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BATTLE OF TWO RIVERS.—COL. TOM ANDERSON MEETS HIS BROTHER-

IN-LAW.—UNCLE DANIEL BECOMES AN ABOLITIONIST.—A WINTER

CAMPAIGN AGAINST A REBEL STRONGHOLD.

“Cease to consult; the time for action calls,

War, horrid war approaches.”—Homer

For a season battles of minor importance were fought with varying success. In the meantime Col. Anderson had been ordered with his command to join the forces of Gen. Silent, at Two Rivers.

Here there was quiet for a time.

“At length, however, orders came for them to move to the front. For a day or so all was motion and bustle. Finally the army moved out, and after two days' hard marching our forces struck the enemy's skirmishers. Our lines moved forward and the battle opened. Col. Anderson addressed his men in a few eloquent words, urging them to stand, never acknowledge defeat or think of surrender. The firing increased and the engagement became general. Gen. Silent sat on his horse near by, his staff with him, watching the action. Col. Anderson was pressing the enemy in his front closely, and as they gave way he ordered a charge, which was magnificently executed.

“As the enemy gave back, evidently becoming badly demoralized, he looked and beheld before him Jos. Whitthorne.

“The recognition was mutual, and each seemed determined to outdo the other. Anderson made one charge after another, until the enemy in his front under command of his wife's brother retreated in great confusion. Col. Anderson, in his eagerness to capture Whitthorne, advanced too far to the front of the main line, and was in great danger of being surrounded. He perceived the situation in time, and at once changed front, at the same time ordering his men to fix bayonets. Drawing his sword and rising in his stirrups, he said:

“'Now, my men, let us show them that a Northern man is equal to any other man.'

“He then ordered them forward at a charge bayonets, riding in the centre of his regiment. Steadily on they went, his men falling at every step, but not a shot did they fire, though they were moving almost up to the enemy's lines. The rebel commander shouted to his men:

“'What are these? Are they men or machines?'

“The rebel line wavered a moment, and then gave way. At that instant a shot struck Col. Anderson's horse and killed it, but the Colonel never halted. He disengaged himself, and pushing forward on foot, regained his line, and left the enemy in utter rout and confusion. Whitthorne was not seen again that day by Anderson. The battle was still raging on all the other parts of the line. First one side gained an advantage, then the other, and so continued until night closed in on the combatants. A truce was agreed to, and hostilities ceased for the time being.

“The Colonel worked most of the night, collecting his wounded and burying his dead. His loss was quite severe, in fact, the loss was very heavy throughout both armies. Late in the night, while searching between the lines for one of his officers, he met Whitthorne. They recognized each other. Col. Anderson said to him:

“'Jo, I am glad to see you, but very sorry that we meet under such circumstances.'

“Whitthorne answered:

“'I cannot say that I am glad to see you, and had it not been for making my sister a widow, you would have been among the killed to-day.'

“The Colonel turned and walked away without making any reply, but said to himself:

“'Can that man be my wife's brother? I will not, however, condemn him; his blood is hot now; he may have a better heart than his speech would indicate.”

“Thus meditating, he returned to his bivouac. In the morning the burying parties were all that was to be seen of the enemy. He had retreated during the night, and very glad were our forces, as the battle was well and hard fought on both sides. The forces were nearly equal as to numbers.

“Col. Anderson did not see the General commanding for several days; when he did the latter said to him:

“Colonel, you handle your men well; were you educated at a military school?'

“The Colonel answered:

“'No; I am a lawyer.'

“General Silent remarked:

“'I am very sorry for that,' and walked on.

“Tom wrote his wife a full report of this battle. He called it the battle of Bell Mountain. It is, however, called Two Rivers. He said that Gen. Silent was a curious little man, rather careless in his dress; no military bearing whatever, quite unostentatious and as gentle as a woman; that he did not give any orders during the battle, but merely sat and looked on, the presumption being that while everything was going well it was well enough to let it alone. In his report he spoke highly of Col. Anderson as an officer and brave man.

“This letter of the Colonel's filled his wife's heart with all the enthusiasm a woman could possess. She was proud of her husband. She read and re-read the letter to my wife and Jennie, and called her little daughter and told her about her father fighting so bravely. We were all delighted. He spoke so well of Peter also. Said 'he was as cool as an icebox during the whole engagement.' He never mentioned to his wife about meeting her brother Jo on the field until long afterwards.

“The troops of this army were put in camp and shortly recruited to their maximum limit. Volunteering by this time was very active. No longer did our country have to wait to drum up recruits. The patriotic fires were lighted up and burning brightly: drums and the shrill notes of the fife were heard in almost every direction. Sympathizers with rebellion had hushed in silence for the present—but for the present only.”

--

“Uncle Daniel,” said Major Isaac Clymer, who had been silent up to this time, “I was in that engagement, in command of a troop of cavalry, and saw Col. Anderson make his bayonet charge. He showed the most cool and daring courage that I have ever witnessed during the whole war, and I was through it all. Gen. Pokehorne was in command of the rebels, and showed himself frequently that day, urging his men forward. He was afterwards killed at Kensington Mountain, in Georgia. We got the information very soon after he fell, from our Signal Corps. They had learned to interpret the rebel signals, and read the news from their flags.”

“Yes, I have heard it said by many that our Signal Corps could do that, and I suppose the same was true of the other side.”

“O, yes,” said Col. Bush, “that was understood to be so, and towards the end of the war we had to frequently change our signal signs to prevent information being imparted in that way to our enemy.”

“There was a Colonel,” said Major Clymer, “from Arkansas, in command of a rebel brigade, in that battle, who acted with great brutality. He found some of our Surgeons on the field dressing the wounds of soldiers and drove them away from their work and held them as prisoners while the battle lasted, at the same time saying, with an oath, that the lives of Abolitionists were not worth saving.”

“Yes. The Colonel mentioned that in his letter and spoke of it when I saw him. He said it was only one of the acts of a man instinctively barbarous. His name was Gumber—Col. Gumber. He has been a prominent politician since the war, holding important positions. You know, these matters are like Rip Van Winkle's drinks—they don't count, especially against them.”

“'But among Christian people they should,' said Dr. Adams.

“'That is true, but it does not. There are two distinct civilizations in this country, and the sooner our people recognize this fact the sooner they will understand what is coming in the future. But, returning to my story, the winter was now coming on, and I had to make provision for the families that were in my charge, so I called the women together and had a council as to what we would do for the best; the first thing was to arrange about sending the little girls to school. After discussing it, we concluded to start them the next day to the common school. Our public schools were said to be very good. So the next morning my wife, Mary and Jennie all started with the children to school. They saw the teacher and talked with her, telling her that their fathers were in the army, and she entered them in school. They came and went, back and forth, and seemed greatly pleased during the first week, but on Wednesday of the second week, they came running home crying and all dirty, saying that some of the school children had pelted them with clods and pebbles, calling them Abolitionists. Little Jennie said to me:

“'Grandpa, what is an Abolitionist?'

“I replied: 'One who desires the colored people to be free, and not sold away to strangers like cattle.'

“'Grandpa, do white people sell colored people like they sell cows?'

“'Yes, my child.'

“'Well, grandpa, is that right?'

“'I think not, my child. Would it be right for me to sell you away from your mother and send you where you would never see her again?'

“'Oh! no, grandpa; you would not be so wicked as that. I would cry myself to death; and mamma—what would she do without me, she loves me so?'

“'Yes, said little Sarah, 'I love sister, too. I would cry, too, if you sent her away where I could not see her. Why, grandpa, people don't do that, do they? Your are only fooling sister.'

“'No, no, child; in the South, where the war is, there are a great many colored people living. They are called slaves. They work for their masters and only get what they eat and wear, and their masters very often sell them and send the men away from their wives and children, and their babies away from their mothers and fathers.'

“'Grandpa, do they ever sell white people?' asked Jennie.

“'No, my child.'

“'Well, why don't they sell white people, too?'

“'Oh, my child, the law only allows colored people to be sold.'

“'Well, grandpa, I don't think any good people ever sell the little children away from their mothers, any way.'

“'No, my child, nor any grown people either.'

“'Well, grandpa, you wouldn't sell anybody, would you?'

“'No, my child, I would not.'

“'Well, then, grandpa, you are an Abolitionist.'

“'Yes, in that sense I am.'

“'Well, grandpa, I am one, too, and I will just say so at school, and will tell the boys and girls who threw clods at us and called us Abolitionists that they sell people like cows, and that they are not good people.'

--

“'Yes,' said little Mary Anderson, 'I know what colored people are. They've plenty of them down where we came from. They call them “niggers”. They are mighty good to me, grandpa, and my papa doesn't sell 'em. He is a good man. He don't do bad like those rebels, does he, ma?'

“'No, my child, your papa does not sell anybody. He is against it. He never owned anyone. He does not think it right to own people.'

“'No; my papa don't, does he, ma? He is going to fight the people that sell other people, ain't he, ma?'

“'Yes, my darling; but don't say any more. Let us go in and get our tea, and you will feel better.'

“This interference of little Mary and her mother let me out of a scrape, for I say to you, friends, that I was getting into deep water and would have very soon lost my soundings if Jennie and little Sarah had kept after me much longer. You see, the truth is that I had never been an Abolitionist, but a Freesoil Democrat; but soon I became a full-fledged Abolitionist after our flag was fired upon by the Secessionists.

“However, we all entered the house, and after tea, the children being put to bed, we held another council and decided that inasmuch as there was such great excitement in the country, and Allentown being such a hot-hole of rebel sympathizers, it was not safe even to allow our children to attend the schools. Jennie, however, being a good scholar and having prior to her marriage taught school, we unanimously elected her our family teacher, and setting apart a room, duly installed her on the next Monday morning over our Abolition school, as we found on the evening of our discussion with the children that they had converted the household by their innocent questions.

“The next day I rode out to my son David's farm and saw Joseph Dent, the man whom I had left in charge. I inquired of him if everything was all right about the place, and he told me that he had moved his family into David's house, as he feared some damage might be done to it, having seen several persons prowling about at different times. He did not know who they were, but was sure they meant mischief, as they were very abusive of the Colonel, calling him a 'Lincoln dog,' after the manner of Dan Bowen in his speech.

“Joseph said he was now prepared for them; that he had another man staying with him, and if I would go with him he would show me what they had done. I did as he asked me, he led the way into the house and upstairs, where he showed me a couple of holes cut through the wall in each room, just beneath the eaves, and standing in the corner was a regular arsenal of war materials. I said to him that he seemed to be in for war. The tears started in his eyes, and he said:

“'Uncle Daniel, I am an old soldier; was in Capt. David's company when he was in the Regular Army. I came to him three years ago when my enlistment was out. I will defend everything on these premises with my life. I would be in the army now with the Colonel (I am used to calling him Captain) if he had not asked me to stay here and take care of his farm. These “secesh” will not get away with me and my partner very easily, and should you hear of this fort being stormed, you bring some men with you to pick up the legs and pieces of the fellows who shall undertake it. Do not be afraid; we will take care of all here.'

“'Yes, Joseph, I see that. I will tell Jennie, and also write the Colonel how splendidly you are doing.'

“'Thanks,' said Joseph, giving me the regular soldier's salute. 'Is there anything wanted at your house, sir? Tell the Colonel's wife that I will bring down anything that she may be wanting at any time. I will certainly bring a load of wood in to-morrow.'

“We were in the habit of getting many things from the farm—butter, eggs, chickens, potatoes, etc. All our wood came from there. Joseph was very useful in many ways. I returned home satisfied that all was going well at the farm.

“The weather was now getting cold and disagreeable; too much so, it was thought, for any very serious army movements on our Western lines. The rebels had collected a very heavy force at Dolinsburg, situated on a high ridge, with hills sloping down to Combination River, one of the tributaries of the Ohio. Here they had built an immense fortress, with wings running out from either side for a great distance; on the outer walls were placed large guns, sweeping and commanding the river to the north. The rebels were well prepared with all kinds of war materials, as well as in the numbers of their effective force, to defend their works against great odds.

“Gen. Silent, who, it seems, always did everything differently from what the enemy expected him to do, conceived the idea that he would try to dislodge them. When the enemy heard that he was preparing to move against them, they but laughed at such an attempt.

“The General, however, made ready, gave his orders, and his army was soon in motion. The direction in which our army was to march was very soon known, as it was impossible to keep any of our movements a secret, on account of the great desire of newspapers to please everybody and keep every one posted on both sides, the rebels as well as friends; which prompted them to publish every movement made. This was called 'enterprise,' and it has been considered patriotic devotion by many, especially the gold gamblers and money kings. This was not permitted by our enemies; the publication of any secret expedition or movement of their forces, by any one inside of their lines, would cost him his life; and so in any army save our Union army. Why was this? It does seem to me that this ought not to have been so. I have often thought of it, and concluded it must have been fear. 'The pen is mightier than the sword' has been truthfully said.

“Our Congress was afraid of the press, and were not willing to make laws stringent enough for the army on this subject. The President was nervous in this respect, and commanding Generals were afraid of criticisms; so it was the only class that had the privilege of doing and saying what it wished to, and, my friends, that is one of our troubles even now. Our statesmen are afraid to speak out and give their opinions, without first looking around to see if any one has a pencil and notebook in his hand. This is getting to be almost unbearable, to find some person in nearly every small assemblage of people, on the street, in the hotel, in the store, even in your own private house, reporting what you have for dinner, what this one said about some other one, what this one did or said, or expects to do or say in the future. But I am wandering from my story.”

“Well, Uncle Daniel, your discussions on all subjects are interesting,” replied the Doctor.

“I have been thinking of what you said about the press during the war,” said Col. Bush; “and taking what you said upon the subject of our great ambition here in the North to get money, and let all else take care of itself, I can see that the same sordid spirit pervaded the press during our war; fortunes were made by many newspapers in that way; everybody bought papers then; we sold the news to our own people for money and furnished it to the rebels gratis. Get money, get money; that is our worst feature, and most dangerous one it is, for the country's welfare.”

“I agree with you, Colonel,” spoke up Maj. Clymer, “but I would rather hear Uncle Daniel talk. On any other occasion I would be delighted to hear you.”

“I beg pardon, Uncle Daniel,” replied the Colonel. “I will hereafter be a patient and delighted auditor.”

“Well, when the army was under way there was great excitement and alarm throughout the North among the Union people. Our armies in the East had not been successful, and the sympathizers with the rebellion all over the country were again beginning to be rather saucy. They would enjoy getting together and reading of our defeats and discuss, to our disadvantage, the failures of our attempts to subdue the rebellion, and in this way made it very uncomfortable for any person who loved his country and desired its success. They would in every way try to discourage our people by saying 'this movement now commencing will only be a repetition of what we have already had so often lately in the East.'

“But our army moved on, and during the march to the vicinity of Combination River they were met by the enemy frequently, who were trying to impede their march, and several severe skirmishes and minor engagements occurred. They were now within some twenty miles of Dolinsburg Fortress, when a sharp and very decisive engagement took place between one battalion of cavalry, two batteries of artillery, and three regiments of infantry on our side, where Col. Anderson was the ranking officer, and therefore in command, and five regiments of infantry, two batteries and one troop of cavalry on the side of the rebels. They were posted behind a small stream, known as Snake Creek, having steep banks. The action commenced, as usual, with the skirmishers. After reconnoitering the position well, the Colonel determined to send his cavalry and one regiment around some distance, so as to cross the stream and strike the enemy's left flank. He could not expect re-enforcements, if they might be needed, very soon, as he marched on the extreme southern road, so as to form the junction with the other troops on their extreme right, touching Combination River to the south of the enemy's works, so as to be the extreme right flank of our army. The enemy, finding his force was superior in numbers, attempted to cross the stream with his infantry. The two batteries were opened and poured shrapnel into the advancing column, dealing havoc and slaughter on all sides. They tried to keep their line, but they soon staggered, halted, and fell back. The Colonel then opened a destructive musketry fire all along the line. Just at this moment he heard the attack of his regiment of infantry and troop of cavalry on their flank. He quickly advanced across the stream, and the enemy was in utter rout.

“He captured all his guns—six 12-pound Napoleons and four howitzers—and a large number of prisoners. He followed closely on the rear of the enemy, gathering in stragglers and squads of men until night closed in and compelled him to desist and go into camp. When safety from surprise was assured, he sent for one of the prisoners to get some information about the road and the fortifications, commands, etc. After ascertaining many things that he considered important, he found, upon further inquiry, that his enemy upon that afternoon was commanded by Col. Jos. Whitthorne, his wife's brother. He turned and said to Peter, who was standing near:

“'This man seems to be my evil genius. I hope I will not meet him again. It seems hard that I am to continually meet my own kindred in combat. Is it possible that these people are willing to spill the blood of their own friends and kindred, merely because they have failed to retain power longer, and for that reason will destroy the Government?'

“'Yes,” said Peter; 'they will never be content except when they can control other people as well as the Government. But see here, Colonel, do you see this?' showing him a great rent in the breast of his coat and vest; 'a pretty close call, wasn't it?'

“'By George! it was that!'

“'Well, never mind; but was not this about as nice a little fight as you would wish to have for an appetiser?'

“'Yes, you are quite right; and that reminds me that I have not had a bite to eat since four o'clock this morning. By the way, have you any cold coffee in your canteen?'

“'O, yes, I have learned to keep that on hand. Here, help yourself.'

“The Colonel took a good drink, and turned to Peter and said:

“'What is the matter with that coffee?

“'Nothing; it is only laced a little.'

“'Laced? What is that?'

“'Why, I put a little brandy in it, that's all.'

“'That's all, is it? Well! that is something I have learned. Let me taste it again.'

“Which he did, as Peter afterwards said, until there was none left. I tell you these poor fellows were excusable for occasionally warming up after a hard march or a battle. I have learned to look very leniently on the shortcomings in that direction of the poor old unfortunate fellows who are going through this hard world without a penny, after having served their country faithfully. I see them nearly every day, forgotten, neglected, no home, no friends to care for them; and to see them when they pass by the American flag always salute it. I hope their fate will be a better one in the next world.

“I well remember that during the war every one who cared for his country would say, 'God bless the Union soldier and his family.' We all prayed for them then; the good women in church, at home, in the hospital, at the side of the sick, wounded or dying soldier, prayed fervently for their safety here and hereafter. We loved him then, and say we do yet; but we find the same men who reviled him then, complaining about the pension list, and some saying: 'The Confederates fought for what they believed to be right. We are all American citizens. Why not put all on the same footing? Let us be brothers.' I tell you, my friends, the people of this country are hard to understand. I heard the President of the Southern Confederacy applauded this year. I was saddened by this, and was glad that my time here could not be regarded as of great duration. Can such things be? Am I dreaming? Where am I? Is it possible that I am in Indiana and not in South Carolina? Am I under the Union flag, and not the Confederate?”

Uncle Daniel here bowed his head, and in a whisper to himself, said:

“Is it so? Is it so?”

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