THE CONFEDERATE CAPITAL
The axis of the earth sticks out visibly through the centre of each
and every town or city.
--OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
Richmond is the Boston of Virginia; Norfolk its New York. The comparison
does not, of course, hold in all particulars, Richmond being, for
instance, larger than Norfolk, and not a seaport. Yet, on the other
hand, Boston manages, more than any seaport that I know of, to conceal
from the visitor the signs of its maritime life; wherefore Richmond
looks about as much like a port as does the familiar part of Boston.
The houses on the principal residence streets of Richmond are not built
in such close ranks as Boston houses; they have more elbow-room; numbers
of them have yards and gardens; and there is not about Richmond houses
the Bostonian insistence upon red brick; nevertheless many houses of
both cities give off the same suggestion of having long been lived in by
the descendants of their builders. So, too, though the Capitol at
Richmond has little architectural resemblance to Boston's gold-domed
State House--the former having been copied by Thomas Jefferson from the
Maison Carrée at Nîmes, and being a better building than the
Massachusetts State House, and better placed--the two do, nevertheless,
suggest each other in their gray granite solidity.
It is perhaps in the quality of solidity--architectural, commercial,
social, even spiritual--that Richmond and Boston are most alike.
Substantialness, conservatism, tradition, and prosperity rest like gray
mantles over both.
Broad Street in Richmond is two or three times as wide as Granby Street,
Norfolk's chief shopping street, and for this reason, doubtless, its
traffic seems less, though I believe it is in fact greater. A fine
street to look upon at night, with its long, even rows of clustered
boulevard lights, and its bright windows, Broad Street in the daytime is
a disappointment, because, for all its fine spaciousness, it lacks good
buildings. I must confess, too, that I was disappointed in the
appearance of the women in the shopping crowds on Broad Street; for, as
every one knows, Richmond has been famous for its beauties. In vain I
looked for young women fitted to inherit the débutante mantles of such
nationally celebrated beauties as Miss Irene Langhorne (Mrs. Charles
Dana Gibson), Miss May Handy (Mrs. James Brown Potter), Miss Lizzie
Bridges (Mrs. Hobson), and Miss Sally Bruce (Mrs. Arthur B. Kinsolving).
In the ten years between 1900 and 1910 the population of Richmond
increased 50 per cent. Her population by the last census was about
130,000, of which a third is colored. Norfolk's population is about
70,000, with approximately the same percentage of negroes. In both
cities there is much new building--offices downtown, and pretty new
brick homes in outlying suburban tracts. Likewise, in both, the charming
signs of other days are here and there to be seen.
Richmond is again like its ancient enemy, Boston, in the wealth of its
historical associations, and I know of no city which gives the
respectful heed to its own history that Richmond does, and no State
which in this matter equals the State of Virginia. If Richmond was the
center of the South during the Civil War, Capitol Square was, as it is
to-day, the center of that center. In this square, in the shadow of
Jefferson's beautiful classic capitol building, which has the glowing
gray tone of one of those water colors done on tinted paper by Jules
Guérin, Confederate soldiers were mustered into service under Lee and
Jackson. Within the old building the Confederate Congress met, Aaron
Burr was tried for treason, and George Washington saw, in its present
position, his own statue by Houdon. Across the way from the square,
where the post office now stands, was the Treasury Building of the
Confederate States, and there Jefferson Davis appeared seven times, to
be tried for treason, only to have his case postponed by the Federal
Government, and finally dismissed. East of the square is the State
Library, containing a remarkable collection of portraits and documents,
including likenesses of all governors of Virginia from John Smith to
Tyler, a portrait of Pocahontas, and the bail bond of Jefferson Davis,
signed by Horace Greeley, Cornelius Vanderbilt, Gerrit Smith, and
seventeen other distinguished men of the day. To the west of the square
is old St. Paul's Church, with the pews of Lee and Davis. It was while
attending service in this church, on Sunday, April 2, 1865, that Davis
received Lee's telegram from Petersburg, saying that Richmond must be
evacuated. A block or two west of the church, in East Franklin Street,
is a former residence of Lee. It was given by the late Mrs. Joseph Bryan
and her sisters to the Virginia Historical Society, and is now,
appropriately enough, the home of that organization.
In the old drawing room, now the office of the Historical Society, I
found Mr. William G. Stanard, the corresponding secretary, and from him
heard something of Lee's life there immediately after the War.
By the Northerners in Richmond at that time, including the Federal
troops stationed in the city, Lee was of course respected and admired,
while by the whole South he was, and is to-day, adored. As for his own
ex-soldiers, they could not see him without emotion, and because of the
demonstrations which invariably attended his appearance on the Richmond
streets, he went out but little, passing much time upon the back porch
of the house. Here most of the familiar Brady photographs of him were
taken. Brady sent a young photographer to Richmond to get the
photographs. Lee was at first disposed to refuse to be taken, but his
family persuaded him to submit, on the ground that if there were any
impertinence in the request it was not the fault of the young man, and
that the latter might lose his position if he failed to obtain the
desired pictures.
Finding the continued attention of the crowds too much for him, the
general left Richmond after two months, removing to a small house in
Cumberland County, on the James, and it was there that he was residing
when called to the presidency of Washington College--now Washington and
Lee University--at Lexington, Virginia. As is well known, he accepted
this offer, built up the institution, remained its president until the
time of his death, and now lies buried in the university chapel.
To Mr. Stanard I am also indebted for the following information
regarding John Smith and Pocahontas:
About a mile below Richmond, in what is now the brickyard region, there
used to stand the residence of the Mayo family, a place known as
Powhatan. This place has long been pointed out as the scene of the
saving of Smith by the Indian girl, but late research indicates that,
though Smith did come up the James to the present site of Richmond, his
capture by the Indians did not occur here, but in the vicinity of
Jamestown. Then Indians took him first to one of their villages on York
River, near the present site of West Point, Virginia, and thence to a
place, on the same stream, in the county of Gloucester, where the tribal
chief resided. I was under the impression that this worthy's name was
Powhatan, but Mr. Stanard declared "powhatan" was not a proper name,
but an Indian word meaning "chief."
The Virginia Historical Society is satisfied that Smith was rescued by
Pocahontas at a point about nine miles from Williamsburg on the west
side of York River, but there are historians who contend that the whole
story of the rescue is a fiction. One of these is Dr. Albert Bushnell
Hart, of Harvard, who lists Smith among "Historical Liars." Virginians,
who regard Smith as one of their proudest historical possessions, are
somewhat disposed to resent this view, but it appears to me that there
is at least some ground for it. Matthew Page Andrews, another historian,
himself a Virginian, points out that many of our ideas of the Jamestown
colony have been obtained from Smith's history of the settlement, which
he wrote in England, some years after leaving Virginia.
"From these accounts," says Mr. Andrews, "we get an unfavorable
impression of Smith's associates in the colony and of the management of
the men composing the popular or people's party in the London Company.
As we now know that this party in the London Company was composed of
very able and patriotic Englishmen, we are inclined to think that
Captain Smith not only overrated his achievement, but was very unjust to
his fellow-colonists and the Company."
The story of the rescue of Smith by Pocahontas, with the strong
implication that the Indian girl was in love with him, comes to us from
Smith himself. We know that when Pocahontas was nineteen years of age
(seven years after the Smith rescue is said to have occurred), she
married John Rolfe--the first Englishman to begin the cultivation of the
tobacco plant. We know that she was taken to England, that she was
welcomed at court as a princess, that she had a son born in England, and
that she herself died there in 1617. We know also that her son, Thomas
Rolfe, settled in Virginia, and that through him a number of Virginians
trace descent from Pocahontas. (Mr. Andrews points out that in 1915 one
of these descendants became the wife of the President of the United
States.)
But we know also that John Smith, brave and daring though he was, was
not above twisting and embroidering a tale to his own glorification.
While, therefore, it is too much to affirm that his rescue story is
false, it is well to remember that Pocahontas was but twelve years old
when the rescue is said to have occurred, and that Smith waited until
after she had become famous, and had died, to promulgate his romantic
story.
* * * * *
Immediately to the north of Capitol Square stands the City Hall, an ugly
building, in the cellar of which is the Police Court presided over by
the celebrated and highly entertaining Judge Crutchfield, otherwise
known as "One John" and "the Cadi"--of whom more presently. A few blocks
beyond the City Hall, in the old mansion at the corner of East Clay and
Twelfth Streets, which was the "White House of the Confederacy," the
official residence of Jefferson Davis during the war, is the
Confederate Museum--one of the most fascinating museums I ever visited.
Not the least part of the charm of this museum is the fact that it is
not of great size, and that one may consequently visit it without
fatigue; but the chief fascination of the place is the dramatic
personalness of its exhibits. To me there is always something peculiarly
engaging about intimate relics of historic figures, and it is of such
relics that the greater part of the collection of the Confederate Museum
consists. In one show case, for example, are the saddle and bridle of
General Lee, and the uniform he wore when he surrendered. The effects of
General Joseph E. Johnston are shown in another case, and in still
another those of the picturesque J.E.B. Stuart, who, as here one may
see, loved the little touch of individuality and dash which came of
wearing a feather in a campaign hat. So also one learns something of
Stonewall Jackson when one sees in the cabinet, along with his old blue
hat and other possessions, the gold spurs which were given to him by the
ladies of Baltimore, beside the steel spurs that he _wore_. All
Jackson's personal effects were very simple.
One of the most striking relics in the museum is the Great Seal of the
Confederacy, which was only returned to Richmond within the last few
years, after having been lost track of for nearly half a century--a
strange chapter in the annals of the Civil War.
Records in the Library of Congress, including the Confederate state
papers purchased by the United States Government in 1872, of William J.
Bromwell, formerly a clerk in the Confederate State Department, brought
to light, a few years ago, the fact that the seal was in the possession
of Rear Admiral Thomas O. Selfridge, U.S.N., retired.
At the time of the evacuation of Richmond, Bromwell carried off a number
of the Confederate state papers, and Mrs. Bromwell took charge of the
seal, transporting it through the lines in her bustle. When later,
through Colonel John T. Pickett, Bromwell sold the papers to the
Government, Rear Admiral Selfridge--then a captain--was the officer
assigned to go to Hamilton, Ontario, to inventory and receive them. It
is said that Pickett gave the seal to Selfridge at about this time,
first, however, having a duplicate made. This duplicate, or a copy of
it, was later offered for sale as the original, but was found to be
spurious. When examination of the Pickett papers by Gaillard Hunt, of
the Library of Congress, finally traced the original seal to Rear
Admiral Selfridge, an effort was made to buy it back. In 1912 three
Richmond gentlemen, Messrs. Eppa Hunton, Jr., William H. White and
Thomas P. Bryan, purchased the Seal of the admiral for three thousand
dollars, subject to proof of its authenticity. Mr. St. George Bryan and
Mr. William Gray, of Richmond, then took the seal to London, where the
makers are still well-known engravers. Here, by means of hall marks, the
identification was made complete.
No less appealing than the relics of the deceased government and great
generals who are gone, are some of the humbler items connected with the
deaths of privates in the ranks of North and South alike. One of the
most pathetic was a small daguerreotype of a beautiful young girl. On a
card, beside the picture, is the story of it, so far as that story is
ever likely to be known:
Picture found on the dead body of an unidentified Federal soldier.
Presented by C.C. Calvert, Upperville, Va.
"We have always hoped," said Miss Susan B. Harrison, house regent of the
museum, "that some day some one would come in and recognize this little
picture, and that it would find its way back to those who ought to have
it, and who might by this means at last discover what became of the
soldier who was dear to them."
An even more tragic souvenir is a letter addressed to A.V. Montgomery,
Camden, Madison County, Mississippi, in which a mortally wounded soldier
of Confederacy bids a last good-by to his father. The letter was
originally inclosed with one from Lieutenant Ethelbert Fairfax, C.S.A.,
informing the father that his son passed away soon after he had written.
The text, pitiful and heroic as it is, can give but the faintest idea of
the original, with its feeble, laborious writing, and the dark-brown
spots dappling the three sheets of paper where blood from the boy's
mangled shoulder dripped upon them while he wrote:
Spotsylvania County, Va.
May 10, 1864.
Dear Father:
This is my last letter to you. I went into battle this evening as
courier for Gen'l Heth. I have been struck by a piece of shell and
my right shoulder is horribly mangled & I know death is inevitable.
I am very weak but I write to you because I know you would be
delighted to read a word from your dying son. I know death is near,
that I will die far from home and friends of my early youth, but I
have friends here, too, who are kind to me. My Friend Fairfax will
write you at my request and give you the particulars of my death.
My grave will be marked so that you may visit it if you desire to
do so, but it is optionary with you whether you let my remains rest
here or in Mississippi. I would like to rest in the graveyard with
my dear mother and brothers, but it is a matter of minor
importance. Let us all try to reunite in heaven. I pray my God to
forgive my sins & I feel that his promises are true, that he will
forgive me and save me. Give my love to all my friends. My strength
fails me. My horse & my equipments will be left for you. Again a
long farewell to you. May we meet in heaven.
Your Dying Son,
J.R. Montgomery.