James Keeling
VIRGINIA, HEROES AND STATESMEN-PARENTAGE,
BIRTH AND"NATIVITY OF THE HERO-AN
INCIDENT-ROLLS UP ON THE RIGHT SIDE-A
SOUTHERN MAN-DESCRIPTION OF THE SOLDIER
During the war of the Revolution, the State of Virginia was famous in furnishing her quota of Soldiers to repel the invading foe; nor were her soldiers behind any in faithful service and patient endurance- Sleeping in the open field, and subsisting on parched corn, they were often heard to repeat the couplet-
"Old Virginia never tire;
Eat parched corn-lie by the fire."
After the lapse of more than eighty years, we may now add to the foregoing couplet-
Old Virginia never tires;
She is the State the world admires.
She is the mother of States, and she is the cradle and the grave of heroes and of statesmen. Her Washingtons, her Madisons, her Jeffersons, and, besides, a host of heroes and statesmen, are renowned the world over. And to her long list of heroes and statesmen is added the name of the immortal JAMES KEELAN.
The father of the hero is a native of Virginia, born in Spotsylvania County, where he married, when arriving at a mature age, Miss Lucy Hauskins, who became the mother of one among the greatest, heroes the world has yet known. James Keeling, the subject of this narrative, was born about the year one thousand eight hundred and twenty-six, in the same county and State in which was born his father-Spotsylvania county, Virginia--and was, therefore, about thirty-five years of age at the time he fought the world-renowned battle of Strawberry Plains Bridge. About the year 1846, Mr. Elijah Keelan, the father of the hero, removed from Virginia to the state of Tennessee, where he now lives, in Jefferson county. The hero, James, then about twenty years of age, came to Tennessee with his parents, After residing in Tennessee a few years, the hero was united in marriage to Miss Mary Harper-a worthy woman; one of those of whom Solomon speaks, as being worth more than rubies. She is now the mother of four promising,
robust children.
Nothing very remarkable occurred in the life of the hero, up to the time of the great battle of the Bridge, except one incident. The hero being always an enemy to unrighteousness, consequently became an object of ill will to three desperate and unprincipled scoundrels. These rascals, having learned that he was something like the "biting end of creation," were afraid to attack him single-handed; wherefore, they, selecting their time when he was alone, made an assault on him with open knives. The intrepid hero successfully defended himself, putting his adversaries to flight. He received many severe wounds in the conflict; none, however, proved mortal. A large scar on his neck and throat is irrefragable proof that the immortal hero had seen service before the eighth of November.
Hearing of the wonderful achievement of the mighty Keelan, one reasonably figures in mind a gigantic frame, enormous bone and muscle, far above the size of common men; but this idea of the man is far from correct; his weight is about one hundred and thirty-five pounds; true it is, however, he is built up like iron works on a small scale; his hair is pale red, as is also his beard; his forehead broad and high; his face round; his eyes deep set, under heavy brows. The fire of his small grey eyes is alone sufficient to strike with terror his adversary. The bone of his arm is powerful for a man his weight; his flesh is hard and spare; but the courage of his soul is beyond the powers of description. The Old Dominion may well be proud of the hero, and place his name on the long list of heroes and statesmen; while Tennessee will always boast of her adopted citizen soldier.
When that same old Tory party, which resisted the Independence of America, in the first war for the freedom, independence and sovereignty of the American States, had, by hypocritically assuming to themselves the garb of freedom, undertaken to convert the Government into an instrument of tyranny, and to overturn the very bulwarks of liberty itself, it was then the noble, daring Keelan rolled up on the right side, declaring in favor of Southern Rights, in a word, that he was a Secessionist; hurling defiance in the faces of the numerous Lincolnites by whom he was surrounded. His declarations were not empty professions, like some, who profess to have faith, but are without works. He has shown his faith by his works, and by works, too, which indicate most assuredly that,
From Greenland's icy mountains
To India's coral strand,
The stars and bars, victorious,
Shall wave on sea and land.
Embarked in a righteous cause, and therefore having the Lord God Almighty on his side, he fought the battle, and gained .the victory of the eighth of November, as we shall narrate in the succeeding pages.
WHY HE WAS LEFT ALONE TO WATCH THE BRIDGE
-THE BATTLE FOUGHT-DESCRIPTION OF HIS
ENEMIES-HIS NAME WRITTEN HIGH ON
THE PINNACLE OF FAME-CONCLUSION
Shortly after the election, in August, in Tennessee, which resulted in a vast majority in favor of separation, and the permanent Constitution, it was considered necessary to place a strong guard at the Bridge at Strawberry Plains, in East Tennessee, as a large majority in this part of the State were Union men, Lincolnites, enemies of Southern Rights, and threatening to destroy the railroad bridges. But the Lincolnites, finally professing to be willing to submit to the will of the majority of the State, and renouncing all intention of resisting the Confederate Government, the guard at Strawberry Plains Bridge was removed, and the Bridge left to the care of the ordinary watch-one man-whose business it was to proceed after every train, both by night and day, and to see that no fire nor any obstructions whatever had been left on the bridge; and, moreover, to see that no illegal passage was made by persons across on the bridge. Such was the condition of affairs at the Bridge, up to the eighth of November. Fortunately for the Railroad Company, and for the Southern Confederacy, James Keelan was the man at this time employed to watch the bridge. The watch has a box, or bunk, as it is sometimes called, in which he rests. It is placed on the lower sill of the bridge at, the east end, about four feet from the ground; from this box the watch can step to the shoulder of the pillar on which the sill rests. A man on the ground would be able to strike, with a bowie knife, a man standing in the box about the knee; and a man on the shoulder of the stone pillar on a level with the watch, standing in his box. Above a man's head standing in the box, two large braces, crossing,- and let one into the other, shield a man thus standing, from the blows of his adversary. On Friday evening, the eighth of November, a man who, it is very certain, was engaged in the attempt to burn the bridge, was seen to pass the bridge. He learned that no armed guard, was there stationed. Shortly after midnight, on the night of the eighth of November, about forty mounted men, some of them from a distance of more than twenty miles, entered the farm of Capt. William Stringfield, by laying down the fence-we say forty mounted men, as near as can be ascertained from the signs left by themselves and their horses. These desperadoes, it is evident, were armed with repeaters, bowie knives, torch-pine, and loco-matches; their pine being split into sticks about two feet and a half in length, about an inch and a half in diameter, and shaved with a knife, about- midway, into fine splinters, left fast at one end, so as readily to take fire from the loco-match. Thus armed and equipped, after entering the farm, the rascally incendiaries proceeded across the field until they came to a point near Holston River, above the bridge, where, it seems, they left their horses, with a guard of about ten men; thirty proceeded down the river until they came within a short distance of the bridge, when about fifteen spread out around, it would seem, to guard off any approach to protect the bridge, while about fifteen proceeded to fire the bridge. The moon had disappeared; all was silent about the bridge; the people of Strawberry Plains were profoundly sleeping; darkness shrouded every object. But the immortal Keelan was awake; the lion was aroused in his lair; the hero rose up, and stood in his box; he heard their approaching footsteps, as the rascals came down the footway which passes under the bridge, on the east side of the river; nearer and nearer they came, until under the bridge they halted. "I shall see, presently," thought the undaunted Keelan, "what all this means." Quick, after some whispering, which the watch could not understand, up mounted one of their number on the shoulder of the pillar, and within a few feet of the unflinching Keelan. "I could," says the hero, have laid my hands on him." The rascal struck his match; It ignited; he applied it to his stick of torch-pine, carefully prepared, as before stated; the match took, and a bright blaze revealed to the view of the undaunted soldier the fearful odds, about fifteen large and savage desperadoes, looking fierce as demons just revealed from the pit of darkness, their arms, silver-mounted, glittering in the sudden light. I did not stop," says the intrepid soldier, “to count them. think, from the appearance of the crowd, there were about fifteen. I had to be quick," says the soldier, "for the fellow was just about to place the torch between the scantling and weather-boarding. I could have touched him," says the hero, "with my single shot-pistol. I did not, however put it against him, but I put it very near him, and shot him in the right breast, as he was in a position quartering to me. Off he tumbled to the ground, among the crowd below; the torch was knocked out by the fall and all was dark again." The brave Keelan had now high country, home-made dirk, about thirteen inches long, and his rifle; but the demons were so close upon him that he could not use his rifle. Now commenced the most terrific struggle; the appeal was made to the cold steel. Up came two dare-devils upon the shoulder of the pillars on a level with the hero, while the crowd below were striking at him from the ground, cutting and hewing to pieces the box in which he stood. By reason of the narrowness of the shoulder of the pillar, those two mounted on a level with the hero could only come at him, one at a time. "It was very dark, and I could only see," says the hero, "the dark form approach me; so I continued to carry my left arm up and down, to shield my head and face, until I heard the crack of the bowie-knife on the brace over my head, and then I grabbed him with my left hand, and thrust my dirk into him with my right arm. I felt that my dirk went into him up to the hilt' says the soldier, "and as I drew it out of him, off he tumbled to the ground, among the crowd below; who were clattering like hail, with their bowie-knives, upon my box in which I was standing. Quick at me came the other man, who was upon the shoulder, on a level with me, he continued to strike and fall back. I could not reach to get hold on him; he struck the brace above my head several times, and I also received several blows on my left arm, and one on my right; they did, not hurt me, how-ever, in the least. At last, when I made a grab, I got him by the hair, and then, as I drew him to me, I gave him every inch of my dirk; I felt it quiver as it went into him; as I drew it back, down he went; off he tumbled to the ground among the crowd below.” At this stage of the battle a generous foe would have said, "Stop, men; it is enough; this is too brave a man to die; spare him";-but not so with the host of demons by whom the lone hero was surrounded. "Cursed be their wrath, for it was fierce, and their anger, for it was cruel," "At him again, my braves of the red melt; let me at him; God damn him, I can fetch him," said one of their number, mounting up on a level with the surviving' hero. "I was sensible," says the unflinching soldier, "that I was wounded, as the blood was running over my mouth, and it made me feel savage, and as this fourth fellow came at me, I wanted to get him. I made my grab quick, and caught him by his cap; it slipped off, and I went back hard against the weather-boarding at my back, and in the rebound I came near falling out of my box. It was then the rascal struck the blow which cut off my left hand, and split my head; but I, at the same time, poked it into him. He got the steel good; for, as I drew back, he went off to the ground heavily, and squalled out, 'Help, my braves!' They now commenced shooting and retreating. I tried to use my rifle, and found I could not lift it, I did not exactly know the reason then, but found out afterward that they had cut off my left hand, and shot me in the right arm. They shot furiously, but I did not know at the time that they had hit me; but they put three balls into me."
God be praised none of the wounds inflicted proved mortal; his skull was split four inches, yet the brain was not injured. The rascals, after firing a volley of shot at him, beat, hastily, an ignominious retreat, by the way in which they came, leaving, as was discovered, next morning, laying on the battle ground, and scattered on the line of their retreat, a No. 1 Colt's repeater, splendid bowie-knife, a fine beaver cap, a blanket which had been worn as a cloak, an overcoat, profusely besmeared with blood, and through which had been thrust the death-dealing dirk of the immortal Keelan, a box of loco-matches, together with all their torch-pine. When the demons were fairly gone, the conqueror, no one coming to his relief, his left hand cut off, his right arm rendered helpless by a deep wound from a bowie-knife and a ball, shot by the retreating incendiaries, his blood fast running, his body a gore, by one leap came to the ground, from the shoulder of the pillar, and proceeded near three hundred yards, through a rough meadow, crossing two fences, to the house of Mr. William Elmore, dark as was the night; but the fire of the hero's eye was not quenched, nor was the. never-dying courage of his soul, in the smallest degree, abated. He came to the house of Mr. Elmore, and aroused the sleeping household, when he entered the house and met the light, "Merciful God '" exclaimed Mr.' Elmore, 'Keelan, have you went to sleep on the road, and has the train run over you?" "I wish to lie down," said the hero-a bed was preparing-"not upon the bed; I shall ruin it; make a pallet on the floor." A pallet was made, and he laid himself down. "Now," said the great conqueror, I will tell you all about it," and proceeded to give a brief narrative of the astonishing battle; all of which was found true when day light appeared; and much more than could then be told was discovered. While the hero was telling about the battle, a messenger was on his way for a physician-Dr. R. Sneed, who lived hard by, a man eminent as a physician and surgeon. When the doctor came he quickly and successfully went to the wrist, through all the small bones, sinews, veins and arteries, spreading to the extremities of the hand, "this", said the doctor, "if it ever gets well, will require six months to heal. I will cut it off a little above the wrist, and cure it easily and quickly." "Not so," said the man, who did not intend to die; "let it be," said the hero, "when it gets well, with that little stump I can hold up my gun. Vesuvius! Etna! Stromboli! and all the volcanoes in this vast world! What are all your eruptions and flames in comparison with the fire still burning for battle in the bosom of Keelan, the man of never-dying heroism? Does the man one time think of dying? No; nor does he intend to die. The furious and high-blooded charger, that has seen service, on the eve of battle, in sight of the foe, his ears pierced forward: his eyes flash as fire; he furiously paws the earth and grinds the iron bit that restrains him. Keelan the immortal hero of Strawberry Plains Bridge is looking forward to another mighty and bloody battle. No person who then saw him thought it possible that the man could live. But Keelan, wonderful man, is holding on, and saving every scrap to be thrown into the scale which is to turn up in the next bloody fight. The little stump was not cut off. And, God be praised! The immortal hero is fast getting well, and is now out of all danger. And, thanks to the skillful and attentive Dr. R. Sneed, under whose care, in the Providence of God, the great soldier will survive his many deep and sore wounds. The reader may possibly here pause, and be inclined to inquire, were those bridge-burner's a puny set of poltroons? We answer, they were a company of desperadoes, villainous and savage; a select company of strong men. Lincolnites, dyed in the wool, whose watch-word was "blood and rape, burning' and plunder," and who had been sworn into service by the gods Venus and Bacchus, and by the head of old John Brown, that they would neither eat bread nor drink whiskey, until they had reduced the bridge to ashes; such were the enemies against whom the immortal Keelan fought, and whom he alone conquered. How did he conquer? We answer, God fought for Keelan; Jehovah's buckler was his shield, and his enemies fell before him accursed; and the battle ground was made slippery with the blood of the slain. The bridge cost in building more than one hundred thousand dollars; all was at stake on the dreadful issue, besides millions to the Southern Confederacy. The lives and property of Southern men, and the salvation of their wives and daughters from worse than death itself, all depended on the fearful cast. God, by his servant, Keelan, fought for his peop1e. Soldiers of the Confederate army, emulate the deeds of Keelan; his astonishing victory speaks to you in language unmistakable, that God is with you. The God of Keelan, fellow soldiers, is your God. The thick bosses of Jehovah's buckler are before you, and the shafts of your- enemies shall fall to the earth accursed. When you go to do battle in defense of our dearest rights, think of the immortal Keelan. Let your war-cry be heard in tones of thunder, and as the commingled sound of the countless swellings of the waves of many waters-Keelan! Keelan! Remember Keelan!! ! Our homes, our wives, our children, our friends.
When we say that James Keelan is a brave man, and a hero, we only speak common praise, Wonderful man! The Confederacy shall always boast of him, and be proud of his name; the nations of the earth shall speak his fame; the Universe shall talk of his mighty achievement, and children yet unborn shall be taught to lisp the name of KEELAN. The -immortal hero, James Keelan, has, with the point of his death-dealing spear, dipped in the blood of his foes, with his lone hand, written his name high, high! on the pinnacle of fame, along with the mighty Washingtons, Jacksons, Bartows, Zollicoffers and Napoleons of the world. On the pages of history will live immortal the name of James Keelan, while the names of his adversaries, the enemies of Southern Rights, will be lost, and will rot in the vortex of Abolitionism. Their tory-bitten carcasses shall descend to ignominious graves, there to rot in infamy, and be remembered only to be despised; while their deeply sin-stricken souls shall be driven away to the portals of Hell, where their astonished ears shall be stunned with the perpetual and eternal screams of devils and demi-devils, crying, in derision, "The rascals have come! The rascals have come!! Tory! Tory!! Tory!!! "The unflinching soldier, who determined to do or die, James Keelan, shall finally and eternally reap congenial joys in the fields of the blest.
Live, deeds of the soldier, immortal in story,
Whom duty to far distant latitude sends
To die in the breach; ‘tis the summit of glory;
He falls in defense of wife, children and friends.
It is in fond hope this great country to plunder,
Lincoln, a tyrant, to invade us intends;
But his legions shall shrink when brave free men thunder
The war cry of, "KEELAN, wife, children and friends!"
While valor yet glows on his life-waning- embers,
The death-wounded Tar, who his colors defends,
Drops no tear of regret; he, dying, remembers;
I fall in defense of wife, children and friends,
It is in fond hope this great country to plunder,.
Lincoln, a tyrant, to invade us intends;
But his legions shall shrink when brave free men thunder
The war cry of, "KEELAN, wife, children and friends!"
The States of the South will never surrender;
Their freedom maintained, they accomplished their ends;
The soldier who fights, though he die, will remember,
In bliss, that he bled for wife, children and friends,
It is in fond hope this great country to plunder,
Lincoln, a tyrant, to invade us intends;
But his legions shall shrink when brave free men thunder
The war cry of, "KEELAN, wife, children and friends!"
The men of the South will wax braver and braver:
Like Keelan, to conquer, each soldier intends;
Though daily the conflict grows graver and graver,
Yet shrill is the war cry-wife, children and friends !
It is in fond hope this great country to plunder,
Lincoln, a tyrant, to invade us intends;
But his legions shall shrink when brave free men thunder
The war cry of, "KEELAN, wife, children and friends !"
