little fresh butter and a pinch of salt and pepper, lay in the bottom
of a hot covered dish. A card with the name of the hospital, the name
of the soldier, and the number of his cot, was attached to the basket;
and a half-grown colored boy in service at the house was intrusted with
it, and bore it away in haste.
“Take notice, Ben, what he does and says, so you can tell us when you
come back,” was my last injunction.
In due time Ben came back, laughing. “Did he eat them?” I questioned
eagerly.
“O missus, you o’ter ’a’ seen ’im. I sot don the basket and tooked off
de cover and held the birds up close tu ’im; an’ my, but it did smell
good! He jus’ gim it one look, den he grab one an’ begun to eat. But
I wus a-holden de dish dar, an’ he seed t’other bird, and he grabbed
dat, an’ he dove his han’ dow under ’is piller an’ brung out an ole
newspaper, and he wrapped up t’other bird and chucked it down under his
piller, and den he went on eaten as fast as he could. Oh, golly, but
wusent he hungry!” And Ben doubled himself up and laughed as only a
colored boy can laugh.
The next day I was called away to Chattanooga, and so I left all
my work in other hands. While in Chattanooga, General Hood marched
northward and broke the lines of communication between Nashville and
Chattanooga, and I was detained there several weeks. The very day after
my return I was on the streets of Nashville, and a soldier met me with
great cordiality.
“I don’t believe you know me,” he said.
“No, I don’t remember to have ever met you before,” I replied.
“I’m the man you sent the birds to.”
“I am glad to see you. How is it that you are up and out so soon?”
“Well, you see, there wasn’t anything the matter with me, but I did not
know it. I thought I was going to die, but the birds did the business.
I never did taste anything quite so nice as they were, and I have been
eating ever since, anything I could lay my hands on. And now I am well,
and am going to join my regiment.”
After a few cordial thanks and good wishes we separated, and I have
never seen him since. If these lines fall under his notice, I would
like to hear from him.
HOW MOTHER BICKERDYKE CUT RED TAPE.
The battle of Corinth had raged from early morning till late in the
afternoon, and then General Price was checked and forced to retreat.
The struggle had been a bloody one, and the ground was covered with the
wounded and the dead.
The Confederates made a desperate struggle to capture Fort Robbinette.
General Rogers, or “Texas Rogers” as he was usually called, led the
charge against the fort. Splendidly mounted, with a flag in one hand
and a pistol in the other, he rode up to the very mouth of the cannon,
all the while beckoning his men onward. Reaching the ramparts, he
planted the Confederate flag there, and the next moment fell dead. But
his troops surged up after him, although the cannon of the fort mowed
down great swaths of marching men, as with set faces and bowed heads
they followed their leader.
The scenes that followed were indescribable. The human avalanche surged
up into the fort, and men, hand to hand, contended for the mastery.
The Confederate flag waved only for a moment. Then it was torn away,
and the men who had climbed up over the ramparts were hurled back. But
still fresh relays came on. When there was not time to reload their
guns, the invaders used them as clubs, and the fragments of many a
shattered musket were left upon the field. Texas Rogers’s horse, which
had gone back riderless, came dashing up again when the next charge was
made, as though guided by human hands, and once more turned and went
back. After the bloody conflict ended, it was found that forty-two men
lay dead in a heap where “Texas Rogers” planted his flag and died.
Hungry and utterly exhausted as were the men, who, without food or
rest, had fought all day, their first duty was to their wounded
comrades. Every available building, and every church but one, was
taken for hospital purposes; and long rows of tents were put up on the
grounds of the Ladies’ College. But there was a lack of supplies. There
were no cots or pillows--only the bare ground.
Among the heroic workers there, was Mother Bickerdyke, who could always
find supplies if they were within reach. She took some wagons and a
squad of men, and went down to the quartermaster’s storehouse. “Come
on, boys,” she said; “we will see if we can find anything to make the
wounded comfortable.”
The quartermaster was there to receive her, and to say, “We have no
hospital supplies; they are all given out.”
“Then, I’ll have to take what I can get. Boys, roll out some of those
bales of hay and cotton! They will make better beds than the ground.”
“You must bring me an order, madam.”
“I have no time to hunt up officers to get orders.”
“But I am responsible for these supplies, and cannot let them go
without proper orders.”
The wagons were soon loaded up, and the bales of hay and cotton were
soon at the hospital tents. An axe cut the hoops, and the hay went
flying into the tents in long even rows with the help of ready hands.
An armful of cotton made a good pillow. All night long the work went
on. Some with lanterns were searching among the dead for the wounded
and bringing them in; others dressing the wounds. No one was idle. The
utmost of strength and energy must be put forth at such a time.
But the quartermaster must make his accounts all right, and of course
had to enter complaint against Mother Bickerdyke. She was summoned to
meet the charge, which she did when she found time to go.
“Mrs. Bickerdyke, you are charged with taking quartermaster’s stores
without proper orders and over his protest.”
“Who ordered the tents put up on the college grounds?”
“I did.”
“What were they put up for?”
“To shelter the wounded men, of course.”
“Did you expect these wounded men to lie on the ground?”
“You should have obtained orders.”
“I had no time to go for orders. Why didn’t you order in the hay and
the cotton?”
“I did not think of it.”
“Well, I did, and used all I needed; and now all you have to do is to
draw an order for them and give it to the quartermaster.”
She bade the officers good-day and returned to her work, and no one
thought of arresting her. Indeed, she had the best of the argument.
Mrs. Mary A. Bickerdyke, or “Mother Bickerdyke” as the boys used to
call her, was one of the most energetic and faithful workers of the
war. Her fidelity to duty, and her untiring efforts for the comfort
of the sick and wounded, have endeared her to her co-laborers and to
the old soldiers whom she blessed. She now, 1894, lives in quiet and
comfort with her son, Professor Bickerdyke, Russell, Kan.
A FIGHTING EDITOR.
In the spring of 1861, Dr. Charles Elliott edited _The Central
Christian Advocate_, in the third story of a business block in St.
Louis, Mo.
_The Southern Christian Advocate_, which represented the views of
the South, was at the time published in the second story of the same
building.
The two editors, who had always been personally friendly to each other,
were wide apart on the great question of disunion, which was stirring
the hearts of the people.
Dr. Elliott was a genial Irishman of great ability and courage. He was
one of the most learned men in the country. It is a remarkable fact
that he had never been in a college until he was chosen president of
one of the finest Western institutions of learning, yet he was master
of all the highest university studies taught. Sanscrit, Latin, Greek,
Hebrew, French, German, Spanish, and many other languages, were as
familiar to him as the English, and he was profoundly versed in the
natural sciences and mathematics. He was a thorough scholar, and made
a good college president. But the church needed a strong, loyal man,
with the courage to stand for the truth, at this outpost; and Dr.
Elliott was chosen.
Both editors were able and fearless men, and they fought many a hard
battle with their pens before the bombardment of Fort Sumter. After
the fall of Sumter, the excitement in St. Louis ran high. The city was
about evenly divided in sentiment, and no one dared to predict what a
day or an hour would bring forth. The Stars and Stripes, symbolizing
the Union cause, and the State flag, representing the disunion cause,
floated here and there side by side on adjoining buildings. The two
editors grew more intense in feeling as the conflict deepened. Dr.
Elliott’s strong, masterly arraignment of the South for the crime of
slavery, and his cutting sarcasm over secession, were almost unbearable
to the managers of the other paper, and the latter tried to pay him
back with interest; but at first neither one actually unfurled on the
building the banner which represented his principles.
One day news reached St. Louis that General Price had won a victory,
and the editor of _The Southern Christian Advocate_ threw out the State
flag. A few moments afterward a friend came rushing into Dr. Elliott’s
sanctum: “Doctor, they have thrown out the rebel flag down-stairs.”
Dr. Elliott sprang from his editorial chair, and rushed to the front
window. There, sure enough, was the flag of disunion, waving in the
breeze. Dr. Elliott had prepared for just such an emergency. All
the ropes and guys were ready. He ran to a closet, brought forth an
immense Union flag, and threw it out. The next moment it was in its
place, and was waving back and forth before the windows of the office
below, and slapping the other flag furiously. Dr. Elliott laid out a
brace of pistols on his editorial table, and took his seat to await
developments. He did not have long to wait. The tramp of feet was heard
on the stairs, and the editor of _The Southern Christian Advocate_
rushed in with some of his friends.
“Take down that flag!” he thundered.
“I shall not take down that flag; and if any man touches it I will
shoot him on the spot as an enemy of my country,” was Dr. Elliott’s
prompt reply, as he stood, pistol in hand, ready to execute his threat.
After some parley the invading force retired.
Shortly afterward a large Union force was thrown into St. Louis,
martial law was declared, and all the rebel flags were hauled down. The
beautiful flag which Dr. Elliott had displayed in front of his office
continued to wave in triumph until the war was over.
THE FIRST SOLDIERS WOUNDED IN THE CIVIL WAR.
A COLORED MAN THE FIRST TO FALL.
Fort Sumter was fired on April 12, 1861. The next day the Pottsville
Light Infantry, of Pottsville, Pa., tendered their services by telegram
for the defence of the government.
Their services were accepted by Simon Cameron by telegraph; and they,
with recruits gathered on the journey, were the first troops to reach
the capital. There being some question as to the date of their reaching
Washington, Simon Cameron, Secretary of War, being appealed to,
published the following letter:--
PHILADELPHIA, July 4, 1866.
I hereby certify that the Pottsville Light Infantry was the first
company of volunteers whose services were offered for the defence of
the capital at the beginning of the War of the Rebellion. A telegram
reached the War Department on April 13, 1861, making the tender. It
was immediately accepted; and the company reached Washington on the
18th, with four additional companies from Pennsylvania, and these
were the first troops to reach the seat of government.
(Signed) SIMON CAMERON.
On July 22, 1861, the United States Congress passed the following
resolution:--
_Resolved_, That the thanks of the House are due and are hereby
tendered to the five hundred and thirty soldiers from Pennsylvania
who passed through the mob at Baltimore, and reached Washington on
the 18th day of April last, for the defence of the national capital.
Although the day was cold and raw, the people of the loyal town of
Pottsville gathered on the streets and cheered them on their way; and
all along the line till they reached Baltimore, they were hailed with
loyal enthusiasm.
They reached Baltimore April 18; and while passing through that city a
furious mob assailed them, and they fought their way through.
Nicholas Biddle, the only colored man in the company, an old man sixty
years old, was the first Union volunteer to shed his blood for the life
of the nation in our recent Civil War.
It is a significant fact that the first man killed in the Revolutionary
War was a colored man,--Crispus Attucks.
Nicholas Biddle was not killed, but was struck on the head with a stone
dropped from a building, and fell senseless and covered with blood.
His comrades, although fighting a furious mob, did not desert him, but
gathered him up and put him on the cars.
Weary and wounded and bruised and battered by the mob at Baltimore,
they got through alive, and were on the 18th of April quartered in the
rotunda of the Capitol.
Nicholas Biddle, although sixty years old, enlisted and served
throughout the war, and returned to Pottsville with those who survived
the terrible struggle.
He lived till he was eighty years old; and his friends at Pottsville
have erected a monument in his honor, which bears the following
inscription--
“IN MEMORY OF
NICHOLAS BIDDLE.
_Died 2d Aug., 1876, aged 80 years._
His was the proud distinction of shedding the First Blood in
The Late War for The Union. Being wounded while
marching through Baltimore with the First
Volunteers from Schuylkill County,
18th April, 1861.
ERECTED BY HIS FRIENDS OF POTTSVILLE.”
The very next day, April 19, the Sixth Massachusetts Regiment fought
its way through the same cruel, howling mob.
RUNNING THE BLOCKADE AT VICKSBURG.
The ship canal, and all other plans for getting below Vicksburg with
enough boats to transport his troops across the Mississippi River,
having failed, General Grant determined to run the blockade. Seven
gunboats and three wooden steamers were put in condition to make the
perilous trip.
The iron sides of the gunboats were drenched with coal-oil, and the
floors were whitewashed, that the gunners might load their guns by the
light of the whitewash.
The important working machinery of the wooden steamers was protected
by bales of cotton and bales of hay. The smoke-stacks and pilot-houses
were taken down; and the pilots must needs stand at their wheels, and
the captains on the upper decks, with nothing to shield them from the
sharpshooters on the wharves of Vicksburg.
All this preparation was done as secretly as possible.
But the service was a dangerous one, and no one was to be ordered into
such unusual and dangerous service. A call was made along the line on
dress parade for volunteers. Two thousand brave men stepped to the
front, anxious for the perilous service. As only a few were needed,
lots had to be drawn to obtain the few from the two thousand; and one
young man, who was chosen by lot, was offered one hundred dollars for
his place, but he refused it. I am glad to record that he got through
safely.
About nine o’clock on the night of April 16, 1863, a dark night, I
received a note from Mrs. General Grant, who was with her husband at
Milliken’s Bend, informing me that the boats would run the blockade
that night, and asking me to come over and go with them to witness it.
I accepted the invitation, and accompanied the orderly who had brought
the note. It was dark and raining; but very soon we were, in company
with General Grant, on our way to the steamer that was to bear us to
the point chosen by our fearless leader to witness the running of the
blockade.
When we reached the steamer, we found all the leading generals
there except General Sherman, who had gone below to receive the
fleet. McPherson, Logan, Belknap, Rawlins, Dodge, and all the others
whose names have been made immortal in connection with the siege of
Vicksburg, were there. The boat at once steamed down to Young’s
Point, from Milliken’s Bend; and about midnight all the lights were
extinguished, the fires screened, and the boat dropped down without
the splash of a wheel, near the first batteries of Vicksburg. With
what intense interest we watched for the coming of the fleet, peering
out into the darkness of that black night. At last we saw a gunboat,
blacker than that starless night, creeping past us like some great
monster of the deep. Then another and another, right down under the
guns. They passed the first batteries without being noticed; then the
storm broke upon them in all its fury.
Admiral Porter on his flag-ship, the _Benton_, led the way. The
_Carondelet_, commanded by Captain Walke, and the _Tuscumbia_, followed.
The three wooden steamers were the _Forest Queen_, the _Henry Clay_,
and the _Silver Wave_.
The first shot near us seemed to tear the sky to pieces above our
heads. There was a flash of light all along the water-line of
Vicksburg; great bonfires lighted up the river.
The captain of our boat in his excitement put on steam and started up
the river. General Grant, who was with us on the guards, rushed to
the hurricane deck, and compelled the captain to drop back to the old
position.
Our long line of gunboats were now giving broadside after broadside,
keeping well to the Vicksburg side, while the wooden steamers, with
their heavily ladened scows or barges, ran through as rapidly as
possible, keeping well to the Louisiana side.
The great artillery duel was now on, every gun on both sides of the
line was belching forth shot or shell.
Our boat swayed with the concussion of sound. It was as though a
thousand electric storms had burst upon us in all their fury. And yet
each shot and shell had a voice of its own, and could be heard in
thunder tones with awful distinctness. And running through the bass and
treble of solid shot and screaming shells, the click of the musketry of
the sharpshooters on the wharfs of Vicksburg could be heard, as, by the
light of the bonfires blazing high, they aimed the deadly bullets at
the captains and pilots who stood up unarmed in full view. My friend,
Captain McMillen of Pittsburg, Pa., who owned the _Silver Wave_, and
who commanded her on that expedition, stood on her deck in full view,
amid the terrible rain of fire and lead.[1]
There were, history informs us, on the average, _one hundred and twenty
heavy guns a minute_. The scene was grand and awful. The bonfires were
kept blazing. The _Henry Clay_ burned to the water’s edge, the tongues
of flame leaping above the track of shot and shell. Shells were flying
in every direction; with their burning fuses they made their circles,
dropping down out of the sky like stars of the first magnitude, now and
then some bursting in mid-heaven with a million scintillations of light.
All the officers had gone to the upper deck; and Mrs. Grant and I stood
together, out on the guards, looking out on the grand and awful scene
before us, shivering with agony.
We were neither of us alarmed for our own safety, but were overwhelmed
with anxiety for the safety of our brave soldiers, and the success of
the expedition.
Mrs. Grant was very sympathetic and kindly hearted, and stood there
looking out upon the grand and terrible scenes of war through her
tears. She was a most devoted wife and mother, and, like her noble,
generous-hearted husband, was most heartily interested for the safety
and welfare of the brave men who were fighting the battles of her
country.
“Our men are all dead men.” “No one can live in such a rain of fire
and lead,” we said to each other. “All our fleet, and the heroic men
who manned the boats, are surely swallowed in that fiery channel,” we
moaned with the tears on our faces. Only once, it was while the _Henry
Clay_ was burning, we saw for a moment or two the grand old Stars and
Stripes.
“See! see! there is our flag,” was the glad exclamation; but the next
moment it was hid from our sight by the smoke of the guns.
We stood there, amid the thunders of this greatest artillery duel that
was ever fought in the world, for two long hours, unconscious of danger
or weariness. Then General Grant came down from the upper deck with the
glad news, for he had been watching for the signals or rockets that the
boats, one by one, sent up as they got safely through, that all the
boats were through but the _Henry Clay_. The roar of the cannon had
begun to die away, when our captain, at the command of General Grant,
turned the prow of his boat up the Mississippi River, and steamed
back to Milliken’s Bend. We reached there at daylight, after the most
exciting night I had ever known, or perhaps will ever know again, on
the earth.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] He made the journey safely, and continued to command his boat while
she was in the United States service, which was till the close of the
war. He was one of the few loyal steamboat captains on the Mississippi
River. He lived to enjoy a long season of peace, dying in 1893.
I HAVE THE COMFORTER.
In 1862, just after the terrible battle at Corinth, Miss., I visited
the hospitals in that place. The havoc had been fearful on both sides,
and the wounded of the two armies crowded every ward.
Going into a hospital known as the College Building one day, and
passing from cot to cot, I came to a young man who looked very pale and
weak. I asked,--
“Are you sick or wounded?”
He answered, “I am severely wounded;” and seeing the look of sympathy
on my face, he went on to tell me all about it.
It was a long, sad story that I need not repeat here.
He had fallen in the front of the battle-line, had been taken prisoner,
and had lain out all the night long among the dead; but he said
cheerfully, “When ‘our boys’ found me, they took me up tenderly and
brought me here, and now I am doing well.”
But I felt that he was not doing well, that he was on the verge of
the grave, and that I must speak to him of the future. He went on to
tell me of his home,--of a mother and sister and two little brothers in
Benton County, Iowa, and added,--
“When I get well enough, I hope they will give me a furlough and let me
go home.”
I said tenderly, “I hope you will get well; but how will it be if you
should not? Are you ready to die?”
I never shall forget his answer; it has been ringing through my soul
all these years. It was as though he was transfigured before me; there
came into his face such light and joy, as, laying his hand on his
heart, he said, “I have the Comforter!” What volumes in that sentence!
I did not need to ask him to what denomination he belonged, or when
or where he had found the pearl of great price. It was enough for me
to know that he had the Blessed Comforter which Jesus promised to his
disciples.
But he went on talking sweetly of Christ and heaven, and the power
of Christ to keep. “Religion,” he said, “has kept me through all the
temptations of camp-life, and now I am ready to _live_ or to _die_. If
the Master sees that it is best that I should go now, it will be as
near heaven from Corinth as it would be from Iowa.”
It was evening time, and I went my way. The next morning I was early at
that hospital, and first of all went to look after him, but I found
his place vacant.
I said to the ward-master, “Where is the young man who was lying here
by this post?”
He answered, “He is dead.”
Oh, how his words went to my heart!
“Where have you laid him?” I asked.
He led the way out into the back yard, and there, side by side, stood
the seven cot bedsteads that held the seven dead men that had been
carried out the night before. He pointed out his cot, and left me alone
with the dead. The bed-spreads were drawn up over their faces, and that
was all that was between the dead faces and the sky.
I drew down the bedspread to look upon his face. I never can express
the emotions of that moment. My heart was thrilled; for there upon
the dead soldier’s face was the very same look of joy and peace that
was on his face when he said, “I have the Comforter,” and I knew that
the Comforter had been with him till the last. I wrote to his mother,
telling her the sad story of his sufferings, and the sweet, sweet story
of his Christian triumph.
After a while an answer came back to me. She did not know that he was
wounded or dead until she received my letter.
His death was a heavy blow; but she rose in Christian triumph above her
great sorrow, and in closing her letter said,--
“My son may not come back to me, but I shall go to him, and it is
just as near heaven from Iowa as it was from Corinth; and _the same
Comforter that comforted my son when wounded and dying among strangers
comforts me now_.”
What a glorious Christianity we have! A religion that can keep under
the sorest trials, that can comfort in the deepest agonies, and that
can give joy and peace in the presence of death, and _leave its divine
stamp upon the dead clay_.
BLOWING UP OF FORT HILL.