by Sam Watkins
I had a beautiful dream—dreamed that I was in heaven, or rather, that a pair of stairs with richly carved balusters and wings, and golden steps overlaid with silk and golden-colored carpeting came down from heaven to my room; and two beautiful damsels kept peeping, and laughing, and making faces at me from the first platform of these steps; and every now and then they would bring out their golden harps, and sing me a sweet and happy song. Others were constantly passing, but always going the same way. They looked like so many schoolgirls, all dressed in shining garments. Two or three times the two beautiful girls would go up the stairs and return, bringing fruits and vegetables that shined like pure gold. I knew that I never had seen two more beautiful beings on earth. The steps began to lengthen out, and seemed to be all around me; they seemed to shine a halo of glory all about. The two ladies came closer, and closer, passing around, having a beautiful wreath of flowers in each hand, and gracefully throwing them backward and forward as they laughed and danced around me. Finally one stopped and knelt down over me and whispered something in my ear. I threw up my arms to clasp the beautiful vision to my bosom, when I felt my arm grabbed, and “D—n ye, I wish you would keep your d—n arm off my wound, ye hurt me,” came from the soldier in the next bunk.
The sun was shining full in my face. I got up and went down to breakfast. The bill of fare was much better for breakfast than it had been for supper; in fact it was what is called a “jarvis” breakfast.15
After breakfast, I took a ramble around the city. It was a nice place, and merchandise and other business was being carried on as if there was no war. Hotels were doing a thriving business; steamboats were at the wharf, whistling and playing their calliopes. I remember the one I heard was playing “Away Down on the Sewanee River.” To me it seemed that everybody was smiling, and happy, and prosperous.16
THE CAPITOL
I went to the capitol, and it is a fine building, overlooking the city. When I got there, I acted just like everybody that ever visited a fine building—they wanted to go on top and look at the landscape. That is what they all say. Now, I always wanted to go on top, but I never yet thought of landscape. What I always wanted to see, was how far I could look, and that is about all that any of them wants. It's mighty nice to go up on a high place with your sweetheart, and hear her say, “La! ain't it b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l,” “Now, now, please don't go there,” and how you walk up pretty close to the edge and spit over, to show what a brave man you are. It's “bully,” I tell you. Well, I wanted to go to the top of the capitol—I went; wanted to go up in the cupola. Now, there was an iron ladder running up across an empty space, and you could see two hundred feet below from this cupola or dome on top. The ladder was about ten feet long, spanning the dome. It was very easy to go up, because I was looking up all the time, and I was soon on top of the building. I saw how far I could see, and saw the Alabama River, winding and turning until it seemed no larger than a silver thread.
Well, I am very poor at describing and going into ecstacies over fancies. I want some abler pen to describe the scene. I was not thinking about the scene or the landscape—I was thinking how I was going to get down that ladder again. I would come to that iron ladder and peep over, and think if I fell, how far would I have to fall. The more I thought about going down that ladder, the more I didn't feel like going down. Well, I felt that I had rather die than go down that ladder. I'm honest in this. I felt like jumping off and committing suicide rather than go down that ladder. I crossed right over the frightful chasm, but when forbearance ceased to be a virtue, I tremblingly put my foot on the first rung, then grabbed the top of the two projections. There I remained, I don't know how long, but after awhile I reached down with one foot and touched the next rung. After getting that foot firmly placed, I ventured to risk the other foot. It was thus for several backward steps, until I come to see down—away down, down, down below me—and my head got giddy. The world seemed to be turning round and round. A fellow at the bottom hallooed, “Look up! Look up, mister! look up!” I was not a foot from the upper floor. As soon as I looked at the floor, everything got steady. I kept my eyes fixed on the top of the building, and soon made the landing on terra firma.
I have never liked high places since. I never could bear to go upstairs in a house. I went to the capitol at Nashville, last winter, and McAndrews wanted me to go up in the cupola with him. He went, and paid a quarter for the privilege. I stayed, and—well, if I could estimate its value by dollars—I would say two hundred and fifty million dollars is what I made by staying down.
AM ARRESTED
The next day, while the ferryboat was crossing the river, I asked the ferryman to let me ride over. I was halted by a soldier who “knowed” his business.
“Your pass, sir!”
“Well, I have no pass!”
“Well, sir, I will have to arrest you, and take you before the provost marshal.”
“Very well, sir; I will go with you to the provost or anywhere else.”
I appear before the provost marshal.
“What command do you belong to, sir?”
“Well, sir, I belong to Company H, First Tennessee Regiment. I am a wounded man sent to the hospital.”
“Well, sir, that's too thin; why did you not get a pass?”
“I did not think one was required.”
“Give me your name, sir.”
I gave my name.
“Sergeant, take this name to the hospital and ask if such name is registered on their books.”
I told him that I knew it was not. The sergeant returns and reports no such name, when he remarks:
“You have to go to the guard-house.”
Says I, “Colonel (I knew his rank was that of captain), if you send me to the guard-house, you will do me a great wrong. Here is where I was wounded.” I pulled off my shoe and began to unbandage.
“Well, sir, I don't want to look at your foot, and I have no patience with you. Take him to the guard-house.”
Turning back I said, “Sir, aye, aye, you are clothed with a little brief authority, and appear to be presuming pretty heavy on that authority; but, sir”—well I have forgotten what I did say. The sergeant took me by the arm, and said, “Come, come, sir, I have my orders.”
As I was going up the street, I met Captain Dave Buckner, and told him all the circumstances of my arrest as briefly as I could. He said, “Sergeant, bring him back with me to the provost marshal's office.” They were as mad as wet hens. Their faces were burning, and I could see their jugular veins go thump, thump, thump. I do not know what Captain Buckner said to them, all I heard were the words “otherwise insulted me.” But I was liberated, and was glad of it.
THOSE GIRLS
I then went back to the river, and gave a fellow two dollars to “row me over the ferry.” I was in no particular hurry, and limped along at my leisure until about nightfall, when I came to a nice, cosylooking farm house, and asked to stay all night.
I was made very welcome, indeed. There were two very pretty girls here, and I could have “loved either were ‘tother dear charmer away.”17 But I fell in love with both of them, and thereby overdid the thing. This was by a dim fire-light. The next day was Sunday, and we all went to church in the country. We went in an old rockaway carriage. I remember that the preacher used the words, “O, God,” nineteen times in his prayer. I had made up my mind which one of the girls I would marry. Now, don't get mad, fair reader mine. I was all gallantry and smiles, and when we arrived at home, I jumped out and took hold the hand of my fair charmer to help her out. She put her foot out, and—well, I came very near telling—she tramped on a cat. The cat squalled.
THE TALISMAN
But then, you know, reader, that I was engaged to Jennie and I had a talisman in my pocket Bible, in the way of a love letter, against the charms of other beautiful and interesting young ladies. Uncle Jimmie Rieves had been to Maury county, and, on returning to Atlanta, found out that I was wounded and in the hospital at Montgomery, and brought the letter
to me; and, as I am married now, I don't mind telling you what was in the letter, if you won't laugh at me. You see, Jennie was my sweetheart, and here is my sweetheart's letter:
“My Dear Sam: I write to tell you that I love you yet, and you alone; and day by day I love you more, and pray, every night and morning for your safe return home again. My greatest grief is that we heard you were wounded and in the hospital, and I cannot be with you to nurse you.
We heard of the death of many noble and brave men at Atlanta; and the death of Captain Carthell, Cousin Mary's husband. It was sent by Captain January; he belonged to the Twelfth Tennessee, of which Colonel [O. G.] Watkins was lieutenant-colonel.
The weather is very beautiful here, and the flowers in the garden are in full bloom, and the apples are getting ripe. I have gathered a small bouquet, which I will put in the letter; I also send by Uncle Jimmie a tobacco bag, and a watch-guard, made out of horse hair, and a woolen hood, knit with my own hands, with love and best respects.
We heard that you had captured a flag at Atlanta, and was promoted for it to corporal. Is that some high office? I know you will be a general yet, because I always hear of your being in every battle, and always the foremost man in the attack. Sam, please take care of yourself for my sake, and don't let the Yankees kill you. Well, good-bye, darling, I will ever pray for God's richest and choicest blessings upon you. Be sure and write a long, long letter—I don't care how long, to your loving and sincere—Jennie.”
THE BRAVE CAPTAIN
When I got back to the Alabama River, opposite Montgomery, the ferryboat was on the other shore. A steamboat had just pulled out of its moorings and crossed over to where I was, and began to take on wood. I went on board, and told the captain, who was a clever and good man, that I would like to take a trip with him to Mobile and back, and that I was a wounded soldier from the hospital. He told me, “All right, come along, and I will foot expenses.”
It was about sunset, but along the line of the distant horizon we could see the dark and heavy clouds begin to boil up in thick and ominous columns. The lightning was darting to and fro like lurid sheets of fire, and the storm seemed to be gathering; we could hear the storm king in his chariot in the clouds, rumbling as he came, but a dead lull was seen and felt in the air and in nature; everything was in a holy hush, except the hoarse belchings of the engines, the sizzing and frying of the boilers, and the work of the machinery on the lower deck. At last the storm burst upon us in all its fury; it was a tornado and the women and children began to scream and pray—the mate to curse and swear. I was standing by the captain on the main upper deck, as he was trying to direct the pilot how to steer the boat through that awful storm, when we heard the alarm bell ring out, and the hoarse cry of “Fire! fire! fire!”
Men were running toward the fire with buckets, and the hose began throwing water on the flames. Men, women, and children were jumping in the water, and the captain used every effort to quiet the panic, and to land his boat with its passengers, but the storm and fire were too much, and down the vessel sank to rise no more. Many had been saved in the lifeboat, and many were drowned. I jumped overboard, and the last thing I saw was the noble and brave captain still ringing the bell, as the vessel went down. He went down amid the flames to fill a watery grave. The water was full of struggling and dying people for miles. I did not go to Mobile.
HOW I GET BACK TO ATLANTA
When I got to Montgomery, the cars said toot, toot, and I raised the hue and cry and followed in pursuit. Kind friends, I fear that I have wearied you with my visit to Montgomery, but I am going back to camp now, and will not leave it again until our banner is furled never to be again unfurled.
I, you remember, was without a pass, and did not wish to be carried a second time before that good, brave, and just provost marshal; and something told me not to go to the hospital. I found out when the cars would leave, and thought that I would get on them and go back without any trouble. I got on the cars, but was hustled off mighty quick, because I had no pass. A train of box-cars was about leaving for West Point, and I took a seat on top of one of them, and was again hustled off; but I had determined to go, and as the engine began to puff, and tug, and pull, I slipped in between two box-cars, sitting on one part of one and putting my feet on the other, and rode this way until I got to West Point. The conductor discovered me, and had put me off several times before I got to West Point, but I would jump on again as soon as the cars started. When I got to West Point, a train of cars started off, and I ran, trying to get on, when Captain Peebles reached out his hand and pulled me in, and I arrived safe and sound at Atlanta.
On my way back to Atlanta, I got with Dow Akin and Billy March. Billy March had been shot through the under jaw by a minnie ball at the octagon house, but by proper attention and nursing, he had recovered. Conner Akin was killed at the octagon house, and Dow wounded. When we got back to the regiment, then stationed near a fine concrete house (where Shepard and I would sleep every night), nearly right on our works, we found two thirty-two-pound parrot guns stationed in our immediate front, and throwing shells away over our heads into the city of Atlanta. We had just begun to tell all the boys howdy, when I saw Dow Akin fall. A fragment of shell had struck him on his backbone, and he was carried back wounded and bleeding. We could see the smoke boil up, and it would be nearly a minute before we would hear the report of the cannon, and then a few moments after we would hear the scream of the shell as it went on to Atlanta. We used to count from the time we would see the smoke boil up until we would hear the noise, and some fellow would call out, “Look out boys, the United States is sending iron over into the Southern Confederacy; let's send a little lead back to the United States.” And we would blaze away with our Enfield and Whitworth guns, and every time we would fire, we would silence those parrot guns. This kind of fun was carried on for forty-six days.
DEATH OF TOM TUCK‘S ROOSTER
Atlanta was a great place to fight chickens. I had heard much said about cock pits and cock fights, but had never seen such a thing. Away over the hill, outside of the range of Thomas’ thirty-pound parrot guns, with which he was trying to burn up Atlanta, the boys had fixed up a cock pit. It was fixed exactly like a circus ring, and seats and benches were arranged for the spectators. Well, I went to the cock fight one day. A great many roosters were to be pitted that day, and each one was trimmed and gaffed. A gaff is a long keen piece of steel, as sharp as a needle, that is fitted over the spurs. Well, I looked on at the fun.
Tom Tuck's rooster was named Southern Confederacy; but this was abbreviated to Confed., and as a pet name, they called him Fed. Well, Fed was a trained rooster, and would “clean up” a big-foot rooster as soon as he was put in the pit. But Tom always gave Fed every advantage. One day a green-looking country hunk came in with a rooster that he wanted to pit against Fed. He looked like a common rail-splitter. The money was soon made up, and the stakes placed in proper hands. The gaffs were fitted, the roosters were placed in the pit and held until both were sufficiently mad to fight, when they were turned loose, and each struck at the same time. I looked and poor Fed was dead. The other rooster had popped both gaffs through his head. He was a dead rooster; yea, a dead cock in the pit.
Tom went and picked up his rooster, and said, “Poor Fed, I loved you; you used to crow every morning at daylight to wake me up. I have carried you a long time, but, alas! alas! poor Fed, your days are numbered, and those who fight will sometimes be slain. Now, friends, conscripts, countrymen, if you have any tears to shed, prepare to shed them now. I will not bury Fed. The evil that roosters do live after them, but the good is oft interred with their bones. So let it not be with Confed. Confed left no will, but I will pick him, and fry him, and dip my biscuit in his gravy. Poor Fed, Confed, Confederacy, I place one hand on my heart and one on my head, regretting that I have not another to place on my stomach, and whisper, softly whisper, in the most doleful accents, Good-bye, farewell, a long farewell.”
“Not a laugh was heard—no
t even a joke—
As the dead rooster in the camp-kettle they hurried;
For Tom had lost ten dollars, and was broke,
In the cock-pit where Confed was buried.
“They cooked him slowly in the middle of the day,
As the frying-pan they were solemnly turning;
The hungry fellows looking at him as he lay,
With one side raw, the other burning.
“Some surplus feathers covered his breast,
Not in a shroud, but in a tiara they soused him;
He lay like a ‘picked chicken’ taking his rest,
While the Rebel boys danced and cursed around him.
“Not a few or short were the cuss words they said,
Yet, they spoke many words of sorrow;
As they steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead,
And thought ‘what'll we do for chicken tomorrow?’
“Lightly they'll talk of the Southern Confed. that's gone,
And o'er his empty carcass upbraid him;
But nothing he'll reck, if they let him sleep on,
In the place where they have laid him.
“Sadly and slowly they laid him down,
From the field of fame fresh and gory;
They ate off his flesh, and threw away his bones,
And then left them alone in their glory.”
When, cut, slash, bang, debang, and here comes a dash of Yankee cavalry, right in the midst of the camp, under whip and spur, yelling like a band of wild Comanches, and bearing right down on the few mourners around the dead body of Confed. After making this bold dash, they about faced, and were soon out of sight. There was no harm done, but, alas! That cooked chicken was gone. Poor Confed! To what a sad end you have come. Just to think, that but a few short hours ago, you was a proud rooster—was “cock of the walk,” and was considered invincible. But, alas! You have sunk so low as to become food for Federals! Requiescat in pace you can crow no more.