HEADQUARTERS 54TH REGT.
O. V. INF.,
LAGRANGE, TENNESSEE, June
21, 1862.
DEAR MOTHER AND HELEN:
We are now encamped at Lagrange, a most beautiful town in
Tennessee, surrounded by lovely scenery, the country slightly undulating, watered
by Wolf River, a clear, cold, and swift-running stream. This was the famous
hunting-ground of the Chickasaw Indians, and here what was called the lost
district, the disputed ground between Mississippi and Tennessee, to battle for
which the militia was called out years ago. The place is celebrated for its
college and female seminaries, and the very great beauty of its suburban
residences. Its railroad facilities, its pure water, and healthy atmosphere
have made it in past times a favorite resort for wealthy citizens from Memphis,
Mobile, and further South, and luxury and refinement have characterized its
inhabitants. Our troops were received here with chilling reserve. The stores
were closed, the hotels refused accommodations to officers, and ladies, who had
been unable to escape by flight to the plantations or elsewhere, shut
themselves up. The men had pretty much all managed to get away. As the few,
however, who were left came in contact with the rank and file, and began to
discover that we were not the Goths and Vandals they had been led to believe,
and also that the great lever, gold, was ready to be plied and piled, they
wonderfully changed countenances, began to brighten, and the larders, poorly
supplied, however, were opened. . . .
Our brigade had been here but a day when we were ordered to
Holly Springs, distant some twenty-five miles south. We made there a forced
march, going, returning, destroying a bridge and trestlework of a railroad
within three days. We had a slight skirmish at a place nine miles beyond Holly
Springs, in which we lost four wounded and killed eight of the enemy. Their
infantry occupied the city, but fled at our approach. I was appointed Provost
of the city, and my regimental flag floated from the Court-House. The history
of that flag in this regard is somewhat remarkable — in a future letter I will
give it to you. Holly Springs, as you know, is one of the principal cities of
Mississippi, surrounded by magnificent plantations, in the midst of the
cotton-growing region. The people are very rich, or rather have been, and are
the true representatives of the South. Our reception there was somewhat
different from what it had been here. All the prominent gentlemen of the town
called upon me in my official capacity, and many of them tendered me the
hospitalities of their houses, which in one or two instances I accepted. They
had lost a great deal by the burning of cotton. Many of the wealthiest men had
been ruined. They did not seem to sympathize with their own army that was
devastating the land. The plantations along the march were very beautiful, the
houses are built with a great deal of taste, the spacious lawns and parks and
cultivated grounds kept trim and neat. This is the season for cultivating
cotton, and hosts of slaves were in the fields, stopping work and running to
the fences to see us pass, and to chaff with the men. They understand just as
well what is going on as their masters. They seem fat and happy enough, but are
pretty ragged. Suffering will be rife, however, through whatever regions these
armies pass, and the South will groan at the desolation of its land. Bitterly,
bitterly, will they rue the grievous sins they have committed, but never again
will they be forced into union. The United States no longer exist, between the North
and the South is a great gulf fixed, and the hearts of the people will never
bridge it. We may conquer, but never subdue. Their lands are beautiful, their
climate lovely, fruits and flowers, and magnificent forest trees. The holly and
the pine, the live oak, the mimosa, the bay, the magnolia, are grand, and the
mocking bird and thrush make them vocal. The people are strong in intellect,
but enervated in body. The women are pretty, but pale. After all, perhaps
Providence is working out some great design through the agency of this bloody
war. It is a strange fact that our Northern men stand the effects of the
climate better than those to the manner born. Perhaps a new infusion of better
blood will regenerate. . . . I have this moment, even as I write, received an
order to hold my troops in readiness to march towards Memphis at two o'clock
this day. It is now twelve M. So you see there is but little time for private
griefs or private joys. This is one great drawback to comfort in the army, you
never know what will happen to you the next moment, and no sooner do you begin
to rejoice that your “lines are cast in pleasant places,” than you are ordered
off, you know not where. I keep Stephen worried out of his wits. . . . I
entered the army the 9th day of last September, nearly ten months have past. In
all that time I have never been absent from my post one single day or night.
SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of
Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 215-7
