Doctor Quintard, Chaplain C.S.A. And Second Bishop Of Tennessee

Doctor Quintard

Chaplain C.S.A.

And

Second Bishop Of Tennessee

Being His Story Of The War

(1861-1865)

Edited And Extended

By The

Rev. Arthur Howard Noll

Historiographer of the Diocese of Tennessee,

Author of "History of the Church

in the Diocese of Tennessee," etc.

The University Press

of Sewanee Tennessee

1905

To

The Friends And Comrades Of

Doctor Quintard

In The Army Of The Confederacy

And In The Church Militant

These Memoirs Of His Life In War Times—

Extended To Include An Account Of His Work

For The Upbuilding Of The Church In Tennessee

And For The Advancement Of Christian Education In

The South—Are Most Affectionately

Dedicated

Charles Quintard

PREFACE

The chapters of this volume containing the Memoirs of the war were written by Bishop Quintard about the year 1896 and are to be read with that date in mind. The work of the editor thereon has been devoted to bringing them into conformity with a plan agreed upon in personal interviews with Bishop Quintard about that time.

In the first and in the last two chapters of the book the editor has drawn freely, even to the extent of transcribing entire sentences and paragraphs, upon the Bishop's own addresses in the Diocesan Journals of Tennessee; upon Memorial Addresses by his successor, the Rt. Rev. Dr. Gailor; upon material used in some of the chapters of the Editor's "History of the Church in the Diocese of Tennessee;" and upon documents preserved in the archives of The University of the South.

Thanks are due to the Rev. Bartow B. Ramage, the Rev. Rowland Hale and Mr. George E. Purvis, among others, for valuable assistance in the original preparation of the Memoirs.

A. H. N.

Sewanee, Tennessee,

May, 1905.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION

Writers upon the late Civil War have never done full justice to the high religious character of the majority of those who composed the Confederate government and its army, and the high religious principles which inspired them. Not only was the conviction of conscience clear in the Southern soldiers, that they were right in waging war against the Federal government, but the people of the South looked upon their cause as a holy one, and their conduct of affairs, civil and military, was wholly in accord with such a view. The Confederacy, as it came into existence, committed its civil affairs, by deliberate choice, to men, not only of approved morality, but of approved religious character as well. It was not merely by accident, that, in the organization of its army, choice was made of such men as Robert E. Lee and Thomas J. Jackson,—not to mention a large number of other Christian soldiers,—as leaders. And it seemed in no way incongruous in the conduct of a war of such a character, that commissions were offered to and accepted by the Rev. William Nelson Pendleton, Rector of Grace Church, Lexington, Virginia, and the Rt. Rev. Leonidas Polk, D. D., Bishop of Louisiana.

A religious tone pervades the state papers pertaining to the Confederacy,—its proclamations, and its legislation. The same religious tone is conspicuous in a majority of the military leaders. It is found upon investigation to have impressed itself upon the officers of regiments and companies and upon the private soldiers in the ranks throughout the whole army. So that there is more than an ordinary basis for the statement, surprising as such a statement may appear at first, that the armies of the Confederate States had in them a larger proportion than any other in history since those of Cromwell's nicknamed "Roundheads," of true and active Christian men.

The provision made for the spiritual needs of the men in the field was quite remarkable. In the great haste with which the Army of the Confederacy was organized, equipped and sent to the field, there might have been found abundant apology for the omission of chaplains from the official staffs. Yet there was no need for seeking such an apology, for the chaplains were not overlooked. Even imputing a love of excitement and adventure to the young men who composed in such large measure the fighting forces of the Confederacy at the first, they did not neglect to secure the services of a chaplain for each regiment which went to the seat of war. It was naturally thought that work might be found for chaplains in the hospitals, but it was early discovered that a chaplain had opportunities for efficient work at all times,—in the midst of active campaigns and when the army was in winter quarters.

Nor was their work in vain. Few religious services in times of peace equalled in attendance, in fervor or results, those held at, or in the immediate vicinity of, encampments of the Confederate army. The camps of regiments which had been sent forth with prayer and benediction, were often the seats of earnest religious life. It is estimated that 15,000 men in the Army of Virginia alone, made some open and public profession of their allegiance to Christ during the war, and were affected in their subsequent lives by religious experiences gained in the war. And the number is especially remarkable of men in the Southern army who after the close of the war entered the sacred ministry and won distinction in their holy calling.

A study of what might be called "the religious phases" of this war history should be approached through a consideration of the chaplains of the Confederacy. They were a regimental institution, and their number might be determined by the number of regiments engaged in the war. They were, for the most part, men of brains, of a keen sense of humor, and of fidelity to what they regarded as their duty; sticking to their posts; maintaining the most friendly and intimate relations with "the boys;" ever on the look-out for opportunities to do good in any way; ready to give up their horses to some poor fellows with bare and blistered feet and to march in the column as it hurried forward; going on picket duty with their men and bivouacking with them in the pelting storm; sharing with them at all times their hardships and their dangers, gaining a remarkably wide experience during four years of army life, and probably with it all acquiring the pleasing art of the raconteur.

If an individual were desired for a more particular illustration of the religious phases of Confederate war history, he might be found in the Rev. Charles Todd Quintard, M. D., of the First Tennessee Regiment, and after the war, Second Bishop of Tennessee. He not only fully conformed to the type above indicated but in some respects he surpassed it, for his knowledge of the healing art and his surgical skill were ever at the demands of his fellow soldiers. He was one of the earliest to enter the service of the Confederate army, and was probably the most widely known and the best beloved of all the chaplains.

Dr. Quintard was born in Stamford, Connecticut, on the 22nd of December, 1824. His ancestors were Huguenots who left France after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes and settled the country north of Manhattan Island, between Long Island Sound and the Hudson River. Those who knew Dr. Quintard at any period of his life had no difficulty in detecting his French ancestry in his personal appearance, as well as in his manner,—his vivacity and demonstrativeness. Though not a few who failed to get well acquainted with him fell into the error of supposing that some of his mannerisms were an affectation acquired in some of his visits to England subsequent to the war.

His father was Isaac Quintard, a man of wealth and education, a prominent citizen of Stamford, having been born in the same house in which he gave his son a birthplace, and in which he died in 1883 in the ninetieth year of his age. The Doctor was a pupil at Trinity School, New York City, and took his Master's degree at Columbia College. He studied medicine with Dr. James R. Wood and Dr. Valentine Mott, and was graduated, with the degree of Doctor of Medicine, at the University of the City of New York, in 1847. After a year at Bellevue Hospital, he removed to Georgia, and began the practice of medicine at Athens in that state, where he was a parishioner of the Rev. William Bacon Stevens, afterwards Bishop of Pennsylvania.

In 1851 he accepted the chair of Physiology and Pathological Anatomy in the Medical College of Memphis, Tennessee, and became in that city co-editor with Dr. Ayres P. Merrill, of the "Memphis Medical Recorder." There also he formed a close friendship with Bishop Otey, and in January, 1854, he was admitted a candidate for Holy Orders. That year he appeared in the Twenty-sixth Annual Convention of the Church in the Diocese of Tennessee, held in St. John's Church, Knoxville, as the lay representative of St. Paul's Church, Randolph. St Paul's Church has since passed out of existence, and the town of Randolph no longer appears upon the map of the State of Tennessee.

Studying theology under the direction of his Bishop, he was ordered deacon in Calvary Church, Memphis, in January, 1855, and a year later was advanced to the priesthood. His diaconate was spent in missionary work in Tipton County,—one of the Mississippi River counties of Tennessee. Upon his advancement to the priesthood he became rector of Calvary Church, Memphis.

In the latter part of 1856, he resigned the rectorship of his Memphis parish, and at the urgent request of Bishop Otey, accepted the rectorship of the Church of the Advent, Nashville. He had charge also of the Church of the Holy Trinity in that city, and extended his work to Edgefield, (now East Nashville), and to the parish of St Ann. He served the Diocese as a member of the Standing Committee, and as a clerical deputy to the General Convention meeting in Richmond, Virginia, in the Fall of 1859.

He was a man of varied and deep learning—a preacher of power and attractiveness, and ranked among the clergymen of greatest prominence and popularity in Nashville. He was of ardent temperament, affectionate disposition, and possessed personal magnetism to a remarkable degree, especially with young men, who looked up to him with an affection which is now rarely if ever shown by young men to the ministry. This, and the influence he had over young men, are illustrated by the organization in 1859 of the Rock City Guard, a militia company composed largely of the young men of Nashville. Dr. Quintard was at once elected Chaplain of that organization, and its first public parade was for the purpose of attending services in a body at the Church of the Advent at which he officiated.

His was a churchmanship of a type in those days considerably in advance of the average in the ante-bellum period in the South. He was clearly under the spell of the "Oxford Movement," and of the English "Tractarians," and occupied a position to which Churchmen generally in this country did not approach until ten or twenty years later. He was a "sacerdotalist,"—a pronounced "sacramentarian" at times when the highest "High" Churchmen of the country would have hesitated long before applying those terms to themselves.

To him baptism was, not "a theory and a notion," but "a gift and a power." And baptized children were to be educated, "not with a view to their becoming Christians, but because they were already Christians." Consequently he regarded Confirmation, not as "joining the Church," or as merely a ratifying and renewing of the vows and promises of Holy Baptism, and hence as something which man does for God;—but as something which God does for man,—the bestowal of the gifts of the Holy Spirit. To the preparation of candidates for Confirmation he therefore gave his most earnest attention, even to the extent of preparing "A Plain Tract on Confirmation," and (in 1861), "A Preparation for Confirmation," a manual of eighty-nine pages.

His veneration for the Church's liturgical inheritance was great, and the books of devotion he compiled and had printed for the use of soldiers during the war were drawn from the ancient sources. He attached the utmost importance to the Holy Communion as a means of spiritual life, and throughout the war he availed himself of every opportunity of administering it to the soldiers in camp, in the way-side churches as he passed them, and in towns where he temporarily rested with the army.

With a host of friends in Nashville and vicinity, who looked up to him with love and reverence, it is not strange that Doctor Quintard should have been the choice for chaplain of those who enlisted from that city for the defence of their homes and firesides in 1861. Many of the young men of his parish enlisted in the First Tennessee regiment, of which he was elected chaplain, and feeling as he did that these young men would need his spiritual care far more than those of his parishioners who were left behind, he felt it his duty to accept the office and go with his regiment to the seat of war. Both he and his parishioners supposed that his absence would not exceed six months. He did not return to Nashville until after the collapse of the Confederacy and the surrender of Lee's army in 1865.

During those four years he gathered up a rich fund of experiences, both grave and gay. Always an accomplished raconteur and brilliant conversationalist, it is but natural that a wide circle of friends in different parts of the world should have begged him to commit to writing the story of the war as he saw it and as none but he could tell it, and permit its publication. About the year 1896 he consented to do this and entered with considerable enthusiasm upon the literary task thus set for him.

It was quite characteristic of him, however, that the work as he projected it was likely to have been a laudation of the men with whom he was brought into contact during the civil strife, at the expense of the personal experiences of which his friends were more anxious to read. For Doctor Quintard was an enthusiast and an optimist. No man was ever more loyal to his friends than he. His estimate of human character was always based upon whatever good he could find in a man. Nothing was a greater delight to him in recalling the scenes of the war than to describe some deed of heroism, some noble trait of character, or some mark of friendship that was shown him by a soldier; to acknowledge some kindness shown him, or to correct some error of judgment that had been passed upon some actor in the drama of the civil war. Some of the men whom he paused to eulogize were those to whom fame had otherwise done but scant justice, and his estimate of them is in more than one instance an addition of worth to the history of the people of the Southern States.

The death of Doctor Quintard on the 15th of February, 1898, prevented the completion of the work he had begun more than two years previously; but left it in such form that it has not been entirely impossible to gratify the wishes of his friends in regard thereto, and to make a valuable contribution to the pictures of life in the Southern States during the troubled days of the Civil War.

CHAPTER II
PERSONAL NARRATIVE—THE BEGINNING OF THE WAR AND VALLEY MOUNTAIN

While rector of the Church of the Advent, Nashville, I was elected chaplain of a military company of somewhat more than local fame, known as the "Rock City Guard." This election was only a compliment shown me by the men who composed the Guard. I was not a military man nor had I any fondness for military life. So I regarded myself as chaplain only by courtesy. But on Thanksgiving day, 1860, the Rock City Guard and other military organizations of Nashville requested me to officiate at the Thanksgiving services to be held under their auspices.

The services were held in the Hall of Representatives in the State Capitol, and there was an immense congregation present. It was a time of great anxiety and the occasion was a memorable one. Rumors of approaching war were abundant, and the newspapers were filled with discussions as to the course the South would pursue in case Mr. Lincoln, then recently elected, should take his seat as President of the United States. The subject of my discourse was: "Obedience to Rulers,"—my text being: "Righteousness exalteth a nation; but sin is a reproach to any people." (Proverbs, xiv, 34.) My sermon was what might be called "a strong plea for the Union."

In December, South Carolina seceded, and on the 18th of the following April,—after a bombardment of thirty-four hours,—Fort Sumter surrendered and the Civil War was fairly begun. President Lincoln at once called for seventy-five thousand volunteers to serve for ninety days and put down the insurrection in South Carolina. Tennessee being called upon for her quota, responded through her Governor, Isham G. Harris:—"Tennessee will not furnish a single man for coercion, but fifty thousand, if necessary, for the defence of her rights or those of her Southern brethren." This undoubtedly expressed the sentiments of the vast majority of Tennesseeans, who did not favor secession and deplored war, but who were nevertheless determined to stand with the people of the South.

In the Spring of 1861, the States of Virginia, North Carolina and Arkansas, which had hitherto refused to secede, joined their fortunes to those of the already seceded states; and in June, Tennessee decided to unite with the Southern Confederacy. She was slow to draw the sword. In April, the Rock City Guard, now enlarged into a battalion, was mustered into the service of the State. Subsequently a regiment was formed, consisting of the Rock City Guard and the following companies;—The Williamson Greys, of Williamson County; The Tennessee Riflemen, and the Railroad Boys of Nashville; The Brown Guards, of Maury County; The Rutherford Rifles, of Rutherford County; and The Martin Guards, of Giles County.

This was known as the First Tennessee Regiment. The field officers elected were: Colonel George Maney (afterwards made a Brigadier-General); Lieutenant-Colonel, T. F. Sevier; Major, A. M. Looney. Lieutenant R. B. Snowden, of Company C., was appointed Adjutant; Dr. William Nichol, Surgeon, and Dr. J. R. Buist, Assistant Surgeon.

On the 10th of July, 1861, orders were received by the regiment to repair to Virginia. Being very urgently pressed by members of the Rock City Guard and their friends in Nashville to accompany the regiment as chaplain, I resolved to do so. This, of course, made it necessary for me to break up my household. I removed my family to Georgia, left my parish in the hands of the Rev. George C. Harris, and prepared to join my regiment in Virginia.

My friend, General Washington Barrow, who had formerly been Minister to Portugal, thinking that I would have need of a weapon for my defence, sent me his old courtsword, which had enjoyed a long and quiet rest,—so long, indeed, that it had become rusted in its scabbard. I remember well my first attempt to unsheath the sword. I seized the handle and pulled with might and main, but to no effect. A friend came to my assistance. I took the sword handle,—he the scabbard. We pulled and we pulled, but the sword refused to come forth. I am not aware that I ever succeeded in drawing that sword "in defence of my country." On my departure for Virginia I left it at home.

The first battle of Bull Run was fought July 21, 1861. My cousin, Captain Thomas Edward King, of Georgia, having been severely wounded, I went to Richmond to look after him, leaving Nashville on the 1st of August. After he had sufficiently recovered to return to his home, I joined my regiment at Valley Mountain on the 23rd of August. Some of the entries made in my pocket diary while on this trip are not devoid of interest as illustrating the condition of the Southern army and of the Southern country at this early stage of the war.

My route was through Knoxville and Bristol. At the latter place, which is on the boundary line between Tennessee and Virginia, I missed the train for Lynchburg by an hour, found all the hotels crowded, and the railroad pressed to its utmost in conveying troops.

While waiting I visited two sick men from Nashville of whom I had heard, and then strolled out to camp, a mile from the town. There I witnessed the execution of the sentence of a court-martial upon two private soldiers convicted of selling whiskey to other soldiers. The culprits were drummed around the camp, riding on rails, each with three empty bottles tied to his feet, and a label, "Ten Cents a Glass," pinned to his back.

At Lynchburg I missed connections for Richmond Saturday night and so spent a very pleasant Sunday in the former place. I found Lynchburg a very quaint old town, built on steep hills, from the foot of which the James River finds its way sluggishly to the sea. I preached at St. Paul's Church on "The Love of God."

Arriving at Richmond, I found the place so crowded that I began to think I would not be able to get even a lodging. The Spottswood and Exchange Hotels were crowded to overflowing, and I could not get the sign of a room, though I did succeed in getting some dinner at the latter house. But calling on the Rev. Mr. Peterkin, I was asked to stay with him, and had for a co-guest the Rev. A. Toomer Porter, chaplain of the Hampton Legion,—after the war a prominent educator and founder of a famous school in Charleston, S. C.

At the Rev. Mr. Peterkin's I had the pleasure of meeting the Rev. William Nelson Pendleton, then a Colonel in the Confederate Army, afterwards a Major-General in command of Lee's Artillery. He had been in command of the artillery that did such execution at the battle of Manassas, and gave me a most interesting account of that fight. There was not a masked battery on the ground. His guns were within two hundred yards of the nearest of those of the enemy and within four hundred yards of those that were at the greatest distance. Yet he did not lose a man.

I learned from Mr. Peterkin where to find my wounded cousin, and with him found two other wounded soldiers. I made daily visits to the wounded during my stay in Richmond; met Bishop Atkinson; called, with the Rev. Mr. Porter, upon Mrs. Wade Hampton, who was a daughter of the Honorable George Duffie; and visited Mr. John Stewart in his princely establishment four miles out from Richmond, where I attended services at the church built by Mr. Stewart and his brother at a cost of fourteen thousand dollars. It was at this time that I received and accepted my appointment as Chaplain in the Confederate Army.

On the Sunday I spent in the city that was shortly afterwards to become the capital of the Confederate States, I preached at St. James' Church in the morning, at the Monumental Church in the evening, and again at St. James' at night.

Another interesting incident of this visit to Richmond was in regard to the Rev. John Flavel Mines, a chaplain in the Federal army, who had been captured, released on parole, and had been for two days at the Rev. Mr. Peterkin's house, where I met him. By order of General Winder he was rearrested, and the poor fellow was quite crushed by the idea of having to go to prison. He was especially fearful of contracting consumption, of which some of his family had died. He wrote two piteous letters to me begging me to intercede on his behalf. After two efforts I succeeded in visiting him in the afterwards famous "Libby" prison, where I found him in company with the Hon. Alfred Ely, a member of Congress from Rochester, N. Y., who had been captured at Manassas. I did all I could to cheer the prisoners up. Mr. Mines subsequently renounced the ministry and accepted a colonel's commission in the Federal army. After the war he entered upon a literary career, and wrote some charming books under the nom de plume of "Felix Oldboy."

On my way to my regiment I found in Staunton, Virginia, that the Deaf and Dumb Asylum was used as a hospital, and I wrote to the Editor of the Nashville "Banner" asking contributions from the citizens of Tennessee for the sick and wounded and advising the establishing of a depository at Staunton under the supervision of the Rev. James A. Latané. The citizens of Staunton made up two boxes of stores and comforts for the sick of my regiment. I preached in Staunton Sunday morning and night and left for Milboro. I went thence to Huntersville, which I reached on the 21st of August after a bit of just the toughest travel I had ever made. I found Jackson's River so swollen by rains that it was impossible to ford with the stage. The passengers mounted the horses,—two on each horse,—and forded the stream.

My travelling companion the night of this occurrence and the following day was Colonel Wheeler, Ex-Minister to Nicaragua, Vestryman in Dr. Pinckney's Church in Washington, D. C., one of the most agreeable men to take a trip with I had ever met. His wife was a daughter of Sully the artist.

We were again delayed at Back Creek, and while waiting for a chance to cross, I read "Master Humphrey's Clock," a volume found in a knapsack on Jackson's Mountain. The owner's name on the fly-leaf was "B. B. Ewing, Comp. I, 12th Miss. Reg't." The book was wet and mouldy. I finally mounted one of the stage horses and swam the creek and so reached Gatewoods,—a delightful place,—a valley shut in on all sides by most picturesque mountains. It was twelve miles from Huntersville.

I finally reached Colonel Fulton's camp, over the worst road I ever travelled, and thence found Huntersville,—a most wretched and filthy town in those days, where there were many sick soldiers in a meeting-house, in public and private buildings and in tents. Huntersville was twenty-seven miles from Valley Mountain where our troops were stationed. I was very anxious to get on for there was a battle daily expected.

Resuming the journey in an ambulance, I had to leave it within a mile in consequence of the wretched state of the roads, and walked all day over the most horrible roads, the rain at times coming down in torrents. I felt occasionally that I must give out, but finally reached Big Springs and received a warm welcome from General Anderson, General Donelson, Colonel Fulton, Major Duval and other officers. My clothes were so wet that the water could be wrung out of them and my first care was to dry them. That done, I set out for the camp at Valley Mountain three miles distant, and reached it on the morning of Friday the 23rd of August, which happened to be the first clear day I had seen for more than a week.

The following Sunday I began my duties as chaplain, and had services in camp which were well attended. That week our scouts had a running fire with the enemy's pickets, and one of our lieutenants captured a Federal soldier. As it was the first achievement of the kind by any of our regiment, our camp was greatly enlivened by it. About this time I was appointed Assistant Surgeon, but I did not wish to accept the office as I felt that it might separate me from my regiment. I do not remember, however, any time throughout the war, when there was any opportunity offered for me to assist the work of the surgeons that I did not do it.

One afternoon a courier arrived at Colonel Maney's headquarters with orders for the regiment to report to General Loring. While Colonel Maney was reading the order, a sudden volley of small arms resounded through the mountain, and some one, thinking the Federal forces had attacked General Lee's position, ordered the long roll beaten. This startled the camp, every man seized his gun and cartridge box, and the regiment was at once in line. For at that time the boys were all spoiling for a fight.

I well remember how good Mrs. Sullivan, the wife of an Irish private and a kind of "daughter of the regiment," drew off her shoes and gave them to a soldier who was barefoot. The boys started off for General Lee's headquarters without rations, without blankets, and many of them without coats or shoes. In this plight they reported for duty. It was altogether a false alarm. A regiment had been on picket duty and was firing off guns in order to clean them. Nevertheless it happened that the action of our boys was in conformity to an order received regularly enough about five minutes later, requiring our regiment to take position within a very short distance of the enemy's entrenchments, and the regiment remained out in consequence from Friday morning until Sunday, in full view of the enemy.

A few days after this General Lee determined on a movement on the enemy holding a fortified position on Cheat Pass. The camp became a scene of great animation in anticipation of an important impending battle. To me it was a memorable week beginning on Monday September 8th—a week of such experiences as I had never dreamed would fall to my lot, and of such fatigues as I never imagined myself capable of enduring.

General Lee's plans were undoubtedly well and skilfully laid, but "the wisest schemes of mice and men gang aft aglee." The plan, to my mind, was somewhat complicated inasmuch as it demanded concerted action on the part of too many commanders far removed from each other. Thus General Henry R. Jackson of Georgia, with Rust of Arkansas, was to attack the enemy at Cheat Pass where he was strongly entrenched. General Loring with Donelson was to engage the enemy at Crouch's and Huttonville and force his way up to Cheat Pass, while Anderson with his brigade was to pass over Cheat Mountain and engage the enemy in the rear.

The Rock City Guard, with the regiment, left camp at Valley Mountain on Monday, and moved to a new camp three or four miles in advance. I remained behind for a day to care for the sick and then followed the regiment. At nine o'clock on Tuesday morning General S. R. Anderson's Brigade, consisting of Colonel Maney's regiment and two others, started on. The route was not by a road but through fields and over mountains the most precipitous, in going up which we had to wind single file along the sides and reach the top by very circuitous paths. The paths were exceedingly steep, rocky and rough, and our horses had to be taken to the rear. At one time I reached the top of the mountain and sat down for a little rest under a great boulder that projected out into the pathway. An officer in front called out to me, "Tell them that the order is to 'double quick!'" I passed the command to another officer, who turned to those behind him who were struggling up the mountain pass and called out to them, "The order is to 'double quick' back there!" Whereupon the rear of the regiment turned and rushed down the mountain. In the flight the Major was upset, and flat on his back and with heels in the air he poured forth benedictions of an unusual kind for a Presbyterian elder.

Our first night out, after I had travelled twelve miles on foot, (I had lent to a less fortunate officer the horse that had been presented to me but a few days previously), we halted at 10 o'clock. Soon after it began to rain heavily. I had been carrying the blankets of Lieutenant Joe Van Leer, who had been exceedingly kind to me throughout the march, and when I came up to him he said, "I have a capital place where we may sleep. I'll put my blankets on the ground and we'll cover with yours, as they are heavier." So he cleaned out a hollow on the side of the mountain, and there we lay down for the night. We had my blanket and his rubber coat for a covering. Shortly after midnight a little river began running down my neck. The rain was pouring in torrents, and the basin Van Leer had scooped out was soon filled; so I spent the night as did the Georgia soldier who said that he had slept in the bed of a river with a thin sheet of water over him. This was not altogether a unique experience for me as we shall soon see.

The next morning, after breaking our fast on cold meat and "gutta percha" bread, we took up our line of march and had gone but a mile or so when we heard the fire of musketry at our left. We supposed this was by the scouts sent out by General Donelson. This day, (Wednesday), was the severest of all upon our men. We made slow progress and the march was very toilsome. We kept perfect silence, expecting every moment to come up with scouting parties of the enemy. At about three o'clock the order was passed along the line, just as one half the regiment had reached the top of the mountain, to "double-quick forward!"

The drums of the enemy were distinctly heard, and we moved as rapidly as possible, and were about an hour in descending. All the horses were left behind, as the mountain was found so steep and rocky that it was impossible for them to go any further. We clambered down the rocks, clinging to the bushes and jumping from rock to rock, and at nine o'clock we halted for the night.

Not a word was spoken above a whisper, nor a fire lighted, although it was very cold. Van Leer arranged our blankets as on the previous night, and with much the same result. For soon after we lay down the rain came as though the windows of heaven were opened, and about eleven o'clock we were thoroughly saturated. A rivulet ran down my back and Joe and I actually lay in a pool of water all night. I thought it impossible for me to stand it, but as there was no alternative, I kept quiet and thought over all I had ever read of the benefits of hydropathy. I consoled myself with the reflection that the water-cure might relieve me of an intense pain I had suffered for some hours in my left knee,—and so it did. At the same time I would hesitate long before recommending the same treatment for every other pain in the left knee.

In the morning I was well soaked, my finger ends were corrugated and my whole body chilled through. I was very hungry also, but all I could get to eat was one tough biscuit that almost defied my most vigorous assaults. We were ordered to be on the Parkersburg Pike that day, (Thursday), at daybreak. To show how little we understood the art of war at that time, soon after we started, a well mounted horseman passed halfway down the line of the regiment without detection. He proved to be a Federal courier. Lieutenant-Colonel Sevier finally halted him and said in surprise: "Why, you're a Yankee!" To which the courier coolly replied: "I'm so thankful you found me out; I was so afraid of being shot."

The Colonel took from him a fine pair of pistols, sword, carbine and his horse, which he gave to Major Looney who was thoroughly knocked up. Half a mile further on brought us to the Parkersburg Pike, three miles and a half from Cheat Mountain Pass. The brigade was, as rapidly as possible, put in position. The First Tennessee was at the head of a column towards Cheat Pass. In about ten minutes a body of the enemy, about one hundred strong, in ambush on the opposite side of the road and only about twenty-five yards from our troops, began firing into our left, composed of the companies from Pulaski, Columbia and Murfreesboro. The enemy were completely concealed but our men stood the fire nobly. Not a man flinched. After two or three volleys had been fired, Captain Field ordered a charge and the enemy fled.

We lost two killed, two missing and sixteen wounded. We captured Lieutenant Merrill of the Engineer Corps, U. S. A., attached to General Rosecrans' command. I fell into conversation with him, and found him not only a most intelligent gentleman but also a most genial and pleasant companion,—as most West Pointers are. We also captured seven privates, and left on the roadside two wounded men of the enemy who were so disabled that they could not be moved, though we dressed their wounds and made them as comfortable as possible. The enemy lost some eight or ten killed,—how many wounded I do not know.

My first experience in actual battle was very different from what I had anticipated. I had expected an open field and a fair fight, but this bushwhacking was entirely out of my line. The balls whistled in a way that can never be appreciated by one who has not heard them. We held our position until four o'clock in the afternoon, anxiously listening for General H. R. Jackson's fire, upon which the whole movement depended; but not a gun was heard in that direction. General Donelson, however, met a party of the enemy and engaged them, killing seventeen and taking sixty-eight prisoners. He then waited for us,—of course waited in vain, and like us withdrew.

When we left the turnpike, we took with us our wounded, all but five of whom were carried on horses, the others on litters. About two miles from the highway we came to the house of a Mr. White, where we deposited seven of our wounded men and left them. The brigade halted in a meadow. After attending to the wounded, I lay down by a wheat-stack with Joe Van Leer, who made a very comfortable bed for us. At daylight I returned to the house to assist the surgeons in dressing the wounds of our men. This occupied us until nine o'clock.

The brigade in the meantime had moved forward and left us. We supposed that they had stationed a guard for our protection, but it had been neglected, and when we left, a man suggested to us that we better remove the white badges from our caps, for we might come across some scouting party of the enemy. We took his advice and in addition I took the precaution to tie a white handkerchief to a stick, and so I led the way. After winding about over the hills for a mile or so, we came upon a body of men behind a fallen tree with their guns pointed at us ready to fire. We heard the click of the locks and I instantly threw up the white flag, and this possibly saved our party from being shot down by our own men. It was a detachment that had been sent back for us, and as they saw us winding along without our badges, they supposed us a party of the enemy on the trail of our forces. One man was very much overcome when he found out who we were.

About a mile further on we came up with the main body of our troops, which had been halted for us by Colonel Hatton, who, on discovering that we were in the rear, ran the whole length of the column to inform General Anderson of the fact. It felt mighty good to get with the brigade again.

In less than half an hour after we left Mr. White's house, a party of the enemy was in possession there. At half past twelve word was passed along the line that the enemy were following us. Immediately a line of battle was formed, but very shortly we moved on to get a more advantageous position. We rolled down one precipice and climbed up another and again the line of battle was formed. Then it was discovered that a small part of the enemy's forces was on its way by a route that crossed ours to reinforce Crouch's, so there was no fighting.

Friday night we camped about one mile from the place we occupied our first night out. I had no provisions, but various persons gave me what made up a tolerably good supper, to wit,—a roasting ear, a slice of bacon and a biscuit; and in the morning I found on a log a good-sized piece of fresh meat, not strikingly clean, but I sliced off a piece of it and cooked it on a long stick. The fire, I reckon, removed all impurities; and Joe Van Leer brought me half a cup of coffee and another biscuit. We rested here until seven o'clock at night, when we took up our march for Brady's Gate. At about eleven o'clock we rested for the night and had the pleasure of meeting two men from Nashville who had brought out a couple of ambulances loaded with nick-nacks for the Rock City Guard. Out of their supplies we had a comfortable breakfast, and again started for Brady's Gate and reached it at 1 p. m.

At this point the enemy had been in great numbers,—some three or four thousand. Everywhere in the woods they had erected comfortable booths and rustic benches. Our brigade took position expecting an attack, and waited until half-past six, and then once more started on our march. About eight o'clock the rain poured down in torrents and once more we were thoroughly drenched. The brigade remained all night in an open meadow, but Colonel Sevier insisted upon my taking his horse, and so I rode forward with Major Looney and some other officers to a house half a mile further on, and Dr. Buist, Van Leer, myself and five others took up quarters for the night in a smoke-house. Unfortunately the shingles were off just over my head and the rain came through pretty freely. The next morning we started for our old camp at Valley Mountain, which we reached at eleven o'clock. It really seemed like getting home. The tents looked more than familiar,—inviting even. I rested well and ate well and felt well generally.

The march left many of our men bare-footed. Some of them made the last of the tramp in their stocking feet, and when we reached our quarters they had not even a thread to cover them. One of Captain Jack Butler's men made the remark that if the enemy took the Captain prisoner they would not believe him if he told them his rank; and when I looked at the dear fellow, ragged and barefooted, with feet cut and swollen, I thought so too. But then when I looked down at my own feet and saw my own toes peeping,—nay, rather boldly showing themselves,—as plain as the nose on my face;—and found that almost a majority of our regiment were bootless and shoeless by the hardness of the march, I realized what we had gone through.

The path by which we ascended to the top of Cheat Mountain was one which the foot of man probably never trod before. The guide said that he knew that he could cross it but did not think that the brigade could. I would not have undertaken the march, I presume, could I have foretold what it would be. I made the whole trip, with the exception of a few miles, on foot; for the morning we started out, Lieutenant John House, of Franklin, a noble fellow, was very weak from an attack of fever from which he had not entirely convalesced. I insisted upon his taking my horse and so I did not ride at all until Sunday the 15th. My horse proved a most valuable one. On our return one of the wounded men rode her down the steepest hills and she did not once miss a foot. Being raised in that region she had the faculty of adapting herself to the provender, while other Tennessee horses grew thin and became useless.

As a result of the expedition, our forces had driven in all the outposts of the enemy, made a thorough survey of all their works, had killed, wounded and captured about two hundred of their men, and all with a loss of less than thirty on our side. But the campaign in that section was abandoned and all our forces were transferred to another section.

I was very glad to believe that my labors among the soldiers as their chaplain were not all thrown away. It was very delightful to see how well our regular daily evening service in camp was attended. And I was greatly pleased to find so many of the young men anxious to receive the Holy Communion when I celebrated on the fifteenth Sunday after Trinity, the day before we started on the expedition. The whole regiment seemed devoted to me. One of the Captains told the Major that he believed every man in his company would lay down his life for me. Certainly I met nothing but kindness from officers and men. And so I was led to hope that some good would yet grow out of the seed sown in those wild mountains.

On Friday the 13th of September, General Loring was anxious to have a reconnaissance made, and assigned the duty to Major Fitzhugh Lee, son of General Robert E. Lee. Colonel J. A. Washington, a brother-in-law of General Lee and one of his personal aides, asked permission to accompany the party, which was granted. They had advanced a considerable distance when Major Lee told the Colonel that it was unsafe for them to proceed further. But the Colonel was anxious to make a thorough exploration. Major Lee, however, decided not to endanger the lives of his men by taking them along, and so halted them and rode on with Colonel Washington, accompanied by two privates.

They had not gone far when they were fired upon by a large picket guard lying in ambush by the roadside. Colonel Washington was instantly killed, being pierced by three balls through the breast. Major Lee's horse was shot under him and one of the privates also lost his horse. Major Lee escaped on Colonel Washington's horse.

A flag was sent to the Federal camp the next day by General Lee, and Colonel Washington's body was given up. The enemy offered to send it the whole distance in an ambulance, but this offer Colonel Stark, the bearer of the flag, declined.

This sad occurrence was the occasion of my first acquaintance with General Lee, the most conspicuous character in the struggle between the States. I saw him at Cheat Mountain when he had just learned of the death of Colonel Washington. He was standing with his right arm thrown over the neck of his horse,—(a blooded animal, thoroughly groomed),—and I was impressed first of all by the man's splendid physique, and then by the look of extreme sadness that pervaded his countenance. He felt the death of his relative very keenly and seemed greatly dispirited.

It was my high privilege later on to be brought in contact with this great and good man and to learn most thoroughly to appreciate his exalted character and to understand why his life is to-day an enduring inheritance of his country and of the Church of Christ. Personally he was a man of rare gifts, physical and mental. To these were added the advantages of finished culture. He was a very Bayard in manner and bearing. The habits of temperance, frugality and self-control, formed by him in youth, adhered to him through life.

CHAPTER III
PERSONAL NARRATIVE—BIG SEWELL MOUNTAIN, WINCHESTER AND ROMNEY

From Valley Mountain I was sent with the sick of our brigade to a place named Edrai where a number of our troops were encamped. I think it was about sixteen miles distant, but on account of the condition of the roads, I was fully three days in making the trip. I had given up my horse to Lieutenant Van Leer and I was busy each day of the march administering to the wants of the sick, several of whom died on the way. A cup of strong coffee was made for me by the sergeant in command of our escort, (we had coffee in those days, later our ingenuity was taxed to discover substitutes for it), which was the only thing that refreshed me on the march. Instead of a coffee mill, a hatchet handle was used to beat up the grains which were then boiled in a tin cup. I was a long time drinking that cup of coffee.

The last day of the journey I felt myself breaking down and determined to reach Edrai as soon as possible. Accordingly I took the middle of the road, not avoiding the holes which were abundant, and walked through slush and mud, reaching Edrai just in the gloaming. There was one brick house in the place, to which I made my way. To my delight I found there Major Looney of my regiment, who received me with great cordiality. I was so exhausted that I was obliged to support myself in my chair, and the Major, seeing how greatly prostrated I was, gave me a large drink of brandy. It produced not the slightest effect on me, and so in fifteen minutes more he repeated the dose, and "Richard was himself again." I went out at once, borrowed a horse of a friend who was a Lieutenant in a Virginia Regiment, and rode back to meet my sick train. The next day I officiated at the burial of those who had died en route.

Shortly after this, General Lee ordered us to reinforce General John B. Floyd, who was strongly intrenched at Big Sewell Mountain, facing the Federal Army under General Rosecrans and only a mile distant. I passed through the Hot Springs on the way to Big Sewell Mountain; and from there, making our way was very gradual, for rains had been destructive of the roads. In some places every trace of the road had been so completely washed away that no one would dream that any had ever been where were then gullies eight or ten feet or even fifteen feet deep. Fences, bridges and even houses had been washed away, farms ruined, and at White Sulphur Springs the guests had to be taken from the lower story of the hotel. Major Looney, Captain Foster and myself were detained at this point for several days, and I went back and forth to hold services and to visit the sick.

At Big Sewell Mountain I was brought into very pleasant relations with General Lee. At White Sulphur Springs, Mrs. Lee had entrusted me with a parcel to deliver to the General at my first opportunity. Upon my arrival I at once called upon him and spent several hours with him in most delightful intercourse. From his headquarters we could see the whole Federal encampment. With the audacity of ignorance, I said to him: "Why, General, there are the Federals! why don't we attack them?" In his gentle voice, he replied; "Ah, it is sometimes better to wait until you are attacked."

From the camp at Big Sewell Mountain I was sent, in the latter part of October to accompany a detachment of our sick men to the hospitals at White Sulphur and Hot Springs, Virginia. When I reached the latter place, being only fifteen miles from a railroad, I determined to run down to Staunton to get, if possible, some clean clothing. My visit was timely, for a few hours after my arrival in Staunton I received by train two boxes,—one from Rome, Georgia, and one from Nashville. In the latter box were two pairs of heavy winter boots, a pair of winter pants, flannel under-clothing and a great variety of useful articles, and my wardrobe was now so generally well supplied that I could help along some who were in worse condition than I was in.

My visit to Staunton was otherwise a rich treat. Somehow or other everybody seemed to have heard of me or to know me, and all extended to me the most overflowing cordiality and hospitality. I was first the guest of the Rev. Mr. Latané and afterwards of Dr. Stribling, the Superintendent of the Insane Asylum. Mrs. Stribling and her daughter sent by me two trunks filled with things for our regiment, and a lady met me on the street and handed me ten dollars for the use of the sick.

About the middle of November I received orders from General Loring to proceed from Huntersville to the Lewisburg line and to transport all the sick and convalescent belonging to his division to the hospitals at Warm, Hot and Bath Alum Springs. I accordingly left General Loring's headquarters one Friday at noon, and crossing the Greenbrier Bridge, six miles above Huntersville, took the road to Hillsboro, a little hamlet ten miles distant, where I spent the night very pleasantly, without charge, at the home of Mr. Baird. Thence I rode to the residence of Mr. Renick, sixteen miles, and found three of our regiment who had been sick for some weeks but were then greatly improved and glad to get away under my protection. On Sunday morning I rode five miles to the town of Frankford and my name (and fame) having preceded me, I was urged to have services in the Presbyterian Church. Of course I was very glad to do so and had a good and very attentive congregation.

At Frankford there lived a Dr. Renick who had been extremely kind to all of our Tennessee soldiers. He turned his home into a hospital and he and his wife devoted themselves most assiduously to the welfare of the sick, refusing any remuneration. I stopped at his house and at his request baptized his youngest child, a little girl about eighteen months old, born on Easter Sunday. The parents were quite unacquainted with the ecclesiastical calendar, yet the father said: "I'm going to give her a good Episcopal name, Doctor," and so he had me give her in baptism the name of "Margaret Easter Sunday." I was glad she was not born on Quinquagesima Sunday for I might in that case have had to give her that name.

The following day I went to Lewisburg and thence to White Sulphur Springs, hoping to be in part relieved by one of the surgeons, whom I ordered to join his regiment with the sick men belonging to it. There were more than one thousand patients at White Sulphur Springs and there had been forty deaths within the past thirteen days.

I shall never forget the dinner we had in camp one Sunday about the last of November. It was the best of the season. Beef, venison, preserved peaches, raspberries and plums, rice, fine old Madeira, currant wine and many other things,—most of which had been sent by Dr. Stribling,—made a real feast quite in contrast with our usual camp fare. At that time the boys were going into winter quarters and were building very snug, roofed cabins.

One Sunday early in December, after having service in the camp near Huntersville, with a pass from General Loring to go to Richmond and return at the public charge, I started first for Staunton to look after the interests of a young man from Maury County, Tennessee, who while in a state of intoxication, killed another man by the accidental discharge of his pistol. That I arrived safely in Staunton I felt to be a matter of special congratulation on account of the roads I had to travel. The mud was from two to three feet deep.

The young prisoner was a noble fellow to whom I had become very much attached, and was clear of any intentional wrong, I was sure. After calling upon him in Staunton and consulting with his lawyer, we concluded to engage the services of the Hon. Alexander H. Stuart, formerly Secretary of the Interior under President Fillmore, and I went to Richmond to see that eminent man. On my return to Staunton I had the trial put off until the January term of court. When it was finally held, I was called upon to testify to the good character of the accused and I am glad to say that the verdict of the jury was in the end: "not guilty."

Our regiment's stay at Big Sewell was not long. There was a good deal of marching to and fro, and Rosecrans finally escaped Lee and Jackson. From Big Sewell, General Loring, to whose division we were attached, was invited to join General Thomas J. Jackson at Winchester. There for the first time I met that distinguished General and I was very cordially received by the Rev. Mr. Meredith, the rector of the parish, and was made to feel quite at home in the rectory.

This was the beginning of a severe and disastrous campaign. The weather was bitterly cold and during the second night of our encampment a severe snow-storm arose. I can never forget the appearance of the troops as they arose the next morning from their snowy couches. It suggested thoughts of the Resurrection morn. In spite of it all, the troops were very cheerful, and as they shook the snow from their uniforms, began singing a song, the chorus of which was:

"So let the wide world wag as it will,

We'll be gay and happy still!"

After some delay we began our march against Bath on New Year's day 1862. It was one of the coldest winters known to the oldest inhabitant. Snow, sleet and rain came down upon us in all their wrath. We had a skirmish on the march. General Jackson wished to drive the enemy's forces from the gap in Capon Mountain opposite Bath where they were posted. I begged him to allow me to bring up the First Tennessee regiment. They were some distance in the rear, but I brought them forward in short time. As they passed by in double-quick, the General said to me: "What a splendid regiment!"

In his report of the engagement, General Jackson said: "The order to drive the enemy from the hill was undertaken with a patriotic enthusiasm which entitles the First Tennessee and its commander to special praise." It was here that Captain Bullock issued his unique command: "Here, you boys, just separate three or four yards, and pie-root!" (pirouette). They did pirouette and made the enemy dance as well.

As the Federal troops retreated through the gap in the mountain, they came face to face with a brigade of the Virginia Militia. Each fired a volley and fled as fast as legs could carry them, in opposite directions. To the boys looking down upon the scene from the mountain, it was a comical sight. As the infantry put the Federals to flight on Capon Mountain, Captain Turner Ashby drove the Federal cavalry along the highway in the valley like leaves before the wind.

We reached Romney without further obstruction. On Sunday I officiated in a church which was crowded to its utmost capacity. I shall never forget the grave attention which "Stonewall" Jackson paid to my discourse. The text from which I preached was: "Be sure your sin will find you out."

The march from Winchester to Romney was one of great hardship and was utterly fruitless of military results. The situation in our camp in the latter part of January 1862, was rather disturbed. The two Generals, Stonewall Jackson and Loring, did not work well together. Their commands were separate. Jackson commanded the Army of the Valley District; Loring the Army of the North West. The former had written begging the Secretary of War to send Loring and all his forces to co-operate with him (Jackson), in that section and expressing the opinion that the two could drive the enemy from the whole region. The Secretary of War enclosed Jackson's letter to Loring, leaving the movement to his (Loring's) discretion, but at the same time expressing his opinion and that of the President, as decidedly in favor of it.

Accordingly Loring went expecting some prompt and decided work. But no sooner had he arrived in Winchester, than General Jackson began to work to merge the two armies into one and to take General Loring's command under his control. Jackson had but one brigade, while Loring had three under his control. The troops of the latter, from the highest officer to the lowest private, were perfectly devoted to their General. Of course a vast amount of ill feeling was stirred up, and the affair reached a climax when an order was issued for our troops to build winter quarters in Romney, while Jackson's brigade marched back to ease and comfort at Winchester.

I cannot begin to tell all that our troops suffered through the stupidity and want of forethought, (as I then thought it), of Major-General Jackson. It is enough to say that we were subjected to the severest trials that human nature could endure. We left Winchester with 2,700 men in General Anderson's Brigade of Tennesseeans. That number was reduced to 1,100. When we reached the position opposite the town of Hancock, Maryland, the First Regiment numbered 680. In Romney, it mustered only 230 men fit for duty. I felt that General Loring ought to demand that he might be allowed to withdraw his forces from the command of Major-General Jackson.

So far as the personal staff of General Loring (including myself) was concerned, it was comfortably situated in a very pleasant new house. But no one could possibly imagine the horrible condition of affairs at Romney among the troops; and when Stonewall Jackson took his command back to Winchester, the men of Loring's command shouted to them: "There go your F. F. V.'s!" The "pet lambs" of the Stonewall Brigade were comfortably housed at Winchester while the troops of Loring's command were left behind in Romney to endure the bitter, biting weather.

This movement on the part of Jackson was the subject of much bitter comment. A report thereof was taken to Richmond and laid before the Secretary of War. He was greatly surprised that Jackson should have withdrawn his forces to Winchester, leaving the reinforcing column behind,—or as it was expressed at the time, "leaving the guests,—the invited guests,—out in the cold." As a result of the controversy that ensued, General Jackson was required by the Secretary of War to direct General Loring to return with his command to Winchester. This we did on the 1st of February, and while in Winchester I was called to officiate at the funerals of a number of our men who had died from sickness and exposure. And it was while there that we received the news of the fall of Fort Donelson.

Although Jackson complied with the order of the Secretary of War, he regarded it as a case of interference with his command and took umbrage. It was by the exercise of great tact on the part of General Joseph E. Johnston, Commander-in-Chief of the Department, and of Governor John Letcher, of Virginia, that Jackson was prevailed upon to withhold his resignation, and his valuable services were preserved to the army of the Confederacy.

On the 10th of February, 1862, the First and Third Regiments, Tennessee Volunteers, with a Georgia Regiment, were by the command of the Secretary of War, ordered to proceed to Knoxville, Tennessee, and to report for duty to General Albert Sidney Johnston. A different disposition was made of the Seventh and Fourteenth Tennessee Volunteers and of an Arkansas Regiment, and all the remainder of the command of Brigadier-General Loring was to proceed to Manassas, Virginia, to report for duty to General Joseph E. Johnston. It was with a sad heart that "the boys" of the First Tennessee bade farewell, on the 7th of February, to the Seventh and Fourteenth Regiments and to their warm-hearted and hospitable Virginia friends.

During the march against Romney, General Loring had me commissioned by the Secretary of War as his aide-de-camp. I was very strongly opposed to holding such a commission, and declined to accept, but I could not leave General Loring in the troubles and anxieties that distressed him, and so as a member of his staff, I travelled around considerably at that time, going from camp to camp, attending the trial of my friend at Staunton, and going to Richmond on military business. To get from Romney to Staunton on one occasion I had to take a horse-back ride of forty-three miles to Winchester, then to go by stage eighteen miles to Strasburg, and thence by rail via Manassas and Gordonsville. This was a roundabout way but was preferable at the time to a much shorter route down the valley from Winchester.

On the 21st of February, I went with General Loring to Norfolk, to which point he had been ordered, instead, as I had hoped, to Georgia, where I would have been nearer my family. At this time he was promoted to Major-General. We went, of course, by way of Richmond where I called with him on President Jefferson Davis and was very agreeably disappointed in his personal appearance and bearing. I might have witnessed the ceremonies of his inauguration, but as the day set for that function proved very inclement, I was glad that I chose to spend it on the cars between Richmond and Norfolk. On that day General Loring had a very severe chill followed by congestion of the right lung, which was the precursor of an attack of pneumonia affecting both lungs. I watched by his bedside in Norfolk through all his illness, which prolonged my visit in that city for several weeks.

CHAPTER IV
PERSONAL NARRATIVE—NORFOLK

At Norfolk I had the pleasure of intercourse with such friends as John Tattnall, son of Commander Tattnall; Benjamin Loyall and Lieutenant Walter Butt of the ironclad "Virginia," with the clergy of the city and with many charming families. How can I ever forget the old-time Virginia hospitality that was meted out to me—the enthusiastic reception I had from all kinds and conditions of men? How well I remember Mr. Tazewell Taylor! He was well up in genealogy, and not only knew all of the old families of Virginia, but the principal families of the whole South. It was quite delightful to hear him, "in the midst of war's alarums," talk over "old times" and old folks. Those days before the war were all so different from what we have known since. No one born since the war can write intelligently of the blessed old days in the South.

But if any one would read a true account of the trials and woes of a Southern household during the dreadful war-time, let him read "The Diary of a Southern Refugee During the War," written by Mrs. Judith W. McGuire for the members of her family, "who were too young to remember those days." Mrs. McGuire's book is a wonderful record of hope, joys, sorrows and trials, and of the way in which, amid it all, the faithful women of the South cheered the hearts of the heroes in the field.

One Sunday in March I preached a sermon at St. Paul's Church, (old St. Paul's, built in 1739,) exhorting the people to the work before them, reminding them that in the conflict in which we were engaged, not only the rights of our people and the glory of our nation, but the Church of God was imperilled. It was my "old war sermon," rearranged for Virginia. At the solicitation of clergy and people formally presented, I repeated it several times in Norfolk. On Ash Wednesday I preached again in St. Paul's to a fine congregation and was requested to repeat my sermon, which was on the Good Samaritan, the following Sunday in the same church and subsequently in Christ Church.

I met many persons of distinction in the city. General Huger, who was in command in Norfolk, called upon me. General Howell Cobb was there as Commissioner on the part of the Confederate Government to arrange with General Wood on the part of the United States, about the exchange of prisoners.

In the latter part of February, I became interested in the transformation by which the "Merrimac" became the "Virginia" of the Confederate Navy. One day I slipped off from my patient, General Loring, while he was sleeping, and went to Portsmouth to visit the wonderful craft. The part that appeared above water suggested to me a book opened at an angle of forty-five degrees and the fore edges of its cover placed on a table. At the bow was a sharp projection by which it was expected to pierce the side of any ship it might run against.

All the machinery was below water. The roof was about thirty-eight inches in thickness, of timber very heavily plated with iron. The fore and aft guns were the heaviest, carrying shot and shell eighty-five and ninety pounds in weight. The others were very heavy also and magnificent of their kind. She carried ten guns in all. Her new steel-pointed and wrought iron shot were destined to do some terrific work. She was likely to escape injury unless struck below the water-line, and there was not much danger of that occurring as she was in a measure protected below that line also. She drew rather too much water, as Lieutenant Spotswood told me at the time of my visit.

While I was at Norfolk, the great battle between the "Virginia" and the "Monitor" and ships of war "Congress" and "Cumberland" took place. I witnessed the destruction of the "Congress" and the "Cumberland." The first days fight was on the 8th of March. By special invitation, the Rev. J. H. D. Wingfield, (who afterwards became Bishop of Northern California), celebrated the Blessed Sacrament in his church, (Trinity Church, Portsmouth), for the officers of the "Virginia" before they went into battle.

When the "Virginia" cast off her moorings at Norfolk Navy Yard and steamed down the river, the "Congress" and the "Cumberland" (frigates) had been lying for some time off Newport News. Officers and men on the "Virginia" were taking things quietly as if they were really on an ordinary trial trip. As they drew near the "Congress," Captain Buchanan, the Commander of the "Virginia," made a brief and stirring appeal to his crew, which was answered by cheers. He then took his place by the side of the pilot near the wheel.

My friend Lieutenant J. R. Eggleston commanded the nine-inch broadside guns next abaft the engine-room hatch, and he was ordered to serve one of them with hot shot. Suddenly he saw a great ship near at hand bearing down upon the "Virginia." In a moment twenty-five solid shot and shell struck the sloping side of the "Virginia" and glanced high into the air, many of the shells exploding in their upward flight.

In reply to this broadside from the "Congress" one red hot shot and three nine-inch shells were hurled into her and the "Virginia" steamed on without pausing. Suddenly there was a jar as if the vessel had run aground. There was a cheering forward and Lieutenant Eggleston passed aft, waving his hat and crying: "We have sunk the 'Cumberland.'" She had been struck about amidship by the prow of the "Virginia," and in sinking tore the prow from the bow of her assailant and carried it down with her. The "Virginia" then moved some distance up the river in order to turn about in the narrow channel.

As soon as the "Congress" saw her terrible foe coming down upon her, she tried to escape under sail, but ran aground in the effort. The "Virginia" took position under her stern and a few raking shots brought down her flag. Captain Porcher, in command of the Confederate ship "Beaufort," made an effort to take the officers and wounded men of the "Congress" prisoners. Two officers came on board the "Beaufort" and surrendered the "Congress." Captain Porcher asked them to get the officers and wounded men aboard his vessel as quickly as possible as he had been ordered to burn the "Congress." He was begged not to do so as there were sixty wounded men on board the "Congress," but his orders were peremptory.

While he was making every effort to move the wounded, a tremendous fire was opened on the "Beaufort" from the shore. The Federal officers begged him to hoist a white flag lest all the wounded men should be killed. The fact that the Federals were firing on a white flag flying from the mainmast of the "Congress" was brought to the attention of the Federal officers, who claimed, however, that they were powerless to stop the fire as it proceeded from a lot of volunteers who were not under the control of the officers on board the "Beaufort." The fire continuing, Captain Porcher returned it, but with little effect. He estimated the loss in the Federal fleet, in killed, drowned, wounded and missing, of nearly four hundred men. The total loss of the Confederates did not exceed sixty. Captain Buchanan and his flag-lieutenant were wounded and taken to the Naval Hospital at Norfolk. Catesby Jones succeeded to the command of the "Virginia." About an hour before midnight the fire reached the magazine of the "Congress" and she blew up.

The next day the "Virginia" steamed out towards the "Minnesota," when the "Monitor" made her appearance. The latter came gallantly forward, and then began the first battle ever fought between ironclads. It continued several hours, neither vessel, so far as could be ascertained at the time, inflicting by her fire any very serious damage on the other.

The "Virginia" then got ready to try what ramming would do for the "Monitor." What it did was to silence the latter forever in the presence of the "Virginia." Unfortunately, just before the "Virginia" struck the "Monitor," the former stopped her engine under the belief that the momentum of the ship would prove sufficient for the work. Had the "Virginia" kept on at full speed, she would undoubtedly have run the "Monitor" under. As it was, the latter got such a shaking up that she sought safety in shoal water whither she knew the "Virginia" could not follow her. It should be remembered that the "Virginia" drew twenty-two feet of water and was very hard to manage, whereas the "Monitor" was readily managed and drew but ten feet of water.

The following day the Rev. Mr. Wingfield was called upon to offer up prayers and thanksgiving for the victory, on board the gallant ship. It was a solemn, most impressive and affecting scene, as those valiant men of war fell upon their knees on the deck and bowed their heads in reverence and godly fear. The weather-beaten faces of many of the brave seamen were observed to be bathed in tears and trembling with emotion under the influence of that memorable service.

After this Commodore Tattnall was placed in command of the "Virginia," and on the morning of the 11th of April the "Virginia" went down Hampton Roads with the design of engaging the enemy to the fullest extent. I received a concise cypher telegram, ("Splinters," was all it said), from my dear friend John Tattnall, son of the Commodore, and I at once set out to see what was going on. With General Loring, (who was by that time fully recovered from his illness), and quite a party of friends and officers, I went down the bay in a cockle-shell of a steamer, to witness the engagement. In order to provoke the enemy, Commodore Tattnall ordered two of his gunboats to run into the transport anchorage and cut out such of the vessels as were lying nearest the "Virginia." This was successfully done within sight of and almost within gun-shot of the "Monitor," but she could not be drawn into an engagement. Although the enemy refused to fight, the "Monitor" threw a number of shells, several of which passed over our little steamer. We deemed it, therefore, good military, (and naval) tactics to withdraw and let the contestants attend to their own business.

CHAPTER V
PERSONAL NARRATIVE—PERRYVILLE

Hearing about this time of the extreme illness of my Bishop, the Right Reverend James Hervey Otey, in Jackson, Mississippi, I left Norfolk, with considerable regret, for the society of that city I had found most charming, and my stay there had been very pleasant. I went by way of Mobile, having for my travelling companion from Montgomery, Alabama, to that city, Captain J. F. Lay, a brother of the then Bishop of Arkansas. The Captain was a member of Beauregard's staff.

General Forney was in command at Mobile and I had a very pleasant chat with him. His left arm was still almost useless from a severe wound received in the Dranesville fight. I met also the Rev. Mr. Pierce, who afterwards became Bishop of Arkansas; and Madame Le Vert, one of the most distinguished of Southern writers. I had a drive down the bay over one of the finest shell roads in the world. And on the Sunday that I spent in Mobile, I preached my "war sermon,"—adapted, of course, to the people of Mobile.

I found my beloved Bishop at the residence of Mrs. George Yerger, in Jackson, and remained in attendance on him for several weeks. He was then removed from Jackson to the residence of Mrs. Johnstone at Annandale. There he enjoyed all that kindness and wealth could give. He was able to drive out after a time, and I remember how thoroughly he enjoyed the music of the spring birds. There was one bird that he called the "wood-robin," whose notes were especially enjoyed, and the carriage was frequently stopped that he might listen to the warbling of this bird.

From Annandale I went to visit my family in Rome, Georgia, and spent some time in attendance upon the hospitals there. Then I returned to General Loring's headquarters for a brief visit to the General to whom I was warmly attached, and to make farewell visits to sundry officers and bid my old military companions a final adieu. For my intention it then was to leave the army.

General Loring's headquarters were at New River, Virginia, at a place called the Narrows, because the river gashed through Peter's Mountain, which rises abruptly from the banks on either side. The General and all the staff gave me a most cordial greeting, but the former told me that I had no business to resign and that he had kept the place open for me. If I would not be his aide he had a place for me as chaplain. But my resignation had already been accepted on the 14th of June by the Secretary of War. As soon as I had determined to resign, I forwarded to the Secretary of War a copy of my resignation to General Loring and the former had accepted it.

The General, Colonel Myer, Colonel Fitzhugh and myself, with a cavalry escort, went for a little outing to the Salt Sulphur Springs, dining on our way at the Gray Sulphur Springs. The former place was really one of the pleasantest of all the watering places I visited in Virginia. The grounds were rolling, well laid out and very well shaded. The houses were principally of stone and capable of accommodating about four hundred guests.

There were two springs of great value there, the Salt Sulphur and the Iodine. The first possessed all the sensible properties of sulphur water in general; its odor, for instance, was very like that of a "tolerable egg," and might be perceived at some distance from the Spring; and in taste it was cousin-german to a strong solution of Epsom salts and magnesia. Like most of the sulphurous, this water was transparent and deposited a whitish sediment composed of its various saline ingredients mingled with sulphur.

The Iodine Spring was altogether remarkable and was the only one possessing similar properties in all the country round. It was peculiarly adapted to cutaneous eruptions and glandular diseases. The Salt Sulphur Spring was hemmed in on every side by mountains.

General William Wing Loring, of whom I was then taking my leave, was not only a very charming companion but he was altogether a remarkable man. A braver man never lived. He was a North Carolinian by birth, and only a few years older than myself. Yet he was already the hero of three wars—the Seminole War, the War with Mexico and that in which we were then engaged. And in 1849 he had marched across the continent to Oregon with some United States troops as an escort for a party of gold-seekers. He had also engaged in Indian warfare and had taken part in the Utah Expedition in 1858. His frontier services in the United States Army were equalled only by those of that grand soldier, Albert Sidney Johnston. The following year, he had leave of absence from the army and visited Europe, Egypt and the Holy Land. He was in command of the Department of New Mexico in May 1861 and resigned to accept a commission as Brigadier-General in the Confederate Army.

As Major-General he served to the end of the war, leading a Division and frequently commanding a corps—always with credit to himself and to the service in which he was engaged. It was at Vicksburg, in 1863, that he received the familiar nickname of "Old Blizzard." After the war he took service with the Khedive of Egypt as General of Brigade and was decorated in 1875 with the "Imperial Order of Osmariah," and was promoted to be General of a Division. Four years later he was mustered out of the Egyptian service. In 1883 he published "A Confederate Soldier in Egypt,"—a most readable book. He died in New York city three years later at the age of sixty-eight.

I officiated at his funeral in St. Augustine, Florida, on the 19th of March, 1886. The commanding General of the Army post at St. Augustine acted as one of the pall-bearers, and at the cemetery the body was borne from the gun-carriage to the grave by three Federal and three ex-Confederate soldiers. A salute was fired at the grave by a battery of United States Artillery.

I had looked toward the Diocese of Alabama for some parochial work, but the Bishop of Alabama, the Rt. Rev. Dr. Wilmer, not only could offer me no work in his jurisdiction, but strongly advised me to go back to the army as chaplain and surgeon, assuring me that there was work for me in that capacity. In June, I had a petition from my old regiment to rejoin it. I had no difficulty in getting a chaplain's commission. General Loring wrote me a strong letter, and that, with the aid of a telegram from General (and Bishop) Polk, secured it. So I returned to the Army of Tennessee at Chattanooga, and was enthusiastically received by the officers and members of my regiment; and especially by General Polk and his staff, upon which I found my dear friends Colonel Harry Yeatman, Colonel William B. Richmond and Colonel William D. Gale.

In August 1862 we advanced into Kentucky, crossing over Walden's Ridge and the Cumberland Mountains by way of Pikeville and Sparta, Tennessee. My first intention was to leave Chattanooga with General Polk and his staff, but on finding that Dr. Buist was going alone, I concluded to accompany him. So we two started off at 10 a.m. on the 28th of August, and following the route of our immense wagon train, which stretched out for miles along the road, we supposed we were all right and knew nothing to the contrary until we reached the top of Walden's Ridge where we found General Bragg, General Buckner and Governor Harris. The Governor put us right as to our way and we had a long ride back to get into the road taken by our Brigade, which was quite different from that taken by the wagon train.

We rode until after four o'clock in the afternoon, and then stopped at a house that was crowded with soldiers and refugees. We had a bed made on the floor for us and, with many others, slept well until 1 a.m., when we started on, and after a couple of hours learned that the army had halted. We rode into camp, about thirty miles from Chattanooga, at dinner time with ravenous appetites. We were having pretty good living just then, for the country was admirably watered. A great many country women visited our camp to hear our band play.

We continued our march to Mumfordville, Kentucky, where the Louisville and Nashville Railroad crosses Green River. There on the 16th of September, with a loss of fifty killed and wounded, we captured some four thousand prisoners with as many guns and much ammunition, besides killing and wounding seven hundred of the enemy. The Federal forces were commanded by General Wilder, since the war a most prominent citizen of Chattanooga, for whom I entertain the heartiest and most cordial regard. General Chalmers, one of General Bragg's brigadiers, was conspicuous in this fight for the gallantry and skill with which he handled his troops. When the Federal forces surrendered on the 17th, I stood beside the road and saw them lay down their arms. Though there were but four thousand, I thought as they passed by me that the whole Federal Army had surrendered to General Bragg. The night following this battle I found a sleeping place in a graveyard.

On the 23rd of September we reached Bardstown, Kentucky, and took possession. In the meantime General Buell, leaving a strong guard at Nashville, marched to Louisville where his army was increased to fully one hundred thousand men. It was not until October and after he had reorganized his army and was in danger of being superseded in the command thereof that he began his campaign against General Bragg's forces. The latter had collected an immense train, mostly of Federal army wagons loaded with supplies. And it being clear that the two great objects of our invasion of Kentucky—the evacuation of Nashville and the inducement of Kentucky to join the Confederacy—would fail, Bragg decided only to gain time to effect a retreat with his spoils. He harrassed the advance of Buell on Bardstown and Springfield, retired to Danville and thence marched to Harrodsburg to effect a juncture with General Kirby-Smith.

On the 7th of October he moved to Perryville, where on Wednesday, the 8th, a battle was fought between a portion of Bragg's army and Buell's advance, commanded by General McCook. At this battle of Perryville our regiment captured from the Federals four twelve-pounder Napoleon brass guns, which were afterwards, by special order, presented to the battery of Maney's Brigade.

The night before the battle I shared blankets in a barnyard with General Leonidas Polk, Bishop of Louisiana. The battle began at break of day by an artillery duel, the Federal battery being commanded by Colonel Charles Carroll Parsons and the Confederates by Captain William W. Carnes. Colonel Parsons was a graduate of West Point and Captain Carnes was a graduate of the Naval Academy at Annapolis. I took position upon an eminence at no great distance, commanding a fine view of the engagement, and there I watched the progress of the battle until duty called me elsewhere.

Captain Carnes managed his battery with the greatest skill, killing and wounding nearly all the officers, men and horses connected with Parsons' battery. Parsons fought with great bravery and coolness and continued fighting a single gun until the Confederate infantry advanced. The officer in command ordered Colonel Parsons to be shot down. As the muskets were leveled at him, he drew his sword and stood at "parade rest," ready to receive the fire. The Confederate Colonel was so impressed with this display of calm courage that he ordered the guns lowered, saying: "No! you shall not shoot down such a brave man!" And Colonel Parsons was allowed to walk off the field.

Subsequently I captured Colonel Parsons for the ministry of the Church in the Diocese of Tennessee. He was brevetted for his bravery at Perryville and he performed other feats of bravery in the war. At Murfreesboro he repelled six charges, much of the time under musketry fire. He was often mentioned in official reports of battles. After the war he was on frontier duty until 1868 when he returned to West Point as a Professor. Shortly after my consecration as Bishop of Tennessee, I preached in the Church of the Holy Trinity, Brooklyn, New York, on "Repentance and the Divine Life." This sermon made a deep impression upon Colonel Parsons, as he told me when I subsequently met him at a reception at the residence of the Hon. Hamilton Fish.

I visited him twice at West Point by his invitation, and a correspondence sprang up between us. In 1870 he resigned his commission in the army to enter the ministry. He studied theology with me at Memphis, and it was my privilege to ordain him to the diaconate and advance him to the priesthood. His first work was at Memphis. Then for a while he was at Cold Spring, New York. He returned, however, to Memphis and became rector of a parish of which Mr. Jefferson Davis was a member and a vestryman. He remained heroically at his post of duty during the great epidemic of yellow fever in 1878. He was stricken with the fever and died at my Episcopal residence on the 6th of September. Captain Carnes was the first man I confirmed after my consecration to the Episcopate of Tennessee.

With the advance of Cheatham's division the battle of Perryville began in good earnest. General Cheatham was supported by General Cleburne and General Bushrod Johnson, but it was not long before the whole Confederate line from right to left was advancing steadily, driving back the enemy. It was a fierce struggle. Until nightfall the battle raged with unexampled fury,—a perfect hurricane of shell tore up the earth and scattered death on all sides, while the storm of musketry mowed down the opposing ranks. Maney's Brigade did the most brilliant fighting of the day. It was in the charge by which the Federal Battery was captured that Major-General Jackson of the Federal Army was killed.

It was shortly after noon that the battle began with a sudden crash followed by a prolonged roar. I was resting at the time in the woods, discussing questions of theology with the Rev. Dr. Joseph Cross, a Wesleyan chaplain whom I had first met on the march into Kentucky. I sprang to my horse at once and said to him: "Let us go! There will be work enough for us presently!" He mounted his horse and followed me up a hill where we paused in full view of the enemy's line. I dismounted and sat down in the shelter of a large tree, saying as I did so: "You better get off your horse! The enemy is training a battery this way and there will be a shell here in a short time!"

Scarcely were the warning words uttered than a shell struck the tree twenty feet above my head and a shower of wooden splinters fell about me. I jumped into my saddle again and rode at full speed down the hill, followed by my friend, who shouted with laughter at what he called my resemblance to an enormous bird in flight, with my long coat-skirts like wings lying horizontal on the air. When he overtook me at the creek, I said to him: "This is the place. You will remain with me and I shall give you something more serious to do than laughing at a flying buzzard." Dr. Cross assisted me that fearful day. We met many times subsequently during the war and afterwards, I ordained him deacon and priest, and he was for a time on my staff of clergy in the Diocese of Tennessee.

When the wounded were brought to the rear, at three o'clock in the afternoon, I took my place as a surgeon on Chaplain's Creek, and throughout the rest of the day and until half past five the next morning, without food of any sort, I was incessantly occupied with the wounded. It was a horrible night I spent,—God save me from such another. I suppose excitement kept me up. About half past five in the morning of the 9th, I dropped,—I could do no more. I went out by myself and leaning against a fence, I wept like a child. And all that day I was so unnerved that if any one asked me about the regiment, I could make no reply without tears. Having taken off my shirt to tear into strips to make bandages, I took a severe cold.

The total loss of the Confederates, (whose force numbered of all arms only 16,000), was 510 killed, 2,635 wounded and 251 captured or missing, and of this loss a great part was sustained by our regiment. How well I remember the wounded men! One of the Rock City Guard, brought to me mortally wounded, cried out: "Oh, Doctor, I have been praying ever since I was shot that I might be brought to you." One of the captains was wounded mortally, it was thought at first, but it was afterwards learned that the ball which struck him in the side, instead of passing through his body, had passed around under the integuments. Lieutenant Woolridge had both eyes shot out and still lives. A stripling of fifteen years fell in the battle apparently dead, shot through the neck and collar-bone, but is still living. Lieutenant-Colonel Patterson was killed at his side. The latter was wounded in the arm early in the action. He bound his handkerchief around his arm and in the most gallant and dashing style urged his men forward until a grape shot struck him in the face killing him instantly.

Two days after the battle I went to the enemy's line with a flag of truce. And the following day General Polk, (who had won the hearts of the whole army), asked me to go with him to the church in Harrodsburg. I obtained the key and as we entered the holy house, I think that we both felt that we were in the presence of God. General Polk threw his arms about my neck and said: "Oh, for the blessed days when we walked in the house of God as friends! Let us have prayer!"

I vested myself with surplice and stole and entered the sanctuary. The General knelt at the altar railing. I said the Litany, used proper prayers and supplications, and then turned to the dear Bishop and General and pronounced the benediction from the office for the visitation of the sick. "Unto God's gracious mercy and protection I commit thee. The Lord bless thee and keep thee. The Lord make His face to shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee. The Lord lift up the light of His countenance upon thee and give thee peace, both now and evermore. Amen."

The Bishop bowed his head upon the railing and wept like a child on its mother's breast. Shortly after this service, General Kirby-Smith begged me that he might go to the church with me, so I returned, and he too was refreshed at God's altar.

General Kirby-Smith was a most remarkable character. A few years later it was my pleasure to have him as one of my neighbors at Sewanee, Tennessee, where he did much towards making the University of the South what it is. He was kindly, big-hearted, and no man was a better friend. He was a very devoted communicant of the church, and during the war, whenever opportunity offered, he held services and officiated as lay-reader. In an epidemic of cholera at Nashville, some years after the war, he was called upon to say the burial office over his own rector who had died of the dread disease. He entered upon his duties in the University of the South in 1875, as Professor of Mathematics and gave a great deal of attention to botany and natural science.

His end on the 28th of March, 1893, was very peaceful. He died as he had lived—bright, strong in his Christian faith and hope. One of his last connected utterances was the fourth verse from the twenty-third Psalm. On Good Friday, the 31st of March, 1893, it was my high privilege to commit his body to the earth in the cemetery at Sewanee.

CHAPTER VI
PERSONAL NARRATIVE—MURFREESBORO

After the battle of Perryville, both Bragg and Kirby-Smith were compelled to retreat by way of Cumberland Gap to Chattanooga. During this retreat I was in charge of the regiment as surgeon, Dr. Buist having been left behind to care for our sick and wounded. Every morning I filled my canteen with whiskey and strapped it to the pommel of my saddle to help the wearied and broken down to keep up in the march. I was riding a splendid bay which had been brought from Maury County and presented to me by the members of the regiment. He was the best saddle horse I ever rode. One day the colonel commanding the regiment rode up to me on his old gray nag and said: "Doctor, this horse of mine is very rough. Would you mind exchanging with me for a little while?"

I was off my horse before he had finished speaking. With a smiling countenance and a look of great gratitude he mounted my bay and rode off some hundred yards or more to the front, accompanied by the lieutenant-colonel, the major and one or two other officers—when they wheeled and saluted me, the colonel holding aloft my canteen of whiskey and waving it with great glee, each one taking a drink. When that canteen was returned to me every drop of the whiskey had disappeared. I was an "innocent abroad."

From Chattanooga I went to Rome, Georgia, to visit my family and to obtain some fresh clothing of which I was sorely in need. There were many hospitals established there and among them was one named for me, "Quintard Hospital." I spent much of my time in the hospitals, and also went to Columbus, Georgia, to secure clothing for my regiment. Mr. Rhodes Brown, President of one of the principal woolen mills in Columbus, gave me abundant supplies of the very best material. Besides this generous donation, he gave me a thousand dollars to use as I saw fit.

After some weeks I rejoined the army which had moved on to Murfreesboro. On my way up, I met at Stevenson, Alabama, Captain Jack Butler of my regiment, who informed me that a telegraphic dispatch from General Polk had just passed over the line ordering me to Murfreesboro. I asked how he knew it, and he told me that he had caught it as it clicked over the wire, which seemed very wonderful to me then. Immediately on reaching Murfreesboro I reported to General Polk and said: "General, I am here in response to your telegram." He was greatly astonished and asked how it was possible for me to have made the journey from Rome, Georgia, in so brief a time.

General Bragg, who was in command at Murfreesboro, was attacked by Rosecrans on the last day of the year 1862. A great battle resulted and the fighting continued until the 2d day of January, 1863. I was on the field dressing the wounded, as usual, when an order came for me to repair to the hospitals. While crossing the fields on my way to the hospitals in town, a tremendous shell came flying towards me, and I felt sure it would strike me in the epigastric region. I leaned down over the pommel of my saddle and the shell passed far above my head. As I rose to an upright position, I found that my watchguard had been broken and that a gold cross which had been suspended from it, was lost. I never expected to see it again. The next day, a colonel, moving with his command at "double quick" in line of battle, picked up the cross and returned it to me the day following. It is still in my possession—a valued relic of the Battle of Murfreesboro.

As Dr. Buist was still in Perryville, Kentucky, I was practically surgeon of the regiment. As the wounded of the First Tennessee were brought in, they always called for me, and it was my high privilege to attend nearly, if not quite all, the wounded of my regiment. Some of them were desperately wounded; among these was Bryant House, nicknamed among the boys, who were artists in bestowing nicknames, "Shanty." He had been shot through the body. The surgeon into whose hands he had first fallen told him that it was impossible to extract the ball and that there was no hope for him. "Well, send for my chaplain," he said, doubtless thinking that I would offer up a prayer in his behalf. Instead of that, however, I went in search of the ball with my surgical instruments, and was successful. "Shanty" died in September, 1895. He was for years after the war a conductor on the Nashville, Chattanooga and St. Louis Railway, and took great delight in telling this story.

I continued at work in the hospital located in Soule College until the army was about to fall back to Shelbyville, when I was sent for by General Polk, who asked if I would go to Chattanooga in charge of Willie Huger, whose leg had been amputated at the thigh. He was placed in a box car with a number of other wounded men and I held the stump of his thigh in my hands most of the journey. When we reached Chattanooga I was more exhausted than my patient. I remained with him for some time. The dear fellow finally recovered, married a daughter of General Polk, and now resides in New Orleans.

General James E. Rains, a member of my parish in Nashville, fell while gallantly leading his men at the battle of Murfreesboro. General Hanson of Kentucky, likewise gave up his life. His last words were: "I am willing to die with such a wound in so glorious a cause!" Here it was that Colonel Marks, afterwards Governor of Tennessee, was severely wounded and lamed for life.

After the first day's fight, General Bragg sent a telegram to Richmond in the following words: "God has indeed granted us a happy New Year." But subsequently hearing that Rosecrans was being heavily reinforced from Nashville, he retired to Shelbyville, carrying with him his prisoners and the spoils of battle, for the Confederates captured and carried off 30 cannon, 6,000 small arms, and over 6,000 prisoners, including those captured by cavalry in the rear of the Union army. Wheeler's cavalry also captured and burned 800 wagons.

CHAPTER VII
PERSONAL NARRATIVE—SHELBYVILLE

Having placed Willie Huger in comfortable quarters in Chattanooga and watched over him as long as I was able to, I returned to the army. At Shelbyville, I found General Polk's headquarters occupying the grounds of William Gosling, Esquire. The Gosling family were old friends of mine and insisted upon my making their house my home. General Polk had his office in the house. Mrs. Gosling was an ideal housekeeper and made me feel in every respect at home.

We remained nearly six months in Shelbyville, most of the army being camped about Tullahoma. Soon after the Battle of Murfreesboro, General Bragg was removed from the command of the Army of the Tennessee and General Johnston was sent to Shelbyville.

On the 7th of February, 1863, we had a grand review by General Johnston, who rode my horse—to me the most interesting item of the review. For I had seen so much of marching and countermarching that I was tired of it all—thoroughly disgusted indeed. It was a brilliant pageant, nevertheless. The troops looked and marched well, and General Johnston expressed the greatest satisfaction with what he witnessed. He said he had never seen men he would rather trust.

I found General Johnston a charming man. I was constantly with him at General Polk's headquarters and enjoyed his visit to the army very much. He was of perfectly simple manners, of easy and graceful carriage and a good conversationalist. He had used his utmost endeavor to keep General Bragg in command of the Army of the Tennessee; though when he was ordered, in May, to take command of the forces of Mississippi, General Bragg remarked to me, "Doctor, he was kept here too long to watch me!" Afterwards in command of the Army of the Tennessee, no man enjoyed a greater popularity than he did. Soldiers and citizens alike recognized that General Johnston possessed a solid judgment, invincible firmness, imperturbable self-reliance and a perseverance which no difficulties could subdue.

It was my privilege to be frequently with the General after the war and more and more he entered into the religious life, illustrating in his daily walk and conversation the highest type of the Christian gentleman. He was one of the pall-bearers at the funeral of General Sherman at a time when his health was far from strong. He caught cold and died of heart failure in March, 1891.

The weather was at times very inclement while we were in Shelbyville and I suffered much illness. I kept at my work as well as I could, however, and often I preached before distinguished congregations; as, for example, when Generals Johnston, Polk, Cheatham and nearly all the general officers and staffs were present. The congregations were usually large.

I recall reading with a great deal of zest, one day when the weather was very inclement and I was by illness kept in the house, a publication entitled "Robinson Crusoe." Perhaps my readers may have heard of such a book. And one night in February, General Polk and I remained up until two o'clock, and the Bishop-General gave me a detailed account of the manner in which his mind was turned to serious things while he was at West Point—practically the same story that may be found in Dr. William M. Polk's recently published life of his father.

On another occasion the General and I were riding out together and he mentioned the following odd incident to me: His eldest son when at college in the North purchased a gold-headed walking-stick as a present to the Bishop. Wishing his name and seal engraved upon it, the son took it to an engraver in New York, giving him a picture of the Bishop's seal as published in a Church Almanac. The seal was a simple shield having for its device a cross in the center, with a crosier and key laid across it. By some hocus pocus the artist engraved a crosier and a sword instead of the key. The Bishop had the cane still when he told me this, and I think it was his intention to adopt that device as his seal thenceforth. But, of course, as we all know, the Bishop's death before the close of the war prevented his adopting a seal for his future work in the Episcopate.

It must not be supposed, however, that my time was idly spent in Shelbyville or in reading such books as "Robinson Crusoe" and listening to the charming conversation of General Polk and others. On the 2nd of March, at the request of my fellow-chaplains, General Bragg issued an order to the effect that I was assigned to duty at the general hospitals of Polk's corps, and was to proceed to a central point and there establish my office. With the approval of Medical Officers, I was to visit the different hospitals, rendering such services and affording such relief and consolation to the sick and wounded as a minister only could give.

On my copy of this order was endorsed "Transportation furnished in kind from Wartrace to Atlanta, Mch. 3, '63." So I went off and was gone several weeks, visiting my family in Rome, Georgia, before my return. I made also a trip to Columbia, Tennessee, on business relating to my new appointment—a distance of forty miles from Shelbyville, over roads none of the best at that time.

While I was in Rome I received a very characteristic letter from my friend, Colonel Yeatman, on Polk's staff, which gave me an amusing account of the services held in Shelbyville on the day appointed by the President of the Confederate States to be observed as a day of fasting and prayer. The chaplain of an Alabama regiment preached a very good sermon, the letter says, and then "your brother —— wound up with a prayer—eminently a war prayer—in which he prayed that their (the Yankees') moral sensibilities might be awakened by the 'roar of our cannon and the gleam of our bayonets and that the stars and bars might soon wave in triumph through these beleagured states!' and then after prescribing a course which he desired might be followed by the Lord, he quit." It is such a good example of the manner in which some persons attempt to preach to the people while they pray to God, that it is quite worth quoting here.

The visit of Bishop Elliott, of Georgia, to Shelbyville was a great event. He arrived on the 23rd of May and was most affectionately welcomed by his friend General Polk, and remained with us at Mr. Gosling's house two weeks. Services were held every day and the Bishop preached. Everywhere he was received most enthusiastically. The Presbyterian Church in Shelbyville, was by far the largest church building in the town, and as it was without a pastor at the time, I had been invited to occupy it and had accepted the very kind invitation. We accordingly held services there on Sunday, the 24th of May. In the morning I said the service and the Bishop celebrated the Holy Communion and preached. In the afternoon the Bishop preached one of his most eloquent sermons, and I presented a class of ten persons for confirmation. It included Colonel Yeatman; Colonel Porter (of the Sixth Tennessee); Major Hoxton, Chief of Artillery on Hardee's staff; Lieutenant Smith, on General Cheatham's staff; Surgeon Green, (Fourth Tennessee); four privates of my own regiment; one private of the Fifty-first Alabama Cavalry; and a lady.

It was a very novel sight to see a large Church crowded in every part with officers and soldiers. Scarcely a dozen of the gentler sex were to be seen. The attention of this large body of soldiers was earnest and like that of men who were thoughtful about their souls.

Being anxious for the Bishop to officiate for my regiment, I made an appointment with him for the following day, to preach to the brigade under General George Maney, at their camp. The service was held at the headquarters of Colonel Porter of the Sixth Regiment. The attendance was very large and the Bishop said he had never had a more orderly or attentive congregation in a church. I conducted the service and the Bishop preached.

On Tuesday I was very unwell but felt it my duty to drive six miles to the front and visit, with the Bishop, the Brigade of General Manigault, of South Carolina. He was on outpost duty and was only a few miles from the pickets of General Rosecrans' army. The service was at five o'clock. The whole brigade was in attendance, having been marched to the grove arranged for the service, under arms. I assisted in the service and undertook to baptize a captain of the Twenty-eighth Alabama, but was taken ill, and being unable to proceed, the Bishop took my place.

It was a very solemn service indeed. The Captain knelt in the presence of his brother soldiers and enlisted under the banner of Christ Crucified. After which the Bishop preached to the assembled officers and soldiers seated on the ground in concentric circles. It was an admirable extempore discourse which fell with great effect upon the hearts of all who heard it.

On returning to Shelbyville, I betook myself to bed, and using proper remedies, I had a comfortable night. The following day, I fasted and lounged about headquarters. Mr. Vallandigham, who had been sent to us by the Federal authorities because of what were regarded as disloyal utterances made in political speeches in Ohio, dined with us, and my great desire to see him gave me strength to endure a long sitting at table, though I ate nothing.

Mr. Vallandigham was altogether a different man from what I had expected. He was about my own age and height, had remarkably fine features, a frank, open countenance, beautiful teeth and a color indicating very high health. He wore no side-whiskers nor moustache but a beard slightly tinged with gray, on his chin. In manner he was extremely easy and polite; in conversation very fluent and entertaining. He was greatly pleased with the kind reception he had met from the officers of the army and the citizens of Shelbyville, but was very desirous of avoiding all public demonstration.

On Thursday morning, feeling much better, I accompanied Bishop Elliott to Wartrace, the headquarters of General Hardee. General Polk and Colonel Richmond accompanied us. Later Colonel Yeatman brought Mr. Vallandigham over in General Polk's ambulance and we had a "goodlie companie." At eleven o'clock we held a service in the Presbyterian Church, the use of which was kindly tendered me. There was a large congregation, consisting of officers, soldiers and ladies. The Bishop read part of the morning service and I preached an extempore sermon. I had not expected to say anything, but the Bishop having declined to preach, I was determined not to disappoint the congregation altogether. And I had great reason to be thankful that I did preach, for it gave me the opportunity to have a long and very delightful conversation with General Hardee about confirmation. In the afternoon, services were to have been held for the brigades of General Wood and General Lucius Polk, but rain coming on, and the services having been arranged for the open air, it was thought best to postpone them to a future occasion.

The train that evening brought a very agreeable addition to our party in the person of Lieutenant-Colonel Freemantle of the Coldstream Guard of the British Army. The Guard was the oldest regiment in the British service. Colonel Freemantle was only about eight and twenty, and was on furlough,—just taking a hasty tour through the Confederacy to look at our army and become acquainted with our officers. He was very intelligent and very companionable. His grandfather and his father were adjutants of the Coldstream Guard, and he had held the same office. His family was an ancient and honorable one, and he seemed worthy to wear his ancestral honors. He accompanied General Polk and myself to Shelbyville the next day, and was for a while the General's guest. He had left England three months before and had come into the Confederacy by way of Texas.

The following Sunday I held services again in the Presbyterian Church at Shelbyville, preached to a crowded congregation, and presented another class to the Bishop for confirmation. In the afternoon we drove to Wartrace where I said Evening Prayer at the headquarters of General Wood, and the Bishop preached to an immense concourse. Between four and five thousand persons were present and the services were most impressive and solemn.

On Monday morning, (June 1st), we attended a review of General Liddell's brigade. After the review, General Hardee had the brigade formed in a hollow square and the Bishop addressed it briefly upon the religious aspects of the struggle in which we were engaged.

A memorable incident of Bishop Elliott's visit to our army was General Bragg's baptism and confirmation. As soon as I found that the Bishop was able to give us a visit, I made very earnest appeals to the officers and soldiers of our army to confess Christ before men. But there was one man in the army whom I felt I could never get at. He was the Commander-in-chief, General Braxton Bragg. He had the reputation of being so stern and so sharp in his sarcasm, that many men were afraid to go near him. Yet I had often thought of him in connection with my work. He never came to the Holy Communion, and I never heard of his being a member of any religious denomination.

Immediately after I received notice of Bishop Elliott's proposed visit, I determined to have a talk with General Bragg. It was late one afternoon when I started for his headquarters. I found two tents and a sentry at the outer one, and when I asked for General Bragg the sentry said: "You cannot see him. He is very busy, and has given positive orders not to be disturbed, except for a matter of life and death."

That cooled my enthusiasm and I returned to my own quarters; but all the night long I blamed myself for my timidity.

The next day I started out again, found the same sentry and received the same reply. This time, however, I was resolved to see the General, no matter what happened, so I said:

"It is a matter of life and death."

The sentry withdrew and in a few minutes returned and said: "You can see the General, but I advise you to be brief. He is not in a good humour."

This chilled me, but I went in. I found the General dictating to two secretaries. He met me with: "Well, Dr. Quintard, what can I do for you? I am quite busy, as you see."

I stammered out that I wanted to see him alone. He replied that it was impossible, but I persisted. Finally he dismissed the secretaries, saying to me rather sternly: "Your business must be of grave importance, sir."

I was very much frightened, but I asked the General to be seated, and then, fixing my eyes upon a knot-hole in the pine board floor of the tent, talked about our Blessed Lord, and about the responsibilities of a man in the General's position. When I looked up after a while I saw tears in the General's eyes and took courage to ask him to be confirmed. At last he came to me, took both my hands in his and said: "I have been waiting for twenty years to have some one say this to me, and I thank you from my heart. Certainly, I shall be confirmed if you will give me the necessary instruction."

I had frequent interviews with him subsequently on the subject and he was baptized and confirmed. The latter service took place in Shelbyville, on the afternoon of our return from Wartrace. Wishing to make the usual record, I asked the General to give me the names of his parents and the date of his birth. In reply he sent me the following note:

My dear Doctor: I was born in the town of Warrenton, Warren County, North Carolina, on the 21st of June, 1817, son of Thomas Bragg and Margaret Crossland, his wife. Though too late in seeking, [but not,] I hope, in obtaining the pardon offered to all who penitently confess, I trust time will yet be allowed me to prove the sincerity with which I have at last undertaken the task. For the kindness and consideration of yourself and the good and venerable Bishop, for whom my admiration has ever been very great, I shall never cease to be grateful. My mind has never been so much at ease, and I feel renewed strength for the task before me.

Faithfully yours,

Braxton Bragg.

Toward the end of our stay in Shelbyville, it was my privilege to assist in getting two ladies through the enemy's lines. The Rev. Mr. Clark, rector of St. Paul's Church, Augusta, Georgia, had been appointed by the Bishop of Georgia, a Missionary to the Army,—that is, a sort of Chaplain under diocesan control and for whose support the Confederate Government was in no way responsible. The plan was intended to continue the work which the Bishop had begun by his visit to our army. Mr. Clark desired to send his mother and sister to Nashville, and communicating with me in advance, I made all necessary arrangements for their transit through the lines before they arrived in our camp at Shelbyville. I obtained a pass from General Bragg and his permission for Mr. Edmund Cooper, of Shelbyville, to write such letters to Federal officers as he saw fit. Mr. Cooper was in a position to be of great service to us, for although a Union man and afterwards private secretary to President Johnson and Assistant Secretary of the United States Treasury, his brothers were in the Confederate Army. He accordingly gave us letters to General Rosecrans and Governor Andrew Johnson. General Wheeler wrote to Colonel Webb, in command of our outposts, requesting him to do all in his power for the welfare of the party.

In the morning the two ladies, accompanied by the Rev. Mr. Clark, my old class-mate Dr. Frank Stanford, then General Wheeler's Medical Director, and myself, left Shelbyville in a fine four-horse ambulance. On our way "to the front," nine miles out, we reached General Martin's headquarters, where our passports were examined and approved. Three miles further on, we reached Colonel Webb, who gave us a note to Lieutenant Spence of the outer picket, still three miles further in advance. Lieutenant Spence conducted us to a house where we were kindly received and made to feel quite at home. He sent one of his scouts forward to the residence of Colonel Lytle, two miles further on in the "neutral ground," to inform him of our arrival and to take letters to him from Mr. Cooper and myself asking his assistance in conveying the ladies through the enemy's lines.

About two o'clock Colonel and Mrs. Lytle arrived in their carriage. The latter kindly offered to accompany the ladies through the Federal lines to the house of a friend where they could remain until they could communicate with General Rosecrans. At this point we made our adieus and on returning to camp stopped for dinner at Colonel, (afterward General) Strahl's headquarters. The day was a pleasant one and the whole party was greatly pleased with the trip. The Rev. Mr. Clark remained with me over the following Sunday and held services for one of our regiments.

CHAPTER VIII
PERSONAL NARRATIVE—A DRAMATIC EPISODE

A short time before we left Shelbyville I was a participant in one of the most solemn, and at the same time one of the most dramatic, scenes of my whole life.

I was requested one day by General Polk to visit two men who were sentenced to be shot within a few days for desertion. One of them belonged to the Nineteenth Tennessee Regiment and the other to the Eighth Tennessee. The former was a man forty-seven years of age, the latter not more than twenty-three.

I cannot describe the feelings which oppressed me on my first visit in compliance with the General's request. I urged upon both men, with all the powers of my persuasion, an attention to the interests of their souls. The younger man was, I believe, really in earnest in endeavouring to prepare for death, but the other seemed to have no realizing sense of his condition. I found that the younger man had a Cumberland Presbyterian minister for a Chaplain for whom I sent and who would minister to him.

I called upon Governor Harris and begged him to see the judges of the Court and find if there was any possibility of having the men pardoned. I never begged so hard for anything in my life as for the lives of these men. I had a special sympathy for the older man, for he had deserted to visit his wife and children. However, the day came for their execution.

The Cumberland Presbyterian Chaplain baptized the man belonging to his regiment. I remained in town the night preceding the day appointed for the execution, and from eight o'clock to nine, the Cumberland Presbyterian Chaplain and myself engaged in prayer privately in behalf of the condemned men.

At seven in the morning I gave them the most comfortable Sacrament of Christ's Body and Blood. Both prisoners seemed deeply and profoundly penitent and to be very much in earnest in preparing for death. The room in which they were confined was a very mean and uncleanly one. Half the window was boarded up, and the light struggled through the dirt that begrimed the other half. But the Sacrament Itself and the thought that the prisoners would so soon be in Eternity, made it all very solemn. The prisoners made an effort to give themselves up to God, and seemed to feel that this was the occasion for bidding farewell to earth and earthly things. I pronounced the benediction, placing my hand upon the head of each, and commending them to the mercy of God.

At eight o'clock, the older man, to whom I was to minister in his last moments, was taken from his cell, ironed hand and feet. He was placed in an ambulance, surrounded by a guard, and we started for the brigade of Colonel Strahl, seven miles out of town. On reaching Strahl's headquarters, the prisoner was placed in a room and closely guarded until the hour fixed for his execution,—one o'clock,—should arrive. A squad of twenty-four men was marched into the yard, and stacking arms, was marched off in order that the guns might be loaded by an officer,—one half with blank cartridges.

Leaving headquarter preceded by a wagon bearing the prisoner's coffin and followed by the squad which was to do the execution, we arrived on the ground precisely at one o'clock. The brigade was drawn up on three sides of a square. Colonel Strahl and his staff; Captain Stanford; Major Jack, General Polk's Adjutant; and Captain Spence of General Polk's staff, rode forward with me. A grave had been dug. The coffin was placed beside the grave, the prisoner was seated on it and I took my place by his side. Captain Johnston, Colonel Strahl's Adjutant, advanced and read the sentence of the Court and the approval of the General. The prisoner was then informed that if he wished to make any remarks, he had now an opportunity. He requested me to cut off a lock of his hair and preserve it for his wife. He then stood up and said: "I am about to die. I hope I am going to a better world. I trust that one and all of my companions will take warning by my fate."

He seated himself on his coffin again and I began the Psalm: "Out of the deep have I called unto Thee, O Lord," and after that the "Comfortable words." We then knelt down together, and I said the Confession from the Communion Office. Then I turned to the office for the Visitation of Prisoners, and used the prayer beginning, "O Father of Mercies and God of all Comfort," and so on down to the benediction, "Unto God's gracious mercy and protection I commit you." I then shook hands with him and said: "Be a man! It will soon be over!"

The firing squad was in position, the guns were cocked, the order had been given to "take aim," when Major Jack rode forward and read "Special Order, No. 132," the purport of which was that since the sentence of the Court-martial and order for the execution of the prisoner, facts and circumstances with regard to the history and character of the man had come to the knowledge of the Lieutenant-General Commanding which in his judgment palliated the offence of desertion of which the man had been condemned and warranted a suspension of his execution. The sentence of death was therefore annulled, and the man was pardoned and ordered to report to his regiment for duty.

The poor fellow did not understand it at first, but when the truth burst upon him, he exclaimed: "Thank God! thank God!" and the tears streamed down his face. The whole scene was most impressive, and was calculated to have a good effect upon all who were present. The other prisoner was executed at high noon in another locality.

CHAPTER IX
PERSONAL NARRATIVE—CHICKAMAUGA

On the last day of June, 1863, Rosecrans began to advance on Bragg. That was the signal for our leaving Shelbyville. On the 3rd of July the Union army entered Tullahoma.

On the morning of the 2nd, as I left the headquarters of General Bragg, I met my friend Governor Isham G. Harris. He looked very bright and cheerful and said to me: "To-morrow morning you will be roused up by the thunder of our artillery." But instead of being thus aroused I found myself in full retreat toward Winchester. Thence I rode to Cowan, where I found General Bragg and his staff, and General Polk with his staff. I rode up to them and said to General Bragg: "My dear General, I am afraid you are thoroughly outdone."

"Yes," he said, "I am utterly broken down." And then leaning over his saddle he spoke of the loss of Middle Tennessee and whispered: "This is a great disaster."

I said to him: "General, don't be disheartened, our turn will come next."

I found Colonel Walters, his Adjutant-General, lying in the corner of a rail fence, with his hands under his head, looking the very picture of despair. I said to him; "My dear Colonel, what is the matter with you?" His reply was: "How can you ask such a question, when you know as well as I do what has happened?"

Our troops were at this time moving rapidly across the Sewanee Mountain, over country which subsequently became very familiar to me in times of peace. I said to him; "My dear Colonel, I am afraid you've not read the Psalms for the day." "No," he answered. "What do they say?"

I replied in the words of the first verse of the Eleventh Psalm: "In the Lord put I my trust; how say ye then to my soul, that she should flee as a bird unto the hill?"

I gave my horse to one of "the boys," and at the request of General Bragg, I accompanied him by rail to Chattanooga. On the 21st of August, a day appointed by the President of the Confederate States for fasting, humiliation and prayer, while I was preaching in a church, the Union army appeared opposite Chattanooga and began shelling the town. I think my sermon on that occasion was not long. Early in September, General McCook and General Thomas moved in such a way as to completely flank the Confederate position. General Bragg immediately began his retreat southward, and having been joined by General Longstreet and his forces, attacked General Thomas at Lee and Gordon's Mills, twelve miles south of Chattanooga, on the 19th of September. It was a bitter fight, but the day closed without any decisive results to either side.

After this the great battle of Chickamauga was fought. Undoubtedly General Thomas saved the Union army from utter ruin, but Longstreet, by his prompt action in seizing an opportunity, won the victory for the Confederate army.

The troops led by Brigadier-General Archibald Gracie fired the last gun and stormed the last strong position held by the enemy at the battle of Chickamauga, and so memorable was his conduct on that day, that the people in that vicinity have given the hill the name of Gracie Hill. It was a great privilege to know General Gracie as I did. He was a character that old Froissart would have delighted to paint. Chivalrous as a Bayard, he had all the tenderness of a woman. A warrior by nature as well as a soldier by education, (he graduated at West Point in 1852,) and profession, he had a horror of shedding blood and would almost shed tears in the hour of victory over the thin ranks of his brigade. A few months before his death he became a communicant of the Church.

One great personal loss I sustained in the battle of Chickamauga was that of my dear friend, Colonel W. B. Richmond, a member of General Polk's staff. He was a true friend, a thoroughly well rounded character and a most gallant soldier. He was the Treasurer of the Diocese of Tennessee, before the war.

Brigadier-General Helm of Kentucky was killed at Chickamauga, as was also Brigadier-General Preston Smith. Among the dead was my cousin, Captain Thomas E. King, of Roswell, Georgia, who had sufficiently recovered from his fearful wounds at the first battle of Manassas, to act as honorary aide-de-camp to General Smith. Here also General Hood lost a leg.

The day after the battle I was sent to the field with one hundred and fifty ambulances to gather up the wounded. It was a sad duty. I saw many distressing sights. I was directed to convey the Federal wounded to the Field Hospitals fitted up by the Federal surgeons that had been captured to the number of not less than fifty, I think. I labored all the day and at nightfall I came upon a wretched hut into which a half dozen wounded men had dragged themselves. I found there among them, a young fellow about seventeen years of age. He had a severe wound in his leg and a small bone had been torn away. I chatted with him pleasantly for a while and promised to take him to the hospital early the next morning.

Early the next day when I went to fulfill my promise, I saw a surgeon's amputating knife on the head of a barrel by the door of the hut, and found that my young friend had been weeping bitterly. When I asked him what was the matter, he replied: "The surgeon has been examining my wound and says that my leg must be amputated. I would not care for myself, but my poor mother—" and then he burst into an agony of tears.

"Nonsense!" I said to him. "They shall not take off your leg." And lifting him up bodily, I placed him in an ambulance and took him to the Hospital, where the next day I found him bright and cheerful. I learned subsequently that the "surgeon" who was about to amputate his leg unnecessarily, was a doctor who had come up from Georgia to get a little practice in that line. The boy subsequently became a railway conductor and used to say many years later, "You know I belong to Bishop Quintard. He saved my leg and perhaps my life at Chickamauga. The leg young Saw-bones was going to amputate is now as good as the other."

Another warm friend of mine, John Marsh, was horribly wounded at the battle of Chickamauga; so sorely wounded that he could not be removed from the field. A tent was erected over him and I nursed him until he was in a condition to be taken to the hospital. On the 1st of October, I obtained leave of absence from my duties as Chaplain of Polk's corps, volunteered my services as an Assistant Surgeon, was assigned to duty as such at Marietta, Georgia, and reported as promptly as possible to Surgeon D. D. Saunders, who was in charge of the hospitals at that post.

I took Marsh with me and there he slowly recovered his health. I prepared him for baptism and it was my great pleasure to baptize him and present him to Bishop Elliott for confirmation. When he was to be baptized, knowing that it would be painful for him to kneel because of his recent and scarcely healed wounds, I told him that he might sit in his chair. "No," he said. "Let me kneel; let me kneel." And so he knelt, as I placed upon his brow the sign of the cross.

Our victory was complete at Chickamauga and Rosecrans' army threw down their arms and retreated pell-mell in the direction of Chattanooga. The Confederates followed on the 21st of September and took possession of Missionary Ridge and Lookout Mountain. For two months the two armies confronted each other at Chattanooga.

Matters remained quiet in both armies until November, when the Confederate lines extended around Chattanooga from the mouth of Chattanooga Creek above, to Moccasin Point below the town. To my great regret, General Polk was relieved of his command on the 29th of September, in consequence of a misunderstanding with General Bragg, the Commanding General. His application for a Court of Inquiry was dismissed and a month later he was assigned to a new field of duty, alike important and difficult—the best evidence that President Davis could offer of his appreciation of the Bishop-General's past services and of his expectations of his future career.

It was while we were in Chattanooga, before the battle of Chickamauga, that the "Order of the Southern Cross" was organized. There came to General Polk's headquarters, (on whose staff I was serving,) several officers, who stated that they had been considering the propriety if not the necessity of instituting an organization within the army, both social and charitable in its character, whose aim would be as a military brotherhood, to foster patriotic sentiment, to strengthen the ties of army fellowship and at the same time to provide a fund, not only for the mutual benefit of its members, but for the relief of disabled soldiers and the widows and orphans of such as might perish in the Confederate service.

They requested Bishop Polk to attend a meeting that evening to consider the subject further, and he finding it inconvenient to attend, asked me to go as his representative. So I went. Some six or eight of us met at Tyne's Station, about nine miles northwest of Chattanooga. After sufficient discussion and explanation to bring us to a common understanding of the purposes of the proposed order, General Pat Cleburne, General John C. Brown, General Liddell and myself were appointed a committee to draft a constitution and plan of organization. We met every day, I think, for a week or ten days, and the outcome of our labors was a little pamphlet, in appearance similar to the catechisms of our Sunday School days. It was in fact three by five inches in size, contained twenty-five pages and was from the press of Burke, Boykin & Co., Macon, Georgia. It was entitled "Constitution of the Comrades of the Southern Cross, adopted August 28, 1863."

Several "companies" were at once organized and but for the unfavorable course of events, I do not doubt that the order would have rapidly extended throughout the armies of the Confederacy. But active military operations were very soon afterward begun, and the army was kept constantly on the move until the "bottom dropped out," and the "Order of the Southern Cross"—like the Southern Confederacy—went to pieces. The Confederate Veterans' Organization subsequently embodied some of the features which it was intended that the Comrades of the Southern Cross should possess.

CHAPTER X
PERSONAL NARRATIVE—ATLANTA

General Bragg was defeated by General Grant at Chattanooga in November 1863, and early in the following month he was, at his own request, relieved of the command of the Confederate army. He was called to Richmond to act for a while as military adviser to President Davis. His life subsequent to the war was quiet. He was a God-fearing man in peace and in war. He died in 1876.

He was succeeded in the command by General Joseph E. Johnston, whose army was encamped in and around Atlanta. Soon afterward I secured the use of a Methodist Church building on the corner of Garnet and Forsyth Streets, assembled a congregation, held services and instituted a work which resulted in the establishment of St. Luke's Parish.

A suitable lot was soon obtained and with the help of men detailed from the army, a building was speedily erected. It was a most attractive building, handsomely furnished, and although somewhat "Confederate" in style, would have compared favorably with most churches built in the days of peace and prosperity.

Within its portals devout worshippers,—many distinguished Confederate officers among them,—were delighted to turn aside from the bloody strife of war and bow themselves before the Throne of Grace.

On the 8th of May, 1864, while I was in Atlanta in charge of St. Luke's Church and in attendance upon the hospitals, the following telegram came to me from Major Henry Hampton: "Can't you come up tomorrow? General Hood wishes to be baptized." It was impossible for me to go, but it was a great pleasure for me to learn afterwards that General Polk arrived with his staff that day and that night he baptized his brother General. It was the eve of an expected battle. It was a touching sight, we may be sure,—the one-legged veteran, leaning upon his crutches to receive the waters of baptism and the sign of the cross. A few nights later, General Polk baptized General Johnston and Lieutenant-General Hardee, General Hood being witness. These were two of the four ecclesiastical acts performed by Bishop Polk after receiving his commission in the army.

I was then Chaplain-at-Large under the appointment of the General Commanding. Being anxious for the Bishop of Georgia to consecrate the new church, I arranged for him to visit that portion of the army then at Dalton. At Dalton I baptized Brigadier-General Strahl in his camp in the presence of his assembled brigade, and at night we held services in the Methodist Church at Dalton.

The church was so densely packed that it was impossible for Bishop Elliott and myself to enter by the front door. Fortunately there was a small door in the rear of the Church, opening into what I should call the Chancel. We were obliged to vest ourselves in the open air. I crawled through the little doorway first, and then taking the Bishop by his right hand, did all I could to help him through.

I read Evening Prayer and the Bishop preached; after which I presented a class for confirmation in which were General Hardee, General Strahl, two other Generals, a number of officers of the line and many privates.

The next day I accompanied the Bishop to Marietta where he held an ordination service at which I preached the sermon. And the day following he consecrated to the service of Almighty God, St. Luke's Church, Atlanta. In the afternoon of that day I presented a class of five persons to the Bishop for confirmation,—the first-fruits of my labors in St. Luke's parish.

It was about this time that I prepared some little books adapted to the use of the soldiers as a convenient substitute for the Book of Common Prayer. I also prepared a booklet, entitled, "Balm for the Weary and Wounded." It was through the great kindness and generosity of Mr. Jacob K. Sass, the treasurer of the General Council of the Church in the Confederate States, that I was enabled to publish these two little volumes. The first four copies of the latter booklet that came from the press were forwarded to General Polk and he wrote upon three of them the names of General J. E. Johnston, Lieutenant-General Hardee and Lieutenant-General Hood, respectively, and "With the compliments of Lieutenant-General Leonidas Polk, June 12, 1864." They were taken from the breastpocket of his coat, stained with his blood, after his death, and forwarded to the officers for whom he had intended them.

On the 14th of June, I telegraphed to General Polk from Atlanta that I would visit him at his headquarters and give him the Blessed Sacrament. Two telegrams came to me that day. One was from Major Mason and read as follows: "Lieutenant-General Polk's remains leave here on the 12 o'clock train and will go directly through to Augusta." The other was as follows: "To the Rev. Dr. Quintard, Atlanta, Georgia. Lieutenant-General Polk was killed to-day by a cannon ball. His body goes down to Atlanta to-day. Be at the depot to meet it and watch the trains. Douglass West, A. A. G." I was never more shocked and overwhelmed.

On reaching Atlanta the body of the dead Bishop and General was escorted to St. Luke's Church, and placed in front of the altar. He was dressed in his gray uniform. On his breast rested a cross of white roses and beside his casket lay his sword.

Throughout the following morning, thousands of soldiers and citizens came to pay their last tribute of affection. At noon, assisted by the Rev. John W. Beckwith, of Demopolis, (afterwards Bishop of Georgia), I held funeral services and made an address. The body was then escorted to the railway station by the dead General's personal staff, together with General G. W. Smith, General Wright, General Ruggles, General Reynolds, Colonel Ewell and many officers of the army, soldiers and citizens, and a committee representing the city of Atlanta.

At Augusta the body remained two days at St. Paul's Church and lay in state at the City Hall until St. Peter's day, June 29th, when the final rites were held in St. Paul's Church. The Bishops of Georgia, Mississippi and Arkansas officiated. The sermon was by the Bishop of Georgia. The burial was in the chancel of the church.

Bishop Polk's was the first funeral to take place in St. Luke's Church, Atlanta. There was but one other, that of a child named after and baptized by Bishop Elliott, for whom Bishop Polk had stood as sponsor but a short time before.

In August, 1864, I was in Macon, Georgia, not knowing precisely what to do or where to go. The times were very distressing. I took charge of the church and parish in Macon for the rector who had been sick but was slowly recovering. This was in accordance with a letter from the Bishop of Georgia, who had written me about the middle of the previous month, that I had been sadly tossed about and needed rest and that I might go to Macon for that purpose. But a few days later I was with Bishop Lay of Arkansas, in Atlanta, and with the army again, though compelled to go on Sundays to Macon to officiate for the sick rector at that place.

I remained at General Hood's headquarters in Atlanta, expecting to move with the General into Tennessee. The city was being shelled by the Federals, and some of the shells fell very thickly about the General's headquarters. I thought the locality seemed very unhealthy, but as the General and his staff did not seem in the least disturbed, Bishop Lay and I concluded that everything was going on all right according to the art of war and we stood it with the best of them. On one particular day when more shells were thrown than in all the other days put together, there were, strange to say, no casualties.

On the 10th of August, at headquarters, I presented a class to Bishop Lay for confirmation. It included General Hood and some officers of his staff. In speaking to me the night before his confirmation, the General said: "Doctor, I have two objects in life that engage my supreme regard. One is to do all I can for my country. The other is to be ready and prepared for death whenever God shall call me."

Learning that St. Luke's Church had been injured in the bombardment of the city, Bishop Lay and I made a visit to it. We looked in wonder at the sight that met our eyes upon our entering the sacred edifice. One of the largest shells had torn through the side of the building and struck the prayer desk on which the large Bible happened to be lying. The prayer desk was broken and the Bible fell under it and upon the shell so as apparently to smother it and prevent its exploding. I lifted up the Bible and removed the shell and gathered up all the prayer books I could find for the soldiers in the camps.

Before leaving the church I sat in one of the seats for a few moments and thought of the dear friends who had assisted in the building of the church, and who had offered up the sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving in that place; of the Bishop who had but a short time before consecrated it; of the Bishop-General over whom I had said the burial service there; of the now scattered flock and the utter desolation of God's house. As I rose to go, I picked up a handkerchief that had been dropped there at the child's funeral, which was the last service held there. I wrote a little story subsequently about "Nellie Peters' Pocket Handkerchief, and What It Saw," and it was published in the columns of the "Church Intelligencer."

This was the last time I visited St. Luke's Church of which I have such tender memories. It was destroyed in the "burning of Atlanta."

On the 6th of September, 1864, a general pass was issued to me by order of General Hood and signed by General F. A. Shoup, his Chief of Staff. This pass is an interesting relic of my early associations with one who subsequent to the war came under my jurisdiction as a priest of the Church when I was Bishop of Tennessee. He married a daughter of Bishop Elliott, took orders in the Church, so distinguished himself in the ministry as to receive the degree of Doctor of Divinity, and was for a long time my neighbor at Sewanee, where he was a Professor in The University of the South.

CHAPTER XI
PERSONAL NARRATIVE—COLUMBUS (GEORGIA) AND THE JOURNEY INTO TENNESSEE

When the fall of Atlanta seemed imminent, General Johnston advised me to remove my family from the city and I decided to go to Columbus, Georgia. The rector of Trinity Church in that town was ill, and the Bishop of Georgia appointed me a Missionary to the Army, at a stipend of $3,000 per year, to be paid as long as the churches in Georgia remained open, and to be continued to me while I was in Columbus and while the Rev. Mr. Hawks, rector of Trinity Church, was ill. My appointment was subsequently made that of Permanent Missionary to the Army.

So in October, 1864, I rented a very comfortable house two miles from town, for which I paid rent in advance for nine months—twenty-five hundred dollars, Confederate money. But everything seemed to be on the same generous scale, for when on the Sunday after my arrival, I preached in Trinity Church, the offerings for the poor amounted to one thousand dollars. We met with great cordiality from all the people of the town, especially from Mr. J. Rhodes Brown, who placed me under great obligations by his kindness.

We met in Columbus the musical prodigy, "Blind Tom," who belonged to one of our neighbors, General Bethune. I had heard him in a public performance two years previously in Richmond. I was calling on the Bethunes one day, and on hearing my voice, Tom came into the parlor and in the most uncouth way paid his respects to the ladies and myself. He was not as much as usual in the humor for playing, having already spent four hours at the piano that day for the amusement of some cavalrymen who had visited him. Nevertheless he cheerfully sat down to the piano and gave us some delightful music, and sang us some French songs, in which his powers of mimicry were wonderfully displayed. His playing was most marvellous. It seemed as though inspired. He was then a lad of fifteen. His musical talents were exhibited in his earliest childhood.