and I do assure you never were keener eyes than ours on that eventful
night, as we pierced into the darkness, momentarily expecting to see a
rocket light up the midnight gloom; but none appeared. While we were
thus anxiously awaiting some evidence of the success or non-success of
their mission, a boat was hailed. A faint answer comes back: ‘Lieutenant
Smith and the boat’s crew!’ and in whispers we hear the news, ‘they have
been successful!’ Brother officers shake hands, and give Lieutenant
Smith that praise justly deserved by him. They went around inside of the
harbor, passed under the guns of Forts McRae and Barrancas without being
heard, and safely landed all the troops without molestation.
“This being successfully accomplished, it was almost instantly concluded
to make a new attempt, and orders were given that all the marines in the
squadron should take to their boats, preparatory to their being put in
the fort. This being done, the steamer Wyandotte took them in charge,
and towed them as far as she could go, when they left her and pulled
into the harbor, taking the same course the first party had, and in good
time reached the fort, and safely landed all who were in the boats. Just
as the day was breaking, we saw from our deck the boats shoving off from
the beach; and when they returned to us, our anchor was instantly ‘up,’
and we steaming to our old anchorage with very different sensations from
those we had when we started for the work. Thus the Brooklyn
accomplished what she was sent here for,—the reinforcement of Fort
Pickens in spite of General Bragg.”
A few days after this fort had been so nobly reinforced, the splendid
steamer Atlantic sailed into the Union fleet, laden with troops for the
fort. The next day she was joined by the frigate Powhatan, and again by
the Illinois, all laden with troops and military stores. Thus a thousand
more troops were thrown into the stronghold, which, with the fleet
outside, made it impregnable.
There is no doubt that an attack upon Fort Pickens was contemplated the
very night these reinforcements arrived. The assaulting party was
composed of five hundred picked men, two hundred and fifty of whom were
from the Mississippi Ninth, to be led by C. H. Harris of the Home Guard;
fifty from the Tenth Mississippi, and the others from other troops at
Pensacola. All necessary preparations were made for moving about 11
o’clock at night. The storming party were led down to the Navy Yard,
from whence it would probably have embarked in boats.
It is surmised that Colonel Forney would have been the leader. There was
no doubt entertained of his success. Before the force arrived it was
evident the fort had been reinforced, and all thought of the meditated
assault was abandoned. The men picked for this special service lay on
their arms all night in the Navy Yard.
BURNING OF HARPER’S FERRY ARSENAL.
APRIL 18, 1861.
The ordinance of secession of the State of Virginia was adopted in
secret session on the 17th of April, and the Governor of the State, John
Letcher, immediately issued orders for the seizure of the Federal posts
and property by the military of the State. A most important post to be
first secured comprised the extensive and valuable arsenal, with all its
workshops and machinery for the manufacture of arms, at Harper’s Ferry,
a place which had been rendered familiar as a household word, from its
seizure by John Brown and his party, in the autumn of 1859.
Harper’s Ferry is situated in Jefferson county, Virginia, at the
confluence of the Potomac and Shenandoah rivers, and is 173 miles
distant from Richmond, 57 from Washington, and 80 from Baltimore. The
population was about 5,000. The arsenal at this place contained 15,000
stand of arms, in addition to other military stores, then in charge of
Lieutenant R. Jones, with a detachment of U. S. Rifles, numbering 43
men. Lieutenant Jones had received advice from Washington that his post
was in imminent danger. He was directed to be prepared for any emergency
that might arise. On the 17th he received information from various
sources that an attack would be made on the night of the 18th. Early in
the evening of that day, the little garrison commenced preparations to
destroy the arsenal and its contents by fire. The windows and doors of
the buildings were then thrown open, that the flames might have a full
current of air. At nine o’clock authentic information reached Lieutenant
Jones that 2000 men were close at hand.
The men worked bravely, cutting up planks and splitting timbers into
kindling-wood, which were heaped ready for the flames. They emptied
their mattresses, filled them with powder, and carried them thus into
the buildings, that no suspicion might be excited among the people. The
arms were then placed in the best position to be destroyed by the
explosion, and the combustibles deposited in different places in the
shops, that all might be ready.
When all was completed, the fires were started in the combustibles
heaped in the carpenters’ shop. The trains leading to the powder were
ignited, and the men were led forth.
All at once a cry of fire rang through the town. The frightened
inhabitants rushed from the houses, and as Lieutenant Jones and his men
entered the gateway of the bridge, an excited crowd pursued him with
menaces and threats of vengeance. He wheeled his men into line, and
announced his determination to fire upon the pursuers if they molested
him. The people then fell back, and he escaped by the canal and took
refuge in the woods.
A quarter of an hour after, when this band of valiant men were grouped
in the darkness of the woods, the first thunders of the explosion echoed
through the hills, and flames leaped forth from the burning buildings,
illuminating the grand scenery of the place into wonderful beauty. The
water, the village, and those glorious mountain passes that surround
Harper’s Ferry with a grandeur which the whole world recognizes, were
illuminated into all their green and crystal depths. After pausing a
moment to witness the result of their own noble work, this gallant
officer and his brave men turned their faces northward, and left
Harper’s Ferry, saluted by fresh bursts of explosion, and lighted onward
by jets of flame that leaped up from the surging clouds in which the
arsenal was enveloped, till the sky glowed above them like a golden
canopy.
Leaving the scene of conflagration behind, Lieutenant Jones made a
hurried march toward Hagerstown, Maryland, wading through streams and
swamps, and reached that place at seven o’clock on the morning of the
19th. There he immediately procured means of conveyance, and started for
Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, which he reached in the afternoon in an
exhausted condition. The men were covered with mud and dirt, and were
overcome with fatigue and hunger, having eaten nothing since leaving
Harper’s Ferry. They were hospitably entertained by the inhabitants, and
departed in the afternoon train for Carlisle barracks. Lieutenant Jones
and his men received the approbation and thanks of the Government for
their judicious conduct on this occasion, and he was commissioned
Assistant Quartermaster-General, U. S. A., with the rank of Captain.
The arsenal buildings were immediately taken possession of by the rebel
authorities, and used for the purpose of making and repairing arms,
until they again came into possession of the Federal authorities.
THROUGH BALTIMORE.
A terrible civil war, destined to be without parallel for bitter
intenseness, was now fully revealed. The curtain that had so long
screened the enemies of the Union in their machinations against the
Government, had been raised at Fort Sumter; and in the seizure of
Harper’s Ferry arsenal, although its usefulness to them had been
seriously impaired by the true hearts and hands that applied the torch,
and rendered the darkness of night lurid with its conflagration,
desolation and ruin had already began their march, leaving their
footprints in ashes among the lovely scenes of civilized life, and
rioting amid the legendary grandeur and time-honored places of the Old
Dominion.
It needed but one act more to encircle us with the thunders of war—to
plunge the nation into an almost fathomless ocean of civil hatred and
revenge, and leave upon the pages of history the unhappy record of many
an ensanguined field. The green sward of a happy, prosperous and free
land only remained to be crimsoned with blood! The heart of some martyr
freemen needed only to be drained of its life-blood, and the stripes of
our old flag dyed a deeper crimson in the precious flood. Soon, too
soon, alas! this last fatal act was accomplished. The day after the
burning of Harper’s Ferry saw the streets of Baltimore red with sacred
blood, and a nation shuddered as the lightning spread the fatal news
from State to State.
For months threats had been whispered that Washington should be seized;
that an armed mob should revel in the capital and drive Lincoln from the
White House. These threats were not idle boastings, as the confidence,
celerity, and preparation of the insurgents proved. While the country
north of the Potomac was solacing itself with dreams of peace—while
plenty was filling every coffer to overflowing, great preparations had
been making, and that for a very long time, to secure the end they now
had in view. Sudden, unexpected, like the deep tolling of a midnight
alarm-bell, the news fell upon the country. Fear, amounting almost to
panic, seized upon the people, and when the orders were issued for the
instant assembling of troops, the rush to arms was proof positive of
this deep alarm.
As in the olden days, the sons of Massachusetts—brave, hardy, fearless
as their own sea-washed rock—rushed first to arms and responded to the
call. In less than twenty-four hours, _seventeen hundred men_ were
waiting in Boston—armed, ready and anxious to march. The order came, and
early in the morning of the nineteenth of April—a day memorable in the
history of the country, as the anniversary of the battle of
Lexington—the Sixth Regiment of Massachusetts militia, commanded by Col.
E. P. Jones, of Pepperell, and accompanied by three companies from
another regiment, attached temporarily to his command (comprising, in
all, about one thousand men), left Philadelphia for Washington, arriving
in Baltimore at ten o’clock, A. M. The same train also contained about
twelve hundred men from Philadelphia, under the command of General
Small. These were unarmed, provision having been made for their being
supplied, in this respect, on their arrival at Washington.
On the arrival of the train at the President-street depot, the
locomotives were detached, and horses substituted, occasioning much
delay, for there was an inadequate supply. A very large crowd had
gathered around, and though the reception was not one of courtesy, yet
no one would have anticipated serious trouble.
Six cars passed in safety, before the fast-increasing mob (for it could
now be called by no other name), succeeded in obstructing the track, and
thus cutting off three companies of the Massachusetts troops from their
comrades, besides General Small’s command, who had remained at the depot
of the Philadelphia road. A hasty consultation was held, and it was
determined by the officers to march the Massachusetts companies to their
destination; and the detachment, under the command of Captain
Follansbee, at once set out.
Then it was that the long-smothered fires burst out openly, and were not
to be controlled. In the streets of the Monumental City, in the face of
a little band of patriots, and in defiance of the civilized world, a
secession flag—a mutilated effigy of the stars and stripes—was flaunted
in the face of these Massachusetts men, with taunts and sneers, which
they received in grave silence. Hemmed in, surrounded, cut off from
assistance, the sons of Massachusetts were forbidden to proceed, and
boastfully taunted with their inability to march through the city. Cheer
upon cheer rang forth for the South, Jeff. Davis, Secession and South
Carolina, and mocking groans for the tried and true friends of the
Union.
But the sons of men who fought at Bunker Hill, at Monmouth, and Valley
Forge, could not be made to understand the words, “Turn back.” The blood
of patriots had been transmitted to them, and no shame could fall upon
the memories of their revolutionary fathers by their acts. They had
started for Washington—started to help form a nation’s bulwark around a
nation’s heart, and were not to be stayed by sneers or threats.
“Forward the Sixth,”—the command given and obeyed in that moment of
peril, has rendered the Sixth regiment of Massachusetts immortal!
Forward, as at Lexington, with fearless hearts, unblenching lips, and
unswerving tread, they marched on boldly, as they would have gone up to
the cannon’s mouth.
“Forward!” A bridge half destroyed, torn up, difficult of crossing, was
passed; then the air was darkened with missiles of every dangerous name
and character, showered upon their devoted heads. Stones, brick-backs,
clubs, anything savage hands could clutch, were hurled from street and
house-top, while the hissing rush of shot and ball played wildly from
musket and revolver.
Ah! it was a cruel, cold-blooded murder of innocent men—of brothers. An
act of treachery unparalleled in the history of any nation, whether
civilized or savage—a rendering of the “Monuments” of Baltimore a
mockery for all time.
Struck down by shot and stones, wounded, surrounded, hopeless of help,
these brave men yet stood their ground and even questioned _whether it
would be right to retaliate_. A question without a parallel and proving
the pure gold of those brave hearts.
[Illustration:
ATTACK ON THE MASSACHUSETTS SIXTH IN BALTIMORE.
]
But the time when forbearance ceases to be a virtue, came at last to
these heroic men—these tender-hearted, christianized soldiers; when
self-preservation, the sternly just primal law of our nature commanded
them to defend themselves. With firm front, but with sad hearts they
prepared to execute the command, and many a form that would not have
trembled amid the shock of battle, trembled now as his musket rang the
death peal.
Unable to stand the charge, to face the deadly music their own cowardly
hearts had awakened—afraid to listen to the awful tumult of battle, the
mob broke and sought also to arm themselves. Save from private sources,
stores, gunshops and the like, they failed in securing any, for the
armories had been well protected in anticipation of this possible event.
An incessant storm of stones, however, answered every musket shot, and
while the fearless “Sixth” still pressed on, more than one of their
number fell by the way, and was borne off helpless and wounded, by the
police.
The fight was a running one, terrific in its results, as it was rapid in
its execution, and though the soldiers at length succeeded in reaching
the depot, with the loss of only two killed and nine wounded; while
their assailants’ loss was nine killed and eight severely wounded, yet
the streets were stained with American blood, drawn by American hands.
The pavement stones were red with the life-tide of brothers. Stained
indelibly, for though the marks have long since been effaced by the pure
rains of a merciful heaven, and the ceaseless tramp of busy feet, yet
they are graven on the records of the age with a pen of fire, carving
deeper than steel, and more lasting than marble!
The unarmed Pennsylvania troops, taking the alarm, were sent back,
though not without injury from the infuriated mob.
The band of the glorious Sixth, consisting of twenty-four persons,
together with their musical instruments, occupied a car by themselves
from Philadelphia to Baltimore. By some accident the musicians’ car got
switched off at the Canton depot, so that, instead of being the first,
it was left in the rear of all the others, and after the attack had been
made by the mob upon the soldiers, they came upon the car in which the
band was still sitting, wholly unarmed, and incapable of making any
defence. The infuriated demons approached them, howling and yelling, and
poured in upon them a shower of stones, broken iron, and other missiles;
wounding some severely, and demolishing their instruments. Some of the
miscreants jumped upon the roof of the car, and, with a bar of iron,
beat a hole through it, while others were calling for powder to blow
them all up in a heap.
Finding that it would be sure destruction to remain longer in the car,
the poor fellows jumped out to meet their fiendish assailants hand to
hand. They were saluted with a shower of stones, but took to their
heels, fighting their way through the crowd, and running at random,
without knowing in what direction to go for assistance or shelter.
As they were hurrying along, a rough-looking man suddenly jumped in
front of their leader, and exclaimed: “This way, boys! this way!”
It was the first friendly voice they had heard since entering Baltimore;
they stopped to ask no questions, but followed their guide, who took
them up a narrow court, where they found an open door, into which they
rushed, being met inside by a powerful-looking woman, who grasped each
one by the hand, and directed them upstairs. The last of their band was
knocked senseless just as he was entering the door, by a stone, which
struck him on the head; but the woman who had welcomed them, immediately
caught up their fallen comrade, and carried him in her arms up the
stairs.
“You are perfectly safe here, boys,” said the brave woman, who directly
proceeded to wash and bind up their wounds.
After having done this, she procured them food, and then told them to
strip off their uniforms and put on the clothes she had brought them, a
motley assortment of baize jackets, ragged coats, and old trowsers. Thus
equipped, they were enabled to go out in search of their companions,
without danger of attack from the mob, which had given them so rough a
reception.
They then learned the particulars of the attack upon the soldiers, and
of their escape, and saw lying at the station the two men who had been
killed, and the others who had been wounded. On going back to the house
where they had been so humanely treated, they found that their clothes
had been carefully tied up, and with their battered instruments, had
been sent to the depot of the Philadelphia railroad, where they were
advised to go themselves. They did not long hesitate, but started in the
next train, and arrived at Philadelphia just in time to meet the Eighth
regiment of Massachusetts Volunteers.
Contrast this generous act with that of an old gray-haired man, aged
more than sixty-five years, who saw one of the Massachusetts soldiers in
the act of levelling his musket, when he rushed in his shirt sleeves
from his shop, disarmed the man by main force, and killed him with the
bayonet—and you have some idea of the conflicting elements which
composed the Baltimore riot.
Increasing by what it had fed on, the lawless spirit ran still more
high; its black waves rolled and surged, and no power could be found
strong enough to control them. The demon spirit that ran riot during the
days of Robespierre, and the fiendish hours of the “Reign of Terror,”
appeared in the streets of Baltimore, and foul lips sang rebellious
songs. Secession and murder mingling together in rude discord.
The rulers were impotent to check the storm, or control the whirlwind.
The people were for the time masters—the authorities helpless.
On this memorable 19th of April, the writer of these pages was on her
way from Washington to New York. The train in which she travelled was
loaded down with persons going northward, for Washington was not
considered a safe place to sojourn in that week, especially for ladies.
About ten miles from Baltimore we met the train which bore the Sixth
Massachusetts regiment from the scene of its late encounter. Both trains
slackened speed, and instantly it flew like wildfire along the cars that
there had been riot and bloodshed in Baltimore, and the brave fellows we
had passed had been attacked in their passage through the town. The news
was received with great excitement, that grew more and more intense
until our engine thundered into the depot. The fighting was over, but a
mob of morose and cruel-looking men, with a few black women and
children, still hung around the building, and we passed out through a
lane of scowling faces.
The horse railroad had been torn up and so blockaded that there was no
hopes of reaching the Philadelphia cars by that way. With difficulty we
procured a carriage and were drawn over the scene of conflict. The
railroad was almost obliterated; piles of lumber, fifteen feet high,
were heaped upon it. Immense anchors lay across it, forming an iron
barricade. Every window along the line was crowded with eager, scared
faces, mostly black, and those that were white, evidently of the lowest
order.
It became impossible to pass along the railroad, for it was completely
blocked up. We turned into a side street, and at last took our places in
the Philadelphia train. Here two or three men in uniform entered the
cars, and after the train started they were seen talking earnestly with
the conductor near our seat. It seemed that the Pennsylvania regiment
had been scattered, and while a train had returned toward Philadelphia
with the larger portion of the men, some twenty-five or thirty were
grouped on the wayside, some miles from the city, hoping that our train
would take them in.
The conductor was inexorable. His orders were to proceed direct—besides,
he had no room, every seat was crowded. This was true; but all the
gentlemen, among whom was Senator Wilkinson, of Minnesota, and several
ladies that sat within hearing, pleaded that the men should be taken in,
and all offered to surrender their own seats. But it was of no avail—the
conductor had his orders.
A few minutes after the officers had retreated we passed a platform on
the wayside on which these unlucky soldiers were grouped, in anxious
expectation that the train would stop, but it went steadily by, leaving
the most disappointed and gloomy faces behind that one often looks upon.
We afterwards learned that these poor fellows wandered around the
country for three days, and many of them came back to Philadelphia on
foot.
If they were sad at being left, those in the cars were both sorrowful
and indignant that they had not been taken up. It seemed to them an act
of wanton cruelty; and one of the company, at least, has not yet been
able to change her opinion on the subject.
At Wilmington we passed the town in which were the companions of these
deserted men. Their train had paused in the town, which we found one
blaze of excitement. As the news spread, cheer after cheer arose for the
stars and stripes, the soldiers, the government, and everything else
around which a patriotic cry could centre, rang up from the streets. The
people were fairly wild when they saw that the soldiers were driven
back.
In every town and at every depot this wild spirit of indignation
increased as we advanced. Philadelphia was full of armed men; regiments
were rushing to the arsenals, groups of men talked eagerly in the
streets—martial music sounded near the Continental Hotel at intervals
all night. The city was one scene of wild commotion. In the morning the
Seventh New York regiment came in. The day before they had left the
Empire City one blaze of star-spangled flags and in a tumult of
patriotic enthusiasm. That morning they were hailed in Philadelphia with
like spirit. Expecting to march through Baltimore, they panted for an
opportunity of avenging the noble men who had fallen there. The citizens
met them with generous hospitality, and their passage through
Philadelphia was an ovation.
But their indignation towards the Baltimorians was not to be appeased by
fighting their own way through that city. Orders reached them to advance
toward Washington through Annapolis, and they obeyed, much against the
general inclination of the regiment.
I have said that the authorities in Baltimore were powerless; they had
no means of learning how far the secession spirit had spread through the
city. It is true the riot of the 19th had been ostensibly the action of
a low mob, but how far the same spirit extended among the people no one
could guess.