HOW WE LIVED IN THE LAST DAYS OF THE CONFEDERACY
Though the last act of our heroic tragedy was already beginning I
was so far from suspecting it that I joined mother at the Arlington,
prepared to make a joke of hardships and wring every possible drop of
pleasure out of a winter in Richmond, varied, as I fondly imagined, by
frequent if brief visits from Dan.
The Arlington was kept on something like the European plan, not from
choice of landlady or guests but from grim necessity. Feeding a
houseful of people was too arduous and uncertain an undertaking in
those days for a woman to assume. Mrs. Fry, before our arrival in July,
had informed her boarders that they could continue to rent their rooms
from her, but that they must provide their own meals. We paid her $25
a month for our room--the price of a house in good times and in good
money. During my absence in Mansfield, Hicksford, and other places,
mother, to reduce expenses, had rented half of her room and bed to
Delia McArthur, of Petersburg. I now rented a little bed from Mrs. Fry
for myself, and set it up in the same room.
We had become so poor and had so little to cook that we did most of
our cooking ourselves over the grate, each woman often cooking her own
little rations. There was an old negress living in the back yard who
cooked for any or all of us when we had something that could not be
prepared by ourselves over the grate. Sometimes we got hold of a roast,
or we would buy two quarts of flour, a little dab of lard, and a few
pinches of salt and treat ourselves to a loaf of bread, which the old
negress cooked for us, charging ten dollars for the baking. But as a
rule the grate was all sufficient. We boiled rice or dried apples or
beans or peas in our stew-pan, and we had a frying-pan if there was
anything to fry.
Across the hall from us Miss Mary Pagett, of Petersburg, had a room to
herself. She worked in one of the departments, and in order that she
might have her meals in time she went into partnership with us. Every
morning she would put in with our rations whatever she happened to have
for that day, and mother would cook it and have it ready when she came.
Down-stairs under our room Mr. and Mrs. Sampson, their daughters Nan
and Beth, and their son Don, all of Petersburg and old neighbors and
friends of ours, lived, slept, cooked, and ate in two rooms, a big and
a little one. They lived as we did, cooking over their grates.
Sometimes we all put what we had together and ate in company. When any
of us secured at any time some eatable out of the common, if it was
enough to go around we invited the others into breakfast, dinner, or
tea, as the case might be. It must be understood that from the meal
called “tea,” the beverage from which the meal is named was nearly
always omitted. Our fare was never very sumptuous--often it was
painfully scanty. Sometimes we would all get so hungry that we would
put together all the money we could rake and scrape and buy a bit of
roast or something else substantial and have a feast.
We all bought coal in common. Mother’s, mine, and Delia’s portion of
the coal was a ton, and we had to keep it in our room--there was no
other place to store it. We had a box in our room which held a ton,
and the coal was brought up-stairs and dumped into that box. I can
see those darkies now, puffing and blowing, as they brought that coal
up those many steps. And how we had to scuffle around to pay them!
For some jobs we paid in trade--only we had very little to trade off.
How that room held all its contents I can’t make out. Dan sent me
provisions by the quantity when he could get any and get them through
to me. He would send a bag of potatoes or peas, and he never sent less
than a firkin of butter--delicious butter from Orange County. The bags
of peas, rice, and potatoes were disposed around the room, and around
the hearth were arranged our pots, pans, kettles, and cooking utensils
generally. When we bought wood that was put under the beds. In addition
to all our useful and ornamental articles we had our three selves and
our trunks; such clothing as we possessed had to be hung up for better
keeping--and this was a time when it behooved us to cherish clothes
tenderly. Then there was our laundrying, which was done in that room by
ourselves.
And we had company! Certainly we seemed to have demonstrated the truth
of the adage, “Ole Virginny never tire.” We had company, and we had
company to eat with us, and enjoyed it.
Sometimes our guests were boys from camp who dropped in and took stewed
apples or boiled peas, as the case might be. If we were particularly
fortunate we offered a cup of tea sweetened with sugar. The soldier who
dropped in always got a part--and the best part--of what we had. If
things were scant we had smiles to make up for the lack of our larder,
and to hide its bareness.
How we were pinched that winter! how often we were hungry! and how
anxious and miserable we were! And yet what fun we had! The boys
laughed at our crowded room and we laughed with them. After we bought
our wood it was Robert E. Lee’s adjutant who first observed the ends
sticking out from under the bed; he was heartily amused and greatly
impressed with the versatility of our resources.
“I confidently expect to come here some day and find a pig tied to the
leg of the bed, and a brood or two of poultry utilizing waste space,”
said Colonel Taylor.
He wasn’t so far out of the way, for we _did_ get hold of a lean
chicken once some way or other, and we tied it to the foot of the bed,
and tried to fatten it with boiled peas.
We devised many small ways for making a little money. We knit gloves
and socks and sold them, and Miss Beth Sampson had some old pieces of
ante-bellum silk that she made into neckties and sold for what she
could get. For the rest, when we had no money, we went without those
things which it took money to buy. With money a bit of meat now and
then, a taste of sorghum, and even the rare luxury of a cup of tea
sweetened with sugar, was possible. Without money, we had to depend
upon the bags of peas, dried apples, or rice.
“If I ever keep house,” said Miss Mary one day when we were getting
supper ready, “there are three things which shall never come into it,
rice, dried apples, and peas.”
Mother was at the bureau slicing bread, Delia McArthur was setting
the table, I was getting butter out of the firkin and making it into
prints, and Miss Mary with gloves on--whenever she had anything to do
she always put gloves on--was peeling and slicing tomatoes.
“I never want to _hear_ of rice, dried apples, or peas again!” came
from all sides of the room.
“If this war is ever at an end,” sighed poor mother, “I hope I may sit
down and eat at a decent table again. And I fervently hope that nobody
will ever set a dish of rice, peas, or dried apples before me! If they
do, I shall get up and leave the table.”
“Me too,” I piped. “Even if I didn’t hate the things I should feel
sensitive on the subject and take the offering of such a dish to me as
a personal reflection.”
One day we agreed to have a feast. The Sampsons were to bring their
contributions, Miss Mary and Delia McArthur to put in theirs as
usual, and mother and I to contribute our share, of course. Each of
us had the privilege of inviting a friend to tea. Our room was chosen
as the common supper-room because it had fewer things in it and was
less crowded than the Sampsons’. The Sampsons, in addition to their
coal-box, wood-pile, bags and barrels of provisions, had one more bed
than we had, and also a piano. We had our tea-party and, guests and
all, we had a merry time.
I never remember having more fun in my life than at the Arlington,
where sometimes we were hungry, and while the country, up to our doors,
bristled with bayonets, and the air we breathed shook with the thunder
of guns.
For hungry and shabby as we were, crowded into our one room with bags
of rice and peas, firkins of butter, a ton of coal, a small wood-pile,
cooking utensils, and all of our personal property, we were not in
despair. Our faith in Lee and his ragged, freezing, starving army
amounted to a superstition. We cooked our rice and peas and dried
apples, and hoped and prayed. By this time our bags took up little
room. We had had a bag of potatoes, but it was nearly empty, there
were only a few handfuls of dried apples left--and I must say that even
in the face of starvation I was glad of that!--and there was a very
small quantity of rice in our larder. We had more peas than anything
else.
I had not heard from my husband for more than a week--indeed, there
seems to have been in Richmond at this time a singular ignorance
concerning our reverses around Petersburg. There were hunger and
nakedness and death and pestilence and fire and sword everywhere, and
we, fugitives from shot and shell, knew it well, but, somehow, we
laughed and sang and played on the piano--and never believed in actual
defeat and subjugation.
Sunday morning, the second of April, as President Davis sat in his pew
at St. Paul’s Church, a slip of paper was brought to him. He read it,
quietly arose, and left the church.
General Lee advised the evacuation of Richmond by eight o’clock that
night. That was what rumor told us at the Arlington. At first we did
not believe it, but as that spring day wore on we were convinced. The
Sabbath calm was changed to bustle and confusion--almost into riot. The
streets were full of people hurrying in all directions, but chiefly in
the direction of the Danville depot. Men, women, and children jostled
each other in their haste to reach this spot. Loaded vehicles of every
description rattled over the pavements.
During the day proclamation was made that all who wished could come
to the Commissary Department and get anything they wanted in the way
of provisions--without pay. I for one, in spite of my loathing for
dried apples and peas, and a lively objection to starvation, would
not entertain the thought at first. But the situation was serious.
We discussed it in council, sitting around our room on beds, chairs,
trunks, and the floor. We could not foresee the straits to which we
might be brought. We considered that the evacuation of Richmond implied
we knew not what. Unless we provided now by laying in some stores
we might actually starve. Besides, Mrs. Sampson said she was just
_bound_ to have a whole barrel of flour, and she was going for it. That
declaration wound up the conference. Mother said she would go with
Mrs. Sampson, and I must needs go, I thought, to protect mother. We
put on our bonnets--home-made straw trimmed with chicken feathers--and
started. Such a crowd as we found ourselves in! such a starveling mob!
I got frightened and sick, and mother and Mrs. Sampson were daunted.
We had not gone many squares before we changed our course, and went to
Mrs. Taylor’s (Colonel Walter Taylor’s mother) and I ran up the steps
and asked her to lend us Bob, her youngest son, who was at home then,
for our escort.
She and Bob explained regretfully that he could not serve us. Walter
was to be married that day, and Bob had his hands full at home.
“Married?” I cried in astonishment. I had known of his engagement, and
that he expected to be married as soon as possible, but marrying at
this crisis was incredible.
“Yes,” said Bob. “I took the despatch to Betty while she was at church
this morning. He told her to be ready and he would come to Richmond
this afternoon for the ceremony. You see, General Lee is going to move
the army west, and nobody knows for how long it will be gone, nor what
will happen, and if Betty is married to Walter she can go to him if he
gets hurt.”
Of course, as Bob had to make all the necessary arrangements for the
event his escort at the present moment was out of the question.
Somehow Mrs. Sampson managed to get her barrel of flour and have it
brought to her room, but we didn’t get anything.
That afternoon as I sat at my window I saw Walter ride up to the
Crenshaws’, where Betty was staying. He remained in the house just long
enough for the ceremony to be performed, came out, sprang on his horse,
and rode away rapidly.
President Davis and his Cabinet left Richmond that afternoon in a
special train. Everybody who could go was going. We had no money to go
with, though we did not know where we would have gone if the money had
been forthcoming.
As darkness came upon the city confusion and disorder increased. People
were running about everywhere with plunder and provisions. Barrels and
boxes were rolled and tumbled about the streets as they had been all
day. Barrels of liquor were broken open and the gutters ran with whisky
and molasses. There were plenty of straggling soldiers about who had
too much whisky, rough women had it plentifully, and many negroes were
drunk. The air was filled with yells, curses, cries of distress, and
horrid songs. No one in the house slept. We moved about between each
other’s rooms, talked in whispers, and tried to nerve ourselves for
whatever might come. A greater part of the night I sat at my window.
In the pale dawn I saw a light shoot up from Shockoe Warehouse.
Presently soldiers came running down the streets. Some carried balls of
tar; some carried torches. As they ran they fired the balls of tar and
pitched them onto the roofs of prominent houses and into the windows
of public buildings and churches. I saw balls pitched on the roof of
General R. E. Lee’s home. As the day grew lighter I saw a Confederate
soldier on horseback pause almost under my window. He wheeled and
fired behind him; rode a short distance, wheeled and fired again; and
so on, wheeling and firing as he went until he was out of sight. Coming
up the street from that end toward which his fire had been directed and
from which he had come, rode a body of men in blue uniforms. It was
not a very large body, they rode slowly, and passed just beneath my
window. Exactly at eight o’clock the Confederate flag that fluttered
above the Capitol came down and the Stars and Stripes were run up. We
knew what that meant! The song “On to Richmond!” was ended--Richmond
was in the hands of the Federals. We covered our faces and cried aloud.
All through the house was the sound of sobbing. It was as the house of
mourning, the house of death.
Soon the streets were full of Federal troops, marching quietly along.
The beautiful sunlight flashed back everywhere from Yankee bayonets. I
saw negroes run out into the street and falling on their knees before
the invaders hail them as their deliverers, embracing the knees of
the horses, and almost preventing the troops from moving forward. It
had been hard living and poor fare in Richmond for negroes as well as
whites; and the negroes at this time believed the immediate blessings
of freedom greater than they would or could be.
The saddest moment of my life was when I saw that Southern Cross
dragged down and the Stars and Stripes run up above the Capitol. I am
glad the Stars and Stripes are waving there now. But I am true to my
old flag too, and as I tell this my heart turns sick with the supreme
anguish of the moment when I saw it torn down from the height where
valor had kept it waving for so long and at such cost.
Was it for this, I thought, that Jackson had fallen? for this that
my brave, laughing Stuart was dead--dead and lying in his grave in
Hollywood under the very shadow of that flag floating from the Capitol,
in hearing of these bands playing triumphant airs as they marched
through the streets of Richmond, in hearing of those shouts of victory?
O my chevalier! I had to thank God that the kindly sod hid you from
all those sights and sounds so bitter to me then. I looked toward
Hollywood with streaming eyes and thanked God for your sake. Was it
to this end we had fought and starved and gone naked and cold? to this
end that the wives and children of many a dear and gallant friend were
husbandless and fatherless? to this end that our homes were in ruins,
our State devastated? to this end that Lee and his footsore veterans
were seeking the covert of the mountains?