“John Brown’s body lies a-mouldering in the grave;
John Brown’s body lies a-mouldering in the grave;
John Brown’s body lies a-mouldering in the grave;
His soul is marching on!
Glory, halle-hallelujah! Glory, halle-hallelujah!
Glory, halle-hallelujah!
His soul is marching on.”
That was about the middle of January, 1862. That famous war song may have been sung before in our city, but this was the first time that I had heard it. It thrilled me through and through. That to me was an ecstatic moment. So it evidently was to the crowd that lined the street. They looked on as if entranced. Tears started in many eyes, and when the song, so prophetic of triumph, ended, the throng burst out into rapturous, ringing cheers. And the patriots who sang those inspiring words were on their way to swell the ranks of Grant’s army. Into the souls of all that heard them on that day came the assurance of victory.
The last of January, General Grant led his army southward. He was supported by a fleet of gunboats under the command of Commodore Foote. The movement was without ado, unexpected by the enemy, and effective. On February 6th, Fort Henry on the Tennessee River was captured by the gunboats. On the 12th, the general led his army across the country and, with considerable fighting during the afternoon, invested Fort Donelson on the Cumberland River. On the next day, while waiting for the arrival of the gunboats, there was no general attack, but constant skirmishing. On the 14th, the enemy repulsed the gunboats and attacked the investing army. A furious battle ensued, lasting several hours. The right wing of Grant’s army was at first driven back. The report reached us that our troops were repulsed, and we thought that the campaign so brilliantly begun had failed. We did not then know that at last a general had appeared who regarded war as a serious business, which at all hazards must be relentlessly prosecuted to a successful issue; who if he did not conquer on the first day, fought the next, and if he did not succeed on the second day, only waited for the dawn of the third that he might renew the conflict. That third day came at Fort Donelson. Grant and his troops, in spite of sleet and hail and snow that all night had pitilessly beat upon their tentless heads, were ready for the fray. But the enemy, though sheltered behind breastworks, felt that they could no longer withstand the onslaughts of that aggressive host, whom neither storms of ice nor showers of bullets could daunt. Some in the beleaguered fort, led by their faint-hearted commanders, had slipped away under the cover of night, and by flight reached places of safety. At dawn General Buckner, to whom had been left the responsibility of surrendering, proposed that commissioners be appointed to agree upon terms of capitulation of the forces under his command, and received from Grant the famous reply, now familiar to every schoolboy, “No terms, except unconditional and immediate surrender, can be accepted. I propose to move immediately on your works.” When the telegraph flashed to us those immortal words every loyal heart in our city overflowed with delight. One said to another: “We have at last an able general who means business.”
On the following day, February 17th, the news of the surrender came. More than fourteen thousand prisoners, with forty pieces of artillery, thousands of small arms and large quantities of commissary stores had been taken, and the Union troops occupied the fort. In spontaneous celebration of these glad tidings from all the encampments around our city came the roar of cannon; brass bands played “The Star-Spangled Banner” and “Yankee Doodle;” the Union Merchants Exchange laid aside all business and sang patriotic songs; large companies of Unionists, drawn together by some irresistible impulse, in the stores, in the market, on the streets, congratulated each other, laughed, clapped their hands and stamped their feet in glee. It was an hour of triumph; and the Missouri Democrat issued in hot haste an extra, heading its column with “Te Deum.” It thus caught and expressed the sentiment then dominant in all loyal hearts, that of thanksgiving and praise to God, who presides over and directs the affairs of nations and in wisdom withholds or grants victories to armies. But our secession neighbors were mute. What gave us joy, gave them pain. At such times we always felt it to be sad that we were so divided. Both of us could not be right. That which separated us was being decided by the dread arbitrament of battle, and the thought began to penetrate the minds of the more considerate of the disloyal that after all the Federal government might be able to subdue the rebellion; a notion which, at the beginning of the war, they rejected with ineffable contempt.