ANOTHER DISGUISE--I BECOME AN IRISH PEDDLER--FEVER AND AGUE--A NIGHT
OF SUFFERING IN THE SWAMP--RETROSPECTION--LOST IN THE SWAMP--CANNON MY
GUIDES--A SICK REBEL--I FIND SOMETHING TO EAT--MY NEW
PATIENT--SYMPATHY FOR SUFFERING--TALK WITH A DYING REBEL--A WILLING
DETENTION--EXTEMPORIZING A LIGHT--THE LAST HOUR--SOLDIERS OF
CHRIST--THE CHAMBER OF DEATH.
While all these preparations were going forward, I was meditating another
visit to the rebel camp. It was not safe for me to attempt to palm myself
off again on the rebels as a colored boy. In the first place, I should be
in danger of being recognized as the cowardly picket who deserted his
post--a crime worthy of death; and in the next place, I should be in
imminent danger of blistering my hands again--a thing which I felt
particularly anxious to avoid, especially in performing labor that would
enable the enemy more successfully to repel the attacks of the Federals.
Now a new disguise was necessary, and I decided to abandon the African
relation, and assume that of the Hibernian. Having had this in view before
leaving Williamsburg, I procured the dress and outfit of an Irish female
peddler, following the army, selling cakes, pies, etc., together with a
considerable amount of brogue, and a set of Irish phrases, which did much
toward characterizing me as one of the "rale ould stock of bog-trotters."
The bridges were not finished across the Chickahominy when I was ready to
cross the river, so I packed up my new disguise in my cake and pie basket,
and my horse, "Frank," and I took a bath in the cool water of the
Chickahominy. After swimming my noble steed across the river, I
dismounted, and led him to the edge of the water--gave him a farewell pat,
and let him swim back again to the other side, where a soldier awaited his
return. It was now evening; I did not know the precise distance to the
enemy's picket line, but thought it best to avoid the roads, and
consequently I must spend the night in the swamp, as the only safe
retreat. It required some little time to don my new disguise, and feel at
home in the clothes. I thought the best place for my debut was the
"Chickahominy swamp." I did not purpose, this time, to pass the enemy's
lines in the night, but to present myself at the picket line, at a
seasonable hour, and ask admission as one of the fugitives of that section
flying from the approach of the Yankees, which was a usual thing.
In crossing the river I had my basket strapped on my back, and did not
know that all it contained was completely drenched, until I required to
use its contents. It was, therefore, with feelings of dread and
disappointment that I discovered this sad fact, for I had been suffering
from slight ague chills during the day, and feared the consequences of
spending the night in wet clothing, especially in that malaria-infested
region. However, there was no alternative, and I was obliged to make the
best of it. I had brought a patch-work quilt with me from the hospital,
but that, too, was wet. Yet it kept off some of the chill night air, and
the miasmatic breath of that "dismal swamp." The remembrance of the
sufferings of that night seem to be written upon my memory "as with a pen
of iron." There I was, all alone, surrounded by worse, yes, infinitely
worse, than wild beasts--by blood-thirsty savages--who considered death
far too good for those who were in the employment of the United States
Government.
That night I was attacked by severe chills--chills beyond description, or
even conception, except by those who have experienced the freezing
sensation of a genuine ague chill. During the latter part of the night the
other extreme presented itself, and it seemed as if I should roast alive,
and not a single drop of water to cool my parched tongue; it was enough to
make any one think of the "rich man" of the Bible, and in sympathy with
his feelings cry to "Father Abraham" for assistance. My mind began to
wander, and I became quite delirious. There seemed to be the horrors of a
thousand deaths concentrated around me; I was tortured by fiends of every
conceivable shape and magnitude. Oh, how it makes me shudder to recall
the scenes which my imagination conjured up during those dark weary hours!
Morning at last came, and I was aroused from the horrible night-mare which
had paralyzed my senses through the night, by the roar of cannon and the
screaming of shell through the forest.
But there I was, helpless as an infant, equally unable to advance or
retreat, without friend or foe to molest or console me, and nothing even
to amuse me but my own thoughts. I looked upon the surrounding scenery,
and pronounced it very unromantic; then my eye fell upon my Irish costume,
and I began to remember the fine phrases which I had taken so much pains
to learn, when the perfect absurdity of my position rushed over my mind
with overwhelming force, and the ludicrousness of it made me, for the
moment, forget my lamentable condition, and with one uncontrollable burst
of laughter I made that swamp resound in a manner which would have done
credit to a person under happier circumstances, and in a better state of
health.
That mood soon passed away, and I began a retrospection of my past life.
It certainly had been an eventful one. I took great interest in carefully
tracing each link in the chain of circumstances which had brought me to
the spot whereon I now lay, deserted and alone, in that notorious
Chickahominy swamp. And ere I was aware of it, I was sighing over a few
episodes in my past history--and mentally saying, well, only for this
intense love of adventure, such and such things "might have been," and I
should now be rejoicing in the honorable title of ---- ----, instead of
"wasting my sweetness on the desert air," in the wilderness of the
Peninsula.
Of all the sad words, of tongue or of pen,
The saddest are these--"_it might have been_."
The cannonading was only the result of a reconnoissance, and in a few
hours ceased altogether. But not so my fever and chills; they were my
constant companions for two days and two nights in succession. At the end
of that time I was an object of pity. With no medicine, no food, and
consequently little strength; I was nearly in a state of starvation. My
pies and cakes were spoiled in the basket, in consequence of the drenching
they had received in crossing the river, and now I had no means of
procuring more. But something must be done; I could not bear the thought
of thus starving to death in that inglorious manner; better die upon the
scaffold at Richmond, or be shot by the rebel pickets; anything but this.
So I thought and said, as I rallied all my remaining strength to arrange
my toilette preparatory to emerging from my concealment in the swamp.
It was about nine o'clock in the morning of the third day after crossing
the river, when I started, as I thought, towards the enemy's lines, and a
more broken-hearted, forlorn-looking "Bridget" never left "ould Ireland,"
than I appeared to be that morning. I traveled from that time until five
o'clock in the afternoon, and was then deeper in the swamp than when I
started. My head or brain was completely turned. I knew not which way to
go, nor did I know east from west, or north from south.
It was a dark day in every sense of the word--and I had neither sun nor
compass to guide me. At five o'clock the glorious booming of cannon
reverberated through the dense wilderness, and to me, at that hour, it was
the sweetest and most soul-inspiring music that ever greeted my ear. I now
turned my face in the direction of the scene of action, and was not long
in extricating myself from the desert which had so long enveloped me.
Soon after emerging from the swamp I saw, in the distance, a small white
house, and thither I bent my weary footsteps. I found it deserted, with
the exception of a sick rebel soldier, who lay upon a straw-tick on the
floor in a helpless condition. I went to him, and assuming the Irish
brogue, I inquired how he came to be left alone, and if I could render him
any assistance. He could only speak in a low whisper, and with much
difficulty, said he had been ill with typhoid fever a few weeks before,
and had not fully recovered when General Stoneman attacked the rebels
in the vicinity of Coal Harbor, and he was ordered to join his company. He
participated in a sharp skirmish, in which the rebels were obliged to
retreat; but he fell out by the way, and fearing to fall into the hands of
the Yankees, he had crawled along as best he could, sometimes on his hands
and knees, until he reached the house in which I found him.
[Illustration: MAKING HOE-CAKE FOR A SICK REBEL.--Page 153.]
He had not eaten anything since leaving camp, and he was truly in a
starving condition. I did not dare say to him "ditto"--with regard to poor
"Bridget's" case--but thought so, and realized it most painfully. He also
told me that the family who had occupied the house had abandoned it since
he came there, and that they had left some flour and corn-meal, but had
not time to cook anything for him. This was good news for me, and
exhausted as I was, I soon kindled a fire, and in less than fifteen
minutes a large hoe-cake was before it in process of baking, and a
sauce-pan of water heating, for there was no kettle to be found. After
searching about the premises, I found some tea packed away in a small
basket, with some earthearn ware, which the family had forgotten to take
with them. My cake being cooked, and tea made, I fed the poor famished
rebel as tenderly as if he had been my brother, and he seemed as grateful
for my kindness, and thanked me with as much politeness, as if I had been
Mrs. Jeff Davis. The next important item was to attend to the cravings of
my own appetite, which I did without much ceremony.
After making my toilet and adjusting my wig in the most approved Irish
style, I approached the sick man, and for the first time noticed his
features and general appearance. He was a man about thirty years of age,
was tall and had a slight figure, regular features, dark hair and large,
mournful, hazel eyes; altogether he was a very pleasing and intelligent
looking man. I thought him quite an interesting patient, and if I had had
nothing more important to attend to, I should have enjoyed the privilege
of caring for him until he recovered. It is strange how sickness and
disease disarm our antipathy and remove our prejudices. There lay before
me an enemy to the Government for which I was daily and willingly exposing
my life and suffering unspeakable privation; he may have been the very man
who took deadly aim at my friend and sent the cruel bullet through his
temple; and yet, as I looked upon him in his helpless condition, I did not
feel the least resentment, or entertain an unkind thought toward him
personally, but looked upon him only as an unfortunate, suffering man,
whose sad condition called forth the best feelings of my nature, and I
longed to restore him to health and strength; not considering that the
very health and strength which I wished to secure for him would be
employed against the cause which I had espoused.
I had a great desire to know more of this man who had so strangely called
forth my sympathies, and finding that he had grown stronger since he had
partaken of some nourishment, I entered into conversation with him. I
found that he was wholly and conscientiously a Confederate soldier, but,
strange to say, completely divested of that inveterate hatred of the
Yankees which is almost universal among the Southerners. I dared not
express my sentiments in very strong terms, but gently interrogated him
with regard to the right which he claimed the rebels had to take up arms
against the United States Government.
At length I asked him if he professed to be a Soldier of the Cross; he
replied with emotion and enthusiasm, "Yes, thank God! I have fought longer
under the Captain of my Salvation than I have yet done under Jeff. Davis."
My next and last question upon that subject was--"Can you, as a disciple
of Christ, conscientiously and consistently uphold the institution of
Slavery?" He made no reply, but fixed those mournful eyes on my face with
a sad expression, as much as to say--"Ah, Bridget, you have touched a
point upon which my own heart condemns me, and I know that God is greater
than my heart, and will also condemn me."
In this earnest conversation I had unconsciously forgotten much of my
Hibernian accent, and I thought that the sick man began to suspect that I
was not what my appearance indicated. It alarmed me for a moment, but I
soon recovered my composure after stepping forward and examining his
pulse, for he was fast sinking, and the little strength which he seemed to
have a short time before was nearly exhausted. After studying my
countenance a few moments he asked me to pray with him. I did not dare to
refuse the dying man's request, nor did I dare to approach my Maker in an
assumed tone of voice; so I knelt down beside him, and in my own natural
voice breathed a brief and earnest prayer for the departing soldier, for
grace to sustain him in that trying hour, and finally for the triumph of
truth and right.
When I arose from my knees he grasped my hand eagerly and said: "Please
tell me who you are. I cannot, if I would, betray you, for I shall very
soon be standing before that God whom you have just addressed." I could
not tell him the truth and I would not tell him a falsehood, so I evaded a
direct reply, but promised that when he became stronger I would tell him
my history. He smiled languidly and closed his eyes, as much as to say
that he understood me.
It was now growing late. I was not far from the rebel lines, but was not
able to successfully act a part in my present debilitated condition, and
besides, I was glad that I could consistently remain over night with that
poor dying man, rebel though he was. I began to look around for something
which I might convert into a light, but did not succeed in finding
anything better than a piece of salt pork, which I fried, pouring the fat
into a dish in which I put a cotton rag, and then lighting the end of the
rag I found I had secured quite a respectable light. After making some
corn-meal gruel for my patient, I took care to fasten the doors and
windows so that no one could enter the house without my knowledge, and
screened the windows so that no light might attract the rebel scouts.
Thus with a sort of feeling of security I took my seat beside the sick
man. The dews of death were already gathering on his pallid brow. I took
his hand in mine, examined his pulse again, and wiped the cold
perspiration from his forehead. Oh how those beautiful eyes thanked me for
these little acts of kindness! He felt in his heart that I did not
sympathize with him as a rebel, but that I was willing to do all that a
sister could do for him in this hour of trial. This seemed to call forth
more gratitude than if I had been heart and hand with the South. He looked
up suddenly and saw me weeping--for I could not restrain my tears--he
seemed then to understand that he was really dying. Looking a little
startled he exclaimed--"Am I really dying?"
Oh, how often have I been obliged to answer that awful question in the
affirmative! "Yes, you are dying, my friend. Is your peace made with
God?" He replied, "My trust is in Christ; He was mine in life, and in
death He will not forsake me"--almost the very words I heard a dying
Federal soldier say, a few days before, at the hospital in Williamsburg. A
few weeks previous these two men had been arrayed against each other in
deadly strife; yet they were brethren; their faith and hope were the same;
they both trusted in the same Saviour for salvation.
Then he said, "I have a last request to make. If you ever pass through the
Confederate camp between this and Richmond inquire for Major McKee, of
General Ewell's staff, and give him a gold watch which you will find in my
pocket; he will know what to do with it; and tell him I died happy,
peacefully." He then told me his name and the regiment to which he had
belonged. His name was Allen Hall. Taking a ring from his finger he tried
to put it on mine, but his strength failed, and after a pause he said,
"Keep that ring in memory of one whose sufferings you have alleviated, and
whose soul has been refreshed by your prayers in the hour of dissolution."
Then folding his hands together as a little child would do at its mother's
knee, he smiled a mute invitation for prayer. After a few moments'
agonizing prayer in behalf of that departing spirit, the dying man raised
himself up in the bed and cried out with his dying breath, "Glory to God!
Glory to God! I am almost home!"
He was almost gone. I gave him some water, raised the window, and using my
hat for a fan, I sat down and watched the last glimmering spark of light
go out from those beautiful windows of the soul. Putting his hand in mine
he signed to me to raise his head in my arms. I did so, and in a few
moments he ceased to breathe.
He died about twelve o'clock--his hand clasping mine in the painful grip
of death, my arm supporting him, and his head leaning on my bosom like a
wearied child. I laid him down, closed his eyes, and straightened his
rigid limbs; then folding his hands across his breast, I drew his blanket
close around him and left him in the silent embrace of death. The
beautiful, calm expression of his face made me think he looked
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
This was rather a strange position for me to occupy at midnight--alone
with death! Yet I thanked God that it was my privilege to be there; and I
thanked Him for the religion of Jesus which was the strength of my heart
in that trying hour. Yes, I could then rejoice in the providence which had
detained me in the Chickahominy swamp, and had thus brought me to the
bedside of that suffering stranger. Profound silence reigned supreme, and
there was naught to chase away the darkness of that gloomy midnight hour
save the consciousness that God was there.
I felt it good thus to be drawn away from the tumult of war, and there, in
the presence of the angel of death, hold communion with my own heart and
drink deep from the well of holy meditation. I thought there were happy
spirits hovering round the lifeless form of him who was so lovable in life
and lovely in death. Yes, I imagined the shining host had returned from
escorting the triumphant spirit to the Throne of God, and were now
watching the beautiful casket which had encased the bright spirit whose
companionship had made some southern home bright and joyous.
I thought, too, of the loved ones who had gone and left me to finish my
journey alone, and who would soon come to bear me away to that bright
eternal world, if I only proved faithful unto death. "How impressively
sad, how thrillingly beautiful, the lesson we glean from this silent
spirit communion! Our physical nature starts and shudders at the thought
of joining the silent numbers of the dead; but our spiritual nature
catches a glimpse of that spirit-life beyond the portals of the tomb,
where life, pure, free and joyous, shall be ours."
A lesson sad, but fraught with good--
A tearful one, but strengthening food--
Thou givest me;
We learn that "dust returns to dust,"
Anew in God we put our trust,
And bow the knee.