Incidents of the War: Humorous, Pathetic, and Descriptive
by Alf Burnett
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And, heaving a deep groan from the bottom of his continental waistcoat, he shook his head in sadness, and passed slowly onward, to the joyful chimes of the church-bells and the soul-stirring strains of "Yankee Doodle."


Traversing the field of battle, near Murfreesboro, a few days after the rebel defeat, I could but contrast, in my mind, the terrible quiet with the terrific din and roar of battle of which it was the late scene.

The debris of battle is strewn for miles and miles. Thousands upon thousands of cannon-balls and shell lie upon the field. The woods present the appearance of having been visited by a tornado, and here and there a pool of blood marks the place where some devoted hero has rendered up his life.

The heavy cedar wood is nearly three miles from Murfreesboro, to the right of the pike, going south. The rocks bear evidence of the struggle, for thousands of bullet and shell traces may be seen. The smaller branches of trees are cut as if a severe hail-storm had visited the spot. Let us dismount and read the names of those soldiers who fell here. They have been given a soldier's funeral. Ah! the names here denote this as a part of the gallant Rousseau's division; for on rough pieces of board we read: W. McCartin, Hamilton, Ohio, Company F, 3d Ohio; F. Burley, Hamilton; John Motram, Company I, Cardington, Ohio; H. K. Bennett, Company A, 3d Ohio; M. Neer, Company D, 3d Ohio. And close beside, a brother Indiana soldier sleeps—Joseph Guest, 42d Indiana.

Just across the pike, on the left going south, is the grave of A. Hardy, 6th Ohio; and opposite this is the spot where Lieutenant Foster, of the noble 6th, yielded up his life, and was buried. Close by is a log house, perforated with shot and shell. Here some of our wounded sought shelter during the storm of iron hail, but were mercilessly driven out by the shot poured into their intended refuge. To the left of this house are numerous graves. Among them, Francis Kiggins, Company K, H. Borrien, Company H, W. Keller, Company H, all of the 24th Ohio; Alf Goodman, 58th Indiana; Noah Miller, 58th Indiana; E. D. Tuttles, Company B, C. McElvain, Company A, Levi Colwright, James Wright, C. A. McDowell, Company K; J. B. Naylor, H. Lockmeyer, A. B. Endicott, Company A; J. Cunningham, E. Skito, J. Reavis, H. Cure, Company D, all of the 58th Indiana.

Near this the 26th Ohio lost John Tagg, John Karn, F. Singer, and Charles Bartholomew; Mark E. Rakes, of the 88th Indiana, and George Kumler and William Ogg, of the 93d Ohio, are buried here, together with John Van Waggoner and Lieutenant Black, of the 58th Indiana. And still further to the left, along the Chattanooga Railroad, are the remains of Elias M. Scott, 82d Indiana; near this, but across the road, on the skirt of a wood, are Sergeants Potter and Puttenry, of the 24th Ohio, Henry Allen, of the 65th Ohio, and Frank Nitty, of the 58th Indiana. Continuing our course to the left, just crossing a dirt-road leading toward Murfreesboro, upon a little knoll, are the ruins of a once handsome mansion. Behind an upright Southern timber-fence, just back of the still-standing negro-quarters, there is a beautiful cluster of prairie-roses in full leaf. The waving branches, as they bend to the right, cover the graves of three Cincinnati boys, two of whom I knew intimately. Go ask their comrades, and they will bear willing evidence to the chivalrous bearing of the two noble youths, Ally Rockenfield and little Dave Medary. Beside them is the grave of W. S. Shaw, whom I did not know personally. I am told he died while bravely doing his whole duty. The branches of the same friendly rose-bush, bending to the left, cover the graves of Captain Weller, Lieutenant Harmon, and Major Terry; all of the 24th Ohio, forming a beautiful emblem of the unity of those two splendid regiments, the 6th and 24th. Continuing still further to the left, we cross Stone River, where our forces did such good fighting under Crittenden. Just after crossing this stream, upon the first knoll, beneath a large oak, are the remains of Sergeant Jacob McGillen, of Hamilton. He belonged to the 69th Ohio. An incident in regard to this noble youth was told me by a gentleman who knew him well. When that noble man, William Beckett, of Hamilton, was doing all in his power to assist in raising the 69th Regiment, a number of the "Southern Rights" sympathizers tried to dissuade McGillen from joining—bidding him to hold off until substitutes were called for, and then, if he would go, they would buy him. He, however, spurned their base offers, and enlisted; and, when crossing the river amid the leaden hail, he received a bullet in his arm; he hastily tied up the wound, and, though weakened from loss of blood, rejoined his command, and the second ball piercing his breast, he fell. Nearly opposite his resting place lies Captain Chandler, of the 19th Illinois.

I have been told, by those high in command, that more individual prowess was manifested upon this battle-field than any during the war. There were more hand-to-hand encounters, more desperate fighting—men selling their lives as dearly as possible. As to their General, there is but one acclamation: General Rosecrans has endeared himself to the whole army; they love him as a child should love its father; and all are satisfied that, had it not been for the surprise upon the right, and Johnson's defeat, the battle would have ended with the total annihilation of the Southern army.


On my way back to Nashville I called at the different hospitals, and saw quite a number of the wounded. The surgeons were doing all they could toward sending them home. Doctor Ames and Doctor Stevens, of the 6th Ohio, in fact, all the surgeons seemed assiduous in their attentions to the wounded. As a matter of course, many thought they were neglected; but there were so many to be attended to.

I met Major Frank Cahill. He told me he had six thousand convalescents under his charge at Nashville.

General Mitchell was kept very busy, although but few passes were given to any going South; but Lieutenant Osgood, his chief business man, was up night and day, ready, at all times, to expedite those going in search of the wounded Union soldiers. Lieutenant Osgood certainly did more business in one day than many men, who are called fast, could do in a week. To know that he did his duty, I will state that Secessionists hated him, and Union men spoke in high terms of him.

A young lad, who had been sick for a long time, died; his name was William Stokes, and his home was near Dayton, Ohio. The boy had been honorably discharged, but there were no blanks, and red tape forbids a surgeon, no matter how high his position, to grant the final discharge without the blank forms. For five weeks this poor home-sick boy, only eighteen years of age, worried along, continually speaking of his mother and home; but the inexorable law kept him there to die.


At Bowling Green I met Henry Lovie, the artist; he had been grossly abused by a party of a dozen butternuts, at a little town called "Cromwell," (what's in a name?) They accused him of being a nigger-thief—a d——d Abolitionist, and were sworn to hang him. His servant, however, happened to have his free papers, and Lovie, exhibiting to them passes from McClellan, Rosecrans, and other "high old names," they were disposed to cave a little. "Our traveling artist" for Frank Leslie took a horse for self and one for servant, riding twenty-eight miles, fearing the butternuts might receive reinforcements, and reached Bowling Green by early dawn, through mud, slush, snow, and rain. Lovie wants to enlist a company to go and take "Cromwell," and requested me to see Tom Jones & Co. in regard to the matter.


General Steadman Superseded by General Schofield, of Missouri — Colonel Brownlow's Regiment — His Bravery — A Rebel Officer Killed by a Woman — Discontent in East Tennessee — Picket Duty and its Dangers — A Gallant Deed and a Chivalrous Return.

Camp near Triune, Tennessee, April 24, 1862.

I arrived in camp day before yesterday, and immediately reported for duty.

Last night General Schofield took command of this division, General Steadman having been assigned to the Second Brigade. General Schofield comes to us with the highest recommendations for gallant daring, and his appearance among the boys was the signal for a neat ovation. He was serenaded by a crowd of singers, and, upon the conclusion of a patriotic song, he came to the front of his head-quarters and made a telling speech, which was enthusiastically received by his command. General Steadman being called for responded, regretting to part with his old command, but rejoicing that he had been superseded by a gentleman and a soldier so worthy of the position that had been assigned him. General Steadman assured the General that he had as fine a set of soldiers as were to be found in the Army of the Cumberland; men who had been tried and never found wanting; men whom he assured General Schofield would go wherever ordered, and against any foe. After the adjournment of the public demonstration, the two generals, with their staffs, were handsomely entertained by Captain Roper, where song, sentiment, and recitation were the order of the evening—Colonel George, Colonel Vandeveer, Colonel Long, and other notables being among the guests.

While thus enjoying ourselves, the General received a telegraphic dispatch from head-quarters, announcing the capture of McMinnville by our forces.

The command of the Third Division, we feel confident, is in vigilant hands. Brigadier-General Schofield has heretofore proved his efficiency in Missouri. His staff consists of Major J. A. Campbell, A. A. S.; W. M. Wherry, Aid-de-camp; A. H. Engle, Aid-de-camp and Judge Advocate; Captain Kirk, Quarter-master; Captain Roper, Commissary; Captain Budd, Inspector of Division, and Doctor Gordon, Medical Director.

The East Tennessee Cavalry still continue to prove their gallantry. I spent a pleasant afternoon with them yesterday, and paid a visit to their hospital. I saw six of the noble fellows who were wounded in a late fight. About ten days ago, Colonel Brownlow, a regular "chip of the old block," took a part of the regiment out some twelve miles from camp, toward Duck River, and, coming upon a large party of secesh, gave them a "taste of his quality." A short time after, the Colonel, with nine of his men, became detached from the main body, and found themselves completely surrounded by the rebels, and were within thirty yards of the foe, who ordered the Colonel to surrender. A moment's parley with his men, and the Colonel, with the boys, rode toward the rebels, and, with a few adjectives, quite unparliamentary to ears polite, much to their surprise, dashed through their line. This audacity saved them; for, before they had time to recover from their surprise, Brownlow and his men were beyond their reach. I was told, by one of the prisoners, that, at one time, twenty rebels were firing at that "little cuss in the blue jacket," as they called the Colonel, during the day's performance. Several splendid charges were made by these Tennesseeans.

James Mysinger, of Company I, from Green County, after being mortally wounded—the noble fellow—fired three shots. The Colonel dismounted to assist the dying soldier, who, with tears in his eyes, said:

"Colonel, I've only one regret—that I am not spared to kill more of those wretched traitors. Tell me, Colonel," continued he, "have I not always obeyed orders?"

"Yes, Mysinger, you are a noble fellow, and have always done your duty," said the Colonel, patting him on the cheek, and brushing the cold sweat from his brow.

"Now, Colonel," said he, "I am ready to die."

Oliver Miller, Company C, received a severe wound in the arm. He is only seventeen years of age. John Harris received three balls. Robert Adair was wounded in the head. William Riddle was completely riddled, receiving one ball and four buck-shot. David Berry had his thigh broken, jumping from his horse. Berry's father was murdered by rebels at Cumberland Gap. His head was placed upon a block and cut off, by order of Colonel Brazzleton, of the 1st East Tennessee rebel cavalry. Nearly all these men have not only their country's wrongs to avenge, but the wrongs heaped upon their fathers, mothers, and sisters. I spent an hour in conversation with these wounded men, and all were laughing and talking in the best of spirits. Such men are invincible.

A brother of Colonel Brownlow, who is now on a visit to this camp, informs me that he had it from the most reliable source, that the rebels in and around Knoxville were actually suffering for food. An order was issued by the rebel commander at Knoxville, a few days since, to seize all the hams, sides, and bacon belonging to private parties, leaving only fifty pounds for each family. A Mrs. Tillery, of Knox County, residing twelve miles from Knoxville, when her house was visited for the purpose of being pillaged, in the fulfillment of this order, expostulated with the lieutenant in command. She told him that fifty pounds would not keep her family two weeks, and she had no way of obtaining more. Notwithstanding her entreaties, the rebel lieutenant ordered fifty pounds to be weighed and given to her. He had scarcely given the order when Mrs. Tillery drew a pistol and shot the lieutenant through the heart. The rebel detail left the meat, and took off the corpse of their commander. The spirit of discontent is manifesting itself in various ways among even the most ultra rebels. They are getting tired of seeing their country devastated by the two armies, and are anxious for a settlement; and it only awaits the daring of a few to inaugurate a "rebellion within a rebellion," which, if once started, will spread like wild-fire.


Of all the duties of a soldier, outpost duty is the most trying and dangerous. Courage, caution, patience, sleepless vigilance, and iron nerve are essential to its due performance. Upon the picket-guards of an army rests an immense responsibility. They are the eyes and ears of the encamped or embattled host. Hence, if they are negligent or faithless, the thousands dependent upon their zeal and watchfulness for safety, might almost as well be blind and deaf. The bravest army, under such circumstances, is liable, like a strong man in his sleep, to be pounced upon and discomfited by an inferior foe. For this reason the laws of war declare that the punishment of a soldier found sleeping on his post shall be death.

But although the peril and responsibility involved in picket duty are so great, the heroes who are selected for it rarely receive honorable mention in our military bulletins. Their collisions with the enemy are "skirmishes." The proportion of killed and wounded in these collisions may be double or triple what it was at Magenta or Solferino, but still they are mere "affairs of outposts." "Our pickets were driven in," or "The enemy's pickets were put to flight," and that is the end of it. Presently comes the news of a brilliant Union victory; and nobody pauses to consider that if our pickets had been asleep, or faithless, or cowardly, a Union defeat might, nay must, have been the consequence.

We forget what these men endure—their risks, their privations, their fatigues, their anxieties, their battles with themselves, when sleep—more insidious than even the lurking enemy in the bush—tugs at their heavy eyelids, and their overwearied senses are barely held to their allegiance by the strongest mental effort. The soldier who rushes to the charge at the command of his officer is animated by the shouts of his comrades, inspirited by the sounds of martial music, and full of the ardor and confidence which the consciousness of being intelligently led and loyally supported engenders. He sees his adversaries; he fights in an open field; his fate is to be decided by the ordinary chances of honorable war. Not so the picket-guard. He is surrounded by unseen dangers. The gleam of his bayonet may, at any moment, draw upon him the fire of some prowling assassin. If he hears a rustling among the leaves, and inquires, "Who goes there?" the answer may be a ball in his heart.


In the recent movement of Stoneman's Cavalry, the advance was led by Lieutenant Paine, of the 1st Maine Cavalry. Being separated, by a considerable distance, from the main body, he encountered, unexpectedly, a superior force of rebel cavalry, and his whole party were taken prisoners. They were hurried off as rapidly as possible to get them out of the way of our advancing force, and, in crossing a rapid and deep stream, Lieutenant Henry, commanding the rebel force, was swept off his horse. As none of his men seemed to think or care any thing about saving him, his prisoner, Lieutenant Paine, leaped off his horse, seized the drowning man by the collar, swam ashore with him, and saved his life, thus literally capturing the captor. Paine was sent to Richmond with the rest of the prisoners, and the facts being made known to General Fitz-Hugh Lee, he wrote a statement of them to General Winder, Provost-Marshal of Richmond, who ordered the instant release of Lieutenant Paine, without even parole, promise, or condition, and, we presume, with the compliments of the Confederacy. He arrived in Washington on Saturday last. This act of generosity, as well as justice, must command our highest admiration. There is some hope for men who can behave in such a manner.

But the strangest part of the story is yet to come. Lieutenant Paine, on arriving in Washington, learned that the officer whose life he had thus gallantly saved had since been taken prisoner by our forces, and had just been confined in the Old Capitol prison. The last we heard of Paine he was on his way to General Martindale's head-quarters to obtain a pass to visit his imprisoned benefactor. Such are the vicissitudes of war. We could not help thinking, when we heard this story, of the profound observation of Mrs. Gamp: "Sich is life, vich likevays is the hend of hall things hearthly." We leave it to casuists to determine whether, when these two gallant soldiers meet on the battle-field, they should fight like enemies or embrace like Christians. For our part, we do not believe their swords will be any the less sharp, nor their zeal any the less determined, for this hap-hazard exchange of soldierly courtesy.


An Incident at Holly Springs, Miss. — The Raid of Van Dorn — Cincinnati Cotton-Dealers in Trouble — Troubles of a Reporter.


The amount of public and private property captured and destroyed by the enemy is estimated at something over six millions of dollars. He had considerable skirmishing with our troops, whose effective force Colonel R. C. Murphy, commandant of the post, says was less than three hundred. The Confederates lost ten or twelve in killed and wounded, and we six or seven wounded, none fatally. Colonel Murphy says he received information from Grant too late to make the necessary arrangements for the defense of the place. Though there were less than three hundred effective Union soldiers in town, all the civilians, tradesmen, speculators, and promiscuous hangers-on to the army were captured, swelling the number who gave their parole to about fifteen hundred. The raid, as you may imagine, delighted the residents of Holly Springs, who turned out en masse to welcome their brief-lingering "deliverers," and were very active in pointing out the places where Northerners were boarding. Not a few of the precious citizens fired at our troops from the windows, and acted as contemptibly and dastardly as possible. The women, who had been rarely visible before, made their appearance, radiant, and supplied the rebel Yahoos with all manner of refreshments. "Good Union men," who had sold their cotton to the Yankees, shook the Treasury-notes in the faces of the Union prisoners, saying they had been paid for their property, and had the pleasure of burning it before the "d——d Abolition scoundrels' eyes."


A number of cotton-buyers were robbed of whatever money they had on their persons, and some of them are said to have lost from five to ten thousand dollars apiece, which is, probably, an exaggerated statement. W. W. Cones, of Cincinnati, saved a large sum by an ingenious trick. He had twenty-eight thousand dollars on his person when the enemy entered the place, and immediately throwing off his citizen's garb, he attired himself in the cast-off gauntlets of a private soldier, entered the Magnolia House, employed as a hospital, and, throwing himself upon a bed, assumed to be exceedingly and helplessly sick, while the foe remained. As soon as the rebels had departed, he became suddenly and vigorously healthy, and walked into the street to denounce the traitors. He declared his eleven hours' sickness caused him less pain, and saved him more money than any illness he ever before endured. D. W. Fairchild, also of the Queen City, in addition to losing fifty bales of cotton, was robbed of his pocket-book, containing forty-five dollars, in the following manner: When captured, he was taken before General Jackson, popularly known as "Billy Jackson," considered a high representative of chivalry and soldiership in this benighted quarter of the globe. Jackson inquired of Fairchild, in a rough way, if he had any money with him? To which the party addressed answered, he had a trifling sum, barely sufficient to pay his expenses to the North. "Hand it over, you d——d nigger thief," roared the high-toned general, who, as soon as the porte-monnaie was produced, seized it, thrust it into his pocket, and rode off with a self-satisfied chuckle. What a noble specimen of chivalry is this Jackson! He has many kindred spirits in the South, where vulgar ruffians are apotheosized, who would, at an earlier time, have been sent to the pillory. "Sixteen-string Jack," and all that delectable fraternity, whose lives bloom so fragrantly in the pages of the saffron-hued literature of the day, would have spat in the faces of such fellows as Jackson, had they dared to claim the acquaintance of persons so much their superiors.

When the rebels were playing the part of incendiaries in town, they set fire to the building containing a great quantity of our ammunition, shells, etc. The consequence was a tremendous explosion, which broke half the windows, and many of the frames, in town, rattled down ceilings, unsettled foundations, and spread general dismay. Women and children screamed, and rushed like maniacs into the streets, and fell fainting with terror there. For several hours the shells continued to burst, and, I have heard, two or three children were killed with fragments of the projectiles. Two days after, I saw families suffering from hysterics on account of excessive fright, and several seemed to have become quite crazed therefrom.


One morning, hearing that John Morgan was at Elizabethtown, Ky., I determined to go as near as possible, and find out the condition of things, and see the fight that was in expectancy. Proceeding as far as I could by rail, I hired a carriage and horses, hoping to reach Munfordville in time for a big item.

I had proceeded some five miles when a party of eight men, whom I at once determined were guerrillas, rode hastily to the carriage, and demanded my credentials. I exhibited a free pass over the Ohio and Mississippi Railroad, four Provost-Marshal's passes, a permission to leave the State of Ohio, also one to leave Kentucky, and a ten-cent Nashville bill. I was afraid to show them my letter from General Starbuck, of the Daily Times.

After looking at them awhile, they were passed round to the balance of the fiendish-looking rascals, and I was kept in terrible suspense ten minutes longer.

I tried to get off several of my well-authenticated bad jokes, but I choked in the utterance, and my smile was no doubt a sardonic grin. I wiped the perspiration from my brow so frequently that one of the most intellectual of the "brutes" relieved the monotony of the occasion by observing that it was a very hot day, to which I acquiesced, feeling quite glad to have a guerrilla speak to a prisoner.

The countryman who had driven me thus far was speechless. He thought of his carriage and horses, and visions of their being immediately possessed by Morgan or Forrest had rendered him powerless. After a few questions as to where we left the train, and as to the number of passengers on board, the citizen cavalry, or Union guards, as they proved to be, told us we might proceed, that we were all right, but to be very careful, as Forrest was reported near that region; they hardly thought it safe to attempt to get to Green River.

This brewed fresh trouble to me, the owner of the horses and carriage refusing positively to proceed on the journey. In vain I expostulated, telling him I would pay for his horses out of the sinking fund of the Times office, in case of their loss. It was no go, and I was compelled to retreat. I felt very much like building some fortifications in the woods, and making a stand, but, remembering the saying, "Discretion is the better part of valor," retreated, and fell back upon the National Hotel, in Louisville, with all the luxuries prepared by Charley Metcalf, Major Harrow, and Colonel Myers.


A Reporter's Idea of Mules — Letter from Kentucky — Chaplain Gaddis Turns Fireman — Gaddis and the Secesh Grass-Widow.


Junius Browne, describing a mule and his antics, says: "Now, be it known, I never had any faith in, though possessed of abundant commiseration for, a mule. I always sympathized with Sterne in his sentimental reverie over a dead ass, but for a living one, I could never elevate my feeling of pity either into love or admiration. The mule in question, however, seemed to be possessed of gentle and kindly qualifications. He appeared to have reached that degree of culture that disarms viciousness and softens stubbornness into tractability. I believed the sober-looking animal devoid of tricks peculiar to his kind, such as attempting to run up dead walls in cities, and climb trees in the country, mistaking himself for a perpetual motion, and trying to kick Time through the front window of Eternity. I was deceived in the docile-looking brute. He secured me as his rider by false pretenses. He won my confidence, and betrayed it shamefully. That he was a good mule, in some respects, I'll willingly testify; but in others, he was deeply depraved. He exhibited a disposition undreamed of by me, unknown before in the brothers and sisters of his numerous family. In brief, he was a sectarian mule; a bigot that held narrow views on the subject of religion; believed Hebrew the vernacular of the devil, and regarded the Passover with malevolent eyes. Confound such a creature, there was no hope for him! Who could expect to free him from his prejudices? He hated Moses for his fate, and Rebekkah for her forms of worship. He was insane on Judaism. He was a monomaniacal Gentile. Who could make out a mental diagnosis, or anticipate the conduct of a mule afflicted with religious lunacy? Well for your correspondent had he discovered beforehand the bias of the brute, or suspected he was a quadruped zealot! Much might have been saved to him, and more to a number of unoffending gentlemen from church, as the sequel of my 'o'er true tale' will prove.

"The train got off about eight o'clock, on a cloudy, rainy, muddy, suicidal morning, and the material that composed it was worthy of illustration by Cruikshank. The procession was singularly varied, and supremely bizarre. There were the army-wagons, with sick and wounded soldiers, lumbering heavily along; the paroled prisoners wading through the mire; cotton-buyers, on foot and on horseback; members of the twelve tribes of Israel, with all possible modes of conveyance—in broken buggies, in dilapidated coaches, on bare-boned Rosinantes, on superannuated oxen, with fragmentary reins, rope reins, and no reins; spurring, swearing, hallooing, and gesticulating toward Memphis, in mortal terror lest the rebels would capture them again, and some of their hard-earned gains. Pauvre Juils! They would have excited the pity of a pawnbroker, if he had not known them, so frightened and anxious and disconsolate they looked. They could not have appeared more miserable if they had just learned that a brass watch they had sold for silver had turned out gold. The mule trotted along briskly and quietly enough until he beheld the grotesque vision of the heterogeneously-mounted Israelites. Then he displayed most extraordinary conduct. He pawed, he hawed, he kicked, all the while glancing at the sons of Jerusalem, and braying louder and more discordant every moment. I could not understand the mule's idiosyncrasies. Possibly, I thought, the doctrine of the metempsychosis may be true, and this brute, in the early stages of its development, once have been in love. He has a fit on him now, I fancied—he is once more possessed of a petticoat. Why not? If love converts men into asses, why should not asses, in their maddest moments, act like men in love? The mule's ire was culminating. I dug my spurs into his side. Vain effort! He was bent on mischief, and malignant against the persecuted race. If he had been in the House of Commons, (and many of his brethren are there,) I know he never would have voted for the admission of Jews into the English Parliament. Before I could anticipate his movement, he rushed at several pedestrian Hebrews and kicked the wind out of their stomachs and three pairs of green spectacles from their noses. While endeavoring to recover their glasses, the mule knocked their hats off with his hoofs, and impaired the perfect semicircle of their proboscis, thus imitating the rebels—by destroying their bridges totally. The infuriated brute then ran for an old buggy, and, by supreme perseverance, kicked it over, and its two Hebrew occupants, into the road, where they fell, head-foremost, into the mire, growling profanely, like tigers that have learned German imperfectly, and were trying to swear, in choice Teutonic, about the peculiar qualities of Limburger cheese. In their sudden subversion, the Israelites dropped three fine watches out of their pockets, and the mule, with an unprecedented voracity, and determined on having a good time, ate the chronometers without any apparent detriment to digestion. The owners of the watches were frenzied. They glanced at my beast, and were about to devour him, hoping thereby to get the timepieces back. They did not violate the third commandment. They could not. They were too mad. They merely hissed rage, like a boiling tea-kettle, and grew purple in the face, and spun round in the road, from the excess of their wrath. Your correspondent was alarmed. He feared the mule would devour the Hebrews themselves, and he knew, if that were done, the animal would explode, and said animal had not been paid for. No time was given for reflection. Off ran the mule again, and made a pedal attack on a small Hebrew with a huge nasal organ, seated on top of a decayed coach, drawn by a horse, a cow, and three negroes. The quadruped made a herculean effort to kick the diminutive Shylock from his seat, but all in vain. The altitude was too great, and, in the midst of his exertions, he kicked himself off his feet, and fell over into a gulley, in which he alighted and stood on his head, as if he had been trained in a circus. The position was admirable, and so worthy of imitation that I stood on my head also, in two feet of mire, and beckoned with my boots for some passing pedestrians to come and pull me out, as they would a radish from a kitchen-garden. The mule resumed his normal position speedily, and went off in his well-sustained character of a Jew-hunter. I was less fortunate. Three teamsters drew my boots from my feet, and tears from my eyes, before they could extricate me. And when I was removed from terra firma, I resembled a hickory stump dragged out by the roots, or a large cat-fish that had left his native element, and, seized with a fit of science, had endeavored to convert himself into a screw of the Artesian well. Placed feet downward on the ground again, I could not thank my deliverers or swear at the mule. I was dumb with astonishment and the mud, having swallowed eighteen ounces avoirdupois weight of the sacred soil of Mississippi while endeavoring to express my admiration of the performance of the mule. When I had removed the mire from my optics, in which cotton-seed would have grown freely, I beheld the mule in the dim distance. I could not see the brute plainly, but I could determine his course by the frequent falling of a human figure along the road. I knew the figures were those of his enemies, the much-abused Hebrews—that he was still wreaking his vengeance on the representatives of Israel—that he was fulfilling the unfortunate destiny of a misguided and merciless mule. Strange animal! Had the honest tradesman ever sold his grandfather a bogus watch? or inveigled his innocent sire into the mysterious precincts of a mock-auction? Alas! history does not record, and intuition will not reveal.

"My narrative is over. I did not go to Memphis. I returned, limping, to town, mentally ejaculating, like many adventurous gentlemen who, before me, have recklessly attempted to ride the peculiar beast, 'D——n a mule, any how!'"


Early in September, 1862, I was sent by General Starbuck & Co., proprietors of the Cincinnati Daily Times, to reconnoiter in Kentucky. My first stop was a very pleasant one—at the Galt House, Louisville. From that place I wrote incident after incident concerning the most inhuman barbarity that had been enacted by citizen guerrillas and butternut soldiers. Louisville was in a foment of excitement, and if the rebels had only possessed the dash, there was scarce a day but they could have made a foray upon the "Galt," and captured from forty to fifty nice-looking officers, from brigadier-generals down to lieutenants.

It was supposed the Government could spare them; else why were they in the North, when they should have been in the South?

While there, I met Lieutenant Thomas S. Pennington, of Columbus, Ohio, a gentleman of intelligence, who told me HE SAW CITIZENS OF RICHMOND (Kentucky) who had pretended to be FRIENDLY WITH OUR MEN, SHOOT THEM DOWN AS THEY WERE RETREATING THROUGH THEIR STREETS. G. W. Baker, the regimental blacksmith of the 71st Indiana, who resides in Terre Haute, was in the city in charge of a number of horses left in Richmond. As our boys, worn-out and unarmed, retreated through the place, Mr. Baker says the men fired from their windows and doors. J. C. Haton, of Point Commerce, Indiana, also corroborates this fiendish piece of work upon the very men who had for days stood guard over their private property. All agree that more of our men were killed by these incarnate fiends in citizens' clothing than by the secesh in uniforms. Many of the pretended friendly citizens went out (says Lieutenant Pennington) to aid us, and then treacherously picked off our officers. Colonel Topkins, of the 71st Indiana, died nobly, leading his men, who, although undisciplined, stood bravely by their gallant colonel while there was a shadow of hope. Twice was his horse shot beneath him; and mounting the third horse, he received two bullets. A number of his boys hastily gathered around him. His last words were: "Boys, did I do my duty?" With tears coursing their manly cheeks, they replied: "You did, Colonel." "Then," said he, "I DIE HAPPY." Major Concklin, of the 71st, whom I reported wounded, died shortly afterward. Coming from Shelbyville, I passed more than one hundred wagons, all heavily loaded with the wreck of the late battles, many of the wounded being brought to this city.


Charley Bunker, in writing from the 2d Ohio, says: "This is the Sabbath, which, under present circumstances, can only be known by the neat appearance of the boys, in their shiny boots and clean, boiled shirts, as they make their early morning entree for company inspection of arms and accouterments, after which, all is dullness and vacuity. There is a sensible void, apparent to all, requiring something to remove the depressing dullness now surrounding them; and that something is to be found only in the presence of an accommodating and pleasing chaplain. Being to-day in the camp of the 2d Ohio Regiment, I observed this lack of a clerical adviser, in the absence of Brother M. P. Gaddis, the pleasing and affable chaplain of this gallant band of patriots. Brother Gaddis, being naturally of a pleasing and accommodating disposition, has won the confidence and favor of his entire command, and is an ever-welcome guest wherever he may chance to offer his presence. But one instance can be recorded wherein the parson has met with refusal of friendship and favor—and this can be credited to nothing but the present distracted condition of our unfortunate country. But, even in this instance, the kind and accommodating nature of the chaplain was fully manifested; forgetting all party or political prejudices, he viewed all the circumstances with a happy mind and Christian heart. The following are the circumstances of the above-mentioned case: On the first advance of the national army from Louisville toward the land of Dixie, a portion of our forces marched along the turnpike, passing in their route the time-noted tavern-stand, distant some twenty miles north of Bowling Green, and known to all travelers as "Ball's Tavern." On the evening of the arrival of the forces under the immediate command of General Mitchel, at this place, one of the buildings attached to the premises accidently caught fire."


The 2d Ohio Regiment being encamped near the premises, and observing the flames bursting from the roof of the building, Brother Gaddis, with a number of others, instantly made their way to the building to save the entire property from destruction. Entering the building, they made their way to the top of the house, where the fire was then raging, and commenced tearing away the wood-work near the devouring element. No water being convenient, they were obliged to resort to the snow as a substitute, which, at that time, covered the ground, to subdue the flames. Having partially succeeded in checking the raging of the fire, a small aperture was made in the roof of the building, and Dave Thomas, the sutler of the 2d Ohio, being the smallest one of the party, was thrust through the hole in the roof, and made a desperate onslaught upon the fire, while Brother Gaddis continued to hand up the snow in hats and caps to the daring firemen on the roof, until the fire was entirely extinguished. The following day Brother Gaddis, knowing the former reputation of the tavern, and, as is natural with all clerical exponents, preferring fried chicken to hog meat, and warm rolls to hard crackers, wended his way to the tavern, with a craving appetite, and the full expectation of a kind welcome and an agreeable entertainment.

Before proceeding further, I must here state that, attached to these premises, is a noted subterranean recess, which has ever been the attraction of all travelers who have chanced to pass over this frequented thoroughfare, and is known as the "Diamond Cave."


Entering the dwelling, Brother Gaddis sought the landlady, Mrs. Proctor, or the late widow Bell, but now the wife of a Proctor, who, by-the-by, is at present to be found in the ranks of the rebel army, the madam's entire sympathies leading in the same direction. Addressing the landlady in his usual winning manner, Brother Gaddis requested the privilege of remaining as a guest of the house, and enjoying the luxuries of her well-stored larder and the comforts of her well-furnished rooms. What was the surprise of the chaplain to find in the landlady a real she-devil in politics, and utterly inexorable to all appeals to her charity and hospitality. In her remarks, she observed that "He was on the wrong side of the fence; that she had entertained, the day before the arrival of the Union troops, a company of three hundred gentlemen, (referring to that number of rebel cavalry,) and that they had treated her like a lady, and paid her for what they had received"—(in Confederate scrip). In reply, Brother Gaddis, not wishing to be deprived of her coveted entertainment, inquired "What was the difference which side of the fence he was on, so that he conducted himself with propriety, and paid her for her trouble?" asking if his money was not as good as that of those of whom she spoke. She answered, "No!" and positively refused to entertain any of the "hated Yankees" in her house.


A planter came to camp one day, His niggers for to find; His mules had also gone astray, And stock of every kind. The planter tried to get them back, And thus was made a fool, For every one he met in camp Cried, "Mister, here's your mule." CHORUS.—Go back, go back, go back, old scamp, And don't be made a fool; Your niggers they are all in camp, And Turchin's got your mule.

His corn and horses all were gone Within a day or two. Again he went to Colonel Long, To see what he could do. "I can not change what I have done, And won't be made a fool," Was all the answer he could get, The owner of the mule. CHORUS.—Go back, go back, go back, old scamp, And don't be made a fool; Your niggers they are all in camp, And Turchin's got your mule.

And thus from place to place we go, The song is e'er the same; 'Tis not as once it used to be, For Morgan's lost his name. He went up North, and there he stays, With stricken face, the fool; In Cincinnati now he cries, "My kingdom for a mule." CHORUS.—Go back, go back, etc.


A Visit to the 1st East Tennessee Cavalry — A Proposed Sermon — Its Interruption — How ye Preacher is Bamboozled out of $15 and a Gold Watch — Cavalry on the Brain — Old Stonnicker Drummed out of Camp — Now and Then.


The cavalry had been kept very busy during the months of March and April; the picket-duty was arduous and severe, but the East Tennessee soldiers stood up to the rack manfully. I had been with them on nearly all their expeditions; shared their toils and dangers, until I felt I was a part and parcel of their "institution." Colonel Johnson, at this time, was in Nashville, raising a brigade; the command of the regiment, therefore, devolved upon Colonel Brownlow.

The Colonel had frequently invited me over to the camp, but other engagements had as frequently deterred me from accepting the invitation.

I was seated, one beautiful afternoon, in the tent of Doctor Charles Wright, of the 35th Ohio, conversing with Colonel Brownlow, when Major Tracy, of the Tennessee regiment, with two or three others, agreed that "now was the appointed time." A horse was proffered me by John Leiter, Esq., and I proceeded forthwith to the head-quarters of the renowned East Tennesseeans. Arriving there, the Major requested that I would entertain the boys, who, as well as they knew me personally, did not know me facially—did not know the "power of facial expression."

Major Tracy ordered the assembly-call sounded, which was done, and, in a short time, five or six hundred men were congregated in front of head-quarters, and as those in the rear could not have a good view of the speaker, the Major ordered the front rank to kneel, or squat. The boys had been told that Alf was going to give them some "fun;" that Alf was to amuse them for awhile.

During the congregating of the crowd, I was in the tent—the audience in waiting. Major T. went to the front and announced that the REV. EBENEZER SLABSIDES, from Middle Tennessee, would address the congregation. A table was placed, and I had taken a "posish," with spectacles mounted on my nose, when, just as I had commenced the discourse, by saying: "MY BELOVED BRETHERING," I heard a strange voice say:

"We didn't come to hear no sermon—we come to hear Alf. Put that fellow out!"

Another voice said: "That's a burlesque on our parson."

Still I went on, thinking all would be quiet. Presently a big, tall E. T. C. fellow shouted "Move him, move him!" and shouts of "Alf! where's Alf?" resounded all over. Here I tried to divest myself of my spectacles, but they stuck, and before I could identify myself to the crowd as to who I was, I received a knock-down argument.

I changed my base of operations, and retreated to the Major's tent. Here two stalwart fellows laid violent hands upon me, and each one getting hold, tried to pull me through the tent-pole. Seeing a fine opportunity for a strategical maneuver, I succeeded in planting a heavy blow on the proboscis of one of my tormentors, which bedizzened his vision. Again I changed my base, and got to another tent. By this time the camp was wild; a few, who knew me, were taking my part; blows fell thick and fast, but I succeeded in guarding my head. I had no relish for cavalry on the brain just then. During the melee they robbed me of a watch and about fifteen dollars in money. "But they can't do it again! Hallelujah!"

The news of my defeat spread like wild-fire over the camp before tatoo; the entire division were talking of it, and serious consequences were feared; the cavalry soldiers did not dare show themselves near the 2d Minnesota for several days, I being quite a favorite with those boys, and that being my home for the time. The most exaggerated stories were told of the affair.

In a few days all was quiet on the Harpeth, and again I was with the boys, who all made the most ample apologies, and expressed sorrow for what had occurred.

Colonel Brownlow called upon me the next day, in condolence, renewing the invitation, but the remembrance of my former reception deterred me from making the journey. Some weeks after the occurrence, I was commissioned by the proprietors of the Cincinnati Commercial to proceed to Murfreesboro as their "Special," and telegraphed to General Garfield for the requisite permission. Judge of my surprise upon receiving the following dispatch from General Garfield:

Head-quarters Army of the Cumberland, Murfreesboro, May 10, 1863.

Alf Burnett—Sir: The commanding General has heard of the occurrence at Triune, and refuses you permission to come to Murfreesboro.

J. A. GARFIELD, Brigadier-General and Chief of Staff.

I immediately dispatched a batch of letters from prominent Generals; also sent forward several fine introductory letters that I held, addressed to General Rosecrans and General Garfield. A regular diplomatic correspondence was opened, and, after hearing the evidence, I received a telegram to this effect:

Alf Burnett—Report forthwith at these Head-quarters.


By order of Major-General Rosecrans.

I arrived at Murfreesboro the following day, but did not "report," for I felt somewhat chagrined at the General's crediting the stories that he had heard. The succeeding day, however, I met General Alex McCook, and his brother, the gallant Colonel Dan McCook, who told me that the General wanted to see me immediately; that the greatest anxiety was felt at head-quarters for my appearance; that I had been the subject of conversation for an hour past. I immediately dismounted and walked into the house, presenting my card to an orderly, and, in a moment, General Garfield came to the door with a cordial welcome and a hearty laugh, took me by the hand and introduced the "Preacher from Hepsidam" to Major-General Rosecrans. When this was done, another outburst of laughter was the result.

Major-General Turchin, Major-General Thomas, and the staffs of those heroes were present. General Garfield and "Old Rosey" formed the party whom I was apprised were a court-martial now duly convened to try the "Preacher from Hepsidam." General R. asking me if I was ready for trial, I told him I was, if he had a pair of spectacles in the "court" room. So he called the court to order, sent for a few of his staff, who were absent, and requested General Garfield to get me a pair of spectacles from an adjoining room. General Rosecrans took advantage of General Garfield's absence to tell me that General Garfield had once been a "Hard-shell" Baptist preacher, and requested me, if I could, by any possibility, "bring him in," to do so. The sermon was given, and, afterward, the "DEBATE BETWEEN SLABSIDES AND GARROTTE," together with other pieces. At the conclusion of the "trial," the court unanimously resolved that I should not only be honorably acquitted of all charges, but that I was henceforth to be allowed the freedom of the Army of the Cumberland. "And," said the General, "in explanation of my dispatch to you, refusing you permission to come here, some one told me you were giving a mock-religious sermon which so disgusted the religious sensibilities of the E. T. C. that they mobbed you; and I thought if you could do any thing to shock their feelings, you must be a devil with 'four horns;' but, with such a face as you make, no wonder they were deceived."


The illustration of this scene will be recognized by thousands of our soldier-boys who were occupiers of Virginia soil, upon the banks of the Elkwater, for some months during the summer and fall of 1861. Old Stonnicker's was a name familiar as a household word, and many were the pranks played upon the poor old man. Ignorant, beyond description, he yet had twice been a "justice" of the peace, and, as he said, "sot on the bench."

The scene illustrated is where Stonnicker was arrested by a "special order" from the 6th Ohio, and tried by an impromptu court-martial, for selling liquor to soldiers. The mock-trial took place amid the most grotesque queries and absurd improvised telegraph dispatches—the hand-writing of the telegraphic dispatches being sworn to as that of the individuals from whom they were just received, the oath being, "As they solemnly hoped for the success of the Southern Confederacy." The poor wretch had actually been detected in selling, contrary to express orders, liquor to soldiers. He employed counsel, but, notwithstanding all they could do, he was sentenced, by Major Christopher, to die. He received his sentence with moanings and anguish; he was too frightened to notice the smiles or laughter of the crowd. He got on his knees and begged for mercy, and, after an hour of suspense, the Court relented, and commuted the sentence to being drummed out of camp. It is at this juncture the artist has seized the occasion to illustrate the scene.

Stonnicker is a by-word to all the boys of Elkwater notoriety to this day, and was, at one time, "a password" at Louisville.

Poor Stonnicker is dead. In trying, last fall, to ford that mad torrent, Elkwater, during a storm, he was swept from his horse and drowned.

Andy Hall, Ned Shoemaker, Doctor Ames, and other notables of the "times that tried men's soles," were the recipients of the hospitality of another of the family of Stonnickers, who lived up a "ravine" about a mile nearer Huttonsville. Doctor Ames had musk upon his handkerchief, which the young lady, (?) Miss Delilah Stonnicker, noticing, as she waited upon the Doctor at the supper-table, exclaimed: "'Lor', Doctor, how your hankercher stinks!"

"Does it?" said the Doctor, coloring up to his very eyes, roars of laughter proceeding from all present.

"Yaas; it stinks just like a skunk."

"Why, Miss Delilah, do you have skunks out here?" inquired the Doctor.

"Yaas, lots on 'em up the gut out thar."


Written by Enos B. REED,

And Recited by Mr. Alf BURNETT, at the Benefit of the Ladies' Soldiers' Aid Society of Cincinnati, Saturday Evening, January 31st, 1863.

In other days, as it has oft been told By those who sleep beneath the grave's dank mold, In this, our loved, but now distracted land, Men dwelt together as a household band; Brothers they were, but not alone in name, Sons of Columbia and Columbia's fame— They loved the land, the fairest 'neath the sun, Home of the brave—the land of Washington!

Peaceful the rivers as they flowed along The plenteous fields, where swelled the harvest song; Peaceful the mountains, as they reared on high Their snow-capped peaks unto the azure sky— Peaceful the valleys, where contentment smiled, Blessing alike the parent and the child— Peaceful the hearts which owned a country blest, And owned their God, who gave them peace and rest!

The happy matron and the joyous maid Alike were blest—the unknown traveler stayed His weary limbs beneath their roof-tree's shade, While home from toil the husbandman returned, His honest hands the honest pittance earned, Willing to share his humble meal with one Whether from Winter's snows or Southern sun.

No North—no South, in those the better days— Our starry flag o'er all—its genial rays Glistened amid New England's dreary snows, Or shone as proudly where the south wind blows: One flag, one nation, and one God we claimed, And traitors' lips had never yet defamed The land for which our fathers fought and bled— Hallowed by graves of honored patriot-dead!

Fruitful the earth, and fair the skies above; The days were blissful, and the nights were love; We were at peace—our land and freedom gained— Our fair escutcheon with no blot e'er stained— But all did honor to the fair young State Who made herself both glorious and great; Our Eagle—emblem of the happy free— Was free to soar o'er foreign land or sea!

But darkness came, and settled like a pall Funereal, on our hearts; o'er one and all It cast its blighting, withering wing, A horrid, shapeless, and revolting thing— While dove-eyed Peace bowed down its gentle head And wept for those, though living, worse than dead; And blood, like rivers, flowed from hill to plain 'Till land and sea knew not their ghastly slain.

The Northern snows incarnadined with gore— The Southern vales with blood, like wine, ran o'er— The battle raging in the morning sun, At night, the warfare scarcely yet begun— The sire, in arms to meet his foeman-son, Brother, to seek his brother in the strife, Rushed madly on—demanding life for life! And children, orphans made—and worse than widowed, wife!

And this the land which erst our fathers blest, Favored of Heaven—the pilgrim's hope of rest— Now cursed by traitors, who with impious hands Have dared to sunder our once-hallowed bands— Have dared to poison with their ven'mous breath All that was fair—and raise the flag of death; Have dared to blight the country of their birth, Striving her name to banish from the earth!

God of our fathers! where your lightnings now, To blind their vision, and their hearts to bow? Traitors to all that manhood holds most dear, Without remorse, with neither hope nor fear, They trail our starry banner in the dust, And flaunt their own base emblem in the gust; Like the arch-fiend, who from a Heaven once fell, They'd pull us down to their own fearful hell!

A boon! O God! a boon from thee we crave— Shine on this gloomy darkness of the grave; Stretch forth thine arm, and let the waves be still, And Union triumph, as it must and will. God of our Fathers! guide our arms aright, Be near and with us in the deadly fight; Columbia's banner may we still uphold, And keep each star bright in its azure fold.

We mourn for those who sleep beneath the wave, Or on the land have found a soldier's grave; Each heart will be an altar to their fame, And ever sacred kept each glorious name. We'll honor those who nobly fought and bled, And fighting fell, where freedom's banner led; Each soldier-son, we'll welcome to our arms, When strife has ceased its din and dread alarms!

Our soldiers, home returning from the wars, Our dames shall nourish—honored scars Shall mark them heroes, and they live to tell How once they battled—battled brave and well— For home and country—mountain, plain, and dell— And how the nation like a phenix rose From out its ashes, spite of fiendish foes; Then once again Columbia shall be blest— Home of the free, and land for the oppressed!


An Incident of the 5th O. V. I. — How to Avoid the Draft — Keep the Soldiers' Letters — New Use of Blood-hounds — Proposition to Hang the Dutch Soldiers — Stolen Stars.


There is no regiment in the service that has won more enviable renown than the glorious old 5th; and, although I have met them but twice in my peregrinations, I can not let them go unnoticed in this volume. Many of the boys I knew intimately—none better than young Jacobs, who was killed near Fredericksburg, Virginia. A writer in the Cincinnati Commercial, soon after his death, penned the following merited tribute to his memory:

Noble deeds have been recorded, during the past two years, of the faithful in our armies, who have struggled amid carnage and blood to consecrate anew our altar of liberty—deeds which have stirred the slumbering fires of patriotism in ten thousand hearts, and revived the nation's hope. I can well conceive that it would be asking too much to record every merited deed of our brave officers and men; but, while too many have strayed from the ranks when their strong arms have been most needed, will you allow a passing tribute to the memory of one who was always at his post of duty?

Henry G. Jacobs, a private in Company C, 5th Regiment O. V. I., who was killed in battle near Fredericksburg, Virginia, was the second son of E. Jacobs, Esq., of Walnut Hills. He enlisted in May, 1861, and had, consequently, been in the service two years. Since his regiment left Camp Dennison, he had never been absent from it a day until he fought his last battle. I need not speak of his deeds of personal bravery, for he belonged to a regiment of heroes. For unflinching courage on the field of battle, the 5th Ohio has few parallels and no superior. In that respect, the history of one is the history of all. In the battle of Winchester, Henry escaped with two ball-holes in his coat. In the battle of Port Republic, only one (a young man from Cincinnati) besides himself, of all his company who were in the action, escaped capture. They reached the mountains after being fired at several times, and, two days after, they arrived at their camp. At the battle of Cedar Mountain the stock of his gun was shattered in his hands by a rebel shot. He was in the battles of Antietam and South Mountain, and in over twenty considerable skirmishes.

Last autumn, his sister wrote, urging him to ask for a furlough and visit home, if but for a few days. His answer was: "Our country needs every man at his post, and my place is here with my regiment till this rebellion is put down." No young man could be more devotedly attached to his home, yet he wrote, last winter: "I have never asked for a furlough since I have been in the service; but, if you think father's life is in danger from the surgical operation which is to be performed upon his arm, I will try to get home; for you do not know how deeply I share with you all in this affliction."

His talents and education fitted him for what his friends considered a higher position than the one he occupied. Accordingly, application was made to the Governor to commission him as a lieutenant in one of the new regiments. In signing the application, Professor D. H. Allen, of Lane Seminary, prefaced his signature as follows: "I know no young man in the ranks who, in my opinion, is better qualified for an officer in the army than Henry C. Jacobs." In this opinion W. S. Scarborough, Esq., Colonel A. E. Jones, and many others who were personally acquainted with him, heartily concurred. Such encouragement was received from the Governor as led his sister to write, congratulating him upon the prospect of his appointment. His answer was: "I had rather be a private in the 5th Ohio than captain in any new regiment. In fact, I do not want a commission. When I enlisted, it was not for pay; I never expected to receive one dollar. I have fought in many battles, and served my country to the best of my ability; and I wish to remain in the position I now occupy till the war is over."

It is not only to offer a tribute to the memory of Henry that I would intrude upon your readers, but, by presenting an example, encourage faithfulness and patriotic devotion to the cause of liberty. If any man, officer or private, has been more faithful, his be the higher monument in a grateful nation's heart when treason is no more. He shouldered his musket, and it was at his country's service every hour till it was laid down beside his bleeding, mangled body, on the banks of the Rappahannock. If my country ever forgets such heroes as these, her very name should perish forever. Young men whose hearts are not stirred within them to rush into the breach, avenge the fallen brave, and save their country, are making for themselves no enviable future. Who that calls himself a man will sit with folded arms and careless mien, under the shade of the tree of liberty, while the wild boar is whetting his tusks against its bark, and the gaunt stag rudely tears its branches? It was planted in tears and watered with blood; and if you do not protect it now, your names will perish.

Henry had made two firm resolves: one was to keep out of the hospital, and the other was to keep out of the hands of the rebels. He would not be taken a prisoner, and, if die he must, he preferred the battle-field to the hospital. He has realized his wish, and though the bitterness of our anguish at his loss may only wear out with our lives, our country, in his death, has lost more than his kindred. We are making history for all time to come. Eternity will tell its own story of unending joy for those who have freely shed their blood to lay a firm foundation for the happiness of millions yet unborn.

"Give me the death of those Who for their country die; And O! be mine like their repose, When cold and low they lie!

"Their loveliest Mother Earth Entwines the fallen brave; In her sweet lap who gave them birth They find their tranquil grave."


During the troubles of raising men, a rough-looking customer, determined upon evasion, called upon the Military Commission, when the following colloquy ensued, the individual in question remarking:

"Mr. Commissioner, I'm over forty-five."

"How old are you?"

"I don't know how old I am; but I'm over forty-five."

"In what year did you make your appearance on this mundane sphere?"

"I don't know what you mean; but I'm over forty-five."

"When were you born?"

"I don't know; but I'm over forty-five."

"How am I to know you are over age?"

"I don't know and I don't care; but I'm over forty-five."

"When were you forty-five?"

"I don't know; but I know I'm over forty-five."

"You must give me some proof that you are over age."

"I've been in the country thirty-six years, and I'm over forty-five."

"That does not prove that you are too old to be drafted."

"I don't care; I know I'm over forty-five."

"I shall not erase your name until you prove your age."

"I tell you I've been in this country thirty-six years, and I went sparking before I came here, and I'm over forty-five."

"Will you swear it?"

"Yes, I'm over forty-five. D——d if I aint over forty-five."

"Well, I will exempt you."

"I don't care whether you do or not, for I've got a wooden leg."


One fine summer's Sunday afternoon, as a steamboat was stopping at a landing on the Mississippi to take in wood, the passengers were surprised to see two or three young, athletic negroes perched upon a tree like monkeys, and about as many blood-hounds underneath, barking and yelping, and jumping up in vain endeavors to seize the frightened negroes. The overseer was standing by, encouraging the dogs, and several bystanders were looking on, enjoying the sport. It was only the owner of some blood-hounds training his dogs, and keeping them in practice, so as to be able to hunt down the runaways, who often secrete themselves in the woods. It was thought fine sport, and useful, too, in its way, ten years ago.

But now the same hounds are being made use of, all through Alabama and Mississippi, and, we have no doubt, in other of the Southern States, to hunt down white men hiding in the woods to escape the fierce conscription act, which is now seizing about every man under sixty years of age able to carry a gun. Nor is this the worst. It is found that those camped out are supplied with food brought them by their children, who go out apparently to play in the woods, and then slip off and carry provisions to their fathers. To meet this exigency, blood-hounds are now employed to follow these little children on their pious errands, and the other day a beautiful little girl was thus chased and overtaken in the woods, and there torn in pieces, alone and unaided, by the trained blood-hounds of Jefferson Davis! Nor is this a solitary case. It appears that many white men, women, and children have thus been sacrificed, in order to carry out the conscription act in all its terrors.

In a large number of cases, those who are thus hunted down are such as have in some way exhibited Union proclivities; for, although such have ceased to offer any opposition to the rebels, they do not like taking up arms against the flag of the Union, to which many of them have, in former days, sworn allegiance. These persons, and all suspected, are especially marked out as objects of the conscription and the blood-hound, be their ages and fighting qualities what they may. And these are the men hunted down with dogs, and their wives and their children, if they attempt to follow them. There are, however, many men not Unionists, and willing to contribute of their property to any amount to support the rebels, but now being drawn into the conscription, or, having tasted the desperate neglects of the rebel service, have deserted, and will not again take up arms. Their wives are ladies, most delicate and tender, and their children brought up with a refinement and delicacy of the most perfect character, until this war began. And these are the women that now have to wander alone in the woods, in search of their husbands and brothers and sons; and these are the little girls, who, going to carry food to their relatives, are liable at any moment to be overtaken by swift hounds, let loose and set upon their track by the agents of Jefferson Davis.

It may be doubted if war itself, ever but once in the history of mankind, proved so disastrous to a people, by the hands of those engaged in carrying it on. Perhaps, in the final destruction of Jerusalem, there may have been scenes of greater and more fiendish cruelty by the factions of John and Simon destroying each other, while both were at war with the Romans. And what must be the state of the South, when a delicate woman, who would hardly set her feet on the ground for delicacy, and used to have servants to attend upon her every wish and want, is reduced to straits like these, and children are torn to pieces by the dogs of humble hunters after white flesh for Jefferson Davis's shambles!


Mother, father, brother, sister, wife, sweetheart, keep that bundle sacredly! Each word will be historic, each line invaluable. When peace has restored the ravages of war, and our nation's grandeur has made this struggle the most memorable of those great conflicts by which ideas are rooted into society, these pen-pictures of the humblest events, the merest routine details of the life led in winning national unity and freedom, will be priceless. Not for the historian's sake alone, do I say, keep those letters, but for your sakes who receive them, and ours who write them. The next skirmish may stop our pulses forever, and our letters, full of love for you, will be our only legacy besides that of having died in a noble cause. And should we survive the war, with health and limb uninjured, or bowed with sickness or crippled with wounds, those letters will be dear mementoes to us of dangers past, of trials borne, of privations suffered, of comrades beloved. Keep our letters, then, and write to us all the home news and "gossip." Bid us Godspeed. Speak kindly, loving, courageous words to us. If you can't be Spartans—and we don't want you to be—be "lovers, countrymen, and friends." So shall our feet fall lighter, and our sabers heavier!


The following specimen of "chivalric" literature is copied from the Knoxville Register, of June 12, 1862:

Of late, in all battles and in all recent incursions made by Federal cavalry, we have found the great mass of Northern soldiers to consist of Dutchmen. The plundering thieves captured by Forrest, who stole half the jewelry and watches in a dozen counties of Alabama, were immaculate Dutchmen. The national odor of Dutchmen, as distinctive of the race as that which, constantly ascending to heaven, has distended the nostrils of the negro, is as unmistakable as that peculiar to a polecat, an old pipe, or a lager-beer saloon. Crimes, thefts, and insults to the women of the South invariably mark the course of these stinking bodies of sour-krout. Rosecrans himself is an unmixed Dutchman, an accursed race which has overrun the vast districts of the country of the North-west.... It happens that we entertain a greater degree of respect for an Ethiopian in the ranks of the Northern armies, than for an odoriferous Dutchman, who can have no possible interest in this revolution.

Why not hang every Dutchman captured? We will, hereafter, hang, shoot, or imprison for life all white men taken in the command of negroes, and enslave the negroes themselves. This is not too harsh. No human being will assert the contrary. Why, then, should we not hang a Dutchman, who deserves infinitely less of our sympathy than Sambo? The live masses of beer, krout, tobacco, and rotten cheese, which, on two legs and four (on foot and mounted), go prowling through the South, should be used to manure the sandy plains and barren hill-sides of Alabama, Tennessee, and Georgia.... Whenever a Dutch regiment adorns the limbs of a Southern forest, daring cavalry raids into the South shall cease.... President Davis need not be specially consulted; and if an accident of this sort should occur to a plundering band, like that captured by Forrest, we are not inclined to believe our President would be greatly dissatisfied.

* * * * *

"My young colored friend," said a benevolent chaplain to a contraband, "can you read?"

"Yes, sah," was the reply.

"Glad to hear it. Shall I give you a paper?"

"Sartin, massa, if you please."

"What paper would you choose?" asked the chaplain.

"If you chews, I'll take a paper of terbacker."


[At a dinner party, at which were present Major-General Lewis Wallace, Thomas Buchanan Read, and James E. Murdoch, a conversation sprung up respecting ballads for the soldiers. The General maintained that hardly one had been written suited for the camp. It was agreed that each of them should write one. The following is that by General Wallace:]

When good old Father Washington Was just about to die, He called our Uncle Samuel Unto his bedside nigh; "This flag I give you, Sammy, dear," Said Washington, said he; "Where e'er it floats, on land or wave, My children shall be free."

And fine old Uncle Samuel He took the flag from him, And spread it on a long pine pole, And prayed, and sung a hymn. A pious man was Uncle Sam, Back fifty years and more; The flag should fly till Judgment-day, So, by the Lord, he swore.

And well he kept that solemn oath; He kept it well, and more: The thirteen stars first on the flag Soon grew to thirty-four; And every star bespoke a State, Each State an empire won. No brighter were the stars of night Than those of Washington.

Beneath that flag two brothers dwelt; To both 't was very dear; The name of one was Puritan, The other Cavalier. "Go, build ye towns," said Uncle Sam, Unto those brothers dear; "Build anywhere, for in the world You've none but God to fear."

"I'll to the South," said Cavalier, "I'll to the South," said he; "I'll to the North," said Puritan, "The North's the land for me." Each took a flag, each left a tear To good old Uncle Sam; He kissed the boys, he kissed the flags, And, doleful, sung a psalm.

And in a go-cart Puritan His worldly goods did lay; With wife and gun and dog and ax, He, singing, went his way. Of buckskin was his Sunday suit, His wife wore linsey-jeans; And fat they grew, like porpoises, On hoe-cake, pork, and beans.

But Cavalier a Cockney was; He talked French and Latin; Every day he wore broadcloth, While his wife wore satin. He went off in a painted ship— In glory he did go; A thousand niggers up aloft, A thousand down below.

The towns were built, as I've heard said; Their likes were never seen; They filled the North, they filled the South, They filled the land between. "The Lord be praised!" said Puritan; "Bully!" said Cavalier; "There's room and town-lots in the West, If there isn't any here."

Out to the West they journeyed then, And in a quarrel got; One said 't was his, he knew it was, The other said 't was not. One drew a knife, a pistol t' other, And dreadfully they swore; From Northern lake to Southern gulf Wild rang the wordy roar.

All the time good old Uncle Sam Sat by his fireside near, Smokin' of his kinnikinnick, And drinkin' lager-beer. He laughed and quaffed, and quaffed and laughed, Nor thought it worth his while, Until the storm in fury burst On Sumter's sea-girt isle.

O'er the waves to the smoking fort, When came the dewy dawn, To see the flag he looked—and lo! Eleven stars were gone! "My pretty, pretty stars," he cried, And down did roll a tear. "I've got your stars, old Fogy Sam, Ha, ha!" laughed Cavalier.

"I've got your stars in my watch-fob; Come take them if you dare!" And Uncle Sam he turned away, Too full of wrath to swear. "Let thunder all the drums!" he cried, While swelled his soul, like Mars; "A million Northern boys I'll get To bring me home my stars."

And on his mare, stout Betsey Jane, To Northside town he flew; The dogs they barked, the bells did ring, And countless bugles blew. "My stolen stars!" cried Uncle Sam, "My stolen stars!" cried he, "A million soldiers I must have To bring them back to me."

"Dry up your tears, good Uncle Sam; Dry up!" said Puritan, "We'll bring you home your stolen stars, Or perish every man!" And at the words a million rose, All ready for the fray; And columns formed, like rivers deep, And Southward marched away.

* * * * *

And still old Uncle Samuel Sits by his fireside near, Smokin' of his kinnikinnick And drinkin' lager-beer; While there's a tremble in the earth, A gleaming of the sky, And the rivers stop to listen As the million marches by.


between Rev. Ebenezer SLABSIDES and Honorable Felix GARROTTE,

Delivered Before General ROSECRANS and the Society of the Toki.

The subject of discussion was—"WHO DESERVED THE GREATEST PRAISE: MR. COLUMBUS, FOR DISCOVERING AMERICA, OR MR. WASHINGTON, FOR DEFENDING IT AFTER IT WAS DISCOVERED?" The two characters are personated by an instantaneous change of feature.

[The Honorable FELIX GARROTTE arose, and said:]

Mr. President, and Gentlemen of this Lyceum:

I suppose the whole country is aware that I take sides with Mr. Kerlumbus, and I hope, Mr. President, that I may be allowed to go a leetle into detail in regard to the history of my hero. I find, Mr. President, after a deal of research, that Mr. Kerlumbus was born in the year 1492, at Rome, a small town situated on the banks of the Nile, a small creek that takes its rise in the Alps, and flows in a south-westerly direction, and empties into the Gulf of Mexico.

Mr. Kerlumbus's parents were poor; his father was a basket-maker, and, being in such low circumstances, was unable to give his only son that education which his talents and genius demanded. He therefore bound him out to a shepherd, who sot him to watchin' swine on the banks of the Nile; and it was thar, sir, by a cornstalk and rush-light fire, a readin' the history of Robinson Crusoe, that first inspired in his youthful breast the seeds of sympathy and ambition. Sympathy for what? Why, sir, to rescue that unfortunate hero, Mr. Crusoe, from his solitary and lone situation upon the island of Juan Fernandeze, and restore him to the bosom of his family in Germany. He accordingly made immediate application to Julius Caesar for two canoes and a yawl, eight men, and provisions to last him a three-days' cruise; but, sir, he was indignantly refused. He was tuk up the next day and tried by a court-martial for treason, and sentenced to two months' banishment upon the island of Cuba—a small island situated in the Mediterranean Sea—which has lately been purchased by the Sons of Malta for Jeff Davis.

But, sir, he was not to be intimidated by this harsh and cruel treatment. No, sir-ee; on the contrary, he was inspired with renewed zeal and energy; and I can put into the mouth of my hero the immortal words which Milton spoke to the Duke of Wellington, at the siege of Yorktown:

"Once more into the breach, dear friends!"

Well, after the tarm of his banishment had expired, he returned to Rome, and he found that Caesar had died again, and that Alexander the Great had succeeded him. Well, he made the same demand of Alexander that he made of Mr. Caesar, but he met with a similar denial; but, finally, through the intermediation of Cleopatra, (that was Aleck's first wife,) he ultimately succeeded.

It is unnecessary for me to go into a detail of his outfit and voyage. Suffice it to say, that, after having been tossed about upon waves that ran mountain-high, all his crew was lost, except himself and a small boy, and they were thrown upon the state of insensibility.

Well, when he came-to, he rose up, in the majesty of his strength, and found he was upon an island; so he pulled out his red cotton bandana handkercher, tied it to a fish-pole, and rared the stake of Alexander, and took formal possession of the territory in his name, and he called it San Salvador; that was in honor of Cleopatra's eldest daughter.

Well now, you see, Cleopatra was so well pleased with the honor conferred upon her daughter, that she migrated to this country for to settle; hence you see the long line of distinguished antecedents that she left here previously, and they are known as patriots, from Cleopatra.

Now, sir, having accomplished the great and paramount object of his life, he was ready for to die. The natives, therefore, for intrudin' upon their sile, tuk him prisoner, stripped him of his hunting-shirt and other clothing, tarred and feathered him, and rid him on a rail! Thus perished that truly great and good man, who lived and died for mankind. One more remark, Mr. President, and then I am done; and I lay it down as a particular pint in my argument. If it had not have been for Mr. Kerlumbus, Mr. Washington would never have been born; besides all this, Mr. Washington was a coward. With these remarks, I leave the floor to abler hands.

[Here Mr. SLABSIDES arose, much excited at hearing Mr. Washington called a coward, and said:]

Mr. President: I, sir, for one, am sureptaciously surprised at the quiet manner in which you have listened to the base suspersions cast upon that glorious and good man. Mr. Washington a coward! Why, sir, lockjawed be the mouth that spoke it. Mr. Washington a coward! Mr. President, my blood's a-bilin' at the idea. Why, sir, look at him at the battle of Tippecanoe! Look at him at the battle of Sarah Gordon! Look at him at the battle of New Orleans! Did he display cowardice thar, sir, or at any of the similar battles that he fout? I ask you, sir, did he display cowardice at the battle of New Orleans?

[Mr. GARROTTE arose, and responded to the question. Said he:]

The gentleman will allow me to correct him, one moment. Mr. Washington, sir, never fit the battle of New Orleans. He couldn't have fout that battle, for he'd been dead more'n two weeks afore that ar battle was ever fout. He never fit the battle of New Orleans.

Mr. Slabsides.—Will the gentleman—will Mr. Garrotte please state who it was that fit the battle of New Orleans? The gentleman has seen fit to interrupt me; will he please to state who it was fit the battle of New Orleans?

Hon. Felix Garrotte.—If the gentleman will have patience to turn to Josephus, or read Benjamin Franklin's History of the Black-Hawk War, you will thar learn, sir, that it was General Douglas that fit the battle of New Orleans.

Mr. Slabsides.—I thank my very learned opponent, not only for his instructions, but more especially for his corrections, in which he has shown himself totally ignorant of history, men, and things. I contend, Mr. President, notwithstanding the gentleman's assertion to the contrary, that Mr. Washington not only fit the battle of New Orleans, but that he is alive now, sir! I have only to pint you, Mr. President, and gentlemen of this lyceum, to his quiet and retired home at Sandoval, on the banks of the Tombigbee River, whar he now resides, conscious of his private worth and of the glorious achievements heaped upon his grateful brow by his aged countrymen; and allow me to call your attention to the fact that General Douglas never fit the battle of New Orleans. He couldn't have fout that battle, cause he was dead. Yes, sir, and I can prove it, if you'll have the patience to turn and look over Horace Greeley's History of the Kansas Hymn-book War; for there you will find that General Douglas, at the head of an army of negroes, made a desperate charge on Mason and Dixon's line, and Horace said he never breathed afterward.

[Hereupon the speaker left in disgust at the ignorance of his opponent.]


Preached before General Rosecrans and Staff.

My Beluved Brethering:

I am a plain and unlarnt preacher, of whom you've no doubt heern on afore; and I now appear to expound the scripters, and pint out the narrow way which leads from a vain world to the streets of the Juroosalum; and my tex which I shall choose for the occasion is somewhar between the second Chronikills and the last chapter of Timothy Titus, and when found you will find it in these words: "And they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam, whar the lion roareth and the whang-doodle mourneth for its first-born."

Now, my beluved brethering, as I have afore told you, I am an unedicated man, and know nothing about grammar talk and collidge highfaluting; but I'm a plain, unlarnt preacher of the Gospil, what's been foreordained, and called to expound the scripters to a dyin' world, and prepare a perverse generation for the day of wrath; "for they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam, whar the lion roareth and the whang-doodle mourneth for its first-born."

My beluved brethering, the text says "they shall gnaw a file." It don't say they may, but they shall. And now, there's more'n one kind of file: there's the hand-saw file, rat-tail file, single file, double file, and profile; but the kind of file spoken of here isn't one of them kind neither, because it's a figger of speech, my brethering, and means goin' it alone, getting ukered; "for they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam, whar the lion roareth and the whang-doodle mourneth for its first-born."

And now, there be some here with fine clothes on thar backs, brass rings on thar fingers, and lard on thar har, what goes it while they're young; and thar be brothers here what, as long as thar constitutions and forty-cent whisky last, goes it blind; and thar be sisters here what, when they get sixteen years old, cut thar tiller-ropes and goes it with a rush. But I say, my brethering, take care you don't find, when Gabriel blows his last trump, that you've all went it alone and got ukered; "for they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam."

And, my brethering, there's more dam beside Hepsidam: thar's Rotterdam, Haddam, Amsterdam, mill-dam, and don't-care-a-dam; the last of which, my dear brethering, is the worst of all, and reminds me of a circumstance I once knew in the State of Illinoy. There was a man what built him a mill on the east fork of Auger Creek, and it was a good mill, and ground a site of grain; but the man what built it was a miserable sinner, and never give any thing to the church; and, my brethering, one night thar come a dreadful storm of wind and rain, and the fountains of the great deep was broken up, and the waters rushed down and swept that man's mill-dam into kingdom come, and, lo, and behold! in the morning, when he got up, he found he was not worth a dam. Now, my young brethering, when storms of temptation overtake ye, take care you don't fall from grace, and become like that mill—not worth a dam; "for they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam, whar the lion roareth and the whang-doodle mourneth for its first-born."

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