Canton, fired a pistol at the engineer of the Philadelphia train when it
came in, and forcing the passengers to leave the cars, rushed in
themselves and compelled the engineer to take them back to Gunpowder
bridge. There the train was stopped while the mob set fire to the draw
bridge, then returned to Bush river bridge, burned the draw there, and
finished their raid by burning Canton bridge.
While this was going on outside the city, materials for fresh commotion
were gathering in the streets.
All through the day the accessions from the country were coming in.
Sometimes a squad of infantry, sometimes a troop of horse, and once a
small park of artillery. It was nothing extraordinary to see a “solitary
horseman” riding in from the country, with shot-gun, powder-horn and
flask. Some came with provender lashed to the saddle, prepared to picket
off for the night. Boys accompanied their fathers, accoutred apparently
with the sword and holster-pistols that had done service a century ago.
There appeared strange contrasts between the stern, solemn bearing of
the father, and the buoyant, excited, enthusiastic expressions of the
boy’s face, eloquent with devotion and patriotism; for mistaken and
wrong, they were not the less actuated by the most unselfish spirit of
loyalty. They hardly knew, any of them, for what they had so suddenly
came to Baltimore. They had a vague idea, only, that Maryland had been
invaded, and that it was the solemn duty of her sons to protect their
soil from the encroachments of a hostile force.
In the streets of the lower part of the city, were gathered immense
crowds among whom discussions and the high pitch of excitement which
discussion engenders, grew clamorous. The mob—for Baltimore street was
one vast mob—was surging to and fro, uncertain in what direction to
move, and apparently without any special purpose. Many had small
secession cards pinned on their coat collars, and not a few were armed
with guns, pistols and knives, of which they made the most display.
Thus the day ended and the night came on. During the darkness the whole
city seemed lying in wait for the foe. Every moment the mob expected the
descent of some Federal regiment upon them, and the thirst for strife
had grown so fierce that terrible bloodshed must have followed if the
troops from Philadelphia or Harrisburg had attempted to pass through
Baltimore then.
On Sunday, April 21, the city was in a state of unparalleled excitement.
Private citizens openly carried arms in the streets. Along the line of
the railroad almost every house was supplied with muskets or revolvers
and missiles, in some instances even with small cannon. Volunteers were
enlisting rapidly, and the streets became more and more crowded.
Abundance of arms had sprung to light, as if by magic, in rebellious
hands. Troops were continually arriving and placing themselves in
readiness for action.
A great crowd was constantly surging around the telegraph office,
waiting anxiously for news. The earnest inquiry was as to the
whereabouts of the New York troops—the most frequent topic, the probable
results of an attempt on the part of the Seventh regiment to force a
passage through Baltimore. All agreed that the force could never go
through—all agreed that it would make the attempt if ordered to do so,
and no one seemed to entertain a doubt that it would leave a winrow of
dead bodies from the ranks of those who assailed it in the streets
through which it might attempt to pass.
As the wires of the telegraph leading to New York had been cut, there
was no news to be had for the crowd from that direction.
The police force were entirely in sympathy with the secessionists, and
indisposed to act against the mob. Marshal Kane and the Commissioners
made no concealment of their proclivities for the secession movement.
Amid this tumult the Mayor of Baltimore and a committee of citizens
started for Washington. Their object was to influence the President
against forwarding troops through the city in its present agitated
state. But the knowledge of his departure did nothing toward allaying
the excitement.
About eight o’clock, the streets began again to be crowded. The barrooms
and public resorts were closed, that the incentive to precipitate action
might not be too readily accessible. Nevertheless there was much
excitement, and among the crowd were many men from the country, who
carried shot and duck guns, and old-fashioned horse-pistols, such as the
“Maryland line” might have carried from the first to the present war.
The best weapons appeared to be in the hands of young men—boys of
eighteen—with the physique, dress and style of deportment cultivated by
the “Dead Rabbits” of New York.
About ten o’clock, a cry was raised that 3,000 Pennsylvania troops were
at the Calvert street depot of the Pennsylvania railroad, and were about
to take up their line of march through the city. It was said that the
3,000 were at Pikesville, about fifteen miles from the city, and were
going to fight their way around the city. The crowd were not disposed to
interfere with a movement that required a preliminary tramp of fifteen
miles through a heavy sand. But the city authorities, however, rapidly
organized and armed some three or four companies and sent them towards
Pikesville. Ten of the Adams’ Express wagons passed up Baltimore street,
loaded with armed men. In one or two there were a number of mattresses,
as if wounded men were anticipated. A company of cavalry also started
for Pikesville to sustain the infantry that had been expressed. Almost
before the last of the expedition had left the city limits, word was
telegraphed to Marshal Kane by Mayor Brown from Washington, that the
government had ordered the Pennsylvania troops back to Harrisburgh, from
the point they had been expected to move on to Baltimore. It seemed
incredible, but, of course, satisfactory to the belligerents.
The moment it was known that the government had abandoned the intention
of forcing troops through Baltimore, this intense commotion settled into
comparative calm, but the city was forced to feel the effect of its own
folly. The regular passenger trains north had been stopped.
Many business men have been utterly ruined by the extraordinary position
into which the city was plunged through the action of the mob. Capital
has been swept away, and commercial advantages sacrificed, that no time
or enterprise can replace. Those engaged in trade, have no part in these
troubles except to suffer. The mob had them in complete subjection, and
a stain has been cast on the city which no time can efface. Yet the
whole of this attack was doubtless the work of those classes who form
the bane and dregs of society, in every great city; after events have
proved that it was the uprising of a lawless mob, not the expression of
a people. But the Mayor of the city and the Governor of the State were
for a few days in which these revolters triumphed alike powerless. In
this strait they notified the authorities in Washington that troops
could not be passed through that city without bloodshed.
The difficulties and dangers of the 19th of April were speedily removed
by President Lincoln’s determination to march troops intended for
Washington by another route, backed by the determination and efficiency
of the government and by the supplies which were sent to the aid of
loyal men of the city and State, and thereby Maryland has been saved
from anarchy, desolation and ruin. The work of impious hands was
stayed—a star preserved to our banner, and the right vindicated without
unnecessary loss of life! But nothing save great caution and forbearance
almost unparalleled in civil wars, rescued Baltimore from destruction.
When the news of the disaster to the brave Massachusetts regiment
reached the old Bay State, a feeling of profound sorrow and deep
indignation seized upon the people. Troops gathered to the rescue in
battalions, armed men arose at every point, and every railroad verging
toward Washington became a great military highway. Not only
Massachusetts, but all New England looked upon the outrage with generous
indignation, as if each State had seen its own sons stricken down. It
seemed to be a strife of patriotism which should get its men first to
the field. Directly after the Massachusetts troops, the first regiment
of Rhode Island Volunteers passed through New York, on their way to the
South. Governor Sprague, who had magnanimously contributed one hundred
thousand dollars to the cause, accompanied these troops, as
commander-in-chief of the Rhode Island forces. His staff consisted of
Colonels Frieze, Goddard, Arnold, and Captain A. W. Chapin, Assistant
Adjutant-General. And this was followed by a continued rush of armed men
till all the great thoroughfares leading to the capital bristled with
steel, and reverberated with the tramp of soldiery.
Governor Andrews sent to Maryland requesting that the martyred soldiers
should be reverently sent back to Massachusetts, that the State might
give them honored burial. This request was complied with, Governor Hicks
responding in a delicate and sympathetic manner, and not only
Massachusetts but a whole nation awarded them the glory of first dying
for a country that will never forget them. The names of these men were,
Sumner H. Needham, of Lawrence; Addison O. Whitney, of Lowell City
Guards; and Luther C. Ladd, Lowell City Guards.
MILITARY OCCUPATION OF ANNAPOLIS, Md.
APRIL 21, 1861.
On the 18th of April, the Eighth Massachusetts regiment, under the
command of General Butler, left Boston for Washington. On arriving at
Philadelphia, he ascertained that all communication with Washington by
the ordinary line of travel through Baltimore had been cut off, and
telegraphic operations suspended. He proceeded to the Susquehanna river,
and at Perryville seized the immense ferry-boat “Maryland,” belonging to
the railroad company, and steamed with his regiment for Annapolis.
Through the supposed treachery of the pilot, the boat was grounded on
the bar before that place, and they were detained over night. The
arrival of troops at this point proved of vital importance. A conspiracy
had been formed by a band of secessionists to seize the old frigate
Constitution, which lay moored at the wharf of the Naval Academy at that
place, being in service as a school for the cadets. Captain Devereux,
with his company, was ordered to take possession of the noble old craft,
which was promptly done, and the vessel towed to a safe distance from
the landing. Governor Hicks, of Maryland, hearing of their arrival, sent
a protest against troops being landed at that place.
On Monday, the 22d, the troops landed at the Naval Academy, followed by
the New York Seventh regiment, which had just arrived on board the
steamer Boston, from Philadelphia, by the help of which vessel the
Maryland was enabled to get off the bar.
In order to insure the ready transportation of troops and provisions
which were to follow him by the same route, General Butler seized
several vessels in the neighborhood, and promptly entered them into the
United States service. Meantime a Pennsylvania regiment had arrived at
Havre de Grace, and, anticipating the speedy accession of reinforcements
from New York by water, three companies of the Eighth Massachusetts were
detached as an engineer corps to repair the road to the Annapolis and
Elk Ridge Railroad, of which General Butler had taken military
possession.
The Seventy-first New York and other regiments having arrived during the
night of April 23d, early on the following morning the Seventh regiment,
from New York, took up its line of march on the track to Washington
Junction. A member of this regiment, young O’Brien the poet, pays a
merited tribute to the brave men who preceded them:
On the morning of the 22d we were in sight of Annapolis, off which the
Constitution was lying, and there found the Eighth regiment of
Massachusetts volunteers on board the Maryland. They were aground,
owing, it is supposed, to the treachery of the captain, whom they put in
irons and wanted to hang. I regret to say that they did not do it.
During the greater portion of that forenoon we were occupied in trying
to get the Maryland off the sand-bar on which she was grounded. From our
decks we could see the men in file trying to rock her, so as to
facilitate our tugging. These men were without water and without food,
were well-conducted and uncomplaining, and behaved in all respects like
heroes. They were under the command of Colonel Butler, and I regret that
that gentleman did not care more for the comforts of men whose
subsequent pluck proved that nothing was too good for them.
On the afternoon of the 22d we landed at the Annapolis dock, after
having spent hours in trying to relieve the Maryland. For the first time
in his life your correspondent was put to work to roll flour-barrels. He
was entrusted with the honorable and onerous duty of transporting stores
from the steamer to the dock. Later still he descended to the position
of mess servant, when, in company with gentlemen well known in Broadway
for immaculate kids, he had the honor of attending on his company with
buckets of cooked meat and crackers—the only difference between him and
Co. and the ordinary waiter being, that the former were civil.
We were quartered in the buildings belonging to the Naval School at
Annapolis. I had a bunking-place in what is there called a fort, which
is a rickety structure that a lucifer match would set on fire, but
furnished with imposing guns. I suppose it was merely built to practice
the cadets, because as a defence it is worthless. The same evening boats
were sent off from the yard, and towards nightfall the Massachusetts men
landed, fagged, hungry, thirsty, but indomitable.
The two days that we remained at Annapolis were welcome. We had been
without a fair night’s sleep since we left New York, and even the hard
quarters we had there were a luxury compared to the dirty decks of the
Boston. Besides, there were natural attractions. The grounds are very
prettily laid out, and in the course of my experience I never saw a
handsomer or better bred set of young men than the cadets. Twenty had
left the school owing to political convictions. The remainder are sound
Union fellows, eager to prove their devotion to the flag. After spending
a delightful time in the Navy School, resting and amusing ourselves, our
repose was disturbed at 9 P. M., April 23, by rockets being thrown up in
the bay. The men were scattered all over the grounds; some in bed,
others walking or smoking, all more or less undressed. The rockets being
of a suspicious character, it was conjectured that a Southern fleet was
outside, and our drummer beat the rollcall to arms. From the stroke of
the drum until the time that every man, fully equipped and in fighting
order, was in the ranks, was exactly, by watch, _seven minutes_. The
alarm, however, proved to be false, the vessels in the offing proving to
be laden with the Seventy-first and other New York regiments; so that,
after an unpremeditated trial of our readiness for action, we were
permitted to retire to our couches, which means, permit me to say, a
blanket on the floor, with a military overcoat over you, and a nasal
concert all around you, that, in noise and number, outvies Musard’s
_concerts monstres_.
On the morning of the 24th of April we started on what afterwards proved
to be one of the hardest marches on record. The secessionists of
Annapolis and the surrounding districts had threatened to cut us off in
our march, and even went so far as to say that they would attack our
quarters. The dawn saw us up. Knapsacks, with our blankets and overcoats
strapped on them, were piled on the green. A brief and insufficient
breakfast was taken, our canteens filled with vinegar and water,
cartridges distributed to each man, and after mustering and loading, we
started on our first march through a hostile country.
General Scott has stated, as I have been informed, that the march that
we performed from Annapolis to the Junction is one of the most
remarkable on record. I know that I felt it the most fatiguing, and some
of our officers have told me that it was the most perilous. We marched
the first eight miles under a burning sun, in heavy marching order, in
less than three hours; and it is well known that, placing all elementary
considerations out of the way, marching on a railroad track is the most
harassing. We started at about 8 o’clock, A. M., and for the first time
saw the town of Annapolis, which, without any disrespect to that place,
I may say looked very much as if some celestial schoolboy, with a box of
toys under his arm, had dropped a few houses and men as he was going
home from school, and that the accidental settlement was called
Annapolis. Through the town we marched, the people unsympathizing, but
afraid. They saw the Seventh for the first time, and for the first time
they realized the men that they had threatened.
The tracks had been torn up between Annapolis and the Junction, and here
it was that the wonderful qualities of the Massachusetts Eighth regiment
came out. The locomotives had been taken to pieces by the inhabitants,
in order to prevent our travel. In steps a Massachusetts volunteer,
looks at the piece-meal engine, takes up a flange, and says coolly, “I
made this engine, and I can put it together again.” Engineers were
wanted when the engine was ready. Nineteen stepped out of the ranks. The
rails were torn up. Practical railroad makers out of the regiment laid
them again, and all this, mind you, without care or food. These brave
boys, I say, were starving while they were doing this good work. As we
marched along the track that they had laid, they greeted us with ranks
of smiling but hungry faces. One boy told me, with a laugh on his young
lips, that he had not eaten anything for thirty hours. There was not,
thank God, a haversack in our regiment that was not emptied into the
hands of these ill-treated heroes, nor a flask that was not at their
disposal.
Our march lay through an arid, sandy, tobacco-growing country. The sun
poured on our heads like hot lava. The Sixth and Second companies were
sent on for skirmishing duty, under the command of Captains Clarke and
Nevers, the latter commanding as senior officer. A car, on which was
placed a howitzer, loaded with grape and canister, headed the column,
manned by the engineer and artillery corps, commanded by Lieutenant
Bunting. This was the rallying point of the skirmishing party, on which,
in case of difficulty, they could fall back. In the centre of the column
came the cars, laden with medical stores, and bearing our sick and
wounded, while the extreme rear was brought up with a second howitzer,
loaded also with grape and canister. The engineer corps, of course, had
to do the forwarding work. New York dandies, sir—but they built bridges,
laid rails, and headed the regiment through. After marching about eight
miles, during which time several men caved in from exhaustion, and one
young gentleman was sunstruck, and sent back to New York, we halted, and
instantly, with the divine instinct which characterizes the hungry
soldier, proceeded to forage. The worst of it was, there was no foraging
to be done. The only house within reach was inhabited by a lethargic
person, who, like most Southern men, had no idea of gaining money by
labor. We offered him extravagant prices to get us fresh water, and it
was with the utmost reluctance that we could get him to obtain us a few
pailfuls. Over the mantel-piece of his miserable shanty I saw—a curious
coincidence—the portrait of Colonel Duryea, of our regiment.
After a brief rest of about an hour, we again commenced our march; a
march which lasted until the next morning—a march than which in history,
nothing but those marches in which defeated troops have fled from the
enemy, can equal. Our Colonel, it seems, determined to march by
railroad, in preference to the common road, inasmuch as he had obtained
such secret information as led him to suppose that we were waited for on
the latter route. Events justified his judgment. There were cavalry
troops posted in defiles to cut us off. They could not have done it, of
course, but they could have harassed us severely. As we went along the
railroad we threw out skirmishing parties from the Second and Sixth
companies, to keep the road clear. I know not if I can describe that
night’s march. I have dim recollections of deep cuts through which we
passed, gloomy and treacherous-looking, with the moon shining full on
our muskets, while the banks were wrapped in shade, and each moment
expecting to see the flash and hear the crack of the rifle of the
Southern guerilla. The tree frogs and lizards made a mournful music as
we passed. The soil on which we travelled was soft and heavy. The
sleepers, lying at intervals across the track, made the march terribly
fatiguing. On all sides dark, lonely pine woods stretched away, and high
over the hooting of owls, or the plaintive petition of the
whip-poor-will, rose the bass commands of “Halt! Forward, march!”—and
when we came to any ticklish spot, the word would run from the head of
the column along the lines, “Holes,” “Bridge—pass it along,” &c.
As the night wore on, the monotony of the march became oppressive. Owing
to our having to explore every inch of the way, we did not make more
than a mile or a mile and a half an hour. We ran out of stimulants, and
almost out of water. Most of us had not slept for four nights, and as
the night advanced our march was almost a stagger. This was not so much
fatigue as want of excitement. Our fellows were spoiling for a light,
and when a dropping shot was heard in the distance, it was wonderful to
see how the languid legs straightened, and the column braced itself for
action. If we had had even the smallest kind of a skirmish, the men
would have been able to walk to Washington. As it was, we went sleepily
on. I myself fell asleep, walking in the ranks. Numbers, I find,
followed my example; but never before was there shown such indomitable
pluck and perseverance as the Seventh showed in that march of twenty
miles. The country that we passed through seemed to have been entirely
deserted. The inhabitants, who were going to kill us when they thought
we daren’t come through, now vamosed their respective ranches, and we
saw them not. Houses were empty. The population retired into the
interior, burying their money, and carrying their families along with
them. They, it seems, were under the impression that we came to ravage
and pillage, and they fled, as the Gauls must have fled, when Attila and
his Huns came down on them from the North. As we did at Annapolis, we
did in Maryland State. We left an impression that cannot be forgotten.
Everything was paid for. No discourtesy was offered to any inhabitant,
and the sobriety of the regiment should be an example to others. Nothing
could have been more effective or energetic than the movements of the
Engineer Corps, to whom we were indebted for the rebuilding of a bridge
in an incredibly short space of time.
The secret of this forced march, as well as our unexpected descent on
Annapolis, was the result of Colonel Lefferts’ judgment, which has since
been sustained by events. Finding that the line along the Potomac was
closed, and the route to Washington, by Baltimore, equally
impracticable, he came to the conclusion that Annapolis, commanding, as
it did, the route to the Capital, must of necessity be made the basis of
military operations. It was important to the government to have a free
channel through which to transport troops, and this post presented the
readiest means. The fact that since then all the Northern troops have
passed through the line that we thus opened, is a sufficient comment on
the admirable judgment that decided on the movement. It secured the
integrity of the regiment, and saved lives, the loss of which would have
plunged New York into mourning. Too much importance cannot be attached
to this strategy. To it the Seventh regiment is indebted for being here
at present, intact and sound.