Excerpt from Elijah Marrs, Life and History of the Rev. Elijah Marrs

Robinson's was general headquarters for the negroes, and I would read to them for hours at a time. It soon became known that I was reading to the slaves of the neighborhood, and that I was also familiar with the pen. At this time the county was full of rebels, and it was not long until they heard of me. I was branded as the Shelby County negro clerk. My owner took me to task one day and warned me of the danger I was incurring if I should be caught by the rebels. One thing that gave me some notoriety was the fact that nearly all the colored soldiers who had enlisted prior to myself sent their letters to their wives, sons, and daughters, addressed to my care. My owner cautioned me in regard to this matter, and even made me take his horse and ride to Boston, and to write to all my friends in the army, cautioning them against addressing any more letters to my care. This I did, but it put no stop to the letters. The colored soldiers had confidence in me, and knew that their letters would be faithfully delivered.

I remember the morning I made up my mind to join the United States Army. I started to Simpsonville, and walking along I met many of my old comrades on the Shelbyville Pike. I told them of my determination, and asked all who desired to join my company to roll his coat sleeves above his elbows, and to let them remain so during the day. I marshaled my forces that day and night. I had twenty-seven men, all told, and I was elected their captain to lead them to Louisville. Our headquarters were at the colored church. During the day some one brought the news that the rebels were in Simpsonville, and that they were preparing to make a raid upon the church. For a time this news created a panic--women screamed, jumped out the windows, crying "Murder!"--strong men ran pell-mell over the women and took to the woods. I, myself, crowded into the corner of the church, and Captain Marrs was about, for the time being, to throw up the sponge. But I did not despair. I picked up courage and rallied my men, and news soon came that the report was false. We held a council of war, and the conclusion of the boys was, that where I would lead they would follow. I said to them we might as well go; that if we staid at home we would be murdered; that if we joined the army and were slain in battle, we would at least die in fighting for principle and freedom.

During all this excitement no white face was to be seen. Night came, and Rev. Sandy Bullitt, son of Deacon John Bullitt, who had been drafted into the U. S. Army, was to preach his farewell sermon. The house was crowded to suffocation. He preached one of the most powerful sermons I have ever heard before or since. He was a preacher of the Gospel that none need be ashamed of. His name as a faithful minister of the Gospel was often afterwards mentioned by the white chaplains of the army.

It was known by nearly every one present that night that there were a number of young men in the house who were preparing to leave for the army, and they the best in the neighborhood, consequently there was great weeping and mourning--the wife for husband, the maiden for her sweetheart. Such a demonstration of sorrow I have never seen, before or since.

After a many adieu I formed my men in line, twenty-seven in number, and marched them some two miles to Robinson's, where I was raised. I arrived there at about 10 o'clock at night, and I stationed my men around until I could make arrangements to get them something to eat. I went into the house where old Aunt Beller, as we used to call her, staid, who always had on hand something good to eat. She gave me what she had, which I took and gave to the men. Then I went into my mother's room where I had concealed about $300 in money, which I had saved during slave times. I took about $200 of it and left the remainder for mother. She being asleep it was my intention to steal off without arousing her, but in getting my money I awakened her, when she screamed at the top of her voice. I immediately ran out of the door, rejoined my comrades, and we took up our march for the army. We had on the place a large Newfoundland dog, and he followed in our tracks for nearly a half mile.

Our arms consisted of twenty-six war clubs and one old rusty pistol, the property of the captain. There was one place on our route we dreaded, and that was Middletown, through which the colored people seldom passed with safety. When we got within two miles of the place I ordered my men to circle to the left until we got past the town, when we returned to the Pike, striking it in front of Womack's big woods. At this place we heard the rumbling of vehicles coming at full speed, as we supposed, towards us. I at once ordered the men to lie down in a ditch by the roadside, where we remained some twenty-five minutes, but hearing nothing further I ordered my men to arise and we took up our line of march.

Day was now breaking, and in one half hour we were within the lines of the Union Army, and by eight o'clock we were at the recruiting office in the city of Louisville. Here we found Mr. George Womack, the Provost Marshal, in whose dark woods we had taken shelter the night before. By twelve o'clock the owner of every man of us was in the city hunting his slaves, but we had all enlisted save one boy, who was considered too young....

...We were in camp at Taylor Barracks three weeks, when we received orders to report at Camp Nelson. Some rejoiced, whilst others wept, the latter thinking we were going on a fighting tour. We went by the way of Lexington, and arrived at Camp Nelson without the loss of a man. The barracks being crowded, we were assigned to tents, mine being pitched beside the bullpen.

Whilst passing through Lexington I became acquainted with a young lady named Emma--. Our love was mutual. She followed me to Camp Nelson, in the neighborhood of which she found employment. She invited me to see her; but it should be at night, after her daily duties were done. One night I called, and not seeing her, presumed her to be in some other portion of the house, and walked in without announcement. My entrance alarmed some one in the adjacent room, whose cries of "murder" hurried me back to camp, with the resolution of never seeing Emma again. The last I heard of poor Emma was that she was dead. Her last thoughts were of me, and her last request was to her kind lady employer to send me her only portrait. She was my first love, and was too early called away. Sweet spirit, which nothing can banish from an unforgetful heart--who never looked upon sin and seldom on sorrow--why should thy memory be so precious to me now? Never again has come to my heart that gladness that seemed to brighten thine--never more has beamed upon me the soft glory which seemed to shine from thy blessed eyes! Often coming up from the struggles of passion and from the midst of the world's temptations, the remembrance of thee and thy virtues burst upon me as a vision, and I feel purified, sanctified, and strengthened by thy presence, and with an increased vigor renew my labors in the upholding of the Cross of Christ. Emma, farewell! Thy name may not be written on a tombstone, but thy memory is enshrined within a heart!

 Sitting in camp one bright sunny day, surrounded by my comrades, for whom I was writing letters home, I was very agreeably surprised by meeting with my brother, who had joined the army some six weeks before I did. I had not heard from him since his enlistment, but I knew that his regiment had been ordered to Saltville. He had gone as far as Cumberland Gap, when he became sick, and had been ordered back. My brother at that time was Orderly Sergeant, and the man who was detailed to fill his place was killed at the battle of Saltville, and within the walls of the fort. My brother was afterwards promoted to the rank of Sergeant Major, and served in this capacity until mustered out of service.

Our stay at Camp Nelson was not altogether devoid of excitement, and this event being my first actual experience in the science of war, is now more vivid to my memory, as I presume it is to my comrades who were with me, than subsequent events of the war. One night the news reached the camp that the rebels were in Danville, Ky., and in about forty minutes afterwards Gen. S. S. Fry, accompanied by about fifty men, came galloping into camp with all speed. The alarm was at once given, the long roll of the drum was beaten, and every man roused and ordered to prepare for battle. We were at once marched to the various forts surrounding the camp, and though up to that time we had only been drilled in infantry tactics, we were commanded to man the cannons. It is true we belonged to the Heavy Artillery, but had never been drilled in the tactics thereof. Nos. 1, 2, 3, and 5, however, soon learned their positions at the cannon, and while apparently paying attention to their work, could not keep their eyes from peering into the darkness beyond the river, from which direction they thought they heard the clang of swords and the clattering of horses coming upon us.

Day broke, however, and no enemy was in sight, so we marched back to camp in great glee, as much so as if we had met the enemy and gained a great victory.

In connection with our stay at Camp Nelson I must mention the name of Sergeant Major Geo. Thomas, who was and is yet an intimate friend of mine. He was a genial companion and a good officer. His many acts of kindness to his men will long be remembered by them as his friendship is by me. He was the only man in the regiment, white or colored, who understood vocal music sufficiently well to teach it, and he and myself, by permission, formed regular classes among the men, which we would teach at designated times in vocal music and in the rudiments of English during our entire stay at Camp Nelson.

After a stay of some weeks at Camp Nelson, we were ordered to Russellville, Ky. It was thought now that we were on our way to the front. Many of us would have preferred remaining at Camp Nelson, but the command was to march. We began to pack up on the morning of November 24, 1864, and we were marched on foot to Lexington, there being no railroad. I shall never forget that day. It was my first long march, and I had to carry my knapsack, my gun, my sword, and army equipments....