A True Story of the Late Civil War in Battle Gen. Sherman was touched By Tender Recollections of Times That Were Gone, and Withheld His Soldiers From Their Wonted Depradations. (I. E. Orchard in “Blue and Gray.”) On the banks of the Etowah river, which like a crystal serpent runs through the fertile valleys and mountains of north Georgia, stands the historic Etowah mansion, the only building for miles around that was not destroyed by General Sherman when he made his memorable march through Georgia. It is an imposing residence, built in colonial style, and surrounded by giant oaks which have weathered the storms of many generations, and for miles around from all directions it can be seen crowning the heights. Like a snowy temple, with its round white columns, it stands out in bold relief against the sapphire walls of mountains. A short walk from the river to the railway station up grass-carpeted terraces brings you to the big gate that is swiftly opened by two ebony urchins, who always take pride in seeing “de white buckra” enter the portals of the proud old southern home. There is a long and shaded avenue to the mansion. The grounds, which extend for acres around, are opulent with rare plants and flowers, and commensurate with these environments is the house. From the broad veranda you enter the spacious hall, which is surrounded by large square rooms. The floors are polished and the walls are paneled in oak. Framed in the walls of the grand old parlors are French plate mirrors. The broad open fireplaces are protected by antique brass fenders of curious design, and tall brass andirons hold the huge oak and hickory logs. In the picture gallery are portraits that present members of the Stovall and Shelman families for several generatiions---proud and stately women, with clear-cut patrician features, and dark and handsome men, with imperious mien and haughty expression. The furniture is solid, elegant and antique. The apartments hold many interesting objects of virtue and many rare and valuable books which have been here since long before the war. The evidences of strife and desolation have long been obliterated, so that Etowah Heights and the smiling green valleys below now form as pleasing a picture as pastoral poet ere dreamed of, or artist ever painted. Not far from here are the ruins of the Mark A. Cooper mining town which, a third century ago, was a bustling village with factories and furnaces. Every spot in this vicinity is invested with historic interest, for this region was for a long time the theatre where contending armies fought for mastery and contested every inch of territory. The famous Allatoona pass is not far distant, and many other sacrifices of war were here felt, and the destruction of property was general and complete. The question often asked: “Why, amid all this devastation, was Etowah mansion spared?” Here it stands in its stately isolation, surrounded by fertile meadows and waying fields with blue mountains guarding its portals and laughing rivers at its feet. How it was saved is a romantic story, which, wholly true, reads like fiction. Mrs. Cecelia Stovall-Shelman is the mistress of the Etowah mansion. A member of one of the wealthiest and most aristocratic families in the south, she is a typical southern lady of the old school. Although past life’s meridian, she walks up and down the corridors that surround her home with figure erect and the bearing of a queen, she seems to have defied time. Her hair is like the raven’s wing, and her eyes are black and piercing. It is easy to imagine that in her youth she was a famously beautiful woman, and easy to understand how General Sherman, the iron-hearted soldier, once bowed before her in adoration. When General Sherman was a cadet at West Point, Miss Cecelia Stovall was a reigning belle in military circles, and many young officers, who consequently won fame at the cannon’s mouth, paid homage to her beauty and sought her hand in marriage. She was beautiful, magnetic, a graceful dancer, and a fearless rider. In her veins coursed the bluest blood of several generations of southern aristocracy. Her brilliant intellect and her superior personal attractiveness rendered her the queen in the social functions of that time. Conspicuous among her admirers was young William Tecumseh Sherman, then a cadet. He was deemed cold and harsh, and hitherto had proved insensible to the fascinations of woman, but to the dark-eyed Georgia girl the young soldier became a willing slave. In reply to a vehement protestation of love, Miss Stovall once said to him: “Your eyes are so cold and cruel. I pity the man who ever becomes your antagonist. Ah, how you would crush an enemy!” Young Sherman replied with feeling. “Even were you my enemy I would love and protect you!” At that time when all was peace and joy, how little did those careless and lightly spoken words signify, and yet how forcibly time revealed their meaning. Not long after this episode the two parted—the young lady to return to the red hills of Georgia to wed Mr. Shelman, a wealthy planter, and the young cadet to start upon a military career which dazzled his contemporaries and added many thrilling chapters to American history. Near the close of the civil war, when General Sherman and his victorious cohorts were making that famous march through Georgia to the sea, many skirmishes and several battles took place within gunshot of the Shelman homestead. The battle of New Hope Church, when Allatoona Pass was taken and garrisoned, occurred only a few miles from here. It was from this point that General Sherman determined to raise the siege of Atlanta. Little did he dream, as he rode through his path of fire, that he was so near the woman he had once loved. Not since his cadet days had he seen her. He had lost track of her when she took another name. One morning as he and staff were inspecting the country they saw the smoke curl in all directions from farm houses and factories. One of the officers exclaimed: “See on yonder hill a veritable southern palace; it must be the house of a confederate grandee!” and with one accord they galloped to the house in time to see the soldiers greedily possessing themselves of valuables before applying the torch. General Sherman gazed up at the house and its beautiful surroundings, was visibly impressed, and said to an old negro man who sat upon the steps of the mansion shivering with fear and muttering incoherently: “Say, old man, whose house is this?” Pulling off his wool hat and scraping a low courtesy, he trembling replied, “This, sar, is de home of Mrs. Cecelia Stovall-Shellman, sar.” “Who did you say, old man?” And the severe expression on the grim warrior’s face gave way to one of eagerness and curiosity as he listened to the negro’s reply. “Jis so, sar, jis de very same, sar.” “Great God!” exclaimed General Sherman. “Can it be possible?” and for a moment his head bowed low as if he were in the presence of the sainted dead. The hard, severe face of the soldier softened into a tender expression and his eyes became moist and dim. “Where is your mistress?” he asked the negro. “Bless de Lord, sar, when misses hear tell dat de Yankees was comin’ and dat dey gwine kill and burn, she called to me and say: ‘Joe, we is all gwine away to be safe from the enemy, Dis ain’t no place for us and de children. Pray to de soldiers to spare our home; and God bless you, Joe!” And wid tears streamin’ down her blessed white face she went, wid de children around her, Lord only know where, sar!” Instantly a command was given for every soldier to leave the house and premises untouched, and for those who had taken valuables to replace them. Strict orders were given that the place should be protected, and guards were commanded to execute these orders. General Sherman remained on the spot some time. Before quitting the grounds he said to the old negro: “Say to your mistress for me that she might have remained in her house in safety; that she and her property would have been protected. Hand her this when you see her,” and he placed in the negro’s hand a card which was written: “You once said that I would crush and enemy and you pitied my foe. Do you recall my reply? Although many years have passed my reply is now the same as it was then—I would ever shield and protect you. That I have done. Forgive me for all else, I am but a soldier. W. T. Sherman.” The victorious army marched on toward Atlanta. Mrs. Shelman, having been apprised of the most miraculous escape of her homestead from the invaders’ torch, returned to find her property intact, thanks to General Sherman’s opportune interposition. Ever since then Mrs. Shelman has lived at Etowah mansion, and she often relates to her friends how her home was saved from the wrath of the enemy. Even the sword is powerless when the hand that wields it is restrained by the memory of a tender passion.
Posted on: Sun, 26 Oct 2014 13:22:21 +0000
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