SUNDAY, THE 17TH--AFTER CHURCH--THE DEMORALIZED ARMY--SOLDIERS' STORIES.
Sunday, the 17th--the memorable seventeenth of May--as we were dressing
for church, and had nearly completed the arrangement of shawls and gloves,
we heard the loud booming of cannon. Frightened, for at this time we knew
not _what_ "an hour would bring forth," seeing no one who might account
for the sudden alarm, we walked down the street, hoping to find some
friend that could tell us if it were dangerous to remain away from home at
church. I feared leaving my little one for any length of time, if there
were any prospect of an engagement. After walking a square or two, we met
an officer, who told us the report we heard proceeded from our own guns,
which were firing upon a party of soldiers, who were burning some houses
on the peninsula on the Louisiana shore; he told us, also, it had been
rumored that General Pemberton had been repulsed--that many citizens had
gone out to attend to the wounded of yesterday's battle--all the ministers
and surgeons that could leave had also gone. Still, as the bell of the
Methodist church rang out clear and loud, my friend and I decided to
enter, and were glad that we did so, for we heard words of cheer and
comfort in this time of trouble. The speaker was a traveller, who supplied
the pulpit this day, as the pastor was absent ministering to the wounded
and dying on the battle field. This was a plain man, of simple, fervent
words, but with so much of heart in all his exercises, that we felt, after
the last hymn had been sung, the last prayer said, that we had been in a
purer atmosphere. After the blessing, he requested the ladies to meet and
make arrangements for lint and bandages for the wounded. As we returned
home, we passed groups of anxious men at the corners, with troubled faces;
very few soldiers were seen; some battery men and officers, needed for the
river defences, were passing hastily up the street. Yet, in all the
pleasant air and sunshine of the day, an anxious gloom seemed to hang over
the faces of men: a sorrowful waiting for tidings, that all knew now,
would tell of disaster. There seemed no life in the city; sullen and
expectant seemed the men--tearful and hopeful the women--prayerful and
hopeful, I might add; for, many a mother, groaning in spirit over the
uncertainty of the welfare of those most dear to her, knelt and laid her
sorrows at the foot of that Throne, where no earnest suppliant is ever
rejected; where the sorrow of many a broken heart has been turned in
resignation to His will who afflicts not willingly the children of men.
And so, in all the dejected uncertainty, the stir of horsemen and wheels
began, and wagons came rattling down the street--going rapidly one way,
and then returning, seemingly, without aim or purpose: now and then a worn
and dusty soldier would be seen passing with his blanket and canteen;
soon, straggler after straggler came by, then groups of soldiers worn and
dusty with the long march. "What can be the matter?" we all cried, as the
streets and pavements became full of these worn and tired-looking men. We
sent down to ask, and the reply was: "We are whipped; and the Federals are
after us." We hastily seized veils and bonnets, and walked down the avenue
to the iron railing that separates the yard from the street.
"Where are you going?" we asked.
No one seemed disposed to answer the question. An embarrassed, pained look
came over some of the faces that were raised to us; others seemed only to
feel the weariness of the long march; again we asked:
"Where on earth are you going?"
At last one man looked up in a half-surly manner, and answered:
"We are running."
"From whom?" exclaimed one of the young girls of the house.
"The Feds, to be sure," said another, half laughing and half shamefaced.
"Oh! shame on you!" cried the ladies; "and you running!"
"It's all Pem's fault," said an awkward, long-limbed, weary-looking man.
"It's all your own fault. Why don't you stand your ground?" was the reply.
"Shame on you all!" cried some of the ladies across the street, becoming
excited.
I could not but feel sorry for the poor worn fellows, who did seem indeed
heartily ashamed of themselves; some without arms, having probably lost
them in the first break of the companies.
"We are disappointed in you!" cried some of the ladies. "Who shall we
look to now for protection?"
"Oh!" said one of them, "it's the first time I ever ran. We are Georgians,
and we never ran before; but we saw them all breaking and running, and we
could not bear up alone."
We asked them if they did not want water; and some of them came in the
yard to get it. The lady of the house offered them some supper; and while
they were eating, we were so much interested, that we stood around
questioning them about the result of the day. "It is all General
Pemberton's fault," said a sergeant. "I'm a Missourian, and our boys stood
it almost alone, not knowing what was wanted to be done; yet, fighting as
long as possible, every one leaving us, and we were obliged to fall back.
You know, madam, we Missourians always fight well, even if we have to
retreat afterward."
"Oh!" spoke up an old man, "we would ha' fit well; but General Pemberton
came up and said: 'Stand your ground, boys. Your General Pemberton is
with you;' and then, bless you, lady! the next we see'd of him, he was
sitting on his horse behind a house--close, too, at that; and when we
see'd that, we thought 'tain't no use, if he's going to sit there."
We could not help laughing at the old man's tale and his anger. Afterward
we were told that General Pemberton behaved with courage--that the fault
lay in the arrangement of troops.
And where these weary and wornout men were going, we could not tell. I
think they did not know themselves.