LIFE IN THE ARMY.
Being the Observations and Experi-
ences of a Private Soldier.
BY J. K. MAGIE.
As soon as the rebels discovered that they were not strong enough to take the stock ades inthe vicinity of New Haven they began to maneuver to get away from that part of the country, and join Morgan’s main force, which had taken an easterly course from Bardstown. The next morning after my adventure at the house of Mr. Price I went over to his house, upon his invitation, to get my breakfast, and also to get some food for McClintock and Houk, who were still with the horses in the mountains. As soon as I entered his house I saw that something was wrong. I was not long in being informed that the rebels had made him a visit and had taken from him his best horse, a splendid animal that he valued at over two hundred dollars, and that his own brother, Loyd Price, had led the rebels to his house, and pointed out the horse, and that he had acted as the rebels guide, and was even then absent from his home piloting the rebels through the intricate passes of that country. He told me that he had time and again rather screened the faults of his brother, and apologized for his disloyal acts; but that he was now done with him, and he didn’t care how soon we Yankees caught him and hung him.
I partook of an excellent breakfast, prepared by the fair hand of Susan, who had now become quite reconciled toward me, since she had become satisfied that I was not a rebel. She was not at all choice in her language respecting the conduct of her uncle Loyd, and she emphatically expressed her wish that the Yankees would catch him and give him his deserts. I made some inquiries respecting the appearance of this man Loyd Price, and gathered what information I could respecting the location of his house, its inmates, &c. I secretly resolved that I would watch for this rebel sympathizer and arrest him in the first opportunity.
I returned to the mountains and carried with me a good breakfast for my companions. I informed them of the situation of things at Price’s, and that the rebels had probably evacuated that part of the country. We resolved to return to camp that evening with the horses, going by way of Price’s farm, and at the same time take a look at the house of Loyd Price, and take him along if he was to be found.
The sun was perhaps about half an hour high as we reached the house of Mr. Orville Price. He was absent on a fruitless errand of an attempt to recover his stolen horse. We took our horses into the stack yard of Mr. Price and placed them where they could not be seen by any passers by. Susan and her mother were busy preparing us a supper of warm biscuits and fried chickens. From appearances at the house of Loyd Price, which was about a quarter of a mile distant, it was surmised that he had returned from his errand of piloting rebels away from our pursuing cavalry. – McClintock and I examined our pistols and dirks, and finding all in good order, we left Houk to stand guard over the horses while we made our way to the house of Loyd. By getting on the blind side of the house we managed to reach it without being discovered. We had previously laid our plans, and had concocted a story to the effect that we were Morgan’s men, and had accidentally been cut off from his command, and were now trying to rejoin him. I was the first to enter the house. McClintock remained outside to see that nobody should leave it after I entered. I found Loyd at home, and with assumed timidity I asked him if his name was Price. He answered it was. Then I asked him if it was Orville Price. “No, sir,” said he, “my name is Loyd Price.”
“All right;” said I, “you are a Southern right’s man. You have got a brother though that’s a cussed abolitionist. I didn’t know but you might be him.”
I then stepped to the door and called McClintock, telling him it was all right. McClintock entered, and we both took seats. Loyd looked a little troubled, but I commenced immediately:
“Pottinger told us you was all right, but that we must look out for Orville Price, your brother.”
“What Pottinger was that?” inquired Loyd.
“That’s the name of the man we staid with last night,” I replied.
There were three or four families of the name Pottinger living about seven miles south from there, and one of them, named Jeff. Pottinger, was a notorious sympathizer with secession, and it was our purpose to make Loyd believe that we were fresh from that nest of treason.
“Was it Jefferson Pottinger?” asked Loyd, looking at us rather sharply.
“I reckon it was,” said I; “any how, he lives on the road to Lebanon, and his house is right by a creek.”
“That’s Jeff. [missing] –ing a little more assured; “but what do you want of me?”
“Well, you see we belong to Morgan’s cavalry, and we got cut off from our command three days ago over to Elizabethtown, and we have come mighty near being caught by the Yankees two or three times. We now want to get on the Bardstown pike, and go over to that town, for Pottinger tells us that Morgan is over there, and he told us that you would help us along.”
“Yes, yes,” said Loyd, now looking vastly more pleased. “So, them, you are Southern soldiers. Of course, I will help you all I can.”
Loyd then, in reply to our questions, told us all about the rebel movements of the past few days, and told us how he had guided Owsley’s detachment of rebels over the mountains. He also gave us the names of such rebels on the Bardstown pike as we could trust, and the names of those we should avoid. We then asked him to go with us a piece on the road, so that we wouldn’t miss finding the pike.
“Oh,” said he, “I would do so with pleasure, but there is no use of that, as I can show you the pike from the house.”
He then led the way until we reached the west side of his house, and here he showed us the pike in the distance, and pointed out to us such houses as were occupied by Union citizens, and which we were instructed to avoid. While he was engaged in this labor of love, McClintock and I were standing a step or two behind him, apparently listening with much interest to the important information he was communicating to us. We concluded that we had now carried the joke about far enough, so we drew our pistols, and when Loyd turned around he looked square into the muzzles of two pistols. He comprehended his situation in a moment, and his face blanched with fear. We instituted a search of his garments, and finding he carried no deadly weapons, we ordered him to march ahead of us toward the house of his brother Orville. On the way he suddenly stopped, and asked permission to return to the house to get his pocket-book, which he assured us contained some six or seven hundred dollars. This he intended as a hint for us to accept a bribe. I told him I doubted whether he had that much money. He assured us that he had. Then said McClintock, “Let us go back and get it, for I am in want of just that amount of money.” The countenance of Loyd immediately assumed a different expression. He then suddenly remembered that all his money was in confederate currency. We concluded it wouldn’t pay to return to the house, and so we marched him along, and soon reached the house of Orville. We secured our prisoner by strapping his hands behind him while we enjoyed the excellent supper Mrs. Price and her daughter had prepared for us. Both these ladies justified the arrest of Loyd, and told him that he had justly forfeited his life, and they hoped never to be troubled with his presence again.
After supper we brought our horses to the door, and ordered Loyd to mount one of them. He made several attempts to mount, but at length gave up, and said that he hadn’t the strength to jump upon the horse. Either of our party could spring from the ground upon the back of a horse, and we thought that if Loyd made the proper effort he could do the same, but he assured us that it was impossible.
“Well,” said I, “I am not going to lift you on, and I am not going to leave you here, to steal horses and guide rebels through the country.” And calling upon one of Price’s boys who was standing near, I inquired if there was any cattle or other stock in a certain direction, and upon being informed that there was not, I ordered Loyd to stand out there. McClintock inquired what I was going to do. “Shoot him,” said I. “We certainly are not going to leave him here alive, and I am not going to lift him on the horse.” I drew my pistol as if about to fire, when Loyd yelled out, “Hold on; I think I can get on – I’ll try again,” and giving a smart spring he jumped upon the horse without any further difficulty.
It was now some two hours after sunset, but the moon was just rising, and as the sky was clear, we had no difficulty in finding our way through the winding paths which led out to the Bardstown pike. As it was now quite evident that the rebs had left that part of the country, we rode boldly on, and passed through the town of New Haven, on our way to the camp. We were stared at with much wonder and curiosity, as every stranger at that time was looked upon with suspicion. A rumor soon started that the rebels were returning, and that Morgan’s advance guard had passed through the town. This rumor had a run for a day or two, and then died a natural death.
Upon returning to camp we reported to headquarters, and were congratulated upon our safe return. We reported our prisoner, and the charges against him, and the manner of his arrest, &c. The Colonel was embarrassed to know what to do with him. We were still under command of Captain Gilbert, acting Major-General, who had issued an order that no man or officer should be allowed to go more than three hundred yards from the stockade. If the Colonel should send up to the General’s headquarters this prisoner, with the particulars of his arrest, he would be held guilty of a violation of the order restricting us to the three hundred yards’ limits. Every one was of opinion that the prisoner deserved some punishment, and it was not good policy to let him go unpunished. It was finally resolved that he should be terrified with the prospect of hanging, at any rate. This part of the programme was entrusted to a few of the boys of Co. H, and they did their part well. A guard was detailed to take charge of the prisoner, and these would manage to get up side conversations intended for the ear of the prisoner. They talked as though the trial of the prisoner was in progress by a drum-head court-martial. Every new-comer was inquired of as to the progress of the trial. At length the verdict was announced – the prisoner was to die the next morning at sunrise. During all this time the prisoner had listened with painful suspense and anxiety to the broken and disconnected conversations of the guard, and when at length I appeared in his presence he eagerly called me to him and inquired what had been done in his case. The man looked so terrified and horror-stricken that I immediately felt a sympathy for him, but I did not feel justified in undeceiving him as to his fate. After my conversation with him, he gave up all hope, and fell upon his knees and tried to pray, but I think he made poor work of it – in fact, he told me that he couldn’t pray. He told me how he wished his property disposed of, and regretted that he had ever had anything to do with the rebels. He had a younger brother in the Union army, and to him he directed that his property should be given.
The next morning he was measured for his coffin, and other things were practiced, all calculated to impress upon him the near approach of death. By this time his hair stood on end, and his eyes looked round as silver dollars. I spoke to him, and asked if he desired the services of a minister. He said he didn’t think a preacher could do him any good. He asked if there was any hope for him. I told him I had read that there was hope, even for the souls of sinners. “Oh,” says he, “I want to know if there is any chance of sparing my life.” I told him if he would send for his brother, perhaps he could have some influence with the Colonel. “I am afraid it would make the matter worse,” he replied. “I have wronged him so much, I don’t believe he would care to help me any.”
It was a part of our programme that the brother, Orville Price, should come to the camp, and it should be represented to the prisoner that, through his intercession, the sentence against him should be commuted. This arrangement was finally carried out. Loyd was put under bonds to behave himself thereafter as a true and loyal subject of the United States, and to pay his brother for the horse stolen from him. He complied with these conditions, and was permitted to depart. During the time that our regiment remained at New Haven, Loyd conducted himself very discreetly, and I suppose to this day he believes he owes his life to the intercession of his true and loyal brother.
To Be Continued.
The Copperhead Candidate for
Our old comrades in the 78th regiment will no doubt be surprised to learn that their fellow-soldier, Private Morris Chase, of Co. I, has received the nomination for County Clerk at the hands of the Copperhead party of this county. They will be surprised for two reasons: 1st. That a soldier who volunteered in a war which was declared by the Democratic party of this county to be inhuman, unjust and unconstitutional, should now affiliate with that same party; and, 2d, that a person of so little experience and capability should be selected to fill so important a position as the office of County Clerk.
Morris Chase was known among his companions as a very good-natured, jolly, rollicking sort of a boy. We believe he made a tolerably good soldier. He was taken prisoner at the battle of Chickamauga, and was not exchanged until near the close of the war. He is a Democrat by instinct, as he was never known to give a reason for his political faith. His Democratic friends might call him a “minion,” a “hireling,” a “Lincoln purp,” and such like names, and he would never see the point to them, or once think of being offended.
He was not selected because he had any qualifications for the office. He was selected because the Copperhead party wanted one soldier to bait the ticket with, and Chase was the only one they could find in the county.
→ At the September term of the city court of Brooklyn, N. Y., a colored man named Robert Jackson was duly summoned and impanneled as a juror. This is the first case of the kind in Kings county.
We find the above in one of our exchanges, and copy it for the benefit of the Democracy hereabouts. Some ten or twelve years since we had the honor of being a resident of Brooklyn [fold] number of years as clerk of election. We knew Mr. Robert Jackson well, and have recorded his name as a voter in the old 11th ward a number of times. By his own energy and industry he had accumulated a large property, and is now a thriving crockery merchant in that city. We think he has all the qualifications to make an intelligent juryman.
Mr. Jackson was made a voter by the Democratic party, and he is now summoned as a juror by a Democratic Sheriff in a Democratic city.
→ Our young friend Clarke, of the firm of S. J. Clarke & Co., has returned from New York city with the largest and most splendid stock of books, albums, annuals, stationary, etc., etc., ever brought to this city. His beautiful store is now filled to its utmost capacity, and abounds with beautiful pictures and other attractions, which make it the most popular resort in the city.
THE GREAT UNWASHED IN COUNCIL!
Old Pomposity in the Chair!
The Old Gray Horse Redivivus!
YE ORACLE MAKES A SPEECH!
DITTO YE FUGLE MAN!
A Bait for Soldiers’ Votes!
A MARTYR IN THE FIELD!
A “BITTER PILL!”
“Nigger in the Wood-Pile!”
Monday last, the 25th inst., the great unterrified and unwashed Democracy of this county met in Convention at Campbell’s Hall. The meeting was called to order by the Chief Fugle-man, J. C. Thompson, who nominated “Old Pomposity” as Chairman of the meeting, which, being put to a vote, was unanimously carried. Upon taking the chair, “Old Pomposity” – otherwise known as “Louder,” or James M. Campbell – made the very original remark that the Convention needed a Secretary; whereupon Wm. T. Head was made Secretary, and ye chief fugle-man assistant. After a silence for a few minutes, ye fugle-man suggested that a committee of three be appointed to draft resolutions as the sense of the meeting – a proceeding which we thought entirely useless, as the aforesaid fugle-man had a hat-full already prepared; when the chair appointed “ye aforesaid,” together with Johnson Merritt and Victor Hardin, Esqrs.
The committee, with elongated faces and slow and solemn step, retired to “draft” the resolutions. “Old Pomposity” again made a suggestion to the effect that a few short speeches might appropriately be made. The old “Gray Horse” – known as John E. Jackson – was called for. He appeared on the stand, and started out with the startling intelligence that he would be a candidate before that august body for the office of County Judge. He said that some of his brethren objected to him from the fact that he didn’t vote for McClellan. Considering that open confession was good for the soul, he acknowledged that such was the case, and assigned as the reason that McClellan was too much addicted to arresting Democrats, and cited the arrest of the Maryland Legislature. He wanted the Convention to vote with their eyes open, which they did, as Mr. John E. Jackson, Esq., “O. G. H.,” [transpose the latter initials,] was not nominated.
Ye Oracle – L. G. Reid – was the next man trotted out for the edification of them-asses assembled. He informed the Convention that he was no stump-speaker – an assertion that we heartily agreed with. He stated that, unlike brother Jackson, he did vote for McClellan with tears in his eyes, he confessed to the damning fact – “but it was a mighty bitter pill.” If he had it to do over again, he did not believe he could do it. [Great applause among the unwashed.] “Our country,” he said, “was just through a great and devastating war, and was now on the brink of destruction, and could only be saved by everybody joining the Democratic party, and adopting the platform which was begun in 1798, and finished in 1860; that ‘Sambo’ was making rapid strides in the race for life and happiness, to get ahead of the white race, and he was mighty ‘fraid they would succeed, unless we all joined the Democracy, and go back to first principles,” [that is, re-enslave the nigger, take the wenches for concubines, and do away with free schools.] During the remarks of Ye Oracle, the committee on resolutions returned, and reported a string of resolutions, the gist of which was opposition to allowing niggers to be better than Democrats; in favor of taxing United States bonds – in direct opposition to the decision of Chief Justice Marshall, – and in favor of the Board of Supervisors directing the township tax collectors to give receipts to private soldiers for the amount of their bounty tax. We leave it to the good sense of the people to see where the “laugh comes in” on that resolution.
The resolutions having been unanimously adopted, the Convention proceeded to nominate candidates. The slate being in possession of an attachee of the Court House, whose legs we could just see sticking out of the end of the judges’ stand, the names of candidates for County Judge were read off. John S. Bailey, Wm. H. Jackson, John E. Jackson and Johnson Merritt were put in nomination. John S. Bailey, having understood that he was not acceptable to a portion of the crowd – being too honest and high-minded, we suppose – respectfully declined, stating as a reason, and a very good one we opine, that the gel-lorious Dimocracy would need al the votes that they could muster to come anywhere near succeeding at the ensuing election. With virtuous indignation cropping out all over his rubicund countenance, he slowly retired from the presence. After which the voting went on. There being no choice on the first ballot, another was had, which resulted in the choice of Wm. H. Jackson. The old G. H., like a meteor, scintillated for a few minutes, but went out as quick. John W. Westfall, ex-postmaster, ex-expressman, and ex-whisky seller, was nominated for Treasurer. We pass him by for the present, having nothing to say about him, either good, bad, or indifferent.
Ignoring all the contemptuous language that the copperhead party has hurled at the soldiers of the late war, this immaculate Convention thought it a pious notion to put at least one of the blue-coated gentry on their ticket, and they have been endeavoring for the last few weeks to find one that was idiotic enough to let his name be used for bait. At last they succeeded in finding a degenerate son of an honored sire – one Morris Chase, a private of the 78th. We reserve a separate article for this boy, merely premising that he is used as a cat’s paw to pull chestnuts out of the fire for another man.
A MARTYR IN THE FIELD.
Having got a private soldier on the ticket, the Convention was satisfied, and then “went back to first principles,” and nominated a man for County Superintendent of Schools who was whipped by a private soldier. Theodore Kindrick, another degenerate son of a worthy sire, is the man. Having been literally whipped by a private soldier, he will not mind it much to be politically whipped by another soldier.
Mr. Nichol, the present Surveyor, declining to run again, the place on the ticket was filled by the name of Joseph Morris – a person whom no one seemed to know, or care to know.
The Convention, for a wonder, was very harmonious; but when we take into consideration the certainty of being defeated, our wonder ceases to be very great. The copperhead party of this county know that it is doomed, and therefore the members take it easy, resolving to grin and bear it like heroes.
We did not stay to hear the closing remarks of the chief fugle-man, but have been informed that he did not express any of that honest indignation that swelled his manly bosom during the summer of ’64 at the despotism of Abraham Lincoln and his “hireling purps” – the soldiers. O, no! The indignation of “ye aforesaid” and his crew has evaporated into thin air; votes are good things. Selah!
Accounted For. – An exchange says the corn crop of Central Illinois is immense, and parties in that section are anticipating as low a price this winter as fifteen cents per bushel, in view of which many persons are purchasing stock.
Perhaps this may account for the large shipments of stock cattle from Missouri into Illinois. Citizens of Quincy have doubtless noticed the large and frequent droves of cattle that have lately almost daily crossed the ferry at this point and been sent into the interior for feeding. It has been matter of common remark that such large quantities of stock have never been crossed over from the other side of the Mississippi for feeding purposes. As the man said who was betting on an election, “We’ll bet on our side of the river.” – Quincy Whig.
A large assortment of pocket-books, money purses, and post-monies at Chapman & Co.’s, north side of the square.
→ Goods that were 75 cents last winter are now selling at George Bailey’s at 45 cents.
→ All wool delaines at Geo. Bailey’s for 60 cents, worth $1,00 last winter.
Australian Clay Pen.
This beautiful and good pen can only be obtained at Chapman & Co.’s, north side of the square.
→ Dr. Hammond has moved into his new dwelling, on the corner of Carroll and McArthur streets, north-west of the public square.
→ We learn that George W. Smith, Esq., is about to open a grocery store in the old express office building, south side of the square. May success attend him.
We refer our lady readers to the card of Mrs. McDonald, who advertises her Millinery Business in this week’s paper. Mrs. McD. is an experienced Milliner, and always gives good satisfaction.
As this is the season of the year when schools commence, our readers should bear in mind that C. C. Chapman & Co. have a large supply of school books on hand for sale.
We learn from W. S. Hall, deputy commissioner, that the total population of McDonough is 25,669, an increase of about 3000 over the report of 1860.
→ A small smash-up occurred at the depot on Monday evening last. A man trying to cross the railroad ahead of the locomotive missed his calculation, and had one of his horses knocked down, and the fore wheels of his wagon taken off. Fortunately no other damage was done.
Geo. W. Bailey, on the east side of the square, is selling goods rumor says a little cheaper than any other house in town.
“Anything you can buy cheaper anywhere else, you can bring back and get your money,” is his motto.
The citizens of Hancock county propose to give the soldiers a grand reception at Carthage, on Saturday, October 7th. Extensive preparations are being made for a grand affair. The returned soldiers from this county are cordially invited to be present and to partake of the hospitalities of the occasion.
Going to Quit.
Our friend, Capt. John M. Cyrus, proprietor of the grocery store in Campbell’s corner, is selling out at cost, preparatory to emigrating to the State of Georgia. We are sorry to loose the “Cap.,” but as he is bound to leave, we advise him to go by the way of the State of Matrimony. What do you think, John?
An excellent troupe of performers, under the management of Prof. Theo. J. Davis, the young American ventriloquist and humorist, are now performing in this city during the day at their pavilion near the Fair Grounds. In the evening they perform at Campbell’s Hall. An excellent bill is promised for Friday evening.
→ Quite a number of our young men have recently left the city to attend school in other places. Among those gone we may mention Wm. Franklin, Bob Davis, John Venable, and John Beard. There are others whose names we cannot remember just now. Misses Rinda Hamilton and Julia Davis have also gone to Abingdon to attend school.
Elder E. R. Hand, from Plattsburg, Mo., has been holding a series of meetings in the Christian Church in this city, for about two weeks past, to large and appreciative audiences. He has awakened a lively interest in religious subjects among his auditors. He will officiate at the above Church on Sunday next at the usual hours.
The well-known hotel in this city, the “Brown House,” has changed hands; Mr. Brown retiring, and Mr. James McClintock taking possession. We understand that “Jim.” starts out well, as a landlord, and that he knows how to “keep hotel.” We propose to test the merits of his larder soon, when we will report. In the meantime, we would advise all the hungry people who visit our city to give Jim. a call, and test the matter for themselves.
→ Mrs. Geo. W. Patrick, wife of Geo. W. Patrick, of Colchester, in this county, while on a visit to her father in Wisconsin, had the misfortune to loose her youngest child by death. The corpse was brought to this city for interment, and was buried at Oakwood Cemetery on Monday last. The bereaved parents have our condolences in their affliction.
On Monday last a drunken scamp, whose name is not worthy of being mentioned in these columns, was brought before Justice Withrow for the crime of beating his wife. Wife-beating being a common crime, he was only fined the pitiful sum of three dollars and costs. It should have been so large that he could not have paid it, so that he would have went to jail for awhile.
We learn through our friend, J. H. Epperson, Esq., of Bushnell, that a man was killed at Prairie City on Tuesday, by the cars running over him. It seems that the man attempted to get on the cars while in motion, and, his foot slipping, he fell beneath the cars and was instantly killed. This is only one of the numerous warnings that are constantly occurring about getting on or off the railroad cars while in motion. We did not learn the man’s name, nor his place of residence.
P. S. We have since learned that the name of the unfortunate man was Jesse Cunninghams, an esteemed citizen of Prairie City. He had started to come to this city on business. He leaves a family to mourn his untimely fate.
More Foul than “Fair.”
The usual attempt on the McDonough County Fair came duly to hand on Wednesday morning last, the opening day of the Fair. We refer to that article that treats impartially the just and the unjust – gentle rain. The sun was supposed to have arisen that morning in all its effulgent and resplendent glory; we say supposed, for we could not see it, as the dark and lowering clouds hid its divulgent rays from mortal ken. The rain, unlike Charity, “which droppeth as the gentle dew from Heaven,” came down plentifully and fast, putting a damper upon the spirits of all.