USA > Pennsylvania > History of the Fifteenth Pennsylvania volunteer cavalry which was recruited and known as the Anderson cavalry in the rebellion of 1861-1865; > Part 49
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Capture and Release of Major Garner at Jacksonville. 573
until I strolled to the front of the store, and then saw the crowd and the "Johnny" who had hold of the Major's collar. Calling my men at once we grabbed our carbines and ran to his assistance, and when he saw us he yelled "blaze away !" which we did to good effect. The fellow who had hold of him let go at once, and we all ran out to the public square, firing for all we were worth, and soon had them scattered and running. As soon as we could gain our horses we wanted to give them a chase, but the Major re- strained us, and said, "Boys, just take it cool, for you gave them all they wanted. They won't bother us any more."
Soon after a squad from our Regiment joined us, having been sent back by Colonel Betts, who had become somewhat alarmed for our safety. Some of Wheeler's men had captured two men of Company L, relieved them of horses, arms and valuables and then set them free. This had occurred shortly after the Regiment left us, and possibly it was the same party we met.
ONE OF THE FINAL INCIDENTS OF THE WAR.
E. L. PALMER, COMPANY G, WEST CHESTER, PA.
G ENERAL BRAGG was captured by a squad of our Regi- ment under command of Lieutenant Phillips. I was in the squad detailed to conduct General Bragg and his compan- ions, including Mrs. Bragg-a sister of Jefferson Davis-to Gen- eral Wilson, whose headquarters were then at Indian Springs, and who a few hours after had captured Jefferson Davis and his party.
During the ten hours' march Mrs. Bragg was communicative to me, who happened to be near her. She spoke of their reverses and blasted hopes after their long struggle, and of her dreams of the Confederation when "State rights" would prevail and their cherished institution of slavery remain.
I distinctly recall some of her words. She said: "Now, gentle- men, you left your homes, where you had all you wished, and came into our country, and brought misery and sorrow to us by all the cruel circumstances of war, with its destruction of life and prop- erty. You have made us helpless, hopeless and comfortless to a degree from which we can never recover. Would you not, as well as we, have been better off without this terrible invasion and sub- jugation ? We have no heart, no hope, no country we care to call our country."
These words, coming from such a distinguished lady, seemed to call for a reply, but I felt that silence was the most appropriate under the circumstances.
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A SCRAP OF PAPER.
CORP. SMITH D. COZENS, COMPANY L, PHILADELPHIA.
I T was during the raid through the Carolinas, in the spring of 1865, just before we reached Athens, Ga., that I was taken sick and was hardly able to ride. One bright morning, not long after we started on the march, I fell back until the rear guard caught up to me. Finally I could not keep up with them, so I gave them my horse and side arms and was left in the middle of the road.
I hobbled on as best I could, and toward the middle of the day I came across my old friend Serg. Al. Coleman, walking along the road in the same predicament as myself. Coleman was a sick man and could hardly get along, but "it kinder made it easier," as they used to say down South, for two of us to be together.
We were not in a very pleasant situation. Our Regiment had been raiding the country for miles around, and the inhabitants were not very pleasantly disposed toward "we'uns." After going along for some distance we came to a house, and took a horse and buggy from the people and got in. It was dangerous business. The horse was about in the same condition as we were, the harness was made of a little of everything except good leather, and the buggy was in a fearfully dilapidated condition. However, we got on pretty well, but slowly, until we came to a river.
It was dark by this time, but someone directed us to the ford, and we started in. Coleman, outranking me, drove. We were pretty nearly over, when we got off the ford, the wheel struck a boulder, then the horse left the wagon, and that was the end of the harness. The water was up on the floor of the buggy, and we sat there unable to do anything.
After some time we heard a horse enter the ford behind us, then another and then quite a number. "We are in for it !- it's the Johnnies," said Coleman. In a few minutes someone struck the top of the buggy with the flat of a saber and cried out, "Hello! anybody in there?" and several soldiers rode up alongside of the
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buggy. They had on the blue, and we found them to be Union cavalry. We explained our dilemma, and two of the men took us on behind them, and carried us to the shore, set us down and then went on their way.
In a little while we started on, and finally struck a house and insisted on the people allowing us to sleep there. They didn't care about it much at first, but it was a necessity with us, and we simply stayed. There was a little trouble in the night, and the folks came downstairs and insisted that we go out to the barn, as somebody was out there with a light. Coleman took a lantern and went out to the barn, and did not see anyone, but found flour sprinkled all about the road leading into the woods. However, we got off in the morning early, and traveled on, and that night we reached Athens, Ga., and found part of the Regiment there. We joined our company, and slept that night on the campus of the University of Georgia.
The command made an early start the next morning, and Lieu- tenant Morton came to Coleman and me and told us that it would be impossible for us to keep up, and that we had better stay there. They also left another comrade of our company (L), named Daniel Earhardt, who had been shot through the foot by an acci- dental discharge of a carbine. You can imagine my feelings as I saw the boys ride away, leaving me standing around the remains of the camp fire. It was not long after the boys were gone before a Confederate soldier came out of the big University building, which was used as a Confederate hospital, and asked me what I was doing there. I told him my condition, and he invited me to come in. I followed him into the building, and on the first floor I found a doctor and several Confederate soldiers gathered around a bed, upon which a Confederate soldier was dying. The situa- tion, together with my condition, was too much for me, and I fainted. The soldiers picked me up and laid me on a bed next the dying soldier, and in a little while I realized that I was a very sick boy. The soldier died in a few moments, and the doctor then turned his attention to me, and said, "This is no place for this boy! Carry him upstairs, where it is light and cheerful, and per- haps he will feel better."
During the day the doctor came in again to see me. He asked me what command I belonged to, and I told him the Fifteenth
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A Scrap of Paper.
Pennsylvania Cavalry. Said he, "What part of Pennsylvania do you come from?" I said, "Philadelphia." His face brightened up, and he said, "I have spent many happy days in your city. I studied medicine there." He talked about the good old city for some time, and then he asked, "Do you know the firm of French & Richards, chemists, in your city ?" I told him I did, for I knew them much as I knew George Washington-by reputation. From that mo- ment the doctor was my friend. He said, "Boy, I will bring you around all right," and for one week he faithfully attended to me.
Earhardt was in the hospital with me and received every atten- tion, and was given a pair of crutches to use. Coleman came in one day and told us he was stopping across the way with a man by the name of Kirkpatrick, and soon afterward he got away, and finally arrived at home after suffering incredible hardships.
One morning the doctor came into the hospital accompanied by a large, elderly man, in the dress of a General in the Confederate army. After some conversation I learned that I was to be taken to the General's home. My host's name was Brown, and he had been connected with the National Intelligencer, published at Wash- ington, before the war, and later he was a General in the Con- federate service. He had been captured in one of the battles around Richmond, and was now home on parole. The General's household consisted of himself-about fifty years of age-his wife, who was an Englishwoman about twenty-five years old, and a young Lieutenant, a member of his staff, who had been captured and was also on parole.
While in that house I was treated by the General with con- sideration, and by the wife and Lieutenant with scorn and con- tempt. I sat at the table with the family, and listened three times each day to their opinion of the Yanks. I had to keep indoors, for the country was overrun with rebel soldiery on their way home from Richmond, and it was dangerous for me to be seen.
One day the General brought home with him a Confederate Cap- tain, who stayed with us several days. He was an intelligent man, and we talked the soldier business all over in a very pleasant way. His name was Magill, his home was in Savannah, and he was very anxious to get there. He had left the army because he was satis- fied the war was about over. One day he proposed to me that he would conduct me safely to the Union lines at Augusta if I would
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History of the Fifteenth Pennsylvania Cavalry.
stand his friend when we got there and try to have him paroled. I told him I could not accept his offer unless it included my friend Earhardt, but when he learned that Dan was a cripple he con- cluded it was not feasible.
However, he came in that night and said that if we could get ready by morning he would try it. Get ready !- why I was ready at once. I sent word to Dan, and the next morning the Captain took Dan and I down to the railroad station, where an engine and three cars had been gathered for the purpose of taking a num- ber of rebels as near Augusta as possible. We got in, but I pass over that disagreeable journey, for Earhardt and I sat there and were subjected to the gibes and sneers of the Confederates, who filled the car, and who had a plentiful supply of apple-jack for all hands but us. We would have had a sorry time of it had it not been for our friend, the Captain.
Within sight of Augusta we got off the train, and while the Confederates scattered in all directions we started for the Union lines, Earhardt, with a sling around his neck supporting his foot, hobbling on crutches, and I supporting him. We did not occa- sion much alarm when we came in sight of the Yankee pickets, and the Lieutenant in charge quietly listened to our story, and when he was relieved took us to the headquarters of General Mollineaux, the officer commanding the post.
I told him our story, and he attentively listened to it, and when I had concluded, said: "Well, you have made a promise to our friend the Captain ; I guess I will have to help you fulfill it." He paroled the Captain. We shook hands and parted, and it was the last we saw of him. General Mollineaux was very kind to us, gave us transportation to Savannah, by boat, and told us one would leave that night. We hurried down to the river and saw the boat about ready to start. She was loaded down with cotton and "con- trabands." I wanted to go abroad, but Everhardt said that he could not stand the trip on that crowded boat, and persuaded me to wait until the next day. We waited, and this boat was pretty nearly in the same condition as on the previous day, but we got on board, and commenced a trip which occupied about two days. When we got down the river about fifteen miles we saw the re- mains of the boat that had started the day before, burned to the water's edge.
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A Scrap of Paper.
We arrived in Savannahı and reported to the Provost Marshal, who gave us the privilege of the town during that day and ordered us to report the next morning, when we were to be taken to the Convalescent Camp, outside of the city, and there await our turn for transportation North. Dan and I wandered around the city- tired, hungry and friendless-and finally sat down in the public square to rest, with thoughts that were not of the most pleasant character.
My comrade was quite a charge upon me. Neither one of us had a cent, and home and friends seemed farther off than ever. As I sat there I mechanically picked up a piece of a newspaper. It was only a small piece, but for want of something better to do I commenced to read it. It seemed to be a part of a local paper, it had nothing but advertisements on it, and it seemed to be about a week old. However, I saw in the paper the list of arrivals at the Pulaski House, the principal hotel of Savannah, and as I read the list of names, and there were not many, I saw those of two Philadelphians-one of the same name as that of a gentleman who lived a few doors from my own home, and a very particu- lar friend of my father, who was an extensive flour merchant on Market Street.
I read the two names over again, and then I started to my feet, for right in front of me I saw, on a large sign, the words "Pulaski House." Dan saw my excitement in a moment, and said, "What is the matter?" I said, "Wait here until I come back," and walked over to the hotel into the clerk's office, and asked if Mr. Alexander Hogg was stopping there? The clerk looked at me, and said, "Yes, he is." I asked to see him, when the clerk called a colored boy and sent him up to see if he was in, and in a few minutes he was back with the message, "Show the gentleman up."
I was a pretty seedy-looking soldier. The crown of my old hat was almost gone, the knees of my pantaloons were burned in holes from standing around numerous camp fires, my boots were in the same condition, and the only redeeming feature about my clothes was that gay jacket of the Anderson Cavalry I wore.
I entered that room, occupied by two gentlemen, one busy writing, the other with his feet elevated, enjoying a good cigar and the necessary refreshments in front of him. In an instant the
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gentleman smoking had me by the hand. "Why, boy, what are you doing here and in this plight?" My story was soon told, and I had eager listeners, and when I finished, my father's friend went down in his pocket and pulled out a roll of greenbacks, and said, "How much money do you want?" He tried to force a large amount upon me, but I took only a small sum, and promised to see him the next day. He wanted me to stop with him, but Dan was waiting, and when I got out to him he wasn't in a very good humor over my long absence, but when I showed him the greenbacks it was all right. It was an orderly but hurried march to the nearest restaurant, and we had one good square meal. The influence of my friend put me on a good footing with the Provost, and pro- cured us transportation to New York in a steamship that had just been discharged from the Government service and was going North without a cargo.
I was placed in charge of eighteen escaped Andersonville pris- oners to report to the Provost Marshal at New York City. As I parted from my kind friend at the wharf he grasped my hand, and I can see his kind, genial face now. "Tell my wife and daughters that I will try and be with them on the Fourth of July," he said.
We sailed from Savannah June 14, 1865, in the steamer "Star- light," and our voyage was not a very pleasant one. The men in my charge were in a terrible condition-emaciated, sick, childish- from long confinement and untold suffering. We met with little consideration from those in charge of the ship, and I was com- pelled to buy many things from the steward for their comfort. We reached New York City in due time, and reported to the Broome Street Barracks, where I delivered up my charge to the Provost Marshal.
Naturally, I wanted to go home, but Dan and I were politely told that we were consigned to Atlanta, and to Atlanta we must go. I told the Captain that in all probability our Regiment was then on its way home, but it did not make any difference, for the Provost had made up his mind. So had I.
"Well, Captain," I asked, "can't you give me a pass until Mon- day? I would like to go over to Brooklyn to see some of my friends." The Provost sized me up. I stood the test, and he ordered the clerk to give me a pass until Monday. It was Satur- day, and near night, and I had not one cent. I had spent all the
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A Scrap of Paper.
money on the Andersonville boys, for they needed it. I had an old silver watch that I had carried through the war, and I went down along the Bowery, where I saw a second-hand clothes man standing at the door. I took out my watch and asked him if he would lend me three dollars on it. He laughed at me. I told him I wanted to go home to Philadelphia and that I would redeem it the next week. He said he had heard that story before, but as I turned to go away he said, looking at me, "Where are you from?" I told my story briefly, and the Jew handed me the three dollars and took the watch.
I reached the city of Brotherly Love about day-break Sunday morning, and I counted the steps from Third and Berks Streets to Fifth and Wharton Streets. I pass over the home scenes that only a returned soldier can appreciate. I took off my uniform that day for the last time. Next morning took the train for New York. I interviewed my friend the Jew, and got my watch. We spent some time together, and then I started for the Broome Street Barracks.
I waited around for a while before I could see my friend Dan, but finally he hobbled out and down the steps into the street, and stood around like convalescent soldiers do. I went up to him, but he didn't know me at first-the barber and the citizen's clothes had disguised me. We went aside, and I tried to persuade him to go home with me. I offered to send him to his home at Altoona, but he would not go. We spent some time together, shook hands and parted, and I have never seen him from that day to this.
I went home, visited the family of my good friend Hogg, and delivered his message and made their hearts glad; but two days after they received a dispatch from Savannah informing thein that the husband and father, who had been so kind to me, had been drowned in the Savannah River the day before. As I look back over that eventful experience, and think how I was preserved through so many trials and dangers, my heart wells up in grati- tude to the Great Father of us all for his mercy and goodness toward me.
It is forty years ago since then, but that scrap of paper announc- ing the arrivals at the Pulaski House, May 27, 1865, the order for transportation from Augusta to Savannah and the order for trans- portation from Savannah to New York are still in my possession, and sacredly kept.
A RACE FOR LIFE.
FIRST LIEUT. JOHN A. CONAWAY, A.A.D.C., PHILADELPHIA.
O N May 1, 1865, while with the First Cavalry Division, De- partment of East Tennessee, General Palmer commanding, on the march and within about twenty miles of Anderson Court House, in north-western South Carolina, I was sent by the General on whose staff I was Acting Aide-de-Camp, with impor- tant dispatches to Colonel Betts, commanding our Regiment, then in the vicinity of Abbeville, and Captain Taylor, who with a com- pany detailed from the column was guarding a ford on the Saluda River.
We were then searching for Jefferson Davis.
I had been frequently sent with dispatches by the General pre- vious to this since leaving Knoxville, but these impressed me as being very important, as the General had furnished me with a hastily drawn map of the roads, remarking as he did so that these orders must be delivered without fail. A detail of about thirty men of the Tenth Michigan was placed under my command, and Corp. J. P. Fullerton, of our own Regiment, was ordered to go with me.
I was to take a road south of Anderson Court House that would lead me to crossroads a few miles farther on where I was to use my best judgment in properly disposing of my small force, so as to insure the delivery of the dispatches.
On reaching the crossroads, a small place of three or four houses and a country store, I made some inquiry as to the direc- tion of the roads, the nature of the country and if anything new had been heard in that neighborhood. The information obtained was that a regiment of rebels, mostly boys or young men, a por- tion of them armed, had within an hour passed south on the road to Abbeville, S. C., toward Colonel Betts' command. It was said that they had just left a training school somewhere nearby, one which the South had intended should be somewhat similar to West Point.
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Of course, I concluded that the most danger was in the direc- tion of Colonel Betts, so I sent the largest number of men, under Corporal Fullerton, to take the dispatch to him, and all of those remaining, excepting four, to Captain Taylor. The dispatches were safely delivered. The orders were for both Betts and Taylor with their commands to join the main column at Anderson Court House at once, which they did the next day. With the four retained men (of the Tenth Michigan) I then started to find the column.
There was talk at that time that Basil Duke with a force of 2000 rebel cavalry had volunteered to escort Davis across the Missis- sippi River.
On the morning of the day these dispatches were given to me I delivered to General Brown, of Michigan, who commanded one of our brigades, an order that he should advance as far as Anderson Court House and then send out scouting parties to obtain all the information possible as to the whereabouts of Davis and his escort.
In making our way from the crossroads toward Anderson Court House we did not realize that there was any danger, and I did not suppose there was a force of the enemy of any consequence within many miles. As we rode along we came to a thick woods, which obscured for a time our view of a lane leading up to a hill on our left. I had passed this lane a short distance ahead of the four men, when one of them called out to me, "Lieutenant, some men are on this road to the left ; did you see them?" I said, "Yes, I see them now ; we will halt and find out who they are." On the top of the hill I first saw about ten mounted men, and between the legs of the horses I could see others coming up, until there were probably thirty or forty of them, not drawn up in any order what- ever, but merely clustered at the top of the hill.
It was a bright, sunny day. I knew that the orders to General Brown were to scout the country, and it was so clear that I could see these men distinctly, and I felt sure they were some of our own command. I then challenged them. They answered back, "Who are you?" Well, I wanted to be a little careful, and my reply was, "First brigade." "We don't believe you," they said ; "send a man out." I turned to the Michigan Sergeant who was one of the four men, and said to him, "Sergeant, send out one of
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your men; these are undoubtedly a portion of our command." "Oh!" he says, "I will go myself." So he quietly walked his horse until he got very close to them, and they were near enough for us to hear one of them say, "Yes, all right; we will take your carbine." The Sergeant took off his carbine and handed it over. I then said to the three men left with me, "These are rebels !- we must get out of here at once."
The next thing was a yell and a volley, and on they came down the hill in direct charge upon us. Two of my men were struck at the first fire and fell from their horses. I took the road, as I supposed for Anderson Court House, galloping as hard as my horse could run, in a shower of bullets and closely pursued.
It had been my custom when on duty of this kind to look around among the men with me, and select the one riding the best horse and entrust the dispatches, knowing their character, to him tem- porarily. When starting this time I concluded I had the best horse. He had been taken from a stable in Rutherfordton a day or two before, and I felt pretty safe on his back-he carried me safely on this occasion.
The pursuit was kept up for one or two miles-exactly how far I do not know. I gained a good advance, galloping down the hills, jumping the gullies and then walking up the opposite hill, but every time I looked back there was, as I supposed, a rebel coming after me.
Let me describe the appearance of this supposed rebel. He was about nineteen years old, wore a broad-brimmed hat, a boiled shirt and a rebel coat he had picked up somewhere on the road, so although he was one of the Tenth Michigan Cavalry he didn't look much like a Union soldier.
He kept following me, and I kept on getting away from him as fast as I could. I did not know exactly where I was going, but in a short time I reached a grove in front of a large house and turned in there for safety. There were two cavalry horses tied to the fence in front of the house. With my pistol drawn I called out, "Who is in there?" The answer was a couple of heads stuck out of the door in an inquiring sort of a way. I saw at once that they were our men, and I yelled, "Get out of there and mount your horses ! the rebels will soon be on you," and then I turned and waited for this supposed rebel to come up; which he did, but in
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