Monday, November 18, 2013

         18, A Confederate Fast Day sermon in Knoxville

Fast Day.-The day was set apart by the President's proclamation was observed more general than any similar occasion within our recollection. With on accord the people rested from business and labor, and large numbers participated in religious worship which was performed in nearly every church of the city. There wee very few violations of the rules of propriety, the temptations to err being measurably removed by the closing of bar rooms, where many are wont to pass the idle hours of ordinary holidays. We have word that the ministers were unusually earnest in their appeals, and congregations seemed to sympathize deeply in the invocations for him addressing of Heaven on our cause. It is our purpose to publish brief sketches of some of the sermons on the occasion, commencing with that of the Rev. Mr. Butler, rector of St. John's [Episcopal] Church-an eloquent discourse upon the theme: A people's Christianity their sure and Only Basis of Permanence and Strength.

His text was selected from Genesis 18:32-"And He said, I will not destroy it, for ten's sake."  The mighty truth that the world belongs to God, and the folly and wretchedness of opposing God's purposes, were considered as introductory to the question-How far is the world's life in accordance with the fact that it is God's world? The discord and the bitterness and the oppression of nations-the world's sensuality and shame, its ignorance, superstition, and all its catalogue of vices-tell us with terrible emphasis that the prayer of Christ is not yet the prayer of the world: "Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven." Yet this discouraging truth is relieved by the knowledge that all these must pass away, but "not one jot or tittle of God's word shall fall." Between the dark and damning realities of sin that we behold around us to-day, and that glorious consummation which God has revealed to us, we recognize the reason of every step of the progress in the principle embodies in the text—"I will not destroy it for ten's sake." God has thrown into the current of the world's life a regenerative power-the power of Christianity-and the process of its desecration and decay is checked-the work of dissolution is stayed. Whether this truth is rightly received or wretched and perverted, it is nonetheless the truth of God that the Christianity of the world is the word's safety After some beautiful and appropriate illustrations, the rector proceeded to the day's services. We know, he said, that all fear has its roots deep down in godlessness – we know that the strife that is pouring it's its tide of wretchedness and blood over our land is the godless, inhuman, brutal crusade that has ever stained the page of civilizations. We know that by the blessing of God upon the restless spirit of our people, every blow that our foes have dealt us has recoiled with ten-fold fierceness and destruction upon their own heads. And we know that if we maintain this spirit, and ever look to God for the result, that result will not be uncertain.-Our enemies have "taken the sword" and they will "perish by the sword." They have "sown the wind" and they will "reap the whirlwind." They have lighted a blaze that will scorch and wither much that is fair [words illegible] and good within our own borders; but which the winds of heaven will blow back upon themselves, and its fiery tongues, kindling into seven fold fury-the hand of man shall not quench it. For it is eternally true that "every man shall receive his own reward according to his own labors."

But (proceeded the speaker) there is one thing that we do not know. When the flames of war shall have expired; when those whom that battle and the pestilence have spared shall have reunited to their homes and firesides, now ten-fold more precious for having been defended even to death; when time shall have begun to heal wounds deeper and more full of anguish that those which steel and shell have made; when the shot-ploughed battle-fields shall have hidden their redness in garments of peaceful verdure; when the hand that pointed the cannon guides the plow; and the head that planned campaigns shall employ its comprehensive sagacity in directing, with pure and lofty patriotism, the channels of a nation's weal, shall we then be a righteous people or a godless people?

If, as a people, we shall realize that we are God's people-if we take or successes and lay them, with devout thankfulness, upon the altar of Christianity-if our men go from camp back to their various accustomed places of life and labor with the honest resolve by the help of God to be men of God-if the earnestness and liberality that have been volunteered in the defence of our social rights shall be earnestly employed in succoring our rights in the Church of Christ-if the hands and the hearts of the women as our land shall engage in Christ's work as heartily as they are now engaged in patriotic work-if our Christianity shall keep pace with and hallow the material prosperity that is obliged to fall in our lot-then a bright and unparalleled day of Divine blessing is before us. We will be the chosen instrument of God for working out higher and nobler problems of Christianized society than have ever yet been committed to man. God has accumulated within our borders the material for a people mightier in Christianity and mightier in political and material strength, (the last, let it never be forgotten, only mighty elements of ruins without the former) than the world has ever seen; and it remains for us to say what part we shall take in this consummation.

In conclusion, the speaker urged that the time has come for every citizen to be a Christian, and every patriot to be a Christian patriot. But if, said he, instead of this, we shall, upon the restoration of peace, only plunge into the world with new zest, and follow with unrestrained activity the leading of ambition, and wealth, and fashion, and show, and pleasure, and lust; if we forget that we belong to God-if we forget that we belong to God- if we forget that nations exist solely for the purpose of working out the problem of Christ's Church on earth-which simply means to bring the world into its true position as God's world-then, in the midst of our unheard of prosperity, we shall one day split again upon the rock of godlessness. God grant that this may not be so; but that for the humble faith and the Christian spirit and the Abrahamic pleadings that will this day ascent to the Throne of Heaven, He will not destroy us for the ten's sake, but make us a Christian nation, and so a strong and permanent, and blessed nation, by making every one of us Christian people. The humblest spirit in Christ's Church is a mightier bulwark of defence to our country than a godless statesman with the intellect of an archangel. He serves his country best who serves his God best.

We have selected sketches of other eloquent sermons delivered on Fast Day, which we are compelled to postpone, owing the heavy demand upon our columns.

The Daily Dispatch, November 18, 1861.



        18, Skirmish with Morgan's Cavalry at Rural Hill

No circumstantial reports filed.

HDQRS. LEFT WING, FOURTEENTH ARMY CORPS, November 18, 1862-8.30 p. m.

Col. J. P. GARESCHE, Chief of Staff:

COL.: The company of cavalry I sent to look after the brigade at Rural Hill have returned, and report that the cannonading of which I sent you notice in my note of this date, at 8.45 a. m., was at Rural Hill; that the brigade there was attacked by Morgan's cavalry, who dismounted after their first charge and fought as infantry, with artillery; that the fight lasted for about two and one-half hours, but with very slight result. We had no men killed or wounded, but 4 of the Thirteenth Ohio taken prisoners. The enemy had 4 killed that were left dead on the field, and were buried while the cavalry were there; the number wounded unknown.

Most respectfully, your obedient servant,

T. L. CRITTENDEN, Maj.-Gen., Cmdg.

OR, Ser. I, Vol. 20, pt. II, p. 67.



18, Newspaper report on crime in Nashville

Burglaries and Robberies.

On Saturday night [15TH], between the hours of 10 and 11 o'clock, some ten or twelve persons, most of them dressed in Federal uniform, and five or six of them armed with muskets and bayonets, stopped in front of the dry-goods store of Mr. G. Haury, on Jefferson street, between Cherry and Summer, and demanded admission, which Mr. Haury refused. They then stated that they had come by authority to search for arms, and the door still being closed against them they proceeded to break it open, using their bayonets and muskets for that purpose. Mr. Haury called for help from his neighbors, and Mrs. Haury beat lustily upon a drum kept in the house for that purpose; but before any assistance could reach the house (all his neighbors being in bed,) the scoundrels had broken the wooden bar which secured the door on the inside, forced open the lock, and entered the store. The drawers and shelves were examined, when the neighbors began to come to the rescue, and the robbers, thinking they were getting into a tight place, seized several pieces of goods, and ran off, carrying with them more than two hundred dollars worth, and perhaps a ball or two, as several shots were fired by the soldiers and the neighbors of Mr. Haury.

Mr. William Fay, also living on Jefferson street, called upon us yesterday morning to relate his grievances. It appears that he manufactures and sells tobacco and segars, his store being close to his residence, but not adjoining. Week before last his little store was broken open, and a large amount of property stolen, by soldiers evidently, as in crawling through the panel which they had broken out some of their buttons had been torn off, and were found inside the shop door early next morning. On Friday week, about midnight, Mr. Fay and his wife were awakened by a noise as some one trying to break open their shop door. Mr. Fay jumped out of bed and saw a considerable body of cavalry on their horses and regularly armed, which he supposed to be a patrol, and concluding he must have been mistaken, again retired to bed. In a few minutes he again arose and looked out the window, when he distinctly saw men in cavalry uniform, with their rifles and sabres, handing out bundles of tobacco and segars to those on horseback. He called to them to desist, and they threatened to shoot him. His wife went to the window and screamed to loud that the watchman heard her at the railroad depot, but they continued their plundering until they had nearly emptied the shop, when they mounted their horses and rode off. Mrs. Fay, we regret to say, has been very sick ever since the occurrence, and narrowly escaped with her life.

On Sunday [16th]  night the clothing store of Mr. John Swan, on Union street, was broken open and robbed of more than a thousand dollars' worth of goods. The burglars effected an entrance from the rear of the house, leaving nothing behind them by which the smallest clue can be obtained as to the perpetrators of the deed. The police are on the watch, however, and may possibly wake up a portion of the gang one of these days.

A young man named Stevens was robbed on Sunday [16th] night of ninety-odd dollars, under the following circumstances: he was going home a little after eight o'clock, when four men dressed in uniform stopped him and inquired why he was out so late. He informed them it was only a little after eight, and that he though he could remain out until nine o'clock. They stated that they had orders to arrest all citizens found out after eight, and requested him to accompany them to headquarters. They conducted him to a retired spot near the Chattanooga depot, when they halted, drew their pistols, and demanded his money, which he handed to them, and after admonishing him to return in silence, they disappeared.

Nashville Dispatch, November 18, 1862.



        18, THE MAID OF THE HOLSTON, by Dr. S. Silsuee

'Twas evening; and o'er the sweet vale of the Holston

The gloaming was drawing night's chill mantle down;

The moss-margined meads, and the pine pictured mountains,

Were shrouded in Autumn's drear vestments of brown,

Then banks of the river,

The beautiful Holston,

The pride of the valley, in vestments of brown.


The sigh of the whippoorwill, song of the brown thrush,

In sad cadence mourned for the bright summer past.

The squirrel's shrill bark and the chirp of the robin,

Were heard 'mid the shrieks of the fierce mountain blast,

Were heard on the Holston,

The beautiful river,

The echoes afar of the chill mountain blast.


As pensive and dreamy, all lonely I wandered,

The shadow of memory passing so fleet,

The sparkling waves of the rippling waters,

Were kissing the pebbles that lay at my feet.

The waves of the Holston,

The Clear chrystal [sic] river,

Were kissing white pebbles that rolled at my feet.


My soul was captured by a vision of beauty,

A maiden with eyes like a bright winter's star,

Her smile like the sparkle of gurgling water,

Her voice like the murmur of music afar.

The murmur of the Holston,

The ripple of waters,

The music of Holston when heard from afar.


Her skin like the tint of her own native mountains,

When Autumn's brown drapery o'er them is thrown,

Her lips like the Spring time of roses and flowers,

Her breath like aroma of hay newly mown

In valleys so charming,

The rich meads of Holston,

That breathe the aromas of hay newly mown.


The hair o'er her brow fell like clouds sable mantle,

Enshrouding the mountain peaks covered with snow,

The soft waving curls o'er her beauteous shoulders,

Were shading her billowy bosom below-

Like waves of the Holston,

The sweet flowing river,

In vain to conceal the white pebbles below.


Some syren, I murmured, a fleeting illusion,

So witching her mien and so winning her smile,

Some fanciful sprite or a nymph of the river,

The spirit of the Holston, my heart to beguile,

A creature of fancy,

A magical vision,

A maid of Holston my soul to beguile.


Oh, say, charming wanderer, tell me sweet spirit,

Art, really a woman, or sprite in disguise?

I list to thy voice, like the music of waters,

I sigh for a glance of thy sparkling eyes.

The bright silver water,

When stars shine on Holston,

Reflect but the glance of thy sparkling eyes.

The bright silver water,

When stars shine on Holston,

Reflect but the glance of the sparkling eyes.


No Fairy-she murmured with accents entrancing,

My home's on the mountain, she said with a sigh-

The tremulous dew in her starry eyes glistened-

Alas, but a poor mountain maiden am I.

By the swift gliding waters,

And sweet purling fountains

Of shadowy Holston-a maiden am I.


I love the blue mountains and laurel crowned grottoes,

Where hang the wild grapes and magnolia bloom,

To wander through bird haunted groves of the Holston,

Mid the emerald vales of its pine shaded gloom.

The valley of beauty,

The flower of clad Holston,

To wander at eve mid the emerald gloom


I list to the wail of the wail of the wind through the willows,

The pines and the cedars their secrets impart,

Where birds and the bees and the low singing waters,

Like the voice of childhood I appeal to my heart,

The whispering waters,

The song of the Holston,

Forever will murmur their strains to my heart.


Their voices in sadness a requiem wailing,

For loved ones who perished and the brave who have fallen:

On the banks of the Holston I'm weeping alone,

The once limpid river,

The blood tainted Holston,

For lost ones I weep by the river alone.


The shrieks of the dying and danger of battle,

On blasts from the forest are heard from afar,

The wail of the widow and orphan re-echo,

On tempest-tossed waves the dread anguish of war.

Oh list to the waters,]

The eloquent river,

Repeating the groans and the anguish of war.


All weeping and drooping, like a storm riven lily,

With beauty enhanced by her grief stricken air;

Her hand softly pressing and gently caressing,

I mingled my sighs with her tears of despair.

The sad sobbing waters,

The pure gushing Holston,

Swept playfully on with her tears of despair


More sweet was her voice than the murmur of Holston,

I saw not the valley or mountains above,

I gazed in the eyes of the beautiful maiden,

I bathed in their soul lighted magic of love,

And there by the Holston,

The moss margined river,

At the feet of the maiden I whispered of love.


And oft in the evening when sunlight and starlight

At twilight contended the hours to sway,

Hand in hand with the lovely brown maid of the Holston,

How happy the moments we sauntered away

By the babbling Holston,

The dear prudent river,

That marked not the hours we dallied away.


I'll ever remember the maid of the Holston-

Those moments of pleasure I cannot forget-

Through life's dreary pathway whenever I wander,

Embalmed in my heart be that hour I met

The beautiful vision,

Dear maid of the Holston,

Forever remembered that hour we met.

Brownlow's Knoxville Whig and Independent

Journal and Rebel Ventilator, November 18, 1863.



        18, Federal ambush and capture of Confederate mail-carriers on Somerville road

MOSCOW, November 18, 1863.

Capt. T. H. HARRIS, Assistant Adjutant-Gen.:

I laid an ambush last night on the Somerville road, about 3 miles from here, at McCaughn's Mill, where the guerrillas are in the habit of crossing the north fork of Wolf River on their way to and from Somerville, and captured 2 rebel mail-carriers and nearly 1,000 letters which they were taking to Somerville. What shall I do with them? They have Chattanooga dates of the 22d October.


OR, Ser. I, Vol. 31, pt. III, p. 190.

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