The Project Gutenberg eBook of Uncle Daniel's Story Of "Tom" Anderson, and Twenty Great Battles
Title: Uncle Daniel's Story Of "Tom" Anderson, and Twenty Great Battles
Author: John McElroy
Release date: March 25, 2010 [eBook #31769]
Most recently updated: February 24, 2021
Language: English
Credits: Produced by David Widger
Format Choice
A file with images which automatically accomodate to any screen size; this is the best choice for the small screens of Tablets and Smart Phones. --
UNCLE DANIEL'S STORY
OF “TOM” ANDERSON
And
Twenty Great Battles.
By John McElroy
1886.
PICTURE, IN STORY, BASED UPON EVENTS OF THE LATE WAR. THIS
VOLUME IS DEDICATED TO THE UNION SOLDIERS AND THEIR
CHILDREN.
The Author
New York, Jan. 1st, 1886.
CONTENTS
ILLUSTRATIONS
Uncle Daniel Telling his Story --
The Charge of Col. Anderson's Regiment --
Pupils Attacking the Little Abolitionist --
Uncle Daniel Meets Aunt Martha --
Knights of the Golden Circle Meeting in a Barn --
Drinking to the Success of Treason --
General Anderson Taking Command --
Anderson Overhears the Conspiracy --
A Spector Appears to the General --
Seraine With Henry at Pine Forest Prison --
The Burning of the Will-o-the-wisp --
Thomlinson and Friends in Consultation --
Marriage of Henry and Seraine --
Gens. Silent and Meador in Conversation --
Mrs. Lyon Dies at Peter's Coffin --
Uncle Daniel Conferring With Lincoln and Stanton --
The Shooting of President Lincoln by Wilkes --
UNCLE DANIEL'S STORY.
CHAPTER I.
COUNTRY.—RALLYING TO THE FLAG.—RAISING VOLUNTEERS IN
SOUTHERN INDIANA.
“The more solitary, the more friendless, the more
unsustained I am, the more I will respect and rely upon
myself.”—Charlotte Bronte
ALLENTOWN is a beautiful little city of 10,000 inhabitants, situated on the Wabash River, in Vigo County, Ind., in the vicinity of which several railroads now center. It is noted for its elevated position, general healthfulness, and for its beautiful residences and cultivated society. Daniel Lyon located here in 1850. He was a man of marked ability and undoubted integrity; was six feet two inches in height, well proportioned, and of very commanding and martial appearance. In 1861, he was surrounded by a large family, seven grown sons—James, David, Jackson, Peter, Stephen, Henry and Harvey—all of whom were well educated, fond of field sports and inclined to a military life. The mother, “Aunt Sarah,” as she was commonly called by the neighbors, was a charming, motherly, Christian woman, whose heart and soul seemed to be wrapped up in the welfare of her family. She was of short, thick build, but rather handsome, with dark brown hair and large blue eyes, gentle and kind. Her politeness and generosity were proverbial. She thought each of her seven sons a model man; her loving remarks about them were noticeable by all.
Daniel Lyon is at present 85 years old, and lives with one of his granddaughters—Jennie Lyon—now married to a man by the name of James Wilson, in Oakland, Ind., a small town conspicuous only for its rare educational facilities.
On the evening of the 22d of February, 1884, a number of the neighbors, among whom was Col. Daniel Bush, a gallant and fearless officer of the Union side during the late war, and Dr. Adams, President of ——— College, dropped in to see Uncle Daniel, as he is now familiarly called. During the evening, Col. Bush, turning to the old veteran, said:
“'Uncle Daniel,' give us a story from some of your experiences during the war.”
The old man arose from his easy-chair and stood erect, his hair, as white as snow, falling in profusion over his shoulders. His eyes, though dimmed by age, blazed forth in youthful brightness; his frame shook with excitement, his lips quivered, and tears rolled down the furrows of his sunken cheeks. All were silent. He waved his hand to the friends to be seated; then, drawing his big chair to the centre of the group, he sat down. After a few moments' pause he spoke, in a voice tremulous with emotion:
“My experience was vast. I was through the whole of the war. I saw much. My story is a true one, but very sad. As you see, my home is a desolate waste. My family consists now of only two grand-children; wife and sons are all gone. I am all that is now left of my once happy family. My God! My God! Why should I have been required to bear this great burden? But pardon this weakness in an old man. I will now begin my story.
“In the month of ———, 1861, my nephew, 'Tom' Anderson,—I called the boy Tom, as I learned to do so many years before, while visiting at his father's; he was the son of my eldest sister,—his wife, Mary, and their only child, a beautiful little girl of two years (called Mary, for her mother), were visiting at my house. Their home was in Jackson, Miss. One evening my good wife, Tom, his wife, my son Peter, and I were sitting on our front porch discussing the situation, when we heard a great noise a couple of blocks south of us. The young men stepped out to see what the trouble was and in a very short time they returned greatly excited. A company of men were marching down the street bearing the American flag, when a number of rebel sympathizers had assaulted them with stones, clubs, etc., and had taken their flag and torn it to shreds. It seemed that a Mr. 'Dan' Bowen, a prominent man in that part of the State, had been haranguing the people on the question of the war, and had denounced it as 'an infamous Abolition crusade,' and the President as a villainous tyrant,' and those who were standing by the Union as 'Lincoln's hirelings, and dogs with collars around their necks.' This language stirred up the blood of the worst element of the people, who sympathised with secession, and had it not been for the timely interposition of many good and worthy citizens, blood would have been shed upon the streets.”
Here Col. Bush asked:
“What became of this man Bowen?”
“I understand that he now occupies one of the highest positions the people of Indiana can give to one of her citizens. You see, my friends, that we American people are going so fast that we pass by everything and forget almost in a day the wrongs to our citizens and our country.”
“But to return to what I was saying in connection with the young men. Tom Anderson was in a state of great excitement. He said he had almost been mobbed before leaving home for entertaining Union sentiments, and feared that he could not safely return with his family. My son Peter suggested that, perhaps, they (being young) owed a duty to their country and could not perform it in a more satisfactory manner than to enter the service and do battle for the old flag. To this suggestion no reply was made at the time. I said to them:
“'This seems to me a very strange condition of things, to see a Government like this threatened in its permanency by the very people that have controlled and profited most by it.' Tom replied:
“'Uncle, I have given a great deal of thought to this subject. You know I was born in Ohio. My father was an Episcopal minister, and settled in Mississippi while I was but a boy. My father and mother are both buried there, leaving me an only child. I grew up and there married my good wife, Mary Whitthorne. We have lived happily together. I have had a good practice at the law; have tried to reconcile myself to their theories of human rights and 'rope-of-sand' government, but cannot. They are very different from our Northern people—have different theories of government and morals, with different habits of thought and action. The Pilgrim Fathers of the North who landed at Plymouth Rock were men of independence of thought; believed in Christianity, in education and universal liberty. They and their progeny have moved almost on a line due west, to the Pacific Ocean, infusing their energy, their ideas of government, of civil liberty, of an advanced Christian civilization, with a belief in man's equality before the law. These ideas and thoughts have become imbedded in the minds of the Northern people so firmly that they will fight to maintain them; will make them temporarily a success, and would make them permanent but for their habit of moving so rapidly in the direction of business and the accumulation of wealth, which prepares the mind to surrender everything to the accomplishment of this single object. The Southern inhabitants are almost entirely descended from impetuous, hot-blooded people. Their ancestors that landed at Jamestown, and later along the Southern Atlantic coast within our borders, were of an adventurous and warlike people. Their descendants have driven westward almost on a parallel line with the Northern people to the borders of Mexico, occasionally lapping over the Northern line. Their thoughts, ideas, manners and customs have been impressed upon the people wherever they have gone, by the pretense, always foremost and uppermost, as if a verity, that they were the most hospitable and chivalric of any people in America. Their civilization was different. Their arguments were enforced by the pistol and bowie-knife upon their equals, and slaves subjected to their will by the lash and bloodhound—the death of a man, white or black, being considered no more than merely a reduction of one in the enumeration of population. They have opposed common schools for fear the poorer classes of whites might have an opportunity of contesting at some time the honors of office, that being the great ambition of Southern society. They would not allow the slave to be educated for fear he might learn that he was a man, having rights above the brute with which he has always been held on a par. The aristocracy only were educated. And this was generally done in the North, where the facilities were good; and by sending them from home it kept down the envy and ambition of the poorer classes, where, if they could have seen the opportunity of acquiring knowledge it might have stimulated them to greater exertion for the purpose of storing their minds with something useful in extricating themselves from an obedience to the mere will of the dominating class. Those people, one and all, no matter how ignorant, are taught to consider themselves better than any other people save the English, whose sentiments they inculcate. They are not in sympathy with a purely Republican system of Government. They believe in a controlling class, and they propose to be that class. I have heard them utter these sentiments so often that I am sure that I am correct. They all trace their ancestry back to some nobleman in some mysterious way, and think their blood better than that which courses in the veins of any Northern man, and honestly believe that one of them in war will be the equal of five men of the North. They think because Northern men will not fight duels, they must necessarily be cowards. In the first contest my judgment is that they will be successful. They are trained with the rifle and shotgun; have taken more pains in military drill than the people of the North, and will be in condition for war earlier than the Union forces. They are also in better condition in the way of arms than the Government forces will be. The fact that they had control of the Government and have had all the best arms turned over to them by a traitorous Secretary of War, places them on a war footing at once, while the Government must rely upon purchasing arms from foreign countries, and possibly of a very inferior character. Until foundries and machinery for manufacturing arms can be constructed, the Government will be in poor condition to equip troops for good and effective service. This war now commenced will go on; the North will succeed; slavery will go down forever; the Union will be preserved, and for a time the Union sentiment will control the Government; but when reverses come in business matters to the North, the business men there, in order to get the trade of the South, under the delusion that they can gain pecuniarily by the change, will, through some 'siren song,' turn the Government over again to the same blustering and domineering people who have ever controlled it. This, uncle, is the fear that disturbs me most at present.'”
“How prophetic,” spoke up Dr. Adams.
“Yes, yes,” exclaimed all present.
Col. Bush at this point arose and walked across the floor. All eyes were upon him. Great tears rolled down his bronzed cheeks. In suppressed tones he said:
“For what cause did I lose my right arm?”
He again sat down, and for the rest of the evening seemed to be in deep meditation.
Uncle Daniel, resuming his story, said:
“Just as Tom had finished what he was saying, I heard the garden gate open and shut, and David and Harvey appeared in the moonlight in front of the porch. These were my second and youngest sons. David lived some five miles from Allentown, on a farm, and Harvey had been staying at his house, helping do the farm work. They were both very much excited. Their mother, who had left. Mary Anderson in the parlor, came out to enjoy the fresh air with us, and observing the excited condition of her two sons, exclaimed:
“'Why, my dear boys! what is the matter?'
“David spoke to his mother, saying:
“'Do not get excited or alarmed when I tell you that Harvey and I have made a solemn vow this evening that we will start to Washington city in the morning.'
“'For what, my dear sons, are you going?' inquired the mother, much troubled.
“'We are going to tender our services to the President in behalf of the Union. Harvey is going along with me, believing it his duty. As I was educated by the Government for the military service, I deem it my duty to it, when in danger from this infamous and unholy rebellion, to aid in putting it down.'
“Their mother raised her hands and thanked God that she had not taught them lessons of patriotism in vain. She laid her head upon David's manly breast and wept, and then clasped Harvey in her arms and blessed him as her young and tender child, and asked God to preserve him and return him safely to her, as he was her cherished hope. Peter, who had been silent during the entire evening, except the bare suggestion to Tom to enter the service, now arose from where he was sitting, and extending his hand to David, said:
“'My old boy, I am with you. I shall commence at once to raise a company.'
“David turned to his mother and laughingly said:
“'Mother, you seem to have taught us all the same lesson.'
“His mother's eyes filled with tears as she turned away to seek Mary. She found her in the parlor teaching her sweet little daughter her prayers. My wife stood looking at the pretty picture of mother and child until little Mary Anderson finished, kissed her mamma, and ran off to bed; then entering the room she said:
“'Mary, my child, I am too weak to speak. I have held up as long as I can stand it,' and then burst into tears. Mary sprang to her at once, clasping her in her arms.
“'Dearest auntie, what is the matter? Are you ill?
“'No! no! my child; I am full of fear and grief; I tremble. My sons are going to volunteer. I am grieved for fear they will never return. Oh! Mary! I had such a terrible dream about all the family last night. Oh! I cannot think of it; and yet I want them to go. God knows I love my country, and would give all—life and everything—to save it. No, I will not discourage them. I will tell you my dream when I have more strength.'
“Just then my blessed old wife fainted. Mary screamed, and we all rushed into the parlor and found her lying on the floor with Mary bending over, trying to restore her. We were all startled, and quickly lifted her up, when she seemed to revive, and was able to sit in a chair. In a few moments she was better, and said:
“'I am all right now; don't worry. I was so startled and overcome at the thought that so many of my dear children were going to leave me at once and on such a perilous enterprise.'
“To this Peter answered:
“'Mother, you ought not to grieve about me. Being an old bachelor, there will be but few to mourn if I should be killed.'
“'Yes; but, my son, your mother loves you all the same.'
“Just then a rap was heard at the window. It being open, a letter was thrown in upon the floor. I picked it up. It was addressed to 'Thos. Anderson.' I handed it to him. He opened it, and read it to himself, and instantly turned very pale and walked the floor. His wife took his arm and spoke most tenderly, asking what it was that troubled him.
“'Mary, dear, I will read it,' he said, and unfolding the letter, he read aloud:
“'Dear Tom—You have been denounced to-day in resolutions as
a traitor to the Southern cause, and your property
confiscated. Serves you right. I am off to-morrow morning
for the Confederate Army.
Good-by.
Love to sister.
“'Your enemy in war,
“'JOS. WHITTHORNE.
“'Mary sank into a chair. For a moment all were silent. At last Tom exclaimed:
“'What is there now left for me?”
“His wife, with the stateliness of a queen, as she was, her black hair clustering about her temples and falling around her shoulders and neck, her bosom heaving, her eyes flashing fire, on her tip-toes arose to her utmost height. All gazed upon her with admiration, her husband looking at her with a wildness almost of frenzy. She clenched both hands and held them straight down by her side, and exclaimed in a tone that would have made a lion cower:
“'Would that I were a man! I would not stop until the last traitor begged for quarter!'
“Tom flew to her and embraced her, exclaiming:
“'I was only waiting for that word.'
“She murmured:
“'My heavens, can it be that there are any of my blood traitors to this country?'
“The household were by this time much affected. A long silence ensued, which was broken by David, saying:
“'Father, Harvey and I having agreed to go to Washington to enter the army, I wish to make some arrangements for my family. You know I have plenty for Jennie and the babies, and I want to leave all in your hands to do with as if it were your own, so that the family will have such comforts as they desire.'
“David's wife, Jennie, was a delightful little woman, with two beautiful children—Jennie, named for her mother, and Sarah, for my wife. I said to David that I would write to his brother James, who was a widower, having no children, to come and stay with Jennie. I at once wrote James, who was practicing medicine at Winchester, Va., that I feared it would be 'unhealthy' for him there, so to come to me at once. This being done and all necessary arrangements made, David and Harvey bade all an affectionate farewell and started for their farm, leaving their mother and Mary in tears. As their footsteps died away their mother went to the door, exclaiming, “'Oh, my children! will I ever see you again?' “That night we all joined in a general conversation on the subject of the war. It was arranged that Peter should start next morning for Indianapolis to see the Governor, and, if possible, obtain authority to raise a regiment under the call of the President. This having been decided upon we all retired, bidding each other good night. I presume there was little sleeping in our house that night save what little Mary did, the poor child being entirely unconscious of the excitement and distress in the family. The next morning Peter took the train for Indianapolis, Tom went down town to ascertain the latest news, and I took my horse and rode out to David's farm, leaving the two women in tears, and little Mary inquiring: “'What is the matter, mamma and aunty?' “I rode on in a deep study as to the outcome of all this trouble. I came to David's house, unconscious for a moment as to where I was, aroused, however, by hearing some one crying as if in despair. I looked around and saw it was Jennie. She stood on the door-step in great grief, the two children asking where their father had gone. “'Good morning, my daughter,' I said, and, dismounting, I took her in my arms, and laying her head on my shoulder she sobbed as if her heart would break.
“'O! my dear husband, shall I ever see him again? O! my children, what shall I do?' was all she could say.
“I broke down completely, this was too much; the cries of the little children for their papa and the tears of their mother were more than I could stand. He had never left them before to be gone any great length of time. I took Jennie and the children into the house. There was a loneliness and a sadness about the situation that was unendurable, and I at once ordered one of the farm hands to hitch the horses to the wagon and put the family and their little traps in and get ready to take them to my house, and turned David's house over to his head man, Joseph Dent (he being very trusty) to take charge of until David should return. With these arrangements I left with the family for Allentown. On our arrival the meeting of the three women would have melted the heart of a stone. I walked out to the barn and remained there for quite awhile, thinking matters over to myself. When I returned to the house all had become quiet and seemingly reconciled. For several days all was suspense; nothing had been heard from any of our boys; I tried to keep away from the house as much as possible to avoid answering questions asked by the women and the poor little children, which I knew no more about than they did. But while we were at breakfast on the morning of ———, Jennie was speaking of going out to her house that day to look after matters at home and see that all was going well. Just at this moment a boy entered with a letter, saying:
“'Mr. Burton sent me with this, thinking there might be something that you would like to see.'
“Mr. B. was the Postmaster, and very kind to us. He was a true Union man, but the opposition there was so strong that he was very quiet; he kept the American flag flying over his office, which was burned on that account a few nights later, as was supposed, by Southern sympathizing incendiaries. These were perilous times in Southern Indiana.”
“Yes! Yes!” said Col. Bush. “We had a taste of it in Southern Ohio, where I then resided; I know all about it. The men who were for mobbing us at that time are now the most prominent 'reformers,' and seem to be the most influential persons.
Uncle Daniel continued:
“I opened the letter and read it aloud. It ran substantially as follows:
there was some delay. While walking about the depot I
chanced to meet your old friend the Governor. He was very
glad to see me, and said to me, “Lyon, you are the very man
I am looking for.” I asked, “Why, Governor? I am on my way
to Washington to tender my services to the President in
behalf of the Union.” The Governor answered, “You are
hunting service, I see. Well, sir, I have a splendid
regiment enlisted, but want to have a man of some experience
for their Colonel, and as you have been in the Regular Army
and maintained a good reputation, I will give you the
position if you will take it. I grasped him by the hand and
thanked him with all my heart. This was more than I could
have expected. So, you see, I start off well. We are now in
camp. I am duly installed as Colonel. Harvey has been
mustered in and I have him detailed at my headquarters. He
seems to take to soldiering very readily. I have written
Jennie all about matters. I hope she and my darling children
are well and as happy as can be under the circumstances.
“'Your affectionate son,
“'David Lyon.'
“He did not know that I had them at my house, and all were assisting one another to keep up courage. This letter affected the whole family, and caused many tears to fall, in joy as well as grief; joy that he had succeeded so well at the beginning, and grief at his absence. That evening Jennie received her letter from the 'Colonel' as we now called him, all becoming very military in our language. Her letter was of the same import, but much of it devoted to family affairs. This made Jennie happy. We all retired and rested well that night, after pleasing the children by telling them about their father being a great soldier, and that they must be good children, and in that way cause their mother to write pleasant things about them to their good papa.”
CHAPTER II.
UNCLE DANIEL'S RETURN.—RAISING TROOPS IN SOUTHERN
INDIANA.
“When sorrows come they come not single spies, but in
battalion.” —-Shakespeare.
“Three days later Peter returned from Indianapolis, with full authority for Tom Anderson to recruit a regiment for the Union service. This was very gratifying to him, and he said to his wife, 'Mary, my time will come.' She appeared happy over the news, but her quivering lip, as she responded, gave evidence of her fears that the trial to her was going to be severe. My good wife then called us into tea, and when we were all seated, Mary said to her:
“'Aunt Sarah, you have not yet told us your dream. Don't you remember, you promised to tell it to me? Now let us hear it, please.”
“'Yes, my child. It has troubled me very much; and yet I don't believe there is any cause for alarm at what one may dream.'
“'Mother, let us hear it,' spoke up Peter; 'it might be something that I could interpret. You know I try to do this sometimes; but I am not as great a success as Daniel of old.'
“'Well, my son, it was this: I thought your father and I were in the garden. He was pulling some weeds from the flower-bed, when he was painfully stung on both hands by some insect. Soon his fingers began dropping off—all five from his right hand and his thumb and little finger from his left.'
“Tom laughingly said, 'Uncle, hold up your hands;' which I did, saying, 'You see my fingers are not gone.' Whereupon they all laughed except Peter.
“My wife said to him:
“'My son, what is your interpretation of my dream! It troubles me.'
“'Well, mother, I will not try it now. Let the war interpret it; it will do it correctly, doubtless. Let us talk about something else. You know dreams amount to nothing now-a-days.'
“During all this time, Peter wore a serious countenance. We discussed the matter as to how Tom should go about raising his regiment. It was understood that he should start out at once, and that Peter should take the recruits, as fast as organized into companies, and place them in the camp of instruction at Indianapolis. The next morning Tom opened a recruiting office in Allentown, placed Peter temporarily in charge, and started through the country making speeches to the people (he was quite an orator), and soon succeeded in arousing patriotic sentiments in and about Allentown. After raising two companies, he extended his operations, going down on the O. & M. R. R. to Saco, a town then of about 1,000 inhabitants. While addressing the people, a mob gathered and were about to hang him. He stood them off until the Union people came to his rescue and saved his life.”
“That is just as it was where I lived,” said Col. Bush. “I know of just such a case, where a mob tried the same thing; some of them, however, repented before they went to heaven, I hope.”
Uncle Daniel continued:
“He left the town, however, under a guard and returned home. Soon after this he made a second effort, by arming 20 resolute men of his recruits with Colt's revolvers, which he procured from the Governor of the State, and returned to Saco. He at once gave notice that he would speak the next day. When the time arrived, he told his men to take positions in the crowd, scattering as well as they could in his front. This done he commenced his speech. Soon mutterings of the crowd could be heard, and finally the storm came and they rushed towards the stand. He shouted at the top of his voice, “Hold!” at the same time drawing his revolver, declaring he would shoot the first man that advanced another step, and also raising his left hand above his head. This was a signal for his men to “fall in,” and they all rushed into line in his front with drawn weapons. The crowd instantly ran in all directions, much to the amusement and gratification of Tom.