Ironton Register 13 Oct. 1887 – Dr. Jona Morris was one of those Army Surgeons, who went where duty called him, whether it was dangerous or not. If a boy was wounded, he was by his side, however thick the balls flew. So, the Register scribe alighted on him for a “Narrow Escape.”
“About as bad a fix as ever I got into,” said he, “was at Cloyd Mountain, but the matter possesses no details that are personally thrilling. It was just such a place where the shooting was terrible, and I can’t see how I escaped the balls.
“You will remember our first line was drawn back at Cloyd Mountain and for a moment or two, the prospect was decidedly dark. When the first line fell back, I had got out there to attend to the wounded, of which there were many, when the Brigade on the right came up and poured in a crossfire on the very ground where I was.
That was all there was of it, an exceedingly heavy fire which I proceeded to get out of as rapidly as possible. But you are after personal incidents, where the escapes were peculiar to the individual. The one that comes to my mind now was the event at Guyandotte where I did make a pretty narrow escape.
“Col. Whaley was forming a regiment at Guyandotte, [West Virginia] in the fall of 1861. He had got together about 120 men, and I was there as the Surgeon of the new regiment.
On the night of the 9th of November, just as I had returned from church, about 9 o’clock on Sunday night, I heard some firing at the edge of town, up the Guyandotte River, and thinking it was some careless or foolish firing by our pickets, I started up that way to stop it.
I had got a little beyond the bridge, and immediately after shots were fired, some of the balls came uncomfortably close to me. Of course, the town was in an uproar immediately and everything was in confusion, so I started back to get to my hotel as soon as possible.
“The fact was, Col. Clarkson and about 1,500 rebel troops had seized the town. They were all mounted and upon us before we knew it. Beyond the town, a short distance, they had divided one-half coming down on the west side of the Guyan River, and the other half taking in the east side of the town.
Well, by the time I had got to the hotel, it was surrounded, and a good deal of firing had been going on. In fact, several persons had been killed and wounded. The night was dark, and it was hard to tell friends from foes, so I thought the thing to do was to get into the hotel and skip to my room.
“So, I started in at the front door. In front was a troop of reb cavalry banging away at somebody all the time. I entered at the front door, and started upstairs, somewhat in a hurry, for I didn’t know how soon a ball would come searching for me. Just as I was getting toward the top of the steps, someone fired a shot through the hall, which was a signal for the rebs outside to open up, and then came a tremendous volley into that hall.
Just then was about as scaly a little time as I experienced during the war. I was nearly at the top of the steps when the volley came, and I jumped forward to the landing above and into a room, without knowing whether I was killed or wounded or only badly scared.
“One thing I knew, however, and that was, I was pretty mad, and having a little ‘pop’ with me I ran to the window to fire that into the street, when some man in the room, exclaimed, ‘For God’s sake, don’t fire out that window, we will be riddled to pieces in a moment.’ At this, I got back from the window, when a moment or so after, a new sensation arose.
A man called from the street ‘come out of the hotel, every one of you, or we will burn it to the ground.’ I knew that meant business, so I went out into the hall and proceeded to feel my way down the stairway. At the bottom of the steps I stumbled over a dead man, in a side room, I heard the groaning of wounded men.
It was a very ghastly moment for me, as I didn’t know how soon my time would come. But I boldly stepped out the front door into the presence of the rebs and immediately plead, ‘don’t fire the building, don’t shoot in there. There are wounded men who need assistance, and I want a light so as to dress their wounds.’
“This speech had some effect, and some of them entered the hotel, striking lights, to hunt up the wounded. The dead man whom I had stumbled over proved to be a citizen of Guyandotte, by the name of Huddleston. In a side room, we found a reb soldier shot in the side. I dressed his wounds and others and then was made a prisoner myself.
They tied my arms behind me, guarded me closely till morning, and then marched me off with about sixty others, among whom was Col. Whaley, who escaped a day or two after. They took us to Libby where I remained for four and a half months. I fell under the immediate charge of Capt. Henry Clay Pate, for several days after my capture, and would have fared pretty badly, if it hadn’t been for Gen. Jenkins.
“One thing I may safely claim credit for and that is saving Col. Zeigler at Ceredo. He was there forming a regiment, and it was part of the plan to capture his rising force. They asked me, particularly about him, how many men he had and especially if he had artillery. I told him he had 2,500 men and four cannons, and so they concluded not to attack him. It is allowed in war, you know, to deceive the enemy.”
Dr. Jona Morris Obit
Ironton Register, Thursday, January 2, 1896
This esteemed and prominent citizen died at the residence of his brother-in-law, Dr. D. C. Wilson, last Friday evening. The news of his death was not sudden, for he had been lying unconscious from an attack of apoplexy, three weeks before; but the intelligence spread universal sorrow in this community, where for forty years he was well known.
We give the biographical sketch read by his pastor Rev. Geo. H. Geyer, at the funeral service: On December 1, 1823, Dr. Jonathan Morris was born in Morgan County, Ohio. His father, Abraham Morris, a soldier in the War of 1812, was of Scotch-Irish descent and his mother came from a German family.
Left an orphan at the early age of eleven years, he began the conflicts of life, ultimately gaining by his own exertions a broad and liberal education. In 1847 he graduated from the Cleveland Medical College and began the practice of medicine in Burlington, Ohio. There he met Miss Emily J. Wilson, who became his wife in 1849.
In 1861 Dr. Morris entered the army as a surgeon of the 9th Virginia Regiment and served in that capacity for four years. During that time, he was confined in Libby prison for four months. At the close of the war, he resumed the practice of medicine in Ironton where he has since been known as one of our city’s most respected and successful physicians.
A man of deep convictions, whether as a citizen or a member of an order or of his church, Dr. Morris was ever most conscientious.
He was a member of Ironton Commandry No. 45 Knights Templar and also of Dick Lambert Post G.A.R.
About ten years ago he united with Spencer M. E. Church during the pastorate of Rev. James Hill and ever since that time he has been one of Spencer’s most devoted and substantial members. He was president of the Board of Trustees at the time of the dedication of the new church and contributed most largely towards the expense of its erection.
He was a faithful member of the official board and attended its last meeting taking much interest in the welfare of the church. Spencer has lost one of its most spiritual and faithful members. Seldom absent from any of the services of the church, he will especially be missed in the prayer meeting where his presence and ready testimony were ever a benediction.
For him there was-
“One God one law, one element,
And one far-off divine event
To which the whole creation moves.”
A little more than two weeks ago he was stricken with paralysis at the home of Dr. and Mrs. D. C. Wilson. His faithful wife was constantly at his side and his only child, Mr. S. W. Morris, of Washington, D. C., was with him the last. About 5 o’clock on the afternoon of December 26th, after a patient endurance of his suffering, trusting ever in Christ, his face lighted up with a divine halo, and
“So softly death succeeded life in him.
He did but dream of heaven and he was there.”
The funeral took place at Spencer Church, last Sunday afternoon. It was attended by the Knight Templars, the Masons, and the Grand Army of the Republic, commanded respectively by Sir Knight V. Newman, Mr. S. S. Littlejohn, and Capt. Merrill.
These societies joined the cortege from the residence. The church was crowded. The choir sang ‘Nearer my God to Thee’, an adaptation of ‘Home Sweet Home’, and an appropriate anthem. Rev. Geo. H. Geyer delivered a beautiful and thoughtful discourse from II Timothy 4: 6-8: “For I am now ready to be offered” &c. Then followed a portion of the impressive ritual of the Knight Templars.
Preceded by the societies, the funeral procession formed and moved to Woodland [Cemetery], where the final ceremonies of the Knight Templars took place. The day was beautiful and the assemblage about the grave was large.
Dr. Morris’s life has been a busy one. He has pursued his purposes quietly and honorably. His manners were gentle and kind. He stood up for his opinions stoutly but respected others for doing the same with their own. He performed faithfully his duties as he saw them.
In the army, there was no braver, no more devoted Surgeon. He went where he was needed, regardless of danger. The writer remembers on a field of Battle near Winchester, that E. B. Willard, Brady Steece, and himself were shot, and had pulled themselves together, in some cluster of trees, among the wounded and dying. The shells and balls were still flying about.
They espied a man hurrying among the wounded, giving medicine, applying plasters, and binding up wounds. He was the only able-bodied man in sight. He worked like a hero among the bleeding and mangled soldiers. As he approached the trio referred to, they saw it was Dr. Morris. They called to him. He worked toward them, and was soon by their sides, giving them surgical attention comfort, and hope.
An old friend in an emergency like that is as sweet as a benediction from heaven. A moment there and then off he rushed to other needs – the clamorous frightful duties of a battlefield. Such was Dr. Morris in the army, the old soldiers of his regiment and Brigade as long as they live.
For over forty years Dr. Morris has dwelt among us, pursuing his calling as a Physician, and now that he has gone, many pleasant thoughts cluster about his memory; and happy, too, the thought that the sunset of his life was in a serene sky.
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