Newspaper Page Text
THE SUNNY SOUTH. ATLANTA, GEORGIA, DECEMBER 10, 1892
10
THE
^6 Blue "£ Jtye (jrey
[The Sunny South cordially invites
contributions for this page, which, as its
title imports, is devoted to incidents of the
war between the States. Articles will be
welcomed from any part of the country,
S uith or North, E ist or West, and from
soldiers on either side, without regard to
rank, ami from their wives, mothers and
sisters. If each man and woman who
knows a thrilling or interesting incident
of the unfortunate struggle would send an
account of it, years and years would be
consumed in their publication, and vol
umes of history be left to posterity which,
otherwise, would never be written. For
historians can not stop to record the minu
tiae of marches and battles and sieges.
Who will be first to send an article?
Header, this is addressed to you.
Ed Sunny South.]
business which consists in the destruction
of army supplies, telegraph lines, rail
roads, etc.
Accordingly, with ten or twelve hun
dred picked and well mounted and thor
oughly armed men, the Colonel started on
his perilous journey. The point, I think,
from which he set out was the small river
village of Rodney.
His coming was a complete surprise to
people along the route, but his movement
was checked by Gen. Wirt Adams, with a
cavalry force at Union church, the hamlet
before alluded to. And but for this inter-
DAUNTLESS TO THE END.
Mosby Gives His Opinion of Lee—
Interesting Reminiscences.
General John S. Mosby has written an
interesting letter, in which he tells of sev
eral interviews with General Robert E.
Lee. When I was a private, he says,
I met General Lee but once. Shortly af
ter the battles around Richmond, when he
defeated McClellan. I was captured by a
raiding party of Northern cavalry and ta
ken to Washington, where I was kept ten
days in the old capitol prison and
then exchanged.
Daring my impri-oaaieut I k-pt my
ABOUT DICK AND TOM,
OTHERWISE RICHARD K. MUNKIT-
TRICK AND THOMAS L. MASSON.
ference with his progress this brief chapter eyes open and obtained some valuable in
The Sunny South of Nov. 19th. con
tained, on this page, an article which told
about “Andy Swain,”o£ the famous Wash
ington Artillery playing a piano on the
battlefi :ld of Jaekson, Tennessee, while
the engagement was in progress. The
usefulness and interest of the Blue and
Gray department is well illustrated now,
by the fact that our publication of the in
cident in question has disclosed the fact
that the unique musician survived the
couliiet and is residing at Shreveport, La
He has written for copies of the paper
above referred to, signs himself “A. G
Swain,” and says, ‘‘I am the boy who
played the piano on the battle-field.”
CASEYVILLE, MISSISSIPPI.
How Ilor “Embattled”
Grierson.
Farmers Met
“It has come at lastl The invader is at
our doors i If we’ve got any fight in us,
now’s the time to let it come out!”
The speaker was a farmer, considerably
above fifty years of age, and the scene of
the excited conference of which the fore
going energetic exclamations form a part,
was at Caseyville, Copiah county, Miss.—
a store and post-office, situated at the in
tersection ot the Natches and Gallatin
roads, fifteen miles west of Brookhaven,
on the Illinois Centrail railroad.
The war between the States had been in
progress nearly three years, but the people
of that locality had had no experience of
the worst features of armed conflict. They
boasted no battlefied nor lamented the
vandal’s destroying torch. True, they had
not been exempted from many exciting
and melancholy experiences. They could
never forget assembling at the store on a
sunshiny day in 1861, to witness the de
parture of the Charley Clark Rifles for the
field of strife in Virginia. It was the first
company organized in those parts, and the
community was devoured by curiosity to
see an actual company of soldiers march
ing away to real war. How the boys
shouted, and the girls waved their hand
kerchiefs, and sweethearts sighed, and
wives and mothers shed tears when the
Union Church contingent under Captain
McLean came into view down the big
road in the direction of Cedar creek
Some on horseback, some in buggies, but
many on foot—refusing to ride, in their
patriotic anxiety to show contempt of fa
tigue!
And as the contest had grown older and
additional demands for men had come
from the scene of war, the neighborhood
had been drained of its young and middle
aged men. ’Zias D , be who used to
scare the girls with a false face; and Dennis
B , who was ridiculed by the teacher
for putting down the sash to keep out the
summer sunlight; and slim Joe B ,
whom everybody liked—all of Roane’s
New Enterprise school; and Neill B
and Arch Me M , of the old Sixteenth
school on the Homochitto; and Tom M—
of Sweetwater, and others now forgotten,
had gone into the conflict never to return.
Dan B , stricken with wasting fever in
camp, had been hauled home to be nursed
by mother and sisters back into life; and
’Lisha D , and George A had come
limping home from bloody Seven Fines.
And from the same gory field had been
brought back to the old neighborhood L.
Q. F , bloodless as a ghost, with band
aged head and arms, and maimed for the
rest of his days.
By all those melancholy and agitating
happenings the Caseyville people knew
that the war had been in progress; but
now their very hearthstones were threat
ened. The Yankees were at last actually
in the neighborhood; they had arrived at
Union Church, a cross roads ham
let only ten miles west of the
Caseyville cross-roads! They would
pause at that point only a few hours—they
were traveling rapidly—Caseyville was in
their direct route eastward toward Brook-
haven—before many hours the hated blue
uniform would cross cedar creek, and the
rattle of Yankee sabres would be heard re
sounding along the very road that the
Charley Clarke rifles had marched
over so buoyantly in 186T! Was it possi
ble that the enemy could pass unmolested?
The Mississippi river, at its nearest
point, was some forty-five miles west of
Caseyville. It was controlled by the
Federal gunboats, several of the river
towns were garrisoned by the invader, and
the Northern commander had planned a
very daring raid into Mississippi. Col.
Grierson, who was evidently a fearless
officer, was selected, or offered himself to
lead the expedition. The plan it seems
was to ride rapidly across South Mississippi
as far east as the Mobile and Ohio railroad,
and give attention to that sort of war
of history had never been written. For it
gave time for the news of Adams’ position
to travel to Caseyville, and for a dozen or
two citizens to hold the council of war
partly described at the beginning of this
article. The result of that indignant con
sultation was that in emulation of the im
mortal “embattled farmers” of revolution
ary fame, fthe Homochitto yeomen would
join Gen. Adams as volunteers and aid him
in driving back, or capturing the audacious
invaders.
“Grierson,” they said, “is at Union
Church, and if he gets away from the Con
federates he will follow the Natchez road
straight on to this place, and thence on to
Brookhaven. If we do not hurry we will
be too late for the fight. As we do
do not know exactly what Adams’
position is we will ride South about
four miles, and then make a curve
to the westward in search of the Confed
erate outposts.” And they set off acord-
ingly.
There were perhaps a dozen men en
gaged in this locally noted mili
tary campaign, and among them was a
man whom I will call Dobson, and a youth
of sixteen, mounted on a young roan mare
of which he was inordinately fond. For
this occasion we name him Boh. He was
to join the army in a few months and
Molly was to be his steed
To the credit of these farmer volunteers
it must be admitted that they started away
on their ill-starred enterprise in high-
spirited style and filled with patriotic
eagerness for the anticipated fray. In
stead, however, of going in a body, as ex
perienced soldiers would have done, they
rode in twos and straggled far apart along
the road. They anticipated on setting out
that a circuitous ride of three or four hours
would bring them in communication with
Adams. But to their astonishment (and
terror) in less than an hour they formed a
junction—with the enemy!
Bob,” on prancing and curveting
Molly, in company with a neighbor, was
in advance. Behind these tw.o at a dis
tance of seventy-five or one hundred yards
came “Dobson” and some other neighbor,
and still further back a number of other
straggling and chatting couples.
It was at the summit of a long hill in
the pine woods near Daniel Buie’s mill
that the advancing warriors heard the
sharp report of iifles, and those who were
bringing up the rear beheld Dobson a few
seconds later riding towards them down
hill at full speed, beating his horse at
every jump with his slouch hat and shout
ing at the top of his voice: “Run boys!
run boys! Yankees! Yankees!”
And the “embattled farmers” waited for
no second invitation, nor paused to reason
why, but made, each man for his home, as
fast as his horse could take him. But
alas, though the affair was abortive, it
was not laughable, for the squad had sus
tained heavy loss. Bob, and several
othsrs, who had advanced so gallantly in
to action, were missing. Had they been
brought down by the guns that all had
heard? The parents and relatives of the
last men were tortured by anxiety for
news of their fate.
Grierson, after some delay at Union
Church, had succeeded in eluding General
Adams, and changing his route had crossed
the track of the amazed Caseyville
cavaliers with the effect and result above
described.
Two days later “a solitary horseman”
might have been, and in point of fact was,
actually seen coming slowly up the long
lane that led lrom the public road to the
home of Bob’s disconsolate parents.
“Wonder who that is?” said the old
man, throwing back his head and looking
over his spectacles.
“Heaven grant it’s Bob!” fervently re
plied the old lady.
“Dat won’do fur Bob,” said the cook.
“Mplly nuver poke ’long dat uh-way.”
But it was Bob nevertheless, mounted on
an ancient and dilapidated mule, and
looking the extreme opposite of a conquer
ing hero.
“What have you done with Molly, Boh?”
asked the rejoiced father.
And with averted face the hoy an
swered:
“One o’ them infernal Yankees made me
swap. Henry Clay Fairman.
formation. As soon as we landed at the
point of exchange on the James river, I
started to walk twelve miles under an
August sun to carry the information of
the movement to Creneral Lee. I knew it
would result in a corresponding move
ment on our part.
I shall never forget the awe and oppres
sion 1 felt when I cam--, into presence of
the great commander. His benevolent look
and kind manner soon put me at: ease. He
immediately started a courier with the
nows to Stonewall Jackson. Toe result
was Jackson's victory at Cedar moun
tain, where he defeated Pope before rein
forcements from Burnside reached him.
story of lemons.
After exhausting my bu iget of informa
tion, General Lee aiked me how I was
captured. I told him I was at Beaver
Dam station waiting for the train, when a
regiment of Northern cavalry (Harris
Light) gobbled me up. Heasked: “Couldn’t
you run away?”
I answered: “Yes, bit not ^so fast as a
horse.”
I brought with me from F >rt Monroe a
haversack full of lemons. S ich a luxury
as lemonade was thea unknown in R eh-
mond. As I rose to leave I took out half
a dozen lemous and laid them on the
table. He said in the gentlest way that I
had better give them to ths sick and
wounded in the hospitals ; that he didn’t
need them. But I went away ani left
them. I have no doubt that some wounded
soldier got them.
I was a common soldier in my shirt
sleeves, covered with dust, without any
political influence behind me and no pros
peet of promotion. My feet were sore
and blistered from the long w alk through
the sun, yet I felt that the privilege of
the few minute’s interview with the great
general, who then filled the world with
his fame, was ample compensation for all
the toils and daugers of war that I had
undergone. It was certainly a distinction
to which I had not permitted myself to
aspire.
after v gettysburg.
The names of Tom Masson and R. K
Munkittrick are familiar to all readers
of current literature, and both have suf
fered for their names. The new proof
reader too often insists on making the
former into Mr. “Mason,” and the great
majority of those not personally ac
quainted with the latter assume that
his signature is a nom de plume. It is
painful to add that they often pronounce
it Monkey-trick.
Put Out” is a fair specimen of his style:
He had worn a colored blazer on the Nile;
He had sported spats in Persia just for style;
With a necktie quite too utter, in the streets
of old Calcutta he had stirred up quite a
flutter for awhile.
The maids of Java thronged nerore ms aoor
Attracted by the trousers that he wore.
And his vest—a bosom ventor—shook Formosa
to its center, and they hailed him as a
mentor by the score.
On his own ground, as a “masher” on the
street.
He outdid a Turkish pasha who stood treat:
He gave Shanghai girls the jumps, and their
cheeks stuck out like mumps at the pat
ent leather pumps on his feet.
But he called upon a Boston girl one night
With a necktie ready made—which wasn’t
right—
And she looked at him, this maid did, and he
faded, and he faded, and he faded, and he
faded out cf sight.
ANTIQUITY OF WOODEN LEGS.
We did not meet again until after Get
tysburg, in his tent on the Rapidan. In
the meantime I had become an officer and
he knew me by reputation. I doubt, how
ever, whether he ever knew that the sol
dier who gave him the lemons waj the
same person whom he saw then.
Although the weight of the Southern
Confederacy then rested on his shoulders
he did not seem to be oppressed by id or
discouraged by defeat. His spirit was as
bold as it was ou the day that he drove
McClellan out of his iutrenchments before
Richmond. My command was t v ien in em
bryo, yet he seemed to take as much in
terest in our petty forages as in the opera
tion of an army corps. A thorough soldier
by training, familiar with war in its the
ory and details, yet there was no man in
the Southern army less a martinet and
fonder of adventure than General Robert
E. Lee.
In February, 1865, I went to see him at
his headquarters, near Petersburg. His
army was then^reduced to a skeleton, but
his spirit was as combative as ever. Al
though he knew that the end was near,
his manner and conversation did not indi
cate it. He was just as bold and aggres
sive in temper as on the day that he rout
ed Pope at Bull Run. Looking over in the
direction of Grant’s lines, he said : “We
could whip those people now if we could
only get at them,” referring to their being
und erg round.
WORN AND HAGGARD.
RICHARD K. MUNKITTRICK:.
He is really and truly Mr. Munkit
trick—Mun-fczY-trick—very much Mun
kittrick indeed, for his father is a native
of Ardee, Ireland. His mother is of
American birth, and he was born March
5, 1853, in Manchester, England, but
was brought to the United States in in
fancy. Of himself he says: “Descended
from a race of clergymen and drunk
ards, I am a natural born lotus eater.
Would rather loaf a week than work an
hour. Have been hammering a living
out of writing since 1876. Am married,
and my family consists of one wife, one
child and one dog. Live in New Jer
sey.”
If his confession be true that he does
not like to work, it is fortunate for the
reading world that he still has to, for he
gives us a deal of gently delicious hu
mor. He works hard, and yet has the
art which conceals au^, for his humor
seems perfectly spontaneous. It seems
to be of the sort that bubbles up of it
self, like the flow from a perennial
spring. This is written of his prose.
Most of his poetry appears to be in th
sentimental style. It is chiefly of the
lyric order, while his prose is rather
pointedly epic—necessarily so, as it is
humorous. A fair specimen of his use
of nature’s phases in poetry is shown in
“An Etching:”
The meadows flame with goldenrod;
White cloudlets fill the skies;
The thistledown along the sod
In every zephyr flies.
The orchard trees serenely blow
With apples red and ripe,
And in the wistful afterglow
The quail begins to pipe.
Along the way the squirrel pranks,
The sumachs brightly blaze.
And on the fading flower banks
There is a veil of haze,
And, singing blithe and happy airs
Through woodlands rustling brown,
September lightly walks and wears
Her shining golden brown.
From Ancient Seed.
The Sau Francisco Examiner asserts
that Mr. Jeffress of Oakland, Gal., has
three plants raised from seeds that were
found among the wrappings of a mummy.
The mummy was found in an Egyptian
sepulcher, where it is believed to have
lain 2,000 years. Mr. Jeffress planted four
of the seeds. Three of them came up, and
they grew until a plant much resembling
a sweet pea had covered the side of the
house. It grows high, without leaves,
and has a corrugated stem. At the top
there is a pod just like a pea pod. The
blossoms and the seeds are exactly like
those of a pea plant.
R EAD THIS—To any boy or girl sending us
one hundred and* twtnty-five yearly sub
scribers will be given a scholarship at Emi
nence College, Eminence, Ky, This scholarship
includes board, tuition, room rent, lights, fuel,
washing and music, either instrumental or
vocal. Rates will be furnished on railroad to
and from Eminence. To any or e sending us
one yearly subscription at $2 will be sent our
magazine and Four Years in Rebel Capitals, by
T. C. DeLson. This book is handsomely bound
in cloth, and contains the portrait anl auto
graph of the writer. For further particulars,
addressElitors Round Table, Dallas, Texas.
In the spring of 1870, a few months be
fore his death, I was at the Exchange
hotel, in Richmond, when General Lee
arrived there from Lexington. He had
been advised to take a trip South for the
benefit of his health. He looked worn and
haggard, and it was hard to realize that he
was the fierce warrior that had so often
wielded the thunderbolts of battle. I
went to his room and had a long talk. I
had met him in public after the war, but
this is the only time we were alone. The
war still threw its shadows around us, and
while we talked of the present and the
future, we were thinking of the past. I
felt oppressed, almost overwhelmed, by
the great memories which his presence re
called. He was no longer my comman ler,
yet his word even then would have been
law to me.
Soon after leaving his room I met Gen
eral Pickett. I told Pickett that I had
just left General Lee, and that he looked ;
like a dying man. There had been an es
trangement between them. Pickett said
that he would call and pay his respects to
General Lee if I would go with him, but
that he did not want to be alone with him.
So I returned with Pickett. The inter-!
view lasted only a few minutes. The con
versation was formal, with no reference to
the cause of their difference. I do not
think they ever met again.
In a ftw months the great soldier joined
Curious Facts From Mythology
About Artificial Limbs.
Who first invented wooden legs?
ulcanwasa cripple, and in conse
quence of his difficulty in walking, he
is said to have made himself an artifi
cial support of gold; but,as Mr.Thom
as pointed out long ago, gold is not for
every cripple, and every myth is back
ed by a reality.
Again, the devil, as represented in
the drawings and engravings of the
middle ages, is a compound of Pluto
and Vulcan. The latter was ejected
from Olmpus. the devil was cast out of
Heaven. Vulcan was frequently fig
ured with a beard and pointed cap.
In the edition of Tyndale’s New Testa
ment, printed by Jugge in 1552, there
is a wood cut representing the devil
sowing tares and wearing not only the
Vulcanian beard and pointed cap, but
also a wooden leg.
Another mediaeval representation
of the devil with a wooden leg may be
found in one of the paintings on the
panels of the pulpit in the ancient lit
tle church of Helgoland. It. is only
fair, however, to point out that the ar-
tifical support in the Tyndale wood-
cut resembles more a clumsy, one-leg
ged stool, upon which the lame leg ap
pears to be doubled up at the knee,
than a substituted wooden limb.
After all, this identification, so far
as regards costume and lameness, of
the mediaeval devil and tlie anoient
Vulcan, although it opens up a curi
ous field of speculation to those who
are learned in matters of comparative
mythology, yet throws no certain light
on the question as to when the wood
en leg, as we know it—a com pi ere arti
ficial substitute for a lost limb—was
first invented.—From All the Year
Round
Paul B. Dn Cbaillu.
Paul B. Da Chaillu is an author who
just now is very much pleased with him
self. He has written his first novel, and he.
has not had to complete his manuicript to
have it accepted. So good is the story, I
am told by the “reader” who recommend
ed it, that it was accepted from a reading
of the opening chapters. The novel has
for its title “Ivar, the Viking,” and, is as
its name implies, a Scandinavian story.
The scenes of the novel are laid in the
Fourth century, and the great strength of
the book is its faithful and graphic de
scription of Scandinavian life aud man
ners during the age of the Vikings.
Whether Mr. Du Chailla can put into a
novel the same marvellous degree of in
terest which he has s > successfully put
into his books of travel and adveuture is
a question, hut those who have had access
to the manuscript pronounce the story,
from a literary standpoint, equal to any
thing that has come
pen.
from the author's
MASSON.
Tom Masson is still quite a young man,
but has been a writer for six years. Be
fore that he had a rare and valuable ex
perience on the ocean, nor has his hand
vet forgotten its cunning in seamanship,
for is an . enthusiastic yachtsman and
the shadowy host that had crossed the knows a sailing vessel in minutest detail
river before him. “Fate denied him vie- from spanker to keelson. He was born
im '| in Essex, Conn., July 21, I860, and his
father being captain of a sailing vessel
Mr. Bowersock, of Reading, Kan., passed m >st of his first twelve years
stumbled over a cracker box tile other j on the ocean, visiting many foreign
night and the local paper in
speaking of the accident, notes that
“Mr. Bowersock, being one of our
leading and most respectable citizens,
he was not seriously injured.
tory, but blessed him with a glorious
mortality.”
_ many
lands. He was then three years in
school at New Haven and four years in
business as a commercial traveler. Since
Those who know the large-hearted little
man of travel and adventure as I aul du
Chaillu will rejoice in any new success
that can come to Mm, for, sad to tell, all
the author’s literary undertakings nave
not been as successful as their merits per
haps entitled them. His “Laud ot the
Midnight Sun” brought him a, wide fame
and a good income, but since then his suc
cesses have been few.” _ , . . ,,
His ponderous work, “The \ iking Age,
was a costly experiment, both to the au
thor and publisher. Mr. Du Chaillu
worked upon it for over eight years, col
lecting material for the volume, and
spending large sums of money in his re
searches and investigations. Thirteen
hundred illustrations were put into the
book, and these were so costly as o make
it necessary to put a high price on the
hook. The work has never sold to bring
back one-half its expenses. It was issued
somewhat over three years ago, I think,
and its sale has been exceedingly limited.
Mr. Du Chaillu’s subsequent literary ven
tures have neither met with success, at.d
from his ltcturiug eEg-igement he has
drawn Lis chief income. He is a tireless
traveller, and wanders frum one Jau “ to
another with an ease that dazes tue a\er-
age man. Three years ago one summer
day I met Mr. Du Chaillu walking down
the Strum in L mdon. V T e exchanged a
few words ana passed ou. T wo weeks
afterwards, walking in the Louvre in 1 aria,
I met him again. I returned to America,
and going one autumn evening tc the
Philadelphia home uf George W Chib*s»
the first man to greet me was Paul D
Chai'lu. The world is small, it is tr u ®
lu Paul Du Chaillu somehow makes f-
1886 he has been a writer, and the fol- I lhau any man living n
lowiq2 pleasaat skit entitled "His Light -