Sunday, December 4. — Day pleasant. Nothing new. Captain Senn on. Wrote home. Bill Forbes was brought in, having been recaptured.
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Sunday, 4. — A fine day. All talk is of Sherman and Georgia or Hood and Tennessee. This week is likely to inform us of their movements and so determine our own. Will Early on hearing that the Sixth Corps has left visit us?
Colonel Lyon’s Letters.
Stevenson, Ala., Dec. 4. 1864.—Here we are, safe and sound. We evacuated Huntsville last Sunday morning, went to Brownsboro that night, to Paintrock bridge Monday, to Larkinsville Tuesday, to Bellefonte Wednesday, to this vicinity on Thursday, and came in on Friday. We had pleasant weather for our trip, but we had an immense wagon train, the roads were very bad a part of the way, and I found myself overworked. We were not pursued by any considerable force, but were bush-whacked considerably.
An immense crowd of refugees and contrabands followed us, not less, I think, than three thousand; and there is much suffering amongst them, as they are all very destitute indeed. General Granger, who marched with us, did everything in his power to alleviate their sufferings, which act raised him in my estimation very much. This refugee crowd was bushwhacked the third day out and a terrible panic resulted. It is reported that a great many young children and infants were abandoned by their mothers. This occurred amongst the contrabands.
Colonel Given is sick, Colonel Doolittle is North, and I am commanding the brigade until one or the other returns to duty; then I go back to the regiment. There is now no communication with Nashville, and we have but little idea what is going on up there.
It will not do for you to come here now at all. The whole situation is too precarious and uncertain. Besides, we can get no accommodations. I have a little office for brigade headquarters, in which four of us sleep, and we mess along any way we can. I shall live in my tent when I return to the regiment. Our regiment can be very comfortable here, but a whole brigade can have but little accommodation.
Sunday, December 4th.—Bright, clear, and warm.
A dispatch from Gen. Bragg. “Augusta, December 3d, 6 P.M.— A strong force of the enemy’s cavalry and infantry advanced from Louisville and encamped last night six miles from Waynesborough. They turned off this morning toward Savannah. Our cavalry is pressing in the rear, and all available means is being thrown to their front by rail. There is time yet for any assistance which can be spared, to be sent by way of Charleston.—B. B.”
The Northern papers say our army under Hood in Tennessee has met with a great disaster. We are still incredulous—although it may be true. If so, the President will suffer, and Johnston and Beauregard will escape censure—both being supplanted in the command by a subordinate.
Brig.-Gen. Preston is still directing orders to Col. Shields, who is under the command of Major-Gen. Kemper, and the conflict of conscription authorities goes on, while the country perishes. Preston is a South Carolina politician—Kemper a Virginian. Mr. Secretary Seddon leans to the former.
The law allowing exemptions to owners of a certain number of slaves is creating an antislavery party. The non-slaveholders will not long fight for the benefit of such a “privileged class.” There is madness in our counsels!
We are still favored by Providence in our family. We have, at the market prices, some $800 worth of provisions, fuel, etc., at the beginning of winter, and my son Thomas is well clad and has his order for a month’s rations of beef, etc., which we get as we want it at the government shop near at hand in Broad Street. His pay and allowances are worth some $4500 per annum.
Major Ferguson having got permission of the Quartermaster-General to sell me a suit of cloth—there being a piece too dark for the army, I got four yards, enough for coat, pants, and vest, at $12 per yard—the price in the stores is $125; and I have the promise of the government tailor to make it up for some $30 or $40, the ordinary price being $350; the trimmings my family will furnish—if bought, they would cost $100. Tom has bought a new black coat, made before the war, for $175, the peace price $15, in specie, equivalent to $600. And my daughter Anne has made three fine bonnets (for her mother, sister, and herself), from the debris of old ones; the price of these would be $700. So I fear not but we shall be fed and clad by the providence of God.
December 4, Sunday.—We attended this evening the funeral of Colonel Angus W. McDonald, the relative of Mr. —— . His is a sad story. He was educated at West Point, but in early life resigned his position in the regular army and joined a company of fur traders, went with them to the Rocky Mountains, where he led an adventurous life, well suited to his excitable temper. For years his life was full of adventure, with the broad heavens for his roof and the cold earth for his couch. With a bold spirit and great muscular power, he soon acquired extensive influence with the Indian tribes among which he moved, and was chosen as the chief of one of them, where he was known as the “Big Warrior.” As such he led his braves to many a hard-fought battle, and taught surrounding tribes to fear him and them, by such courage and prowess as always so deeply impress the savage mind. Many incidents of his life among the Indians are full of interest. On one occasion, having received an injury from a neighbouring tribe, he sent to them that he was coming to settle with them for it, and that they must meet him for the purpose, at a certain time and place. Accordingly, all their warriors were assembled and seated in due form, at the proper distance from and around a central post, ready and waiting for the conference. At the appointed time, the “Big Warrior,” in full dress, made his appearance, and striding through to the centre of the dark, silent circle, he struck his tomahawk deep into the “post,” and looking quietly but sternly around from one gloomy warrior to another, he in few words told them why he was there, and what he required of them. “You have insulted me,” said he; “you robbed some of my men, and you killed two of them; you must restore the goods and give up the murderers, or you must fight it out, and I am here for that purpose.” His imposing appearance, his boldness, the justice of his cause, and his steady purpose of retaliating to the full, so awed them, that his terms were promptly assented to, and he quickly returned to his people with the most ample satisfaction for the injuries they had received. He grew weary of this life after some years, and determined to return to his early home and associations. Acting upon this impulse, we next find him in Romney, Hampshire County, among his kindred, where he quietly resumed the duties of civilized life, was married, and practised law for years. Still restless and different from other men, he was constantly speculating in one thing and another—politics, property, etc. At one time he was in the Virginia Legislature, and controlled the vote of his county in a way new to our republican experience. For this purpose he got possession of a large mountain region, filling it with a population whom he ruled very much as a Scottish chief would have done in his ancestral Highlands, and using their votes to decide any public controversy in which he chose to engage. This, of course, did not last long; it was too much opposed to the public views and feelings, and under the consequent changes around him, he found it expedient to return to private life. From this retirement, however, his native State soon recalled him, as one of the three commissioners to settle the boundary line between Maryland and Virginia. In his capacity as such, the Virginia Legislature sent him to England to examine the public records bearing upon this subject. He discharged the duties of his mission with ability and success, as his voluminous report will show. The present war found him residing with his large family near Winchester, his native place. The Confederate Government having given him the commission of a colonel, it was hoped that he would be of great use in the bloody contest; but a discipline better suited in its severity to Indian warriors than to our high-minded volunteers, together with advanced years and declining health, disappointed the expectations of himself and his friends. He found, indeed, that bodily infirmity alone rendered him unfit for active service, and this, with other difficulties, made it proper to break up his command. Thus it happened that when that brute, Hunter, marched through Lexington, spreading desolation in his path, Colonel McDonald, then a resident of the town, believing that the enemy, who had manifested great harshness towards him, injuring his property near Winchester, .etc., would arrest him, determined to keep out of their way, and with others took refuge in a neighbouring forest. Here, unfortunately, the enemy found him, with his son Harry, a youth of some sixteen years, and took them prisoners. It is somewhat singular that the presence of this devoted son caused the father’s arrest. He had always determined that he would never surrender, never be taken alive. But when he looked at this boy, who had fought so nobly by his side, and who would surely be sacrificed if he refused to surrender, he could fight no longer; it seemed to him, as he afterwards said, as the voice from Heaven which stayed the armed hand of Abraham, and he could not fire another shot. Father and son were thus captured. Harry escaped in a day or two; but the father was tied and dragged along at a rapid pace towards the Maryland line. When he could no longer walk a step, they allowed him to get into a wagon with nothing to rest upon but some old iron, rough tools, etc. Thus they hastened him to Cumberland, Maryland, where they handcuffed him and put him into solitary confinement; thence he was hurried to Wheeling, where he was again, with his manacles on, shut up in a dungeon, seven feet by ten, with nothing to relieve the sufferings incident to such a fate, nothing to expect or hope for, but the bitterest cruelty. From this dreadful captivity he was released two or three weeks ago, and reached the house of his daughter, in this city, with health, bad for years, now worse than ever, and constitution entirely broken by hard and cruel bondage. Cheered by freedom, and the society of his children who were here, he flattered himself that he would be enabled to return to his home of refuge in Lexington. This hope proved delusive. It soon appeared that his whole nervous system was shattered, and his end rapidly approaching; his wife was sent for, but did not arrive until the day after he died. Not dreaming of what awaited her, she came full of hope and joy at the anticipated meeting. But who may describe the grief which overwhelmed her on her arrival? His checkered life was closed in his sixty-sixth year. The funeral took place this evening at St. Paul’s Church. He was buried with military honors, at Hollywood Cemetery. While manacled in the horrid dungeon, his only petition was to be allowed to keep a Bible, from which he professed to have derived great peace and comfort. His family think that he returned from prison a changed man. His spirit, which was naturally stern, had become gentle and loving, and strangely grateful to every being who showed him the least kindness. The Bible was still his daily companion; from it he seemed to derive great comfort and an abiding faith in Christ his Saviour.
Head Quars. Co. B 1st Mass. H. A.,
Dec. 4, 1864.
Dear Family:
Your last was rec’d in due time. Since I last wrote our whole Corps has moved, relieving the 19th at the left of the line. The duties in front of Petersburg were too hard for this corps, with too small numbers. We are now in a fine forest in front of Fort Emory (the one we built the first time that we went to the left, Jerry). The men are building commodious quarters, wood being plenty. Picket duty is very easy here, there being no enemy in sight. Some of the boys heard by letter of the fellows who died in the Bull pens of Georgia. It is terrible to think of, men of strong constitutions and muscular frames, in the prime of life, should die such a death. Starvation, for that is the death that I think they died of. Think of being penned up, dying inch by inch daily, and at last, rot to pieces. I can assure you I shall run a great risk of life before I shall be taken prisoner, for I consider that death is better than a southern Bull pen. It is very evident that Lawrence has a great deal to do with this regt. It is now called a Lawrence and Ipswich Regt. I think by seeing H’s father about my case, or even getting some one in Lawrence to write, would be the best way to carry it through. But do it without my knowledge.
About my pictures, you did perfectly right, Susan Jane! Love to all from
Lev. Bradley, Jr.
P. S. Jerry, you might send me a V., which would be very acceptable.
Sunday, 4th.—To-day we had the same old ridiculous stories about Confederate victories almost everywhere. No doubt but a battle is soon to be fought, and these stories are invented for a purpose.
Fort Gillem, Sunday, Dec. 4. It is now 9 A. M. Have had a restless night of it. Scarcely had we closed our eyes to sleep, ere we were aroused by the orderly, “pack up and get ready to march immediately”. Thirty-five men under Lieutenant Simpson going to move some guns somewhere. First Section out as soon as possible. We start under Sergeant Malish with our blankets and haversacks, leaving Sergeant James to come after us with knapsacks and tents. After marching on almost double quick for nearly two hours not knowing exactly where we went, we arrived at a half-finished bastion on the second line near our original camp. Lieutenant Simpson was there, but the guns had not arrived. Three of the boys unable to keep up with us were yet behind, and of course knew not where to find us. Men were appointed to pilot them hither, and the rest laid down at 11 P. M. Had not gotten asleep before we were again called out to unload forty-eight boxes of ammunition and get our knapsacks, the wagons having come. It was now midnight and we saw the flash of artillery firing, followed by the subdued report very frequently. Once more we took our boots off (ordered not to take any more off) and slept.
A very little before this, guns arrived, five twelve-pounders, five arsenals, three to stay, here, two to go with Sergeant James a quarter of a mile to the right. Rolled up blankets, slung knapsacks, and started with him. It was dark and chilly, arising suddenly from sleep had chilled me through and I shivered terribly. Still frequent reports of cannon could be heard, but we hardly noticed that. Half past 2 A. M. we again had our blankets unrolled and slept. Half past four, as near as we could guess, I was aroused to take my turn on guard, one hour apiece. Cedar rails were abundant and were used without compunction. I kept very comfortable, meditating on the now dimly flickering camp fires, almost ghastly.
While on post I heard the reveille sounded in an adjoining camp. Men hastily hurried out, officers running to and fro, and they start out on double quick, marching by our sleeping boys. Nothing could be heard but the offcers, big and small, yelling out “Close up, close up, boys, double quick”, and such hasty commands, I knew it was a new regiment. Yes, it was the 142nd Indiana. They will get over that yet. Other old regiments followed, but they went still and quietly. When I guessed it was an hour I woke up the next turn, and for the fourth time crawled close to my sleeping bedfellow. The morning sun shone brightly when I again awoke, and I must be up, but ah! how sleepy I felt. Griff has made some tea, and we have had bread and butter for breakfast. Workmen are coming fast to throw up works for us. I have heard no firing yet. We are but half a mile from Fort Gillem. We put up tents, etc.
It is now bedtime. The day has passed wearily, watching the employees grudgingly throw up their works for our guns. Artillery firing has been kept up all day from Fort Negley. We could not hear infantry firing. This is the second line being made very strong, but the works are lined with cedar rails which I don’t like at all. It is apt to splinter if struck by artillery.
Every moment of delay lessens Hood’s chances of success. This evening mail came in. I received two from brother and sister. I am very sleepy and tired. I hope we will not be disturbed to-night.
4th. Sunday. Wrote several letters and read. Heard a sermon at Brigade Hdqrs.
December 4, 1864.
Got on the road before day-light and made 16 miles easily by 3:30 p.m. Good road, many fine places, and excellent forage, from 75 to 500 bushels of sweet potatoes on a farm. Heard cannonading for two hours this morning. Think it must have been in the vicinity of the 20th Corps. Quite a variety of forest trees to-day among the pines, but all of a stunted growth. Saw a very curious cactus by the roadside.
Almost all of the people from this section have sloped. I think I have not seen more than 12 white male citizens since we left Atlanta, at their homes. Am fully persuaded that Grant’s “cradle and grave” idea is correct.
