Mrs. President Polk lives near the Capitol, in an elegant built building, worth thirty or forty thousand dollars. The remains of her husband are in a vault in the door-yard. The widow, of medium height, dark hair and eyes, somewhat corpulent, was very frank and animated in conversation. She was earnest and hopeful of the Union cause.
We were in this pleasant city during Sunday, and there being no loyal Protestant meeting, we attended the Roman Catholic Cathedral. In common with many officers and soldiers we were attracted there by the fame of Mr. Kelly, who is not only a fine pulpit orator, but a friend to the government. A short account of this eloquent preacher, may be interesting. Fancy a person rather above the middle size, and proportionably broad, squarely built, shoulders high, face round, eyes small and twinkling, cheeks full and mouth large, and you have a tolerably accurate idea of the man whose eloquence enchains raptured audiences. His enunciation is graceful, and his feminine voice, steals gently through the breathless audience. Having finished a simple and apt introduction, he announces in terse phrase and logical order, but with the manner and air as outré as ever, the beautiful outlines of his discourse. The small voice begins to swell, the eye begins to sparkle, the left hand is placed on the Bible, and the right is occasionally lifted up. The honest countenance reflects a heavenly radiance, and the vast audience is thrilled to the very core, as thoughts that breathe, couched in words that burn, are scattered in rich profusion. The first illustration being finished, and the audience having partially recovered from the electric shock of etherial genius, feels that a freak of nature, but a splendid freak, stands before them. The great soul of the orator reigns ascendant over a captive audience — an audience which, be it ever so careless ere the preacher begins, is, by the touch of his genius, carried away from the earthly, and lost amid the splendors which fill the place. The very stones and timbers of the magnificent house seem to move, and the only inactive thing in the enchanted place is the preacher's body. The perfection of the logic, the aptness of the illustration, the glowing imagery and chaste diction, and the heart stirring appeal rivet the attention and command the most listless of the audience. Dr. Kelly despite his unpromising appearance is a powerful and popular preacher. His theme was the sufferings of our Lord, but what of the singing? It was captivating. I have listened to the full services in city Cathedrals, where every part of the sanctuary was crowded. I have joined in the choral worship in the churches of the old country, where with all the accessories of the splendid architecture of those time-honored fanes — the kneeling multitude, the throng of white robed priests and choristers, and the swelling bursts of harmonies that roll through nave and aisle, and overflows even distant angles and shadowy chapel, until column and pavement and curved vaulting, and gloomy crypt, tremble with the rushing tide — the soul feels itself lifted above the earth, and almost admitted to that loftier choral worship where the melody of "harpers harping with their harps" pours like the sound of many "waters — but I have rarely felt the divine power of song to move the heart, as I did on this occasion.
There is a large soldiers' cemetery on the plain, on the south side of the city; as far as the eye will view, nothing is seen but the little white boards, denoting the last resting places of the brave soldiers of the Army of the Cumberland, who fell in the country's defense. What matters it if they had no splendid interment? What matters it if no long procession attended them to the sepulchre? What matters it if only a lowly head-board attests their burial place? What matters it if no herald stood over their honored graves to pronounce their virtues? What matters it if no storied urn or monumental bust, no proud mausoleum distinguishes the spot where their remains are deposited? Though destitute of these trappings of art and pomp, yet theirs was a life and death worthy of imitation, and as they take their places among the immortals, we might say, "make way for the brave children of the people, the grand chivalry of today." We transcribe a few of the poetical inscriptions:
'On Fame's eternal camping ground,
Their silent tents are spread,
And glory guards, with solemn round,
The bivouac of the dead."
"Whether on the scaffold high,
Or in the battle's van,
The fittest place for man to die,
Is where he dies for man."
"A thousand battle-fields have drank
The blood of warriors brave,
And countless homes are dark and drear,
Through the land they died to save."
“The hopes, the fears, the blood, the tears,
That marked the battle strife,
Are now all crowned with victory,
That saved the nation's life."
"Through all rebellion's horrors,
Bright shines oar nation's fame;
Our gallant soldiers perishing,
Have won a deathless name."
The nation laments the loss of its brightest sons, its purest patriots, and its most beloved defenders. Noble men, they descended to the tomb amidst the blessings of the lovers of liberty on earth, and the songs of the ransomed in Heaven.
So sleep the good, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest !
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallowed mold;
She there shall dress a sweeter sod,
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
By fairy hands their knell is rung,
By fairy forms their dirge is sung.
When honor comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay,
And Freedom shall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there.
Nashville was crowded with troops, veteran regiments, going and returning from their homes. What a visible change in the sentiments of the people. Three years ago, when our soldiers entered this haughty and fashionable city, they were greeted with imprecations and defiant looks. Now, peals of bells and salvos of cannon salute the brave veterans with a hundred thousand welcomes. The Union sentiment, pure and unconditional, has been growing wonderfully of late, in Nashville. There are a large number of hospitals here, containing about three thousand soldiers; their wards are neatly kept, and the medical corps is well organized. The prominent military works are Forts Gillem and Andrew Johnson on Capitol Hill, Morton, Negley, Cassina and Houston; then there are redoubts, batteries, & c. General Miller commands the city. The Tenth Tennessee, Governor Johnson's body-guard, is a fine regiment, under the command of a young and valiant officer, Colonel Scully.
A very touching instance of conjugal affection was manifested on the Nashville Railroad a few months ago when the embargo on contraband goods was first put in force, which I will hasten to make known:
A gentleman dressed in mourning was seen to drive up to the Louisville depot in a hack and take from thence a coffin, which he placed in the car. He seemed to be in the greatest distress. His eyes were suffused with tears, and his face showed signs of the deepest grief. As soon as the cars started he took his seat upon the coffin, and burying his head in his hands, commenced sobbing and groaning in the most heart-rending manner. The sympathies of the bystanders were immediately enlisted, and they crowded around the bereaved mourner. From his passionate outbursts of sorrow, they learned that the coffin contained the last remains of his dear wife — the mother of his children — the pulse of his heart — the joy of his prosperity, and the only solace of his misfortunes. Her dying request was to be buried in the land of her nativity, the South, and he was accordingly carrying her thither. Thus he continued for miles, when the passengers, seeing that he was exhausting himself, tried to persuade him to leave the coffin, and take some refreshment. But he repeatedly declared that nothing should separate him from his beloved — that he would never leave her, and then he would clasp the coffin to his breast, and cover her with kisses. Just at this moment the conductor came up, and all the facts were soon explained to him by one of the bystanders.
Publ
ic corporations are said to have no soul, and it seemed on this occasion that their representatives were epually devoid of that necessary article, for the officer alluded to not only failed to manifest any sympathy for the sorrows of his fellow-mortal, but even had the effrontery to order that the grief-stricken husband should be forced away from the body of his wife, and that the coffin should be opened — at the same time muttering something about traitors, hypocrisy, contraband, & c. When the husband heard this cruel order, he burst into fresh paroxysms of grief and declared that he would die before he would leave the body. But finally, in spite of his outcries, he was dragged away — the bystanders crowding around, behold — not the "remains of my wife," — but pistols, packages of opium, military buttons, laudanum, and innumerable other contraband articles. It is perhaps useless to say that all proper care was taken of the tender hearted "better half and his beloved" — the "mother of his children," etc., although it pains me to chronicle the fact that no attention whatever was paid to her dying request, but the body was taken back to Louisville and decently interred in the — custom house.
After a few days stay at Nashville, we started for Chattanooga, passing through Murfreesboro, a charming town, notwithstanding the fortunes of war, it was imposing and picturesque. Before the war it was one of earth's sweetest spots. From Nashville to this place we passed through a delightful and well cultivated region, diversified with gentle hills and fruitful vales, refreshing streams and cooling shades; presenting here beautiful plantations and verdant groves. The scenery was lovely, and I longed to halt the train and feed on the enchantment for hours. The town however derives its chief specialty from being the scene of Rosecrans’s brilliant victory.
Onward still the shrieking locomotive hurries us, delighted with the country, until suddenly, looms up in the distance the famous Lookout Mountain, which rears its head several thousand feet above the river. When we reached the top of the mountain, we stood gazing upon a scene, stretching for many miles in every direction, such as we never saw before in the Old or New World. It may not rise absolutely to the height of grandeur or sublimity anywhere; it is not indeed like the Alps in awful magnitude or glorious grandeur; not even perhaps, equal to the White Mountains in New Hampshire, in the stern and imposing proportions which it presents; and yet no one who loves the wild, the unadorned, the varied, can fail to enjoy an exquisite pleasure in visiting this Western mountain.
TENNESSEE
This magnificent State is remarkable for its elements of wealth. The soil teems with a superabundance of agricultural products; emboweled in the earth lie inestimable mineral treasures; the water-power of the streams, the timber of the forests, the variety of staples, and the excellence of the climate, combine to give it a capacity for population and wealth, rarely to be met elsewhere. The State abounds in rivers. In short there is hardly a spot in the country, which is more than twenty miles from a navigable stream. Iron ore is to be found in several districts. Springs strongly impregnated with sulphur, are found in various parts.
The chief mountains are the Clinch and Cumberland. Some of these mountains, particularly the Great Laurel Ridge, are the most stupendous piles in the United States. Their caverns and cascades are innumerable. The enchanted mountain is famed for the curiosities on its rocks. There are on several rocks, impressions, resembling the tracks of turkeys, bears, horses and human beings, as visible and perfect as they could be made on snow or sand. The originals may have been the progeny of Titan or Anak. One of the horse tracks is of an uncommon size, perhaps the horse which the great warrior rode. The Cherokees entertain an opinion that it always rains when any person visits the place, as if sympathetic nature wept at the recollection of the dreadful catastrophe commemorated by these figures.
The climate of Tennessee is, in general, healthful. The summers are cool and pleasant on the Eastern side of the mountain range, but on the other side the heat is much greater, which renders that part better calculated for the production of tobacco and cotton. The original inhabitants of this State were chiefly emigrants from Pennsylvania. The ancestors of these people were generally of the Scotch nation, some of whom emigrated to Ireland, thence to America. A few German and English were intermixed. This country was included in the second charter of King Charles II, to the proprietors of Carolina. It was explored in 1748, and settled by fifty families in 1754, who were soon after destroyed by the Indians. The first perment settlement took place under the direction of Monroe Robertson, who founded Nashville.
CHAPTER II.
The Battle of Chattanooga — Result of this Battle — The Fighting of Hooker's and Sherman's Corps — Retreat of the Rebels — What a Confederate Officer thought of the Battle — Interesting Indian Traditions — The State of Georgia, a sketch of its History.
Chattanooga is situated on the Tennessee, a magnificent river, almost as broad as the Ohio at Cincinnati. If historical recollections endear this place to every lover of liberty, its peculiar situation must render it interesting to all admirers of picturesque scenery. Placed in a deep basin, completely encircled by hills and massive mountains, broken into all that irregularity of outline which the buildings of different heights along the steep acclivities present; the view of the classic old town, from Lookout, is very striking. Chattanooga is a very small, insignificant place, containing, before the war, about three thousand inhabitants. It consists chiefly of a long street. From the particular position of the village, lying close to very high mountains, the sun is hid from view several hours before it sets in the horizon, during a great part of the summer.
No citizen of America can be justified in traveling to Italy and Switzerland in search of beauty and rugged mountain grandeur, until he has visited this northern region of Georgia. It contains a singular combination of the sublime, with the more beautiful features of scenery. In some parts nature puts on her most wild, stern and precipitous aspect, while in other parts all is verdure, profusion and beauty. The tract, for example, extending from Stevenson to Chattanooga, is rich and beautiful; nothing can exceed the grandeur of the prospect -— the entire line finely wooded and dotted with several handsome cottages, with here and there a building of more stately dimensions, while on the other hand, the Tennessee diversifies the scene and still adds greater beauty to the landscape.
Lookout Mountain may truly be termed classic ground. It was the scene of a fierce contest which will occupy a proud place in American history. What American has not heard of Lookout Mountain? And who is it does not feel his pulse beat high, his brow elevate, and his soul expand with conscious pride and exultation at the recollection of the glorious struggle which took place at this spot? When, after a desperate battle, the splendid soldiers of Hooker drove the proud Southrons before them, strewing the sides and slopes of the mountains with their lifeless bodies. This celebrated conflict, in which the Twentieth Corps acted so conspicuous a part, having been detailed in the newspapers at the time, it is unnecessary here to mention any of the particulars.
From the summit of Lookout, a glorious view is presented; here the tourist may observe at one glance, the mountains of four States. In the distance the Blue Ridge Hills of North Carolina rising abruptly in sterile greatness, and casting their deep dark shadows on the valleys beneath them. While at a still greater distance the Mountains of Alabama raise their giant forms, and thus perfect the deeper shading of the picture. Yonder is Missionary Ridge, so justly celebrated for the brilliant victory which Sherman with his gallant Fifteenth Corps achieved over the fierce legions of the South. Beyond are displayed with astonishing splendor that part of Tennessee, denominated par excellence the Switzerland of America, where nature is to be seen in her fairest forms — where romantic glens and mountains are so blended with fertile fields and cultivated valleys — with woods and waterfalls — that the beholder might almost be led to look upon the picture as one in which the great architect had intended to give such a display of his power, his goodness, and his skill, as would force the most careless to exclaim while gazi
ng upon its wonders and beauties: "The hand that made them is divine."
The adjacent country is richly verdant and adorned with forest trees and plantations, which gather into groups, or lie spread in long and massy continuance. The mountains now recede in sullen magnificence to admit of one of the finest sights in the land, and in the distance are the Cumberland Hills, in picturesque varieties of altitude and covering, their summits forming an outline of exquisite beauty.
About four miles from Chattanooga is the celebrated Lake Hulah. The traveller who has time to spare and whose feelings are keenly alive to the beauties of nature, will find ample reward in visiting this much frequented and much admired lake. I have never seen a spot that calls up in my mind ideas of seclusion, solitude and peace, in a more eminent degree than this interesting lake. The situation, variety and beauty, the walls of perpendicular rock, the sloping banks, covered with magnificent trees of Pine, and Laurel, make this depression, scooped in the solid rock, one of the most charming objects which this region of wonder and beauty affords. This lake is fed by various mountain streams, one of which, dashing over rocks, and struggling with impediments, at last is seen flowing brightly and cheerfully along, till it empties into the lake by descending like a sheet of liquid silver over a cascade of eighty feet in length; now it is bordered by meadows of the loveliest green — again catching a gleam of sunlight — and then embowered in a cluster of trees. One of these streams is precipitated down a steep precipice of several hundred feet; in general the quantity of water is small, so much so, that in very dry weather, the wall of the rock can sometimes be seen through the thin sheet of water; but after a little rain, an immense body of water is discharged, and falling down the dreadful height, affords a grand and beautiful spectacle. The bottom on which the water falls is entirely composed of loose stones or rocks. The stream runs or rather leaps in little cataracts over its bed of rocks.
Personal Recollections of Sherman's Campaigns in Georgia and the Carolinas Page 2