Upon reaching Richmond I was taken to my old quarters in Franklin
Street, and made much of. The Richmond _Dispatch_, after describing
the battle in which we had been engaged and giving a list of the
casualties in our battery, said: “This list proves the desperate
bravery exhibited by the command in the bloody strife. We learn
that Mr. Dawson, a young Englishman, who came over in the
_Nashville_, volunteered for the engagement, and received a wound
while acting most gallantly.” My old friends in the Navy (and the
Navy officers are more clannish and stick together more closely
than the Army officers do,) came at once to see me. First, of
course, was my dear friend, Captain R. B. Pegram, who chided me for
resigning from the Navy without telling him what I was going to do.
Commodore Hollins, Commodore Forrest, and Captain Arthur Sinclair,
were exceedingly attentive. The surgeons told me there was no
danger of serious results from my wound, if severe inflammation
could be prevented; and Captain W. H. Murray, of one of the
Maryland regiments, rigged up an arrangement for me by which water
was allowed to drip, night and day, on the bandages, to keep them
moist and cool. Miss Hetty Cary rather turned the tables on me, by
sending me word that she would have come down to my room with her
sister to see me, but that I had criticised so sharply, before I
had been hit, the conduct of ladies who had gone to the hospitals
to attend to the wounded soldiers, that she would not think of
doing violence to my feelings now by giving me any of her personal
attention. In truth, the young ladies who did visit hospitals were
disposed to be rather partial in their attentions. There were
pet patients wherever the young ladies were allowed to go. A very
good illustration is given in a paragraph which went the rounds of
the Southern papers, as showing the experience of an interesting
wounded soldier, who had dark eyes and a darling mustache, and a
generally romantic aspect. A young lady said to him: “Is there
not anything that I can do for you?” Wearily the soldier said:
“Nothing, I thank you.” Not to be baffled, the young lady said: “Do
let me do something for you. Will you let me wash your face for
you?” The sad response of the soldier was: “Well, if you want to
right bad, I reckon you must; but that will make seven times that
my face has been washed this evening.” There were some patriotic
verses on the same subject, written in all seriousness, which ended
with this touching couplet:
“And every day there is a rush
To give the soldiers milk and mush.”
The doctors complained, too, that the young ladies were rather
in their way; and that their prescriptions were oftentimes set
at nought by surreptitious doses of pies and sweetmeats. But the
motive was always good and pure, and, after I had known what it
was to be hit myself and to need a woman’s attentions, I was not
disposed to quarrel with any one, however fascinating, for being
assiduous in attentions to a wounded Confederate.
As soon as I was able to stand up, Captain Murray offered to go
with me to Petersburg, where I might remain until I recovered. Mrs.
Annie T. White invited me to stay at her house, and I was there
for several weeks. While there, Mr. John Dunlop, who has been one
of the staunchest friends I have had, called to see me. He was a
native of Petersburg, but was educated in England, and took the
degree of A. M. at Wadham College, Oxford, not long before the
beginning of the war. He went to New York to practice law there;
but returned to Virginia as soon as the State seceded, and joined
one of the Virginia regiments as a private. He was appointed
aide-de-camp to General Armistead, which was the position he
held at the time that I first knew him. After the second battle
of Manassas he was retired on account of his failing sight, and
went to England. After the war he returned to Virginia, and is
now living at Richmond, where he pursues his profession with much
success.
Murray returned to Richmond in a day or two. Poor fellow! I never
saw him again. He was killed at Gettysburg. I have fancied that he
was deeply attached to Miss Jennie Cary, who has never married.
Mr. Raines was greatly concerned at hearing that I had been
wounded, and sent his carriage to Petersburg to take me down to his
house in Sussex. He told me that his house must be my home. In his
own simple and heartfelt language: “My dollars and cents I will
divide with you; and half my bread and meat is yours.”
As soon as I was able, I went from Petersburg to Sussex, and there
remained until I had recovered completely. It was here, at Oakland,
as the plantation of Mr. Raines was named, that I learned what
Southern life really was. I was treated in every respect as one of
the family, and was hailed by the darkies, big and little, as part
of the establishment. They did, however, have a rather unpleasant
way of prognosticating an untimely end for me, as I heard the
little negroes chanting continually: “Poor Mas’r Frank! he bin sure
to die long before de acorn come.”
Captain Robert B. Pegram was staying at the place of Major
Belsches, about two miles away, and one morning Nat. Raines, Jr.,
and I drove over to make him a visit. As we passed by the mill,
about half way, we met Captain Pegram in a buggy, and saw that his
benignant face was shining even more brightly than usual. His first
words were: “Dawson, I have some good news for you.” I asked him
what it was, and he handed me a note from his cousin, Mrs. G. W.
Randolph, the wife of the Secretary of War. The words were few, but
they were pregnant words for me. They were these:
“DEAR COUSIN ROBERT:
Mr. Randolph has ordered a commission as First Lieutenant of
Artillery to be made out for Mr. Dawson.
Yours, sincerely,
MARY RANDOLPH.”
The cup of my happiness was full. Standing in the streets in
Richmond, and watching the troops as they passed, I had so often
wondered whether, in the course of time, I might hold a commission
in the Confederate army; and now it had come to me unexpectedly,
unsolicited, undeserved. I learned afterwards that Willie Pegram
had been so good as to recommend my appointment on account of my
behavior at Mechanicsville; and his recommendation was vigorously
sustained by his uncle, Captain Robert B. Pegram, and my Navy
friends. The Confederate government had no power to appoint company
officers for the volunteer forces; and for this reason I did not
receive a commission in the line. My appointment was under an Act
of the Confederate Congress, which authorized the appointment of
forty First Lieutenants of Artillery for assignment to duty as
Ordnance officers.