28. The Glasses and the General ... THE FARM IN PINE VILLAGE

“I don’t think Charles is seeing as well as he should,” Ida said to Joe over the supper table one evening in the spring of Robert’s second-grade year. “He’s having trouble reading what Mrs. Winegardner writes on the chalkboard. I think we should take him to see the ophthalmologist.”

An appointment was made not only for Charles but also for Robert (just for good measure), and, on the given day, Ida took the boys to Lafayette.

Robert enjoyed his time in the ophthalmologist’s office. He thought the experience of having his eyes dilated was sufficiently novel to keep his attention. When he sat in the chair in the darkened room that was painted a deep green, he could have fallen asleep because everything was so restful. … but he remained awake to answer the doctor’s questions, spoken in a low voice.

“Now look at the row of letters beginning with L and P. Do the letters look better like this or like this?”

The doctor had arranged the big machine that stretched across Robert’s face so that only one of Robert’s eyes was peering at the wall chart, which seemed to float in the air and to glow with an inner light. A whispering sound near Robert’s ear of a lens sliding into place accompanied the doctor’s words “like this,” and another whispering sound of another lens sliding into place occurred when the doctor repeated “like this.” Initially, Robert could see a difference and could reply with “the first one” or “the second one,” but, eventually, he could detect no difference. “I don’t know,” he would say. “They look the same.” … and the doctor would take a note somewhere in the darkness.

“This or this?” “This or this?” The pattern continued until both eyes had been tested.

Then there were more eye drops to stop the dilation and to return Robert’s eyes to normal.

Charles had already been tested.

In the outer office, while the boys waited for their eyes to begin to adjust, the doctor said to Ida, “Both boys are nearsighted and will need glasses.” He recommended a shop where they could be fitted with frames and lenses made to his prescription.

“I didn’t know Robert was having any trouble,” Ida said to the doctor.

“His eyes are similar to his brother’s, but, naturally, his nearsightedness has not advanced quite as much yet.”

The doctor handed the boys dark plastic glasses with white cardboard temple pieces that hooked over their ears. Ida walked them to the car.

Robert felt amazed that the whole world looked so fuzzy!

In a little over a week, the boys had their new glasses.

One of the first sights that Robert saw through his glasses was a century-old steam locomotive.

The United States was commemorating the Civil War, which had taken place between 1861 and 1865.

Joe, who had been a valedictorian and who read avidly about history, said to Charles and Robert, “A century may sound like a long time, but bear in mind that I talked with veterans of the Civil War who were farmers around Pine Village. I wasn’t very old, but I remember those men very well. You had several ancestors that served in the war; some were on one side, and some were on the other. Your great great grandfather was a musician in the 100th Indiana Volunteers. He played a fife. The musicians also were soldiers who fired their guns during the battles.”

The 32-year-old Daniel M. Fenton, who stood five feet six inches tall and had a fair complexion with light hair and blue eyes, was mustered into Company G of the 100th Indiana Volunteers on September 27, 1862, at Indianapolis, whereupon he was paid a $25 bounty. Indeed, musicians in the Civil War often joined in the fighting, and, apparently, Daniel was no exception. The 100th Indiana Volunteers supported at Vicksburg and Knoxville. The regiment fought in the most exposed location on Missionary Ridge and in a similarly deadly position at Kennesaw Mountain. The 100th supported again at Atlanta and experienced yet another sharp battle at the beginning of General William T. Sherman’s march toward Savannah. It was at Grand Junction, Tennessee, in February of 1863 that Daniel faced the privations of a cold winter in the field.

Fifers such as Daniel played music to march the armies toward battle and helped to clear the field of the wounded and dead after battle. Daniel saw more than he wanted to see of the terror of warfare, and, physically, he broke down. For the rest of his life, he complained of chronic diarrhea and rheumatism from the exposure he suffered in Tennessee. He had jaundice and disease of the liver.

All of these facts Joe narrated and explained to his sons.

Joe also said that Isaac Belew had been a member of the 100th Indiana and was the great grandfather of Glen J. Brutus, with whom Joe shared an enthusiasm for agricultural steam engines. Further, Joseph D. Farden had served in the 100th; Joseph’s son, Millard, was a leader in local businesses, and Joseph’s daughters, Flora and Fairy—both 1899 graduates of the Pine Village School—became teachers.

As part of the nation’s observances of the conflict that temporarily tore the nation apart, the locomotive named The General was coming to Lafayette on its way to Chicago from Nashville, Tennessee.

On April 12th in 1862, civilian James J. Andrews and twenty Union volunteers, acting on orders from General Ormsby M. Mitchel, sneaked through Southern lines and succeeded in seizing The General and three boxcars at Big Shanty, Georgia. The raiders drove the train northward toward Chattanooga, cutting telegraph lines, prying up rails, and attempting to burn bridges to sever Confederate communications. Unfortunately for the raiders, the conductor of The General and Confederate troops closely pursued them, and rain defeated their efforts to set fire to bridges. With journals close to the melting point, The General eventually ran out of fuel and water. The raiders abandoned the train but were rounded up and imprisoned. In June of 1862, James J. Andrews and seven of the raiders were executed by hanging. Engineer William Knight and eight others escaped and found their way back to Union lines. In 1863, the rest were released in a prisoner exchange. Six of the raiders received the nation’s first Medals of Honor. Fess Parker starred as Andrews in Walt Disney’s movie The Great Locomotive Chase only five years before Robert and Charles stood beside The General in Lafayette.

Robert thought that the storied locomotive, which had been the subject of so many books, was enormous! Steam sighed from the cylinder cocks, and moisture sizzled around the hot boiler of the elegant machine.

The engineer finished oiling the boxes. He turned to my father and said, “Would your boys like to climb up on the platform to see the firebox?”

“I’m sure they would,” Joe replied.

Robert was too shy to take a step forward, but Charles jumped at the opportunity. Joe helped Robert up the tall steps. The engineer swung open the firebox door, exposing the orange flames within. After staring at the fire through his new glasses, Robert’s wide eyes took in the shining brass details of the cabin. Years later, he could instantaneously recall the scents of oil and smoke, the sounds of crackling and hissing. The visit to see The General made a profound impression on him: an impression made all the more indelible because he could see every detail so clearly.

Mysteries of Warren County, Indiana: Brigadier General George D. Wagner

At the Battle of Franklin, Tennessee, on the 30th of November in 1864, Brigadier General George D. Wagner made one of the most controversial decisions of the Civil War. He commanded his outnumbered division to remain in a position forward of the Union line. He was under orders from Major General John M. Schofield to stand in the cotton field. Various eyewitnesses later wrote that the engagement, which began at dusk, resembled a rain of fire. The Confederates charged at bayonet point. The carnage was so dreadful as to make Franklin one of the most savage and horrific battles of the war. Two of Wagner’s battalions sustained such terrific losses that the soldiers broke and ran. Confederates were intermingled with them in hand-to-hand fighting. As Union guns could not fire upon friendly troops, the Confederates used the Union soldiers as human shields to overrun the Federal center. A belated blast from Union artillery probably killed several Union soldiers. It was a scene of bloody chaos. Ultimately, the stabilizing pressure brought by Federal reinforcements restored order.

Brigadier General George D. Wagner

General Wagner was from Wagner’s Grove, a cluster of farms in Medina Township just east of where I grew up in Pine Village, Indiana. 

Here, I quote at length from “Defense of Gen. Geo. D. Wagner’s Military Record,” a speech (available at http://library.duke.edu/digitalcollections/broadsides_bdsin10464/) given in the Warren County centennial year of 1927 by J. Wesley Whickcar, an attorney and historian from Attica, at Armstrong Chapel beside the cemetery where Wagner is buried; I have corrected a few typographical errors in the original printing: “When Wagner took his troops out into the open cotton field at three thirty in the afternoon, to face an army largely outnumbering his command, he had in his pocket, orders from Schofield, his commanding officer, to take his troops into the open cotton field, where the enemy could easily slaughter them. He was only obeying the orders of his superior commander. Thirteen years after the death of General George Day Wagner, General Jacob D. Cox, who had command of a division at Franklin, that had had a very advantageous position and was able to watch the slaughter of Wagner’s men, without danger to themselves and without making any effort to relieve Wagner, took it upon himself to write a history of the battle of Franklin, in which he said that General George D. Wagner should have been shot for the position he took and the men that he lost in the battle of Franklin. General Cox was not noted for brilliancy in command and was apparently jealous of the record of Wagner. Cox was afterwards Governor of the state of Ohio, elected from Cincinnati and a member of Congress and the President of the Wabash Railroad. Cox was one of that … brood that would wait until after the lips of Wagner had been stilled by death for thirteen years, when he could not defend himself, to make an attack upon Wagner’s military ability and personal character. Soldiers that had stood with Wagner at Franklin, from Ohio, Alabama, Iowa and Indiana, came to the defense of their dead commander and defended Wagner so well, that General Cox was forced to re-write the battle of Franklin, taking a much milder attitude toward Wagner, and his position at Franklin. … Soon after the battle of Nashville, the army was re-organized, General George D. Wagner retired from the service with an honorable discharge on the account of the serious illness of his wife, Frances E. Wagner. His wife died April 22nd, 1865, at the age of 34 years, 4 months, and 16 days. Soon after the death of his wife he moved to Williamsport and took up the study and practice of law, and was very successful in his law practice. Here he became an active and prominent worker in the Free Mason Lodge, and President of the Indiana State Agricultural Society. He was appointed Minister to Germany, and was in Indianapolis at the Bates House, arranging to go to Berlin and fill this appointment, when he suffered a severe attack of acute indigestion and after an illness of four or five days, died in the Old Bates House in Indianapolis, February 13th, 1869, at the age of 40 years, 5 months, and 21 days. The immediate cause of his death was an over-dose of a prescription left by his physician to alleviate his nervous suffering. Regardless of what General Jacob D. Cox of Ohio, said in 1882, no charge can be preferred and sustained against General George D. Wagner. We have admitted he was addicted to drink, but we deny all other charges.”

Just before the Confederate charge, Brigadier General Cox allegedly ordered Wagner to withdraw his troops. Cox was a line commander but otherwise equivalent to Wagner in rank; Wagner might well have ignored Cox’s orders because Wagner had contradictory orders from Schofield, who was at the head of the command. It was not immediately clear to the Federal generals that the Confederates were planning an attack. Wagner perceived that they were, and he sent messages to Schofield to alert him to the possibility. The element of uncertainty may help explain why Schofield did not immediately order Wagner to pull back to the Federal line. Questioning Wagner’s decision ensued immediately after the Battle of Franklin and has persisted to this day. Allegations that he was drunk are likely erroneous. Was his sudden retirement from service a tacit admission of guilt or the act of a devoted husband who realized that his wife was dying?

General Wagner was my great aunt Margaret’s great uncle. Margaret was married to my grandmother’s brother. Although my father often spoke to me about Civil War soldiers from Pine Village, he never mentioned General Wagner. As far as I recall, Aunt Margaret (as I have always referred to my great aunt) never talked about him. He had passed away long before she was born, and her own father may not have had more than youthful memories of him. 

Ann Miller Carr, co-author of the Rhode Family Website, conducted such excellent genealogical work to establish my great aunt’s relationship to General Wagner that I want to quote extensively from Ann’s message to me:

According to Ancestry.com’s “Indiana Marriage Collection, 1800–1941,” George D. “Wagoner” married Frances Elizabeth Alexander on 04 Feb 1847 in Warren Co., Indiana. Frances died on 22 Apr 1865. She may have been born on 06 Jan 1861 (birthdate derived from tombstone info on age at death).

Son John Mason Wagner, b. 1857, d. 1908 ...

There is a John M. Wagner who married Lizzie Carter in Warren Co., IN, on 20 Dec 1883.

However, there is a John F. Wagner, b. abt. 1861, the son of, who married Lilly States in Warren Co. on 31 Jan 1883. He was the son of a William and Margaret (Turman) Wagner, who were living in Poolsville, Medina Twp., Warren Co., IN, in 1870.

Another John Wagner, perhaps John M., b. abt. 1858, was living with a Wesley and Margaret Wagner, also in Poolsville, in 1870. Ella Wagner (later Bowyer) and Lilla “Lilly” Wagner (later Bailey), the daughters of George D. Wagner, were also living with them. In 1880, John M. Wagner is living with his sister Ella Wagner Bowyer and her family. In 1900, it seems that this John Wagner, b. Apr 1857, and wife, Elizabeth, are living in Peoria, IL, with sons George and Claude—no daughters.

Wesley, William, and George D. were all sons of a John Michael Wagner and his wife, Margaret Day. John Michael Wagner’s will is online on Ancestry.com, and they are all clearly named.

John Wagner and his wife, Lilly, had a daughter named Maggie [a nickname that Aunt Margaret despised], according to the 1900 census. Although his middle initial is not used, this is John F. Wagner.

According to the 1930 census, John F. Wagner (lists his middle initial this time) and wife, Lilly, were still alive and living in Pine Village.

I believe your Maggie was a grandniece of Brig. Gen. George D. Wagner.

Many of the Wagners, including John Michael and wife, Wesley and wife, William and wife, and George D. and wife, are buried in Armstrong Chapel Cemetery. John M. Wagner is also there, as are his sisters. John M.’s wife, Lizzie Carter Wagner, is not buried there (or does not have a tombstone). The fate of John M.’s brother, Marquis D. Lafayette Wagner, I did not trace.

My Sacred Places: William J. Knight's Grave in Stryker, Ohio

When I was a child, the famous Civil War locomotive The General came to Lafayette, Indiana, as part of an observance of the conflict that had occurred a century earlier. If you have not heard of The General, bear with me for a few sentences and you can read about its rôle in a thrilling story. I stood beside the steaming machine, which looked enormous to a small kid like me. The kindly engineer invited my father to permit me to board the steps to the engineer’s platform for a closer look at the firebox. The hissing locomotive made such a profound impression on me that I have long remembered every detail of the machine. A few years ago, I visited the Southern Museum at Kennesaw, Georgia, with its numerous outstanding exhibits, including the Glover Machine Works (so well worth the trip to see). I was in Kennesaw primarily to visit The General, which is housed in the museum. I thought it would not appear to be as large as it had seemed to me when I was a boy, but, when I entered the room where it stands, I felt dwarfed all over again! Those early locomotives were much larger than we might imagine. When I strolled to the side, I stared at the steps that I had seen when I was little, and all the brass details came back to me. I was a kid again!

The General, Involved in the Great Locomotive Chase,

Photographed When It Passed Through Lafayette, Indiana, in 1962

But my reason for composing this blog is not to focus on the locomotive or to tell again the story of its capture by Union soldiers. Over the years, I have collected all the books on the subject of Andrews Raid, including one rare volume, and have pored over them. Many are so well written that I have no business attempting to go over that ground again. An excellent recent book on the topic is Russell S. Bonds’ Stealing the General. No, my reason for blogging is to acknowledge Stryker, Ohio, the town where William J. Knight lived and where he is buried.   

My Framed Print of The General,

Involved in the Great Locomotive Chase

First, here is the Stryker Area Heritage Council’s summary of the thrilling story:

On April 12, 1862, 20 Union volunteers led by James J. Andrews infiltrated Southern lines in civilian clothes and stole the locomotive “The General” and three boxcars at Big Shanty, Ga. The Raiders planned to make their way north to Chattanooga, Tenn., tearing up railroad tracks, cutting telegraph lines and burning bridges behind them to isolate Confederate troops, communications and supplies, and help bring the Civil War to an end. Hotly pursued by Southerners in “The Great Locomotive Chase,” the General eventually ran out of fuel and water, and the Raiders fled to the woods, but all were soon captured and imprisoned. In June 1862, James J. Andrews and seven of the “engine thieves” were executed by hanging. Eight others, including William James Knight, escaped in October 1862 and secretly made their way back to Union lines; the remainder were released in an 1863 prisoner exchange. Hailed as Northern heroes for their part in “the boldest adventure of the war,” six of the Raiders became the nation’s first Medal of Honor recipients. The Andrews Raid has inspired numerous articles, books and films.

I am not one of the many Civil War buffs who have visited the gravesites of every person who took an active part in Andrews Raid; in fact, I have been to see the cemetery markers of only two of the raiders. For some reason, I have often felt compelled to return to Oak Ridge Cemetery to pay my respects to William J. Knight. At the time of the raid, William was only 25 years old. He was supposed to be the back-up engineer, but the soldier who was designated to run the engine was delayed in Marietta and, at a place called Big Shanty, William stepped up on the platform of The General and stepped straight into history. I think I am drawn to his grave because he was so much braver than I have ever been or ever will be. It took guts to steal a locomotive with the crew in a restaurant on one side of the tracks and with a field full of Confederate soldiers on the other side. The Southern Museum is located almost exactly where William pulled the throttle. I like to think of William going back to his hometown of Stryker and living and working there for the rest of his good and honest life. As I am from a small town, I have a special place in my heart for others who have come from rural areas, especially those who, like William, have reached toward the pinnacle of bravery. As I have run an agricultural steam traction engine, I have a deep appreciation for William and what he attempted back in 1862.

Most of the graves in Oak Ridge Cemetery are arranged in concentric circles. I find the design fitting for William’s burial place. He left Stryker for the war, he dared to steal The General, he dared again to escape from prison, and he eventually returned to Stryker, where he lived out his life; the brave engineer traced a circle that began and ended in Stryker. Throughout his life, William attended the reunions of the raiders and of those that had served on both sides of the war. How I wish I could have been there to listen to the former soldiers, and how I wish I could have asked William questions about The General!

I can only stand wondering in Oak Ridge Cemetery with the quiet breezes playing about the blades of grass and lifting the folds of the American flag that marks where William rests from his labors.

Markers of Engineer William J. Knight

In Oak Ridge Cemetery

Stryker, Ohio