Personal Recollections of Distinguished Generals

by William Franklin Gore Shanks

"Yes, sir, good men and loyal, Mr. Lincoln, but nearly all of them differ with me on this subject, are committed to the abominable doctrine of neutrality, and it would be too late when the majority of them conclude that it would be proper to raise troops. Then I fear the state will have seceded. I had hoped, sir, that what the War Department has done in my case would be acceptable to you."

"What has Cameron done?" asked the President.

"He has, by the advice of Mr. Chase, authorized me to raise two regiments in Kentucky."

"Oh!" said Mr. Lincoln, after reading the documents, "if the War Department has acted in the matter, I have nothing to say in opposition."

Rousseau, fearful that too much might be said, at once arose, shook the President's hand, and vanished.

On his return to Kentucky, Rousseau, in deference to the President's wishes, as implied in the indorsement of his paper, consulted James Speed, and through him called a meeting of the gentlemen named, and also of others in the city of Louisville and interior counties of the state. Much to the surprise of Mr. Speed, only himself, his brother Joshua, Bland and John P. Ballard, Samuel Lusk, Morgan Vance, and John H. Ward, a minority of the meeting, hardly respectable in numbers, were in favor of the project. Pirtle, Guthrie, Prentice, Harney, Bramlette, Boyle, and others, opposed it strongly, and in the end adopted resolutions to the effect that the time had not come; that it was then impolitic, unwise, and improper to enlist troops for the United States service in Kentucky; but adding that when the time did arrive, they all wished Rousseau, in whom they expressed every confidence, to head the movement. Rousseau had made up his mind that such would be the result of their deliberations (from which he had retired before the final action), and had decided upon his course; so that when Joshua Speed next day handed him the resolutions, Rousseau was neither surprised nor chagrined, but very much disgusted. A few minutes after leaving Mr. Speed on this occasion, he met Bramlette, subsequently governor of the state, and that gentleman began to defend the majority of the meeting of the night before for their action in the matter, when Rousseau interrupted him by asking if any thing had been said in opposition to the enlistment of troops by him in other states. Bramlette replied in the negative, when the two parted, and Rousseau immediately began the enlistment of Kentuckians, but established his camp and swore in his recruits in Indiana. Being compelled to do this was very humiliating to Rousseau, but it did not dishearten him, and he went at his work energetically. There were greater obstacles in his way at that time than the mere opposition of men as to time and place. When he began the work of enlistment, the government had no credit in Kentucky, and the expenses of enlisting and feeding his two thousand recruits were defrayed by himself and a gentleman living in Indiana named Samuel Patterson, whose name, for the sake of his devoted loyalty, deserves to go down to history. Despite these obstacles, despite the fact that every paper in the state ridiculed the project and laughed at the projector, nevertheless Rousseau's recruits—the rebels called them "Rousseau's ragamuffins"—increased in numbers and grew in discipline until they became formidable, and eventually saved the city from rebel occupation.

From the time that loyal recruiting began, the issue between unionism and secession became direct, and neutrality was practically a dead letter. The mask of the rebels was stripped off, and the people were no longer deceived by the schemes of the secessionists. Throughout Kentucky, and particularly in Louisville, where the issue was most saliently presented, singular scenes were the result of the situation; and from this time until the occupation of the state by the contending armies, Louisville was in a curious condition. Rebel and Union recruiting stations were found in the same streets, and presenting the same appearance, save that the rebels dared not plant their flag, and displayed only that of Kentucky. Squads of Union and rebel recruits daily passed each other on the streets en route to their camps, and saluted each other with groans, and hisses, and ridicule, but attempted no violence. Day was made noisy with the huzzas of the rebels "for Jeff. Davis and the Confederacy," and night made hideous by rebel songs from rebel throats that had not the lame excuse of being husky with liquor. Many of their songs were set to very beautiful airs, and often large crowds of enthusiastic young men would gather in the principal drinking saloons of the city and join in these choruses, producing a very beautiful melody, but uttering devilish poor sentiments. Frequently these songs were inspired by the appearance of some well-known Union man, around whom they would gather, like the witches in Macbeth, and at whom they sung their songs as if in defiance. These scenes and songs often led to dangerous encounters and riotous proceedings. The division of sentiment created by this state of affairs entered into families, and extended even to the congregations of churches. I remember one sad instance, in the family of Col. Henry Clay, son of the sage of Ashland, and the one who fell so gloriously at Buena Vista. In 1861, his two sons, Thomas and Henry Clay, were living at Louisville. One of them, Thomas, became fascinated with the manner and imbued with the ideas of Buckner, and followed him to the Confederacy, and, as it happened, to ruin and to the grave. Henry, the younger brother, a more thoughtful, quiet young man, less enthusiastic, but more persistent than Thomas, joined the Union army, and served, until his early death, on the staff of Gen. Richard W. Johnson. One of the most amusing instances of the effects produced by the prevailing sentiments occurred in one of the churches at Louisville, where, on the occasion of a prayer-meeting, a notorious secessionist and a prominent Union man had what was called at the time "a praying match." During the prayer-meeting the minister asked the secession brother to pray, which he did, asking, among other things, the "removal of our evil rulers." He did not explain whom he meant by "evil rulers," but the congregation knew; so, not waiting to be called on, the Union brother requested the congregation to join him in prayer, and prayed for "the rulers set over us, and the removal from his place of power of Kentucky's traitorous governor." This was a positive defiance; the rebelliously-inclined brother felt it his duty to reply, and did so in a regular secession prayer, asking the blessing of heaven on "the Confederate government, rulers, and people," and "confusion upon the councils of the Northern abolitionists and vandals." To close the bout and end the affray of words, the Unionist replied in a regular true blue Union prayer, asking that God would bless and prosper the Union cause, smile upon her arms, lead her soldiers to triumph, smite the traitors, and bring back to their allegiance our misguided brethren of the South; and capped the climax which he had reached by giving out the hymn beginning

"Oh, conquer this rebellious will."

The secessionist did not reply, and thus the Unionist won his first victory. He was a graduate of West Point, but I do not know that what he learned there aided him much in his praying match.

The excitement of this conflict of ideas and passions reached its culminating point at Louisville on the day following the battle of Bull Run, and produced one of the most remarkable scenes I have ever witnessed. The first telegraphic news of the battle, published on the morning after the engagement, was of a highly favorable character, and the Unionists of Louisville ate their breakfasts and digested the good news of the first great victory with the firm conviction that Mr. Seward was right, and that the war would be over in ninety days, if not sooner. That morning every thing was couleur de rose to even less sanguine natures than Mr. Seward. About noon of the same day the bad news began to arrive, but the people knew nothing definite regarding the final result of the battle until about three o'clock P.M., when the afternoon editions of the papers made their appearance. Then the news of the rebel victory spread like wildfire, and in half an hour—at the time, it seemed as if it were instantaneous—the whole city was a perfect pandemonium. The rebel flag, which had until then shrunk from the light, flaunted from buildings and dwellings, from carriage windows in the hands of women, on omnibuses, and carts, and trucks, and wagons in the hands of men wild with excitement. Men on horseback, with the rebel flag flying, dashed wildly through the principal streets, crying with husky voices, "Hurrah for Jeff. Davis." The streets were alive with drunken and noisy rebels, who hooted at Unionists, cheered secessionists, embraced each other, and yelled themselves hoarse in bravos for "Jafe Davis." For nearly two hours the rebels had full possession of the city, and crowded about their ringleader, a notorious fellow named John Tompkins, with every expression of their delight. It was decided, and Tompkins announced his intention, to raise a flag-staff and display the rebel flag from the roof of the Courier newspaper office, and to aid him in this the rebels gathered around him. But it was destined that this feat should not be accomplished. One of the policemen of the city, named Green, having received orders to suppress all noisy demonstrations such as Tompkins was guilty of in hallooing for Davis and the Confederacy, approached him and ordered him to desist. The only reply was a repetition of the offense. Green again repeated his order, explaining that these were his instructions, when Tompkins drew a pistol, and, retreating a few steps, fired at the policeman. Simultaneously Green had also retreated a few steps, drawing his pistol at the same time, and, in answer to the other's ineffective fire, shot the rioter directly through the heart, killing him instantly. Never was a riot so cheaply suppressed nor so instantaneously. In ten minutes after the death of the ringleader the rioters dispersed, rebel flags disappeared, the huzzas for Davis were hushed: not a rebel remained on the streets, not a flag was to be seen unfurled, not a huzza was to be heard, and Louisville slept sounder that night than she had slept for months.