The Seventh Regiment: A Record

by George L. Wood

The contrast between this camp and the one at Big Birch was striking. Here we were reminded of Ohio, our native State, the one which had more attractions for us than any other; while at the latter camp we were constantly reminded of some lonely country, described only by the novelist, and inhabited alone by robbers and outlaws. And yet, upon this mountain region, nature was lavish with her charms. The scenery is grand beyond description. Peak after peak rises, one above another, until the tired eye arrows dim in its endeavor to trace the outlines of the distant mountain, and seeks the beautiful valley, wherein to restore its lost vision.

From the top of Powell's Mountain, the beauty of the scenery is lost sight of in its magnificence. This mountain is the highest in Western Virginia, and commands the finest view. The first time I ascended it was on horseback. When near the top we struck into a bridle path, and, urging our horses into a gallop, we were soon at the base of the projecting rocks. Below, a lovely panorama was open to our view. The side of the mountain, as well as the distant valley, seemed covered with a carpet of green, for both were densely wooded, and in the distance the foliage seemed to blend with the earth. We could see far away into the smaller valleys, and from them trace the ravines, in which the small rivulets make their merry descent from the side of the mountain.

At last, tired of gazing at this beautiful spot in nature's varied scenery, we again urged our horses forward, and, after partially winding around the mountain, we were at the very summit of this mass of earth, rocks, and herbage. We now obtained a view of the opposite side of the mountain from which we had ascended, where beauty expands into sublimity. We could plainly trace the course of the Kanawha River, as on its banks the mountains rise higher, and are more abrupt, while beyond they lessen into hills, and the hills waste into a valley. On the side of the distant hills we could see an occasional farm, with its fields of golden grain ready for the harvest. On the very top of this mountain was living a family.

Notwithstanding their great height, these mountains seemed fertile; and the farms are apparently as good as those in the valley. Springs frequently make their way out of the rocks by the roadside. Water is abundant in any part of these mountains, and springs more common than in the valley.

Near the top of Powell's Mountain, in a kind of basin, is a very fine farm. It is well watered, and well timbered, and quite fertile. The owner lives and flourishes in this quiet home, and, I should say, is quite as happy as if in a city. He has become accustomed to the loneliness of his mountain retreat. The wild scenery has become familiar—its very wildness has a charm. He is content with two visits each year to the distant settlement. It is literally true that "home is where the heart is."

Although this country was well supplied with provisions of every kind, we were not allowed to appropriate any of it. The property of rebels was considered sacred. The authorities were confident of putting down the rebellion through clemency, and, therefore, were both ready and willing to put our soldiers upon half rations, rather than incur the ill-will of traitors. When prisoners were captured, they had what was called an oath of allegiance administered to them, when they were liberated, to again rob and plunder. Occasionally we captured a horse, but it was invariably given up, on the owner taking this oath of allegiance. In view of this moderate method of dealing with them, they risked nothing in prowling about our lines, for they knew that they had only to take this oath to procure an honorable discharge; while the soldiers of the Federal army, if they stole but an onion to make a piece of hard bread palatable, were subjected to the severest punishments. Experience has finally taught us, that hard blows alone will conquer a rebellion, and that to reduce a foe, starvation is quite as good as the bayonet.

I do not know that any one was criminal in this early practice of clemency towards rebels; it seemed rather to be a sort of national weakness, growing out of the universal opinion that the rebellion was, at the greatest, but a weak effort of a deluded people; and that kindness, connected with a show of strength, rather than its exercise, would induce them to return to their former allegiance. It seems to be, at this day, of little consequence why this practice prevailed, or who was responsible for it, as it has almost entirely ceased.

On the 11th day of August, Captain John W. Sprague was given a leave of absence, to go to his home, and was intrusted with dispatches to General Rosecrans. He was to proceed by the way of Sutton and Clarksburg. When near the Big Birch River he was suddenly confronted by a band of rebel cavalry, belonging to Colonel Croghan's Second Georgia Regiment, who was not far from the spot, with his entire command. The mail carrier and two dragoons, who accompanied Captain Sprague, attempted to make their escape; only one, however, was successful; the mail carrier receiving a mortal wound in the attempt.

Securing their prisoners, the rebel cavalry crossed the Gauley River, and were soon out of reach of the Federal forces. An unsuccessful attempt was made to rescue the captors; but infantry, of course, could make but a fruitless attempt at recapturing prisoners in the hands of well-mounted cavalry.

This occurrence spread a gloom over the entire camp. One of the best officers of the regiment had been captured almost within our lines, and borne away to a Southern prison, to endure the privations of prison life, with the fond anticipation of seeing home and friends blighted and withered. To be lost to one's country, within the prison walls of her enemies, when the arm of every true patriot is needed in her defence, is a sad fate.