattering fire, while the regiment was forming, occasionally striking a
man or a horse. The men became restive and wanted to charge, but Major
Harrison rode down the line saying to them, “Be quiet, boys, ’till your
‘Jimtown Mark-time Major’ gets ready for you,” in a very cool and
deliberate manner, and finally in ordering the charge said, “Now, follow
your Jimtown Major.” He led them on to the cavalry, which, in an
impetuous charge, they drove right in among their infantry, and, on
account of their being confused in the mix-up, the enemy fell back a
short distance, and the regiment brought out a number of prisoners.
While this charge proved a success, we lost a number of valuable men in
killed and wounded. This was the last fighting on the battlefield of
Shiloh.
I have not entered into any details of the battle, as history gives such
a complete account, written by both sides, that its details are well
known, and as the purpose of this writing is to recount my own personal
history and because I was not actively engaged with the regiment during
the battle, I find it unnecessary to give the details.
As heretofore stated, I was suffering with a dislocated arm, the effects
of my fall, and did not move out with the regiment when they started on
this trip; but on Sunday morning, hearing the guns of Shiloh in our camp
at Corinth, I mounted my horse and struck out for the field. Unable to
learn where our regiment was posted, I remained with an infantry
command, offering my services to the extent of what I was able to do,
but I was not called on during the several days’ battle, except to carry
a few orders from place to place.
I reached Corinth, Mississippi, where our camp was located, on Thursday,
aiding and assisting about a half dozen wounded men of the Second Texas,
allowing them to ride my horse when they were able. These men were
completely exhausted, as they did nothing else but stand in line all day
Sunday ’till four o’clock in the evening, firing their guns, and again
on Monday, opposed to Buell’s fresh army, which proved the hardest
fighting during the battle. “All honor to the Second Texas.”
Recalling General Albert Sidney Johnston’s promise in a telegram to
Colonel Terry at New Orleans, that we should never be brigaded as long
as he lived; his death at four o’clock on Sunday evening cancelled this
promise. General Beauregard then took command of the army.
A few days after the battle of Shiloh, having recuperated our horses, as
well as the men, Colonel Wharton was ordered to report to a General
Adams, who had a Kentucky regiment, and General Adams, with this
regiment and the Eighth Texas, was ordered on a raid into Middle
Tennessee, with instructions to capture and destroy everything of the
enemy he could meet up with and was able to handle.
We crossed the Tennessee River at Lamb’s Ferry, the ferry boat being
propelled by a paddle wheel, driven by a horse-tread power. Here we left
our wagons and all our extra luggage, as well as cooking utensils,
awaiting our return, but the Federal cavalry a few days after, crossed
the river, captured our entire storage and we never saw cooking utensils
or tents afterwards, and were thereby reduced to the condition of the
real Texas Ranger as on the frontiers of Texas.
Immediately after crossing the Tennessee River we struck a considerable
infantry force, with artillery. General Adams, in place of attacking
them, moved us around them in great haste, thereby avoiding a collision
and getting away, leaving them shelling the woods for several hours,
while we were making distance. We next struck the Pulaski Pike, finding
about two hundred wagons, loaded with two bales of cotton on each and a
guard of two men with each wagon. General Adams drew us out of sight and
hearing and would not allow Colonel Wharton to capture this train, which
could have been done without the loss of a man. But no doubt as General
Adams suggested, in doing this we would stir up a hornet’s nest and get
the whole Yankee army in pursuit of us. Wharton was powerless to do
anything, held back by General Adams.
When near the town of Fayetteville, Lincoln County, Tennessee, a citizen
sent out by the garrison of the town, numbering about five hundred
cavalry, told us to come in; they wanted to surrender; they were tired
of the war and wanted to go home. General Adams conceived this to be a
trick of theirs and declined their invitation, moving us around the town
in the night by a path in the woods, guided by a citizen, thereby losing
a splendid opportunity of capturing this garrison.
The second night after this, we camped at the town of Salem, about ten
miles south of Winchester, and at Winchester the next night, where
information reached us that about two thousand infantry, moving in
wagons, and a battery of artillery, had been in pursuit of us and had
been camped at Salem the next night after we were there, and was
expected to follow us to Winchester. The road from Salem to Winchester
was a straight lane with high rail fences on each side. At a point about
equal distance between Salem and Winchester, was a large woods lot,
running up to the lane, as noticed by Colonel Wharton. He suggested to
General Adams that we go back, remain concealed in this woods, close to
the road and when the enemy came along, riding in wagons, that we charge
them and force them to surrender. This seemed good to General Adams and
an opportunity he was willing to risk.
We moved around to this woods lot, remaining there until about daylight,
when information reached us that the Yankees had already passed and were
then occupying Winchester. We immediately returned to Winchester and
found them drawn up behind a railroad cut, with a commanding position
for their battery. They opened this battery on us, using shells, as soon
as we came in sight. Then Colonel Wharton, riding ’round hunting a place
to charge them, decided this could not be done without the loss of a
great many men and a charge might result in failure; we, therefore,
moved around Winchester, passing through Decherd’s depot and pitched
camp in Hawkins Cove, perhaps twenty miles distant from Winchester.
The second day in camp in Hawkins Cove, a citizen came and reported to
General Adams that the Yankees were at his house with a couple of
wagons, loading his meat, and begging him to send a small force to drive
them away. A company of the Kentucky regiment and Company B of the
Rangers, which was the company to which I belonged, were detailed for
this service. When we reached this man’s house they had already left
with his meat and were driving fast, back into town. We struck a lope,
endeavoring to catch up with them, but failed. The Kentucky captain,
being the ranking officer, was in command; riding at the head of the
column and running over the pickets on a bridge near town, he carried us
right into the town, up to the courthouse square. This charge proved a
complete surprise. We found the enemy scattered all over town and a
large party of them in the courthouse, being the only parties we felt
free to fire on, as there were no women and children about. We heard the
artillery bugle and concluded to get out of there, which we did very
promptly and in such good time the artillery never had a chance to fire
a shot at us.
Some years after the war, a Winchester paper was sent me, giving an
account of fifty Texas Rangers attacking two thousand infantry and
artillery in their town, with a loss of only one man, who had his arm
broken by an explosive ball.
We returned to our camp in Hawkins Cove. On that night General Adams
came down to Colonel Wharton’s camp fire and announced that he would
start across the mountain, for Chattanooga, the next morning, and secure
artillery, that he could not undertake to remain in Middle Tennessee
without it. Colonel Wharton had become exasperated at General Adams’
conduct the entire trip and told him to take his Kentucky regiment and
go to Halifax with it, if he wanted to—that he intended remaining in
Middle Tennessee and doing what he could to carry out the original order
of General Beauregard.
After a few days’ rest in Hawkins Cove, where the enemy did not attempt
to molest us, a messenger reached us, with orders from General Kirby
Smith at Knoxville, to report to Colonel Forrest at McMinnville, which
Wharton did, as soon as we reached there. After a day’s rest Colonel
Forrest (who had the First and Second Georgia and a Tennessee battalion,
all cavalry) in conjunction with our regiment, started, late evening,
for Murfreesboro, which was then the headquarters for Tennessee, of the
Federal Army, with Major General Crittenden in command. Murfreesboro’s
garrison consisted of the Ninth Michigan Infantry, a part of a regiment
of cavalry located in their camp to the right of town, the Third
Minnesota and a battery of artillery on the northwest of town. They had
about one hundred prisoners in the courthouse, upstairs, with a strong
guard downstairs.
Greatly outnumbering us, our success depended on a surprise. When near
their advance picket on the pike, Colonel Forrest asked for some Rangers
to capture this picket without the fire of a gun, which was done in very
short order. He then had a consultation with the commanders of the
different regiments, and it was decided that Colonel Wharton, with our
regiment in advance and the Second Georgia next in column, attack the
Ninth Michigan and the cavalry camp on the right. To reach them he had
to turn into a side street about two or three blocks from the
courthouse, where Colonel Forrest halted, awaiting for his part of the
command to come up to take them through town to the Third Minnesota and
battery camp, ignoring the courthouse as much as possible.
After our regiment had passed into the side street, following Wharton,
Forrest discovered that the Georgians and Tennesseans had failed to come
up and immediately decided to take what was left of our regiment and
lead them to the attack on the Third Minnesota and the battery north of
the town. This gave him a force of only about fifty or sixty men. By
this action he cut our company about half in two, which threw me into
the first set of fours at the head of the column, with Forrest riding by
my side, on my right. Nearing the courthouse, a couple of Federals up in
the second story door, dropped down on their knees and raised their guns
to fire, but Forrest and I fired ahead of them. When Forrest fired his
pistol, his horse dodged almost in front of me, just as I fired, very
nearly shooting Forrest through the head. I have often thought what a
misfortune this would have been, as I came very near killing a man who
turned out to be the Napoleon of cavalry.
In the upper story of the courthouse were confined about one hundred
prisoners, some of Morgan’s men, but mostly civilians, and the
courthouse was guarded by about one hundred men, who fired on us through
doors and windows. We moved around the courthouse, some to the left and
some to the right, as the courthouse was standing in the middle of the
square immediately fronting the center of the street we came up on.
About the time we reached the courthouse, Wharton, with the balance of
the regiment, had charged the Michigan camp, many of whom were asleep in
their tents, and the noise of the battle reached us about the time we
fired into the courthouse. As stated, Forrest with about fifty men in
columns of fours, except a few that were left on the courthouse square,
shot down by courthouse guards, moved on to the north of town, where he
lost his bearings and was compelled to get a citizen out of his house,
to pilot us to the Minnesota camp and battery. When we reached there we
found the men up and dressed and the battery opened on us, throwing a
few shells among us, which scattered us and caused the disappearance of
Forrest. We were in an old field, and on leaving, I was called by a
Kentuckian, who had volunteered to go with us into the fight and had his
arm shattered by a piece of shell, begging me to not go off and leave
him. He was hardly able to sit on his horse. I rode up, taking his horse
by the bridle, leading him up to a fence in the edge of the timber, with
a scattering fire directed on us. I dismounted and let down the fence,
leading his horse over it. While doing this, noticing I was trying to
get off a wounded comrade, they gallantly ceased firing on us. I now led
my wounded friend through the woods, until we reached a house, about a
mile from there, when the gentleman at the house hitched up his buggy,
and, placing my friend in the buggy, he drove around the town, with
myself following, leading the wounded man’s horse, until we reached a
point about a mile below town, where we found the Rangers collecting
what was left of them, out of the Michigan camp fight and also the few
men who were with Forrest in the old sedge field when fired on by the
Third Minnesota and battery.
The regiment formed and gathered at this point about a mile below town,
awaiting further orders, with Wharton, wounded again, directing the
formation, when a messenger came from Forrest, who was then up town with
his Georgia and Tennessee battalions, ordering us back up into town.
After joining the Georgians and having displayed about three times as
many men as he really had, by moving them around a block, in sight of
the enemy (who had gathered and formed, in a splendid position,
supported by their battery) Forrest went in, under a flag of truce and
demanded their immediate surrender, telling them that he had five men to
their one and was determined to take them; that if he had to make
another charge on them, on their own heads be the responsibility; that
the little fight had, was only with his advance guard, that he had five
hundred Texas Rangers he couldn’t control in a fight, and the
responsibility was with them. After deliberating on the matter for a few
minutes, they raised the white flag and surrendered. The result of this
surrender was a parole of eighteen hundred and sixteen privates at
McMinnville, the further capture of forty-seven commissioned officers,
including Major General Crittenden, with Colonel Duffield of the Ninth
Michigan badly wounded in the Michigan camp; thirty-eight wagonloads of
valuable stores; a magnificent battery of four pieces of artillery and
several million dollars’ worth of commissary and quartermaster’s stores,
destroyed by fire.
I would also mention the release of two citizen prisoners confined in
the jail, who were condemned to be hung the next day, as spies. The wife
of one of these men, with many other ladies, witnessed our passing
through Woodbury. Learning that we were going to Murfreesboro, she wrung
her hands and begged and plead with us to bring her husband back. Some
of the men who heard her, answered that we would surely bring her
husband back, which we did the next day.
A dastardly act I will recount here—of one of the Federal guards
stationed at the jail. When he found we were about to capture the town,
he set fire to the jail, which no doubt would have burned the poor
prisoners, but the fire was promptly extinguished by several of our men,
who succeeded in capturing the fellow who started the fire and in taking
him before General Forrest. Forrest pulled out his pistol and killed him
on the spot, a well-deserved punishment.
On marching our prisoners to McMinnville, the commissioned officers who
had been captured, were given the privilege of the pike, they taking a
parole not to attempt to make their escape. When this high privilege was
offered Major General Crittenden, he refused the courtesy, telling
Forrest that he could not accept, as his government didn’t recognize him
as a regular Confederate soldier and only knew him as a guerilla.
Forrest told him that it made no difference with him and he furnished
him with a guard of two Texas Rangers, dressed in buckskin, wearing
Mexican sombreros. These men were somewhat wild in appearance, no doubt,
to General Crittenden. After riding along with his guards for an hour or
two, one man on each side of him, occasionally nodding at each other,
the general concluded that perhaps they were planning to kill him, and
had them take him up to Colonel Forrest, when he asked Forrest to parole
him and give him the privilege of the pike, like the rest; saying he
verily believed that these men would kill him.
After paroling the privates at McMinnville, permitting them all to
retain their private property, which included a magnificent set of
silver band instruments, Forrest told the officers that they would have
to be taken to Knoxville to General Smith’s headquarters and directed
Colonel Wharton, who was wounded, with Company B, his old company, to
take charge of them, the battery and thirty-eight wagonloads of valuable
stores. He requested Colonel Wharton, when he got safely up on top of
the mountain, by way of Sparta, to send back a messenger, reporting that
fact, and I was sent back with this message to Colonel Forrest.
Reaching Sparta about daylight, I could not find any one who could tell
me the whereabouts of Forrest’s command, and struck out, back in the
direction of McMinnville, when incidentally I met a citizen, who
reported that they were camped at a certain place in the woods between
Sparta and Lebanon, which I succeeded in finding about noon. Reporting
to Colonel Forrest that Wharton had got up on top of the mountain safely
with his prisoners, artillery and wagons, I told him that I didn’t feel
like going back to catch up with my company, going to Knoxville, lying
around in camp and that I wanted to remain with the regiment and asked
his permission to do so. He kindly consented and told me to report to
the regiment and stay with them.
CHAPTER VII
I AM WOUNDED AND CAPTURED.
The Rangers now felt that they were commanded by somebody who meant
business and that there was plenty of work in store for them. After
remaining in this camp another day, we started for Lebanon, in the
night, where it was understood a considerable cavalry force of the enemy
were camped. Reaching the town about daylight, we formed fours and
charged in, being greeted by ladies, through their windows, waving
handkerchiefs and cheering, with no Federal cavalry in town, they having
moved to Murfreesboro during the night, in great haste, learning we were
on the way.
Here at Lebanon, we found, as in nearly every town we had been in in
Middle Tennessee, a strong Southern people, who, while we were camped
there for two days, gave us a great feast of everything that was good,
which was heartily enjoyed by the whole command. Forrest, on being
interviewed as to what was next on docket, said that he was going to
take Nashville, though strongly fortified, and garrisoned by an infantry
force of not less than ten thousand men under General Nelson.
On the early morning of the third day, we started out on the main
Nashville pike, moving along at an ordinary gait, occasionally meeting
citizens, out from Nashville, saying there was great excitement among
the Yankees, and they were digging additional pits and preparing a
strong defense. When we reached within twelve miles of Nashville, we
struck a road leading through the cedars, to La Vergne, a station
between Murfreesboro and Nashville. Before reaching La Vergne, General
Forrest detailed about two hundred Rangers, under Captain Ferrell, to
meet and capture a train from Murfreesboro, at La Vergne, which they
succeeded in doing, capturing a large number of commissioned officers,
who were on their way home on furlough, and capturing also the mails and
express freight. Among these prisoners I will mention the kind-hearted
and excellent business man among us today, a Mr. Fordyce, of the
Pierce-Fordyce Oil Association, one of the largest oil concerns doing
business in Texas.
Forrest, with the balance of the command, went to work tearing up the
railroad between La Vergne and Nashville, burning trestles and bridges
and tearing up the track. We then again retired to McMinnville. Before
leaving in front of Nashville, Colonel Forrest asked for a detail of
about fifteen or twenty men, who were selected from the Rangers and
joined by four or five of Morgan’s men, who happened to be along. I was
one of this party, and we were all under the command of a Captain
Gordon, who proved to be a reckless fellow, unfit to command such a
party successfully. We crossed Cumberland River near Lebanon, in a bend
called Little Dixie. Little Dixie was settled with some of the strongest
Southern and most liberal people in the State, and regarded as a safe
haven for the wounded Confederate soldiers, whom these good people would
nourish and care for, to the extent of any character of risk. While
crossing there, we promised the ladies if any of us were wounded, we
would not fail to make our way back, so they could take care of us until
able to join our command. Our orders from Colonel Forrest for the
expedition were to collect information on the disposition of the Federal
forces, preparatory to a general raid of our cavalry.
After crossing the river, we moved up towards the Louisville & Nashville
Railroad, circulating through that section quite extensively, gathering
information, and, on our return, we decided to capture a railroad train,
with the mails from the army, which always proved very valuable, as the
soldiers were always writing home on the movements of their army, which
proved most valuable information for our headquarters.
In accordance with our plans, we struck the Louisville & Nashville
Railroad between Woodburn and Franklin, at a point about equidistant
between the two places; watering our horses at a branch within hearing
of a Union man’s house, who was awakened and decided that we had about
three hundred men, supposing us to be of Morgan’s command. Riding around
in the branch, as we did, led him to the conclusion that we had about
three hundred men. We struck the railroad about daylight, when we
removed a few spikes, spreading the track, for the purpose of stopping
the train and, being in a thick woods out of hearing, with no settlement
near, we all laid down for a short nap. The mail train from the army was
due at this point about eleven-thirty; another mail train from above was
due about twelve o’clock, with numerous freight trains, carrying troops
and war material, due throughout the day, also trains returning with
wounded and discharged soldiers.
We heard the mail train whistle, from below, when it reached Franklin,
and nothing of any other train, waiting until between three and four
o’clock in the evening. I became satisfied that we were going to be
caught in a trap and so told Gordon, insisting on leaving there, but
Gordon refused to listen; he had just about sense enough to lose what he
had. Finally, between three and four o’clock we heard the train, and
immediately took position by the side of the track, having nineteen men
for the fight, two of the men remaining with our horses, in the rear.
All that could get trees for shelter, within twenty feet of the track
took position behind trees, while eight of us, unable to find trees
convenient, laid down flat on the ground. Very soon the train came up,
turning a bend in the road about a half mile below us. The engineer, to
fool us, put on more steam, making us think that they were entirely
ignorant of our presence, and stopped right at the place we had shifted
the rail. Soon they were right on us and began firing with about three
hundred muskets, killing seven of our party, who were lying on the
ground and jumped up, and badly wounding me, but the balance of our
party, eleven strong, behind trees, with six-shooters, drove those
fellows off the train on to the other side of the track. There the
commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colonel (Blank), succeeded in forming
about a hundred men in line in about twenty minutes, so he stated to me
at the hospital at Bowling Green, where he made me a visit about a week
after, furthermore stating that he believed if we had had about
twenty-five more men we would have gotten his train. It seems that this
was the first time these people were ever under fire and when under the
impression that we had three hundred of Morgan’s men, they were no doubt
demoralized at the noise of their own guns.
The citizen at whose house we watered our horses at the branch had spied
out our exact location on the railroad, a desolate place, where Morgan’s
cavalry had captured a train before. He went to Franklin, where he met
the train from the army, reported three hundred of Morgan’s men, when
they ran the train back to Gallatin, Tennessee, unloaded the mails and
express freight and took this regiment aboard, also notifying other
trains that we were on the road, which caused their delay.
While the Federals were jumping off the train on the other side, we fell
back to our horses, mounting, leaving the horses belonging to the men
that were killed; not knowing at the time just who was left behind. I
was able to run back and mount my own horse, with the assistance of a
comrade. We hurried out of there, taking the road by which we had come,
by this Union man’s house, where I stopped to get me a drink of water. I
had just been relieved of my pistol belt, and had grown very weak and
faint from the loss of blood, which had collected in my boots, and was
about to fall from the horse when I was caught by a comrade. Some one
called out, “Here they come!” This aroused me. I made them hand me my
pistols. We drew up in line in the lane and saw a party in the edge of
the timber. Drawing our pistols we waved them at them and urged them to
come on, which they didn’t do. We soon discovered that they were only
parties from the train who had found our dead men’s horses and were
afraid to come forward.
We now continued our march on this country road about eight or ten
miles. I became too weak to travel and, satisfied that being encumbered
with me would cause them all to get captured or killed, I insisted on
their leaving me, believing that I was done for, anyway.
We soon reached a Mr. White’s (an humble log house) who had two sons in
Breckenridge’s Brigade, and had with him his wife and daughter. He was
an ardent Southern man and promised my comrades that I should have every
attention, if left with them. Before leaving, I begged them to let me
keep my pistols, which they failed to do, thinking it was best to leave
me disarmed, as it proved to be.
My comrades then proceeded in haste to get out of that neighborhood and
made for the Cumberland River, our main army then being near
Chattanooga. In about an hour a citizen doctor came to see me and filled
my wound full of cotton, in order to check the bleeding, saying that
this was all that he could do for me; he had to hurry back home, lest he
was caught giving me his attention, believing his neighbors would hang
him and burn his family out of house and home, as this section of the
country was inhabited by a desperate, vindictive Union people.
During the evening a young man called and claimed to be a good Rebel,
saying that he had an uncle, who was also a good friend of the South,
living up in the mountains, and if he could succeed in taking me there,
that I would be perfectly safe. He arranged with me to come that night,
with a hack, and take me to his uncle’s, which he failed to do.
Mr. White’s house was a double log house, a room at each end, with about
a ten-foot hall in between, but no porch in front, a step at each room,
leading out into the yard and heavy batten doors covering the door
opening. Old Mr. White occupied a bed in the room with me, while his
wife and daughter occupied a room at the other end. They had improvised
a cot for me, in the middle of the room, so they could get around it.
They used wick and tallow lamps for lights, which created a bad smell in
the room and annoyed me a great deal, as I had considerable fever. Some
time after midnight I begged the old man to extinguish his lamp, and
very soon thereafter, I heard voices in the yard and immediately a
pounding on the door with the butt end of a gun. The reader can imagine
my feelings; I was satisfied they were Tories and my time had come. I
would then have given a kingdom for my pistols and, no doubt, would have
opened on them as they came in. They called and demanded of the old man
to open the door quick. He told them to wait until he could strike a
light, which he did. I was in position, from where I lay, to notice them
coming in and to my great relief, saw a lieutenant and ten men in
uniform, passing around me. Here was one time I was glad to see the
Federal uniform. When they got up to my bunk, I feigned sleep and
listened to what they had to say. The lieutenant asked the old man if I
was badly hurt. He told him to turn down the sheet and he could judge
for himself, when the lieutenant expressed his surprise and said, “I’m
afraid we won’t be able to move him.” Now I concluded it was my time to
say something. I opened my eyes and feigned bewilderment, looking up at
them. The lieutenant asked, “Are you hurt much, sir?” I told them no, I
did not think I was, and couldn’t understand why I had been left there.
The lieutenant asked if I thought that I could stand to be hauled to
Woodburn, a station about five miles from there and the first station
this side of Bowling Green. I told him I was satisfied I could stand it
all right. He then ordered the old gentleman to direct him where he
could find feed for his horses, also to have breakfast for his men by
daylight and have his own team and wagon ready to haul me to their camp
at a church about four miles from there, where the balance of his
regiment, the Eleventh Kentucky Mounted Infantry, were camped.
About daylight they started for their camp, with me lying on a mattress
in the wagon. We reached camp in due time. The lieutenant-colonel
commanding the regiment, which had been started in pursuit of our party,
then stood up on the wagon wheel and questioned me as to where the
balance of our party had gone. I told him they had gone up on the
railroad towards Louisville, where they expected to capture a train
before they returned to the army, thus directing him off their trail, as
they were making great haste to cross the Cumberland River and were
avoiding pursuit.
When this officer called to see me at the hospital at Bowling Green, he
referred to my throwing him off my comrades’ trail, saying that he
couldn’t account for accepting my statement, as he did, but “you seemed
so honest in your statement, that I believed you, and committed one of
the greatest blunders I was ever guilty of.”
After questioning me at this camp, he sent a sergeant and two men, with
a wagon, to haul me to Woodburn, the first station, where I was lifted
into a boxcar on a train for Bowling Green.
Arriving at Bowling Green I was taken up to General Judah’s
headquarters, laid down on the floor of his room, surrounded by some
soldiers, and he questioned me on the number of our party, what command
we belonged to; he also asked if we had ever been engaged in that kind
of warfare before. I told him that it had been the business of our
regiment to destroy their line of communication, capture trains and
everything else we were able to do to annoy the enemy, when he said,
“Young man, you will never fire into another train.” I told him that I
expected to fire into many an one, that this little scratch would soon
get well and I would be ready for service again. He said, “Young man,
we’ve got a rope for all such fellows as you.” I told him there was a
higher authority than he, that would have my disposition. He said,
“Who?” I told him, “President Davis.” He laughed and said, “Jeff Davis
has no authority here.” I told him that I hoped it wouldn’t be long
before he would have. Feeling very irritable, with a hot fever on me, I
was able to resent his threat in the manner I did and felt able to talk
to him, although an officer of a high rank, in resentment of his threat.
I was then taken to their regular hospital, located on Barren River,
about a mile and a half from town, where I was very kindly received by
the surgeon in charge, who turned out to be a very sympathetic,
kind-hearted man. I was furnished a cot, the same as their other sick,
in the principal ward, and had a guard detailed to stay with me all the
time. This guard consisted of two men, who were on duty every alternate
six hours.
Under the care of this doctor and good nurses, I soon began to recover
my strength and began to hope that I would be permitted to stay there
until able to travel on foot, having no doubt I could make my escape out
of there, when ready.
Unfortunately the Rebel ladies of Bowling Green, learning there was a
wounded Texas Ranger at the hospital, would get permission from the
provost marshal to visit the sick, he supposing that they meant the
Federal sick. When admitted to the wards they would come directly to my
cot and deposit flowers, fruit and cake, and encourage me in the belief
that I would soon get well again.
My generous, kind-hearted surgeon would sometimes send and get fish or
oysters for me, evidently in the belief that he was doing a last kind
act for me, as he expected me to be court martialed and sentenced to
death, having frankly told me so, trying to persuade me to take the
oath, which I refused to do.
As soon as I was able to sit up and talk without effort and overtaxing
my strength, we had several discussions about the conduct of the war and
the merits of the two armies. On one occasion I said to him, “I’m going
to make an assertion, Doctor, and before I make it, I want to qualify it
by stating that you have many good, patriotic men in your army and you
are one of them; but, taking your army as a whole, they are an army of
hirelings, fighting for their bounties and their pay, and would not hold
together thirty days if their pay was stopped.” He spurned the idea,
telling me that I was sadly mistaken, while there might be a few men
that could be classed as hirelings, the bulk of their army were prompted
only by patriotic motives and were not considering gain or pay. I said,
“Doctor, I will prove my assertion right here in your presence,” and
called up some convalescents. Addressing one, I asked him, “What induced
you to join the army and what are you fighting for?” He said, “I am
fighting for the flag and the Union,” but I said, “As a matter of fact,
were you not paid a bounty?” He admitted that he had been paid six
hundred dollars by his State. Then again, “What pay do you receive?” He
said, “Twelve dollars per month.” “What do you do with your money?” He
said, “I send it home, for safety.” “Why don’t you spend it?” “I have
nothing to spend it for.” “Does your Government furnish you everything
you need?” “Everything,” he said. I interrogated a second one, whose
answers were about the same. I then detailed the treatment our
Government had been forced to accord our army, who were frequently
without pay, often without rations or clothing, especially without
shoes, sometimes forced them to go barefooted, leaving their bloody
tracks on the road. “Now, boys, if your Government treated you in such
manner, what would you do?” They replied, “We wouldn’t fight for any
such d—— Government; we would go home and stay there.” I said to the
doctor, “Withdraw your pay and rations from your army and you wouldn’t
hold them together for sixty days,” on which point we could not agree
and he said, “Graber, you are too good a man to be engaged in such a
cause.” I replied, “Doctor, that is just my opinion of you; you ought to
wear the gray in place of the blue,” all of which he took in the
kindliest spirit. I frequently conversed with the ward master and some
of the nurses, who seemed to have taken a great fancy for me on account
of my bold, outspoken sentiments, and they sympathized with me in my
helpless condition.
I had concluded to try to make my escape as soon as I got strong enough
to undertake walking through the woods, over a rough country across the
river. There were always a number of boats tied to the river bank. I
would have had no difficulty in crossing Barren River. One night a guard
on duty with me was sound asleep, snoring, with his head resting on the
foot of my cot and I was wide awake. The nurse on duty went over to the
ward master’s bed, not far from my cot, and woke him up. He aroused
himself, and the nurse in a low voice told him, “The guard is asleep;
let us tell Texas to get away.” The ward master said, “No, don’t do
that; you had better wake up the guard,” which he did. A little pleading
on my part then would, no doubt, have had their consent, but I was still
too feeble to undertake the hazard.
After spending about a month at this hospital, the provost marshal had
heard of the ladies abusing his confidence and calling at my berth only,
and rarely ever having a kind word for the Federal sick, so he had me
moved to the prison, where I found about twenty-five or thirty men
confined, most of them Morgan’s men and a few highway robbers, who
sought the protection of the Confederate Government by claiming to
belong to certain Confederate commands, which I was satisfied was not
the case. Kentucky afforded a good territory for these highwaymen to
operate, on account of this condition.
Arriving at this prison proved the commencement of my suffering and
trouble, as the surgeon in charge was a brute. He came in and threw some
soap and bandages at my feet and I never saw him any more.
The prison was a two-story stone building with a brick gable, with the
side fronting the street; it had been a two-story residence, converted
into a jail by attaching iron gratings in the large windows; it had only
four rooms, two upstairs, occupied by the prisoners, and two downstairs,
occupied by about twenty guards on active duty. There was also a room
for the lieutenant commanding. There was a stairway, leading down into
one of the rooms below, with a door at the foot of the steps. About two
companies of infantry camped in the back yard, which was surrounded by a
high board fence, and there was a sink in the back end of the yard.
These troops were quartered in tents. The building was located
diagonally across the street from a big hotel, which was occupied by the
commanding officers, as headquarters.
Here I made the acquaintance of a Lieutenant Clark of Morgan’s command,
whose home was Bowling Green, where he was teaching before the war.
Lieutenant Clark was a brother-in-law of Captain Tom Hines, one of
Morgan’s trusted lieutenants and the man that planned Morgan’s escape
out of the Ohio penitentiary. Lieutenant Clark and I were both held
under the same charges for court martial, Morgan’s command raiding
Kentucky, destroying their line of communications and Forrest in charge
of Middle Tennessee; it is hardly necessary to say that we became fast
friends and plotted and planned escape, the only chance for which was
frustrated.
Colonel Clarence Prentice, in conjunction with Major Kit Ousley, also of
Morgan’s command, was sent into Kentucky by our War Department to
recruit a regiment for the Confederate Army.
Colonel Clarence Prentice was the son of the publisher of the Louisville
Courier, which was largely responsible for retaining Kentucky in the
Union. The family were divided in sentiment; the father was a great
Union man and particular friend of Abraham Lincoln, while Mrs. Prentice
and the two sons were strongly Southern in sentiment, the sons joining
the Confederate Army.
Colonel Prentice, immediately on his arrival at his home, was captured
and through the influence of his father, was sent around for exchange.
Major Kit Ousley was captured near Bowling Green, in citizen’s clothes,
therefore treated as a spy and placed in prison with us, awaiting court
martial. When Ousley was captured they found a letter on his person from
Fountain Fox, whose home was in Elizabethtown, this letter stating that
Fox had succeeded in raising a company of one hundred and four of the
best young men of his neighborhood, ready to move at a moment’s warning.
They immediately sent up and arrested Fountain Fox and placed him in
prison with us.
Fountain Fox’s father also was an influential Union man, and the Fox
family was divided like the Prentice family, Mrs. Fox and sons strong
Southern sympathizers, and Mr. Fox a personal friend of Abraham Lincoln.
When Lincoln commenced making his appointments abroad, he appointed
Fountain Fox, Consul to Madrid, Spain. Consulting with his mother about
the appointment, she advised him not to accept, telling him he would see
the time very soon when he would blush to represent the American
Government abroad. Taking his mother’s advice, he declined the
appointment.
After a short time, to appease his father’s anger, he accepted a
captaincy in the Home Guards, in which capacity he served about a year.
On the reorganization of the regiment, he was appointed major, serving
in this capacity about three or four months longer, when they were
ordered to Franklin, Tennessee, to the front. He said, “Considering that
all of his youth’s companions and nearly all of his schoolmates were in
the Southern army, he could not go down there and fight them” and made
haste to resign.
Some sixty days after his resignation he met Major Ousley some distance
from Elizabethtown, out in the country. Being well acquainted with him
Ousley gave Fox a commission to raise a company for the Confederate
Army, and he soon wrote Ousley the letter that was found on Ousley’s
person when he was captured, and which caused Fox’s arrest.
His father immediately went to see the President and secured an order
for his release, provided he would take the oath of allegiance to the
United States and remain north of the Mason and Dixon’s line during the
war, also giving a bond of fifty thousand dollars, all of which he did,
remaining in prison with us perhaps only two or three weeks. This prison
was directly in charge of Major Erastus Motley, provost marshal, an old
friend of Clark’s before the war and a schoolmate of Captain Hines. He,
like many Kentucky officers in such position, had made himself very
obnoxious by his tyrannical treatment of the families of Confederate
soldiers and seemed greatly prejudiced against Clark and myself.
CHAPTER VIII
THE ESCAPE OF MAJOR OUSLEY.
A court martial to try Major Kit Ousley was soon organized and his trial
resulted easily in conviction, as he occupied the position of a spy,
being captured in citizen’s clothes. Very soon his sentence was returned
from General Burnside, and approved by him, General Burnside being in
command of Kentucky and Ohio, with his headquarters at Cincinnati.
Major Ousley, while recruiting up in the Blue Grass region near
Lexington, married a very wealthy and beautiful young lady, who as soon
as she heard of his capture and imprisonment at Bowling Green, came down
to render what assistance she could, and succeeded in bribing a
lieutenant, who had an office in town, paying him eight thousand dollars
for his assistance. This officer kept her posted and gave her the
information about the return that evening of the verdict of the court
martial, approved by General Burnside, which was his conviction as a spy
and his punishment death by hanging. He was to be placed over in the
courthouse in irons under a special guard until the day of his
execution, which was fixed for the 29th of May, while this information
was imparted on the 14th of May.
Major Ousley asked permission that evening to go to a barber shop, which
permission was granted by sending a special guard with him. At this
barber shop he met his wife, who succeeded in obtaining a private
interview with him, when she imparted the information about having
bribed this lieutenant and the location of his office, which Ousley
understood, as he was well acquainted in Bowling Green. She had also
received from the lieutenant a pair of surgeon’s shoulder straps and the
password for that night, which was “Columbia,” and which was imparted to
Lieutenant Clark and myself by Ousley, after he returned to the prison.
Major Ousley had a visit that evening from several officers of the court
martial, who seemed to be old acquaintances of his and had quite a long
chat with them, with a good deal of levity, which of course was a matter
of surprise to Clark and myself, as he seemed to be completely at ease.
Considering his condition with his doom already sealed, we thought he
displayed more nerve than any man we ever saw.
Major Ousley requested his officer friends, before they left him, to
send him a bottle of brandy, which they did and which he distributed
freely among the guards on duty in the lower room, hoping to load them
up, and in doing this we were afraid he imbibed a little too much
himself.
Now, it was imperative for him to make his escape that night, for, as
stated, he was to be placed in irons the next day and kept in the
courthouse under special guard. With Clark and myself, and other trusted
friends in the prison, we planned that the only means of his escape
would be to cut a hole through the plastering overhead large enough to
admit a man into the attic; then take a sufficient number of brick out
of the gable end which connected with the roof of a single-story house
adjoining, all of which was done by the willing hands of our comrades;
but a mistake was made in the location of the hole through the brick
wall. This hole opened on top of a roof, on the side facing the street
in full view of the headquarters on the other side. Major Ousley
imparted the countersign to Clark and myself with an injunction and
earnest request not to attempt to get out until after giving him four
hours the start, as his case was the most desperate one and we had not
been tried by the court martial. This promise we fully kept.
When Major Ousley passed through the hole in the brick wall on to the
roof of the other house, it was drizzling rain and the night was very
dark, so the hole could not be discovered on the other side of the
street. He laid flat on the roof for a few minutes, then quietly crawled
over the comb of the house, on the other side, out of sight of the
street, then to the far end of the roof away from the prison and dropped
down into the yard of a private residence when a large dog got after
him, giving one bark and no more. Ousley told me afterwards that he hit
this dog with his fist and said, “I reckon I killed him!” Some of the
guards in our prison yard rushed to the fence and asked a lady who came
to the door, what was the matter; she said, “Nothing that I know of,
everything is all right over here,” which seemed to quiet their
suspicion, so they went back to their tents. Major Ousley soon was heard
to come down the walk in front of our prison. He was halted by the
guard, asking, “Who comes there?” “A friend with the countersign.”
“Advance, friend, and give the countersign.” He gave the countersign and
passed on down the street and found the lieutenant’s room. The
lieutenant told him it would not be safe for him to attempt to go out
that night, but to go down into the river bottoms, stay there all next
day, then return to his office, when he would have a horse and side arms
for him and give him the new countersign for that night. Ousley went
down to the river bottoms and spent the day until very near night. Then,
being very hungry, he decided to go to a friend’s house, who lived away
out in the suburbs and get something to eat. Just before reaching his
friend’s house, he struck the big road and immediately heard the running
of a horse behind him, which proved to be a man on horseback loping
towards town. Though he did not suspect any such thing, the man
evidently went to town and raised the alarm. On entering the house his
friend’s wife met him. She was well acquainted with Ousley, but her
husband was not at home, and she, of course, was surprised and alarmed,
as she knew that he was a prisoner. When he made known his wants, she
rushed in and prepared a lunch, while he stood at the front door,
watching. As soon as the lunch was ready, she invited him into the
diningroom and took his place watching. Before he finished his lunch she
rushed into the diningroom, saying, “My God, Major Ousley, you are lost,
you are lost.” He told her to keep perfectly quiet. “The safest place is
among the enemy,” he said, and grabbed a couple of biscuits, stuck them
into his coat pocket, and started out of the front door when a couple of
guards behind a rosebush, jumped up, threw their guns down on him and
told him to halt. He cursed them and told them to get behind that bush.
Major Ousley would see them, making them believe that he was one of
their own officers.
I forgot to mention that he had the surgeon’s shoulder straps sewed on
to his coat at the shoulders, the same as was the custom in the Federal
Army. As already stated, when captured, he had on a splendid
double-breasted frock coat and black pants, all of which in the dark
could easily be mistaken for a Federal uniform, hence on the spur of the
moment, he made the two guards believe that he was one of their own
officers. He walked to the gate and passing outside, walked very fast up
the fence, and when about a hundred yards these men began to call,
“Halt,” when he broke into a run and left them firing after him, not
receiving a scratch. While, of course, they ran after him I imagine they
didn’t try very hard to catch him, fearing perhaps that he had
accomplices, prepared to defend him.
Major Ousley next circled around the town and again made his way to the
lieutenant’s room, who had a horse ready for him, gave him a couple of
six-shooters and the countersign for that night. He boldly rode down the
main street leading to Barren River bridge, where he gave the
countersign to the guards, then up the pike towards Louisville.
After an all-night’s ride he pulled up at a friend’s house, where he
decided to stay until Morgan’s command came in there and go with them
back to our main army, telling his friend his purpose. His friend said,
“Major, you can’t stay here; there is a brigade of Yankees camped at a
spring about a mile from here and Colonel Gross, the commander, comes
over occasionally and has a game of poker with me.” Ousley told him that
would not make any difference, he was going to stay anyway and take a
hand with him at poker. He then proceeded to disguise; cut off a heavy
mustache, and also cut his hair short, which made him look like a
different man; and he actually stayed at this friend’s house for nearly
three weeks, joining his friend and Colonel Gross in several games of
poker. He finally heard of Morgan’s command in the blue grass region,
mounted his horse to try to find them and telling his friend good-bye
and to give him a half hour’s start, and then to tell Colonel Gross who
he was and tell him the next time they met pistols would be trumps. His
friend said that he wouldn’t do such a thing for anything in the world;
he said, “Colonel Gross never will find out through me or mine who you
were.”
Major Ousley succeeded in finding Morgan’s command and went out of the
State with them, reporting to the War Department at Richmond, and was
given a job in the department and an order forbidding him to re-enter
the army. I met him again at Richmond, where he detailed all of the
features and incidents of his escape from the time he dropped into the
adjoining yard and knocked over the dog.
CHAPTER IX
IN PRISON AT LOUISVILLE, WHERE I WAS HONORED WITH HANDCUFFS.
Referring to Bowling Green prison, where Major Ousley had left us: Four
hours after Ousley’s escape, our friends in the prison boosted Clark and
me up into the attic, when we found out to our dismay that the weather
had cleared and the moon had risen sufficiently high to light up the
front of our building, disclosing the hole in the gable. The general’s
headquarters being diagonally across the street with a guard’s beat
immediately in front, I whispered to Clark, “We had better wait until
the corporal comes with his relief guard in front of the headquarters
and watch their actions.” Waiting about thirty minutes, a corporal with
a relief appeared on the beat and the three stood for some time talking
and looking up at our prison wall, which satisfied us that they had made
the discovery of the hole and were only waiting for some of us to crawl
out on the roof, when they would have shot us. We, therefore, decided it
would be folly to attempt our escape that night, which proved a wise
decision.
The next morning at roll call the discovery was made that Major Ousley
was missing, which caused the greatest excitement; and immediately
scouting parties of eight or ten men dashed up to the headquarters
across the street for orders, and started out in a lope. All that day
these parties called for orders and came back and reported at
headquarters. Major Motley came up and saw the manner of Ousley’s
escape, and asked the prisoners who made those holes and assisted
Ousley. None of us vouchsafed any information. He then sent for the most
desperate prisoners, some that were not Confederates, as heretofore
stated, and told them that their cases were bad, but if they would tell
who assisted Ousley in making his escape, and tried to make their escape
with him, he would do all he could to let them off as easy as possible.
This we learned through two most excellent citizens, who were in the
prison with us, and who were also taken out and offered their liberty if
they would disclose Ousley’s accomplices. One of these was a Colonel
Lewis, living near Franklin; the other a Doctor Vertriece, a neighbor of
Colonel Lewis. These men were imprisoned because of our raid on the
railroad, which the reader will remember occurred between Franklin and
Woodburn. It was the custom of the Federal commander, whenever Morgan,
or any other troops, made a raid on the railroad, to arrest the most
prominent citizens in the neighborhood.
After several days of questioning these prisoners, Major Motley came up;
my friend Clark was asleep on a mattress the lieutenant of the guard had
favored me with, on account of my being wounded. He was lying with his
face to the wall. I was sitting on the window sill, looking out into the
street when Major Motley walked up to where Clark was asleep and gave
him a kick in the back, thereby waking him. Clark raised up and asked,
“What do you want, Ras’?” when Motley produced a pair of handcuffs he
had held behind him and put them on him. Turning around to me, he said,
“I will have a pair here for you in a few minutes,” but as it turned out
fortunately there was not another pair of handcuffs in Bowling Green,
and he had to send to Louisville after them. After he left the prison
Doctor Vertriece suggested to me that I write a letter to Colonel
Hawkins, who was then in command of the post, telling him that I was a
wounded Confederate soldier, and that Major Motley had threatened to put
handcuffs on me. I stated in this letter that our command had captured
thousands of their men and had always treated them humanely and kindly,
notably the Ninth Michigan and Third Minnesota, who, after we had
paroled them and when parting with us, said, “If any of you Texas
Rangers are captured, call for the Ninth Michigan and Third Minnesota,
and we will see that you are well treated.” In winding up my letter to
Colonel Hawkins, I called on him as a gentleman and a soldier not to
permit such an outrage perpetrated as that of placing irons on a wounded
prisoner. This letter Doctor Vertriece succeeded in smuggling around
Major Motley, bribing a guard to take it directly to Colonel Hawkins
without Motley’s knowledge, and we soon had an answer returned in the
same manner from Colonel Hawkins, expressing his regret at our
condition, praising Major Motley as a very kind-hearted and good man,
and stating that he was satisfied he would do all in his power to
alleviate our condition and suffering, and trusting that we would be
able to bear up with our condition.
When I read the letter I threw it on the floor, and told Doctor
Vertriece he was mistaken in his man; that Colonel Hawkins was no better
than the rest of them. He picked up the letter, read it and told me that
I was doing a great injustice to Colonel Hawkins, that I was simply
misconstruing his position, that he could not have said anything more to
me, a prisoner belonging to the army of his enemy, and could certainly
not censure Major Motley, an officer of his own army, for his treatment
of us, and furthermore suggested that if I would just wait he was
satisfied that the handcuffs would not be put on me.
The next day Major Motley again visited our prison, walked up to
Lieutenant Clark and took off his handcuffs, hardly able to look into
his face. Turning around, he walked up and down the cell a few times in
study, and finally stopped in front of me, saying, “Graber, I want you
and Clark to understand that I have no personal feeling in this matter;
you are prisoners, have been placed in my charge and keeping; you have
tried to make your escape with Major Ousley, and, I am going to keep you
here, if I have to chain you to this floor.”
I frequently told Major Motley that if they were holding me for court
martial, to bring my charges and specifications, to which he replied
that I needn’t be in a hurry, I would receive them sooner than I wanted
to, perhaps, and, when finally brought, the charge was being a Guerilla;
specifications, my own statement admitting to General Judah that we had
been engaged in raiding their lines of communications and destroying
them ever since we had been in the army. I concluded they need not
resort to any trial, as I was prepared to admit the specifications. In
this charge they gave my name, company and regiment, C. S. A.
(so-called), which was virtually an admission that I was not a Guerilla,
but by an order, No. 38, of General Burnside, all recruiting officers
captured within his department should be treated as spies, and all
raiding parties, not under a general officer, as Guerillas. Finally one
day Major Motley came in about ten o’clock in the morning and ordered me
to prepare to leave on the eleven o’clock train for Louisville. I asked
him, “What for? Are you sending me up there for safe keeping, or to be
treated as a prisoner of war?” He said, “Never mind about that; you will
learn soon enough.” When I reached Louisville I was taken to the general
prison and there treated as a prisoner of war.
I found the Louisville prison a most excellent one; two barracks running
parallel, with bunks on each side and a brick-paved yard in the center,
with a splendid waterworks. At one end were the offices occupied by
clerks and an officer who kept the roll; at the other end was the
kitchen, connected on one side with a barrack, and on the other side
having a passageway of about three feet, leading into the backyard in
the rear of the kitchen, where they had the sinks, and this backyard was
kept in a very filthy condition. We had three rations a day, with coffee
in the mornings, the rations consisting of a chunk of light bread and a
piece of pickled pork, already cut in proper size for each man, in tubs,
on each side of the door. On the inside of the kitchen stood a tub,
presided over by negro wenches who would shove these rations to us as we
passed through, single file, into the backyard.
A negro official, called “Captain Black” by the prisoners, frequently
stood on the outside of the door as the prisoners passed in to draw
their rations. When some poor, emaciated prisoner, reduced by
confinement, barely able to drag his feet, came along, he would curse,
tell him to “Hike out, you d—m Rebel,” and sometimes push them along.
This made me fear this negro to the extent that I always avoided him and
always moved quickly in his presence, determined never to give him an
opportunity to insult me.
One day I was lying on my bunk, the second from the floor, about five
feet high, which was the end of the bunks next to the door. I was
feeling bad and having considerable fever, and was still suffering from
my wounds, so I decided not to go out and get my dinner rations. All
that were able had gone out, a few sick remaining in the barracks at
different places. A little negro boy came to the door and looking up at
me, asked if I was sick and didn’t I want a cup of coffee. I told him
yes, to bring me a cup and I would pay him for it. He brought me a small
tin cup full of fine coffee, for which I gave him a twenty-five-cent
bill.
While lying sipping my coffee, resting on my right elbow, “Captain
Black” stepped into the door, and, on discovering me said, “What are you
doing here, sir?” I said I was sick and didn’t want my rations. He
raised up on his toes and said, “Sick?” “Yes, I am sick, too,” and he
started to order me out when I lost all control of myself and, from my
bunk, fell right over on him, grabbing at his pistol. I got my hand on
it, but he jerked away before I could clinch it, but he thought I had
it, saying, “Foh Gawd, Massa; don’t, Massa!” then broke for the gate.
Some of the prisoners witnessed the trouble and told the others when
they came in from drawing their rations, which created considerable
excitement and considerable sympathy for me, for it was believed that I
would be placed in irons and in a dungeon.
In about half an hour after the prisoners returned from drawing their
rations, one of them rushed up to me and suggested that I hide. He said,
“That negro, with a big sergeant, is in the yard hunting you.” I told
him that I would not hide, but would go and meet them, walking out into
the yard. The negro pointed me out to the sergeant, when he walked up to
me and told me to hold up my hands. I asked him, “What for?” He said,
“To put these things on you,” producing a pair of handcuffs, which he
had held behind him. I asked who ordered it done? He stated, Colonel
Orcutt. I asked, “Who is Colonel Orcutt?” He said, “Commander of this
prison.” I told him, “All right; put them on; they are Yankee bracelets,
and I consider it an honor to wear them.”
After wearing these irons two or three days and nights, an officer in
fatigue uniform, whom I took to be Colonel Orcutt, stepped up to me and
told me to hold up my hands. I asked him what for? He said, “To take
those things off.” I told him he needn’t be in a hurry, I had got used
to them and considered it an honor to wear them. By this time he had
unlocked them and taken them off. When I turned my back on him and
mingled with the crowd, some of the prisoners told me that he started to
strike me with them, which I hardly believe.
“Captain Black” very soon came to me and apologized, saying that he was
very sorry for what he had done, and that he would never mistreat a
prisoner again, that “Dese soldiers had put him up to it.” I told him I
would give him five dollars if he would steal those handcuffs for me. He
said that he would be glad to do that, and would not charge me anything,
and he soon reported that they had not been replaced in the office,
where they used to hang, and that he couldn’t find out where they were
kept.
CHAPTER X.
CAMP CHASE—FORT DELAWARE—I CHANGE MY NAME FOR THE FIRST TIME AND AM
FINALLY EXCHANGED.
After remaining in this prison about a month, a roll was called and the
prisoners whose names were called, were ordered to get ready for
exchange. We started next morning for City Point, as we were told, but
when we reached Columbus, Ohio, we were ordered to march to Camp Chase,
where we were quartered in barracks, partitioned into mess rooms of
twenty-four in a mess. While here I was very uneasy, expecting to be
called for at any time, to be returned to Louisville, as several of the
prisoners had been so returned, to meet charges against them, hence
concluded perhaps my name appeared on the roll through mistake, but I
was fortunate enough to escape this fate and got along fine until I was
taken sick with flux. While confined in this prison I was furnished a
New York paper, I think it was the Tribune, giving an account of the
hanging of one of our comrades of the regiment by the name of Dodd, who
was captured near Knoxville, Tennessee, having had his horse killed in
an engagement near there, and was ordered to make his way out as best he
could. He was raised in Sevier County, and decided to visit his home,
while there, and when captured, was taken to Knoxville, there tried as a
spy by a court martial, convicted and sentenced to be hung. His
conviction was secured on a pocket diary, which he had kept, recording
his every-day work.
A correspondent of the New York Tribune, who visited him in the jail
just before his execution, claimed he found him a very intelligent,
educated gentleman, in fact, believed him to be a grand character, and
his execution, which he witnessed, proved such a horrible affair that it
elicited the following expression from him: “In the name of humanity and
all that is decent, if the terrible exigencies of war require the
deliberate taking of human life, let the prisoner be shot or give us the
merciful guillotine.”
Satisfied if the members of the regiment heard of Dodd’s execution they
would certainly retaliate, and in return the Federal Army would also
retaliate, and as I was the only member of the Eighth Texas, their
prisoner, they would certainly call for me for such purpose.
After remaining in this prison for a month I agreed with one of Morgan’s
men to tunnel out under the fence, and prepared to go to work that
night. The fence was only about twenty yards from our mess room, the
identical place where one of Morgan’s officers had dug out a few months
before and effected his escape. During this day we were suddenly called
on to move and were again promised that we should be sent to City Point
for exchange. All the sick in the hospital were furnished conveyances to
carry them to Columbus, where we took train. As stated heretofore, I had
a severe case of flux, which weakened me a great deal, and I was
rendered unable to walk soon after we started on our march to Columbus,
a distance of about four miles. We were marched by fours with a heavy
advance and rear guard and a single file guard on each side of our
column. After having marched about a mile I gave out completely, and my
comrades reported my case to a lieutenant, marching by the side of us,
who instructed me to sit down by the roadside and wait until the rear
guard came up; then to tell them to make a detail to stay with me until
I reached Columbus. Very soon after the main body had passed, one of the
rear guards called out: “Hike out, you d—— Rebel,” which, of course,
made me resentful and I refused to hike out, telling him that I had
orders to stop and tell some of the rear guard to bring me up to
Columbus. By this time he had got pretty close to me and I happening to
look around found him charging on me with a bayonet, which made me jump,
and proved the best medicine I could have taken for flux. It simply
infused new strength and enabled me to hike to Columbus.
At Erie, Pennsylvania, we were put in coal cars with the bottoms pretty
thickly covered with coal dust, in which we were carried to
Philadelphia, being marched through Chestnut Street to a boat landing.
Their object in moving us in these coal cars we construed to be a policy
to make us look as dirty as possible. Many of our men, of course, were
somewhat ragged, and, altogether, we appeared a motley crowd, in
striking contrast to the heroes that had been cherished by our Northern
sympathizers, called “copper-heads” by the fanatics of the North. In our
march to the boat landing we were greeted by many intelligent ladies,
who were standing on the streets watching our passing, and quite a
number of them had their hands full of postage money, which was bills of
denominations of less than a dollar, which they threw and scattered
among us. After we reached the boat, on which we were ordered up on the
second deck, a dray-load of cheese and crackers was sent down to us by
some of the ladies, but the guards on the lower deck appropriated it,
and, after eating as much as they wanted, sold the balance of it to all
that had money. Then, adding insult to injury, they sent word to the
ladies to send more—to be treated in the same manner. The boat then
moved out down the river where our journey to City Point for exchange
terminated at Fort Delaware, where we were unloaded and were roughly
treated.
Fort Delaware proved to be the worst prison we had been in; dirty, with
no water fit to drink. Our drinking water had to be taken from the canal
inside of the levee, which had a green scum floating on top, and, on the
lower part of the island, was used for bathing. After about two or three
weeks, an arrangement was made with a boat called the “Osceola” to bring
us water from the Brandywine River, which proved to be palatable and a
great treat.
On our arrival at Fort Delaware we found about twenty thousand
prisoners, a large part of them captured at the battle of Gettysburg;
among whom were four or five hundred of Hood’s Brigade, and also some
from Granbury’s Brigade, who were captured at Vicksburg. This created a
sad impression on me and made me wish I was back in the saddle again
more than I ever did, but there was nothing to do but submit. While here
we also heard of the battle of Chickamauga, the first report of which
was most encouraging, as it stated their army was annihilated and Thomas
had fled to the mountains. This started the Rebel yell in the prison,
and made us feel that we would soon be exchanged, but the next day’s
report put a damper on our enthusiasm, and made us feel sad indeed, as
the report in this New York paper was that their army had rallied and
were holding on to Chattanooga, with our army retreating, and, while
their loss was very heavy in killed and wounded, ours was double. It
made us realize that fate was against us, and we would never be able to
gain a decisive victory, which would unquestionably secure our
recognition by foreign governments.
As already stated, Fort Delaware proved the worst prison we had been in;
smallpox broke out among us and nearly every other disease known. A
large number died. Every morning they called at the big gate, “Bring out
your dead!” and the dead were buried on the Jersey shore by a detail of
prisoners.
Among one of these details one morning was a gentleman by the name of
Simpson, from Houston, Texas, who belonged to Hood’s Brigade. This man
was born and raised in New York State and had lived in Houston only a
couple of years, engaging in business and had become thoroughly
acquainted with the character of our people, and especially the
institution of slavery. In this short time he became one of the South’s
strongest friends, ready to give his life for her cause, as demonstrated
by his joining the first troops Texas sent to Virginia.
Slipping away from the guards, he made his way to his old home, told his
people who had heard that he was in the Rebel Army that he had recanted
and taken the oath of allegiance to the United States Government,
thereby reinstating him with his family, who lavished money and all else
on him until he was fully recuperated from the effects of his prison
experience, when he again shipped on board a steamer for Nassau, where
he took a Confederate blockade runner and came South, to fight it out to
the end. After the war he entered into copartnership with a man by the
name of Wiggins, constituting the firm of Wiggins & Simpson, which built
a large foundry and machine shop. This they conducted for many years,
and, at the time of his death, Simpson was wealthy and one of the most
honored and esteemed citizens of Houston, never having expressed a word
of regret over his conduct during the war.
It might not be out of place here to say that nearly all Northern-raised
men among us within my knowledge pursued the same course. They
invariably proved gallant soldiers and did their duty for the South to
the limit of their ability, returning South after the war and spending
the balance of their lives as our most honored citizens. We had
twenty-six generals of Northern birth in the Confederate Army, twelve of
whom were graduates of West Point, and were offered high rank in the
Federal Army. This, no doubt, proved a hard problem for the North to
understand, and only emphasizes the justice of our cause, because these
men were prompted only by a conscientious motive, and faced suffering,
death and disgrace in the eyes of their Northern friends by such a
course.
While on this subject I would mention the case of General Pemberton, the
gallant soldier who commanded at Vicksburg, and directed its defense to
the last ditch. He was the son of wealthy parents in Philadelphia, who
threatened to disinherit him if he didn’t resign his commission in the
Southern Army and come North, but he ignored their threat and continued
in the Southern Army to the end.
Our suffering at Fort Delaware was almost unbearable. We were crowded
into these barracks as thick as we could lie, with all character of
sickness and disease among us, receiving additional prisoners
occasionally to keep the barracks filled, with only two meals a day of
three small crackers and an inch of meat. Many prisoners got desperate
and attempted to swim the Delaware River to effect their escape, only to
have their dead bodies found washed ashore on the Delaware or Jersey
side of the river the next day.
A number of our men were shot without cause by the guard, who, we
understood, were promoted for such act; still a few of the men made
their escape by swimming the river, among whom I might mention Jim
Loggins, a boy about eighteen years old, who belonged to Hood’s Brigade.
He is now a practicing physician of Ennis, Texas, a father of a large
family of children, all highly regarded and respected citizens of their
home town.
Prisoners seeking their escape would take canteens, tightly corked, and
use them as life preservers. Referring back to the case of Jim Loggins:
When he got into the river with others, the tide was running in fast,
and the tide took him about five or six miles up the river before he
reached a landing on the Delaware side. He then, with one companion,
made his way through the State of Delaware into Maryland, crossing the
Potomac, then through Northern Virginia, occupied by the Federal Army,
back to Richmond, where he rejoined Hood’s Brigade, and was in every
important battle until the end of the war, surrendering at Appomattox.
Among our prisoners at Fort Delaware were the First Maryland Cavalry,
captured at South Mountain, before the battle of Gettysburg. These
Maryland men were the sons of leading families, largely men of great
wealth in the State of Maryland. Their friends and families at home
petitioned Governor Swann, of Maryland, to intercede for them with the
Federal War Department, and permit them to take a parole to go home, and
stay at their homes, until regularly exchanged, and it was generally
believed success would crown their efforts. These men received clothing
and money in the greatest abundance from their families at home, and
were about the most genteel looking men we had in prison. In connection
with this, I would mention the escape of one of their parties, who,
being well dressed and clean shaven, wearing a white shirt and fresh
collar, was watching the “Osceola” at the landing about ready to depart,
and boldly slipped up on the levee, walked down to the guard, passing
him while the guard saluted, mistaking him for a citizen visitor from
Delaware City, who came over quite often, then passed on to the boat,
walked up on its cabin deck, took a seat in front, with his feet cocked
up on the guards, smoking a cigar, when the boat pushed off with him and
he was never heard of by us any more, no doubt making good his escape.
Many incidents of interest I might mention, showing the loyalty of the
Southern soldier under this most terrible condition, facing death daily,
seeing his comrades carried out by the dozen for burial daily, with no
prospect for exchange. Certainly history does not record such remarkable
devotion to a country and cause.
In line with this, I might mention the effort of General Schoepf,
commander of the fort and prison. He one day conceived the idea of
creating a stampede among us, for which purpose he ordered out about
three hundred East Tennesseeans, formed them in line and made a strong
speech to them, telling them of the North’s vast resources for the
conduct of the war, and our diminishing, limited means for holding on;
showing them the impossibility for our ever succeeding, with no prospect
of exchange. Then he told them of the great prosperity of the North,
where labor was in demand and wages high, of which they could take the
benefit by taking the oath of allegiance and thus save their lives,
recover their health and strength, live in peace and happiness the
balance of the war, and, finally, he called on them, saying, “Now, all
of you that are ready and willing to take the oath of allegiance, step
three paces to the front.” Only one man responded.
General Schoepf evidently thought that East Tennessee, as a section of
country in the South, was the most disloyal to our cause, its citizens
being largely Union people, and that these East Tennesseeans would
certainly accept his liberal offer, and, by that means, make a break in
our ranks. It is hardly necessary to say that he gave it up as a bad
job, and did not attempt another such experiment. In connection with
this, however, I regret to have to say that a few weak brothers were
found in our ranks, who took the oath of allegiance and were then
separated from the rest of the prisoners, in a special camp about a half
mile distant, where they were designated by us as “Galvanized Yankees.”
After spending a part of the winter at Fort Delaware, one morning there
appeared a notice at what we called a postoffice, inside of the big
gate, calling upon all Marylanders, prisoners of war, to appear at the
gate with their baggage; which, of course, was construed to mean that
Governor Swann had succeeded in his effort to secure a parole for these
Marylanders, and that they would be taken to Washington for the purpose
of being paroled and permitted to go home to remain until properly
exchanged. This, of course, created considerable excitement and
rejoicing among the Marylanders, which was shared largely by the rest of
the prisoners, although they could not hope to ever be favored in the
same manner. It was a source of comfort and gratification to us to know
that some of our friends, at least, would be saved the sufferings and
almost certain death, even if we could not share it with them.
While they were forming in line, by fours, headed for the big gate, an
acquaintance belonging to Hood’s Brigade, whose name was Robert
Brantley, of Navasota, called to me and said, “Good-bye, Henry.” I said,
“Where are you going, Bob?” He said, “I am going to try to get out with
these men.” I said, “How are you going to try to do that?” He said, “I
have two names and am going to answer to one of them at roll call.” I
said, “Bob, you do not want two names; you can’t answer to both. If you
will give me one of them I will try to go out with you.” He said, “All
right, come on.” I had time enough to go into the barracks and get an
oilcloth satchel, which had been given me at Bowling Green; then I had a
magnificent cape overcoat, left me by Major Ousley in Bowling Green
prison; with this coat on and this citizen’s new satchel, the coat
extending over the top of my boots, hiding partly worn butternut pants.
I passed for a Marylander pretty well, seemingly as well dressed as they
were, while Bob looked ragged, like one of these Hood Brigade men that
had not had any clothing furnished them in some time, and appeared
rather suspicious among this well dressed crowd. In giving me the name
he retained the name of Charles Erbert, who belonged to the First
Maryland Cavalry, and who had died in prison. The name of Charles
Stanley, which he gave me to use, was the name of a son of a preacher
Charles Stanley was sick in the hospital, and his father, ostensibly to
preach to the troops at the fort, was permitted the privilege of a
visit, mainly for the purpose of being with his son in the hospital.
The keeper of the prison roll was a Lieutenant Wolff, a renegade
Virginian, who was also a “Galvanized Yankee.” Wolff was also acquainted
with many of the Marylanders, and particularly with Charles Stanley, on
account of his father visiting there. Wolff’s acquaintance with the
Marylanders was through their clothing and money sent them, which passed
through his hands.
We were soon marched out to the wharf, where the “Osceola” was awaiting
us to carry us to the flag of truce boat, “New York,” anchored in
midstream, as the water was too shallow for her to come up to the wharf.
We were held on the wharf for nearly an hour before a roll call
commenced, during which time I suggested to Bob to separate, for him to
take the opposite edge of the party to the edge that I would take, then
to post himself on the circumstances of his man’s capture and the
location of his home in Maryland, telling him that we might be
questioned, and, if posted, we could have a ready answer, thereby
keeping down suspicion. Bob said he did not think there was any danger
in that; his greatest apprehension was that he would be personally
recognized by some of the Yankees, as he had been at work in the cook
house, where he made the acquaintance of quite a number, and he thought
perhaps Lieutenant Wolff might recognize him, while I had no fear of
anything of that kind.
Finally a major, with several other officers, appeared. Lieutenant Wolff
was already there. The major began calling the roll alphabetically. When
he called the name of Charles Erbert, Bob failed to answer. I decided if
he called it the second time that I would answer to the dead man’s name,
believing that Bob had lost his nerve and would not answer at all. When
he called the name the second time we both answered, but I kept down,
while he jumped up quickly. This drew the major’s attention to him, and
he never knew who it was that answered over on my side of the crowd. I
forgot to mention that we were all squatted down on the wharf. When Bob
walked out boldly, attempting to pass the major, on his way to the boat,
the major stopped him. “What is your name, sir?” “My name is Charles
Erbert.” The major, without any further questioning, told him to take a
seat and called up a guard to take charge of him. This sudden decision
of the major that there was fraud was no doubt prompted by both of us
answering to the same name, yet it created a suspicion with me that
perhaps we had been betrayed, as they kept a lot of spies in the prison
all the time. As considerable time was consumed in calling the names,
down to the letter S, I had ample time to prepare for the issue, and
when the name of Charles Stanley was called I jumped up and boldly went
forward, passing him, without looking. I was favored by Lieutenant Wolff
being engaged in shaking hands with one of the Marylanders and eating an
apple with his back turned to the major when he called the name of
Charles Stanley, evidently not hearing it, and which I did not permit
him to call the second time. I therefore passed through unmolested. As
heretofore stated, my appearance tallied pretty well with the rest of
the Marylanders and Bob Brantley’s appearance was in striking contrast
with theirs.
After getting on the boat and mixing with the Marylanders, I was
congratulated by them on my success and promised a good time when they
reached home. As soon as all were aboard, the “New York” weighed anchor,
when, the next morning, running down the coast on the Atlantic, we were
told that we would have to remain down in the hold on the second deck
until they could wash decks. They closed down the hatch and only
permitted us to come on the main deck when we discovered that we were at
Point Lookout, Maryland, under the guns of a thirty-two-pound battery,
and the Potomac flotilla, and were then told to march out, and were led
into what we called a “bull pen,” where we found about ten or twelve
thousand prisoners quartered in little A tents on the sand of the
seashore, with nothing else to protect them from the winter’s blast. Had
we suspected their motive, we could have easily overpowered the guard on
the big steamer, beached and burned her and scattered out in Maryland,
without taking a parole. At Point Lookout our camp was laid off in State
divisions, a row of little A tents on each side of a wide street with a
cook house for each division at the head of it. We were here furnished
rations the same as we had at Fort Delaware, by marching in and taking
our position at the long table in front of each ration. Sometimes we had
a cup of what they called bean soup, but it was always my misfortune to
get a cup of bean water, the cook failing to stir up the soup and
thoroughly mixing the beans with the water. Besides this, we had three
crackers and an inch of meat. This we had twice a day, as at Fort
Delaware, and considerable suffering on account of hunger was thereby
entailed.
As stated, we were quartered in tents by State Divisions. Coming there
with the Marylanders, under a Marylander’s name, I started with the
Maryland Division, but in connection with this, soon joined the Texas
Division, Tennessee Division and Louisiana Division and drew rations
with every one of these divisions, thereby securing three extra rations
which I divided among my messmates.
In order to improve my time, with nothing else to do, I decided to try
to learn the French language and for this purpose, joined a Louisiana
mess, the men belonging to the Seventh Louisiana, who were Creoles and
spoke nothing but French in their mess. In a short time, I was enabled
to understand some of their talk and they, as well as I, thought I was
getting along fine, and I believe if I could have continued with them
six months I would have spoken French fluently.
While at this point General Butler was appointed Exchange Agent, this in
response to the clamor of the people in the North, demanding exchange,
as their people were dying in our prisons, as well as our people in
theirs; but, the policy of their War Department, sanctioned by Abraham
Lincoln, was not to exchange a prisoner if they could avoid it. They did
not want to reinforce our army from that source when our country was
about exhausted for men. To carry their point on this they cared very
little for their men in our prisons and even openly claimed that it was
a protection to their army to enforce non-exchange even at the sacrifice
of the men in our prisons.
General Butler being placed in charge of the exchange, the Federal
Government knew that they could throw the odium of refusal to exchange
on the Confederate Government, because General Butler had been outlawed
by our Government through President Davis’ proclamation ordering him
executed whenever captured, on account of his dastardly conduct while in
command of New Orleans, which earned for him the name of “Beast” Butler.
They well knew that his appointment as Chief Exchange Agent would
forever place a barrier against exchange.
At this time General Marsden was in command at Point Lookout, and a
Captain Patterson, aided by Sergeant Finnegan, in charge of the
prisoners.
After the arrival of the Marylanders at Point Lookout, the Federal
Government decided to relieve the crowded condition of Fort Delaware by
transferring more prisoners to Point Lookout, which was done to a
considerable extent.
General Butler, for political reasons, as well as to show his interest
in the prisoners, made us a visit, and when his arrival was announced,
proceeded in company with General Marsden and their respective staffs,
to ride over to our enclosure. We were then called on by Captain
Patterson, announcing his approach, to cheer him as he came inside. As
soon as the big gate was thrown open and he rode in, perhaps five
thousand prisoners had collected at the gate, many of them calling out,
“Boys, here is the ‘Beast;’” to which he paid no attention or to the
name of “Mumford,” the man whom he hung in New Orleans for tearing down
the United States flag placed on his house on their first occupancy of
New Orleans. When he and General Marsden attempted to enter the First
Division, which was the Louisiana Division, the men called out “New
Orleans.” By this time such a crowd had gathered in this division that
it was difficult for them to ride through, when General Butler decided
not to go any further and returned to General Marsden’s headquarters.
About two weeks later General Butler returned and entered the prison
enclosure with General Marsden and their respective staffs; all armed
with pistols, and having also an escort of about fifty cavalry. They
were determined to push through the Louisiana Division, when again the
insults thrown at them on his first visit were repeated. In reaching a
Sibley tent, where a part of a company of the Louisiana Guard Battery
were quartered, one of the young men, seeing General Butler passing in
front of the tent, rushed out, took Butler’s horse by the bridle and
stopped him, proposed three cheers for Jeff Davis, which were given with
a will by our ten thousand throats, then proposed three groans for the
“Beast.”
General Butler turned pale, looked at the men, seemed undecided what to
do, surrounded by an angry crowd of at least ten thousand men, who
although unarmed, he well knew were more than a match for him and his
guards and that they would not stand any show for their lives if a
single shot was fired. He decided it was best to move on and pass the
incident. When nearly at the end of the division some one called
“Magruder,” which made him smile, as it referred to the battle of Big
Bethel, which he commanded and lost to the Confederates commanded by
General Magruder.
He next turned into the North Carolina Division, a brigade of
conscripts, who had surrendered without firing a gun. On his entering
this division the men cheered him, when he stopped and talked with them,
asking how they were getting along. They told him they did not get
enough to eat and were starving, and he turned to Captain Patterson and
told him to add an extra cracker to the rations, which brought another
cheer. He then passed through the division, being cheered frequently by
these conscripts and returned to General Marsden’s headquarters.
In punishment for the insults offered him in the Louisiana Division, he
sent a regiment, composed of illiterate negroes from the plantations in
North Carolina, to guard us. The immediate guard of the prison were on
beats on a platform outside of the prison walls, which exposed their
heads and shoulders to the prisoners inside of the walls. There were
also guard beats at the head of every division between the tents and the
cook houses. These negroes were very poorly drilled and disciplined, but
fit tools in the hands of a vindictive enemy. As the men in the prison
had never seen any negro troops, they gathered along these different
beats to watch their performance. They came into the prison for guard
duty, carrying their knapsacks as they were afraid to leave them in
their camp, fearing that some of the other troops not on duty would rob
them. A guard at the head of the Texas Division, tired of carrying his
knapsack, deposited it at the end of his beat; as soon as his back was
turned, one of the men picked it up and ran away with it. The negro,
returning on his beat, discovered his knapsack gone and created a
general laugh among the spectators by his puzzled look. Finally he said,
“Men, you better give me back my knapsack or I’ll call Marse
Lieutenant.” The men again laughed, when finally he called to the guard
up on the fence, “Central, Oh Central! Call Marse Lieutenant and tell
him one of dese here white folks stole my knapsack,” when in due time
the officer of the day came in on horseback, dashed up to the guard and
asked what was the matter. The guard said, “Marse Lieutenant, some of
these white folks stole my knapsack,” which created additional laughter
and merriment. The lieutenant called on the men to return the knapsack,
and said that if they didn’t, he would order a search of the camp. This
they could not afford to have done. In the meantime, the negro said if
they would just give him back his “bacca” and guarretype, he wouldn’t
care anything about the balance. The men then returned the knapsack to
keep the camp from being searched.
Our troubles with this negro guard commenced the first night, when they
shot into the camp whenever they heard any noise. They were undoubtedly
instigated by their officers and the white soldiers.
There were a number of attempts to escape, one novel plan being evolved
by the Marylanders. The smallpox broke out inside of the prison, and a
pesthouse was established on the main land in the piney woods, about
three or four miles from the Point. I forgot to mention Point Lookout is
a peninsula, connected with the mainland by a very narrow strip, where a
strong fort was located, and where these negroes were quartered. We also
had an ordinary hospital inside of the enclosure, immediately in charge
of Confederate surgeons, but supervised by a Federal surgeon, who would
receive their report every morning on the conditions of the sick, the
number of the dead, etc. A couple of Marylanders would blister their
faces and hands with hot wire, giving it the appearance of smallpox; the
Confederate surgeon would point out these two cases having developed
smallpox during the night, when they were ordered out to the pesthouse.
They were then carried in a one-horse cart out to the pesthouse in the
piney woods, where they only had one guard on duty with his beat in
front of the door. The Confederate surgeon immediately in charge, at
this pesthouse, would add a couple of boxes in connection with others,
for the dead that had passed away during the night, and would report
these two men among the other dead of the night. These boxes were then
buried by Confederate convalescents, and that was the end of it. The two
Marylanders, during the night, had slipped by the single guard with his
beat in front of the door, then managed to cross the Potuxan River,
either by swimming or floating on planks or logs, there being an only
bridge which had a strong cavalry guard and could not be crossed without
the countersign.
When I was made acquainted with the scheme by Judge Wilson of the Hood’s
Texas Brigade, who was a Mason and had a number of Masonic friends among
the Marylanders, there were two men out then and after giving them a
reasonable time to get away, he had made arrangements for he and I to go
out next, but alas, the two men out then were captured and exposed the
whole plan, which put an end to it.
Another plan of escape was attempted by others, that of wading out in
the bay on dark nights, in water deep enough to barely expose their
heads, but when they got opposite the fort those shrewd Yankees had cast
an anchor about a quarter of a mile out, to which was attached a rope
and the rope attached to a bell inside of the fort, so when the
prisoner, wading along in the deep water, would strike this rope, he
would ring the bell, which invariably resulted in his discovery.
Other attempts at escape by some of the Marylanders, through bribery of
the guard at the gate leading out on the bay shore, invariably failed.
The guards would take the bribe, then report the case when he permitted
the prisoners to pass out of the gate. The escaping prisoners would then
be charged on by a lot of cavalry in waiting around the corner of the
fence and shot down by them.
General Butler next conceived the idea to go to Richmond with a batch of
prisoners and attempt an exchange, not for the purpose of relieving the
prisoners, but simply to test his own case with the Confederate
Government. On his arrival at City Point, it seems some arrangement was
made that enabled him to deliver these prisoners, presumably in a fair
exchange for prisoners held by us. In this batch of prisoners were a
number of Marylanders, who thoughtlessly published in a Richmond paper
their sufferings and hardships, as well as ill treatment at the hands of
the Federal authorities, and particularly denounced Captain Patterson,
who had charge of the Point Lookout prison, in most bitter terms. By
accident Captain Patterson got hold of a copy of a Richmond paper
containing these charges and with it, went to the Maryland Division,
read it to the men and told them if further exchanges were had he would
see to it that the Marylanders should be the last to leave there.
After this, the Marylanders in the prison, having denounced the article
as ill advised and improper, began again to court the favor of Captain
Patterson and, after several months, concluded that they had about
succeeded in regaining his confidence. One morning they were notified to
get ready to go to City Point for exchange. Of course, there was
considerable enthusiasm among the Marylanders and I decided to go out
with them, in the name of Stanley. We were marched out and carried into
another bull pen, kept there five or six hours, when we were permitted
to return into our old quarters and found the Tennessee Division had
been placed aboard the flag of truce boat and sailed for City Point. It
is hardly necessary to say that I was the greatest disappointed man
among them, because I also belonged to the Tennessee Division.
In about two weeks the Louisiana Division was called for, to which I
also belonged and availed myself of the Louisianan’s name, the owner of
which was dead, and passed out with them.
At the mouth of the James River we passed a fleet of gunboats and ships,
and in due time arrived at City Point, where we anchored in midstream.
The exchange agent, Major Mulford, immediately went ashore and
telegraphed to Richmond our arrival. We were anchored here several days,
expecting hourly a Confederate boat to put in its appearance with the
equivalent of Federal prisoners to be returned in exchange. After
several days, having been told that our boat surely would arrive the
second day, and as it had not put in its appearance, we decided that
there was a hitch somewhere and that we were liable to be carried back.
We expected, hourly, a couple of gunboats to come in sight to escort us
back to Point Lookout.
The situation, to us, began to look gloomy, and created a feeling of
desperation. We were determined never to be taken back to look inside of
another prison. In accordance therewith we soon made up a party of about
a hundred, agreeing to overpower the guard on the boat if the
Confederate boat didn’t make its appearance by ten o’clock next morning.
On the cabin deck of this boat were quite a number of Confederate
officers, among them General W. H. Fitts Lee, who had been wounded and
captured. He was a son of General Robert E. Lee, and to him we
communicated our intentions and asked their support. He replied, urging
us to make no such attempt, that everything was all right and the object
of our trip would be carried out without doubt. I told the men that we
could not afford to accept his advice; that we had too much at stake,
and I construed General Lee’s position to be prompted by what he
conceived his duty as a Confederate officer. I urged them, by all means,
to carry out our plan.
The next day about noon I was sound asleep under the stepladder leading
up to the hatch, when awakened by considerable tumult around me. I
discovered about a half dozen men on the ladder, ready to make a charge
on the upper deck, where the guards were located. It so happened that
the man at the top of the ladder hesitated and by way of encouragement,
I called to him, “Don’t you stop there; put your shoulders under the
hatch and throw it off.” He proved to be an Irishman who said, “The
divil, you say; you come up here and take my place.” There was nothing
to do but climb up the ladder and take his place. I soon put my back to
the hatch and sent it up, whirling on the deck, and jumped on the deck
myself. The guard on duty threw his gun down on me, telling me to go
back or he would kill me. I called to the men, “Come on, boys,” but none
would follow. I noticed General Lee in the front part of the boat,
motioning to me, “Go back; go back.” It is hardly necessary for me to
say that I felt like a fool and went back.
There is a member of our camp here today who states that he was present,
close to General Lee, and saw me; his name is J. W. Middleton.
Our boat finally made its appearance and while it moved up very slowly
towards our boat for the purpose of throwing a gang plank across, for us
to pass over, a party of the Louisiana Guard Battery, a company of
highly educated young men from New Orleans, appeared on the upper deck
with a Confederate flag belonging to the Seventh Louisiana, tacked on to
a piece of scantling in the center. General Lee and Colonel Davis of the
Eighth Virginia were at one end of the line. These young men, who were
splendid singers, with fine voices, struck up:
“Farewell forever to the Star Spangled Banner,
No longer shall it wave over the home of the free,
Unfurled in its stead to the bold breeze of Heaven,
Thirteen bright stars around the palmetto tree.”
These lines constituted the chorus of the song, which was sung with a
great deal of spirit, and joined in by many of the men and officers. I
forgot to mention that while the boats were coming together the Federal
prisoners began to twit our boys about going back to live on corn
dodgers and bacon, but when they heard this song they were dumbfounded,
ceased their guying and simply stood speechless.
On our arrival at the Rockets, a place of landing in Richmond, we were
met by a great many citizens, mostly ladies in carriages, and a company
of Richmond cadets, escorted us to the Capitol Square, where we were met
by President and Mrs. Davis, who shook hands with every one of us. Mrs.
Davis was in tears. We were then regaled by a speech from Governor Smith
of Virginia, standing on the platform in front of the Capitol, when
among other things he said, “They have called me from the tented field
to preside over the destinies of this great commonwealth, because they
say I am too old to be there; but I deny the charge and want it
distinctly understood that among Yankees and women, I am only five and
twenty.”
Those who are acquainted with Governor Smith’s history, knowing him at
that time to be a man about sixty-five or seventy years old, commanding
a brigade in the army when he was elected Governor, will not be
surprised at his expression. Governor Smith was generally known as
“Extra Billy.” I will take occasion to mention that when I put my foot
on Dixie soil it proved the happiest moment of my life up to that time;
I felt like kissing the ground that I stood on.
President Davis, in his speech to us, told us that we were only paroled,
and could not enter the service again until duly exchanged. He requested
those that lived on the West of the Mississippi not to go home on a
visit, pending this exchange, stating that he hoped we would soon be
called on to return to our respective commands, as we were greatly
needed in the army.
With me, this admonition was not needed, my only ambition was to get
back to my command and again mount my horse and resume my duties. For
this purpose I sought out Senator Oldham from Texas, who went with me to
the War Department and secured me a pass from the Secretary of War, to
go to Greenville, East Tennessee, where I learned the Rangers were
camped and in due time made my way over there and found them in a deep
snow.
CHAPTER XI
THE INHUMANITY OF THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT.
In reviewing my prison experience and observation, I find that I omitted
to mention a case at Bowling Green, which will give the reader a fair
idea of the danger of capture in territory occupied by the Federal Army
and now take occasion to recall the case of John R. Lisle, a sergeant in
Morgan’s command, who was permitted to visit his home near Russellville,
Kentucky, on a short furlough and was shot down in his own home, in the
bosom of his family, by some Tory neighbors, the ball striking him on
top of the head, which temporarily stunned him and while on the floor,
senseless, they rushed in and secured his capture. He had on a new gray
Confederate uniform and when searched, had an order from General Morgan
to notify all of their men whom he met or had an opportunity to convey
the instructions, to report back to their command, having overstayed
their furlough.
I got acquainted with Lisle as soon as I entered the prison and found
him a very bright, intelligent gentleman. He was then being tried by
court martial on the charge of being a spy and convicted on this order
of Morgan’s, ordering men back to their command. During the trial he
made a pencil memorandum of the proceedings of the court martial and
finally, losing his temper one day, blessed out the court martial,
telling them that he was satisfied they were after his blood and to stop
their mockery of a trial, to go ahead and take his life, lead him out
and shoot him. The court martial found him guilty and assessed his
punishment at death by hanging. As soon as the findings of the court
martial were returned from General Burnside’s headquarters, approved, he
was taken down into the lower room and had irons forged on him, taken
over to the court house under special guard to await the day of his
execution. While at the court house his wife and oldest son, a boy about
fifteen, were permitted to see him, when he smuggled the memoranda he
had made of the proceedings of the court martial to his wife, with
instructions to send his boy to General Bragg’s headquarters, then near
Tullahoma, Tennessee, with this memoranda, satisfied that our Government
would demand his exchange as a prisoner of war, putting some Federal
officer in confinement, as hostage. After he was taken out of the prison
we were not permitted to learn anything more about his fate.
During my imprisonment at Point Lookout, Maryland, a batch of about five
hundred prisoners from Johnson’s Island were received there. Hastening
to the gate to watch their coming in, thinking perhaps I might see some
acquaintances, I met John R. Lisle, who had just been released from a
dungeon at Johnson’s Island, where he had been ever since he was moved
from Bowling Green in irons—confined in this dungeon and for the first
time then treated as a prisoner of war. There is hardly a doubt but
designating a couple of Federal officers as hostages for his safety, had
the desired effect and saved his life. I left him at Point Lookout with
the balance of the prisoners, from whence he was finally sent around for
exchange. I had a letter from one of our prison companions near Bowling
Green, about eight years ago, saying that Lisle finally returned South
and to his home in Kentucky, where he died only a few years before this
letter was written.
In order to give the reader an idea of the intense hatred on the part of
the Lincoln Government, it might be well here to note that in the very
beginning of hostilities they adopted a policy to degrade the Southern
Army in the estimation of their own people, as well as that of foreign
countries. In order to carry out such policy the War Department issued
an order that all executions of Confederate soldiers convicted by court
martial, should be by hanging—a felon’s death—which order was never
modified and was carried out in its letter and spirit, never in any case
permitting an exception.
In this connection I would mention a case in point, which occurred while
I was a prisoner and has repeatedly been reported in the papers of the
North and South. The case was a Colonel Johnston of the Confederate
Army, in conjunction with a lieutenant, whose name I have forgotten,
entering the Federal lines as spies. Colonel Johnston was armed with a
fictitious order from Secretary of War Stanton to proceed to
Murfreesboro, Franklin and Nashville, Tennessee, and inspect the Federal
works at these places. They called one evening at Franklin, presented
the Secretary of War’s order, which seemed to be genuine, when the
colonel commanding received them very courteously and rode around with
them, inspecting his works. Colonel Johnston also stated to him that he
was just from General Rosencranz’s headquarters, where he had inspected
the works around Murfreesboro. After the inspection of the Franklin
works Colonel Johnston told the colonel in command that he was compelled
to go to Nashville that night and insisted on leaving at once for
Nashville, although dark had set in. The colonel tried to persuade him
to spend the night with him but all to no purpose. After Colonel
Johnston and the lieutenant had been gone perhaps a half hour the
colonel got suspicious and wired General Rosencranz for information, and
General Rosencranz replied that there had been no such men there, that
evidently they were spies, to not fail to capture them and order a
drumhead court martial. The colonel then immediately ordered his horse
and with a sergeant, pursued Colonel Johnston and the lieutenant, caught
up with them some six or eight miles on the road to Nashville, and
insisted that they must go back with him and spend the night, which they
did. On their arrival at the colonel’s headquarters he immediately had
them searched and found ample evidence on their persons that they were
Confederate soldiers, acting as spies, notably the sword of Colonel
Johnston’s was inscribed “C. S. A.,” and Colonel Johnston readily
admitted they were spies.
During the session of the court martial Colonel Johnston made himself
known to the colonel commanding, who then recognized him as a classmate
at West Point. He then made an eloquent appeal to the court martial to
save the life of the lieutenant, telling them that he was unaware, when
they started on this expedition, of its object and finally begged them
to have him shot, to permit him to die a soldier’s and not a felon’s
death. He said to the colonel, “When you rode up we both had our pistols
out, under the capes of our overcoats and could have killed you easily,
thereby saving our lives, but the thought of killing an old classmate
without giving him a chance for his life overruled my better judgment
and I decided that I might talk out of it, thereby sparing your life,”
but all to no purpose, his pleadings were ignored and he had to meet his
fate by hanging.
After the defeat of the Federal Army at the first battle of Manassas,
many wagonloads of handcuffs, put up in barrels, were captured, which
were intended to be placed on the entire Confederate Army when captured,
and marched into Washington City, wearing these bracelets.
Among Mr. Lincoln’s earliest proclamations was the one declaring
medicines contraband of war, thus depriving millions of sick of
medicines, one of the most brutal and inhuman orders ever published by a
civilized Government.
CHAPTER XII.
I REJOIN MY COMMAND.
Recurring to the meeting of my comrades at Greenville, Tennessee, where
I found them camped in a deep snow, when they had me relate my prison
experience, etc.: They had just received orders to move to Dalton,
Georgia, where I, having no horse, proceeded by rail. On my arrival at
Dalton I found the largest, best equipped army I had ever seen in the
Confederacy, mostly quartered in tents. Our advance line occupied the
top of a range of mountains, presenting precipitous fronts towards the
enemy. This range of mountains was somewhat in the shape of a horseshoe,
largely surrounding Dalton with probably a half dozen gaps, which were
strongly fortified by our forces, except Snake Creek Gap on our left,
nearly on a line with Resacca, a railroad station immediately in our
rear on the only line entering Dalton and our only means of supplying
the army and enabling retreat. I found General Joseph E. Johnston in
command, with General Hardee, his second in command and General Hood,
commanding a corps, immediately in front of Dalton.
Not having any horse and unable to secure one, I met a friend, Captain
James Britton from Lebanon, Tennessee, who commanded Hood’s escort, who
told me that he had several horses in camp, doing nothing, the owners of
the horses being sick and confined at the hospital; if I would come and
stay with him that I could ride any of the horses. This I gratefully
accepted, telling him that I would only do so with the understanding
that I would be treated as a member of the company doing duty.
While on this duty, moving out with the escort one morning with General
Hood and staff, to his headquarters just in the rear of Railroad Gap, I
witnessed the meeting of General J. E. Johnston, W. J. Hardee, General
Cheatham, General Hindman, all with their respective staffs, at General
Hood’s headquarters, which were under an old workshed with a workbench
under it. General Johnston and staff were the last to arrive. After
dismounting and shaking hands with the different generals and members of
their staffs, as also General Hood, he handed General Hood his crutches.
General Hood, it will be remembered, lost his leg at Chickamauga and was
ever afterwards on crutches. Generals Johnston and Hood then moved up
the road about three hundred yards out of our hearing and were soon
engaged in a very animated discussion, which lasted perhaps
three-quarters of an hour. When they returned Generals Johnston and
Hardee mounted their horses with their respective staffs, returning to
town, and gradually the rest of the officers dispersed, going to their
respective stations.
CHAPTER XIII.
MIDDLE TENNESSEE AND KENTUCKY.
On reflection, I find that I omitted about a year’s service in Tennessee
and Kentucky, before my capture near Bowling Green and will insert this
now.
After destroying trestles and bridges between La Vergne and Nashville,
under General Forrest, and capturing a railroad train at La Vergne, on
which Colonel Fordyce was captured, we were ordered back across the
mountain to Chattanooga, where we commenced scouting and picketing on
the Tennessee River. We frequently extended our scouts almost to
Guntersville, with the Federal Army massing and camping just across the
river. General Mitchell commanded at Huntsville. He gave out that he was
building a gunboat, with which to capture Chattanooga, and had the
people of Chattanooga badly alarmed about it, but when finally he got
his gunboat ready to move up the river, a scout of about twenty Texas
Rangers were sent down to meet it with shotguns, taking a position on
top of a high bank, opposite the mouth of Battle Creek, which was in
plain view of this high bank. The gunboat approached and proved to be an
ordinary small river boat, lined with cotton bales on the edge of the
decks with the troops aboard, lying around carelessly on the side of
this barricade of cotton bales, some of them playing cards. When the
boat came very close to our bluff, we turned loose our shotguns on them
and drove the boat into the mouth of Battle Creek, where it remained and
was utilized by the Federal Army as a bridge for crossing the creek.
This proved the end of General Mitchell’s famous gunboat, with which he
threatened to capture Chattanooga. It was driven out of commission by
Terry’s Rangers’ shotguns and relieved the people of Chattanooga of
their anxiety.
While picketing down on the river road with a companion, we stopped at a
blacksmith’s shop near Nicajack Cave and had our horses shod; just
across the river was a camp of Federal infantry and artillery. The river
at this point we judged to be about three-quarters of a mile wide,
perhaps more; the railroad continued to run on the banks of the river,
after passing the Narrows with the first depot out of Chattanooga, Shell
Mound. After having our horses shod we rode down to the railroad on the
banks of the river, the grade of which was high enough to protect us and
our horses. We discovered a soldier at the river, filling some canteens
and to see him run, we fired our pistols across, which of course made
him run to his camp. Soon after, we heard the artillery bugle and
immediately a gun opened on us with shell, which always struck the
Nicajack Cave, some three-quarters of a mile in our rear, the country
between us and Nicajack Cave being flat and open. We soon moved down to
the little brick depot at Shell Mound and opened on them from there,
when they perforated it with their shells; we then moved down to a box
bridge across the mouth of the creek running into the river and had them
make that a target. It is hardly necessary to say that we enjoyed this,
somewhat, having a duel with our pistols against their piece of
artillery. We were entirely protected and didn’t consider that we were
under any danger whatever of being hit.
While picketing on this main road, General Morgan ran down on a
locomotive as far as Shell Mound, just before our escapade with this
artillery and came very near having his engine struck by a shell, but he
succeeded in getting back to Chattanooga with his locomotive.
We were soon ordered back to Middle Tennessee, under General Forrest,
where we operated around McMinnville, Manchester and along the railroad.
After an attack on the outskirts of Manchester one morning, which
Colonel Forrest decided was too strong for us, we withdrew further down
the railroad, where we charged a block-house, the first we ever
attempted to capture and the first we had ever seen. But, although some
of our men got right up to the house, we were unable to force them to
surrender, and were forced to give it up as a bad job. While engaged in
this venture, a large force of infantry, cavalry and artillery had moved
out on the road from McMinnville and were about to cut off our line of
retreat. When we got in sight of this force, hurrying to get out of this
corner, they raised a shout, which I must say made me feel very
uncomfortable, knowing that they outnumbered us perhaps five to one, but
we succeeded in dashing across the main road, where we wheeled and
charged their advance column, bringing them to a halt, permitting others
of the command to cross, that were virtually cut off, but they did
capture a large fine looking negro man, who was the servant of General
Forrest. His name was Napoleon, and he was devotedly attached to General
Forrest. In connection with his capture they also captured two fine
horses belonging to the general. They carried this negro to Louisville
prison and did their best to persuade him to take the oath of allegiance
and join them, but he steadfastly refused, as he was devotedly attached
to General Forrest and was finally, through some special arrangement,
exchanged and returned to the general. The last I knew of him I heard of
him in Louisville prison, when he was sent around for exchange.
After operating a while longer in Middle Tennessee without any important
captures, we got information that General Bragg had crossed the
Tennessee River at Chattanooga and was moving across Cumberland
Mountain, driving the Federal Army before him and we were instructed to
harass the enemy as much as possible. In accordance therewith we would
attack their infantry (moving with their artillery, ordnance and wagon
trains by divisions on several of the main roads). We would dash into
their rear, forcing them to stop and draw up in line of battle, when
they would commence shelling us and we would move out of the range of
their artillery rapidly, further up the road, striking another column
perhaps in flank, leaving the first mentioned column shelling the woods
for an hour or more after we had left. In this manner we kept them
harassed and impeded their rapid movements, while General Bragg, with
the main army, was moving as rapidly as possible on their flank,
crossing the Cumberland River higher up on his way to Glasgow, Kentucky.
The Federal Army made a short stop at Nashville, collecting all their
forces, and then moved from there towards Mumfordsville, Kentucky, on
Green River.
While in pursuit of one of these Federal columns on top of a mountain
not far from Woodbury, we struck a point on the pike where it was built
across a deep ravine; the crossing protected on the side by a rail
fence. Just as we entered the narrow point in this lane, General
Forrest, who was riding in advance of our regiment, discovered a vidette
of the enemy in the woods on the far banks of the ravine, and he
immediately had some men dismounted on both flanks, to drive them in,
satisfied that the enemy were going to make a stand on the other side of
the ravine. He determined to charge them, horseback, for which purpose
we formed fours and prepared for the charge by tightening our saddle
girths. Just as we were ready to move on them, a masked battery of four
pieces opened on us and drove us back, as we stood no chance of reaching
it in massed formation of fours through this narrow lane on the Pike.
The first shell cut off a leg below the knee of D. Rugeley, one of the
finest looking young men we had in the company, and one of the best. He
was held on his horse by his companions, on our retreat, when the
enemy’s cavalry charged us and, for the moment, created a little
confusion. When Colonel Wharton discovered Rugeley’s plight, holding the
lower part of his leg by the foot and being assisted by a comrade on
each side, holding him on his horse, he was completely overcome with the
sight, rode up and fell over on D., with both arms around his neck,
crying, when D. said to him, “Colonel Wharton, this is no place to take
on in this manner. Leave me and save yourself.” This aroused Wharton and
wheeling his horse, called on the Rangers to rally and drive back that
cavalry and save D. Rugeley, which it is hardly necessary to say, was
done in short order. This is perhaps the only instance where Colonel
Wharton was seen to lose control of himself and can only be explained by
the fact that D. Rugeley’s father and he were most intimate friends, and
on parting with Rugeley’s father had been enjoined to take special care
of his boy.
An instance of appreciation of our services was illustrated near
Murfreesboro, Tennessee, through which place we had just passed in
pursuit of a large Federal column. In passing through a lane a few miles
north of town, where a number of ladies had congregated to see us pass,
an old lady among them was cheering us and clapping her hands, when she
was heard to remark, “Oh, daughter; just look at our soldiers, grand men
as they are, all covered with dust so they can hardly be recognized; God
bless them! I wish they could stay long enough so I could wash their
clothes.” This old lady perhaps had never seen a washtub in her life, as
judging from the magnificent house which appeared through the woods, and
its surroundings, she was no doubt raised in wealth and affluence. It
was such expressions as this, on the part of the ladies, that made us
good soldiers.
After our army reached Glasgow the enemy had concentrated a strong force
at Mumfordsville, which was strongly fortified and which they determined
to hold at all hazards. Nashville was not evacuated by them, but a force
of ten thousand men, strongly fortified, with Andrew Johnson, demanding
of General Nelson to hold this place at all hazards, which was done.
While our army was at Glasgow, which was only about twenty-five miles
from Bell Station, McDonald, a member of our company, proposed to me to
go by and see the Smith family, at whose house he had been sick and to
which I agreed, and for this purpose called on Colonel Wharton to give
us a pass, which he refused, saying that no one could be permitted to
pass our lines unless they had a pass from General Bragg, countersigned
by General Polk. We told him, “Colonel Wharton, we feel in duty bound to
visit these people,” and gave him the reason, telling him that we would
make the attempt without a pass. He said, “Graber, if you do and you are
caught, Bragg will have both of you shot.” I told him, “All right;
catching before hanging.” We started out at night, telling him “If you
miss us you’ll know where we are.” We started out the main road towards
Bell Station; when about a mile we struck an Alabama picket and asked
the lieutenant commanding to allow us to pass through, telling him the
circumstances that prompted our determination to visit our friends. He
said, “Rangers, you know we would do anything we can for you, but our
orders are very strict and we cannot disobey them.” We then moved back
out of sight, struck out into the woods on their flank, passing around
them and made our way to the Smith home, about four miles from Bell
Station. It is hardly necessary to say the old lady and her daughters,
the only ones left at home, were delighted to see us, and especially to
hear from the army. They had not heard from their boys, who were in
Breckenridge’s Brigade, nor their father, who was with them. It will be
remembered he left his home with McDonald in a wagon and carried him to
Bowling Green, when he was convalescent from his spell of pneumonia. We
remained at the house nearly a half day, when we heard heavy firing at
Mumfordsville and immediately mounted our horses and started for there.
Arriving at Mumfordsville about night I was unable to get any
information of our brigade and we decided to go into the battle with the
infantry the next morning, but during the night the Federals
surrendered. About daylight we mounted our horses and entered the fort
through an embrasure and soon struck the hospital tents, where McDonald
dismounted to try to find some liquor. While I never indulged in strong
drink, it was hard to keep McDonald from it. While holding his horse,
waiting for him to come back, Colonel Wharton rode in, at the head of
our regiment, from the opposite side of the fort from where we had
entered and on seeing me, simply said, “Hello, Graber; you beat us in,”
and smiled. I expect we were the first Confederates inside of the fort.
It seems that General Chalmers, the evening before, had made a
determined attack on the works and was repulsed with heavy loss. The
colonel commanding the fort, learning that General Bragg had arrived
with the whole army, completely surrounding him during the night,
decided it was better to surrender than to risk another engagement the
next day, as he had only about four or five thousand men.
After leaving Mumfordsville, our cavalry and Forrest continued on the
main road through Elizabethtown and on to Bardstown, Kentucky, out of
which place we drove the Federal cavalry. They retreated to Louisville.
We were camped at Bardstown several days, awaiting the arrival of the
infantry and while there, formed the acquaintance of a number of good
people, which means friends of the South. At Bardstown we found the home
of Judge Newman, whose daughter, the wife of my old friend, Cannon, then
lived at Courtney. Before they had removed from Hempstead, a year or
more before the breaking out of hostilities, her sister, Miss Josie
Newman, made a visit to Hempstead, where she formed the acquaintance of
quite a number of young men that were in the army with us. On our second
day’s sojourn a Mr. Tom Clay, belonging to Company K of our regiment,
whose home was in Washington County, and who had been intimately
acquainted with Miss Josie during her stay at Hempstead, proposed to me
to call on Miss Josie, to which I agreed. Alighting in front of their
house, Miss Josie happened to be standing in the door and recognizing
us, rushed to the gate and invited us in. Just then a little boy came
along and asked me to give him a little silk Confederate flag some young
ladies had presented me with the day before and I had sticking in the
browband of my horse’s bridle. Fearing the little boy would take the
flag while we were in the house, I suggested that I had better take this
in with me. Miss Josie then said, “That flag can’t come into our house.”
Up to this time we were unaware that they were Union people. My friend,
bowing to her, said, “We will certainly not go into a house where our
flag is not welcome,” and we declined to go in. By this time her mother
had come to the gate, when Miss Josie introduced us. Mrs. Newman having
heard my name, through the Cannon family, quite often, she insisted on
our coming in, when we told her Miss Josie’s objections. She chided her
for her discourtesy and told us to come in and bring the flag, when my
friend said to Miss Josie, “We will compromise the matter with you and
go in, if you will sing Dixie and Bonnie Blue Flag for us,” which of
course she had to agree to do and, while singing these songs, I sat at
the end of the piano with my little Confederate flag in my hand and when
she sang the chorus I would wave the flag.
After two days’ sojourn we moved on up towards Louisville, part of our
force dividing and occupying the town of Taylorsville on our right; the
balance of the command camping near Mount Washington on the Bardstown
Pike. Here General Forrest received an order from the War Department to
personally report to Richmond and turn the command of the brigade over
to Colonel Wharton. In about a week the Federal forces advanced out of
Louisville. They were said to be a hundred thousand strong, while
another force moved out of Cincinnati, about sixty thousand strong, with
a view of cutting us off from retreat to Cumberland Gap.
CHAPTER XIV.
BARDSTOWN ENGAGEMENT—I “SWAP” HORSES WITH A FEDERAL.
The object of General Bragg’s advance into Kentucky was to form a
nucleus for Kentuckians to rally around, our War Department having been
importuned by leading Kentuckians to do this, claiming they would have a
hundred thousand men to join us as soon as we could reclaim their
territory. On this point, however, they were mistaken, as we gathered
only about six thousand recruits and they all wanted to serve in
cavalry. They joined us largely about half equipped for cavalry service,
many of them with citizen’s saddles and shotguns or squirrel rifles and,
while on the subject, I might mention here that over half of them
deserted us before we passed through Cumberland Gap and soon after they
found that we were unable to hold Kentucky. Gen. Bragg moved in there
with about thirty thousand men, exclusive of General Kirby Smith’s force
of about twelve thousand, which moved on Cincinnati and fought the
battle of Richmond, where they completely defeated the Federal Army of
about twenty-five thousand strong, capturing, killing and wounding
nearly half, with the balance driven into Covington and Cincinnati.
While at Bardstown, General Bragg, finding that the real object of his
campaign was a failure, decided to turn it into a raid; to collect
valuable stores and move out again, through Cumberland Gap.
When Colonel Wharton took command of the brigade, succeeding General
Forrest, General Wheeler with another brigade occupied the Taylorsville
Pike, both brigades holding the enemy in check in their advance as best
they could. Our little force at Taylorsville was drawn over to the
Bardstown and Louisville Pike, where they met the balance of the brigade
at Mount Washington. While at Mount Washington, drawn up in line, eating
our lunch, a large force of Federal cavalry made a dash on us but were
soon repulsed and driven back. In this engagement a messmate of mine,
Roland Chatham, received a pistol ball right in the center of his
forehead, just over the eyes, the ball penetrating his skull and burying
itself in the brain. This however, did not knock him off his horse and
he remained with us until after the enemy was driven back. Passing to
the rear with his wound bleeding, he was noticed by some ladies in Mount
Washington, displaying his pistol, when they were heard to remark, “Just
look at that poor Texas Ranger; shot through the head and still he wants
to fight.” In this connection I would state that Chatham was sent to the
hospital and finally to Texas, never having been completely disabled on
account of this wound, and with this ball imbedded in the brain, lived
to a good old age, dying only a few years ago at Bryan, Texas, where he
raised a large family. Here he started and operated a cotton gin
manufactory, which proved a great success and enabled him to amass a
considerable fortune. During all his lifetime his wound remained open
but never affected his mind. This was, perhaps, one of the most
remarkable cases on record.
The Federal advance through Mount Washington and Taylorsville continued
daily as soon as it was light enough to discern anything. The enemy’s
skirmishers would advance and, supported by their line of battle and
artillery, would drive us from positions we had taken up. We would then
fall back to another good position, perhaps a mile, and defend that as
best we could, again to be driven from it in the same manner. I forgot
to mention we had with us in this brigade, the First and Second Georgia
and the Tennessee Battalion, under Colonel Baxter Smith, who is still
living at Nashville, Tennessee.
When within nine miles of Bardstown, one morning (dark and drizzling
rain) the enemy failed to make its appearance at daylight. Waiting until
about nine o’clock, Colonel Wharton got suspicious, and sent a scout in
our rear, who struck a large cavalry force of the enemy of about eight
regiments, occupying the pike near the Fair Grounds. Returning, full
speed, the scout reported to Colonel Wharton this condition. Immediately
placing himself at the head of our regiment, drawn up immediately across
the pike, Colonel Wharton sent couriers to the balance of our regiment
and to a section of little brass six-pounders (originally the property
of the Arkansas Military Institute) commanded by Captain Pugh of our
regiment, a western Texas cowman, instructing them to come on and catch
up with our regiment as fast as they could. Wharton at the head of the
regiment in column of fours, struck a lope and soon arrived in sight of
this body of the enemy’s cavalry. He then ordered a charge and when at a
junction of a dirt road with the pike, about two companies of this
cavalry formed in an orchard behind a rail picket fence, which are rails
stuck in the ground, picket fashion, and fired on our flank point blank.
About thirty or forty of us turned on them, halting in front of this
picket fence with our bridle reins thrown over the horns of our saddles,
and with a six-shooter in each hand, began to empty saddles. This caused
them to break and enter a lane in their rear, having already let down
the fence to provide for such an emergency, and fled up the lane in a
northerly direction from whence they had come. Colonel Wharton with the
balance of the regiment dashed into the solid body of the enemy in his
front and scattered them. It soon developed that they were panic
stricken and were driven over the open country, interspersed only by
rail and rock fences, in detached bodies of twenty and fifty, and so on,
by only a few Rangers, driving them like cattle on the prairies. Here
was one of the most brilliant cavalry engagements we were ever in and
resulted in our capturing a great many prisoners.
When the regiment passed through Bardstown somewhat hurriedly, passing
by the Newman residence, Miss Josie Newman, who was standing at the
gate, watching them go by, saw a Major Jared Gross, a former
acquaintance, loping up the column. She recognized him, clapping her
hands and calling out, “Good-bye, Jared; I’m glad to see you running,”
when the next moment she recognized a Federal, Major Watts, riding
behind one of our boys, a prisoner, his face badly bruised and his
clothes torn and soiled, having had his horse killed under him. This
sight immediately brought her tears and she went back into the house,
crying. She was a kind hearted, good young lady, full of spirit in her
Union sentiment.
Now, to go back to the party of Federals in the orchard, fleeing up the
lane from the direction whence they came: Captain Mark Evans, commanding
one of our Western companies, and I, were the first ones to enter the
lane and drive these fellows. We were followed by quite a number of
others, who stopped at the fence with us when first fired into. In
running up the lane we ran over a number of six-shooters and belts with
sabre and six-shooters attached. The six-shooter was always a valuable
capture for us, as we could readily sell it to men in the army who had
money, which we were always in need of, and although we were virtually
maintaining ourselves without the aid of the Government, we could not
afford to stop and pick up these pistols, as everything depended on
crowding these Federals, who outnumbered us at least ten to one; but, as
before stated, they were panic stricken, which sometimes happened to the
best of troops.
After passing about a mile up this lane, I noticed a very fine pistol. I
recognized it as a Tranter, an English pistol, self-cocking, of which
Colonel Terry had four, and I was always anxious to secure a pair of
them. My first impulse was to stop and get this pistol; then again
concluded not to stop, as so much depended on our crowding them, but,
after passing it perhaps thirty or forty yards, I decided I would go
back and pick it up, anyway. For this purpose, I wheeled and as my
horse’s position was across the lane, in turning, one of our men just
behind me, struck my horse’s neck and broke the headstall of my bridle,
dropping the bit out of the horse’s mouth. He wheeled and ran after
Evans and the Federals, running faster than ever I had known him to run
before, and he would soon have carried me right in among them. But, when
near Evans I called to him to stop my horse; at the same time one of the
Federals dismounted from his horse and surrendered. He and Evans
together stopped my horse, and as there was no time for swapping
bridles, I slipped over on his horse, handing him my bridle rein which
was still around my horse’s neck with the bit attached; grabbing his
pistol, I went on my Federal horse and told the Federal to wait and turn
mine over to some of the boys behind.
Continuing up this lane we discovered a bunch of about twenty-five or
thirty, some hundred and fifty yards to our right, in a field, headed by
an officer riding a magnificent horse and in magnificent uniform. We
soon arrived at a big gate on our right, just beyond where another fence
connected with the lane fence, this fence running due east, and which
this bunch of Federals had to cross. When we reached this gate Evans
said to me, “Run through that gate and head off this bunch,” which I
did. I forgot to mention that this party was driven by only about a half
dozen of our men. After passing through the gate I stopped, took
position almost immediately in front of them and when the officer got
near the fence I threw my pistol down on him and demanded his surrender,
to which he paid no attention, but threw off the top rail, the rider of
the fence, and made his horse leap the fence, passing right in front of
me, running through an orchard and I have never been able to understand
how he succeeded in avoiding the limbs of the trees without butting his
brains out.
When the balance of his men came up and attempted to jump the fence, the
first man broke it down and furnished an easier way for the balance to
cross but, being headed off by me, they were forced to take right down
the fence east, followed by our boys, whom I cautioned several times to
hold their fire until the Federals would bunch up. To this, however,
very little attention was paid and with my additional pistol, my shots
held out longer than theirs.
Now, it must be understood that having to load our pistols with loose
powder from the powder flask, which had a gauge attached, then ramming
down the ball with a ramrod attached to the pistol, then putting a cap
on the nipple, it was necessary to stop and reload, as an attempt at
reloading, running, would have spilled the powder and caused confusion;
hence, one after another of our boys dropped behind to reload. This
found me alone, just after the Federals and I had turned the corner of a
stone fence, starting due north again. When about a hundred yards from
this stone fence I fired my last shot, when one of them looked around,
discovered I was by myself, called on the others to “turn on him; there
is only one by himself; give him h—.” I wheeled and the Yankees
wheeled. When we had run back only about fifty yards, two of our men,
who I think were Geo. W. Littlefield and Beardy Miller, turned the same
corner of the stone fence. When this bunch of Federals saw this, they
again wheeled, running north. When Littlefield and Miller came up to
where I was they said, “Come on; come on.” I said, “No, I have got to
stop and load my pistol,” which I proceeded to do, they continuing after
this bunch of Federals. Having about three or four chambers of my pistol
filled with powder and standing about fifteen yards from the fence,
seven more Federals came around the same corner of the fence, running
between me and the fence, after I had drawn back my horse about ten
steps, giving them more room. If I had had one load in my pistol, I
would have demanded their surrender, which I believe they would have
done, but they never said a word to me nor I to them, and went flying
after Littlefield and Beardy Miller, who were after the first bunch.
I forgot to mention that before we had reached this far, we heard heavy
firing of infantry and artillery. We knew it was infantry by their first
volley; then a very rapid, scattering fire, as also rapid cannonading in
the direction of the Fair Grounds, which we concluded to mean that the
balance of our brigade were passing down into Bardstown, around this
infantry and artillery, which had been sent in support of their cavalry.
After having completed the loading of two of my pistols, I discovered a
bunch of about eighty or a hundred Federals running towards me, cut off
by the long fence running east. When they struck the fence, in place of
crossing it, continuing in their course north, they turned right down
the line of fence east, on the south side of it. By this time the firing
at the Fair Grounds had become more scattered and distant, and the
artillery had ceased firing, but I was afraid to venture back the way I
came, by myself, therefore, decided that I would let down the fence,
getting on the south side of it, follow this last bunch east, until I
was about four or five miles east of Bardstown, then turn due south and
strike the Springfield Pike, on which I knew our infantry were moving
from Bardstown to Perryville. I finished loading my pistols, then
crossed the fence and started east in the wake of these Federals,
keeping a sharp lookout ahead and, after riding about three or four
miles, passing through woods-lots and fences, I emerged from the woods,
up on a ridge, and discovered these fellows about a quarter of a mile
below me in a field, drawn up in a line, facing in my direction. I
resorted to a ruse, taking off my hat and waving it behind me, then
started at them, but this would not work and immediately they started
after me. I turned south and put my Federal horse to his best and soon
got out of sight.
Having run in this direction some three or four miles, coming out of a
woods-lot through a big gate to a large, white house I stopped and
called, hoping to get some information about the best way to get to the
Springfield Pike. After calling some little time, an old gentleman came
out of the door, to the front porch, when I called to him that I was a
Confederate soldier and wanted some information about striking the
Springfield Pike, four or five miles east of Bardstown. Having heard the
firing of the infantry and artillery, which no doubt greatly alarmed
him, he talked so fast and rambling that I was unable to understand him,
and I begged him to come to the gate, which he started to do. When about
half way, I heard the woods-lot gate creak, looked around and here were
my Federals, coming single file, which of course started me again,
running south into a short lane running east, and when at the mouth of
this lane, only about three hundred yards long, I looked across the
corner of this man’s field and found about a dozen or more of these
fellows bunched up at his gate, talking to the old man. I immediately
turned south again, putting my horse to his very best. When about three
miles from there, I struck a lane with a dirt road running towards
Bardstown. I kept a sharp lookout for the Federals behind me, whom I
never saw again and don’t believe they followed me any further. Looking
up the lane east, I discovered five Confederate cavalrymen coming in the
direction of Bardstown and when they got up to where I was waiting for
them in the lane, having crossed the fence, I found that they were three
Georgians and two of our own regiment. I then tried to get them to go
back with me, telling them that I believed that we could pick up quite a
number of prisoners, but the Georgians were unwilling; they too, had
heard the firing at Bardstown and did not think it safe for us to go
back in the direction of where I left these people scattered over the
different fields.
I now suggested we strike south again until we reached the Springfield
Pike, which we did in due time and struck Anderson’s Division of
Infantry, reporting to General Anderson our engagement and telling him I
was satisfied we could pick up many prisoners if he would only send back
with me a couple of companies of cavalry. He stated he did not have a
man to spare and was unable to do so, but told me to wait there, that
General Hardee would come up pretty soon and might act on my suggestion.
In about half an hour General Hardee, with his staff, came up, and I
reported the engagement to him and found he had had no particulars.
Being unable to tell him whether the balance of the brigade with the two
little popguns had got through safely to Bardstown, made him somewhat
apprehensive, but he was, nevertheless, gratified to know that the
Rangers had come through all right.
General Hardee, in response to my request to send some cavalry with me
to pick up these stragglers, said that he did not have a man to spare
and told me we had better stay at his headquarters that night. The next
morning we would find our command at a certain point on this pike, he
said. This we decided to do, being very hungry and tired. The next
morning we started for our camp and, on my arrival there, found my horse
with the saddle, everything all right, but no one in the company could
tell who delivered him or where he came from. Captain Evans, I suppose,
being too much engaged in collecting his scattered forces, had not made
any report on my exchange of horses. I never found out what became of my
good Federal who held him for me and swapped with me. My comrades, who
had concluded that I was perhaps killed, shot off of my horse, had given
me out and, when I rode in on my Federal horse with the Federal overcoat
and other equipments, you can imagine their surprise.
Miss Josie Newman, just before Major Gross passed her house, had called
to some members of our company to know where I was and their answer was
that I was left on the field, either dead or wounded and this caused her
and her mother, with friends, to look over the field for several days,
hunting me or my body, so Mrs. Cannon reported after a visit to her
home, several years after the war.
CHAPTER XV.
THE BATTLE OF PERRYVILLE.
Referring back to the balance of the brigade we left formed on the pike,
nine miles from town: Couriers were sent them and to our little battery,
to follow us and catch up as fast as they could, which they tried to do.
When near the Fair Grounds they fell into the enemy’s infantry and
artillery support, but successfully moved around them, losing only a few
killed and wounded and taken prisoners; our loss in killed and wounded
was very small.
The cause of our being cut off was through General Wheeler, who had
occupied the Taylorsville Pike, moving into Bardstown the night before,
sending a courier to Colonel Wharton with a dispatch ordering him to
move in also. This courier was captured, which of course, proved
valuable information to the enemy and on which they acted by throwing
this heavy cavalry, infantry and artillery forces across our line of
retreat.
This brilliant achievement of Wharton’s extricating his brigade from
this trap, secured his promotion to that of Brigadier-General, the same
as Forrest’s exploit in the capture of Murfreesboro had secured his
commission as Brigadier-General.
After leaving Bardstown our army continued its movement towards
Perryville, its rear covered by our cavalry, all under the command of
General Joe Wheeler. We pursued the same tactics that we did between
Louisville and Bardstown, taking up favorable positions only to be
driven from them by the large force of the enemy, usually by their
superior artillery and heavy flank movements, thereby retarding their
advance and giving our infantry, artillery and wagon train ample time to
keep out of their way, also enabling some part of the cavalry to collect
valuable army stores, such as provisions, stock, etc.
At Perryville we were forced to call a halt and give battle, our right
wing, commanded by General Polk, becoming actively engaged about two
o’clock in the evening.
The battlefield selected was one of the most favorable to both armies
that could have been wished for, except that the extreme left wing of
the Federal Army was caught without water until they succeeded in
reaching a spring. Both lines of battle were on wooded ridges,
intervened by a gentle valley from one and a half to three miles wide,
these ridges terminating not far from Doctor’s Creek where there was
considerable water, and which was commanded by our lines. At the head of
the valley another wooded ridge sprang up about equidistant between the
terminations of the two first mentioned ridges.
About ten o’clock we were ordered to our extreme right, commanded by
General Cheatham and our line of march in the rear of the infantry line
was discovered by the enemy, causing a concentration of their artillery
to such an extent that we were forced to drop to the rear out of their
sight. Finally we were ordered up on this wooded ridge commencing in the
center of the valley, as a corps of observation, to watch the enemy’s
extreme left and frustrate any flank movements they might undertake.
I forgot to mention that the artillery on both lines opened about
daylight and gradually developed on both lines to about one o’clock, the
infantry of both lying down and keeping out of sight. While on the ridge
as stated, acting as a corps of observation, General Wharton, with his
field glass, discovered a body of Federal cavalry, loaded with canteens,
at a spring at the foot of the mountain they were occupying and called
to the command, “About a half dozen of you get off your horses and drive
that cavalry away from the spring.” As the mountain or ridge we were on,
on the side next to the enemy, was very rocky and precipitous, the
necessity of dismounting was apparent. I, with five or six others,
obeyed the order and we were soon down in the valley, charging this
spring, when this cavalry, with their long range Spencer rifles, took
position behind a rock fence and opened on us. We had only one long
range gun, in addition to six-shooters and knowing that the eyes of our
own command, as well as Cheatham’s Division of infantry were watching
us, we never considered a halt, but charged right on to them and, with
our pistols, drove them away from the spring. We followed them around
the foot of their ridge, past a house in the rear of the ridge, then
down a line of fence, while they passed into the field and finally into
a cedar thicket. We decided that we had better retire. We had started to
do so, when one of these fellows came out of the thicket, riding a gray
horse and called to us, waving his pistol. We turned loose on him with
our pistols and drove him back into the thicket. We again started to
retire, when he made his appearance again, pursuing the same tactics,
when one of our boys, who had an Enfield rifle, the only gun in the
party, crept down the outside line of the fence, unseen by them, until
about even with the thicket and when the fellow made his appearance
again, the third time, he fired on him, tumbling him off his horse. This
brought a shout from our party, when simultaneously with our shout, a
battery opened on the extreme left of the ridge, almost right over us,
but they were not shooting at us. Still we knew unless we hurried out of
there, we would be caught, and immediately proceeded to do so. When we
got in sight of the ridge occupied by our cavalry, we discovered the
object of their artillery fire, which was shelling a party General
Wharton had sent around, leading our horses, to bring them to us. Before
we got half way across we found our regiment sweeping around the foot of
the mountain, across the valley, up on the enemy’s ridge and as soon as
they were out of sight in the dense woods on the ridge, they fell into
the enemy’s infantry behind a stone fence, which poured volleys into
them and it is hardly necessary to say, badly scattered them, and they
left a number of killed and wounded on the field. In the meantime,
General Cheatham and staff had been seen crossing the valley to the
point where our regiment was engaged, followed by his strong line of
infantry. General Cheatham called to our scattered forces to “take this
cavalry out of here and let my people take a hand,” which they did as
soon as they got within range of this stone fence. This fence was
defended by the enemy’s infantry at close quarters with clubbed guns and
bayonets, but they finally yielded and were driven, inch by inch, off
the mountain to their rear. This was the opening of the battle of
Perryville and occurred about two o’clock in the evening. Among the dead
left temporarily on the field was Captain Mark Evans, shot through the
center of the head. The reader will remember that a few days before he
saved my life and assisted me in swapping horses with the Federal in the
Bardstown fight.
After rallying his forces General Wharton moved around in the rear of
this wooded ridge and, while moving parallel with this ridge in the
valley beyond, discovered an ordnance train in a lane about a quarter of
a mile to our right, and prepared to charge it. Immediately a battery of
four pieces opened on us on our flank, compelling us to withdraw, as we
were satisfied that this battery was supported by a heavy force of
infantry. Under this fire of artillery we had a complete set of fours
cut down by one cannon ball or shell that passed through the bodies of
four horses, cutting off both legs of one man below the knee, but not
injuring the three other men, who mounted behind other comrades and rode
off the field. This set of fours was just in front of the set of which I
constituted a part and, on the spur of the moment, I stopped with our
wounded friend to assist him. When attempting to hand him my canteen, to
give him water, my horse pulled back completely out of his reach,
preventing giving him water, which I could not throw to him, as the
stopper of the canteen was lost, when Jared Gross, seeing our
predicament, came back to assist me. Our command, in the meantime, had
gone forward into a piece of timber, out of sight of the artillery. When
Jared rode up pretty close to me I suggested that we had better keep
apart as this artillery had the range on us, and we had barely separated
when they fired another shot which cut the side of the mountain and
would certainly have got us both if we had failed to separate. We were
compelled to leave poor Duncan on the field, where he was afterwards
attended by our surgeon and taken to a house and left inside of the
enemy’s lines the next day. We never heard of him any more, assuming
that he died, as the shock was too great, in connection with the loss of
blood, for him to survive.
CHAPTER XVI.
I REFUSE TO BECOME A TEAMSTER.
While at Corinth, immediately after the battle of Shiloh, we were
ordered to furnish two wagon drivers and called for volunteers, having
two wagons to the company. There was not a man in the company that would
agree to drive wagons and we were instructed to draw lots, when, with my
usual luck, I drew lots to drive wagons, which was a four-mule team; and
I had never done any driving before. The other party was Jared Gross,
who also objected to driving mules. I told General Wharton that I didn’t
leave my home and everything I had to come out there and drive a mule
team and that I wouldn’t and couldn’t do so. He said, “Now, Graber, you
know you agreed to this drawing and it is not right or fair for you to
refuse.” I told him that I knew it was mean, but I did not expect that
it would fall to my lot to drive this wagon, when he finally told me,
“If you do not obey this order I will have to have you court martialed.”
I told him, “All right, Colonel Wharton, you may punish me as much as
you like, but I am not going to drive that wagon.”
Some one then proposed to hire a couple of men and pay them fifty
dollars a month each, which was done, and Duncan, with another man from
Brazoria County, whose name I have forgotten, volunteered to take the
job.
After crossing the Tennessee River at Lamb’s Ferry, we left our wagons
and considerable private baggage with cooking utensils and tents, at
Bear Creek. A few days after, the Federal cavalry crossed the river and
captured the whole outfit, except the men in charge of the same. This
was the last of our luxuries, tents, cooking utensils or wagons never
being issued after that, except to our headquarters or the commanding
general and his staff, who employed Duncan to drive the headquarters
wagon.
Having been engaged in this, and fearing that the war would end and he
would have to go home and report he had never been in any engagements,
Duncan decided that he must go into the battle of Perryville with us,
where he lost his life, as stated.
After our experience with the ordnance train and battery, our command
followed in the rear of our infantry line, which slowly, but gradually,
drove the enemy until dark, capturing several batteries of fine guns. By
one of the batteries we found the body of General Jackson, a Federal
general from Kentucky, who, when he found his infantry had abandoned the
battery, seemed determined to throw away his life and, single and alone,
dashed up to one of our infantry men, cutting at him with his sword,
when the man shot and killed him.
After dark we tied our horses in the edge of a woods, to a rail fence
which enclosed a large corn field, where the desperate fighting stopped.
We then went into the field and secured some corn for our horses. As the
most of the corn was destroyed by the lines of battle, we had to pass
over a good deal of ground to get sufficient corn for our horses. At the
point where I stopped gathering, having secured as many ears of corn as
I could carry in my arms, the dead lay so thick I believe I could have
stepped from one to the other within a radius of ten or fifteen feet.
Among them I noticed the dead body of a magnificent looking man lying on
his back with his eyes open, seemingly looking at the starry firmament.
Noticing that he wore an officer’s suit, I turned up his collar which
disclosed two stars, denoting his rank as lieutenant-colonel. I
afterwards learned that he commanded a Tennessee regiment in Cheatham’s
Division.
During the night an armistice was had by mutual consent, for the purpose
of taking care of the wounded and burying the dead. We were ordered to
destroy the small arms left on the field, which were very thick, by
breaking the stocks on the trees, which job we soon abandoned because
many of the guns were loaded. The batteries captured by our people were
exchanged for our own guns, as we only had horses to carry off the
number captured, leaving our inferior guns spiked on the field.
The battle of Perryville, for the number engaged, has always ranked as
one of the most desperately fought battles of the war, equal to Shiloh,
Chickamauga and others for desperate fighting, and which the respective
losses of the two armies fully sustained.
The battle of Perryville proved such a blow to the Federal commander
that it made him more cautious in his rapid advance. Our infantry during
the night commenced their retreat with the wagon train, artillery and
everything belonging to them, moving towards Harrodsburg, where we were
met by General Kirby Smith and his army, coming back from Cincinnati. At
this point we found a very large amount of pickled pork in barrels, that
had been collected for removal with our army, but had to be abandoned
and was largely destroyed by our cavalry, still covering the retreat, as
heretofore.
The enemy at this point crowded us pretty close and came very near
forcing a general engagement again, which no doubt would have proven
disastrous to our arms, because they outnumbered us at least four to
one. Our cavalry service continued to cover the retreat except with
occasional branching out to different points where army supplies were
stored, notably Lebanon, where I was sent with a detail of three others
to a man’s house by the name of Penick, who had a large plantation and
owned a great many negroes. He was said to have a great deal of bacon,
which we were instructed to have carried to Lebanon. On arriving at the
house I went in and told the gentleman our business. He met us in the
hall, joined by his wife and daughter and in answer to our demand that
he have his negroes hitch up his wagons and load the meat, he spitefully
told us that he had hid out his mules, negroes and bacon and said, “Get
it, if you can.” In reasoning with him, trying to persuade him that we
would certainly find his hidden stuff, he became very insulting, when I
finally told him he was taking advantage of us, knowing well that his
gray hair and the presence of the ladies would protect him from our
resenting his insults, but told him if he had any boys to bring them out
and we would settle the matter with them pretty quick. He said, “I have
two boys, but they are in the army and if ever they meet you, they will
meet you like men.” I asked him what branch of the service they were in,
when he told me they were in the cavalry. I then told him that we had a
cavalry fight a couple of weeks before at Bardstown, where no doubt his
boys were engaged, when on his further enquiry about the engagement, I
told him how we scattered them all over the country, killing and
wounding a great many. The ladies burst into tears and went back into
their room, and the old man had nothing more to say about his boys.
I then again tried to persuade him to give us at least one wagonload of
bacon, promising him that if he would send his team and a boy to drive
it to Lebanon, he would surely have them returned, when he again refused
in a spiteful, insulting manner. I told him that we had understood he
had some six or eight yoke of work-oxen and in Texas we knew all about
handling oxen and we would go into his pasture and drive them up and
hitch them to the wagons that were at the house, but this was only a
threat. We gave him up as a bad job and when we reached the pike about
three miles from there, we met a citizen who told us that Wheeler’s
cavalry had evacuated Lebanon and burnt all the meat stored there, which
we were induced to believe, and decided to ride back to the Harrodsburg
Pike and get with our command, which we did.
Our army then continued to retreat, the main part of the army moving
towards Crab Orchard, where we struck the Cumberland Gap road, while the
army, under Kirby Smith, was struggling over Big Hill, and had still to
join the main army at the junction of the roads at Pitman’s. The army
then moved into the mountains on the Cumberland Gap road, which, owing
to the character of the country, was generally restricted to a single
wagon track. This stretched out our columns of retreat for perhaps
twenty miles or more and cut up the road very badly, frequently causing
wagons to stall. Two infantrymen consequently were detailed with every
wagon, of which we had thirty-eight hundred, laden with provisions and
valuable stores. This detail of two with each wagon was ordered to
assist any wagon that was stalled by taking hold of the wheels, thereby
helping the team to pull the wagon out of the rut.
A division commander was detailed every day to take charge of the wagon
train and artillery and keep it moving. When a wagon stalled, the whole
line of retreat, infantry, wagons and artillery behind it, would have to
wait until it would move again, thereby seriously impeding our line of
march and causing the cavalry in the rear desperate fighting sometimes
to hold off the enemy.
It was reported of General Cheatham, when he had charge of the train,
that one of his wagons was stalled, and he put spurs to his horse and
rode up the line and reached the wagon. The driver was whipping his
mules and the two infantrymen were standing by the roadside, resting on
their guns. At the sight of this, he jumped off his horse, took hold of
the spokes of the wagon wheel and tried to turn it, but all to no
purpose. The two guards still stood resting on their guns. General
Cheatham lost his patience and turned around and slapped one of the
guards in the face. This happened to be an Irishman, who said, “Be God;
if you were not Gineral Cheatham you couldn’t do this.” General Cheatham
pulled off his sword belt, coat and hat and threw them down by the side
of the road and said, “Now, there lies General Cheatham and here is
Frank Cheatham; now light in.” They say that at this invitation the
Irishman lit in and got the best of the bargain, of which General
Cheatham never made any complaint. The two men then took hold of the
wheels in conjunction with General Cheatham, and started up the wagon,
and with that the whole line of retreat.
This incident was currently reported and generally believed by all who
knew General Cheatham, but I would not be willing to vouch for the same,
as it is almost past belief.
After leaving Crab Orchard, General Buell dispensed with his cavalry, as
they were unable to cope with ours and moved only with his infantry and
artillery in advance. To enter into the details of the rest of this
campaign, would require too much space and will only say that the
brigade of General Wharton, which always includes the Terry Rangers, in
conjunction occasionally with other cavalry, were expected to and did
succeed in retarding the pursuit of the enemy, restricting his advance
to from six to eight miles a day only, thereby protecting our infantry
column, as well as the artillery, ordnance and thirty-eight hundred
wagons loaded with valuable army stores. On this retreat the infantry
were called on only one time to fire a gun. We met the enemy in a
general engagement at Mount Vernon, Barren Valley, Rocky Hill, Bushy
Mound, Wild Cat, Pitman’s Road, Little Rock, Castle River and many other
points, inflicting on them considerable loss. This mountain service on
the part of the Rangers proved a most severe tax on their endurance, on
account of being deprived of rations. At one time, for nearly two days,
we depended on picking up raw corn left in the camps of artillery and
wagons, where the horses and mules had been fed. A number of times,
after fighting all day long, we had to go out into the hills ten or
twelve miles to find forage for our horses before we could retire to get
a little rest. Our camping places were frequently by the light of the
enemy’s fires.
To give the reader a better idea of the valuable service we rendered, I
will quote an order issued by General Wheeler, read to us at Cumberland
Gap, October 23, 1862.
GENERAL ORDER NUMBER THREE:
“Soldiers of the Cavalry Corps, Army of Mississippi:
“The autumn campaign in Kentucky is over, your arduous duties,
as the advance and rear guard, for the present, are finished.
Your gallantry in action, your cheerful endurance in suffering
from hunger, fatigue and exposure, render you worthy of all
commendation. For nearly two months you have scarcely been for a
moment without the range of the enemy’s musketry. In more than
twenty pitched fights, many of which lasted throughout the day,
you have successfully combated largely superior numbers of the
enemy’s troops of all arms. Hovering continually near the enemy,
you have engaged in no less than one hundred skirmishes. Upon
the memorable field of Perryville, alone and unsupported, you
engaged and held in check during the entire action, at least two
infantry divisions of the opposing army. By your gallant charges
on that day you completely dispersed and routed a vastly
superior force of the enemy’s cavalry, driving them in confusion
under their artillery and infantry supports, capturing in
hand-to-hand conflicts many prisoners, forces and arms. Your
continuous contact with the enemy has taught you to repose
without fear under his guns, to fighting wherever found and to
quietly make your bivouac by the light of his camp fires. On
this continued series of combats and brilliant charges, many
great men have fallen. We mourn their loss. We commend their
valor. Let us emulate their soldierly virtues.
“JOSEPH WHEELER,
“Chief of Cavalry.”
CHAPTER XVII.
OMISSIONS IN PRECEDING CHAPTERS
After leaving Cumberland Gap our army again moved into Middle Tennessee,
with headquarters at Murfreesboro. Our cavalry in the advance camped
near La Vergne, at Nolandsville and Triune. The enemy concentrated at
Nashville, from whence they sent out foraging parties, supported by
large infantry forces with which we had daily engagements, restricting
their foraging within a small area of country. At Nolandsville, where
General Wharton made his headquarters, we camped nearly a month, when
Lieutenant Decherd was instructed to select about fifteen men and cross
the Cumberland Mountain, for the purpose of buying fresh horses, which
were very much needed. I was ordered to go with this party.
While camped near Winchester, Tennessee, intending to cross the mountain
the next day, we heard the distant roaring of the guns of the battle of
Murfreesboro, which was not expected so soon when we left the command,
and which proved a great disappointment to our party, as we felt that
every man was needed for such an event. We, therefore, hastened back to
the army, which we found evacuating Murfreesboro, and reported. Of the
Rangers’ part in that great battle I will not mention in this, as that
is of record in the general reports of General Bragg and others, and
will only say that they fully sustained their character as one of the
leading regiments in this army, capturing prisoners, artillery, wagon
trains, etc., and finally covering the retreat of the army off the
field.
Our army then continued its retreat through Shelbyville to Tullahoma,
our cavalry still operating on the north side of Elk River. Before
crossing Elk River a courier reached General Wheeler from General
Forrest, after Wheeler had crossed the bridge, requesting him to hold
the bridge until he (Forrest) could cross with his command. Promptly on
receipt of this information, General Wheeler, with a portion of his
command, notably the Fourth Alabama Cavalry, recrossed the bridge to the
north side, determined to hold the same until General Forrest had
crossed with his command. Before Forrest reached Shelbyville, however,
General Stanley, with a heavy force of cavalry, outnumbering Wheeler’s
little force ten to one, charged and forced them back across the river,
cutting General Wheeler off from the bridge. General Wheeler spurred his
horse to the bank and over it, into the dangerous river, which had been
swollen by excessive rains, making a leap of not less than twenty feet,
with Stanley’s cavalry shooting after him and continuously firing on him
until he reached the opposite bank. This was, perhaps, the most
miraculous escape he had during the war.
Before reaching Tullahoma, a Captain Gordon, who had distinguished
himself near Bardstown, where he held in check a whole brigade of the
enemy’s infantry on the Bloomfield Road for a whole day with only twenty
men, was ordered to select twenty men from the Rangers and enter
Kentucky, for the purpose of gaining information of the disposition of
the enemy’s forces, preparatory to a general raid by our cavalry. The
history of this trip, which resulted in my being wounded and captured
and held a prisoner just one year, lacking a day, I have already
recorded, and by an oversight, it crept into this history ahead of the
proper time.
Recurring to the hard service sustained by us in the mountains between
Crab Orchard and Cumberland Gap: The last night we were on picket duty
our company had dwindled down to seven men and I happened to be on
vidette with a messmate, John Cochran. Just at daylight, when the enemy
usually made its appearance, we were relieved by two others of the
command and when we reached the reserve picket, discovering a grassy
spot in the middle of the road, I told Cochran I must try to steal a
little nap, and laid down on this grassy spot, holding my horse by the
bridle, when I was awakened, only about ten minutes after, by Cochran
stooping down from his horse and jabbing me with his pistol. The reserve
picket had formed a line across the road, just a little back of where I
was sleeping and were firing on the enemy’s advancing skirmish line, the
noise of which failed to awake me and it was only his prodding me with
the end of his six-shooter that got me awake. I had just time enough to
swing on to my horse and get out of there. Here Cochran’s prediction,
frequently made, that he would bet Graber would wake up some fine
morning with a Yankee bayonet sticking in him, came very near being
verified. I merely mention this to give the reader a fair idea of our
complete exhaustion for the want of sleep, continuous hunger and arduous
duties.
CHAPTER XVIII
GENERAL JOHNSTON’S FAILURE TO STRIKE—SHERMAN
Recurring to my service in Captain Britton’s company, acting as escort
to General Hood at Dalton, Georgia, where I described the meeting of the
several generals with General Hood at his headquarters in the rear of
Railroad Gap: On our return to camp that night after supper, Captain
Britton suggested he should go up to headquarters and pump Major Sellars
on the meaning of the meeting that morning. He reported on his return
from a visit to headquarters that General Mower, commanding Hooker’s old
corps, had moved down to Snake Creek Gap during the day, which was
located about nineteen miles in our rear and about ten miles west of
Dalton.
General Hood plead with General Johnston that morning for permission to
move out of his works through Railroad and Rocky Face Gaps with his
corps and defeat Sherman’s Army before Mower could return to reinforce
them. Captain Britton said that he would bet our army would be in full
retreat that night, falling back to Resaca, which prediction was
verified, as, by daylight next morning, our infantry and artillery were
engaged with the enemy at Resaca, where we came very near losing a large
part of our army by having their retreat cut off.
Had General Johnston yielded to General Hood’s plan, there is no
question but what he could have destroyed Sherman’s Army; here was a
golden opportunity lost by General Johnston, and was the beginning of
the downfall of the Confederacy.
After about two weeks I succeeded in getting a horse with the regiment
and continued with the regiment during the whole of the North Georgia
campaign, the details of which I will not venture to insert, as they
will be recorded fully in a history now being written by Colonel Ben F.
Weems of Houston.
During the siege of Atlanta General Sherman started out two cavalry
expeditions, one under a General Stoneman to move around the right wing
of our army, and one under General McCook around the left wing of our
army, both to unite on the Macon line of railroad, and to destroy and
tear up the same, then move on to Andersonville and release our
prisoners. Had these expeditions proven a success, with an army of
probably twenty-five or thirty thousand released prisoners turned loose
in our rear, it would have wound up the Confederacy. At Atlanta, General
Hood took command of our army, not exceeding thirty-six thousand muskets
and, to use his words, “This army through General Johnston’s retreating
from Dalton, had become an army of laborers by day and travelers by
night,” while the army at Dalton, including Polk’s corps at Rome,
numbered eighty-six thousand muskets, and was better equipped and
organized than any army the West had ever had. The North Georgians and
Tennesseans, largely constituting this army, with their families inside
of the enemy’s lines, were anxious and eager for an advance, and there
is no question of doubt had General Hood been permitted to give battle
at Dalton, our army would have recaptured Tennessee and Kentucky.
Referring back to the enemy’s cavalry expedition out of Atlanta: General
Stoneman, with a large part of his force, and a lot of convalescents in
the town of Macon, Georgia, were captured near Macon by General Iverson,
commanding Georgia cavalry. General Wheeler with our brigade, Ross’ and
Roddy’s, forced McCook to a general engagement on the evening of the
second day between Noonan and Philpott’s Ferry, where they finally
surrendered, with the exception of himself and staff, and Colonel
Brownlow and some other line officers, who swam the river that night and
made their escape.
General Wheeler issued an order that night for no man to cross the river
after these fellows, when I, with several of our regiment, decided there
must be some mistake about it and crossed the river to try to catch
these fellows, specially anxious to capture Colonel Brownlow.
Immediately after crossing the river we found a quartermaster’s clerk,
so he represented himself to be, left wounded at a house. His wound,
however, was not very serious we thought. He had on a magnificent pair
of boots, which just about fitted me and I had been unable to secure
boots, only wearing shoes, when I proposed to him to exchange with me,
which he readily did. While he was pulling off his boots, the lady of
the house came in and opened a tirade of abuse on me for taking a poor,
wounded man’s boots. I told her I had but just come out of a Federal
prison where they treated us worse than that and I was satisfied that my
shoes would prove more comfortable to this man at Andersonville, than
the boots, to which our prisoner agreed. We then continued our pursuit
on the main road to Wedowee, the county seat of Randolph County,
Alabama, occasionally taking a prisoner, whom we would turn over to
reliable citizens, to be taken to West Point where we had a garrison. We
were unable to secure many prisoners, probably not exceeding eight or
ten, as those afoot would hear us coming in the road and dart into the
brush, while their officers impressed every horse they could lay their
hands on and soon outdistanced us with their fresh horses.
At Wedowee we found a tanyard, where I purchased a lot of good leather,
sufficient to rig a Texas saddle. We had some men detailed to make
saddles, who were experts in such work and moved down with the army as
fast as it retreated. Our first shop was at Ackworth, Georgia, where
they did a good deal of work, but were prevented from turning out
anything extensive ever after, for the reason they were unable to get
leather. I paid one hundred and twenty-five dollars for the leather I
got at this tanyard. Colonel Harrison promised me, after my return from
prison, that if I would furnish the leather he would have rigged for me
one of the finest saddles that could be made, which was the inducement
for me to carry this roll of leather on my horse’s back.
Going back into the town from the tanyard, we stopped at a hotel to get
some dinner. This was one of the ordinary country hotels with a porch in
front and large square columns under the porch. While eating dinner, I
had a seat at the end of the table where I could see out on the street.
The hotel was located somewhat under the hill, away from the square,
when I discovered Carter Walker, one of our party, who had finished
dinner, behind one of the posts with his pistol out, talking to some one
on the street towards the courthouse. Having his pistol out suggested to
me that there was trouble ahead, so I jumped up and told the boys to
come on. As we got out on the porch we discovered about fifteen or
twenty men on their horses near the courthouse, with one of them talking
to Carter Walker, about fifty yards distant from us. As soon as we came
out, he retired and when he got back with his crowd, said something to
them and immediately they wheeled and left town. This proved to be a
party of bushwhackers, who were not anxious for a fight with us. We now
decided to return and when a few miles from town, we heard of an old
gentleman, whose name I have forgotten, the only Rebel citizen in that
section, whom we decided to go and see and get some information from.
After reaching his house and getting acquainted, we decided, on his
urgent request, to stay with him that night, as we were very tired, as
were also our horses, and we did not suppose there was any great need
for our services immediately after the destruction of the enemy’s
cavalry. This old gentleman had had considerable trouble with his Tory
neighbors, who came to his house several nights and opened fire on him,
which he, his old lady and his daughter, a barefooted girl of eighteen,
returned with their squirrel rifles through port holes cut in the logs
of his house.
On the information of our old friend, we decided to visit the house of a
Tory neighbor of his, across the mountain, who belonged to the Tory
regiment in camp at Rome, which we did. Riding up to the house in blue
overcoats, we called for a drink of water, when a lady invited us in,
supposing that we were Federal soldiers. In our talk with them, there
being two other ladies in the house, we represented that we were Federal
spies on our way to Andersonville to make arrangements about the escape
of our prisoners there, which created quite an interest with these
women, who told us that a large number of young men of the neighborhood
belonged to the First Federal Alabama Cavalry, stationed near Rome, and
quite a number of them were expected home pretty soon on a furlough. We
then arranged with them to tell their boys about our visit and tell them
that we expected to return there in about ten days, as we would probably
need their assistance and we wanted to confer with them. Our idea was
that we would return there at that time, with our company, and capture
the whole outfit.
After making complete arrangements, we started back towards Philpott’s
Ferry, where we again recrossed the Chattahoochie and, on our arrival at
Noonan, found that Wheeler had moved over to Covington, on the Augusta
road.
Riding all that day in a drizzling rain, we called at a house for the
purpose of getting some feed for our horses and something to eat for
ourselves. Night had already set in. We asked the gentleman if he could
take care of us that night, give us a place to sleep on the floor, as we
never slept in a bed, and get something to eat for our horses and
ourselves. His answer was, “Certainly, gentlemen; light and come in.” I
told him before we got off our horses that we were about out of money
and did not have enough, perhaps, to pay our fare, when he stated that
if his wife had anything left from supper we could have it and he would
give us some shattered corn for our horses. We, of course, didn’t feel
very comfortable under such liberality, but decided to stay,
nevertheless, and sleep down in his barn, some distance from the house.
While we were waiting for his wife to gather what she had left from
supper, he asked us if we were that command the other day that fired on
the Federals when they were tearing up the railroad near his house. I
told him that we were, and he said, “They were in my pasture trying to
catch my horses, when they heard the guns fire and you ought to have
seen those devils run.” When we went in to supper we found a little
piece of cornbread and a little butter, all they had left from supper,
so the woman stated, not enough to satisfy one man’s hunger. We did not
sit down at the table, didn’t touch anything they had to offer us, and
went down to the crib to get the shattered corn for our horses, which he
consented for us to take, fed our horses and laid down to rest for the
balance of the night. Next morning we got up early and without going to
the house, proceeded on the road towards Covington. Here now, was a fair
illustration of the want of appreciation of a Confederate soldier, with
a selfish lot of people, whom we occasionally met. Rest assured it was
very discouraging to us. The idea of coming all the way from Texas to
fight for and protect these people! He had told us that we saved his
horses from capture by engaging the enemy near his house; you can
imagine our disgust at such treatment. We now proceeded on the Covington
road. When about two miles from there we came to a large, white house, a
magnificent place, and rode up to the gate. A man about twenty-five
years old, well dressed, wearing a white starched shirt, the first we
had seen in a long time, came out to the gate. When within twenty feet
of us, espying the leather on my horse’s back, tied to the rear of the
saddle, he called out, “I want that leather.” I said, “If you need it
any worse than I do, you are welcome to it.” He said he did, he wanted
to make shoes out of it. I told him that I wanted to make a saddle out
if it, to ride to keep Federals off of him, when he insisted that he
needed it worse. I then told him that we wanted some breakfast and some
feed for our hoses. He said, “All right, gentlemen; light and come in.”
Before getting down I said, “I had better tell you that we are nearly
out of money, not enough to pay for breakfast and feed, away from our
command unexpectedly, but as soon as we get with them and we have an
opportunity, we will send it to you.” He stated that he couldn’t afford
to feed us without pay, that the armies had been around him for some
time and had nearly eaten him out of house and home. I told him that he
needn’t say anything more, that we didn’t want anything he had, although
our horses were hungry, as well as ourselves. As we rode off he called
after us, “I’ll feed you for that leather,” thus adding insult, but we
decided not to notice him.
About three miles further down the road we came to another house, a
somewhat humble cottage, and stopped to make some inquiry, when a lady
came out to the gate and we asked how far down the road we could find a
house where we could get something to eat for ourselves and feed for our
horses. She asked us if we had tried at the big, white house we had
passed on the road. We told her that we had and were refused because we
had no money. She then insisted that we come in and partake of such as
she had, telling us that she had very little left, as the commissary
from Atlanta had visited her and taken all the corn she had, except five
barrels, which in Georgia, means twenty-five bushels. This, she and her
two daughters had made with their own hands, her husband being in the
Virginia army. She then told us about this man at the big, white house,
who had never been in the army, but had an exemption on pretense of
working in a saltpetre cave and had never had any forage taken by the
commissary from Atlanta, as he had protection papers, so she called
them, from his general at Atlanta. I merely mention these cases to show
you the condition at that time, of the State of Georgia, the worthy
people submitting patriotically to all manner of abuse by some of our
army officials, while some of the rich, through nefarious practices,
escaped the weight of war. Thanking this lady for her kind offer, which
we could not afford to accept, we continued on this road and two miles
further on struck a large cornfield with tempting roasting ears and
decided to stop, build a fire, dry our clothes and roast corn for our
meal, feeding our horses on the same, in moderation. We had to build our
fire of rails taken off the fence and very soon were enjoying our
roasting ears and the warm fire, being somewhat chilled by the rain. The
proprietor of the place came up the road and, judging from his manner
and looks, was pretty mad, when he said, “Gentlemen, if you had come to
the house I would have gladly given you a good meal and fed your horses,
rather than to see the destruction of my rails.” I told him that we
didn’t believe it, that we had tried several places up on the road and
were refused because we had no money and he, no doubt, noting that we
were in no mood for argument, decided that he had better say no more. We
then proceeded on our road to Covington. When on our arrival there we
found that Wheeler, with all the cavalry having horses fit for service,
had gone on a raid into Middle Tennessee, by way of Dalton, tearing up
the railroad in Sherman’s rear for many miles, and finally entering
Middle Tennessee, returning by way of Mussels Shoals, rejoining the army
below Atlanta.
After the battle of Jonesboro, Hood started on his fatal Middle
Tennessee campaign, his march to the Tennessee River being covered by
our cavalry, making a feint at Rome, Georgia, to which point General
Sherman had followed, confidently expecting to give Hood battle at
Gadsden and never suspecting his move towards the Tennessee River. While
concentrating his army at Rome, Harrison’s Brigade, under Colonel
Harrison, commanding our regiment, made a feint on Rome by dismounting,
hiding our horses in the rear in the woods, out of sight, and advanced
on the outer works of Rome, preceded by a line of skirmishers. For this
purpose, not having our battle flag with us, we used a new flag, sent us
from Nashville, made by a couple of young ladies from their silk
dresses, with the name of Terry’s Texas Rangers worked in gold letters
and some Latin words on the other side. After skirmishing with Sherman’s
infantry a short time, we retired down the valley, which at this point
was perhaps a couple of miles wide, from the hills to the bottoms.
Falling back that night some six or eight miles, we struck a wooded
ridge, running from the hills to the bottom, perhaps nearly three miles
long. This ridge overlooked the country in front towards Rome, several
miles. General Sherman coming out in person with a corps of his
infantry, expecting to give Hood battle the next morning, discovered
there was only a handful of cavalry in his front, which was Harrison’s
Brigade, and which he was specially anxious to capture. For this purpose
he sent a heavy cavalry force, perhaps three times our number, into our
rear, flanking our position by moving through the hills on our left,
then occupying nearly every road in our rear, for eight or ten miles.
During the night we received reinforcements of Pillow’s Brigade, a new
command, which had been in only one engagement, at La Fayette, Georgia,
where they were badly handled, causing the loss of a great many killed
and wounded and in consequence, they were a little demoralized. We also
received a section of artillery, two pieces, under a lieutenant, whose
name I do not remember.
This artillery was stationed on a hill to the left of our position,
under an old gin house.
Immediately after taking position the artillery opened on the enemy, a
heavy line of battle making its appearance in the edge of the woods,
about a mile distant. The Rangers were kept mounted, drawn up near this
old gin house, supporting the battery, when all the rest of the two
brigades had been dismounted with their horses immediately in the rear,
out of sight of the enemy.
Very soon a courier from the right of our line, dashed up to Colonel
Harrison and reported that the enemy were flanking us, down in the
bottom, with a heavy force. Harrison abused him, told him to go back and
tell his colonel if he sent him another such message he would have him
court martialed, but very soon a lieutenant dashed up from the extreme
right of our line, reporting the enemy advancing in the bottom, and
about to outflank us, when Colonel Harrison decided to ride down in the
rear of our line and ascertain conditions for himself. Immediately the
enemy raised a shout and charged. The lieutenant of the battery,
concluding that his guns were in danger of being captured, limbered up
and ran down to the road, where he met Colonel Harrison returning and
was by him ordered to unlimber and open again on the enemy, when he
succeeded in firing one shot and was sabered right over his guns by the
enemy’s cavalry. In the meantime, through some misapprehension of
orders, the Alabama Brigade broke for their horses, followed by the
balance of our brigade, when our regiment was ordered to charge their
cavalry, which we did, striking them on their flank, using our
six-shooters, to which they paid no attention, simply calling out,
“Clear the road for the Fourth Regulars!” This Fourth Regulars was
commanded by a Captain McIntyre from Brenham, Texas, who was in the
United States Army, a lieutenant, when the war broke out, having just
graduated at West Point.
It is hardly necessary to say that finding the enemy’s cavalry in our
rear for a great many miles, resulted in a general stampede, everybody
trying to make their escape out of it. In recording this engagement I
regret to have to mention the loss of our beautiful flag which, encased
in a rubber cover, slipped off its staff and was found by a Major
Weiler, commanding a battalion of the Seventeenth Mounted Indiana
Infantry, and after many years, returned to us at Dallas, Texas, by
Governor Mount and staff, instructed to do so by a joint resolution of
the Indiana Legislature, in response to a memorial, drawn up and sent by
me.
In this engagement the Terry Rangers lost no prisoners, had only a few
wounded and none killed, while the Alabamians’ loss was quite heavy in
prisoners and the balance of Harrison’s Brigade had very few men taken
prisoners. I made my escape by crossing the big road, being joined by
about eight or ten Alabamians, one of whom was shot in the fleshy part
of the thigh, which somewhat demoralized him, when he called on me,
“Texas, can you take us out of here?” I told him, “Yes, follow me; I’ll
take you out.” I struck out straight for the river bottom, the Federal
cavalry not following us, and when out of sight of the main road, in a
little branch bottom, I called a halt and told the men my plan of trying
to swim the river, as the road ahead of us seemed to be occupied for
many miles, judging by the scattered firing a great distance ahead of
us. The wounded man straightened up in the saddle and asked me if I was
an officer. I told him, “No,” and he said that he was a lieutenant and
would take command of the squad. I told him he could take command of his
own men, but he couldn’t command me, and told his men, “Now, all of you
boys that want to go out with me, come on,” when they all followed me,
including the lieutenant.
Reaching the high ground on the other side of the branch, I discovered a
house, with a lone cavalry-man at the front gate, and, getting a little
nearer, I recognized him as one Joe Harris, of our company, who was well
acquainted in that section, having married, near Cedartown, the daughter
of a Doctor Richardson, just on the other side of the river. He
suggested to me that he knew of a batteau about seven miles this side of
Rome; that we go up there, put our saddles and equipments into the boat,
swim our horses across, then go to Doctor Richardson and get a good
dinner; to which I, of course, readily consented. On our way to this
batteau, following the river in the bottom, we struck hundreds of
Alabamians trying to find a crossing place. These men we took along with
us and when we reached the boat we were the first ones to cross, leaving
the Alabamians there to cross as fast as they were able. Joe and I then
rode to Doctor Richardson’s, about ten or fifteen miles, and by three
o’clock sat down to a sumptuous dinner. Here we stayed all night and the
next morning recrossed the river, finally striking the main Gadsden road
and finding our stampeded forces gathering at some gap, the name of
which I have forgotten. Here we met General Wheeler, with the balance of
his command. We then moved down to the town of Gadsden, where we
recrossed the river and spent several days resting our horses and
ourselves.
General Hood, in the meantime, with his army, crossed the Tennessee
River, and General Sherman returned to Atlanta, leaving Thomas’ Corps to
follow Hood into Middle Tennessee. Wheeler and his cavalry returned to
below Atlanta, where we struck Sherman’s forces moving in the direction
of Macon, Georgia, by way of Augusta to Savannah. We then had daily
engagements with Kilpatrick’s cavalry, often driving them into their
infantry. Sherman used his cavalry to forage for the army, depending
altogether on the country for his commissary. To enter into detail of
the many engagements had on this trip would occupy too much time and
space. Our service was largely, as stated, to keep his cavalry from
foraging, burning and destroying the country. In connection with this I
would mention an incident at Macon:
I was at a blacksmith’s shop with a comrade by the name of Freeman, who
was about seven years my senior in age. While waiting to get our horses
shod we heard artillery, supported by small arms, open at our works,
about a mile across the river. We immediately mounted our horses and
dashed over there and just as we got in sight of the roadway through the
breastworks we witnessed a lone trooper of Kilpatrick’s cavalry coming
up the road through the works, having his horse shot just as he reached
inside. His horse fell on his leg, from which position he was trying to
extricate himself and was about to be shot by an excited militia of
young and old men, who had never been under fire before, when Jim put
spurs to his horse and with his pistol raised, dashed up to where this
man lay under his horse, and drove off the excited militia, I, of
course, following him. He called up a lieutenant, asked his name,
company and regiment; told him to take charge of that prisoner and see
that he was well treated, that he would hold him personally responsible
for his safety, and immediately wheeled his horse, I following him, and
returned to town without giving the lieutenant a chance to ask
questions. On our return I asked Jim Freeman his reasons for doing as he
did, risking his own life, by being shot by the excited militia, in
order to save this Federal. He answered, “He is a brother Mason.” I
asked him if he ever met him before. He said, “No, but I saw him give
the grand hailing sign of distress, which obligates a Mason to save the
life of a brother, at the risk of his own.” Here was a beautiful
illustration of the work of Masonry, and I told Jim Freeman the first
opportunity I had of joining the Masons, if I lived through the war, I
intended to be one, which resolution I carried out, joining the Masons
at Rusk, Texas.
General Kilpatrick with about four thousand picked cavalry, armed with
Spencer repeating rifles, which they were expert in handling, was
detailed by General Sherman, after leaving Jonesboro, to forage and
destroy property, under pretext of burning gin houses. They also burned
a great many fine houses, the homes of rich people, on their line of
march, and got their operations down to a system. He would have his
engineers select a strong position along the line of march, fortify it
with rails and logs and place about one thousand men in such works. His
engineers then would advance some two or three miles and direct another
line of fortifications in a similar manner; the balance of his command
would scatter out on both flanks inside of these lines, collect
provisions and forage, burn gin houses and homes, the latter of which,
of course, were plundered before being consigned to the flames. In this
manner he continued his operations to very near the coast.
CHAPTER XIX
GEORGIA SERVICE—A NEGRO’S PREFERENCE—A HAZARDOUS UNDERTAKING.
At this time General Wheeler would detail a fresh brigade every morning
to take the advance and move on the enemy.
When a few miles from Buck Head Creek, Harrison’s Brigade was placed in
advance. Striking the first line of works, we formed a line and prepared
to charge, when General Felix Robertson was seen immediately to the
right of our line on a magnificent horse. At the time, he was acting as
chief of staff to General Wheeler, and he gave the order to forward,
waving his hat and led the charge. We drove them out of their works and
it became a running fight down the road with General Robertson leading,
having a better horse than the balance of us. We soon struck a branch
where the enemy had lined up on the other side, and they poured a
galling fire into our advance. General Robertson had his arm badly
shattered by a bullet and being alone drew his horse to one side at the
ford of this branch. When I saw him he appeared deathly pale, reeling in
his saddle, and a couple of the men behind me started over to assist
him, but he called to them, “Never mind me, boys; crowd ’em, crowd ’em,”
which we did, and again started them on the run. They made another stand
across Buck Head Creek near the church and set fire to the bridge,
covering the fire with a piece of artillery. Wheeler then sent down a
few men with long-range guns, dismounted, who soon drove the artillery
away. We then repaired the bridge floor with benches out of the church
and were soon across the creek, after them, with the Third Arkansas in
advance.
As we were riding rapidly in pursuit, General Wheeler passing our column
to reach the advance called to us, saying, “We’ve got them this time;
Dibrell is in the rear.” General Dibrell commanded Tennessee cavalry. We
soon got into an old sedge field, an open country for several miles,
where Kilpatrick had established a fortified camp, built a line of
breastworks perhaps two miles wide, his left flank touching the road.
The Third Arkansas had formed a line of battle and was charging the
breastworks perhaps two hundred yards ahead of our regiment, which
emerged from the woods in columns of fours, moving rapidly to the
support of the Third Arkansas. The enemy had planted four pieces of
artillery in the road on our right, which poured a galling fire into the
Third Arkansas, as well as our flank. The Third Arkansas finally reached
the breastworks under a galling fire of four thousand Spencer rifles and
drove the gunners away from their artillery, thereby silencing the same,
but they were unable to cross the works and not being supported
promptly, had to withdraw. The reason of our failure to support promptly
was that when we reached about half way across the open, an order came
to us through Adjutant Billy Sayers for the Rangers to file to the right
into the road. This divided our regiment, a part continuing ahead, the
other part moving into the road and, as soon as we struck the road, a
hail of grape and cannister swept it and drove us into the thick woods
across the road and finally forced us to give up the attack, which was
most unfortunate, as the Third Arkansas lost a good many men. Our
regiment lost a few, too, and nothing was accomplished. General Dibrell
was seen in our left front in the woods, unable to strike Kilpatrick in
the rear on account of not being able to cross the creek. General
Wheeler now brought up his entire force, making disposition of them for
a final charge on Kilpatrick’s flank and rear, as well as in front, and
when we moved forward we found the bird had flown; Kilpatrick had
abandoned his works and fled.
We next had quite a severe engagement with the enemy’s cavalry near
Griswoldville, said to have been one of the most beautiful towns in
Georgia, which the enemy had burned. As soon as we caught up with them
we charged and drove them into their infantry, which proved in heavy
force and forced us to retire.
At Waynesboro, Georgia, we had considerable fighting in order to save
Augusta, Georgia, which had one of the largest arsenals in the
Confederacy and no doubt was a tempting prize for General Sherman’s
torch.
General Braxton Bragg happened to be in Augusta, when he conceived the
idea of resorting to a ruse, which proved quite successful. He called up
General Wheeler by telegraph at Waynesboro and instructed him when he
was forced to give up the town, to leave the telegraph office intact,
but give it the appearance of having been abandoned precipitately, then
advise him promptly when the enemy entered town. Waiting a reasonable
time for the enemy to take charge of the telegraph office, General Bragg
called General Wheeler, when a Federal officer answered. General Bragg
said, “General Wheeler, hold Waynesboro at all hazards. Longstreet’s
corps is arriving. I will take the field in person tomorrow. Signed,
Braxton Bragg.” This had the desired effect. General Sherman, satisfied
he would have to give battle before Augusta was surrendered, decided he
had better pass by and move on to Savannah as fast as possible. There is
no question but this ruse saved Augusta, Georgia, though General Wheeler
with his corps put up a strong defense, never permitting the enemy to
cross Brier Creek, which was between them and Augusta.
About ten or twelve years after the war, when General Sherman was a
resident of St. Louis, he gave an interview on the reason he spared
Augusta, Georgia. This had been a subject of discussion by historians
and especially friends of the North and was frequently attributed to
General Sherman having relatives living in Augusta, Georgia. Another
story was that Mrs. Lincoln, through a relative or friend, had stored in
Augusta a large amount of cotton. There were various other stories,
which General Sherman finally set at rest, giving his reasons for
sparing the city. He claimed that one of his officers intercepted a
telegram from General Bragg to General Wheeler at Waynesboro,
instructing him to hold Waynesboro at all hazards, that Longstreet’s
corps was arriving and he would take personal command the next day. He
further stated that on account of his depleted commissary, having to
depend on the country for the rations of his army, he was in no
condition to give battle, satisfied that Bragg would defend Augusta to
the last, therefore passed it by and hastened to the coast. “But if the
people of Augusta think that I spared their city through any love or
affection for them, if the President will give me permission, I will
take a hundred thousand of my bummers and go down and burn it now.” I
read this interview in a St. Louis paper.
When near Savannah, Georgia, the place having been evacuated by our
forces, who crossed the river at Pocatalego, Wheeler’s cavalry was
ordered to cross the Savannah River at a point about fifteen miles above
Savannah. For this purpose we had only one steamboat, and Harrison’s
Brigade was ordered to cross last, necessitating our camping in the
river bottom for several days, during which time details were sent out
of our brigade to collect provisions, as we were without commissary. I
had charge the second day of a small detail, and after riding about
twenty miles, we scattered out, each man to bring in as much as
possible. On my return to camp that evening late, without having
succeeded in securing anything, only a piece of cornbread and a slice of
bacon for myself, I was feeling disgusted. When about a mile from our
camp, following a well-beaten path, I spied a negro man on another path
crossing the one I was on and when within a few yards of me, I stopped
him and asked if he couldn’t tell me where there was something to eat,
telling him that I had ridden all day long, trying to get something for
our command and had signally failed.
The country through which we had passed for several days is the greatest
sweet potato country perhaps in the South; large fields all over the
country had been devoted to sweet potatoes, which had fallen a ready
prey to Sherman’s army and the whole country seemed to be eaten out. I
told this negro, after he told me where he lived, about a half mile from
there, that I was satisfied he knew where there were sweet potatoes and
where there was corn for our horses. He assured me he did not and said
that the Federals had taken everything that his old master had and
didn’t leave him a thing. I continued to talk with him, trying to arouse
his sympathy, told him of our poor fellows not having had anything to
eat for several days and I had been riding all day long without securing
anything, thereby working on his sympathy. Finally he broke down and
said, “Young Marster, if I were to tell you where there are sweet
potatoes, old marster would kill me.” I told him that his old master
never would know anything about it, and he finally said he didn’t think
it was right, that his old master had given these Yankees everything
they wanted, had plenty of potatoes left and refused to give our own
folks anything at all. “Now,” he said, “if you will strike across this
way,” pointing in the direction of his house, entering a lane leading to
the house, “about a hundred and fifty yards this side of the house, on
the left across the fence, you will find some haystack poles standing,
with a lot of shattered hay in the lot and if you will dig down about
two feet you will strike more potatoes than you will need for several
days. Up the river, in the bottom, about two miles, you will find a
couple of pens of corn, enough to feed your horses for several days.” He
had just finished telling me, when I noticed an old man, who proved to
be his master, coming our way, and as soon as the negro saw him he said,
“Fo’ Gawd, marster; there he is now; he’ll kill me; he’ll kill me.”
“No,” I said “he will not; he never will know that you told me; you
stand perfectly still and don’t get scared.” I jerked out my pistol and
threw it down on him, telling him within hearing of his old master, that
if he didn’t tell me where there was something to eat, I would kill him,
and the old man called, “Let that man alone; he don’t know where there
is anything to eat; there is nothing on the place, the Federals just
took everything I had.” I still insisted on killing the negro if he
didn’t tell me where there was something to eat, and finally let him
off, satisfying the old man that he hadn’t told me anything.
As soon as I reached camp I told Colonel Harrison to get out a detail of
fifty men, with sacks to carry potatoes in, when he ordered Major
Pearrie, our commissary, to get out the detail and follow my
instructions. I told Pearrie that I was satisfied the people at the
house about a half mile from there had plenty of potatoes, but did not
tell him the source of my information, determined not to tell anybody.
When we moved up the lane near the house. Major Pearrie halted us, went
to the house to talk to the old man and negotiate for the potatoes, when
the old man satisfied him there were no potatoes on the place. In the
meantime I had no trouble in finding the lot just as the negro had
described to me and when the major returned and ordered us, “About face;
move back to camp; there is nothing to be had,” I dismounted, crossed
the fence into the lot and commenced digging with my hands and in about
two feet, struck potatoes, then called to the men to come over with
their sacks, which, it is hardly necessary to say, we filled up to the
top. We thought we left potatoes enough to last the old man and his
family for another year, and perhaps more. We then sent up the river
bottom and found the corn, on which we fed our horses. Here is another
instance of the attachment of the negro to our own people, his sympathy
for us controlling his actions, and I always regretted not taking this
negro along with us, fearing perhaps that his old master might have
suspected him of giving us information about these potatoes and corn.
After crossing the river and reaching Pocatalego, we found General
Hardee and General McLaws, with the infantry out of Savannah and also
artillery organizations, which were turned into infantry. General McLaws
made a request on General Wheeler for a company of cavalry, preferring a
company of Texas Rangers, to scout and act as escort for him, when
Company B, to which I belonged, was detailed for this purpose.
One night, Captain King, inspector general on McLaws’ staff, came down
to our campfire and requested me to accompany him on a ride across the
swamp, to find Wheeler’s cavalry, which I consented to do. We proceeded
into the swamp on a corduroy road, the night being one of the darkest we
had ever been out in, the only light onto the road was the sky appearing
between the tall trees on both sides, which governed us in keeping about
the middle of the road and kept us from riding off the logs into the
deep mud and water. After riding perhaps a half mile, expecting every
minute to be fired on by Sherman’s advance pickets, our horses
necessarily making a great deal of noise by stumbling over the logs,
Captain King stopped and asked did I not think one of us could get
through easier than both, as it would reduce the noise considerably. I
told him that it certainly would. He then asked me if I would carry a
written order to General Wheeler, which was for Wheeler’s cavalry not to
fail to cross the swamp that night in order to be on hand by daylight in
the morning, when General Hardee expected an attack by the enemy’s
infantry. I told Captain King that I would carry the order, which he
asked me to show every brigade commander that I might find, until I
reached General Wheeler. Captain King then returned to General McLaws’
camp, as he would be needed the next morning.
I rode through the swamp, crossed the bridge and after about a
twenty-mile ride, found Wheeler’s cavalry, first striking a Georgia
brigade, to a colonel of which I read the order, when he immediately
ordered his brigade to saddle up; the next I struck Harrison’s brigade,
who also followed suit; the next I struck Colonel Ashby’s headquarters,
commanding Tennesseans. I found him lying on a pallet in front of a
fireplace, surrounded by his staff, all asleep. I showed him the order;
after reading it and noticing that I was wet, having ridden in the rain
part of the time, he made me step up to the fire, then after drying my
clothes, take his pallet and sleep until it was time to cross the swamp,
his command being very near the swamp. He promised me that he would send
the dispatch direct to General Wheeler, who was not far off and would
have me awakened when the last were about to cross, thereby giving me as
much sleep as possible. This kind treatment of Colonel Ashby’s was much
appreciated, but was not a surprise to me, having known him as one of
the most gallant officers and gentlemen I ever got acquainted with.
Some time after the war, meeting Lieutenant Fulkerson, the commander of
our company, at Bryan, Texas, he told me that General McLaws told him a
few days after this engagement that Graber’s ride that night, finding
Wheeler’s cavalry, who crossed the swamp in time to cover the retreat of
our infantry, no doubt saved our little army, only about seven or eight
thousand strong. This army was composed of the infantry and artillery
that were stationed at Savannah and Charleston and at different points
along our line of retreat and was joined at Bentonville with the remnant
of Hood’s army, out of Tennessee, after the disastrous Hood campaign in
that State.
While this humble individual service was nothing extraordinary, nothing
more than performed by individual members of our company frequently, yet
the result was such that I always had cause to feel proud of it. I
forgot to mention that I crossed the swamp without being fired on by the
enemy, as they had not reached that part of the crossing when I passed
through.
The following letter from General McLaws was received by me more than
thirty years after the incident just related, as the date indicates:
Savannah, Ga., April 9th, 1897.
My Dear Graber:
Your letter of the 5th reached me yesterday evening, and it gave
me great pleasure to receive it, for I have very often spoken of
the Texas company which formed my escort for a great deal of the
time during that campaign, and always in praise of its daring
spirit and its devotion to our cause. And there is no one in the
company whose name I have mentioned more often than yours, for I
saw more of you personally than of most of them, as you were
sometimes connected with my scouting party.
When the Federal Army, which crossed at Fort Royal ferry,
commenced its movement northward to meet the column under
General Sherman, which came from Savannah, it was your company
scouts which gave me notice of it, and I commenced following
their movement along one side, which was the left bank of the
Salkatchie. The night I left my headquarters was a very cold
one, and the troops suffered considerably. I had an A. D. C., a
relative of mine, whom I had found in Colcock’s regiment of
cavalry, and, not being accustomed to campaigning, he grumbled
some as we rode along and my other A. D. C., Mr. Lamar, hearing
him, asked what was the matter. He replied, “Lamar, if this is
liberty, I would rather be a slave.” We arrived in time to
successfully defeat the crossing at Braxton’s Bridge, and I then
rode on that night to Reeves’ Bridge, some eight or ten miles
above, and, finding everything in readiness, rode on to the
bridge above. When I started from Braxton’s Bridge, I had some
seven or eight of Colcock’s cavalry, who professed to know the
country, and I had sent several of them to find Wheeler’s
cavalry, in order to get a force from him to help defend the
crossing at Reeves’ Bridge the next day, but I heard afterwards
it was not done and in some unaccountable way my escort from
Colcock’s cavalry disappeared, every one of them. Fortunately I
came across my inspecting officer, Captain King, a very
energetic and fearless soldier, and I directed him to go on and
bring over a division of cavalry under Wheeler, have them
dismounted and placed in line close to the swamps on the right
of the infantry force at Reeves’ Bridge. I went on to the bridge
above where General Hardee was in command, and he, seeming
confident of holding his position, I started back to Reeves’
Bridge alone, my escort having disappeared, as I have stated. On
my way back, I came across a camp of a single teamster with his
team and wagon. I dismounted, told him who I was, and asked him
to feed my horse and let me lie down by his fire and to wake me
before daylight, all of which he consented to. Before daylight
the next day, I was on my way and arrived at Reeves’ Bridge very
early and found that Wheeler had sent me a division of cavalry
which was placed as I had directed. I met Captain King, who told
me of the daring ride of you and himself, and of your desperate
venture to find the cavalry, and for which I was very grateful,
for, had it not been for additional force thus acquired, the
enemy would have crossed above me early in the day, for the
Salkhatchie had fallen so much that it had become fordable and
the enemy were crossing not only above, but parties crossed
between Reeves’ and Braxton’s bridges, and after crossing in
sufficient numbers to warrant it they would have come down on my
flank at Reeves’ bridge, and I would have had to retire. The
presence of the cavalry prevented this. The cavalry late in the
day, having exhausted its ammunition, I directed that they be
formed mounted in the woods in the rear, and to charge any body
of the enemy attempting to make a flank attack of the force at
the bridge. This condition continued until sundown, when I
directed the officer in command at the bridge to increase his
force in the fortifications protecting the bridge and then to
withdraw his artillery by hand, and as night approached the
troops were withdrawn and I directed them to march directly to
the rear and bivouac after going four or five miles. I then rode
towards Braxton’s bridge alone, my Carolina cavalry escort never
returning to me. As I rode along I saw a mounted man sitting on
his horse looking intently down the road. As I approached he
heard my coming and turning recognized me and spoke quickly,
telling me that the enemy had crossed and were between us and
Braxton’s bridge. I told him to go ahead and act as scout and
keep a good lookout. So on we went until we saw a man on
horseback. His horse was half hidden in a blacksmith’s shop. He
also was looking down the road intently, and, as I came up, he
also said the enemy had crossed, and were occupying the road. I
told him to join the other man and go ahead. We had not gone far
when I heard the rapid gallop of a number of horses, and I
thought to myself if the enemy have crossed cavalry I may be
captured, so I withdrew a little off the road, so as to have a
chance of running quickly to my infantry in the rear. A
considerable body appeared, dashing wildly on, each man having
his pistol drawn, and, as they came near, I was saluted with
wild hurrahs. It was the lieutenant with his Texas company, who
told me that he had heard I had been captured, and he had
determined to rescue me at the risk of the lives of all, and the
men demanded it. Of course, I was much gratified, and, feeling
myself secure, we rode on rapidly to find out what had been done
at Braxton’s bridge. As we went, the first of the parties who
had crossed the river were visible but a short distance away,
three or four hundred yards along the edge of the river swamp to
which they had retired. We halted where the Braxton bridge road
joined the one I was on, and I sent in my staff officer, Captain
King, to tell the officer to march his command in my direction.
After waiting a long time, word came that he had started his
command on another road. He had become alarmed, because parties
of the enemy had been seen by his command to cross the river
above him, and he was apprehensive of being intercepted. I let
him go, although his scare cost his men a good many more miles
of marching. My escort, with myself in charge, rode on towards
the Ediste, bringing up the rear. I would very much like to read
your account of what took place when you were with Paysinger. He
would come in after a scout between twelve and daylight at
night, and would report to me at once, and he gave valuable
information as to the movements of the enemy.
The morning after the Battle of Bentonville he came to my tent
about three o’clock a. m., and told me that the enemy were
moving on our left. I so reported to General Hardee, but he had
been notified by General Hampton that the enemy were marching on
my right, and I was sent with my command on the right. I then
told General Hardee that I was apprehensive that there was a
mistake, that I was so certain that our left would be attacked
and not the right, I would not fortify it, but wait for the
order to return to the left. We had not been on the right an
hour before General Hardee came himself in great haste, calling
for my command to hurry to the left, and we did get back just in
time to check the enemy. Of the things done in these days there
are many that I would like very much to have related again by
those who were participants, but it would hardly do to put them
in print. The conduct of the enemy was, however, so exasperating
that there was no treatment too harsh as a punishment for their
misdeeds, and I have always regretted that there had not been
more scouting parties organized to follow in the wake of
Sherman’s army and circulate on his flank. Your company acting
as scouts, as well as escort, working in small parties,
encouraging individual daring and enterprise, was equally as
efficient as a much larger body moving in compact mass under one
head.
I shall always remember with pleasure the duties you performed
while acting as my escort and also the pleasure I had in my
personal intercourse with you, as individuals. I always kept in
my mind that the individual soldier was entitled to be treated
with the respect due to a gentleman, if his behavior warranted
it. This in our Southern army. You will oblige me by assuring
all of Company B of my high regard and respect for them
individually as brave and honorable men, and collectively as an
organized company, for I gave them a chance to show their
characters in both ways, and was sorry to part with you all.
Very truly your obedient servant,
L. McLAWS.
We served with General McLaws until after the Battle of Bentonville and
to the time of surrender of Johnston’s army at Jonesboro, North
Carolina, never uniting with the regiment again, though occasionally
meeting with them, notably at the Battle of Bentonville, where they
distinguished themselves by one of the most brilliant charges ever made
by cavalry. This charge was made without our company (as we were with
General McLaws and the infantry) and resulted in the safety of the whole
army by saving an only bridge across a deep river, the only means of
retreat of the army. It seems this bridge was guarded by some of
Hampton’s cavalry, when General Sherman ordered Mower’s corps to make a
dash around our left flank and capture this bridge and destroy it. While
Mower was proceeding to do this by a rapid advance in the rear of our
army, he had his pioneer corps with their spades and picks ready to
entrench, and when in sight of the bridge, he poured a volley on the
South Carolina cavalry, who immediately abandoned it. General Hardee
dashed up to where our regiment was formed, at the time perhaps not
numbering two hundred men, and asked, “Who commands this regiment?” A
Lieutenant Matthews spoke and said he was in command of the regiment
this morning. The general asked, “Lieutenant, can you hold those people
in check until I can bring up the infantry and artillery?” He answered,
“General, we are the boys that can try,” and called to the Rangers to
“Come on.”
Right here I would mention a sad incident in connection with this
charge. General Hardee had an only son, a boy about eighteen years old,
who importuned him for a month or more, to allow him to join the Texas
Rangers, and he had only given his consent that morning for the boy to
join the regiment and he had fallen into rank with Company D. Another
case: Eugene Munger, a cousin of our Dallas Mungers, who had borne a
charmed life from the time he joined the Rangers after the Battle of
Shiloh, and had never had a scratch, happened to be on a visit to the
regiment, talking with some friends, when this charge was ordered. As
they went in, passing by General Hardee, his son saluted him. The
Rangers went into a thick woods, hardly suited for a cavalry charge,
raising their accustomed yell and with their pistols, dashed into the
first line of infantry, who on account of the sudden, unexpected
onslaught, must have overshot them in their first volley. The Rangers
were right among them, drove them into the second line, which became
demoralized and fell back in confusion, the Rangers immediately
withdrawing with quite a number of prisoners, bringing out their dead
and wounded. Among the dead were Hardee’s son and Eugene Munger. But
they accomplished what was intended. General Hardee had brought up his
infantry and artillery, which held the enemy in check until night, when
the army crossed the bridge and was saved.
About an hour before the Rangers’ desperate charge, General McLaws sent
for me, when I found him immediately in the rear of his breastworks. He
instructed me to take two or three men of the company and move around in
the rear of Sherman’s army and ascertain if Schofield’s army, who had
headquarters at Goldsboro, was moving to the support of Sherman, telling
me that our army would fall back that night on the road to Raleigh and I
would find him somewhere on that road. Taking three other members of the
company, among whom was Virge Phelps, an old Mexican and Indian fighter,
a man of extraordinary nerve, we proceeded across the bridge, then up
Mill Creek towards Little River, where we found a division of the enemy
camped about fifteen miles towards Goldsboro. We then proceeded on
towards Goldsboro and found everything quiet outside of the enemy’s
camps. We ran in vidette pickets on several roads leading into
Goldsboro, when finally we reached the town of Pikeville, the first
station on the Goldsboro and Weldon Railroad. Here we stopped to make
some inquiries, wearing our Federal overcoats and drawing up at a house
for this purpose we asked for a drink of water. A very good looking,
intelligent lady came out with a bucket and dipper and handed us water.
On inquiry we found the enemy had never entered the town and none had
been seen there. Finally this good lady asked us what command we
belonged to. We told her that we belonged to the Fourth New York
Cavalry, which claim we had made at several places where we had stopped
for information. This woman kept looking at us and finally said, “Young
man, you can’t fool me; you are no Yankees, you are some of our own
folks.” I asked her why she thought so. “Well,” she said, “I imagine
Yankees don’t talk like you do,” which caused us to laugh, and as we
then had decided to return and make report to General McLaws, I thought
it wouldn’t make any difference to tell her who we were and stated that
we belonged to Wheeler’s cavalry. This brought forth a tirade of abuse
from this woman. I said Wheeler’s cavalry purposely to ascertain if the
terrible name of Wheeler’s cavalry had reached there. Wheeler’s cavalry,
through misrepresentations and frequently through the acts of Yankee
scouting parties claiming to belong to Wheeler’s cavalry, had gained a
very unenviable reputation, so when we claimed to belong to Wheeler’s
cavalry, this woman said, “I wish I was a man; I would shoulder a gun
and help put you down and only wish the Yankees would come in here right
now and kill the last one of you.” I said, “Madam, you needn’t wish for
the Yankees, you will have them soon enough and get a taste of some of
their deviltry.” We then proceeded back in the direction of the Raleigh
road from Bentonville.
CHAPTER XX
I SELL A TEN DOLLAR GOLD PIECE FOR FIFTEEN HUNDRED DOLLARS.
I will recite an incident occurring while we were camped about six miles
on a plank road from Fayetteville, North Carolina, which place was also
a manufacturing point for war munitions on a small scale, also had a
large cotton factory: The enemy were moving on two roads, converging
into Fayetteville, one road opposed by Rhett’s Brigade of South
Carolinians (General Rhett having been captured a few days before).
General McLaws sent for me about daylight and instructed me to take one
or two members of the company and ride across the country to the road
occupied by Rhett’s Brigade, stating that Rhett’s pickets had been run
in the night before, then after watching the road for some time, if I
found no enemy passing, to ride up the road until we met or heard of
them. We rode up the road to the eleventh milepost, when we discovered
some women up in a field near a house, watching the road and decided to
go and interrogate them on whether they had seen any enemy passing. I
told Jim Freeman, one of the party, to stay in the road and carefully
watch the direction from whence we were expecting the enemy and Joe
Hungerford and I would go up and talk with these women, suggesting to
Jim if the enemy came in sight and he had time to come to us, to do so,
but if he had not, to fire his pistol and run in toward town or go back
the way we had come and report to General McLaws and on his firing his
pistol we would make our way across from where we were. After reaching
the women they told us they had been watching for an hour or more and
had seen no passing, but had heard, the night before, that the enemy
were advancing on that road. After getting this information they
insisted on our waiting a little while, that they were cooking breakfast
and wanted us to share it with them, which we decided to do, remaining
on our horses. Very soon Jim Freeman came up to us and reported that he
saw a Yankee vidette picket about a half a mile ahead of where he stood.
We concluded, as we had time, that we would finish our breakfast and go
down and run him in, which we proceeded to do. When reaching the place
in the road where Jim saw this Yankee, he could not be found. I then
suggested that he was not a picket, but had strayed away from his
command for some purpose and would no doubt be found at some house. We
soon discovered a house a few hundred yards ahead, but a little swamp
between us and the house prevented us from going directly to it and
after proceeding a couple of hundred yards down the road, we found a
dirt road coming into the plank road, but at the mouth of this road,
owing to a turn in it, we were unable to see the house. I then suggested
to the boys that they wait there and I would go up to the house and see
if this Yankee was there.
After proceeding some little distance, the road turned and brought me in
full view of the house, with this Yankee at the gate, his gun on his
shoulder, just starting in. Having on my Yankee overcoat, I slipped my
pistol out of its holster, intending to ride up and make him lay down
his gun, when he discovered me and smiled, mistaking me for one of their
own men. Just as I got ready to throw my pistol down on him the boys on
the plank road started in a fast lope down the way we had come, which
was notice to me that the enemy were on to them. I had but little time
to decide. I knew if I shot this Yankee it would attract those on the
plank road and if I wheeled to run away from him he would perhaps shoot
me, but I decided to take my chance on the latter and broke for the
plank road. Just as I entered the plank road I noticed a column of
infantry within about one hundred and fifty yards. I wheeled to the
right very suddenly, which threw the cape of my overcoat over my head,
put spurs to my horse, made him do his best, expecting every moment to
be shot off the horse, but they never fired a shot, simply calling,
“Halt, halt!” The blue overcoat no doubt saved my life, as they
evidently thought I was one of their own men. When the boys heard me
coming, they stopped and after we got together we struck across the
country the way we had come and reported to General McLaws, which soon
started our little army on a hasty march into Fayetteville, where we
found Rhett’s Brigade, who had moved in during the night, and had sent
notice by a courier, which notice never reached General Hardee. Our army
then passed through Fayetteville very rapidly, whatever stores there
were in the place, of any value to our army, had been removed, and the
bridge across the river was all ready to be burned in an instant.
After the army had safely passed over, as also our cavalry, I stopped at
a store near the market-house to try to sell a ten dollar gold piece,
belonging to one of my comrades, for Confederate money. This was perhaps
the last gold piece we had in the command and the last of two hundred
dollars in gold my comrade had sent to him from Texas. I found in this
store a few yards of butternut jeans and forty or fifty pairs of knit
socks, all the goods the fellow had and with his little safe half full
of stacks of Confederate money. I asked him a hundred and fifty for one
for the gold piece, when he offered me seventy-five for one and while
dickering on this trade, we heard the guns fire up the street, when he
counted me out fifteen hundred dollars, very quickly for my gold piece.
I just had time to spring on to my horse and cross the bridge, which
very soon after, was burned, with the enemy moving into Fayetteville.
The army then moved down the river to Averysboro, where they built an
earth breastworks from a swamp, through which had passed a hurricane
down to the Cape Fear River and in front of this, another, perhaps a
half mile from the main works—a short line of works, which was occupied
by Rhett’s Brigade, with a battery of artillery. While our company with
General McLaws and staff, were awaiting developments near where the
roadway ran through the earthworks, General Hardee dashed up and called
to General McLaws to send two of your Texas people down the line on our
left and ascertain if the enemy are flanking in force, when I, in
company with Lieutenant Bennett, dashed down the line until we struck
the swamp, then turned into the swamp among fallen trees and brush until
we became separated, when I was finally fired on by the enemy’s skirmish
line, which forced me to run back through this fallen timber. But having
a clear-footed horse, I succeeded in getting through to the end of the
woods, and there started to run back, away from the fire of the
infantry, when a Colonel Fizer commanding the brigade immediately behind
the works, called me back and gave me a message to General Hardee, which
I was forced to carry up the line, exposed to the fire of the main line
of the enemy, which struck our works obliquely. I delivered my message
to General Hardee just as Rhett’s Brigade was moving inside of the works
from their advanced position, protected by the gallant defense of a
regiment of Georgians he had thrown forward outside of the main works.
When the main line of the enemy poured a hot fire onto that part of the
works where we were halted, we dashed into the woods somewhat out of
range. Here a ball struck Captain Lamar’s fine mare on the back and she
commenced laming. Lamar thought that she would fall with him and begged
me to take him up behind me, which I refused to do, unless his mare
actually fell. He still insisted on my taking him behind, when I
proposed to swap, to which he readily assented, but the mare never gave
out and I brought her into camp safely that night.
This animal, one of the finest in the army, was a present to Captain
Lamar from a friend of his in Savannah and was said to have cost a
thousand dollars in gold. After eating our supper that night General
McLaws sent for me to come up to his camp fire, when he asked me to
exchange back with Lamar, saying that Lamar prized the mare very highly,
as she was a present to him. I told him most certainly I would do so,
that I did not expect to keep her, but tender her back to him, which, of
course, was very gratifying to all concerned.
CHAPTER XXI
MY SERVICE WITH CAPTAIN SHANNON.
It was our custom, when on these scouts inside of the enemy’s lines, to
rest for a part of the night out of sight and hearing of the road,
turning in when away from any settlement or house, so we would not be
seen and spend the balance of the night in sleep in perfect safety,
without having a guard. After spending that night in the woods, we
returned to the road and found a large number of fresh horse tracks
leading towards Little River. We construed these to mean that a Federal
scout had passed during the night, which we decided to catch up with;
charge their rear and stampede them. In about two or three miles from
there our road rose up on a little bluff against a fence, then turned
down the fence to the west into a lane, past a house. In the corner of
the field was a barn lot, with several barns, where we found about
thirty or forty Federals saddling their horses. We immediately withdrew
unobserved, under the bluff, to consult, and I suggested to the boys to
go around this field, in the woods, strike the road below, wait in
ambush until these fellows passed, then charge their rear, as intended.
Virge Phelps refused to listen and insisted on charging them right there
and then, which I conceived to be a very foolish thing to do, but
finally had to yield. As we rose the bluff the second time, we
discovered one of Shannon’s men coming over the fence, out of the field,
which we knew meant that Shannon was camped there with a lot of
prisoners.
Captain Shannon was instructed by General Hood at Atlanta to select
twenty-five or thirty men out of the regiment and operate inside of
Sherman’s lines all the time, getting information, and punishing
marauders wherever found engaged in their nefarious business of robbing
and burning homes.
Shannon’s selection of the men he had with him soon won for him and his
scout a reputation with our army, and especially with the enemy, second
to no scout ever sent out by any army. Mosby’s exploits in Virginia have
been considered most wonderful achievements for any small body of men.
The operations of Shannon’s scouts have never been written, but where
they were known, surpassed anything ever heard of.
Immediately after recognizing this man, coming over from the field, we
hunted up Captain Shannon and reported to him our work of the day
before, when he stated he was going to send these prisoners to
headquarters and suggested that I make my report to General McLaws by
the lieutenant in charge and that we go back with him, as he expected to
go over the same ground that we had passed over the day before. This we
were very willing and anxious to do, having never been in any engagement
with him.
Shannon made it a rule that wherever he struck the enemy he would charge
them at once and when he found they were too strong for him he would run
out and leave them, sometimes drawn up in line of battle, shelling the
woods after he was gone. As soon as ready, Shannon moved out with our
little party in the rear, they having better horses than ours, as they
managed by some means, to keep in fresh horses all the time.
One of the first places we stopped to inquire proved to belong to a very
intelligent old Rebel lady, who reported that an officer and a private
and a negro soldier had just left her house, the negro driving her
buggy, carrying off a lot of fine dress goods and silverware and
valuables in the buggy and the others having threatened to hang her if
she failed to tell where her money was, forcing her to give up about a
hundred dollars in gold and several thousand dollars in Confederate
bonds. She told Captain Shannon, “If you will just hurry up, you will
catch up with them,” which we did, in about two miles from there. The
first one of the party caught up with was the negro soldier driving the
horse and buggy, when a member of the advance guard rode up by the side
of him and shot him out of the buggy. It seemed as though the ball of
his big pistol sent his body about five feet on the roadside, which made
the scout smile, looking back at us.
At a house about a quarter of a mile ahead of us, we found two horses
hitched, which turned out to belong to the lieutenant and the private,
who had taken the old lady’s money. Shannon called back, “Don’t but two
of you stop here.” A couple of Shannon’s men threw their bridle reins
over the fence and rushed into the house, when immediately afterwards we
heard pistols rattle in that house. We then continued on this road to
where it enters the main county road, running parallel with the
Goldsboro & Weldon Railroad. Just before reaching the main county road
Captain Shannon halted us, when he went forward, looked up and down the
road, came back, commanded, “Form fours and charge!” I don’t think I
ever saw men going into a charge like Shannon’s men, all breaking ranks,
trying to get to the front, not knowing whether they were charging a
small body of thirty or fifty men or a whole brigade until they got into
the main county road, which disclosed about sixty or seventy mounted
infantry with their guns swung on their backs, at the mouth of the lane,
drinking and talking. The head of Shannon’s column entered the body of
the Yankees, shooting their way in among them. All offered to surrender,
throwing up their hands with only one gun fired by them and that by a
man about to enter a swamp below the field, firing back at us over his
shoulder. These cowardly devils were not soldiers, only in name, they
were a band of highwaymen and plunderers in the uniform of the United
States and the most of them loaded down with plunder of every
description.
We next proceeded on the main road towards Pikesville, taking a batch of
prisoners along with us, guarded by only two or three of Shannon’s
scouts. We found these plunderers at every house on the way to
Pikesville, a distance of five or six miles, and also in the town.
Pikesville was a town of about fifty or seventy-five inhabitants, a
blacksmith shop, store and postoffice, railroad station and a few
residences. On entering the town our party became very much scattered,
as we found Federals in nearly every house. A party of about six or
eight on horseback tried to escape, when I, with two or three of
Shannon’s boys, started after them, capturing the whole bunch.
Returning to town I noticed the house where we stopped the day before
and had such a tirade of abuse from the woman, of which Shannon’s boys
with me, knew nothing. I suggested to them to let us go by that house
and get a drink of water. The prisoners begged for water also. Riding up
to the house, the door opened and my good lady of the day before put in
her appearance, when I said to her, “Now, run and get your friends some
drinking water; they are very thirsty.” “No,” she said, “I wouldn’t give
them a drink of water to save their lives. Come in, sir, and see what
they did in my house.” I told her that I did not care to see it, but to
run and get some water for her friends, when she again started to abuse
the prisoners. I told her she must stop that, they were our prisoners
and could not be abused by her.
After getting together the prisoners taken in this town and leaving
about a half dozen men to guard them, somewhere near a hundred, we
started out on a short scout on the road we had run over after the
parties trying to make their escape. When about a mile and a half from
town in a straight lane, having very high rail fences on both sides, we
met about eighty or a hundred more, evidently on their way to town. The
head of their column halted, viewing one of their dead bodies lying in
the road, one of the men that was killed by our little party running
after them, trying to make their escape.
I forgot to mention when starting out on this last scout that I told
Shannon our party wanted to move in the advance guard, as we had hardly
got a shot, his men always keeping ahead of us and we did not want to go
back to the regiment and say we had been with Shannon’s scouts unable to
do any effective service. Captain Shannon replied, “All right; go ahead
and report to Bill Smith,” who was a first lieutenant and always
commanded the advance guard. When within about two hundred yards of this
column, viewing the body, I asked Smith, as he was moving us quite
rapidly, “What are you going to do; are you going to charge these
fellows?” He said, “Come on; come on.” I looked back and saw Shannon
coming up in a lope with about fifteen or eighteen men, then noticed the
Federal column getting restless and probably four or five of them break,
when I said to Smith, “Now is our time,” and we drove ahead, scattering
the whole business, capturing a number of prisoners, besides a number
left in the road.
We next collected all our prisoners in the town and found that perhaps
not more than seventy per cent could speak the English language and we
were told that these foreigners had just been imported from Europe,
rushed through Castle Garden, right to the army. They were told by the
recruiting agents in Europe that they would receive large bounties, good
pay and good treatment and be entitled to everything they captured,
which latter of course, proved the greatest inducement of all.
We camped with Shannon that night near the town, and parted with him the
next morning, they moving in the direction of Goldsboro, while we
started back to our army, which we never saw again until the night of
the day of the surrender, which was several weeks after.
CHAPTER XXII
WE RECEIVE NOTICE OF JOHNSTON’S SURRENDER—I DECLINE TO BE PAROLED AND
RESOLVE TO MAKE MY WAY OUT.
After leaving Bentonville our army continued its retreat, the main part
of the army finally moving in the direction of Greensboro, where it
surrendered. Our little party continued to operate on Sherman’s flank,
when we heard that there was a large amount of meat collected by the
Federal cavalry at a little place called Marlboro, and we decided to get
a wagonload of this meat and carry it with us to our army. For this
purpose we impressed a wagon and team and loaded up with hams, which
proved a great encumbrance to us and about the third day we left all
with a poor widow woman, with her promise to hide out the hams in the
woods and try to save them from capture. We finally reached our
regimental camp the night of the surrender of Johnston’s army. Our
regiment at first notice of the surrender, decided to make their way out
and not take parole, but General Wheeler came down and made them a talk,
stating the terms of the surrender to be that the cavalry would be
permitted to retain their horses and sidearms and go home unmolested, if
they could show a parole; but if not they would be treated and shot as
Guerillas. Under this condition General Wheeler advised them to
surrender, which they decided to do.
After feeding my horse and eating a little supper, I tried to make up a
party to make our way out without taking a parole, believing that the
army would be sent to prison, and, having determined never to see the
inside of another prison, I prepared to go out and succeeded in inducing
about thirty of the regiment to go out with me. We rode all night, and
next morning came to a place where we found Colonel Harrison on
crutches, standing in the door. I dismounted and went in to tell him
that the army had surrendered and when about half way to him in the
yard, he motioned to me with his hand, saying, “Back to your command;
back to your command.” I told him that we were on our way to Texas, the
army had surrendered and the Rangers had decided to surrender with the
army and take a parole, which brought tears to his eyes. He repeated,
“The army has surrendered and the Rangers going to surrender with the
army? You did right, sir, in coming out; the Rangers shall not surrender
with the army; I am going to send them word to come out.” He then bade
us good-bye and we proceeded on our way.
That night we got to the town of Lexington, where we decided to stop for
the night, camping at the edge of the town. I went into town to have
some bread cooked for the party and it commenced to rain. Finally I
succeeded in finding a place where a lady agreed to cook the bread for
us all. The gentleman insisted on my staying at his house until his wife
could cook the bread, which would take her all night, and as a further
inducement, said if I would stay he would go with me the next morning
and show me where about thirty barrels of Catawba wine was hid out, from
which we could fill our canteens. The next morning, going down to where
I had left the boys in camp, loaded down with bread, I found they had
gone and left me. They had evidently become alarmed during the night
and, not knowing where I could be found, they decided I would be able to
make my way out all right. I then struck out, taking as much of the
bread as I could conveniently carry, but did not take time to get any of
the wine. I took the main Charlotte road, when in about two or three
miles, the road forked, one seemed about as much traveled as the other.
About six miles from there, towards Charlotte, I came to a house where I
found Major Jarmon of our regiment, badly wounded, with several of our
men taking care of him. These men told me that our party who had left
me, had divided at the forks of the road, part of them taking the right
hand, intending to go through Middle Tennessee and East Tennessee, the
others going on to Charlotte, there to cross the river and go over into
South Carolina. I then decided to go back to the forks of the road, take
the right hand and try to catch up with the party going to Tennessee.
After following this road about two or three miles, I came to a branch,
where I stopped to water my horse and immediately discovered about eight
or ten old men and young boys riding horses, unshod, and with citizens’
saddles. They had a few squirrel rifles and no other weapons, and were
also watering their horses in the branch near me. They asked me what
command I belonged to. I told them I belonged to the Texas Rangers and
my company was just ahead, when I asked them what command they belonged
to. They said they belonged to General Lee’s cavalry, which I knew was
not true, but that they were bushwhackers and I decided to get away from
them as soon as possible. I started across the branch and at a little
turn of the road I struck a trot, when two of them loped up behind me,
separating, one on each side of me, one of them demanding to buy my
saddle. I told him it was not for sale. The other wanted to buy one of
my pistols. I told them they couldn’t have anything I had; “I know what
you are after and if you know what is good for you, you had better drop
back and let me alone.” They stopped and, I thought, started back to
their party. I soon got to another turn of the road out of their sight,
and struck a lope and ran about a mile and a half. I concluded perhaps
they would come no further. I discovered a woman plowing in the field,
at the far end of which was a log house on the edge of the woods, and
just at the corner of the fence I noticed some fresh horse tracks turned
off the road, which I concluded perhaps was our party who had gone to
the house to get something to eat. I waited in the fence corner for the
woman to return to the end of the row and asked if she had seen any men
riding down the line of fence to the house, when she claimed she did not
and while talking with her here this gang of bushwhackers came dashing
up and surrounded me in the fence corner. I pulled out one of my pistols
and told them the first man that raised a gun I’d kill “and I’ll get a
number of you before you get me, for I am an expert shot and never
miss,” when one of them said, “Come on, boys; let’s leave the d——
fool.” I told them,” Yes, you’d better leave.” Unfortunately for me,
they turned right up the road, the way I wanted to go and when they
concluded I had quit watching them, they turned into the woods, no doubt
expecting me to continue on the road and they would then ambush me.
I first concluded that I must catch up with our party, as I was
exceedingly anxious to go with them into Tennessee and it was not safe
for me to go by myself, therefore decided I would ride along leisurely
until I got up to the point where they turned out of the road, then,
with my pistol raised, I would put spurs to my horse and run the
gauntlet, which on further reflection, I concluded that I had better not
attempt, as they would be bound to hit my horse in running by. I
therefore turned back the way I had come. When within about two or three
miles of the main forks of the road, I struck a well-beaten path,
running in the direction of the Charlotte road, which I decided to take
and getting back into the Charlotte road, I would ride on to Charlotte.
After riding in this path about a mile and a half, I came to a large log
house, to reach the front gate of which I had to pass through a barn lot
that had a large gate, fastened by a log chain wrapped around the bottom
of the gate and the gate post. When I got down off my horse to unwind
this chain, I heard some one speak and when I looked up I found an old
gentleman on the other side of the lot with a shotgun leveled on me. I
told him not to shoot, “I am a friend and want some directions.” He
said, “Now, that animal isn’t fit for you to ride and would be of no use
to you, but you can’t take her.” I told him, “My friend, I don’t want
your horse, I have as good a horse as I want. I only want some
directions,” and after talking with him a little, satisfied him that I
was not after his horse, when he invited me in. I then told him about
being on my way home to Texas and how I had been separated from the
party I was going with and wanted to get to the Charlotte road the
nearest way I could get there. He then begged me to spend the balance of
the day and stay all night with him. After finding that he was a good
Southern man, I decided to do so, satisfied I would never catch up with
our party that had taken the Charlotte road and I needed rest very
badly, as also my horse.
The old gentleman told me that that whole country was overrun by a band
of marauders that had been pillaging and robbing their homes and they
had had a meeting of the people in the neighborhood and decided whenever
a house was attacked they would blow a horn and all rush to the place of
attack, there to shoot down every man they found that had no business
there. It is hardly necessary to say that he wished they would attack
his house the night I was there, because I had four pistols and was
regarded by him as pretty good reinforcement, but nothing of the sort
happened. I spent a very restful and pleasant night, with a good supper
and breakfast, and next day started out, by a near road, to strike the
Charlotte pike, which I did some several miles ahead of where I left
Major Jarman, the day before, badly wounded.
When I finally reached Charlotte, I stopped to make some inquiry of an
infantry guard stationed at a big stable, who told me that the guards in
town had orders to arrest every man from Johnston’s army without a
parole and advised me to pass around the main part of the town, into the
road I was going on to. He furthermore told me that our whole
Confederate Government was then in Charlotte; President Davis, with
General Breckenridge, then Secretary of War; Judge Reagan, Postmaster
General, and all the rest, and they had just heard the news of Lincoln’s
assassination, which seemed to have cast a gloom over the entire party.
I now proceeded on my way, around the town, back into the main road
leading out to Bady’s Ferry and when within four or five miles of the
ferry, I met a citizen who had just crossed there and reported that
Colonel Clarence Prentice, with about two hundred Kentuckians, had just
crossed there and had been captured by a heavy force of Federal cavalry
and by them paroled and permitted to go on his way home. Then further
conferring with this citizen about where I could best cross the Catawba
River, he told me of a batteau at a mill about twelve miles below
Charlotte, when I decided to ride down there and cross in this batteau,
which I did, putting my saddle and everything in the batteau, paddling
across and swimming my mare, which landed me in a wheat field, in the
State of South Carolina.
After getting straightened out again for the road I got directions to
Anderson Courthouse, which I reached in due time and found Colonel
Harrison, with a large party of Rangers, resting and having a good time.
Harrison, if the reader will remember, was badly wounded and was just
recovering, using crutches, when a party of Rangers came along after we
had left, secured an ambulance and crossed the Catawba River with two
batteaux, one on each side, thus bringing him out to Anderson
Courthouse, which was his old home and where he had relatives.
After resting another day we again struck out for the Mississippi River,
passing through South Carolina, into Georgia, then into Alabama. Before
reaching the State of Alabama, we heard that the Mississippi River was
out of its banks and about thirty miles wide, which forced us to scatter
out and lay up at different points, until the river ran down so that we
could cross. I had promised a messmate, Joe Hungerford, whose home was
at Uniontown, Alabama, that I would spend some time with him.
Riding along one day in Alabama, some miles from Marion, I was taken
with a severe headache, which forced me to stop and lay up, try to get
some rest and sleep. When I woke in the night I was prevailed on by an
old gentleman at the house, to spend the balance of the night, which
threw me considerably behind the party of men I was with.
When our party left Greenville Courthouse we decided if we struck any
horses or mules, belonging to the United States Government, we would
take them along with us, for the purpose of probably raising money to
pay our expenses home and if we found any small parties of the enemy, we
would attack them and on their surrender, would parole them, taking
their arms and horses.
On riding into the town of Marion, I saw a guard in front of a livery
stable, rode up to him, when he accosted me, “Hello, Texas; have you
come after mules, too?” I told him, “Yes, where are they?” He said,
“This stable is full of the finest kind of mules;” he happened to be an
Arkansas man and told me that my party, who went through the day before,
went out with a lot of mules, each leading two. I told him, “All right,
open the door and I will go in and get a couple.” He said, “No, you know
I want you to have them, but they are in charge of Major Curry, who has
a strong guard here and is waiting to turn them over to the Yankees, who
are expected in here by train every minute and you had better not
attempt to take any mules by yourself, as Curry, with his guards, would
surely arrest you and turn you over to the Yankees.” Then I concluded
best to drop the matter and proceeded to get directions, from a citizen,
to Uniontown.
Stopping on the road, about five miles from Marion, to get dinner, I
found at the house four Confederate soldiers—one young man on crutches,
who had been wounded in the Virginia Army, the son of the owner of the
place; one of the Eleventh Texas Cavalry and two Arkansas men. At the
dinner table the old gentleman told me about Major Curry, a Confederate
Quartermaster, who had impressed about two hundred fine mules in that
section for account of the Confederate Government and had these mules in
a large livery stable in Marion, protected by a guard, to turn them over
to the Federals. These mules had not been branded and the owners had
plead with Major Curry to return them to them, but Curry refused,
claiming it would get him into trouble with the Federals, as they would
certainly get the information. The old gentleman told me that the
feeling against Curry was very bitter and that he was regarded as a very
mean man, persisting in his determination to turn over the mules, on
account of his antipathy to his old neighbors and friendliness to the
Federals, thereby courting their favors.
Presently one of the Arkansas men proposed that we go back and take a
couple of mules apiece, by force, to which we all consented. Our
crippled man, not having a gun, his father told him of a rich neighbor
some two miles from there who had quite a number of mules taken by Curry
and was very bitter against him on that account, that he had a very fine
shotgun and would no doubt loan it to him for the purpose of a raid on
that stable. Stopping at this house on our way into Marion, this young
crippled man secured the shotgun, when we moved on. Just before we
entered town I stopped the party and told them that I was satisfied we
were very liable to have trouble with Major Curry and there was no use
in starting into it without going through with it. “Now, if there is a
man among you that don’t want to go in, let him say so now.” They all
said they were willing to go and wanted me to take command of the party.
I told them, “All right, now, if you are asked any questions, who I am,
tell them I am Lieutenant Jones, Company C, Eleventh Texas.”
We now started in and found a big lattice door to the stable open, and
as soon as we came in sight the guard rushed to the door to close it,
when I dashed up with my pistol on and told him to leave that door open.
I then told our crippled young man, with the shotgun, to hold that door
open, to stay there and to shoot the first man that attempted to close
it when the balance of our men went in to get the mules. There were two
shed rooms, connected with the main room; the large room had stalls on
each side. Not finding any good mules in the large room, I went to the
far end and turned into one of the shed rooms, the balance of the men
scattering around, hunting good mules. While engaged untying a mule in
the shed room, I heard a man call to some of our men, “Who are you, and
what are you doing here?” They told him they had come after mules. “Who
commands this party?” “Lieutenant Jones of the Eleventh Texas.” “Where
is Lieutenant Jones?” They told him I was in that shed room. In the
meantime, a number of men in citizen’s clothes, had entered the main
room. Major Curry came around into the shed room, where I had untied a
mule and asked me if I was Lieutenant Jones, in command. He said, “I am
Major Curry of the Confederate States Army, in charge of these mules,
with orders to turn them over to the United States Army and if you don’t
take your party out of here and leave these mules, I will have to arrest
you and turn you over to the Federal authorities.” I told him that we
would be very much disappointed if he didn’t attempt our arrest, that we
had come on purpose to get the mules and him, too, when he approached
very near me and said in a low tone of voice, “You know this stable is
full of Yankee spies now, come in advance of the army to find out what
they can, and for their benefit I have to make a show of resistance.” He
said, “You go ahead and take what mules you want. You Texans are
entitled to them; you are a long ways from home.”
We then completed our selection and led out two mules apiece, with two
for our lame friend at the door, passing by a number of strangers,
looking on, in the main room. Major Curry followed me outside, when I
told him, “Now, if it will be of any benefit to you, Major, I am willing
to give you a written statement that I appeared here with an armed force
and took possession of so many mules,” which he said he would appreciate
very much, it might prove of benefit to him with the Yankees, and
invited me up into his office with him, around on the square, where I
drew up this statement and signed the name of R. F. Jones, Company C,
Eleventh Texas Regiment. We then departed with our mules, back to the
young lame man’s home, where we separated, perhaps never to meet again.
After obtaining directions for Uniontown, on my way through Green
County, Alabama, I stopped at the little town of Newbern, where I met a
Doctor James Webb, who insisted on my stopping with him. He had a
beautiful home; his family being away on a long visit to some other
section of the State, he felt quite lonely and wanted company. I decided
to accept his invitation, when he made me feel at home and my visit
there for nearly two months, waiting for the Mississippi River to run
down, proved very pleasant indeed, besides forming many new and pleasant
acquaintances.
After spending nearly two months at this place, we had information,
which we considered reliable, that the Trans-Mississippi Department had
surrendered. I therefore concluded best to abandon my ride to Texas,
leave my horse and arms with Doctor Webb and proceed to New Orleans,
from there by steamer to Galveston. Doctor Webb succeeded in finding an
only twenty-dollar gold piece, which he advanced me to pay the expense
of my trip.
Armed with a parole, copied from one in the possession of an Appomattox
prisoner, I proceeded to Uniontown, where I took rail for Selma and
entered the Provost Marshal’s office, threw down my parole and demanded
transportation to Texas, which was granted me as far as New Orleans.
Arriving at New Orleans I found that the Trans-Mississippi Department
had not yet surrendered, but the agents of General Kirby Smith, who was
in command of the Trans-Mississippi Department (Doctor Ashbel Smith and
Mr. Ballinger of Galveston), were then negotiating with General Canby,
its surrender. Here I found a large part of Hood’s brigade, as also
General Hood and members of his staff from Texas and General Thomas
Harrison of our brigade, with some few members of the Eighth Texas, also
many members of Granbury’s and Rector’s brigades, awaiting the close of
negotiations and transportation to Texas, when finally, in about a week
or ten days, the surrender of the Trans-Mississippi Department was
completed and a large transport, in charge of a Federal captain, was
ordered to take us to Galveston.
On arrival at the entrance of Galveston Bay we met a sloop of war going
out, when our captain in charge signaled to it to return to Galveston
and anchor off a certain wharf, where he expected to land our men, which
he did. On arrival at this wharf, after tying up the boat, a stage was
run out, when a lone gentleman standing on the wharf, claiming to be
Mayor Leonard of the city, called to the Federal captain not to allow a
single man to come off that boat until the trains were ready to take us
into the interior. This brought forth a spirited rebuke by our Federal
captain, telling him that the men were going to land and stay in the
city until they could be taken out by the railroad and if they
mistreated any of the men while there, he would order the gunboat to lay
his town in ashes.
In explanation of the Mayor’s action, it seems that when the army
disbanded in the interior, that a lot of bad men entered Galveston and
conducted themselves badly, when the City Council met and passed an
order that no more soldiers would be permitted in the city. The Mayor,
of course, had no idea that a large number of the men aboard were
citizens of Galveston nor as to the character of the men aboard, hence
his mistake.
In connection with this I recall the departure of the Bayou City Guards
in 1861 for Virginia, who afterwards constituted a part of the Fifth
Texas Regiment, Hood’s brigade, and reflected such credit on the
Confederate arms in Virginia. I happened to be present in Houston when
this company, marching through the streets of Houston to the railroad
depot, were escorted by a cavalry company and a large concourse of
citizens—on their departure for Harrisburg, there to be mustered into
the service of the Confederate States for the war.
After boarding the train a few speeches were made and a few words spoken
by Captain John G. Walker, commanding the cavalry company, which I well
remember, as follows:
“If you fight bravely we will honor you; if you return safely we will
welcome you; if you die in battle I swear to Heaven we will avenge you.”
Taking this in connection with our reception at Galveston, which of
course, was a mistake, by accident, we can well afford to pass it.
As soon as the trains were made up for the interior, after spending a
day and night in Galveston where we were treated royally by its
citizens, we proceeded to our different homes and I soon landed in
Hempstead among a sad, dejected and ruined people, resolved to do the
best they could under the circumstances and submit gracefully to the
powers that were.
It would, I consider, be entirely fitting for me to close this part of
my life’s history by publishing what I may call General Joseph Wheeler’s
farewell address to his cavalry corps (General Wheeler issued the
following order to his entire command):
“Headquarters Cavalry Corps,
“April 28, 1865.
“Gallant Comrades: You have fought your fight. Your task is
done. During a four years’ struggle for liberty you have
exhibited courage, fortitude and devotion. You are the victors
of more than 200 sternly contested fields. You have participated
in more than a thousand conflicts of arms. You are heroes!
Veterans! Patriots! The bones of your comrades mark battlefields
upon the soil of Kentucky, Virginia, North Carolina, South
Carolina, Georgia, Alabama and Mississippi. You have done all
that human exertion could accomplish. In bidding you adieu, I
desire to tender my thanks for your gallantry in battle, your
fortitude under suffering and your devotion at all times to the
holy cause you have done so much to maintain. I desire also to
express my gratitude for the kind feelings you have seen fit to
extend toward myself, and to invoke upon you the blessing of our
Heavenly Father, to whom we must always look in the hour of
distress. Brethren in the cause of freedom, comrades in arms, I
bid you farewell.
“JOSEPH WHEELER,
“Major General.
“Official:
“WM. E. WAITES,
“Assistant Adjutant General.”
The Reconstruction Period
PREFACE
For the unpleasant facts recorded in this, I am not responsible, but
only the powers that were then. I would much prefer to forget as I have
forgiven, and not reopen old wounds, but a sacred duty I owe my family
forces me to submit the unvarnished truth and use expressions, though
harsh, to properly represent conditions as they existed, to protect my
lifetime fair name and character, which I must leave my family
untarnished, and also to redeem my promise to them and my many
interested friends, who were personally acquainted with me during the
years of this terrible experience.
Do not fail to bear in mind that this is written altogether from memory,
nearly fifty years after it occurred, hence dates are omitted.
In order to give the reader a full appreciation of my remarkable
preservation and escape from being murdered by the powers that ruled at
the time, I treat the subject as I do. Drifting into this trouble was
certainly not of my own choice, but altogether owing to conditions and
surroundings. I was simply the instrument in God’s hands to relieve a
law abiding and submissive community of a terrible calamity about to be
enacted by a lawless band of marauders in the uniform of the United
States, protected by their officers and permitted by the, then, General
Government, and my life was spared by the interposition of a Divine
Providence. It was this firm conviction that gave me strength and hope
that all would be well and enabled me to pass through this terrible
ordeal.
There was no law to protect or appeal to, only the whim of a vindictive
military satrap, whose order was supreme and who regarded the best
citizens of the country fit subjects for his vengeance and persecution.
Our State Government, organized under the terms of our surrender,
composed of the best and most solid element of the State, working in
conjunction with the returned Confederate soldiers to rehabilitate our
ruined homes, was ruthlessly set aside by the infamous order of General
Sheridan, as an impediment to reconstruction.
To longer submit to such conditions and subject our families to dangers
worse than death, made men desperate and called forth every spark of
manhood in man, particularly in one who had followed Sherman’s march
through Georgia and the Carolinas and made him liable to resent outrages
when brought directly to his own home in the most effective way,
regardless of consequences.
As a result of our action, having removed the bandit leader from among
them, our community was no longer subjected to their deviltry. They were
completely overawed and behaved themselves forever after, thereby
avoiding much bloodshed. Had they burned Hempstead that night, which no
doubt they would have done, an outraged citizenship would have gathered
and visited vengeance on these devils incarnate and no promise of
General Sheridan, as in the case of Brenham, could have stayed them,
then what would have been the result?
I had the sympathy of the best citizens of the country, offers of men
and money, which were always declined in the interest of peace.
To better explain the cause for the conditions existing with these
garrisons: When the Federal Government sent their recruiting agents
abroad, they accepted some of the worst element in Europe, as well as in
this country, promising them large bounties, good wages and treatment,
and all they could capture, hence a certain element in the army started
in for plunder only, and with no other object. Some garrisons in the
State had a band of plunderers with a desperate leader, as was the case
at Brenham when it was burned and again at Hempstead at this time.
At the conclusion of the war the best element in the Federal Army, the
brave and gallant men who won the fight, did not re-enlist, but returned
to their homes to engage in peaceful pursuits and could never have been
induced to assist in degrading their own race and color by elevating the
negro over us, which was the avowed intention of the fanatical element
of the North who were responsible for the war.
That gallant soldier and conscientious gentleman, General W. S. Hancock,
in command of New Orleans, refused to do their bidding and was
immediately superseded by General Sheridan, who proved a fit tool in
their hands.
CHAPTER XXIII
UPON MY RETURN FROM THE ARMY I FIND MY BUSINESS AFFAIRS IN BAD SHAPE.
I returned from Johnston’s army, surrendered in North Carolina in the
summer of 1865, to my home town, Hempstead, Texas, where I found my
brother, six years younger than myself, who had also just returned from
the army, and a younger sister, who had been boarding at a friend’s
house during my absence in the army. We were orphan children.
On my return I found the business of Faddis & Graber, which I left in
charge of R. P. Faddis, the senior partner, totally vanished. I had not
even a change of clothing, of which I had left a trunk full. Brother had
given them to needy Confederate soldiers.
After resting and recuperating for some months, a guest at the homes of
different friends, awaiting an opportunity for business, I was persuaded
by an old friend, Mr. Leander Cannon, to make my home at his house at
Courtney, Grimes County, until I could secure something to do. Mr.
Cannon before the war had the largest general mercantile business in the
interior of the State, while I kept his books for him at Hempstead
before I entered into business on my own account with Faddis, Mr. Cannon
having sold out in the meantime.
After the return of the Confederate soldiers from the army, the first
year, they were engaged in peaceable pursuits, trying to rebuild their
lost fortunes and also to recuperate their health, which, in many
instances, had been sacrificed in the army.
While so engaged, the Federal Government organized its Freedman’s
Bureau, establishing its agencies in all the populous negro districts in
the State, supported by the army. As heretofore stated, among these
garrisons were a lot of desperate and bad men, bent on rapine and
plunder, and they had the sanction of their officers, notably in the
case of the town of Brenham, which they sacked and burned.
This aroused the resentment and desperation of the best people of Texas
and very soon a thousand or more of the best citizens of the State
collected and determined to wipe out this garrison. General Sheridan, in
command of Texas and Louisiana, with headquarters at New Orleans,
telegraphed Governor Throckmorton to proceed there at once and beg the
people to desist and not to take any action until he could send a
commission to investigate and secure the guilty parties for punishment.
Governor Throckmorton succeeded in dispersing this avenging host, and
General Sheridan, instead of sending a commission, reinforced the
garrison and arrested some of the best citizens of the country.
The Hempstead garrison also had a band of marauders, headed by a
desperate character, who occasionally attacked citizens at night and
robbed them. This was the condition at Hempstead.
In the meantime I started a small general merchandise business at
Courtney, with the assistance of my friend Cannon. While boarding at
Cannon’s house I occupied a room with a Mr. White and son, from Tarrant
County, who were there, ostensibly, to trade a flouring mill he had in
Tarrant County for one of Cannon’s Brazos bottom plantations. I soon
concluded that Mr. White had no flouring mill to trade and was imposing
upon Mr. Cannon for his and his son’s board and also to recuperate his
horses.
I also met at Mr. Cannon’s ex-Governor Morehead of Kentucky, who was
then a refugee from the General Government. While rooming with Mr. White
and his son, we had frequent discussions about the battles in Virginia,
he claiming that he had served in that army, and his son on General
Johnston’s staff. I noticed that Mr. Cannon showed these gentlemen a
great deal of attention and frequently these three were seen in the
woods, sitting on a log, talking. I was puzzled to know why it was that
Mr. Cannon could be so easily imposed on by this man White.
Some months or more after they had left, and I had moved to the hotel
down in town, I met Mr. Cannon on the street and he said to me, “I have
just heard from Mr. White.” “Well, has he sold his flouring mill?” I
asked. Cannon said, “No, you knew he had no flouring mill. You knew that
it was General Wigfall and his son, Holsey.” I told him no, that I was
unaware who he was, having only met General Wigfall one time at Raleigh,
North Carolina, at a hotel, when he wore a heavy black beard, and at
Courtney he was clean shaven. Cannon told me, when he heard from them,
they were in Havana and would take a steamer the next day for Great
Britain. I never knew what became of ex-Governor Morehead after he left
Cannon’s, but do not think that he was ever arrested.
While at Courtney, I was called on by an old comrade, Ben Polk, in
company with a friend of his by the name of T. J. Thorn, who were
looking for a large plantation to lease. This they failed to find. Both
had their old family set of negroes to work for them. Ben Polk went over
on the Trinity, where he rented and cultivated a plantation, and Captain
Thorn rented the Stevenson’s Ferry plantation, about six miles from the
town of Hempstead, where he pitched a large crop of cotton and corn.
Several months after I happened to meet with Thorn at Hempstead, when he
made a proposition to me to join in the cultivation of this crop, as he
felt financially unable to carry it through.
After investigating his proposition, which was most liberal, and
considering the further fact that the location presented a better
opportunity for business than Courtney, I decided to accept and moved
down there with my stock of merchandise, boarding my family in a
friend’s home in Hempstead, as the house on the plantation was in bad
repair. Captain Thorn also boarded his wife and two children with his
father-in-law in Hempstead.
It was our custom to spend Sundays with our families in town, sometimes
going in on Saturday night, returning Monday morning, and occasionally
going in on Sunday morning.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE AFFAIR AT HEMPSTEAD.
One Sunday morning Thorn and I rode into town, and met on the road going
towards the river, eleven Federal soldiers. We thought nothing of it as
they had never before crossed the river. Captain Thorn stopped at the
place where his wife was boarding and I started across the square to
where my little family were stopping. I noticed a group of our solid
citizens armed, talking excitedly, and rode up and asked them the news,
when they told me that a band of soldiers had raided the town the night
before, committing a number of depredations and had threatened to burn
Hempstead that night.
A committee of citizens, headed by the Mayor, Mr. Whitworth, had visited
the camp that morning and complained to the commanding officer, Captain
Lancaster, of the conduct of his men the night before and told him of
their threat to burn Hempstead that night. They asked permission to
organize a patrol to keep their town from being burned. He cursed them
in answer and told them that he wanted every one of them to hunt their
holes that night at eight o’clock and that he would have a patrol out to
see that they did it.
Knowing the temper of the people, as I did, I suggested to them not to
do anything rash, telling them that whatever was done without the
authority of the powers that were would only bring greater trouble, and
that we would be powerless to secure redress. I pleaded with them and
cautioned them to submit, rather than to make matters worse, as in the
case of Brenham.
I then proceeded to my wife’s place of residence and spent the balance
of the day until about four o’clock in the evening. All during that day
we heard wild rumors of the threats of the soldiers of what they were
going to do that night and I decided it was best to take my wife and
baby to the plantation and keep them out of trouble. About a mile from
town I met one of our negro men, with his wife. His wife’s clothes were
badly torn. He told me that eleven soldiers had been out to the place,
robbed the house of several guns belonging to the negroes and one very
fine gun belonging to Captain Thorn. They had tried to break into my
storeroom, but had failed to get in. They had then gone to Buckhorn,
about four or five miles west of us, where there was a store and
postoffice, and he thought on their return, they would break into my
store. I asked him where he was going. He said he was going into camp to
report them. I told him not to do so, that they would nearly beat him to
death for making such a report, but to go and see his Marse Tom and tell
him what they had done and to tell him that I had gone on out and to
come out immediately and to bring out a good lot of pistol ammunition.
We both had pistols but no ammunition for them, never having any use for
them, though it was the custom with most people to carry six-shooters.
My first impulse was to watch their return from Buckhorn and, on their
approach, to go into the storeroom, well prepared with loaded guns, and
resist any attempt on their part to break into the store.
I drove on out to the place, very much alarmed; fearing that I would
meet these devils on their return to town, but fortunately, they had not
returned that far. After crossing the river at the ferry, I drove
through the open fields, where I could see clear up to the house, about
a mile, and when I reached the house the negroes reported that they had
already left there, for town, on the river road, through a piece of
bottom.
I had promised my wife that I would do nothing in the matter and
intended to make good this promise, but when the negroes told me of the
soldiers’ doings in the negro quarters and at the house, I lost all
control of myself, ushered my wife into the house, told her that I had
to go down to the barn to see the mules fed, by way of an excuse to get
away from her, went into the storeroom, got an only pistol, partly
loaded, rushed to the barn without a saddle, jumped on my horse’s back
and set out in pursuit of them.
Fortunately they had already crossed the river when I got to the ferry.
There is no question but what I would have dashed in among them with
only three shots in my pistol and would not now live to tell the tale.
At the ferry I met a young man by the name of Stevenson, a son of the
owner of the place, and a young man by the name of Hartsfield, who had
been acting as our overseer. Stevenson was armed and so was Hartsfield.
I got some ammunition from the ferryman for my pistol, which I completed
loading. When about ready to cross the river, Captain Thorn hailed for
the boat, crossed and secured another pistol from the ferryman. Thorn
was very much stirred up. In meeting them the leader of this gang had
made him get off of his horse, get down on his knees and told him to say
his prayers, but finally let him off. We then started in pursuit and
when within about a mile of their camp we caught up with them. When they
heard us coming they broke, their leader and several companions taking
to trees, from which they fired upon us. In the mix-up they got the
worst of the affair. Two were left dead on the field, while we
miraculously escaped without a scratch.
Our first decision was to report the result to the commanding officer,
but being admonished by the manner in which he had treated our citizens
that morning, and also the history in the case of Brenham, we finally
concluded we had better keep out of their clutches and not risk our
lives in their hands.
A military satrap was the law of the land; there were no courts to
appeal to, only the tender mercies of General Sheridan.
We immediately returned to the river. After crossing, I asked the party
to hold the ferry until I could get my wife and baby to a friend’s
house, about two miles distant. Hartsfield and Stevenson both refused
and left, but Thorn, taking my pistol, in addition to the one he had,
sat down by a tree and told me to take my time, that he would hold that
ferryboat against the whole garrison.
I went to the house, took my wife and baby to a Mr. Waller Cochran’s,
where they spent the night, and then I went back to relieve Captain
Thorn. We then went to another friend’s house, where we were joined by
our overseer, Hartsfield, and there spent the night. I instructed Mr.
John D. Cochran, an old messmate, to go over to his brother’s place the
next morning, get my wife and baby and either take them to Courtney to
her sister’s home or bring them to Navasota, where we expected to meet
them the next evening.
In crossing the ferry the next morning there were in the boat with them
twelve men in command of a lieutenant, heavily armed, who had been out
to the place, searching for us. My wife heard them make their threats
that if they caught up with Thorn or Graber that they had orders to
shoot them down without benefit of a court martial.
After spending that night at a friend’s house, we three started for
Navasota, on the west side of the river, Stevenson having left us at the
ferry the day before. I have never seen him since. We crossed the river
at Old Washington and arrived at Navasota in the evening, where I met my
wife, who was taken to a Mr. Felder’s house.
Our arrival at Navasota created great excitement. We were visited by
many of the best citizens of the town, some of whom begged us to stay.
They just wanted a chance at them, when they came after us, but I told
them no, that our case was bad enough and that it would only result in
involving our friends without accomplishing anything, which I was
determined not to do. I therefore arranged to leave next morning for
Waxahachie, where I was well acquainted, having spent two years of my
boyhood there.
After a day’s reflection we just began to realize our condition.
Outlawed by the powers that were, everything that we had in the world
lost, confiscated, dependent altogether on what financial aid and
assistance we might accept; and, although we had abundant aid offered
us, it only made us more desperate. We felt that our fate was sealed,
though we had not a moment’s thought of regret; we felt that we had done
right, that we could not have done otherwise and were simply the victims
of conditions existing.
I parted with my wife next morning, never expecting to see her again,
telling her whenever she heard of my being in their hands, it would be
my dead body; I would never surrender.
We now started on our trip to Waxahachie, without incident, stopping at
houses at night, without disclosing our identity, giving fictitious
names. When we reached Spring Hill we found a Mr. George H. Porter of
Houston, an old army acquaintance of Thorn’s, who was out collecting for
T. W. House of Houston. We also found a Federal quartermaster from Waco,
out buying horses for the troops stationed at that point. Now, my
friend, Thorn, had got to drinking very hard, getting more desperate
every day and conceived the idea to hold up this quartermaster and make
him give us his money. I spurned the idea, telling Thorn that he could
not do it while I was there. I was not willing to turn highway robber,
which it would have amounted to. Here was the turning point in our
lives, especially in the case of Thorn, who didn’t seem to have any
compunctions in the matter, though, in the eyes of many, he would have
been fully justified. The Government, through their soldiers, had robbed
us of everything we had and was seeking to take our lives without the
benefit of a court martial, and, under the circumstances, Thorn’s idea
might have been justified.
My friend Thorn readily yielded when I called his attention to the
disgrace such an act would bring on our families, to say nothing of
having entered into such practices, which would have carried us further
into an infamous career. To me, the fact that we had to depend on
misrepresentation and lies to save our lives as long as we could, with a
faint hope of ultimately living out of it, was bad enough. Lying was
revolting to my very nature. I always detested a liar, as much so as I
did a thief, but in this case, I leave it to the reader whether we were
justified or not.
On parting with Mr. Porter, the next day, he pulled out a large purse of
twenty dollar gold pieces and offered it to Thorn; told him to take it
all, but I pushed back his hand and told Thorn that he must not take a
dollar of it, as it was money collected by Porter, belonging to T. W.
House. Porter insisted on him taking some of it; saying that he could
replace it from his salary account, but I said no, I had good friends at
Waxahachie, who would furnish me whatever money we actually needed.
George A. Porter is still living in Houston and has built up one of the
largest commission businesses in the place.
We now proceeded to Waxahachie without further incident and put up at
the Rogers House. E.W. Rogers being an old friend of mine he did his
best to make us feel at home. Here, as stated, I was known by many of
the old citizens and we passed under our own names. About a week passed,
during which time we watched the daily papers and read every report from
South Texas, expecting daily pursuit. One day, while in a store across
the street from the Rogers House, old man Rogers came in, somewhat
excited, and told us a man had just got off the stage at the hotel and
registered as “Brown, from Hempstead.” He thought, from his talk, he was
a Federal and advised us to go over and investigate. We immediately
started across, and noticed the man in the door. When within about
fifteen feet of him, he recognized me, saying, “Hello, Mr. Graber; are
you here? We thought you were in Mexico by this time.” I told him, “No,
we are going to Mexico, but not the way you thought we were.” By this
time Thorn had got inside of the door and said to Brown, “Let me see you
a minute,” and led him into our room. As soon as inside, Thorn jerked
out his pistol, saying, “Get down on your knees and say your prayers;
d—— you, I’m going to kill you.” I quickly pushed his pistol aside,
told him to hold on and let us hear what he had to say; “if he is here
on business, after us, you can take him.”
The fellow told a straight tale about his business there, saying that he
came to see an aunt of his, who lived about fifteen miles from
Waxahachie, a woman who was known to me. I told him to get up, that he
was all right and not on business for us. He said that he never would
tell of seeing us there if we did not want him to do so. He said that he
was a Missourian and had been in the Federal Army; was wounded at the
battle of Elkhorn, in his left wrist, a bad scar of which he showed us,
and said this brought him to his senses; he quit fighting us and went
into the sutler’s business, to make what money he could out of them, and
came to Hempstead with the troops in that capacity, though when I became
known to him there, he was a mail clerk in the post office, though I did
not recall his face. He told us, furthermore, that he was quite intimate
with Capt. Lancaster and had heard Lancaster say that he told these
fellows if they didn’t quit their deviltry somebody would kill them, but
Brown said Lancaster told him that he had his orders, received from
General Griffin at Galveston, who was then in command of Texas, and
Griffin had orders from General Sheridan to make an example of us and
have us shot down wherever we were found, without the benefit of a court
martial. I told Brown, when he got back, to tell Captain Lancaster where
he had met us and also his treatment at our hands and since he,
Lancaster, had orders to show us no quarter, which we didn’t ask or
expect at his hands, and if we should ever meet up with him I would make
it a special point to get him, like we did the chief desperado at
Hempstead.
Realizing that my friend Thorn had become too desperate for me to
control, especially while drinking, I determined to cut loose from him,
which I felt justified in doing, as he was then comparatively out of
danger, and I suggested to him to start to California, where his mother
was living. She was wealthy and able to take care of him and his family
if he could succeed in bringing them out. This he decided to do. I then
borrowed some money and had a business friend to rig him out in some
good clothes and charge to me. I gave him a very fine gold watch and
chain I had and started him for California, by way of Kansas City and
the Union Pacific Railroad. I parted with him about two miles north of
Waxahachie, he continuing in that direction and I turning east, out of
sight of the town, suspecting that we might be watched, as to the
direction we were both going. I forgot to mention that I exchanged
horses with my friend Rogers’ son, for one of the best saddle horses in
the country, and on this horse, well armed, having four six-shooters
(two in holsters on my saddle and two on my belt), I felt I could ride
all around and through that garrison in Hempstead, or any pursuing
party. I then struck out for Navasota, with the determination to bring
my wife and baby out, fearing they would arrest her and hold her as
hostage.
Riding along the main road in Freestone County, about noon, with a
severe headache, I discovered a white house on the prairie, about a mile
to the right of the road and noticing a negro ahead of me, crossing the
road going towards the house, I hurried and caught up with him. I asked
him who lived at that house. He answered “Marse Dick Oliver,” who proved
to be an old army friend of mine. I rode up to the house and found my
friend Dick at home, and he introduced me to his family under my real
name. They insisted on me spending the balance of the day and night with
them. Dick said he would send for several of our old comrades, who lived
in that neighborhood, to come and see me, which he did. One of them,
Bulger Peeples, remained all night with me.
The next morning Dick made him go to a neighbor’s and get what money he
had, which proved to be fifty dollars in silver, which he insisted on my
taking before we parted. I hesitated, but finally accepted it. I now
proceeded on down to Navasota, where I arrived in the morning, early,
and went to the store of an acquaintance, a Mr. Guy. I remained in his
back room all day long, while he sent to Courtney for my wife and baby
to come up and meet me at Mr. Felder’s that night. We there spent the
whole night with Mr. Felder and his family, planning what was best to
do. I learned that they had been watching Dr. Hall’s place at Courtney,
my wife’s sister’s home, closely, ever since I left, hoping to catch me
there on a visit. It was decided that it would be impossible to take
them out with me, as they would, no doubt, exert extra efforts by
scattering troops around immediately, when they found that she had left
home. We finally decided that my only chance for escape would be to go
to Mexico. Mr. Felder had a brother living in Tuxpan, Mexico, to whom he
gave me a letter of introduction and assured me that I would be safe
with him if I ever succeeded in reaching there. I also arranged with my
wife to correspond with her by means of an acid, which can be used as
ink, but is invisible until held up to heat, which brings it out black.
I would then get some friend to write to Dr. Hall, my brother-in-law, on
some business subject. Only a few lines would be written and when he
received our communications he would understand it and hand the letter
to my wife, who would bring out the acid writing on the remaining blank
of the sheet. In this letter I would tell her where Dr. Hall could
direct his letter and by that means we kept in communication.
About daylight next morning, during a severe thunder and rain storm, one
of the darkest nights I was ever out in, Mr. Felder took me through his
field to the Piedmont Springs road, which I followed by the lightning,
as best I could, swimming one slough, but got safely across the Navasota
River and soon arrived at a house where I decided to stop and have my
clothes dried, take a nap and get some breakfast.
I called at the house and found the gentleman very pleasant. I told him
I was in trouble and wanted to stop and get some breakfast and have my
clothes dried. He very cordially invited me in, loaned me a change of
his clothes, while his wife dried my clothing and prepared some
breakfast for me, during which time I took a nap. I then left the house,
refreshed, and started on to Centerville, Leon County.
CHAPTER XXV
I NARROWLY ESCAPE CAPTURE.
Before parting with Thorn at Waxahachie, he told me if ever I happened
to be in the upper part of Grimes County, to hunt for a man by the name
of Camp, who was an old California friend of his father, having gone
there with him in 1848. “You only need to tell him who you are, that you
are associated with me in this trouble and he will do all he can for
you.” I had nearly forgotten Thorn’s mentioning this, when I rode up to
a house late in the evening, that seemed to me perhaps a stage stand. I
decided to stop and stay all night there, calling at the gate. An old
gentleman came out, to whom I told my business, and he told me,
“Certainly you can stay; I am keeping a public house;” furthermore
saying, “You walk right in, take a seat on the porch, supper will be
ready directly; I will take your horse down to the barn and feed him.”
His barn was some three hundred yards down the lane and across the road.
I walked in, took a seat on the porch and very soon was called in to
supper. I found at the table his wife and daughter and a gentleman
traveler, who, in conversation with the ladies, stated that he had
passed two companies of troops from Hempstead, coming on, and saying
that they were nearly due there. I made out a hasty supper, immediately
went down to the barn and told Mr. Camp I must have my horse right
quick; told him who I was, by way of explanation why it was urgent for
me to get my horse at once. He, of course, was surprised, and told me
anything under the sun he could do for me, not to hesitate to demand it;
said that he would go to the house and talk with this man and ascertain
whether these troops were infantry or cavalry; furthermore, if they were
infantry they were on their way to Centerville, where they had been
expected for some time, to garrison that town. He says, “If they are
infantry, they are evidently not after you and don’t know you are here;
then you have got to stay all night with me and rest; you will be
perfectly safe. I will put you in a room where there will be no danger
to my family, in case anything should happen. I have a good shotgun that
I will know how to use in your defense.”
I told Mr. Camp that I had promised my wife on parting with her, that I
wouldn’t recognize the best friend I met anywhere, let no one know who I
was and made him promise not to tell this man nor his family. He soon
came back to the barn, while I was watching the road that these troops
were on, and reported they were infantry, on their way to Centerville
and made me leave my horse and go back to the house with him. These
troops camped within about a quarter of a mile, at the mouth of his
lane, and came to his house for milk, butter and chickens, while I was
in bed asleep.
He gave me an early breakfast next morning and I started on with this
gentleman, who Camp assured me was a particular friend of Tom Thorn’s
and would fight for me, if he knew who I was. I told him that I did not
intend to make myself known to him. We rode on together for about six
miles, when we struck a creek, out of its banks. He suggested to me that
he knew a foot log not far above there, where we could cross with our
saddles and riggings; he would drive in his mare and she would cross and
my horse would follow her, which he did. As soon as his mare got on the
other side, she went flying up the road, with my horse following. He
said he was satisfied that some friend of his would stop her somewhere
on the road and we would hurry on afoot and try to get her, also my
horse, and I had nothing to do but accept the situation. I spent nearly
two anxious hours, watching the road in the direction in which the
troops were coming, when he finally came up, leading my horse. We then
saddled up and proceeded on our way and upon reaching the forks of the
road, one leading to Centerville, the other to Leona, we parted; I
taking the Leona road, which was called the old San Antonio road to
Shreveport. I continued on this road, day and night, until I reached
Marshall, where I found an old prison friend by the name of Fisher, who
lived about a mile from the town and he insisted on my going out to his
house to remain until I could take boat at Shreveport for New Orleans.
I spent several days with him, going up town, making my headquarters at
the office of Ochiltree & Shaw. I was acquainted with Judge Ochiltree,
whose son, Bill, was a public auctioneer. I turned him over my horse and
saddle to sell at auction. While he was riding around the streets,
crying the horse for sale to the highest bidder, he stopped in front of
the office, called me to the door, said he was offered one hundred
forty-eight and one-half dollars and that he had met a Federal
lieutenant, who was stuck on the horse and he was going to make him pay
two hundred dollars for him before he quit. I told him not to take
another bid from him, as I did not want any Federal to ride that horse,
so he had to sell him at one hundred forty-eight and one-half dollars.
I was now ready to move and, on investigation, found that two boats
would leave Shreveport for New Orleans on Wednesday evening and on that
day I went down to Shreveport to take passage on one of these boats. On
arrival at Shreveport the stewards of these boats came aboard of the
train and announced that the boats had failed to receive sufficient
cotton to justify starting on the trip and had postponed sailing until
the next Friday and if there were any passengers aboard, for New
Orleans, they could go aboard of the boats at once and save hotel bills
for several days, which I decided to do.
After registering on the “Bart-Able,” which was the finest boat on the
river, I took a seat on the guards, the front of the passenger deck, and
awaited for what would next turn up. Very soon a party of four men came
aboard, whom I took to be gamblers. I was soon recognized by one of the
party, who proved to be Ike Hutchison, who started out in the army with
us, but was a professional gambler, a class of people I never had much
use for. During the short time he was with us in our company, I treated
him somewhat indifferently, which might have resulted seriously at this
time. As soon as recognized by him, he came forward, grasped my hand,
was very glad to see me and started to introduce me to his companions,
when I drew him near me and whispered in his ear, “Jones—” He caught
on, and introduced me to his companions as “Mr. Jones.” We then entered
into a general conversation, took a drink together at the bar, when we
both made it convenient to draw away from the crowd, out of hearing,
when he asked, “What’s the matter, Henry?” I told him of my troubles,
that I had the whole Federal Army hunting me to take my life, and that I
was going down to New Orleans to try to get some sailboat for Mexico. He
seemed surprised at my statement and told me that he was in the
Government Secret Service, drew back his coat and showed me his badge,
but said earnestly that I need not be apprehensive on that account; that
he wouldn’t betray me. I told him, “Ike, my life is in your hands and I
depend on your promise, but if you do betray me, some of my friends will
get you.” He next told me that Lieutenant Black, an ex-member of our
regiment, was at the Southwestern Printing Office, a commercial editor
of the paper, and that I ought to go up and see him. He said he knew
Black would be glad to see me. With this information I parted with him
and went up and found my friend Black who, of course, was greatly
surprised at my statement of my condition. When I expressed my fears
about Hutchison betraying me, he said he did not believe that Ike would
do that, but, studying a few moments, he said, “Now, if Ike does betray
you and you are arrested, bring them up here; I have more influence than
Ike. While I would not do such a thing for any other purpose, and would
rather have my right hand cut off, but to save your life, I am willing
to swear that Hutchison is mistaken and that you are ‘Mr. Jones.’ This
will give us time enough to get a couple of good horses, which we will
mount and go off together.”
Considering this proposition, realizing the enormity of the step he was
about to take to save my life, from a lucrative and valuable position,
commanding the esteem and confidence of the entire business community at
Shreveport, to join me in becoming an outlaw, I consider he was one of
the grandest and noblest characters that I have ever known and, at this
writing, I regret to have to report that he has long since passed over
the river, having died in Houston in the late seventies, a victim of
consumption, and I was deprived of the pleasure of ever seeing him
afterwards.
At the supper table that night I found only a little group of passengers
aboard; two young ladies, one about twelve and the other about eighteen
years old, a gentleman, whom I took to be their brother, wearing a
mustache like my own, just about my age and size, and the captain of the
boat, who sat between us, at the head of the table.
From their conversation I learned that these young ladies’ mother was
aboard and was sick. After supper I went forward, took a seat on the
guards and had a smoke.
The next morning I found only the two young ladies at the table for
breakfast. Having planned to try to get access to the ladies’ end of the
cabin during the trip, thereby avoiding the men aboard, I decided to
form the acquaintance of these two young ladies and their brother and
for this purpose entered into conversation with them, inquiring about
the condition of their mother. While engaged in conversation, eating
breakfast and sitting with my back to the front part of the cabin, I
heard stateroom doors slamming behind me and, in looking around to
ascertain the cause, found a policeman opening every door and looking in
under the berths. Looking still further around I found six more
policemen in the front end of the cabin, standing talking. This first
man mentioned, continued his search in the staterooms, one after the
other, until he passed us about two doors, then looked around and stared
at me. I asked him, “Do you wish anything, sir?” He says, “Yes, sir; I
am looking for a man about your size and appearance.” “Well, take a
seat, sir!” I replied, “I will talk with you as soon as I finish
breakfast.” He did not take a seat, but went back forward and joined the
other policemen.
On the spur of the moment, I, of course, concluded that they were after
me and, having resolved never to surrender, I started to run into my
stateroom close by, get out my two pistols and start to shooting, but on
a further reflection, was puzzled to know if they were after me. I could
not understand why civil officers should be sent after me in place of
soldiers, of which there were a good many in Shreveport. Then, I
remembered the young man at the table the night before, and thought that
they perhaps were after him and if through a mistake I should kill some
of these civil officers, who no doubt had families and may have been
Confederate soldiers, I would feel badly. I reconsidered by resolution
and went forward to talk out of it, if they were after me, and with the
assistance of my friend, Black, I believed I would have no trouble in
doing so.
I walked up to this officer, who had spoken to me and said, “Now, I am
ready to talk to you, sir.” He answered, “I beg your pardon; you are not
the man we are after, but he is aboard here and we have just learned
where he can be found.” I said: “All right, I am going up to the
Southwestern Printing Office to see a friend and, if you do decide that
I am the man you are hunting, you will find me at that place for the
next hour.”
I then went up and spent an hour with my friend Black. When returning to
the boat I met the police officer on the stairs, coming down, and he
said to me, “We have found our man; he was in that woman’s stateroom,
under her berth.” I asked him why he was arrested. He said he did not
know, only there was a requisition from the Governor of Georgia for him.
It seems the sheriff’s office had been abolished by the military, the
sheriff removed from office as an impediment to reconstruction, and this
was the reason this business was turned over to the city police
department.
When I reached the cabin guards, I found the young ladies crying and
asked them what was the matter. They told me that Colonel So-and-So, an
old acquaintance of theirs, had just been arrested, but they did not
know for what cause. It seems that these ladies and their mother lived
in Louisiana, not far from New Orleans, and had been on a visit to
Henderson, Texas, and were just returning home. It is hardly necessary
to say that I kept shy of these folks the balance of the trip.
The next day I met up with an old gentleman by the name of Wilkerson
from Columbia County, Georgia, who had been to Tyler, Texas, for the
purpose of getting his son, who had been acting deputy sheriff, and had
got in some trouble. I found the old gentleman a true Southern man,
expressing his unreserved sympathy for the fallen South and denouncing
in bitter terms the crime of reconstruction, as carried on. Needing some
one to talk to and confide in, I had no hesitancy in making a confidant
of him, which immediately enlisted his sympathy and kind interest and,
without hesitation, he extended me an urgent invitation to go with him
and make his house my home, saying that the armies had never touched his
section of the State; they had got his negroes, but he had plenty of
everything left and as long as he had a morsel left he would divide it
with me. He further said whenever it was safe to send for my family, to
do so, and we could stay at his home where we would be most welcome by
all of his own family, besides himself, his wife, daughter and two sons,
until I got out of my trouble.
Before reaching Marshall I had decided not to go to Mexico and place
myself out of mail communication with my wife, but to go to Memphis,
Tennessee, to see General Forrest, with whom I was well acquainted,
having served under him in the early part of his career. I wanted to ask
him to secure some kind of business for me, then to smuggle my family
there and remain until the military were withdrawn.
On a further consideration of Mr. Wilkerson’s generous offer, especially
the feature of being isolated away from any town and public travel, I
decided I had better accept, which I had no hesitancy in doing and on
our arrival at New Orleans, we took a boat for Mobile, thence by rail to
Atlanta and his station in Columbia County, somewhere between Atlanta
and Augusta.
My reception at the Wilkerson home by the rest of his family, especially
his wife and daughter, after learning of my troubles, was most cordial
and unreserved and certainly they tried to make me feel at home and
forget my trouble during my stay of six weeks. It was here that I
received my first letter from home. After six weeks, doing nothing,
having nothing to occupy my mind, I decided that I ought to do something
more than kill valuable time and try and get into business somewhere,
where I might make a new start in life. For this purpose I requested Mr.
Wilkerson to give me a letter of introduction to his commission merchant
in Augusta, Georgia, where I must try and get into business. The whole
family tried to persuade me to not take such a great risk. I,
nevertheless, parted with them with expressions of my high appreciation
of their kind interest in my behalf and proceeded to Augusta, armed with
Mr. Wilkerson’s letter of introduction to the commission merchant, whose
name I have forgotten.
On arrival at Augusta I put up at the best hotel and, I forgot to
mention, having assumed the name of James E. Smith while at Mr.
Wilkerson’s, I registered under this name. Having to pay five dollars
per day for board and room, I decided that I must get a cheaper place,
some good boarding house if possible. Presenting my letter of
introduction to Mr. Wilkerson’s commission merchant, they stated they
were not making a living for themselves, which was the condition of most
of the business houses in Augusta, as some of the rich people in the
country were sending in and drawing rations. These gentlemen then
referred me to the only good boarding house they knew of which was
reasonable in their rates. It was kept by Mrs. Oakman on Green Street,
where I called and was informed by the lady that she could board me, but
had only one place for me to sleep and that was in a room with two
double beds in it, one of which had only one man sleeping in it, a
printer and ex-Confederate soldier from Macon; if I was willing to sleep
with him, she could take me and to which I agreed.
At the supper table that night I was shown a seat by a one-legged
Federal captain, who was the Provost-Marshal of the place. When I
entered my room that night I was introduced by my bedfellow to a Mr.
Rice of Syracuse, New York, and a telegraph official, whose name I have
forgotten, both occupying the other bed.
I found that Mr. Rice had been sent there by Henry A. Wilson of
Massachusetts, the ex-Vice President of the United States, and Kelley of
Pennsylvania, who were touring the South inciting the negroes to riot
and murder of the whites, which will be remembered by the Mobile riot,
which surpassed perhaps all the other places they visited.
Rice had instructions to buy out the Augusta Chronicle and Constitution,
perhaps the most influential Democratic paper in Georgia and run it in
the interest of the Radical Party, the object being to create a strong
sentiment among the negroes and stimulate their hatred toward their old
masters and the white race generally, and also to keep the scalawag
white element of the country well in line with their fanatical scheme of
making a finish of the South.
While stopping here I claimed to be an ex-Confederate soldier from
Tennessee, seeking employment. I had frequent discussions with Rice
about the causes of the war and especially its cruel conduct by the
Lincoln Government, which he approved unhesitatingly, saying that we
deserved no better and he had come down here for the purpose of getting
a slice of what was left. He said that he expected to make a cool
hundred thousand and go back home and live on it for the balance of his
days, in peace and plenty. On one occasion in our discussions, he seemed
to get mad and said if he had his way about it, he would hang the last
d—— one of us and commence by hanging Jeff Davis. He had hardly
finished the sentence when I had a chair over his head and if it had not
been caught by the telegraph official, I would likely have knocked him
senseless.
On another occasion, when he was organizing his publishing force, he
offered me the position of mailing clerk at a salary of $75.00 per
month, which I turned down contemptuously, telling him that whenever I
got ready to go to the dogs, I would affiliate with his sort. He said he
thought he ought to have one good Rebel in his office. Now, I do not
recall whether he succeeded in buying out the Chronicle and
Constitution, or brought on new material for his paper.
After spending a few days in Augusta, I found that one of my old
commanders, General Lafayette McLaws, was then acting clerk of the
Superior Court, with his office at the court house. I scouted for
General McLaws from Savannah, Georgia, to Bentonville, North Carolina,
and immediately called upon him. I found him wearing his old Confederate
gray, with buttons and trimmings shorn off, and in conversation,
referred to his love of the old uniform, still preferring it, but he
said it was not a matter of choice, but a matter of necessity. He had a
large dependent family and his fee, or salary, hardly furnished him
sufficient means for a decent support; besides, he expected to be ousted
most any day, as the Radical sheriff, whose name I have forgotten, and
Foster Blodgett, the mayor of the city, a renegade ex-Confederate major
of artillery, would no doubt, succeed in their efforts to oust him. It
is hardly necessary to say that during my stay here of several months, I
made him daily visits and had a most pleasant, but sad, intercourse with
him. He seemed to be at a loss as to his future; said he was educated a
soldier, which he had always been and never tried to make a living as a
civilian, in fact, didn’t know anything else. He had an urgent
invitation from General Pope, he said, who was in command of Georgia,
with headquarters at Atlanta, and who was an old classmate of his at
West Point, to make him a visit, but was almost afraid to accept,
fearing unjust criticism by leading men of the State of Georgia, who
would suspect that the object of this visit was to get office and join
the Radical band. This he never expected to do, though the State of
Georgia had treated him badly and especially his rich acquaintances, at
one time friends, and he seemed to feel he was an outcast with no
prospect of ever re-entering the army, therefore, not knowing what to
do.
He declined the visit to General Pope, with due and proper thanks, but,
after a few years, during General Grant’s administration, was appointed
marshal of the Southern District of Georgia and subsequently, by some
other administration, postmaster of the city of Savannah, Georgia, in
which position, he died. I had several nice letters from him while
postmaster at Savannah; one just before his death.
I never cultivated or had much to say to our one-legged captain, the
Provost-Marshal of the place, and in a few days, induced Mrs. Oakman to
give me a seat at another table, thereby keeping my distance. No one at
Augusta, Georgia, ever knew my secret but General McLaws, nor ever
suspected anything wrong.
After spending nearly two months in Augusta, with no prospect of any
business of any character, and having received notice from my wife that
it was thought that they had got on my track, I concluded best to leave
there for Lebanon, Tennessee, where I formed some pleasant acquaintances
during the war, notably Captain James Britton, commanding a company from
that town, called the Cedar Snags, which formed a part of the Fourth
Tennessee Regiment. Captain Britton advised me to stay there until it
became too dangerous, as quite a number of people knew me and I had to
retain my own name in order to keep down discussion of my case among
these people that knew me, thereby making it too public if I had assumed
another name.
At Lebanon I found the family of General Anderson, whose son, Dewitt,
became an intimate friend of mine, while in the army. He insisted on my
spending a couple of weeks at his father’s ranch, about five miles out
on the Nashville pike, which I decided to do. In the meantime, I was
introduced by Captain Britton to Judge Green, the Dean of the great Law
School at Lebanon, also to ex-Governor Campbell, and the Motley
brothers, bankers, over whose bank I roomed with Captain Britton and
boarded at Mr. Toliver’s, his brother-in-law. The above mentioned
gentlemen, except Mr. Toliver and General Anderson, were influential,
strong Union men during the war, but on account of the fanatical
reconstruction policy, had just turned Rebels. I confided my trouble to
ex-Governor Campbell and Judge Green and was assured by Governor
Campbell that if I ever had the misfortune to be captured and my life
was spared before my case could reach Washington, he would personally
proceed to Washington, being an intimate friend of President Johnson’s,
and intercede to have my life spared.
I finally went down to the Anderson ranch to fish and hunt squirrels, in
company with Dewitt, and found the old gentleman in charge, he
preferring the ranch to his home in Lebanon. Returning from a hunt one
day, alone, I found a horse at the gate and was met by Dewitt before
reaching the gate, anxious to explain the object of the visitor’s
presence and especially his character.
Dewitt stated that he was a captain, whose name I have forgotten, who
commanded a company in Stokes’ Regiment, a notorious renegade; Captain
Blackburn, commanding another company, was frequently on scouts with
this gentleman and his company. During the war a Lieutenant Davis of the
Terry Rangers, with eight of his men, were surrounded in a house by
Captain Blackburn, with his company and this man’s company. They
demanded Davis’s surrender, which Davis refused and kept them from the
house all night, until their ammunition, gave out. Davis was badly
wounded, in the nature of a broken ankle, unable to stand up, when he
agreed to surrender, Blackburn promising that their lives should be
spared and they should retain their horses, provided they would leave
Tennessee at once, which Davis agreed to do and advised his men to move
out and turn over their arms. After being disarmed, Blackburn had them
led out into the woods and shot down in cold blood; he, himself,
dragging Davis out to the gate post, cursing him and emptying the
contents of his pistol into his head. Now this man, the guest of General
Anderson, was present with his company, and Dewitt was anxious to
apprise me of his great friendship to his father, during the war. When
the Federals entered Lebanon the first time, General Anderson had some
very fine horses and about eight thousand dollars in gold, with which he
fled to the mountains near Middleton and made this man’s house his home,
being old friends and acquaintances. While staying there a short time,
this man came to him one day and told him that he felt that he could not
stay at home longer, that he was a Union man in principle and, on
account of it, was ostracised by some of the neighboring families and
said he had decided to go and join Stokes’ cavalry, but his joining the
Federal Army should make no difference with General Anderson, that he
wanted him to continue making his house his home, assuring him that he
would be as safe, although he had joined the Federal Army, to stay
there, as though he had joined the Confederate Army. Knowing the man as
he did, General Anderson had no hesitancy in accepting his generous
offer, but remained there for several months with his fine horses and
eight thousand dollars in gold, and this man never betrayed him. This
was the man, then, that was a visitor at General Anderson’s, with his
horse at the gate, of whose character Dewitt was anxious to have me
acquainted, satisfied if he learned that I belonged to the Texas
Rangers, he would refer to the Davis murder.
I entered the house and was introduced to him by General Anderson as Mr.
Graber, formerly of the Texas Rangers. At the table this gentleman
brought up the case of Lieutenant Davis and his man, and denounced it as
a brutal murder, saying that he did his best to keep Blackburn from
executing them, begged and plead for their lives, but to no purpose; he
was second in command and could do nothing.
It seems strange that I should have met with a man who was present at
the murder of Davis and his companions, which happened when I was a
prisoner at Fort Delaware. Had any of Blackburn’s men been caught by any
members of our command, they would certainly have been given a like
treatment.
After spending a week with General Anderson and his son, Dewitt, at
their ranch, I returned to town and had a conference with my several
friends, deciding it would be prudent to leave there and go to Hickman,
Kentucky, where Captain Britton had a cousin, a prominent attorney of
the place, by the name of James Lauderdale, to whom he gave me a letter
of introduction and told me not to hesitate to make a confidant of him
and he would, no doubt, have influence to get me into some kind of
business. Hickman, and a section of country tributary, were considered
somewhat prosperous, at that time, and Hickman was doing a fair
business. Being right on the Mississippi River it was a shipping point
for considerable territory.
On my arrival, I presented my letter of introduction, in the name of J.
D. Roberts. He received me very kindly and made me make his house my
home until I could get into business. Here I found only his wife and his
old father, who were exceedingly kind to me. He soon told me of a young
lawyer, who used to be a member of our regiment, by the name of Theo O.
Goalder, who resided there and practiced law. I immediately called on
him at his office and asked him to assist Major Lauderdale to get me
into some kind of business position. He said he had a young friend by
the name of John Murphy, who was clerking for a Mr. Bailey in a grocery
store. He said that Murphy was getting $50.00 per month and didn’t need
the position, as he was well fixed, and was satisfied that he could
induce him to resign in my favor and he could, no doubt, make it
satisfactory with Mr. Bailey. We called upon Mr. Murphy, to whom I was
introduced as Mr. Roberts, and also to Mr. Bailey, and after stating to
him and Mr. Bailey that I had been a Confederate soldier and was out of
business, seeking work, said I would very much appreciate the position,
which was readily tendered me, through Goalder’s influence. I
immediately went to work at this place, on a salary of $50.00 per month,
and board, which was furnished me at the Bailey home, and a room in the
store.
CHAPTER XXVI
I SAVE THE LIFE OF AN ENEMY
After probably six weeks or nearly two months, getting acquainted with
nearly all the county officials and leading citizens of the town, I
found it a most charming community, and with few exceptions, Southern in
sentiment. One day Goalder came to me, stating that there was a position
open in a large dry goods establishment, the firm of Amberg & Company,
two Jew brothers. The oldest one seemed to be quite a gentleman, but the
younger, a black Radical, so stated by Goalder. We immediately went and
applied for the position and when asked the question if I knew anything
about dry goods, was able to state that I knew more about that business
than I did about groceries and was satisfied that I could meet their
every demand, referring them to Major Lauderdale. Goalder was present
and made his own statement, vouching for my integrity and ability. They
immediately employed me at a salary of $100.00 per month and I soon
ingratiated myself in their favor by close attention and ability to do
business, proving, as they expressed themselves to Lauderdale, the best
man they ever had.
After working two or three weeks, getting well acquainted with their
customers, especially those in the town, Mr. Roberts became the talk of
the town, especially the lady customers, and was favored with many
invitations to dinners and entertainments, which were always declined by
me, as I was unable to feel at home and enjoy other company. I spent my
time, principally, in my room, talking with Goalder and others, whose
acquaintance I had formed and when they left, re-reading letters from
home, of which I had a considerable batch and which I always carried in
the inside pocket of my coat.
It seems my reserve and refusal to attend functions created a little
suspicion, particularly so in the mind of young Amberg. One day, after
about three weeks’ service, while I was at work straightening out some
drawers containing silk goods, I had pulled off my coat, the day being
warm, and laid it on a stack of domestic on the outside of the counter.
Young Amberg slipped to my coat, took out my letters, the discovery of
which I made when I went to the coat. Here was a dilemma. I decided the
best thing to do was not to say anything about it, appear as though I
did not know the letters were missing and allow him to take his time to
read them. I went over to the warehouse to do some work, stayed about an
hour, which gave him ample time to read the letters, then returned for
my coat and found the letters replaced. After closing that night, I was
called into the office and found both of the Ambergs present. They told
me that business had got somewhat dull, they were paying me a large
salary, and they must save this expense and requested me to quit, saying
they would cheerfully pay me a month’s salary, if I quit at once. I told
them it was all right. When they paid me my salary we parted.
Here now my cherished hope to prepare a home for my family and begin
life anew again, had vanished and, in a moment of desperation, I decided
to go back to Texas and bring my family out from among them.
During my absence my wife, soon after I parted with her, had made a
visit to Centerville, Leon County, to a Dr. McLendon and his family, who
were old Alabama friends, and while there they made up a music class for
her and she continued to live there. With the object of immediately
returning to Texas, I went around in Hickman and bade adieu to all of my
kind friends and acquaintances, a few of whom were acquainted with my
condition and tried to persuade me against incurring such great risks
but, as stated, I felt desperate and had decided unless I could get my
family out from among them and be with them, I did not care to live any
longer.
I took passage on the first boat for New Orleans and paid my fare to the
mouth of Red River, where I expected to meet a boat for Shreveport.
On arrival at Memphis, Tennessee, the boat laid over for several hours,
delivering freight, during which time I hunted up General Forrest, who
was then in the commission business. The General soon recognized me and
after telling him my trouble, requested him to look out for a situation
for me, under an assumed name, while I went to Texas after my family,
which he cheerfully agreed to do.
While awaiting the Red River boat, a lieutenant who was the Bureau Agent
of a nearby parish arrived, also awaiting a Mississippi boat for New
Orleans. A few hours afterward an upper boat arrived to deliver some
freight for Red River. The lieutenant, being very fond of ardent
spirits, and there being no bar on the wharfboat, immediately went over
to the Mississippi boat where he imbibed a few drinks. After delivering
the freight the boat rang a bell to depart and the lieutenant ran down
to the lower deck to get back to our wharfboat. The Mississippi boat
already having cast off its bow line, was moving slowly apart from the
wharfboat when the lieutenant attempted to step across, and, losing his
headway, he became balanced between the two boats—with the boats moving
apart. Discovering his predicament, I jumped over to where he stood and
offered him my hand and pulled him over, thereby, no doubt, saving his
life. If he had lost his footing he would have dropped in and pulled me
in with him and both would have drowned as there is a strong underflow
at this point and nothing which falls in ever comes to the surface. I
did this under the impulse of the moment, at the risk of my own life,
and saved the life of a man who, had he known who I was, no doubt would
have been instrumental in having me captured.
On arrival at the mouth of the Red River, where with some other
passengers, we had to await a Shreveport boat from New Orleans, I met a
Mr. Black from Leon County, who had been over to Alabama after his
brother’s family, moving them to Texas and was expecting a couple of
mule teams at Grand Ecore, to haul them to Leon County. I confided my
secret to Black, who knew all about our case and insisted on my going
with him on his wagons, which I decided to do. At Grand Ecore we met his
wagons, which were so heavily laden with household goods and the family
of his brother, three or four little children, that I preferred to walk
behind the wagon, holding on to the same, to keep up with them.
We traveled the old San Antonio road in order to find good crossings at
the different rivers and when we reached Alto, Cherokee County, I took
stage for Rusk, where I had an old army friend, Judge Sam A. Wilson, the
only man I knew in the place.
On arrival at Rusk, meeting with my friend, Wilson, who was much
surprised to see me and particularly to learn of my troubles, I
requested him to get me the best horse that he could find about the
place, one that would do to ride in among the enemy. After studying a
while he said that he did not know of a good saddle horse in the place,
but thought that we could be accommodated at the livery stable, where I
was furnished what turned out to be an old plug. I parted with my friend
Wilson, he never expecting to see me again, and started for Centerville,
Leon County, assuming the name of R. F. Jones.
Arriving within four or five miles of Centerville about noon, I decided
to stop at a house and go into the town at night. For this purpose, I
called for dinner and told the landlord I was looking around for a
location in Texas, that I was from North Carolina and from what I had
seen of Texas, was favorably impressed with it. After dinner, discussing
several localities I had passed through, he asked how I liked his place.
I told him I thought he had a good place. He then offered to sell to me
and also a tanyard he had on sale; although I had never seen a tanyard,
I looked it all over carefully and his entire place, leaving the
impression with him that I meant business and consumed the balance of
the evening in that way. After supper I told him I believed that I would
go on to Centerville and stay all night and that I might be back again
and try to drive a bargain for his place, unless I found something that
suited me better. By way of excuse, my leaving so late, I told him I had
heard of a particular friend, who had lately moved to Centerville, with
whom I wanted to spend the night.
I now started for Centerville, where I arrived about nine o’clock at
night. The night was very dark and I stopped to inquire where Dr.
McLendon lived, expecting to find my wife at his house. At Dr.
McLendon’s home I was informed that he was at a doctor’s office up in
town, and directions given where I could find him. I concluded best to
see him first before asking for my wife at the house.
On entering the doctor’s room I found four gentlemen talking, but did
not know Dr. McLendon, having never seen him before, nor had he ever
seen me. I asked for Dr. McLendon; he spoke and said he was the man. I
then told him that I was camped on a certain creek, some several miles
from town, and had a very sick child, that I wanted him to go and see at
once. He said all right and started out of the room with me. When we got
to the gate he said, “You will have to go with me up to the house, for
my horse.” I told him all right and walked by the side of him, leading
my horse by the bridle. He soon asked me, “What seems to be the matter
with your child, sir?” I answered, “Nothing, I hope, Doctor. I haven’t
seen my child in ten months and have come after it and my wife; tell me
where I can find them. My name is Graber.” He jumped like he was shot
and said, “For God’s sake get on that horse and leave here quick. You
are certainly not up with the excitement.” “Well,” said I, “if there is
any extraordinary excitement here, I am not.” He said, “Your family are
not in town tonight; they are about seventeen miles from here, on a
visit to her sister, who is at Dr. Baldwin’s. They are visiting there,
refugees from yellow fever.” He says, “Let’s get out in the brush where
nobody will see us and we will talk matters over.” We then walked to the
edge of the town and sat down on the ground in the brush, out of
hearing, when he detailed the situation, saying that Tom Thorn, my
partner, had been ranging around there for two or three weeks, annoying
Capt. Bradford, in command of the garrison, which was camped near town.
Tom had registered at the hotel, “T. J. Thorn and friend,” taking a meal
there. Then, one night at roll call, he and his friend had fired into
the camp and finally he had sent Captain Bradford a challenge, that he
would fight him and any ten of his men at any time and place he might
designate and signed the challenge “Thos. J. Thorn and friend.”
Captain Bradford naturally concluded that this “friend” was Graber and
knowing his and his family’s friendship for my wife, concluded that Dr.
McLendon knew Graber’s whereabouts and showed him a big roll of money
that morning, claiming it was four thousand dollars, saying, “Dr.
McLendon, here is a reward offered for Thorn and Graber. You know where
Graber is; here is your money.” Dr. McLendon was a practicing surgeon
for these troops, as they had no regular army surgeon. I told Dr.
McLendon I had come after my wife and baby and intended to take them out
or die in the attempt, even if the whole Federal army of Texas was there
to guard them. He furthermore stated that Captain Bradford had issued an
order to the sheriff of the county to arrest Thorn and Graber by the
next Monday morning, or be removed from office as an impediment to
reconstruction.
I now had Dr. McLendon to give me directions to reach the place where my
wife was visiting, which he did, however saying that it would be
impossible for me to find the way there, on account of the darkness of
the night. Nevertheless I started out and soon got lost, and when I
finally gave up the effort, I found myself only three-quarters of a mile
from town. I was tired, suffering with a great headache and called at a
house, where I was permitted to stay for the night and, after breakfast
next morning, getting fresh directions to Dr. Baldwin’s house, where my
wife’s sister was stopping, I immediately proceeded there.
After discussing the situation with my friends, as well as my wife, we
decided best to have them get up a hack and a confidential driver, by
the next morning, which they succeeded in doing and we started on the
main road, leading into the San Antonio road, following that every day,
stopping at houses at night and finally reached Rusk, Cherokee County,
without an accident or any trouble. Judge Wilson was again surprised at
my success in bringing my family out, as he never had expected to see me
again. I then told him, “Now, for a good stopping place,” and after
considering all families in the town, where we might get board and none
having any extra room, said, “The only place I know of, that has room is
at my old daddy-in-law’s, Judge M. D. Priest, who is the meanest old
Radical in the State of Texas, but he has a most excellent family, who
will do all they can for your wife and child and make you feel at home.
We will make a confidant of him and he will never betray you.” I said,
“Judge, you know what you are doing; anything you say will be
satisfactory to me.” We then proceeded to Judge Priest’s house, where I
was introduced in the name of Jones and was kindly received and made to
feel at home. Really we could not have found a more desirable place. We
had excellent rooms and good board, just on the outskirts of the town.
Rusk, at that time, was a very small place, about three or four hundred
inhabitants, but it was the county seat of Cherokee County. We sent back
our driver with his hack and team and he never betrayed us.
Civil Record
CHAPTER XXVII
I GET BACK INTO THE BUSINESS WORLD.
During the first month of our stay there, I visited the business part of
town occasionally and made a few purchases at the house of Boyd, Frazer
& Parks, a firm composed of John A. Boyd, who thought he was a merchant;
Dr. Frazer, a practicing physician, who tried to be the bookkeeper, and
M. M. Parks, who was a farmer, living out in the country, who furnished
the money for the business. Boyd knew nothing about keeping or showing
off his stock. In appearance it was one of the most conglomerated
mixtures of merchandise I ever saw, but they were very popular men,
particularly with the farmers in the country, and did a large business,
considering their limited territory.
I soon got tired of lying around, doing nothing, but I felt that Rusk
was about the safest place I could find anywhere, as the entire
community, in sentiment, were true to the Lost Cause, with only one
doubtful character, which was Judge M. D. Priest and he was really not a
bad man at heart. When we confided my secret to him, telling him my life
was in his hands, he appreciated fully the confidence reposed and
declared that he never would betray us, which promise he fully kept and
of which he afterwards expressed himself as being very proud.
Happening in to Boyd, Frazer & Parks one day, disgusted with the
appearance of his stock of goods as kept, although it was none of my
business, I concluded this would be a good place to get acquainted, on
my knowledge of the business. I proposed to Mr. Boyd, who was the active
member, running the business, that with his permission I would rearrange
and straighten out his stock, without charge, as I had to remain over
for a few weeks, had nothing to do and thought I could improve the
appearance of things considerably. He readily consented, so I pulled off
my coat and went to work, which proved a great treat to me. In a few
days I had made such a change in the appearance of the stock, that
customers seemed surprised and asked, “John A., have you been getting in
a new stock of goods?” About the third evening, the partners got
together, had a consultation and I was asked if I was able to keep
books. I told them that I had kept books for a very large business in
Southern Texas before the war, when they made me a proposition to go to
work for them, keep their books and attend the sales department on a
salary of $75.00 per month, which I accepted and soon felt here was the
place to keep hid out from the powers that were, as there was no
military nearer than Tyler, Jefferson and Shreveport and no one knew of
my secret, except Judge Wilson and Judge Priest, whose families were not
made acquainted with it.
After considerable time, spent pleasantly at the home of Judge Priest,
we decided to move into town for better convenience on account of its
being nearer my business. We rented an humble home and went to
housekeeping. I soon had an extensive acquaintance through the county,
but always in the name of Jones, yet gradually imparting my secret to
the most reliable friends I made in the town, notably the Bonner
brothers, Judge R. H. Guinn, Judge James E. Dillard and others. After
nearly a year in the service of Boyd, Frazer & Parks, I met an old
gentleman by the name of T. L. Philleo, who had done an extensive
business in general merchandise before the war. Mr. Philleo had a fine
storehouse on the north side of the square, empty, except as to some
castings, and had owing him perhaps as much as fifty thousand dollars in
notes and accounts, acquired before the war. He was unable to collect
much of it and conceived the idea that to make a success of this
collecting, he ought to go into business again, which he was unable to
do, on account of his age. I having established a reputation of being
the best merchant in the town, Philleo made a proposition to me to go
into copartnership with him. While he had no money he had a most
excellent credit in New Orleans and suggested that I could go down there
and buy for his account such stock as I needed to enable us to enter
into competition with the balance of the town. Canvassing the subject
thoroughly, I decided that I could make more money with my half interest
in the profits of the concern, than to work on salary. He was willing
and anxious to give me the full management and control of the business.
Considering my condition then, I decided best to accept, which I did,
and soon proceeded to New Orleans, armed with a letter in the name of R.
F. Jones, to Speak & Buckner, his old commission merchants, and other
leading houses in the different lines of merchandise that we had to buy.
Arriving at New Orleans, I put up at the Southern Hotel, then the
headquarters of nearly all Texas merchants, within one block of the
custom house, where General Sheridan had his headquarters, and went to
work, buying a general stock of merchandise for account of T. L. Philleo
& Company; “R. F. Jones being the company,” so Capt. Buckner stated in
introducing me. Speak & Buckner also accepted several thousand dollars
on cash purchases, such as groceries and staple hardware, nails, etc.,
for which he asked us to send him cotton in the fall. I now returned
home with my purchases and began to feel that I had a new life before me
and some prospect of making a good living.
I arranged my stock very attractively, for which the house was well
suited, though I had some trouble inducing farmers to come over on my
side of the square. It was the only business house over there, the
center of business being located on the east and south side. By close
application and hard work I gradually succeeded in building up a fair
business.
After some months, I found the unpleasant condition of Mr. Philleo’s
state of mind, worrying over his old matters and trying to collect,
which seemed a complete failure, seemed to bear heavily on his mind and
I noticed it was giving way under the pressure. He had a most excellent
family, wife and two daughters, who had been raised in wealth and
affluence and were somewhat extravagantly inclined, and the thought of
perhaps losing all of his outstanding accounts and old age creeping on
him very fast, made him very despondent and unhappy. He would go to the
store every night after supper, open his safe, take out all of his notes
and accounts, scatter them around on his table and a double bed, used by
a young man clerk in the store, who reported his actions to me, and
would study and look at them, occupying hours, sometimes until one
o’clock at night, then replace them in the safe. Many of the makers of
the notes and accounts had been killed or died during the war and their
estates were not able to pay anything. I was satisfied if this condition
continued his mind would finally break down and it kept me in a state of
uneasiness. I, therefore concluded that I would wind up this first
year’s business and quit, which I finally did, after settling up all
bills and the entire business, satisfactorily to all concerned. The
year’s business showed us each a net profit of about eighteen hundred
dollars; outside of this I had demonstrated the fact that I was able to
do a nice, clean business, safely.
Just as I feared, poor Mr. Philleo, some two or three years after,
committed suicide in the back room of his store, at night, with his
notes and papers laying all around him, stabbing himself with his
pocketknife through the heart.
Mr. Philleo was one of the most kind-hearted, benevolent and charitable
of men, and was known as such all over the country and he left many
friends, but his family was poorly provided for.
After winding up the business of T. L. Philleo & Company, I was offered
a position with R. B. Martin, an old merchant of the place, who at one
time had done a large business. His stock had been run down for the want
of means to keep it up, the result of poor management. Martin had a
wealthy brother at Shreveport, of the firm of Gregg & Martin, cotton
commission merchants. They had agreed to back him for ten thousand
dollars, so he represented to me, with which he expected to buy a
fifteen thousand dollar new stock in New Orleans. Martin agreed to pay
me a hundred dollars a month to begin with and increase my salary as
business justified it. I then proceeded to New Orleans, to buy this
stock of goods, stopping over at Shreveport to obtain letters from Gregg
& Martin, authorizing me to draw on them for ten thousand dollars.
Mr. Dave Martin denied having promised his brother this acceptance, but
told me to go on to New Orleans, that Bob’s credit was good and he could
buy all the goods he wanted, without their acceptance. I then proceeded
to New Orleans. Calling on his old houses, I found he was owing a great
deal of money and having promised through traveling men, who had called
on him, that he would furnish Gregg & Martin’s acceptance for ten
thousand dollars and then not being able to do so, his credit was so
greatly impaired that they refused to sell him any more goods. I then
wired Dave Martin again for authority to draw, reporting that Bob was
unable to buy goods without his backing. I laid over, awaiting an
answer, several days, and in the meantime, called on Speak & Buckner,
who were glad to see me. I told them of the failure of my trip, unless I
heard favorably from Gregg & Martin.
In the course of conversation, Captain Buckner said, “Jones, you’ve got
no business working on salary; why don’t you go into business for
yourself?” I said, “Captain Buckner, that is simply out of the question.
I have neither name nor money.” He said, “Go and ascertain how much
money you will need to buy such stock as you would be willing to start
with.” Already acquainted with the custom on terms, I stated that with
five thousand dollars in cash I could buy a fifteen-thousand-dollar
stock of goods, on four and six months. Captain Buckner said, “Go ahead,
and get to work buying and draw on us for five thousand dollars on the
same arrangement that I had with T. L. Philleo & Company.” That was to
send him cotton next fall. I said, “Captain Buckner, you don’t know who
you are talking to, as I have told you I have neither name nor money and
you cannot afford to take this risk.” He says, “You go and do what I
tell you; I know all about you and don’t want to know anything more.”
This gave me to understand that he was acquainted with my trouble and
that I was under an assumed name and not having any other prospects of
business in Rusk (which I could not afford to leave on account of the
great security this place offered), I decided to accept and told Buckner
that I would do business in the name of S. A. Wilson & Company, S. A.
Wilson, being a lawyer and a great friend of mine. He was well known and
a man of great influence. Buckner said to arrange that to suit myself.
He was already slightly acquainted with Wilson and well posted on his
character as a man. I immediately went to work, buying goods for a stock
of general merchandise, which consumed about a week, and when ready to
close up matters, Captain Buckner suggested that instead of drawing
drafts on them, he give me the money to pay cash, in order to lead the
merchants to think that I was paying my own money, thereby establishing
a better credit. This was done.
Winding up my affairs in New Orleans, I took the first boat for
Shreveport, with my stock of goods aboard, and arrived in Rusk in due
time, followed by the stock. When I communicated my actions to Judge
Wilson, he seemed greatly surprised, but stated it was perfectly
satisfactory. I was at liberty to use him he said, whenever it was
necessary. The best storehouse in the place, though isolated from the
center of business, was vacant, and I rented this at a nominal figure.
When the goods arrived I soon had it the most attractive place in the
town.
Bob Martin, of course, was disappointed and made me the scapegoat of his
disappointment, blaming me for not buying his stock of goods. I
gradually built up a desirable business; went to New Orleans twice a
year and bought goods under the very shadow of Sheridan’s headquarters.
When, after several years, the infamous reconstruction era was
terminated, the military withdrawn and civil government restored, though
in the hands of negroes and Radicals, I decided to assume my identity
and proceeded to New Orleans to settle up my bills.
After doing so, I would tell the managers, from this time on, the firm
is no longer S. A. Wilson & Company, but simply H. W. Graber. “Why, Mr.
Jones, have you sold out?” “No, sir; I have not sold out, but simply
correcting a fictitious name.” “Well, who is H. W. Graber?” “This is the
man,” which of course created surprise and when asked for explanation,
would tell them that I had been forced to hide out for nearly four
years, to keep General Sheridan from having me shot down, which he had
ordered his Texas garrisons to do, without the benefit of a court
martial, therefore I was forced to resort to hiding my identity. I then
suggested, as these people were all Northern houses, that, “You don’t
want to sell me any more goods?” when they said, “Mr. Graber, go ahead
and buy all the goods you want; your credit is not the least impaired; a
man that can pass through such an ordeal, as you have done, unscathed,
is entitled to more credit than he needs.”
While, of course, this created a sensation in New Orleans business
circles, the most astonished man of them all was Captain R. T. Buckner,
who, it seems, didn’t know as much as he thought he did, when he handed
me his money.
Soon after my arrival at Rusk, I was made a Mason and also joined the
Odd Fellows Lodge. I joined these institutions in my own name, satisfied
that my secret would be safe with the membership. During a great revival
of the union of all churches, wife and I joined the Presbyterian Church
and I was ordained a deacon in the church, in due time.
CHAPTER XXVIII
I ASSIST IN ESTABLISHING THE MASONIC INSTITUTE.
In conjunction with some members of the Masonic Lodge, we conceived the
idea of creating a Masonic Institute, a school of high grade, which was
very much needed. I was appointed chairman of the building committee. I
went to work actively, in conjunction with the committee, and raised
means by private subscription, which enabled us to go to work, building
at once. When trustees were elected I was made a member of the Board of
Trustees and on the organization of the faculty, we elected a Scotchman,
one Professor John Joss, believing that he would prove a good
disciplinarian. He had a great reputation as a teacher. There were some
bad boys in the community and in the language of Judge Guinn, who was a
member of the board, “We needed somebody to use the rod to straighten
out these bad characters.” In this, however, we were mistaken; Professor
Joss did not use the rod, but only kindness, commanding the respect of
the entire school, including these bad boys, on account of his great
knowledge and manner of imparting instruction. He was a most popular
teacher, beloved by all who came in contact with him, and he built up a
large and popular school, which turned out such men as Governor Hogg and
Governor Campbell and no less than a dozen eminent lawyers and
physicians known all over the State. I regret to have to report that, in
the course of four or five years, on account of delicate health, Joss
was forced to give up the school and move to Galveston, where he died.
The town of Rusk, being left out by the International & Great Northern
Railroad, caused us to haul freight fifteen miles, over mountains and
bad roads. I began to plan railroad connection for the town and
conceived the idea of building a tap road, though unfamiliar with
railroad business and especially the cost of a road.
In accordance with my plans, I called a meeting of the business men,
submitting the same, which was to build a narrow gauge road from
Jacksonville to Rusk, getting a charter with a State land donation of
sixteen sections to the mile, which policy had been adopted by the State
to encourage the building of railroads. In accordance therewith, we
instructed Judge James E. Dillard, who was our Senator from that
district, then attending the Legislature in session, to procure the
necessary legislation and had him draw up a charter for the Rusk tap
road. The bill covering the same he immediately introduced. I told my
Rusk friends that with the aid of sixteen sections to the mile, and a
further bonus of twenty-five thousand dollars in cash, which we believed
could be raised in the town, we could induce Ward, Dewey & Company,
lessees of the penitentiary, to accept these assets and build the road,
as they had several thousand convicts to feed and had no use for them.
While these matters were pending and the International Railroad had been
extended to Rockdale, I concluded to visit Rockdale, prospecting for a
new business location.
On this trip to Rockdale, I met Ira M. Evans, the Secretary of the
International Railroad Company, and submitted my plan of building a tap
road, suggesting that perhaps his company might be induced to take hold
of it, for the subsidy of the State land donation and the twenty-five
thousand dollars in cash. He laughed at the idea, saying that they could
not afford to run the road for its earnings, if we were able to build a
first-class connection. He said our community would not be able to raise
one-tenth of its cost and soon convinced me that it would be cheaper to
move the whole town of Rusk to Jacksonville, than it would be to build a
first-class road. I then submitted that, if we were unable to build a
railroad, why not build a tramway, which would be within the bounds of
our means and a vast improvement on the wagon road. He readily fell into
my scheme, suggested that it was feasible, even with wooden rails, and
that we had plenty of pine timber, the heart of which could be bought
cheap and would make good, durable rails, amply strong, provided we
would place ties eighteen or twenty inches apart.
I now asked him, he being a practical railroad man, to submit a
specification on the grade, ties and rails, which he was pleased to do,
and suggested that we change the charter we had had introduced, to that
of the Rusk Tramway.
Immediately on my return to Rusk, I called a meeting of the business men
and leading citizens and submitted the plan for the Rusk Tramway, having
no difficulty in convincing them that we were unable to build a
railroad. A committee, appointed by the meeting, was instructed to
communicate to Senator Dillard our desire to change the charter to that
of the Rusk Tramway, which he did, and included a clause granting eight
sections to the mile.
After having established my business and a good credit in commercial
circles, I decided that in mercantile pursuits I was too much
circumscribed on account of existing conditions.
The bottom lands in Cherokee County were then the only productive lands
for cotton and, as the uplands were light and largely worn out, and as I
had a good knowledge of the prairie country around Waxahachie, where I
had spent several years of my boyhood, I decided that this would be a
better section of the State to build up in, and arranged my matters to
make this move within the next twelve months.
When the charter for the tramway was returned, they proceeded to
organize and elected a Rev. Davis, a very influential and good business
man of the community, president of the company, after my having refused
the same, on the ground that I did not feel permanently located,
expecting to make a move to Waxahachie as soon as possible. Rev. Davis
proved a valuable man for the position and immediately went to work
canvassing the territory tributary to Rusk, for the sale of stock, which
he succeeded in doing, to a limited extent and, by my advice, they
commenced negotiations with Ward, Dewey & Company, lessees of the
penitentiary, for the construction of the road. As heretofore stated,
these people had a large force of convicts which they had to feed, and
no work for them. The country subscriptions, which Rev. Davis secured,
were paid in provisions and forage by the farmers, which enabled the
company to feed the convicts while at work. After a time, I arranged to
move to Waxahachie and soon after I left Rusk. Ward, Dewey & Company
went to work on the construction of the road and before its completion
it was decided to use a little four-ton Porter-Allen locomotive, in
place of mules.
I forgot to mention, after submitting my plan for a railroad, Judge
Dillard came home on a visit to his sick wife and while spending a few
days at Rusk, had a meeting of the business men, which numbered only
seven or eight, in Captain Barron’s office. He submitted that the
Legislature had decided to branch the penitentiary in Eastern Texas in
the iron region, which was supposed to be near Jefferson, at Kellyville;
a Mr. Kelly having demonstrated the existence of good iron ore in that
section, manufacturing plows, andirons, chimney backs, etc., the same as
Mr. Philleo had done in Cherokee County, but Dillard said, “Now, if you
all want the penitentiary located here, I believe I can secure it for
you.”
One after another of these gentlemen got up and stated their serious
objections, saying they had one of the best and most moral communities
in the State of Texas and would not give up their school prospect for
the penitentiary. I suggested to them, saying, “You know I am making my
arrangements to leave here, because I do not see any prospect for future
growth of the place, but, gentlemen, now is your time; you have been
talking unlimited iron in the ground, of the highest quality, but it
will have to be demonstrated to private capital that it is here in
unlimited amount and high quality before you can ever hope to induce
private capital to expend the amount necessary for such demonstration.
There is no question in my mind that this iron, if you are correct in
your claims as to its quality and amount, will prove the greatest
resource of wealth, far greater than your farming interests. Locate the
penitentiary here; the State will be forced to develop it and
immediately build you a railroad connection to Jacksonville.” After a
full and fair investigation by this meeting they became enthusiastic and
instructed Dillard to go for it.
To secure the location of Rusk for the penitentiary, it was necessary to
canvass its advantages with the Legislature and especially take charge
of a committee appointed by the Legislature to select a location, which
required a great deal of time and ability, and, with the assistance and
influence of friends of Dillard, who was one of the most popular men in
the State Senate, they finally succeeded in landing the decision of the
Legislature to build their branch penitentiary at Rusk.
On the withdrawal of the Federal troops and the dissolution of the
Freedmen’s Bureau, E. J. Davis was appointed Temporary Governor of
Texas, until an election could be had for his successor. The election
was held in due time, resulting in a Radical Republican Legislature,
composed of some of the meanest men in the State and a few negroes, with
E. J. Davis elected his own successor and the solid white element of the
State disfranchised. They took charge and commenced an era of plunder. I
do not believe there were more than a half dozen good men, including
Judge Dillard and Professor J. R. Cole, members of this Legislature, but
these did everything they could with the risk of being assassinated, to
stem the drift of plunder.
Davis soon organized a State Militia and a State Police Force,
stationing them in populous negro districts, formerly occupied by United
States troops and Freedmen’s Bureau, all under the leadership of
Adjutant-General Davidson, who was as unscrupulous a character on graft
as any man ever in public office. He arrested leading citizens in
different sections of the State, without charges being preferred against
them, as they had not committed any unlawful acts, and demanded large
sums of money as ransoms. One case was notable—that of a wealthy farmer
near Hillsboro, a Mr. Gathwright, whom he made pay ten thousand dollars
for his release.
We had stationed at Rusk a lieutenant-sheriff, with his police, who was
a great friend of Judge Priest and whose daughter he courted and finally
married.
A Captain McAnally, who commanded a Confederate Scout in Texas during
the war and had proven a gallant soldier in the army, was appointed by
Davis, captain of police, and his acceptance urged by his friends,
thinking it would be for the best interests to have him command a
company of police, than any of the Radical gang. He was finally induced
to accept the appointment. His home was at Brenham. He was instructed by
the Governor to proceed to Huntsville and await the orders of the
District Court, presided over by the infamous Judge Burnett. While court
was in session, three young men were arrested by McAnally for whipping a
few insolent negroes who had insulted some young ladies on the street
returning home from a shopping tour. These young men were taken before
Judge Burnett, with arms concealed about their person. The judge called
McAnally up to his bench and whispered his order to him, “Take these men
to the penitentiary, but be careful, I suspect they are armed, and hold
up the execution of this order until I can get to my hotel.” Soon after
the judge left his bench for the hotel, McAnally demanded of these young
men to throw up their hands, when they immediately drew their
six-shooters and commenced shooting at him and his gang of police,
shooting their way out of the courthouse, wounding McAnally in the arm
and he dropped between some benches, pretending he was dead. This was,
no doubt, what saved him. Judge Burnett had not quite reached his hotel
when he heard the guns fire, broke into a run and crawled under the
hotel. These young men, after shooting their way out, mounted horses and
started north for the Indian Territory, by way of Rusk and Paris, with
McAnally and his police in close pursuit.
Arriving at Rusk he commanded Lieutenant Sheriff and party to join him
in this pursuit, which they did. On parting, on this trip, with his
sweetheart, Miss Lou Priest, Sheriff told her where he was going with
McAnally and on their return, they were going to arrest Mr. Graber. The
whole Priest family being good friends of ours and Miss Lou’s sister,
the wife of my friend, Judge Wilson, she immediately went over to Judge
Wilson’s and imparted this information about my contemplated arrest.
Judge Wilson came over to town and had a meeting of a few of the leading
lawyers of the place, notably the Bonners, Judge R. H. Guinn and Judge
J. E. Dillard, who after canvassing the matter, decided that the object
of my arrest was altogether political. They were expecting to make great
capital out of it for the necessity of continuing their Radical regime.
Satisfied that they might manufacture evidence to convict me in a
Radical court, these friends advised that I had better go into exile
again, thereby probably saving my life. I told them to tell me what to
do in order to stay, for I had done all the running I ever expected to
do. I was satisfied this police had no legal authority for my arrest, as
I had never violated any civil law and I could not afford, in justice to
my family, my friends and my creditors, to again have my business
wrecked.
When these friends found that I was determined not to be arrested by
this infamous police and in order to be doubly sure, they advised me to
go down to Austin County and investigate the records and know positively
that this police had no authority for my arrest.
On leaving for this trip, armed with a letter from Colonel T. R. Bonner
to Judge J. D. Giddings, whom they suggested I call on for advice in the
matter, and leaving a message for Lieutenant Sheriff, that I had gone on
a trip for a week or ten days and promptly on my return I would report
to him, I left for Austin County.
Passing through Anderson, I conferred with Hannibal Boone, who suggested
there was no necessity for my going to Austin County, where he was
living at the time I had trouble with the soldiers. He said that there
could be no case against me, as I had violated no civil law and my
dealings were altogether with the military. Stopping at Brenham, in my
conference with Judge Giddings, he became very much exercised on the
threatened arrest of myself and said, “Mr. Graber, go back home; resist
their arrest in the most effective manner. It is time we were calling a
halt on this infamous police system; resist them, and the whole State of
Texas will be at your back.” I said, “Judge Giddings, I thank you for
the advice; it is exactly my feeling and determination not to submit,
peacefully, to this arrest.”
Being so close to the town of Bellville, I decided to finish my trip,
went there and called on Hunt & Holland, leading attorneys, who repeated
Judge Giddings’ advice. I now returned home and immediately sent word to
Lieutenant Sheriff that I could be seen at my place of business at any
time he wanted me.
I returned at night and next morning proceeded up to my store, sent word
to Mr. R. B. Reagan, a brother of Judge John H. Reagan, a man of iron
nerve, the sheriff of the county, to come up to the store at once. On
reaching there I told him that Lieutenant Sheriff, with his police, had
threatened to arrest me, that I had just returned from Austin County and
had investigated, finding that they had no authority or warrant for my
arrest and I claimed his protection. He said, “Mr. Graber, load up your
shotguns in your stock, set them behind your door and when they come to
effect your arrest, open on them and I and John and George, will be
about.” John Reagan was his deputy and a George Taylor, another deputy,
all men as fearless and resolute as any set of men ever together, with
nerve to fight a hundred police. In about an hour I noticed Lieutenant
Sheriff coming up the south side of the square, by himself, apparently
unarmed. I met him in my door, when he said, “Mr. Graber, Miss Lou
Priest told me that you had some very nice gentlemen’s hats.” I told him
I had; he told me he wanted to look at some. I got down a box of hats
from the top shelf and allowed him to select his hat out of the box, the
size he needed, treating him indifferently. He got out his number, put
it on his head and stepped up to a glass suspended on the shelf, passing
between the counters. Looking at the hat in the glass he said, “I
believe this becomes me pretty well; what is it worth?” I told him,
“Five dollars.” When he turned around to walk from behind the counter,
he espied the shotguns behind the door. I noticed it seemed to affect
him a little but he soon recovered, paid me the money and left the
store, saying, “A fine day today,” and this finally settled my trouble.
He evidently came there with the intention of spying out the situation
before attempting my arrest. When he left the house he noticed Sheriff
Reagan with his deputies near.
This ended my trouble. I felt I had conquered a peace which would be a
lasting one, as far as the military and our Radical Government were
concerned. This changed condition gave me a free hand to engage in
further enterprises and to rebuild my own fortune, as well as to work
toward the benefit of the community in which I made my home.
CHAPTER XXIX
I REMOVE TO WAXAHACHIE AND GO INTO BUSINESS THERE.
As heretofore stated, I had spent several years of my boyhood in
Waxahachie, during the fifties, and became attached to its people
because of their great interest in me, on account of my being an orphan.
I felt ever grateful. Furthermore I recognized the value of the rich
lands of Ellis County and territory tributary thereto, and I decided to
make Waxahachie my permanent home.
Arriving at Ennis, one of its shipping depots, I took stage for
Waxahachie, where I rented a storehouse belonging to Judge McMillan, and
employed his son, N. A., as bookkeeper and salesman in the house. The
two-story building next to the Getzendaner & Ferris Bank, was the most
modern store building in the town and young Mr. McMillan, one of the
most popular and best posted men on the Ellis County farmer, I could
find, having been in business with his father in this house for several
years, moving there from Alabama.
To give the reader a fair idea of the condition existing, I found the
old set of merchants, who were doing business there before the war,
still adhering to old-time methods, selling goods on twelve months’ time
and charging about twenty-five per cent more for same than the towns of
Ennis or Palmer, which were selling altogether for cash. These towns
were doing a more lucrative business than Waxahachie. Not a house in
Waxahachie would buy a bale of cotton for cash, thereby turning the
cotton market over to the towns of Ennis and Palmer. The stage driver
that carried me back to Ennis had money sent by a lady at Waxahachie, to
buy a dozen spools of thread at Ennis, where spool thread was selling at
75 cents a dozen and Waxahachie charging a dollar a dozen.
This encouraged me in the belief that Waxahachie was a good place to
start in again, as I expected to do business altogether for cash and buy
cotton for cash, as cotton always controlled business.
Having bought goods almost exclusively in New Orleans, except a few
purchases in St. Louis and Galveston, I found that Galveston was about
as good market as the others and, on account of its nearness, adopted a
plan of buying goods often, in smaller quantities and ordering them as
they were needed, which always gave me a fresh stock of goods and proved
very satisfactory.
While engaged in buying my first stock for Waxahachie, at the house of
P. J. Willis & Brother at Galveston, I met a Mr. Joe Farley, who was one
of the traveling credit men for the house, and was also a partner in the
house of Clift & Farley of Waxahachie. He came to me, saying that he
understood I was buying a stock for Waxahachie and wanted to tell me
that I could not find a more undesirable place to begin a new business,
as he had decided to reduce prices materially, to a point that would not
leave any profit. I thanked him for the information and especially for
his resolution to reduce prices, which I told him I intended to do, and
would much prefer his saving me the unpleasant duty. Farley, however,
never carried out his threat until after I had started my business and
forced them to do so. I also forced them to buy cotton for cash, thereby
making Waxahachie a cotton market.
On my return to Rusk, I immediately packed whatever stock of goods I had
left and shipped to Waxahachie, then moved my family over there and went
to housekeeping in a rented house. I next proceeded to Galveston, where
I arranged with Mr. Willis to give me an open account of twelve or
fifteen thousand dollars, on which I made remittances every week and
continued to order goods almost every week, which always gave me fresh
stock and proved very satisfactory to Willis, as well as myself, and
very attractive to the public.
I now commenced the purchase of cotton for cash. I was a good judge of
cotton classification, and being very careful in keeping posted on the
course of the market, especially Galveston, and cotton being in transit
only a short time, I was enabled to handle cotton without any great
risk, besides I made shipments altogether to Cannon & Company. Mr.
Cannon, as heretofore stated, was an old friend before the war, for whom
I had kept books and worked in his sales department at Hempstead. In
entering the cotton market and paying cash, the old mossback business
element of the town sat around in front of their stores, smoking and
whittling goods boxes, making all manner of predictions that that fellow
wouldn’t last long—I would soon get out of money and “bust.”
I bought cotton from farmers over about Bristol, on the Trinity, on the
other side of the Houston & Texas Central Railroad, paid them cash, and
75 cents a bale to haul it back to Ennis, then they would turn around
and spend the money with me for goods and return home happy and
contented.
About this time we had the Grangers, a strong farmers’ organization, who
had decided to concentrate their business at one house. They had a
general meeting of the county organization at Waxahachie, and sent a
committee, inviting me into this meeting, when I was requested to make
them a proposition to handle all of their business on a basis of ten per
cent profit. Not wishing to take advantage of my competitors, I
persuaded them not to make such an arrangement, as it would not prove
satisfactory, especially to their families, being restricted by contract
on this basis to buy only at one house. Entering into a full detail of
the objections, I persuaded them that it would not be to their interest
to make such a contract and induced them to drop it.
While I could have made a great deal of money out of this proposition, I
preferred to take no advantage of my business neighbors, thereby
incurring petty jealousies and enmity, having in view the building of a
tap railroad to connect with the Houston & Texas Central, and it was of
the greatest importance for me to retain the friendship and the
confidence of the old business element, who were the only men in the
county of any great financial ability.
CHAPTER XXX
THE TAP RAILROAD.
Concerning the “Tap” Railroad just referred to, I cannot better explain
the trials and difficulties of that time than by reprinting an article
which I wrote, some years ago, at the request of one of the Waxahachie
papers, which was anxious to clear up the seeming mystery which
enshrouded the building of the “Tap.”
Dallas, Texas, Sept. 4th, 1912.
Editor Ellis County Herald,
Waxahachie, Texas.
My Dear Sir—Your valued favor of the 26th ult., requesting a
history of the Waxahachie Tap Railroad is at hand.
Complying with your courteous request, permit me to assure you
and my old friends that it is not my purpose in this to
ventilate old grievances at the hands of people who were the
greatest beneficiaries of the building of the road, but simply
to state facts and to keep the record straight. Carefully
considering conditions existing at that time, my board of
directors were not so much to blame for their want of confidence
in the feasibility and possibility of the enterprise, as this
feeling was shared largely by some of the best business men of
Houston and Galveston, but were to blame for allowing one or two
of their members to control their action in opposing me. I
incurred the enmity of these directors through people’s
expression of approval of my efforts to accomplish what seemed
to them an impossible undertaking.
Entering into this labor of love, without promise of fee or
reward, with my board of directors (composed of the principal
business men of the town) depreciating my business character by
expressions well calculated to bring about ruin, which they
accomplished in about two years, it required about all the moral
courage in my composition to determine not to recognize such
word as “failure.”
Have said this much in defense of this article, which may prove
hurtful to the feelings of friends and descendants of the men
who have claimed the credit of building the road, but I cannot
do otherwise than adhere strictly to facts and truths, as all
fair-minded men who were then citizens of Ellis County, still
living, will bear me witness. I have never had a public
expression of thanks for the enormous sacrifice to me then of
ruining my splendid prospect in business to save your town from
isolation and ruin.
The object in going into these details is only to emphasize the
claim of friends at that time that I was the only man connected
with it who did any work, and if the “board” would quit meddling
with it, I would soon have the road built. These expressions I
tried my best to hold down, knowing well it would increase their
opposition to me. Another object: There are few people now in
your city who know that I ever had anything to do with it, but I
consider it due my children to inscribe in my own history one of
the proudest acts of my business career, representing two years
of the best labor of my life.
Please do not fail to note that I had to depend on memory
altogether for this article, hence its disconnected character,
and am entirely unable to supply dates, which, however, is
immaterial. I moved to Waxahachie in 1873.
To give your readers a fair conception of existing conditions at
Waxahachie and Ellis County, I found on my first visit to your
town by stage from Ennis that your merchants were still adhering
to old-time business methods; selling goods on time, at large
profits, thereby losing the most desirable business; Ennis
selling goods on an average of twenty per cent less for cash,
buying the farmer’s produce, principally cotton, and paying cash
therefor. Waxahachie did not buy a bale of cotton for cash, but
only on account. The result was that Ennis, though but a few
years old, soon outgrew Waxahachie, and aspired to be the county
seat, which caused a bitter feeling between the two communities.
Knowing the magnificent territory contiguous to Waxahachie, I
decided that with proper efforts your town could be made one of
the best in the State, and arranged to locate there. Had I
supposed that to locate there, it was necessary to ask the
permission of the old business men, and then conduct business as
they directed, I would certainly have gone elsewhere, but of
this I was ignorant, and after starting in, determined to
exercise my own judgment. I sold goods for cash, at reasonable
profit; bought cotton for cash, all that was offered, paying
Dallas prices; bought cotton from east of Ennis and Palmer, then
paid the farmer seventy-five cents per bale to haul it back to
the railroad for shipment. Many of these farmers, after I paid
them the cash for cotton, would turn around and spend every
dollar of it with me for goods. I bought cotton from Hill,
Johnson and Bosque Counties, and did not lose any money on it,
although my old competitors predicted that I would soon have to
quit. When disappointed in this, a few of the progressive ones,
Messrs. Pickett, Trippett and McLain, joined in with me, and we
soon established in Waxahachie a good cotton market.
I now began planning for railroad connection, and when I had my
plans sufficiently matured, I submitted them to a meeting of the
business men, who expressed grave doubt about the possibility of
the undertaking, and I only induced them to enter into it by
suggesting that an effort, even though a failure, would have the
result of throwing Ennis on the defensive and induce them to
drop their county seat agitation. They then told me to go ahead
and get my plans fully matured, which I submitted at a
subsequent meeting, and which were as follows: To get a charter
for a Waxahachie tap road with a State land grant of sixteen
sections to the mile and have the town issue bonds to the limit
of the law, which proved to be $75,000, then augment this amount
with farmers’ stock subscription of $25,000 more; to sell these
bonds at par to the business men of Waxahachie and commission
merchants of Galveston and New York who were doing business with
Waxahachie—thus giving us $100,000 cash and the State land
grant to build the road with. I stated this could only be done
by the adoption of second-hand iron, which I believed could be
had, and which would answer the purpose. To buy new iron would
cost several times the amount of our cash asset, as it was then
quoted at $85.00 a ton at the mills. There was serious doubt
about the Legislature passing a bond bill at the time as they
had up the repudiation of international bond bill granted under
a fraudulent charter, and the International Railroad Company had
Galusha Grow of Pennsylvania and John H. Burnett of Galveston at
Austin, trying to bulldoze Governor Coke and his Legislature
into the issuance of their bonds; hence both the Governor and
Legislature were committed against the issue of bonds of the
State in aid of railroads. But I believed that Judge J. W.
Ferris, who was then one of the most eminent lawyers in the
State, and who, through his International bond decision while
acting as special Supreme Judge in the case had endeared himself
to the Governor and Legislature, as well as the entire people of
the State, would be able to overcome this objection, as we were
only asking permission to tax our own town. It was then
determined to send Judge Ferris to Austin for the purpose of
obtaining a charter and bond bill. The committee appointed to
make the request of the judge met his positive refusal, but he
stated at the same time that if it was attempted to build the
road, he would back the enterprise with his money. I was now
urged and finally persuaded to go to Austin and endeavor to
obtain the necessary legislation. I called a meeting of the
taxpayers of Waxahachie, and explained to them that it was of
the utmost importance to get up a petition to the Governor and
Legislature, asking permission to tax themselves, and I
succeeded in obtaining every taxpayer’s name to the petition. I
then had the county clerk examine the tax rolls and certify that
he found every taxpayer’s name to the same. I then proceeded to
Austin, armed with this petition, a letter from Judge Ferris to
Governor Coke, and from Dr. Aldredge to friends in the Senate.
On my arrival at Austin, I met John H. Burnett and Galusha Grow
at the hotel, who proposed to me, if I would assist them, they
would assist me, which I declined, telling them that I was
opposed to the issuance of their bonds, thus at the outset
defining my position with the Legislature. The next morning I
sought and obtained an audience with Governor Coke, presented my
letter from Judge Ferris and petition from the taxpayers, and
after reading this, the Governor said, “Mr. Graber, I will
promise you this, if the Legislature passes your bills I will
sign them. The question involved in the International bill is
the taxing of the whole State to benefit the section through
which the road runs, but in your request the good people of
Waxahachie are only asking to tax themselves to save their
town.” I thanked the Governor for his kind assurance and asked
permission to make the statement to the members of the
Legislature, which he readily gave. Though I had never before
looked inside a legislative hall I soon felt perfectly at home
and had the privilege of the House and Senate. In my canvass of
the House and Senate I found little opposition to the bond bill
after reading our petition, but considerable objection to the
further donation of land in aid of railroads, which, however, I
was able to overcome by satisfying them we would never be able
to build our road without it. As many of the influential members
were old army friends to whom I became indebted for valuable
assistance, I was able to return home in three weeks, both bills
having been signed by Governor Coke a few weeks later. It would
not be inappropriate here to mention a little incident to show a
proper appreciation of my services at that time. I had wired my
wife that I would be home on Saturday, but detained en route, I
failed to make it, which saved me considerable embarrassment, as
the stage was met a short distance from town by the mayor, city
council and concourse of citizens, with a brass band, intending
to give me an enthusiastic reception. On the next Saturday a
mass meeting was held for the purpose of organizing under our
charter, and electing officers. At this meeting I explained to
them that I had taken the liberty of stating to members of the
Legislature that Judge Ferris would be the president of the
company, and asked his election, telling them that it was
all-important the enterprise should be headed by the most
influential man in the community. Judge Ferris being present,
stated he could not under any circumstances consider the
acceptance of the position as he did not have the time to give
it the attention necessary to make it a success, and placed my
name in nomination, which created great enthusiasm, and it was
attempted to be carried through without further consideration. I
tried to check this movement, by telling them I had as little
time to spare from my business as Judge Ferris, had already
given them three weeks of most valuable time away from my
business and was unable to do anything more than act on the
board of directors, if they saw fit to use me in that capacity;
but the meeting would not have it that way, and plainly told me
if I wanted the road built, I would have to serve, and promised
to sustain me with all the means and power at their command.
Under this assurance I was finally persuaded to accept, and,
after completing the organization with Judge Ferris as
vice-president, the meeting adjourned subject to the call of the
president.
I forgot to explain that through the issuance of the bonds, it
was agreed that the town should be issued stock to the amount,
thus every taxpayer became a stockholder and was entitled to
vote in the organization. While at Austin, in company with some
members of the Legislature, I called on General Braxton Bragg,
who had just come to Texas with a party of civil engineers, with
the intention of making this his home—he was anxious to get a
first job and promised me he would undertake the location of our
road at his actual cost (estimated not to exceed 500 dollars).
As soon as organized I took up a correspondence with him, and
entered into a contract to run three preliminary lines and cross
section the line adopted, furnish plans and specifications of a
first-class road. He surveyed one line to Ennis, one to Palmer
and one to the nearest point on the H. & T. C., which was
adopted. We next advertised for bids for the whole work
complete, contractor furnishing the road complete, ready for
operation, except equipment, and another for the grading only.
We had a bid on each, one from John McCarthy of Kansas City, who
was returning from Galveston, where he had in a bid for a large
contract with the Gulf, Colorado & Santa Fe and had lost out. He
carefully examined our assets, which were one hundred and
eighty-five sections (estimated) of land certificates to be
issued by the State (the line being 11 45-100 miles long),
$75,000 of Waxahachie bonds and about $13,000 of farmers’ stock
subscriptions which I had secured by hard labor, and in which I
had valuable assistance from Judge Anson Rainey, who was then a
young lawyer in Judge Ferris’ office. Mr. McCarthy, satisfied
with our assets, submitted a proposition to deliver us the road
complete as per General Bragg’s specification, except to
substitute fifty-six pounds of good second-hand iron approved by
General Bragg, which was considered sufficient for our purpose,
in consideration for our entire assets, and complete the same in
two years. We also had a proposal from Roach Brothers & Tierney
for the grade only at thirteen cents per yard. As John
McCarthy’s bid was the best for us we awarded him the contract,
and immediately notified him by wire at Kansas City, to which we
received a reply from his wife, by letter, saying Mr. McCarthy
was not at home, but we would hear from him as soon as he
returned. In the meantime I wired General Bragg at Galveston,
who was the chief engineer of the G., C. & S. F. for a report on
Mr. McCarthy, but had his answer, “Drop him.” This in connection
with an indefinite letter finally received from McCarthy, made
me conclude it best to let him alone. In the meantime, I had
induced Mr. Roach to hold his bid open (which was 13 cents per
yard, one-third cash, one-third in bonds and one-third in
provisions and forage he expected to use to feed his teams and
men) until we heard definitely from John McCarthy and in case of
his failure to make us a good bond, and furnish us ample
evidence of his ability and good intentions, we would give him
the contract for the grade, as in his bid. After our decision to
drop Mr. John McCarthy, we entered into a contract with Roach
Brothers & Tierney for the grade, to go to work at once—as he
had his outfit at Fort Worth already. He was on the ground
sooner than expected, and gave us only a few days to prepare for
a formal beginning of the work. We wanted to celebrate the event
with a great barbecue. On account of the short time for
notifying the farmers, the board of directors opposed my plans
of having the celebration, but I determined to have it anyway,
and sent out invitations to all interested in the building of
the Waxahachie Tap, to join us in celebrating the commencement
of the work. I solicited a few of our best farmers to donate the
meats, which they did cheerfully in the greatest abundance. The
day set apart for the celebration, the farmers began to arrive
in the early morning in large numbers—not only our own Ellis
County people, but a large number from Hill and adjoining
counties, and by one o’clock the crowd was variously estimated
at from 1500 to 2000 men, women and children. Such a large
enthusiastic gathering had never been known in this part of the
State. The board of directors had in the meantime concluded to
join in with us, and, although they had told me they would have
nothing to do with it, had ordered carriages, and I was invited
to a seat with Mr. John C. Gibson, who informed me they had not
prepared any program, which I had asked them to do in the
morning. I asked Mr. Gibson his age, and found he was the oldest
man on the board. When everything was ready, I was handed a
spade by Mr. Roach, who stated that it devolved on me to turn
the first dirt. I climbed on top of a wagon bed with the spade
and addressed the crowd in a few words which I remember about as
follows:
“Fellow Citizens: We are proud to see so many of you
here, manifesting, by your presence, an interest in our
work; an interest on your part it has been charged did
not exist, particularly with our farmers, who recognize
that they are as much interested in the building of this
road as our town. The doubting Thomases will directly
witness actual beginning of the work by our contractor,
Mr. Roach, who has one of the best-equipped grading
outfits in the country and will push his work to an
early completion. Upon such occasions it is customary
for the president of the company to turn the first dirt,
an honor which on this occasion I turn over to Colonel
John C. Gibson, the oldest member of the board of
directors.” I then turned the spade over to Mr. Gibson,
who eagerly accepted the honor and performed the duty.
Mr. Roach having his teams ready, then proceeded with
the work. Permit me to say here, that it proved a grand
sight to everybody present, the most of whom had never
seen anything like it, to see about fifty splendid teams
with their scrapers turning up the ground, and the moral
effect at that time cannot be overestimated, as the
effort of Waxahachie’s building of a railroad had been
ridiculed by people interested in our failure,
particularly the people of Ennis. I omitted to mention,
I visited Ennis before we definitely determined on a
location, and to a meeting of their business men,
submitted a proposition to adopt their line for a
subsidy of twenty thousand dollars, which created
considerable ridicule, but I told them they might laugh
as much as they pleased, the road would be built and
some day would become a main line by an extension east
and west, and though the point of junction might never
become a rival town, it would always prove a standing
menace to their town, and prevent capital from locating
with them. How well my judgment was founded is proven by
the result. On the completion of the road to Fort Worth,
this road has furnished more tonnage than the main line
from Garrett to Denison, which no doubt proved a great
surprise to the H. & T. C. management, who had expressed
themselves unwilling to operate it for its
earnings—hence I had to conclude a traffic arrangement
with them to enable us to operate it. Then, again, when
the Central undertook its extension from Garrett east,
Ennis sent a committee to Houston to try to secure this
connection, and failed, although it was rumored they
were instructed to offer a bonus of one hundred thousand
dollars. I also forgot to mention that before the
adoption of the Garrett line, I secured a donation of
one hundred acres of land from Mr. Garrett, divided into
town lots—this in spite of the strenuous opposition of
his agent, Mr. Neal. Mr. Garrett at that time resided
somewhere in East Texas. After the commencement of the
work it soon became evident that I must get to work and
sell bonds outside of Waxahachie; we were needing cash
to meet payments to Mr. Roach—although I had an
understanding with our business men, that they would
take as much as ten thousand dollars, at par, they were
slow to come up with their money—I therefore made a
trip to Galveston for the purpose of selling $20,000 of
our town bonds. I called on Mr. R. S. Willis, who was
then the president of the Gulf, Colorado & Santa Fe
Road. Mr. Willis was a good friend of mine and I was
buying my goods of him largely. He said, “Mr. Graber,
let me advise you to drop that scheme, it is visionary,
you can never build the road. Attend to your own
business. If you were to succeed, you would never
receive thanks for it. I’ll not subscribe one cent.” I
said, “Mr. Willis, I appreciate your advice, and esteem
your judgment highly, but must decline to be governed by
it. We are going to build that road.”
I next called on Ball, Hutchins & Company, and Mr.
Seeley asked, “Have you been to see Mr. Willis?” I told
him I had and had his refusal. He then asked to be
excused. Walking down the street, I met Mr. W. L. Moody,
in front of his place of business. He expressed himself
as glad to see me, and said, “I see in the News you are
down here for the purpose of placing $20,000 of your
Waxahachie bonds; step into the office. Colonel Jameson
will put us down for a thousand dollars.” He furthermore
said, “When you get your $20,000 placed here, I think I
can place the balance for you in New York.” I thanked
him, took their $1000 subscription, and dropped into
Leon H. Blum’s. Met Leon coming out. He said, “Go back
in the office, tell brother Sylvan to put down a
thousand dollars for us.” I next called on several other
commission houses, who assured me they would subscribe,
but could not just then. It soon became evident to my
mind they wanted their customers personally to ask them.
I therefore concluded to return home, and induce my
board of directors, who were all shipping cotton to
different houses to assist me in the matter, by going
down with me, but could not induce them to go. This want
of interest on the part of the board at that critical
period was indeed discouraging. They well knew that the
taking of $10,000 by Waxahachie and $20,000 more by our
commercial city at par, would establish the solid
character of the bonds in New York, but they were
unwilling to spare the time and incur the expense. Could
there have been anything more discouraging? It seemed as
though they were determined that I should not succeed,
and did not want the road built, which was talked
frequently by people in Waxahachie as elsewhere. They
seemed afraid of inviting competition in their business,
and preferred to continue as they had. Meeting with
Major Douglas of Tyler one day in Galveston, he said to
me, “Graber, why don’t you go ahead and build your
little road?” I gave an evasive answer. He said, “I know
what is the matter—you have seven old mossbacks pulling
back.” He said, “My board of directors told me to go
ahead and build the road, and I am doing it. I have not
had a meeting of my board since I commenced.” Major
Douglas was then building the Tyler Tap Road and was
president of that company.
I now began looking around to secure iron, ties and
bridge work. I soon had the latter promised by our
carpenters for stock—there were only a few small
culverts and bridges. On one of my trips to Houston I
met Mr. H. M. Hoxie, general superintendent of the
International & Great Northern Railroad, with whom I was
well acquainted, who was changing the iron on the
Galveston road to a heavier lot. He made me a
proposition to furnish us sufficient iron for our road,
taken up from the Galveston road, which was fifty-six
pound and in good condition, subject to our inspection,
for $20,000 f. o. b. cars at Houston, which proposition
I accepted subject to the approval of my board. I had a
contract with the Houston & Texas Central Railroad to
haul iron, ties and bridge timber, for stock in our
road. In about a month’s time I had a wire from Mr.
Hoxie, “Come down, inspect and receive the iron.
Answer.” I immediately had a meeting of the board and
asked their consent to close the deal, but they wanted
time to consider. “Wait and see what the crop is going
to do; where is your money?” etc. I told them I was
satisfied I could induce Hoxie to accept bonds. But they
insisted on waiting. I begged and plead with them not to
lose this splendid chance of securing iron, which they
certainly would by waiting, telling them it might be
lost to us in three days. There were other tap roads
building—the towns of Henderson, Georgetown and Tyler
were all busy, but my pleadings were in vain.
I now felt that I must give up, I could do nothing more.
They were determined that I should not complete the
road; in fact, it seemed they did not want it at all,
and I immediately tendered my resignation, which was
promptly accepted, and John C. Gibson elected to succeed
me. As soon as it became known that I had resigned, the
people demanded of the board to send me down to close
the deal for the iron, and soon the secretary came with
a request for me to close the deal and a tender of the
money to pay my expenses. I told him I was ready to
waive all personal feeling in the matter and now go down
in a private capacity, close the deal and have my
successor sign the contract, as my only ambition was to
see the road completed, even by a set of men that
deserved no consideration at my hands, but that I must
wire Hoxie first and know if iron was still on hand. I
wired Mr. Hoxie at Houston and received no answer. I
repeated the wire the next day and had his answer, “Too
late, iron sold.” This proved a surprise and
disappointment to all concerned and for a time it seemed
as though Waxahachie was doomed. I had turned over to my
successor and his board, the grade, a splendid piece of
work completed and paid for; sixty-five thousand dollars
in Waxahachie bonds; a farmers’ stock subscription of
about eight thousand dollars; about one hundred and
eighty-five sections of State land certificates to be
issued on the completion of the road, and every
alternate lot in the town of Garrett out of the
subdivision of one hundred acres.
The board now went to sleep over the situation; they had
no one to suggest or try to do anything towards the
completion of the road, which, for nearly three years
was a dead enterprise—and left the board with an
investment in bonds of about $6000, which would prove
worthless unless the road was completed under the terms
and provisions of the charter, which were: the
completion and operation of the road within five years.
They now got desperate, and induced Mr. Royal A. Ferris
to go to New York and offer the charter and its
franchises, and all of the assets of the company to any
responsible party that would complete it, even with old
iron, and run a train in before the expiration of the
time in the charter. Mr. Ferris succeeded in inducing a
Mr. Riordan to accept the proposition. He went to work
and completed the road, and after a few months’
operation, demonstrating to the Central people its
value, sold out to Mr. Waldo for account of some
individual stockholder of the H. & T. C. what Waldo
termed a pretty good bank of dirt with two streaks of
rust for $85,000. In the hands of the Central it was
soon refurnished with new iron and completely
overhauled, making it a first-class road, and soon
extended to Fort Worth.
This terminated the history of the Waxahachie Tap Road
in the loss of all interest the town had in it through
the farcical conduct of its leading business men, acting
as its board of directors.
When a meeting was held just before the election on the
bond proposition, I told the people, as long as I could
control it, if they would vote the bonds, the road
should never pass into other hands, only with their
consent, and should pay its value. It was my intention
to hold on to the State land donation until it would
become valuable and already had the promise of a few
surveyors to locate the same free of cost, save actual
expenses. I believed then the land within our day and
time could be sold for from $5 to $10 per acre, which
would amply reimburse the town for its issuance of the
bonds, and they would own the road besides. The result
was, we had a unanimous vote on the bond. To fairly
illustrate the character of the men I was connected with
in this enterprise, some few years after the Santa Fe
was completed west of Waxahachie, we had a proposition
from the management to build a branch of their road into
Waxahachie for a bonus of $10,000. A meeting to consider
the proposition was held; and these men who were still
in control, expressed themselves as opposed to meeting
the Santa Fe proposition, saying, If they propose to
build in here for $10,000 they will do so anyway.
Realizing that they were about to lose another valuable
opportunity, I told them that I came to subscribe my
money and not to talk, knowing well any suggestion I
might make would fall flat, but felt that they were
about to make a serious mistake in turning down this
proposition; there were movements being made on the
railroad checkerboard constantly and something might
occur that would force the Santa Fe Company to withdraw
their proposition in less than thirty days, and rather
than have this happen I was willing to subscribe $1000.
One of the old members of the board of railroad
directory smiled at my suggestion, and made a motion to
adjourn sine die, which was carried and thus Waxahachie
was again cheated out of another golden opportunity; as
in less than thirty days this company had to withdraw
its proposition on account of a trouble with the Gould
lines. When about three months after Mr. N. A. McMillan
was sent to Galveston to have them renew or make another
proposition, Mr. R. S. Willis told him they could not
consider such a thing; that they had all they could do
to look after their main line; but frankly told him,
“You people missed your opportunity. Had you accepted
our proposition when we made it, we would have built
into your town.”
I have thus given an important part of Waxahachie history, which
I trust will prove instructive in its future. There are great
opportunities presented every now and then, which should be
taken advantage of and properly cared for by the progressive
citizens of a community and should be ably seconded by a public
spirit. This is due from every man who is a beneficiary of the
growth of his home city.
It should be borne in mind that in the period when we first
submitted the railroad proposition, Texas had hardly felt the
great benefits of railroads and it was difficult to induce small
communities to take hold of such enterprises; besides there was
no money with which to build them.
It is easier now to build a long line of road, provided it is
practicable and the inducement sufficient, than at that period
of time to build a little tap road.
In conclusion, I must be pardoned for a seeming egotism in
claiming to be the originator and having done the principal work
in this enterprise, but I cannot do otherwise and state facts.
Whilst it is true that others completed the road, it was
comparatively an easy task to do this by giving it away. The
only recognition I have ever had for my efforts in behalf of
your town was an occasional expression from prominent citizens
whom I met in years after: “Well, Mr. Graber, if you had not
come to Waxahachie when you did, our town would have been an old
rat hole.”—Dr. Conner. “Mr. Graber, they treated you
badly.”—Captain Patrick. And other like expressions, but permit
me to say I feel compensated in the fact that I was probably
instrumental in starting your town on its upward march, and
therefore feel that I have been of benefit to others, and have
not lived in vain.
Thanking you for this courtesy, I am with great respect,
Yours very truly,
H. W. GRABER.
CHAPTER XXXI
BUSINESS TROUBLES.
The second year of my labors in building the Waxahachie Tap Road
required all of my time, and, in consequence, a neglect of my business.
This, coupled with the fact that many good farmers seemed to shun my
business, fearing I would tackle them for a railroad stock subscription
and the further fact that jealous competitors, joined by a man
representing P. J. Willis & Brother of Galveston, a house I was dealing
with most extensively and with whom I had a credit and a running account
of about twelve or fifteen thousand dollars, and the representations of
these competitors that I was investing heavily in the tap road, which
was not a fact, caused me to become embarrassed in business. I paid my
account with P. J. Willis & Brother in order to get rid of this jealous
competitor, and this amounted to a withdrawal of fifteen thousand
dollars of my capital.
In November of that year I owed nearly twenty-three thousand dollars,
which I reduced to ninety-four hundred dollars by the first of March
following.
At this time I was caught with a remnant winter stock and, in order to
keep up my business and to arrange for a spring and summer stock of
goods with no money to buy, I decided best to proceed to St. Louis and
submit a statement of my condition to my creditors. This statement
showed an indebtedness, as stated, of about ninety-four hundred dollars,
and assets, about fifteen or sixteen thousand. These assets consisted
largely of East Texas accounts, a balance of my old Rusk business, a
winter stock of goods and a few acres of land in East Texas that could
not be sold for more than a dollar an acre. At that time, everything I
had in business was unavailable.
The object of my St. Louis trip was to get an extension of my
indebtedness until the next winter. The largest part of my indebtedness
was with L. Cannon & Company of Galveston, cotton commission merchants,
who were satisfied with any arrangement I made for an extension. The
next largest creditor was Samuel C. Davis & Company, St. Louis, whom I
owed a balance on open account of about eight or nine hundred dollars.
After submitting them my statement, the manager, whose name I have
forgotten, told me that I was not entitled to an extension and they were
not in favor of granting it unless the balance all agreed, but if they
all granted an extension, that they were willing to do so, but would not
sell me any more goods. They explained to me that upon a review of my
assets, I would not be able to pay more than thirty or thirty-five cents
on the dollar, and if I succeeded in compromising on that basis, they
were willing to sell me again, on their regular terms, any reasonable
amount and would consider my credit unimpaired. I told the gentlemen
that I would never compromise, as it was considered disgraceful in
Texas.
I next went to see the house of Hamilton & Brown, who were then in their
infancy in their business, but were considered one of the rising shoe
houses in St. Louis.
On presenting my statement their judgment was the same as Samuel C.
Davis & Company: that I was not entitled to an extension and to continue
in business, having to ask further credit, my only course would be to
compromise, say thirty cents on the dollar. I owed these people little
less than two hundred dollars, a small balance of a considerable
account. I told them I would never compromise, when one of the gentlemen
said, “You are working with a millstone around your neck and we want to
put you on your feet. If you don’t compromise before you leave St.
Louis, we will send your account to an attorney at Waxahachie, with
instructions to sue.” I said, “If you do, I will make an assignment and
quit business, and in doing so you can take the coat off my back—you
will never find me behind a valuable Texas homestead.” In connection
with this I will state that after a two weeks’ stay in St. Louis, trying
to persuade these people to meet my proposition, I heard from my friend
Cannon in Galveston, who offered to let me have money to settle with the
St. Louis creditors on the basis of thirty-five cents. I finally gave it
up and on my return home found the Hamilton & Brown account in the hands
of Judge Rainey for collection with order to bring suit, and I
immediately made an assignment in the Bankruptcy Court at Tyler, thereby
protecting all of my creditors.
When the United States Marshal came and took possession of my assets he
persuaded me, for the protection of my family, to retain two hundred
acres of land in Cherokee County, which at the time could not have been
sold for more than a dollar an acre, for which I had paid two dollars
and seventy-five cents an acre. This land I traded for a few town lots
in Waxahachie, on one of which I built an humble little home the next
year and out of the balance realized about three hundred dollars.
It is hardly necessary to say that my business failure proved very
discouraging at the time and caused the breaking down of my general
health. My jealous competitors in business continued to refer to it,
claiming that it was injuring the prospect of the building of the road,
the presidency of which I finally concluded to resign.
Considering that several of these men were the richest of any men in the
community and that I had sacrificed my all to build up their interest in
connection with the town, I felt that it was one of the most unjust and
worst cases of persecution without cause a man ever had to submit to,
but I determined to outgrow it and ignore these foolish people’s work
against me.
Recurring to my visit in St. Louis where, as stated, I spent a couple of
weeks: I stopped at a private boarding house, where I formed the
acquaintance of a business gentleman, who, with his wife, had a room
next to mine and in a few days invited me to visit their cotton
exchange, which invitation I accepted. I, of course, had not told him of
my financial embarrassment, but had made him acquainted with my railroad
enterprise.
At the cotton exchange I was shown a great deal of attention by some of
the members present and especially Mr. J. W. Paramore, the president.
When about ready to depart Mr. Paramore extended me an invitation to
join him in a visit to his compresses, saying that he had a horse and
buggy at the door, waiting. I accepted his invitation.. On our drive out
to the compresses, he gave me his history in connection with the
business, saying that he came to St. Louis from Nashville, Tennessee,
with seventy thousand dollars in cash and decided that St. Louis ought
to be made a cotton market. For this purpose he met some of the leading
business men and suggested the building of a large compress and asked
them to take stock, which they considered a huge joke and readily turned
down his proposition. He then concluded to undertake the building of a
compress by himself, which he did, meeting with great success the first
season. These same men whom he tried to induce to take stock with him,
came to him and begged for stock, with the proposition to enlarge the
plant, which he did and had made it a great success the second year. The
enlarged plant enabled him to pay a handsome dividend. After showing me
around his compresses and expressing himself much interested in Texas
cotton shipments, I finally suggested to him the idea of getting up an
excursion of a number of his business friends who were interested to
know about Texas conditions and resources, to visit Waxahachie, where I
was anxious to show him our little railroad enterprise and especially
our rich land in this black land district.
Meeting with him again upon another occasion I again urged him by all
means to get up this excursion, satisfied that he and his friends would
find it interesting and profitable, and having no doubt but they would
succeed in opening business relations. I found he was much interested
and he became somewhat enthusiastic on the proposed visit, promising me
that he would certainly do so.
Some three or four months after, I saw an account in the Galveston News
of where J. W. Paramore, a business man of St. Louis, with a number of
other business men, had arrived at Tyler, Texas, on an excursion to
investigate Texas resources and conditions, with a view of establishing
business relations and will here state, knowing the business community
of Tyler, its brains and capital, I immediately concluded that their
proposed Waxahachie visit was doomed, which proved to be a fact.
Tyler had just completed a short line narrow-gauge railway to connect
with the Texas & Pacific at Big Sandy and soon induced Mr. Paramore and
associates to buy this road and extend it, an independent line, to St.
Louis, which, after a few years, they accomplished, creating the St.
Louis Narrow Gauge, and after a few more years, changed it into a
standard gauge, which is now the Cotton Belt.
I trust the reader will not consider me egotistical, but I have always
taken a great pride in the belief that I was perhaps instrumental in
having one of the great lines of railroad built from our State to St.
Louis. Had I not suggested this excursion to Texas by these St. Louis
people, which was altogether a new idea with Paramore and his friends,
the St. Louis Narrow Gauge might never have been built. It was only
through just such men as Paramore that great enterprises are started in
their infancy and carried to a successful realization.
CHAPTER XXXII
I START ANEW.
Immediately after my failure in the general mercantile business, I went
to Dallas to try to make some commission deal to sell farm machinery,
and called on Mitchell & Scruggs, who had just opened business with one
of the best lines of machinery in Dallas and had the State agencies on
these lines. I succeeded in making a contract with them to handle these
goods in Ellis, Navarro, Hill and Johnson Counties on a basis of five
and ten per cent. I knew nothing about machinery and had to post myself,
reading catalogues and asking questions of Mitchell & Scruggs and the
factories they represented.
Having no money I bought a few groceries on time, until I could make
something and had the tender of a horse and buggy from a Mr. Johnson,
the pastor of our Presbyterian Church. I drove over these counties, very
often without a road, especially in Hill County, visiting people who
were reported in need of cotton gin machinery, harvesters and threshers,
never making a dollar for nearly five months. I finally made my first
sale of an Ames engine, on which I had a commission of eight per cent.
For the next three months succeeding I sold a number of engines and
boilers, several threshers, a number of harvesters, etc., winding up the
first season with a net profit of about fifteen hundred dollars. After
paying my debts I had left about five hundred dollars to invest in a
home. I planned a cottage, which Meredith & Patterson agreed to build
for me for a thousand dollars, accept in part payment five hundred
dollars and the balance of five hundred dollars, payable next fall with
five per cent per month interest.
The next season’s business I wound up with a profit of twenty-eight
hundred dollars and the next season with thirty-five hundred dollars
profit and the next season with something over ten thousand dollars
profit. This put me on my feet but I needed engineering skill and was
unable to secure it, as it was scarce in Texas at the time.
Having formed the acquaintance of Colonel John G. Hunter (through his
visit to me, in the interest of the Ames Iron Works, whose engines and
boilers I was handling), I persuaded Mr. Leonard Ames the first time he
called on me in conjunction with Colonel Hunter, to let me have Hunter,
he was just the man I needed. He finally consented, provided it was
agreeable to Hunter. I made a proposition to Hunter to give him a half
interest in the profits of the business, which he accepted and after a
copartnership of two years, we both decided that our territory was too
small; our business too much circumscribed to justify the services of
both, when I advised him to go to Dallas, both realizing that it would
be the future commercial center of Texas. He decided to do this and
immediately moved to Dallas, where his ability found better compensation
and I told him that I would follow as soon as I could wind up my
business here, realizing that Waxahachie would never amount to much
until the old mossback element died out and the young men would get into
the saddle, which prediction I believe has been realized.
Before leaving Waxahachie I tried to get up the money for a cotton
compress, for which I was authorized by a friend at Jefferson, Texas,
who had a compress at that point, to subscribe for him ten thousand
dollars of about thirty-five thousand dollars needed for a good Morse
ninety-inch cylinder press. I headed the subscriptions with this man’s
ten thousand dollars and added mine for one thousand more, then called
on a number of business men, financially able, besides the two banks,
who all agreed to take stock provided a certain somebody else would take
stock. It finally resolved itself into the consent of one, John G.
Williams, who was always arbitrary and dictatorial. When I asked him to
subscribe a thousand or fifteen hundred dollars, telling him that it was
important for us to take immediate action, as Ennis was also trying to
get up a compress company and there was not sufficient business for
both, he insisted on postponing it, saying that he would let me know
when he got ready.
Already disgusted with such dilatory conduct, I told him I wanted him to
understand that I was not begging him nor others, like I used to do when
trying to build the railroad, that I had other business to attend to and
I wanted him to say right then and there what he was going to do. He
told me to take the compress and go to the devil with it. I said to him,
taking the subscription list, “Here goes,” and tore it up, leaving him
in disgust.
The town of Ennis commenced building their compress in less than three
days, but the conduct of these old mossbacks, in this case, finally
proved the straw that broke the camel’s back. I immediately resolved to
get out of there as soon as possible and move to Dallas, which I have
never had cause to regret.
After moving to Dallas I succeeded in making better contracts with the
factories whose goods I had been handling through Mitchell & Scruggs,
and had a number of contracts, which they had held, turned over to me
direct, thereby enlarging the profits of my business from fifty to one
hundred per cent and soon established one of the largest and best
businesses in my line in Dallas, except that of R. V. Tompkins, who had
large capital and more extensive factory arrangements than mine. Having
large capital he was able to employ a large corps of traveling salesmen,
besides he, himself, having a practical, thorough knowledge of
machinery.
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE METHODIST SCHOOL AT WAXAHACHIE.
I forgot to mention, soon after entering the commission machinery
business, I met a friend by the name of Meeks who was the owner of the
Marvin College property at Waxahachie, established and built up by the
Methodist Church of Texas, and governed by a Board of Trustees who had
permitted the school to go down, after having been in operation for
perhaps two or three years. They borrowed ten thousand dollars in gold
from my friend, Meeks, giving him a first mortgage on the property,
which mortgage he had to close by public sale and had to take the
property for the debt, though the trustees claimed that the property
cost the church about a hundred thousand dollars. The same old mossback
element that persecuted me in my railroad and other business, too, were
largely responsible for the failure of Marvin College and boasted that
it should never succeed again. Mr. Meeks asked me to undertake the sale
of it, which of course could be used only for school purposes, as it was
unfit for anything else. Having received his promise that he would give
me full control of the sale of it, I agreed to take hold of it for a
commission of ten per cent.
I immediately went to work, got out an attractive circular letter,
giving advantages of Waxahachie for an educational point. I soon had
responses, or inquiries from the North and East, and a strong one from a
Presbyterian school man at Lexington, Kentucky, who decided to take hold
of it as soon as he could dispose of his property in Lexington.
Finding that I was about to sell the property to a Presbyterian who did
not expect to make it a denominational school, the trustees of the
Methodist Church, composed of Captain V. G. Veal, Fred Cox and Doctor
Walkup, got busy among their Methodist friends and secured authority to
take the property over again for ten thousand dollars in gold, Meeks
waiving the interest, and paid me a thousand dollars cash and three
thousand dollars in one, two and three years, with a mortgage on the
property. In selling them the property on these liberal terms, I had it
distinctly understood that if they failed to come up with their second
payment I would close them out at once, which I was forced to do.
I soon got into correspondence with General L. M. Lewis, an educator of
high order, then connected with a college in Little Rock, though he had
already been connected with the A. & M. College at Bryan, where the
faculty had a rupture, which resulted in the resignation of the whole
board. I induced General Lewis to visit Waxahachie, where I introduced
him to the Rev. Chas. E. Brown of the Methodist Church, who was one of
the most popular preachers there and he, in turn, got him acquainted
with Fred Cox and Doctor Walkup. These four gentlemen formed a
copartnership and again bought the property and in less than two years
built up a large school with many transient boarders. While on a deal
with General Lewis, I frankly told him that he would have a difficult
task to build up a school in that town on account of the sworn
opposition of the mossback element and that he would have to depend upon
transient patronage altogether for the success of his school when they
began, having no doubt that Waxahachie’s patronage would gradually
follow.
As I predicted, soon after starting the school and having the children
of Mr. John G. Williams, who tried to be the boss of the town, Williams
demanded of General Lewis that he make a change in certain rules and
General Lewis told him that if the rules didn’t suit him he had better
take his children home, which he did and the faculty were not sorry for
it.
The second year of the school, having paid their indebtedness to Meeks,
a demand for an addition became imperative, so they borrowed money and
put up a large one, as also a separate boarding house. After two years
more, the free school system of Texas obtained, thereby cutting down
their patronage to a point that did not justify them to continue and
were finally induced to sell out to the city for a public free school,
which they had to do, at a considerable loss and thus crippled them
financially.
CHAPTER XXXIV
MY LATER BUSINESS EXPERIENCES.
The Rev. Charles E. Brown had the business management of this college
from the beginning to the end and displayed business capacity and
indomitable persistence that impressed me with the idea that he would
make a good business man. He came to me, asking for employment, saying
that he wanted to enter commerce, that he had a number of children to
educate and the pulpit did not support his family as he wished. He
wanted to give his children as good an education as anybody else’s
children, and for this reason he wanted to go to work in business,
offering to work for me for fifty dollars per month, in the sales
department, until he was worth more.
Being sadly in need of assistance, I told Brown that I believed he had
the ability to make good in the machinery business and if he proved the
man that I was needing, I would give him a third interest in the profits
of the business.
After a short time I found that I was not mistaken in the man and
voluntarily raised his compensation to one-half interest of the profits
in the business. Our business prospered and grew to a point that it was
necessary for us to move to Dallas, which we did, where our business
continued to grow and was considered, after a couple of years, the
leading machinery house in the city, except that of R. V. Tompkins.
Owing to some misapprehension on Brown’s part, (brought about by a
statement of his oldest boy, whom he had employed in the business
against my advice), differences arose which we were unable to reconcile
and it was deemed best, under the circumstances, that we separate.
Having made him a liberal offer of ten thousand dollars for his interest
in the business, besides the cancellation of his account, which amounted
to six or seven thousand dollars and had his refusal to sell out, I then
decided to sell out to him, provided he could induce a certain W. J.
Clark, who was reputed worth a hundred thousand dollars, to join him in
the purchase, which he succeeded in doing. I then sold out to Clark &
Brown for a nominal sum, without taking a dollar out of the business
until all debts were paid, taking their note for the purchase price.
They paid all debts when due and then paid me.
On the dissolution of our firm and my sale to Clark & Brown, I notified
all creditors that Clark & Brown were obligated to pay one hundred cents
on the dollar promptly when due and if they failed to receive their
money on that basis, to notify me promptly, as I was in position to make
them do so. Never receiving any notice from any creditor that their
matters were unsettled, I had every reason to believe Brown & Clark’s
statement that they had settled all indebtedness.
After a rest of several months I had a proposition made me by Mr. C. A.
Keating, President of the Keating Implement & Machine Company, to take
the management of their machinery department, succeeding in that
position Colonel John G. Hunter and John Young, both excellent business
men.
I expected to take stock in the Keating Implement & Machinery Company,
but finally decided not to do so and simply worked on salary, commencing
the first year with a salary of sixteen hundred and fifty dollars, when
at the close of the season, Mr. Keating voluntarily paid me two
thousand, then the next season raised my salary to twenty-five hundred.
After my connection with the house for eleven years, the last three
years of the time receiving thirty-six hundred dollars, I voluntarily
resigned, under the protest of Mr. C. A. Keating. After I severed my
connection with the house, they quit the machinery business, except
threshers and some other goods that were not included in my department.
After severing my connection with the Keating Implement & Machine
Company I went into business again, for my own account, on very limited
capital and in a few years again built up a large machinery business,
finally discontinuing cotton gin machinery, in which I was largely
instrumental in inducing the Pratt Cotton Gin Company to enter the field
with a complete system, which I assisted in developing.
On the formation of the Continental Gin Company, which took over the
plants of four or five others, including my Pratt factory, I decided to
drop gin machinery and confine my business to larger and high duty
plants, in which I succeeded to my entire satisfaction. My success in
this business was somewhat phenomenal. As heretofore stated, I was not
an educated practical engineer, but in the organization of this new
business I was careful to hunt up the record of every machine and its
factory before its adoption, taking great care to get hold of the best
and I don’t think I ever made a mistake, as many of my customers
repeated their orders, after having tried and used the machines.
Among the list of my machinery I would mention the American Diesel
Engine, which was just being introduced in the United States and was
largely owned by Mr. Adolphus Busch.
I was persuaded to take hold of the introduction of this engine through
a promise of Colonel Meyer, who undertook its introduction in this
country, with his headquarters in New York, and who had known me for
fifteen or twenty years, in connection with his Heine boiler business,
which I had been handling and continued to handle.
Relying on his promise that if I would undertake the introduction of the
engine, that I should continue to handle it exclusively in the
Southwestern territory, and believing that on account of its enormous
economy it would ultimately supplant all steam machinery, I did not
hesitate to put my whole efforts and influence into the work of its
introduction.
After putting about five years of the best labor of my latter years into
its establishment, and just at a time when I felt I was going to realize
something handsome out of the business, my health gave way to an extent
that forced me to quit business altogether, never having had a real
vacation and rest in forty-three years.
In winding up the history of my business career I regret to have to
record that throughout the whole of it I was always the victim of
misplaced confidence, never realizing any of the men I had associated
with me would ever do me a wrong, in which I was nearly always mistaken.
I am able to say that I had associated with me men whom I trained in
several lines of business, in fact, assisted in starting them, and some
of them have attained great success, a number of them now occupying high
positions. One of the wealthiest manufacturers in Dallas is a man whom I
took up on the street, hunting work. It was largely through a kind,
friendly feeling, I took hold of him and taught him the cotton gin
machinery business. He proved one of the best salesmen I had and, as
stated, is now the president of the largest manufacturing cotton gin
machinery in the South. Another one of my old clerks in the mercantile
business, is today the president of a big trust company, commanding a
salary of twenty-five thousand dollars a year. While I refer to this
case with a good deal of pride, I am frank to say that he is in no way
indebted to me especially for his rise in the world, but only to his
natural ability as a business man and his own personal efforts and
energy.
Among the many young men that I took into my business, first and last,
and taught and trained them in business, I recall one case, especially,
that of James Summers, who came to me, among a number of young men, then
going to school at the Rusk Masonic Institute, and begged me to teach
him business. Most of the young men, immediately after the close of the
war, thought that the mercantile business would be about the easiest and
most pleasant to engage in, hence these many applications, among whom I
would mention ex-Governor James Hogg, who was then a boy of about
eighteen or twenty, going to school. I recall my answer to him: “Now,
Jim, if you want to be a slave all your life, get behind this counter
and go to work, but if you will take my advice, go out on a farm,
develop your muscles and make a man of yourself.” He answered, “I expect
to do that, Mr. Graber. I am going to make a man of myself,” which he
certainly did, but not in mercantile pursuits.
To give the reader a better appreciation of the character of James E.
Summers: When he came and asked me to teach him business his father was
the keeper of a saloon and a horse racer, and I had understood, had
whipped Jim at one time to make him ride a horse race for him; besides
the old man was very profane and his conduct as stated. Jim’s nature and
disposition revolted at it, though Jim had a noble Christian mother,
whose disposition he, no doubt, inherited by nature, which, in
connection with her teachings, made him the grand character that he
proved to be.
Although I did not need any assistance at the time he asked for a
position, which was about 1870, I decided to take hold of him and teach
him all I knew about business, which proved a great pleasure to me,
because he was always ready to receive instruction and profit by my
advice. I soon made a bookkeeper out of him and I am prepared to say
that I was rewarded for any salary I paid him and any time devoted to
his instruction through his great success as a business man and his full
appreciation of my efforts in his behalf, the knowledge of which I
gained through several mutual friends, whom he told that he was indebted
to Mr. Graber for what he was and everything he had.
After removing to Waxahachie, Jim married a daughter of a Doctor
Francis, who could not bear the separation from her mother and family
and, therefore, I advised him to go back to Rusk and get some of his
farmer friends, of whom he had many, to advance him means to go into
business for himself. This he did, and as soon as started, having the
confidence and good will of all the people in Cherokee County, he soon
did the leading business in the place and died about ten years ago,
mourned by all that knew him, leaving an estate worth over one hundred
and fifty thousand dollars, which was most extraordinary, considering
the character of the town of Rusk and country surrounding it.
Having said this much in connection with my business career, I deem it
unnecessary to enter into further details, as it would no doubt, prove
irksome to the reader and I merely said as much to show that I always
felt interested in worthy characters that I had associated with me in
business, never caring much for a great accumulation of wealth, until it
was too late.
Had I made the accumulation of money my main object, I no doubt could
have been among the rich men of Dallas, the most of whom accumulated
their fortunes in speculative channels. Had I engaged in speculative
channels in real estate, I would certainly have made money and had the
good judgment to quit before it was too late, wherein many of my friends
and acquaintances failed.
My business always outgrew the amount of my capital and as a result I
always owed the banks and other creditors and it was a fixed principle
with me as long as I owed a dollar, that nothing I had really belonged
to me and therefore I had no moral right to take money out of my
business to put into speculative channels in real estate.
Before closing my business record in Dallas, I must pay a deserved
tribute to L. Rector Cabell, who entered my service to study and learn
machinery. I am able to say, although young and without business
experience, he soon proved himself efficient in cotton gin machinery,
and one of the most loyal and honest men in my employ, carefully
guarding my business interests—just like his honored father, General W.
L. Cabell, and devoted sister, Mrs. Kate Cabell Muse, in behalf of the
U. C. V. organization. After leaving my service, Rector accepted a
position with the engineering department in Havana, Cuba, where he has
been engaged since, and is now receiving a handsome salary.
CHAPTER XXXV
THE CONFEDERATE VETERANS’ HOME.
In connection with my personal history I will take the liberty of
referring to my connection with the organization and work in behalf of
the United Confederate Veterans’ Association.
I realized that only by a combined effort of the old soldiers could we
perpetuate our true history and especially take care of the indigent and
needy old comrades, when sick and in distress. While associated with the
Keating house, the Confederate Home at Austin was started by John B.
Hood Camp of Austin and maintained by soliciting public contributions,
as the State was prohibited by the Constitution to contribute anything
towards its maintenance. Realizing the necessity of everybody interested
doing all they were able to do and my own ability at the time being very
limited, I conceived the plan of requesting donations by factories,
whose machinery we were handling, of certain machines they were
manufacturing as parts of a complete cotton gin outfit. In line with
this I wrote a letter to each one of our factories, setting forth the
condition of our Confederate Home and asking contributions of such parts
as they manufactured, for a complete 3-60 saw gin outfit. These
factories were all located in the North and East, but their response was
prompt and cheerful. I had a sixty-horse power boiler, contributed by
the Erie City Iron Works; a 3-60 saw gins and elevator by the Eagle
Cotton Gin Company of Bridgewater, Mass.; a Thomas steam cylinder press
by the Thomas Manufacturing Company of Little Rock, Ark., and Mr.
Keating gave me a fifty-horse power Erie City Iron Works engine; a
four-ton Chicago scale, by the Chicago Scale Company and a magnificent
Schuttler wagon by the Peter Schuttler Wagon Company of Chicago, the
whole worth about thirty-five hundred dollars.
I immediately notified Governor Ross of this handsome donation by
Northern factories, giving him a full list of the donors, and he wrote a
personal letter of thanks to each of the parties.
Cotton gin machinery, at this time, was rarely bought for cash, always
sold on long time credit, which of course did not meet the urgent needs
of the Confederate Home. In conferring with General Cabell and other
prominent members of the Camp, we decided on a plan of having a drawing
for this machinery, selling tickets at one dollar, believing we could
raise a large amount of money in this way, as outside of a chance of
drawing the machinery was the further inducement that the dollar paid
for the ticket would afford relief to our needy Confederate Home. I then
went to work actively, after first conferring with some of the best
legal talent of the city, as to whether such a drawing was permissable
by law. As it was by them held entirely within the law, taking the
position that a drawing for charity was not a lottery, but a drawing for
profit is a lottery, I had no hesitancy in permitting my name used in
connection with it.
About this time we had an exciting contest for the Governorship of the
State between Attorney General Hogg and Judge George Clark of Waco. On
the policies of each, our comrades of the Camp were divided. While our
Confederate Constitution prohibits the discussion of politics in the
meetings of our Camp, still the members were not prohibited from
expressing their views outside. The Clark element of the Camp insisted
before we proceeded in this drawing to write Attorney General Hogg,
asking his opinion on the legal status of such proceedings, hoping that
he would rule adversely, thereby making himself very unpopular in the
State. Knowing Hogg’s disposition on such ruling and believing he would
express a radical view on the same, I did my best to keep the matter
from reaching his ears, but all to no purpose.
I forgot to mention I had gone on with the work of getting up tickets
and an attractive circular with large cuts of each machine, and sent
them broadcast all over the State. I sent a hundred tickets each to the
sheriff and county clerk of each county, requesting them to act as sales
agents for us, when we had numerous letters from different ones, saying
that they could sell every ticket they had and to send more, thus we had
a fair prospect of raising at least fifty thousand dollars.
The continued agitation by members of the Camp on the subject, asking
Attorney General Hogg for his opinion, resulted in my being appointed a
committee of one to write to him for his opinion in the matter, when he
answered promptly in response that such proceedings would be illegal and
he hoped that it would not be attempted. When I read his letter to the
Camp the Clark men said they had always been satisfied that his ruling
would be such and insisted on dropping the matter. Having cherished the
hope that I would be instrumental in perhaps securing the magnificent
sum of fifty thousand dollars for the benefit of the Confederate Home,
which in connection with the opinion of several of the ablest lawyers in
the State—such men as the Hon. Seth Sheppard and others, whose names I
don’t remember and whose opinions I regarded more highly than I did
Hogg’s, as their construction of the law in the matter, as before
stated, seemed to me most reasonable and fair—I told the members of the
Camp, “The drawing goes on. My name is on the ticket and if Attorney
General Hogg wants to proceed in the matter, he is at liberty to proceed
against me.”
The Sunday following I wrote a personal letter to my old-time friend,
Attorney General Hogg, setting forth the urgency of our action and
finally told him, by my advice the Camp had decided to go on with the
drawing and the object of my writing him was simply to say that we
valued his opinion most highly and appreciated his good intentions
towards the Confederate Home and his rulings were fully in accord with
his duties, as he conceived them to be, and finally wound up the letter
by saying, “the end justified the means,” which expression proved fatal
and got him stirred up about the matter to the extent, as I suspected,
of notifying all sheriffs and county clerks that it would be dangerous
for them to undertake the sale of the tickets and as a result, I regret
to have to record that all the tickets were returned to me, except
perhaps about a hundred.
In answer to my letter the Attorney General stated that if we persisted
in having the drawing that he would use all the power of the State at
his command to put it down and punish us.
The Clark men of the Camp soon circulated the result of our
correspondence and proclaimed to the State that Attorney General Hogg
was unfriendly to the Confederate Home and also to our Confederate
organization, which of course he denied in several of his speeches.
Every Governor up until now, preceding his elevation to the office, had
been an ex-Confederate soldier, but had never done anything to assist in
the maintenance of the Confederate Home through any appropriation of the
State’s money.
As is well known, Governor Hogg was elected and soon after his
installation into the office, he caused the appropriation of money
collected from rental of a building that had been temporarily used as
the Capitol, while the new Capitol Building was under construction and
immediately after the assembling of the Legislature, urged the passage
of a resolution, submitting a Constitutional Amendment to enable the
State to take charge of the Confederate Home and also to give pensions
to needy Confederates, not in the Home.
It is needless to say when this amendment was voted on by the people of
the State it was carried by a large majority, thus enabling legislative
appropriations for its maintenance in a suitable manner.
CHAPTER XXXVI
MY APPOINTMENTS IN THE U. C. V.
On the organization of the U. C. V. in 1892, I received the appointment
by Lieutenant-General Cabell, who was elected Commander of the
Trans-Mississippi Department, of Quartermaster-General of the
Trans-Mississippi Department, with the rank of Brigadier-General. On
receipt of my commission, issued by General John B. Gordon, one morning,
while opening the package, Mr. C. A. Keating was looking on and on my
being surprised at such promotion, never having had notice of General
Cabell’s appointment, Keating asked me what I was going to do about it?
I told him that I was going to turn it down, that I did not think I
deserved any such promotion, besides I feared it would take a great deal
of my valuable time out of business, when he insisted on my accepting
it, which I still refused. He made me promise to take the document home
to my children, saying that they had more interest perhaps, in such an
honor than I had and if they were willing to have me turn it down he
would have nothing further to say. In connection with this, he asked a
question, “Tell me of a Confederate soldier in this community that has
done as much for the needy Confederates as you have and is more entitled
to it than you are?”
I took the document home, as I had promised him, to show to my children
and when I suggested to them that I intended to turn it down they would
not hear to it, saying that they were as much interested in the matter
and would appreciate it as a great honor conferred on them, as well as
myself, when I finally had to yield in the matter and accepted the
appointment, which I have never had cause to regret, though it was a
heavy tax on my purse and time, which latter properly belonged to C. A.
Keating, to say nothing of using his stenographer, etc., all of which he
cheerfully contributed and is entitled to the credit.
Having served in this capacity for a number of years, I was finally
elected to the command of the Fourth Brigade, composed of the principal
Camps of North Texas, with a membership of about five thousand, which
forced me to resign the office of Quartermaster General and accept the
high honor, which I very much appreciated. Serving in this capacity a
year, I decided to decline re-election on account of deficiency in
hearing, which almost disqualified me from presiding over this body at
its annual meeting and soon after, was appointed by General Stephen D.
Lee, Assistant Adjutant-General on his staff, with the rank of
Brigadier-General and which appointment I have had from every successive
commander and I may, perhaps, hold until death. I certainly appreciate
these honors conferred on me by my Confederate comrades, more perhaps
than anything that has ever fallen to my lot. This closes my connection
with the Confederate U. C. V. organization; many of the details of its
works I do not care to record herein, as they might appear too much of
egotism.
MISCELLANEOUS CORRESPONDENCE ON CONFEDERATE
MATTERS
Columbus, Miss., April 21, 1905.
General H. W. Graber.
My Dear Sir: I have yours of April 18, with enclosures. I had
seen the pleasant incidents of return of flags by veterans of
Texas, and also the return of the Ranger flag at time it
occurred. Let us hope your letter to the President did good, for
certainly he has changed his views, and if he has not recanted
what he once wrote and spoke, he has for some time spoken and
acted in the very opposite way, which virtually is the same
thing. This is the country of our fathers, of us all now and of
our children, and we should accept any advances of
reconciliation and obliteration of sectional lines possible and
consistent with our self-respect.
Thanking you for your letter and enclosure, I return them,
With kind wishes,
Your comrade and friend,
STEPHEN D. LEE.
* * * * *
New Orleans, La., April 4, 1909.
Brig.-General H. W. Graber,
Dallas, Texas.
Dear General: I have much pleasure in handing you herein a copy
of S/O No. 12, naming the staff of the Commander-in-Chief of the
U. C. V.
The General Commanding this glorious Federation feels that the
responsibility rests on him to use every effort to bring forth
the results that will be for its best interests. He knows that
if the earnest workers and progressive spirits in the
association will render such services in his aid as he has
reason to think they will, our order will make more rapid
advances in the future, greatly diminished as are our numbers,
than in the past.
Trusting, then, on your love for the organization and your
eminent fitness for the position, he has selected you as one of
his personal staff; and begs that you will honor him by
accepting the position of Assistant Adjutant-General, with the
rank of Brigadier-General.
In addition to using every occasion to increase the interest and
affection of the veterans in our “social, literary, historical
and benevolent” society, and constantly working to bring about
peace and harmony among the comrades, he particularly desires
that you will, if possible, be in attendance at the Memphis
Reunion, in full dress uniform, and meet him at the Headquarters
Hotel (the Peabody Hotel) to concert measures that will make
this a most memorable occasion. He hopes that you will attend
the daily sessions of the convention, be present on the stage
with him, and on the day of the parade take part with the entire
staff in full uniform.
Trusting that you may be able and willing to assist in this
great work in the way indicated, with every good wish for your
health, prosperity and happiness,
Most sincerely,
WM. E. MICKLE,
Adjutant-General and Chief of Staff.
* * * * *
War Department,
Vicksburg National Military Park Commission,
Vicksburg, Miss.
January 14, 1909.
General H. W. Graber,
Dallas, Texas.
My Dear Sir: I highly appreciated and greatly enjoyed reading
your good letter of the 12th instant, and its inclosures, one of
which is herewith returned. Needless for me to say to you that I
am in heartiest sympathy with the generous, patriotic and
American sentiments so well expressed in the “Concurrent
Resolution” of the two Houses of the Indiana Legislature,
Session of 1899. Ten years earlier, in 1889, in an address to
the veterans of my regiment (24th Iowa Infantry) in reunion
assembled, I said, in part:
“In forming the characters and shaping the lives of the future
citizens of this great Republic, we fondly hope that the
unselfish devotion to duty and the unshaken valor of the
volunteer soldier will be a potent influence for good; that his
heroism will live in song and story and through all the years to
come, be a challenge to patriotism, above the din of party
strife ringing loud and clear as bugles that blow for battle.
Nor do we forget that our late foes were brave men and gallant
soldiers. Their valor, like the valor of the men of the North,
illustrates and adorns the character of the American citizen
soldier. This character, tempered and proved in the crucible of
battle, is the pledge and sure prophecy of the greatness of our
common country. Looking into the future, may we not say of the
coming American citizen, ‘His shall be larger manhood’ because
of the heroic example of the men who conquered with Grant and
Sherman and the no less heroic example of the men who
surrendered with Lee and Johnston. Of this coming American, may
we not predict that, where need is, he will know that ‘not
suffering but faint heart is worst of woes.’ In the nobler
destiny of our country, in the larger and stronger character of
its people, will be found the final compensation for all the
suffering and all the losses of the war.”
Please keep me closely informed in regard to the prospects for
the greatly desired Texas appropriation for the Vicksburg Park.
Command and direct me whenever I can help in any way.
Very cordially yours,
WM. T. RIGBY, Chairman.
CHAPTER XXXVII
THE TERRY RANGERS’ FLAG.
One most remarkable incident I must not fail to add: As stated
heretofore, the Terry Rangers of which I was a member, lost a beautiful
flag sent us by a couple of young ladies of Nashville, made of their
dresses, which after the first engagement wherein it was displayed, near
Rome, Georgia, we lost in a stampede and it was found by a scout of the
enemy the next day. This flag had worked in beautiful silk letters, the
name of Terry’s Texas Rangers, beside some Latin, which I do not
remember. After the war, on a number of public occasions, such as the
several National Expositions in Chicago and Philadelphia, the Grand
Army, who had charge of such matters, exhibited this flag, with a tag in
bold letters, “Captured from Terry’s Texas Rangers in an engagement near
Rome, Georgia, by the Seventeenth Indiana Mounted Infantry.”
Such a public exhibition of our misfortune was galling to the members of
the regiment and when Governor Hendricks, the first Democratic Governor
of Indiana, was installed, we made a request through our Governor
Hubbard for the return of the flag. Governor Hendricks very properly
referred the request to the State Librarian of Indiana, who happened to
be a vindictive, howling Republican and in answer wrote Governor Hubbard
a very insulting letter, refusing to return the flag. The matter then
was dropped.
About thirty-four years after the close of the war, a business friend,
Mr. William Burr of Dallas, who was an ex-Federal soldier, came to my
office one day, and asked me if I ever drank any cider? I told him I did
when I could get good cider. He told me he had a friend in an old shack
near the Windsor Hotel, who was making cider, and invited me to go
around and have a glass of cider with him. To this I consented. He there
introduced me to a Major Weiler, and in conversation with him, I found
that he belonged to Wilder’s Brigade, who were with Sherman’s army in
Georgia. While we were sipping cider Burr remarked, “Well, this is
pretty good; two Yanks and one Johnny sipping cider together.” Major
Weiler then asked what command I belonged to? I told him I belonged to
the Eighth Texas Cavalry. He said, “Terry’s Texas Rangers?” I told him,
“Yes,” when he said, “I am mighty glad to meet you; I have been trying
to find somebody belonging to your command ever since I’ve been in
Dallas. I am the man that found your flag.” Of course, I was much
gratified at meeting him and told him about our efforts to have the flag
returned and the result at the hands of the State Librarian. “Now,
Major, this flag is yours; you found it and as you state you want to
return it, you make a demand on Governor Mount of Indiana, claiming the
flag as yours and return it to our regiment.” He said that it had been
the ambition of his life to do this and in accordance therewith indited
a letter to Governor Mount, requesting the return of the flag to him,
for the purpose, he stated, to return it to the Rangers.
He furthermore stated that he was well acquainted with Governor Mount,
as the Governor was a private in his command, of which he was a major.
Verily, strange are the vicissitudes of life! Governor Mount’s major was
now making cider at five cents a glass.
In due time Major Weiler received an answer to his request from the
Governor’s Private Secretary, stating that the Governor had no authority
to return the flag, which could only be done through a joint resolution
of the Legislature of Indiana. We then both concluded that we might as
well give it up; we hardly thought that a unanimous vote could be had on
such a proposition by a lot of politicians.
I then requested the major to furnish me a written statement, setting
forth the circumstances under which he came into possession of the flag
and especially that the flag was not captured in battle, but was picked
up in the road the next day after our engagement, encased in a rubber
pocket, and he did not examine it until he returned from a scout and
rejoined his main command, being much surprised that the package found
contained the Terry Texas Rangers’ flag, which was forwarded to the
State authorities at Indianapolis, Indiana.
In about a month the Terry Rangers had their annual reunion at Austin,
Texas, where I had read the statement of Major Weiler, which, of course,
was a matter of surprise and deep interest. A resolution by a comrade
was offered to appoint a committee, with myself as chairman, to
memorialize the Indiana Legislature, requesting the return of the flag,
I being the only member of the committee present, the balance not being
in attendance at the reunion. On my return home I wrote to each member
of the committee, requesting them to draw up a memorial and forward to
me, to which I received no response. I then drew up the memorial myself
and attached a letter I received from a Colonel Wylie in Dallas, who was
a gallant soldier and commanded an Iowa regiment during the war.
I next forwarded this memorial to the Richmond City Mill Works of
Richmond, Indiana, a concern I was doing business with, requesting that
they turn it over to their Representative in the Legislature, which they
promptly did and in due time I received a letter from Senator Binkley,
stating that he would take pleasure in introducing it and that I would
hear from him in due time.
To my great surprise, in about thirty days I received a printed copy of
a joint resolution of the Legislature of the State of Indiana, carried
unanimously, instructing Governor Mount to return the flag to the
Terry’s Texas Rangers in person and appropriating two hundred and fifty
dollars to pay the expense of his trip to Texas. The complete resolution
follows:
=House Concurrent Resolution No. 6=
=Senate Concurrent Resolution No. 9=
Preamble and Concurrent Resolution in relation to the return to
the association of the survivors of Terry’s Texas Rangers of
their battle flag, captured from them during the late war of
rebellion by the 17th Regiment of Indiana Infantry (mounted)
Volunteers, appointing a commission to discharge said duty, and
ordering an appropriation to pay the expenses thereof.
Whereas, On October 13, 1864, during the War of the Rebellion,
the flag of the Texas Rangers at a battle near Coosaville,
Alabama, was captured by the 17th Regiment of Indiana Infantry
(mounted) Volunteers, in command of Major J. J. Weiler, and then
belonging to General J. T. Wilder’s Brigade, which brigade at
the time was in command of General A. O. Miller, and
subsequently, by the proper authorities, was deposited in the
archives of the State of Indiana, and now reposes in the custody
of the State Geologist, and to which is attached the following
inscription:
“Battle flag of the Texas Rangers, captured from the 8th
Texas Cavalry near Galesville, Alabama, October 13,
1864, by two companies of the 17th Indiana Infantry,
commanded by Major J. J. Weiler, of Company E, Wilder’s
Brigade.”
And, Whereas, H. W. Graber, George W. Littlefield, S. P.
Christian, W. D. Cleveland and R. Y. King, all of the State of
Texas, as a committee duly appointed by and representing the
Association of Survivors of Terry’s Texas Rangers, by their
petition hereunto attached, have asked the Legislature of the
State of Indiana to kindly return to that association said
battle flag, that it may be kept and treasured by them, and in
said memorial the said Major J. J. Weiler, now a Past Commander
of the Grand Army of the Republic for the district of Texas, has
united, and which memorial is as follows:
“To the Honorable President of the Senate and Speaker of
the House of Representatives of the Legislature of the
State of Indiana:
“The undersigned, your memorialists, most respectfully
show that they were selected by the Association of
Survivors of Terry’s Texas Rangers, a committee to
memorialize your honorable bodies for the return to said
association of the colors of that command, lost during
the Civil War near Coosaville, Alabama.
“Your memorialists would show that in a cavalry
engagement on the 13th day of October, 1864, the flag of
the Texas Rangers was lost near the field and found by
one of your memorialists, Mr. J. J. Weiler, then the
Major of the 17th Indiana Infantry, and was subsequently
deposited in the archives of your State.
“In view of the fact that the American people have
forever put behind them the animosities and
heartburnings which were incident to our unfortunate
Civil War, and are one united, patriotic people,
marching shoulder to shoulder under the folds of the
Star Spangled Banner, and keeping the step to ‘Hail
Columbia’ in the onward sweep to that high destiny,
which, through the providence of God, awaits our grand
Republic.
“Your memorialists would most respectfully request that
such action be taken by your honorable bodies as will
result in the return of the flag to the Association of
the Survivors of Terry’s Rangers.
“As beautifully and appropriately expressed by Col. W.
D. Wylie, in his letter hereto attached, ‘We now drink
out of the same canteen, sheltered and protected by one
common flag,’ a sentiment so universal that it is
without hesitation we appeal to our countrymen, the
brave and gallant and patriotic citizens of Indiana, in
even a matter of sentiment so delicate as that involved
in our request. And as gracious as the favor will be
accounted by the association, we are sure that the still
greater pleasure will be with the people of Indiana in
bestowing it.
“Most respectfully submitted,
“H. H. GRABER, “W. D. CLEVELAND,
“G. W. LITTLEFIELD, “R. Y. KING,
“S. P. CHRISTIAN, “J. J. WEILER.”
And, Whereas, There is attached to said memorial a letter from
W. D. Wylie, also a Past Commander, G. A. R., of the Department
of Texas, as follows:
“Dallas, Texas, September 30, 1898.
“Col. H. W. Graber, Quartermaster-General
Trans-Mississippi Department, U. C. V.:
“My Dear Sir: Referring to the conversation we had in
reference to the colors of your old command, which had
been lost during the late Civil War, on October 13,
1864, in a battle near Coosaville, Ala., by my comrade
and our mutual friend, Maj. J. J. Weiler, of the 17th
Indiana, who had, under instructions, turned the flag
over to the State of Indiana, where it now reposes in
the State library at Indianapolis, and which you are now
endeavoring to have returned to the remnant of your old
command—as an old soldier, Colonel, I can readily
understand the beautiful sentiment which is so
characteristic of the American soldier in the desire of
yourself and comrades to secure the colors under which
you passed through so many dangers, which are now passed
and gone, leaving only the memories of a struggle which
has resulted, with all its sufferings and animosities,
in bringing us closer together, and we now drink out of
the same canteen, sheltered and protected by one common
flag, and in this connection, at your request, it is
with pleasure I give the episode relating to the return
of the flag of the 57th Indiana Infantry by Texas, in
1885. While commanding the Department of Texas, Grand
Army of the Republic, in 1885, Parsons’ Confederate
Brigade held their annual reunion at Cleburne, Texas.
Myself and others who wore the blue were the honored
guests of the brigade. During the proceedings, Major
Heath and Capt. W. G. Veal called my attention to the
fact that a brave soldier (a corporal) of the 13th
Tennessee, now a resident and citizen of Texas, had in
his possession and on the grounds the regimental flag
and colors of the 57th Indiana, which he had captured at
the Battle of Franklin, Tenn., in December, 1864, and
had taken careful care of for twenty years, hoping that
he would find some representative of that regiment to
whom he could return this priceless and precious relic.
I received the valued colors from the brave soldier and
immediately conferred with Department Commander of the
State of Indiana, and was informed that the 57th would
hold their annual reunion during the month of September
of the current year, and they earnestly requested that
Texas be present in person at that time for the return
of their long-lost colors. We arranged that Capt. W. G.
Veal and Maj. E. M. Heath, of the Confederate Veterans,
and Corporal W. M. Crooks, the brave soldier who had
captured the colors, should accompany myself and staff
to the reunion at Kokomo, taking with us the flag.
“It is needless to give you the incidents of the trip
further than that Indiana threw her doors open to give
the old Texans who had met them on the field, a royal
reception, and Corporal Crooks was received with open
arms by the boys in blue, whom he had last met at the
point of the bayonet on the field of battle; and the
return of that precious relic that had spread its silken
folds over the brave Hoosier boys in many a hard-fought
battle, wiped out the animosities engendered by the war,
especially between Indiana and Texas, and Corporal
Crooks occupies an enviable niche in the war history of
the Hoosier State, and the boys in blue and the boys in
gray are now marching elbow to elbow, side by side, for
the honor and integrity of our common country, and I can
assure you, Colonel, that when you make the application
for the return of your colors it will be as much of a
heartfelt pleasure for Indiana to return the flag as for
Texas to receive it.
“Sincerely yours,
“W. D. WYLIE,
“Past Commander Dept. of Texas, G. A. R.”
And, Whereas, As shown by the correspondence of Governor Mount
with Gen. J. T. Wilder and Gen. A. O. Miller, that they
severally approve such return, which correspondence is as
follows:
“Lebanon, Indiana, January 30, 1899.
“Gov. J. A. Mount:
“Dear Governor: In answer to your letter of the 28th
inst., some twelve years ago a representation of Terry’s
Texas Rangers asked the Legislature to return the flag
referred to in your letter, which was not done. I was
willing then they might have the flag and know of no
reason why it should not be given to the representation
of the regiment now.
“The brigade captured two pieces of artillery at the
same time. As the guns were captured from our forces at
Murfreesboro, Tenn., in 1862, and have long since been
made into G. A. R. badges, they are disposed of, and the
returning the flag will settle that matter to good
advantage.
“Your friend and comrade,
“A. O. MILLER.”
* * * * *
“Knoxville, Tenn., February 1, 1899.
“Hon. Jas. A. Mount, Indianapolis, Ind.:
“Dear Governor: I have your favor of the 28th of
January, relating to the return of the battle flag of
Terry’s Texas Rangers, which was captured by the 17th
Indiana, near Coosaville, Ga., in October, 1864. In so
far as I am concerned, I quite agree with you as to the
propriety of returning this flag, but I think that Gen.
A. O. Miller is the proper man to consult, as he was in
command of the brigade at the time the flag was
captured. I would suggest that if the flag is returned
to Texas, that you take a clear receipt for it, to be
preserved in the State archives. * * * Believe me,
“Your comrade and faithful friend,
“J. T. WILDER.”
“Dear Senator: After your call at my office, I
immediately wrote to my old brigade commanders, Generals
Wilder and Miller. I was in the engagement when the
battle flag of the Texas Rangers was captured. I am sure
there is but one sentiment at this time, and that is,
return the battle flag. Texans and Indianians rally
under the one flag now. Generous acts will tend to
obliterate the asperities of war.
“I herewith enclose letters of Generals Wilder and
Miller.
Yours truly,
“JAS. A. MOUNT.
“February 2, 1899.”
* * * * *
Therefore be it Resolved by the House of Representatives of the
State of Indiana, the Senate Concurring, That the said battle
flag be returned by said State of Indiana to said Association of
the Survivors of Terry’s Texas Rangers; that the duty of the
return thereof be delegated to the Governor of the State and the
present Commander of the Grand Army of the Republic for the
Department of Indiana, with such other Union soldiers whom the
Governor may appoint, and that the Geologist of the State of
Indiana, now in charge of said battle flag, do deliver the same
to said commission, taking their receipt therefor, to be
deposited in place of said battle flag; and that said
commission, at such time as may be most convenient, in person
return said battle flag to said association; that the actual
expense of said commission, not to exceed the sum of two hundred
and fifty (250) dollars, be paid by said State of Indiana, and
that the same be placed, by the proper committees, in the
general appropriation bill to be enacted at this session of the
Legislature.
Mr. Speaker: Your Committee on Military Affairs, to which was
referred House Concurrent Resolution No. 6, which resolution
provides for the return of certain flags to the Association of
the Survivors of Terry’s Texas Rangers, has had the same under
consideration, and begs leave to report the same back to the
House with the recommendation that said resolution be amended by
inserting the words “the Governor of the State and” between the
words “to” and “the,” in line 4, page 7. (2) Substitute the word
“such” for the word “two,” in line 5, page 7. (3) Strike out the
words “when the’ between the words “soldiers” and “may,” in line
5, page 7, and insert therefor the words “as the Governor.” And
that, as so amended, the said resolution be adopted.
SOMERS,
Chairman.
* * * * *
As soon as it became known to the Grand Army organization of Indiana, a
certain post, numbering about four hundred members, passed a resolution
denouncing the action of the Indiana Legislature and demanding of
Governor Mount not to return the flag. The reporter of a paper, who
attended this meeting, on his way home met General Ryan, the Commander
of the Grand Army organization of the State and submitted to him the
resolution passed by this post, when he unqualifiedly endorsed it and
stated that he was going to write to Governor Mount not to return the
flag.
Governor Mount then wrote to General Wilder, who commanded the brigade
to which Major Weiler belonged, and asked his opinion and received
General Weiler’s answer, saying the flag ought to be returned. Governor
Mount also wrote to General Henry, who commanded the division and had
his answer, saying the flag ought to be returned, which Governor Mount
determined to do at any cost.
Immediately on my receipt of the resolutions I forwarded it to Senator
Wooten in Austin and suggested to him that this was no longer an affair
of our regiment, but it was the action of the State of Indiana extending
the olive branch to the State of Texas and should have suitable
acknowledgment. I requested Senator Wooten to introduce a resolution
inviting the whole Legislature of the State of Indiana to come to Texas
as the guests of our Legislature and appropriating ten thousand dollars
to defray the expense thereof. (This appropriation was unconstitutional
and could not have carried, but as it turned out, it was not needed, as
the Indiana Legislature, on receipt of same, had already adjourned.)
=THE TERRY’S RANGERS’ FLAG=
=CONCURRENT RESOLUTION PASSED INVITING=
=GOV. MOUNT AND PARTY TO=
=VISIT AUSTIN.=
=INDIANIANS TO BE GUESTS OF STATE.=
=Resolutions Transmitted by Wire to Governor of Indiana and Mailed to
Legislative Officers.=
Austin, Tex., March 4.—(Special.)—The correspondence and
concurrent resolution relating to the return of a battle flag to
the Texas Rangers are of interest. Senator Brinkley, one of the
members of the Senate of Indiana, wrote to Mr. H. W. Graber of
Dallas. The letter from Hon. C. C. Brinkley and the resolutions
adopted by the Indiana Legislature were printed in The News of
Thursday, March 2, while the memorial and other letters referred
to in the following have previously appeared in The News:
Mr. Graber of Dallas has written to Mr. Wooten as follows:
Dallas, Tex., Feb. 27.—Hon. Dudley G. Wooten, Austin,
Tex.: Dear Sir—Inclosed find copies of memorial, letter
and resolution of the Legislature of the State of
Indiana, in reference to the return of the battle flag
to the Association of Survivors of Terry’s Texas
Rangers.
You will observe that the resolution contemplates the
return of the flag by his excellency, the Governor of
Indiana, in person, and an appropriation is made to
defray the expenses of the Governor and party.
It occurs to me that this liberal, generous and
patriotic action upon the part of the Legislature and
Governor of Indiana should be met by appropriate
official recognition by the Legislature of the State of
Texas.
It has been suggested, and it seems to me rightful, that
the Governor of Indiana and his party, while in the
State, should be the guests of the State of Texas, and
that a small appropriation should be made and placed at
the disposal of Gov. Sayers, to enable him in the name
and on behalf of the people of the State, to extend to
Gov. Mount and party a royal welcome to Texas. Such
amenities are invaluable, and would tend to wipe out the
lingering bitterness of the past, more closely connect
the American people in common brotherhood, and place
Texas in the true light before the world as among the
most patriotic and liberal States in the Union.
I would suggest that you confer with Governor Sayers and
Major Littlefield (who resides at Austin, one of the
officers of the Association of Terry’s Texas Rangers) as
to the action to be taken.
I assume that the time will be designated for a meeting
of the association to be held at Austin for the purpose
of meeting Gov. Mount and party. I am sure it is not
necessary to say that Texas should not permit Indiana to
outstrip her in the good work of joyous reconciliation.
Please return to me the copies inclosed when you have no
further need for them, as I wish to present them with my
report to the Association.
Yours truly,
H. W. GRABER.
The following is the concurrent resolution introduced by Judge
Kittrell and passed:
Concurrent Resolution:
Whereas, the Legislature of Texas has just heard with
emotions of sincerest pleasure that the Legislature of
the State of Indiana has adopted a resolution providing
for the return of the battle flag of Terry’s Texas
Rangers, which was captured by an Indiana regiment
during the late war between the States, and has
appointed a committee, including Gov. Mount and his
staff to visit Texas and return said flag to the
Association of the Survivors of Terry’s Texas Rangers.
Therefore, be it
Resolved, by the House of Representatives, the Senate
concurring, That the action of the Legislature of
Indiana is recognized as most generous, chivalric and
patriotic and is hailed as a most gratifying evidence of
the restoration of that unselfish and unsectional spirit
upon the existence and continuance of which so largely
depends the prosperity and happiness of our common
country, and that the thanks of the Legislature of Texas
be and are hereby tendered the Legislature of our sister
State of Indiana for its patriotic action. And be it
further
Resolved, That the committee appointed by the
Legislature of Indiana to return said flag be and it is
hereby invited to visit the city of Austin at the
earliest possible day to the end that appropriate
ceremonies may mark the occasion of the return of said
flag, for which ceremonies the use of the hall of the
House of Representatives is hereby tendered. Be it
further
Resolved, That an invitation to attend said ceremonies
be and is hereby extended to the Governor and other
State officers and the Legislature of Indiana and to the
Governor and other State officers of Texas, to the
Association of the Survivors of Terry’s Texas Rangers,
John B. Hood Camp, Austin Camp of the Grand Army of the
Republic and the inmates of the Confederate Home. Be it
further
Resolved, That these resolutions be at once transmitted
by wire to the Governor of Indiana with the request that
he lay them at once before the Senate and House of
Representatives of that State and a duly engrossed copy
thereof, signed by the Speaker of the House and the
President of the Senate and duly attested by the Clerk
of the House and Secretary of the Senate be likewise
transmitted by mail to both the Speaker of the House of
Representatives and President of the Senate of the State
of Indiana.
Governor Mount was taken sick very soon after and was unable to
come to Texas immediately, but in a further correspondence with
him, asked to have the time of his visit deferred until fall,
which suited our purpose exactly. Colonel Wylie, in the
meantime, received a newspaper clipping, containing the action
of the army post, endorsed by General Ryan, demanding that the
flag be not returned, when we both agreed we would keep the
matter secret, which we did. There is no doubt it would have
marred the pleasure of the Governor’s visit had any mention been
made to him of the matter.
After my comrades of the committee learned I had been successful
in having the flag returned, Mr. W. D. Cleveland of Houston
insisted that the meeting on the return of the flag should be
had in his city. Mr. Littlefield claimed it ought to be at
Austin and so on, but I finally decided that it ought to be at
Dallas during our State Fair, when we had low railroad rates and
greater crowds than they could gather at any point in Texas. I
then submitted the matter to Governor Mount and had his letter,
expressing himself highly pleased, as he would thus be enabled
to see more of Texas than he would at any other time, having
heard a great deal about the extent of our State Fair. He
furthermore stated in this letter that when he came to Texas he
would come in state, as the representative of the State of
Indiana.
During the first week of the fair we had the pleasure of the
arrival of the Governor and his magnificent staff, which latter
were in brilliant uniform and proved to be one of the most
magnificent bodies of men we ever had to visit Dallas. They also
brought their horse equipment, such as saddles, bridles, etc.,
and were accompanied by quite a number of ladies; if I remember
correctly, there were fifty-two in the party, on a special
train, and with the party was our friend, General Ryan, to whom
the Governor had turned over the two hundred and fifty dollars
appropriated for him to pay his expenses.
I regret to have to record that I was unable to secure the
attendance of a large part of our Ranger organization, who
seemed to have taken offense because we had the meeting at
Dallas, really prompted by petty jealousies of the cities where
they resided and, as a consequence, we had only twenty-four
Rangers present.
The meeting of the Governors and the ceremonies attending the
occasion, was had in the Machinery Hall at the Fair Grounds,
which had a seating capacity, outside of the stage, of only
about one thousand to twelve hundred. At the hour of the opening
of the ceremonies the Indiana Governor, with his staff and
ladies, were seated on one side of the stage with twenty-four
vacant chairs in two rows, in front, on the opposite side of the
stage and the rear portion of the stage, occupied by the city
officials and prominent citizens of the town, the two Governors
sitting together in the front part of the aisle.
When everything was ready I marched in the twenty-four Rangers
present in column, by twos, headed by myself with Miss Ruth
Phelps, carrying a Texas flag. Miss Ruth Phelps was the daughter
of one of our Rangers and the only member of the Phelps family
living and was lost in the Galveston storm the next year.
After forming the Rangers in two lines in front of their chairs,
I introduced Governor Mount to everyone and he, in turn,
introduced General Ryan and when General Ryan had reached and
shaken hands with the last member on the second row, he came
around in front, singing, “There is a land that is fairer than
day,” in which the whole audience joined, standing, and I
believe proved one of the most affecting scenes ever witnessed
in this city. We then had several speeches before the Governor
spoke, one by General Ryan, which evidenced considerable change
in his attitude on the return of the flag and which, of course,
was unknown to any one present, except Colonel Wylie and myself.
In the course of Senator Brinkley’s remarks he referred to the
captured flag, when one of our Rangers jumped up, asking pardon
for interrupting him, and saying he wanted the audience to
understand that the flag was not captured, but it was found,
when another one of our Rangers remarked: “Bill, you know they
run us out of it; what’s the difference?” which, of course,
created considerable merriment. Governor Mount happened to be
sitting near me and remarked, “Graber, I thought you Rangers
never run,” when I said to him, “Governor, if they hadn’t run a
thousand times, there would not have been one left here to tell
the tale. We always knew when to quit and didn’t require a bugle
call to bring us out.”
Governor Mount next made one of the most patriotic speeches,
characteristic of the man, ever listened to, which was responded
to by Governor Sayers, who also, it is needless to say, did full
justice to the occasion, as he, too, had been a gallant
Confederate soldier.
After the closing of the speeches Governor Mount had the flag
brought forward on the stage and, with a few appropriate
remarks, handed it over to Governor Sayers, who also accepted it
with appropriate remarks. Thus ended one of the grandest
occasions ever had since the Civil War and its salutary effect
on sectional feeling cannot be overestimated.
The Governor and staff remained with us three days. We had the
best rooms at the Oriental Hotel assigned them and their hotel
bills were paid by Camp Sterling Price, the Grand Army Post of
Dallas and the Fair Association, and taking their expression on
their visit, they left impressed with the grandeur of the Lone
Star State and its people. Governor Mount and several members of
his staff, among whom was Major Durban, who succeeded Governor
Mount in the office of Governor, made me promise if I ever came
anywhere near Indianapolis I must be sure to stop, as they
wanted an opportunity to entertain me and I regret to have to
report that I, on a business trip in that section, made a
special visit to Indianapolis to meet them once more, when I
found Governor Mount’s body prepared for burial. This changed my
trip from that of pleasure to one of sadness and regret, and
with this feeling, I did not stop, but passed through without
making myself known.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
ROOSEVELT’S VISIT TO TEXAS
A few years after this incident Dallas was making great
preparations to receive and entertain President Roosevelt, on an
invitation extended him by Colonel John N. Simpson of the
National Exchange Bank.
Colonel Simpson and Roosevelt were neighbors, on adjoining
ranches in the great Northwest and were great friends. When
Colonel Roosevelt raised his regiment of Rough Riders at San
Antonio, Colonel Simpson’s son, Sloan Simpson, quit Harvard
College and joined the regiment at San Antonio and was with his
regiment in their engagement at San Juan Hill, which furthermore
increased their friendship.
In April of that year I received a Congressional pamphlet
containing a speech of Congressman Kitchin of North Carolina,
scoring President Roosevelt on many of his expressions and acts
while in office. This was just preceding his second nomination
for the Presidency. We had had some bitter denunciations of the
President by Senator Vardaman of Mississippi and Tillman of
South Carolina, and after reading the speech of Kitchin, in
which he referred to Roosevelt’s book on the life of Benton,
which had the largest circulation of any he ever published and
in which occurs the expression, “Through the Southern character
runs a streak of coarse brutality,” and another passage, “As
long as the word treason is in the English dictionary, so long
will Jefferson Davis stand the Archtraitor of this country,” and
again Kitchin said, “Would I startle this House to call
attention to a speech delivered by this man, the President of
this great country, in the Capital City of the Nation,
denouncing the Confederate soldier as an anarchist!”
In connection with this I would state that President Roosevelt’s
mother was a Southern woman, born and raised in Georgia, sister
of ex-Governor Bullock. How could he reconcile such an
expression as his first; certainly it was a strange expression
under the circumstances.
Pondering over the situation frequently, I came to the
conclusion that this speech of Kitchin’s had been sent broadcast
over the State and if so, we had a thousand Vardamans in Texas
that would be sure to make his visit to Texas unpleasant and
might result in his being insulted, which of course, would place
Texas in a very unenviable position with the people of the North
and East. I finally concluded to write Mr. Roosevelt a letter,
calling attention to Kitchin’s speech and quoting the above
remarks from this speech and suggesting his correction of his
position on these matters, before he made his visit to Texas. In
my letter I especially referred to the Indiana flag incident,
enclosing copies of the affair, which I requested returned.
Dallas, Texas, March 8, 1905.
To the Hon. Theodore Roosevelt,
President of the United States,
Washington, D. C.
My Dear Sir: I have read with deep interest your recent
expressions in response to invitations from Southern
communities indicating an earnest desire to bring about
a better understanding, and forever obliterate the last
vestige of sectional feeling resulting from the
unfortunate conflict of forty years ago; particularly,
your letter accepting an invitation from the Confederate
Camp at Paris, Texas, which induces me to offer a few
suggestions, and more fully inform you of the position
of the Confederate soldier today, who I know is as
solicitous of this country’s future as you possibly can
be, and on which I feel assured, you require no further
evidence than he has furnished both in private and
public life particularly, in his country’s hour of peril
incident on foreign war.
Camp Sterling Price of this city—the largest camp in
our Confederate organization—immediately on receipt of
your patriotic expressions extending the olive branch to
the solid South, in which you rose superior to party
limitation, originated a resolution inviting you to
become the guest of our camp when on your visit to
Texas. This resolution was drawn and introduced by a
gallant comrade—who has since passed over the
River—and supported with one of the most eloquent and
patriotic appeals ever delivered in our Camp’s meeting,
but opposed by me, because of your former expressions on
the character of Southern people, and particularly, on
the Confederate soldier, which forbid such action until
you could correct statements so damaging to our
character, so degrading in the estimation of our
children and in the eyes of the civilized world, thereby
reviving and strengthening the unjust prejudice of a
large class of Northern people.
These, your expressions referred to, I find in a speech
of the Hon. Claud Kitchen of North Carolina, delivered
in Congress on the 23rd of April last, as follows:
“Mr. Chairman, your party and your section might
have expected great things and good treatment at
the hands of Mr. Roosevelt, but we of the South
could not. We knew that twenty-five years after
Lee surrendered this gentleman, in two of his
public volumes, had denounced Jefferson Davis as
an Arch traitor, and had declared that until out
of the dictionary had been stricken the word
‘Treason’ Jefferson Davis was a traitor. We felt
then, and we feel now, that that was a strike
across the memory of the idolized dead, at the
whole South and the Confederate soldiers. We
knew, too, that in one of his volumes—the Life
of Benton—perhaps the most widely read work of
which he is author, he declared that ‘through
the Southern character there ran a streak of
coarse and brutal barbarism.’ We could expect
little from him. Would I startle this house to
remind it that after the passing of nearly forty
years from Appomattox, Mr. Roosevelt, President
of the United States and of a united people,
stood here in the Capital City of our Nation and
proclaimed to the world that the Confederate
soldier was an anarchist? So surprising was this
utterance, so revolting was it, that the
Washington Post, a loyal supporter of Mr.
Roosevelt’s Administration, was led to observe,
editorially: ‘It is disagreeable enough to the
Southern people to be officially designated as
Rebels, and now to add anarchist is an
exasperation which we find it impossible to
believe the President really intended.’ These
words from the lips of a President, and at the
National capital, while yet the grave at Canton
was wet with the tears of Southern grief!”
It is needless to say that these expressions were not
known to the members of the Confederate Camp who
extended you these invitations, but no doubt will become
known before you visit the State, and when so known will
prove embarrassing to all concerned. This must, and can
be avoided, simply by a correction on your part, a
withdrawal of your terrible arraignment of the people of
the South, and particularly, the Confederate soldier.
Please understand, the organization I have the honor to
represent, as Commander of the Fourth Texas Brigade,
United Confederate Veterans, which numbers eighty-nine
Camps, the Paris Camp among them, and a membership of
about five thousand, is especially charged with the
preservation of the truth of history, and the protection
of the Confederate character. Northern historians are
still branding the Confederate soldier a traitor; what
will be the effect on the minds of our children, nay,
the entire country, to have Confederates paying homage
to one who has even gone a step further, and denounced
the Confederate soldier as anarchist? Consider, Mr.
President, the lofty character of Robert E. Lee; General
Robert E. Lee branded an anarchist by the President of
this great Nation! The same sense of duty and sublime
patriotism that prompted Lee to take up arms in defense
of principle and country, prompted every true
Confederate soldier in the ranks.
I do not deem it necessary to enter into a further
presentation of the unfortunate attitude you occupy
toward the people of the South and the Confederate
soldier until a correction is made—which it is in your
power now to do, and I am persuaded to believe, as a
fearless, brave and honorable man you will not hesitate
to do, and by this act of simple justice accomplish more
towards a complete conciliation of all sections than
anything else done.
To impress on you more fully the importance of such
action at this most opportune moment, all Texas is
stirred up on your contemplated visit and is anxious to
honor you, but the Confederate soldier until this
correction is made, is barred by his very manhood from
participating in a demonstration that should be one of
great unanimity. It should be a true and unreserved
Texas welcome, which would have the approval of the
entire Southern people.
Please understand, there are more Confederate soldiers
and their descendants in Texas today than perhaps in any
other four Southern States. To give you a better
appreciation of what grand result would follow such a
course on your part, I enclose herewith for your careful
perusal the history of an incident of but a few years
ago, wherein the broad-gauged Governor of Indiana and
his patriotic Legislature, extended the Olive Branch to
our Lone Star State, which was promptly and properly
responded to by our own Executive and Legislature, and
permit me to assure you, that the salutary effect of
this sublime occasion cannot be overestimated in the
accomplishment of its grand purpose. In this instance
only two States were participants; what would be the
effect to have the President of this great Nation
extending the Olive Branch to a remnant band now fast
passing away, whose gallant soldier record was never
equaled in this world’s history?
In conclusion, I will state, although born in a foreign
land—in the City of Bremen—I yield to no native born
citizen a greater love for, and interest in this
country’s future. Reared in the Lone Star State from
childhood, under the shadow of the Alamo, Goliad and San
Jacinto, and through personal acquaintance with
participants of the latter engagement, I had instilled
within me a kindred patriotism and love of liberty and
country that is stronger today than it has ever been,
and which must be my excuse for submitting this
communication, which I trust will receive your careful
and earnest consideration.
Please have returned to me the Indiana papers at your
convenience, as they are highly prized by my children.
I am with great respect,
Yours very truly,
H. W. GRABER.
In reply to this letter I received the following:
The White House,
Washington.
March 13, 1905.
Sir: Your letter of the 8th instant has been received,
and the enclosures are herewith returned, as requested.
Very truly yours,
WM. LOEB,
Secretary to the President.
Mr. H. W. Graber,
511 Wilson Building,
Dallas, Texas.
When the letter was handed me, with carbon copies, by my
stenographer, I happened to have in my office Judges Rainey and
Talbot, who were going to take lunch with me. When I handed them
the letter, asking their careful perusal of the same, and after
their return from lunch, to tell me their opinion about sending
it, when Judge Rainey told me to send it, “It’s a good letter
and may have a good effect.”
Some week or ten days after mailing the letter I concluded I
would see Colonel Simpson in regard to the matter and handed him
a copy of the letter to read, when, after reading it, he became
furious, stating that it was an outrage to insult the President,
as I had done; first to invite him to our town and after his
accepting the invitation, then insult him by asking him to take
back what he had said. I called his attention to a clause in the
letter, giving my position on a resolution introduced by a
member of our Camp, inviting him to be the guest of our Camp
while here, which resolution I opposed and succeeded in
defeating, however, the matter was passed over with Simpson and
I am not advised whether he ever made mention to Roosevelt about
this letter. Simpson stated that he believed that he would wire
Roosevelt not to come, when I told him he had better do so and
not have him come with these expressions hanging over him and
lay himself subject to being insulted.
When Mr. Roosevelt started to Texas on his visit, he made a
great speech at Louisville, Kentucky, one of the most
conciliatory on sectional differences he had ever made and paid
a magnificent compliment to the Southern people and especially
the Confederate soldiers. This speech was published all over the
country, as also here in Dallas, and effectually removed any
feeling on the part of the Southern people engendered through
his writings and expressions, derogatory to our character.
Then followed the magnificent reception and welcome extended him
on his arrival here in Dallas and his subsequent visits to Fort
Worth, Austin and San Antonio, where he received grand ovations
and also on his subsequent tour of the South, gaining in
popularity to the extent of receiving almost the united vote of
the South, resulting in his sweeping victory in the November
election.
CHAPTER XXXIX
MY FAMILY.
Our married life was blessed with seven children—four girls and
three boys—five of whom are living and happily married. Our
oldest, Henrietta Louise, married Doctor Frank M. Dannelly at
Waxahachie, and they are now living on a large farm about seven
miles from Dallas. Dr. Dannelly is a native of Georgia, in which
State his father was a prominent physician, and his mother the
gifted poetess, Elizabeth O. Dannelly, who published “Cactus”
immediately after the close of the war, embracing a number of
war poems, notably “The Burning of Columbia,” a scathing and
true denunciation of this inhuman crime, which gained for it a
large circulation, demanding a second edition; a second book
entitled “Wayside Flowers,” a literary gem, was also very
popular. Their union is blessed with three boys. The oldest,
Henry G., a graduate of Staunton Military Academy, Virginia, is
now in the fire insurance business in Dallas. Henry G. married
about three years ago Miss Gwendolyn Dunn of Dallas; they have a
sweet baby girl about four months old, which is now our first
great-grandchild. The other two boys, Frank C. and Perry, are
still at school. Our second daughter, Alice May, married W. D.
Hume in Dallas about sixteen years ago and they are now making
their home in Muskogee, Oklahoma, where Hume is engaged in the
real estate and insurance business; they have no children. Our
third child, Augustus Lee, was a fine young man, eighteen years
of age, at home with us when, through a mistake of our family
physician he was given an overdose of medicine, from the effect
of which he never rallied and died in about two hours; this
proved the saddest blow of our lives. Our fourth child is Irene,
who married B. P. McDonald, Jr., of Fort Scott, Kansas, the son
of B. P. McDonald, Sr., one of the builders of the M. K. & T.
road into Texas, and for many years treasurer of the road. The
old gentleman died here in Dallas a few years ago while still a
director in the road and also owner of a short-line road into
Cleburne, Texas.
At a meeting of the Board of Directors of this company, held in
Parsons, Kansas, April 8th, 1909, the following testimonial to
the memory of the deceased director, Mr. B. P. McDonald, was
unanimously adopted:
IN MEMORIAM
“Since the last annual meeting of this Board, death has
invaded its membership and claimed its oldest member in
continuous service. After a brief illness, Benjamin
Perry McDonald, of Fort Scott, Kansas, departed this
life on February 16th, 1909, at Dallas, Texas, where he
and his wife were temporarily sojourning.
“Mr. McDonald was born at Lock Haven, Pennsylvania,
October 18th, 1839. He removed to the Territory of
Kansas August 1st, 1857, saw the Territory pass to
Statehood, and his destiny was ever afterwards
identified with his adopted State.
“He was married November 21st, 1860, to Emma A. Johnson,
who, with their three sons—William A., Charles B. and
Benjamin Perry, Jr., all now arrived at manhood’s
estate—survive him.
“He was elected mayor of Fort Scott in 1866, and at the
expiration of his term re-elected. He early engaged in
the mercantile and banking business, and organized the
First National Bank of Fort Scott in January, 1871. He
was elected a director of our Company at its annual
meeting on May 15th, 1872, and continued as such every
succeeding year during his life. In 1873 he was elected
to the Legislature of Kansas as a representative from
Bourbon County. In 1874 he built the line southeast from
Fort Scott to the coal fields, a distance of twelve
miles, which was afterwards purchased by the Kansas
City, Fort Scott & Memphis Railroad Company. In 1881 he
built twenty miles of railroad on Long Island, New York,
for the Long Island Railroad Company. In 1888-9 he built
the Sherman, Denison & Dallas Railway, from Denison to
Sherman, Texas, now a part of the Missouri, Kansas &
Texas Railway of Texas, and in 1901-2 built the Fort
Scott, Iola & Western, from Iola to Moran, Kansas, now
owned and operated by the Missouri, Kansas & Texas
Railway Company. In 1902 he organized and built the
Dallas, Cleburne & Southwestern Railroad, from Cleburne
to Egan, Texas, of which company he was the president at
the time of his death. This railroad is now operated
under a trackage contract by the Missouri, Kansas &
Texas Railway Company of Texas. He was a director of the
Kansas City, Fort Scott & Memphis Railroad Company and
its predecessor companies from their earliest history
until they passed to the St. Louis & San Francisco
Railroad Company. He lived in Kansas when the Union
Pacific Railway Company, Southern Branch, now the
Missouri, Kansas & Texas Railway Company, was originally
incorporated, knew the promoters of the company, and was
always a great friend of the enterprise. In those early
days his aid and support was of great benefit to the
company. He became a director in 1872, while the road
was being built through the Indian Territory. As a
director he was constant in his attention to the duties
of his office, faithful to the interests of the Company,
and one of its most active and influential friends.
During the receivership of H. C. Cross and George A.
Eddy he was appointed by them as their treasurer, and
served as such during their whole term, his appointment
having been confirmed by the United States Circuit Court
for Kansas, and his accounts confirmed by that court and
found to be faultless. He was one of the strong men of
the West, and ever ready to serve the interests of this
Company. His acquaintance extended along the entire
line; the people and the employes knew him and loved
him. He was of sound judgment and absolute honesty. He
had troops of friends. He had a more intimate knowledge
of the Company’s history from the beginning than any
other man. His long career made him seem to be almost a
part of the Company’s life.
“His health was always robust, his nature cheerful, his
sound sense commanding. There was nothing subservient in
his nature; it was all open and manly. We were shocked
and grieved at his sudden taking off, and unitedly mourn
his loss.
“He was buried from his old home at Fort Scott, under
Masonic ceremonies and according to the rites of the
Episcopal Service, and now sleeps on the banks of the
Marmaton which he loved so well.
“We express our deepest sympathy and sincerest
condolence to his widow and sons, and direct that this
memorial be spread upon the records of the Company and a
copy transmitted to them.”
B. P. and Irene have their home in Birmingham, Alabama, where he
is engaged in the brokerage business; they are blessed with two
interesting children, a boy and a girl: B. P. the third, and
Emma Louise. Our fifth child, Henry A., is living in Dallas;
Henry was connected with the Kansas City Southern Railway for
about fifteen years, and finally resigned the general agency of
his road in Chicago and returned to Dallas to make this his
permanent home. While in Chicago he married Ollie Elizabeth
Anderson, who was born and raised in Negaunee, Michigan; their
union is blessed with two sweet children, Roy Lee and Alice H.
Our sixth child, Roy, died when about five years old at
Waxahachie. Our seventh child is Lessis, the baby girl, who
married Charles Weems Kidwell, born in Louisiana, but came to
Texas with his parents when quite a child; Kidwell is now
connected with the house of Sanger Brothers, Dallas, as
assistant manager of the retail department, starting in at the
wrapping counter about fifteen years ago; his father was a
prominent physician in Louisiana and died in Dallas years ago;
their union is blessed with two bright boys, Rolla, seven years
old, and Graber, five years old. On the 23rd of last April we
passed the 49th milestone of our married life and if spared
until the next 23rd of April will celebrate our golden wedding,
with five loving children and nine grandchildren and one
great-grandchild in our family circle. Owing to fast declining
health, about four years ago I was compelled to give up
business, and take a much-needed rest, the first vacation from
business cares in about fifty years; have had two serious spells
of sickness, one in Dallas and another in Detroit, Michigan,
where we went to spend last summer, but through the loving care
of wife and children and the dispensation of a Divine Providence
my life was again spared, and I am now enjoying better health
than for over fifty years.
CHAPTER XL
IN CONCLUSION.
This is my story, a record of what I think the reader will agree
has been an eventful life. I have lived long—I have seen much,
both of what was good and of what was bad; and now when my
allotted span of years must, in the nature of things, be nearly
concluded, I look back and realize that all of what has happened
has been for the best.
There is no bitterness in my heart as I indite these closing
lines. What has passed is past, and the future, as I see it,
holds for the people of the Southland a great promise. It is my
most earnest wish that this promise shall have a glorious
fulfillment.
My story has not been written for the purpose of adding to the
literature concerning the period it covers. Rather, it is a
personal record, and makes no claim to literary merit. It is
written chiefly for my children, though I hope it may be found
to be not without interest to the general public.
I feel that I owe it to myself to state that this book, in its
entirety, has been dictated entirely from memory, and from the
personal viewpoint I acquired during the years of which it
treats. It is quite possible that errors have been made in some
matters—that history will not entirely substantiate all of my
statements, but, in the main, I believe it will be found that
this book is a fairly accurate record of our many movements.
In closing I feel it is but right and just, and I know it to be
a great pleasure, that I pay my humble tribute to the great
souls with whom I was fortunate enough to be intimately
associated during the great Civil Strife. Forrest, Wharton,
McLaws, Harrison—they were a gallant company. Dashing,
fearless, strong in their conviction of right, they were all but
unbeatable, though opposed by overwhelming odds in practically
every engagement. I can see them all now plainly and I hope to
see them again, more plainly, when the Great Trumpeter shall
sound “Taps” for me.
THE END
TRANSCRIBER NOTES
Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected
as follows:
pg. 20 'sufficent' changed to 'sufficient'--"concluded
that this was a sufficient explanation."
pg. 46 'notifed' changed to 'notified'--"General Hindman
was notified."
pg. 142 'rceeived' changed to 'received'--"They had just
received orders."
pg. 142 'precipitious' changed to 'precipitous'--presenting
precipitous fronts."
pg. 159 'reigns' changed to 'reins'--"with our bridle
reins thrown over the horns."
pg. 193 'sufficent' changed to 'sufficient'--"sufficient
to rig a Texas saddle."
pg. 234 'whatver' changed to 'whatever'--"whatever stores
there were in the place."
pg. 250 'permittted' changed to 'permitted'--"by them
paroled and permitted to go."
pg. 334 'sweeheart' changed to 'sweetheart'--"with his
sweetheart, Miss Lou Priest."
pg. 353 'eight-five' changed to 'eighty-five'--"one
hundred and eighty-five sections."
pg. 354 'commencment' changed to 'commencement'--
"celebrating the commencement of the work."
pg. 369 'persauded' changed to 'persuaded'--"took
possession of my assets and persuaded me."
pg. 377 'Collge' changed to 'College'--"the failure of
Marvin College."
pg. 396 'apreciated' changed to 'appreciated'--"which I
very much appreciated."
pg. 441 'Chapter XXXIX' changed to 'Chapter XL'--duplicate
chapter 39, no chapter 40.
Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious
printer errors occur.
Book cover is placed in the public domain.
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The life record of H. W. Graber: A Terry Texas Ranger, 1861-1865; sixty-two years in Texas" ***
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