Chapter XIV - Fayette During The Civil War

The citizens of this county were largely sympathetic with the Southern cause. The delegate from Fayette and Raleigh counties, Henry L. Gillispie, voted for the Ordinance of Secession in the Virginia convention.

To the convention of the people of Northern Virginia, which met at Wheeling, May 13, 1861, and to the second convention, held at the same place, June 11, 1861, for the purpose of taking steps to form an independent state so that they might remain in the Union, Fayette county sent no delegates.

To the first constitutional convention of West Virginia, which met at Wheeling, November 26, 1861, and adjourned February 18, 1862, however, the county did send a delegate, Rev. Edward W. Ryan, of Fayetteville. The vote of Fayette county on the adoption of the constitution for West Virginia proposed by this convention which re-assembled February 12, 1863, and adjourned sine die February 20, 1863, we have been unable to find. There could not have been a very heavy vote in Fayette county against the constitution for the total vote for rejection in the entire state was 514, while the vote for adoption was 18,862.

At the June term of the Fayette county court in 1861, consisting of the justices of peace from the various magisterial districts, which met at Fayetteville, the following resolutions were unanimously adopted and spread upon the minutes of the court:

"Whereas, our state has been invaded by a hostile army of northern fanatics and we feel bound to resist said invasion to the last extremity resolved therefore,

"First: That we feel it is to be our duty in accordance with an act of legislature passed January 19th, 1861, to levy on the people of the county from time to time as may be necessary to enable us to resist said invasion successfully such amount of money as we shall think practicable and expedient.

"Second: That we will then, after money and property are exhausted, feel it to be our duty to levy for said purpose on the credit

of the county and when that is also gone, we will eat roots, and drink water and still fight for our liberty unto death.

"Third: That should any of the members of this court feel friendly to the North, we invite them or him to peacefully and civilly resign their or his commission."

Prior to this at a special session held May 13, 1861, an appropriation of $5,000 was made for equipping and uniforming soldiers for

the Southern cause, and the following were appointed captains of special police forces to guard against Northern invasion: District No. 1, James Muncy; District No. 2, E. B. Baily; District No. 3, Samuel Lewis; District No. 4, Francis Tyree.

Three companies from Fayette county were mustered into service for the Southern cause, and one company entered the Union army.

A CIVIL WAR NARRATIVE

From memory, I will try and give you a statement of what occurred in Fayette county during the Civil war, commencing with the battle of Cross Lanes, Nicholas county, which was fought September 11, 1861.

I was then second sergeant of Company K, 22nd Regiment, Fayetteville Rifles. I volunteered to carry a dispatch to General Chapman, commanding the militia of Monroe, Raleigh and Fayette counties, at Fayetteville, and was detailed to help organize and drill his troops which were stationed at Fayetteville and Cotton Hill.

About ten days after my arrival at General Chapman's headquarters, we received information that General Cox was marching up the valley and that his advance guard had reached Kanawha Falls. Captain Herndon's company of the 8th Virginia cavalry, acting as our scouts, was ordered over Cotton Hill. Nine of his men were killed from ambush on Falls Branch and were hauled over Cotton Hill on sleds drawn by oxen and buried on a knoll at the foot of Cotton Hill on the farm of T. S. Robson.

Two days later three companies of the militia were ordered on a scouting trip over the mountain to Kanawha Falls. I commanded one company, Lieutenant Loughborough, adjutant for General Beckley's brigade, commanded the second, and Captain Richards had charge of the third. We met the advance guard of the Federal troops on Falls Branch, near where Captain Herndon's men were killed. Captain Hunt, who was in charge of the Federals, surrendered to Lieutenant Loughborough when ordered to do so; but he picked his chance, drew a revolver, fired and killed our officer and then made his escape with his men. We brought the Lieutenant

over the mountain and buried him with the others. The Cox army crossed Cotton Hill and a fight ensued. We retreated to Fayetteville. There being no field officer for the Fayette regiment, I was appointed lieutenant colonel and was in command until we disbanded at Beckley.

The first Union officer that came into Fayetteville rode to the court house square and down to the old well in the corner, where he was shot and killed by one of our own men.

Late in the fall the militia was disbanded at Raleigh court house. I then reported to General Heath, who made me a member of his staff with the rank of captain. We wintered in the narrows of New river. At the re-organization of the army in April 1862, I was elected second lieutenant of Company H, 8th Regiment, Virginia Cavalry, known as the Tazewell Troopers, but remained with General Heath until after the battle of Lewisburg, May 23, 1862.

General Loring, about September 9th, moved down on General Cox's army then located at Fayetteville, where he built fortifications. I was ordered to pilot a detachment of cavalry through the woods to Cotton Hill, cut the wires, and hold the road until forced away. We got axes from David Harshbarger and cut the poles and wires to the top of Cotton Hill, then went up the road to the red bank on George Tyree's place where we could see the road leading down to Miller's ferry. All day they went down the Hawks Nest road, crossed the river at Miller's Ferry, and went down the other side of the river to Gauley Bridge. Cox's men made no effort to dislodge us. And all day the battle at Fayetteville raged.

Late in the evening of September 10th, a regiment of Federal infantry crossed Cotton Hill and came up on our rear, cutting off our escape up Laurel creek. We had but one way to retreat, and that through the woods back to our army, which we did with great difficulty. The fighting was still going on and continued till long after dark when all became quiet. Some of the men laid upon their arms and slept.

The next morning, September 11th, General Cox's army was gone, and our army followed as quickly as possible. At the top of Cotton Hill, General Loring ordered a brass cannon to be taken down a long ridge to the top of the cliffs overlooking Gauley Bridge. We planted the gun and knocked down the temporary bridge across

Gauley and blew up the magazine in the mouth of Zoll's Hollow, and then trying to get the gun back and finding it a difficult job, we hid it in a deep ravine, and it is there yet. General Loring continued his pursuit of General Cox and fought the battle of Charleston, September 13th. The army retreated back through Fayetteville about November 15th, in a continual fall of rain, and many of the soldiers died from exposure. Several died of pneumonia and measles.

During the summer of 1863, General J. B. McCausland made a raid on Fayetteville with three regiments of infantry, the 22nd, 36th, and 45th, and three companies of Cavalry. We advanced into Fayette county without any trouble until we were about two miles below Mount Hope, where we dismounted and sent our horses to the rear. We formed behind a rail fence running up the ridge by a large chestnut tree standing on a knoll above the Warner log house. We did not have long to wait. They came up, jumped their horses over the fence, and wound their way up the hill. When they got within close range, we fired, and seven or eight of them fell from their horses and rolled down the hill. These men were buried under or near the large chestnut tree.

That evening Captain Phil Thurmond dropped into our camp and said that his men were on Arbuckle creek and that he would throw the plank off the bridge above Rook Huddleston's mill, if we would run the cavalry into it. The next morning we came on the pickets at the Hickman place, and one man was killed. We next met them in force on top of the hill above Oak Hill and charged them into the bridge. The first horses went in on the sills and stuck fast. Some ran over the cliffs below the mill and were killed. We rescued sixteen live horses wedged in the bridge, and about fifty revolvers and as many carbines were captured. About twenty-five men men were killed on both sides. We arrived near the town that evening and went into camp. I was ordered to take a few good men to Cotton Hill and cut the wires, which we accomplished. We captured three fine teams and returned safe. The firing continued on the fortifications until late in the evening, when our retreat commenced.

About the first of November our cavalry was left in Raleigh to guard the road and to use some forage on the Ferguson and other neighboring farms. Captain Irvin Lewis with part of his three companies made a raid down lower Loop creek to its mouth, surprised and captured sixty-five men and seventy-five horses and equipment. We retreat out up Armstrong creek, crossed over Payne's mountain, where we rested and ate up everything we had. We went down a ridge to Paint creek and the to Raleigh court house. The prisoners were sent to Dublin depot.

In 1864, I was stationed at Princeton, and on July 4th, I raided Fayetteville and captured four sutler wagons and a large quantity of all kinds of goods, and carried the goods out on our horses. These wagons were placed outside of the lines for the purpose of trading with the people on that day.

I wish to add that I became captain of my company by the promotion of Captain Henry Brown to the rank of major.

THE FAYETTEVILLE RIFLES

The nucleus of the Fayette Rifles, Co., K, 22nd Virginia infantry volunteered on the 10th of May 1861. Although the company was named after the town of Fayetteville, it was not made up there, but came mostly from Loop creek country around Oak Hill and the Laurel creek section near Cotton Hill. There were four or five men from the town of Fayetteville.

The county court had appropriated $5,000 to clothe our company and the Mountain Cove guards from around where Ansted now stands. The ladies who were interested in our company gathered at the Methodist church at Fayetteville and made the clothes.

In the meantime the company was filling up and on May 23rd it was organized. The officers elected were R. Augustus Bailey, captain; Sam Woods, first lieutenant; J. C. MacDonald, second lieutenant; and Howson Easley, Brevet second lieutenant. The sergeants were William F. Bahlmann, first; Joel H. Abbott, second; Martin L. Smiley, third; and I believe Marshall Price, fourth. I remember only two of the corporals, Robert Moseley and Nicholas Pratt.

Our uniforms were a thing of beauty and joy forever. They consisted of light blue flannel jackets and dark grey pants. Al-

though we were infantry they put yellow, or cavalry trimmings on us. The jackets had yellow stripes on the breasts and the pants had yellow stripes down the legs. They put sergeant chevrons on the officers and original markings on the sergeants. Nobody knew anything about the matter and those who thought they knew the most were mistaken.

On the 3rd of June 1861 we were ready to march, and our friends gathered to see us go. We had no knapsacks but long narrow sacks called pokes. The Rev. Martin Bibb, a well known Baptist preacher, prayed and off we started. Our first day took us to Cannelton, and at roll call two of the men fainted from the heat of the day. The next day we took a boat to Charleston, and from there went to Camp Tompkins, a few miles below Saint Albans, where we were drilled for six weeks.

Our first fight was at Scary creek on July 17th, and there two of the men, Charles Blake and William Fellers were mortally wounded. Two others were also slightly wounded, Warren Jones and Jonathan Weaver.

In December 1861, Captain Bailey was promoted to major and J. C. MacDonald was elected captain. Francis M. Painter was made first lieutenant, M. L. Smiley, second lieutenant, and W. F. Bahlmann, Brevet second lieutenant. We were sent to Lewisburg for winter quarters.

In April 1862 the regiment was reorganized and MacDonald was re-elected captain; Bahlmann, first lieutenant; Smiley, second lieutenant; and John M. Hendrickson, Brevet second lieutenant.

At the battle of Lewisburg, May 23, 1862, we got the surprise of our lives. We had not lost a fight in 1861, but in 1862 "we caught a Tartar." Our company lost 21 men out of 36. William Sandidge was killed, Miles Johnson was mortally wounded, and Warren Jones has been missing ever since. Nine of us were captured and spent part of the summer in Camp Chase. When we got back some of us were married. We went to winter quarters at Lewisburg again.

In 1863 we got another shock at Droop mountain. Companies A and K lost all their officers, Bahlmann and Smiley being wounded. The regiment lost 15 officers out of 24, or 62-1/2 percent. Some were permanently crippled and sent on post duty.

shot through the heart, Billy Franklin in the lungs, and Pat Murry in the neck. In 1864 at Winchester the division lost 1100 men out of 2500, or about 44 per cent.

At Droop mountain, Major Bailey was mortally wounded. By his death, Captain MacDonald became major, Bahlmann became captain, Smiley advanced to first lieutenant, Hendrickson to second lieutenant, and Hiram Wilson was made Brevet second lieutenant.

George P. Hendrick, orderly sergeant, was thrown from a train at Charlottesville, Virginia, and it was necessary to amputate a leg and an arm. He died from the shock. Dave Johnston and Sam MacDonald were killed in front of Richmond in 1864.

the capital at Richmond, Virginia. The list contains 135 names, together with the promotions and casualties, and was written by myself mainly from memory.

Some of the best men I have known were in the company, and they have been my study and my admiration for 60 years. If any one thinks that war is a picnic he is welcome to try it.

THE BATTLE AT FAYETTEVILLE

In connection with hostilities between the forces of the North and South in and about Fayetteville, the following interesting narrative is related by Colonel L. S. Mayre, of Charlottesville, Virginia, who was an officer in command of a part of the Confederate forces en-

In the summer of 1862, General Loring, with a command of some 5,000 men, was encamped at the Narrows of New river. This river divides Giles county from Monroe. Pearisburg, the county seat Giles, is five miles from the Narrows. A village has since sprung up at the Narrows, but at the time there were no houses there except a grist mill, and the miller's dwelling house. Loring lingered at this pleasant encampment six months, instead of marching forward in pursuit of the enemy, as was the expectation of the Confederate authorities at Richmond, and for this delay incurred the displeasure and censure of the Confederate Secretary of War, George W. Randolph.

Loring had been a dashing cavalry colonel in the Mexican war, where he lost an arm at Capultepec, and afterwards in the department of the west, which included the state of Texas. He had been made a brigadier general in the Confederate service, and because of his experience in the mountainous campaigns was considered a suitable officer for service to which he was assigned in the summer of 1862, the second year of the "war between the states"; and indeed was in the service to which he was assigned the first year of the war, at Valley mountain, in Randolph county. While at the Narrows, he being an old bachelor, made frequent visits with parts of his staff, to the hospitable home of Mr. Oliver Bierne, a distance of some twenty-five miles, near Sweet Springs. The attraction of this Bierne home was the beautiful daughter of the prominent and wealthy gentleman.

At last, however, the forward movement commenced, the objective point being Charleston on the Kanawha river, now the capital of West Virginia. Between the Narrows of New river and the Kanawha, a Federal force of some three thousand men were stationed at Fayetteville, the county seat of Fayette county. Fayetteville is, in direct line, but little more than fifty miles from the Narrows; but by the only practicable county road (for there then no railroads in that region) some seventy-five or eighty miles; and it may have been even more. The route lay through the southern part of Monroe county, through Summers, and the eastern part of Raleigh, into Fayette.

When we arrived within a mile and a half of Fayetteville, Loring, with his command, halted and sent forward two companies of artillery under the command of Major Floyd Ling, with an infantry support to shell the enemy out of their entrenchments at Fayetteville. For hours Loring impatiently waited to hear Major King open his guns. After two or three hours of impatient waiting, Major King was seen approaching us, walking alone. On coming up to Loring he said he had come to recover his sword which he had carelessly left under a tree, up which he had climbed to reconnoitre the situation. Loring flew into a tempestuous passion, saying, "Major King, consider yourself under arrest; Captain Marye, go take command of the guns and open on the enemy." King was, of course, greatly mortified; and sympathizing with him, I whispered to him to accompany me. This he did, and as we walked along together I told him that I would permit him to seem in command, and to direct the bombardment of the enemy, so that it would not be known that he was in temporary disgrace. This he greatly appreciated and after the war cordially thanked me for it. It was merely a piece of thoughtlessness and imprudence on his part, for he was a gallant and noble fellow.

We opened on the works of the enemy, and soon drove them from their position, and in rapid flight down towards the Kanawha Falls, some ten or twelve miles distant, at the junction of the New and Gauley rivers, which here form the Kanawha. Loring pursued the fugitive Federals to Kanawha and down the river forty miles to Charleston.

The Kanawha throughout this portion of its course is a wide direct, beautiful stream, and its banks are dotted with cottages of the primitive people who formed the inhabitants of that region. In the backyards of their cottages and within 50 yards of their back doors, dwellers in these humble homes would dig down a few feet and find the cannel of coal that burns like a lightwood knot upon the application of a match, thus offering an abundance of fuel in their very back yards. From the oil of this cannel of coal is made the beautiful and varied colored cannel candles that decorate the parlors of so many mansions on festive occasions.

In consideration of my part in driving the enemy out of Fayetteville, and as a vidette on his march down the Kanawha, Loring

wrote a letter to the Confederate Secretary of War, recommending my promotion to the rank of lieutenant colonel, and sent it by messenger to Richmond. But on arriving there, the secretary, General Randolph, informed me that Loring had been relieved of his command in the Kanawha department, and assigned to duty elsewhere. The secretary of war had never forgotten his long delay at the Narrows of New river.

GENERAL LEE IN FAYETTE COUNTY

The day after the battle of Manassas, General George B. McClellan, who later was appointed to the chief command of the Union forces on November 1st, 1861, was telegraphed from Washington, D. C. that his presence there was necessary, and on his arrival, he was promptly assigned to the command of the department of Washington and North-eastern Virginia, while Rosecrans succeeded to the command in West Virginia.

Rosecrans, having thus succeeded to the command of the troops despatched to holds West Virginia, was now leading an invading force up the Kanawha, while Reynolds was posted on the Cheat river to guard the chief avenue of communication between the east and the west.

The Confederate forces in this mountainous region were divided into several detachments. Tow of them were on the Kanawha under command, respectively, of General Floyd and Wise, who had raised brigades and were both very popular with the Virginians, John B. Floyd having been secretary of war in President Buckhanan's Cabinet, and Henry A. Wise having been governor of Virginia. Two other detachments were farther eastward under Generals Loring and H. R. Jackson. Among these commanders the spirit of co-operation left much to be desired. Owing partly to the hostility of the population and partly to the lack of harmony among the commanding officers, the cause of the South steadily waned in this trans-Alleghany region.

In July 1861 it had become manifest that a soldier of rank and experience must be sent to Western Virginia, unless it was to be lost permanently to the south. After Johnston had been offered command of this territory and had declined the billet, General Robert E. Lee, who was ready to go anywhere, was sent out to

Western Virginia to take command of the somewhat disorganized forces in that hostile region.

Lee left Richmond for West Virginia, July 28th, on the same day that McClellan, called from that region, took command at Washington of the army designed to capture Richmond. It was Lee's first opportunity to serve in the field. His own letters from Western Virginia throw a light not only the situation there, but on his character as well.

On his arrival he wrote his wife, giving an idea of his surrounding and a hint of the difficulties by which he he found himself confronted. He says: "I reached here yesterday to visit this portion of the army. The points from which we can be attacked are numerous, and the enemy's means unlimited, so we must always be on the alert. It is so difficult to get our people, unaccustomed to the necessities of war, to comprehend and promptly execute the measures required for the occasion. General Johnson, of Georgia, commands on the Monteray line, General Loring on this line, and General Wise supported by General Floyd, on the Kanawha line. The soldiers everywhere are sick. The measles are prevalent throughout the whole army. You know that disease leaves unpleasant results and attacks the lungs, etc., especially in camp, where accommodations for the sick are poor. I traveled from Staunton on horseback. A part of the road I traveled over in the summer of 1840 on my errand to St. Louis, after bringing you home. If any one had told me that the next time I traveled that road would have been my present errand, I should have supposed him insane. I enjoyed the mountains as I rode along. The views were magnificent. The valleys so peaceful, and the scenery so beautiful. What a glorious world Almighty God has given us! How thankless and ungrateful we are!" This letter was date August 4, 1861.

General Lee's reputation gained among the mountains of Mexico, was doubtless one of the motives which ruled when he was assigned to duty among the mountains of Western Virginia; but even his abilities were not equal to conquering the conditions which he found prevailing there. Three small forces were occupying this region on behalf of the South, each dignified by the title of an army. But the generals would not take orders from each other, and two of them were bitterly hostile. When General Lee arrived he found

an army posted on the crest of the mountains and the other at its base, and though the enemy was close at hand, neither general would yield to the other. Lee considered the position selected by General Wise on the crest as the better of the two, and united the two forces there. But the quarrel between the two generals could not be made up, and as General Floyd ranked above Wise, the latter had to be relieved and transferred elsewhere. Old soldiers who have discussed the causes of the result of this campaign have never given wholly or it, but have felt assured that all that could have been accomplished was certainly accomplished by General Lee. They have felt that in the first place the dissensions of the officers previously in command had tended to demoralize the troops; then, that the sickness among the troops, unaccustomed to the exposure or prostrated by an epidemic of typhoid fever, measles, and other diseases, impaired their efficiency, and finally, that the unlooked for hostility of the population at large in a region where it was difficult at best to maintain lines of communication, now, in a season unprecedently wet, which rendered the road impassable, combined with a lack of means of transportation, to frustrate the plans of even so capable a commander as Lee. General Lee himself referred to it later as "a forlorn hope." On September 1st, the general writes Mrs. Lee, giving a hint of his difficulties: "We have had a great deal of sickness among the soldiers, and those now on the sick list would form an army. The measles is still among them, but I hope is dying out. The constant cold rains, mud, etc. with no shelter or tents, have aggravated it. All these drawbacks, with impassable roads, have paralyzed our efforts."

Lee's report makes mention of the difficulty of maintaining his lines of communication, owing to the exhausted condition of his horses and the impossibility of obtaining supplies; so it may be assumed that this was, in his view, the chief reason for the failure of the campaign.

On September 26, 1861, Lee writes from his camp on Sewell mountain: "I told you of the death of Colonel Washington. I grieve for his loss, though I trust him to the mercy of our heavenly Father. It is raining heavily. The men are all exposed on the mountains, with the enemy opposite to us. We are without tents, and for two nights I have lain buttoned up in my overcoat. To-day my tent

came up, and I am in it, yet I fear I shall not sleep for thinking of the poor men. I have no doubt the socks you mentioned will be very acceptable to the men here and elsewhere. If you can send them here I will distribute to the most needy."

In a private letter to Governor Letcher, dated September 17, 1861, he makes not mention of his personal disappointment; that was for his wife alone. He simply states that he was sanguine of success in attacking the enemy's work on Rich's mountain; that the troops intended for the surprise had reached their destination, having traversed twenty miles of steep and rugged mountain paths, and the last day through a terrible storm, which had lasted all night, in which they had to stand, drenched to the skin, in a cold rain; that he waited for an attack on Cheat mountain, which was to be the signal, till 10 A. M., but the signal did not come. The chance for surprise was gone. The provisions of the men had been destroyed the preceding day by the storm. They had nothing to eat that morning and could not hold out another day, and were obliged to be withdrawn, "This, Governor," he writes, "is for your own eye. Please do not speak of it; we must try again. Our greatest loss is the death of my dear friend, Colonel Washington. He and my son were reconnoitering the front of the enemy. They came afterward upon a concealed party, who fired upon them within twenty yards, and the colonel fell, pierced by three balls. My son's horse received three shots, but escaped on the colonel's horse. His zeal for the cause to which he devoted himself carried him too far."

The second opportunity which apparently offered itself and was allowed by Lee to pass fruitlessly by, was when Rosecrans' army, which lay before him at Sewell mountain, was allowed to slip away unmolested.

Reynolds having refused to be drawn out of his position, Lee turned his attention to the western section in the hop of destroying Rosecrans, and leaving General H. R. Jackson to Reynolds if possible. General Lee addressed himself to the situation in the Kanawha valley. Riding through the mountains, attended by a single subaltern, he visited the commands of General Floyd and Wise, who rivalries threatened the destruction of both commands. His object was to put an end to their strife, bring them together, and get from their united forces the power to crush Rosecrans, who

was stronger than either. Nothing could be in greater contrast than the long heated letters of the two subordinates, and the brief, calm replies of the trained equal-tempered, well-poised Lee.

Rosecrans lay on top of Sewell mountain, in a strongly fortified position, and Lee posted himself on the opposite crest, expecting that Rosecrans would attack him. Rosecrans, however, after threatening attack, suddenly withdrew his army by night. Lee gave as his reason for his apparent non-action, that he was confident of defeating Rosecrans by a flanking movement which he had planned for the following night, and that he could not afford to sacrifice five or six hundred of his people to silence public clamor. In a letter to his wife, dated October 7th, from Sewell mountain, Lee gives an insight into his views, and incidentally touches on the part that politics was playing in the southern army. He says: "The enemy was threatening an attack, which was continued till Saturday night, when, under cover of darkness and our usual mountain mist, he suddenly withdrew. Your letter, with the socks, was handed to me when I was preparing to follow. I could not at that time attend to either, but I have since; and as I found Perry (his colored servant from Arlington) in desperate need, I bestowed a couple of pairs on him as a present from you; the others I have put in my trunk, and suppose they will fall to the lot of Meredith (a colored servant from the white house), into the state of whose hose I have not yet inquired. Should any sick man require them first, he shall have them; but Meredith will have no on near to supply him but me, and will naturally expect that attention. The water is almost as bad here as in the mountains I left. There was a drenching rain yesterday; and as I left my overcoat in camp, I was thoroughly wet from head to foot. It has been raining ever since, and is now coming down with a will; but I have my clothes out on the bushes, and they will be well washed. The force of the enemy, estimated by prisoners captured, is put down at from 17,000 to 20,000 – General Floyd thinks 18,000. I do not think it exceeds 9,000 or 10,000, but it exceeds ours. I wish he had attacked, as I believe he would have been repulsed with great loss. The rumbling of his wheels, etc., were heard by our picket; but as that was customary at night in moving and placing his cannon, the officer of the day, to whom it was reported, paid no particular attention to it, supposing it to be a

preparation for and attack in the morning. When day appeared the bird had flown, and the misfortune was that the reduced condition of our horses for want of provender, exposure to the cold rains in these mountains, and want of provisions for the men prevented the vigorous pursuit of following up that had been prepared. We can only get up provisions from day to day, which paralyzes our operations. I am sorry, as you say, that the movements of the armies cannot keep pace expectations of the editors of papers. I know they can regulate matters satisfactorily to themselves on paper. I wish they could do so in the field. No one wishes them more success than I do, and would be happy to see them have full swing. General Floyd has three editors on his staff. I hope something will be done to please them."

When it was all over in Western Virginia, one of the officers, who had been with him there (General Starke), asked General Lee why he had not fought Rosecrans, as the forces were about equal, and the Confederates were ready and anxious for a fight, and felt certain of victory. Lee's reply was that while his men were in good spirits and would doubtless have done their duty, a battle then would have been without substantial results, owing to their being seventy miles from the railroad, their base of supplies, with the ordinary roads almost impassable, and that if he had fought and won the battle and Rosecrans retreated, he would have been compelled to fall back at least to a source of supplies. "But," said General Starke, "your reputation was suffering, the press was denouncing you, your own state was losing confidence in you, and the army needed a victory to add to its enthusiasm." To this Lee replied, with a smile: "I could not afford to sacrifice the lives of five or six hundred of my people to silence public clamor."

The "public clamor" over Lee's failure was bitter and persistent, but he remained unruffled by it. With characteristic calm he simply stated that it was only natural that such hasty conclusions should be reached, and gave his opinion that it was better not to attempt justification or defense, but to go steadily on in the discharge of our duty to the best of our ability, leaving all else to the calmer judgment of the future, and to a kind Providence. Long afterward, Mr. Davis wrote how, when, Lee was unjustly criticized for that campaign, he magnanimously declined to make an official

report, which would have exonerated himself by throwing the responsibility of the failure upon others. This would have been alien to Lee's nature. All through the war he assumed the responsibility, even when, as at Gettysburg, his orders were not carried out, and the failure was manifestly due to others. He had no editors on his staff. Indeed, at this period he had only two aides-de-camp, Colonel Washington and Colonel Taylor, of whom the former was, as has been stated, killed in a reconnaissance on Cheat mountain. Thus fell the last of the name who owned Mount Vernon.

The first campaign in which General Lee engaged was thus, like Washington's first campaign, conducted with adverse fortune. Had Washington's military career closed after the retreat from Long Island, he would have been reckoned simply a brave man and a stark fighter, but one unequal to general command. Had Lee's career ended after the campaign in Western Virginia, when he was derisively characterized in the anti-administration press of Richmond as "Evacuating Lee," he would have been know in history only as a fine organizer, a capital scout, and a brilliant engineer of unusual gallantry whose abilities as a commander were not superior to those of the mediocre officer that opposed him in that experimental campaign, and were possibly equal only to the command of a brigade, or at best, of a division. But the South and fame awaited his opportunity.

THE DIXIE RIFLES

About the middle of June 1861, I raised a company of infantry in Fayette county, then a part of Virginia, and was elected captain, but certainly not on account of my familiarity with the pages of Scott, Gilham, or Hardee, as the sequel demonstrated, for I "had never set a squadron in the field, nor the division of battle knew more than a spinster."

In the latter part of the same month, the company, glorying in the euphonious and significant appellation of the "Dixie Rifles,"

was regularly mustered into the service of the Confederate States at the great falls of Kanawha, by Brig. Gen. Henry A. Wise, to whose "Legion" it was attached.

I had just returned from Lewisburg, and sported a gray jacket, gotten up by a tailor of that place, who, by way of securing the job, had assured me that he was perfectly "Au fait" in all the minutiae pertaining to the decoration of military rank.

I was quite proud of my up-buttoned, close fitting "Jacket of Gray," and felt all the importance of the commander, until I was startled from my dream of consequentiality by being addressed by an old soldier as "Corporal Jones." My "Knight of the Shears," equally ignorant with myself had braided me a corporal. My mortification was excessive, not did I recover my usual composure until spasmodically I tore off the libelous braid, and cast it disdainfully upon the ground.

In the afternoon of that day it became necessary to draw rations as our supply was at Gauley Bridge, two miles above our encampment and no transportation at hand, I was under the necessity of marching the men up, so they might carry down their "hard tack and bacon." Ignorant of the command necessary to form two ranks, or even face them in the direction I wished to move, I took my orderly sergeant aside, communicated my intention to move at once upon the supply depot, and directed him to form the company in a single line, with the men facing the bridge. He thought the suggestion a happy one, and proceeded to execute the order, by taking each man by the jacket collar and forcibly establishing him in the proper position, always accompanied with the important injunction to "stand right there."

At the command, "forward march," given with all the energy I could summon to the aid of a pair of strong lungs, the "Dixie Rifles" moved off in the most appropriate style. The interminable lines winding with the frequent curves and angles of the road, which coupled with the irregular and unrestrained swinging to and fro, from right to left, and from left to right, of one hundred and eighty awkward arms, brought forcibly to the mind the spiral and confused locomotion of a mighty centipede. Ever and anon, reaching a commanding point, I would cast backward a glance of pride and satisfaction at the vast proportions of my command. Caesar,

Alexander, and Napoleon, at some period in their eventful lives, possibly, felt as well as I did then, but I will never concede that either of them felt any better. There was but one unpleasant drop in my cup of happiness. I knew that the company ought to march in two ranks, but how to get it into that shape was the rub.

I had warned the company on taking up the line of march, that "talking" in the ranks would not only be highly unmilitary, but could not be tolerated at all; so that not a sound broke the funeral silence of that two-mile march, save once when an old soldier, who had seen service in Mexico, ventured to speak in a subdued tone to the man immediately in front of him. I detected this, and jealous of my authority as well as being indignant as so wanton a breach of military propriety and stung by what I suspected was a merited criticism upon the Indian file movement and consequently a reflection upon my military accomplishments, I sternly ordered him to be silent, reminding him that I was captain, and as such not to be trifled with, and that as an old soldier he should know better.

At length we arrived at Gauley Bridge; the rations were issued, and the order, "shoulder bacon and hard tack," was about to be given, when as luck would have it, up came a four horse wagon driven by a Nicholas county farmer. Fancying myself, by virtue of my captaincy, vested with extraordinary power, in other words a gentleman of "high claims and terrifying exactions," I proceeded as once to press into service wagon, team and teamster. The farmer protested, alleging that he had been long from home, and could not reach there until late at night, but all this was unavailing. He had encountered what was afterward known as "military necessity," and as a matter of course had to succumb.

Now another difficulty stared me in the face. My men had fallen in line, facing Gauley Bridge and I wished to move them in the opposite direction but I did not know the command for a counter march. "File right" and "File left" were terms unknown to me, or if know, were utterly meaningless. I reflected for a moment, nervously twirling my cane, for sword I had none, my face burning, my heart pounding audibly, the men silent and expectant, until finally growing desperate, I cried out in the extremity of my agony, "Men, turn your faces the other way." Some turned to the right

and some turned to the left, some made the entire circle and stood as at first, while others with countenances as blank as lamp posts made no effort whatever to obey the order, while my sharpened hearing caught a half-suppressed sound of malicious laughter in the direction of the "old soldier." Finally with the aid of my orderly I got them all turned in the right and interminable line that "Like a wounded snake, dragged its slow length along," returned to camp. Here the wagon of the Nicholas county farmer was speedily unloaded. The farmer then approached me in the most deferential, not to say awe-stricken manner, and stammered something about pay. I was astonished at his ignorance of the license of military authority, and indignant at his want of patriotism, replied with much spirit, "Pay, sir, pay indeed. No pay at all, sir. A mere gratuity that you as a loyal and patriotic citizen should esteem a privilege to render to your country, sir; the Southern Confederacy, sir." With alarm, wonder, mortification and disappointment all depicted in his countenance, he shrank back, took up the lines, cracked his whip, and was soon out of sight. He should have thrashed me soundly on the spot, although at the time, I honestly believed that I was merely exercising an official prerogative for the benefit of my country.

A happy idea now suggested itself. I would solve the vexed problem of forming a company into two ranks by being present when Captain Riggs' company was on parade. His men were formed in line. "Facing by the left flank, in two ranks, form company. Company, face right. March," said Captain Riggs. "Eureka!" I almost audibly ejaculated; then hurriedly dodging around the corner of an old house standing close by, I hastily took my memorandum book from a side pocket and eagerly recorded with pencil the talismanic words. By roll call the next morning I had memorized them, and was enabled to accomplish the wonderful evolution of forming a company in two ranks to my own entire satisfaction. As to four ranks, I had never heard of such a thing, and should have been strongly inclined to question the sanity of the man who would have hinted the possibility of such a formation. Bear in mind, I had never mustered with the "melish" nor seen the inside of any work on military tactics. Mine was not an isolated case; it

was the experience of nine-tenths of the Confederate officers. We were green, yes all of us – succulently green.

The enlisted men drew their rations regularly, but when I applied for mine, I was politely informed, much to my mortification, that "rations" were not issued to commissioned officers. "How and I to live, sir?" I anxiously inquired. "Indeed, captain, I am not able to answer your question, though I would be most happy to do so, for it is one in which you are much interested," replied the commissary, who was ignorant of his duties as I was of mine, though not in half so much danger of starvation.

I had not been long at Gauley Bridge until it came my turn to act as "officer of the day" and I felt both complimented and alarmed. I was wholly ignorant of the duties of my position. Major Bradfute Warwick, who subsequently, as a colonel, fell covered with old glory at Cold Harbor, was commandant of the post. He was and eastern man, and unacquainted with the geography of that part of Virginia and of the disposition of the inhabitants, and so fancied we were in constant danger of surprise. In this he was most energetically seconded and sustained by Captain Buckholtz, an officer of much gallantry who was in command of the artillery. He instructed me to visit the pickets twice during the day and three times during the night. The distance traveled in making the rounds was about six miles. The roughness of the route, and the labor and peril to be encountered, can not be conceived by any one that has never experienced the task. In addition to the regular pickets, men were stationed about seventy yards apart, connecting each post with the main camp. These men being perfectly "green" fancied a Yankee under every bush, and were ready to fire at the least noise.

I was to start my rounds at precisely nine o'clock. I gathered my blanket and repaired to the guard house. It had rained almost incessantly for "forty days and nights," consequently the rude floor of the guard house bore a strong resemblance to that of a pig sty. I scraped away the looser particles of mud, however, and spreading my blanket, lay down with the guards, Union prisoners, &c., but consoled myself in my novel and uncomfortable position by the reflection that I was "serving my country," and that our forefathers had trod the same rugged pathway to glory and independence. Indeed my patriotism so far triumphed over my dis-

comforts as to enable me to discover new beauties in the sentiment, "Dulc et decorum est pro patria mori."

At the designated hour I was aroused by the officer of the guard, and then began the toil of the night. Varied and startling were the receptions and experiences of my dreary rounds. Sometimes it was a sharp "Halt! Who comes there!" Again it was a hesitating and nervous "Who's that?" And not unfrequently it was the startling "click" of a lock that made each particular hair stand on end as the aroused sentinel made ready to fire. I was under the necessity of specially instructing each sentry. When I got back to the guard house I found it was just midnight, the hour for "Grand Rounds," so accompanied by a sergeant and three privates I started again. My experience was about the same as on the preceding round, with one or two ludicrous variations. One sentry called out, "who comes there?" "Grand Rounds" was the reply, and this brought the response, "Come on, Grand Rounds." Another asked, "Who are you?" "Grand Rounds" we replied. "Oh pshaw!" the sentry returned, "I thought it was them fellers coming to relieve me." With Grand Round competed, I found myself at the starting point at 3 A. M. wet, muddy and fatigued. I had only made two rounds and my instructions were to make three. To fail was in my opinion, death, ignominious death. I thought of my family which would be left in such unsettled and troublesome times without a provider or protector, and remembering how ill fitted I was for death, I nerved myself for the third round. Away I trudged all alone, and finished the third time round about sunrise; the third time finished me about the same hour. I had traveled about 18 miles, stumbling my feet against stones, falling over logs, jamming against stumps, splashing into mud holes, and wading a sluice of water no less than three times, thirty yards wide and three feet deep. As there were but three captains at a post, the task devolved upon me every third day. No wonder my countenance grew haggard and wan, my body weak and trembly, so that my own wife recognized me with difficulty. An iron man could not have endured such hardships unaffected. Yet I bore all cheerfully, and with martyr-like resignation and from the sense of duty, and because I thought at that time that the authority of a commanding officer

was unrestricted, and that as a subordinate I was bound to obey all orders whether reasonable or unreasonable.

When commissioned officers were so verdant, what could have been expected of the private soldiers? Passing from my quarters to the creek one morning after sunrise to indulge in my usual ablution, I was suddenly halted by a sentinel, some fifty yards to my right.

"Yes it is. Give me the countersign," he screamed, cocking his long mountain rifle, and bringing it to bear directly between my eyes, so that I fancied I could almost see the bullet that was to finish my mortal career. It would have been imprudent to have shouted the countersign, surrounded as I was by laurel where an enemy might have been concealed, so I assayed to draw a little closer.

"Don't care a darn. That's what the fellow said that came around last night, and I am not going to fool with you much longer neither, Captain. So just sing her out."

Seeing that further parley or expostulation was not only useless but positively perilous, I yelled out "Jeff Davis."

"That's the truck, captain. Hurrah for Jeff Davis! You can go now," and he resumed his beat.

So apprehensive of a surprise were the superior officers – all eastern men – that finally I got badly scared myself. I was called up one night by Sergeant Major Pierce who informed me that the enemy were actually crossing the New river just above the mouth of Gauley, in great force – using three flat boats for that purpose. I was ordered to awaken my men and get them under arms. The boys sprang eagerly to their guns, all but one poor fellow who was unfortunately at the moment attacked with violent pains in the region of the stomach. I was assigned a position in an oat field. Captain Buckholtz labored with great energy to get his artillery in position; wheels creaking, whips cracking, drivers swearing – there we stood in the field, shivering in the dark morning fog, with guns

cocked, heads inclined eagerly forward, and eyes strained, vainly endeavoring to peer into the darkness; but no enemy came.

In the latter part of July we began the famous retreat – or as General Wise persisted in calling it, the "retrograde" movement – from the Kanawha valley. Cox had been whipped at Scary; but another army acting in concert with his movement, was seeking by way of Sutton, Summersville, and the Wilderness road, to gain our rear and thus not only cut us off from our base but capture our whole force. Such confusion and demoralization as then ensued have been seldom witnessed. One entire company, perhaps two, deliberately filed off and went home. Another scattered like frightened sheep; but the captain marched boldly on alone until becoming thoroughly disgusted, he broke his sword and wore his bars no more. Huge sides of bacon were pitched into the mud and trampled under foot. The heads of whisky and molasses barrel were knocked in, and every man helped himself. The Gauley Bridge that had cost $30,000 was burned although the river was fordable for infantry and cavalry about one hundred yards above. It was said, though I never credited the report, that the famous "Hawks Nest" was examined with an eye for its destruction, but was declared non-combustible, and was thus saved for the admiration of future tourists. Every man went it on his own hook. For the first twelve hours, despite the efforts of the general, orders were disregarded and system was lacking. Quartermasters were oblivious to obligations to furnish transportation. My company baggage had been carried across the ill-fated bridge by the men. I waited for transportation until near nightfall, and the bridge was already in flames, lighting the heavens from horizon to zenith with the lurid glare. The army had gone, its retreating footsteps echoing amid the gorges of Gauley mountain, still not transportation, nor would the last lingering quartermaster answer satisfactorily my inquiries. So I moved off, leaving all behind.

Darkness soon came on, and the rain descended only as it did in the summer and autumn of 1861 in the mountains of West Virginia. We had gone a mile when we met a wagon with a four mule team and a negro driver. I pressed into service the wagon, mules and driver, and sent them back and got my luggage. It was now so dark that we could only with difficulty keep the road. I halted

the company, told the men to take care of themselves, and they scattered in every direction seeking shelter under rocks and trees from the pitiless storm. I crept down the hillside, carefully feeling my way, and found a dry spot under a huge rock. I called to one of my lieutenants, who soon joined me, and I told him to go in first; he did as I directed, and so completely occupied the whole of the space that I was compelled to lie all night in the rain. While sleep

to me was impossible, I could hear the lieutenant snoring boisterously all the night. I had never regretted being generous, but I did that night, and I think you will concede I had reason. When morning came, I was wet to the bone, and chilled to the marrow. We started again at daylight. General Wise was standing at the top of Gauley mountain. When we came up, he told me to

halt my company. I did so, and he furloughed every man who wished to go by his home. The result was, I entered Lewisburg with ten men out of ninety. I was so emaciated and care-worn that my most intimate friends recognized me with difficulty.

Having recruited and reorganized his command, General Wise again advanced toward Gauley, while General Floyd, taking the Sunday road, moved towards Summersville. Wise encountered Cox at Big creek, a few miles beyond Hawks Nest, and, after a brisk skirmish, kept up until evening, owing to the failure of a part of his programme, fell back four miles to Woodville (the early name for Ansted), and went into camp. Floyd, having crossed Gauley at Carnifax Ferry, and entrenched himself on the cliffs, awaited Rosecrans, who, advancing from Cheat mountain, attacked him with great impetuosity. The Confederates, though outnumbering at least six to one, resisted successfully every attempt to carry their position, until night-fall, when they withdrew with so much secrecy, that the Federal commander received information of their retreat about sunrise the next morning, when his troops stormed and carried the undefended entrenchments. Floyd did not lose a single man in this battle but two were slightly wounded, one of them the general himself. Rosecrans must have suffered severely, as his men repeatedly assailed the work with great and persevering gallantry. Having recrossed Gauley, Floyd fell back to Dogwood Gap, at the junction of Sunday road with the James river and Kanawha turnpike. Here he was rejoined by Wise. Cox and Rosecrans continued to advance with a force of at least 15,000 men, while that of the Confederates did not exceed 3,500. The latter fell back slowly to the top of Big Sewell mountain. Halting here a day or so, Floyd began to fortify, but suddenly changing his mind, he retired toward Meadow river, in Greenbrier county, and ordered Wise to follow, which he positively and indignantly refused to do, avowing his determination to oppose his 1,500 men against the 15,000 men of Rosecrans, and thus make a Thermopylae of Sewell mountain. He accordingly named his position "Camp Defiance," and coolly awaited the advance of the enemy.

It is not necessary to recount how, in a few days, Rosecrans came up and went into camp in an equally favorable position about a mile west of "Camp Defiance;" how General Lee came down from

the Cheat mountain region, bringing reinforcements; how he examined Wise's position, approved his course, and ordered Floyd to return; how three or four weeks the rival hosts surveyed each other from their respective mountain strongholds without coming to an engagement; how, confident of the issue, we, from day to day, prayed for the advance of the Federals; and how, finally, one bright Sunday morning, when General Lee, as we were assured, had made up his mind to execute on the following Tuesday a great strategic movement that promised to result in the complete discomfiture of the foe, we got up and found he had struck his tents and precipitately retreated. I merely wish, in this connection, to relate one other of my adventures as a Confederate captain.

I was officer of the day. We were expecting Rosecrans to attack us. I wished to see the old officer of the guard. I did not know who acted in that capacity the day before, and had not been enabled to find out by inquiry. I went to the guard tent and mentioned that I wished to see the old officer of the guard. A drummer suggested that if he were to sound his drum, perhaps the individual wanted would come to the guard tent. I cannot understand why I thought the beating of a drum would produce such a result, or why the drummer thought so. I know, however, I caught at the suggestion, and when the drummer asked me if he should sound the "long roll," I answered affirmatively, adding that I supposed that would do as well as anything else. The fact was I had not heard the long roll before, and did not know that special significance attached to it. He commenced beating the long roll. There happened to be one or two officers in camp that knew that the long roll was a call to arms to repel an attack, or something of that nature. In other words, it was an alarm. They seized their swords, sprang out and called their men to fall in, instantly; other officers caught the infection and followed the example. In a moment the entire camp was in an uproar, rivaling that of Babel itself. From every tent officers buckling on their swords, and privates with cartridge box in one hand and musket in the other, streamed forth like angry bees from so many hives, while above all other sounds, were heard the excited commands of officers, "Fall in men, fall in!" "Back on the left!" "Out a little in the center!" "There, steady, front!" "Right dress!" &c., &c.,

Had I been more capable, at that moment, of remembering anything at all that I had ever read, it would certainly have been Byron's "Waterloo":

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
And there was mounting in hot haste; the steed,
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
And swiftly forming in ranks of war;
And the deep thunder peal on peal afar;
And near the beat of the alarming drum,
Roused up the soldier e'er the morning start;
While thronged the citizens, with terror dumb,
Or whispering, with white lips: 'The Foe! they come, they come'!"

But cries of "the long roll!" "the long roll!" arising on all sides, assured me that I was the author of the mischief, and in the extremity of my mortification, I was senseless and dumb; and then Colonel Spaulding came rushing from his quarters, calling for his horse, and demanding, in an excited manner, "What does all this mean?" If ever a man desired "A lodge in some vast wilderness – some boundless contiguity of shade," deep, dark, impenetrable shade, at that – one of the Bengal jungle variety – I was certainly that man.

In reply to his question, I succeeded, by a desperate effort, in stammering out that there was nothing serious the matter; that I had told the drummer to beat for the old officer of the guard, and he had with my sanction, beat the "long roll" – I being ignorant of the peculiar import and probable effect thereof.

For a moment, anger and a keen sense of the ridiculous appeared to struggle for the mastery; but the latter triumphed, and directing his orderly to tell the captains to dismiss their men, with an emphatic smile on his countenance, he invited me to his tent, and there good-humoredly explained to me the mysteries of the "long roll." Brave, accomplished, generous Spaulding! Two weeks later his body, a bloody corpse, was borne in a blanket to camp by four of his men. He had approached too close to the pickets of the enemy, and received two balls through his breast.

A few days later after the retreat of the Federals from Sewell, General Lee sent two famous scouts – one of them afterwards Captain William Heffner, who was killed at the battle of Lewisburg, in May 1862. They were ordered to leave their guns in camp, as the object was information as to the location of the enemy. They found the enemy encamped in a field belonging to Colonel George Alderson. Under cover of the brush the scouts crept up to the fence enclosing the field, and while lying there, General Rosecrans and Cox rode up to within thirty yards, halted, and sat on their horses engaged in conversation for some time. Captain Heffner told me he could have counted the buttons on their coats. Had the scouts carried their guns, the career of the two Federal commanders would have ended that bright October morning – William Heffner and comrade were dead shots, with their long mountain rifles, at two hundred paces.

Suffice to say, that I afterwards saw much service, and endured much suffering, for I was in the field from the beginning to the close of the war, excepting from the 5th of June 1864, to June 19, 1865, during which time I was a prisoner of war at Johnson's Island. I was with Lee, in the swamps of South Carolina, on the sand hills of Wilmington, in front of McDowell, at Fredericksburg; in the "Seven Days' Battles," on the Chickahominy. With Jackson, at Cedar mountain; with Loring, in the Kanawha valley; with Ransom, in the southwest; with "Tiger John" McCauseland, at Piney, Princeton, and the Narrows; with Jenkins, at Cloyd's farm; and William E. Jones, at fatal Piedmont; but during those first "Ninety days" with Wise, in the Kanawha valley and on Sewell mountain, I underwent more real suffering and hardship, than in all after military life.

And the "Dixie Rifles"; where are they now? Alas! some are sleeping beneath the magnolias of the south; some on the hills of Fredericksburg; some at Mechanicsville, Cold Harbor, and Frazier's farm; some at Piney, Princeton and the Narrows; some at Cloyd's farm; some at Piedmont, Winchester, Kernstown, Cedar creek, Fisher's hill and on the banks of the Opequon; some at White Sulphur, Richmond, and Lynchburg; some at Camps Morton and Chase; some at Point Lookout and Elmira; some have gone home with broken constitutions; some maimed and almost helpless

for life. With their gallant comrades of the glorious "old 60th," they everywhere bore their full share of suffering, and danger, and death; and, when at the close of the war, they, with streaming eyes and aching hearts, turned away from the "Conquered Banner," which,

   "though gory,
Yet is wreathed around with glory,
And will live in song and story,
   Though its folds are in the dust,
For its fame on brightest pages,
Penned by poets and all sages,
Shall go sounding down through ages,
   Furl its fold though we now must."

In that sad hour, not more than a dozen of the original Dixie Rifles answered at roll-call.

"On Fame's eternal campground,
Silent their tents are spread;
While Glory guards with solemn round,
The bivouac of the dead!"

The foregoing text was taken directly, verbatim, from The History Of Fayette County, West Virginia as it was originally written. This book was written by J. T. Peters and H. B. Carden. It was published in 1926 by the Fayette County Historical Society, Inc., Fayetteville, West Virginia, and printed by Jarrett Printing Company, Charleston, West Virginia. All rights reserved.