I remember when Wheeler's cavalry passed through town that the men,
when halted, just dropped in the streets and slept, so that passers-by
were forced to step over them, but in spite of starvation and
weariness the old indomitable spirit would assert itself. One of the
poor fellows, while the column was passing by Christ Church, looked up
at the weathercock and remarked to a comrade that it was the first and
only instance of Wheeler's boys seeing a chicken which they could not
get at.
We were singularly fortunate in the neighborhood of Raleigh in having
no lack of wholesome food, and in being able to send boxes of
provisions to the army around Petersburg. We, in particular, were
plentifully supplied from the plantation, a four-horse wagon being
constantly engaged in hauling supplies.
One of the greatest taxes upon our resources, and the event that
brought the war very closely home to us, was the advent of the
cavalcade and ambulances referred to in my notes concerning My Own
Early Home.
Most of the horsemen who had come with the ambulances returned to the
front the next morning, leaving behind them six or more sick and
wounded, with their surgeon and friends to look after them.
Fortunately, the office in the yard (a house with two comfortable
rooms) was easily made ready and the wounded men were installed in the
quarters which they kept for a month. The wound which afterwards
deprived one of the wounded, a young man by the name of Nat Butler, of
his arm, was by far the most serious. The attempt to save the arm came
very near costing him his life. Instead of healing, the wound
constantly sloughed, with great loss of blood. As the wound was
between the elbow and the shoulder, the danger attending amputation
increased with each sloughing, but the poor boy was deaf to all that
his doctor could urge, positively refusing to have the arm amputated,
and he grew weaker and weaker with every hemorrhage. Meantime several
of the sick and wounded were so far cured as to be able to return to
duty. Captain Butler (an older brother of Nat Butler), Dr. Thompson,
Mr. Taylor, and several others whose names I have forgotten, and the
bugler, named Glanton, still remained. One morning, while I was in the
mealroom getting out dinner, I heard Captain Butler's voice calling
loudly that young Butler was bleeding to death. I just took time to
call out to my daughters, Annie and Kate, who were just starting to
town, to drive as quickly as they could to Dr. Johnson's and to ask
him to come. Then I ran down to the office, where I found the poor old
captain frantic with terror and quite unable to do anything for the
patient, who lay senseless and bleeding upon the bed. I can never
forget his ghastly appearance; I never saw so bloodless a face. The
mouth, partly open, showed a tongue bluish like new flannel. I went to
the bedside and pressed the arm above the wound, as hard as I could,
and I held it so until the arrival of Dr. Johnson. I had thus
succeeded in partially arresting the hemorrhage, and possibly may have
saved young Butler's life. I started to leave as soon as the doctor
came, and when I arose from my knees, I realized for the first time
that I was covered with blood. The amputation could no longer be
deferred, and the operation took place as soon as the patient's
strength permitted, which was, I think, two days after the hemorrhage.
There was then barely a chance that he could survive in his weak
condition. I shall never forget how the girls and I sat upon the front
steps and watched the silent men standing before the office,--it
seemed as though the suspense would never end. After the amputation,
Butler lay for twenty-four hours like one dead. Finally, when he did
rally sufficiently to be given something, I sent our excellent nurse,
Caroline, to take care of him, for I could not trust him to the
ignorant though kindly meant attentions of his friends. At this time
General Galbraith Butler was our guest, and, as the Norrises had now
left for Richmond, I gave him a room in the house. He was quite ill
there for several days, during which time the house was thronged with
messengers from the front. It gives me pleasure to say that they
conducted themselves like polished gentlemen, who appreciated the
comforts which they received.
Under Caroline's devoted nursing Nat Butler slowly returned to life
and to a degree of strength. When it became evident that Raleigh would
soon be in possession of the enemy, Nat Butler declared that he
preferred the risk of dying by exposure to that of being captured. It
was with the saddest forebodings that we prepared for his departure.
The ambulance was made comfortable with pillows, blankets, etc., and
nothing was omitted that could contribute to the well-being of the
poor sufferer. It was a painful parting, as we all knew that we were
on the eve of horrors that we dared not contemplate. The moon shone
upon the sorrowful little cortege, as it passed beneath the trees, and
we were too sad for tears, as we watched it go slowly out of sight.
Nat Butler lived, and visited us a year later, but his life was a
brief one.
We were up late that night, bidding adieu to many friends. Indeed,
the past few days had been days of varied and intense excitement.
People who under ordinary circumstances would have scarcely recognized
each other as acquaintances now met and parted as old and dear
friends. Mounted officers would come cantering up just for a handshake
and a God-keep-you. We were admonished to take off rings or any little
bits of jewelry which we might wear. A gentleman sitting by me had
concealed my watch in my ball of knitting cotton. People everywhere
were wildly seeking places wherein to conceal their valuables. We had
no reason to imagine that our house was safer than others, but we
could not refuse to receive the trunks and boxes brought to us in
desperation, by refugees chiefly, who were leaving town in a panic,
and going they knew not whither. All that we could promise was that
they should be as well cared for as were our own; and so the garret
was packed with all sorts of trunks and boxes, many of which were not
claimed until the next autumn.
I cannot pretend to give you an idea of the excitement and turmoil of
that last week of the Confederacy. Every minute of your grandfather's
time was taken up with his duties as a state officer, until he, in
company with Governor Graham and Dr. Warren, were despatched by
Governor Vance to meet Sherman with a flag of truce and to surrender
the town. He was absent upon this mission upon a night that I happened
to go into the dining-room and found several rough-looking men, whom I
took to be Confederates, seated at supper. Robert was waiting upon
them, and Adelaide talking, while one of my little children was seated
cosily upon the knee of a particularly dirty-looking man. This did not
please me, for there was a freedom of manner about them which I had
never seen in one of our men before. Still, I had no suspicion that
they were not what they seemed, and, being called off, I left them,
although a certain uncomfortable feeling caused me to do so
unwillingly. Just as I left, a clatter of horses' feet was heard
outside, and Adelaide (always loquacious), exclaimed, "Here comes the
General and his staff!" The words were scarcely uttered before the
men jumped from their seats and dashed from the room. We were
afterwards convinced that they were some of the scum of Sherman's
army, and while we (myself and daughters) were sitting quite
unsuspectingly, they were lurking near us.
I omitted to mention that, at our urgent invitation, our dear friends
the Burgwyns had come to us, and, in the midst of other distractions,
I was occupied in disposing of their numerous boxes, barrels, and
pictures. There was a universal feeling that there would be a degree
of safety in numbers, and we could not possibly have enjoyed more
congenial companionship than that of our cousins, the Burgwyns. Upon
that day we prepared twenty lunches, which were most thankfully
received. I recollect that towards evening some hot tea was made for
our old friend, Mr. John Robinson. He had been at work all day,
shipping freight and provisions, and transferring engines to
Greensboro, to which place he was now going. He had had nothing to
eat, and was, as you may imagine, very tired, and so hungry that his
lunch of cold ham, bread, and butter, with many cups of tea, was so
much enjoyed that in after life he often spoke of it with real
gratitude. When he said good-by, he gave into my keeping a little box
of trinkets, requesting me to keep them for him, as he had no idea
what his destination might be. I, of course, said that I would try to
keep them safely; and I did, returning them just as I had received
them, some months later.
Upon that day, our dinner was but a meagre one, consisting chiefly of
soup, and, as the very last of the silver had been hidden out of
sight, we were compelled to take it from teacups. Upon that night,
after the stir and bustle of the day had subsided, after the last
good-by had been uttered, and the last horseman had galloped away, a
most intense stillness followed, which, if possible, increased our
melancholy, and magnified our fearful apprehensions of what was to
come.
On the following morning, I saw three odd, rough-looking men come
galloping up from the barn. They were mounted upon mules, were seated
far forward upon the withers, and had their knees drawn up after a
most ungainly fashion. I saw at a glance that they were not our
countrymen. They rode furiously into the yard, where they halted
abruptly. The servants stood gaping at them in stupid bewilderment. I
went forward and asked them the meaning of this intrusion. Their reply
was an insolent demand for my keys. Then I knew that they were
bummers. During the whole of this period your grandfather had had more
than his hands full at his office, taking care of and sending off
government stores, and doing a thousand other things, so that all the
domestic offices rested with me. I told the bummers, with a great show
of courage, that I had no idea of giving them my keys, and as I walked
off, feeling quite triumphant, I had the mortification of seeing them
dismount and swagger to the doors of the mealroom, smokehouse, and
storeroom, slip their miserable, dastardly swords into the locks, and
open the doors, with the most perfect ease. Conscious now of my own
weakness, I would not condescend to parley with them, and watched
them at their insolent and thievish game, until their mules were
almost hidden beneath the load of hams, sausages, and other plunder.
Then they remounted, and dashed off at the same furious pace as they
had come. In a little time after others came and played the same game,
only adding to their abominable thievishness by driving off our mules
and all our cattle. Our horses, I am glad to say, had been sent away.
It was towards noon upon that fatal day that we espied a long blue
line crawling serpent-like around a distant hill. Silently we watched,
as it uncoiled itself, ever drawing nearer and still nearer, until the
one great reptile developed into many reptiles and took the form of
men. Men in blue tramping everywhere, horsemen careering about us with
no apparent object, wagons crashing through fences as though they had
been made of paper. The negroes stood like dumb things, in stupid
dismay. It was at a later period that their time of joy came (in many
instances it never came); then the only feeling was one of awe.
In an incredibly short time tents were pitched, the flag run up, and
the Yankees were here. The crowd grew more dense. A large column was
passing through the grove at almost a run, when, to my horror, I saw
Adelaide and Lizzie, each with one of my little girls in her arms,
rushing along in their midst in a state of such wild excitement that
they had almost lost their reason. Almost in despair, I rushed after
them, sometimes seeing them, only to lose them again in the moving
mass. As I passed a soldier I signed to him for help; I do not think I
could have spoken. He saw the danger that threatened my children, and,
overtaking the two nurses, took the children and brought them to me.
The women had meant no harm, and did not realize the risk.
As I before remarked, every one during this period of panic
entertained an idea that he must commit his valuables to the keeping
of some one else; for instance, my sister gave her set of pearls to
her maid Sally for safe keeping, and Sally, in her turn, brought them
to Caroline (her mother). Caroline, not knowing a safe place of
concealment, lifted a stone from her hearth, placed the casket in the
cavity, and replaced the stone; this, however, caused the stone to fit
loosely in the hole from which it had been displaced, and Caroline, in
her fear lest this should lead to the discovery of the pearls, sat all
night with her feet resting upon it. She came to me in the morning,
looking perfectly haggard, and told me that she had never before
passed through such a night of horror, for her house had been crowded
with Federals, prying into every corner and taking whatever they
fancied. With my sister's casket, she handed me a red cotton
handkerchief tied up and full of silver coins, belonging to herself
and her husband. She had no place in which to keep it, and asked me to
take care of it. I, of course, took charge of it and kept it for her
until the last bluecoat had left the place, which was not until
August; for, after the departure of the army, a regiment was left in
our grove.
One day General Logan came to the door and said that he had reason to
believe that a Confederate officer was concealed in the house, and,
if I kept his presence a secret, he threatened me with the
consequences. The Federals, while searching for buried treasure, had
discovered the amputated arm of poor young Butler, and had jumped to
the conclusion that he was concealed in the house. At all events, it
served as a plea for them to claim that he was there. When I assured
him that this rumor was quite false, his manner was so utterly
incredulous that I requested him to satisfy himself of the truth of my
assertion by making a search of the entire house and outbuildings. I
entreated him to do this, for his threats had so alarmed me that I
felt that in that alone lay our preservation. His reply, with an
insolent, jeering laugh, was: "I will not take that trouble, for my
boys will settle that question."
The safeguards stationed both at the back and front protected the
house. For, whatever might have been their feelings, they dared not
relax in their vigilance. The discipline in that army was perfect.
Not long after the above-mentioned interview with Logan, we were told
(by a servant, I think), that the whole division was going to leave
that night. This was true. It was before the articles of the surrender
had been signed, and Logan was in pursuit of General Johnston. It was
a night of such commotion that not one of the family retired to rest.
It was discovered, when too late for redress, that Logan had withdrawn
our safeguards, taken every commanding officer with him, and had left
us to the mercy of his wagon train of bummers and of negroes. That
night of terror terminated in a violent storm, in the midst of which
your grandfather set out for the headquarters in town for the purpose
of demanding a safeguard. With daylight came a greater feeling of
safety, so we separated, the girls going to their rooms, and I to
mine, in order to refresh ourselves and make a fresh toilet. While so
engaged, I kept hearing the bells ringing and tinkling incessantly,
and, while I was hurrying to put on my dress in order to inquire the
meaning of this, Caroline and Adelaide rushed in, exclaiming that men
were climbing the walls of the house, and the tinkling of the bells
was caused by their twisting them off the wires. These women, whose
natural color was bright mulatto, now looked ashy. I do not think that
I spoke a word, but just flew into the nursery, took the children, and
ran up the stairs. As I passed by the sitting, room, I met Kate, all
disheveled, running out and saying that men were climbing into her
window. I just took time to lock the door between her room and the
sitting-room, and then we all ran upstairs, where the Burgwyns and my
other girls were quietly dressing, in entire ignorance of what was
taking place. It seems strange that I should recollect every trifle so
vividly; I remember, even now, that, as I ran up the stair, my throat
and mouth became so dry that I could not speak. From the window at the
head of the stair nothing was visible but a sea of upturned faces; not
just by the house, but away down the slope, as far as the eye could
reach, were men's upturned faces. I can never forget the look upon
Mrs. Burgwyn's face as she whispered, "We can throw ourselves from the
window." My poor, craven heart might have failed me, but I am
convinced that she could have done it. While we thus stood, a poor,
cowering, terror-stricken group, steps were heard approaching, and a
tall figure slowly ascended the stairs, and a grim, saturnine-faced
man stood before us, and said, "I don't know that I can save you, but
for the sake of my mother and sisters I will do all that I can do." I
do not remember whether any one made a reply or not, I only recollect
that he went as deliberately as he had come. When your grandfather
returned, having with difficulty succeeded in procuring the permit for
a safeguard, the mob had begun to disperse. Our deliverer was a man
named Fort. He was division quartermaster, and had been left in charge
of the wagon trains. He was from one of the Western States, Iowa, I
believe. He was a good man, and was God's instrument to save us from
destruction. He remained near the house all through the day, and at
first said that he would sleep that night inside the dwelling, but
afterwards told your grandfather that, upon further consideration, he
thought it best that he should stay outside, so his tent was pitched
close to the house, and there he remained until his command left. He
was forbidding in manner, and would accept no thanks. I think that he
hated us as Southerners, but acted from humanity.
Mr. Burgwyn was suffering from an apoplectic stroke, and was lying
insensible. My son had not returned from Appomattox. Had any man been
with us, he would have been utterly helpless, and would probably have
been murdered.
One day, either immediately preceding or following the incident just
related, our ever-faithful man, Frank, stealthily entered the house.
He was evidently afraid of being observed, for he slipped in, and,
closing the door after him, asked to speak a word to his master. When
your grandfather came, Frank almost whispered his communication, as
though afraid of being overheard. "Master," he said, "I come to ask
you, please, sir, don't go out of the house to-day;" he would not say
why he gave this warning, and it was not until afterwards that we
found that the Federals had intended to hang your grandfather up
until he told them where our silver was hidden. I rejoice to say that
they did not get one piece of it, although a part of it was buried in
the branch that runs at the foot of the grove, and, in digging out a
place for watering their horses, they had actually thrown the sand
upon the box, thus burying it deeper.
I could relate many other incidents of this period, some of them
rather amusing; but it is time to bring my reminiscences to a close.
But before doing so, I must say a word about our last safeguard,
Monhagan. He was Irish, and possessed all of the best attributes of
the Irish character. After the departure of Logan's division, with the
rest of Sherman's army, this man was deputed to guard the place, as a
regiment was still quartered in the grove. He stayed until August,
and, besides faithfully discharging his duties, he exerted himself in
other and various ways to ameliorate the inconveniences to which we
were subjected. Our servants, lounging in idleness, contented
themselves with professions as idle. Frank, acting upon his master's
advice, had taken his family to the plantation. Adelaide was ill the
greater part of the summer with brain fever. Monhagan worked the
garden, gathered fruit and vegetables, and performed many other
services. I felt a little amused when he one day brought me all his
money and asked me to take care of it for him. At first I positively
refused to take upon myself this responsibility, but yielded at last,
and made him count it, and kept it as long as he remained. Every
Saturday afternoon he would come and ask me to let him have one dollar
and allow him to go to town for a little while. He left with the
regiment in August, and he wrote once to your uncle Tom from New York,
but omitted to give his address, which we regretted, as we would have
liked to have him as a gardener.