​The Battle of Salisbury is often dismissed as little more than skirmish. Less than a year after the battle a local citizen wrote, “As to the fight two miles and a half from Salisbury – ‘tis all a myth. … But little resistance was made – for it was so clearly of no avail …. Every one here falls into a giggle over the battle with the three thousand and the hosts of prisoners.”

The soldiers who fought that morning would have disagreed with the citizen’s disparaging statement. At dawn on Wednesday, April 12, 1865, the men of the District of East Tennessee’s Cavalry Division approached the valley of Grant’s Creek. They advanced in two columns – one on the new Mocksville Road, the other on the old road – toward their long-sought objective.

On the new road, Alvan Gillem sized up the situation while enemy shells crashed about him. From his vantage point, the new road sloped gently down to a bridge across Grant’s Creek. “A close reconnaissance discovered the fact that the flooring had been removed from two spans of the bridge and piled on the enemy’s side,” Gillem reported. Southern artillery and infantry covered the bridge, and the creek defied crossing. Grant’s Creek had “had very high and precipitous banks and could not be forded,” wrote a witness. “The only way to cross it was by a bridge, which was effectually commanded by the enemy’s artillery.” Another wrote, “The creek had steep banks, and was passable in only two or three places.” From the bridge the road continued through the Confederate barbican and up a slope toward the town, just two miles away. Above the racket, Gillem could hear trains leaving Salisbury. An evacuation was obviously underway.

George Stoneman knew the importance of speed and made his plans accordingly. “He may be considered as a safe rather than a brilliant man[,] practical rather than theoretical,” an admirer once wrote. Stoneman’s next moves displayed his pragmatism. Rightly judging Gardner’s defenses to be undermanned with its flanks in the air, Stoneman decided on a flanking maneuver. Couriers sped off with his orders. Miller’s and Brown’s brigades were brought up and closed up. Another messenger sent one hundred men to ford Grant’s Creek two miles and a half above and west of the main bridge. Their objective was to cut the railroad – perhaps capture a train – and “get in rear of Salisbury and annoy the enemy as much as possible,” Gillem explained. They were to advance until they reached the Statesville Road, which joined the new Mocksville Road behind the main bridge. Gillem chose Slater’s 11th Kentucky for the job ....

So ends this series of blog posts marking those momentous days of 155 years ago in Stoneman's Raid, 1865. I wish you a Happy Easter, and invite you to read what happened next in Chris J. Hartley, Stoneman's Raid, 1865.

Excerpt from Stoneman's Raid, 1865, (c) Chris J. Hartley

Shallow Ford was an important crossroads. Its popularity as a river crossing stretched for centuries, from early Native American usage to the 1700s, when European immigrants came from the north. A sand and gravel bar sat just beneath the surface near a bend in the river, making a firm low-water highway for travelers. Warriors had fought here too; in 1780, a skirmish near the ford claimed the lives of more than a dozen men. But April 11, 1865, was like no other day in the ford’s history. When dawn broke, its light revealed thousands of dust-covered, well-armed cavalrymen, led by Alvan Gillem and George Stoneman. They splashed into the Yadkin around 7:00 a.m.
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From George Stoneman’s perspective, Shallow Ford had a strategic purpose. By crossing the river there, Stoneman gained access to the least-defended route into Salisbury. The route also offered security for his flank and rear. Between Shallow Ford and Salisbury, the Yadkin River followed a winding but generally north-south line, parallel to the Salisbury Road. Thus, the river would protect his left from Confederates around Greensboro and Lexington. Controlling Shallow Ford would also ensure rear protection. Palmer’s troopers would handle that once they finished with Salem and Greensboro.

Confederate forces recognized the ford’s importance. Days earlier, news of raiders at Patterson’s Factory and of “disguised men … lurking along the Yadkin” caused “great consternation” in Salem. At a public meeting, Lt. Col. Alfred H. Belo, a Confederate officer home on furlough, proposed “that if the citizens would provide me with good horses, I would gather together the soldiers home on furlough and keep the town informed of their movements.” The idea was well-received, and in short order Colonel Belo and home guard commander R.F. Armfield had assembled about 230 men on the west bank of Shallow Ford in “a little breastwork.” From his headquarters at the R.C. Puryear home, Belo also established a line of couriers between the river and Salem. These troopers eventually warded off a few of Stoneman’s outriders at one point, but that was it. When Stoneman detoured into Virginia, most of the ford’s defenders were released. Only a few home guardsmen still manned the trenches the morning Stoneman arrived, and the Federals dispatched them with ease. “The detachment of the enemy guarding the ford were taken by surprise, made but a feeble resistance, and fled, leaving upwards of 100 new muskets in our hands,” Gillem reported. The Federals also captured a mail rider near the ford, but he was freed. Johnston and Beauregard soon heard of Stoneman’s whereabouts.

Some warning had preceded the raiders. About 2:00 a.m., someone knocked on the door of R.C. Puryear’s home in Huntsville, a village about a mile from the ford. The visitor brought a message from a man who lived a few miles away: General Stoneman and a Federal army were on the way. The former congressman roused his children. “Dressing as rapidly as possible we packed trunks with the most valuable things – negroes made wagons ready and things were sent out to be concealed in the woods.” The Puryears also hid the family’s silver in a corner of the icehouse, under blocks of ice and straw. Brig. Gen. Thomas Clingman, an Army of Northern Virginia veteran who was at home after being wounded near Petersburg, and a few other soldiers on leave, also took the chance to escape. Those who stayed behind crossed their fingers and made ready. “Just at that time without any degree of procrastination every body ‘got busy’ and for awhile there was ‘something doing,’” recalled a local citizen. “Those who had horses hustled out to hide them, and the men proceeded to make themselves scarce about town….”

For the raiders, crossing the river was not as easy as expected due to the recent rains. A traveler noted a few days later, “the name given to this Ford is evidently a misnomer or ironical, for I found it very deep.” Once across, the vanguard traced the old stage road a short distance to Huntsville. About a mile beyond, they stopped to feed and rest. It took some time, however, for the full column to pass the ford. Frank Frankenberry with the trains and Mallaby’s signal corps detachment did not arrive at Huntsville until about 10:00 a.m. According to Frankenberry, the column was fired on at some point that morning, but they were mere potshots. Meanwhile, the scenery noticeably improved. “We are now in a better country,” he wrote. Huntsville, which Frankenberry described as “a small village,” was the perfect place to fall out, eat breakfast, and prepare for the next stage of the journey. Frankenberry did so by having a shoe put on his horse.

Meanwhile, troopers roamed the countryside. On the north side of Huntsville, the cavalrymen found a large warehouse containing government corn, flour, meat, and more. They gladly consumed those goods. They also discovered the “White Store,” a building about one hundred yards east of the warehouse. The raiders burned it, along with the stock of goods, guns, and ammunition inside.[v]

To read what happened next, see Chris J. Hartley, Stoneman's Raid, 1865.

Excerpt from Stoneman's Raid, 1865, (c) Chris J. Hartley

Simeon Brown’s second brigade led off early the next morning, April 10. The next goal was Germanton, a small settlement in southern Stokes County. By noon, Brown’s troopers had captured Germanton with ease. “Charged the Town of Germanton. Rebs all gone,” declared Henry Birdsall of the 11th Michigan. Afterward the men camped and ate, and then prepared to continue the journey. By 5:00 p.m., the brigade had resumed the march along the Salisbury Road.

John Miller’s Tennessee brigade followed. A 13th Tennessee man lost a horse near Germanton for unknown reasons, but otherwise the visit was routine. At least the town was interesting; an observant Tennessean thought it must have been “a nice prosperous place before the war.” Like their comrades in Brown’s brigade, the Tennesseans paused to eat before moving on.

Gray skies hung low over the raiders the entire day. Near first light a Pennsylvanian, Smith Cozens, took about twelve men on picket duty. Presently it began to drizzle, so the troopers pulled on their rubber coats. Around 7:00 a.m., bugles sounded “Forward” and the 15th Pennsylvania Cavalry and First Brigade took their place in the column. Rain fell all morning as Palmer’s men wound their way to Germanton. They arrived around midday and stopped to rest, but the weather did not change. “It was still quite cloudy and occasionally drizzled a little,” Cozens complained. To Cozens, Germanton itself was unremarkable. “It was without paint or whitewash and laziness was apparent all over it,” a cavalryman wrote.

To read what happened next, see Chris J. Hartley, Stoneman's Raid, 1865.

Excerpt from Stoneman's Raid, 1865, (c) Chris J. Hartley

On Palm Sunday, the Cavalry Division of the District of East Tennessee vanished into North Carolina like a ghost. Echoes of their passing lingered for days in Virginia. The Confederate treasury, just arrived from Richmond, was evacuated from Danville because of rumors of an enemy cavalry threat. Reserves dashed to Danville’s weak works. “Raiding parties were careering around us in various directions, robbing and maltreating the inhabitants, but none of the thieves ventured within reach of our guns,” complained one of Danville’s defenders.
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The uproar spread. In Lynchburg, a witness wrote, “gloom and sadness confirmed the entire community.” In Christiansburg, the grim news from Appomattox Court House shook John Echols’ command. “If the light of heaven had gone out, a more utter despair and consternation would not have ensued,” wrote one man. The command began to fall apart. Grasping for any hope, Maj. Gen. Lunsford Lomax suggested that Echols and Lomax combine forces and march to Johnston’s aid. Around blazing campfires, Echols called for the opinions of his officers. Could and should the command join Johnston? After much debate, they decided to furlough the infantry and take only Vaughn’s and Duke’s horse brigades to North Carolina. Speed was required and muddy mountain roads lay ahead, so they also decided to leave their artillery and trains behind. The Confederates spiked their guns and gave goods from the trains to needy citizens. Duke’s men, their horses still foraging in North Carolina, mounted the animals that had once pulled their guns and wagons. There were still not enough mounts, and many lacked proper equipment, but it was the best they could do. On the afternoon of April 12, Duke’s and Vaughn’s ragtag remnants started for Fancy Gap.

“The rain was falling in torrents when we prepared to start upon a march which seemed fraught with danger,” Basil Duke recalled. “The men were drenched, and mounted upon mules without saddles, and with blind bridles or rope halters. Everything conspired to remind them of the gloomy situation. The dreadful news was fresh in their ears. Thousands of men had disbanded around them; two Kentucky brigades had left in their sight to go home; they were told that Stoneman held the mountain gaps in the
mountains through which they had to pass.” The troopers rode in silence, picking up a few men from other brigades along the way.

Other North Carolina-bound refugees included Jefferson Davis and the Confederate cabinet. An unbowed Davis had hoped to remain in Virginia, but Lee’s capitulation ended the government’s authority in the state. Resolving to find Johnston and his army, the Confederate leaders evacuated Danville near midnight on April 10. Their train lumbered through the darkness along the Piedmont Railroad toward Greensboro.

To read what happened next, see Chris J. Hartley, Stoneman's Raid, 1865.

Excerpt from Stoneman's Raid, 1865, (c) Chris J. Hartley

On April 8, Stoneman and the Second and Third Brigades rested in Taylorsville, which was also called Patrick Court House. It was, a horseman wrote, “a fine section of the country. The houses are beautiful. Tobaco [sic] is so plentiful that all are smoking very fair cigars.” The Federals burned the jail, gathered horses and provisions, and captured some potential recruits of the Confederacy. They forced at least one prisoner to walk alongside the mounted column. Somehow he kept up with the column deep into North Carolina until he was finally sent to Camp Chase, Ohio. The man apparently replaced another captive, N.J. Agnew, who escaped into the darkness. A veteran of the 1st Virginia Cavalry, Agnew had just been exchanged after a long hiatus in a Yankee prison.
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Many Patrick County residents lost possessions to the raiders. Among the victims was Hardin Reynolds, the county’s wealthiest planter. The Reynolds lived on an eight thousand acre estate called Rock Spring. One of Reynolds’s sons was the future tobacco tycoon, Richard Joshua Reynolds. Fifteen-year-old Dick saved the plantation’s horses by hiding them in the woods, but he could not prevent the raiders from looting Rock Spring. The cavalrymen also made off with some livestock, and Hardin’s slaves followed the raiders to freedom, rejoicing as they left. Among the odds and ends the troopers left behind was a rifle, which remains at the Reynolds Homestead today.

Frank Frankenberry was one of the beneficiaries of Taylorsville’s bounty. The signalman noted that “the place was almost deserted but we found plenty of forage and brandy.” He also amused himself by rummaging through some courthouse records, and even found a deed with Patrick Henry’s handwriting on it. “All is lovely and gay,” Frankenberry wrote. Other cavalrymen reflected on their journey through Virginia. Henry Birdsall of the 11th Michigan wrote, “We have had no fighting yet. I think it rather strange having been in a Rebel Country….”

To read what happened next, see Chris J. Hartley, Stoneman's Raid, 1865.

Excerpt from Stoneman's Raid, 1865, (c) Chris J. Hartley

On April 7, 1865, they remained encamped around the bridges. It was a welcome change. While most of the men rested, Wagner sent out scouting parties to search the countryside for horses, signs of the enemy or even for Stoneman himself. Two men went looking for horses but did not return. Another squad of twelve men under Sgt. John Anderson reconnoitered the approaches to Lynchburg. They exchanged shots with a few rebels along the way but did not encounter a large enemy force. After riding to a point within eleven miles of Lynchburg, Anderson turned back, carrying news that the road to Lynchburg was open. That welcome information was tempered, however, by a subsequent report that about 1,500 Confederates held Lynchburg itself.
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Back at the bridge, Wagner pondered the reports of his patrols. Lacking new orders from Stoneman, Wagner had some decisions to make. First, should he burn the bridges? Second, should he turn south and try to rejoin the Cavalry Division? Or should he threaten Lynchburg and Danville, as his orders suggested? Rather than make these important decisions alone, Wagner called a council of war. Wagner and his subordinates settled on a compromise – to burn the bridges and proceed toward Lynchburg but avoid attacking the town itself. The work of firing the bridges began about 8:00 p.m., and within three hours the framework of both spans was in flames.

At midnight, Wagner’s column resumed the march toward Lynchburg. Wagner’s plan was to approach the town early on April 8 and, if possible, surprise the defenders before turning south. Taking the Forest Road, the Federals spent the rest of the night riding east. Around daybreak they passed Forest Station. One man went missing as they rode.[iii] Lynchburg was only seven miles away.

To read what happened next, see Chris J. Hartley, Stoneman's Raid, 1865.

Excerpt from Stoneman's Raid, 1865, (c) Chris J. Hartley

Although a Michigan officer thought Stoneman had changed his strategy after learning about Richmond’s fall, April 6 looked much like April 5. The division continued to damage the railroad, and they did it with fresh purpose. “Never were troops in better spirits, and never did men work with a heartier will at the labor of destruction,” noted one of Stoneman’s staff officers. “Every stick added to the blazing fires, which were fast contorting the iron rails into all sorts of fantastic shapes, each falling bridge, each flaming storehouse hurried on the destruction of Lee’s army, hastened the day of peace, and the return to the home fireside; so the work went on with shout and cheer, and gladsome song.” It was, the staff officer concluded, “Glory enough for one day.”

As April 6 progressed, the railroad work ended and the units prepared to resume the march. One concern was the division’s ambulances. All ten had broken down by the time they reached Christiansburg, so Stoneman’s medical staff was left scrambling. Other troopers saw to their personal needs. Frank Frankenberry washed his clothes and baked biscuits. The 10th Michigan received orders to stay in its Salem bivouac pending further orders. To ensure readiness, Trowbridge sent men to look for horses, but they returned with far more. “One afternoon I was sitting under a tent fly enjoying the rest, the delicious air and the charming scenery, when I heard a commotion on the road,” Trowbridge recalled. “Looking up, I saw one of my parties returning from their hunt after horses. The party was preceded by an elegant coach, drawn by a pair of cavalry horses, clad in resplendent silver-plated harness and on the driver’s seat sat Corporal Delaney, as happy as a lord.” Behind the coach came an equally amusing sight: a knot of campaign-hardened, dirty cavalrymen carrying ladies’ clothing. The proud troopers claimed the carriage and clothing as legitimate captures, but Trowbridge ordered his men to surrender the loot after explaining that they were not warring against women and children. As the colonel returned the property to its rightful owners, a black man approached and asked if he could have a remnant of bright calico for his wife. “Why should I give that to you? It does not belong to you. It belongs to Mrs. White,” Trowbridge said.

“Now see here, boss,” the man answered. “I think that belongs to me more than it does to them. Fact is, I’se been workin’ for dat family all my life and never got a cent for it and not one of them ever struck a lick of honest work in all their lives. I think I’se earn’t it mor’n they has.” Trowbridge let him have the calico.

The Federals also had more troublesome matters to deal with. At their camp near Salem, a 10th Michigan clerk reported the hard-drinking, rebellious Capt. Archibald Stevenson as absent without leave. Stevenson had apparently escaped from his jailers, gotten drunk, fallen into the hands of some guerillas, and escaped again, but he had not yet reported for duty. During the short pause, the case of the 15th Pennsylvania’s Capt. C.J. Mather also surfaced. Only three days had passed since the Pennsylvanian had failed to capture the Confederate wagon train near Hillsville, but Mather had tired of incarceration and wanted to repair his reputation. Taking out a sheet of paper, the captain offered to personally explain his actions to General Stoneman. Betts endorsed and forwarded the proposal to brigade headquarters, where Palmer pondered it. Because Stoneman was planning to put the command in motion again, Palmer decided not to bother him with it. Instead, Palmer ordered Mather released and restored him to command of his company.

Mather’s opportunity was not long in coming. Division headquarters issued a circular describing their railroad destruction work as a complete success. The rails, trestles, bridges, culverts, and telegraph lines between New River Bridge and Salem would be of no service to the enemy for some time to come. Now fresh objectives beckoned, so division headquarters ordered the men into the saddle. Bugles blew in the darkness, and slowly the column snaked southward along the Jacksonville Road. A long night of mountain marching lay ahead.

To read what happened next, see Chris J. Hartley, Stoneman's Raid, 1865.

Excerpt from Stoneman's Raid, 1865, (c) Chris J. Hartley

At dawn on Wednesday, April 5, the main body of the Cavalry Division of East Tennessee focused its destructive power on the East Tennessee and Virginia Railroad. As one of the best-constructed and maintained roads in the South, it had a well-ditched roadbed. Stone ballast supported every joint along the rails. However, it would not stay that way for long, because Stoneman and Gillem planned to destroy as much of the line as possible. Gillem ordered Palmer’s brigade to burn bridges, railroad ties, and destroy stores east of Christiansburg while Brown’s brigade wrecked tracks and rail facilities west of town. As these parties ranged along the road, a reserve was established in town. This force probably included most of the Third Brigade, already weakened by the detachment of Miller’s men.
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Their task began at daylight. Christiansburg, a pretty town with a “fine seminary,” felt the hard Federal hand first. Commissaries had the town’s black women bake bread while unit surgeons moved their patients into Confederate hospitals. Meanwhile, Federal soldiers discovered and destroyed quartermaster’s stores and burned some loaded railroad cars. “We took our first lessons here in destroying railroad tracks,” recalled one veteran. The Christiansburg depot was torched, and the adjoining tracks were wrecked.

Ohio cavalrymen E.C. Moderwell explained that the process for ruining a railroad track was simple, but it was also hard work. “We usually took all the fence rails from both sides of the track and piled them on one rail of the rail road, forming a continuous pile, then set the fence rails on fire,” he wrote. “The heat in a short time, by expansion, distorts the rail into all sorts of shapes, and the fire burns off the one end of the ties. To one who has never seen a rail of iron subjected to this treatment the effects are truly wonderful. The rail very often assumes a zigzag shape, resembling a letter Z …. A regiment of men could in this way destroy from three to five miles an hour.”

Meanwhile, Brown’s brigade marched west. Their objective was Central Depot [today Radford, Virginia], a small railroad town that housed key railroad facilities, including a roundhouse that usually contained several engines and cars. Even more crucial was the nearby bridge over the New River. Known also as the New River Bridge or Long Bridge, the 700-foot span was covered by a tin roof and supported by metal piers sunk in the riverbed. In May 1864, Union troops had burned the bridge’s wooden frame but had left its metal piers intact. Within five weeks the bridge had been rebuilt with fire-resistant green timber, so destroying it would pose a formidable challenge to Brown’s raiders.

To read what happened next, see Chris J. Hartley, Stoneman's Raid, 1865.

Excerpt from Stoneman's Raid, 1865, (c) Chris J. Hartley

April 4, 1865 dawned dry and clear. “Boots and Saddles” brought the Federals tumbling out of their blankets at daybreak. There was no time for breakfast; officers ordered everybody into the saddle immediately. Stoneman wanted to get to Jacksonville, a village about forty-five miles northwest of Danville, as quickly as possible.
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At about 6:00 a.m., the weary cavalrymen began the third week of the raid. Fortunately, the scenery helped some to forget their empty stomachs. “Beautiful country through this valley,” Septimus Knight declared. Not everybody in the column was comfortable, however, especially Eber Hendricks of the 10th Michigan. His foot was still sore from the coffee pot accident back at Deep Gap. “It is with great discomfort [that I] keep my place in the ranks,” he complained.

Rumors of the approaching raiders swept through the countryside. In response, blacks ran away and whites hid their valuables. Everyone chattered or whispered nervously about the raiders. At their Jacksonville home, young Waitman Stigleman realized something was wrong when his father passed him in the hall without noticing him. “He was very pale and had a look on his face which frightened me,” Stigleman recalled. Entering the room his father had just left, he found his mother crying. She ran to her son and held him close. “The news has been brought to your father that the Yankees are coming,” she said. “They will burn up the town and take everything we have. They are welcome, if they just spare my husband.”

The boy’s father, Col. William Stigleman, was the highest-ranking officer in Floyd County, so he planned to meet the raiders and formally surrender Jacksonville. Unfortunately for the locals, there was a complication. As some Federal cavalrymen approached the town, a dozen young men fired on them. “This had inflamed the Yankees. They were terribly incensed,” young Stigleman recorded. The angered troopers returned the favor and killed Confederate Lt. James Madison Howard. The rest of the rebels retreated, chased by the Federal contingent. In town, Unionist citizens trembled.

To read what happened next, see Chris J. Hartley, Stoneman's Raid, 1865.

Excerpt from Stoneman's Raid, 1865, (c) Chris J. Hartley

A red sun announced the dawning of April 3, 1865. Behind Mather, the Blue Ridge Mountains barred the way of the Cavalry Division of East Tennessee. The column got an early start – some men marched as early as 2:00 a.m. – and left Mount Airy for thin air and high country. The direction of the march surprised Michigan trooper Steven Thomas. He told his wife, “It soon became apparent that we were not going to Salisbury at present for we struck out in the direction of Virginia.”
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It was about 6:30 a.m. when Betts led the 15th Pennsylvania Cavalry across the state line. “Pass the Virginia line and now we are on the sacred soil,” wrote one trooper. They ascended to Fancy Gap without incident. At about 10:00 a.m., Betts encountered Mather’s recalcitrant detachment roughly four miles from Hillsville. Betts was furious that Mather had not captured the train. “His conduct in not capturing a wagon train is inexcusable and he was placed under arrest,” the angry colonel reported.

To finish what was left undone, Betts ordered Lt. Samuel Phillips after the train. Phillips took Companies G and E and galloped off. They met with speedy success. Near Hillsville, the Federal troopers spotted and cornered the wagon train. After a brief fight, the blue-clad raiders captured the prize. “I had charge of the advance. We killed one rebel,” trooper Antes wrote in his diary. The number of wagons they captured remains uncertain. Most Federal sources claim that twenty-two wagons were captured, but Gillem’s report cited only seventeen wagons and one forge. Regardless of the total, the conveyances furnished a much-needed supply of forage. The troopers burned the empty wagons and turned over the animals to the quartermaster.

After navigating Fancy Gap, the column stopped to feed and then set their sights on Hillsville, the seat of Carroll County, Virginia. April 3 marked the first time that an organized body of Union soldiers had penetrated this part of Virginia, and the locals trembled. “There was much apprehension and alarm among the citizens as to the treatment they might receive at our hands,” a veteran recalled. As advance guard, the 15th Pennsylvania introduced the locals to Mr. Lincoln’s army.

Described by the raiders as a “little village” and a “quiet inland town,” Hillsville did not welcome the cavalrymen warmly. A young disabled man by the name of Burnett, mounted on a gray mare, met them outside of town with gun in hand. He came determined to fight, but one look at the fearsome, dust-covered warriors changed his mind. Burnett kicked his horse’s flanks and tried to get away, but a Pennsylvanian shot Burnett’s horse. Now dismounted, the young man crawled into a culvert under the road. He held his breath and hoped to avoid discovery, but the Federals found his hiding place. The troopers pulled the young man out and ordered him to lead the advance.

​To read what happened next, see Chris J. Hartley, Stoneman's Raid, 1865.

Excerpt from Stoneman's Raid, 1865, (c) Chris J. Hartley