For Some Future Friend...

December 14, 1861

Camp Billy Williams, Kentucky

In August, when I left East Tennessee for Kentucky, we thought the war would be over by Christmas. Recent events let me know it may go on much longer. So, I feel I must gather my remembrances for some future friend. They may find my time in the war interesting, whatever it may bring.

Pa warned me to be careful about how and who I talked and who I talked to once the rebellion started. On my way to KY to join Wolford’s Cavalry, I saw the rebel flag raised. Never did I feel the danger as thick as when new recruits came in from home today. A few old classmates rushed me, saying Pa had been arrested. He is headed for Tuscaloosa Prison. What for? They say it’s his connection with the four or five bridge burnings near our home in East Tennessee. I say he’d never get wound up in that business. They looked away.

I remember watching him, in the moonlight going to the carriage house and meeting Union men of our neighborhood. I was made to stay away, Pa telling me this was man’s work and none of my concern. I joined to show him I am indeed a man.

Powhatan is in camp, calling for reinforcements to help back home. I saw him talking with Pa before I left. Confederate Home Guards round up men and hold drumhead court marshalls near in our town. The authorities hung four men.

No one knows if Pa was one of them. Fisher says if he had been in on the railroad business, they’d surely have killed him. I ask about Tuscaloosa. They’ve rounded up Old Judge Trewhitt and a few doctors, too. They cannot hang them all, can they?

December 16, 1861

Camp Dick Robinson, Kentucky

We spent the last week scouting the hills for the enemy. Some boys met with enemy fire near Jamestown today, killing a rebel. We gathered men, but by the time we got there, the enemy was gone. Gen. Zollicoffer’s got ten thousand men camped north of the Cumberland River. While scouting, Major Helveti and some others were captured by the rebels. We went to Mill Springs to stop Z getting control of the Gap. Our Captain asked how we were to do it with muskets and only the clothing we brought from home. He said it’s an impossible feat.

In the end, we could not prevent Zollicoffer’s takeover of the northern part of the Cumberland. Too many of them. Thousands vs. our hundreds. Back at camp, men’s shoulders slump and they talk in short sentences.. My company will join Garfield. New boys from E TN coming in, but still no word on Pa. Much war business is in the splitting and not knowing.

Christmas 1861

Near Prestonburg, KY

News isn’t more than gossip. None from home. All talk is about Zollicoffer. Word is he’ll have to fight us or starve out. I wonder if we might starve first. Horses worn down. Saddles won’t warm up, wet clothes and ice on everything makes for hard riding. Our companies and Col. Garfield’s brigade will head to E KY tomorrow. Miserable with frost and snow.

We haven’t seen rebels. We know they are close by tracking the unshod horse tracks in the mud. They watch the roads for us. Shots fired. No men to be found in the hills or homes. Women removed flags, and children hide or whisper warnings. Roads filled with snow, making their wagon tracks easier to find. Some boys’ hands crack with cold.

We are to report, not fight. We cannot pursue or punish.We head to camp with nothing but new of the Cumberland River rising.

Fergusen of Co. C went out with 7 others. Being local, he was an obvious choice for constant scouting with other local boys. Guerillas caught and killed him last week. I rode with him a few times and he showed me through the hills and valleys. I only hope I can make his death matter.

Word came that three of my brothers and Fisher’s Pa were conscripted by rebel Capt. Bill Brown. Fisher and I don’t look at one another or talk about it.

It is Christmas. Nobody sings though some get drunk. Some whisper Zollicoffer is trapped at Mill Springs. If the river floods, it’ll wash them out to fight us. Powhatan is angry. He can’t convince the generals to send us to Tennessee with Z in this part of the country. Kentucky needs to be won before the higher-ups will consider moving into East Tennessee.

Sitting near the campfire, I cannot stop shaking. Am I cold or full of dread? How are Ma and the younguns faring? I wrestle between going back home or staying to fight. My letter goes unanswered.

Early January 1862

Near Prestonburg, E. KY

The day after Christmas, five Ky 1st Cavalry companies began marching with Garfield, joined the Ohio 40th. Other units stayed with Gen Thomas for fighting Zollicoffer. 100 miles of slippery earth and ice. Got to Paintsville on the 8th. Scouting is an all day or night affair. So bitter cold, frost remains on all the eye can see. We ride, my horse’s breath pluming.

No word from home. I have sent many to Pa, inquiring about his imprisonment. I write to my sister daily. Every mail call, I hold my breath. My waking and sleeping thoughts repeat, Is Pa alive? Nothing.

My brothers were conscripted into the 36th infantry mid-December. The rebels call it the Squirrel Regiment or the Bloody 36th for it is made up of Union men. The 36th are being sent to KY to support Z’s army, still stuck in Mill Springs. I worry my brothers will be fired upon and killed.

Our cavalry won’t be used for fighting. Tomorrow we’ll recon and draw fire revealing where the enemy are hiding. The fellows don’t show it if they’re scared. We sleep with our shoes on, guns close.

January 10, 1862

The paymaster came, gave us our pay and uniforms. We dressed in blue and finally looked the part we’ve been playing. We arrived at Middle Creek, KY. Cavalry left at 4 a.m. as the advanced guard, arriving four hours later. The fog was thick, moving ghostlike, hiding what may or may not be in the woods awaiting us. At the mouth of the creek, we caught fire. Garfield said he needed twenty cavalrymen to ride into the valley and draw the enemy out. Fisher and I volunteered.

Twenty of us rode into the valley, and the enemy emerged from the treeline. Thinking it was only our men, they gave away their location along the hillside. We rode up the side of the mountain. Fire came from all angles, the rebels trying to repel us down the mountainside. Around 4pm, Garfield’s reserves came. The KY 22nd charged with bayonets alongside us. There was much confusion and excitement. The rebels retreated once the fog and shadows of night fell.

The morning after, the ground lay scattered with Confederate dead. Their bodies, in all positions. Some looked as if they had fallen asleep, their faces so young and angelic. Others showed fear, or lay curled up like a scared child. A few Union men fell, but we didn’t know them..

The men back in camp speak of victory.

January 14, 1862

Webb’s Crossroad

We reunited with Gen. Thomas and the rest of the KY 1st. They guarded fodder while we fought. Rested at camp, and got many questions about Mill Creek and our being one of the twenty. Quiet, rainy and cold.

15th - No scouts seen. No news of the enemy.

17th- River rising. Enemy still entrenched in Mill Springs. Boys from Indiana, Ohio and E TN lay by with us, waiting. Seen a few of the enemy scouts. Slipped out before we could get to him.

18th - all quiet. A picket of us was sent out near Mill Springs Road in the middle of the night. Shots fired. We could not determine where they were fired from. The feeling in the air suggests trouble will certainly find us.

January 21, 1862

Logan’s Field near Mill Springs, KY

The morning of the 19th, fog rolled in with rain. Coldest day of the year. All remained quiet, until shots fired at dawn. We returned fire with much force, not realizing the main body of the rebels lay waiting. We fought hard in the grey smoke and rain. Wolford wore his old homespun outfit with his red wool hat, serving as a beacon for us. He ordered us to form a line, moving yard by yard. We dismounted along a split-rail fence on the left flank. Company C, leftmost, stood most exposed. In the corn field visibility was awful. Confusion, fog, gunfire and rapid movement, smoke scorching the earth. Mill Creek seemed difficult, but Mill Springs proved more ferocious.

It being utterly difficult to recognize friend or foe through the fog, all was chaos. Into our line rode a couple of men. One wore a white coat, yelling that we fired upon our own. We pulled back, and waited, not recognizing him. Then, his mate gave him away, screaming, “General, they are the enemy!”

The man shot at Fry of the 4th KY, missing him but hitting Fry’s horse. Fry landed on his feet, drew his gun and shot the man, who fell to the ground with a thud. The battle raged on for two more hours with our men yelling, “We got their general!” and “Zollicoffer’s dead!” These battle cries kept us fighting. Since the Battle of Wildcat, we spoke Zollicoffer’s name often. Seeing his body seemed more dream than fact.

When the dust cleared, we saw men writhing in the mud, some dead. In all the excitement, we looked past the bodies. Walking amongst the dying and saw one of our own. Lieutenant J.P. Miller. Three others in our unit died that night. Nigh 20 lay wounded. Not all will live through the night. Some rebels drowned trying to cross the river.

Chaplain Honnell walked through battle, as if the Lord shielded him. Honnell offered words of solace. He wrote down the dying men’s last words. He and a few others moved Zollicoffer’s body to prevent trampling, without thinking of their own safety.

After the battle, some soldiers took souvenirs off Zollicoffer’s body. Clippings of his mustache, hair and coat. Honnell, outraged, stood guard over him, shaming those who would steal from a soldier’s corpse. He warned them to put slips of paper in their breast coats. He said they could only wish to be recognized if killed. Nobody would care enough to pilfer their corpses.

Though the feeling in camp is one of glory, in the still night, I feel something in me has died along with all those poor souls laying in the mud. Word came that the 36th was there. Were my brothers hurt? How many of my bullets killed men? I pray the Lord forgives us.

I wonder if Pa died while in prison. I have heard the conditions of rebel prisons aren’t fit for a dog. I know he will not take the oath, even if pressed. Even if it means returning to Ma. A man’s word is his bond, he has told me. He would die before surrendering.

April 5, 1862

Camp Hospital - Land of J.L. Davis - Lincoln, KY

I have been away from my unit as I have been sick since March. I am almost well enough to ride again. Rec’d pay for horses in Feb’y. Early flowers bloomed just in time for Brother Sam to arrive. He came a week ago and joined Wolford’s Cavalry, the same company as I. My heart leapt when I saw him. I didn’t think we’d meet again.

Still, no word on Pa. Sam says the 36th fell apart after Mill Springs. Most went home or joined Union forces.

Gillespie let Brother Will take a wagon to escort Cousin John and a few other Bradley County boys home after the battle. They made it to Bradley County before John died at home. His sister, Martha, left an orphan with no close kin. She lives with Grandma, who is faring poorly.

Brother Will then joined the 1st TN Cavalry in March. He writes Ma is holding strong, though the rebels got a few horses and a wagon. The sheriff sold off 40 acres of our land. Pa wasn’t in court to contest it. How could he be in Alabama to contest it in Tennessee? Brother James came home with Fisher’s Pa, Hance. James stays with Ma and the younguns until he is of age. Hance promised to keep watch until Pa returns.

July 4, 1862

Monticallo, KY

It is Independence Day. Wolford spoke of honor and duty, reading from the Declaration.

The Union controls Kentucky, but not completely. Rebel forces gather in East Tennessee. Guerillas are everywhere. We’re worked to the bone, moving sunup to dark. We ride through the gaps, checking the fords for wagon crossings. We check the loyalty of the citizens.

The sun blazes while dust covers everything. We search mail for letters from home. The higher-ups say they are watching East Tennessee and to be ready. We wait.

P.S. A letter arrived today in Pa’s handwriting. It isn’t as steady as I remember. I paused and traced the letters with my finger, knowing his hands touched this envelope. I fear opening it, for it might have a note scrawled at the end, telling me of Pa’s death. My eyes water as I write this. I will keep it in my breastpocket until I can write more.

Letter from Father - Leaving Tuscaloosa

Sons,

I’m riding home from Tuscaloosa Prison. I could not write without bringing danger.

When they came for me on the 8th of December, Capt. Bill Brown took $25 and my knife. He bound me to a wagon. Travelling like mules, house to house, they rounded up Union men. We marched to prison, into a brick room less than twenty square feet with nearly forty of us. The air and the stench of other worried bodies was unbearable. We had no blankets, nothing to sleep on. Guards shot off guns. Without proof we burned bridges, they flouted the hangings, and pressed muskets to our breasts when they passed.

Thirty three of us were taken to the train depot after they conscripted your brothers. James is but 16, but they did not listen. Old Judge Trewhitt couldn’t keep up on marches. Being nigh eighty and bogged down with supplies, he fell hard. His complaints, ignored. A guard dropped his gun, shooting a hole through Doc Hunt’s hat.

The folks we passed on the way threw insults, asking the guards to draw out Old Trewhitt. They jeered and mocked him, calling for us to be hung. Some said we ought to be put out in the fields with the negroes.

In Mobile, we laid in the filthy hull of an old ship, like cargo. Three days and nights til we got to Tuscaloosa. Locals jeered, calling for The Bridgeburners to be hung. At the prison, they put 128 of us in a 16 sq. ft. room, no blankets, no fire. One privy, a barrel overflowing with excrement and urine. Windows were open but an inch. They shot a man. His crime? Trying to breathe fresh air from the window. Trewhitt never recovered. We worked hard, men falling dead from sickness and exhaustion.

I do not write to worry or elicit sympathy, but to anchor you. In prison, at night, I looked to the heavens. I remembered the Night the Stars Fell in ‘33. That night, stars lit up the midnight sky, 50-60 falling per second, like so many snowflakes. Men cried, thinking the End of the World.

We watched slavers crying, begging the Lord for mercy, setting their negroes free. Why did it take the Second Coming for them to act righteous? Before then, I hadn’t given slavery a thought. Father did not own any, but Grandpa did.

Those men knew they were wrong. When the stars stopped falling and the world didn’t end, we watched the slavers reclaim their “property.” Did they think they could beg for forgiveness again? In my youth, I surmised the Lord gave them another chance. They laid waste to it by rounding the free back to slavery’s chains.

I have lived as true to the Lord as possible. If I’ve had a reason to ask forgiveness, I will not ask twice. A man doing wrong knows it. Rebels pillaging from us know theft is a sin.

Sons, they will not stop unless we force them to. It’ll be difficult in E TN for some time. I’ve reorganized the Old Man’s Brigade, the ones I organized and piloted with before my imprisonment. We’ll fight them with the Grapevine Telegraph. Let Powhatan know E Tennessee has support in these hills.

If I never told you before, you have done me proud.

Pa

July 23, 1862

Southeast, KY

Before I left, Pa did not share what he and the Old Men were doing. It stung, his mistrust in me. Now, he recognizes me as a man. It steadies me. The way the rebels have done our family, especially Pa, shows how hard we must continue to fight, no matter how weary. These next months matter more than a single battle. Some men will only do right when they think the Lord watches. We are not those men.

We will get our land back, Pa and the Old Men, I and my cavalry. As I wrote that last line, I looked to the sky and saw a shooting star. I wonder if Pa saw it, too. I can picture him, piloting boys out of Tennessee, to us in Kentucky. We can win this fight, inch by inch if we must.