RECOLLECTIONS 
 
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 RECOLLECTIONS AWAKENED 
 
 BY THK 
 
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 BY TJiK 
 
 ARMY OF THE CUMBERLAND. 
 
 I belong to the army of the Cumberland ; enlisted when 
 that high-souled patriot, Gen. W. S.'Rosecrans, was its 
 commander. Was promoted from the ranks by my mar- 
 riage to one of its officers. More than one Southern girl 
 enlisted this way, assisting thus far in the restoration of 
 the Union. To day memory revives thrilling scenes of 
 past experience in the dark days of Civil Strife; before 
 the boys in blue had reached our home, or I had hailed 
 that "banner whose loveliness hallows the air," when 
 borne by a patriot's hand. (For a time I was the only 
 member of my family devoted to the Union cause.) 
 Among my warm personal friends of the Federal army, I 
 recall the names of Generals Sheridan, McCook, Negley, 
 Palmer, Steedman, King, Stanley, Mitchel, Banning, the 
 noble John Abbett, of In<iianapolis, Dr. J. T. Woods, of 
 T-oledo, and many others of line and field rank, with 
 thousands of private soldiers, so dear to all hearts, who, 
 
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 in their zeal for a loved country, swept bravely on to death 
 in her defense; but these cherished ones are too numerous 
 to mention. 
 
 The friends of the Union were few and far between in 
 those hours that tried patriot souls; and could not at once 
 be distinguished from the rebel horde. Frequently the 
 property of the Union man suffered damage and destruc- 
 tion at the hands of the Federal soldiery, before the facts 
 in the case could be ascertained. To'some extent we were 
 among that number. But to the recital of the more excit- 
 ing past, now moving before me like a panorama. My 
 first experience, though a young girl, was the arrest and 
 trial for treason toward the Southern Confederacy, because 
 of innate patriotism and fearless expression of loyal senti- 
 ment, when my position was asked. By traitor hand 1 was 
 marched at the point of the rebel bayonet from the bosom 
 of my home to a court of secession, purposely called in 
 one of the public buildings in my native town (Franklin, 
 Tenn.) there jeered, mocked and sentenced to imprison- 
 ment in a more remote portion of the South, for to all their 
 charges I answered guilty. Through the assistance of a 
 faithful old slave, I escaped the guard, making my way to 
 the Federal lines, where warm hearts received me, I 
 never stopped until reachmg the headquarters of the Post. 
 These facts are still fresh in the memory of many now re 
 siding in Franklin, 
 
 But as time moved on, a holier mission was given me, 
 — the care of the sick and wounded soldier. 1 had means 
 then, and with generous hand alleviated the sufferings of 
 many, but always in company with my mother and darling 
 sister, who really nursed more in the hospital than myself, 
 
for there was a lime I could nol work. Our family were 
 also divided in sentiment. A married sister, residing in 
 Augusta, Georgia, (whose husband was a Confederate offi- 
 cer,) was on the wrong side, and a dear brother in the 
 Confederate service. My father died i)revious to the out- 
 break of the Rebellion. But the bitterest trial of the past, 
 to which 1 am referring, was the battle of Franklin and 
 the interval. We remamed in the Rebel lines after Gen. 
 Schofield had *beconed' the Southern Army on to Nash- 
 ville. 
 
 Our residence was located so near the din of the en- 
 gagement that we could count dis-tinctly each charge that 
 was made. 
 
 From jjf rambling shot and shell, 
 
 Round our door way fell 
 
 Many a valiant soldier. 
 (The Federals held in reserve a new regiment near by, 
 but on that occasion they were not called into service.) 
 Some who were wounded were brought into the house. 
 We occu|)ied the cellars, and those recjuiring immediate 
 attention were brought below to us. Any errands to be 
 attended to had to be done between the charges, my sister 
 once barely escaping with her life, a iVagment of shell hav- 
 ing struck a tin crockery safe on the back gallery as she 
 was passing. The servants and myself were engaged in 
 tearing up garments for mother and my sister to dress the 
 wounds, which task was performed the best they could. 
 This battle was fought Nov. 30, 1864, and was one of the 
 hardest contested engagements of the war. But to return. 
 I was not in a condition to witness such sic-kening scenes, 
 expecting each day to become a mother, yet nerved mv- 
 
self for the trying ordeal at its beginning, 4 o'clock in the 
 afternoon. It was 10 o'clock and still the fierce conflict 
 was raging and continued until near midnight. At 15 
 minutes before 12 o'clock, my husband and Maj Wm. J. 
 Twining, now residing at Washington, D. C, dashed 
 swiftly away on their horses to join their commands, then 
 moving on to Nashville. Whether it was a last farewell we 
 could not tell. The conflict of feelings in the sobing 
 adieu and the expected meeting of a beloved brother, in 
 life or death, may be better imagined than described. The 
 sad morning was ushered in by the firing of 112 rounds of 
 Rebel artillery, sounding as though the infernal regions 
 had broken loose I In speechless grief we sat beside our 
 shattered windows, waiting for the dawn. A little ])efore 
 daylight in came our precious brother. Will, whom we 
 had not seen for over three years. Oh, the joyful meet- 
 ing ! And his first greeting since my marriage (though he 
 knew my sentiments before leaving home.) But he must 
 join his regiment the same day, which was to march on to 
 the blood-stained field of Nashville. The call of duty 
 soon found us at our post. The town and vicinity con- 
 tained five thousand wounded rebel soldiers. Six Confed- 
 erate Generals had been slain. Oh, that cruel battle-field ! 
 I can never describe it. Here, lying across the breast- 
 works, was Clen. Cleborn, of Arkansas, his noble steed 
 beside him. As the Indian warrior has many of the 
 shackles of life lain in the grave with him, so by the dead 
 Rebel soldier lay his utensils of scanty comfort, his tin 
 grater, used under privations, to grate his parched corn, 
 to make him bread. None but the Father in Heaven will 
 ever know all those poor, misguided fellows endured for 
 
tlie lost cause. 'Hiere were few I'ederals wounded, com- 
 pared with the rebel loss. But there were very few 
 friends to care for them ; only one assistant surgeon of the 
 Federal army had remained to l.elj) care for the wounded, 
 and he proved to be of very inferior cjuality, and would 
 have been dismissed from the service for cruelty to the 
 wounded but for the simple fact of his having remained. 
 His name was Tarleton, and he was exceedingly thin. 
 
 We took charge of one hundred and twenty Federal sol- 
 diers, occupying a church and two smaller houses owned 
 by us We had l)een able to conceal more j^rovisions than 
 some of our neiglibors. (Our negroes were our friends, 
 and would not betray us to anyone.) We could not tell 
 the length of time it would have to last for those wounded 
 men and ourselves. Mother and sister were most of the 
 time in the hospital, frequently spending the night raising 
 the dizzy, dying creatures to administer food or medicine, 
 and store in their memories for them a last message to their 
 loved ones. 1 hope that some for whom we have en red 
 may see this sket( h and know that we love them still. 1 
 remained at home to assist the servants in cooking. On 
 my knees rolled out many a bushel of crackers, because it 
 hurt me to stand; and, oh I the gallons of soujj I did 
 make. At the end o ' the sixteenth day after the r)attle, 
 every mite of food had been distributed around. We 
 didn't know but that v/e should all starve together, 'ihe 
 rebels had not enough for themselves and own loved ones. 
 The rebel soldiers who were able to walk around, with 
 their bayonets cut up pumpkins and eat them uncooked, 
 as if they were some rare fruit. On the morning of the 
 seventeenth day wc saw that the rebel army was on a 
 
retreat from Nashville. We knew that we should now 
 have food. But, oh I how sad were our hearts, and our 
 cheeks were wet with tears as we gazed on the straggling 
 soldiery, some with bare and bleeding feet, many without 
 any covering for their heads, save the sky above them, and 
 then with pants ripped almost to the waist and, like a bird 
 of evil omen, flapi)ing against their bruised limbs as they 
 strode wildly along in the cold November rain to greater 
 ])rivation than before. Thank Ood, it was for them the 
 the darkest hour before the radiant day ! In the language 
 of " Harrison Millard," one of the noblest patriots that 
 ever blessed our land, the dawn brought — 
 
 " No North, no South, no New England, no West, 
 But one Country, always the greatest, the best." 
 
 Yet one sad tjuestion we dare not ask each other, wJietr 
 was JJl/l ? — a son and brother dear. We knew among the 
 slain, dying on the battle-field, on the retreat or a prisoner, 
 the latter for which we prayed ardently. Nor did we hear 
 from him until after the battle of Bentonville, North Caro- 
 lina. Then come to our hearts a letter from his prison- 
 home. It was at this time that Gen. (ieorge H. Thomas 
 became our warm, personal friend, when his great gener- 
 ous heart extended so much sympathy in acts of kindness 
 to us, though I had known him long before. He was so 
 modest, so gentle, never ])arading his greatness, a ])ure 
 patriot and one of the bravest Generals of the army. It 
 was most fitting that the gallant Army of the Cumberland 
 should be in attendance at the unveiling of his statue, 
 erected now in the heart of Washington, /lis memory en- 
 shrined in the Jicart of tJte Nation] Even a >^ we fondlv 
 
raise the veil to look for the last time on the face of a dear 
 one departed, so did my soul yearn to be present on the 
 dear, sad and glorious occasion of the unveiling of the 
 statue of ''Gen. George H. Thomas." But this was not 
 possible. I must, like a true soldier, march on to the call 
 of duty here in the support of two dear children and self. 
 My recreation must be from the treasures of memory, 
 financial ones having vanished during my widowhood. 
 
 Mrs. F. Octie Courtney Cochnower. 
 Crawfordsville, Ind., November 22, 1879. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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