Woman's Memories of the Sixties

Confederate Veteran
VoL. 13, No. 2, Pg. 61-
February, 1905

SOME INTERESTING LETTERS NOT HERETOFORE PUBLISHED.
BY MRS. MARIA EVANS CLAIBORNE., ST. LOUIS, MO.

The first of September, 1861, marked the real beginning of the Civil War for me. For it was on that date that my husband, Col. Mark L. Evans, left me and our happy home at Gonzales, Tex., to go to the war and to his death on the battlefield. He had responded to the second call for volunteers, and had received a commission to raise a company for Terry's Texas Rangers, a regiment of cavalry under the command of Col. Frank Terry, of Sugar Land, Fort Bend County, Tex. Of this command many brave men fell in battle, "foremost in the fight," while others were spared to fortunate careers in civil life. Prominent among those who fell were the gallant Col. Terry, Lieut. Frank Batchelor, and Capt. A. C.. Harris, while of the living left were Col. A. M. Shannon, of Galveston, Capts. John R. Baylor, of Rockport, Friend, of Cuero, and George Littlefield, of Austin.

The Terry Rangers started for Richmond, Va., journeying first to Houston and thence to New Orleans. Arriving at the Crescent City, they were ordered instead to Kentucky, where they remained in camp for about two months, only a few skirmishes occurring meanwhile. The prospect for a speedy peace, of which we were so confident at the outset, having proved delusive, early in December I set out from Gonzales, Tex., to Join my husband at Bowling Green, Ky. Nor did we yet dream of a four years' war.

At this time, December, 1861, all of the ports on the Gulf Coast of Mexico were blockaded by the Federals, and I had to go by land. There were but few railroads in Texas at that period, and I had to travel to Alleyton, fifty miles, by stage, that being then the terminus of what is now the SouthernPacific Railroad. From Alleyton I went to Houston, and thence to Beaumont by train. There I took a boat on the Natchez River to Niblett's Bluff, where I had again to journey by stage through Louisiana to New Iberia, on the Bayou Teche. I went by boat again to Brashear City, and from thence to New Orleans by railway. This journey, long and tedious, I made alone with my two small children.

Arriving in New Orleans, we were glad indeed to rest for two weeks at the home of my mother there. The very sad news of the death of Col. Terry was received while there. He was killed in battle at Woodsonville, Ky., on December 17. An extract from my husband's letter, which conveyed the shocking news to me, will perhaps not be amiss, since it gives in its every word a faithful account of this first great loss In the regiment, bringing home to us the realization of what the conflict might mean for ourselves:

HEADQUARTERS TEXAS RANGERS,
CAMP TERRY, NEAR CAVE CITY,
December 19, 1861.

My Dear Wife:
At the earliest moment practicable I hasten to lay before you a short report of our late battle, fought on Tuesday, the 17th, near Woodsonville, on Green River. On last Sunday our entire regiment was engaged in attacking the enemy's pickets along Green River, on a front of at least thirty-five miles. We killed five or six and took a good many guns, mules and horses, and prisoners. On Tuesday last we started from here in advance of Gen. Hindman's Legion of Infantry, numbering two thousand, two hundred men, ninety cavalry from Mississippi, and our cavalry of Texas Rangers, numbering two hundred and eighty, for Green River.

The General brought a battery of four six-pounders. We reached Rowlett's Station, one mile from Green River, about 11 :30 A.M. Ice Jones and company were sent to the left to reconnoiter, and soon the firing was heard between these pickets and Jones's company, and in a few minutes Ice came galloping in and reported to Col. Terry that the enemy were coming up the bill on our left flank in force. Col. Terry sent him back to still keep watch of their movements and report from time to time.

By this time the firing got closer, and shot after shot was heard, and in a few minutes the shots appeared very close to us, and soon a shower of bullets came whistling over our heads, and the enemy came up in a hundred yards of us. Col. Terry raised his hat and waved it, and shouted: 'Charge, my brave boys, charge!' I was close to him when he gave the command, and we all started at a gallop, the Colonel leading everybody. The enemy were posted in a thick skirt of black-jack on our left, about four hundred strong, and only about one hundred and twenty of us charged them, and such a charge! The boys raised the yell, and every one dashed ahead upon the bright bayonets and right in the face of a hail of bullets. We routed them, shooting them down right and left and putting them to flight in every direction. We charged right over them, and I never saw men fall as they did. One tried to run his bayonet into me, but was shot by Mr. Thomas, of Capt. Wharton's company. All the enemy, we found, were of the Thirty-Second Indiana.

Col. Terry made a desperate charge upon about a dozen, and fell dead, having received a ball in the chin and coming out in the back of his head. His horse was shot from under him about the same instant. I have the honor to know that I shot the Dutchman's brains out that killed him. I emptied my six-shooters into the crowd, and saw several fall dead.

Poor Terry! He was a gallant colonel, and won the admiration of everybody by his manly courage and by his kind heart and noble disposition. I got down and took hold of him and tried to raise him up, but he was a corpse and very much disfigured. I called up four men to help carry him oft the field. His son Dave was perfectly thunderstruck when he came up and saw his dead father, and he fell upon him and screamed as if his heart would break. It was a heartrending sight to see the Colonel’s brains all shot out lying beside his dead horse, and others lying around, wounded and dead; and the enemy lying round, dead and wounded, and the wounded groaning and calling for water.

We routed them from their stronghold and were masters of the field. Capt. Ferrill fought them on the other side of the railroad and killed about thirty. We killed about twentyfive or thirty in our charge, and part of our men followed them up in the field and killed a good many. Our men were then called off and ordered to form again. The artillery was brought up and commenced playing on the enemy, and made lanes through their ranks. We threw shells at them, which did some execution. They threw three shells at us. One sung over my head and burst in the air in our rear. Two Arkansas companies of infantry engaged a part of their right flank and killed sixteen. Our killed were: Col. Terry, Corporal Dunn, of Company K, and Privates Beall and Lofton, of Company D. Lieut. Morris, Company K, was mortally wounded; severely wounded, John Jackson, Capt. Walker, Company K. Capt. Ferrell fought a gallant fight and lost two men and seven horses. Capt. Walker had two horses shot, while there was one horse shot in my company and Col. Terry's. It was a desperate and hard-fought battle, and lasted about one and three-quarters of an hour. I was in the thickest of the fight, and had a chance to know for once what it is to be in a battle and to smell the smoke of "the cannon's opening roar."

All our boys fought gallantly, and every one showed that he felt the reputation of Texas was at stake. That day added a bright page to the already wide fame of the Texas Rangers. But we have lost our Colonel, and many a sad heart and solemn face is in camp; and the whole army is awe-struck and grieved at our sad misfortune.

I was ordered by Gen. Hindman after the Colonel's death to take charge of the regiment, as I was the ranking officer in the field present, and I felt a heavy responsibility. But Maj. Harris has arrived from Bowling Green, and takes command today. Gen. Johnston is sending a large force up to this place, and bloody work may be expected if the enemy come on this side of the river. They are reported to be thirty thousand strong.

Write to me soon and give my love to my friends. I will try to get to see you and my darling children soon.

Your affectionate husband,
M. L. Evans

The State of Louisiana being then under martial law, I was obliged before leaving the city to go before the provost marshal to be identified before I could obtain a passport out of New Orleans. Having secured this, I went from New Orleans to Columbia, Tenn. the home of my childhood and youth, my school days having been spent at the famous old schools, the Female Institute and the Tennessee Conference Female College. That I might continue to have the advantages of these schools, upon my mother's change of residence to Texas, in 1853, I was left by her with her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Garrett L. Voorhies. My mother's three brothers were all supporters of the Confederate cause and closely identified with it, as their names (Col. William Milton Voorhies, Rev. James G. Voorhies, and A. 0. P. Nicholson) will recall.

On January 1, 1862, I left Columbia for Nashville to join my husband and to procure a boarding place nearer him. This we found in the pleasant country home of Mr. William Shaw, about ten miles out of the city, and a mile or two from the Gallatin Pike. Mr. Shaw was then the sheriff of David son County, and his lovely home was in a beautiful valley sur rounded on all sides by high hills. While there the sad news came that the Federals had attacked Fort Donelson, on the Cumberland River, and a bloody battle was being fought. We could hear distinctly the booming of the cannon. It sounded like a terrible thunderstorm in the distance.

The result was the fall of Fort Donelson and the loss of many lives, while many were taken prisoners. Then came the awful news that the Confederate army in Kentucky was falling back into Tennessee, and soon could be heard the rumbling of the artillery and the heavy army wagons on the Gallatin turnpike. Many hearts ached, and every face showed it. Our next news was that Gallatin had been burned by the Federals. There was much anxiety on every hand.

Under these conditions I feared that I might be left within the Federal lines, and to add to my anxiety, I had with me a brother ill with rheumatism caused from exposure in the army. Mr. Shaw kindly offered to convey me and my brother, H. Clay Evans, across the Cumberland River to Nashville. We gladly accepted his kindness, and within an hour my brother and I, with my two small children and our baggage, were piled by Mr. Shaw into an express wagon, he accompanying us, and hurried away over the rugged roads.

Soon we came to the turnpike, and just in sight came a long line of army ambulances, the sick and wounded from the hospitals at Bowling Green, Ky. a gloomy sight indeed. Just as they had passed us, we saw several men approaching in Federal uniforms, and with them one of the men who had been sent out for information. As they reached us this man spoke to us and said: "You see I am in the hands of Federal officers." This so shocked and grieved me that I could not restrain my feelings, and I began to weep, when one of the officers spoke up gravely: "That is too severe a joke." Then he assured me that they were Confederates, and had only fortunately captured some Federal clothing, and introduced himself to me as none other than the "Rebel, John Morgan."

After thus relieving my fears, Gen. Morgan, knightly soldier that he was, kindly offered to escort me himself safely into Nashville. He informed me that they were the rear guard of Johnston's army, the procession of the sick and wounded which we had just viewed being the last to proceed. And so, Gen. Morgan leading the way, we once more went on our journey, reaching Nashville in a few hours. Arriving there, we found the streets so crowded that we could scarcely make our way through, but Gen. Morgan's presence opening the way, we found it less difficult again because of his valuable assistance.

The scenes of this memorable day I can never forget. We saw Gen. Forrest's command as they came in from Fort Donelson after their terrible battle and their long march through mud and water, it was a pitiful sight that I shall always remember. From the veranda of the St. Cloud Hotel, as we passed it, we saw Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston addressing the army and giving his marching orders. Among the regiments drawn up in line for these orders, and ready, everyman of them, to obey, were the Terry Texas Rangers, who at that moment, to my proud, anxious heart, seemed of all that body of brave men the bravest and the best.

We found it difficult to secure a lodging place, being obliged to seek one hotel after another, finding every one filled to overflowing, until finally we reached the Planters', where, although at that time but a third class hostelry, I felt very fortunate in finding a comfortable stopping place for the night. There I parted with gallant John Morgan and my good friend, Mr. Shaw, thanking them both for their valued services.

In Nashville all business was suspended, of course, every house closed, and all was excitement. I had failed to find among the crowds that thronged the streets the one face of all for which I was looking, and it was not until the next morning that I saw my husband. Standing out on the little veranda outside my room and looking out upon the crowd of soldiers that filled the street below me, I recognized my husband at a little distance from me. He had passed my hotel and his back was to me, but seeing the Texas star on his hat, and sure that it was he, I called to him aloud, "Mark ! Mark!"

Turning quickly in the direction of my voice, he saw me waving, and rode back to me. He had left his regiment on the early evening before, riding all night that he might be in time to see me safely across the Cumberland River and within the Confederate lines. He arrived at Mr. Shaw's only about an hour after we left. Passing over our joyful meeting, mingled as it was with the shadows of impending disaster and all the nameless sorrows of war, our stay in Nashville was short, being but one night and the day following. The city was in great confusion, every one fleeing who could get means of conveyance. Not a vehicle of any kind but had already been pressed into service.

It was on Sunday when the first news came that our army in Kentucky was falling back into Tennessee. Many were at church, and the first news was announced by the ministers from their pulpits. The people were almost instantly wild, many going from church to the stations at once. Train after train was sent out heavily loaded with refugees. Among these a great many were the students from the many schools of the city and the section surrounding it, many going directly to trains without packing trunks or taking a meal no one thinking of sleep that night. Then indeed There was hurrying to and fro, And lips all pale.

On the river, throughout the blackness of the night, there burned a broken line of red fire from boat to boat of all the many stored with commissary supplies, which had been set afire and floated down the river. Leaving Nashville, I went with my children for a few days back to my old home at Columbia until my husband should arrive with his regiment. All along the way down as we journeyed we saw stationed at the bridges the men who, at a moment's warning, were to set fire to them. And even as we passed, like electric signals in the distance, we could see the smoke of the burning bridges, over which we had just passed in safety. This was the case as far as Franklin.

From Columbia I journeyed with my husband and our children by railway to Decatur, Ala. The army was arriving there on the Tennessee River in large forces daily, moving on down to Corinth, Miss., where, it was thought, a stand would be made, as the Federals, many thousands strong, were landing near Iuka. When I passed Corinth on my journey homeward toward New Orleans, there were thirty five or forty thousand encamped around the town, the camps extending for miles. It was one grand military camp of infantry, cavalry, and artillery. On every side the accouterments of war locomotives and army wagons, horses, pack mules, ambulances, and cannon were everywhere to be seen, with stores of deadly cannon balls and shells of every kind.

From Decatur I went direct to New Orleans, where I received the news from Shiloh in a brief telegram from my husband, dated April 9, which read: "Just in from the battlefield. Safe." On the same date he wrote me concerning the battle.

[Here follows a long, interesting account of the battle, which may be used later. - ED. VETERAN.]

Before I could reply to this letter I received a telegram from my husband, staling that he would be one of the military escort to accompany to New Orleans Gen. Johnston's remains, which would arrive on the next day, the 10th of April. As will be remembered, the remains of the, distinguished commander lay in state in the city hall in New Orleans, after which they were placed temporarily in Mayor Monroe's vault, being removed after the war to Austin, Tex., and buried in the State Capitol grounds.

Passing over the grand military funeral given by the city of New Orleans as a last honor to the lamented Gen. Johnston, the greatest spectacle of sorrow I ever witnessed, my stay m New Orleans was shortened by the threatened attack on Fort Jackson, on the Mississippi River just below the city. It was reported that the Federals were firing on this fort, and, all news being suppressed, we decided that Texas would be a safer refuge, so we started once more homeward over the terrible route we had traveled a few months before.

So on the morning of April 18, 1862, we left New Orleans. That evening the Federal gunboats arrived under Farragut, and New Orleans had fallen. We had but barely escaped the triumphal entry of Ben Butler, and fortunate we were to have escaped his merciless rule. Back 'again to our home in Gonzales, Tex., we journeyed from New Orleans, my husband accompanying us on the journey. Arriving there, my husband could remain but a few days with us to see us safely settled, when he was obliged to hurry from us again to join his regiment. It was on the 1st of May that he left on his return trip, which proved to be a long and tedious one. It was the 31st of May that I had word from him that he had reached Vicksburg, Miss., at which point he had crossed the Mississippi, landing just as two gunboats of the enemy appeared in sight and fired upon one of the Confederate batteries, but receiving no reply, they retired, "it being evident," he wrote, "that they were only trying to get the range of our guns. But in this they failed." The greater part of this trying journey by my husband and two or three companions was made in an open skiff on the river, each taking a turn at the oars. In this way they made all the way from Monroe La., to Vicksburg, the country all being then under water.

Letters now came less often even than before, for the Federal lines separated us, and they had always to come by hand, as chance might afford an opportunity now and then of a hasty note's being intrusted to some soldier returning home. By a friend so returning my husband sent me late in September, 1862, a few hurried lines written in pencil on two leaves torn from his small memorandum book. Long before he had written me on the 17th of June from Camp Lookout: "We have plenty of good water, but hard living. Nothing but flour, bacon, and beans. The coffee and sugar are played out. None to be had, and the boys are learning, to do without."

Week followed week, and no letters. Nothing to break the desolate silence, until finally news came vague, conflicting rumors only that my husband had been wounded, how severely no one could tell certainly. Some cheered me with the assurance that he was only slightly wounded and that he would soon return home, others were sure that he had been wounded mortally. Every one showed tenderest sympathy, but it was hard to know whom to believe, so conflicting were the reports received. Finally one desolate day there came a letter, short and simply worded. It read:

HARRODSBURG, KY.
October 21, 1862.

Mrs. Evans, Dear Madam:
It has fallen to my lot to inform you of the melancholy fate of your lamented husband, and may God help you 'and give you fortitude in your bereavement.

Capt. Evans was ordered into the battle of Perryville on the 8th inst. to charge a battery, which he did most gallantly. But he received a fatal wound in the head by a Minie ball which fractured his skull. He was brought to my home, where he had good attention until the 18th inst, when at forty minutes past six he expired. He lay in a drowsy state all the time, and never opened his eyes, he talked very little, and his talk was like a man who is very drowsy. His Masonic brother? helped to get his coffin and to bury him. He and Col. McDaniel, of Georgia, were buried at the same time. Their bodies now lie in the Masonic grounds, where they can be removed.

Anything that you would desire me to do shall be done with pleasure.

Most truly your friend,
B. MILLS

NOTE: The Indian boy [Capt. Evans's body servant] attended him most faithfully. My wife has his clothes, a ring, and a lock of his hair, which will all be kept for you. His brother and some friends remained with him for three days, when the enemy came and they left him in my charge.

B. MILLS

Following this painful letter, a few weeks later came another from my husband's warm friend and comrade, Lieut, Frank Batchelor, the details of which giving so vivid a picture of war and its horrors, I have been moved to quote from it that portion which describes the scene of my husband's death:

The painful task is mine to inform you of the death of your dear husband, Maj. Mark L. Evans, who died at Harrodsburg, Ky., in October, last, of wounds received while gallantly leading a charge of the Texas Rangers in the battle of Perryville. I was with him but a few minutes before he was shot. The enemy had turned a battery upon us to cover the retreat of some of their cavalry, who were falling back before our skirmishers. One of their shells burst near my horse, causing him to spring round so suddenly that my girth broke and threw me to the ground. Our regiment was now ordered to retire before the enemy's galling fire, but Evans, seeing my situation, stopped till I had refixed my saddle and remounted, when we rode at swift gallop till we reached the regiment. Just then we were ordered to charge the enemy, strongly posted on a hill. I rode to my company, while he went to his post as major, acting as lieutenant colonel of the regiment. He had been major, in fact, since the resignation of Lieut. Col. Walker, though his promotion had not been declared officially.

We were thus separated, and I did not see him again during the charge. After it was over a soldier told me that he was killed I immediately started back, determined to bring off his body, but was met by one of our company, who told me that he was not dead, but mortally wounded and in sensible, that Lieut. J. W. Baylor had taken him from the field, and that he would not live many minutes. Our company had but one commissioned officer besides myself, and I could not leave it, so I sent his brother Clay with two others to see that everything was done that could be and not to leave him. This they did, and got an ambulance and took him to Harrodsburg, in advance of our retiring army, to the house of a Mrs. Mills, who rendered every assistance dictated by sympathy and kindness. He was struck by a large sized musket ball just above the right temple and ranged over the skull, tearing the flesh out some four inches and a half in length by one in width and leaving the skull bare and slightly fractured.

The morning we left Harrodsburg I called to see him for the last time, and assisted in dressing his wounds. The surgeon told me that there was hardly room for hope, but I could not bear to write you till I could give encouragement to hope or be forced to state the worst. I therefore delayed this letter till the announcement of your husband's death appeared in the Louisville papers.

I found Mark entirely sensible, but so stunned by his wound that he spoke only when roused up, and then in monosyllables. The physicians forbade talking upon any subject likely to excite him, so nothing passed between us about home.

And so alone, among strangers, neither brother nor comrade with him, my husband died, his life a sacrifice to the cause that he so bravely defended, because he was so strongly convinced of its justness. His history thus early brought to an untimely end was not sadder than that of many another on both sides of that contending army that marked its passage with the ashes of desolation. Wherever they rise those "low, green tents whose curtains never outward swing" "let us deck the turf that wraps their clay with our prayers and hopes that they lived not in vain."

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