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THE RECORD OF A
QUAKER CONSCIENCE
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THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
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MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd.
TORONTO
THE RECORD OF A
QUAKER CONSCIENCE
CYRUS PRINGLE'S DIARY
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
RUFUS M. JONES
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1918
_All rights reserved_
Copyright, 1913
BY THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY COMPANY
Copyright, 1918
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
Set up and printed. Published, February, 1918
[Transcriber's Note:
Several unusual spellings have been kept as in the original, including:
northermost ("Fairhope meeting-house is in the northermost country") and
comformable ("yet probably in a manner comformable to").
In some cases, variant spellings of the same word are used, as in the
case of "enrolment" and "enrollment", "therefor" and "therefore", "well
meant" and "well-meant". These have been comfirmed with the original.
In referring to God, there is also inconsistency in the use of "His"
versus "his" and "Him" versus "him".]
INTRODUCTION
The body of this little book consists of the personal diary of a young
Quaker named Cyrus Guernsey Pringle of Charlotte, Vermont. He was
drafted for service in the Union Army, July 13th, 1863. Under the
existing draft law a person who had religious scruples against engaging
in war was given the privilege of paying a commutation fine of three
hundred dollars. This commutation money Pringle's conscience would not
allow him to pay. A prosperous uncle proposed to pay it surreptitiously
for him, but the honest-minded youth discovered the plan and refused to
accept the well meant kindness, since he believed, no doubt rightly,
that this money would be used to pay for an army substitute in his
place. The Diary relates in simple, naïve style the experiences which
befell the narrator as he followed his hard path of duty, and
incidentally it reveals a fine and sensitive type of character, not
unlike that which comes so beautifully to light in the Journal of John
Woolman.
This is plainly not the psychological moment to study the highly complex
and delicate problem of conscience. The strain and tension of world
issues disturb our judgment. We cannot if we would turn away from the
events and movements that affect the destiny of nations to dwell calmly
and securely upon our own inner, private actions. It is never easy, even
when the world is most normal and peaceful, to mark off with sharp lines
the area of individual freedom. No person ever lives unto himself or is
sufficient to himself. He is inextricably woven into the tissue of the
social group. His privileges, his responsibilities, his obligations are
forever over-individual and come from beyond his narrow isolated life.
If he is to be a rational being at all he must _relate_ his life to
others and share in some measure their triumphs and their tragedies.
But at the same time the most precious thing in the universe is that
mysterious thing we call individual liberty and which even God himself
guards and respects. Up to some point, difficult certainly to delimit, a
man must be captain of his soul. He cannot be a _person_ if he does not
have a sphere of power over his own act. To treat him as a puppet of
external forces, or a mere cog in a vast social mechanism, is to wipe
out the unique distinction between person and thing. Somewhere the free
spirit must take its stand and claim its God-given distinction. If life
is to be at all worth while there must be some boundary within which the
soul holds its own august and ultimate tribunal. That Sanctuary domain
within the soul the Quakers, ever since their origin in the period of
the English Commonwealth, have always guarded as the most sacred
possession a man can have.
No grave difficulty, at least in the modern world, is involved in this
faith, until it suddenly comes into conflict with the urgent
requirements of social efficiency. When the social group is fused with
emotion and moves almost as an undivided unit toward some end, then the
claim of a right, on the ground of conscience, for the individual to
deviate from the group and to pursue another or an opposite course
appears serious if not positively insufferable. The abstract principle
of individual liberty all modern persons grant; the strain comes when
some one proposes to insist upon a concrete instance of it which
involves implications that may endanger the ends which the intensified
group is pursuing. A situation of this type confronts the Quakers
whenever their country engages in war, since as a people they feel that
they cannot fight or take any part in military operations.
They do not find it an easy thing to give a completely rational ground
for their opposition to war. Nor, as a matter of fact, is it any more
easy for the militarist to rationalize his method of solving world
difficulties. Both are evidently actuated by instinctive forces which
lie far beneath the level of pure reason.
The roots of the Quakers' opposition to war go deep down into the soil
of the past. They are the outgrowth and culmination of a long spiritual
movement. They carry along, in their ideas, emotions, habits and
attitudes, tendencies which have been unconsciously sucked in with their
mother's milk, and which, therefore, cannot be held up and analysed.
The mystics, the humanists, the anabaptists, the spiritual reformers,
are forerunners of the Quaker. They are a necessary part of his
pedigree,--and they were all profoundly opposed to war. This attitude
has become an integral part of the vital stock of truth by which the
Quaker lives his spiritual life, and to violate it is for him to stop
living "the way of truth," as the early Quakers quaintly called their
religious faith.
But the Quakers have never been champions of the negative. They do not
take kindly to the rôle of being "antis." Their negations grow out of
their insistent affirmations. If they are _against_ an established
institution or custom it is because they are _for_ some other way of
life which seems to them divinely right, and their first obligation is
to incarnate that way of life. They cannot, therefore, stand apart in
monastic seclusion and safely watch the swirl of forces which they
silently disapprove. If in war-time they do not fight, they _do_
something else. They accept and face the dangers incident to their way
of life. They feel a compulsion to take up and in some measure to bear
the burden of the world's suffering. They endeavour to exhibit, humbly
and modestly, the power of sacrificial love, freely, joyously given, and
they venture all that the brave can venture to carry their faith into
life and action. In the American civil war, in the Franco-Prussian, the
South African, the Balkan, the Russo-Japanese, small bands of Quakers
revealed the same spirit of service and the same obliviousness to danger
which have marked the larger groups that have manned the ambulance units
and the war-victims' relief and reconstruction work of this world war.
In this present crisis they have gone wherever they could go,--to
Belgium, to France, to Russia, to Italy, to Serbia and Greece and Syria
and Mesopotamia,--to carry into operation the forces of restoration and
of reconstruction. They have not stood aloof as spectators of the
world's tragedy. They have entered into it and shared it, and they have
counted neither money nor life dear to themselves in their desire to
reveal the power of redeeming and transforming love.
Slowly the sincerity of the Quaker conviction about war has made itself
felt and limited legislative provisions have been made, especially in
England and America, to meet the claims of conscience. The problem which
confronts the law-maker, even when he is sympathetic with the rights of
conviction, is the grave difficulty of determining where to draw the
line of special exception to general requirements and how to discover
the sincerity of conscientious objection to war. The "slacker" is
always a stern possibility. There must be no holes in the net for him to
escape through. The makers of armies naturally want every man who can be
spared from civilian life and can be utilized for military operations.
It has consequently often seemed necessary for law-makers to be narrow
and hard toward the obviously sincere for fear of being too easy and
lenient with those suspected of having sham consciences.
During the Civil War in America, President Lincoln, eager as he was to
win the war, was always deeply in sympathy with the Quakers, and he
stretched his administrative powers to their full limit to provide
relief for conscientious convictions. In the early stages of the great
conflict the President wrote the following kindly note in answer to a
message from New England Yearly Meeting of the Society of Friends:
"Engaged as I am, in a great war, I fear it will be difficult for the
world to understand how fully I appreciate the principles of peace
inculcated in this letter [of yours] and every where by the Society of
Friends."[1] Both he and Secretary Stanton made many positive efforts to
find some way of providing for the tender consciences of Friends without
being unfair to the rights of others. They even requested American
Friends to call a conference to consider how to find a satisfactory
solution of the problem. Such a conference was held in Baltimore,
December 7th, 1863, and the Friends there assembled expressed great
appreciation of "the kindness evinced at all times by the President and
Secretary of War." A delegation from this conference visited Washington
and, in co-operation with Secretary Stanton, succeeded in securing a
clause in the enrolment bill, declaring Friends to be non-combatants,
assigning all drafted Friends to hospital service or work among
freedmen, and further providing for the entire exemption of Friends from
military service on the payment of $300 into a fund for the relief of
sick and wounded.[2]
On several occasions Friends in larger or smaller groups went to
Washington for times of prayer and spiritual communion with the great
President. These times were deeply appreciated by the heavily burdened
man. Tears ran down his cheeks, we are told, as he sat bowed in solemn
silence or knelt as some moved Friend prayed for him to Almighty God.
Writing of the visit of Isaac and Sarah Harvey of Clinton County, Ohio,
in the autumn of 1862, Lincoln tenderly said: "May the Lord comfort them
as they have sustained me." A letter written by the President in 1862 to
Eliza P. Gurney, one of a small group of Friends who visited him and
prayed with him in the autumn of that year, reveals forcibly how he
regarded these occasions:
"I am glad of this interview, and glad to know that I have your
sympathy and prayers. We are indeed going through a great trial--a
fiery trial. In the very responsible position in which I happen to
be placed, being a humble instrument in the hands of our Heavenly
Father, as I am, and as we all are, to work out his great purposes,
I have desired that all my works and acts may be according to his
will, and that it might be so, I have sought his aid; but if, after
endeavouring to do my best in the light which he affords me, I find
my efforts fail, I must believe that for some purpose unknown to
me, his will is otherwise. If I had had my way, this war would
never have been commenced. If I had been allowed my way, this war
would have been ended before this; but we find it still continues,
and we must believe that he permits it for some wise purpose of
his own, mysterious and unknown to us; and though with our limited
understandings we may not be able to comprehend it, yet we cannot
but believe that he who made the world still governs it."
Somewhat later President Lincoln wrote again to Eliza P. Gurney
requesting her to exercise her freedom to write to him as he felt the
need of spiritual help and reinforcement. Her letter of reply so closely
touched him and spoke to his condition that he carried it about with him
and it was found in his coat pocket at the time of his death, twenty
months after it was written. In the autumn of 1864, President Lincoln,
still impressed by the message which he had received, wrote a memorable
letter to Eliza P. Gurney. It was as follows:
"I have not forgotten--probably never shall forget--the very
impressive occasion when yourself and friends visited me on a
Sabbath forenoon two years ago. Nor has your kind letter, written
nearly a year later, ever been forgotten. In all it has been your
purpose to strengthen my reliance on God. I am much indebted to the
good Christian people of the country for their constant prayers and
consolations; and to no one of them more than to yourself. The
purposes of the Almighty are perfect, and must prevail, though we
erring mortals may fail to accurately perceive them in advance. We
hoped for a happy termination of this terrible war long before
this; but God knows best, and has ruled otherwise. We shall yet
acknowledge his wisdom, and our own error therein. Meanwhile we
must work earnestly in the best lights he gives us, trusting that
so working still conduces to the great ends he ordains. Surely he
intends some great good to follow this mighty convulsion, which no
mortal could make, and no mortal could stay. Your people, the
Friends, have had, and are having, a very great trial. On principle
and faith opposed to both war and oppression, they can only
practically oppose oppression by war. In this dilemma some have
chosen one horn and some the other. For those appealing to me on
conscientious grounds, I have done, and shall do, the best I could
and can, in my own conscience, under my oath to the law. That you
believe this I doubt not; and, believing it, I shall still receive
for our country and myself your earnest prayers to our Father in
heaven."
It is, then, not surprising that President Lincoln was "moved with
sympathy" when he heard the story of Pringle's suffering for conscience,
or that he quietly said to the Secretary of War, "It is my urgent wish
that this Friend be released."
RUFUS M. JONES.
Haverford, Pa.,
December, 1917.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Nicolay and Hay: "Abraham Lincoln," Vol. VI, p. 328.
[2] Secretary Stanton endeavoured to provide that this commutation money
should be made into a fund for the care of freedmen. This suggestion
was, however, not adopted by Congress.
THE RECORD OF A QUAKER CONSCIENCE
At Burlington, Vt., on the 13th of the seventh month, 1863, I was
drafted. Pleasant are my recollections of the 14th. Much of that rainy
day I spent in my chamber, as yet unaware of my fate; in writing and
reading and in reflecting to compose my mind for any event. The day and
the exercise, by the blessing of the Father, brought me precious
reconciliation to the will of Providence.
With ardent zeal for our Faith and the cause of our peaceable
principles; and almost disgusted at the lukewarmness and unfaithfulness
of very many who profess these; and considering how heavily slight
crosses bore upon their shoulders, I felt to say, "Here am I, Father,
for thy service. As thou will." May I trust it was He who called me and
sent me forth with the consolation: "My grace is sufficient for thee."
Deeply have I felt many times since that I am nothing without the
companionship of the Spirit.
I was to report on the 27th. Then, loyal to our country, Wm. Lindley
Dean and I appeared before the Provost Marshal with a statement of our
cases. We were ordered for a hearing on the 29th. On the afternoon of
that day W.L.D. was rejected upon examination of the Surgeon, but my
case not coming up, he remained with me,--much to my strength and
comfort. Sweet was his converse and long to be remembered, as we lay
together that warm summer night on the straw of the barracks. By his
encouragement much was my mind strengthened; my desires for a pure life,
and my resolutions for good. In him and those of whom he spoke I saw
the abstract beauty of Quakerism. On the next morning came Joshua M.
Dean to support me and plead my case before the Board of Enrollment. On
the day after, the 31st, I came before the Board. Respectfully those men
listened to the exposition of our principles; and, on our representing
that we looked for some relief from the President, the marshal released
me for twenty days. Meanwhile appeared Lindley M. Macomber and was
likewise, by the kindness of the marshal, though they had received
instructions from the Provost Marshal General to show such claims no
partiality, released to appear on the 20th day of the eighth month.
All these days we were urged by our acquaintances to pay our commutation
money; by some through well-meant kindness and sympathy; by others
through interest in the war; and by others still through a belief they
entertained it was our duty. But we confess a higher duty than that to
country; and, asking no military protection of our Government and
grateful for none, deny any obligation to support so unlawful a system,
as we hold a war to be even when waged in opposition to an evil and
oppressive power and ostensibly in defence of liberty, virtue, and free
institutions; and, though touched by the kind interest of friends, we
could not relieve their distress by a means we held even more sinful
than that of serving ourselves, as by supplying money to hire a
substitute we would not only be responsible for the result, but be the
agents in bringing others into evil. So looking to our Father alone for
help, and remembering that "Whoso loseth his life for my sake shall find
it; but whoso saveth it shall lose it," we presented ourselves again
before the Board, as we had promised to do when released. Being offered
four days more of time, we accepted it as affording opportunity to
visit our friends; and moreover as there would be more probability of
meeting Peter Dakin at Rutland.
Sweet was the comfort and sympathy of our friends as we visited them.
There was a deep comfort, as we left them, in the thought that so many
pure and pious people follow us with their love and prayers. Appearing
finally before the marshal on the 24th, suits and uniforms were selected
for us, and we were called upon to give receipts for them. L.M.M. was on
his guard, and, being first called upon, declared he could not do so, as
that would imply acceptance. Failing to come to any agreement, the
matter was postponed till next morning, when we certified to the fact
that the articles were "with us." Here I must make record of the
kindness of the marshal, Rolla Gleason, who treated us with respect and
kindness. He had spoken with respect of our Society; had given me
furloughs to the amount of twenty-four days, when the marshal at Rutland
considered himself restricted by his oath and duty to six days; and here
appeared in person to prevent any harsh treatment of us by his
sergeants; and though much against his inclinations, assisted in putting
on the uniform with his own hands. We bade him farewell with grateful
feelings and expressions of fear that we should not fall into as tender
hands again; and amid the rain in the early morning, as the town clock
tolled the hour of seven, we were driven amongst the flock that was
going forth to the slaughter, down the street and into the cars for
Brattleboro. Dark was the day with murk and cloud and rain; and, as we
rolled down through the narrow vales of eastern Vermont, somewhat of the
shadow crept into our hearts and filled them with dark apprehensions of
evil fortune ahead; of long, hopeless trials; of abuse from inferior
officers; of contempt from common soldiers; of patient endurance (or an
attempt at this), unto an end seen only by the eye of a strong faith.
Herded into a car by ourselves, we conscripts, substitutes, and the
rest, through the greater part of the day, swept over the fertile
meadows along the banks of the White River and the Connecticut, through
pleasant scenes that had little of delight for us. At Woodstock we were
joined by the conscripts from the 1st District,--altogether an inferior
company from those before with us, who were honest yeomen from the
northern and mountainous towns, while these were many of them
substitutes from the cities.
At Brattleboro we were marched up to the camp; our knapsacks and persons
searched; and any articles of citizen's dress taken from us; and then
shut up in a rough board building under a guard. Here the prospect was
dreary, and I felt some lack of confidence in our Father's arm, though
but two days before I wrote to my dear friend, E.M.H.,--
I go tomorrow where the din
Of war is in the sulphurous air.
I go the Prince of Peace to serve,
His cross of suffering to bear.
Brattleboro, _26th_, _8th_ month, 1863.--Twenty-five or thirty caged
lions roam lazily to and fro through this building hour after hour
through the day. On every side without, sentries pace their slow beat,
bearing loaded muskets. Men are ranging through the grounds or hanging
in synods about the doors of the different buildings, apparently without
a purpose. Aimless is military life, except betimes its aim is deadly.
Idle life blends with violent death-struggles till the man is unmade a
man; and henceforth there is little of manhood about him. Of a man he is
made a soldier, which is a man-destroying machine in two senses,--a
thing for the prosecuting or repelling an invasion like the block of
stone in the fortress or the plate of iron on the side of the Monitor.
They are alike. I have tried in vain to define a difference, and I see
only this. The iron-clad with its gun is the bigger soldier: the more
formidable in attack, the less liable to destruction in a given time;
the block the most capable of resistance; both are equally obedient to
officers. Or the more perfect is the soldier, the more nearly he
approaches these in this respect.
Three times a day we are marched out to the mess houses for our rations.
In our hands we carry a tin plate, whereon we bring back a piece of
bread (sour and tough most likely), and a cup. Morning and noon a piece
of meat, antique betimes, bears company with the bread. They who wish it
receive in their cups two sorts of decoctions: in the morning burnt
bread, or peas perhaps, steeped in water with some saccharine substance
added (I dare not affirm it to be sugar). At night steeped tea extended
by some other herbs probably and its pungency and acridity assuaged by
the saccharine principle aforementioned. On this we have so far
subsisted and, save some nauseating, comfortably. As we go out and
return, on right and left and in front and rear go bayonets. Some
substitutes heretofore have escaped and we are not to be neglected in
our attendants. Hard beds are healthy, but I query cannot the result be
defeated by the _degree_? Our mattresses are boards. Only the slight
elasticity of our thin blankets breaks the fall of our flesh and bones
thereon. Oh! now I praise the discipline I have received from uncarpeted
floors through warm summer nights of my boyhood.
The building resounds with petty talk; jokes and laughter and swearing.
Something more than that. Many of the caged lions are engaged with
cards, and money changes hands freely. Some of the caged lions read, and
some sleep, and so the weary day goes by.
L.M.M. and I addressed the following letter to Governor Holbrook and
hired a corporal to forward it to him.
BRATTLEBORO, VT., _26th_, _8th_ month, 1863.
FREDERICK HOLBROOK,
Governor of Vermont:--
We, the undersigned members of the Society of Friends, beg leave to
represent to thee, that we were lately drafted in the 3d Dist. of
Vermont, have been forced into the army and reached the camp near this
town yesterday.
That in the language of the elders of our New York Yearly Meeting, "We
love our country and acknowledge with gratitude to our Heavenly Father
the many blessings we have been favoured with under the government; and
can feel no sympathy with any who seek its overthrow."
But that, true to well-known principles of our Society, we cannot
violate our religious convictions either by complying with military
requisitions or by the equivalents of this compliance,--the furnishing
of a substitute or payment of commutation money. That, therefore, we are
brought into suffering and exposed to insult and contempt from those who
have us in charge, as well as to the penalties of insubordination,
though liberty of conscience is granted us by the Constitution of
Vermont as well as that of the United States.
Therefore, we beg of thee as Governor of our State any assistance thou
may be able to render, should it be no more than the influence of thy
position interceding in our behalf.
Truly Thy Friend,
CYRUS G. PRINGLE.
P.S.--We are informed we are to be sent to the vicinity of Boston
tomorrow.
_27th._--On board train to Boston. The long afternoon of yesterday
passed slowly away. This morning passed by,--the time of our stay in
Brattleboro, and we neither saw nor heard anything of our Governor. We
suppose he could not or would not help us. So as we go down to our trial
we have no arm to lean upon among all men; but why dost thou complain,
oh, my Soul? Seek thou that faith that will prove a buckler to thy
breast, and gain for thee the protection of an arm mightier than the
arms of all men.
_28th._ CAMP VERMONT: LONG ISLAND, BOSTON HARBOUR.--In the early morning
damp and cool we marched down off the heights of Brattleboro to take
train for this place. Once in the car the dashing young cavalry officer,
who had us in charge, gave notice he had placed men through the cars,
with loaded revolvers, who had orders to shoot any person attempting to
escape, or jump from the window, and that any one would be shot if he
even put his head out of the window. Down the beautiful valley of the
Connecticut, all through its broad intervales, heavy with its crops of
corn or tobacco, or shaven smooth by the summer harvest; over the hard
and stony counties of northern Massachusetts, through its suburbs and
under the shadow of Bunker Hill Monument we came into the City of
Boston, "the Hub of the Universe." Out through street after street we
were marched double guarded to the wharves, where we took a small
steamer for the island some six miles out in the harbour. A circumstance
connected with this march is worth mentioning for its singularity: at
the head of this company, like convicts (and feeling very much like
such), through the City of Boston walked, with heavy hearts and
down-cast eyes, two Quakers.
Here on this dry and pleasant island in the midst of the beautiful
Massachusetts Bay, we have the liberty of the camp, the privilege of air
and sunshine and hay beds to sleep upon. So we went to bed last night
with somewhat of gladness elevating our depressed spirits.
Here are many troops gathering daily from all the New England States
except Connecticut and Rhode Island. Their white tents are dotting the
green slopes and hilltops of the island and spreading wider and wider.
This is the flow of military tide here just now. The ebb went out to sea
in the shape of a great shipload just as we came in, and another load
will be sent before many days. All is war here. We are surrounded by the
pomp and circumstance of war, and enveloped in the cloud thereof. The
cloud settles down over the minds and souls of all; they cannot see
beyond, nor do they try; but with the clearer eye of Christian faith I
try to look beyond all this error unto Truth and Holiness immaculate:
and thanks to our Father, I am favoured with glimpses that are sweet
consolation amid this darkness.
This is one gratification: the men with us give us their sympathy. They
seem to look upon us tenderly and pitifully, and their expressions of
kind wishes are warm. Although we are relieved from duty and from drill,
and may lie in our tents during rain and at night, we have heard of no
complaint. This is the more worthy of note as there are so few in our
little (Vermont) camp. Each man comes on guard half the days. It would
probably be otherwise were their hearts in the service; but I have yet
to find the man in any of these camps or at any service who does not
wish himself at home. Substitutes say if they knew all they know now
before leaving home they would not have enlisted; and they have been but
a week from their homes and have endured no hardships. Yesterday L.M.M.
and I appeared before the Captain commanding this camp with a statement
of our cases. He listened to us respectfully and promised to refer us to
the General commanding here, General Devens; and in the meantime
released us from duty. In a short time afterward he passed us in our
tent, asking our names. We have not heard from him, but do not drill or
stand guard; so, we suppose, his release was confirmed. At that
interview a young lieutenant sneeringly told us he thought we had better
throw away our scruples and fight in the service of the country; and as
we told the Captain we could not accept pay, he laughed mockingly, and
said he would not stay here for $13.00 per month. He gets more than a
hundred, I suppose.
How beautiful seems the world on this glorious morning here by the
seaside! Eastward and toward the sun, fair green isles with outlines of
pure beauty are scattered over the blue bay. Along the far line of the
mainland white hamlets and towns glisten in the morning sun; countless
tiny waves dance in the wind that comes off shore and sparkle sunward
like myriads of gems. Up the fair vault, flecked by scarcely a cloud,
rolls the sun in glory. Though fair be the earth, it has come to be
tainted and marred by him who was meant to be its crowning glory. Behind
me on this island are crowded vile and wicked men, the murmur of whose
ribaldry riseth continually like the smoke and fumes of a lower world.
Oh! Father of Mercies, forgive the hard heartlessness and blindness and
scarlet sins of my fellows, my brothers.
PRISON EXPERIENCES FOR CONSCIENCE' SAKE--OUR PRISON
_31st._, _8th_ month, 1863. IN GUARD HOUSE.--Yesterday morning L.M.M.
and I were called upon to do fatigue duty. The day before we were asked
to do some cleaning about camp and to bring water. We wished to be
obliging, to appear willing to bear a hand toward that which would
promote our own and our fellows' health and convenience; but as we
worked we did not feel easy. Suspecting we had been assigned to such
work, the more we discussed in our minds the subject, the more clearly
the right way seemed opened to us; and we separately came to the
judgment that we must not conform to this requirement. So when the
sergeant bade us "Police the streets," we asked him if he had received
instructions with regard to us, and he replied we had been assigned to
"Fatigue Duty." L.M.M. answered him that we could not obey. He left us
immediately for the Major (Jarvis of Weathersfield, Vt.). He came back
and ordered us to the Major's tent. The latter met us outside and
inquired concerning the complaint he had heard of us. Upon our statement
of our position, he apparently undertook to argue our whimsies, as he
probably looked upon our principles, out of our heads. We replied to his
points as we had ability; but he soon turned to bullying us rather than
arguing with us, and would hardly let us proceed with a whole sentence.
"I make some pretension to religion myself," he said; and quoted the Old
Testament freely in support of war. Our terms were, submission or the
guard-house. We replied we could not obey.
This island was formerly occupied by a company, who carried on the large
farm it comprises and opened a great hotel as a summer resort.
The subjects of all misdemeanours, grave and small, are here confined.
Those who have deserted or attempted it; those who have insulted
officers and those guilty of theft, fighting, drunkenness, etc. In
_most_, as in the camps, there are traces yet of manhood and of the
Divine Spark, but some are abandoned, dissolute. There are many here
among the substitutes who were actors in the late New York riots. They
show unmistakably the characteristics and sentiments of those rioters,
and, especially, hatred to the blacks drafted and about camp, and
exhibit this in foul and profane jeers heaped upon these unoffending men
at every opportunity. In justice to the blacks I must say they are
superior to the whites in all their behaviour.
_31st._ P.M.--Several of us were a little time ago called out one by one
to answer inquiries with regard to our offences. We replied we could not
comply with military requisitions. P.D., being last, was asked if he
would die first, and replied promptly but mildly, _Yes_.
Here we are in prison in our own land for no crimes, no offence to God
nor man; nay, more: we are here for obeying the commands of the Son of
God and the influences of his Holy Spirit. I must look for patience in
this dark day. I am troubled too much and excited and perplexed.
_1st._, _9th_ month.--Oh, the horrors of the past night--I never before
experienced such _sensations_ and fears; and never did I feel so clearly
that I had nothing but the hand of our Father to shield me from evil.
Last night we three lay down together on the floor of a lower room of
which we had taken possession. The others were above. We had but one
blanket between us and the floor, and one over us. The other one we had
lent to a wretched deserter who had skulked into our room for _relief_,
being without anything of his own. We had during the day gained the
respect of the fellows, and they seemed disposed to let us occupy our
room in peace. I cannot say in quiet, for these caged beasts are
restless, and the resonant boards of this old building speak of bedlam.
The thin board partitions, the light door fastened only by a pine stick
thrust into a wooden loop on the casing, seemed small protection in case
of assault; but we lay down to sleep in quiet trust. But we had scarcely
fallen asleep before we were awakened by the demoniac howlings and
yellings of a man just brought into the next room, and allowed the
liberty of the whole house. He was drunk, and further seemed to be
labouring under delirium tremens. He crashed about furiously, and all
the more after the guard tramped heavily in and bound him with
handcuffs, and chain and ball. Again and again they left, only to return
to quiet him by threats or by crushing him down to the floor and gagging
him. In a couple of hours he became quiet and we got considerable sleep.
In the morning the fellow came into our room apologizing for the
intrusion. He appeared a smart, fine-looking young man, restless and
uneasy. P.D. has a way of disposing of intruders that is quite
effectual. I have not entirely disposed of some misgivings with respect
to the legitimacy of his use of the means, so he commenced reading aloud
in the Bible. The fellow was impatient and noisy, but he soon settled
down on the floor beside him. As he listened and talked with us the
recollections of his father's house and his innocent childhood were
awakened. He was the child of pious parents, taught in Sabbath School
and under pure home influences till thirteen. Then he was drawn into bad
company, soon after leaving home for the sea; and, since then, has
served in the army and navy,--in the army in Wilson's and Hawkins's
[brigades]. His was the old story of the total subjection of moral power
and thralldom to evil habits and associates. He would get drunk,
whenever it was in his power. It was wrong; but he could not help it.
Though he was awakened and recollected his parents looking long and in
vain for his return, he soon returned to camp, to his wallowing in the
mire, and I fear to his path to certain perdition.
_3d._ [9th month.]--A Massachusetts major, the officer of the day, in
his inspection of the guard-house came into our room today. We were
lying on the floor engaged in reading and writing. He was apparently
surprised at this and inquired the name of our books; and finding the
Bible and Thomas à Kempis's _Imitation of Christ_, observed that they
were good books. I cannot say if he knew we were Friends, but he asked
us why we were in here.
Like all officers he proceeded to reason with us, and to advise us to
serve, presenting no comfort if we still persisted in our course. He
informed us of a young Friend, Edward W. Holway of Sandwich, Mass.,
having been yesterday under punishment in the camp by his orders, who
was today doing service about camp. He said he was not going to put his
Quaker in the guard-house, but was going to bring him to work by
punishment. We were filled with deep sympathy for him and desired to
cheer him by kind words as well as by the knowledge of our similar
situation. We obtained permission of the Major to write to him a letter
open to his inspection. "You may be sure," said E.W.H. to us at W., "the
Major did not allow it to leave his hands."
This forenoon the Lieutenant of the Day came in and acted the same part,
though he was not so cool, and left expressing the hope, if we would not
serve our country like men, that God would curse us. Oh, the trials from
these officers! One after another comes in to relieve himself upon us.
Finding us firm and not lacking in words, they usually fly into a
passion and end by bullying us. How can we reason with such men? They
are utterly unable to comprehend the pure Christianity and spirituality
of our principles. They have long stiffened their necks in their own
strength. They have stopped their ears to the voice of the Spirit, and
hardened their hearts to his influences. They see no duty higher than
that to country. What shall we receive at their hands?
This Major tells us we will not be tried here. Then we are to be sent
into the field, and there who will deliver us but God? Ah, I have nursed
in my heart a hope that I may be spared to return home. Must I cast it
out and have no desire, but to do the will of my Master. It were better,
even so. O, Lord, Thy will be done. Grant I may make it my chief delight
and render true submission thereto.
Yesterday a little service was required of our dear L.M.M., but he
insisted he could not comply. A sergeant and two privates were engaged.
They coaxed and threatened him by turns, and with a determination not to
be baffled took him out to perform it. Though guns were loaded he still
stood firm and was soon brought back. We are happy here in
guard-house,--too happy, too much at ease. We should see more of the
Comforter,--feel more strength,--if the trial were fiercer; but this is
well. This is a trial of strength of patience.
_6th._ [9th month.]--Yesterday we had officers again for visitors. Major
J.B. Gould, 13th Massachusetts, came in with the determination of
persuading us to consent to be transferred to the hospital here, he
being the Provost Marshal of the island and having the power to make the
transfer. He is different in being and bearing from those who have been
here before. His motives were apparently those of pure kindness, and his
demeanour was that of a gentleman. Though he talked with us more than an
hour, he lost no part of his self-control or good humour. So by his
eloquence and kindness he made more impression upon us than any before.
As Congregationalist he well knew the courts of the temple, but the Holy
of Holies he had never seen, and knew nothing of its secrets. He
understood expediency; but is not the man to "lay down his life for my
sake." He is sincere and seems to think what Major Gould believes cannot
be far from right. After his attempt we remained as firm as ever. We
must expect all means will be tried upon us, and no less persuasion than
threats.
AT THE HOSPITAL, _7th._ [9th month.]--Yesterday morning came to us Major
Gould again, informing us that he had come to take us out of that dirty
place, as he could not see such respectable men lying there, and was
going to take us up to the hospital. We assured him we could not serve
there, and asked him if he would not bring us back when we had there
declared our purpose. He would not reply directly; but brought us here
and left us. When the surgeon knew our determination, he was for haling
us back at once; what he wanted, he said, was willing men. We sat on
the sward without the hospital tents till nearly noon, for some one to
take us back; when we were ordered to move into the tents and quarters
assigned us in the mess-room. The Major must have interposed,
demonstrating his kindness by his resolution that we should occupy and
enjoy the pleasanter quarters of the hospital, certainly if serving; but
none the less so if we declined. Later in the day L.M.M. and P.D. were
sitting without, when he passed them and, laughing heartily, declared
they were the strangest prisoners of war he ever saw. He stopped some
time to talk with them and when they came in they declared him a kind
and honest man.
If we interpret aright his conduct, this dangerous trial is over, and we
have escaped the perplexities that his kindness and determination threw
about us.
_13th._--Last night we received a letter from Henry Dickinson, stating
that the President, though sympathizing with those in our situation,
felt bound by the Conscription Act, and felt liberty, in view of his
oath to execute the laws, to do no more than detail us from active
service to hospital duty, or to the charge of the coloured refugees. For
more than a week have we lain here, refusing to engage in hospital
service; shall we retrace the steps of the past week? Or shall we go
South as overseers of the blacks on the confiscated estates of the
rebels, to act under military commanders and to report to such? What
would become of our testimony and our determination to preserve
ourselves clear of the guilt of this war?
P.S. We have written back to Henry Dickinson that we cannot purchase
life at cost of peace of soul.
_14th._--We have been exceeding sorrowful since receiving advice--as we
must call it--from H.D. to enter the hospital service or some similar
situation. We did not look for that from him. It is not what our Friends
sent us out for; nor is it what we came for. We shall feel desolate and
dreary in our position, unless supported and cheered by the words of
those who have at heart our best interests more than regard for our
personal welfare. We walk as we feel guided by Best Wisdom. Oh, may we
run and not err in the high path of Holiness.
_16th._--Yesterday a son-in-law of N.B. of Lynn came to see us. He was
going to get passes for one or two of the Lynn Friends, that they might
come over to see us today. He informed us that the sentiment of the
Friends hereabouts was that we might enter the hospital without
compromising our principles; and he produced a letter from W.W. to S.B.
to the same effect. W.W. expressed his opinion that we might do so
without doing it in lieu of other service. How can we evade a fact?
Does not the government both demand and accept it as in lieu of other
service? Oh, the cruelest blow of all comes from our friends.
_17th._--Although this trial was brought upon us by our friends, their
intentions were well meant. Their regard for our personal welfare and
safety too much absorbs the zeal they should possess for the maintenance
of the principle of the peaceableness of our Master's kingdom. An
unfaithfulness to this through meekness and timidity seems
manifest,--too great a desire to avoid suffering at some sacrifice of
principle, perhaps,--too little of placing of Faith and confidence upon
the Rock of Eternal Truth.
Our friends at home, with W.D. at their head, support us; and yesterday,
at the opportune moment, just as we were most distressed by the
solicitations of our visitors, kind and cheering words of Truth were
sent us through dear C.M.P., whose love rushes out to us warm and living
and just from an overflowing fountain.
I must record another work of kind attention shown us by Major Gould.
Before we embarked, he came to us for a friendly visit. As we passed him
on our way to the wharf he bade us Farewell and expressed a hope we
should not have so hard a time as we feared. And after we were aboard
the steamer, as the result of his interference on our behalf, we must
believe, we were singled out from the midst of the prisoners, among whom
we had been placed previous to coming aboard, and allowed the liberty of
the vessel. By this are we saved much suffering, as the other prisoners
were kept under close guard in a corner on the outside of the boat.
FOREST CITY UP THE POTOMAC. _22nd._ [9th month.]--It was near noon,
yesterday, when we turned in from sea between Cape Charles and Henry;
and, running thence down across the mouth of Chesapeake Bay, alongside
Old Point Comfort, dropped anchor off Fortress Monroe. The scene around
us was one of beauty, though many of its adornments were the results and
means of wrong. The sunshine was brighter, the verdure greener to our
eyes weary of the sea, and the calm was milder and more grateful that we
had so long tossed in the storm.
The anchor was soon drawn up again and the _Forest City_ steamed up the
James River toward Newport News, and turning to the left between the
low, pine-grown banks, passed Norfolk to leave the New Hampshire
detachment at Portsmouth.
Coming back to Fortress Monroe, some freight was landed; and in the calm
clear light of the moon, we swung away from shore and dropping down the
mouth of the river, rounded Old Point, and, going up the Chesapeake,
entered the Potomac in the night-time.
OFF SHORE, ALEXANDRIA. _23d._--Here we anchored last night after the
main detachment was landed, and the Vermont and Massachusetts men
remained on board another night. We hear we are to go right to the
field, where active operations are going on. This seems hard. We have
not till now given up the hope that we were not to go out into Virginia
with the rest of the men, but were to be kept here at Washington.
Fierce, indeed, are our trials. I am not discouraged entirely; but I am
weak from want of food which I can eat, and from sickness. I do not know
how I am going to live in such way, or get to the front.
P.S. We have just landed; and I had the liberty to buy a pie of a woman
hawking such things, that has strengthened me wonderfully.
CAMP NEAR CULPEPER. _25th._--My distress is too great for words; but I
must overcome my disinclination to write, or this record will remain
unfinished. So, with aching head and heart, I proceed.
Yesterday morning we were roused early for breakfast and for preparation
for starting. After marching out of the barracks, we were first taken to
the armory, where each man received a gun and its equipments and a piece
of tent. We stood in line, waiting for our turn with apprehensions of
coming trouble. Though we had felt free to keep with those among whom we
had been placed, we could not consent to carry a gun, even though we did
not intend to use it; and, from our previous experience, we knew it
would go harder with us, if we took the first step in the wrong
direction, though it might seem an unimportant one, and an easy and not
very wrong way to avoid difficulty. So we felt decided we must decline
receiving the guns. In the hurry and bustle of equipping a detachment
of soldiers, one attempting to explain a position and the grounds
therefor so peculiar as ours to junior, petty officers, possessing
liberally the characteristics of these: pride, vanity, conceit, and an
arbitrary spirit, impatience, profanity, and contempt for holy things,
must needs find the opportunity a very unfavourable one.
We succeeded in giving these young officers a slight idea of what we
were; and endeavoured to answer their questions of why we did not pay
our commutation, and avail ourselves of that provision made expressly
for such; of why we had come as far as that place, etc. We realized then
the unpleasant results of that practice, that had been employed with us
by the successive officers into whose hands we had fallen,--of shirking
any responsibility, and of passing us on to the next officer above.