At the time of which I am writing, the parson had been arrested, by order of the Rebel Government, for his outspoken Union sentiments, and was a prisoner in his own house.
I thought at the time of my visit that, personally, Mr. Brownlow and his family did not seem to receive much sympathy from his immediate neighbors, though politically the town was in full accord with his sentiments.
The members of the family were, however, quite able to take care of themselves. They seemed to be entirely indifferent as to the opinions on the propriety of their course that other people might entertain.
Mr. Brownlow himself was a rather tall, gaunt, smooth-faced old gentleman; just such an appearance as one would expect to find in the pioneer backwoods Methodist preacher of the Peter Cartwright stamp.
His smooth face, which was strongly marked, was rather expressionless, reminding one somewhat of an Indian. The cheek-bones were prominent, and his under lips protruded, which, with his touseled hair, gave him something of a belligerent air.
I saw him frequently, and it always seemed to me as if his broad lower jaw snapped open and shut when he spoke, something like an automatic machine that one sees the ventriloquists working on the stage. On my youthful and inquisitive mind, at the time, was created the impression that he never spoke at all except to "jaw" somebody or something. I'm not attempting a criticism of Parson Brownlow. Everybody knows that every time he opened his mouth he said something, and that his words to-day are quoted all over the land. It was his abrupt manner that seemed so odd and harsh to me, when compared with the mild, courteously-spoken words of the official and Unionist, Mr. Craig, my host—the two persons being so closely associated in my mind and observation daily.
The home of Parson Brownlow was one of the plain, old-time structures that are to be met with by the hundred in every town of like size and character as Knoxville. It was situated in what would be called a back street; it was not so pretentious, but probably fully as comfortable as some of the houses on the front streets.
Of course, there was a porch in front of the house extending over each side of the front door. The only difference in the style of architecture in this particular porch from all the others was, that on account of its abutting too closely on the pavement, or slab-stone walk, the steps led down from each side of the porch into the little front yard instead of straight in front on to the pavement.
At the time of my visit there was another ornament or decoration to the Parson's front door-steps that was not to be seen on the other houses, in the form of living statuary, representing Confederate soldiers in gray uniforms, and with loaded muskets in their hands, who were on guard as sentries over the person of the Parson, who was then a State prisoner.
He was subsequently removed to jail and compelled to live in a damp disagreeable pen, that had been used for years as the slave-cage for runaway niggers. This was rough, but it's true, as I can testify.