sent to the fort with stores only; but if these were fired upon, every
effort was to be made to relieve the fort by stratagem or force. The
vessels of war and the Baltic proved of too heavy draft for any hopes of
passing the bar, and the steam-tugs which were to have been sent in with
supplies, failed to make their appearance. The attack on the fort,
before any measures of a peaceable character could be adopted for its
relief, left no alternative but force, to the commandant of the fleet,
if the object of his expedition was to be accomplished. A consultation
of officers was held at four o’clock on the afternoon of the 12th, and
the following plan was agreed upon: the Pawnee and the Harriet Lane were
to remain at anchor during the night; at dawn, on the 13th, the Pawnee
was to hoist out her armed launches, and the Baltic was to put her boats
alongside, freighted with the provisions and troops designed for the
fort. The war vessels were then to tow the boats as far as possible on
their perilous journey, when they were to be cast off, and allowed to
pursue their course toward the fort, relying upon the guns of the
men-of-war, and what aid might be extended from Sumter, to protect them
from the batteries and flotilla of armed boats, which were in readiness
to dispute their advance. During the night the Baltic went aground on
Rattlesnake Shoals, and the plan agreed upon was, from necessity,
relinquished. The conflagration of the barracks of the fort having
precipitated its evacuation earlier than was anticipated, the officers
of the fleet abandoned other plans for its relief.
At two o’clock on the 14th of April, Major Anderson and the garrison of
Fort Sumter were received on board the Baltic, and the fleet shortly
after sailed for New York. The flag of the fort was borne at the
mast-head of the Baltic as she entered the bay of New York, where it was
saluted by guns from every fort in the harbor, and hailed by the shouts
of more than a hundred thousand people, who lined the wharves of the
city. It was also raised over the equestrian statue of Washington in
Union Square, in that city, when the great Union meeting was held on the
afternoon of Saturday, April 20.
THE NATION’S RESPONSE.
The first gun that boomed against Fort Sumter struck the great American
Union with a shock that vibrated from the centre to its outer verge.
Every heart, true or false to the great Union, leaped to the sound,
either in patriotism or treason, on that momentous day.
The North and South recoiled from each other; the one in amazement at
the audacity of this first blow against the Union, the other rushing
blindly after a few leaders, who had left them little choice of action,
and no power of deliberation. The first news of the attack took the
Government at Washington almost by surprise. President Lincoln and his
Cabinet had not allowed themselves to believe that a civil war could
absolutely break out in the heart of a country so blessed, so wealthy,
and so accustomed to peace. True, political strife had waged fearfully;
sections had clamored against sections, factions North had battled with
factions South; but in a country where free speech and a free press were
a crowning glory, a war of words and ideas could hardly have been
expected to culminate in one of the most terrible civil wars that will
crimson the world’s record.
The first boom of the cannon’s blackened lips—the first shot hurled
against the stars and stripes, aroused the Government from its hopes of
security. Scarcely had the telegraph wires ceased to tremble under the
startling news, before the Cabinet assembled in President Lincoln’s
council chamber, and when it broke up, a proclamation, calling for
seventy-five thousand troops, had been decided upon, and Congress was to
be convened on the Fourth of July.
The startling news, this prompt action, and the defenceless state of
Washington, filled the country with wild excitement. It was known that
the South had been for months drilling troops; that large portions of
Virginia and Maryland were ready for revolt, and many believed that
bodies of men were organized and prepared for an attack on the capital.
Had this been true, had a considerable number of men marched upon
Washington any time within four days after the news from Fort Sumter
reached it, nothing could have saved it from capture, and probably,
destruction. With only a handful of troops, and exposed at every point,
no effectual resistance could have been made. The news reached
Washington on Sunday; the next day such troops as could be mustered,
appeared on parade. Pickets were stationed outside the town; horses were
galloped furiously from point to point, and the first faint indication
of this most awful civil war dawned upon a people so used to peace, that
its import could not be wholly realized.
Smothered alarm prevailed in the city; a military guard was placed each
night in the White House, and great anxiety was felt for the arrival of
troops, which had been hastily summoned from the North.
That week the near friends of the President were under painful
apprehensions for his safety. It was known to a few persons that the
very gang of men who had planned his death at Baltimore, were in the
neighborhood of the capital, plotting against him there. It was even
known that a design existed by which a sudden descent of swift riders
was to be made on the White House, with the bold object of killing
Lincoln in his cabinet, or carrying him off by force into Virginia. The
night-guard in the Presidential mansion was but small, and by day
Lincoln had always been imprudently accessible.
The persons believed to be in this plot were brave, reckless men,
accustomed to adventures of every kind, and quite capable of carrying
out a programme of abduction or bloodshed under more difficult
circumstances than surrounded this enterprise. But men of reckless
action are seldom prudent in speech; the wild project was too exciting
for proper reticence. By a few incautious words, dropped here and there,
this treasonable design was fathomed; the friends of President Lincoln
warned, and the whole thing quietly defeated, for the gang soon
ascertained that their treason had been discovered, and, as its success
depended on a surprise of the President’s household, the project was
abandoned.
Meantime the news of Fort Sumter, and the call for troops, had shot its
lightning along every telegraph in the Union; the response was an
instantaneous uprising of the people, such as no country on earth ever
witnessed before.
The great majesty of the Union had been insulted and set at defiance,
and as one man, thousands upon thousands rushed around the worshipped
banner of their country, firm in their patriotism, and terrible in their
determination that it should never be trailed in the dust, or torn with
hostile shot, unavenged.
The proclamation of President Lincoln calling for volunteers, was
answered by the voices of freemen from every hill-top and valley, and
almost fabulous numbers stood ready and anxious to devote themselves to
the vindication of the national honor. Wild indeed was the enthusiasm
that ran from heart to heart, linking the great west and the east
together. But one sentiment found expression from any lip among the
excited populace, and that sentiment was, the Union should be sustained
at all hazards. Wealth, life, everything must be counted as dust till
the Union had redeemed itself. Who in New York does not remember how the
city was ablaze with flags and tri-colored bunting on the memorable day,
when, “the Seventh regiment,” responded to the call? Never did a finer
or braver body of young men pass down Broadway. Although their arms were
not now corded or hands hardened by labor, their prompt action was a
living proof that gentle breeding can be associated with hearts of oak,
with stern determination, coolness and discretion. Leaping to their arms
at the first note of danger, impatient of delay and thrilling with the
hope of weaving in their peace-won wreaths laurels earned by hard
fighting, this regiment marched from its armory, the very first of the
Empire State to obey the call to arms. Their object was war. They hoped
ardently that it was no light duty which might fall upon them. They
expected to meet hard work and hard fighting too before the capital was
reached, for danger menaced them on all sides. Baltimore had risen in
revolt even while they were arming for the march and they fully depended
on fighting their way through its turbulent streets.
On the 19th of April, at the very time revolt broke out in Baltimore, a
very different scene was going on in New York.
Amidst unparalleled enthusiasm the volunteer soldiers of New England and
New York struck hands on their march to the rescue of the national
capital. And beautiful the streets looked, with bannered parapets,
peopled roofs, windows thronged with sympathetic beauty, and sidewalks
densely packed with multitudes of excited and applauding citizens.
But it required only a single glance at the faces of this great
multitude to become convinced that no mere gala or festive purpose had
called out this magnificent demonstration. In every eye burned the
unquenchable fire of patriotic ardor, and in every heart was the
aspiration to join in defence of one common country. Old men, who must
have seen the earlier struggles of our history, came forth to bless the
young soldiers on their march to take share in a grander and more noble
struggle than any the American continent had yet witnessed.
Mothers, with tears of joyous pride half blinding them, helped to buckle
on the accoutrements of their sons, and kissed them as they went forth
to battle. Sisters and sweethearts, fathers and wives, friends and
relatives, all were represented, and had their individual
characteristics in the immense concourse of life which held possession
of Broadway.
Perhaps if there could have risen from the dead one of the old
Girondists, after being bloodily put away to repose during the great
French Revolution, and if he had been dropped down in New York,—by
allowing a little for advance in costumes and architecture, he might
have seen many curious points of resemblance between the scenes and
those of seventy years ago in Paris. Then the inspiration of liberty ran
through the people, and the most powerful aristocracy of Europe was
destroyed. The result of the struggle which broke out in New York, and
in the streets of Baltimore, in one day, time has yet to reveal.
The children of New York, the Seventh regiment, the pets and pride of
her society, were going forth to their first war duty. Eight hundred
chosen young men, with threads woven to hold them, wherever they went,
to the million hearts they left behind—moved down Broadway and started
for the capital.
Eight hundred young citizens, each with musket and knapsack, borne along
calmly and impassively on a tide of vocal patriotism, making the air
resonant with shouts and warm with the breath of prayer.
With that regiment went young Winthrop, on that memorable day, who
afterwards passed from the literary fame he had so richly earned, to
military glory at the battle of Big Bethel. There also was O’Brien, one
of the most promising poets of the age, doomed like Winthrop to reap
bloody laurels, and fill a soldier’s grave. Let no one say that the
Empire State was not nobly represented in these young soldiers.
Gentlemen as they were, one and all, no man was heard to complain of
hard work, soldiers’ fare, or no fare at all, as sometimes happened to
them. How cheerful they were in the cedar groves for two days and
nights—how they endured the hardships of a bivouac on soft earth—how
they digged manfully in the trenches. With what supreme artistic finish
their work was achieved—how they cleared the brushwood from the
glacis—how they blistered their hands and then hardened them with
toil—how they chafed at being obliged to evade Baltimore, and how
faithfully they guarded Washington and achieved the object for which
they were sent, will be best given in a description of the march from
Annapolis of which O’Brien has left a brilliant record.
Nor were their services in protecting the capital all that the Seventh
regiment of New York has given to its country. Many a regiment which has
since won lasting fame on the battle-field has been officered to some
extent from its ranks.
Two days after the departure of the Seventh regiment, the Seventy-first,
since renowned for its bravery at Bull Run, the Sixth, and Twelfth, all
city regiments of New York, took the same glorious track, and were
hailed with like enthusiasm. In military drill and social position, some
of these regiments were not inferior to the Seventh, and their departure
was witnessed by a concourse of people equal to that which filled the
streets on the 19th.
It was with pride that a city saw her first quota of soldiers departing
_en route_ for Washington, to take the Empire share with the troops of
other loyal states in the contest now inaugurated. The spectacle,
instead of being a great pageant, had all the grandeur and solemnity of
a step in one of those crises of events which involve individual and
national life—engraving new names and new dynasties upon the tablets of
history.
As if to make the departure of these troops more memorable, a large
American flag, forty feet long by twenty wide, was flung out upon a
flagstaff from a window in Trinity steeple, at a height of two hundred
and forty feet. The chimes meanwhile played several airs appropriate to
the occasion, among which were “Yankee Doodle,” “The Red, White and
Blue,” winding up with “All’s Well.” A flagstaff with a splendid flag
attached, was also run out of a window over the portico in front of St.
Paul’s Church. Thus under these mighty banners, furling and unfurling in
the wind and hedged in by triple walls of human beings, amid the
resonant chimes of Trinity, the crash of their own magnificent bands
drowning the “God bless you” of many a gentle heart, the city of New
York sent its first regiments to the field.
As each regiment passed through New York the concourse of people to see
it off increased, till every fresh march was a triumph in advance of the
brave deeds the soldiers were expected to perform. In less than a week
banners and flags had become so thick across Broadway, that they fairly
canopied the departing troops, and shouts loud and deep sent them on the
way with many a blessing and hearty God speed.
Nor was this enthusiasm confined to crack regiments or the aristocratic
soldiery of our cities. The working-men also came forth in masses,
claiming a share in the glorious work. Of this class was the Sixth
Massachusetts regiment, which had just baptized its colors in the
streets of Baltimore, taking lead even of the chivalric regiments of the
Empire City. Of this class was the thrice glorious Sixty-ninth, as brave
a body of warmhearted Irishmen as ever trod the earth. Perhaps the
greatest crowd that ever gathered to see a regiment off assembled when
this body of adopted citizens marched forth under the star-spangled
banner and the green flag of old Ireland. On that day human nature
acknowledged its own universal kinship. The work-shop and the
counting-room, the parlor and the basement met for once on a level of
noble enthusiasm. The palace and the tenement house gave forth their
inmates alike, for it was a common country which these men went forth to
defend with their strength and, alas, their lives.
Proud mothers and wives and sisters, who had watched their beloved ones
march off in the ranks of some favorite regiment, looked down from
balconies and windows with tearful eyes upon the crowd of women who
lined the pavements.
More particularly was this manifest on the departure of the Sixty-ninth.
What warm, true hearts crowded the pavements that day! Old women, little
children, whole households clung together, sorrowful but O, how proud of
the valor that filled their eyes with tears.
If there was weeping on the pavement, it was answered with a feeling of
gentle sisterhood from the balcony and window. The same bright eyes that
had seen the Seventh, Seventy-first, Twelfth and other regiments pass,
through a mist of tears, filled with sympathetic moisture when they saw
these poor wives and mothers break through all restraint and rush wildly
into the ranks for one more kiss, a hand-clasp, or, if no more, a last
glance of loving recognition.
Perhaps some of these highly bred females envied the social freedom
which allowed these women of the people to follow their husbands and
brothers up to the moment of embarkation, without a thought of the world
beyond. Many an embroidered handkerchief was waved, and many a sweet
blessing murmured in gentle sympathy with these sister women when those
hard-working, hard fighting, gloriously brave men went forth to earn
imperishable renown.
Not only in New York, but all over the North and West these ovations
were repeated. Boston Common was one scene of mustering forces, and its
streets a panorama of armed men. Every State over which the blessed old
star-spangled banner flung its folds, sent forth its sons, only
complaining that so few were accepted. Like a prairie fire when the
grass is dry, the war spirit leaped from town to town, and from State to
State, till the whole North was ablaze with it.
Troops mustered into companies and massed themselves into regiments in
the North and the great West so numerous and so fast that a swift pen
might fail to keep the record. The uprising was general. Along our water
courses, along our railroads, down the broad avenues of our cities,
regiment after regiment swept a continued stream of armed men, all
bearing toward the capital. For the whole great North rose as one man
and sprang to arms. The plough was left in the furrow—the hammer upon
the anvil—the saw upon the bench—the reaper in mid prairie—the shuttle
in the loom—the pen upon the ledger—the engine untended—the press
unfed—the busy sails of commerce unfurled, and the whirring mill
unsupplied. A patient people had arisen in its might, with clear steel
and the rolling thunder of cannon they were prepared to uphold the
sacred majesty of the Union flag, while a splinter remained of the
staff, or a shred of the fabric! An electric flash stirred the
long-patient and dumb millions to life and speech, and under the red
ensign of war they rallied in the common cause.
No one State or town could claim pre-eminence in patriotic fervor over
its neighbors, for no where did this wild enthusiasm find check or
hindrance. Our great cities could only claim superiority over the
smaller towns from the hospitality with which they received troops from
the country and cheered them onward to the battle field. Boston,
Portland, New Haven, New York, Philadelphia, and the leading Western
cities formed a great thoroughfare for the mustering army, for the
country around poured their patriotic masses through the streets of
these cities, and the press gave eclat to the movements which reflected
back upon the cities themselves. But in the great North and the great
West there was no nook or corner where this patriotic furor did not
exist.
Monster Union meetings were held in every city of the loyal States, and
within an incredibly short time, _Three Hundred and Fifty Thousand_ men
responded to the call of the President. Great as the number was, it
proved but small to what would have volunteered had they been needed, or
could they have been accepted, for with bonfires blazing upon every
hill, and flags waving from every house-top—with the red, white and blue
upon every breast, and the long roll beating in every heart—with wives
sending their husbands—mothers their sons and girls their lovers, such a
battle cry was raised as the earth had never listened to, and nations of
the old world heard with astonishment.
REINFORCEMENT OF FORT PICKENS.
APRIL 12, 1861.
The Navy Yard and forts in the harbor of Pensacola, from their extent
and importance, were particularly the objects of insurgent ambition.
General Bragg and his counsellors had so adroitly arranged their plans
that it was confidently expected that the government forts, buildings
and property would fall into their peaceable occupation. On the 12th of
January, the navy yard and barracks, together with Fort Barrancas, fell
into their possession, and shortly afterwards Fort McRae met with the
same fate; but Lieutenant Slemmer, the United States officer in command
of the forts of Pensacola harbor, courageously threw his small force of
eighty-two men into Fort Pickens, and had thus far held at bay the large
army of insurgents who were preparing to attack him.
The harbor of Pensacola is probably the largest and finest on the whole
coast of the Mexican Gulf. The bay is six miles wide and about twelve
long. The Warrington navy yard was seven miles by land from Pensacola
and six miles and three-quarters by water. About a mile from the navy
yard, west, stood Fort Barrancas, and a mile farther Fort McRae, which
commands the bar. Opposite Fort McRae was Fort Pickens, the channel
running between them. Near Fort Pickens was a redoubt. On the opposite
side of Pensacola, across the bay, Santa Rosa island extends several
miles to the bar, at the extremity of which is Fort Pickens. A vessel
coming into the harbor must necessarily pass between Fort Pickens and
Fort McRae, and in close proximity to Barrancas.
Fort Pickens is a bastioned work of the first class, built of New York
granite; its walls forty-five feet in height and twelve in thickness. It
is embrasured for two tiers of guns, placed under bomb-proof casemates,
besides having one tier _en barbette_. The work was commenced in 1848
and finished in 1853, at a cost of nearly one million dollars. Its war
complement of soldiers is 1,260. Its full armament consists of 210 guns,
howitzers, and mortars, of all calibres.
Simultaneous with the determination to reinforce Fort Sumter, the
government resolved to send relief to Fort Pickens, which was then
threatened by a force of 7,000 men under General Bragg, strongly
entrenched, and occupying the other forts in the harbor.
A fleet of six United States vessels lay in the harbor, and they had
been notified by General Bragg that he would immediately open fire upon
them and Fort Pickens also, should they attempt to reinforce the
garrison.
Previous to the 10th of April, the steam frigate Powhatan and the
transports Atlantic and Illinois had sailed from New York with troops,
ordnance and provisions, for Fort Pickens; but before their arrival at
that place, a bearer of dispatches from Washington reached the commander
of the naval forces in the bay, with instructions to reinforce the fort.
Between the hours of 11 and 12 o’clock on Friday night, April 12th, this
was accomplished without bloodshed. “As soon as it became dark,” said an
officer on board the sloop-of-war Brooklyn, one of the blockading fleet,
“we began work with good will and in earnest. At first the marines from
the frigate Sabine and the sloop St. Louis, came on board our vessel,
and immediately after the accomplishment of this, the anchor was hoisted
by the jolly old salts, with the merry chant of—
‘General Jackson won the day,
Heave, yeo ho!
At New Orleans, the people say
Yeo, heave yeo!’
We ran as close to the shore as possible, came to anchor, and without a
moment’s delay, lowered the boats and filled them with troops.
“At 11 o’clock, Lieutenant Albert N. Smith, of Massachusetts, being in
command, they started on their mission, uncertain if they would live to
see the light of another day. As they left the side of the vessel, many
a ‘God cause you to succeed,’ came from the lips of the loyal men at my
side. If I live a thousand years I shall never forget the feelings I
experienced when I saw those brave fellows shake hands with their old
comrades. A tear would now and then glisten in the gloom, but be
instantly wiped away with a clenched hand. These men knew their danger,
and with the knowledge, dared to face it with a courage eminently worthy
of praise—and may they receive it!