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XXXVI A Tennessee Boy 1 FATHER had
settled
on the other side of Missionary Ridge, four miles from town. He died in
1858
when I was a child. The people
in this
region were pretty well divided on the slavery question. Often opposite
sides
were taken in the same family, and there was much feeling. At least
fifty per
cent of the people were for the Union. A company of Confederate
soldiers was
stationed at Chattanooga, and those soldiers went around to the houses
in the
adjacent country and arrested every one they suspected of sympathizing
with the
North. They brought their prisoners to town and put them under guard. One day
they were
out our way. They'd been to a number of different houses, and at each
house had
arrested the head of the family and his grown sons and marched them
off. Among
those taken into custody were several of the tenants on our farm.
Soldiers and
prisoners were all on foot, and they were followed by the prisoners'
wives and
children. The road was full when they got to Mother's. They were on the
big
road heading to town. At our place the soldiers made the women and
children
turn back. There was crying and wringing of hands, and the parting was
very
touching. The
arrested men
were kept in town several days. Then an influential citizen got them
all
released, and they returned to their homes, but not to stay. Within a
short
time they all left for the North, and many of 'em joined the Union army
and
fought their way back to the region of their birth. It wouldn’t have been safe for 'em to stay here. A mile and a half from where I was raised lived a very intelligent Union man named Lominick. He had education and ability, and he had courage. If let alone he was inoffensive, but the fact that he was an outspoken opponent of slavery made him enemies who wouldn’t stop at any crime. One Saturday night some of 'em went to his place. It seems he must have been expecting trouble, for he was sleeping in the barn. They got in there and took him out and hung him to a little post oak tree on his own farm. The next
day we had
gathered at church for preaching when we got word of what had happened,
and we
all immediately went to Mr. Lominick's place. Some man coming along the
road
that morning had seen the body and had told Mrs. Lominick. She went and
cut her
husband down, and when we got there she was sitting under the oak tree
with his
head in her lap. The body
was put
into a wagon and hauled to the house. We all followed and went in, and
the
house was full. A very large number of people attended the funeral on
Monday,
and the dead man was buried in his home yard next to his baby girl. A
good many
old-timers used to be buried in their yards. The
community was
very indignant over this lynching. Two men who lived a few miles away
were
suspected of being the murderers, but they didn’t await any
investigating. They
immediately joined the Confederate army. A fellow could do anything and
escape
punishment by joining the army. After the
war one
of the men returned to his home, and he hadn’t been there long when he
was
dragged out of his house one night and beaten and left for dead. But he
revived
and got out of the country. People had no doubt that his assailants
were Mr.
Lominick's sons avenging the death of their father. Nothing was done to
punish
them. One of 'em is living out on the old place yet. The war
came on
here in earnest in 1863, and for a while some seventy-five thousand
Confederate
troops were stationed between the town and Missionary Ridge. Mother had
only
myself and my sister with her. So she applied for protection, and a
house guard
was sent to us. The officers in both armies seemed to take pains to
select men
of good character for that duty. Our guard did his work efficiently
until he
was ordered back to camp, when the Confederates were leaving at the
approach of
the Federal army. The battle
of
Chickamauga was fought only about six miles from our home. It was so
clost that
we could hear the roaring of the cannon very distinctly. While the
battle was
going on Colonel Minty with a regiment of Northern cavalry came to our
farm and
they fed their horses in a ten-acre cornfield of ours. They cleaned it
out. The
field wasn’t in sight from the house, but Mother learned of what they'd
been
doing, and she took me and my sister and went right down there. She
found the
colonel near by in an old log church, and he paid for the corn by
giving her a
voucher for ninety dollars. It was not till seven months later though
that she
got the money. My mother
had been
a school teacher in her younger days, and was more cultured and capable
than
the average of women. She was strongly religious and thought it was a
sin to
own slaves. Her friends advised her to at least buy two or three to
help on the
farm, but she would not. She and Colonel Minty had quite a conversation
in the
old log church, and among other things she told him how sure she was of
the
righteousness of the Union cause, and that the Lord was with the
Federal army. "Well,"
he said, "that certainly explains why so many deserters are comin' to
our
camp. But don't you think you'd better be going home?" he asked. "I
expect some of our soldiers are pilfering your house now." Sure
enough, when
we got there several soldiers had broken into our smokehouse. They
heard us
coming and skinned out — ran like good fellows. The battle
was over
the next day. The Yankees got back to Chattanooga, and the Rebels
followed them
as far as Missionary Ridge. The men and teams of the whole Confederate
army
passed our place. They were going all that day and all night and the
better
portion of the day after. The troops
were
camped close by until late in November. One of the colonels had a tent
in our
yard. We had an old-fashioned three-room house with a big chimney at
one end,
and there was a log kitchen sitting a little apart from it. My mother
was a
very energetic woman, and she entertained to some extent ladies from
farther
south who came to see their husbands and sons, and she baked a great
deal to
sell to the army. I was only ten years old, but most every day I'd take
to camp
a basket filled with pies, cakes, corn bread, and light bread. Mother
had the
reputation of making the finest corn bread in the country. The soldiers
were so
anxious to get it they'd flock right around me as soon as I arrived. Sometimes
I did my
peddling on horseback. Once, when I had ridden my little sorrel mare to
camp, I
sold my load and went to a spring to water her and get a drink myself.
A bunch
of soldiers was there who belonged to the Texas Rangers. One of 'em
helped me
off and on the horse. When he lifted me back he tickled me. I reached
home and
put my hand in my pocket to deliver the money I'd received to my
mother, and my
little red pocketbook was gone. The
peculiar part
of the matter is that some twenty-five years later I was on a train
with a
number of gentlemen in the smoking car, and I related this incident.
When I got
through one of 'em said: "I was very much interested in your story. I
belonged to the regiment of Rangers which was camped near that spring,
and I
remember very well that the fellow who tickled you showed us your
pocketbook
afterward. That very night I and some others, including him and our
colonel,
were gambling. He had a falling-out with the colonel and killed him.
Then he
made his escape and joined the Federal army." All the
time that
the Confederates were camped in our neighborhood there was more or less
bombarding, and after dark I often sat in the yard and watched the
bombs go
over the house. They were like comets, with a long tail of light
trailing after
'em. On the day
of the
battle of Missionary Ridge myself and a colored man started early for
camp,
each with a basket of provisions. It wasn’t an unusual thing for the
Federals
and Confederates to be shooting at each other, but we noticed there was
more
shooting than usual that morning. When we got up on the top of the
ridge the
colored man said to me: "Buddy, you'd better go back home. They're
fightin'. I'll take your basket." He went
along with
the baskets, and I've never seen the nigger from that day to this. I
waited a
while, and the bullets began to fly so thick I lay down behind a stump.
There I
stayed all day. I didn’t have anything to eat, and I didn’t want
anything. I
had too much else to think of. Men were shot all around me, and the
wounded lay
on the ground groaning to beat the band. I thought if the Yankees knew
that a
little boy like me was there they'd stop the fight till I got home. The
bullets
were cutting off twigs and bushes in the woods roundabout, and I got
myself in
as small a ball as I could behind the stump. It's
curious the
different ways men conduct themselves in battle. If a bombshell fell
near them
some would laugh and smack their hands. Others would look serious as if
they
felt the awfulness of the situation. Some would swear. They'd cuss the
Yankees
at the top of their voice. Others would sing a jolly song. When a shell
burst
in the ranks the yelling was almost deafening. Near my
stump was a
very large cannon. The Confederates presently started to retreat, and
orders
were given to haul the cannon away. A driver with some big,
fine-looking bay
horses was hitching onto it when a bullet killed one of the horses.
That
excited the others and they pranced around so that he had difficulty in
getting
them straightened out. Before he could hitch them to the cannon a
second horse
was killed. He kept losing 'em that way till only one was left; and he
got on
it to ride off. Just then a wounded man called to him for help. "Pardner,"
the driver said, "if I can lift you up on this horse I believe I can
get
away with you." He
dismounted, and
in a few moments had contrived to get the wounded man on the horse's
back. Then
he jumped up himself and away they went down the ridge as fast as the
horse
could gallop. About that
time a
couple of gentlemen spoke to me. They were hangers-on of the army —
clerks or
something — and they were the first persons who'd noticed me that day. "What are
you
doing here?" they asked. I don't
know what
my reply was, but it throwed 'em into convulsions of laughter. "You'd
better
light out," they advised, "or the Yankees'll be here and get you.
Where do you live?" "Just down the hill to the east," I
answered. "Come
along
then," they said. "We're going that way." I went
with them a
little piece, but they were n't going fast enough, and I left 'em and
dodged
along ahead. Before I got home I met my mother and she embraced me with
tears
of joy. She'd got so alarmed about my long absence that she didn’t know
what to
do, and she'd left my little sister alone in the house and was comin'
to look
for me. That
experience of
mine has proved valuable to me in one way since. When my children were
small
and wouldn't sleep at night I'd tell them the story of how I stayed
behind a stump
on Missionary Ridge while the battle was being fought there, and it
never
failed to quiet them. After
Mother and I
reached home I heard the small balls striking the house and the boards
of the
fence around the yard. The army had taken all our cows but one some
time
before. That one was in a cleared field a short distance from the
house. We
became anxious about her, and I slipped out the back door and went
after her. I
had got the old cow turned around and started toward the house when I
heard a
shell coming right in my direction. It made a noise somewhat similar to
that
made by the wings of a covey of birds. I'd been taught by the soldiers
that I
must lie flat on my breast to avoid being hit by a shell, and down I
lay. The
shell burst, and pieces of it went over me and the cow without hitting
us. Then
we went on, and I put her in the smokehouse and locked her up. The
Confederates
had left, and now we had the Yankees around us. Some of 'em broke into
the
smokehouse that night. They evidently tried to split the cow's head
with an ax,
but she got away, and we found her in the morning with a great gash in
her
shoulder. We sewed up the wound and put her back in the smokehouse. But
the
soldiers stole her after night came, and when we looked around the next
day we
came across her hide a quarter of a mile away. As soon as
the
winter was past we went to work to replace the fences that had been
destroyed
and get our fields ready to plant. It was a good crop year, and we
received
first-rate prices for all we raised. The next year the war ended, and
we were
able to buy army horses for thirty or forty dollars apiece and so got
our farm
running in good shape again. _______________ 1 He was now a
stout-figured,
deliberate business man. I spent a morning hour with him in his
handsome office
in one of Chattanooga's big public buildings. As he talked he puffed
meditatively at his pipe and sat with his feet on his broad-topped
desk. |