Two specimen cases of desertion.
We by no means excuse or palliate desertion to the enemy, which is universally recognized as one of the basest crimes known to military law; but most of the desertions from the Confederate army occurred during the latter part of the war, and many of them were brought about by the most heart-rending letters from home, telling of suffering and even starving families, and we cannot class these cases with those who deserted to join the enemy, or to get rid of the hardships and dangers of the army.
Some most touching cases came under our own observation, but we give only the two following incidents as illustrating many other cases.
A distinguished
Major-General in the Western army has given us this incident.
An humble man, but very gallant soldier from one of the
Gulf States, had enlisted on the assurance of a wealthy planter that he would see that his young wife and child should not lack for a support.
The brave fellow had served his country faithfully until one day he received a letter from his wife, saying that the rich neighbor
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who had promised to keep her from want now utterly refused to give or to sell her anything to eat, unless she would submit to the basest proposals which he was persistently making to her, and that unless he could come home she saw nothing but starvation before her and his child.
The poor fellow at once applied for a furlough, and was refused.
He then went to the gallant soldier who is my informant and stated the case in full, and told him that he must and would go home if he was shot for it the day he returned.
The General told him that while he could not give him a permit, he did not blame him for his determination.
The next day he was reported “absent without leave,” and was hurrying to his home.
He moved his wife and child to a place of safety, and made provision for their support.
Then returning to the neighborhood of his home, he caught the miscreant who had tried to pollute the hearthstone of one who was risking his life for him, dragged him into the woods, tied him to a tree, and administered to him a flogging that he did not soon forget.
The brave fellow then hurried back to his regiment, joined his comrades just as they were going into battle, and behaved with such conspicuous gallantry as to make all forget that he had ever, even for a short time, been a “deserter.”
The other incident which we shall give was related by
General C. A. Battle in a speech at
Tuscumbia, Alabama, and is as follows:
During the winter of 1862-3 it was my fortune to be president of one of the courts-martial of the Army of Northern Virginia. One bleak December morning, while the snow covered the ground and the winds howled around our camp, I left my bivouac-fire to attend the session of the court.
Winding for miles along uncertain paths, I at length arrived at the court-ground at Round Oak church.
Day after day it had been our duty to try the gallant soldiers of that army charged with violations of military law; but never had I on any previous occasion been greeted by such anxious spectators as on that morning awaited the opening of the court.
Case after case was disposed of, and at length the case of “The Confederate States vs. Edward Cooper” was called — charge, desertion.
A low murmur rose spontaneously from the battle-scarred spectators as a young artilleryman rose from the prisoners' bench, and, in response to the question, “Guilty or not guilty?”
answered, “Not guilty.”
The Judge-Advocate was proceeding to open the prosecution, when the court, observing that the prisoner was unattended by counsel, interposed and inquired of the accused, “Who is your counsel?”
He replied, “I have no counsel.”
Supposing that it was his purpose to represent himself before the court, the Judge-Advocate
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was instructed to proceed.
Every charge and specification against the prisoner was sustained.
The prisoner was then told to introduce his witnesses.
He replied, “I have no witnesses.”
Astonished at the calmness with which he seemed to be submitting to what he regarded as inevitable fate, I said to him, “Have you no defence?
Is it possible that you abandoned your comrades and deserted your colors in the presence of the enemy without any reason?”
He replied, “There was a reason, but it will not avail me before a military court.”
I said, “Perhaps you are mistaken; you are charged with the highest crime known to military law, and it is your duty to make known the causes that influenced your actions.”
For the first time his manly form trembled and his blue eyes swam in tears.
Approaching the president of the court, he presented a letter, saying as he did so, “There, Colonel, is what did it.”
I opened the letter, and in a moment my eyes filled with tears.
It was passed from one to another of the court until all had seen it, and those stern warriors who had passed with Stonewall Jackson through a hundred battles wept like little children.
Soon as I sufficiently recovered my self-possession, I read the letter as the prisoner's defence.
It was in these words:
My Dear Edward — I have always been proud of you, and since your connection with the Confederate Army I have been prouder of you than ever before.
I would not have you do anything wrong for the world; but before God, Edward, unless you come home we must die!
Last night I was aroused by little Eddie's crying.
I called and said, “What's the matter, Eddie?”
and he said, “Oh, mamma, I'm so hungry!”
And Lucy, Edward, your darling Lucy, she never complains, but she is growing thinner and thinner every day. And before God, Edward, unless you come home we must die.
your Mary.
Turning to the prisoner, I asked, “What did you do when you received this letter?”
He replied, “I made application for a fur-lough, and it was rejected; again I made application, and it was rejected; a third time I made application, and it was rejected; and that night, as I wandered backward and forward in the camp, thinking of my home, with the mild eyes of Lucy looking up to me, and the burning words of Mary sinking in my brain, I was no longer the Confederate soldier, but I was the father of Lucy and the husband of Mary, and I would have passed those lines if every gun in the battery had fired upon me. I went to my home.
Mary ran out to meet me; her angel arms embraced me, and she whispered, ‘O, Edward, I am so happy!
I am so glad you got your furlough!’
She must have felt me shudder, for she turned pale as death, and, catching her breath at every word, she said, ‘Have you come without your furlough?
O, Edward, Edward, go back!
go back!
Let me and my children go down together to the grave, but O, for heaven's sake, save the honor of our name!’
And here I
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am, gentlemen, not brought here by military power, but in obedience to the command of Mary, to abide the sentence of your court.”
Every officer of that court-martial felt the force of the prisoner's words.
Before them stood, in beatific vision, the eloquent pleader for a husband's and a father's wrongs; but they had been trained by their great leader, Robert E. Lee, to tread the path of duty though the lightning's flash scorched the ground beneath their feet, and each in his turn pronounced the verdict: Guilty.
Fortunately for humanity, fortunately for the Confederacy, the proceedings of the court were reviewed by the Commanding-General, and upon the record was written:
headquarters army of Northern Virginia.
The finding of the court is approved.
The prisoner is pardoned, and will report to his company.
During a subsequent battle, when shot and shell were falling “like torrents from the mountain cloud,” my attention was directed to the fact that one of our batteries was being silenced by the concentrated fire of the enemy.
When I reached the battery every gun but one had been dismantled, and by it stood a solitary Confederate soldier, with the blood streaming from his side.
As he recognized me, he elevated his voice above the roar of battle, and said, “General, I have one shell left.
Tell me, have I saved the honor of Mary and Lucy?”
I raised my hat. Once more a Confederate shell went crashing through the ranks of the enemy, and the hero sank by his gun to rise no more.
