Sunday, 16th.—Crossed through Maddox Gap and marched down to Trion Factory. Received invitation to go to Mr. Job McKeehan’s and take supper; accepted the invitation, and was very nicely treated indeed. Strong Union man. Said Hood’s raid would ruin his army, and advised me to leave it. We had been wondering for several days what had become of Sherman and his army, and it was some time before we learned he had gone on to the sea.
Thursday, October 16, 2014
Etowah Bridge, Sunday, Oct. 16. Another Sunday. Spent very busy in putting up quarters which are put in one line. Wedge tents raised on a wall fifteen inches high lengthened out to twelve feet. By night we had them completed mostly. I am very tired.
Sunday, 16th—We left bivouac early this morning and marched eight miles. We passed through Gooseneck Gap, about four miles long and quite narrow. The rebels did not take time to block this gap. The Fifteenth Corps being in the advance, came upon the rebels and engaged them in some skirmishing. The rebels are still falling back to the north. We are now in a mountainous country, and thinly settled, as it is so rough and rocky. The timber here is of chestnut and all varieties of oak.
16th. Sunday. Returned to regt. Ordered to escort Sheridan to Piedmont. Remained in camp. Read some.
North end Snake Creek Gap, October 16, 1864.
After a tedious march got here at 11 p.m. The Rebels about six hours ahead of us had blockaded the road in good style. They did some half a day’s work, with hundreds of men, and delayed us about—ten minutes.
On summit of Taylor’s Ridge, Shipp’s Gap, p.m.
Our division has the advance to-day. The Rebels drove very well, until we got here, when, having a very good position, they resisted us with some vim. A few men of the 1st brigade, finally climbed the hill, flanked and routed them. Our loss, seven wounded. We got 35 prisoners and killed and wounded a dozen or so.
Sunday, October 16. — A dull, homesick sort of a day in jail. Every one seems to feel blue. Lieutenant Gill on as officer of the day. He has just returned from leave. Weather pleasant. Southern papers begin to feel rather blue about Hood. As usual, they made great boasts about what he was going to do, and are now much disappointed.
October 16 — This morning before daylight we were put in marching order without many preliminary remarks or extensive preparation, and when day began to dawn we were on the march down the Valley pike. A train of about two hundred wagons from General Sheridan’s army came to Winchester to-day for supplies. We prisoners marched in rear of the train, wagons and Rebs all under a very strong escort composed of a whole regiment of infantry, the Sixth New York. Just before we arrived at Winchester a herd of well-dressed sleek looking bandbox clerks, orderlies, aides, and camp followers in general came out of town to see the Rebel prisoners. Some of the herd left all their manners and good behavior at home, for if they ever had any true manliness or ethical culture it was all absent on furlough this evening, as they acted more like saucy, insolent school children than like men in their country’s uniform. In their gibes and sneers they called us ragged, dirty Rebels, and that we looked more like a gang of beggars than soldiers. Even the old soldiers that guarded us were ashamed of the brassy exhibition of shameless cheek and vile indignities of the wayside rabble. One of the guards remarked to me, “Don’t mind or take notice of what these kid-glove gentry do or say; they have never been to the front and have never seen a battle.”
To-night we are quartered in the court house in Winchester, with our faces turned toward some dismal prison somewhere in Uncle Sam’s vast domain. And as I am about to say farewell, and perhaps forever, to the green hills and lovely mountains of the Shenandoah Valley, the home of my childhood, I swear by yon pale crescent that hangs in the rosy twilight of a western sky that so long as the star of hope glimmers through the thickening gloom so long shall my fondest memories play across your pleasant bounding hills, and wander with delight along your silvery murmuring streams, and linger with soothing recollections around the sunny mountain peaks that silently sentinel and watch the haunts of my boyhood.
Colonel Lyon’s Letters.
Huntsville, Ala., Oct. 16, 1864.—Everything is mixed and in confusion with us. The reason is that the rebels are making desperate efforts to break up our communications, and troops are being constantly moved to threatened points. Today I am sending off parts of two cavalry regiments in my command to Nashville to be mounted. Colonel Johnson, the commander of this post, goes with them; and tomorrow morning, in addition to my other duties, I assume command of the post. This will give me about all the work that I can do, but I hope that it will not last long.
General Granger came up from Decatur and called on us last night. He is very salubrious. His family are here and are quite popular. General Granger’s treatment of the regiment and of myself is very kind and considerate, as much so as I could ask and more so than I could expect.
The campaign now opening will be fought out between Louisville and Atlanta, and we are as much exposed as any other part of the line north of the Tennessee river, or more so. The tide of battle as it surges from point to point along the line may strike us any time, and it is hardly possible that we should escape it entirely, and I do not know that I care to escape it.
I am weighed down with care and responsibility, and that responsibility is terrific, for it has to do with human life. Then I am torn away and kept year after year from home and family, and they seem dearer to me every day; and further, I lead a life of constant peril and uncertainty. All these things, added to the fact that the best years of my life are passing away and we are getting poorer every year financially, do sometimes press on my feelings pretty snug. When I last wrote I was not very well. I am better now, but everybody else is sick. I have a fine command; my reputation as an officer and gentleman is first-rate, and my military standing, position and character are all I could desire.
October 16th, Sunday.—A pleasant sunny Sabbath morn.
The quiet below continues. Not a gun has been heard for three days; the longest intermission we have had for many months. What can it mean? Sheridan has spread desolation in the Shenandoah Valley, perhaps to prevent Early from penetrating Pennsylvania, etc., intending to come with all expedition to Grant.
Troops, or rather detailed men, and late exempts, are beginning to arrive from North Carolina. I saw 250 this morning. Some of them were farmers who had complied with the terms prescribed, and a week ago thought themselves safe from the toils and dangers of war. They murmur, but there is no escape. They say the Governor has called out the militia officers, and magistrates also.
Desertion is the order of the day, on both sides. Would that the men would take matters in their own hands, and end the war, establishing our independence. Let every man in both armies desert and go home!
Some one has sent a “Circular” of the “Bureau of Conscription” to the President, dated some few weeks ago, and authorizing enrolling officers everywhere to furlough farmers and others for sixty days, to make out their claims for exemption. This the President says in his indorsement defeats his efforts to put the whole able-bodied male population in the field; and no doubt has been the source of the many abuses charged against the “bureau.” The Secretary sends the paper to the “bureau” for report, stating that he felt great surprise at the terms of the “Circular,” and had no recollection of having seen or sanctioned such a document. The Superintendent reports that it was issued by the authority of the Secretary of War, and was warranted by law—looking to the interests of agriculture, etc. The truth is that the Circular was prepared by a subordinate in the Bureau of Conscription, and signed by Col. August, “Acting Superintendent.” It was approved by Judge Campbell, Assistant Secretary of War, “by order of the Secretary of War” who never saw it. Mr. Seddon has left all the business of conscription in the hands of Judge Campbell; and poor Gen. Preston—indolent and ill—has been compelled to sign, sanction, and defend documents he knew nothing about; and Mr. Seddon is in a similar predicament.
The Secretary of War has written a long letter to Gen. Lee, suggesting that he assemble a council of officers to decide what measure shall be adopted in regard to the treatment of prisoners in the hands of the enemy. It appears that Gen. Butler has notified Gen. Lee that he is now retaliating fearfully—making them work in his canal—on certain Confederates for some alleged harsh treatment of negro prisoners in our hands—sending slaves back to their masters. Mr. Seddon, without assuming any responsibility himself, yet intimates the idea that this government is prepared to sanction the most sanguinary remedy; and I understand several members of the cabinet to have always been in favor of fighting— that is, having others fight—under the black flag. If the government had only listened to Gen. Lee’s suggestions, we should have had abundance of men in the field to beat the enemy out of Virginia. I hope the present recruiting excitement comes not too late. And I trust he will interpose so far in behalf of the country as to wrest the railroads from the hands of the speculators and the dishonest quartermasters.
Not a gun has been heard by me to-day, and the mysterious silence defies my powers of penetration. I only hope it may continue sine die.
