Part 21

Full of interest to strangers is a frame dwelling in East Knoxville, standing flush with the sidewalk, and entered by high steps that encroach upon the pavement. This was the home of William G. Brownlow, known as the “Fighting Parson,” one of the most remarkable men in the history of Tennessee. He was a Methodist minister, an editor with a gift of invective that has never been surpassed, an ardent and fearless Unionist, the Reconstruction Governor of Tennessee, and finally United States Senator. Brownlow was a man of the Andrew Jackson type. The Southwest, and especially Tennessee, gave to public life in the first half of this century a class of men with distinctive physical, intellectual and moral qualities. Physically, they were tall, angular, rawboned; intellectually they were alert, positive and often narrow; they were honest and sincerely patriotic, but vindictive and unrelenting, the truest of friends, the most aggressive and dangerous of foes. Jackson, Brownlow and Isham G. Harris were men of this kind; Harris seemingly the last of them.

[Illustration: WILLIAM G. BROWNLOW, THE “FIGHTING PARSON.”]

In theological and political controversy, in both of which he delighted, Brownlow neither sought nor gave quarter, and his fame as a polemic went through the Southwest long before the Civil War. Soon after Tennessee seceded he was imprisoned, and then released and sent North, where he made many characteristic speeches, and wrote a book into which he gathered all the bitterness of his hatred of secession and of the secessionists. When the Federal authority was re-established in Tennessee, it was supported, and its local policy mainly directed, by the loyalists of East Tennessee, among whom Brownlow was most prominent in State affairs, and in national affairs Horace Maynard and Andrew Johnson. The intensity and resolution of Brownlow’s nature were such that he sometimes followed the logic of his hatred of secession to extreme ends, so that by the Southern element in the State he was hated as the Irish Catholics hated Cromwell. But his conduct, after all, was in keeping with the spirit of the times, and not a little of the censure that fell upon him was unjust. In private affairs, while always forcible and positive, he was a kindly, just and generous man, of pure life and of correct principles.

Horace Maynard, a native of Massachusetts and a graduate of Amherst, came to Knoxville in 1837 and became Professor of Mathematics in the University. Later, he was for twelve years a member of Congress, then Attorney-General of the State, Minister to Turkey and Postmaster-General. His eminent abilities and his pure character entitle him to special mention and to the highest commendation. His son, Commander Washburn Maynard, distinguished himself in the late Spanish War.

Another noteworthy citizen of Knoxville was Thomas A. R. Nelson, whose speech in Congress against secession was praised by the London _Times_ in the highest terms. Mr. Nelson was of the counsel for Andrew Johnson in the impeachment trial, and was afterwards a Judge of the Supreme Court of the State. He was one of the best lawyers and one of the most eloquent and accomplished public speakers the State has produced.

When the Civil War broke out, East Tennessee, not being a slaveholding section, and being the Whig stronghold, was overwhelmingly for the Union. The Union leaders were Johnson, Maynard, Brownlow and many others of almost equal ability. Knoxville was the capital of East Tennessee. It had grown principally by the increase of the original population, and the kinships of its people, especially of the more prominent families, were exceptionally extensive and intricate. A majority of these well-to-do people went with the South, but a large minority was loyal, and the common people, as a rule, held to the Union.

The first encounter of hostile forces at Knoxville was on the 20th of June, 1863, when Colonel Saunders with a force of fifteen hundred Federal soldiers on a raid through East Tennessee, halted in front of the town. A brief artillery duel ensued, in the course of which Captain Pleasant McClung of Knoxville, a conspicuously gallant Confederate officer, was killed. After an hour’s firing Saunders resumed his march without entering Knoxville.

Toward the end of August, 1863, the Confederates evacuated the city, never to re-enter it, and on the 2d of September, General Burnside entered and occupied it. The next event of importance was the siege. It will be remembered that after his retreat from Gettysburg, General Lee detached Longstreet’s corps from his army and sent it south to aid General Bragg. Longstreet remained with Bragg until November 4th, when he set out to rejoin Lee, marching overland through East Tennessee and western Virginia. This movement was a serious menace to General Burnside, who had at Knoxville and in its vicinity about twelve thousand men to oppose to Longstreet’s twenty thousand. Longstreet’s approach to Knoxville, however, was so deliberate as to allow Burnside time to concentrate his forces and to fortify himself hastily but effectively. On the 20th of November, the town was invested, but not thoroughly. The Confederate General was not aware apparently that the Holston and French Broad rivers came together four miles above Knoxville, and contented himself with blockading the Holston above the junction, leaving open the French Broad, by means of which supplies were constantly conveyed to the besieged.

On the 29th of November, at daylight, the Confederates assaulted Fort Saunders, on the west of the town, an almost impregnable point in its outer defences. The attacking force consisted of three brigades of McLaw’s division. The attack was delivered upon the northwest angle of the fort, probably its strongest point. It was necessary for the storming party, after climbing a high hill, to pass a difficult abattis, and to make its way through a labyrinth of telegraph wires stretched between the stumps of the original forest trees which had been felled. Having overcome these obstacles, a deep ditch was reached, beyond which rose the parapet of the fort to the height of more than twenty feet. When the broken, disordered and bleeding mass of Confederates reached the verge of the ditch there was no hesitation. In the face of a deadly musket fire and of a continuous discharge of hand grenades, they hurled themselves into the ditch and scrambled upon hands and knees up the steep and slippery embankment. Three times they succeeded in planting their battle-flags upon the parapet, and once they entered the fort, but only to be killed or captured after a desperate struggle. The assault failed. Three hundred Confederates were captured, and from five to seven hundred dead and wounded lay before the abattis, among the broken wires and in the ditch.

This attack upon Fort Saunders was one of the most gallant and desperate encounters of the whole war, and if it had occurred upon a more conspicuous field would have been ranked with Pickett’s charge at Gettysburg.

General Longstreet now concluded to molest Burnside no more, and leisurely retired to Virginia. Grant sent twenty thousand men to reinforce Burnside, but Longstreet had already withdrawn.

[Illustration: BATTLE OF FORT SAUNDERS.]

Immediately after the war Knoxville began to increase rapidly in population. The loyalty of East Tennessee won much favor for it at the North, and many desirable additions to the population of Knoxville came from that section.

It is probable that no city in the South contains so large a proportion of citizens of Northern and Western birth. Of foreign-born citizens there are comparatively few, the tides of immigration having flowed always north of Mason and Dixon’s line. Knoxville is therefore a thoroughly American city, of forty thousand population, free from sectional sentiment, progressive, but withal conservative, and proud of its deserved reputation as a center of education and of culture.

Its free schools, handsomely and commodiously housed, are most liberally supported, while the State University is the pride of the intelligent people of Tennessee. The State Deaf and Dumb School and a branch of the Asylum for the Insane are located there, and Knoxville College for the education of negroes is one of the best of its kind.

Knoxville contributed a handsome building to the “White City” of the Nashville Centennial, and afterwards the women of the city secured the removal of the building to Knoxville, where, at a point of vantage, it was re-erected and dedicated to the cause of woman’s advancement and to all the Muses.

Knoxville is an old town as things go in America, yet much of it is new. Its population has increased tenfold within thirty-five years. It is therefore, in the main, modern in construction. In proportion to population it has by far the largest wholesale trade among the Southern cities. It enjoys a high degree of prosperity. It is the industrial, commercial and educational center of East Tennessee, and its future is full of promise.

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NASHVILLE

“THE ADVANCE-GUARD OF WESTERN CIVILIZATION.”

BY GATES P. THRUSTON

The beautiful site upon which the city of Nashville stands must have been famous in prehistoric times. Its natural salt spring near the bank of the Cumberland River was a noted resort of the Indian and buffalo. Some years ago, the huge bones of a mastodon were exhumed from the alluvial deposit upon its margin. Near the flowing spring was an ancient cemetery of the long-vanished Stone Grave race, the mound builders, of Tennessee, and upon the opposite bank of the river and in the adjacent valleys have been found not less than ten thousand rude stone cists containing their mortuary remains. These interesting memorials have yielded a vast store of archæological treasures, illustrating their arts and industries and telling a pathetic story of aboriginal life in the valley of the Cumberland.

A race of Village Indians, probably akin to the Pueblo Builders or Village Indians of New Mexico and Arizona, once made their home in Middle Tennessee and the adjacent territory. These industrious pottery makers and mound builders must have dwelt for several centuries in this lovely Garden of Eden.

In an evil hour, unhappily, some destroyer came, perhaps the ancestors of the savage and vindictive Mohawk or Iroquois Indians of the north, and devastated their towns and homes and scattered or exterminated the humble and less warlike Villagers. The first white hunters and pioneers discovered in the shadowy forest only their strange and mysterious mounds, and the ancient lines of earthworks that had formed their forts.

For perhaps a hundred years or more before the advent of the white man, the beautiful valley of the Cumberland seems to have been a wilderness uninhabited save by the wild animals of the forest.

As early as 1714, M. Charleville, a French trader, came, and tarried for a time near the salt spring, known thereafter as the French Lick. In 1775, Timothy De Monbreun, a native of France, visited the spring, and later settled near the site of Nashville. Occasionally adventurous hunters and trappers passed down the valley. In 1778, a man of singular courage and gigantic stature named Spencer came with a party from Kentucky in search of homes and fortune, and settled near Bledsoe’s Lick, north of the Cumberland. They planted a small field of corn. Spencer’s companions soon became discouraged and returned to Kentucky, but this self-reliant hunter, undismayed by the solitude of the wilderness and the fear of the crafty Cherokee, refused to leave his new home in the lonely forest, and passed the long winter there, with only a great hollow sycamore tree as a shelter.

The story of the founding of Nashville is full of heroic incidents. It reads like a romance. About ten years had elapsed since the stout-hearted pioneers of Virginia and the Carolinas had pushed their way westward through the blue ridges of the Alleghanies, and planted an independent colony upon the banks of the Watauga River. Its master spirits, John Sevier, James Robertson and Isaac and Evan Shelby would have been men of mark in any community.

From this parent hive, already grown into a strong and prosperous settlement, a new colony of two hundred and more hardy riflemen and pioneers, in the fall of 1779, set out upon a far journey to the west, under the leadership of James Robertson.

Allured by the wonderful stories of the beauty and fertility of the Cumberland Valley, they determined to seek there new homes. It was an heroic venture, unsurpassed in the history of the march of western civilization. No military force blazed a way for them. High mountain ranges, deep and unknown rivers, hundreds of miles of dense forest, lay before them. The dread of the crafty savage, upon whose hunting-grounds they were encroaching, did not deter them.

Bidding farewell to their friends at Watauga they struck out upon the wilderness trail of Daniel Boone for the Far West. They passed through the gap in the Cumberland Mountains, across the headwaters of the Cumberland River, and still westward across the rivers and valleys of Central and Southern Kentucky, until, after weary weeks of marching, through storm and snow and ice, they finally reached the old French Lick on Christmas Day, 1779.

[Illustration: JAMES ROBERTSON.]

The wives and families of this advance-guard of the frontier, unable to endure the hardships of the march, were sent in boats and canoes down the Holston and Tennessee rivers. Captain John Donelson was in command, a man of rare courage and judgment. His handsome young daughter, Rachel, one of the voyagers, afterwards became mistress of the White House as the wife of President Jackson.

They left Fort Patrick Henry on the Holston River, December 27, 1779. The distance by water around the long, winding circuit of the Holston, the Tennessee, the Ohio and the Cumberland up to the Cumberland Bluffs was more than a thousand miles. Captain Donelson’s interesting journal, kept during the four-months’ journey and still preserved among the treasures of the Tennessee Historical Society, recounts in plain and modest words a story of heroism, of thrilling adventures, of singular pathos, scarcely equaled in the annals of our American frontier. It was a midwinter journey. The voyagers were attacked by the savage Chickamauga Indians. Their frail boats were swept through unknown rapids and floods. They had to force their way up the Ohio and Cumberland rivers. Many of the party perished, some were shot down by the Indians, others were wounded and ill; but with thankful hearts the survivors finally reached their anxious friends at the “Big Salt Lick” on the Cumberland, April 24, 1780. It was a joyful meeting, a reunion of happy families, long remembered in the settlement.

[Illustration: THE FIRST RESIDENCE OF ANDREW JACKSON.]

The commanding bluff on the south side of the river seemed an ideal home for the new colony, united, hopeful and enthusiastic. The rich valley and the winding river added beauty to the landscape. Ranges of noble and picturesque hills, not far distant, surrounded the site. The land was fertile. Springs of pure water abounded, and here in the far western wilderness was planted the new germ of civilization, which in after years was to grow and blossom into rich fruition. In honor of General Nash, of North Carolina, a distinguished officer of the Revolution, the village was christened Nashborough.

And now the cheery sound of the woodman’s axe rang out in the forest. Cabins were built. The land was cleared and crops were planted. Log forts were erected, planned after the good model of the fort at Watauga that had saved the precious lives of the little parent colony from the assaults of the Cherokees.

A regiment of riflemen was formed, with James Robertson as Colonel and John Donelson as Lieutenant-Colonel. An independent civil government was organized and established. This isolated little settlement was rightly called by James Robertson “The advance-guard of western civilization.” It was six or seven hundred miles from the nearest established government. It was over three hundred miles from the Watauga, and nearly as far from the Kentucky settlements, yet law, order and justice prevailed.

The carefully drawn articles of the compact under which the local civil government was organized, indicate the high character of its citizens. They bore the impress of the true Anglo-Saxon spirit,--the love of order and equity. They required strict obedience to the will of the majority. Invoking the blessing of Divine Providence, the compact set up in the wilderness a temple of justice that secured ample legal protection to the citizen and the stranger, until the lawful jurisdiction of the parent State of North Carolina could be extended over the new territory.

[Illustration: FORT RIDLEY, AN OLD NASHVILLE BLOCKHOUSE.]

James Robertson, the well-recognized leader of the settlement, was not blessed with the genius and natural gifts of John Sevier, the soldier and statesman of the eastern section, but he was a born ruler and organizer, a man full of resources, of lofty personal character and purposes. Well might he be called the founder and father of Nashville. His life is an epitome of the early history of Middle Tennessee.

Dr. Ramsey, the historian of Tennessee, tells us that when the treaty was made with the Indians at Watauga, giving the whites the right to possess the rich hunting-grounds of Middle Tennessee and Kentucky, the aged Indian chief Oconostota took Daniel Boone by the hand, and remarked with significant earnestness: “Brother, we have given you a fine land, but I believe you will have much trouble in settling it.” How prophetic were these words! The brave little colony upon the bluffs at Nashborough, with settlements stretching for many miles along the valley of the Cumberland, was destined to pass through years of peril and anxiety. The young warriors of the Cherokees and Creeks were not willing to confirm the surrender of their favorite hunting-grounds to the insatiate and land-hungry paleface. Their footprints were soon discovered in the forest. The settlers were ambushed near their homes, and were shot down by unseen foes as they drank at the springs. Horses and cattle were stampeded and stolen. The strongest forts were attacked. At times the dangers and discouragements were so great that it seemed as if this vanguard settlement, with all its hopes and promises, must be abandoned. A number of the settlers yielded to their fears, and returned with their families to Kentucky or to their old homes in the East. In those dark days the exalted character of James Robertson stood out in noble relief. He resolutely stemmed the tide of apprehension. He would not discuss a retreat. He was the very life and mainstay of the settlement. “These rich and beautiful lands,” Robertson said, “were not designed to be given up to savages and wild beasts. The God of Creation and Providence has nobler purposes in view.” “Each one should do what seems to him his duty. As for myself, my station is here, and here I shall stay if every man of you deserts.”

Solitary and alone, and apparently unmindful of danger, Robertson made long journeys through the forest to confer with the Cherokee chiefs in the interest of peace. When the ammunition at the forts was exhausted, and an attack was threatened, he set out in midwinter upon a lonely trail through the wilderness for the Kentucky settlements, and never rested until he had returned to Freeland Station with an ample supply.

His return was none too soon. That very night, at the dead hour of midnight, a band of savage Chickasaws attacked Freeland Station. The moon was shining brightly, but they crept up noiselessly through the shadows to the very gates of the fort. They finally unlocked its bars and were pushing through the opening, when the quick ear of Robertson, who was sleeping near by, caught the sound of danger. He shouted a cry of alarm. A shot from his rifle rang out on the still night air. His comrades within the fort grasped their guns and fired from every cabin door. It was a sharp contest, but the Indians were finally routed and driven from the fort.

In the early spring they attacked the station at Nashborough in almost overwhelming numbers. They forced their way nearly to the gates of the old fort, located near the present corner of Market and Church streets, intercepting the retreat of many of the settlers. There was a desperate struggle for possession of the fort. At an opportune moment, the pack of powerful watch-dogs and hounds in the fort was turned loose, attacked the Indians fiercely, and greatly aided in repelling the onslaught. Both sides lost heavily, but the fort and settlement were saved.

For long and anxious years the settlements upon the Cumberland River were in constant warfare and danger. There was no period of peace or repose, yet year by year the restless march of the western pioneers and “movers” continued. The colony grew in strength and numbers, and at the end of the first decade of its history, several thousand thrifty and prosperous settlers occupied the fertile territory along the valley.

[Illustration: ANDREW JACKSON.]

The village of Nashborough had become the ambitious town of Nashville. North Carolina had taken the settlements under her motherly protection. A court-house and prison had been erected. Davidson Academy, that later grew into Nashville University, had been chartered and endowed. In 1788, Andrew Jackson, a young lawyer unknown to fame, came to the town bearing a commission from the Governor of North Carolina as attorney of the Mero District. Colonel James Robertson was appointed a Brigadier-General. Tennessee was organized into a State and admitted into the Union in 1796.

From its infancy as a village, Nashville has been something of a historic center. It has been the home of a number of men of national reputation. Under the leadership of Generals Jackson and Coffee, the gallant Tennessee troops who helped to win the famous victory at New Orleans assembled at Nashville.

One of the happy events in the early life of the city, still treasured in our local histories, was the visit of General Lafayette in 1825. He was received and entertained with joyful demonstrations of affection, and it is said that he long remembered and often recalled with pleasure the cordiality of his reception.

Nashville has been the arena of many hotly contested political battles. The eloquence of Sargeant Prentiss, of Henry Clay, of Meredith P. Gentry, of Haskell and the old-time orators is still remembered. The city was the home of Felix Grundy, of Thomas H. Benton, later the famous Missouri Senator, of General Sam Houston, the hero of San Jacinto, and of John Bell. The historic and hospitable mansion of President Andrew Jackson at the Hermitage, a few miles east of Nashville, in those early days, as now was the Mecca of many pilgrimages. Visitors are always charmed with the beauty of the surrounding country. A picturesque avenue lined with overshadowing cedars leads to the house. Its stately pillars and broad porch remind us of an old Virginia homestead.

[Illustration: THE HERMITAGE MANSION, RESIDENCE OF ANDREW JACKSON.]

Here the hero and his beloved wife, Rachel Donelson, lived many happy years, and entertained their friends and neighbors with generous hospitality. Here Aaron Burr was a welcome visitor, before he was suspected of treasonable purposes, and Lafayette, James Monroe and Martin Van Buren were honored guests. In a field adjoining the mansion, two hundred or more friends and neighbors were entertained at a dinner given in honor of the election of James K. Polk as President.

Like the home of Washington at Mt. Vernon, the residence at the Hermitage was a veritable museum of souvenirs, arranged and treasured by Mrs. Jackson and her adopted daughter. The walls were adorned with family and historic portraits, the work of noted artists.