Posts Tagged ‘1865’

The Traitorous Copperheads (aka “Peace” Democrats)

May 24, 2010


A Copperhead one evening lay,
After the labors of the day,
And mused on chances of success,
And of the future strove to guess.
He’d envied every office holder,
and now, perhaps, grown somewhat bolder,
Thought that without some dire mishap
He’d get a share of public pap,
And with his golden hopes elated,
He ever pro and con debated;
He thought o’er every plot and scheme,
Then slept, and dreamt a pleasing dream.

He dreamt to office — when elected —
No more he loyalty affected,
But in his sinecure secure,
He had the loaves and fishes sure,
He in his office stretched at ease,
Had nought to do but pocket fees.
He dressed up in the height of fashion,
(For finery he had a passion),
Then tired of lounging, strutted ’round
As Fortunatus’ purse he’d found.
His quondam friends, when e’er he met,
(He quickly learned how to forget),
Especially the Union party,
(To whom his greeting once was hearty),
He gave a very frigid shoulder,
As well became an office holder;
And — tho’ for this his cronies praised him —
Kicked down the ladder that had raised him.

The noise it made was such a smasher,
That, like the basket of Alnaschar*,
It woke him up. Alas! ’twas day,
His dream of spoils had passed away,
Black night had raised its sable curtain,
And brought him back his state uncertain.
He rose, and girded up his loins,
And feeling no ways gay or frisky,
Went and bummed a little whisky.

Klamath Facts and Figures.

The Golden Era – Sep 10, 1865

Title: The Stanford Dictionary of Anglicised Words and Phrases
Editors: Charles Augustus Maude Fennell, John Frederick Stanford
Publisher: University press, 1892


Hide your mean heads from the light of the sun,
Smite your base hearts with conscience’s lashes,
Blush if you can for the deeds you have done.
Weep for the aid you have given to traitors,
Do let repentance illumine your souls;
Souls? if you had them your crimes would be greater,
Snakes of humanity crawl to your holes.
Brazen-faced Copperheads,
White-livered Copperheads,
Crawl to your holes!

You that incited rebellion and treason;
You that have aided it all that you can;
You that have fought against conscience and reason,
And all of the rights that are sacred to man,
Hark! — through the land, from each tower and steeple,
The knell of rebellion most solemnly tolls!
Flee from the scorn of intelligent people;
Noisome serpents — bah! crawl to your holes.
Crimson-faced Copperheads,
Rum-sucking Copperheads,
Traitorous Copperheads,
Crawl to your holes.

Now when the moon of rebellion is setting,
Why do you struggle and fight against fate?
Can you not cease your complaining and fretting?
Try to be men ere you find it too late.
The tide running northward in haste is retiring,
The wave urged by freemen triumphantly rolls,
The time has gone by for your plots and conspiring —
Reptiles and renegrades return to your holes.
Venomous Copperheads,
Low, sneaking Copperheads,
Vile, hissing Copperheads,
Crawl to your holes!

Village Record (Franklin Co., PA) Sep 16, 1864

NOTE: I ran across a couple of versions of the above poem.

Felix Grundy

Old Description of a Copperhead

In one of the speeches made during the last war with Great Britain, by Felix Grundy, of Tennessee, occurs the following description of a thorough-going Copperhead, as seen at the present day:

“An individual goes over, joins the ranks of the enemy, and raises his arms against his country; he is clearly guilty of treason under the Constitution, the act being consummated. Suppose the same individual not to go over to the enemy, but to remain in his own neighborhood, and, by means of his influence, to dissuade ten men from enlisting; I ask in which case has he benefited the enemy and injured the country most!”

Again, he says, in answering the question, whom, then, do I accuse?

“I accuse him, sir, who professes to be the friend of his country, and enjoys its protection, yet proves himself by his actions to be the friend of its enemy. I accuse him who sets himself to work systematically to weaken the arm of the Government, by destroying its credit and dampening the ardor of its citizens; I accuse him who has used his exertions to defeat the loan and prevent the young men of the country from going forth to fight their country’s battles; I accuse him who announces with joy the disasters of our arms, and sinks into melancholy when he hears of our success. Such men I cannot consider friends to this nation.”

Mr. Grundy was a model Democrat, in his day, we believe. Copperheadism does not seem to have been “Democracy” then. But “the fathers” were in darkness. The gospel of the new church had not opened its light upon them. Oulds and Vallandigham were not.

The Tioga County Agitator (Wellsborough, PA) May 4, 1864


Secesh — Stoop down here, Uncle!

Uncle Sam — What for, Secesh?

Secesh — I want to cut your throat!

Uncle Sam — Guess not. It don’t want cutting.

Copperhead — Yes, stoop down, Uncle!

Uncle Sam — What! do you, too, want to cut my throat?

Copperhead — O, no — never! I wouldn’t do such a thing for the world! I only want to hold your arms pinioned behind your back while Secesh cuts it. That’s very different, you see!

Uncle Sam — No, I don’t see it.

N.Y. Tribune.

Morning Oregonian (Portland, Oregon) Sep 16, 1863


A will found at Port Royal, recently, by some Union soldiers there, presents a fact not often set forth out of DIXIE. The testator, John Cooper, of Caroline county, Va., gives his property to his wife and daughter, but to do this he is compelled to emancipate his wife, who was his slave, and thereby — according to aristocratic Virginia practice — legitimatize his bastard daughter, born of the aforesaid slave. Will some of our Copperhead Democrats please favor us with a lecture on amalgamation?

Morning Oregonian (Portland, Oregon) Jul 24, 1863

Miner Rhymes from Gold Country

May 3, 2010

From the Trinity Times.

The Song of the Miner.


Turning all the rivers,
Working in the rills,
Tunnelling the mountains,
Sluicing off the hills;
Sweating in the sun, and
Shivering in the blast,
Mighty pleasant mode of
Living very fast!

Waiting through the summer,
Notice on a claim —
“Intend to work this ground as
Soon as it will rain.”
Building airy castles,
Filling them with gold;
Dreaming of the maidens
Known, and loved of old.

Traders shake their heads and
Grumble without reason,
Do not like to credit
‘Till the rainy season;
Tell them of our prospects,
Got a pile in view,
Found the bed rock pitching,
Gravel turning blue.

Skies begin to threaten,
Water come at last!
All the creeks and gulches
Rising very fast.
Break away the ditches,
Carry off the flume;
Too much of a good thing
Quite as bad as none!

Gentleman from Pike, thinks
There’s a “right smart” show;
Wants to make some money,
Grub is getting low.
Able-bodied Yankee
Never takes affront,
Means to make a fortune,
“Darn” him if he don’t.

Tender looking hombre
From the sunny South,
Obviously feeling
Down about the mouth,
Stranger in the country,
Stares when he is told
That his pan of mica
Will not pass for gold.

Colored population
Lucky to a man,
Putting on the airs that
Only darkies can.
Chinaman with rocker
Slowly trots along,
Muttering as he passes —
“Tax no good for John.”

Men of every nation,
Men of every shade,
Men of every station,
Men of every grade,
Entering together
In the golden race,
Pitching into nature,
Tearing up her face!

Turning all the rivers,
Working in the rills,
Tunnelling the mountains,
Sluicing off the hills,
Sweating in the sun, and
Shivering in the blast,
Mighty pleasant mode of
Living very fast!

Mountain Democrat, The (Placerville, California) Nov 29, 1856

While most of these poems are humorous, this next one is sad:


[In compliance with the request of a subscriber, we re-publish the following verses, contributed to the GOLDEN ERA a few years ago, by “A Mountain Bard.”]

He stood amidst the crowd,
With his visage wan and old,
With a trumpet voice and loud
He thus his story told;
“Ye miners all, ye weak and strong,
Who to these rivers swiftly throng,
Cast down your tools and fly amain,
To those at home, who cry in vain.
Give up the search, turn back I say,
And ye will bless that happy day.
Three mortal years I’ve roamed, yet look;
Can’t ye read me like a book?
I’m strapped, without a cent,
Let’s pause, my grief has found its vent.
On the hills, by the plains, they lie,
Prostrate and ill, they seek to die —
Little they reck or care for life,
To combat in a useless strife.
Hope deferred — indeed my friends —
My wife to me a letter sends —
She, trustful, hoped for happier days,
But who on earth can read God’s ways?
No more to me — two girls as fair
As the angles are, with golden hair,
They me blessed — a soothing balm
That o’er my bosom shed a calm.
I dreamed a spirit stood nigh me,
A glorious light around its brow;
Softly a voice said ‘come to me,
Where the living waters flow.'”
Thus spoke that care-worn man,
With voice so loud and clear,
The evening breeze his cheeks did fan,
The miners all did shake with fear —
Strangely sat fear upon their hearts,
Conscience loud smote in their breasts —
Guilt on their faces as each one starts,
At that old man’s behests —
They pressed around — besought his stay —
In vain, his thoughts were far away —
“My steps lie on the mountain top,
I cannot rest, I cannot stop.”
They watched him up the steep ascent,
And wondered whither he went.
News came — “beneath a stunted tree
A dead man lay” — the soul was free.

The Golden Era – May 11, 1862

I don’t know if Imogene was just a popular woman’s name that was used during this time period, but I ran across several items in The Golden Era newspaper, all humorous, in which Imogene was used.



You needn’t expect for sometime yet
To see me come home, Imogene;
Nor need you frown and think I forget,
Nor turn to your sister, Jane and say
“How Pluck has changed since he went away
From his ‘sweet little Imogene.'”

You know I promised, when last we met
At the parlor door, Imogene,
I’d stay here a year, perhaps, and get,
What gold I could pack with a dozen men,
And come with it all back home again
To live with and wed Imogene.

But the hills are not all great lumps of gold,
As we pictured them, Imogene,
Nor do I find as we thought of old,
That all the sand in the creeks is bright,
Nor all men happy as once they might
Have lived with their dear Imogene.

My hand’s so stiff I can scarcely write
A letter to you, Imogene
For I work these days with all my might,
Yet I cannot tell as the months glide on,
How many more years I shall be gone
From my sweet little Imogene.

For the times are hard, and snows so deep,
Up here in the mines, Imogene,
And I’m often tempted to stop and weep,
For thinking how blind the future is —
But then my labor becomes a bliss
When I think of my Imogene.

Tell mother my health is very fair,
And kiss her for me, Imogene;
Don’t tell how hard winters are —
You know she’ll fret, its always her way —
But tell her I’ll surely come some day,
To live with you both, Imogene.

The Golden Era – Jun 15, 1862


DEAR ERA:– You can’t tell how tickled I was to see my letter printed. It looked so curious to see all I had written spelled out in types. I took it right to Uncle John and showed it to him, for he had laughed at me when I sent the letter to you and said you would only stuff it into that tall basket by your table. Well, uncle read it all over and said I might just as well have sent the kiss to you as to Cousin Charlie, as you were a better looking youth. By the way, Charlie wrote me a letter, last Tuesday, and he want me to tell you for him that you were very much mistaken in ascribing the authorship of the poetry “California” to any other person than himself. He says that he was the original author, and that he composed the verses one night when he was going after the cows. He says, moreover, that you have not printed a correct copy as he wrote it. He sends a copy that he says is all right and wants you to notify all of your readers of the fact. It runs as thus:


Thar’s a right smart streak of timber land
That runs down to the shore,
Whar nater’s poured out everthing
That a white man wants and more.
Yes, jest actooally piled up good things over a man’s head till
He cries out, “Easy, Lord.”

In Autumn comes the honest miner down,
With every cent he’s made thoughout the year,
Straight from his far off mountain-crested home,
To spend for Concert Girls and German Lager Beer
The hard earned eagles his heart had once held dear.

We have here, too, our splendid Golden Gate;
(I spose it’s splendid, ’cause folks say it is,
But it’s really not exactly to my taste,
And I think I’ve had a fair look at its phiz
From plunger’s keel when great big storm had riz.)

Yes, here we stand beside the ragin’ main,
To guard our town from visionary foe;
We’ve got our Monitor, I reckon, where its plain
It’s safe from French or Peter Donohoe —
She fears not now the mildest storm that blows.

I was just going to apologise for not writing last week, but I see you crowded out that interesting department of “Answers to Correspondents” in last Sunday’s paper, and I wont say a word about it.

Yours, till — next week.

The Golden Era – Jan 24, 1864

Mining Life.

“Rural Betts,” writing from Josephine county, Oregon, to the editor of Harper’s Weekly, sends some extracts from a poem which he amused himself with writing while living alone and mining in the mountains of Southern Oregon. The following is his picture:

Back to his lonely camp at close of day
The luckless miner wends his weary way,
In pensive study where on earth to make
Another raise, a small provision stake.
Uncombed, unwashed, unshaven, and unshorn,
His clothes in strips by chaparral are torn;
Toes peeping from his boots, and battered hat,
Tired, wet, and weary as a drowned rat.
How changed from him we in the city knew,
In stove-pipe beaver and a long-tailed blue,
Cigar in mouth, and carpet-sack in hand,
By steamer bound to California land.
His store of wood collected for the night,
To dry his clothes, and cook his little bite;
A broken shovel fries his meat, and bakes
A hasty mixture of unleavened cakes;
An oyster-can for tea pot will suffice,
And pine or fur leaves Hyson’s place supplies.
His supper over, he improves a chance
To patch with flour sacks his demolished pants.
In musing mood he listens to the sound
Of night winds moaning in the woods around;
The mountain wolf or cougar’s long howl,
The shrill coyote and the hooting owl;
While as he plied his busy task, thus ran
The meditations of the lonely man.

Of which “meditations,” says the editor, we have only space to give eight concluding lines, which certainly imply that there may be disadvantages connected even with gold digging:

Poor as the Prodigal who fed with swine,
His dimes all spent in rioting and wine,
Chased by misfortune over hill and dale
Like a stray dog with a tin-pail as his tail;
Too poor to leave, and out of luck to stay,
The chance is small to ever get away;
Thus thousands live, exposed to all the ills
That luckless miners suffer in the hills.

The Golden Era – Jan 22, 1865


NOTE: Most of the images are cropped from the following book:

HUNTING FOR GOLD: reminisences [sic] of personal experience and research in the early days of the Pacific coast from Alaska to Panama.                                                                    by William Downie – 1893 (Google book LINK)

Mrs. Grammar’s Ball

April 21, 2010


Mrs. Grammar she gave a ball
To the nine different parts of speech;
To the big and the small,
To the short and the tall,
There were pies, plums and puddings for each.

And first little Articles came,
In a hurry to make themselves known —
Fat A, An and The,
But none of the three,
Could stand for a minute alone.

Then Adjectives came to announce
That their dear friends the Nouns were at hand —
Rough, Rougher and Roughest,
Tough, Tougher and Toughest,
Fat, Merry, Good-natured and Grand.

The Nouns were indeed on their way —
Ten thousand and more I should think;
For each name that we utter —
Shop, Shoulder and Shutter
Is a Noun, Lady, Lion and Link.

The Pronouns were following fast
To push the Nouns out of their places;
I, Thou, You and Me,
We, They, He and She,
With their merry, good-humored old faces.

Some cried out “Make way for the Verbs!”
A great crowd is coming in view —
To bite and to smite,
And to light, and to fight,
To be, and to have, and to do.

The Adverbs attend on the Verbs,
Behind them as footmen they run;
As thus: “To fight badly,
They runaway gladly,
Shows how fighting and running were done.

Prepositions came — In, By and Near,
With Conjunctions, a poor little band,
As “either you or me,
But neither them nor he” —
They held their great friends by the hand.

Then with a Hip, hip, hurrah!
Rushed Interjections uproarious —
Oh, dear! Well a day!
When they saw the display.
Ha! ha!” they all shouted out, “glorious!

But, alas, what misfortunes were nigh!
While the fun and the feastings pleased each,
They pounced in at once
A monster — a DUNCE,
And confounded the nine parts of speech.

Help, friends! to rescue! on you
For aid Noun and Article call —
Oh give your protection
To poor Interjections,
Verb, Adverb, Conjunction and all!

The Golden Era (San Francisco, California) – Jan 22, 1865


Image from:

Title: American Dancing Master, and Ball-Room Prompter: Containing About Five Hundred Dances
Author: Elias Howe
Publisher: E. Howe, 1866
Google Book LINK

The End of It All

April 9, 2010

Grand Review of Union Troops

This image and others from the Civil War, can be found at The Civil War Photo Gallery.

The End of It All.


Jame Franklin Fitts

(Image from Fitts link above.)

To one who was in active service almost four years, there was something in the closing scenes of the war, in and about Washington, that powerfully stirred the dramatic side of the soldier’s nature. Many thousands of the veterans who were there will read this sketch; and while it tells them nothing new, they may feel that their comrade has conferred a favor by reminding them of incidents, dimmed by distance of time, and perhaps forgotten, which attended the “wind-up at Washington.”

On the morning of April 15th, 1865, our division was at Summit Point, Virginia, midway between Harper’s Ferry and Winchester. The war seemed about over, and here were, perhaps, six thousand soldiers who felt that they had done their share, and were impatient to be released.

The spot was a magnificent one. The meadows and woodland sloped gently away from a high ridge, giving a prospect for miles. On the high ground was the mansion of Mr. Willis, an obstinate secessionist, where the General had taken up his quarters. Our staff-tents were in the yard, and the camps of the infantry dotted the slopes pleasantly with white tents. Near by was the railroad from Harper’s Ferry to Stevenson, near Winchester.

Old Willis — for I must affirm that even after the lapse of twenty-tow years I can’t speak with any respect of a man who had not learned through four years of war that the United States was just what God always meant it to be — one country — Old Willis, I say, was in a high state of mind during the two weeks that we occupied his property, and must have been thankful when we left him. The truth is, his farm was well-fenced, and a large flock of sheep was grazing in the meadows. Rails and mutton! He knew little about soldiers, if he thought they could be kept away from such things. Half a dozen times a day he came to the General, his fat face quivering with rage, to report that some Yankee soldier had carried off a fence-rail or a fat lamb; and then the General would issue stern orders against all such depredations, and not trouble himself very much about enforcing them.

On the morning of April 15 I walked over to my regiment and went into the Colonel’s tent. A group of officers stood and sat about, silent, sorrowful, some of them actually tearful.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Don’t you know? President Lincoln was assassinated last night at Washington.”

President Lincoln's Funeral Procession

There may be pens that could describe the woeful scenes in those camps during the next few days; mine cannot. The blow fell nowhere with more stunning force than in the army. The soldiers loved him; many of them had seen him and heard his kind, quaint speech. They mourned for him as for a father. They thronged the out-door religious services that were held to express the universal sorrow at the bereavement, and joined fervently in the prayers and hymns.

Soon after came the order for the division to proceed to Washington with all haste. We did not know what the occasion was, nor was it our place to know. As usual, we obeyed without asking.

Such dispatch did we make in getting to Washington that at the Relay House, below Baltimore, we met the funeral train of the illustrious martyr, and our train was run off on a siding while the other went by.

The great unfinished dome of the Capitol came in sight; the train halted, the soldiers poured out of the cars, the staff were busy, and soon our long column was treading the streets of Washington, arms at “right shoulder shift,” the banners proudly displayed, rent and torn by the havoc of real war, and the fifes and drums briskly filling the air with “When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again.”

We marched out on the north side of the city in front of Fort Saratoga, and here we learned why we had been brought here. The division was to picket a long stretch between that fort and Fort Stevens. The orders were to let any citizen in, but to allow no one to pass out. For three or four days this duty was kept up, and a severe strain it was in the warm weather. Hundreds of people were turned back with the sole explanation: “You can’t go out; it is our orders.” There seemed to be at least a suspicion on the part of the military authorities at Washington that the assassin was still in the city. When it was positively known that he was not, the pickets were drawn in, and we had rest again, in a pleasant camp.

A few days later came the day when, by order of the War Department, a hundred guns were fired in memory of the illustrious dead. It was a deeply solemn ceremony. Washington was completely girdled by fortifications, and around the whole vast circle, in regular time and succession, the heavy guns boomed out a nation’s sorrow for the dead.

And now Washington was a gigantic camp. The armies of the East and West were concentrated there, preliminary to the final break-up, by rail, by steamer, some marching. Corps after corps, division after division, poured in, and were encamped everywhere in the suburbs, till the military population exceeded the civil at least thrice.

In those days the streets of the capital were thronged. It seemed as if the population of the country was being turned that way. With the others came the blacklegs, the sharpers, the disreputable classes, the whole making such a daily panorama as Pennsylvania avenue may not witness again. And it is unnecessary to say that the shopkeepers of Washington throve and fattened, and swindled the soldiers in the most barefaced manner.

The 23d and 24th days of May, 1865 — the grand review that fitly ended the great tragedy of four years’ war! It quickens the pulse to think of it.

Two hundred thousand veteran soldiers, the saviors of this country, marching from the Capitol past the President’s house, with burnished arms, proud banners, with one incessant and prolonged burst of military music! The firm tread of legions of infantry, the clatter of hoofs, the rumble of artillery! March, march, march! — mile after mile of those grand columns, hour after hour, for two entire days, passing in review before President, Cabinet, great General, and the Diplomatic Corps!

They passed in review before the people, too. They were there — the people — other hundreds of thousands of them. Along the avenue, from housetops to gutter, there was literally a mass of spectators, a glowing sea of faces. Flowers were thrown and scattered upon us by the ton. One rolling cheer, one roar of acclamations, which was not allowed to pause or fail, shook the air. It was the nation gathered to salute its soldiers. It was the last march of the armies; they proudly marched thence into history!

So it all ended; and we who had been mercifully spared saw home again.

One of the minor incidents of the grand review, which was told at the time, will bear repeating. A tall, broad-shouldered veteran, who for some reason was not on duty, had established himself in a good place to see the sight, and kept his footing while the crowd wedged about him.

“Sir,” said somebody behind him, “don’t you know you are directly in front of us?”

It was a dapper little clerk, who was striving to get a sight for himself and his girl.

The veteran turned his head, and contemplated him with cool disdain.

“Yes, I’m in front of you — just as I have been for four years!

There was nothing more to be said.

Carroll Sentinel (Carroll, Iowa) Oct 28, 1887

Terry’s Texas Rangers

February 4, 2010

Flag image,  and much more,  can be found here: Terry’s Texas Rangers


A friend has kindly handed us a brief sketch of the Terry Rangers whose achievements in the late war constitute an interesting chapter in its history. Among the gallant members of the regiment was Capt. Griffin, who joined it in August 1861. It was in the skirmish at Woodsonville that Colonel Terry was killed. Gen. Johnston evacuated Bowling Green February 1862, when the Terry Rangers covered the retreat to Shiloh, soon after which the battle of Shiloh was fought. Soon after the victory of Murfressburo was won at which the Rangers were commanded by Forrest.

Subsequently this Regiment joined Bragg at Sparta, Tennessee, and bore a conspicuous part in the battle of Perryville, and afterwards covered the retreat through Cumberland Gap into East Tennessee. Next this Regiment went to Murfreesboro, where it performed nearly all the Post and scouting service, until the attack by Rosecrans which was repulsed successfully and a Confederate victory obtained. It was here that Capt. Griffin was captured,  while on out post duty, and taken to Nashville, and after eight days sent to Bowling Green, and thence to Alton, Illinois, thence, in company with 800 prisoners, he was started to Camp Douglas, but made his escape on the way by jumping from the cars in company with Joseph Stewart, another Ranger.

After various adventures Capt. G. finally joined his Regiment again near Shelbyville in April 1863, and was with the Regiment in the battle of Chickamauga, and was promoted to a Captaincy for meritorious conduct in the spring of 1864, by Col. Patterson, and afterwards that honor was confirmed by Gen. Johnston, by whom he was assigned to special scouting service, in which he continued in separate command of his Company to the close of the war. Every surviving member of that Regiment could, doubtless, furnish us with many interesting events of their campaigns which should constitute a portion of the future history of the war.

Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas)  Jul 1, 1866

Thomas Harrison (Image from

We noticed incidentally the other day the arrival of Col. Thomas Harrison. We think his services and record during the war entitle him, on his return home, to a more extended notice.

He entered the service as Captain in 1861, and was, on the organization of that celebrated regiment, the “Terry Rangers,” elected Major. In 1862 he was Lieutenant Colonel. —

In the fall of that same year he was commissioned Colonel. Not many months after his appointment be was placed in command of a brigade, under General Wharton, and very earnestly recommended by Wharton, Polk, Hardee and others for promotion, in terms as highly honorable as a soldier could desire. A miserable intrigue retarded his promotion until a short time before the war closed, when he received the appointment of Brigadier General. During the time he was Colonel, he had the command of a brigade or division. He was always in demand when fighting was on hand, and has fought many times in the States of Mississippi, Alabama, Tennessee, Kentucky, Georgia and North and South Carolina.

It is believed that he has been under fire a greater number of times than any other officer in the service. It is no compliment to him to say that as commander of a regiment, brigade or division, no officer in the army, known to us, has exceeded him in devotion to the service, in gallantry, or in the judgment with which he fought his command. This at least is conceded by all who have known his history during the war. He had been wounded shortly before General Johnston’s surrender and was not present when that event occurred. He made his way to Alabama, not intending to give his parol, in the hope that Texas was still under arms. —

Finding, however, that our army had been disbanded, he gave his parol. We welcome back this gallant soldier who has won his laurels on so many battle-fields. Whatever has been our misfortunes, we are sure they are not attributable to him. We trust he may yet enjoy many years of happiness; that he may yet be useful to a country for whom he has freely offered his life, and would, as we believe, have freely given it.

The Colonel’s baggage, horses, &c., together with his boy, Jerry, were in Greensboro when the Yankee surprised it. The horse the Colonel had used through the war was saddled; Jerry mounted him and escaped. He made his way to his master in Mississippi, and was much delighted to meet him. He is on his way home by land. We mention this as an incident to show the deep seated affection of thousands of slaves to their old homes and old masters. All the legislation in the world cannot change that feeling. All the fanaticism of the world cannot destroy it.

Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas) Jun 16, 1865

Terry’s Texas Rangers.

From the Louisville Courier-Journal.

It is well known that the late Confederate States cavalry, so-called, were in the main strictly speaking, simply mounted infantry, doing splendid service, it is true, but always dismounting and preferring to dismount and fight, unless the want of time and circumstances prevented. Terry’s Rangers were, however, an exception.

They were organized, armed and equipped and in action specially reserved for regular cavalry charging. Circumstances and the nature of the ground may have sometimes prevented, but this was their forte. Each was armed with a double-barreled shot gun, two revolvers and a ponderous bowie, and adding to courage, confidence, and being most excellent horsemen, they may in truth be said to have been the Mamelukes of the war. They were in many respects a remarkable body of men — remarkable for the esprit du corps, their unwavering confidence in the final success of the cause, their lofty bearing in camp and in field, and the general intelligence of the rank and file. No bills of lading or chimney corner receipts for the cure of whooping cough and measles, or other false or fabricated papers, written, or printed ever passed spy or bummers through lines guarded by ranger pickets; while their reports of the strength, position and movements of the enemy were always timely, valuable, and wonderfully correct.

At Murfreesboro, Friday night, when Bragg was secretly and silently preparing for one if his famous movements to the rear, a ranger galloped up and exclaimed,

“General, the enemy himself is in full retreat.” He was reprimanded and headquarters passed on.

Afterwards Hardee was heard to remark, “not a devil of those rangers but would make at leaset a Brigadier.”

Their excellent material is accounted for by the fact that they were picked men, and the flower of the Texas youth. It had been charged by Union men pending the vote on the proposition for the State to secede, that secession was war, and that having brought it on rich men’s sons would seek place and power, and poor men would have to do the fighting. This aspersion it was important to refute, once for all, and at the first bugle’s blast.

Accordingly, Terry, the Bayard of the State, issued a call which inspired the wildest enthusiasm, and the sons of the most eminent, most influential and most wealthy vied with each other in a zealous and prompt response. In less than ten days the regiment was filled beyond the maximum. Numbers went away disappointed, some dejected, like the Spartans of old, because not chosen to die for their country. At their own request they were sworn in “for the war,” absolutely and without condition, and this months anterior to the call for troops for three years. Each man furnished his own horse, arms and equipments, and in a large measure paid his own way to the seat of conflict. They left Houston, Texas, 1160 strong; 500 recruits were received from time to time, making a total muster roll of 1660 names. They were in over one hundred distinct engagements from first to last, from Woodsonville, Ky., to Graham station, N.C., near which place they fought the last fight of the war, and surrendered, 244 all told, with but one deserter.

Image from

Gen. Albert Sidney Johnson, at Shiloh, witnessing their charge in column upon a strong position, while Hardee moved in the rear, and which resulted in the capture of Gen. Prentiss and his entire command, enthusiastically exclaimed, “with a little more discipline they would be the equals of the Old Guard.” Tuesday evening at Shiloh, the enemy had passed to within one mile of Breckinridge, who was covering the retreat with the remains of his shattered and wearied division. Midway between, the rangers contesting the ground almost truly inch by inch.

The fresh troops of Buell, impatient at delay, and flushed with the hope of overtaking and capturing the gallant Kentuckian and his entire force, which they believed exhausted and a sure prey from hard marching and two days’ desperate fighting, now threw forward two regiments of infantry, supported by one of Ohio cavalry, who, in fine array, came rapidly on as hounds and hunters when their game is at bay. The rangers had suffered a loss of over one hundred, more than ten per cent., in the two days previous conflicts. Wharton, their third colonel since the mournful fall of Terry at Woodsonville, had lost several horses, was twice wounded and borne to the rear the preceding day. Lieut. Col. Ferrill, detached with two companies to burn the white-tented cities, still standing despite the storm that had swept through and over them, was yet absent; so that the whole force left under Major Harrison did not exceed three hundred men.

He had just wheeled from column of fours into line of battle, stretching across the road, and exhorted his men to check their pursuers and give the little army placed in their keeping time to bridge through the mire that impeded their wearied limbs, or opportunity to form if necessary, when Forrest with forty men rode up and lengthened the line to the right. The enemy halted. A level space of some six hundred yards lay between, clear and open except a dead tree here and there on the opposite side. Behind these trees sharp-shooters took post and began to pour in damaging shots just as the command “Reserve fire for close quarters, forward!” passed from right to left re-echoed by subalterns. Horse and rider, though both were jaded, caught new life, and swept onward, straight onward at topmost speed.

The horse, noble everywhere, nowhere bears himself so proudly as in battle. He seems conscious of the danger into which he plunges, but emulous to bear his rider the foremost and bravest of them all; and mortal must be the wound if either foresakes his trust. The well known Texas yell is raised now, and swells louder and louder, and even above the roar of musketry. Horse and rider, one, the other, now in heaps, fall, but the line knits together where gaps have been made, and moves, thunders on into the deadliest sheet of flame. Anon, they waver. The horses falter. A miry bog had impeded the way, but they clear it. At fifty yards the double barrels, loaded with buck and ball, are brought into play, each volley making wide openings in enemy’s line.

Still shouting and “slinging” their guns on the pummels of their saddles, the rangers draw revolvers and make short fire and finishing work, just as the rattling of artillery coming to the enemy’s relief is heard in the distance. One-third of the enemy’s infantry are rode and shot down. The remainder brake and flee through the ranks of their cavalry. These are bowed further and further back, and despite the appeals of their gallant colonel to stand firm, they yield or flee, one, two, and squads at a time — until their leader falls, and the Grey are victorions to the last on Shiloh’s bloody ground.

Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas) Feb 27, 1869


The Recent Reunion Reminds a Veteran of an Incident at Shiloh.

HEMPSTEAD, Tex., December 20. — TO THE NEWS:

The interesting report of THE NEWS in to-day’s paper of the reunion of Terry’s Texas rangers in Houston last night reminded the writer of a reminiscence of the battle of Shiloh, fought April 6 and 7, 1862, between the forces of General U.S. Grant of the federal army, and General Albert Sidney Johnston of the confederate.

The writer was a private in Captain William Christian’s company, Second Texas Infantry regiment. The battle was planned by General Johnston to be opened on Saturday morning, April 5, at daylight, and the entire army slept on their arms in front of the federal army on Friday night, the 4th. A heavy rain storm fell and the troops were soaked thoroughly.

The plan of opening the battle on the 5th failed on account of Major-general Breckinridge’s division failing to reach the point assigned them in the order of battle. The heavy rains caused the roads to be almost impassable, and the cavalry and artillery made their condition worse than ever. Breckinridge could not come up until twenty-four hours later. This was why the battle was opened on Sunday.

The federal army was encamped between Lick and Owl creeks, extending from Pittsburg landing, on the Tennessee river, over a distance of two miles. General Johnson formed his army into three lines of battle. The first one was composed of Tennesseeans, who made the advance and struck the first line of encampments almost before the men could get out of their tents. The frightened troops then collected toward the second line of encampment, where the confederates encountered the federals drawn up in line of battle, and a furious fight opened all along the line. This was kept up all day until General Johnston in comman after he had been killed about 2 o’clock p.m. Many of the confederates, believing that they had won a great victory, became demoralized and scattered during the night, many plundering the deserted federal camps.

At daylight Monday morning, the 7th, it was learned that General Buell, with 20,000 fresh men, had reinforced General Grant’s whipped army of the 6th. The confederate rallied in every direction, and soon another great battle was in progress. The federals slowly drove the confederates back over the route of their advance the morning before.

The writer had been slightly wounded on Sunday afternoon in the advance on General Prentis’ division, and in company with about 200 stragglers and wounded men, had sought to escape the cannon balls of the federals. While waiting here a dashing cavalryman rode up and commenced a speech.

“Who are you?” several inquired.

“One of Terry’s rangers,” was the reply.

“Oh yes, we are nearly all Texas boys,” was the reply.

“Men of Texas, descendants of the old heroes of San Jacinto and other glorious achievements of your fathers, rally once more and come up here and form into line. I will lead you as an independent company. We can whip the Yankees as easy as yesterday. Come up, I say, and show what Texas boys can do.” {He ducked his head occasionally as a cannon ball whizzed by.}

“I tell you, boys,” said Bill Mathews of the Second Texas, “that fellow is a good speaker.”

“He must be a preacher or a lawyer,” said another.

“He talks well,” several remarked; but the line was not formed.

The lone cavalryman happened to cast his eyes in the direction of the river, and coming down a hill was seen several thousand of the federals advancing with the first two lines having crossed bayonets. “Boys, look out, there they come; save yourselves,” said he, and spurring his horse he made very fast time to the rear.

The writer hopes the gallant ranger may be alive and read this. He will doubtless laugh as loud as anybody.

After General Beaureguard had given the order to retreat to Corinth on Monday afternoon Terry’s rangers were ordered to act as a rear guard while the infantry and artillery could retreat. They formed several lines of battle across the Corinth road and drove back the federal cavalry advance.

True the war is over now, but old soldiers love to talk over the exciting events of a quarter of a century ago. We have all had war enough, and the survivors of the war venerate the star spangled banner as much as those whe met on the battlefields of the war twenty-five years ago.

National decoration day, May 20, shows that, and the gallant men who met each other in the shock of battle now go arm in arm and scatter the flowers of spring over the graves of brave men, not inquiriing whether they once wore the blue or the gray.

SIOUX, War Correspondent.

Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas) Dec 23, 1888

Terry's Texas Rangers Reunion 1902 - Dallas (Image from

The Survivors of the Eighth Texas Regiment Concentrate for Action.


“Welcome, Terry Rangers.”
This was a voluntary offering to the survivors by the wives of resident Rangers, and hung over the stage at the north end of the hall.

“We will do it or die.” — Gustave Cook.
This answer was made by Col. Gustave Cook, commanding, when asked by a general officer if his regiment could dislodge a heavy field battery, with a brigade reserve.

“They know no such word as fail.” — John A. Wharton.
Reply of this distinguished soldier when asked if he could hold a position for a length of time against a largely superior force.

“You have done well.” — Thos. Harrison.
After a successful charge by the regiment in a critical hour of battle. Revered by the regiment from the fact that he rarely complimented any individual or concerted act of heroism, however great, and that his command was above praise for any action.

“If there is danger ahead put the Terry Rangers in front.” — Joseph Wheeler.
This was the universal order of march when there was work ahead or anticipated by this celebrated cavalry general.

“Yes, go to sleep; the Terry Rangers are between you and the enemy.” — N.B. Forrest.
This was a reply of this great soldier when asked by a brigade commander if he should unsaddle and rest and sleep.
Capt. Christian proposed — The Memory of Gen. John A. Wharton, Drunk standing and in silence.

A member of the command then read the
which was written for the occasion by Mrs. C. M Pearre of Galveston:


A few fierce years we met together
In a desolate land of graves,
Braved shot, or shell, or roughest weather,
Our glorious Southern cause to save,
Together, saw our hopes pass away.
Radiant-colored hopes that beamed
Resplendent on that bright spring day
When o’er us first a banner streamed.

Together, saw a strange banner unfurled
With the aroma of blood, suggestive cost
These burning words for a gazing world,
Thy cause, they Southern cause, is lost!
Met wars fiat, as brave men meet,
With folded hands and heads bowed low;
But unswerving eyes on that last retreat
Told our valor to the conquering foe.

Then came of years a dreary dearth,
Our manhood in lethargy was shrouded;
When mental chaos by painful birth,
Produced a rainbow all unclouded.
It spanned our glorious country round,
Warmed hostile hearts of each brother,
Who thereon read this truth profound:
This is our country, we have no other!

Then brighten the day with joy and mirth,
Let music peal her gladest strains,
Sing the songs of camp and hearth,
Spirit voices may sound the refrains.
Let the sparkling wine go round,
Toast Reunion day in every form,
Until each comrade’s heart is bound
With chords magnetic, true and warm.
Last of all, one toast we will call
(Drink it comrades with bowed head,
Other forms will throng the hall) —
In memory of our “Noble Dead.

Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas) Dec 17, 1876

Johnny Clem: The Boy of Chickamauga

November 6, 2009

little john clem pic

Little Johnny Clem

Image above can be found on Find-A-Grave (posted by Grave Tagr,) along with a biographical sketch and pictures of his gravestone.

The Youngest Soldier in the Army of the Cumberland.

Last evening, at the Caledonia supper, Gen. Rosecrans exhibited the photograph of a boy, who, he said, was the youngest soldier in the army of the Cumberland. — His name is Johnny Clem, twelve years of age, a member of company C, 22d, Michigan infantry. His home is at Newark, Ohio. He first attracted Rosecrans’ attention during a review at Nashville, where he was acting as marker for his regiment. His extreme youth (he is quite small for his age) and intelligent appearance interested the general, and calling him out, he questioned him as to his name, age, regiment, &c. Gen. Rosecrans spoke encouragingly to the young soldier and told him to come and see him whenever he came where he was.

He saw no more of Clem until Saturday last, when he went to his place of residence — the Burnett House — and found Johnny Clem sitting on his sofa, waiting to see him. Johnny had experienced some of the vicissitudes of war since they last met. He had been captured by Wheeler’s cavalry, near Bridgeport. His captors took him to Wheeler, who saluted him with —

“What are you doing here, you d—-d little Yankee acoundrel?”

Said Johnny Clem, stoutly — “General Wheeler, I am no more a d—–d scoundrel than you are, sir.”

Johnny said that the rebels stole about all that he had, including his pocket book, which contained only twenty-five cents.

“But I would not have cared for the rest,” he added, “if they hadn’t stole my hat, which had three bullet holes in it, received at Chickamauga.”

He was finally paroled and sent north. On Saturday he was on his way to camp Chase to join his regiment, having been exchanged. Gen. Rosecrans observed that the young soldier had chevrons on his arm, and asked the meaning of it. He said he was promoted to a corporal for shooting a rebel colonel at Chickamauga.

The colonel was mounted, and stopped Johnny on the fied, crying “stop you little Yankee devil.” Johnny halted bringing his Austrian rifle to an “order,” thus throwing the colonel off his guard, cocked his piece, (which he could easily do, being so short) and suddenly bringing it to his shoulder, fired, the colonel falling dead, with a bullet through his breast.

The little fellow told his story simply and modestly, and the general determined to honor his bravery. He gave him the badge of “roll of honor,” which Mrs. Saunders, the wife of the host of the Burnett House, sewed upon Johnny’s coat. His eyes glistened with pride as he looked upon his badge, and little Johnny seemed to have grown an inch or two taller, he stood so erect. He left his photograph with General Rosecrans, who exhibits it with pride. We may again hear from Johnny Clem, the youngest soldier in the Army of the Cumberland.

Cincinnati Times.

The Daily Gazette (Janesville, Wisconsin) Dec 18, 1863



Of course you remember the story of little Johnny Clem, the motherless atom of a drummer-boy, aged ten, who strayed away from Newark, Ohio; and the first we knew of him, though small enough to live in a drum, was beating the long roll for the 22d Michigan. At Chickamauga he filled the office of “marker,” carrying the guidon whereby they form the lines; a duty having its counterpart in the surveyor’s more peaceful calling, in the flagman who flutters the red signal along the metes and bounds. On the Sunday of the battle, the little fellow’s occupation gone, he picked up a gun that had fallen from some dying hand, provided himself with amunition, and began putting in the periods quite on his own account, blazing away close to the ground, like a fire-fly in the grass. Late in the waning day, the waif left almost alone in the whirl of battle, a rebel colonel dashed up, and looking down at him, ordered him to surrender.

“Surrender!” he shouted, “You little d—-d son of a —–!”

The words were hardly out of his mouth when Johnny brought his piece to “order arms,” and as his hand slipped down to the hammer, he pressed it back, swung up the gun to the position of “charge bayonet,” and as the officer raising his sabre to strike the gun aside, the glancing barrel lifted into range, and the proud colonel tumbled from his horse, his lips fresh-stained with the syllable of vile reproach that he had flung on a mother’s grave in the hearing of her child! A few swift moment’s ticked on by musket shots, and the tiny gunner was swept up at a rebel swoop and borne away a prisoner. Soldiers, bigger but not better, were taken with him only to be washed back again by a surge of federal troopers, and the prisoner of thirty minutes was again John Clem “of ours;” and Gen. Rosecrans made him segeant, and the stripes of rank covered him all over, like a mouse in a harness; and the daughter of Mr. Secretary Chase presented him a silver medal appropriately inscribed, which he worthily wears, a royal order of honor, upon his left breast; and all men conspired to spoil him; but, since few ladies can get at him here, perhaps he may be saved.

Well, like Flora McFlimsy, the sergeant ‘had nothing to wear,’ the clothing in the wardrobe of loyal livary was not at all like Desdemonia’s handkerchief, “too little,” but like the garments of the man who roomed a month over a baker’s over, a “world too wide;” and so Miss Babcock of the sanitary commission, suggested that a uniform for the little orderly would be acceptable. Mr. Waite and other gentlemen of the “Sherman House” ordered it, Messrs. A.D. Titsworth & Co., made it, Chaplain Raymond brought it, Miss Babcock presented it, and Johnny put it on. Chaplain Raymond, of the 51st Illinois — by the by, a most earnest and efficient officer — accompanied the gift with exceedingly appropriate suggestions and advice. I happened at headquarters just as the belted and armed sergeant was booted and spurred, and ready to ride. Resplendent in his elegant uniform, rigged cap-a-pie, modest, frank, with a clear and a manly face, he looked more like a fancy picture than a living thing. Said he to the chaplain; “you captured me by surprise yesterday.” Now, he is “going on” thirteen, as our grandmothers used to say; but he would be no monster if we called him only nine. Think of a sixty-three pound sergeant — fancy a handful of a hero, and then read the Arabian Nights, and believe them. Long live the little Orderly!

Rebellion Record.

CENTRALIA SENTINEL (Centralia, Marion Co., Illinois) Nov 16, 1865

john Clem in uniform


Little Johnny Clem’s Brave Work
(From the Cincinnati Gazette.)

There are but few persons who read the current events of the war for the Union as they were transpiring, who do not remembers, among the enduring record of brilliant achievements made by distinguished officers and the gallant rank and file of the army, the invincible spirit and soldierly qualities displayed by that remarkable child soldier known as “Little Johnny Clem, the drummer boy of Chickamauga.”

Various references from time to time respecting this infantile prodigy of the war have appeared in books and newspapers, yet all have failed to embody some of the most prominent incidents herein narrated connected with his army life. The “Rebellion Record,” by Frank Moore, and Lossing’s “History of the Civil War in America,” have each consigned to the pages of history the undaunted deed that has enrolled his name forever among the most gallant and devoted spirits that participated in the hard fought battle of Chickamauga, as well as other battles to the close of the war. Lossing speaks of little Clem as “probably the youngest person who ever bore arms in battle;” hence every incident connected with his entering the army, and while therein, possesses peculiar interest to those who watched the trembling balances of their country’s fate, and the valor of those to whose keeping they were confided.

John L. Clem, a motherless atom of a drummer boy, who might have been placed, in April, 1861, within a “regulation” drum, was born in Newark, Ohio, August 13, 1851, and in May, 1861, shortly after the war broke out, offered his infantile services as a drummer to Captain McDougal, of the 3d Ohio regiment, which was then passing through his native town, but on account of his size and tender age, not being yet ten years old, he was rejected, the regiment was on his way to the front, and having taken passage on the cars for Cincinnati, our little hero went down on the same train, where he offered himself to the 22d Michigan, who also declined to muster him in on account of his size and years, but owing to the persevering spirit with which he maintained his determination to follow the fortunes of his country upon the field, he was allowed to accompany the regiment in all its subsequent movements, until at length he was beating the “long roll” in front of Shiloh April, 1862, where his soldierly spirit so _on the confidence and admiration of the regiment that in June or July, 1862, he was enlisted at Covington, Ky., as a drummer, but serving afterward also as a marker.”

At Shiloh (known as Pittsburg Landing), his drum was smashed by a shell, which occurrence earned for him the appellation of “Johnny Shiloh,” as a title of distinction for the fearless manner in which he discharged his duty at that bloody battle; and at Chickamauga, of which we shall speak presently, that field of Thomas’ glory and renown, he received the title of “The Drummer Boy of Chickamauga,” under which he has already passed into story, where his name and title will live forever in connection with an act there performed by him, which for coolness and undaunted valor, is not equaled on the pages of ancient or modern warfare, in one so young, and which won for him the highest meed? of praise from Rosecrans and Thomas, and every other officer and man of the Army of the Cumberland.

Here little Johnny Clem, having just passed his twelfth year, exchanged the “long roll” of the drum for the “brisk fire” ___ the deadly musket; and on the 23d day of September, 1863, when the line of battle was about being formed, our little drummer boy, now acting as a “marker,” might have been seen with his trusty little musket, as it afterward proved — which had been shortened for his use — seated upon a __aisson side by side with artillerymen, going sto the front to form the line and face the coming storm of death in common with others. The line being formed, he now took his position in the ranks, and with his little musket began putting in the periods? quite on his own account, blazing away close to the ground like a firefly in the grass. At the close of hte day, when the army was retiring toward Chattanooga, the brigade to which little Johnny was attached was ordered to hold its position, but  ___ing afterward surrounded bythe rebels, demand for its surrender was made directly after its charge had been repulsed. When a rebel colonel rode up toward our little hero, who could not fall back as rapidly as the rest of the line, and made a special demand for him, exclaiming, “Halt! Surrender! you d–n little Yankee s-n of a b—h!” still coming with his sword drawn upon little Johnny, who had now brought his musket to an “order arms,” and in doing which he slipped his hand down the barrel and cocked it while at an “order,” when our little hero suddenly swung up his musket to the position of “charge bayonet” and fired! when lo! our little David brought down the proud Goliah! who fell from his saddle, his lips fresh stained with the reproachful epithet he had just flung upon a mother grave in the hearing of her child! Simultaneous with the performance of this brilliant deed the regiment to which little Johnny belonged was fired into by the surrounding rebels, when he fell as though he had been shot, and laid there until darkness closed in, when he arose and made his way to Chattanooga, after the rest of the army. Now, all history may be searched in vain for an instance of such forethought, courage and self-reliance as this. A reference to this most daring act in the papers of the day was the first intimation his family had received of his whereabouts during his two years’ absence and upward.

Lossing’s History speaks of him as having received three balls through his cap during the fortunes of the day at Chickamauga, which statement has since been full confirmed, only that they were received directly after he had shot the rebel colonel. For his undaunted valor and heroic conduct he was made a sergeant by Rosecrans, who placed him on the roll of honor and attached him to the headquarters of the Army of the Cumberland; and a daughter of Secretary Chase presented him with a silver medal inscribed, “Sergeant Johnny Clem, 22d Michigan Vol. Inf., from N.M.C.,” which he worthily wears as a priceless badge of honor upon his left breast, in connection with his grand army medal.

In a few days after little Johnny’s arrival at Chattanooga, our tiny gunner was captured with others, while detailed to aid in bringing up the supply train from Bridgeport, Alabama, and held in captivity for sixty-three days, during which time he was kept on the move until he was at length paroled down near Tallahassee, Florida, and sent to Camp Chase for exchange, which was not complied with.

Having captured this gallant little prize, the rebels despoiled him of the companionship of his little bullet torn cap, which he endeavored in vain to retain as a reminscence in the future of the perils through which he had passed, taking also from him his jacket and shoes. Upon reaching our lines, he found General Thomas in command of the Army of the Cumberland, who received him with the warmest enthusiasm and made him an orderly sergeant and attached him on his staff.

In addition to the battles of Shiloh and Chickamauga, he was at Perryville, Stone River (sometimes called Murfresboro), Resaca, Kenesaw, Peach Tree Creek, Atlanta, Nashville and others, where the Army of the Cumberland covered itself with so much glory.

Besides the three balls that passed thro’ his little cap at Chickamauga, he was struck once with a fragment of shell upon his hip and twice by balls. Upon one of the latter occasions, he was in the act of delivering a dispatch from General Thomas to General Logan at Atlanta, when a ball struck his little pony obliquely near the top of his head, killing him, and wounding his fearless little rider in the shoulder. He is held in the highest estimation by all the officers and men of the Army of the Cumberland, and General Thomas was his fast friend and correspondent up to the time of his death. He served until the end of the war, when he was honorably mustered out, and at once directed his attention to qualifying himself for a cadetship at West Point, to which he has been appointed a cadet at large by President Grant, upon the recommendation of Generals Thomas and Logan, and other officers of the Army of the Cumberland, in recognition of his gallant services. Owing, however, to the limited opportunities previously afforded him, he was rather unsuccessful in passing his examination last fall in one branch only, having had as fair a general average in the other branches as the majority of those who did pass; but he is now diligently prosecuting his studies during the spare time he is not employed at his desk in the Census office at Washington, with confidence in his ultimate success when again before the board. He is still small in size, very youthful in appearance, and a consistent member of one of our prominent religious denominations; and his pleasant address and modest deportment win the confidence of all with whom he is brought into intercourse.

Decatur Review (Decatur, Illinois) May 4, 1871


Image and an article can be found at Edrumline Crossing the Line


Some Interesting Facts of the “Drummer Boy of the Chicamauga” — His Parentage — Career Curing and Since the Late War.

(Special Correspondence to the Dispatch)
NEWARK, July 20, 1880.

A person passing through the markets any Wednesday or Saturday, can see a medium-sized man, with straggling gray hairs and a face that plainly indicates the possessor’s German extraction, standing behind a rudely constructed bench loaded down with vegetables and garden truck. Through rains and storms this silent and seemingly contented German market tender has stood at his allotted market space. He lives and has lived, for the last twenty years, in a small and comfortable house, about a mile from this city, on the Granville road. This is the father of Johnny Clem, whom everybody in the Army of the Cumberland knew as “the drummer boy of Chickamauga.”

At the breaking out of the war, Johnny was struck with the martial music of the troops recruiting in this city, and ran away from home, going into the army as a drummer boy. Everybody is familiar with the history of this daring lad, who was petted by the officers and soldiers on all sides. During the war he became a favorite Orderly of General George H. Thomas, who, at the close of the war, assumed a sort of guardianship over him, and took a special interest in his welfare.

Johnny was sent to school at West Point, where he graduated, and soon afterwards entered the regular army and was stationed at Texas. Here he met General Brown’s daughter, and soon after married her. It was not long after his marriage that he was promoted and stationed at Fort Brown, Texas, where he still remains on duty.

Every summer he visits his aged parents and renews old acquaintances with his school-mates and companions. Johnny’s brother Louis, entered the regular army some few years ago, and, during an engagement on the Western frontier with the Indians, was massacred. The death of the brave boy weighed heavily on his aged father, and he frequently relates his sorrows to attentive listeners.

‘Pap’ Thomas frequently wrote to his protege, and a paragraph from one dated at Nashville, June 27, 1866, has special interest at the present time. The following is an exact:

“DEAR JOHNNIE — Do you remember the story of General Garfield’s life? He worked on a canal, and educated himself by buying his text book, which he studied at every leisure moment, while the canal was not frozen up. Now he is one of the most distinguished of our Representatives in Congress. He was also greatly distinguished as a soldier during the late war.”

Johnny Clem acquired a national reputation, as the youngest and smallest soldier in the Union army, as well as for gallant conduct.

The Marion Daily Star (Marion, Ohio) Jul 30, 1880


Incidents of His Early Life Recalled by a Meeting with Mrs. Grant.

The many friends in Newark of Captain John Clem of the United States Army will be interested in the following taken from the Columbus Dispatch:

Columbus people will undoubtedly read with interest the details of a meeting between Mrs. U.S. Grant and Captain John Clem which occurred at Atlanta yesterday. Captain Clem, now Assistant Quartermaster General of the army, was for a long time stationed at the Garrison in this city and, departing, left a legion of friends. His meeting with the widow of General Grant occurred at a reception she was holding for Confederate veterans at Atlanta. This favor had been asked by the veterans and readily granted. Among other who called to pay their respects to Mrs. Grant was Captain Clem.

“Of course I know Captain Clem if it is Johnny Clem, the drummer boy,” said Mrs. Grant when introduced to him, “I remember so well hearing my husband tell of how he found you at Shiloh that day beating the long roll and telling you you were a brave boy, but ought to be home.”

Captain Clem received his appointment as a lieutenant at the hands of President Grant. Of the reception in general Mrs. Grant said, “I regard it as one of the most handsome compliments that has ever been paid to me.”

Newark Daily Advocate (Newark, Ohio) Jan 31, 1895


To Be a Major — Honor Paid to a Newark Boy.

A dispatch from Atlanta conveys the intelligence that Captain John L. Clem, Assistant United States Quartermaster, stationed at Atlanta, has received work from Washington that he will be promoted to the next grade to which he is eligible, (Quartermaster with rank of Major) as soon as a vacancy occurs.

“Johnny Clem will be remembered as “The Drummer Boy of Shiloh.”
His many friends congratulate him on his prospective appointment.

Newark Daily Advocate (Newark, Ohio) Feb 14, 1895

A Soldier at 11.

There are only 77 officers on the active list of the army below the grade of general who served in the Civil War. All of these with one exception will soon be retired. The exception is that of Col. John L Clem, of the quartermaster’s department, whose age limit will not be reached until 1915. This extended time is due to the fact that “Little Johnny Clem, the drummer boy of Chickamauga,” as he was familiarly known, was probably the youngest person who ever bore arms in battle.

Col. Clem was also known as “Johnny Shiloh,” from the fact that in the battle of Shiloh he rode to the firing line on a caisson by the side of a veteran artilleryman, and then performed an act of daring in such a brave and cool manner that it gave him a name in history. He drummed the charge at Shiloh when he was only 11 years old, and with his short musket he killed the Confederate colonel who demanded his surrender at Chickamuaga. He is a popular officer, not only with his fellows of the army, but in social circles as well, being as genial a man as he is chivalrous a soldier.

Col. Clem was born in Ohio on Aug. 13, 1851, and in May, 1861, before he was 10 years old, he offered his services to the Third Ohio Regiment as drummer, but the mustering officer declined to enlist him because of his size and his youth. Later he offered his services to the Twenty-second Michigan, and though enlistment was refused, he was permitted to accompany the regiment to the field and to beat the “long roll” in front of Shiloh in April 1862. His soldierly manner and conduct in that engagement so won the confidence and admiration of the officers of the regiment that in May, 1863, he was permitted to enlist as a drummer and was then known as “Johnny Shiloh.” But it was on Sept. 23, 1863, at the battle of Chickamauga, that he displayed especial bravery. He had just passed his 12th birthday anniversary and had laid aside his drum for a musket, the barrel of which had been cut down for his use; and after acting as a “marker” for a time he took his place in the ranks. As the day closed, and the army retired to Chattanooga, his brigade was ordered by the enemy to surrender, and “Little Johnny” was himself covered by the sword of a Confederate colonel. His regiment was then fired into, and, falling as if shot, the juvenile soldier lay close until dar, when he went to Chattanooga and joined his command. But as he fell to the ground he fired at the Confederate officer and killed him, and so demoralized the Confederate com???? in such a way that his own associates escaped capture.

For his bravery young Clem was made a sergeant by Gen. Rosecrans and detailed to the headquarters of the Department of the Cumberland. He also received a silver medal from the hands of Miss Kate Chase, daughter of Chief Justice Chase. He was afterward captured by the Confederates and held prisoner for 68 days, and after his release he was promoted to orderly sergeant by Gen. Thomas. He was discharged from the service in September, 1864, when he returned to his old home and attended school, being graduated from the Newark High School in 1870. President Grant, who had kept watch of “Little Johnny” after the war ended, appointed him a second lieutenant in the regular army in 1871. Three years later he went to the artillery school at Fortress Monroe for a course of instruction in military science, and a year later passed a most sucessful examination.

The Daily Herald (Delphos, Ohio) Nov 13, 1903

littlest hero pic clem 1915


Colonel Clem Last Civil War Veteran In Active Service.


Fought With Little Musket Which Men of His Regiment Fashioned For Him — His Memorable Encounter With a Confederate Colonel After Chickamauga — Youngest Sergeant.

Youngest Sergeant Army Has Had.

After the battle General Rosecrans made Clem a sergeant — the youngest of that rank who ever served in the United States army.

Following the battle of Chickamauga, when the Union army was retiring toward Chattanooga, the brigade to which Clem was attached had been ordered to hold its position. The position became untenable, and the brigade fell back and, in doing so, lost “Little Johnny” Clem.

Suddenly out of the woods he came like a scared rabbit and ran full tilt into a Confederate colonel.

“My but you are a little shaver to be in this business!” the Confederate officer said, “But war is war, so you had better drop that gun.”

Instead, the boy fired point blank. The colonel fell from his horse badly wounded, and Johnny darted into the bushes. Late that night he turned up at Chattanooga.

The Confederate colonel, who recovered, afterward said he would never get over the suprise “that kid gave him.”

Adams County News (Gettysburg, Pennsylvania) Jul 4, 1914

johnny clem  pic 1915


Brigadier General John L. Clem, “The Drummer Boy of Chickamauga,” and the Last Civil War Veteran in the U.S. Army, Will Go Out of Service On His “Lucky Day” — Gets a Job With His Son in San Antonio.

When Colonel John Lincoln Clem, officer in the Quartermaster Department at Washington and personal friend of hundreds of San Antonians, is retired from active service with the rank of brigadier general Friday, the thirteenth of August, this year, the last living link between the present United States army and the armies that participated in the civil war will be severed. Colonel Clem is the only veteran of that tremendous conflick still in active service with the United States Army.

After active service in the army for more than 45 years — he could have retired 15 years ago had he wanted to — “[the littlest hero] of the civil war,” and one of the most interesting figures in the army of the United States at the present time will quit active service and come to San Antonio to make his home as Brigadier General John L. Clem, U.S.A., retired.

He was born on Friday, the thirteenth of August, 1851; while he is not the least bit superstitious, the combination of Friday and the thirteenth day of the month, has marked the luckiest events of his life, and he will retire when that combination occurs in August on his sixty-fourth birthday. More than once in his lifetime has he remarked upon incidents which have turned out to his advantage occurring on the thirteenth of hte month and usually when that date fell on Friday. It is a strange coincidence that almost every time he was advised of promotion in the army, the notice came to him on the thirteenth day of the month.

Asks Son for a Job.

And when this combination occurs on the calendar next month he will retire from active service in the army, but not from active participation in affairs of the world. Brigadier General John Lincoln Clem, U.S.A., retired, hero of the civil war and late important figure in quartermasters affairs at Washington, will come to San Antonio to become automobile salesman in the regular employ of the Collins-Clem Automobile Company, one of the proprietors of which is his son, John L. Clem Jr.

Recently Colonel Clem wrote to his son: “I hereby make formal application for a position as automobile salesman with the Collins-Clem Automobile Company, distributers of Studebaker cars in the San Antonio district. Please advise me of your decision in the matter.” Then he wrote down at the bottom: “I am yet just as good a man as you are, son, and I can do just as much hard work in one day as you can, if I am a little old. I am going to buy a car from you, hire me a chauffeur to drive me on demonstrations, and I will sell as many cars as you will.”

This letter, as much as many other incidents in his life, brings out the quality in his character which have made him one of the most beloved of men among his associates.

“Invaded” Mexico.

One of these incidents, which forms the theme of a story many of his friends take great delight in relating about him, occurred on the Rio Grande frontier shortly after he entered the United States army as a second lieutenant. Lieutenant Clem was placed in charged of a squad of soldiers sent out to apprehend cattle thieves. The soldiers trailed the outlaws five days, but were unable to get closer than within a few miles of the rapidly fleeing band. The cattle thieves escaped across the Rio Grande and stood on the other side making motions at the soldiers, which Lieutenant Clem understood as essentially insulting. He resented their actions intensely, and at the head of his squad, crossed over the river into Mexico, gave chase to the desperadoes, and in an engagement the cattle thieves were killed to the last man.

Shortly after the incident, Lieutenant Clem received a letter from the commander of the department, General E.O.C. Ord. Lieutenant Clem was officially reprimanded. He was told that his conduct was unbecoming an officer of the United States army, he had been guilty of tremendous lack of judgement, he had violated the neutrality laws and his action might result in complications between two nations at peace. Such an escapade must never be repeated, on pain of serious consequences to the perpetrator.

The Heart of a Soldier.

The communication was officially signed in ink. A penciled inscription, in the department commander’s handwriting at the bottom of the page, read: “Good boy, Johnny, do it again.”

A newspaper correspondent in Washington asked Colonel Clem, on the occasion of the last memorial day, what memory was uppermost in his mind that day. And the famous old soldier, who, at the age of 12 years, was the twice-wounded veteran of one of the greatest campaigns of history, did not reply with a tale of sanguinary adventure.

“My memory pictures today what my kid eyes saw fifty-one years ago today,” he said gently, “a soldier in blue an a soldier in gray, shaking hands like two loving comrades between the trneches, swapping tobacco and coffee. In the morning they were to stab each other brutally with bayonets in a fierce hand-to-hand fight for those very trenches. Yet what I like to think of first on memorial day is not the bloody fight, but that tender scene preceding it, which showed me that after all, man to man, we soldiers of the north and of the south were friends and brothers always. We of the north hated that which they fought for, but we did not hate them personally, nor they us.

Was Impersonal War.

“And that is the most hallowed of my memories on this memorial day, for it brings back the thought that we who fought to kill each other were really never enemies. It was a war of cannon against fortress, of rifle against trench, but never of man against his brother man!

“It is the great tragedy of those bloody deaths we brought each other, but not because of hatred for each other, but for the sake of a principle, that we must think of on this sacred memorial day.”

Johnny Clem ran away from his home in Newark, O., when he was ten years old and attached himself to the Twenty-second Michigan regiment. The officers tried to chase him away, but the soldiers made him a pet and mascot and, finally, in May, 1862, the colonel enlisted him.

He was the hero of a brilliant scene at Chickamauga performed right under the eyes of his Union comrades, who were falling back rapidly. Johnny’s poor little legs were weary, and, so he lagged behind, a Confederate colonel galloped up to him, “Surrender, you damned little Yankee devil,” he cried.

Loved Life by Feigning Death.

Weak and tired though he was, his nerves never quivered. He pulled up his heavy musket — he had abandoned his drum — and fired. The colonel fell headlong from his horse, and a volley of bullets from the men behind him rained over Johnny Clem. Johnny’s comrades on the hill saw their heroic little soldier boy fall face downward. The battle raged four hours after that, and at dark the Union forces rested. Suddenly, into their bivouac crept Johnny Clem, unhurt, and displaying with tremendous pride his cap pierced by three bullet holes. He had saved his own life by shamming death.

General Thomas made the hero drummer boy a sergeant for that deed of bravery. And when the general advised him of promotion, the youngster answered: “General, is that all you’re going to make me?”

Later in his civil war careet, the 12-year-old soldier was hit on the hip by part of a shell, wounded in the ear while dispatch riding and once taken prisoner.
He is probably the only living man who voted legally at an age under 15. At the time Lincoln was elected the second time, all soldiers of the army were allowed to vote. Johnny Clem was a soldier in the army and he voted.

Johnny Clem went to high school when the war was over and then entered the army as second lieutenant. In his early service, he was the central figure in many exciting adventures on the Texas frontier. He is one of the very few infantry officers to graduate from the army artillary school and holds other distinctions for service in the army.

To Know Him Is To Love Him.

He was stationed at Fort Sam Houston for the first time in 1900 in the quartermaster department. He remained here four years, after which time he became chief of the quartermaster department of the Philippines, with headquarters in Manila. Two years later he was transferred to San Francisco and later returned to Fort Sam Houston as chief of hte quartermaster department of the Department of Texas. While stationed here, he probably made more friends among San Antonians than any other army officer who has ever been quartered at the army post.

Colonel Clem left Fort Sam Houston four years ago when he was transferred to the quartermaster department in Washington. He has been connected with the quartermaster department in Washington for the last two years.

After retiring from the army August 13, Colonel Clem will spend several months in the north and east,. At Dayton, O., a city-wide celebration, to be known as Clem day, has been arranged in his honor by Colonel Clem Garrison, Army and Navy Union, and the Grand Army of the Republic organization in that city.

He will come to San Antonio about December 1 to make his home.

THE SAN ANTONIO LIGHT (San Antonio, Texas) Jul 11, 1915


Read more about Johnny Clem:

Ohio History Central: Johnny Klem – Johnny Clem

Learn Civil War History: A Civil War Blog of History and Stories:  Johnny Clem

Watch the official trailer for the movie: Johnny

Taxes: Jokes and Quotes

May 18, 2009

taxes go up 19361933 cartoon, not 1936

“If it is not excessive,” he declared, “a national debt will be to us a national blessing.”

Stuff  Alexander Hamilton said, according to author John F. Gordon.



Jay Cooke vs. British Parliament. — During a late debate in the British Parliament a member stated that in England and Wales alone there were a million of paupers, and five hundred more on the verge of pauperism. The heavy national debt and the high taxes necessary to meet the interest upon it were assigned as the cause.

Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas) Sep 9, 1865

Image from Print Source Info

Image from Print Source Info

Printing press fell seven floors in Chicago. Perhaps it was printing something favoring high taxes.

The Gettysburg Times (Gettysburg, Pennsylvania) Dec 17, 1923

Charles Dickens: Over the Years

January 3, 2009
Charles Dickens

Charles Dickens

The Sunday Morning News says the Reporters of N. York are taking measures to give Mr. Dickens (Boz) a slendid public entertainment, on his arrival in this country, which it is expected will be early in January next. – From present prospects, the dinner will be a magnificent affair.

Bangor Daily Whig and Courier (Bangor, Maine)  Nov 6, 1841


Arrival of the Britannia — Twenty eight days Later from England — Arrival of Charles Dickens — Twenty eight Thousand Russians killed or taken Prisoners by the Circassians, &c. &c.

As good luck would have it, just as our paper was going to press E. HARRIS, Esq. handed us a copy of the Evening Gazette, containing the news by the Britannia…

The Britania arrived at half past four o’clock on Saturday in 18 days from Liverpool. She experienced very heavy weather, having had her Paddle boxes much impaired and her Life Boasts stove? to pieces during a severe gale on the night of the 15th. In entering the harbor of Halifax she grounded but was got off again in a few minutes and anchored for the night. She brings an unusual large number of passengers, among whom is CHARLES DICKENS, the principal literary writer of the age.

Bangor Daily Whig and Courier (Bangor, Maine) Jan 25, 1842


Charles Dickens, in behalf of the passengers of the Britannia during her last voyage on Saturday, last, presented Capt. Hewitt several pieces of plate as a testimony to the skill and gentlemanly conduct of that gentleman during the passage. The address was delivered at the Tremont? House, Boston, and was very neat.

Charles Dickens, Esq. alias “Boz,” as you will have heard before this reaches you, is now here. A complimentary dinner is to be given him next week. He is decidedly a good looking fellow wears long hair, and is of course the “lion of the city.” The Earl of Mulgrave is entirely eclipsed by him. It is stated that the tickets to the “Boz dinner,” are to be put at the moderate price of ten dollars, and I make no doubt the company will be sufficiently select.

Mr. Dickens is a pleasing writer, and I have no doubt is an amiable man, but, I question the propriety of feasting any man or set of men. There are a thousand as good men as Dickens in Boston, and probably double that number men who are in all respects his equals, if not his superiors. If they visit England, are they feasted, and worshipped? No. And here the people of that country shew their good sense. Let us receive distinguished strangers with cordiality and a hearty yankee greeting, and with all those little civilities which should characterise the meeting of friendly strangers, but at the same time eschew all that foolish and disgusting parade, which is but too common at the present day. Besides, I am so much of a republican, that I would no sooner honor a lord, a duke, a prince, or a literary man, than I would a mechanic who had become famous in his calling. A skilful engineer, or cordwainer, if he is a gentleman, is as deserving of homage, (and frequently more so,) as is a representative of the aristocracy, or of the literature of a country. However, as I shall not attend the ten dollar fete, I will say nothing more.

Bangor Daily Whig and Courier (Bangor, Maine) Feb 1, 1842

squiggle3Groupies, circa 1842

Several Plymouth girls made a request of Dickens for a lock of his hair. In a letter to them says the Rock, he declines a compliance with that request, because it would afford a precedent, which, if followed, would shortly result in total baldness. Boz concluded his letter in very pretty terms, and his reply was a very proper one.

Bangor Daily Whig and Courier (Bangor, Maine) Feb 15, 1842


Charles Dickens.
At a late dinner given to Mr. Dickens at Hartford about 80 gentlemen, and among the, Gov. Ellsworth, Bishop Brownell, Mr. Niles and other distinguished men sat down to the table. After several toast had been given, the president of the day introduced, with some appropriate complimentary remarks, the following toast.

The health of Charles Dickens Elected by the world’s suffrage, to an elevated station in the great republic of letters, his fame is written on the heart, and the head approves the record.

This toast was received with enthusiastic and long continued applause. Mr. Dickens, when the applause had subsided, rose and in feeling and unaffected terms thanked the company for the kind feelings which they had expressed towards him…

Bangor Daily Whig and Courier (Bangor, Maine) Feb 19, 1842

You can read his speech here:



N.B. — Mr. BONNER has the pleasure of announcing that CHARLES DICKENS, who is universally conseded to be the most popular author living, has been engaged to write a Tale expressly for the columns of the LEDGER; and that he is now at work upon it. Advance sheets of Mr. DICKENS’ stories have at different time been obtained by American publishers, but this is the first time that a tale has been written expressly and solely for an American periodical by such an eminent author as Mr. DICKENS; and yet Mr. BONNER would not have the public suppose that he thinks there is anything very remarkable about this engagement — it is only part and parcel of his policy.

The New York Times (New York, New York) Arp 25, 1859



A translation of Charles Dickens’ Tale of Two Cities is to appear in the feuilleton, Le Pays, the semi-official journal of the French Government.

The New York Times (New York, New York) May 26, 1860

squiggle6Literary Humor:

A facetious correspondent sends us a query — Which is the most industrious writer, Dickens, Bulwer Lytton, or Mr. Warren? to which he answers Dickens; for he writes All the Year Round, while Bulwer has written Night and Morning, and Warren Now and Then. In justice to the latter gentleman our friend should have remembered that when he was merely writing novels, Mr. Warren wrote Ten Thousand a Year.

The New York Times (New York, New York) June 30, 1860

This Dickens fan was a bit extreme:

A boy of fifteen lately committed suicide in London because the servant maid took away his candle while he was reading “Pickwick Papers.” Mr. Dickens should immortalize him in his next novel.

Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas) Sep 30, 1865


Charles Dickens is being again importuned to become a candidate for Parliament. Says an English contemporary: “Mr. C. Dickens should be heard by every one who wishes to hear oratory. In vain will he listen in the House of Commons for the like. Gladstone and D’Israeli have not a tithe of the command of the brilliant spirit, flowing, uninterrupted words, beautiful and truthful thoughts, of our great English novelist. He has been asked over and over again to stand for some place or another. He knows any part of London would return him, free o’ cost, and give him a statue in precious metal at the same time to commemorate the event. But he will not. It is his pride, perhaps, to wash his hands of any institution he has so freely rediculed; but there is good still in it, and he might honor the House and the country by taking his seat there.”

Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas) May 17, 1866


Dickens Reading

Dickens Reading

Mr. Dickens’ method is thus described in the Philadelphia Ledger:
He takes one of his works, “David Copperfield,” for example, and in about an hour and a half tells the whole story of the book, occasionally selecting a favorite passage, which he repeats in full, making all the characters act and talk precisely as he fancied them at the time of their creation in his own mind. All this is done with the finest dramatic effect, as Mr. Dickens, among his other intellectual qualities, has those of a finished actor of the highest grade. He has, too, the great advantage of knowing all about the characters he personates in his readings. To use one of his own expressions, he “knows their tricks and their manners.” It is on account of these elements that the “Dickens readings” are said to excel all other entertainments of the same general character.

Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas) Sep 22, 1867


BOSTON, Nov. 18. — The sale of tickets to Dickens’ course of readings, which took place at Ticknor & Fields’ to-day, cause no little sensation. At sunrise the crowd begain to gather, and the aid of a strong police force was required to enforce fair play among the eager applicants. Nearly all the tickets for the course, about 8,000, were sold, and hundreds were disappointed in securing any. A few tickets got into the hands of speculators, who offer them at $20 each.

Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas) Nov 30, 1867


The Philadelphia correspondent of the London Times says that Mr. Dickens will have to pay $20,000 of his receipts for reading, in this country, as an internal revenue tax.

St Joseph Herald (Saint Joseph, Michigan) Mar 14, 1868



Mark Twain is lecturing to crowded houses in California and Nevada.
Dickens is writing a $10,000 Chirstmas play for Jarrett, of Niblo’s, New York.
For $60,000 in gold, Strauss has consented to make a concert tour in this country.

Mrs. Ann S. Stephens has written a new fiction which is “Doubly False.”

Anna Dickinson is going to England to lecture.

St Joseph Herald (Saint Joseph, Michigan) June 6, 1868


The London Court Journal says that Charles Dickens made more than $260,000 in America, and has just concluded an engagement for 100 farewell readings in England, for which he is to receive L8,000 without risk.

St Joseph Herald (Saint Joseph, Michigan) Sep 26, 1868

Tom Thumb

Tom Thumb

Personal and Literary.
Charles Dickens’ only surviving brother died, a few weeks ago, in England.
Emerson is getting deaf.
Tom Thumb is growing taller.

St Joseph Herald (Saint Joseph, Michigan) Nov 28, 1868


Dickens is coining money by his farewell readings inthe large cities of England, and only one-quarter of the applicants for tickets are successful. After reading in Scotland and Ireland he goes to Paris, where his audiences have heretofore been large and enthusiastic.

St Joseph Herald (Saint Joseph, Michigan) Jan 23, 1869

Humorous letter to the press, asking for a correction, after they incorrectly reported his sister-in-law had DIED!

The following is the text of Charles Dickens note to the London News, a summary of which was received by the cable: “Sir– I am required to discharge a painful act of duty imposed upon me by your insertion in your paper of Saturday of a paragraph from the New York Times respecting the death, at Chicago, of  ‘Mrs. Augustus N. Dickens, widow of the brother of Charles Dickens, the celebrated English novelist.’ The widow of my late brother, in that paragraph referred to, was never at Chicago; she is a lady now living, and resident in London; she is a frequent guest at my house, and I am one of the trustees under her marriage settlement. My temporary absence in Ireland has delayed for some days my troubling you with the request that you will have the goodness to publish this correction. I am, &c., CHARLES DICKENS. “Belfast, Jan. 14.”

St Joseph Herald (Saint Joseph, Michigan) Feb 20, 1869

Declining Health?

Charles Dickens suffers from palsy in the right hand, induced by writing too much.

St Joseph Herald (Saint Joseph, Michigan) Mar 6, 1869


Dickens has suspended his readings under medical advice.

St Joseph Herald (Saint Joseph, Michigan) Mar 20, 1869


Charles Dickens was banquetted in Liverpool on the 11th. About 700 persons sat with him at the table. In responding to a sentiment, Anthony Trollope intimated that the appointment of Mr. Dickens as Minister to Washington would be beneficial to both countries.

St Joseph Herald (Saint Joseph, Michigan) Apr 24, 1869

Dickens Writing

Dickens Writing

Mr. Dickens is again reported to be writing a novel.
It is reported that Anna Dickinson is worth $100,000.

St Joseph Herald (Saint Joseph, Michigan) June 5, 1869


In a recent speech at Birmingham, Charles Dickens alluded to the fact that a former speech of his had been misunderstood, and he would therefore take this occasion to restate his political creed. He had no faith in the people with a small “p” governing, but entire faith in the People with a large “P” governed. He put entire trust in the masses, none whatever in the so-called ruling class.

St Joseph Herald (Saint Joseph, Michigan) Jan 15, 1870


EVERY SATURDAY, No. 15, for April 9, contains the first installment of Mr. Dickens’ new story, “The Mystery of Edwin Drood.” This 1st published from advance sheets, by special arrangement with Mr. Dickens, and appears simultaniously with its publication in England. It is accompanied by the illustrations drawn for the English edition by Mr. Fildes, under the supervision of Mr. Dickens himself. Those who desire to read this great story in its earliest and only authorized form in America, can find it in Every Saturday. This number of Every Saturday is rendered additionally attractive by an excellent new portrait of Mr. Dickens, and views of his residence at Gad’s Hill Place. A supplement is issued with the number, entitled “Mr. Pickwick’s Reception,” drawn expressly for this number by Mr. S. Eytinge, Jr. It represents the numerous personages of Mr. Dickens’ novels passing before Mr. Pickwick, to whom they are pointed out by the trusty Sam Weller. The admirers of Mr. Dickens will easily recognize their favorites and aversions, — Mr. Pecksniff and his daughters, jolly Mark Tapley, Mr. Micawber and the twins, Fagin, the Artful Dodger, the Fat Boy trying to grow fatter, Little Nell and her Grandfather, Dombey, Bob Cratchit with Tiny Tim, and indeed almost the entire roll of characters that throng Mr. Dickens’ unequalled stories.
FIELDS, OSGOOD & Co., Publishers, Boston.

St Joseph Herald (Saint Joseph, Michigan) Apr 9, 1870

Charles Dickens

Charles Dickens

It is said that the advertisements which will be printed at the end and beginning of each part of Mr. Dicken’s new novel will not only pay the cost of the novel’s “composition,” but leave a very handsome overplus. The only cost, therefore, to the author will be the paper and press-work. Mr. Dickens is his own publisher, and allows the trade publishers a commission on sales made, in this way reversing the usual relations between authors and publishers.

St Joseph Herald (Saint Joseph, Michigan) May 14, 1870