NEWS FROM THE ABSENT BROTHER.

He marches into Tennessee with Hood—Extracts from his letters written on the way—Two ears of parched corn—The night burial of a soldier.

After the majority of these sketches were written, I was permitted by my sister to take a few extracts from the cherished letters of our brother, which she numbered and carefully laid away as her most precious treasure. To these we are indebted for all that we know of his history during those trying days and weeks of which I have just been writing. Where was he, and how did he fare? Few and far between were the letters now, in these dark days of the war. The soldiers themselves had but little opportunity to write, and the mail facilities were poor. But I feel sure that to the survivors of the “Lost Cause,” these meagre scraps concerning that brave but disastrous march into Tennessee will be read with melancholy interest:

“On the Line of Alabama and Georgia,
Near Alpine, Ga., 8 o’clock at night, Oct. 17, 1874.

“My Dear Sister—As there is a probability of the mail courier leaving here early in the morning, I hastily scratch you a few lines that you may know that under the blessings of a kind Providence I am yet alive, and, though somewhat wearied, enjoying good health. Yours of 28th of September has been received, but under circumstances of hard marches, etc., there has been but one opportunity of writing to you since leaving Palmetto, and then had just finished one to Texas, and was fixing to write to you, when the order came to ‘fall in.’

“Well, leaving camps near Palmetto on the 29th of September, we crossed the Chattahoochee below, marched up to Powder Springs, threatened Marietta, and at the same time threw Stewart’s corps around above Big Shanty to cut the railroad, which was torn up for about thirteen miles, French’s Division attacking Allatoona, where he sustained some loss, having works to charge. Ector’s Texas Brigade, and some Missourians, carried their part of the works, but A——’s Brigade failed to do their part, hence the advantage gained was lost. By this time the enemy were concentrating at Marietta, and General Hood’s object being accomplished, he then marched rapidly towards Rome, flanking the place, and making a heavy demonstration as if he intended crossing the river and attacking the place. The enemy then commenced a concentration at Kingston and Rome. We then moved around Rome and marched rapidly up the Oostanaula, and, on the evening of the 11th inst., sent a division of infantry with some cavalry across the river, and captured Calhoun with some stores. Moved on the next morning by a forced march, flanking Resaca, and striking the railroad immediately above, tearing it up to Tilton where there were about three hundred Yankees in a block-house. A surrender was demanded. A reply was returned: ‘If you want us come and take us.’ Our artillery was soon in position and a few shots soon made them show the ‘white rag.’ We tore up the road that night, and the next morning by nine o’clock, to Tunnel Hill, burning every cross-tie and twisting the bars. Dalton surrendered without a fight, with a full garrison of negroes and some white Yankees. The block-house above, at a bridge, refused to surrender, and we had to bring the artillery into requisition again, which made them succumb. They all seemed to be taken by surprise and were hard to convince that it was a cavalry raid. They evacuated Tunnel Hill. Thus after five months of fighting and running, the Army of Tennessee re-occupied Dalton. Sherman has been taken by surprise. He never dreamed of such a move. General Hood’s plans all being carried out, so far as the State road was concerned, we marched across the mountains to LaFayette, in the vicinity of which we camped last night, and have marched twenty-three miles to-day. To-morrow we cross the Lookout Mountain, and will, I suppose, make directly for the Tennessee river, though of this I’m not certain. Hood has shown himself a general in strategy, and has secured the confidence of the troops. Wherever we go, may God’s blessing attend us. Pray for me. In haste.

Your affectionate brother,
Tom Stokes.

“P. S.—Cherokee Co., Ala., Oct. 18, 1864.

“The courier not leaving this morning, I have a little more time left. We did not travel so far to-day as I heard we would, having come only ten miles, and have stopped to rest the balance of the evening. I find you dislike to have your communications cut off, so I see you are below Madison. Would to Heaven that, in one sense of the word my communication was cut off forever; yea, that every channel leading me in contact with the world, in any other character than as a minister of ‘the meek and lowly Savior,’ was to me forever blocked up. I am tired of confusion and disorder—tired of living a life of continual excitement * * *. You spoke of passing through a dark cloud. ‘There is nothing true but Heaven,’ and it is to that rest for the weary, alone, to which we are to look for perfect enjoyment. We are to walk by faith, and though the clouds of trouble thicken, yet we should know that if we do our duty we shall see and feel the genial sunshine of a happier time. Yes, my sister, though we knew our lives should be lengthened one hundred years, and every day should be full of trouble; yet if we have a hope of Heaven, that hope should buoy up the soul to be cheerful, even under earth’s saddest calamities.

“I think we will cross the Tennessee river and make for Tennessee, where it seems to be understood that we will have large accessions to our army, both there and from Kentucky * * *.”

The next letter is enclosed in an envelope which came through no postoffice, as it was furnished by my sister, and upon it she wrote: “This letter was sent to me on the 27th of November, by some one who picked it up upon the street in Madison. The postoffice had been rifled by the Federals who (under command of Slocum) passed through Madison, November 18th and 19th. Though found without an envelope, and much stained, it has reached me, because signed with his full name.”

This letter is dated “Near Decatur, Ala., October 28th, 1864.” We give a few items:

“We invested this place yesterday, and there has been some skirmishing and artillery firing until an hour ago, when it seems to have measurably ceased. We are in line of battle southwest of Decatur, about one and a quarter miles. I went out reconnoitering this morning and saw the enemy’s position. They have a large fort immediately in the town, with the ‘stars and stripes’ waving above. I hear occasional distant artillery firing which I suppose is Forrest, near Huntsville. * * * We were several days crossing Sand Mountain. Have had delightful weather until a day or two ago it rained, making the roads very muddy, in consequence of which we have been on small rations, the supply trains failing to get up. We had only half rations yesterday, and have had none to-day (now nearly three o’clock), but will get some to-night. We try to be cheerful. * * * No letter from Texas yet. No one of our company has had any intelligence from Johnson county since last May. I can’t see what’s the matter. I have been absent nearly one year and have received but one letter.” (Of course the dear loved ones in Texas wrote to their soldier braves on this side the Mississippi river; but such are the misfortunes of war that these missives were long delayed in their passage).

“Saturday, October 29th.—The condition of affairs this morning at sunrise remains, so far as I know, unchanged. * * * Yesterday evening we drew two ears of corn for a day’s ration; so parched corn was all we had yesterday; but we will get plenty to-day.”

And now we come to the last of the letters ever received. It is probable it was among the last he ever wrote. It is dated “Tuscumbia, Ala., Nov. 10, 1864.—... We arrived at this place the 31st of October, and have been here since, though what we are waiting for I can’t tell. The pontoons are across the river, and one corps on the other side at Florence. We have had orders to be ready to move several times, but were countermanded. We were to have moved to-day, and even our wagons started off, but for some cause or other we have not gone. The river is rising very rapidly, which may endanger the pontoons.

“November 12th.—I thought to send this off yesterday morning, but, on account of the rain a few days ago, the mail carrier was delayed until last night, which brought your dear letter of date October 31st. It was handed me on my return from the graveyard, where I had been to perform the funeral ceremony of a member of the 6th Texas, who was killed yesterday morning by the fall of a tree. He had been in every battle in which this brigade was ever engaged; an interesting young man, only nineteen years of age.

“The scene at the graveyard was a solemn one, being some time in the night before we arrived. The cold, pale moon shone down upon us, and the deep stillness which pervaded the whole scene, with the rough, uncouth, though tender-hearted soldiers with uncovered heads, forming a large circle around the grave, made it, indeed, a scene solemnly impressive. The print of my Bible being small, I could not read, but recited from memory a few passages of Scripture suitable to the occasion, the one upon which I dwelt chiefly being a declaration of Paul to the Corinthians, ‘For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ.’ I then spoke of the certainty of that change from life to death; that with the soldier, even, death is not confined to the battlefield; spoke of our comrade, who but in the morning bade as fair for long life as any of us, but within the space of a few short hours was lying in the cold embrace of death; of another of our brigade who was instantly killed a short time since by a stroke of lightning; closed with an exhortation to all to live nearer to God, and be prepared at all times to meet their God in peace. Oh, how sad! Far away from his home to be buried in a land of strangers. How the hearts of his father, mother and sisters must bleed when they receive the sad tidings.

“I expect we will leave here for Middle Tennessee next Monday, as the river will be falling by that time. There is much talk of this brigade being sent home after this campaign. Major Rankin has been exchanged, and is with us. I gave Lieutenant Collins’ overcoat to his company to take care of for him.

“Am so glad to hear from ma and sister. We get no letters from Texas; but are continually sending some over, as all the disabled of the last campaign are being retired and sent across. Poor Uncle James! His Joseph is gone.... Write to me often.

Affectionately,
Your Brother.”

Ah, could the history of these brave men be written, what a record it would be of endurance, of daring, of heroism, of sacrifice! And the heart-breaking pathos of the last chapters of their experience, ere the furling of the flag they followed! Pat Cleburne and his fallen braves—

“On fame’s eternal camping ground,
Their silent tents are spread,
And glory marks with solemn round
The bivouac of the dead.”