Archive for the ‘Civil War’ Category

The Wounding of Gen. Stonewall Jackson

May 10, 2012

The Wounding of Gen. Stonewall Jackson.
Baltimore Sun, 2nd.

To-day is the twentieth anniversary of the date on which Gen. Stonewall Jackson, after routing Hooker’s right flank at Chancellorsville, and while pressing forward to sever the line of retreat of the main body of the Federal army, received from his own men, by accident, the shot which eight days later resulted in his death. To the Confederacy his loss was irreparable. Having been engaged in nearly every important action of the war in Virginia, and having distinguished himself in all, he had become among the Southern soldiery, as among the people, a hero whose presence on the battle-field was regarded as a sure omen of success. The list of the principal actions in which he participated —

Bull Run, Kernstown, McDowell, Front Royal, Winchester, Cross Keys, Port Republic, Cold Harbor, Cedar Mountain, second Bull Run, the investment of Harper’s Ferry, Sharpsburg or Antietam, Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville —

is, with one two exceptions, a list of successes, reflecting the highest credit upon his military genius. His fame has become the common property of the country, and indeed, of the world at large, having long ago crossed the obliterated limits of the government for which he fought. The comparative obscurity in which he passed all but the last three years of his life finds a parallel in the mystery, or uncertainty, which in the popular mind surrounds the circumstances under which he was shot.

The question has been raised whether he was wounded by his own men or by the enemy, and, it being generally conceded that he was fired at by mistake by his own men, it has been a matter of hot discussion as to the regiment that made the fatal blunder. The facts, well substantiated by officers present at the time, are as follows: The front line of advance had been formed by Rhodes’ division, extending across the pike, but the division commanded by Gen. Colston, forming the second line, had, as the action progressed, become mingled with it. After nightfall, in a lull of the firing, it was undertaken to relieve the two divisions by A.P. Hill’s division of fresh troops. Jackson was impatient to have the attack recommenced, and, supposing that there was a skirmish line out in front between Rhodes’ men and the enemy, rode forward along the pike in advance of Hill to ascertain the enemy’s position, and in doing so passed through the line of battle beginning to be formed by Lane’s brigade of Hill’s division. Those of Lane’s men immediately in the road knew that Gen. Jackson had passed, but those further to the right and left did not. Hence some of Lane’s troops on the right of the road, seeing Gen. Jackson accompanied by several signal-men and couriers, in their front, mistook them for the enemy and opened fire on the party, wounding not a few of its members.

Those of their number still unhurt, including Gen. Jackson, to escape this fire, plunged into the woods on the left, where they were met with a second volley from the troops on that side of the road. Gen. Lane reports it as the opinion generally accepted at the time that it was the eighteenth regiment of his brigade of North Carolina that did the firing, mistaking Gen. Jackson and his escort for a party of the Federal cavalry. The result of the second volley was that the general was wounded in three places, two ball penetrating his left arm, shattering it and cutting the chief artery, and a third passing through the palm of his right hand. After some delay Gen. Jackson was borne to the rear. His arm was amputated and hopes of his recovery were entertained. But pneumonia soon set in, which was the immediate cause of his death on the 10th of May, 1863.

The Landmark (Statesville, North Carolina) May 11, 1883

It’s All About the Ball

May 9, 2012

Image from Glimpses Into Baseball History

Base Ball.

As many of our readers are not familiar with the game, we append a description of it, written by our friend Cory O’Lanus, a warm admirer of the game:

“The game is a great invention. It is easily understood. All you have to do is just keep your eye on the ball.

It is all about a ball.

Image from Rob L’s Baseball Memorabilia

They also use a bat. The bat is a club built on the model of the club Barnum killed Capt. Cook with.

This is the reason why the organization is called a club.

One fellow takes a club and stands on a line, and another stands in front and fires the ball at him.

The chap with a club hits back.

The ball flies in another direction.

The first fellow drops the club as though he was scared, and runs like a pickpocket with an M.P. after him.

Several fellows run after the ball; somebody catches it and fires it at somebody else, when the chap who had the club stops running.

Another fellow then takes the club and the same man, who is called “pitcher,” pitches on him, fires the ball at him, when he hits back, knocks the ball, drops his club and cuts his stick for the first base.

Image from Civil War, Washington, D.C.

Half a dozen fellows out on picket duty scramble for the ball.

One reliable B.B. is posted behind the club man, in case the club man missed the ball, to see that it don’t go by and hit the Umpire.

When one side goes out the other side goes in, and when both sides are out it is called innings.

It is quite an intelligent game, depending entirely on the use of your legs. The first principle of the game is running.

When you are “in” you run away from the ball; when you are “out” you run after it.

It is splendid exercise; it keeps you so warm; consequently always played in the summer time.”

The Hillsdale Standard (Hillsdale, Michigan) May 15, 1866

From Karl Marx to General Sherman

April 22, 2012

The photos here record an interesting chapter in the history of the Sequoia National Park, when Charles F. Kellar, 90, of Santa Cruz, was an organizer of the Kaweah Colony in 1886. The group built the first road connecting the valley with the grove of big trees. Kellar was the original owner of what is now known as the General Sherman tree and first named it the Carl Marx Tree. He is visiting the park this week. The pictures show: No. 1 — Camp Advance in 1889, at that time the colony town site north of Ash Mountain on the North Fork of the Kaweah River. No. 2 — Miss Kate Redstone in 1890 standing on a suspension bridge over the Kaweah just below the junction of the North Fork and the main stream. The bridge was built by Ralph Hopping, grandfather of Guy Hopping, superintendent of the General Grant National Park. Miss Redstone later became Mrs. Ralph Hopping. No. 3 — Type of paper money used in the Kaweah Colony. No. 4 — Kaweah colonist building road to Giant Forest in 1886. No. 5 — Charles F. Kellar. No. 6 — shows what happened when the donkey engine fell through the bridge.

SEQUOIA NATIONAL PARK (Tulare Co.), Oct. 17. — A 90-year-old soldier stands reverently beneath the great arms of the General Sherman Tree, oldest and largest of living things, and exclaims, “I once tried to protect you.”

The soldier is Charles F. Kellar of Santa Cruz. He once owned the Sherman Tree in every sense that so ageless a living thing can be owned by a mortal being.

Organizer of the Kaweah Colony in 1886, he built the first road connecting the san Joaquin Valley with the grove of Sequoia Gigantes now included in the Sequois National Park.

And, as leader of the colony of Socialists, he named the largest of the trees the Karl Marx Tree. The government later changed the name to General Sherman.

Is Visitor At Park

Kellar is visiting in the park now, just fifty years after he and fifty-six other colonists started work on the road from a point seven miles above Three Rivers to the wilderness that now is a network of wide highways and graded trails. He is the guest of his granddaughter, Mrs. Daniel J. Tobin, wife of the assistant park superintendent.

Back in 1885, Kellar, a newly arrived San Franciscan who had just finished four years of service in the civil war, was the head of a Socialist organization, the Land Purchase and Improvement Company. On a business trip to Visalia — a trip made mostly on foot — he overheard two United States surveyors talking about a recent survey of a vast timber region dotted with giant trees. He soon had a copy of the survey and had obtained a guide, Newton Tharp, to take him to the timber country.

Tharp was a son of Hale Tharp, the discoverer of Giant Forest, and knew the wilderness even though there were no trails.

With packs on their backs, the two men traveled almost the same route now followed by the Generals Highway. They went up the middle fork of the Kaweah River to the base of Moro Rock, then wound around until they reached what is now known as Crescent Meadow.

Camp Was Inside Tree

Headquarters was made at Hale Tharp’s “cabin,” a fallen Sequoia hollowed out by fire and commodious enough for a Summer home.

Shortly, Kellar saw the really big trees. He saw the largest of all. And decided to own it and protect it.

Returning to San Francisco, he organized the Kaweah Colony. Each man put up a $10 fee on the quarter section of land that was to be his, and $400 was paid for the land. There were forty of the colonists.

Kellar recalls the trek to the promised land. The bay district Socialists came in a body and on foot, toting their worldly goods. Each had the hope of developing the land of the majestic trees and sharing in profits equally with his fellows.

As the weary party came upon the Sequoias they were awe inspired. All resolved the primary purpose of the colony would be to protect the largest of the trees for posterity.

Kellar’s land was towered over by the “Karl Marx Tree,” and around it spread the holdings of the other colonists.

Having invested $4,000, the colony leader included in his properties a ???-acre ranch, the old McIntosh place, on which the Kaweah Park office now stands.

The ranch became the starting point for the wilderness road which ended at C?????y Mill, ___  ____ d___.[back copy, illegible]

“It took us three years of the hardest labor to build the road,” Kellar says. “We had few tools and we were unskilled.”

Upon completion of the job, the federal government brought suit against the Kaweah Colony charging fraudulent entry. When the case came up for trial in Los Angeles, Kellar says, the colonists presented their receipts for fees and payments and the matter, Kellar says, was thrown out of court.

Nevertheless, there was difficulty due to the government’s opposition. The Sequoia National Park was formed by the federal authorities. The colonists became discouraged, disbanded and scattered. The road they had toiled so hard to build they used only as a way out of the wilderness.

Kellar likes to reminisce about his youth. Born in Germany in 1846, he came to America with his parents at the age of 9 years, the family settling on a farm in Pennsylvania, near Lake Erie.

Served Throughout War

When the war clouds began to gather between the North and South, Kellar, although not of age to become a soldier, enlisted three times, having run away from home to join the army. His father balled him out of the service twice. His third and last enlistment was one year prior to General Lee’s entrance into Gettysburg and he served throughout the war.

Among the highlights of Kellar’s career as a soldier was his march with General Sherman to the sea. He cast his first vote for president Abraham Lincoln when a ballot box was brought to the field of battle. Congress had given special permission for all soldiers to vote regardless of their ages.

Crossed Isthmus Of Panama

After the war Kellar came to California via Panama by rail and water in the year 1886. Leaving Panama the ship stopped at San Pedro, the only other coast city having a wharf, besides San Francisco. Here as far as the eye could see were fields of wild geese which looked somewhat like a mirage. Los Angeles then had a population of 5,000, and land was selling for $10 an acre. Seventh and Hill Streets was considered an outpost.

San Francisco was a series of sand dunes, a wharf, board walks, a few boarding houses and saloons. Beer was 25 cents per glass. No grass was growing in the city, but some one had imported Bermuda grass and dried one crop as hay in the region now known as Golden Gate Park. The wind soon sifted the dry grass around in the sand dunes and with the aid of moisture from the sea, there was a luxurious growth.

Kellar asserts an ounce of gold worth $15 constituted a day’s wage in the late sixties. There was a great scarcity of labor. “We carried our gold in buckskin bags in our pockets, he recalls.

Fresno Bee Republican (Fresno, California) Oct 18, 1936

From the SmithsonianAmerican Exploration and Settlement:

Between 1884 and 1891, the area along the North Fork of the Kaweah River just upstream from the Terminus Reservoir site was the scene of an interesting experiment in utopian socialism that is still the subject of serious study by students of economics and political science. This was the Kaweah Cooperative Commonwealth, generally referred to as the Kaweah Colony. It was based upon the theories of Laurence Gronlund, an American socialist originally from Denmark, whose book “The Cooperative Commonwealth,” was the first adequate exposition of German socialism. In general, Gronlund envisioned an ideal cooperative colony in which working members would own and control production and profit accordingly. Burnette G. Haskell, John Hooper Redstone, and James John Martin, all of whom had been active in labor organizations in San Francisco, were impressed with Gronlund’s theories and decided to form such a colony with timberlands as a source of raw materials for a manufacturing business. After a search of the entire Pacific Coast and parts of Mexico, the leaders of the proposed colony selected the Government timberlands between the Middle, Marble, and North Forks of Kaweah River. Fifty-three timber claims totaling about 12,000 acres were filed. Because several of the applicants gave the same San Francisco address and some were aliens, and because of the large number of claims, the Federal Land Commissioner in Visalia withdrew the lands filed upon from entry on suspicion of fraud. The colonists, however, were convinced their claims would be validated by the courts and proceeded with the venture.

*More at the link, although I didn’t see any mention of Charles Kellar.

And more at The History of Kaweah Colony. No mention of Kellar here either. Maybe he embellished his role a bit  in starting the colony.

I found a few references to C.F. Keller with a little more searching (The History of Tulare and Kings County):

*****

The Nation in Tears

April 14, 2012

Image from the New York Philharmonic

NOTE: The author’s math was off a year.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN.

Ten years ago to-day an assassin’s bullet let out the life blood of one of the noblest statesmen that the United States ever had the fortune to possess. Ten years ago, upon that memorable Friday, a people were hurled from the height of joy to the depths of grief. Scarce had the electric wires carried the inspiring words “Richmond has fallen!” from Maine to California, before the same wires were called upon to convey the sad news that J. Wilkes Booth had struck a cowardly, yet fatal blow at the energetic, beloved “Uncle Abe.” We well remember the pall that fell over a grief-stricken people; how strong men wept, and flags hung at half mast. The entire North felt as if it had lost a father, and that too at a moment when he was needed as much, if not more, than at any previous time.

The country, emerging from a cruel and unnatural war, needed such a master hand to guide it safely through the trying scenes which were to follow. But his race was run, his work was accomplished, and he fell at his post lamented by a nation. While the grateful North idolized the care-worn patriot who had steered the Ship of State through an internecene war, the South, though nominally his enemy, could but revere his strict integrity and wonderful executive ability, and each vied with the other in doing him homage as he lay prepared for burial. The 14th of April should be made a national holiday, by which the memories of this great, noble patriot should be perpetuated. It should be placed beside the 22d of February in the affections of a grateful people. While the Union lasts, and while an American citizen shall exist, there will be one page in his country’s history that will have a peculiar lustre and be to him an inspiration to follow the grand example set by Honest Old Abe, and that is the page that tells of Abraham Lincoln. May his memory be always and forever revered.

Daily Nevada State Journal (Reno, Nevada) Apr 14, 1876

Image from PBS

 

A DARK DAY.

Twelve years ago to-day was a dark, sad day to the United States. On the 14th of April, 1865, Abraham Lincoln, our beloved President, fell by an assassin’s hand and left a nation in tears. He fell when needed most. Though called to preside on the nation’s darkest hour, and having administered well the duties imposed upon him, still after four years his work was yet unfinished. A nation bleeding and torn needed his guiding hand to sooth sectional prejudices and alleviate the heart sores which still bled. Then of all times was Lincoln needed. But the assassin’s hand was not stayed and the un???ing ballet left the destiny of the people in the hands of a traitor. Had Lincoln lived President Grant would not have had to resort to military law to prevent murder and outrage in the South. Nor would President Hayes have found the perplexing Southern question hovering over and embarrassing his administration. The bitterness and hatred incident to the rebellion would have passed away, and to day North, South, East and West would rejoice in a mutual prosperity, brought about by fraternal feelings and industry.

We commend the history of Abraham Lincoln to the young men of our country. He never dreamed when splitting rails or towing a raft down the Mississippi, but one day he should be the leader of a mighty people — one to whom the world looked; but within him was a spirit to do and dare. Mark the result. Hard work, perseverance and honesty were the footsteps which carried him to the dizzy height which he occupied. Every young man can start with the same capital, and though he may not attain the Presidency he can hold a position far above the one he will occupy if his life is spent in debauchery and idleness.

Think of it young men, and determine to be like Lincoln — a leader of leaders. Every young man has a right to choose one of two things: either to be a man or a mouse. Judging from the actions of many we think they will be even very sickly mice. Boys, assert your manhood. Remember that Webster, Lincoln, Grant, Hayes, DeLong, and a host of others known to Nation and State, were poor boys when they started, but by the manly qualities have attained a name that will live long after they shall have passed away.

Daily Nevada State Journal (Reno, Nevada) Apr 14, 1877

Dissolution of the Union

March 14, 2012

Image from the Encyclopedia of Arkansas History & Culture

DISSOLUTION OF THE UNION.
BY ALBERT PIKE.

Some twenty or thirty years ago one of the most popular of the young poets of America, was Albert Pike of Arkansas. The grace and vigor of his pen, the elegance of his scholarship, and the elevated tone of his thought, gave the brightest promise of an illustrious future. —  His patriotism in political life was equally conspicuous, and abundant wealth gave him means to pursue the career of an honorable ambition unfettered. But, unfortunately, a great portion of his wealth was in human chattels, and he was surrounded by, and associated with, men upon whom slave society had produced its usual soul deadening effects. A quarter of a century has passed, and the year 1862 found the same Albert Pike, who commenced his career as the rival of Longfellow, of Holmes and Halleck, a traitor to his country, and leading a horde of Indian savages to massacre, scalp and torture his countrymen.

These remembrances are suggested to us by the following verses, by Mr. Pike, which we find in “The Ladies’ Companion” for 1838, although they were written some years earlier, at the time of the nullification and threatened rebellion of South Carolina. The lines are almost prophetic, and it should seem that to read them to-day ought to make their author throw down his traitorous sword and go out and hang himself.

Down with the stars and stripes from out the sky!
Off with your banner from the bounding deep!
Chain up your eagle from his flight on high!
Bid him no more along the ocean sweep —
Scream to the wind — turn to the sun his eye!
Ay, down with Freedom from her rampart steep,
From promontory tall, and prairie wide,
Where she hath been, till now, so defied!

Listen, how Europe rings from land to land,
With jeer and laugh and bitter, biting scorn!
Lo, kings sit smiling, while the red right hand
Of Treason waves above a country, torn
With strife and tumult — and their armies stand
Ready to darken our yet breaking morn,
Lending their aid to this unhallowed strife,
So lately sprung of Terror into life.

Look on the future with prophetic eye!
Lo, on your plain are armies gathering,
As mist collecting when the storm is nigh —
And such a storm! Along the hill-sides cling
The light-horse — and the swift, patroling spy
Hoevers in front, like birds with restless wing —
While here, the rifleman moves sure, but swift;
And there, the musketeers, unbroken, drift.

The battle! Listen to the musketry!
While ever and anon, amid the roll,
Cries out the cannon! Lo, the cavalry,
Careering down like storms that seek their goal!
And now, as sea doth fiercely dash with sea,
The stern battalions charge, as with one soul —
And now, like seas that break in spray and rain,
The broken bands go floating back again!

The fight is o’er! and here lies many a one,
With bosom crushed by hoof or heavier train,
The hoary head lies glittering in the sun,
Pillowed upon the charger’s misty mane —
And just anear, with hair like moon light spun,
A delicate boy is fallen. Lo, the stain
Of blood around his nostril and his lip,
While just below his heart the gore doth drip.

The banner of your State is laid full low —
Rebellion seems approaching to its end —
And lonely shapes among the carnage go,
Peering into dead eyes with downward bend —
For men are seeking ‘mid the fallen foe,
A son, brother, or, at least a friend —
And ever and anon upon the air,
Rises the piercing wail of wild despair.

Where are you leaders? Where are they who led
Yours souls into this perilous abyss?
The bravest and the best are lying dead,
Shrouded in treason and dark perjuries;
The most of them have basely from ye fled,
Followed by scorn’s unending, general hiss.
Fled into lands that Liberty disowns,
And crouched within the shadow of tall thrones.

Ah, here they come — and with them many a band
Of hireling serfs, sent out by your liege lord
And good ally, the autocrat most grand,
Or august Emperor; he lends this horde,
To bend your brethren unto your command,
And you to his; Now draw again the sword!
Onward! ‘Tis God’s anointe I now that leads —
And he that dieth, for the Emperor bleeds!

And this! oh, God, is this to be our fate?
Disgraced, degraded, humbled and abased —
Sunken forever from our high estate —
To wander over Tyranny’s dark waste,
To crouch like slaves around a Despot’s gate —
Bend at his nod, and at his mandate haste?
Oh, Thou who hast thus far Thy aidance lent,
Avert the doom — Spirit omnipotent!

Turn then! before the final seal be set
To your apostacy — before the flood
Is wakened by your murmur and your fret,
And whelms you in its mighty solitude!
Turn to your duty, ere your land be wet
By the pollution of a brother’s blood —
Ere the avenging angel spread his wing,
And where its shadow falls herb never spring.

Oh, turn! that when some day men make your grave,
They say not, as they pile the parting sod,
“Here lies a traitor!” or, “here lies a slave!”
Turn! lest, henceforth, old men above it nod,
And warn their child to be no traitor knave,
To reverence their country and their God,
And never to deserve so foul a doom,
As that which men have written on your tomb.

Say! are you never troubled in your dreams,
With spirits rising from your fathers’ tombs,
And in the darkness of the moon’s thin gleams,
Warning you all of those eternal dooms,
Which haunt the traitor like devouring beams,
Until his heart is withered or consumes? —
Oh, these must haunt you — these more noble ones —
These heroes, who were Liberty’s best sons!

Had I a sire, who thus from death could rise,
Point to his wounds, and say, with these I bought
That freedom which you now so much despise —
With these I sealed the compact you have sought
To break and mar — Oh, I would close my eyes,
For shame, that I to shame had thus been wrought —
Yea — heap up dust and ashes on my head,
As knave corrupt, or idiot misled.

The Berkshire County Eagle (Pittsfield, Massachusetts) May 7, 1863

Grierson’s Raid

March 13, 2012

GRIERSON’S RAID.

BY B.P. SHILLABER.

Who has not heard of Grierson’s Raid,
And the feats of valor therein displayed?
‘Twas a brave, bold dash through the hostile land
That scattered terror on every hand,
Making the rebel heart afraid
At the daring valor of Grierson’s raid!

Over their mountains and over their plains,
The rider his galloping courser strains;
His sword gleams bright in the foeman’s face,
And ruin follows his onward pace;
While eyes are sad and hearts dismayed
At the terrible scourge of Grierson’s raid.

Through their cities and over their streams
The flag of the Union once more gleams;
There’s a curse on the air, but in under breath,
As the troopers go’on their work of death;
Like lightning flashes each loyal blade
To light the path of Grierson’s raid.

Onward, yet onward, oh, who may stay
The fiery tide of this fearful day?
It sweeps like a tempest along his path,
And whelms the rebel in vengeful wrath;
The smoking bridge shows war’s fierce trade,
And fire and ruin mark Grierson’s raid.

Onward, yet onward, the blazing roof
Echoes in flame to the cavalry hoof;
And fleeing forms in the midnight air,
Revealed by the war-pyre’s ruddy glare,
Tell the story, in fear displayed,
Of the woful, terrible Grierson’s raid.

Onward, yet onward, unholden the rein,
Till the Union lines are compassed again,
Where a meed of grateful honors is due
For the troopers bold, and tried, and true;
And history never has deed portrayed
That brighter shines than Grierson’s raid.

And rebel mothers their children shall tell
Of the sudden fear that on them fell,
When, swooping down like a bird on its prey,
The Federal troopers came that way, —
A sad recital as ever was made,
The memories dire of Grierson’s raid.

The Berkshire County Eagle (Pittsfield, Massachusetts) Jun 18, 1863

Grierson image from Dennis Keating’s  article, Grierson’s Raid, at the Cleveland Civil War Roundtable

Claiborne Addison Young – Alone

February 27, 2012

A reader commented on a previous post, Speaking of Collard Greens, wanting more information about the author, whose book somehow ended up in Jamaica! Here is what I was able to find:

ALONE

I saw an eagle cleave the air;
He flew alone.
I tracked a lion to his lair;
He crouched alone.
II.
A river started to the sea;
It wound alone.
A mountain rose up haughtily;
It towered alone.
III.
I looked into eternity, —
Lo ! God was alone.
And then I sang on cheerily,
But not alone.

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
By THE EDITOR

One can better appreciate Mr. Young’s verse with some insight into his antecedents, his life and his personality. Claiborne Addison Young was born May 29, 1843, in Boone County, Indiana, near Thorntown. He came of a race of pioneers. He was the son of the Rev. Claiborne Young, who was born at Stony Creek, East Tennessee, and educated for the Presbyterian ministry at Maryville College. His mother was Mary Russell Young, born at Maryville, Tenn. Her brother, Addison Russell, was for many years a prominent judge at Fort Madison, Iowa. In 1831 Mr. Young’s father came to Montgomery County, Indiana, to organize the three churches of Shannondale, Thorntown and Lebanon. It was a time when life in Indiana was primitive and coon skins were a legal tender for taxes and marriage fees. The father was one of the most conscientious of men and this characteristic, with others, the son seems to have inherited.

The poet’ was brave, patriotic, impulsive, sometimes almost erratic, always genuine and spontaneous. Captain Young served through the Civil War, enlisting at the first call with General Lew Wallace in the Eleventh Indiana. He afterward received a commission in the Eighty-fifth United States Colored Infantry, which he assisted in organizing, and served in that command until the close of the war, with credit and distinction.

Image from Factasy — Below, Civil War records are from Ancestry.com

Name: Claiborn A Young
Residence:     Montgomery County, Indiana
Enlistment Date: 31 Aug 1861
Rank at enlistment: Private
State Served: Indiana
Survived the War: Yes
Service Record: Enlisted in Company G, Indiana 11th Infantry Regiment on 31 Aug 1861.
Mustered out on 02 Jan 1864.
Commissioned an officer in on 02 Jan 1864.
Sources: Report of the Adjutant General of the State of Indiana

American Civil War Soldiers
Name: Claiborn Young
Residence:     Montgomery County, Indiana
Enlistment Date: 31 Aug 1861
Side Served: Union
State Served: Indiana
Service Record: Enlisted as a Private on 31 August 1861.
Enlisted in Company G, 11th Infantry Regiment Indiana on 31 Aug 1861.
Commission in Regiment U.S. Colored Troops on 2 Jan 1864.
Discharged for promotion Company G, 11th Infantry Regiment Indiana on 2 Jan 1864.
Sources: 76

When the war was over he returned to Wabash College and received his A. B. in 1869. After graduation he matriculated at Union Theological Seminary, intending to become a minister in accord with the tenets of that great school. But a change came upon his theologic vision and he entered the Harvard Divinity School, which he calls “The Minister Mill.” Before the “Mill” had turned out the finished product he went to the forests of Maine to engage in missionary work among the lumbermen. Later he entered the Unitarian ministry, filling pulpits in Boston and other places in the East and the Middle West. The great griefs of his life were the loss of his wife and son.

He died November 3, 1912, in the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Home at Lafayette, so nobly provided by the state of Indiana for her veterans. Like Thoreau and Joaquin Miller, he loved Nature as God made her, uncombed, unbridled by art and unharnessed by commerce. He wandered wide, from the Maine woods to the plains of Texas, from the Cumberland Mountains and the Carolinas to the land of the Modocs. His view of Nature is that of Wordsworth—the Omnipotent Divine Spirit ever revealing His presence in all forms of life. When one of his old professors reminded him of what did not happen to the “rolling stone,” he replied that he was “not in the moss business.”

Mr. Young’s sympathies were always with the “under dog” and his heart and labors went out warmly to the freedmen and the red men. He loved solitude and the lonely places and now and then he reminds one in his life and his song of that other lonely poet, Richard Realf. Many songs, doubtless, sung themselves to his heart in those solitary wanderings, that never found expression.

His first volume of verse was published in 1897 under the title “Way Songs and Wanderings,” and a few of these “Way Songs” are included in this volume. His letter in verse to his brother, “The Frogs of Boone,” he recited to Emerson, who much enjoyed it, and the elder poet and philosopher greatly encouraged the younger singer. His love of freedom and lack of sympathy with conventions led him at times over hard and stony paths but he ever kept a brave heart and never lost faith in God, or man, or life.

This soldier, wanderer, preacher and poet is no mere echo. His song is unconventional and spontaneous. As he traveled Life’s furrowed roads, and went up the many hills of difficulty, he kept on good terms with truth and loyalty and held the faith that the word “all is good” had never been taken back. He has, even in forms of construction that are faulty, the genuine lyric spirit. His motto seems to have been Walt Whitman’s “Allons ! Let us be going after the great companions.”

J. E. C.

The above poem, biography an image are all from the following book:

In the Red Man’s Land and Other Poems
by Claiborne Addison Young.
Publisher: The Hollenbeck Press in Indianapolis 1915
Read online at Open Library

*****

A Claiborne Addison Young poem, The Chickadee, was included in the following:

THE CHICKADEE (Volume 1: Verse)
A Public Domain Project
Published by Gull City Press 2008
Page 24  (scroll down to page 24)

Dorothea L. Dix – Worked to Alleviate the Sufferings of Humanity

February 10, 2012

Miss Dorothea L. Dix.
[From the Galaxy, March 15.]

Who is Miss Dix? The name has, for over a quarter of a century, been a household word in our land, as a symbol of philanthropy, of unselfish heroic devotion in alleviating the sufferings of humanity. Yet how little does the public know of her personality, her habits, where she was born, or where she resides. Like Shakespeare, she has lost her individuality in the greatness of her work. Her presence is felt but not perceived, just as a single grain of subtle perfume fills a whole room, but is itself unseen.  Still, Miss Dix is no myth, but only a flesh and blood marvel.

When her achievements are stated in the aggregate they suggest miraculous power, but are in fact, a practical illustration of what one woman can do in thirty years, when inspired by a noble purpose, and working unceasingly for the good of the race.

She has been instrumental in establishing thirty-two public hospitals for the insane: one in Rome, one in Dalmatia, one on the Isle of Jersep, one in Nova Scotia, one in New Foundland, and the remainder chiefly in our own country. With the episode of four years and a half of service in the military hospitals during the rebellion, this stupendous labor constitutes the story of her life. Her career as a philanthropist is all that the world has any right to know, and yet, apart from all vulgar curiosity, it feels a natural desire to learn something of the personnel of this angel of mercy. Her carte de visite is seen in none of the shops, few people seem to have met her, and the sketch given of her in the American Encyclopedia is very incorrect, was written by one who never saw her, and even mistakes the place of her birth.

Boston is the city of her nativity. Her grandfather was a physician, but her father, owing to delicate health, never adopted a profession. General John A. Dix in not, as is often stated in the papers, her brother, but is a near blood relative.

Miss Dorothea L. Dix was once a young lady of the American Athens, in affluent circumstances, and, like a thousand others, in a situation to lead a life of aimless ease. Like Jno. Howard, she had, when young a very frail and impaired constitution. She was sent to England, and on several voyages to warmer climates, to recover her health. When she first arrived in Liverpool she was prostrated with illness, and it was eighteen months before she was able to be borne in the arms of her nurses to the home bound ship. It is probable that she rescued herself from chronic invalidism by her strong will and the inspiration of the philanthropic labors which she began before her girlhood was ended.

One Sabbath, as she was coming out of Dr. Lowell’s church in Boston, the steps were crowded in front, and she overheard two benevolent gentlemen talking about the horrible condition of the jail in East Cambridge, where there was a number of young prisoners awaiting trial. Early that week, although under the care of a physician, she visited this institution and there found, in addition to other inmates, thirty insane persons, in the most wretched state of filth and rags, breathing a pestilential air, shut up in dark, damp cells, and receiving no treatment whatever.

The surroundings of the others confined there were not much better. She began her task by conducting religious services in the jail on the Sabbath, which had been wholly neglected. soon after, she set about relieving the physical sufferings of these unfortunate outcasts of society.

As the accommodations for the insane were insufficient in her own State, she applied to its Legislature, and on the facts being brought to their knowledge, an appropriation was made for enlarging their asylums. In her younger days Miss DIX was very intimate in the family of William Ellery Channing, the celebrated Unitarian divine, but it does not appear that he gave direction to her philanthropic enterprises, for while sympathizing fully with their purposes, he rather opposed her exhaustive exertions, on the ground that she would destroy her health. But she had received a thorough education, which had taught her to rely on her own powers, and when resolve had been deliberately formed, opposition only increased its strength.

After her success in Massachusetts, she went on a visit to Washington, and while there examined into the condition of the insane, and found sad need of reformation. She called on John Quincy Adams, then a Representative in Congress, after having held the highest office in the gift of the nation, and the sympathies of the “old man eloquent” were at once excited. He secured at her suggestion, the passage of a bill making a very adequate appropriation for the cure of the insane in the District of Columbia.

Her life work was now fairly begun. She comprehended its scope and magnitude, she prosecuted it with system, practical method, and indomitable energy. With a quiet persistency that excited no opposition, and a persuasive earnestness which won the support of those whose aid she required, she gave up her home, her friends, quiet; renounced the literary leisure for which she had a decided taste, the joys of domestic life, the fascinating pleasure of society — she consecrated everything which had in it any element of selfishness to the service of humanity.

Alton Weekly Telegraph (Alton, Illinois) Apr 26, 1867

Image from Find-A-Grave

DEATH OF DOROTHEA DIX

The Worcester Woman Who Devoted Her Life to the Unfortunate

TRENTON, N.J., July 20 — Dorothea L. Dix, who acquired a national reputation by her efforts to relieve the condition of the pauper, criminal and insane classes of the country has died of heart disease at the Trenton asylum, aged 85.

She was instrumental in having the asylum founded as well as many other similar institutions throughout the country. While visiting here five years ago, she was taken sick, and the state authorities, in recognition of her services, offered her a home for life at the asylum.

In 1848, MISS DIX petitioned congress for an appropriation of public lands to endow hospitals for the insane in the various states, and in 1854 a bill was passed granting 10,000,000 acres for the purpose but the measure was vetoed by President Pierce.

Miss Dix was born at Worcester, Mass., and for many years resided at Boston, to which city her remains will be sent.

The Fitchburg, Sentinel (Fitchburg, Massachusetts) Jul 20, 1887

Capture of Fort Donelson

January 31, 2012

Images from Harper’s Weekly on Son of the South, where you can read about the Capture of Fort Donelson.

[From the Boston Daily Advertiser.]

The Capture of Fort Donelson.

“McClernand’s division, composed of Oglesby’s, Wallace’s and McArthur’s brigades, suffered terribly. They were composed of the 8th, 9th, 11th, 18th, 20th, 29th, 30th, 31st, 45th, 48th and 49th Illinois regiments.”

“The 8th, 18th, 20th and 31st Illinois regiments occupied a position above the fort.”

“The four Illinois regiments held their ground full three hours. Nearly one-third had been killed and wound. Yet the balance stood firm.”

O, gales that dashed th’ Atlantic swell
Along our rock shores,
Whose thunders diapason well
New England’s glad hurrahs, —

Bear to the prairies of the West
The echoes of our joy;
The prayer that spring’s in every breast,
“God bless thee — Illinois!”

O, awful hours, when grape and shell
Tore through th’ unflinching line;
“Stand firm, remove the men who fell,
Close up and wait the sign.”

It came at last: “Now lads the steel!”
The rushing hosts deploy;
“Charge boys!” — the broken traitors reel.
Huzza for Illinois!

In vain thy rampart, Donelson,
The living torrent bars;
It leaps the wall, the fort is won,
Up go the Stripes and Stars.

Thy proudest mother’s eyelids fill,
As dares her gallant boy,
And Plymouth Rock and Bunker Hill
Yearn to thee — Illinois.

Boston, Feb. 22, 1862

The Berkshire County Eagle (Pittsfield, Massachusetts) Mar 20, 1862

Put it Through

January 31, 2012

Image from the History website – Civil War: Mathew Brady Photo Gallery

Put it Through.

Loose not one single band,
Binding our Union grand,
Woe is on all the land
If you do.

Chorus —
Long as the rebels can,
We can fight, man to man,
Traitors the war began,
Put it through.

Stop not for parley, when
Knaves fall on honest men;
Blow for flow give again, —
Three for two!

Till the last foe is dead,
Or, over all is spread,
Proudly the white and red,
And the blue.

Law shall in triumph reign,
Order shall come again,
Courage and hope remain,
To the True.

The Berkshire County Eagle (Pittsfield, Massachusetts) Jun 18, 1863

SEE THE BATTLE. —

“Here’s your Daily Times — all about the battle!” cried a newsboy the other day, vending his wares.

An individual with shoulder-straps, hearing the exciting announcement, purchased a copy, and hastily glancing at the headlines of the dispatches, remarked to the dealer in afternoon literature, “Where’s all about the battle? I can’t see it.”

“No,” said the boy, “and you never will see it as long as you hang round this city.”

The Berkshire County Eagle (Pittsfield, Massachusetts) Jun 18, 1863