Stabbing the Confederacy in the back

MORRISTOWN, Tenn.

 To understand where we are headed, start with the last line of Stoneman's Last Raid, written in 1961 by Ina Van Noppen, a professor of history at Appalachian State Teachers College. She described Stoneman's Raid as:

A knife thrust into the virtually undefended back of the Confederacy.

 That description works on multiple levels. The Confederacy was already in desperate straits, with its armies flailing against Grant and Sherman on the eastern fronts and totally unprepared for an attack from the west. That's why Gen. Grant pushed so hard to accelerate Stoneman's Raid. He knew that a swift stab in the back could finish off the Confederacy and end four awful years of civil war. 
 Back-stabbing also describes what was happening on an individual level in the mountains, where families and communities were deeply conflicted over the Civil War. 
 In February of 1861, for example, men in Watauga County, N.C., voted 536-72 against secession*. This was a strongly pro-Union county. Yet over the next four years, 950 Watauga men (plus one disguised woman!) enlisted in the Confederate army, compared to only 36 on the Union side. (*Thanks to Michael C. Hardy and his books on Watauga County history for these statistics and other benchmarks.)
 What happened? Mountaineers don't usually change their mind that fast. 
 Some of that can be attributed to a groundswell of Southern nationalism once the fighting broke out. More can be explained by the Confederate draft, which began in April of 1862 and required almost all white males ages 18-35 to serve. By 1864, the age limit was 17-50. Lukewarm Confederates and Union sympathizers had no choice. The county's "home guard" had the authority to hunt down deserters or draft dodgers.

Many Confederate 'volunteers' answered appeals
like this one in Floyd County, Va., just to avoid
being drafted. On April 4, 1865, Capt. Stigleman
surrendered to Gen. Stoneman without a fight.

 Of the 950 rebel soldiers from Watauga, only one-fourth of them volunteered before the draft. So we can assume they were reluctant to join the Confederate army.
 As the war dragged on, hardships increased, and defeat loomed, Confederate supporters became more cynical. Dozens of Watauga men (such as Mose Triplett) originally enlisted with the Confederacy but defected to the Union. Others moved or hid out just across the state line in eastern Tennessee, where pro-Union sentiment prevailed.
 Seven weeks before Stoneman's Raid, a band of Union sympathizers from the Banner Elk area captured the local Confederate outpost, Camp Mast. (If you visit the Doc Watson Museum in the old Cove Creek High School west of Boone, look for the Camp Mast historical marker.)
 Even among the blue-clad cavalry Gen. Stoneman led across the mountains into Boone, there were plenty of Southerners, whom the rebels derisively called "Home Yankees." His 4,000 troops included about 880 from Kentucky and 600 from Tennessee. Two of Stoneman's top four officers were from Tennessee: Brig. Gen. Alvan Gillem from Nashville and Col. John Miller from Elizabethton.
 The principal Union forces in the mountains were the 2nd and 3rd N.C. Mounted Infantry, also known as Kirk's Raiders for their colonel, George Kirk. They were under Gen. Stoneman's command and occupied Boone and Asheville, the mountain towns that Stoneman raided. These "Yankees" included 361 men from Buncombe County, 249 from Yancey, 120 from Henderson, 111 from Madison, 90 from Wilkes, 42 from Rutherford, and 26 from Watauga. This regiment also included over 200 men from Tennessee and 41 from South Carolina, 22 of them from Spartanburg. Of the five Union soldiers who died in Boone, four were from North Carolina and one from Kentucky.
 At the end of the war when they finally had overwhelming firepower, manpower, and horsepower, many of these Home Yankees saw Stoneman's Raid as opportunity to settle grudges with Confederates who had threatened them or harassed their families. 
 Here's how Prof. Van Noppen described it:

When Stoneman's raiders came through, these enmities and resentments, having been repressed for four years, burst into sudden flame; and now that they had the upper hand those who had opposed or been lukewarm to the South had their revenge. Pillaging, burning, robbery, and every form of internecine warfare resulted, and the southern adherents reaped the whirlwind which they had sowed. For by far the worst depredations and crimes were committed by neighbor against neighbor and by the North Carolina and Tennessee soldiers in Stoneman's Army.

 It seems to me that several of the men who were shot in Boone during Stoneman's Raid on March 28, 1865 were hunted down by people they knew. Two were killed as they tried to surrender, and others were shot in the back.

Professor Ina Van Noppen, who taught at Appalachian State from 1929 through 1967, wrote the first history of Stoneman's Raid in 1961. This marker was installed on the 75th anniversary of the raid in 1940 and now stands next to the Watauga County courthouse. (Photo from University Archives)

N.C. voted against secession

 On February 28, 1861—after the election of Lincoln, and just six weeks before the rebellion exploded at Fort Sumter—North Carolina held a two-part referendum to determine whether the state would secede. Voters across the state narrowly rejected the call for a constitutional convention, 47,333 to 46,672. On the same ballot they were asked to choose local representatives just in case there was a convention, and 83 of the 120 delegates were pro-Union.
 The election was decided by northwestern counties that voted pro-Union by more than 10-to-1 margins. Wilkes County rejected the convention 1,890-51, Yadkin 1,490-34, Guilford 2,771-113, and Watauga 536-72.
 But things changed quickly, as described by historian William T. Auman in his book, Civil War in the North Carolina Quaker Belt:

     North Carolina's Unionism proved to be no match for the centrifugal forces then pulling the United States apart along sectional seams. With the secession of the Deep South, the failure of one sectional compromise effort after another, the secession of Virginia, the firing on Fort Sumter, and the call by Lincoln on each state for troops to force the seceded states back into the Union, most Tar Heel Unionists—including those in the Quaker Belt—felt compelled to choose between what they viewed as the lesser of two evils and take their stand with their native section.

 With all those aggravating factors, the North Carolina convention voted 120-0 on April 20, 1861 to secede from the Union.

Where Stoneman's troops came from

 Many of the eyewitnesses exaggerated the numbers of Stoneman's cavalry division. As Emma Rankin wrote of the raid at Carson House near Marion, N.C., "There seemed to us that there were about a million of them, but I suppose there were only a few hundred in the yard."

 Historian Chris Hartley researched the numbers for his book Stoneman's Raid, 1865 and estimated the division at 4,000 mounted soldiers.

First Brigade (1,589-2,162)

Commanded by Gen. Alvan Gillem of Tennessee until April 26, 1865

 Commanded by Gen. William Palmer of Pennsylvania after April 26, 1865

15th Pennsylvania Cavalry 506-914

12th Ohio Cavalry 683-798

10th Michigan Cavalry 400-450

Second Brigade (1,510) 

Commanded by Gen. Simeon Brown of Michigan

11th Kentucky Cavalry 450

12th Kentucky Cavalry 430

11th Michigan Cavalry 630

Third Brigade (450)

Commanded by Col. John Miller of Tennessee

13th Tennessee Cavalry 400

Battery E, First Tennessee Light Artillery (commanded by Lt. James Regan)

(The 8th and 9th Tennessee Cavalry are listed in some accounts of the raid, but as far as I can tell they were not involved. The 8th Tennessee spent the final months of the war under Sherman in the Carolinas, and was at the Bennett House for the surrender of Gen. Joseph Johnston.)

'Separated only by an imaginary line'

 One-fourth of the soldiers in Stoneman's Tennessee regiments were actually from North Carolina. Samuel Scott and Samuel Angel included this tribute in their regimental history for the Thirteenth Tennessee:

     We cannot in justice close this history without paying our respects to the large number of men who joined our Regiment from Western North Carolina. There were probably not less than 150 whose homes were in Ashe, Mitchell, Watauga, and adjoining counties of that state. They breathed the same mountain air and were filled with the same spirit of devotion to the Union cause. Their ancestors, like ours, had fought at Kings Mountain, at New Orleans, and on the Plains of Mexico, and made the name of the "North State" glorious, nor did those who fought with the "Thirteenth" tarnish her escutcheons.

     They came, many of them, to us in the dark days of the Carter County rebellion and gave us their aid and sympathy. There were no people who deserve greater praise for their loyalty than the people of Western North Carolina because there were none whose participation was costlier than theirs. Their old men and brave women went through the same experience of hardship and dangers that we have described as falling to the lot of the men and women of Carter and Johnson counties. These people are endeared to us because they shared with us the march and battle, and the same suffering and dangers. They occupied the same hospitals of pain, they fell upon the same battle fields and were martyrs to the same cause as our own East Tennesseeans. Ours is virtually the same climate, the same habits of life, the same love of liberty, and we worship the same God. We are separated only by an imaginary line, we might say. It seems to us that it would have been most fitting if the great John Sevier could have realized his dreams and formed the State of Franklin, embracing the mountain counties of Tennessee, North Carolina, and Virginia. It would have been a grand state. Grand in its patriotism, grand in its hospitality, and grand in its freedom and nobility of character. There would be no happier people that would have been found among its mountains.

     Besides many fine organizations of Federal soldiers from North Carolina, like East Tennessee, her sons were fighting under the colors of regiments of nearly every Northern and Western state during the civil war.

     We believe that as long as there is a member of the old "13th" alive, there will be a warm place in his heart for the gallant "Tarheels" who battled side by side with him under the colors of our grand old Regiment for the redemption of our homes and firesides.

     We would be glad if we had a separate list of the names of the North Carolinians who served in the Thirteenth. We remember the Aldridges, Buchanans, the Dowells, the Calaways [Calloways], the Youngs, the Greens, the Byrds, the Butlers, the Cornuts [Cornetts], the Parkers, the Eastridges, the Fords, the Garlands, the Gosses, the Hughes, the Johnsons, the Mulicans [Mulligans?], the Nelsons, the Lewises, the Prices, the Philips, the Poors, the Pittmans, the Reeses, the Smiths, the Snyders, the Wilsons, the Coxes, Holmans, and many other names that represented loyal North Carolina families. 

NEXT➤ No news is good news

Meet George Stoneman

Gen. George Stoneman (right) at Fair Oaks, Virginia, during the Peninsula Campaign of 1862.
To see this picture in 3D, click here.

 
STRAWBERRY PLAINS, Tenn.

 When California Democrats nominated George Stoneman for governor in 1882, he made a revealing comment in his acceptance speech: "I have met defeat often. I hope I can say I have met with victory, and oftener."
 Was he being modest? Or painfully insecure?
 On the brink of his crowning achievement, was he worried about the prospect of defeat? 
 Did similar doubts haunt Gen. Stoneman on Wednesday, March 22, 1865, as he rode through East Tennessee on the second day of what would be his last cavalry raid?
 After all, what could go wrong?
 Well, in the past two years Stoneman had been scapegoated at Chancellorsville, captured in Georgia, and politically ambushed in the White House. If that wasn't ominous enough, his right-hand man, Gen. Alvan Gillem, had been outgunned on this very same road just six months earlier.
 In hindsight, we know that Stoneman would not face much of a fight as his 4,000 raiders marched through western North Carolina and Virginia, cut off Robert E. Lee's only avenue of escape, ruined hundreds of miles of railroad, and inflicted the miseries of war on tens of thousands of Southern civilians.
 But Stoneman didn't know then what we know now.
 He saw the last weeks of the Civil War as a do-or-die opportunity to redeem his military reputation and settle a personal grudge against the Confederacy.  

Stoneman strikes a Napoleonic pose.

 We can curse or admire his tactics. We can debate his restraint or his results. But behind that faraway stare, there's a lot we don't know.
 Here's what we do know about George Stoneman in 1865. He was a career military officer, 19 years out of West Point, who commanded respect, pioneered cavalry tactics, trusted his own instincts, and rarely confided in others. He confounded his own commanders almost as much as he did the enemy. 
 The New York Herald Tribune described him in 1863 as a "lithe, severe, gristly, sanguine person whose eyes flashed even in repose."
 We misjudge him, though, if we see him just through the memories of Carolina families who knew him as the grim reaper. 
 General Stoneman Jr. had family, too. He was the oldest of eight children of George Stoneman Sr. (1799-1877) and Catherine Cheney Stoneman (1800-1874) and was raised in the village of Busti, Chautauqua County, New York.

'Mollie' Stoneman

 He was 39 when he married Mary Hardisty, a 23-year-old belle of Baltimore society, on November 22, 1861. They called each other Stony and Mollie. The first of their four children, Cornelius, was born in 1862 and celebrated his second birthday while his father was a Confederate prisoner. 
 His wife's family was sympathetic to the South. He does not seem to have been motivated by the emancipation of slaves or the welfare of blacks, though he could be obsessive about liberating prisoners of war—having been one.
 Politically, Stoneman was a conservative Democrat, which put him in opposition to Lincoln, Grant, and the radical Republicans who led Reconstruction. He won his 1882 election as governor of California, but political clumsiness kept him from being nominated for a second term. As a governor as well as a general, he struggled to enforce chain of command. He didn't communicate very well, personally, professionally, or politically. 

 He had a great sense of geography and adventure. His first military assignment was escorting the odd "Mormon Battallion" on a 2,000-mile trek from Iowa to California. He also served at Army outposts in Utah and on the Mexican border of Texas. 

Signature of George Stoneman

 I've found very little about Stoneman's religious beliefs. We know he could be sarcastic about "the worship of the most high God." A Presbyterian officiated at his wedding and a Unitarian at his funeral. His sister Anna (who cared for him in his final days) was a prominent Christian Scientist.
 He may have been influenced by the Mormons, since he was raised in western New York at the same time Joseph Smith's movement began there, and he spent a year with the Mormon Battalion. His brother Richard Stoneman (1825-1850) was a gold prospector who died at age 25 in a California settlement called Mormon Gulch. 
 Or he might have been shaped by Second Great Awakening, which was so intense in western New York that Charles Finney called it "the Burnt-Over District" because it had been over-evangelized. 
 Most of his adult life, his health was miserable because of hemorrhoids, which he attributed to a quarter-century of cavalry service. He was often temperamental, and in later years he became bitter toward the government (which contested his pension and his rank) and estranged from his family. An 1885 fire left him bankrupt and destroyed all his personal papers. This story suggests his wife left him after he failed to insure their home. Neither his wife nor his children attended his funeral in 1894.
 Unlike Lincoln, Grant, Sherman, Lee, or Jackson, Stoneman left us no quotable pearls of wisdom. On his tombstone in his hometown of Busti, N.Y., there is no mention of his raids nor his rank.

 A friendly editor during his 1882 election campaign wrote, "He was not a keen, sharp man, but he was a man of noble purposes, true as steel, and steadfast in his determination to do the right thing according to his lights. His weaknesses were those of a loyal and unsuspicious nature."

Saddled with blame for Chancellorsville?

This 1862 portrait of Stoneman was in 

Harper's Weekly, which regarded him

 as a hero at Chancellorsville, even
though Gen. Joseph Hooker tried to 

blame him for the Union defeat. 

 The Battle of Chancellorsville, Va., in May of 1863 was a devastating setback for the Union. 

 In the aftermath, Union commander Gen. Joseph Hooker blamed Gen. Stoneman for failing to carry out an attack on Lee's rear. In an 1864 congressional hearing, Hooker said, "No officer ever made a greater mistake in construing his orders, and no one accomplished less in doing so. Had Stoneman thrown his cavalry in the enemy's rear and on his communications, the effect could readily be estimated. But instead, that important arm of the army became crippled to an extent that seriously embarrassed me in subsequent operations."

 While Hooker condemned Stoneman, the media spun it differently. In the aftermath of Chancellorsville, the popular magazine Harper's Weekly put Stoneman on its cover, using the heroic horseback engraving I've posted on the sidebar of this blog. Harper's concluded, "He has just performed a feat which casts all the famous raids of the rebel Stuart into the shade. He has ridden round Lee's army, destroying their communications with Richmond, and some of his men have actually been within two miles of the rebel capital. The importance of this achievement will be discovered hereafter. Meanwhile it has raised Stoneman so high in public estimation that he has been mentioned for the supreme command of the Army of the Potomac."

 Stonewall Jackson might have vouched for Stoneman, his old West Point roommate, in the disagreement with Gen. Hooker. Unfortunately, Jackson was mortally wounded by friendly fire at Chancellorsville, after seeing the battle turn in his favor. In the ambulance, he told an aide that Hooker's decision to send Stoneman behind Lee "enabled me to turn him (Hooker), without his being aware of it, and to take him by his rear. Had he kept his cavalry with him, his plan would have been a very good one."

NEXT➤ Stabbing the Confederacy in the back

The longest raid begins with a single debt

KNOXVILLE, Tenn.

 One hundred and fifty years ago on a chilly and rainy Tuesday, March 21, 1865, Gen. George Stoneman sent a message from Knoxville to Gen. Ulysses Grant near Richmond: "I have the honor to report that my whole command is on the road."
 Grant probably growled. Stoneman took longer to get his cavalry on the road than Sherman took to march across Georgia from Atlanta to the sea.

Gen. George Stoneman, 1863

 Grant knew Stoneman's weaknesses and did not have high expectations. During the Battle of Atlanta in July 1864, Stoneman had been captured by the Confederates when he tried to liberate the Yankee prisoners at Andersonville—a raid that was well-intentioned but ill-conceived if not insubordinate. He had also been blamed (unfairly, it seems) for the Union's 1863 defeat at Chancellorsville. Grant wanted him relieved of duty. Secretary of War Edwin Stanton called him "one of the most worthless officers in the service."
 But Stoneman had influential friends, and Gen. Sherman arranged to a prisoner swap that freed him (along with Confederate Gen. Daniel Govan). Soon, Stoneman was back in the saddle in Tennessee, carrying a grudge. He wrote:

I owe the Southern Confederacy a debt I am anxious to liquidate,
and this offers a propitious occasion.

 Whatever his flaws, the 42-year-old Stoneman was an experienced and skilled soldier. His embarrassing capture in Georgia overshadowed the fact that he stood and fought to the end, giving most of his troops time to escape. He was trained at West Point, where he was a roommate of Thomas "Stonewall" Jackson, the Confederate hero who had been mortally wounded at Chancellorsville.
 The week before Sherman took Savannah, Stoneman successfully raided the Virginia towns of Saltville and Wytheville, where he destroyed the Confederacy's vital sources of salt, iron, and lead.
 On January 31, 1865, Grant assigned Stoneman to invade South Carolina and force the Confederates to defend a third front. By the time Stoneman could organize and outfit three brigades of cavalry in Tennessee, Sherman had already sliced through the Carolinas, devastating Columbia and Fayetteville. Meanwhile, Grant was closing a trap on Robert E. Lee's army in Virginia. The end of the Civil War was in sight. 
 So Grant and Gen. George Thomas remapped the mission and sent Stoneman into western North Carolina and Virginia. Grant was still worried about Lee escaping into the Blue Ridge mountains, and he wanted Stoneman to slam that door. 
 Grant wondered if it was too late for Stoneman's Raid to make a difference.
 When Sherman completed his march across Georgia on December 21, 1864, he sent a message to President Abraham Lincoln: "I beg to present you as a Christmas gift the City of Savannah."
 What could Stoneman possibly deliver? Robert E. Lee by Palm Sunday?
 We shall see. 

NEXT➤ Meet George Stoneman

Editor's note: Covering Stoneman's Raid

KNOXVILLE, Tenn.

     There were no reporters* embedded with Stoneman's Raid, and if there had been, they would have had no way to file stories, since Gen. Stoneman was usually operating deep in enemy territory without telegraph connections.  
 However, northern papers did have war correspondents covering the armies of Grant and Sherman. For example, here is The New York Times' story on the Confederate capture of Gen. George Stoneman during Sherman's 1864 siege of Atlanta. (The text comes from a digital scan, which is a wonderful new tool for historians, though not flawless, as readers will see.)
 As a major general, Stoneman was the highest-ranking officer the Confederates ever captured. He was held in relative comfort in Macon and Charleston, compared to the appalling conditions at the Andersonville prison that he was trying to liberate when he was caught. Two months later, Stoneman was freed in a prisoner swap negotiated by Sherman. 
 News moved slowly back then. Stoneman was captured July 31, 1864, and it was not until Aug. 15 that The New York Times had the story, datelined Aug. 9 from Nashville and signed by a reporter named Handel. The second half of the story is a breathless letter dated Aug. 3 from Lt. Col. R.W. Smith, who escaped when Stoneman was captured.

 As we follow the progress of Stoneman's Raid, remember that his army was not usually concentrated in one place. To surprise and overwhelm the enemy, his troops were in almost perpetual motion, rarely pausing to camp for more than a few hours. If one brigade napped, another might leapfrog them. Stoneman liked to march overnight and attack at dawn.
 On the road, his 4,000 mounted soldiers could stretch 10 miles. On April 5 in Virginia, he unleashed simultaneous raids nearly 100 miles apart. On April 11 in North Carolina, he attacked six locations at once. So if our datelines don't always correspond to where the news is happening, you can blame Stoneman.
 Careful readers may also notice a few occasions that the date within the story is not exactly 150 years ago. This happens with a few stories that I considered timeless, and I took the liberty of rescheduling them so they would not be lost behind breaking news the same day. For example, so much happened on March 28 in and around Boone that I've spread the stories over four days. To avoid confusion, out-of-sequence stories generally do not have datelines.

 Though there were no reporters assigned to Stoneman's Raid, the cavalry included at least one future newspaper editor (Ohio Capt. Frank Mason) and a couple of experienced printers. Pennsylvania Capt. Henry Weand kept journals so rich that I commissioned him as the unofficial war correspondent for The Stoneman Gazette. You'll find excerpts from his journal in many of our stories.
 The raiders published their own little "extras" on confiscated presses in Salisbury, N.C.; Spartanburg, S.C.; and Athens, Ga. I was delighted to find this special edition of Southern Watchman.

NEXT➤ The longest raid begins with a single debt

The Stoneman Gazette: Not just whistling Dixie

My Civil War kin include Jackson Griffin

and his son John Griffin, who both died

in Virginia fighting for the South. John

was buried in Virginia, but he and his

father have gravestones at Little River

Baptist Church in the Level Land

community of Abbeville County, S.C.

Just like my forefathers, the

Confederacy was born and buried

in Abbeville. For the birth story, see

this account by my friend Terry Dickson.

We'll write the obit May 2.

 I mentioned George Stoneman in an online discussion, and my friend Terry Harmon posted a revelation that the Yankee general was his seventh cousin, five times removed. 
 To which another good Southerner replied, "I don't believe I would go around telling too many folks about being related to Stoneman."
 It's been 150 years, and Stoneman's name is still a cussword to many of my neighbors here in the Blue Ridge Mountains. 

 Being unfamiliar with Stoneman (and unrelated to him, as far as I know), I googled him a few months ago to learn more about the man behind the historical markers that you can find all over western North Carolina. I expected him to be our little version of Sherman, and I wanted to walk the earth he scorched and maybe tell a couple of stories. I figured a dead Yankee could be good material for my other blog.
 I never expected him to become a blog of his own.  
 The first curiosity I found was that he was in the obscure original version of a popular song from my youth, The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down. As I explored the history books and 150-year-old newspapers, I discovered connections with Tom Dooley and Doc Watson, Mark Twain and George Custer, a 109-year-old ex-slave and slave-owning Siamese twins, Caesars Head and Yosemite, the first ballgame played on Tobacco Road, the first shot fired at Fort Sumter, the last Confederate left standing, and a mother lode of Madeira wine hidden in my hometown. Not to mention a 3D photograph from 1862. 
 I found a trail of terror that runs from my home in Boone, N.C. (where we caught Stoneman stealing Mrs. Sarah Councill's last pot of butter) to my roots in Anderson, S.C. (where some of his renegade soldiers took our beloved town doctor and his wife and strung them up by their thumbs). Stoneman's Raid didn't spill a lot of blood, but he left plenty boiling. 
 I was surprised to see how insecure Stoneman was, and how much his raid was about settling grudges and salvaging his reputation. And I cringed when I realized what riding horses for thousands of miles can do to a man.
 We'll unfold all those stories over the coming weeks.
 As a son of the South, I was predisposed to hate Stoneman. My family tree includes at least three Confederate soldiers, two of whom died in Virginia. Back when people had favorite albums, mine was White Mansions, which tells the story of "the War of Northern Aggression" through Southern voices.

 At the same time, I'm not here to continue fighting the Civil War. I'm not defending the rebel flag or the Lost Cause. I believe in forgiveness, which goes both ways.

 In other words, I'm not just whistling Dixie.

 Stoneman had few friends. I don't particularly like him, either, but I have enjoyed trying to get to know him. He is a fascinating character that I can't dismiss as a curse word or a historical footnote. And the stories of people caught up in Stoneman's Raid—slaves and masters, soldiers and prisoners, arsonists and firemen, marching bands and fighting preachers—are enough material for a daily newspaper. We'll present eyewitness serials written by Emma Rankin in Marion and Emmala Reed in Anderson. And before we're done, we'll find Yankees reconciled with Jefferson Davis' daughter. 
 Those are just some of the stories that compelled me to launch The Stoneman Gazette, marking the 150th anniversary of Stoneman's Raid. Lord willing, we'll have a fresh tale or two on this blog every day from from March 21, the day Stoneman marched out of Knoxville; to May 13, the day his cavalry learned that the manhunt for Jeff Davis was over.
 We'll spare you the heavy military tactics and gruesome battlefield scenes. There was not much of that during Stoneman's Raid, anyway. Some of the soldiers were excellent correspondents, and we will hear from them on both sides. If I catch them exaggerating, as old soldiers often do, I'll let you know. 
 We'll also spare you the footnotes. I'm a journalist, not a historian or a scholar. I've tried to be conscientious about double-checking sources, but on a subject as contentious as the Civil War, the sources often disagree. If you see something in these pages that needs to be corrected or supplemented, let me know. That's one of the beauties of a blog—the ink never dries. Feel free to comment, but please keep it civil.
 It's hard to break news on the Civil War anymore, although I've found a few stories in recently digitized newspapers or long-forgotten books that may shed some new light. (Find these under the SCOOP! tab on our masthead.) More often, I've plundered the published work of some good historians (see the acknowledgments in the sidebar) and tried to put old news in a fresh perspective. 

 Gen. Sherman said that war is hell, and Gen. Stoneman came close enough to smell the brimstone. He was foremost a soldier bound by orders, and he accomplished his mission with vengeance, daring, cunning, and restraint. Down in Georgia, Sherman set a searing example of how to wage "total war," by making folks on the home front suffer as much as their sons on the battlefield. In that context, we can be thankful that Stoneman was no Sherman. His troops torched dozens of railroad bridges but rarely burned houses. Awful as it was, Stoneman's Raid could have been worse.

 It is possible that Stoneman's Raid forced Robert E. Lee's hand and shortened the Civil War. It is also possible that the war might have ended just as quickly without him, which would mean that all his destruction was in vain.
 Newspapering is different when you know how the story will end. I hope you enjoy reading The Stoneman Gazette as much as I am reporting and writing.

NEXT➤ Editor's Note: Covering Stoneman's Raid

'Tomorrow at 12 o'clock I have to die'

Divided loyalties cost Joseph Honeycutt his life.

HIGH POINT, N.C.

 Stoneman's Raid was part of Ulysses Grant's plan to hasten the end of the Civil War. Gen. Grant knew that every day Gen. Stoneman was delayed, more men would die in vain—on both sides. 

 It's hard to imagine a death more pointless and pathetic than that of Joseph Honeycutt, a 41-year-old father from the Oakboro community of Stanly County, N.C. He was a cobbler in the Confederate army and part of the 7th North Carolina Infantry, commanded by Gen. D.H. Hill, Stonewall Jackson's brother-in-law. Their unit was based in Petersburg, Va., until Hill had a falling-out with Robert E. Lee. On February 26, 1865, they were reassigned to High Point, N.C., primarily to hunt down deserters. On April 12, they were among the rebels who tried to defended Salisbury against Stoneman's Raid.
 Probably about the time of this transfer, Honeycutt and D.M. Furr left their unit, intending to go home to Stanly County. They were caught, court-martialed and executed as a warning to deserters.

 One hundred and fifty years ago, Honeycutt wrote this farewell letter to his family:

March the 3rd, 1865

My Dear Wife:

I have to state to you the sad news that tomorrow at 12 o'clock I have to die. I have to be shot to death for starting home to see my wife and dear children and was arrested and brought back and court-martialed and am to be shot at 12 o'clock. Me and D.M. Furr have to die, but thanks be to God, I am not afraid to die. I think when I leave this world I shall be where Mary and Martha are. Dear wife, don't grieve for me. Try and not. I dreampt last night of seeing you, but I shall never. You shall see your hubby no more. I want you to raise my children in the way that they should go. My dear son, Julius, this is my last order to you. I want you to be a good boy and try to serve God and be a good man. Farewell, Julius, I must leave this world. And my son, Ephraim, try and be a good man and serve God. My dear daughter, Haseltine, I bid farewell to you. Be a good girl and go to preaching. Farewell my dear son, Joel. You have no daddy now. Be a smart boy and mind your mother. My dear Nancy, I bid farewell to you. I want you to keep what things I have and pay my debts. And I want Julius and Ephraim to have my tools and I want them to take good care of them and remember me. I have a little looking glass that I want to send to Rebecca. I want her to remember. I have a good blanket I will get and send home. Will send my things with Lefler and try and get him to send them home if he will and I have 25 or 30 dollars and I shall spend $5 of that in the morning before I suffer. Dear wife, that is four months service. I can't write like if I was not in trouble. I don't mind death like I do to leave my family for I have to suffer so much here that I don't fear. I don't want you to grieve for me, for I feel like I am going home to die no more. I hope I shall be with shining angels and be out of trouble. I have a little book I want Joel to have and remember me. It has some pretty lines. I want you to send the children to school, and son Julius, I can't hear from you any more. I sent him a letter, but got no answer. I pity poor Julius, for he has had no chance. I have got no chance to write for I have to close my letter.

March the 4th, 1865

A few lines to Daniel Lefler and Jane Lefler. I bid farewell to you and my dear mother; I bid farewell to you and fathers and brothers and sisters. I must leave this world. Farewell, Julius my dear son; farewell, Joel, my dear son. I want you all to meet me in Heaven.

(signed) Joseph Honeycutt

To Nancy Honeycutt, farewell, farewell.

PS—I want to have my funeral preached at Pleasant Grove. I want Columbus Foreman to preach it and sing "I Am Going Home to Die No More." This is the 4th day of March at nine o'clock. I must soon be in eternity. I don't desire this, but I am not afraid to die. I want you to get all of the children's funerals preached that are dead. Nancy, I want to see you one more time if I could, but we can't meet anymore. I want you all and the children to meet me in Heaven.

 I haven't been able to find out much more about Joseph Honeycutt, and some doubt the authenticity of the letter. I found it in a 1960 book called the Civil War Treasury. As far as I know, the letter first appeared in the Oxford (N.C.) Public Ledger in 1908.
 There are a number of Honeycutts buried at the Pleasant Grove Baptist Church in Oakboro, but I haven't found a record of Joseph among them. He may have been a Union supporter who was forced to serve with the Confederacy.
 The preacher he mentions is Christopher Columbus Foreman (1828-1890), who is buried at Silver Springs Baptist Church in nearby Norwood. 

NEXT➤ The Stoneman Gazette: Not just whistling Dixie

'Tomorrow at 12 o'clock I have to die'

Divided loyalties cost Joseph Honeycutt his life.

HIGH POINT, N.C.

     Stoneman's Raid was part of Ulysses Grant's plan to hasten the end of the Civil War. Gen. Grant knew that every day Gen. Stoneman was delayed, more men would die in vain—on both sides. 

     It's hard to imagine a death more pointless than that of Joseph Honeycutt, a 41-year-old father from the Oakboro community of Stanly County, N.C. He was a cobbler in the Confederate army and part of the 7th North Carolina Infantry, commanded by Gen. D.H. Hill, Stonewall Jackson's brother-in-law. Their unit was based in Petersburg, Va., until Hill had a falling-out with Robert E. Lee. On February 26, 1865, they were reassigned to High Point, N.C., primarily to hunt down deserters. On April 12, they were among the rebels who tried to defend Salisbury against Stoneman's Raid.
     A few days after they arrived in High Point, Honeycutt and D.M. Furr left their unit, intending to go home to Oakboro, 35 miles south of Salisbury. They were caught, court-martialed, and executed as a warning to other deserters.

     One hundred and fifty years ago, Honeycutt wrote this farewell letter to his family:

March the 3rd, 1865

My Dear Wife:

I have to state to you the sad news that tomorrow at 12 o'clock I have to die. I have to be shot to death for starting home to see my wife and dear children and was arrested and brought back and court-martialed and am to be shot at 12 o'clock. Me and D.M. Furr have to die, but thanks be to God, I am not afraid to die. I think when I leave this world I shall be where Mary and Martha are. Dear wife, don't grieve for me. Try and not. I dreampt last night of seeing you, but I shall never. You shall see your hubby no more. I want you to raise my children in the way that they should go. My dear son, Julius, this is my last order to you. I want you to be a good boy and try to serve God and be a good man. Farewell, Julius, I must leave this world. And my son, Ephraim, try and be a good man and serve God. My dear daughter, Haseltine, I bid farewell to you. Be a good girl and go to preaching. Farewell my dear son, Joel. You have no daddy now. Be a smart boy and mind your mother. My dear Nancy, I bid farewell to you. I want you to keep what things I have and pay my debts. And I want Julius and Ephraim to have my tools and I want them to take good care of them and remember me. I have a little looking glass that I want to send to Rebecca. I want her to remember. I have a good blanket I will get and send home. Will send my things with Lefler and try and get him to send them home if he will and I have 25 or 30 dollars and I shall spend $5 of that in the morning before I suffer. Dear wife, that is four months service. I can't write like if I was not in trouble. I don't mind death like I do to leave my family for I have to suffer so much here that I don't fear. I don't want you to grieve for me, for I feel like I am going home to die no more. I hope I shall be with shining angels and be out of trouble. I have a little book I want Joel to have and remember me. It has some pretty lines. I want you to send the children to school, and son Julius, I can't hear from you any more. I sent him a letter, but got no answer. I pity poor Julius, for he has had no chance. I have got no chance to write for I have to close my letter.

March the 4th, 1865

A few lines to Daniel Lefler and Jane Lefler. I bid farewell to you and my dear mother; I bid farewell to you and fathers and brothers and sisters. I must leave this world. Farewell, Julius my dear son; farewell, Joel, my dear son. I want you all to meet me in Heaven.

(signed) Joseph Honeycutt

To Nancy Honeycutt, farewell, farewell.

PS—I want to have my funeral preached at Pleasant Grove. I want Columbus Foreman to preach it and sing "I Am Going Home to Die No More." This is the 4th day of March at nine o'clock. I must soon be in eternity. I don't desire this, but I am not afraid to die. I want you to get all of the children's funerals preached that are dead. Nancy, I want to see you one more time if I could, but we can't meet anymore. I want you all and the children to meet me in Heaven.

     I haven't been able to find out much more about Joseph Honeycutt, and some doubt the authenticity of the letter. I found it in a 1960 book called the Civil War Treasury. As far as I know, the letter first appeared in the Oxford (N.C.) Public Ledger in 1908.
     There are a number of Honeycutts buried at the Pleasant Grove Baptist Church in Oakboro, but I haven't found a record of Joseph among them. His son Joel (1856-1942) is buried at Oakwood Cemetery near Concord. The preacher he mentions is Christopher Columbus Foreman (1828-1890), who is buried at Silver Springs Baptist Church in nearby Norwood. 
     It's quite possible that Joseph Honeycutt was loyal to the Union but was drafted into the Confederate army.

NEXT➤ The Stoneman Gazette: Not just whistling Dixie