Spencer Talley, Part 5

Battle for Atlanta, and the Death of a Brother

No sooner than he had been placed in command, than he began to arrange for a complete try out of his military skill and on the twentieth day of July 1864 made a charge on the entrenched Yanks. They had us greatly outnumbered and to say nothing of their fortified position however when the word was given, there was never a more desperate and determined rush made on their fortified lines. This charge was begun about three or four o'clock in the afternoon, and the battle raged furiously till darkness overshadowed the field, when we withdrew with no victory or gain to cheer us. After night's darkness had fully come upon us, we retired for food and rest.

On our return I found that my brother R.J. Talley was fatally wounded. He had fallen in a field of growing corn, through which we had passed and I was unaware of his fate until after dark. He had been picked up by the litter company and carried to the field hospital where I found him and a great number of others who had fallen in this struggle. I sat by him all night, doing what I could for his relief. He fully realized that his wound was fatal and that he could only live a few hours. He maintained a calm and rational mood to the end. He talked almost incessantly, but in no complaining way, he often said "I am nearing the end, and ready to go". He was a devout Christian man who read the Bible daily. I believe he was the closest Bible student I ever saw. When he was not on duty he could always be found reading his Bible. When he went into the army he was not a member of any church. While at Shelbyville he called on the Methodist preacher to baptize him. The preacher began to talk to him regarding his spiritual experience and reason for wanting immersion. They had not talked long before this preacher found that he was unable to change his mind and they both went down into the water and he was baptized in obedience to the last commission of our Savior. He had a strong faith in the promise of God and his admonition to myself and others around him was to obey God, and live righteously in this world, was so impressive that his words can never be forgotten. It was just at dawn of day when my brother breathed his last and when we had wiped the death damp from his face, we set about for his burial. One of our boys made a rough box such as he could with only a saw and hammer to work with, but before we could get the use of tools to dig the grave, orders came for us to fall in line. A hasty move of our position was made, and we left the lifeless body of my brother lying in the crude box, not knowing where or if ever buried. This was the saddest and most trying hour of my war experience. Besides my brother there were a number of my best and closest friends killed or wounded in this hard struggle we had in front of Atlanta.

Sherman was now making a flank attack on us and had taken a position just East of the city on Peachtree Creek and entrenched his men and to make it more secure had felled all timber which was a black jack growth. The limbs were backed down and pointed toward us which made it impossible to make any swift movement or rush on them. Regardless of this advantage and their superior numbers, Hood ordered us to charge and take their position. While our men were much fatigued and worn out from the very recent conflict, they raised the old "rebel yell" and rushed like a storm toward them. The thick underbrush that they had filled in their front prevented any rush. When we reached it I suppose we had gotten about halfway through when I was shot down. A minnie ball, having struck me above the hip in my left side, left no bones hit or broken but my left side and leg were paralyzed. I could not walk without the aid of a comrade. I was gotten out of the brush and placed in the hands of a litter bearer who bore me to the field hospital where all of our wounded were sent. This was a spot in a shady grove where hundreds of wounded men lay on the ground. From where I laid I could see the surgeon's tables. Four doctors were busy cutting off shattered limbs. These arms and legs were thrown in a heap which by night was as high as your head, and I doubt if a two horse team could have pulled them on a wagon.

Hospitalization and Recovery

From here we were carried to a point on the railroad and as soon as a train came we were sent south to various hospitals. The nature of the various wounds determined the place. Persons wounded in the head or neck were sent to a certain hospital while those who had a limb amputated were sent to another and so on. I was sent to Macon, Georgia and placed in the blind school hospital, a building used for the education of the blind before the war. It was a large brick building and I think it was situated in the northern section of the city. I was given a berth, in a room on the second floor with six other wounded soldiers. Our fare was not palatable to say the least of it, consisting of corn bread and beef soup and occasional sugar and rice, meted out to us on crockery ware plates and wooden spoons. At that time screen doors had not come in use and flies were more numerous than now, and could only be kept away by using a brush. Often when our meals were brought in, we had to "shoo" and knock for sometime before we could tell what was on our plates other than flies.

The good people, living in Macon and surrounding counties, knowing our hard fate often brought in something better and cleaner. It was here that I first conceived the idea of being a Mason. Two of the wounded men in our room, I noticed, were being sent something good almost daily. This led me to inquire why this discrimination was made. I said to those two favored boys, that I was as far from home and friends as they were and that I would like to know how it was that they were the recipients of so many good things. They laughed at my inquiry and said that if I ever became a Mason I would find out all about it. This made a serious impression on me and I resolved that I would become a Mason if ever I had a chance. So the first opportunity I had I took the three symbolic degrees and have never regretted the step. A sweet young girl came in our room one day and brought us a whole lot of good things to eat. While enjoying it I told her of this work of the Masons, and so impressed her with my gratitude that she took delight in making us daily visits and always bringing something good to eat. She said "I will be a Mason for you while you are here". I surely appreciated her goodness, but it didn't last long.

It was only a few days after this, when one morning our surgeon came around to make his daily examination of our wounds and he said to me, young man you have gangrene in your wound. I saw that he was somewhat excited and confused and not knowing anything about the trouble, having never heard of it before, I asked, What is gangrene? What does it mean? He said it means there is only one salvation for you and that is to cut it out right now, and then explained the nature and ravage of the infection. I then told him to cut it out. He said "we have no ether, chloroform or other narcotic to administer, can you stand the operation without anything? "I think I can" I said "and will do my best". He then gave me a short lecture on the importance of the work and the necessity of me keeping still and quiet. He went back to his office and got his knife and hook, and in a few minutes had me on his table. I had made up my mind not to flinch, move, or in any way cause him to fail in making his work a success. It took him two or three minutes to remove the putrid parts and I did not move or grunt until he was through. When he said "It is all over now", I was glad and appreciated the compliment he passed on me in saying I was the best grit he ever laid a knife on. "Now" said he, "If you remain here you are apt to have it again and I must send you to the country. Where shall I send you?" "I have no relations or friends this side of Tennessee, said I and one place will suit me as well as another." "Then I will send you to Hawkinsville, and give you a letter of commendation which will assure you of a good home and good attention.

So early the next morning, armed with his leave of absence and letter, I boarded the train for Hawkinsville, a small country town in the Southwestern section of Georgia. My trip on the train was pleasant enough. I felt no pain from the movement of the cars, but I had to make nine miles on an old fashioned stagecoach. The kind that rested both front and rear, on great leather straps, to give it a rocking motion, which is pleasant to well persons, but to me a source of great torture, the rocking gave me intense pain all the way, and I was glad when we reached the little town. The first stop was at the post office, where I rolled out with my budget and seated myself on the sidewalk. It was only a few minutes before all the old men and little boys of the town were gathered around me, for I was the first wounded soldier, as I learned, that had been there. As soon as it was made known that I was a Tennessean and had no home or relatives to whom I could go, there was an outspoken expression from a dozen or more of these old men, saying I will take him. He can stay with me. Let me have him, etc. Then came an old man leading a mule, hitched to a buggy and he began pushing men out of his way until he could get his buggy close to me, and then taking my bundle of clothing placed it in the back of the buggy, then took me by the arm and helped me in.

Soon after crossing a little river, (Chattahooche I believe), we drove up to his house, an old time unpainted building but it had several rooms. The name of this old man was John W. Caruthers and his wife's name was Pensy and I am sure that they did all in their power for my good and benefit. He was the owner of a large cotton farm and worked many hands. They gave me a room to myself and a Negro boy to wait on me. In a day or two my wound began to be offensive and I could smell it. This was so humiliating to me, that I refused to go to the table with the family for my meals, or to sit near anyone for fear they would get a whiff of the horrid odor from my wound. Everyone seemed grieved or sorry that I had an idea that I was offensive and persuaded me to discard all such thoughts. However the evidence was so strong that I was right in my conclusion, that I could but look on their acts as manifestation of their friendship and sympathy for me.

Aunt Pensy had the boy to bathe and thoroughly cleanse with a syringe, the wound every morning, noon and night until I was better. She made large pads to fit around the wound to absorb the corruption which were changed three times a day. I suppose I should mention right here that antiseptics and germ destroying fluids were not much in use, in that age of medical science. When this period of sloughing was over, my affliction took on a more favorable aspect. I was not so sore and enjoyed exercise. My old friend had a gentle mule hitched to a no top buggy every morning with a driver for my pleasure. Though much of the time he would go with me himself. It was but a few miles from his house to the swamps and "quick sands". We made several visits in that direction to see things that were rare and interesting to me. Alligators were plentiful in these swamps as were also deer, wild turkey and the sand hill crane. Cranes and alligators were numerous but the deer and turkey were shy and we could catch only a glimpse of them before they were out of sight.

Aunt Pensy had plenty of gray cotton cloth that her Negro women had woven for Confederate clothing, and was making me a new suit while Mr. Crutcher was daily telling me of the pretty girls to see as soon as my new suit was made. And surely he did take me to see some girls that are really beauties, some that will beat anything you ever saw in Tennessee, and some that will make you want to come back to Georgia when this war is over. Of course I was anxious to see the lovely lasses as he had so much to say regarding their beauty and refinement. On our way he spoke of the beautiful lawn and shrubbery surrounding their home which I found to be just as he had represented, and a place where one would naturally expect to see natures best specimen of human loveliness. Having been notified of our coming, they were dressed and ready for our reception and met us on the front porch. My old friend, in a most happy tickled way, passed the introduction and I must say that if ever I did a heroic thing in my life it was to suppress laughter on this occasion. For of all the uncomely specimens of humanity I had ever met, these took the rag off the bush. They were just the opposite of what I expected to see, and the joke was so complete, that I was tickled beyond my powers to describe. I would have given a horse to have been where I could shake my sides in laughter. They were as good and well to do people, however as the world affords, and could not be held accountable for their long and narrow faces and large teeth that set so projecting, their lips could not hide them. Fifty four years have passed since this little bit of fun was gotten off on me, but the memory of it has been so pleasant and lasting I could not refrain from giving it in my recollections of "War Times".

During my months stay with Uncle John and Aunt Pensy, many things might be said of their goodness and kindness to me especially when I was about to leave, their strong insistence that I should substitute their home for my own, from which I was separated from by fate and the war and that I should make my wants and wishes known to them was indeed touching to my grateful heart. Uncle John carried me to town and just before I boarded the old stagecoach, he gave me a roll of money which contained more than three hundred dollars saying you buy whatever you need and when that is gone, just call on me and I will send you more. These acts of love and friendship linger with me and are more fixed in my memory than many graver fixtures of the war. I had a much more pleasant ride on the old rocking stage than I did in coming.

Final segment