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

CHAPTER XXII.
NEWS FROM THE ABSENT BROTHER

He marches into Tennessee with Hood – Extracts from his letters written on the way – Two ears of parched corn – The night burial of a soldier

After the majority of these sketches were written, I was permitted by my sister to take a few extracts from the cherished letters of our brother, which she numbered and carefully laid away as her most precious treasure. To these we are indebted for all that we know of his history during those trying days and weeks of which I have just been writing. Where was he, and how did he fare? Few and far between were the letters now, in these dark days of the war. The soldiers themselves had but little opportunity to write, and the mail facilities were poor. But I feel sure that to the survivors of the “Lost Cause,” these meagre scraps concerning that brave but disastrous march into Tennessee will be read with melancholy interest:

“On the Line of Alabama and Georgia,

Near Alpine, Ga., 8 o’clock at night, Oct. 17, 1874.

“My Dear Sister – As there is a probability of the mail courier leaving here early in the morning, I hastily scratch you a few lines that you may know that under the blessings of a kind Providence I am yet alive, and, though somewhat wearied, enjoying good health. Yours of 28th of September has been received, but under circumstances of hard marches, etc., there has been but one opportunity of writing to you since leaving Palmetto, and then had just finished one to Texas, and was fixing to write to you, when the order came to ‘fall in.’

“Well, leaving camps near Palmetto on the 29th of September, we crossed the Chattahoochee below, marched up to Powder Springs, threatened Marietta, and at the same time threw Stewart’s corps around above Big Shanty to cut the railroad, which was torn up for about thirteen miles, French’s Division attacking Allatoona, where he sustained some loss, having works to charge. Ector’s Texas Brigade, and some Missourians, carried their part of the works, but A – ’s Brigade failed to do their part, hence the advantage gained was lost. By this time the enemy were concentrating at Marietta, and General Hood’s object being accomplished, he then marched rapidly towards Rome, flanking the place, and making a heavy demonstration as if he intended crossing the river and attacking the place. The enemy then commenced a concentration at Kingston and Rome. We then moved around Rome and marched rapidly up the Oostanaula, and, on the evening of the 11th inst., sent a division of infantry with some cavalry across the river, and captured Calhoun with some stores. Moved on the next morning by a forced march, flanking Resaca, and striking the railroad immediately above, tearing it up to Tilton where there were about three hundred Yankees in a block-house. A surrender was demanded. A reply was returned: ‘If you want us come and take us.’ Our artillery was soon in position and a few shots soon made them show the ‘white rag.’ We tore up the road that night, and the next morning by nine o’clock, to Tunnel Hill, burning every cross-tie and twisting the bars. Dalton surrendered without a fight, with a full garrison of negroes and some white Yankees. The block-house above, at a bridge, refused to surrender, and we had to bring the artillery into requisition again, which made them succumb. They all seemed to be taken by surprise and were hard to convince that it was a cavalry raid. They evacuated Tunnel Hill. Thus after five months of fighting and running, the Army of Tennessee re-occupied Dalton. Sherman has been taken by surprise. He never dreamed of such a move. General Hood’s plans all being carried out, so far as the State road was concerned, we marched across the mountains to LaFayette, in the vicinity of which we camped last night, and have marched twenty-three miles to-day. To-morrow we cross the Lookout Mountain, and will, I suppose, make directly for the Tennessee river, though of this I’m not certain. Hood has shown himself a general in strategy, and has secured the confidence of the troops. Wherever we go, may God’s blessing attend us. Pray for me. In haste.

Your affectionate brother,

Tom Stokes.

“P. S. – Cherokee Co., Ala., Oct. 18, 1864.

“The courier not leaving this morning, I have a little more time left. We did not travel so far to-day as I heard we would, having come only ten miles, and have stopped to rest the balance of the evening. I find you dislike to have your communications cut off, so I see you are below Madison. Would to Heaven that, in one sense of the word my communication was cut off forever; yea, that every channel leading me in contact with the world, in any other character than as a minister of ‘the meek and lowly Savior,’ was to me forever blocked up. I am tired of confusion and disorder – tired of living a life of continual excitement * * *. You spoke of passing through a dark cloud. ‘There is nothing true but Heaven,’ and it is to that rest for the weary, alone, to which we are to look for perfect enjoyment. We are to walk by faith, and though the clouds of trouble thicken, yet we should know that if we do our duty we shall see and feel the genial sunshine of a happier time. Yes, my sister, though we knew our lives should be lengthened one hundred years, and every day should be full of trouble; yet if we have a hope of Heaven, that hope should buoy up the soul to be cheerful, even under earth’s saddest calamities.

“I think we will cross the Tennessee river and make for Tennessee, where it seems to be understood that we will have large accessions to our army, both there and from Kentucky * * *.”

The next letter is enclosed in an envelope which came through no postoffice, as it was furnished by my sister, and upon it she wrote: “This letter was sent to me on the 27th of November, by some one who picked it up upon the street in Madison. The postoffice had been rifled by the Federals who (under command of Slocum) passed through Madison, November 18th and 19th. Though found without an envelope, and much stained, it has reached me, because signed with his full name.”

This letter is dated “Near Decatur, Ala., October 28th, 1864.” We give a few items:

“We invested this place yesterday, and there has been some skirmishing and artillery firing until an hour ago, when it seems to have measurably ceased. We are in line of battle southwest of Decatur, about one and a quarter miles. I went out reconnoitering this morning and saw the enemy’s position. They have a large fort immediately in the town, with the ‘stars and stripes’ waving above. I hear occasional distant artillery firing which I suppose is Forrest, near Huntsville. * * * We were several days crossing Sand Mountain. Have had delightful weather until a day or two ago it rained, making the roads very muddy, in consequence of which we have been on small rations, the supply trains failing to get up. We had only half rations yesterday, and have had none to-day (now nearly three o’clock), but will get some to-night. We try to be cheerful. * * * No letter from Texas yet. No one of our company has had any intelligence from Johnson county since last May. I can’t see what’s the matter. I have been absent nearly one year and have received but one letter.” (Of course the dear loved ones in Texas wrote to their soldier braves on this side the Mississippi river; but such are the misfortunes of war that these missives were long delayed in their passage).

“Saturday, October 29th. – The condition of affairs this morning at sunrise remains, so far as I know, unchanged. * * * Yesterday evening we drew two ears of corn for a day’s ration; so parched corn was all we had yesterday; but we will get plenty to-day.”

And now we come to the last of the letters ever received. It is probable it was among the last he ever wrote. It is dated “Tuscumbia, Ala., Nov. 10, 1864. – … We arrived at this place the 31st of October, and have been here since, though what we are waiting for I can’t tell. The pontoons are across the river, and one corps on the other side at Florence. We have had orders to be ready to move several times, but were countermanded. We were to have moved to-day, and even our wagons started off, but for some cause or other we have not gone. The river is rising very rapidly, which may endanger the pontoons.

“November 12th. – I thought to send this off yesterday morning, but, on account of the rain a few days ago, the mail carrier was delayed until last night, which brought your dear letter of date October 31st. It was handed me on my return from the graveyard, where I had been to perform the funeral ceremony of a member of the 6th Texas, who was killed yesterday morning by the fall of a tree. He had been in every battle in which this brigade was ever engaged; an interesting young man, only nineteen years of age.

“The scene at the graveyard was a solemn one, being some time in the night before we arrived. The cold, pale moon shone down upon us, and the deep stillness which pervaded the whole scene, with the rough, uncouth, though tender-hearted soldiers with uncovered heads, forming a large circle around the grave, made it, indeed, a scene solemnly impressive. The print of my Bible being small, I could not read, but recited from memory a few passages of Scripture suitable to the occasion, the one upon which I dwelt chiefly being a declaration of Paul to the Corinthians, ‘For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ.’ I then spoke of the certainty of that change from life to death; that with the soldier, even, death is not confined to the battlefield; spoke of our comrade, who but in the morning bade as fair for long life as any of us, but within the space of a few short hours was lying in the cold embrace of death; of another of our brigade who was instantly killed a short time since by a stroke of lightning; closed with an exhortation to all to live nearer to God, and be prepared at all times to meet their God in peace. Oh, how sad! Far away from his home to be buried in a land of strangers. How the hearts of his father, mother and sisters must bleed when they receive the sad tidings.

“I expect we will leave here for Middle Tennessee next Monday, as the river will be falling by that time. There is much talk of this brigade being sent home after this campaign. Major Rankin has been exchanged, and is with us. I gave Lieutenant Collins’ overcoat to his company to take care of for him.

“Am so glad to hear from ma and sister. We get no letters from Texas; but are continually sending some over, as all the disabled of the last campaign are being retired and sent across. Poor Uncle James! His Joseph is gone… Write to me often.

Affectionately,

Your Brother.”

Ah, could the history of these brave men be written, what a record it would be of endurance, of daring, of heroism, of sacrifice! And the heart-breaking pathos of the last chapters of their experience, ere the furling of the flag they followed! Pat Cleburne and his fallen braves —

 
“On fame’s eternal camping ground,
Their silent tents are spread,
And glory marks with solemn round
The bivouac of the dead.”
 

CHAPTER XXIII.
AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR

Related to the writer by Hon. Roger Q. Mills, of Texas

The night was black as Erebus. Not a scintillant of light from moon or star penetrated the dense forest, and no eye save that of God discerned the danger of the situation. Hill and dale, mountain and precipice, creek and surging stream, presented barriers that none but men inured to hardship, and unknown to fear, would have attempted to surmount.

Obedient to the command of the superior officer, the remnant of that magnificent and intrepid army, once guided by the unerring wisdom of Joseph E. Johnston, plodded their way uncomplainingly over these trying difficulties. The Lord must have been amazed at their temerity, and shook the very earth in rebuke, and ever and anon by the lightning’s flash revealed glimpses of the peril to which they were exposed; and yet in unbroken lines they groped their way, not knowing whither. At length bewildered, and made aware of impending danger, the general in command ordered a halt. The martial tread ceased, and all was still as death. In the midst of this stillness a voice, sweet as that of a woman, was heard repeating that grand old hymn, which has given comfort to many weary ones treading the wine press:

 
“How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord,
Is laid for your faith in His excellent Word!
What more can He say than to you He hath said,
You who unto Jesus for refuge have fled.
 
 
“In every condition, in sickness, in health,
In poverty’s vale, or abounding in wealth,
At home and abroad, on the land, on the sea,
As thy days may demand shall thy strength ever be.
 
 
“Fear not, I am with thee, O! be not dismayed,
I, I am thy God, and will still give thee aid;
I’ll strengthen thee, help thee and cause thee to stand,
Upheld by My righteous, omnipotent hand.
 
 
“When through the deep waters I call thee to go,
The rivers of woe shall not thee overflow;
For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless,
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.
 
 
“When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,
My grace all sufficient shall be thy supply;
The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design
Thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine.
 
 
“E’en down to old age, all My people shall prove
My sovereign, eternal, unchangeable love;
And when hoary hairs shall their temples adorn,
Like lambs they shall still in My bosom be borne.
 
 
“The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose,
I will not, I will not desert to his foes;
That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake,
I’ll never, no never, no never, forsake.”
 

General Mills said that during the rendition of this beautiful hymn, not even the breaking of a twig, or the changing of a footstep broke the silence of the midnight tranquillity. The rain drops ceased to fall; the electricity darted harmlessly through the tree tops; and the muttering of the thunder lulled.

After a most impressive silence of several minutes, the same voice, which had rendered the hymn so effectually, repeated from memory an appropriate passage of Scripture and proceeded to expatiate upon it. He had not uttered a dozen words before another flash of lightning revealed the upturned heads and listening attitudes of the men composing that weird congregation, and each one of them knew as if by instinct that he was going to hear something that would help him on his journey to the Land of Beulah. Strong in the faith, he carried many of the truths and promises of the Holy Word within his mind, and now, as many times before, he opened them by the magic key of memory and unfolded to view their unsearchable riches. He begged his fellow-men and comrades in arms to accept them without money and without price – to accept them that they might wear kingly robes and royal diadems, and be with Jesus in His Father’s regal mansions throughout the grand eternities. And as he told the old, old story of divine love, it assumed a contemporaneous interest and seemed a living present reality. Every man who heard it felt the living force and energizing influence of the theme. And thus by earnest, aggressive appeals, he exerted a wonderful power for good over the minds of his hearers; and those men, even now with phantom hands pointing gaunt fingers at them, by their deep interest testified to the warm suffusing purpose which made itself felt in every word that he uttered, as he told of the Fatherhood of God and the ever-present sympathy of a benignant and infinite parent, who delighted not in the death of sinners, but rather that all should come to Him and have eternal life. General Mills added that, as the fine resonant voice of the speaker penetrated the dense forest and found its way to his hearers in distinct enunciation of well-chosen words, the deep-toned thunder emphasized the impressive points, and made it a scene which for grandeur and sublimity has never been surpassed, while the vivid flashes of lightning revealed again and again the earnest face and solemn mien of my brother, Lieutenant Thomas J. Stokes, of the Tenth Texas Infantry of Cleburne’s Division.

CHAPTER XXIV

Picking up minie balls around Atlanta – Exchanging them for bread

After mingling renewed vows of allegiance to our cause, and expressions of a willing submission to the consequences of defeat – privations and evil dire, if need be – with my morning orison; yet I could not be oblivious to the fact that I was hungry, very hungry. And there was another, whose footsteps were becoming more and more feeble day by day, and whose voice, when heard at all, was full of the pathos of despair, who needed nourishment that could not be obtained, and consolation, which it seemed a mockery to offer.

In vain did I look round for relief. There was nothing left in the country to eat. Yea, a crow flying over it would have failed to discover a morsel with which to appease its hunger; for a Sheridan by another name had been there with his minions of destruction, and had ruthlessly destroyed every vestige of food and every means of support. Every larder was empty, and those with thousands and tens of thousands of dollars, were as poor as the poorest, and as hungry too. Packing trunks, in every house to which refugees had returned, contained large amounts of Confederate money. We had invested all we possessed except our home, and land and negroes, in Confederate bonds, and these were now inefficient for purchasing purposes. Gold and silver had we none. A more favored few had a little of those desirable mediums of purchase, and sent a great distance for supplies; but they offered no relief to those who had stayed at home and borne the brunt of battle, and saved their property from the destroyers’ torch.

What was I to do? Sit down and wait for the inevitable starvation? No; I was not made of such stuff. I had heard that there had been a provision store opened in Atlanta for the purpose of bartering provisions for munitions of war – anything that could be utilized in warfare. Minie balls were particularly desirable. I therefore took Telitha by the apron, and had a little talk with her, and when I was through she understood that something was up that would bring relief to certain organs that had become quite troublesome in their demands, and she was anxious to take part in the performance, whatever that might be. I went also to my mother, and imparted to her my plans of operation, and she took that pathetic little backward step peculiar to herself on occasions which tried her soul, and with quivering lip she assented in approving, though almost inaudible words.

With a basket in either hand, and accompanied by Telitha, who carried one that would hold about a peck, and two old dull case-knives, I started to the battle-fields around Atlanta to pick up the former missiles of death to exchange for food to keep us from starving.

It was a cold day. The wind was very sharp, and over the ground, denuded of forest trees and undergrowth, the wind was blowing a miniature gale. Our wraps were inadequate, and how chilled we became in that rude November blast! Mark you, it was the 30th of November, 1864. But the colder we were, the faster we walked, and in an incredibly short time we were upon the battle-field searching for lead.

I made it a point to keep very near the road in the direction of Atlanta, and soon found myself on the very spot where the Confederate magazine stood, the blowing up of which, by Confederate orders, shook the very earth, and was distinctly heard thirty-five or forty miles distant. An exclamation of glad surprise from Telitha carried me to her. She had found a bonanza, and was rapidly filling her basket with that which was more valuable to us than gold. In a marshy place, encrusted with ice, innumerable bullets, minie balls, and pieces of lead seemed to have been left by the irony of fate to supply sustenance to hungry ones, and employment to the poor, as all the winter those without money to send to more favored and distant points found sure returns from this lead mine. It was so cold! our feet were almost frozen, and our hands had commenced to bleed, and handling cold, rough lead cramped them so badly that I feared we would have to desist from our work before filling the baskets.

Lead! Blood! Tears! O how suggestive! Lead, blood and tears, mingled and commingled. In vain did I try to dash the tears away. They would assert themselves and fall upon lead stained with blood. “God of mercy, if this be Thy holy will, give me fortitude to bear it uncomplainingly,” was the heart-felt invocation that went up to the throne of grace from over lead, blood and tears, that fearful day. For relief, tears did not suffice. I wanted to cry aloud; nature would not be satisfied with less, and I cried like a baby, long and loud. Telitha caught the spirit of grief, and cried too. This ebullition of feelings on her part brought me to a realization of my duty to her, as well as to my poor patient mother to whom the day must seem very long, and I tried to stifle my sobs and lamentations. I wondered if she had the forebodings of coming bereavement that were lacerating my own heart. I did not doubt but that she had, and I cried in sympathy for her.

At length our baskets were filled, and we took up our line of march to the desolated city. There were no labyrinths to tread, no streets to follow, and an occasional question secured information that enabled us to find the “commissary” without delay. Telitha was very ambitious that I should appear a lady, and wanted me to deposit my load of lead behind some place of concealment, while we went on to deliver hers, and then let her go back for mine. But I was too much a Confederate soldier for that, and walked bravely in with my heavy, precious load.

A courteous gentleman in a faded grey uniform, evidently discharged because of wounds received in battle, approached and asked what he could do for me. “I have heard that you give provisions for lead,” I replied, “and I have brought some to exchange.” What seemed an interminable silence ensued, and I felt without seeing that I was undergoing a sympathetic scrutiny, and that I was recognized as a lady “to the manor born.”

“What would you like in exchange,” he asked. “If you have sugar, and coffee, and meal, a little of each if you please,” I timidly said. “I left nothing to eat at home.” The baskets of lead were removed to the rear and weighed, and in due time returned to me filled to the brim with sugar, coffee, flour, meal, lard, and the nicest meat I had seen in a long time.

“O, sir,” I said, “I did not expect so much.”

“You have not yet received what is due you,” this good man replied, and handed me a certificate which he assured me would secure as much more on presentation.

Joy had gone out of my life, and I felt no thrill of that kind; but I can never describe the satisfaction I experienced as I lifted two of those baskets, and saw Telitha grasp the other one, and turned my face homeward.