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 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
 The Project Gutenberg eBook of Doctor
Quintard, Chaplain C.S.A. and Second Bishop
of Tennessee
 This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United
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Title: Doctor Quintard, Chaplain C.S.A. and Second Bishop of

Tennessee

Author: C. T. Quintard

Editor: Arthur Howard Noll

Release date: May 25, 2018 [eBook #57212]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by David King and the Online Distributed

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOCTOR

QUINTARD, CHAPLAIN C.S.A. AND SECOND BISHOP OF TENNESSEE
***
Doctor Quintard, Chaplain C.S.A. And
Second Bishop Of Tennessee

Doctor Quintard
Chaplain C.S.A.
And

Second Bishop Of Tennessee

Being His Story Of The War
(1861-1865)
Edited And Extended
By The
Rev. Arthur Howard Noll
Historiographer of the Diocese of Tennessee,
Author of "History of the Church
in the Diocese of Tennessee," etc.

The University Press

of Sewanee Tennessee
1905
To
The Friends And Comrades Of
Doctor Quintard
In The Army Of The Confederacy
And In The Church Militant
These Memoirs Of His Life In War Times—
Extended To Include An Account Of His Work
For The Upbuilding Of The Church In Tennessee
And For The Advancement Of Christian Education In
The South—Are Most Affectionately
Dedicated

Charles Quintard
 PREFACE

The chapters of this volume containing the Memoirs of the war were
written by Bishop Quintard about the year 1896 and are to be read
with that date in mind. The work of the editor thereon has been
devoted to bringing them into conformity with a plan agreed upon in
personal interviews with Bishop Quintard about that time.
In the first and in the last two chapters of the book the editor has
drawn freely, even to the extent of transcribing entire sentences and
paragraphs, upon the Bishop's own addresses in the Diocesan
Journals of Tennessee; upon Memorial Addresses by his successor,
the Rt. Rev. Dr. Gailor; upon material used in some of the chapters
of the Editor's "History of the Church in the Diocese of Tennessee;"
and upon documents preserved in the archives of The University of
the South.
Thanks are due to the Rev. Bartow B. Ramage, the Rev. Rowland
Hale and Mr. George E. Purvis, among others, for valuable assistance
in the original preparation of the Memoirs.
A. H. N.
Sewanee, Tennessee,
May, 1905.
 CONTENTS

I. Introduction 1
II. Personal Narrative—The Beginning of the War and
Valley Mountain 10
III. Personal Narrative—Big Sewell Mountain,
Winchester and Romney 31
IV. Personal Narrative—Norfolk 43
V. Personal Narrative—Perryville 50
VI. Personal Narrative—Murfreesboro 64
VII. Personal Narrative—Shelbyville 69
VIII. Personal Narrative—A Dramatic Episode 83
IX. Personal Narrative—Chickamauga 87
X. Personal Narrative—Atlanta 95
XI. Personal Narrative—Columbus (Georgia) and the
Journey into Tennessee 102
XII. Personal Narrative—Franklin 112
XIII. Personal Narrative—The Crumbling of the
Confederacy 125
XIV. Personal Narrative—The Close of the War 143
XV. A Long Episcopate 149
XVI. Bishop Quintard and Sewanee 164
 CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION

Writers upon the late Civil War have never done full justice to the
high religious character of the majority of those who composed the
Confederate government and its army, and the high religious
principles which inspired them. Not only was the conviction of
conscience clear in the Southern soldiers, that they were right in
waging war against the Federal government, but the people of the
South looked upon their cause as a holy one, and their conduct of
affairs, civil and military, was wholly in accord with such a view. The
Confederacy, as it came into existence, committed its civil affairs, by
deliberate choice, to men, not only of approved morality, but of
approved religious character as well. It was not merely by accident,
that, in the organization of its army, choice was made of such men
as Robert E. Lee and Thomas J. Jackson,—not to mention a large
number of other Christian soldiers,—as leaders. And it seemed in no
way incongruous in the conduct of a war of such a character, that
commissions were offered to and accepted by the Rev. William
Nelson Pendleton, Rector of Grace Church, Lexington, Virginia, and
the Rt. Rev. Leonidas Polk, D. D., Bishop of Louisiana.
A religious tone pervades the state papers pertaining to the
Confederacy,—its proclamations, and its legislation. The same
religious tone is conspicuous in a majority of the military leaders. It
is found upon investigation to have impressed itself upon the officers
of regiments and companies and upon the private soldiers in the
ranks throughout the whole army. So that there is more than an
ordinary basis for the statement, surprising as such a statement may
appear at first, that the armies of the Confederate States had in
them a larger proportion than any other in history since those of
Cromwell's nicknamed "Roundheads," of true and active Christian
men.
The provision made for the spiritual needs of the men in the field
was quite remarkable. In the great haste with which the Army of the
Confederacy was organized, equipped and sent to the field, there
might have been found abundant apology for the omission of
chaplains from the official staffs. Yet there was no need for seeking
such an apology, for the chaplains were not overlooked. Even
imputing a love of excitement and adventure to the young men who
composed in such large measure the fighting forces of the
Confederacy at the first, they did not neglect to secure the services
of a chaplain for each regiment which went to the seat of war. It was
naturally thought that work might be found for chaplains in the
hospitals, but it was early discovered that a chaplain had
opportunities for efficient work at all times,—in the midst of active
campaigns and when the army was in winter quarters.
Nor was their work in vain. Few religious services in times of peace
equalled in attendance, in fervor or results, those held at, or in the
immediate vicinity of, encampments of the Confederate army. The
camps of regiments which had been sent forth with prayer and
benediction, were often the seats of earnest religious life. It is
estimated that 15,000 men in the Army of Virginia alone, made
some open and public profession of their allegiance to Christ during
the war, and were affected in their subsequent lives by religious
experiences gained in the war. And the number is especially
remarkable of men in the Southern army who after the close of the
war entered the sacred ministry and won distinction in their holy
calling.
A study of what might be called "the religious phases" of this war
history should be approached through a consideration of the
chaplains of the Confederacy. They were a regimental institution,
and their number might be determined by the number of regiments
engaged in the war. They were, for the most part, men of brains, of
a keen sense of humor, and of fidelity to what they regarded as their
duty; sticking to their posts; maintaining the most friendly and
intimate relations with "the boys;" ever on the look-out for
opportunities to do good in any way; ready to give up their horses to
some poor fellows with bare and blistered feet and to march in the
column as it hurried forward; going on picket duty with their men
and bivouacking with them in the pelting storm; sharing with them
at all times their hardships and their dangers, gaining a remarkably
wide experience during four years of army life, and probably with it
all acquiring the pleasing art of the raconteur.
If an individual were desired for a more particular illustration of the
religious phases of Confederate war history, he might be found in
the Rev. Charles Todd Quintard, M. D., of the First Tennessee
Regiment, and after the war, Second Bishop of Tennessee. He not
only fully conformed to the type above indicated but in some
respects he surpassed it, for his knowledge of the healing art and his
surgical skill were ever at the demands of his fellow soldiers. He was
one of the earliest to enter the service of the Confederate army, and
was probably the most widely known and the best beloved of all the
chaplains.
Dr. Quintard was born in Stamford, Connecticut, on the 22nd of
December, 1824. His ancestors were Huguenots who left France
after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes and settled the country
north of Manhattan Island, between Long Island Sound and the
Hudson River. Those who knew Dr. Quintard at any period of his life
had no difficulty in detecting his French ancestry in his personal
appearance, as well as in his manner,—his vivacity and
demonstrativeness. Though not a few who failed to get well
acquainted with him fell into the error of supposing that some of his
mannerisms were an affectation acquired in some of his visits to
England subsequent to the war.
His father was Isaac Quintard, a man of wealth and education, a
prominent citizen of Stamford, having been born in the same house
in which he gave his son a birthplace, and in which he died in 1883
in the ninetieth year of his age. The Doctor was a pupil at Trinity
School, New York City, and took his Master's degree at Columbia
College. He studied medicine with Dr. James R. Wood and Dr.
Valentine Mott, and was graduated, with the degree of Doctor of
Medicine, at the University of the City of New York, in 1847. After a
year at Bellevue Hospital, he removed to Georgia, and began the
practice of medicine at Athens in that state, where he was a
parishioner of the Rev. William Bacon Stevens, afterwards Bishop of
Pennsylvania.
In 1851 he accepted the chair of Physiology and Pathological
Anatomy in the Medical College of Memphis, Tennessee, and became
in that city co-editor with Dr. Ayres P. Merrill, of the "Memphis
Medical Recorder." There also he formed a close friendship with
Bishop Otey, and in January, 1854, he was admitted a candidate for
Holy Orders. That year he appeared in the Twenty-sixth Annual
Convention of the Church in the Diocese of Tennessee, held in St.
John's Church, Knoxville, as the lay representative of St. Paul's
Church, Randolph. St Paul's Church has since passed out of
existence, and the town of Randolph no longer appears upon the
map of the State of Tennessee.
Studying theology under the direction of his Bishop, he was ordered
deacon in Calvary Church, Memphis, in January, 1855, and a year
later was advanced to the priesthood. His diaconate was spent in
missionary work in Tipton County,—one of the Mississippi River
counties of Tennessee. Upon his advancement to the priesthood he
became rector of Calvary Church, Memphis.
In the latter part of 1856, he resigned the rectorship of his Memphis
parish, and at the urgent request of Bishop Otey, accepted the
rectorship of the Church of the Advent, Nashville. He had charge
also of the Church of the Holy Trinity in that city, and extended his
work to Edgefield, (now East Nashville), and to the parish of St Ann.
He served the Diocese as a member of the Standing Committee, and
as a clerical deputy to the General Convention meeting in Richmond,
Virginia, in the Fall of 1859.
He was a man of varied and deep learning—a preacher of power and
attractiveness, and ranked among the clergymen of greatest
prominence and popularity in Nashville. He was of ardent
temperament, affectionate disposition, and possessed personal
magnetism to a remarkable degree, especially with young men, who
looked up to him with an affection which is now rarely if ever shown
by young men to the ministry. This, and the influence he had over
young men, are illustrated by the organization in 1859 of the Rock
City Guard, a militia company composed largely of the young men of
Nashville. Dr. Quintard was at once elected Chaplain of that
organization, and its first public parade was for the purpose of
attending services in a body at the Church of the Advent at which he
officiated.
His was a churchmanship of a type in those days considerably in
advance of the average in the ante-bellum period in the South. He
was clearly under the spell of the "Oxford Movement," and of the
English "Tractarians," and occupied a position to which Churchmen
generally in this country did not approach until ten or twenty years
later. He was a "sacerdotalist,"—a pronounced "sacramentarian" at
times when the highest "High" Churchmen of the country would
have hesitated long before applying those terms to themselves.
To him baptism was, not "a theory and a notion," but "a gift and a
power." And baptized children were to be educated, "not with a view
to their becoming Christians, but because they were already
Christians." Consequently he regarded Confirmation, not as "joining
the Church," or as merely a ratifying and renewing of the vows and
promises of Holy Baptism, and hence as something which man does
for God;—but as something which God does for man,—the bestowal
of the gifts of the Holy Spirit. To the preparation of candidates for
Confirmation he therefore gave his most earnest attention, even to
the extent of preparing "A Plain Tract on Confirmation," and (in
1861), "A Preparation for Confirmation," a manual of eighty-nine
pages.
His veneration for the Church's liturgical inheritance was great, and
the books of devotion he compiled and had printed for the use of
soldiers during the war were drawn from the ancient sources. He
attached the utmost importance to the Holy Communion as a means
of spiritual life, and throughout the war he availed himself of every
opportunity of administering it to the soldiers in camp, in the way-
side churches as he passed them, and in towns where he
temporarily rested with the army.
With a host of friends in Nashville and vicinity, who looked up to him
with love and reverence, it is not strange that Doctor Quintard
should have been the choice for chaplain of those who enlisted from
that city for the defence of their homes and firesides in 1861. Many
of the young men of his parish enlisted in the First Tennessee
regiment, of which he was elected chaplain, and feeling as he did
that these young men would need his spiritual care far more than
those of his parishioners who were left behind, he felt it his duty to
accept the office and go with his regiment to the seat of war. Both
he and his parishioners supposed that his absence would not exceed
six months. He did not return to Nashville until after the collapse of
the Confederacy and the surrender of Lee's army in 1865.
During those four years he gathered up a rich fund of experiences,
both grave and gay. Always an accomplished raconteur and brilliant
conversationalist, it is but natural that a wide circle of friends in
different parts of the world should have begged him to commit to
writing the story of the war as he saw it and as none but he could
tell it, and permit its publication. About the year 1896 he consented
to do this and entered with considerable enthusiasm upon the
literary task thus set for him.
It was quite characteristic of him, however, that the work as he
projected it was likely to have been a laudation of the men with
whom he was brought into contact during the civil strife, at the
expense of the personal experiences of which his friends were more
anxious to read. For Doctor Quintard was an enthusiast and an
optimist. No man was ever more loyal to his friends than he. His
estimate of human character was always based upon whatever good
he could find in a man. Nothing was a greater delight to him in
recalling the scenes of the war than to describe some deed of
heroism, some noble trait of character, or some mark of friendship
that was shown him by a soldier; to acknowledge some kindness
shown him, or to correct some error of judgment that had been
passed upon some actor in the drama of the civil war. Some of the
men whom he paused to eulogize were those to whom fame had
otherwise done but scant justice, and his estimate of them is in
more than one instance an addition of worth to the history of the
people of the Southern States.
The death of Doctor Quintard on the 15th of February, 1898,
prevented the completion of the work he had begun more than two
years previously; but left it in such form that it has not been entirely
impossible to gratify the wishes of his friends in regard thereto, and
to make a valuable contribution to the pictures of life in the Southern
States during the troubled days of the Civil War.
 CHAPTER II
PERSONAL NARRATIVE—THE BEGINNING OF THE
WAR AND VALLEY MOUNTAIN

While rector of the Church of the Advent, Nashville, I was elected

chaplain of a military company of somewhat more than local fame,
known as the "Rock City Guard." This election was only a
compliment shown me by the men who composed the Guard. I was
not a military man nor had I any fondness for military life. So I
regarded myself as chaplain only by courtesy. But on Thanksgiving
day, 1860, the Rock City Guard and other military organizations of
Nashville requested me to officiate at the Thanksgiving services to
be held under their auspices.
The services were held in the Hall of Representatives in the State
Capitol, and there was an immense congregation present. It was a
time of great anxiety and the occasion was a memorable one.
Rumors of approaching war were abundant, and the newspapers
were filled with discussions as to the course the South would pursue
in case Mr. Lincoln, then recently elected, should take his seat as
President of the United States. The subject of my discourse was:
"Obedience to Rulers,"—my text being: "Righteousness exalteth a
nation; but sin is a reproach to any people." (Proverbs, xiv, 34.) My
sermon was what might be called "a strong plea for the Union."
In December, South Carolina seceded, and on the 18th of the
following April,—after a bombardment of thirty-four hours,—Fort
Sumter surrendered and the Civil War was fairly begun. President
Lincoln at once called for seventy-five thousand volunteers to serve
for ninety days and put down the insurrection in South Carolina.
Tennessee being called upon for her quota, responded through her
Governor, Isham G. Harris:—"Tennessee will not furnish a single man
for coercion, but fifty thousand, if necessary, for the defence of her
rights or those of her Southern brethren." This undoubtedly
expressed the sentiments of the vast majority of Tennesseeans, who
did not favor secession and deplored war, but who were nevertheless
determined to stand with the people of the South.
In the Spring of 1861, the States of Virginia, North Carolina and
Arkansas, which had hitherto refused to secede, joined their fortunes
to those of the already seceded states; and in June, Tennessee
decided to unite with the Southern Confederacy. She was slow to
draw the sword. In April, the Rock City Guard, now enlarged into a
battalion, was mustered into the service of the State. Subsequently a
regiment was formed, consisting of the Rock City Guard and the
following companies;—The Williamson Greys, of Williamson County;
The Tennessee Riflemen, and the Railroad Boys of Nashville; The
Brown Guards, of Maury County; The Rutherford Rifles, of
Rutherford County; and The Martin Guards, of Giles County.
This was known as the First Tennessee Regiment. The field officers
elected were: Colonel George Maney (afterwards made a Brigadier-
General); Lieutenant-Colonel, T. F. Sevier; Major, A. M. Looney.
Lieutenant R. B. Snowden, of Company C., was appointed Adjutant;
Dr. William Nichol, Surgeon, and Dr. J. R. Buist, Assistant Surgeon.
On the 10th of July, 1861, orders were received by the regiment to
repair to Virginia. Being very urgently pressed by members of the
Rock City Guard and their friends in Nashville to accompany the
regiment as chaplain, I resolved to do so. This, of course, made it
necessary for me to break up my household. I removed my family to
Georgia, left my parish in the hands of the Rev. George C. Harris,
and prepared to join my regiment in Virginia.
My friend, General Washington Barrow, who had formerly been
Minister to Portugal, thinking that I would have need of a weapon
for my defence, sent me his old courtsword, which had enjoyed a
long and quiet rest,—so long, indeed, that it had become rusted in
its scabbard. I remember well my first attempt to unsheath the
sword. I seized the handle and pulled with might and main, but to
no effect. A friend came to my assistance. I took the sword handle,
—he the scabbard. We pulled and we pulled, but the sword refused
to come forth. I am not aware that I ever succeeded in drawing that
sword "in defence of my country." On my departure for Virginia I left
it at home.
The first battle of Bull Run was fought July 21, 1861. My cousin,
Captain Thomas Edward King, of Georgia, having been severely
wounded, I went to Richmond to look after him, leaving Nashville on
the 1st of August. After he had sufficiently recovered to return to his
home, I joined my regiment at Valley Mountain on the 23rd of
August. Some of the entries made in my pocket diary while on this
trip are not devoid of interest as illustrating the condition of the
Southern army and of the Southern country at this early stage of the
war.
My route was through Knoxville and Bristol. At the latter place,
which is on the boundary line between Tennessee and Virginia, I
missed the train for Lynchburg by an hour, found all the hotels
crowded, and the railroad pressed to its utmost in conveying troops.
While waiting I visited two sick men from Nashville of whom I had
heard, and then strolled out to camp, a mile from the town. There I
witnessed the execution of the sentence of a court-martial upon two
private soldiers convicted of selling whiskey to other soldiers. The
culprits were drummed around the camp, riding on rails, each with
three empty bottles tied to his feet, and a label, "Ten Cents a Glass,"
pinned to his back.
At Lynchburg I missed connections for Richmond Saturday night and
so spent a very pleasant Sunday in the former place. I found
Lynchburg a very quaint old town, built on steep hills, from the foot
of which the James River finds its way sluggishly to the sea. I
preached at St. Paul's Church on "The Love of God."
Arriving at Richmond, I found the place so crowded that I began to
think I would not be able to get even a lodging. The Spottswood and
Exchange Hotels were crowded to overflowing, and I could not get
the sign of a room, though I did succeed in getting some dinner at
the latter house. But calling on the Rev. Mr. Peterkin, I was asked to
stay with him, and had for a co-guest the Rev. A. Toomer Porter,
chaplain of the Hampton Legion,—after the war a prominent
educator and founder of a famous school in Charleston, S. C.
At the Rev. Mr. Peterkin's I had the pleasure of meeting the Rev.
William Nelson Pendleton, then a Colonel in the Confederate Army,
afterwards a Major-General in command of Lee's Artillery. He had
been in command of the artillery that did such execution at the
battle of Manassas, and gave me a most interesting account of that
fight. There was not a masked battery on the ground. His guns were
within two hundred yards of the nearest of those of the enemy and
within four hundred yards of those that were at the greatest
distance. Yet he did not lose a man.
I learned from Mr. Peterkin where to find my wounded cousin, and
with him found two other wounded soldiers. I made daily visits to
the wounded during my stay in Richmond; met Bishop Atkinson;
called, with the Rev. Mr. Porter, upon Mrs. Wade Hampton, who was
a daughter of the Honorable George Duffie; and visited Mr. John
Stewart in his princely establishment four miles out from Richmond,
where I attended services at the church built by Mr. Stewart and his
brother at a cost of fourteen thousand dollars. It was at this time
that I received and accepted my appointment as Chaplain in the
Confederate Army.
On the Sunday I spent in the city that was shortly afterwards to
become the capital of the Confederate States, I preached at St.
James' Church in the morning, at the Monumental Church in the
evening, and again at St. James' at night.
Another interesting incident of this visit to Richmond was in regard
to the Rev. John Flavel Mines, a chaplain in the Federal army, who
had been captured, released on parole, and had been for two days
at the Rev. Mr. Peterkin's house, where I met him. By order of
General Winder he was rearrested, and the poor fellow was quite
crushed by the idea of having to go to prison. He was especially
fearful of contracting consumption, of which some of his family had
died. He wrote two piteous letters to me begging me to intercede on
his behalf. After two efforts I succeeded in visiting him in the
afterwards famous "Libby" prison, where I found him in company
with the Hon. Alfred Ely, a member of Congress from Rochester, N.
Y., who had been captured at Manassas. I did all I could to cheer the
prisoners up. Mr. Mines subsequently renounced the ministry and
accepted a colonel's commission in the Federal army. After the war
he entered upon a literary career, and wrote some charming books
under the nom de plume of "Felix Oldboy."
On my way to my regiment I found in Staunton, Virginia, that the
Deaf and Dumb Asylum was used as a hospital, and I wrote to the
Editor of the Nashville "Banner" asking contributions from the
citizens of Tennessee for the sick and wounded and advising the
establishing of a depository at Staunton under the supervision of the
Rev. James A. Latané. The citizens of Staunton made up two boxes
of stores and comforts for the sick of my regiment. I preached in
Staunton Sunday morning and night and left for Milboro. I went
thence to Huntersville, which I reached on the 21st of August after a
bit of just the toughest travel I had ever made. I found Jackson's
River so swollen by rains that it was impossible to ford with the
stage. The passengers mounted the horses,—two on each horse,—
and forded the stream.
My travelling companion the night of this occurrence and the
following day was Colonel Wheeler, Ex-Minister to Nicaragua,
Vestryman in Dr. Pinckney's Church in Washington, D. C., one of the
most agreeable men to take a trip with I had ever met. His wife was
a daughter of Sully the artist.
We were again delayed at Back Creek, and while waiting for a
chance to cross, I read "Master Humphrey's Clock," a volume found
in a knapsack on Jackson's Mountain. The owner's name on the fly-
leaf was "B. B. Ewing, Comp. I, 12th Miss. Reg't." The book was wet
and mouldy. I finally mounted one of the stage horses and swam the
creek and so reached Gatewoods,—a delightful place,—a valley shut
in on all sides by most picturesque mountains. It was twelve miles
from Huntersville.
I finally reached Colonel Fulton's camp, over the worst road I ever
travelled, and thence found Huntersville,—a most wretched and
filthy town in those days, where there were many sick soldiers in a
meeting-house, in public and private buildings and in tents.
Huntersville was twenty-seven miles from Valley Mountain where our
troops were stationed. I was very anxious to get on for there was a
battle daily expected.
Resuming the journey in an ambulance, I had to leave it within a
mile in consequence of the wretched state of the roads, and walked
all day over the most horrible roads, the rain at times coming down
in torrents. I felt occasionally that I must give out, but finally
reached Big Springs and received a warm welcome from General
Anderson, General Donelson, Colonel Fulton, Major Duval and other
officers. My clothes were so wet that the water could be wrung out
of them and my first care was to dry them. That done, I set out for
the camp at Valley Mountain three miles distant, and reached it on
the morning of Friday the 23rd of August, which happened to be the
first clear day I had seen for more than a week.
The following Sunday I began my duties as chaplain, and had
services in camp which were well attended. That week our scouts
had a running fire with the enemy's pickets, and one of our
lieutenants captured a Federal soldier. As it was the first
achievement of the kind by any of our regiment, our camp was
greatly enlivened by it. About this time I was appointed Assistant
Surgeon, but I did not wish to accept the office as I felt that it might
separate me from my regiment. I do not remember, however, any
time throughout the war, when there was any opportunity offered for
me to assist the work of the surgeons that I did not do it.
One afternoon a courier arrived at Colonel Maney's headquarters
with orders for the regiment to report to General Loring. While
Colonel Maney was reading the order, a sudden volley of small arms
resounded through the mountain, and some one, thinking the
Federal forces had attacked General Lee's position, ordered the long
roll beaten. This startled the camp, every man seized his gun and
cartridge box, and the regiment was at once in line. For at that time
the boys were all spoiling for a fight.
I well remember how good Mrs. Sullivan, the wife of an Irish private
and a kind of "daughter of the regiment," drew off her shoes and
gave them to a soldier who was barefoot. The boys started off for
General Lee's headquarters without rations, without blankets, and
many of them without coats or shoes. In this plight they reported for
duty. It was altogether a false alarm. A regiment had been on picket
duty and was firing off guns in order to clean them. Nevertheless it
happened that the action of our boys was in conformity to an order
received regularly enough about five minutes later, requiring our
regiment to take position within a very short distance of the enemy's
entrenchments, and the regiment remained out in consequence from
Friday morning until Sunday, in full view of the enemy.
A few days after this General Lee determined on a movement on the
enemy holding a fortified position on Cheat Pass. The camp became
a scene of great animation in anticipation of an important impending
battle. To me it was a memorable week beginning on Monday
September 8th—a week of such experiences as I had never dreamed
would fall to my lot, and of such fatigues as I never imagined myself
capable of enduring.
General Lee's plans were undoubtedly well and skilfully laid, but "the
wisest schemes of mice and men gang aft aglee." The plan, to my
mind, was somewhat complicated inasmuch as it demanded
concerted action on the part of too many commanders far removed
from each other. Thus General Henry R. Jackson of Georgia, with
Rust of Arkansas, was to attack the enemy at Cheat Pass where he
was strongly entrenched. General Loring with Donelson was to
engage the enemy at Crouch's and Huttonville and force his way up
to Cheat Pass, while Anderson with his brigade was to pass over
Cheat Mountain and engage the enemy in the rear.
The Rock City Guard, with the regiment, left camp at Valley
Mountain on Monday, and moved to a new camp three or four miles
in advance. I remained behind for a day to care for the sick and then
followed the regiment. At nine o'clock on Tuesday morning General
S. R. Anderson's Brigade, consisting of Colonel Maney's regiment
and two others, started on. The route was not by a road but through
fields and over mountains the most precipitous, in going up which
we had to wind single file along the sides and reach the top by very
circuitous paths. The paths were exceedingly steep, rocky and
rough, and our horses had to be taken to the rear. At one time I
reached the top of the mountain and sat down for a little rest under
a great boulder that projected out into the pathway. An officer in
front called out to me, "Tell them that the order is to 'double quick!'"
I passed the command to another officer, who turned to those
behind him who were struggling up the mountain pass and called
out to them, "The order is to 'double quick' back there!" Whereupon
the rear of the regiment turned and rushed down the mountain. In
the flight the Major was upset, and flat on his back and with heels in
the air he poured forth benedictions of an unusual kind for a
Presbyterian elder.
Our first night out, after I had travelled twelve miles on foot, (I had
lent to a less fortunate officer the horse that had been presented to
me but a few days previously), we halted at 10 o'clock. Soon after it
began to rain heavily. I had been carrying the blankets of Lieutenant
Joe Van Leer, who had been exceedingly kind to me throughout the
march, and when I came up to him he said, "I have a capital place
where we may sleep. I'll put my blankets on the ground and we'll
cover with yours, as they are heavier." So he cleaned out a hollow
on the side of the mountain, and there we lay down for the night.
We had my blanket and his rubber coat for a covering. Shortly after
midnight a little river began running down my neck. The rain was
pouring in torrents, and the basin Van Leer had scooped out was
soon filled; so I spent the night as did the Georgia soldier who said
that he had slept in the bed of a river with a thin sheet of water over
him. This was not altogether a unique experience for me as we shall
soon see.
The next morning, after breaking our fast on cold meat and "gutta
percha" bread, we took up our line of march and had gone but a
mile or so when we heard the fire of musketry at our left. We
supposed this was by the scouts sent out by General Donelson. This
day, (Wednesday), was the severest of all upon our men. We made
slow progress and the march was very toilsome. We kept perfect
silence, expecting every moment to come up with scouting parties of
the enemy. At about three o'clock the order was passed along the
line, just as one half the regiment had reached the top of the
mountain, to "double-quick forward!"
The drums of the enemy were distinctly heard, and we moved as
rapidly as possible, and were about an hour in descending. All the
horses were left behind, as the mountain was found so steep and
rocky that it was impossible for them to go any further. We
clambered down the rocks, clinging to the bushes and jumping from
rock to rock, and at nine o'clock we halted for the night.
Not a word was spoken above a whisper, nor a fire lighted, although
it was very cold. Van Leer arranged our blankets as on the previous
night, and with much the same result. For soon after we lay down
the rain came as though the windows of heaven were opened, and
about eleven o'clock we were thoroughly saturated. A rivulet ran
down my back and Joe and I actually lay in a pool of water all night.
I thought it impossible for me to stand it, but as there was no
alternative, I kept quiet and thought over all I had ever read of the
benefits of hydropathy. I consoled myself with the reflection that the
water-cure might relieve me of an intense pain I had suffered for
some hours in my left knee,—and so it did. At the same time I would
hesitate long before recommending the same treatment for every
other pain in the left knee.
In the morning I was well soaked, my finger ends were corrugated
and my whole body chilled through. I was very hungry also, but all I
could get to eat was one tough biscuit that almost defied my most
vigorous assaults. We were ordered to be on the Parkersburg Pike
that day, (Thursday), at daybreak. To show how little we understood
the art of war at that time, soon after we started, a well mounted
horseman passed halfway down the line of the regiment without
detection. He proved to be a Federal courier. Lieutenant-Colonel
Sevier finally halted him and said in surprise: "Why, you're a
Yankee!" To which the courier coolly replied: "I'm so thankful you
found me out; I was so afraid of being shot."
The Colonel took from him a fine pair of pistols, sword, carbine and
his horse, which he gave to Major Looney who was thoroughly
knocked up. Half a mile further on brought us to the Parkersburg
Pike, three miles and a half from Cheat Mountain Pass. The brigade
was, as rapidly as possible, put in position. The First Tennessee was
at the head of a column towards Cheat Pass. In about ten minutes a
body of the enemy, about one hundred strong, in ambush on the
opposite side of the road and only about twenty-five yards from our
troops, began firing into our left, composed of the companies from
Pulaski, Columbia and Murfreesboro. The enemy were completely
concealed but our men stood the fire nobly. Not a man flinched.
After two or three volleys had been fired, Captain Field ordered a
charge and the enemy fled.
We lost two killed, two missing and sixteen wounded. We captured
Lieutenant Merrill of the Engineer Corps, U. S. A., attached to
General Rosecrans' command. I fell into conversation with him, and
found him not only a most intelligent gentleman but also a most
genial and pleasant companion,—as most West Pointers are. We also
captured seven privates, and left on the roadside two wounded men
of the enemy who were so disabled that they could not be moved,
though we dressed their wounds and made them as comfortable as
possible. The enemy lost some eight or ten killed,—how many
wounded I do not know.
My first experience in actual battle was very different from what I
had anticipated. I had expected an open field and a fair fight, but
this bushwhacking was entirely out of my line. The balls whistled in
a way that can never be appreciated by one who has not heard
them. We held our position until four o'clock in the afternoon,
anxiously listening for General H. R. Jackson's fire, upon which the
whole movement depended; but not a gun was heard in that
direction. General Donelson, however, met a party of the enemy and
engaged them, killing seventeen and taking sixty-eight prisoners. He
then waited for us,—of course waited in vain, and like us withdrew.
When we left the turnpike, we took with us our wounded, all but five
of whom were carried on horses, the others on litters. About two
miles from the highway we came to the house of a Mr. White, where
we deposited seven of our wounded men and left them. The brigade
halted in a meadow. After attending to the wounded, I lay down by
a wheat-stack with Joe Van Leer, who made a very comfortable bed
for us. At daylight I returned to the house to assist the surgeons in
dressing the wounds of our men. This occupied us until nine o'clock.
The brigade in the meantime had moved forward and left us. We
supposed that they had stationed a guard for our protection, but it
had been neglected, and when we left, a man suggested to us that
we better remove the white badges from our caps, for we might
come across some scouting party of the enemy. We took his advice
and in addition I took the precaution to tie a white handkerchief to a
stick, and so I led the way. After winding about over the hills for a
mile or so, we came upon a body of men behind a fallen tree with
their guns pointed at us ready to fire. We heard the click of the locks
and I instantly threw up the white flag, and this possibly saved our
party from being shot down by our own men. It was a detachment
that had been sent back for us, and as they saw us winding along
without our badges, they supposed us a party of the enemy on the
trail of our forces. One man was very much overcome when he
found out who we were.
About a mile further on we came up with the main body of our
troops, which had been halted for us by Colonel Hatton, who, on
discovering that we were in the rear, ran the whole length of the
column to inform General Anderson of the fact. It felt mighty good
to get with the brigade again.
In less than half an hour after we left Mr. White's house, a party of
the enemy was in possession there. At half past twelve word was
passed along the line that the enemy were following us. Immediately
a line of battle was formed, but very shortly we moved on to get a
more advantageous position. We rolled down one precipice and
climbed up another and again the line of battle was formed. Then it
was discovered that a small part of the enemy's forces was on its
way by a route that crossed ours to reinforce Crouch's, so there was
no fighting.
Friday night we camped about one mile from the place we occupied
our first night out. I had no provisions, but various persons gave me
what made up a tolerably good supper, to wit,—a roasting ear, a
slice of bacon and a biscuit; and in the morning I found on a log a
good-sized piece of fresh meat, not strikingly clean, but I sliced off a
piece of it and cooked it on a long stick. The fire, I reckon, removed
all impurities; and Joe Van Leer brought me half a cup of coffee and
another biscuit. We rested here until seven o'clock at night, when we
took up our march for Brady's Gate. At about eleven o'clock we
rested for the night and had the pleasure of meeting two men from
Nashville who had brought out a couple of ambulances loaded with
nick-nacks for the Rock City Guard. Out of their supplies we had a
comfortable breakfast, and again started for Brady's Gate and
reached it at 1 p. m.
At this point the enemy had been in great numbers,—some three or
four thousand. Everywhere in the woods they had erected
comfortable booths and rustic benches. Our brigade took position
expecting an attack, and waited until half-past six, and then once
more started on our march. About eight o'clock the rain poured
down in torrents and once more we were thoroughly drenched. The
brigade remained all night in an open meadow, but Colonel Sevier
insisted upon my taking his horse, and so I rode forward with Major
Looney and some other officers to a house half a mile further on,
and Dr. Buist, Van Leer, myself and five others took up quarters for
the night in a smoke-house. Unfortunately the shingles were off just
over my head and the rain came through pretty freely. The next
morning we started for our old camp at Valley Mountain, which we
reached at eleven o'clock. It really seemed like getting home. The
tents looked more than familiar,—inviting even. I rested well and ate
well and felt well generally.
The march left many of our men bare-footed. Some of them made
the last of the tramp in their stocking feet, and when we reached
our quarters they had not even a thread to cover them. One of
Captain Jack Butler's men made the remark that if the enemy took
the Captain prisoner they would not believe him if he told them his
rank; and when I looked at the dear fellow, ragged and barefooted,
with feet cut and swollen, I thought so too. But then when I looked
down at my own feet and saw my own toes peeping,—nay, rather
boldly showing themselves,—as plain as the nose on my face;—and
found that almost a majority of our regiment were bootless and
shoeless by the hardness of the march, I realized what we had gone
through.
The path by which we ascended to the top of Cheat Mountain was
one which the foot of man probably never trod before. The guide
said that he knew that he could cross it but did not think that the
brigade could. I would not have undertaken the march, I presume,
could I have foretold what it would be. I made the whole trip, with
the exception of a few miles, on foot; for the morning we started
out, Lieutenant John House, of Franklin, a noble fellow, was very
weak from an attack of fever from which he had not entirely
convalesced. I insisted upon his taking my horse and so I did not
ride at all until Sunday the 15th. My horse proved a most valuable
one. On our return one of the wounded men rode her down the
steepest hills and she did not once miss a foot. Being raised in that
region she had the faculty of adapting herself to the provender,
while other Tennessee horses grew thin and became useless.
As a result of the expedition, our forces had driven in all the
outposts of the enemy, made a thorough survey of all their works,
had killed, wounded and captured about two hundred of their men,
and all with a loss of less than thirty on our side. But the campaign
in that section was abandoned and all our forces were transferred to
another section.
I was very glad to believe that my labors among the soldiers as their
chaplain were not all thrown away. It was very delightful to see how
well our regular daily evening service in camp was attended. And I
was greatly pleased to find so many of the young men anxious to
receive the Holy Communion when I celebrated on the fifteenth
Sunday after Trinity, the day before we started on the expedition.
The whole regiment seemed devoted to me. One of the Captains
told the Major that he believed every man in his company would lay
down his life for me. Certainly I met nothing but kindness from
officers and men. And so I was led to hope that some good would
yet grow out of the seed sown in those wild mountains.
On Friday the 13th of September, General Loring was anxious to
have a reconnaissance made, and assigned the duty to Major
Fitzhugh Lee, son of General Robert E. Lee. Colonel J. A.
Washington, a brother-in-law of General Lee and one of his personal
aides, asked permission to accompany the party, which was granted.
They had advanced a considerable distance when Major Lee told the
Colonel that it was unsafe for them to proceed further. But the
Colonel was anxious to make a thorough exploration. Major Lee,
however, decided not to endanger the lives of his men by taking
them along, and so halted them and rode on with Colonel
Washington, accompanied by two privates.
They had not gone far when they were fired upon by a large picket
guard lying in ambush by the roadside. Colonel Washington was
instantly killed, being pierced by three balls through the breast.
Major Lee's horse was shot under him and one of the privates also
lost his horse. Major Lee escaped on Colonel Washington's horse.
A flag was sent to the Federal camp the next day by General Lee,
and Colonel Washington's body was given up. The enemy offered to
send it the whole distance in an ambulance, but this offer Colonel
Stark, the bearer of the flag, declined.
This sad occurrence was the occasion of my first acquaintance with
General Lee, the most conspicuous character in the struggle
between the States. I saw him at Cheat Mountain when he had just
learned of the death of Colonel Washington. He was standing with
his right arm thrown over the neck of his horse,—(a blooded animal,
thoroughly groomed),—and I was impressed first of all by the man's
splendid physique, and then by the look of extreme sadness that
pervaded his countenance. He felt the death of his relative very
keenly and seemed greatly dispirited.
It was my high privilege later on to be brought in contact with this
great and good man and to learn most thoroughly to appreciate his
exalted character and to understand why his life is to-day an
enduring inheritance of his country and of the Church of Christ.
Personally he was a man of rare gifts, physical and mental. To these
were added the advantages of finished culture. He was a very
Bayard in manner and bearing. The habits of temperance, frugality
and self-control, formed by him in youth, adhered to him through
life.
 CHAPTER III
PERSONAL NARRATIVE—BIG SEWELL MOUNTAIN,
WINCHESTER AND ROMNEY

From Valley Mountain I was sent with the sick of our brigade to a
place named Edrai where a number of our troops were encamped. I
think it was about sixteen miles distant, but on account of the
condition of the roads, I was fully three days in making the trip. I
had given up my horse to Lieutenant Van Leer and I was busy each
day of the march administering to the wants of the sick, several of
whom died on the way. A cup of strong coffee was made for me by
the sergeant in command of our escort, (we had coffee in those
days, later our ingenuity was taxed to discover substitutes for it),
which was the only thing that refreshed me on the march. Instead of
a coffee mill, a hatchet handle was used to beat up the grains which
were then boiled in a tin cup. I was a long time drinking that cup of
coffee.
The last day of the journey I felt myself breaking down and
determined to reach Edrai as soon as possible. Accordingly I took
the middle of the road, not avoiding the holes which were abundant,
and walked through slush and mud, reaching Edrai just in the
gloaming. There was one brick house in the place, to which I made
my way. To my delight I found there Major Looney of my regiment,
who received me with great cordiality. I was so exhausted that I was
obliged to support myself in my chair, and the Major, seeing how
greatly prostrated I was, gave me a large drink of brandy. It
produced not the slightest effect on me, and so in fifteen minutes
more he repeated the dose, and "Richard was himself again." I went
out at once, borrowed a horse of a friend who was a Lieutenant in a
Virginia Regiment, and rode back to meet my sick train. The next
day I officiated at the burial of those who had died en route.
Shortly after this, General Lee ordered us to reinforce General John
B. Floyd, who was strongly intrenched at Big Sewell Mountain, facing
the Federal Army under General Rosecrans and only a mile distant. I
passed through the Hot Springs on the way to Big Sewell Mountain;
and from there, making our way was very gradual, for rains had
been destructive of the roads. In some places every trace of the
road had been so completely washed away that no one would dream
that any had ever been where were then gullies eight or ten feet or
even fifteen feet deep. Fences, bridges and even houses had been
washed away, farms ruined, and at White Sulphur Springs the guests
had to be taken from the lower story of the hotel. Major Looney,
Captain Foster and myself were detained at this point for several
days, and I went back and forth to hold services and to visit the sick.
At Big Sewell Mountain I was brought into very pleasant relations
with General Lee. At White Sulphur Springs, Mrs. Lee had entrusted
me with a parcel to deliver to the General at my first opportunity.
Upon my arrival I at once called upon him and spent several hours
with him in most delightful intercourse. From his headquarters we
could see the whole Federal encampment. With the audacity of
ignorance, I said to him: "Why, General, there are the Federals! why
don't we attack them?" In his gentle voice, he replied; "Ah, it is
sometimes better to wait until you are attacked."
From the camp at Big Sewell Mountain I was sent, in the latter part
of October to accompany a detachment of our sick men to the
hospitals at White Sulphur and Hot Springs, Virginia. When I reached
the latter place, being only fifteen miles from a railroad, I
determined to run down to Staunton to get, if possible, some clean
clothing. My visit was timely, for a few hours after my arrival in
Staunton I received by train two boxes,—one from Rome, Georgia,
and one from Nashville. In the latter box were two pairs of heavy
winter boots, a pair of winter pants, flannel under-clothing and a
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