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When all was finished, and Thomie was arrayed in his new suit, which set admirably well notwithstanding the room allowed for increasing dimensions, which we doubted not under good treatment he would attain – King Solomon, in purple and fine linen, was not looked upon with more admiration than was he by his loving mother and sisters. His cough had in a measure yielded to remedies, and his cheeks bore the tinge of better blood.

Good Mr. Levi Willard, his wife and children, had already been to see Thomie and the strangers within our gates, and many others had sent kind messages and substantial tokens of regard. And the young people of Decatur, young ladies and little boys, were planning to give him a surprise party. And among these loving attentions was a visit from King, the faithful.

The flowers bloomed prettier, the birds sang sweeter, because of their presence; but time waits for no man, and we were admonished by low conversations and suggestive looks that these men, officers in the army of the Confederacy, were planning their departure.

Many amusing incidents, as well as those of a horrible character, were told of their prison life in Camp Chase. To illustrate the patriotism of Southern men, Colonel Deshler, as a prisoner of war, figured conspicuously; and many anecdotes, ludicrous and pathetic, quaint and original, revealed the deep devotion of his love for the South. In one of these word-paintings, he was represented as sitting on his legs, darning the seat of his pantaloons, when a feminine curiosity seeker came along. When she perceived his occupation, she said with a leer that would have done credit to Lucifer:

“You rebels find it pretty hard work to keep your gray duds in order, don’t you?”

Without looking at her, he whistled in musical cadence the contempt he felt for her and her ilk; and the imprecations, he would not have expressed in words, were so distinct and well modulated as to leave no doubt as to their meaning.

The time had come for the nature of the low-toned conversations referred to, to be revealed, and Thomie was chosen to make the revelation. Planning to have mother and sisters present, he discussed the duties of patriotism, and the odium men brought upon themselves by not discharging those duties. Making the matter personal, he referred to himself and friends, to the great pleasure and personal benefit derived from a week’s sojourn at home; of the love for us that would ever linger in their hearts; of the pleasant memories that would nerve them in future conflicts; and in conclusion told us that to-morrow they would leave us to join their command at Tullahoma, where the decimated regiment was to stay until its numbers were sufficiently recruited for service.

Instead of yielding to grief, we repressed every evidence of it, and spoke only words of encouragement to these noble men who had never shirked a duty, or sought bomb-proof positions in the army of the Confederacy. After this interview, Thomie abandoned himself to cheerfulness, to almost boyish gaiety. He kept very close to his mother. She had grown old so rapidly since the troubles began, that she needed all the support that could be given her in this ordeal. This he perceived without seeming to do so, and left nothing within his power undone for her encouragement. He even discussed with perfect equanimity the probability, yea, the more than probability, of his getting killed in battle; for, said he, “he that taketh up the sword, by the sword shall he perish.” And, he added, “strong, irrepressible convictions constrained me to enter the army in defense of mother, home, and country. My vote was cast for the secession of my state from the union of states which existed only in name, and I would not have accepted any position tendered me which would have secured me from the dangers involved by that step. I was willing to give my life if need be, for the cause which should be dear to every Southern heart.”

Every one present responded to these noble sentiments, for were we not soldiers, too, working for the same noble cause, and aiding and abetting those who fought its battles?

Before retiring to our rooms, Captain Lauderdale, as usual, led in prayer, fervent, deep and soul supporting, more for our mother and ourselves than for himself and his comrades in their perilous positions. And dear Thomie, whom I had never heard pray since his cradle invocation, finished in words thrilling and beautiful. The effect was electrical. Tears and sobs were no longer repressed, and all found relief from long pent-up feelings. O, the blessedness of tears!

 
“Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,”
 

Morning came, clear as crystal, and cool and exhilarating. The household were up at early dawn. A strong decoction of coffee was prepared, and fresh cream toast and boiled eggs, meat relishes being served cold. Knapsacks – there were knapsacks now – were packed, and blankets rolled and buckled in straps, and our ebony Confederates, Toby and Telitha, stood ready to convey them to the depot. In order to meet the morning train at seven o’clock we started, but the services of Toby and Telitha were not accepted. The gentlemen said it would never do for soldiers to start off to report for service with negroes carrying their knapsacks and blankets. They had no muskets to shoulder, for of these they had been divested at Arkansas Post, months ago, when captured by the enemy.

Lieutenant McMurray, who was in feeble health, announced himself unable to report for duty, and remained with us several weeks longer.

The parting at the depot did not betray the grief, almost without earthly hope, that was rankling in our hearts, and the “good-bye’s” and “God bless you’s” were uttered with a composure we little thought at our command.

As the time of his departure had drawn near, Thomie had sought opportunities to tell me much of the young girl in Texas, who had healed the lacerations of his youthful heart, and won the admiration of his manhood, and whom he had made his wife. Upon her devotion he dwelt with peculiar pathos and gratitude; and he concluded these conversations with the request that under any and all circumstances I would be a sister to her. On one occasion we were standing near the piano, and, when we ceased to talk, Thomie opened it, and in tones that came from the heart, and that were tremulous with emotion, he sang, “When this Cruel War is Over.”

 
Why sings the swan its sweetest notes,
When life is near its close?
 

Since writing the foregoing, I have had access to a journal kept during the war by my half sister, Missouri Stokes, in which are the following entries of historic value: “On the 11th of January, 1868, Arkansas Post, the fort where Thomie was stationed, fell into the hands of Yankees. General Churchhill’s whole command, numbering about four thousand, were captured, a few being killed and wounded. We knew that Thomie, if alive, must be a prisoner, but could hear no tidings from him. Our suspense continued until the latter part of March, when ma received a letter from our loved one, written at Camp Chase (military prison), Ohio, February 10th. This letter she forwarded to me, and I received it March 21st, with heart-felt emotions of gratitude to Him who had preserved his life. A few weeks afterwards another letter came, saying he expected to be exchanged in a few days, and then for several weeks we heard no more.”

From this journal I learn that the date of Thomie’s arrival was May 16th, 1863. My sister wrote of him: “He seemed much changed, although only four years and a half had elapsed since we parted. He looked older, thinner, and more careworn, and gray hairs are sprinkled among his dark brown curls. His health had been poor in the army, and then, when he left Camp Chase, he, as well as the other prisoners, was stripped by the Yankees of nearly all his warm clothing. He left the prison in April, and was exchanged at City Point. How strange the dealings of Providence. Truly was he led by a way he knew not. He went out to Texas by way of the West, and returned home from the East. God be thanked for preserving his life, when so many of his comrades have died. He is a miracle of mercy. After their capture, they were put on boats from which Yankee small-pox patients had been taken. Some died of small-pox, but Thomie has had varioloid and so escaped. He was crowded on a boat with twenty-two hundred, and scarcely had standing room. Many died on the passage up the river, one poor fellow with his head in Thomie’s lap. May he never go through similar scenes again!”

From this same journal I take the following, written after Missouri’s return to the school she was teaching in Bartow county:

“Sabbath morning, June 14th. Went to Cartersville to church. Some time elapsed before preaching commenced. A soldier came in, sat down rather behind me, then, rising, approached me. It was Thomie. I soon found (for we did talk in church) that he had an order to join Kirby Smith, with a recommendation from Bragg that he be allowed to recruit for his regiment. Fortunately there was a vacant seat in the carriage, so he went out home with us. Monday 15th, Thomie left. I rode with him a little beyond the school-house, then took my books and basket, and with one kiss, and, on my part, a tearful good-bye, we parted. As I walked slowly back, I felt so lonely. He had been with me just long enough for me to realize a brother’s kind protection, and now he’s torn away, and I’m again alone. I turned and looked. He was driving slowly along – he turned a corner and was hidden from my view. Shall I see him no more? Or shall we meet again? God only knows. After a fit of weeping, and one earnest prayer for him, I turned my steps to my little school.”

And thus our brother went back to Texas, and gladly, too, for was not his Mary there?

Of Thomie’s recall to join his command at Dalton; of his arrival at home the next February, on his way to “the front;” of his participation in the hard-fought battles that contested the way to Atlanta; and of his untimely death at the fatal battle of Franklin, Tennessee, I may speak hereafter.

Even in the spring and summer of 1863, the shadows began to deepen, and to hearts less sanguine than mine, affairs were assuming a gloomy aspect. I notice in this same journal from which I have quoted the foregoing extracts, the following:

“Our fallen braves, how numerous! Among our generals, Zollicoffer, Ben McCulloch, Albert Sidney Johnston, and the saintly, dauntless Stonewall Jackson, are numbered with the dead; while scarcely a household in our land does not mourn the loss of a brave husband and father, son or brother.”

CHAPTER VIII.
SOME SOCIAL FEATURES

Morgan’s Men Rendezvous near Decatur – Waddell’s Artillery – Visits from the Texans – Surgeon Haynie and his Song

In the winter of 1864 there seems to have been a lull of hostilities between the armies at “the front.” Morgan’s men were rendezvousing near Decatur. Their brave and dashing chief had been captured, but had made his escape from the Ohio penitentiary, and was daily expected. Some artillery companies were camping near, among them Waddell’s. There was also a conscript camp within a mile or two; so it is not to be wondered at that the young ladies of Decatur availed themselves in a quiet way of the social enjoyment the times afforded, and that there were little gatherings at private houses at which “Morgan’s men” and the other soldiers were frequently represented.

Our brother was absent in Texas, where he had been assigned to duty, but my sister was at home, and many an hour’s entertainment her music gave that winter to the soldiers and to the young people of Decatur. My mother’s hospitality was proverbial, and much of our time these wintry months was spent in entertaining our soldier guests, and in ministering to the sick in the Atlanta hospitals, and in the camps and temporary hospitals about Decatur.

So near were we now to “the front” (about a hundred miles distant), that several of my brother’s Texas comrades obtained furloughs and came to see us. Among these were Lieutenants Prendergast and Jewell, Captain Leonard and Lieutenant Collins, Captain Bennett and Lieutenant Donathan. They usually had substantial boots made while here, by Smith, the Decatur boot and shoe maker, which cost less than those they could have bought in Atlanta. We received some very pleasant calls from Morgan’s men and Waddell’s Artillery. Among the latter we have always remembered a young man from Alabama, James Duncan Calhoun, of remarkable intellectual ability, refreshing candor and refinement of manner. Ever since the war Mr. Calhoun has devoted himself to journalism. Among the former we recall Lieutenant Adams, Messrs. Gill, Dupries, Clinkinbeard, Steele, Miller, Fortune, Rowland, Baker, and Dr. Lewis. These gentlemen were courteous and intelligent, and evidently came of excellent Kentucky and Tennessee families. One evening several of these gentlemen had taken tea with us, and after supper the number of our guests was augmented by the coming of Dr. Ruth, of Kentucky, and Dr. H. B. Haynie, surgeon of the 14th Tennessee Cavalry. Dr. Haynie was an elderly, gray-haired man, of fine presence, and with the courtly manners of the old school. On being unanimously requested, he sang us a song entitled: “The Wailings at Fort Delaware,” which he had composed when an inmate of that wretched prison. As one of the gentlemen remarked, “there is more truth than poetry in it;” yet there are in it some indications of poetic genius, and Dr. Haynie sang it with fine effect.

“THE WAILINGS AT FORT DELAWARE.”

By B. H. Haynie,

Surgeon 14th Tennessee Cavalry (Morgan’s Division)

 
Oh! here we are confined at Fort Delaware,
With nothing to drink but a little lager beer,
Infested by vermin as much as we can bear;
Oh Jeff, can’t you help us to get away from here?
 

Chorus —

 
And it’s home, dearest home, the place I ought to be,
Home, sweet home, way down in Tennessee,
Where the ash and the oak and the bonny willow tree,
Are all growing green way down in Tennessee.
 
 
The Island itself will do well enough,
But the flat-footed Dutch are filthy and rough,
Oh! take us away from the vandal clan,
Down into Dixie among the gentlemen.
 

Chorus – And its home, dearest home, etc.

 
Spoiled beef and bad soup is our daily fare,
And to complain is more than any dare;
They will buck us and gag us, and cast us in a cell,
There to bear the anguish and torments of hell.
 

Chorus —

 
The den for our eating is anything but clean,
And the filth upon the tables is plainly to be seen,
And the smell of putrefaction rises on the air,
“To fill out the bill” of our daily fare.
 

Chorus —

 
³“The sick are well treated,” as Southern surgeons say,
“And the losses by death are scarcely four per day;”
It’s diarrhœa mixture for scurvy and small-pox,
And every other disease of Pandora’s box!
 

Chorus —

 
Oh! look at the graveyard on the Jersey shore,
At the hundreds and the thousands who’ll return no more;
Oh! could they come back to testify
Against the lying devils, and live to see them die!
 

Chorus —

 
[3]“Our kindness to prisoners you cannot deny,
For we have the proof at hand upon which you can rely;
It’s no Dutch falsehood, nor a Yankee trick,
But from Southern surgeons who daily see the sick.”
 

Chorus —

 
Our chaplain, whose heart was filled with heavenly joys,
Asked leave to pray and preach to Southern boys;
“Oh, no!” says the General, “you are not the man,
You are a Southern rebel, the vilest of your clan!”
 

Chorus —

 
Oh! speak out, young soldier, and let your country hear,
All about your treatment at Fort Delaware;
How they worked you in their wagons when weary and sad,
With only half rations, when plenty they had.
 

Chorus —

 
The barracks were crowded to an overflow,
Without a single comfort on the soldier to bestow;
Oh, there they stood shivering in hopeless despair,
With insufficient diet or clothing to wear!
 

Chorus —

 
The mother stood weeping in sorrows of woe,
Mingling her tears with the waters that flow;
Her son was expiring at Fort Delaware,
Which could have been avoided with prudence and care.
 

Chorus —

 
Oh! take off my fetters and let me go free,
To roam o’er the mountains of old Tennessee;
To bathe in her waters and breathe her balmy air,
And look upon her daughters so lovely and fair.
 

Chorus —

 
Then, cheer up, my brave boys, your country will be free,
Your battles will be fought by Generals Bragg and Lee;
And the Yankees will fly with trembling and fear,
And we’ll return to our wives and sweethearts so dear.
 

Chorus —

 
And it’s home, dearest home, the place where I ought to be,
Home, sweet home way down in Tennessee,
Where the ash and the oak, and the bonny willow tree,
Are all growing green way down in Tennessee.
 

CHAPTER IX.
THOMIE’S SECOND HOME COMING

He Leaves for “The Front” – His Christian Labors in Camp – He Describes the Battle of New Hope Church – The Great Revival in Johnston’s Army

Early one morning in the February of the winter just referred to (that of 1864), as my sister lay awake, she heard some one step upon the portico and knock. As Toby opened the door, she heard him exclaim: “Why howd’y, Marse Thomie!” Her first thought was, “now he is back just in time to be in the battle!” for a resumption of hostilities was daily looked for near Dalton. We were all greatly surprised at Thomie’s arrival on this side of the Mississippi, as only a few days before we had received a letter from him, written, it is true, so long as the November before, saying he had been assigned to duty out in Texas by General Henry McCulloch. But the consolidation of the regiments in Granbury’s brigade having been broken up, he had been ordered back to join his old command. He had left Marshall, Texas, the 28th of January, having made the trip in one month, and having walked four hundred miles of the way. Under the circumstances, we were both glad and sorrowful at his return. After a stay of three days, he left us for “the front.” In the early morning of February 29th, we went with him to the depot, the last time we four were ever together. Parting from him was a bitter trial to our mother, who wept silently as we walked back to the desolate home, no longer gladdened by the sunny presence of the only son and brother. Perhaps nothing will give a more graphic impression of some phases of army life at this time, nor a clearer insight into our brother’s character, than a few extracts from his letters written at this period to his sister Missouri, and preserved by her to this day:

“Dalton, Ga., March 15th, 1864. – * * * Our regiment takes its old organization as the 10th Texas, and Colonel Young has been dispatched to Texas to gather all the balance, under an order from the war department. We are now in Dalton doing provost duty (our regiment), which is a very unpleasant duty. It is my business to examine all papers whenever the cars arrive, and it is very disagreeable to have to arrest persons who haven’t proper papers. The regulations about the town are very strict. No one under a brigadier-general can pass without approval papers. My guard arrested General Johnston himself, day before yesterday. Not knowing him they wouldn’t take his word for it, but demanded his papers. The old General, very good-humoredly showed them some orders he had issued himself, and, being satisfied, they let him pass. He took it good-humoredly, while little colonels and majors become very indignant and wrathy under such circumstances. From which we learn, first, the want of good common sense, and, secondly, that a great man is an humble man, and does not look with contempt upon his inferiors in rank, whatsoever that rank may be.

“There is a very interesting meeting in progress here. I get to go every other night. I have seen several baptized since I have been here. There are in attendance every evening from six to seven hundred soldiers. There are many who go to the anxious seat. Three made a profession of religion night before last. I am going to-night. There seems to be a deep interest taken, and God grant the good work may go on until the whole army may be made to feel where they stand before their Maker. Write soon.

Your affectionate brother,

Tom Stokes.”

From another letter we take the following:

“Near Dalton, April 5th, 1864. – We have had for some weeks back very unsettled weather, which has rendered it very disagreeable, though we haven’t suffered; we have an old tent which affords a good deal of protection from the weather. It has also interfered some with our meetings, though there is preaching nearly every night that there is not rain. Brother Hughes came up and preached for us last Friday night and seemed to give general satisfaction. He was plain and practical, which is the only kind of preaching that does good in the army. He promised to come back again. I like him very much. Another old brother, named Campbell, whom I heard when I was a boy, preached for us on Sabbath evening. There was much feeling, and at the close of the services he invited mourners to the anxious seat, and I shall never forget that blessed half-hour that followed; from every part of that great congregation they came, many with streaming eyes; and, as they gave that old patriarch their hands, asked that God’s people would pray for them. Yes, men who never shrank in battle from any responsibility, came forward weeping. Such is the power of the Gospel of Christ when preached in its purity. Oh, that all ministers of Christ could, or would, realize the great responsibility resting upon them as His ambassadors.

“Sabbath night we had services again, and also last night, both well attended, and to-night, weather permitting, I will preach. God help me and give me grace from on high, that I may be enabled, as an humble instrument in His hands, to speak the truth as it is in Jesus, for ‘none but Jesus can do helpless sinners good.’ I preached last Sabbath was two weeks ago to a large and attentive congregation. There seemed to be much seriousness, and although much embarrassed, yet I tried, under God, to feel that I was but in the discharge of my duty; and may I ever be found battling for my Savior. Yes, my sister, I had rather be an humble follower of Christ than to wear the crown of a monarch. Remember me at all times at a Throne of Grace, that my life may be spared to become a useful minister of Christ.

“Since my return we have established a prayer-meeting in our company, or, rather, a kind of family service, every night after roll call. There is one other company which has prayer every night. Captain F. is very zealous. There are four in our company who pray in public – one sergeant, a private, Captain F. and myself. We take it time about. We have cleared up a space, fixed a stand and seats, and have a regular preaching place. I have never seen such a spirit as there is now in the army. Religion is the theme. Everywhere, you hear around the camp-fires at night the sweet songs of Zion. This spirit pervades the whole army. God is doing a glorious work, and I believe it is but the beautiful prelude to peace. I feel confident that if the enemy should attempt to advance, that God will fight our battles for us, and the boastful foe be scattered and severely rebuked.

“I witnessed a scene the other evening, which did my heart good – the baptism of three men in the creek near the encampment. To see those hardy soldiers taking up their cross and following their Master in His ordinance, being buried with Him in baptism, was indeed a beautiful sight. I really believe, Missouri, that there is more religion now in the army than among the thousands of skulkers, exempts and speculators at home. There are but few now but who will talk freely with you upon the subject of their soul’s salvation. What a change, what a change! when one year ago card playing and profane language seemed to be the order of the day. Now, what is the cause of this change? Manifestly the working of God’s spirit. He has chastened His people, and this manifestation of His love seems to be an earnest of the good things in store for us in not a far away future. ‘Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom He receiveth.’ Let all the people at home now, in unison with the army, humbly bow, acknowledge the afflicting hand of the Almighty, ask Him to remove the curse upon His own terms, and soon we will hear, so far as our Nation is concerned, ‘Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace, good will toward men!’

“I received the articles ma sent by Brother Hughes, which were much relished on the top of the coarse fare of the army. * * * Write me often. God bless you in your labors to do good.

Your affectionate brother,

T. J. Stokes.”

From another of those time-stained, but precious letters, we cull the following, under the heading of:

“In Camp, Near Dalton, Ga., April 18, 1864. – * * * The good work still goes on here. Thirty-one men were baptized at the creek below our brigade yesterday, and I have heard from several other brigades in which the proportion is equally large (though the thirty-one were not all members of this brigade). Taking the proportion in the whole army as heard from (and I have only heard from a part of one corps), there must have been baptized yesterday 150 persons – maybe 200. This revival spirit is not confined to a part only, but pervades the whole army. * * * * Brother Hughes was with us the other night, but left again the next morning. The old man seemed to have much more influence in the army than young men. I have preached twice since writing to you, and the Spirit seemed to be with me. The second sermon was upon the crucifixion of Christ: text in the 53d chapter of Isaiah: ‘He was wounded for our transgressions and bruised for our iniquities.’ It was the first time in my life, that is, in public speaking, that my feelings got so much the mastery of me as to make me weep like a child. In the conclusion I asked all who felt an interest in the prayers of God’s people to come to the anxious seat. Many presented themselves, and I could hear many among them, with sobs and groans, imploring God to have mercy upon them; and I think the Lord did have mercy upon them, for when we opened the door of the church six united with us. Every Sabbath you may see the multitude wending their way to the creek to see the solemn ordinance typical of the death, burial and resurrection of our Savior. Strange to say that a large number of those joining the pedo-Baptist branches prefer being immersed; though in the preaching you cannot tell to which denomination a man belongs. This is as it should be; Christ and Him crucified should be the theme. It is time enough, I think, after one is converted, to choose his church rule of faith.

“If this state of things should continue for any considerable length of time, we will have in the Army of Tennessee an army of believers. Does the history of the world record anywhere the like? Even Cromwell’s time sinks into insignificance. A revival so vast in its proportions, and under all the difficulties attending camp life, the bad weather this spring, and innumerable difficulties, is certainly an earnest of better, brighter times not far in the future.”

To the believer in Jesus, we feel sure that these extracts concerning this remarkable work of grace, will prove of deep interest; so we make no apologies for quoting in continuation the following from another of those letters of our soldier brother, to whom the conquests of the cross were the sweetest of all themes:

“Near Dalton, April 28th, 1864. – My Dear Sister: I should have written sooner but have been very much engaged, and when not engaged have felt more like resting than writing, and, to add to this, Sister Mary very agreeably surprised me by coming up on last Saturday. She left on Tuesday morning for home. While she was at Dalton, I went down on each day and remained until evening. I fear ma and sister are too much concerned about me, and therefore render themselves unhappy. Would that they could trust God calmly for the issue. And I fear, too, that they deny themselves of many comforts, that they may furnish me with what I could do (as many have to do) without.

“The great unexampled revival is fast increasing in interest. I have just returned from the creek, where I saw thirty-three buried with Christ in baptism, acknowledging there before two thousand persons that they were not ashamed to follow Jesus in His ordinance. My soul was made happy in witnessing the solemn scene. In that vast audience everything was as quiet and respectful as in a village chapel; and, by the way, I have seen village congregations who might come here and learn to behave. General Lowry baptized about thirteen of them who were from his brigade. He is a Christian, a soldier and a zealous preacher, and his influence is great. It was truly a beautiful sight to see a general baptizing his men. He preaches for our brigade next Sabbath. I preached for General Polk’s brigade night before last, and we had a very interesting meeting. They have just begun there, yet I had a congregation of some 400. At the conclusion of the services, I invited those who desired an interest in our prayers to manifest their desire by coming to the altar. A goodly number presented themselves, and we prayed with them. I shall preach for them again very soon. The revival in our brigade has continued now for four weeks, nearly, and many have found peace with their Savior. If we could remain stationary a few weeks longer, I believe the greater portion of the army would be converted. This is all the doings of the Lord, and is surely the earnest of the great deliverance in store for us. It is the belief of many, that this is the ‘beginning of the end.’ From all parts of the army the glad tidings comes that a great revival is in progress. I wish I had time to write to you at length. One instance of the power of His spirit: A lieutenant of our regiment, and heretofore very wild, became interested, and for nearly three weeks seemed groaning in agony. The other day he came around to see me, and, with a face beaming with love, told me he had found Christ, and that his only regret now was that he had not been a Christian all his life. It is growing dark. I must close. More anon.