(_Written in December, 1917, to be Read at a Meeting of The Girls of the
Sixties, Columbia, S. C._)
The evacuation of Charleston, crossing of our soldiers over the Santee
river, burning the bridge behind them, left the lower part of the State
in the power of the Yankees.
My home was in this deserted region. We knew that our enemies were all
around and had visited in no kind manner many of the neighboring
plantations, but Chelsea, our plantation and winter home, seemed to be
exempted. We learned afterward that this was due to the devotion of our
slaves.
At last the Yankees did come. Our home, a big old colonial house built
in 1714, was packed with refugees run from the coast from their homes
earlier in the war. My mother directed each of us to go to my
grandmother’s room as soon as we saw the Yankees coming, and meet them
in a body there. My grandmother had passed her eightieth mile-stone and
was old for her years.
As day after day passed and no Yankees came we felt more at ease. On one
particular day in February, 1865, the young folks were sitting in a room
removed from the main body of the house, one reading aloud and the
others knitting, when my sister-in-law put her head in at the door and
exclaimed, “Girls, the Yankees.” There was a rush for the house and my
grandmother’s room. Just as we reached it the house was surrounded by an
excited crowd of men calling for the Confederate soldier they had seen
enter the house. There was no soldier there and they were so informed,
but they insisted there was one for they had seen him. Their officers
had some trouble in keeping them from searching the house. One officer
stood at the front door with my father, who was the physician of the
neighborhood, Dr. Morton Waring, and the other at the back door with my
mother and her sister. Just then the excitement was relieved by one of
our young negro men walking up with a military cap on.
There was no soldier with us just then, only a boy not yet in service.
Our young horses were gone, for the negro boys had taken them all into
the swamp a half mile away as soon as the Yankees were in sight. Some of
the soldiers were anxious to take my father’s horses that he used for
his practice, but this Captain Hulbert, one of their officers, would not
permit, telling his men they might need the services of a doctor and he
could not get to them if his horses were gone.
Captain Hulbert told my father that his negroes had represented him as
such a kind friend to them that the general in command had directed him
not to enter his house or permit any outrages, only to free the negroes,
as they thought they were slaves until each plantation was visited and
the negroes told they were free.
But the soldiers were not satisfied and meant to have something if
possible, so they surrounded the smoke house and told one of our negro
men to go up and throw out the meat. Of course he obeyed. As my father
and Captain Hulbert walked quickly up one of our negroes stepped up to
the captain and said, “Please don’t let your men take our meat. This
belongs to us negroes.” This was not strictly true as the meat was for
us all, but it had the desired effect. The meat was left.
At this time when we were so anxious and worried our negroes showed
themselves true friends by concealing our valuables. Different ones
would come at night and offer to take anything we would entrust to them
and hide it for us. In this way many valuables were entrusted to them
which were taken care of and returned after all was safe, in every case
under cover of night. Our silver of course was buried by members of the
family.
During this same period we were surprised one day by seeing a buggy
coming up with two men in it, one wrapped in a blanket, the other, his
son, driving. These were Dr. Peter Snowden and his son Charlie. When
they drew up in front of the house and asked for my mother she went to
them at once and was accosted by one of these gentlemen, both of whom
she knew well. He was one of the scouts and had been wounded and taken
refuge at the next plantation, but the Yankees hearing of his hiding
place were in pursuit of him, so he came to see if my father could help
him. My father was not at home, but my mother never hesitated. She made
a bed in a small room where my father had hidden much corn and other
provisions, and placed a large press in front of the door which it
entirely concealed. In this store room our scout was cared for until he
was able to go further. While arrangements were being made for him my
grandmother called my mother to her and said, “Anne, do you know what
you are doing, you have many helpless ones in your care and this piece
of kindness may cost you your home?” My mother replied, “It is my duty
to protect him. I will do it. God will do the rest.” When my father
reached home he commended her action.
If the Yankees ever knew the wounded scout was with us they certainly
made no sign indicating they possessed such knowledge.
There were skirmishes about in our neighborhood between the northern
troops passing through on their way to Columbia, Camden and other
points, and our scouts. These were men sent back to protect the helpless
ones left behind. They used a kind of guerilla warfare, but sometimes
they had a real open skirmish. One of these was on a plantation near our
home and my father was sent for to dress the wound of one soldier, I
think a Yankee, another having been killed in the same fight. The
mistress[105] of this plantation had two young nieces with her for
companionship. Her husband, of course, was away, and her children very
small. The older of these girls carried a pistol in her pocket for
protection. One day the pistol discharged its contents into her thigh.
Only a flesh wound resulted, but it alarmed the family very much. My
father was called and after making her comfortable he persuaded her aunt
to let him take her home with him. She improved rapidly and was soon
able to walk around. Then she thought best to return to her aunt. We had
not seen or heard of any Yankees in the neighborhood for several days so
my father thought we might venture the trip of two miles in our
carriage. My sister and I went with her. As we were crossing the Santee
canal about a mile from our house we saw some soldiers on the bridge.
Tom, our coachman, drove quietly on, but as soon as we crossed we were
halted and our carriage surrounded by blue coats who were rather
inquisitive. We had driven right up to a long line of marching Yankees.
A portion of Hartwell’s army on its way to the up country. Some of them
recognized our friend, having seen her at Harbin, the home of her aunt,
so accosted her with “Halloo Leize and Sallie. There are Leize and
Sallie.” They had mistaken me for her sister. My sister in a quiet
manner and voice asked to speak to their commanding officer. This caused
them to stand back while one went for the officer. After a while, which
seemed much longer than it really was, the officer (I believe a colonel)
rode up and asked her business. She told him we were on our way to a
neighboring plantation to make a friendly visit and return, and asked
his protection for the trip. He told her he was obliged to detain us
where we were for a time, but we should be protected. That as he had to
march on with his command he would leave us in charge of a guard. This
he did at once, so that in a very short time our guards were the only
soldiers in sight except one that was sent back with a dispatch to the
Major of the fifty-fifth. While he was waiting for the major and his men
to come up he sat at the root of a large pine and played beautiful music
on a very sweet flute that he had stolen from one of the plantations. I
had heard that flute so often, it belonged to Rene Jervey. As we were
circumstanced it was better to assume a friendliness of manner with our
guard who was a very polite Canadian named Alfred Brett. He said he was
only fighting for his pay, that he did not care which side whipped.
After listening to his yarns for some hours my sister asked him why he
was detaining us and how long he meant to keep us there. He replied “I
must keep you until General Hartwell’s division passes. He has many
regiments of colored troops and if you should meet them I could not
answer for the consequences, they are coming by the same road you are
going.” My sister said “But if you will allow us, we will return
straight home by the same road we came.” He agreed to this and told Tom
to hitch up, which Tom did with the sorry horse he gave in place of our
beautiful one he stole. He did not wish the other so let us keep him.
This certainly gave us a pair of wretchedly matched horses, one large
gray and the other a small red hack that loped all the time in harness
that was so large it could scarcely be kept on.
While guarding us Mr. Brett had an eye to self. He asked Tom very
particularly about one of my father’s sulky horses, a very fine iron
gray named “Beauregard,” where he was kept and so on, and said he wanted
him. Tom suspecting mischief consulted with our foreman as soon as we
reached home and between them they determined to save the horse, and
lost no time about it. They took my father into their confidence.
Not long after we reached home and before the excitement caused by our
story had subsided my father came driving slowly home behind an old
frame of bones in a much bruised horse hide. They had met him at
Woodlawn plantation where he had gone professionally and taken his
horse. Zeleka would not stand haltered, so we hoped she would come home.
Sure enough that night after she had eaten her oats and all was quiet
she slipped her halter and started homeward. She had gone quite a long
way when one of our scouts caught her. He used her and took care of her
until the troubles were over, then returned her to my father.
Early the morning after our capture the whole plantation was thrown into
wild excitement. During the night the stable door was unhinged and
Beauregard taken, the news spreading through the neighborhood. The
doctor could not visit his patients, both of his horses having been
taken. Other persons lost their horses too, so he could only go as best
he could to the urgent cases. Then the weary weeks of waiting, we could
hear nothing of my brother. All we knew was he was with General Young’s
brigade wherever that was. Some of the men from St. John’s Parish had
gotten home but none had seen or heard of him. The war was over. The
army disbanded, and we were still waiting. One memorable day about the
middle of April we were gathered in the parlor trying to be cheerful
and busying ourselves with mending when our butler stepped into the room
and said in a most joyous voice “Mars John.” O, such a rush for the
front door where my mother ahead of the rest had her soldier boy in her
arms. It was a happy household that night that gathered around the
family altar. Some time after this we were again gathered in the parlor.
This time chattering of how we were going to make our little serve for a
great deal, when we were attracted by the neighing of a horse at the
fence near by and looking up saw Beauregard. What a welcome he received.
Tom thought it safe for him to come home so released him from his hiding
place in the swamp.
No. 280.
REPORT OF BV’T. BRIG. GEN. ALFRED S. HARTWELL,
FIFTY-FIFTH MASSACHUSETTS INFANTRY,
OF OPERATIONS,
APRIL 5-15.
(_From pp. 1042-1043, ‘War of Rebln Official Records,’ &c. Series I:
Vol. XLVII, Part 1. “Campaign of the Carolinas, etc."_)
Headquarters Provisional Brigade.
No. 8 Meeting St., Charleston, S. C., Ap’l. 15, 1865.
Captain: The following is respectfully submitted as the report of the
expedition to the Santee River under my command:
In pursuance of orders received from Brig. Gen. John P. Hatch, I caused,
on the 5th of April, the Fifty-fourth New York Veteran Volunteers and
Fifty-fifth Massachusetts Volunteers to cross from James Island and
assemble with a section of the Third New York Artillery at the Four Mile
Tavern on the State Road. Starting early on the morning of the 6th
inst., I reached Goose Creek at nightfall, and went into bivouac
eighteen miles from this city. From this point I sent back for the
surplus ammunition. On information from a contraband that there were
from thirty to forty Rebel cavalry at a place called Dean Hall I sent,
at 5:00 P.M. two companies to attempt to surprise this party. During the
night I was notified that these two companies had been misled by the
guide, and were awaiting orders near the Twenty-Five Mile House on the
State Road. April 7 at 7:00 A.M. I started to Mr. Cain’s, near Black
Oak, Santee Canal, some twenty-two miles, sending a detachment to
Biggin’s Bridge, who rejoined the column at night, together with the two
companies from the Twenty-Five Mile House. Thirty cavalry were in my
front having gone from Dean Hall around my flank. I sent two companies
to deploy and surround the house in which they were reported to be, and
surprise them. The enemy, however, got notice of our approach in season
to escape, leaving several blankets and guns, and their supper ready
cooked. Mr. Cain had several sons in the Rebel army; he had entertained
those who had just gone, and had recently given them a grand dinner; his
barn accidentally, or by some unknown incendiary, was burned.
Marched at 7:00 A.M. on the 8th of April, and halted at noon in
Pineville for dinner. Reached Mexico at nightfall, and went into bivouac
there. Distance marched, about twenty miles.
The people in Pineville implored our protection from the negroes, who
were arming themselves and threatening the lives of their masters. Mr.
Reno (_sic_) Ravenel requested me to take him with me to save his life.
The negroes flocked in from all sides.
At Mexico I found that Mr. Mazyck Porcher had made his house the
headquarters of the Rebels in the vicinity. While I was on his grounds
his property was protected, but was burned to the ground immediately on
my leaving, I think, by his field hands.
April 9, started for Eutaw Creek, thirteen miles distant. Some
skirmishing occurred; but dispersed the enemy with a few shells.
From Eutaw Creek I sent two companies to Nelson’s Ferry, who sent me
word at night that General Potter had gone up the Santee in transports
the day before, and that they had burned forty or fifty bales of cotton
that night on the opposite shore. During the night a contraband reported
to me that General Potter had encountered the enemy at Manningsville,
and had had a skirmish there. He was advancing, however, to Sumterville.
A certain Lieutenant Pettus, commanding some Rebel cavalry in our
vicinity, came in on a flag of truce at my request. I told this officer
that he would not quarter in or near houses, or fire from houses, if he
cared to save them from destruction. I also sent by this officer a note
to General Ferguson, suggesting the propriety of his recalling his
scouts from attempting to coerce the slaves to labor.
April 10. Sent parties to Vance’s Ferry and vicinity to gather corn and
rice together to feed the contrabands which had congregated together on
the march. Marched at 5:00 P.M., taking the cross-road to the State
Road. At about 10.00 P.M. we encountered twenty-five or thirty Rebel
cavalry; shots were exchanged and they disappeared, leaving a gun, some
blankets, and hats, &c.; bivouacked fifteen miles from starting point at
midnight.
April 11. Marched at daylight down the State Road; found that the
bridges over Cypress Swamp were in bad condition, and was delayed by the
falling through of a limber and chest. From this delay, and my column
being encumbered by the train of refugees, I did not take the Ridgeville
Road, which was reported very heavy, but marched to the Twenty-Five Mile
House, and there bivouacked.
April 12, marched to Goose Creek, leaving there two companies and the
train of refugees. The rest of my command I marched to the Four Mile
Tavern, where they still remain. The companies left at Goose Creek have
since rejoined them there.