Life in Dixie during the War Part 27

About a hundred years ago Lindsey Durham, a Georgia boy of English descent, graduated from a Philadelphia Medical College and located in Clarke county, in his native State. Drugs were expensive, as they could not be obtained nearer than Savannah, Charleston or New York. Being surrounded by frontiersmen and Indians, he could but notice the efficacy of the native barks and roots used by them as medicines. He was thus led to adopt to a large extent the theories of the Botanic School. He began to cultivate his own medicinal plants, and to prosecute with much zeal his botanical studies and researches. He even went to Europe and procured seeds and plants of medicinal value, until finally his garden of medicinal herbs and plants contained thirteen acres. So great was his fame that patients began to come to him from adjoining States, and he had to build cottages on his plantation in order to entertain them. His marvellous success brought to him ample compensation. He became a millionaire, and lived in all the old-time splendor. Once, by a loan of money, he rescued the Athens bank from utter failure.

Dr. Lindsey Durham left several sons, all of whom were physicians. The eldest of these, and the most eminent, was Dr. William W. Durham, who was born on his father's plantation in Clarke county, in 1823. After a collegiate course at Mercer University, he graduated from the Jefferson Medical College of Philadelphia, taking high honors, spending five years in the hospital there, and perfecting himself in surgery. This talented gentleman married Miss Sarah Lowe, of Clarke county, and, four years after her death, he married Mrs. Georgia A. Allen, whose maiden name was Wood, and who was a native of Franklin, Georgia.

With the children of his first marriage and their fair young step-mother, Dr. Durham came to Decatur in 1859. Well do I remember the children; two handsome sons, John and William--two pretty brown-eyed girls, Sarah and Catherine. It is needless to say that a large practice awaited the skillful physician, whose eclectic methods were then comparatively new.

William, the eldest son, went into the Confederate service at the age of sixteen, remaining the entire four years, suffering severely at the siege of Vicksburg, fighting valiantly at the Battle of Atlanta, and coming out of the war the shadow of his former self, with nothing but an old army mule and one silver dollar.

Sarah Durham, called Sallie by her family and friends, was a lovely girl of seventeen. She was tall and graceful; bright, and full of enthusiasm; kind, loving and generous. She had just returned from her grandmother's plantation, for her father had not sooner dared to have his daughters return, such was the insolence of the straggling Federals.

On the morning of September 1st, 1865, this dear girl arose early and noiselessly with a scheme in her kind heart. The former servants were all gone; her mother was not well, and she would surprise the household by preparing for them a nice breakfast. In fancy we see her, as she treads lightly, and chats softly with her tiny half-sister Jennie, and with a little negro girl who in some way had remained with the family.

The Durham residence, which was on Sycamore street, then stood just eastward of where Col. G. W. Scott now lives. The rear of the house faced the site where the depot had been before it was burned by the Federals, the distance being about 350 yards. Hearing an incoming train, Sallie went to the dining room window to look at the cars, as she had learned in some way that they contained Federal troops. While standing at the window resting against the sash, she was struck by a bullet fired from the train.

(It was afterwards learned that the cars were filled with negro troops on their way to Savannah, who were firing off their guns in a random, reckless manner.) The ball entered the left breast of this dear young girl, ranging obliquely downward, coming out just below the waist, and lodging in the door of a safe, or cupboard, which stood on the opposite side of the room. (This old safe, with the mark of the ball, is still in the village.)

The wounded girl fell, striking her head against the dining table, but arose, and walking up a long hall she threw open the door of her father's room, calling to him in a voice of distress. Springing from bed, he said:

"What is it, my child?"

"Oh, father," she exclaimed, "the Yankees have killed me!"

Laying her upon a small bed in the room, her father cut away from her chest her homespun dress and made a hasty examination of the wound. Her horror-stricken mother remembers to this day that awful scene in all its details. But we will draw a veil over the grief of the smitten family, as they stood half paralyzed at this sudden calamity, and looked upon the loved one whom they were helpless to save. Mrs. Durham recalls the fact that the first person who came in was Rev. Dr. Holmes, and that throughout this great trial he and his family were very sympathetic and helpful.

Every physician in the village and city, and her father's three brothers were summoned, but nothing could be done except to alleviate her sufferings. She could lie only on her right side, with her left arm in a sling suspended from the ceiling. Every attention was given by relatives and friends. Her grandmother Durham came and brought with her the old family trained nurse. Sallie's schoolmates and friends were untiring in their attentions. Some names that have appeared in previous sketches, will now appear again, for they watched with anxious, loving hearts by the couch where the young sufferer lay. Tenderly let us mention their names, as we tread softly in memory's sacred halls. Among the constant attendants at her bedside were Mrs. Martha Morgan, Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Morton, Miss Laura Williams (Mrs. J. J. McKoy), Lizzie and Anna Morton, Mrs. H. H.

Chivers, Dr. Jim Brown and John Hardeman. During the week that her life slowly ebbed away, there was another who ever lingered near her, a sleepless and tireless watcher, a young man of a well-known family, to whom this sweet young girl was engaged to be married.

Writes Mrs. P. W. Corr, of Hampton, Florida, (formerly Miss Lizzie Morton): "Never can I forget the dreary night when Willie Durham, Kitty Durham and Warren Morton left Decatur with Sallie's body, which was to be buried in the old family cemetery in Clarke county. Mrs. Durham, who was in delicate health, was utterly prostrated and the doctor could not leave her." So Dr. Charles Durham managed the funeral arrangements, chartering the car, and Sallie was buried from the old church her grandfather Lowe had built on his own plantation in Clarke county, and laid to rest in the Durham cemetery near by.

Sallie was shot on Friday at 7:30 A. M., and died the following Friday at 3:30 A. M. While she had suffered untold agony, she was conscious to the last. Throughout her illness she manifested a thoughtful consideration for the comfort of others. Especially did she show tender solicitude for her step-mother, insisting that she should not fatigue herself. While anxious to live, she said she was not afraid to die. In her closing hours she told her friends that she saw her own mother, her grandfather Durham, and her uncle Henry Durham (who had died in the Confederate service), all of whom she expected to meet in the bright beyond.

General Stephenson was in command of the Federal Post at Atlanta. He was notified of this tragedy, and sent an officer to investigate. This officer refused to take anybody's word that Sallie had been shot by a United States soldier from the train; but, dressed in full uniform, with spur and sabre rattling upon the bare floor, he advanced to the bed where the dying girl lay, and threw back the covering "to see if she had really been shot." This intrusion almost threw her into a spasm. This officer and the others at Atlanta promised to do all in their power to bring the guilty party to justice, but nothing ever came of the promise, so far as we know.

As a singular coincidence, as well as an ill.u.s.tration of the lovely character of Sallie, I will relate a brief incident given by the gifted pen already quoted from: "One of the most vivid pictures of the past in my memory is that of Sallie Durham emptying her pail of blackberries into the hands of Federal prisoners on a train that had just stopped for a moment at Decatur, in 1863. We had all been gathering berries at Moss's Hill, and stopped on our way home for the train to pa.s.s."

Dr. W. W. Durham lived for nearly twenty years after Sallie's death.

During the war he had enlisted as a soldier, but was commissioned by Dr.

George S. Blackie, a Medical Director in the Western Division of the Confederate Army, to the position of Inspector of Medicines for the Fifth Depot. This position was given him because of his remarkable botanical knowledge and power of identifying medicines. After the war he was prominent in the reorganization of the Georgia Medical Eclectic College, but refused to take a professorship on account of an almost overwhelming practice. He was a quiet, earnest, thoughtful man; and highly sympathetic and benevolent in his disposition. His widow, Mrs. Georgia A. Durham, and their daughter, Mrs. Jennie Findley, still reside in Decatur.

Dr. W. M. Durham is a successful physician in Atlanta. He holds a professorship in the Georgia Eclectic Medical College, and edits the Georgia Eclectic Medical Journal. Kitty is Mrs. W. P. Smith, of Maxey's; and John L. Durham is a physician with a large practice, and a large family, living at Woodville, Georgia.

The Durham residence still stands in Decatur, though not upon the same spot. For years a great stain of blood remained upon the floor, as a grim and silent reminder of this most awful tragedy which so closely followed the horrible and cruel war.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

THE DEATH OF MELVILLE CLARK.

The lamented death of Miss Durham was not the only one in our community to be traced to the results of the war.

The period of reconstruction, forcing upon the Southern states the obnoxious Fourteenth Amendment, so humiliating and so unjust, especially at that time, had intensified the prejudices of the negroes against the white people--prejudices already sufficiently aroused by previous abolition teachings and the results of the war.

Several times in this little volume mention has been made of Rev. William Henry Clarke, the staunch patriot and well known Methodist preacher. At this period he had become a resident of Decatur. His son, Melville Clarke, a n.o.ble, promising boy, while attempting to rescue a small white child from the abuse of an overgrown negro youth, received wounds from which he died. Memory recalls many other instances of like character, perpetrated at this period, the most disgraceful in the annals of American history.

The subjoined resolutions, pa.s.sed by the Methodist Sabbath school of which Melville was a beloved scholar, attest the many good traits of his character, and the affection accorded him in the community:

"The committee appointed to draft resolutions on the death of Melville Clarke, one of our scholars, beg leave to submit the following:

"In the wise dispensation of Him that doeth all things well, we are called to pay the last tribute to departed worth. Melville Clark is no more. The vacant seat says he is no more. The hushed voice says he is no more. Yes, the impressive, solemn silence of this moment whispers that another light which shone brightly the brief s.p.a.ce allotted it here has flickered out.

The body which encased the spirit of the n.o.ble Christian boy has been laid away in the silence of the grave, and his spirit, as we trust, escorted by a convoy of angels, has gone to that bright and better world above.

"_Therefore, Resolved_, That as we gather around the new-made grave and drop a sympathetic tear (which speaks more eloquently than any words mortal lips can utter), we deeply feel the loss of one so full of promise and usefulness--that n.o.ble spirit just bursting into manhood, with a mind that would grasp in a moment things that men have pa.s.sed through life and never comprehended--and a heart lit up with the love of G.o.d, and drawn out by the tenderest cords of affection to do little acts of kindness.

Language fails us to give utterance to the anguish we feel at sustaining so great a loss. But he has gone. No more shall we hang upon the eloquence of his gentle, kind words, or see that face which was so often lit up with an expressive sweetness that we could but recognize as the reflex of the lamb-like Christian spirit that reigned within. He has gone, and as we turn from the sad, solemn scene in that faith which 'hopeth all things, believeth all things, endureth all things,' we can but exclaim: 'The Lord gave--the Lord hath taken away--blessed be the name of the Lord!'

"_Resolved_, That in the death of one of our members, so young, we recognize an admonition that the young, as well as the old, are swiftly pa.s.sing away, and that we should pause and reflect seriously upon this important subject.

"_Resolved_, That as a school, our warmest sympathy and condolence be tendered to the family of our dear deceased friend in this, their great bereavement, and that a copy of these resolutions be furnished them."

DR. AVERY, } JOHN N. PATE, } CAPTAIN RANDALL, } Committee J. R. HAMPTON, }

August 30th, 1868.

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

THE MORTON FAMILY.

Incidents thrilling and affecting.

In several previous sketches references have been made to the Misses Morton. Not only they, but the whole family, bore an interesting and heroic part in the scenes of the war. Mr. Edward L. Morton hoisted the first Confederate flag that ever floated on the breeze in DeKalb county.

This he did as soon as he heard that Georgia had pa.s.sed the ordinance of secession. A few miles from Decatur there was a large mill known as Williams's Mill, situated on Peachtree Creek. At the terminus of the bridge that spanned the creek, near the little hamlet, there grew a tall, graceful Lombardy poplar tree. The flag had been made by Mrs. Morton, Mrs.

James Hunter, and other ladies who lived in the neighborhood, and was hoisted by Mr. Morton from the top of the lofty poplar. When the Federals came in they cut down the tree, but another has grown from its roots.

Mr. Morton enlisted with the first company that went from DeKalb, but returned and organized one of his own--Company F, 36th Georgia. From this command he was sent home on account of lung trouble, and placed on special duty. When Hood fell back to Atlanta, Captain Morton joined White's Scouts, a picked band of men. He was also at one time Morgan's guide.

After Mr. J. W. Kirkpatrick refugeed, his home on Atlanta street was occupied by Captain Morton's family. Here some stirring incidents occurred. Says one of his daughters: "Pa tried to avoid coming within the Yankee lines, but did several times get caught at home, owing to his extreme weakness. Finally, after the 23d Army Corps was sent back to Tennessee, a raiding party of Federals went out toward Stone Mountain, were fired on a few miles from Decatur, and several killed. They were furious when they got to our house (on their return). Here they found one of 'White's Men' (Pa) ill in bed. They held a court-martial and sentenced him to be hanged as soon as they finished eating dinner. Meanwhile they left a guard in his bed-room. Ma asked the guard to sit in the parlor and leave them alone the short time he had to live. The guard was a kind-hearted man, the house surrounded, the whole detachment eating and feeding their horses on all sides, and Pa was very feeble; so the guard sat in the parlor." Captain Morton then disguised himself, armed himself, and, pa.s.sing out a side door, went unchallenged through the crowd of soldiers, by Woodall's tan-yard and out into the woods. Continues his daughter: "But when the guard thought he had better see the prisoner, it was discovered that he was gone. They talked of burning the house and made many other threats. For a long time we did not know whether he had escaped or died in the woods. * * * No man that served in the Confederate army more truly laid down his life for the cause than did my father. He never recovered from the lung trouble brought on and aggravated by the exposure and hardships he endured between '61 and '65."

Warren Morton went into the army at the tender age of fifteen, as a private in his father's company. He was in the siege of Vicksburg--was paroled, and re-entered the army in c.u.mming's Brigade--and was shot at Kennesaw, near Marietta, while acting as Sergeant-Major on Hood's retreat.

The ball struck the bone of the outer angle of the left eye, cutting away the temple plate, and came out just over the ear, cutting off the upper half of the ear. The torn nerves and arteries have always caused him pain.

The bullet, while it did not touch his eye-ball, paralyzed the optic nerve on that side. The hardships endured when a growing boy, the long marches in Kentucky, the starvation rations in Vicksburg, and the horrible wound, ruined his const.i.tution. Yet he has been an energetic man, and is living now on a farm near Newnan.

The young ladies--girls they all were at the time of which I write--were Lizzie, Anna, Kelly, Fannie and Eddie.

On the day that Wheeler's Cavalry routed the Federal wagon train at Decatur, Lieutenant Farrar of the 63d Ohio Regiment was killed on a meadow near Mrs. Swanton's residence, just opposite Mrs. Morton's. There was also another Federal, a mere lad, who was mortally wounded. In some way I discovered the dying boy, and, after carrying him some water, I left him to the care of the nearer neighbors. Mrs. James Hunter, Mrs. Morton and her daughters cared for him as best they could, and sat by him until he died. Miss Lizzie Morton cut from his head a lock of hair and wrote some verses, which Mrs. Swanton kindly sent to his people in Dayton, Ohio. In some way this became known to the Federal officers, and future developments showed that this tender act was much appreciated by them.