Samuel McCorkle – Maternal 2nd Great Uncle
52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks
Week 34 – August 20, 2025
Prompt: Playtime
When the Civil War interrupted daily life in Warren County, Tennessee, soldiers carried with them not only muskets and haversacks but also bits of home that brought comfort to the camps. For my 2nd great uncle, Samuel McCorkle, that comfort came in the form of a fiddle. Music provided playtime in the midst of war—moments of relief around the fire when soldiers could laugh, sing, or simply listen to the familiar strains of a tune. Samuel’s fiddling was memorable enough to earn a place in the Southern Standard newspaper, where his story was preserved in colorful detail.
Southern Standard, McMinnville, Tenn., Friday, Aug. 14, 1959
McMinnville MEMORIES
By Joe Nunley, Commander, Warren Post 173, American Legion
“Fiddlin’ Sam McCorkle”
Music hath charms to soothe the savage beast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
It seems that in time of war human emotions are very vulnerable to music. It often furnishes the force that makes a man of indecision one of conviction. The recruiters of World War II knew that. They almost filled up the wild blue yonder with that “Off We Go” song, and the same could be said for “Anchors Aweigh” and the “Marine’s Hymn.” They were songs of inspiration, songs that implied immediate action.
On the other extreme, wars produce music with themes of sadness. The ballads that play on a soldier’s memories can blind him. They bring back thoughts of home, or better times, and “the girl I left behind me.” Not too many moons ago, Sammy Kaye worked the tear ducts of countless GI thousands with his rendition of “You’ll Never Know” and “Dear Mom.” And many a lonesome mountain lad choked on his English beer as Roy Acuff caterwauled “The Great Speckled Bird.”
Music, coming from one who can produce it, can touch hidden emotions in any man. During the 1860s, Sam McCorkle of Company H, 16th Tennessee Regiment, Donelson’s Brigade, Cheatham’s Division, Army of Tennessee, was the man who could produce it.
Bragg’s Sternness
In May of 1862 General Braxton Bragg became the commander of the Army of Tennessee. He was a man whose inhuman sternness was aggravated by ulcers and headaches; a West Pointer who knew the finer points of military discipline and who intended to apply them to the volunteers he had inherited.
Men who had signed up in the summer of ’61 for one year’s service found themselves in for the duration. No furloughs were permitted, and if a man sneaked home anyhow, he regretted coming back because he was court-martialed and shot. Milder offenses were punished by riding the rail or being chained in the stocks. Such was the discipline of General Bragg, and though he had little competition in being the most hated man in the army, at least he had a semblance of organization.
Sam McCorkle brought his fiddle with him when he walked stoically into McMinnville to join Colonel John Savage’s regiment. He soon became a hit with the men because of the music, and the officers tolerated him because he kept the men amused. That’s why the wagon that hauled Company H’s equipment carried the fiddle when the huge army moved out of Chattanooga on August 7, 1862, and turned north toward Kentucky.
For two weeks they moved leisurely up the Sequatchie Valley. They were well fed and well rested. They had been sharpened by drill and discipline as General Bragg sought to transfer their hatred from him to the Yanks. They were on their way to battle in the North, and they welcomed it as a contrast to the camp life they were leaving.
At night, Sam’s gifted fiddle would send the inspiring notes of “Dixie” out from Company H’s area, and an audience of back-slapping, hat-waving men would gather. This pleased Colonel Savage. He wanted his men eager. He was a veteran of the Seminole War and the Mexican War, and he knew the value of morale. He also knew that most of his men were from Van Buren, Grundy, and Warren Counties, and that they hadn’t been home in thirteen months — and home was just one mountain away.
Samuel McCorkle, a 23-year-old Confederate soldier, found playtime in camp with his fiddle, bringing music to weary soldiers gathered around the fire
Camping Near Home
Lieutenant Etter was from Northcutt Cove, and the girl he left behind was still there. When the army moved far up the valley, he saw that McMinnville was bypassed, so he asked Colonel Savage for permission to make a trip home. It was emphatically refused.
On the night of September 1st the army camped on the mountain near Pikeville, but Lieutenant Etter found little consolation in being so near home — and few in the 16th felt differently.
Old Fiddlin’ Sam had by now become an institution to the entire regiment. Every night he gave them a diet of “Dixie,” “Bonnie Blue Flag,” and “Soldier’s Joy.” Sam was older than most of his companions, and time had made a stronger shell over his emotions. It amused him to watch expressions change in his audience as he changed the tempo of his songs. It especially amused him to watch Lieutenant Etter turn his head away from the firelight when he struck out the mournful notes of “Lorena.”
Often Sergeant Parkes sang, and the camp area of the 16th hung on every word until he finished all six verses.
As they went into bivouac September 2nd near Cane Creek, Colonel Savage called in his company commanders and warned each to be careful of the men that night. They were close to home, and Bragg was still punishing deserters with death. He gave Captain Meadows notice that he should double the guard around Company H and be especially watchful over that homesick lieutenant.
When the sun went down behind the White County hills and the cook fires settled to a yellow glow, Sam broke out the fiddle. “Soldier’s Joy” and “Fire in the Mountain” rang out on the side of the Cumberlands. The usual joyous response was not there, so Sam switched to the mood that had captured the thoughts of the 16th Regiment. “Carry Me Back to Ole Virginny” silenced them, and Sam realized, almost gleefully, that his concert was timed perfectly. He softly played the strains of “Lorena.” Sergeant Parkes took the cue and sang as soft and sad as a mourning dove:
“The years creep slowly by, Lorena,
The snow is on the grass again …”
Sun’s Low
How long had it been since they had been cheered at the depot on the day they left? They were all heroes then, going to whip the Yanks and be home for supper. The cheers had been drowned by the noise of the train, and the waving crowd soon disappeared until only the point of Ben Lomond marked home.
Men began to look toward the shadows and swallow back the tight places in their throats:
“The sun’s low down the sky,
The frost gleams where the flowers have been …”
Lieutenant Etter rose from his seat on the ground, stepped out of the fringe of light, and disappeared into the woods. A few stared at the sky and others frantically blinked at nothing.
Old, tough Fiddlin’ Sam looked at his audience. He had them where he wanted them, and none looked back.
“Our heads will soon be low, Lorena.
The past is in the eternal past …”
The firelight faded as Sergeant Parkes finished the last line. Katydids rasped their song of fall, and a whip-poor-will whistled far down in the valley, and a tear dropped on the fiddle strings.
At daybreak, September 3rd, the morning report was made to Colonel Savage, and the fiery little soldier blistered the air with his denunciation of the one deserter in the 16th.
“If Bragg doesn’t shoot him, I’ll hang him myself,” he said.
“Meadows, I told you to watch that man.”
“I did, Colonel,” replied Captain Meadows. “Etter didn’t leave. It was Private Sam McCorkle.”
The knotted oak had bent.
Closing Reflection
Samuel’s story reminds us that “playtime” during the Civil War wasn’t always innocent or carefree. For him, the fiddle was both a pastime and perhaps a way of coping with the chaos around him. His absences from the regiment show a restless spirit, but the notes of his music linger as a reminder that even in times of war, soldiers still found ways to play.
Footnote from The History of the Sixteenth Tennessee Volunteer Infantry Regiment, Vol. I by Jamie Gillum:
“Samuel McCorkle of Company H, left the ranks AWOL on August 29, 1862. He was present by December 1862 and deserted on January 1, 1863. He was brought back into custody and in the guard house and somehow released. He was paroled in McMinnville in July 1863 at 23 years old.”
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