CHAPTER XIV

PERSONAL NARRATIVE--THE CLOSE OF THE WAR

From Columbus I made my way as best I could with my family, to Atlanta, where I was the guest of my friend Mr. Richard Peters.

The affairs of the Confederacy, its armies, its political organization, had all come to naught. General Thomas and his army had effected a junction with General Grant. Cavalry, infantry and artillery completely surrounded the Confederate forces, whose supply of ammunition was nearly exhausted. Overwhelming circumstances compelled the capitulation of General Lee at Appomattox Court House, on Sunday April 9th, 1865. A few days later occurred the assassination of President Lincoln and that event was followed by the proclamation offering a reward for the apprehension of Jefferson Davis and certain other persons,--not as the chief actors in the recent war,--but as _particeps criminis_ in that atrocious crime.

In my stay at Atlanta I was brought somewhat in touch with the march of events. On the 20th of May the Honorable Ben Hill was brought to Atlanta. He had been an intimate friend of President Davis and was a man of fine intellect. He bore himself nobly in the then depressing state of affairs. I had a long and most interesting conversation with him. Mr. Mallory, who had been Secretary of the Confederate Navy, seemed to take a pessimistic view of the situation, and told me that his greatest regret was that he had spent four years of his life in working for a people unfit for independence.

Major-General Howell Cobb, although a paroled prisoner of war, was brought into Atlanta under guard, probably to accompany Mr. Hill and Mr. Mallory to Washington. I had half an hour's conversation with him. He told me that he had no regrets for the past so far as his own conduct was concerned; that he was willing to let his record stand without the dotting of an _i_ or the crossing of a _t_; that he felt that the future had nothing in store for him; that he was willing to submit to the United States laws; and that he had no desire to escape from the United States officers.

"Indeed," said he, "were there now two paths before me, one leading to the woods and the other to the gallows, I would rather take the latter than compromise my self-respect by attempting to escape."

On Sunday, the 21st of May, I officiated in the Central Presbyterian Church, Atlanta. There was an immense congregation present. It was made up of about an equal number of Federals and Confederates. Before beginning the service, I made a brief address in which I expressed my views as to the duties of all true men in the then present condition of the country. I said that every man should do his utmost to heal the wounds and to hide the seams and scars of the fratricidal war that had just closed. I told the congregation that I would not use the prayer for the President of the United States at that service, simply because it had not yet been authorized by the Bishop of the Diocese whose ecclesiastical jurisdiction in the matter I recognized. I then proceeded with the service.

A few evenings later, Major E. B. Beaumont, Adjutant-General on Major-General Wilson's staff, took tea with us. He was from Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, and an intimate friend of Mr. Peters' relatives in that state. As soon as he reached Macon, he wrote to Mr. Peters requesting him to call on him for any assistance he might be able to render. He was then on his way home on thirty days' leave.

He was a graduate of West Point, and,--like all from that institution with whom I was ever brought in contact,--a gentleman. From him I heard the Federal side of the story of the Columbus fight. I appreciated more than ever how utterly absurd was the attempt on the part of the Confederates to defend the place! We had but a handful of untrained militia and a squad of veterans from the hospitals, against 13,000 of the best disciplined and best equipped troops of the Federal army!

From Atlanta I started for Nashville, accompanied by my family and my friend Mr. Peters, who was most anxious to get to Philadelphia. The railroad between Atlanta and Chattanooga had been destroyed but had been re-built as far south as Kingston, Georgia. I found an old friend, the engineer in charge of the work of construction, who gladly received us into his coach and provided us with abounding hospitality.

As there was considerable difficulty in getting through Chattanooga, I called upon the Federal Commander at Kingston, and asked him if he would kindly facilitate my movements. I handed him my passport upon which he endorsed his name and asked me to hand it to an officer in an adjoining room. The latter, to my surprise, provided me with free passes to Nashville. Arrived at Nashville, I was very cordially received at the residence of my friend, Colonel Harry Yeatman. This was on a Friday. The next day, the Rev. W. D. Harlow, then in charge of Christ Church, called upon me. I said to him in the course of our conversation: "I shall be glad to take part with you in the services tomorrow." For the hall, used by my congregation previous to the war, had been taken by the military, in 1862, and converted into barracks, and my congregation was scattered.

"Perhaps you had better not," he said.

"And pray, why not?" I asked.

"The authorities might not like it," he replied.

"Very well," I rejoined, "if they do not like it, let them come and arrest me. I shall not object in the least."

I learned subsequently that he had called upon General Parkhurst of Michigan, then Provost Marshal of Nashville, informed him of my arrival and asked him if I would be permitted to officiate.

"Ah," replied the General, "has the Doctor returned? Where does he officiate? I shall be glad to attend his services."

Later I was called upon to visit the General's wife in sickness and I found myself very busily engaged in visiting the sick and wounded of the Federal forces at Nashville and in burying their dead. For weeks I was in constant attendance in the hospitals and in camp. Gradually I began to realize that I had been unconsciously converted from a Confederate to a Federal Chaplain. When I decided to take my family to New York, I was waited upon by a committee of Federal officers, the chairman of which made a touching address and asked me to accept a purse of gold in token of the high appreciation in which my services had been held by the Federal officers in Nashville. I need hardly say that I was both surprised and gratified.

In those days the railways were in charge of military conductors, the coaches were greatly crowded and it was difficult to obtain seats. But General Parkhurst came to my assistance, sent his adjutant to the railway station to secure seats for me and my family, and placed a guard over them. Thus my family made a very comfortable journey.

On reaching New York, I was most cordially received by my friend the Rev. Dr. Morgan, Rector of St. Thomas' Church, and was invited to preach for him the following Sunday. His was therefore the first church in the North in which I preached or held service of any kind after the war.

I returned to Tennessee on the 1st of September, 1865, and on the 6th of that month, a special convention of the Diocese met in pursuance of the call of the Standing Committee, to elect a Bishop to succeed Bishop Otey, who had died in April, 1863. The convention met in Christ Church, Nashville. On the second day, the convention proceeded to the election. And in the afternoon of that day, the President of the Convention, the Rev. Dr. Pise, announced that the clergy, by an almost unanimous vote, had nominated me for that high office.

The laity retired to consider the nomination and soon returned and reported that they had ratified the same. The President thereupon announced that I had been duly elected Bishop of the Diocese of Tennessee. With my consecration in St. Luke's Church, Philadelphia, in the presence of the General Convention of the Protestant Episcopal Church in the United States of America, on Wednesday, the 11th of October, 1865, I felt that the war between the states was indeed over.