Life in Dixie during the War, 1861-1862-1863-1864-1865

As has been stated, Mr. Anthony Murphy, of Atlanta, rode on “The Texas” with Brachen from Adairsville to the point at which the Andrews raiders were caught, and there is no doubt he would have aided in their capture at the forfeit of his life had he been called upon to do so.

As the pursuers ran past Calhoun, an enthusiastic old gentleman, Mr. Richard Peters, himself a Northern man, and who died an honored citizen of Atlanta, offered a reward of a hundred dollars each for all the raiders captured. Had this promise been fulfilled Captain Fuller would have received $2,300, which no doubt he would have divided with his comrades in the pursuit.

At Calhoun Captain Fuller met the south-bound “day passenger train,” delayed by his unexpected movements. He had his engine run slowly by the depot, and exchanged a few words with the excited crowd of people, who were amazed at the sudden appearance and disappearance of the runaway train which had passed there a few moments before. Here he also saw Ed Henderson, the telegraph operator at Dalton. Discovering that the line was down below Dalton, Henderson had gone down on the passenger train to try to repair the break in the wire. Seeing him, Fuller reached out his hand as he was running by and took the operator into the tender, and as they ran at the rate of a mile a minute he wrote the following dispatch:

“To General Ledbetter, Chattanooga:

My train was captured this morning at Big Shanty, evidently by Federal soldiers in disguise. They are making rapidly for Chattanooga, and will no doubt burn the Chickamauga bridges in their rear, if I should fail to capture them. Please see that they do not pass Chattanooga.

Signed,

W. A. Fuller.”

He handed this dispatch to the operator, and instructed him to put it through at all hazards when he should arrive at Dalton.

Just at that moment the pursuers came in sight of the raiders for the first time. They had halted two miles north of Calhoun and were removing a rail from the track. As the pursuers hove in sight, the raiders detached their third car and left it before Captain Fuller could reach them. Coupling this abandoned car to “The Texas,” Captain Fuller got on top of it and began the race again. The rails had only been loosened and the intrepid conductor took the chances of running over them. From this point the raiders ran at a fearful rate, and the pursuers followed after them as fast as “The Texas” could go.

One mile and a half further up, the raiders detached another car in the front of the pursuers. This was witnessed by Fuller, who was standing on the rear end of the car he had coupled to when the raiders were first seen. He gave Brachen the signal, and he advanced slowly to the abandoned car and coupled it to the first one obtained in this way. Then getting on top of the newly captured one he was off again in the race with scarcely the loss of a moment’s time.

Just in front of the raiders, and not more than a mile away, was an important railroad bridge over the Oostanaula river at Resaca. The pursuers had greatly feared that the raiders would gain time to burn this bridge, after passing over it. But they were pressed so hotly and so closely that they passed over the bridge as rapidly as the “General” could carry them. The pursuers were, therefore, greatly rejoiced on their arrival at Resaca to see that the bridge was standing, and that it had not been set on fire. The two cars picked up as described were switched off at Resaca, and the pursuers again had “The Texas” untrammeled. The race from Resaca to Dalton has seldom been paralleled. It is impossible to describe it.

At Dalton the telegraph operator was dropped, with instructions to put the dispatch to General Ledbetter through to the exclusion of all other matter. All was excitement at this point. The unusual spectacle of a wild engine flying through the town with only one car attached was bewildering indeed; and when Captain Fuller arrived and ran through, slacking his speed just enough to put the operator off the train, the excitement became intense. The operator was besieged on every side for an explanation, but he knew nothing save that contained in the dispatch.

Two miles north of Dalton, Andrews stopped. Some of his men climbed telegraph poles and cut the wire, while others were engaged in an effort to take up the track behind them. The operator at Dalton had sent the dispatch through to Ledbetter at Chattanooga; but just as he had finished and was holding his finger on the key, waiting for the usual “O. K,” click went the key, and all was dead. He did not know until the next day that Captain Fuller’s dispatch had reached its destination. Had the raiders been thirty seconds earlier in cutting the wire, the dispatch would not have gone through. As it was Ledbetter received it, and not being able to hear anything further by telegraph or otherwise he had a regiment placed in ambush (some of the soldiers on either side of the track), and had a considerable part of the track taken up. This was about a mile from Chattanooga, so that by the intervention of the telegram Fuller had Andrews both front and rear.

Andrews was run away from the point where the wires were cut before any material damage was done to the track. The rails had been partially removed, but not so much as to prevent the safe passage over them of “The Texas” and her crew.

Now the last long race begins. The pursued and the pursuers are in sight of one another. In every straight line of the road, Andrews was in plain view. This tended to increase the interest and excitement, if, indeed, the thrilling scenes and incidents of the seconds as they flitted by could have been heightened. I say seconds, because minutes in this case would be too large to use for a unit of time. The experience, practice, and knowledge of machinery possessed by the engineers was brought into full play. “The Texas” was kept at a rate of one hundred and sixty-five pounds of steam, with the valve wide open. Brachen would appear a little pale sometimes, but he was encouraged by Fuller standing the full length of the tender before him, and watching around the curves. At every straight line in the road Andrews was sighted, and a yell went up from the throats of the pursuers, but they did not lose their wits. Their aim was forward, onward, at all hazards. They were now convinced that Andrews had exhausted his supply of obstructive material, and were not so uneasy on that account. But as prudence is the better part of valor, and as they had so few men on board, they dared not approach too close, lest their little band should be fired upon; or what appeared to be a greater danger, Andrews might suddenly stop and give fight. Captain Fuller had only five person on “The Texas” besides himself, and all accounts heard by them at points below had placed Andrews’s party as high as twenty or twenty-five. Fuller knew that the fire-arms he had gathered up early in the race, such as “squirrel guns,” and most of them unloaded, would have but little showing in a hand-to-hand contest; so these things had to be considered as they sped along so swiftly. Another danger was to be feared – Andrews might stop, abandon “The General,” let her drive back, and thus force a collision with the pursuers.

In approaching the tunnel, seven miles north of Dalton, our brave conductor slackened speed until he could see dimly through the smoke of “The General,” which had only passed out of the further end by a few seconds, and was in sight beyond. For the next seven miles from Tunnel Hill to Ringgold, nothing occurred except a race between engines such as has never been excelled. When Ringgold was reached, both engines literally flew through the town, the “Texas” only about one-fourth of a mile behind. When the pursuers were passing through the north end of the town, Captain Fuller noticed a company of militia drilling. Their horses were hitched to the small shade trees near the muster grounds, and this fact fastened itself upon his mind.

In a few minutes the pursuers swung around the second short curve north of Ringgold, just in time to see Andrews slack his speed, and himself and his men jump off the “General” to seek concealment in the dense woods. The foliage of the trees and undergrowth was about half grown, and it would have been an easy matter to hide in the forest. When the raiders were first seen north of Ringgold, it was obvious that the heroic old “General” was almost exhausted. Her smoke was nearly white, and ran up at an angle of 45 degrees, while before that it lay flat, and appeared to the eyes of the pursuers as if fresh from the stack. When Andrews abandoned the “General,” his engineer threw the lever back and gave the engine all the steam it had, but in his haste the brake was left on, so the engine was unable to drive back and collide with the “Texas,” as Andrews had hoped it would.

The pursuers ran up to the “General” to which was attached one box car – the one historians and statesmen have so often said was fired and left to burn in a bridge below Ringgold. This car had been fired, but was easily extinguished. It had never been uncoupled from the “General” since Fuller left Atlanta with it that morning. Brachen hastily coupled the “Texas” to this car and the “General.” Captain Fuller reminded Brachen of the militia company they had seen drilling at Ringgold a few minutes before, and encouraged him to go back there as soon as possible and tell of the capture of the “General,” and to beseech the soldiers to mount their horses and come to his aid, as he, Flem Cox, and Alonzo Martin were already chasing through the woods after Andrews and his men. Mr. Murphy and Henry Haney went back to Ringgold with Brachen after the militia.

It was probably three minutes after the “General” was overtaken before Captain Fuller and his two comrades were ready to take to the woods, as they assisted in getting the car and two engines started back to Ringgold. The raiders, therefore, had the advantage and were deep in the forest before the woodland chase began. Besides, the reader will see at once that the raiders were fresh – that they had done no really hard work, except the fireman and engineer. They had not already run on foot more than twenty miles, as Fuller had done. After the pursuing party had gone about two miles through the woods, they came to a fifty-acre wheat field just in time to see the raiders cross the fence at the further side. It had been raining nearly all day, and the ground was wet. It was limestone soil, and almost as sticky as tar. The boots of the pursuers would clog up, and the mud on them would sometimes weigh doubtless two or three pounds. Another source of annoyance was the growing wheat, which was half leg high and very difficult to tread. Captain Fuller has said that it appeared to be up-hill every way that he ran.

Finally the woods beyond were reached, and, by accident, Captain Fuller and his two comrades got separated. In the afternoon four of the raiders were captured. About 8 P. M. Captain Fuller became completely exhausted. Some old farmers put him on a mule and carried him back to Ringgold, distant seven miles direct route, but by the one he was carried three times that distance. He lay down on the mule’s back, and a man on either side held him on.

Soon after they arrived at Ringgold the down night passenger train came, and Captain Fuller was put on board and carried to Atlanta. At Tunnel Hill, seven miles south, a train of soldiers passed them on the way to the scene of interest. The Andrews Raiders had already been captured, and the “General” was safe on the side track at Ringgold, eight hours before. And this train of soldiers just spoken of is “the second pursuing train” that Pittenger so often speaks of in his “Capturing a Locomotive,” and “Daring and Suffering.”

We have followed Captain Fuller and his wise and intrepid men, in the pursuit of spies no less wise and intrepid, from the first step in an act which, under the usages of war in all countries, meant death to them if captured; and over that lamentable scene we drop the curtain. We have the testimony of reliable men that they were humanely treated while in prison. After a trial, conducted on the highest principles of military law and honor, eight of these spies were condemned and executed.

The following list gives the names of the Andrews raiders, all of whom were captured in the manner described:

J. J. Andrews,

Wilson Brown,

Marion Ross,

W. H. Campbell,

John Scott,

Perry G. Shadrack,

George D. Wilson,

Samuel Slavens.

These were tried and executed.

S. Robinson,

Ed. Mason,

Wm. Knight,

Robert Bruffum,

William Pittenger,

M. J. Hawkins,

I. Parroth,

W. Bensinger,

A. Wilson,

W. Reddie,

D. A. Dorsey,

I. R. Porter,

M. Wood,

W. W. Brown.

The last named fourteen were never tried.

CONFEDERATE LOVE SONG

Over the mountains of Winter,And the cold, cold plains of snow,Down in the valleys of Summer,Calling my love I go.And strong in my woe and passion,I climb up the hills of Spring,To listen if I hear his voiceIn songs he used to sing.I wait in the fields of Autumn,And gather a feast of fruit,And call my love to the banquet;His lips are cold and mute.I say to the wild bird flying:“My darling sang sweet as you;Fly o’er the earth in search of him,And to the skies of blue.”I say to the wild-wood flowers:“My love was a friend to you;Send one of your fragrant spiritsTo the cool Isles of Dew,”“Gold-girt by a belt of moonbeams,And seek on their gleaming shoreA breath of the vanished sweetnessFor me his red lips bore.”I stand at the gates of Morning,When the radiant angel, Light,Draws back the great bolt of darkness,And by the gates of Night,When the hands of bright stars trembleWhile clasping their lanterns bright;And I hope to see him passing,And touch his garments white.O, love! if you hear me calling,Flee not from the wailing cry;Come from the grottoes of SilenceAnd hear me, or I die!Stand out on the hills of Echo;The sensitive, pulsing airWill thrill at your softest whisper —Speak to me, love, from there!O, love, if I hear you calling,Though far on the heavenly side,My voice will float on the billow:“Come to your spirit bride.”– Mary A. H. Gay.

TO THE READER,

Who has kindly perused these sketches, I would say, as they have already attained length and breadth not anticipated from the beginning, I will withhold the sequels to many of them for, perhaps, another volume of reminiscences.

Were I possessed of the Sam Weller genius and versatility, and the happy faculty of making the reader wish I had written more, I would throw open the doors of the store-house of my war memories, a structure as capacious as the “Southern Confederacy” and canopied by the firmament, and invite the public to enter and share with me the treasures hidden there. The coruscations of wit and the profound displays of wisdom by many who donned Confederate grey and went forth in manhood’s prime to battle for the principles of their country, would employ the minds and feast the intellect of the most erudite. There are living, glowing pictures hanging upon the walls which delineate the mysteries of humanity in all its varied forms, and, by example, demonstrate that we often spurn with holy horror that which is better far than that which we embrace with all the fervor of affection. I would resurrect the loftest patriotism from the most humble graves in the Southern land, and prove by heroic deeds and noble acts that valor on the battle-field was as often illustrated by the humble soldier whose name has not been preserved in “storied urn,” as by the gallant son of chivalrous ancestors who commanded the applause of an admiring multitude. I would place by the side of those greatest of chieftains, Robert E. Lee, and our impregnable “Stonewall” Jackson and Albert Sidney Johnston, many of our soldiers “unknown to fame,” in faded grey jackets and war-worn pants, and challenge the world for the difference. I would dwell with loving interest upon the innumerable sad, sweet faces of the mighty throng of bereaved mothers, sisters and aunts, out of whose lives all light had gone, and who, though hopeless, uttered no words of complaint against our cause or its leader, but toiled on with unswerving faith and souls that borrowed the lustre of heaven. All these sad things in my gallery I would clothe in living form and glowing color. And, saddest of all, I would live over with them that melancholy period when the very few, comparatively, that were left of the noble defenders of our principles, came back, not with buoyant step and victor crown, but with blighted hopes and despondent mien to desolated homes and decimated families. Under the new regime I would tell of despair and suicide, of hope, energy and success; I would tell how I have lived in this gallery – its silent occupants my companions and friends, my inspiration to useful deeds. There is not a day that I do not arouse by muffled tread the slumbering echoes of this past, and look upon the cherished souvenirs of the patriotic friends now roaming the beautiful gardens of Paradise, or sleeping the mystic waiting of the resurrection. I ponder upon their lives, their ambitions, their disappointments, and it requires no effort of the imagination to animate those dead forms and invest them with living attributes. And daily, in imagination I weave for them a laurel crown that shall grow greener and greener as the cycles of Time speed on to Eternity.

APPENDIX

The author has selected the article, “Gleanings from General Sherman’s Despatches,” as an appendix for these sketches, not because of a desire to keep up the issues of the war between the States (for she would gladly bury them so deep they could never be resurrected until the great Judge of all issues calls them up to receive sentence by his unerring judgment), but rather, because of the persistent insistence of Northern Republicans to make it appear to the world that the Southern people are a semi-barbarous people, solely responsible for the war and altogether unworthy fraternal consideration in the compact called the Union.

The article mentioned, “Gleanings from General Sherman’s Despatches,” is to be found, word for word, in The Southern Magazine, May, 1873, Vol. XII. Baltimore: Turnbull Brothers.

GLEANINGS FROM GENERAL SHERMAN’S DESPATCHES

Those thick, loosely-bound octavos printed on soft and rather dingy paper, which Congress publishes and distributes under the name of Public Documents, are not generally considered very entertaining reading. But there are exceptions; and one of these is the report of the joint committee of Congress on the conduct of the war. Indeed, compared with such mild pastorals as “Some Accounts of the Cheese Manufacture in Central New York,” or “Remarks on the Cultivation of Alfalfa in Western Tennessee,” it is quite luridly sensational, and in parts reminds us of those striking reports of the Duke of Alva to his royal master, which have been disinterred in the dusty archives of Simancas. As a study of congressional nature, military nature, and human nature generally, in its least attractive aspects, these eight stout volumes are richly worth perusal. Here the reader is allowed to peep behind the scenes of that portentous drama; here he may see the threads of the intrigues that centered in Washington; may hear a petty newspaper correspondent demonstrating, with an animation that we can scarcely ascribe to fervid patriotism, the incapacity, the ignorance and even the doubtful “loyalty” of the commander-in-chief; may see private malignity and vindictiveness putting on grand Roman airs, and whispering debaters draping themselves in the toga of Brutus.

However, it is not with these aspects of the reports that we at present have to do, but with the despatches of General Sherman on his march through Georgia and South Carolina. A great deal of fiction and some verse,5 we believe, have been written about this famous march or grand foray; but here we have the plain matter-of-fact statement of things as they were, and they form a luminous illustration of the advance of civilization in the nineteenth century as exemplified in the conduct of invasions, showing how modern philanthropy and humanitarianism, while acknowledging that for the present war is a necessary evil, still strive to mitigate its horrors and spare all avoidable suffering to non-combatants. For this purpose we have thought it worth while to reproduce a few of the most striking extracts illustrating the man, his spirit, and his work.

A kind of keynote is sounded in the dispatches to General Stoneman, of May 14, which, after ordering him to “press down the valley strong,” ends with the words, “Pick up whatever provisions and plunder you can.”

On June 3, the question of torpedoes is discussed, and General Stedman receives the following instructions: “If torpedoes are found in the possession of an enemy to our rear, you may cause them to be put on the ground and tested by wagon loads of prisoners, or, if need be, by citizens implicated in their use. In like manner, if a torpedo is suspected on any part of the railroad, order the point to be tested by a carload of prisoners or citizens implicated, drawn by a long rope.” “Implicated,” we suppose here meant “residing or captured in the neighborhood.”

On July 7, we have an interesting dispatch to General Garrard on the subject of the destruction of the factories at Roswell. “Their utter destruction is right, and meets my entire approval; and to make the matter complete, you will arrest the owners and employees and send them under guard charged with treason, to Marietta, and I will see as to any man in America hoisting the French flag and then devoting his labor and capital to supplying armies in open hostility to our government, and claiming the benefit of his neutral flag. Should you, under the impulse of anger, natural at contemplating such perfidy, hang the wretch, I approve the act beforehand… I repeat my orders that you arrest all people, male and female, connected with those factories, no matter what the clamor, and let them foot it, under guard, to Marietta, whence I will send them by cars to the North. Destroy and make the same disposition of all mills, save small flouring mills, manifestly for local use; but all saw mills and factories dispose of effectually; and useful laborers, excused by reason of their skill as manufacturers, from conscription, are as much prisoners as if armed.” On the same day he further enlarges on this subject in a despatch to General Halleck:

“General Garrard reports to me that he is in possession of Roswell, where were several very valuable cotton and wool factories in full operation, also paper mills, all of which, by my order, he destroyed by fire. They had been for years engaged exclusively at work for the Confederate government; and the owner of the woolen factory displayed the French flag, but, as he failed to show the United States flag also, General Garrard burned it also. The main cotton factory was valued at a million of United States dollars. The cloth on hand is reserved for the use of the United States hospitals; and I have ordered General Garrard to arrest for treason all owners and employees, foreign and native, and send them to Marietta, whence I will send them North. Being exempt from conscription, they are as much governed by the rules of war as if in the ranks. The women can find employment in Indiana. This whole region was devoted to manufactories, but I will destroy everyone of them.” There are two points specially worth notice in this despatch. The first, that since these men and women, by reason of sex, or otherwise, are exempt from conscription, they are, therefore, as much subject to the rules of war as if in the ranks. Why not do less violence to logic and state frankly that factory hands were in demand in Indiana? The next point is that the Roswell factories, whether French property or not, were destroyed because they were making cloth for the Confederate government, followed presently by the declaration that every manufactory in that region shall be destroyed, evidently without reference to its products or their destination. How much franker it would have been to have added to this last sentence, “and thus get rid of so many competitors to the factories of the North.” The South must learn that while she may bear the burden of protective tariffs, she must not presume to share their benefits. Another despatch to General Halleck, of July 9, again refers to these factories. After referring to the English and French ownership, comes this remark: “I take it a neutral is no better than one of our citizens, and we would not respect the property of one of our own citizens engaged in supplying a hostile army.” This is the kind of logic proverbially used by the masters of legions. A despatch to General Halleck, of July 13, gives General Sherman’s opinion of two great and philanthropic institutions. Speaking of “fellows hanging about” the army, he says: “The Sanitary and Christian Commission are enough to eradicate all traces of Christianity from our minds.”