Personal Recollections of Sherman's Campaigns in Georgia and the Carolinas

by George W Pepper

  There are two collegiate buildings, owned by the Methodist and Presbyterian Churches. The Methodist, is a splendid structure— crowning by its magnificent edifices an elevation that commands a view of the city, it presents a landscape to the lover of nature, rarely to be met with. Beyond the spires and steeples that lie below its base, a vast amphitheatre of wooded hills, girdles the horizon, fringing with their emerald border Alabama's central jewel, sparkling in the vale below. The President, Dr. Plummer, is a ripe scholar, and an accomplished teacher.

  Huntsville has several fine churches; the handsomest, owned by the Methodists, was destroyed by fire, through the carelessness of soldiers, who were quartered in it. Methodism is the prominent denomination, having been founded many years ago, by the Rev. William McMahan. These churches are all neat and commodious, though as a matter of taste, I confess a special liking for the gothic grandeur of the Episcopal edifice. The only Union clergyman of any note in this section, is the Rev. Priest Tracy, a Catholic, and a noble specimen of manhood. Twice he was surrounded by rebel soldiers and threatened with death. No threats however could move him from his courageous devotion to the country, whose broad domain, furnished homes and farms, for thousands of his fellow Celts. It is true that this fearless priest is a Roman Catholic:

  But what though, ten thousand altars bear,

  On each, for Heaven, a different prayer,

  By light of morn, by light of sun,

  At freedom's shrine, we must be one.

  Dr. Ross, well-known throughout the country for his championship of slavery, is the most eloquent divine in the city, and a confirmed secessionist. This man Ross, in conversation with us, admitted his belief in the shocking system of human bondage. To my question: "Do you really think the South will succeed,'' he replied: "Unless the lessons of all history fail, she must succeed." His belief, he said, was strengthened by the following reasons, which he deemed unanswerable:

  First — Because when a Nation becomes too strong for its virtue, it is a rule in God's government, that it must be divided or destroyed. Consolidation, or centralization, is not God's law, but division into parts which shall balance power with each other. To prevent this, God has raised his hand and severed the Nation. It is to be divided like Europe into smaller Nations, holding the balance of power. Reconstruction is impossible, and a sea of blood rolls between us and the North.

  Secondly — He believed the South would succeed because the problem of a Republican Government, as constituted by our fathers has been remitted to us; we are to take it up and work it out. Governments are not formed. They grow as the tree or they crystallize. Whatever the form, it is a growth — a crystallization. The North cannot work out a form of governments— they wanted the necessary conservative element. This conservative power is as necessary as the driving power. See the motive power of the locomotive on the railway. The conservative power of the engineer is necessary in order to prevent utter ruin. This power is wanting in the North, and they are driving under the power of a mad democracy. We have a conservative power in our domestic institution of slavery. It makes an aristocracy so necessary to all governments— it is not an artificial aristocracy of birth or wealth, but one of race — a natural aristocracy, but better than any artificial aristocracy.

  Third — He believed the South would succeed because no people who had a right to be free, had ever been subjugated. God's plan of giving success to Nations is not the plan of the arithmetic. Witness the example of Persia, when she poured her three millions upon Greece; of England when she attempted to annex Scotland, and at last succeeded only by degrading herself in receiving a King from her enemy; of Russia against Circassia, and of Holland against Spain. We are not moved by the display of numbers against us. What though we be six millions, and you twenty or thirty, we will plant ourselves against the rock of historic truth, and say, "Come one, come all!"

  Fourth — The North cannot succeed without doing two great wrongs, which the Doctor believed God in his mercy would not permit: First, the annihilation of the whites of the South. We will all die rather than bend the suppliant knee, or kiss the hand of the tyrant Lincoln. Second, the great wrong of freeing the blacks. Our subjugation would result in their freedom, and consequently their destruction. This inferior race is placed in our hands, and the immutable laws of God, demand that they should be always 'retained in this servile condition. Our cause must succeed for it is the cause of God.

  This sketch of the Doctor's conversation is from memory, and does not assume to give the language of the speaker. The arguments are his, and in fact, these were the usual reasons given by rebel divines for their adhesion to the rebellion. They will now be read with interest, in view of the destruction of slavery and the Confederacy.

  Northern Alabama has always been noted for its Unionism. Jere Clements, formerly a United States Senator, resides in Huntsville, and through all the fiery tempest of rebellion, maintained his devotion to the country. He is an eloquent orator, an able lawyer, and an accomplished author. Rarely have I heard a more fluent speaker than this gentleman. With a graceful person and melodious voice, he never seems to want for the word suited to the occasion, while vigor of thought and strength of arrangement and copiousness of illustration enchain the attention of the admiring crowds, who listen to his thrilling eloquence. Senator Clements has recently died. He was born in Alabama, and educated at La Grange College. As an author he has published two novels, "Bernard Lile," and "Mustang Grey." His last literary effort was "Tobias Wilson, a tale of the rebellion. Mr. Clements was a man of sterling worth; he was in public life for more than thirty years. He has fallen, full of honors and of years, like a noble oak of the forest, which, having flourished its allotted time, bows its head to the earth, without difficulty and without effort. In many respects, Mr. Clemente was a remarkable man. His greatness seems not to have depended so much on the predominance of any one distinct power, as upon a combination of many. Others have been as eloquent, others have reasoned as powerfully, others have counseled as wisely, others have possessed as much energy, and as much perseverance, but we doubt whether anyone in the South was so eloquent and so true to the Government. His last recorded efforts were for the election of the lamented President Lincoln. Mr. Clements was one of the few public characters of the South who denounced the rebellion from its infamous conception. No man ever had such warm friends, but at the same time, no man ever had more deadly enemies. He was a statesman of magnificent proportions, an orator of vast powers, and a patriot of the sternest and most unbending sect— one who would not have hesitated at any moment of his career, to lay down his life for the good of his country.

  Judge Lane, a splendid patriot, also lived in this place. The brave old Roman kept the Stars and Stripes flying conspicuously from his residence. When the rebel army had possession of the town, he was ordered to take the flag down. The grand old hero replied, defiantly, "Never! Never! NEVER! Rather may the lightnings of Heaven shiver me into atoms!" The age of heroes is not past. Carlyle's Pantheon of heroes presents no parallel to this noble act of devotion to God and Liberty. This brave patriot died soon after. It is said that he died of a broken heart, because of the prospective destruction of the Union. Peace to his gallant soul, and honor to his memory.

  Nick Davis was a gallant opponent of secession, having voted in the Convention a hundred times against the secession of Alabama. The wealthiest man here is an Irishman of the name of Denegan. When commanded by rebel soldiers to take the oath of allegiance to the Confederacy, his Celtic nature was thoroughly aroused. His reply was fierce and characteristic. "I would see your d — d bogus Confederacy in the North-east corner of Nova Scotia, before I desert the Union of George Washington; my oath of allegiance was not to Alabama, but to the United States."

  Thousands of contrabands are gathering around our camps. Much has been said by politicians and moralists, as to their future. Our land cannot do without them. We have boundless land to be converted into a garden. It will require these thousands to
make the wilderness blossom as the rose. The forests are over-shadowing myriads of acres, because there are no hands to fell the trees; the vast prairies lie idle because there is none to put in the plow; thousands of streams rush uselessly down their foaming beds, because there are no hands can be found to rear the factory and guide the machinery. Slavery is a tremendous crime. If I once hated it at a distance, now, I loathe, abhor and execrate it. A boy entered one of our camps around Huntsville— we all thought him white and free, but judge our surprise when we learned from his own lips that he was yet a slave. His master was his father. As I listened to his artless tale, my heart became adamant, and I cursed the system in the name of Heaven. Is a single vestige of this infamous system to remain, and blast with hereditary curses, God's lowly men.

  Shall crime bring crime forever,

  The strong aiding still the strong,

  Is it thy will, O Father,

  That man shall toil for wrong?

  No! Say thy mountains. No! thy skies;

  Man's clouded sun shall brightly rise,

  And songs be heard instead of sighs,

  God save the people.

  GENERAL SHERMAN AND THE CHICAGO IRISH LEGION

  Quite a pleasant and not uninteresting episode in the dreary drama of camp life took us all by surprise on Easter Sunday evening. The day was fine and pleasant, and the "boys," for the most part, were in a frame of mind which the day and its recollections awakened. The weekly papers, including the Irish American and Boston Pilot, had arrived, and many had received letters from home. Dress Parade had been a little while "dismissed," when the whistle of the locomotive, heard in the distance, announced an approaching train from the West. The boys gathered in two's and three's alongside the embankment as is customary with them, to scrutinize the passengers and learn the news. When the last car approached, a group of officers, unheralded and without a body-guard, appeared on the rear platform. The recognition was instantaneous. Hat in hand, bowing and smiling, there stood General Sherman, the commander of the military Division of the Mississippi, who shares with General Grant the esteem and confidence of the Western armies, and still retains a hold on the dutiful affection of his own old Fifteenth Corps; while the boys of the "Irish Legion" uncovered to him as they rushed in hundreds to catch a glimpse of their heroic leader and hear what he had to say.

  The cars drew up in front of headquarters, when General Sherman introduced Major General McPherson, his successor in command of the Army and Department of the Tennessee, and also General "Barry, who accompanied them. They were warmly greeted, and bowed their acknowledgments. General Sherman inquired particularly for all the boys, congratulated Major Flynn on the clean and healthy appearance of the camp and of his command, and continued in a strain somewhat as follows:

  General Sherman — So, the poor Colonel was killed?

  Major Flynn — Yes, General, and our Lieutenant-Colonel has not been able to join us yet.

  General S. — why, was he wounded?

  Major — yes, very seriously, and in the commencement of the fight.

  General S. — How is your Chaplain, Is he still with you?

  Major — No, General, poor Father Kelly died in Chicago, some months since.

  General S. — Have you many sick in the regiment?

  Major— Not one, thank God, in Hospital.

  General S. — that is very good. Still, the situation here does not appear healthful, although your camp is very neat and clean. However, you will soon be leaving here now. In what state is your transportation?

  Major — in excellent order, General. We are ready for you whenever you require us.

  General S. — I am aware of that. The road from Nashville to Decatur is now open. I have just been over it; so we will soon be ready to have another brush. As soon as I establish some more depots, and get down enough of supplies, we will be at it again. By the by, I had good news from Paducah this morning. The "old war-horse," Colonel Hicks, defeated Forrest, who has about seven thousand cavalry up there with him. But General Grierson is in his rear, and will be sure to bag him.

  At this point an interruption occurred. The Drum Corps had formed in front of the car and the band struck up "Hail to the Chief," followed by "Hail Columbia!" Major Flynn got on board the train to greet the distinguished travelers, when a different style of colloquy took place, for the substance of which I am indebted to the gallant Major.

  General Sherman, addressing him, said: "I am proud, major, that your boys look so well."

  "Thank you, General, and in behalf of the "Irish Legion" I congratulate you on your late successes and well-earned promotion. Also, yours, General McPherson and I assure you we are proud that you command us; we are ready to follow you. I am sorry, General, I was not aware of your coming, we would have been prepared for you, but, by-the-bye, I have been reading about all three of you today in an Irish paper, and it has clearly made you out to be all Irishmen.

  "Yes; Irish blood courses in my veins," remarked General McPherson.

  "And for me," interrupted General Barry, "my parents were from Cork."

  "Well," said General Sherman, "I have never denied being an Irishman; but we want to see the paper."

  The paper was furnished. By this time the signal whistle gave notice of departure. The band struck up "St. Patrick's Day." The "Irish Ninetieth" gave three rousing cheers, which the Generals acknowledged with smiles and bows and heads uncovered, until the train had passed on towards Stevenson.

  THE BADGE OF THE FIFTEENTH ARMY CORPS

  The troops which came here from the Army of the Potomac brought with them various ornamental habits and customs that were new to the Western soldiers. Among them was the corps badge which designated the corps to which officers and men were attached. For instance, the badge of the Eleventh Corps is a crescent that of the Twelfth, a star. The badge is made of any material, gold, silver, or red flannel, and is worn conspicuously on some part of the clothing. The Western Corps have no such badge. How an Irishman explained the matter is thus told. A soldier came by the head-quarters of General Butterfield, a tired, and weather-beaten straggler. He was one of those who made Sherman's march from Memphis to Chattanooga, thence to Knoxville, and was now returning in the terrible cold of that returning march, thinly clad, one foot covered with a badly worn army shoe, the other with a piece of raw-hide bound with strings about a sockless foot — both feet cut and bleeding. Arms at will," he trudged past the head-quarters guard, intent only upon overtaking his regiment. "Halt," said a sentinel with a bright piece, clean uniform, and white gloves.

  "What do you belong to?"

  "Eighth Misshory, sure."

  "What division?"

  "Morgan L. Smith's, av coorse."

  "What brigade?"

  "Giles Smith's, second brigade of the second division."

  "But what army corps?"

  "The fifteenth, you d—d fool. I am one of the heroes of Vicksburg. Anything more, Mr. Sentinel?"

  "Where is your badge?"

  "My badge is it, what is that?" "Do you see this Star on my cap? That is the badge of the Twelfth Corps, That Crescent on my partner's cap is the badge of the Eleventh Corps."

  "I see now. That's how yez Potomick fellers git home uv dark nights. Ye takes the moon and sthars with ye."

  "But what is the badge of your corps?"

  Making a round about, and slapping his cartridge-box, our soldier replied: "D'ye see that? A cartridge-box — with a U. S. on a brash plate, and forty rounds in the cartridge-box — and sixty rounds in our pockets. That's the badge of the Fifteenth, that came from Vicksburg to help ye fight Chattanoogy."

  DISPOSITIONS OF THE TROOPS.

  The Seventeenth and Fifteenth Corps, composing the Army of the Tennessee, are located on the railroad from Huntsville to Chattanooga. The Fifteenth Corps, commanded by General Logan, is cantoned on the road from here to Stevenson, The Divisions, commanded respectively by Osterhaus, Morgan L. Smith, Ewing and John E. Smith, are scattered at different points.
The Third Division takes care of Huntsville. General Mathias commands a Brigade in this Division. He is an able and brave officer. His command fought stubbornly at Mission Ridge, on the 25th of November. The boys have many stories to tell of their General who is an Old Prussian, and one of the few men who like fighting for itself. The General was wounded in the head at Chattanooga, and was carried a short distance to the rear, but by no means out of range. A Captain saw him sitting beside a tree which the rebels' bullets were chipping, and told him he was on the wrong side of it, he would be hit if he staid on the side toward the enemy. The bold old soldier, with the blood trickling down his face, cooly, and a little sneeringly said: "Oh! Captain, you can go on the other side of de tree, I bees not afraid!" On the morning before the battle, the troops were drawn up in battle order, and stood till near noon. As the weather was quite cold, the General in riding along the lines, saw them shivering, especially those thinly clad. "Poor fellows,' ' said he, "poor fellows! got no overcoats! Too lazy to carry them."

  CHAPTER IV.

  The loyal people of Northern Alabama.— A desperate Rebel Partisan Leader threatens the extermination of Unionists. — A staunch Loyalist meets him, and a fierce encounter ensues. — Truth stranger than fiction. — The Tragedy.— A sad illustration of the feuds engendered by Slavery.

  There lived in Northern Alabama, a dashing young rebel partisan leader, whose depredations, spread fear and terror all over the country. This fiery Southron was passionately attached to the rebel cause, and had enjoyed among his associates, the reputation of being able to drive out all the loyal Alabamians. In the vicinity of Paint Rock, there also resided a staunch friend of the Union, who at all times manifested that latent spirit of uncontrollable fierceness which exists in such a remarkable degree, in the nature of Southern Unionists, and is very often found strongest in men whose general conduct, when it is at rest, is most correct and irreproachable. The feeling of opposition between these two quondam friends soon assumed a character of fixed inveteracy. The consciousness of superior strength inflamed the rebel, and he proposed that the Unionist should meet him in pugilistic encounter. On the day set for the struggle, the adherents of the rival leaders, Shea and Leary, assembled at the time specified, and a space having been marked out, the contest commenced with equal eagerness, and bad feeling. Several rounds having been exchanged, for a time the fate of either was doubtful; the two parties alternately enjoying the smiles of fortune; but at last Leary began to have the best of it. Irritated beyond measure at seeing his enemy on the point of succeeding, Shea used the most extraordinary endeavors to renew the hopes of his friends, and such was the success that attended his efforts, that victory began to be doubtful. This aroused Leary to additional action. Enraged at seeing himself almost overcome, he in turn redoubled his efforts. The fate of either of the contestants was now inevitable. Both were young, strong, active, and, stimulated by a ferocious emulation; they tugged for the fall for some time with equal success, until at length the superior strength of Leary was near giving him the palm, when Shea, who was an expert wrestler, suddenly closed with his antagonist, seized him round the waist, lifted him from his feet, and then dashed him to the ground with tremendous impetus. In a moment Shea jumped up light and active, but Leary stirred not — he lay for dead at the feet of his vanquisher. It was then when too late, that Shea's better nature began to show itself. In an agony of grief he used every effort to recover his inanimate rival but in vain. The vanquished Unionist glared in his victor's face for a moment with an eye of inveterate revenge, and answered in a voice calm and composed: "Shea, you have murdered me, because I was a Union man; my blood be at your door.”