There is also, at this very time, a powerful Union sentiment in each of the other Southern States. These Southern traitors may talk to you about the "unanimity" of feeling in regard to the war, but let me assure you that it is all false. There is no unanimity in the Southern States. Louisiana never voted herself out of the Union. The wretches who were in power there smuggled the vote. The truth is that secession was lost in Louisiana. Georgia barely went out of the Union. Alabama was forced out through the treason of Jerry Clemens and others. The "Old North State" will gladly come back again. The Old Dominion, what shall I say of her? God bless her while he curses her leading politicians. Virginia is about ready to come back. She is just about sick enough now to be willing to take medicine.
But whilst it is true that there is no unanimity in the Southern Confederacy in regard to the war, there was one remarkable instance of unanimity that occurred in Tennessee just about the time that we people of the Eastern portion of the State refused to vote. By a strange freak of Nature, or Providence, or something else, all the railroad bridges between Bristol and Chattanooga took fire all at once, and burned down, one night about eleven o'clock. I was not concerned in the matter, and can't say who did it. I thought to myself that the affair had been most beautifully planned and executed, and enjoyed it considerably in my quiet way. (Laughter.)
It was but a little while afterward that the Legislature passed a law to disarm all the Union men of the State. Of course I was called on, in common with the rest. They did not find much to seize, however, at my house. They got a double-barreled shot gun, a Sharp's rifle, and a revolver. That was all the weapons I had. Then they commenced waiting upon all the private families. They took all the good horses that belonged to Union men. They entered their dwellings, threw off the feather-beds from the bedsteads, took all the woolen blankets and coverlets they could get hold of. They broke open chests and drawers, and pocketed what money and jewelry they could find in them. They carried away bacon, drove away fat hogs and beeves, and robbed the people of every species of moveable property.
They next began to arrest them and throw them into jail. Nor was that all. Many of them were shot down upon the streets, or in the fields, in cold blood. I could give names in abundance, and dates, and places. I speak not from hearsay, but from my own personal knowledge. A man would be quietly about his work in his fields, and some one would point him out as a Union man, and the infernal rebel cavalry would shoot him down as a "damned Union-shrieking Abolitionist."—Others were stretched lengthwise upon logs of wood, raised a short distance from the ground so as to admit of their arms being tied underneath it, and were then stripped naked, and almost literally cut to pieces. And afterwards, when those men would come into courts of justice, and pull off their shirts and display the marks of the inhuman treatment they had suffered, the Judges upon the bench would coolly inform them that these were revolutionary times, and that they could give no redress for such grievances. Every prominent jail in East Tennessee was filled with Union men.
Take the case of Andy Johnson. He is a man against whom I have fought for twenty-five years with all my might, pouring hot shot into him continually, both on the stump and through the columns of my paper, and he in turn giving me as good as I sent. He and I are to-day upon the most amicable terms. We, the people of East Tennessee, have merged every other issue into this great issue of the Union. (Loud applause.) You ought to do so in Indiana. You should never touch one of your aspiring politicians with a ten-foot pole unless he is totally and unconditionally opposed to this infernal rebellion. Where would I see a man who is base enough to sympathise with secession before I would vote for him for office? I would send him where, in the language of Milton,
"Cold performs the effect of fire,"
or, as Pollock says,
"Where gravitation, shifting, turns the other way,
And sends him Hellwards."
They drove Johnson's wife, far gone with consumption, and very feeble, to take refuge with her son-in-law in the adjoining county of Carter. They drove him into the woods, where he remained no less than three months, used his house and his beds for a hospital, and sold his goods at public sale. But the scale has turned. Andrew Johnson is now Governor. He is "the right man in the right place."
If President Lincoln had consulted the Union men of Tennessee as to what man should occupy that position, the reply would have been almost unanimously, "give us Andy Johnson." He has the unflinching courage of Old Hickory, and let me tell you, too, that he feels all the malice and venom requisite for the occasion. He will row those wretches up Salt River. He will send a good many of them to Fort Warren, where, I trust, after due trial for treason, they will be hung upon a gallows of similar character and dimensions to that upon which Haman hung.