A hero in homespun. A tale of the loyal South

Front matter

C LIBRARY)

IVNIVERSITV OF

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Preface

How much of this book is history and how much is fiction will be apparent to readers familiar with the history. To extend popular knowledge of the Civil War as it affected a large but almost unrecognized body of our people, this volume has been written. The form of fiction has been em ployed to permit a larger use of incident and per sonal experience, and to allow greater freedom of treatment, but the historical background is believed to be true to fact. I have thought well not to locate too definitely the home of my principal char acters. The name and some of the characteristics of Roundstone Creek, in Rockcastle County, Ken tucky, have been borrowed and removed to a valley some fifty miles remote. With this exception, the geography of the book is correct.

I have had to allow my characters freedom of speech, even though they sometimes speak unwisely or too harshly. They lived in a day when men's passions ran high, and it would misrepresent them to tone down their utterances to the more temperate spirit of our time. I need not explain that I do not

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Preface in every case share the views expressed. I should feel grieved if any word herein contained should seem to breathe a present spirit of bitterness. Seven years of residence in the South taught me how great is the need of charity in our judgments upon those to whom the war involved such momentous choices as it did the people of the South. The South to day is loyal, and a considerable part of it has always been so.

I desire to thank the friends — too many to be named — who during the last twelve years have aided me in the securing of incidents for this under taking. For aid in gathering historical material, 1 am especially indebted to Mr. Arthur M. Knapp of the Boston Public Library. I wish also to acknowledge the courtesy of the railroads passing to and through the region described, — the Big Four ; the Southern ; the Queen and Crescent ; the Nashville, Chattanooga, and St. Louis ; the Louis ville and Nashville ; and the Knoxville, Cumberland Gap, and Louisville. These, on our recent tour of three thousand miles, placed all possible facilities at the disposal of author and artist for the careful study of the field.

Thrice in the history of our country, at King's Mountain, at the battle of New Orleans, and in the Civil War, the homespun hero of the southern Appalachians has emerged from his obscurity and

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turned the tide of battle. Thrice he has returned to his mountain fastnesses and been forgotten. I have called him forth again, and am sending him out in hope that he may be better known to his countrymen. I have seen him in his home, and have great respect for his whole-souled hospitality. I have followed his track where he stained with patriotic blood a score of battlefields. I have con fidence that he will be loved the more as he comes to be known the better, and that his great work will not forever fail of cordial recognition. And so to my Hero in Homespun, as he enters somewhat bashfully a world that is mostly new to him, I bid a hearty Godspeed and farewell.

W. E. B.

Boston, Sept. i, 1897.

Contents

Chapter Page

I. The Frolic at Hanson's ..... I

II. The Soldier's Farewell 21

II

HENRY HANSON reined in his horse, wet with sweat, before the Casey cabin, one afternoon early in September.

" Good evenin', Mis' Casey. Is Jack about ? "

" Howdy, Henry. Been ridin' hard, hain't you ? Jack's still hidin' out, but I'll call him."

Elizabeth stepped across the rude porch, inside the door of the rough little cabin, and brought out a cow's horn, on which she blew three long blasts, then after an interval, three more.

She returned the horn to its place, and took up her sunbonnet, which, however, she did not wear, and came to the fence, her golden brown hair, that had been much admired in her girlhood, showing now and then a streak of gray in the sunlight.

" What's the news ? " she asked, returning to the fence, and laying her sunbonnet upon it.

" Mighty bad news. They're arrestin' Union men more than ever, and there ain't no prospect that them that's had to hide out kin come back. The rebs is a-goin' to invade Kaintuck. Zollicoffer is a-goin' to push out from Knoxville, take Cumber land Gap, and move on north to the Ohio River."

" Law, law ! It don't seem possible. But I'll be glad to have 'em go anywhere, so's we git shet on 'em, an' men don't have to hide out, an' women kin go about their work. Here comes Jack, now."

Cautiously Jack entered the clearing, and, seeing his friend, came forward.

" Howdy, Jack. How d'ye like sleepin' out ? "

"Wall," returned Jack, with a faint attempt at humor, " they hain't no bugs in the beds a feller finds out in the woods."

" Been sleepin' right ou'door ? "

" Slep' in the cave, mos'ly. When it's clear and not too cold, I sleep out. Where do you sleep ? "

" Under the big rock whar it hangs over, foment the barn, acrost the branch. We're sorter whar we kin watch things, an' be out o' sight."

" Got yer horse yit, I see ? "

"Yes, but had to hide him in the ravine furder up the branch from us, to keep the rebs from findin' him. They ben atter him twicet."

" Mine's gone."

" Stole ? "

"Yep. Come an' got him night afore las'. It was rainin* that night an' I had come in. I heerd them ride up, an' I got out the back way, but it warn't Marshall an' his crowd that time. It warn't me they wanted but the horse. I fired at them as they was a-leavin', but I reckon I didn't git no game."

" I wisht you had ! "

"So do I."

" I'm glad he didn't," said Mrs. Casey. " I feel mighty bad about the horse, for I liked to ride him as well as Jack does. An' I don' know how we'll ever make another crap without him. But ef Jack had a-shot one o' them rebs, I don' know what we'd

had to suffer. We're puttin' up with enough as it is.

" Do you reckon, Jack, that Marshall is at the bottom of all this ? "

" Not all of it, I reckon, but he's got a finger in it, shore. Ever sence he jined the rebs las' month, he's ben a-ridin' round, huntin' down Union men, an' makin' 'em take the oath."

" I don't reckon he'll kill more men as a sojer than he would as a doctor," said Mrs. Casey, with scorn.

" Did Steph Crowell take the oath ? "

" No ; they brought him up, but he proved that he voted for separation, and they let him off."

" Dave Travers took hit, didn't he ? "

" Yes, but he says he tuck it * from the teeth out.' He had to do it or leave home, one, an' his pap is dyin' of a cancer, an' his ma is mighty triflin', you know, sence that time she got throwed off a horse goin' to mill."

" Hit was a mighty hard place to put Dave. I won't jedge him. But I hain't got nary tooth in my head that'll take an oath to support Jeff Davis. I wonder how much more o' this we gotter stand ? "

" Well, I know how much more I'm goin' to stand. I hain't a-goin' to stand no more."

" What you goin' to do, Hank ? "

" I'm goin' to enlist."

" Not with the rebs ? "

" Not much ! "

" How you goin' to git to the Union army ? "

" I'm goin' to Kaintuck."

" Kin you enlist thar ? I heerd Gov'nor McGoffin' was for the rebs, an' is keepin' the State in an armed neutrality, as he calls hit."

" Gov'nor McGoffin's for the rebs. An' so is the State Guard. But the Legislatur is for the Union."

" Ef ourn had a ben we'd a had a different sort o' things round here now."

" Yes, they sold us out, the skunks ! Atter we'd voted the hull State, twenty thousand majority for the Union, too ! "

" I'd like to make them hide out the way we hatter ! But how about Kaintuck ? "

" Wall, the Blue Grass thar is secesh, same as West Tennessy is. But the mountings is fur the Union, same's here. An' they're goin' to raise troops, an' let the Gov'nor go to grass."

" How'd you hear ? "

" I heerd at Rutledge to-day. I heerd a heap more. Zollicoffer's goin' to invade Kaintuck, as I was jes' tellin' your ma afore you come up ; an' ef ary Union man wants to git through Cumberland Gap, he's got to make tracks right off."

"Well, I'd be mighty glad to hev him invade Kaintuck, or any other place, so's to git shet of him here," said Mrs. Casey. "'Pears like we've hed our sheer o' the rebs."

" He hain't a-goin' to leave hyur fur good 'n' all, they say. He's a-goin' to hold Knoxville, but push on an' git the Gap, an' then sorter look the ground over, an' ef all's well, he's a-goin' to move over into Kaintuck."

" How'd you hear tell o' all this ?"

" Parson Brownlow, he sent word to Judge Green in Rutledge that ef ary Union man round here wanted to git inter Kaintuck he'd hev to hustle."

"They hain't killed Brownlow yit?"

" No, he's alive an' a-kickin', an' a-printin' the same's ever."

"I didn't 'low Zollicoffer'd let him print it atter he tuck Knoxville."

"Wall, Zollicoffer's a Whig himself, they say, an' he used to be a printer, an' sot type in Knoxville, 'fore he got to be a reb an' a gin'ral. They say he's ben right good to Parson Brownlow, an' pro tected his office. But they can't bell that ole cat so's but wut he'll spit an' show his claws at the rebs."

" I didn't reckon Zollicoffer would protect no body," interposed Mrs. Casey.

" Wall, he hain't hurt hisself a-protectin' Union folks out in the mountains, that's a fack."

" I shouldn't think he hed. He lets his sojers overrun the kentry, robbin' smoke-houses, stealin' chickens, arrestin' Union men, skeerin' women to death, destroyin' craps, an' stealin' hosses. I hain't hardly knowed how a bed felt sence he got to Knoxville," said Jack.

"Wall, 's fur's the arrestin's concerned, an' makin' folks take the oath, it's him's a-doin' hit, matter o' cose. An' they hain't no lack o' men like Marshall to sick him on to men they hate. But the fellers was a-sayin' to-day that a heap o' the stealin' he don't know about."

" He'd orter know."

" Wall, I ain't a-sayin' as how he don't. But the fellers was a-sayin' as how Brownlow wrote that

Zollicoffer hisself hain't so bad a feller, but he's on a bad side. But 'tain't wise fur us to stay hyur. I gotter git on. Like's not some Johnny'll be a-sneakin' up on us hyur. I'm goin' to Kaintuck an' 'list. The day atter the August election the Union men from Kaintuck commenced a-getherin' at Camp Dick Robinson, in Garrard County, an' a heap o' fellers from East Tennessy is a-getherin' at Camp Nelson, clost by on the Kaintuck River. I'm a-goin' to start to-night."

" Foot or hossback ? "

" Hossback. Don' you want ter go 'long ? "

" I hain't got no horse, an* I didn't 'low ter leave mother."

"'Tis too bad 'bout you a-losin' of yer horse."

"Say, Hank. Is yer pap a-goin'?" asked Jack.

" He's mighty anxious to, but ma teases him notter. I don't 'low he will jes' yit. You heerd tell, didn't you, 'bout arrestin' Preacher Tate ? "

" No, I didn't. Wut's thet fur ?"

"Wy, Sunday week he was holdin' meetin' at the Barren Forks, an' he prayed fur the Union. They've tuck him to jail to Knoxville ! "

"The infernal hounds!" cried Jack. "An' he a' ole man, too."

" Yes, an' they've 'rested another ole Babtist preacher over in Campbell. They was some fellers goin' by to git into Kaintuck an' 'list. An' wen they went pas' the ole man's door, one o' the fellers pulled a flag out from under his shirt, were he'd ben a-hidin' hit, feelin' sorter safe 'caze he was gittin' nigh the Gap, an' they knowed the ole man was Union, an' they shuck the flag towards the house.

The ole man was a-settin' on his porch, a-readin' his Bible, an' wen he seed the flag, he jumped up an' cheered. That's ole man Post. They tuck him ter Knoxville, too."

" I hain't but mighty little use fur the Babtists," said Mrs. Casey ; " but to put a minister o' the Gospel in jail, an' fur cheerin' the flag ! Wicked men is waxin' wuss an' wuss, 'cordin' to Scriptur."

"Wall, Jack, I gotter go. I don' know's I'll ever see you agin."

" Hole on, Hank. Hit 'tain't right to hang onter yer. But I want to ast you a little more. Do you reckon ef I should go yer pap cud sorter look atter mother? "

"Wy, sartin he could, ef he kin look atter his own folks."

" O Jack ! " cried Mrs. Casey, " you hain't a-goin' ? Don' leave me here alone amongst the rebs ! "

" I hate to do it, ma. I hate it powerful. But what kin I do ? I hain't a-goin' to hide out furever."

" The rebs is a-goin' inter Kaintuck, didn't Henry say?"

"Yes, but that won't do us no good. They'll leave some on 'em here, an' they won't be no peace fur no man that kin fight till he gits out er hyur."

" But I'm all alone, Jack, an' a-gittin' old."

" Hank," said Jack, suddenly, " this here is somethin' ma an' me has gotter fight out alone. Ef I kin go, I wanter go with you. Wut time'll yer start ? "

" Soon's it gits good 'n' dark. Ef you kin come, we'll ride an' tie, an' 'twon't take us many days to git than"

" Wall, don' wait fur me. Ef I kin come, I'll be thar. Goin' to take shootin' arms ? "

" No. We hain't got but the rifle gun, an' pa mought need hit. Besides, ef we should be ketched, hit 'tain't pleasant for Union men to be found under arms."

" I reckon ef I go I'd best leave my rifle fur ma," said Jack.

" Like's not she mought need hit, an' ef we git through, the gov'maint'll furnish us with guns. Good-by. Hope you kin go."

" Good-by. Ef I kin, I'll be thar soon atter dark."

" Oh, say, Jack ! Wy, ef you doitt go, you know. Wy, hit's sorter unsartin you know about me. An' ef I shouldn't git back, wy, you know, you'll sorter look atter pap, won't you? You know he's sorter outspoken, an' hain't allers prudent. An' thar's ma and the gals, too. But ef you do go, wy pap'll do all he kin fur your ma."

" Good-by, Hank. But I've sorter got an idy I'll mebby be with yer."

" Good-by, Jack ; I hope so."

Jack Casey stood watching his friend out of sight, while his mother stood beside him, leaning her head upon the top rail of the low fence. It was a long time before Jack turned and faced his mother. They were simple people, with little sense of the dramatic, and no thought of the heroic as related to their poor, obscure lives. There was little that to outward gaze seemed picturesque or interesting.

They were both roughly clad in homespun, he in jeans, and his mother in a tow dress of her own weaving, colored an uncertain shade with native dyes. It hung loosely upon her, and was made with regard to economy of material. She wore a checked apron, and carried in her hand a collapsible sunbonnet, which, with regard to conventionalities, she had taken with her to the road, but which now lay beside her on the fence. Even in her weeping she had thought to move it a little to protect it from her tears, and had buried her face in her apron. She now raised her head, gave her eyes a final wiping, twisted up her back hair, which had fallen down, and secured it in place with a horn comb.

" You're goin', be ye, Jack ? "

" I reckon so, ma. I didn't want ter say so squar out 'fore Hank. I 'lowed mebby you'd sorter ruther lemme say hit fus' to you wen we's by ourselves."

" I knowed that was why, Jack. You're a good boy. Boys don' know how much their mothers keers fur 'em, Jack. Not allers, thet is. I reckon you know more'n a heap o' boys. They hain't no use in takin' on about it. Ef yer gotter go, wy yer gotter go, an' I'll see to things the bes' I kin. They hain't no stock to look atter like they used to be."

" Darn the rebs fur stealin' on 'em ! " interpolated Jack.

" Don' swear, Jack. Hit don' do no good. But I reckon, Jack, you're goin' to be with me sech a leetle wile, — you needn't hide out the res' o' the evenin' till dark,, need yer ? I'd sorter like to have yer 'round while I kin hev yer."

" No, ma. I'll resk it. Hit's a-gittin' sorter late'n the day now. The sun's gittin' sorter low. They'll be some little things to do."

" Less do 'em together, Jack."

" Wall, I 'lowed to go through the corn an' see ef they hain't a ear here 'n' thar thet I kin pick an' hide back in the cave. An' I did 'low ter grabble the 'taters, an' take the biggest ones an' hide thar, too. They's one ham an' a side o' bacon an' some squashes thar aready. I jis' wanter leave whatever they is whar you kin git it, an' not no one else."

" They hain't time to grabble the 'taters, Jack. But we mought look through the corn. We kin take- it row 'n' row together, an' hit won't take long, an* we kin sorter visit wile we kin visit, an' you won't be much in sight in the corn."

It was all too short a task, and finished before the sun was down. The corn was just beginning to ripen, and the ears that might be picked were few and small ; but these they gathered, and laid at the end of the rows, and later Jack carried them to the cave, while his mother cooked for him a few — a very few — of the slices of the precious bacon, and baked for his use four hard corn pones. It was all she could spare, and more than Jack would consent to take. But she insisted, and he took them.

They talked little, and what they said was mostly about commonplace matters. As fast as potatoes got large enough, she would grabble them, and take them to the cave. As fast as corn ripened, she would pick it and hide it there. She would also take there the blankets from Jack's bed, lest her apparent surplus should tempt some soldier beyond what he was able to bear. Indeed, she would take there a number of articles counted superfluities, and hold the cave in readiness for a dwelling and a fort if she should have need. The gun they hid under the floor of the house, carefully wrapped to pre serve it from dampness ; and Jack charged Eliza beth not to surrender it, but if need were, to hide that also in the cave. There, on a pinch, she could live for a time, if the house should be burned. But this was deemed improbable, especially after Jack was gone.

" I reckon I'm safer without you, Jack, sorter," she said. " They won't hurt a pore ole woman, an' they don' bear no gredge agin me."

"You'll be all right, ma. An' in about a month we'll come a-marchin' down through the Gap, an' we'll drive ZollicofFer back a heap faster'n he come. An' some day you'll be a-lookin' down the road, an' you'll see a cloud o' dust, an' you'll say, ( I wonder wut on airth is a-comin',' an' atter a wile you'll see it's somethin' blue. An' then you'll see it's sojers. An' then we'll come by, with the drum a-playin' 'Yankee Doodle,' an' the flag a-flyin', an' you'll come down to the fence whar you cried to-day, an' you'll see me an' you'll see the flag, an' you'll wave yer sunbonnet an' cheer. 'Pears like I kin 'mos' hear you now, ma, the way you'll do when you see us a-comin' back, the rebs a-runnin', full hickory, an' we chasin' 'em down the road, an' you out thar a-cheerin' me an' the flag, an' nary reb a-darin' to sass you."

" I reckon so, Jack. Be ye right sure you'll come back ? "

" Why, matter o' cose we'll come back. The hull mountains is fur Lincoln an' the Union. Wen we git out thar into the open, an' git our guns an' uniforms an' things, you better b'lieve we'll come back ! "

This ought to have encouraged Mrs. Casey, but someway the uncertainty about the return was the thought that was uppermost in her mind. She had borne it like a Spartan mother, ever since her first breakdown, but now she burst into tears again.

" O Jack ! My pore boy ! My only child ! Mus' ye go ? My baby, Jack, ye don' seem to me har'ly bigger'n you was wen I useter sing you to sleep, an' you was roun' the floor an' under my feet. I hater rub my eyes an' look twicet at you to make hit seem like you're a man. O Jack, I know I'm a pore, foolish ole woman, an' I hadn't orter cry. Hit hain't thet I'm skeered to be left alone, though it hain't real pleasant with them rebs all round a-plunderin' an' a-burnin'. But, O Jack, O my boy ! 'Pears jes' lack I wanter take yer right in my arms an' hole you like I useter, an' say I cyan't let yer go."

" Don' take on, ma, now don't. I got jes' about all I kin stan' up under now. I'm a-grittin' my teeth to keep from sayin' how I hate to leave you alone. But they hain't no way to stay an' be at peace, only jes' to take the oath. A heap is a-takin' hit f from the teeth out,' but I hain't a-goin' to swar to no lies."

" No, Jack, ye hain't. An' I hain't a-goin' to hev you a-hidin' out forever, nuther, an' ketchin' yer death wen the cold nights come. Hit's bad enough in summer. They'll hev dry places fur the sojers to sleep, I reckon, won't they, Jack ? "

" Oh, sartin. An' then hit hain't a-goin' to las' long. All we gotter do is to git up thar an' tell 'em how East Tennessy is loyal, an' the people jes' waitin' fur the ole flag, and they'll send us right back with a heap more, an' we'll hold East Ten nessy in the Union."

" I reckon so, Jack. I hain't a-goin' to hang onter yer. Go an' do yer duty, lack your pa would a done."

" Hit's gittin' dark mighty fast, ma."

"Yes. 'Pears lack I never seed dark come on so quick atter the sun went down. You don' reckon hit's time to go ? "

" I reckon it is, ma. I'd best be a-goin'. You bes' keep some o' them pones."

"No, Jack. You take 'em. Mus' yer be a-goin' ? Good-by, Jack. An', Jack, wen you git away off, an' you lay down at night to sleep, you wanter think, Jack, says you, ' Ma's a-prayin' fur me,' says you. An' wen yer git inter battle, an' hit 'pears lack yer cyan't do wut the gin'r'l hollers out fur yer ter do, jus' says you to yerself, * Ma's a-prayin' fur me,' says you, an' you go ahead an' do yer duty. An' ef there's ary rough fellers in the Lincoln army, like a heap o' the rebs, that's drinkin' an' swearin' an' gittin' inter devilmaint, an' they want yer ter go with 'em, you jes' says, e No,' says you, an' ef they keep sorter urgin' you, an' a-pesterin' you so's you sorter feel lack doin' on it with 'em, says you to yourself, ' Ma's a-prayin' fur me,' says you. An' hit'll be so. Fur they won't be no wakin' hour, day nor night, that God a-lookin' down inter my heart, an' a-listenin' to hear ef I've got somethin' er other ter ast him, won't hear me a-prayin' fur you, ter help yer to be brave and clean an' true, an' spar yer life, an' fetch yer back. Good-by, Jack."

" Good-by, ma. I won't do nothin' that I wouldn't do ef you was thar or God."

" I know you won't, Jack. Good-by. Now you'll hatter hurry, cause hit's gittin' mighty dark, an' Henry won't wait."

He slipped out of the back door and pushed the latch-string in. She stood with her head bowed against the door until the sound of his feet had died out, and then pushed the leather string through the hole again, and, raising the latch, crept out after him. She was too late to overtake him, but she slipped along the path that he had trodden in his leaving, hoping to come near enough to hear the sound of his footsteps again without being heard. But he had gone rapidly, and she went slowly and quietly lest he should know that she had done so foolish a thing. She followed him nearly to the house of Henry Hanson, and saw, as she came in sight of it, the light of the fire shine out for a moment as the door swung and some one entered. She waited, and after a time saw it open again, and two or three figures, she was not sure which, slipped out. She wanted to go nearer, but feared to be seen, and felt sure that Jack would be ashamed if she should be detected in such an act of folly. Sadly she took her way back home, and, lifting the latch, entered the house that was left unto her desolate, and pulled in the latch-string. And then she dropped into a chair in the chimney corner, and her face sank between her knees, and she poured out a mother's grief and loneliness in prayers and tears for her boy who had left her to fight for the Union.

Ill

IT was a clear night, when summer was just sobering into autumn, that Henry Hanson and Jack Casey started on their lonely journey through the wilderness into Kentucky. Jacob slipped out with them, and went a mile on the way.

He gave them many directions, which were al most superfluous, for they were accustomed to rind ing their way through the woods, and knew well the first twenty miles of the road.

" You'll know Powell's River," said he. " Hit runs along the ridge-pole o' the rocks, sorter lack the rocks had fell down, an' stood up like the roof o' the house, an' the water runs down the ridge-pole, stidder down the shingles. Hit's a mighty quare trick the water plays thar. Wen you come to that, you're right under the shadder of the big Cumber land Mounting. The three States corners right in the Gap. You bar up stream to the right inter the pint o' V'ginny, whar it comes in like a smoothin' iron, and work up round the hill. Boon's you're through the Gap, you're safe in Kaintuck."

"We won't hev no trouble thet fur," said Jack. " I've ben to the Gap myself twicet, but it was by Rutledge an' Tasewell."

"You mus'n't go thataway to-night, ye know. 'Tain't safe. But hit'll give ye the gin'r'l z'dy, to have went. Wen ye git to Kaintuck ye can't miss it. Yaller Creek heads up at the Gap. Foller hit down. They hain't no trouble to foller down stream. Then cross the Log Mounting an' go by Cumberland Ford, Barboursville, Mount Vernon, an' Crab Orchard to the Kaintuck River. Camp Nelson is on the river."

"What ef Zollicoffer has scouts ahead, an' we can't go by the Ford ? "

"Then you gotter bar to the right, around through Harlan an' Clay, an' keep on till you come to the head waters of the Kaintuck River, an' foller them down. That's a long way 'round. But ef ye hatter go thataway, you mought find hit easy to go by Roundstone, an' see yer kinfolks."

" We'll git thar all right."

" Wall, keep together. Don't try no ride an' tie bus'ness. You'll git your horse stole, shore's you're a foot high. Jes' let Bill jog 'long, single footed, one o' you ridin' an' t'other holdin' to the stirrup leather, an' change wunct in a while. You hain't got no high water to ford except the Cumberland, an' that hain't high now."