Description of Knoxville in the Civil War


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Civil War Harper's Weekly, April 9, 1864

Welcome to our archive of Harper's Weekly newspapers. Harper's Weekly was the most read newspaper during the Civil War, and served as the primary source of news for people during the War. The paper was read by millions of Americans, and today serves as a primary source for research into the war.

(Scroll Down to See Entire Page, or Newspaper Thumbnails below will take you to the page of interest)


Metropolitan Fair

New York Metropolitan Fair

Democrats Slavery vote

Democrats Vote Against Abolishing Slavery

Forrest's Attack of Union City

General Forrest's Attack on Union City

New York Fair

New York Fair

Knoxville in the Civil War

Slaves Escape From South

Hair Style Cartoon


Sanitary Commission

Sanitary Commission


Knoxville, Tennessee

Soldier's Ball in Huntsville

Soldier's Ball in Huntsville

Runaway Slaves

Runaway Slaves




[APRIL 9, 1864.



THE sketches of KNOXVILLE AND VICINITY given on pages 232 ad 233, obtained during a recent visit by our artist, T. R. DAVIS, will give an idea of the place and some of its surroundings. Sketching from the fortifications on Keith's Hill, or, as the place is known to the inhabitants, Big Bluff, the country seems a vast map, upon which a pretty little city is prominent, environed by rifle-pits, which at each knoll and hill become fortifications of size and strength. Far in the distance, to the right, the Cumberland Gap is just distinguishable. In the town the Whig office and the "Yankee Bull Pen" seem objects of interest. The prison known as the " Yankee Bull Pen" was for a long time the abode of the loyal East Tennesseeans who were unfortunate enough to stray into the hands of the rebels. Now it is used as a residence, kept entirely for the accommodation of its old proprietors.

Near the prison is the Court-house, now a hospital, over which Dr. BARRITT has control.

Near Knoxville is a picturesque place known as Lenoir's Mills, looking almost New England-like, so neat and thrifty is it, with quiet cottages and busy mills. The place has its local interest, having been the scene of frequent skirmishes between the loyal and rebel inhabitants of the country about.

From another illustration it will be seen that the military roads are not provided with special accommodations for ladies. As a consequence, ladies in that country generally stay at home.

In illustration of another of our views, Mr. DAVIS writes: " Returning from Chattanooga, Parson BROWNLOW was on the train on his way to the ' land of plenty.' The soldiers at the different stopping places crowded about the cars, generally introducing themselves with, 'Parson, I'm an Indiana boy,' or ' I'm from Illinois.' or whatever other State might be represented ; 'shake hands.' They had all heard of him, and were glad to see the leading Union man of East Tennessee."

The railroad bridge over the Tennessee River at Loudon is rapidly rebuilding. This will complete the line of road between Knoxville and Chattanooga. At the present time passengers and stores are ferried over, and so the former have a quiet walk of a mile or more.


0ur little friend Is in his grave;

The sod is green with April rain.

We weep for him. What would we have? To him at least our loss is gain.

We lose the hope of future years—Our child, our gallant little man;

But he, the future's pain and tears. We will be happy -if we can.

Or, if not happy, still, content

His peace should solace our despair. God takes away the gem he lent To set it with the star-beams fair.


"WELL, Jordan !"

" Well, Charley !"

"Ain't you going ?"

"Going where ?"

" Going to the Fair," laughing at the chime of words.

Jordan settled himself comfortably in his seat again.

" No, Charley, my boy, I'm not going to the Fair. But you are, I perceive. How you are got up though I should never dare to travel in such brilliant company."

" Oh, bother !" and Charley glanced, with an honest blush on his honest face. at his dandy clothes.

"I say though, Jordan," he quickly resumed, "you ought to go."

" Oh. hang fairs, Charley. I hate 'em. A fellow's always bored to death to buy a lot of rubbish. I'd rather by half contribute at the beginning what I can afford. That's my way. The buying is yours. You'll be a young swell there, Charley. I can fancy you beset by sixteen of those girls at once, with sixteen different propositions for you; and you'll think it fine fun. They'll delude you into buying any thing; dolls, and pin-cushions, and prayer-books. It'll be all the salve to you; and you'll bestow them with the grace and discretion of a young prince. I really envy that way of yours, Charley."

"A good deal you do," returned-Charley, disbelievingly.

I do though, really. I'm in earnest, Charley."

Charley Duganne looked in surprise at his companion at this ; but Ellery Jordan's face was serious. There was no sarcastic play of the lips, no laughing twinkle to the eves, of ww'i;ich honest Charley Du-

was always somewhat in dread.

"Yes, I really do envy you, Charley. You come to the pleasant turns Cs easily; as I do the disagreeable ones. You extract the sweet from life, while I am chewing the bitter cud. Every hotly likes you, every body smiles upon you ; and all from that 'way' of yours and it's the way of your heart, Charley, so I can't learn it. And all the time you look at me and think I'm such a smart fellow—that I know the world and a heap of things that you don't don't. And von think It I look dow-n from my ivies height sometimes and laugh at you when you come in with your Fair-pleasures, and in a stunning new suit. In instead of that, Charley, I look at you with genuine admiration. I rejoice in your freshness, in your capacity for enjoyment of all sweet and simple pleasure. Don't think I regard you as any the less of a man for it. It's the generous boy's heart, Charley, that's in it all, and that makes me like the man who own, it. As for me, Charley, I am 'a great hulking fellow,' whom nobody cares very much about. I never carry sunshine with me, 'I

never win hearts or smiles. I'm a gloomy, sullen, surly wretch, who perpetually gets the wrong side of things, and blunders at every step. There, Charley, go your ways, go your ways, and don't mistake me any more."

He turned with his old laugh to his book, a little disconcerted at the earnestness into which he had been betrayed ; but Charley, touched and bewildered out of his senses, stammered thanks and praises and deprecation in a breath. But Ellery Jordan bad had enough of the topic.

"Go your ways, Charley, go your ways," was all he said to him now; and at last Charley was wise enough to go. Jordan heard him whistling I l segreto per esser, felice, as he ran down the stairs.

" That is his natural comment upon my.?' way ;" and Jordan smiled, then looked thoughtful and a little sad, then lost him ,elf in his book. What do you think roused him from it, this cynic, this " gloomy, sullen, surly fellow?" A child's voice, crying. I-le had been conscious of it a good while before he felt called upon to look into the cause. He knew very well who it was. His landlady's little boy, Bobby Greene. But the grieved sobs continued so long he flung down his book and opened the door.

Bobby !"

Bobby, surprised, held his peace for a moment. " What's the matter, Bobby ?"

The little figure, sitting on the first stair disconsolate, burst out afresh at this sign of interest. Between broken words and sobs his questioner discovered teat somebody, some nefarious uncle Dick or other, had failed to carry out a promise to take Bobby to the Fair. It was a heart-breaking thing to Bobby. In vain Jordan, moved to pity, took; the urchin into his room, and laid before him treasures that would at another time have made him hilarious. The boy hushed his crying, indeed he seemed to appreciate the efforts made for his amusement, but, as Jordan thought, "It was no go." Bob-by had set his mind upon the Fair. The Fair, of which wonderful stories had fired his youthful imagination. Jordan looked at the small face, ex-pressing the depth of childish melancholy.

'' So not even this child can be happy, because of some hungering after what is denied," he mused. " But it is early to learn the universal lesson, and a pity." He mused a moment longer, scowling over a new thought. Presently he gave a sigh that was partly a laugh.

"Bobby, go and ask your mother to wash off those tears, and tell her I'll take you to the Fair." The transformation of the melancholy face into a bevy of smiles was a very swift one. Bobby ran off shouting with delight, while Jordan rose to effect some changes in his toilet. His face was not quite so full of delightful anticipation as Bobby's. He elevated his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders as he thought of what he was about to inflict upon himself, for he hated Fairs, you know.

And this was a Soldiers' Fair. '' How selfish of hint !" you exclaim. Wait. He acknowledged that he preferred contributing what he could afford. And he did. But he has contributed more than those United States bills to the country. Long ago he gave himself. This is Captain Jordan, of the Hundred and something New York Volunteers. He is home on a furlough, not of simple ease and relaxation, but of necessity. Waiting for that right arm to get strength enough to wield a weapon. And leaving him here dressing for the Fair, let the story of the Fair run backward for a little in part.


"SOPHY, you must help us in the post-office. We have counted upon you. Tell her it's her duty, Mrs. Hamlyn, to do the work that lies nearest. And this is her duty, for nobody is so swift of hand, and writes so beautifully as Sophy. Oh, Sophy, how can you refuse? Yes, yes, I know you've written heaps of letters—lovely letters I know they must be—but now at the very last to refuse to write the addresses ! You never expected to take that place. Why, Sophy, where were your ears in all our preparations?"

If Sophy Hamlyn was firm, Ida Jocelyn was hopeful and persistent. Again and again he presented the case in its most piteous aspects to Sophy, and at last departed with the words

" I shall come in to-morrow night again, and shall expect you to have yielded, Sophy ; you know I ask it as a personal favor. I should never have accepted my post but for the belief that you would be with me."

Sophy did not reply. She kept on a cool steady face until Ida had departed, then she went up to her room and "had a good cry."

II I tell you what she cried about, I am afraid you will think my Sophy a very empty-headed young lady ; but have patience with her, and with her story, and do not condemn her at tint.

Sop' y Hamlyn cried those vexed and bitter tears because--because she had " nothing to wear." You look about the pretty room, the curtains, the car-pet, the vases. You note all the indications of a luxurious home, and you see Sophy in her graceful morning attic' , and your lip curls disdainfully, and you comment severely upon the weak and wicked exaggeration of' our girls. But you can not see the meaning of every thing at a first glance. Ida Jocelyn would tell you that the Hamlyns were not rich, That Mr. Hamlyn failed a few years ago. and has never been fortunate since. '' Not actually poor, you know," the gay girl would go on; "only the

Hamlyn's can't give parties and keep carriage, and Sophy, don't have no much money to spend as she used."

This was all Ida Jocelyn knew about it. And this was all any body knew abort it, but the Hamlyns themselves. When Ida Jocelyn went there, and had such a nice time with Sophy in that '' home-like house," as she called it, she did not perceive that Mrs. Hamlyn looked tired and worn. She did not know how very, very simply they lived simply they lived; how much they pinched and straitened. She saw only the pretty rooms just as she had always seen them, looking fresh and bright - for the years of change were too few to turn things shabby yet. And since that time, when Mr. Hamlyn went down, there had been no outward difference in their surroundings.

Why should there have been? The house itself was Mrs. Hamlyn's; and there were no rare pictures, no statues of great value to sell. So they lived on amidst the same curtains, and chairs, and carpets, but with only a single servant in the whole house. Mrs. Hamlyn had turned, and pieced, and re-made, with her own hands and Sophy's help, dress after dress, until now poor Sophy's wardrobe furnished nothing further; and Sophy, sitting there alone in her room after Ida Jocelyn's departure, cried vexed and bitter tears over all the vexation and bitterness of this constant planning and pinching; over the want that kept her from accepting a post which could not but look alluring to her.

So you see that although Sophy cried because she had "nothing to wear," it was not so much for the one dress lacking for the one occasion, but for the constant wear and tear of that poverty which hides its thousand cares, its humiliating annoyances, its anxieties, its petty details behind a smiling mask. It was for the necessity that laid the limits so narrowly that a new dress even was impossible at this time. It was for all this that the bitter, sewed tears came, though the one dress was the one final chop in the cup that set it overflowing.

Poor little Sophy! she was but human. Brave little Sophy, too, as you would say, if you knew how she kept repinings out of' sight, and almost out of suspicion; who taught herself much handiwork unknown before, and showed a bright face always to father, and mother, and those three boys. But it was hard about the fair. Oh, it' she could discover some way to make her only silk dress presentable ! It was of no-use, no use.

"Ah me!" and she sighed wearily. "I am too proud, I suppose, but I can not go shabby. I shouldn't enjoy it. I should have a sense of unsuitableness."

She lies there with her tears, thinking, thinking on the dismal prospect, while Ida Jocelyn, never dreaming of such thinking, makes her brilliant plans. Ah, Ida Jocelyn, there are many such homes, where an outward serenity is kept, and where you never suspect the many, many cares that hide beneath those who have known better days, and who, not from vanity, but from the educated taste, keep up the fair semblance ! Is there a much sadder suggestion in life ? But Sophy sees a rainbow through her tears.

" There's Aunt Martha's things !" And with this suggestion she slips from the couch, and dashes out of her room up into a far, dark corner of the attic, where lies that long-forgotten chest of relics, nearly a century old. The camphor-wood has kept them intact, and Sophy drags out a lilac brocade, with glistening eyes. It is no great flourishing pattern, but a trim design of star-work; not at all outlandish, Sophy thinks, and the color suited to her fair hair. Only three days before the evening of the Fair ; but Sophy will undertake it. Fly, little fingers, over your pretty work. Ply, smoothly-shining needle, to aid this busy remodeling.

Ida Jocelyn, who came the next night, was radiant at the success of her persistence.

Two nights after she went into raptures over Sophy's toilet.

"Where did you get such a lovely dress—so strange, so piquant, and so becoming? And that lace at your throat is an heir-loom ; and your hair all crimped and rolled into such pretty puffs, and the dear little red rose to crown it—oh, Sophy, you look like a little marchioness!"

Sophy bloomed like the red rose, and laughed blithely at her success, but she told no one of the heartache that preceded it. Sophy never told any one of her heartaches. First, because she was too proud to make confidantes of her girl friends; secondly, because she was too generous to burden her already burdened mother. She sewed her heart-aches into her work, perhaps. Poor little Sophy! brave little Sophy ! were there any of those gloomy threads stitched into the brilliant gown you wear to-night, or did the rainbow turn them all to shining promises?


CAPTAIN JORDAN stood patiently by while Bobby refreshed himself on cakes and ices. Standing there twirling his mustaches, and looking forth from under heavy brows at the scene, he spies Charley Duganne.

" I declare the fellow is eating a tart like a school-boy !" he said, aloud.

Charley glanced up.

"What, Jordan!" And then: How came you?"

And Jordan pointed with a shrug to Bobby.

" I came to keep the peace; this urchin was breaking it into flinders because somebody had disappointed him."

Charley's admiration saw through this version, but its expression was cut short by a growling '' Pshaw- !"

Walking with him through the rooms, Adjutant Duganne's finesse brought- him at last before a window tit aped with flags, and glimpsing fair faces within It was a charmed spot, as many a bearded loiterer testified.

Gay Ida Jocelyn nodded and smiled. " Do you expect another letter, Mr. Duganne? The California mail is just inn"

Duganne nodded, and smiled back again. Gay Ida turned with a pretty, mock-business air. "Sopby, see if there is a letter for Mr. Duganne in this mail."

"Allow me to present to you Captain Jordan, Miss Jocelyn."

Then, as the Captain expressed it, he found him-self " in for it ;" and with an indefferent air he went through with the expected question, which Post-mistrees Jordan preferred to her assistant, Sophy Hamlyn. "A letter for Captain Jordan?" The white missive dropped into his pocket, and dropped out of his mind at the same time. But with an eye for the beautiful, he could not help admiring the lovely faces that held their little court within. "Isn't she a stunner for beauty?" exclaimed Charley, enthusiastically, as they withdrew a few paces for new-comers.

" Which she do you mean ?"

" The post-mistress—Miss Jocelyn."

"She'll do very well; but who was that girl with the yellow hair and the red rose in it?"

"lIliss Hamlyn. She'd suit you, Jordan; let me introduce you."

"You mistake, Charley, boy. I am admiring her as a fixed star in another planet. It's altogether too resplendent to shine in my orbit. She looks like a duchess—to come down to earth; and 1 ant by no means a possible duke."

But there was certainly a Fate in that night. When Jordan sat by his fire an horn' later, and thrust his hands into his pockets in meditative mood, he came upon that letter again. Vaguely as his hand touched it he drew it forth. "Cap.ain Jordan." It was a firm hand for a woman.

" So that girl with the yellow hair wrote it. The pretty duchess! I should not care to look at her long ; her brightness would put my eye, out."

Ile opened the letter and read it through. Strangely enough, the same handwriting within as without.

"On of her contributions, eh?" He settled himself for an airy epistle, made up of en occasional bon met and French phrases. Ile found a curious kind of letter for such a gay-looking duchess. A straightforward letter, full of simple strength, purporting to come from a soldier's wife. Where had the gay duchess learned so much of the strait-

d lives of such as these ?

He discovered his eyes moistening at the reality of the patient enduance; the sad, waiting hope that was presented ; and, most of ell, at the brave sentence: "But though I am very, very lonely; though my heart dies me at every report of a fresh battle, yet I would rather have you there than here, because I know that there is your duty, there your honor." There were some tender, prayerful words, and then the letter ended. He folded it up and put it away. But he could not put away the contents from his mind. It seemed so real; as if it came from the depths of some strong, deep, womanly heart. And that girl with the yellow hair wrote it ! He found himself thinking of it the next day. He found himself thinking of it the next week. By-and-by this though` carried him to see her. He went again and again. and in that home atmosphere, spite of the gay duchess air, he

discovered how it was that this with the yellow hair could see so deeply into life. He saw that she wrote from her own heart—a heart. deep e and strong, and womanly and heroic. He went again and again ; and if her brightness put his eyes out, he gained a clearer vision wherewith to see. Ile saw no longer a gay duchess, but Sophy Hamlyn, a brave little philosopher—Sophy Hamlyn, the only woman in the world to him.

A fellow-officer, who came home the other day and offered cordial congratulations to Captain Jordan on his success in winning Miss Ile HaGlyn, said, wonderingly,

"And where did you find her? I did not think. such a woman lived except in a book—so simple and earnest and charming!"

And Captain Jordan answered, smiling,

"I found her at the Fair, where, -I ant inclined to think henceforth, are to be found all the good things of life."


THROUGH the vines curtaining with green the low windows the morning sun fell with shattered rays into a cozy chamber, plainly but tastily furnished, with rude pictures on the walls, an old-fashioned clock on the mantle, a Bible and hymn-book on the stand, and bouquets of newly-gathered flowers filling every corner-perch. From an airy niche, just within the eastern window, a canary piped a welcome to the morning; and without., in the stately trees, whose leaves blushed radiantly under the kiss of the sunrise, robins caroled cheery strains, rehearsing joyously their loves and hopes to the listening air.

Lucy Larcom, looking out amidst the vines, catching in one view the glory of the scene, stood enraptured, each revelation of minuter beauties increasing her delight. Eighteen summers had drifted over her head; but none of them, though they had been all galleries of splendors, had ever unfolded a picture of such rare loveliness as that now spread out before her. Until yesterday her foot bad never pressed the green country sward; until this soft June morning she had never seen the sunrise broadening over field and meadow, totalling ti e bills with glory, and flooding the valley depths with waves of' light. City-born, her memories were

of city pleasures and city scenes. She was as much a stranger, walking with doubtful feet, in the realm to which she had now come, as she could have been had a veil all her days obscured her sight and hid-den the world in impenetrable shadow.

Why had she slipped away from her city home and found a refuge in the brown cottage of Aunt Debby, on the edge of Riverton ? She could hardly have told—at least she would not have cared to tell--had you asked her. It was not because ) her city hone did not abound in all pleasant things ; it was not because society had closed its doors against her, or her authority its the circles of fashion had been discarded. Lucy Larcon was welcome everywhere ; her word was law whenever site pleased to have it so. Nor was it because she had wearied of life's pleasures; she relished them, when innocent and timely, as keenly as she had ever done. It was simply because she was dissatisfied with the temper of the world about her; with its materialistic dogmas and practices in a time of vast needs: its coldness and apathy in the presence of sublime duties ; its pursuit constantly of other than innocent amusments and pleasures. She could not forget the nation was at war ; that hundreds and thousands of homes were darkened by suffering: that multitudes of maimed, smitten ones were walking up and down with shadows on their lives ; that it great principle, involving not merely




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