Reminiscences of a Soldier of the Orphan Brigade

by Lot D. Young

But having sufficiently recovered from my wound, I decided the last of March that I would make an effort to reach my command (the Orphan Brigade) now engaged in a desperate effort to stay the progress of Sherman's devastating columns now operating in South Carolina. The "Orphans" in the meantime and during my absence had been converted into cavalry. I was still on crutches and bidding Eufaula friends good-bye (with regret) I started once more for the front.

The times were now fraught with gloomy forebodings and misgivings, excitement running high. The South was in tears, terror stricken—the Confederacy surely and rapidly was reeling to her doom. General Wilson's cavalry was raiding through Alabama and Georgia with but little opposition, destroying the railroads and almost everything else of value as they moved across the country.

On the train I had very distinguished company in the person of General "Bob" Toombs, who commanded the Georgia militia, a mythical organization of the times, and Mrs. L. Q. C. Lamar of Mississippi, whose husband was afterward a member of Cleveland's Cabinet. I was very much impressed with the remarkable personality of this lady and felt sorry for her and her family of seven children, fleeing terror stricken from the raiders. Pandemonium seemed to reign supreme among these fleeing refugees, the air being literally alive with all sorts of rumors about the depredations and atrocities of the raiders. Numerous delays occurred to the train, everybody on board fearing the raiders and anxious to move on. General Toombs, excited and worried at these delays, determined to take charge of the situation and see that the train moved on. With a navy revolver in each hand he leaped from the train and with an oath that meant business said he would see that the train moved on—which it did rather promptly, the General taking due credit to himself for its moving, which the passengers willingly accorded him. Inquiring who this moving spirit was, I was told that it was General "Bob" Toombs (by this name, "Bob" Toombs, he was known throughout the United States). Instantly there flashed into my mind the celebrated speech he made in the United States Senate, in which he said that "erelong he expected to call the roll of his slaves beneath the shadow of Bunker Hill Monument"—and which speech did more to fire the hearts of the North than almost anything said or done prior to the war.

But finally we reached Macon—where I had been in the hospital—and on the afternoon of the second day after our arrival, Wilson's cavalry took possession of the city. That night some of the fiends, that are to be found in every army, applied the torch to the home of Senator Howell Cobb, the Lanier Hotel and a number of other prominent buildings. I could realize the excitement from the Confederate hospital on College Hill, which overlooks the city, and which was terrifying and appalling beyond anything I had ever before seen. The shrieks and cries of the women and children almost unnerved me. Woe of woes! Horror of horrors! I thought.

But I must do General Wilson the honor to say that he did not order or approve of this fiendish piece of work, for he did all in his power to prevent and stop it; and but for his efforts the city would no doubt have been completely destroyed.

Of course I abandoned my attempt to join the old boys of the "Orphan Brigade." I was now a prisoner, everything lost (save honor), gloom and chaos were everywhere. Obtaining a parole from the Federal officer in command (something new), I decided to join my comrades Knox and Harp, each of whom, like myself, had been put out of business by wounds received sometime before and who were sojourning with a friend in the country near Forsythe, intending to counsel with them as to the best course to be pursued next. Having enjoyed the hospitality of our host and his good wife for several days, Knox and myself decided to go down to Augusta for a last and final parting with the remnant of these dear "old boys" of the "Orphan Brigade" whom we learned were to be paroled in that city. We soon learned upon our arrival in the city that General Lewis and staff would arrive next morning. Next morning the General and staff rode through the city, the most sorrowful and forlorn looking men my eyes ever looked upon; it was enough to make a savage weep. The cause for which we had so long fought, sacrificed and suffered, lost, everything lost, God and the world apparently against us, without country, without home or hope, the old family being broken up and separated forever, our very souls sinking within us, gloom and sorrow overhanging the world; what would we do; what could we do? Learning from General Lewis that the remnant of the little band of immortals who had contributed so much to the history and renown of Kentucky in the great conflict would be paroled at Washington, some twenty miles from Augusta, Knox and myself proceeded to that place for a last and final farewell.

The associations of almost four years of the bloodiest war in modern times up to that day were here, to be forever broken up. The eyes that gleamed defiance in the battles' rage were now filled with tears of sorrow at parting. The hand that knew no trembling in the bloody onslaught now wavered and trembled—the hour for the last parting had arrived, the long struggle ended forever—good-bye, John; farewell, Henry; it is all over and all is lost, ended at last; good-bye, boys; good-bye.

Are their deeds worth recording, worth remembering? It is for you, dear ladies, rather than men, to say whether it shall be done or not, and in what way. I am content to leave it to you, knowing that it will be well and faithfully done.

Resuming the closing scenes of my experiences at Washington and the final sad leave-taking of these dear old "Orphans," I must revert to my friend and well wisher (as he proved to be), General Toombs.

The Confederate Government had saved from the ruin that befell and overtook it several thousand dollars in coin and which was being transported across the country, whither, no one seemed to know—in charge of a certain major.