CONCLUSION.
General Grant at City Point. -- The End of the Rebellion. 556
ILLUSTRATIONS
Page
Charge Through an Abatis _frontispiece_
The First Subscription 1
Capitol at Washington 4
Pro Patria 7
Sixth Massachusetts Regiment in Baltimore 8
Guarding Long Bridge 12
Aid Society's Store-Room 16
The Ideal Freedman 16
Ladies Working for the Army 22
Forwarded Free 29
Ellsworth Zouave Drill 46
General Grant--General Sherman 54
Hauling Cotton 62
Baltimore in 1861 75
East Tennessee Refugees 92
A Mississippi School-House 96
Gunboats in Line 102
With Dispatch 109
General Mcclellan at Williamsburg 110
General Mcclellan at the Battle of Antietam 114
The Sunken Road 118
Battle of Antietam 120
For the Boys in Blue 121
Slaves Fleeing to the Army for Protection 128
A Silent Spectator 136
Fredericksburg 140
Franklin's Attack 155
Tattoo 173
The Magic Lantern in the Hospital 174
The Christian Commission in the Field 176
Busy Fingers 178
Chancellorsville 188
Battery at Chancellorsville 194
Sedgwick's Attack 201
Leading a Charge 204
Salem Church 208
"Keep Out of the Draft" 211
Night March of Cavalry 214
Kearny Cross 223
The Nation's Ward 234
A Bird's-Nest Bank 247
Cavalry Charge 258
Advance to Gettysburg 263
The Color-Bearer 272
Gettysburg Battle-field 280
With a "Hurrah" They Rush On 296
A Regiment at Dinner 305
Wilderness 317
Spottsylvania 323
The Sanitary Commission in the Hospital 326
North Anna 331
Bayonet Charge 332
Cold Harbor 334
Negroes Coming into the Lines 344
Foraging 348
One Day's Labor, One Day's Income 362
Petersburg, July 17, 1864 365
Petersburg, July 30, 1864 368
Army Corps Chapel Near Petersburg 368
Ruins of Chambersburg 388
A Lay Delegate in the Hospital 390
Edward Everett--Mt Vernon--Savannah--The Capitol 401
Sherman's Bummers 420
Fort Sumter 435
Mississippi River Hospital Steamer 443
Battle Of Fort Sumter 444
Cooper Shop Volunteer Refreshment Saloon 453
Defence of Fort Sumter 456
For Our Flag 461
"John Brown" in Charleston 480
Citizens' Volunteer Hospital 484
Troops Destroying A Railroad 486
Fire Ambulance 498
Humiliation Of Richmond 506
Farragut at Mobile 510
President Lincoln in Richmond 512
Abraham Lincoln 514
U. S. Christian Commission 522
Captain Winslow and the Kearsarge--Admiral Farragut 528
Patriot Orphan Home, Flushing, L. I. 542
Surrender of General Lee 544
General Lee's Farewell 554
Study for a Statue of Lincoln 555
Assassination of Lincoln 556
With a Lavish Hand 558
[Illustration: The first subscription.]
[Illustration: Capitol at Washington.]
THE BOYS OF '61.
INTRODUCTORY.
BEGINNING OF THE CONFLICT.
[Sidenote: June, 1861.]
After four years of war our country rests in peace. The Great
Rebellion has been subdued, and the power and authority of the United
States government are recognized in all the States. It has been a
conflict of ideas and principles. Millions of men have been in arms.
Great battles have been fought. There have been deeds of sublimest
heroism and exhibitions of Christian patriotism which shall stir the
hearts of those who are to live in the coming ages. Men who at the
beginning of the struggle were scarcely known beyond their village
homes are numbered now among
"the immortal names
That were not born to die";
while the names of others who once occupied places of honor and trust,
who forswore their allegiance to their country and gave themselves to
do wickedly, shall be held forever in abhorrence.
It has been my privilege to accompany the armies of the Union through
this mighty struggle. I was an eye-witness of the first battle at Bull
Run, of Fort Donelson, Pittsburg Landing, Corinth, Island No. 10, Fort
Pillow, Memphis, Antietam, Fredericksburg, Gettysburg, Fort Sumter,
Wilderness, Spottsylvania, North Anna, Hanover Court-House, Cold
Harbor, Petersburg, Weldon Railroad, and Five Forks. I was in Savannah
soon after its occupation by Sherman on his great march to the sea,
and watched his movement "northward with the sun." I walked the
streets of Charleston in the hour of her deepest humiliation, and
rode into Richmond on the day that the stars of the Union were thrown
in triumph to the breeze above the Confederate Capitol.
It seems a dream, and yet when I turn to the numerous note-books lying
before me, and read the pencilings made on the march, the
battle-field, in the hospital, and by the flickering camp-fires, it is
no longer a fancy or a picture of the imagination, but a reality. The
scenes return. I behold once more the moving columns,--their waving
banners,--the sunlight gleaming from gun-barrel and bayonet,--the
musket's flash and cannon's flame. I hear the drum-beat and the wild
hurrah! Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, Meade, Burnside, Howard, Hancock,
and Logan are leading them; while Sedgwick, Wadsworth, McPherson,
Mansfield, Richardson, Rice, Baker, Wallace, Shaw, Lowell, Winthrop,
Putnam, and thousands of patriots, are laying down their lives for
their country. Abraham Lincoln walks the streets of Richmond, and is
hailed as the Great Deliverer,--the ally of the Messiah!
It will be my aim in this volume to reproduce some of those
scenes,--to give truthful narratives of events, descriptions of
battles, incidents of life in camp, in the hospital, on the march, in
the hour of battle on land and sea,--writing nothing in malice, not
even towards those who have fought against the Union. I shall endeavor
to give the truth of history rather than the romance; facts instead of
philosophy; to make real the scenes of the mighty struggle through
which we have passed.
On the 11th of June, 1861, I left Boston to become an Army
Correspondent. The patriotism of the North was at flood-tide. Her
drum-beat was heard in every village. Men were leaving their own
affairs to serve their country. The stars and stripes waved from
house-top and steeple. New York was a sea of banners. Ladies wore
Union rosettes in their hair, while gentlemen's neck-ties were of
"red, white, and blue." That family was poor indeed who could neither
by cloth or colored tissue-paper manifest its love for the Union. The
music of the streets--vocal and instrumental--was "Hail Columbia" and
"Yankee Doodle." Everywhere,--in city and town and village, in Boston,
New York, and Philadelphia,--there was the same spirit manifested by
old and young, of both sexes, to put down the Rebellion, cost what it
might of blood and treasure.
Baltimore presented a striking contrast to the other great cities. It
was dull and gloomy. The stars and stripes waved over the Eutaw House,
from the American newspaper office, where the brothers Fulton
maintained unswerving loyalty. A few other residents had thrown the
flag to the breeze, but Secession was powerful, and darkly plotted
treason. There was frequent communication with the Rebels, who were
mustering at Manassas. Business was at a stand still. The pulses of
trade had stopped. Merchants waited in vain for customers through the
long summer day. Females, calling themselves ladies, daintily gathered
up their skirts whenever they passed an officer or soldier wearing the
army blue in the streets, and manifested in other ways their utmost
contempt for all who supported the Union.
General Butler, who had subdued the rampant Secessionists by his
vigorous measures, had been ordered to Fortress Monroe, and General
Banks had just assumed command. His head-quarters were in Fort
McHenry. A regiment of raw Pennsylvanians was encamped on the hill, by
the roadside leading to the fort. Officers and soldiers alike were
ignorant of military tactics. Three weeks previous they were following
the plough, or digging in the coal-mines, or smelting iron. It was
amusing to watch their attempts at evolution. They were drilling by
squads and companies. "Right face," shouted an officer to his squad. A
few executed the order correctly, some faced to the left, while others
faced first right, then left, and general confusion ensued.
So, too, were the officers ignorant of proper military phrases. At one
time a captain, whose last command had been a pair of draft-horses on
his Pennsylvania farm, on coming to a pit in the road, electrified his
company by the stentorian order to "Gee round that hole."
It was a beautiful evening, and the moon was shining brightly, when I
called upon General Banks. Outside the fort were the field batteries
belonging to the Baltimore Artillery which had been delivered up to
Governor Hicks in April. The Secessionists raved over the transaction
at the time, and in their rage cursed the Governor who turned them
over to the United States authorities. Soldiers were building abattis,
and training guns--sixty-four pounders--to bear upon the city, for
even then there were signs of an upheaval of the Secession elements,
and General Banks deemed it best to be prepared for whatever might
happen. But the Rebels on that day were moving from Harper's Ferry,
having destroyed all the property of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad
Company in the vicinity.
Passing on to Washington I found it in a hubbub. Troops were pouring
in, raw, undisciplined, yet of material to make the best soldiers in
the world,--poets, painters, artists, artisans, mechanics, printers,
men of letters, bankers, merchants, and ministers were in the ranks.
There was a constant rumble of artillery in the streets,--the jarring
of baggage-wagons, and the tramping of men. Soldiers were quartered in
the Capitol. They spread their blankets in the corridors, and made
themselves at home in the halls. Hostilities had commenced. Ellsworth
had just been carried to his last resting-place. The bodies of
Winthrop and Greble were then being borne to burial, wrapped in the
flag of their country.
Colonel Stone, with a number of regiments, was marching out from
Washington to picket the Potomac from Washington to Point of Rocks.
General Patterson was on the upper Potomac, General McClellan and
General Rosecrans, with Virginia and Ohio troops, were driving the
Rebels from Rich Mountain, while General McDowell was preparing to
move upon Manassas.
These were all new names to the public. Patterson had served in the
Mexican war, but the people had forgotten it. McClellan was known only
as an engineer, who had made a report concerning the proposed railroad
to the Pacific, and had visited Russia during the Crimean war. General
Wool was in New York, old and feeble, too far advanced in life to take
the field. The people were looking up to General Scott as the Hercules
of the hour. Some one had called him the "Great Captain of the Age."
He was of gigantic stature, and had fought gallantly on the Canadian
frontier in 1812, and with his well-appointed army had marched in
triumph into the City of Mexico. The events of the last war with
England, and that with Mexico, in which General Scott was always the
central figure, had been rehearsed by the stump-orators of a great
political party during an exciting campaign. His likeness was familiar
to every American. It was to be found in parlors, saloons, beer-shops,
and in all public places,--representing him as a hero in
gold-embroidered coat, epaulets, chapeau, and nodding plume. His was
the genius to direct the gathering hosts. So the people believed. He
was a Virginian, but loyal. The newspapers lauded him.
"General Scott is watching the Rebels with sleepless vigilance," was
the not unfrequent telegraphic despatch sent from Washington.
But he was seventy-five years of age. His powers were failing. His old
wound troubled him at times. He could walk only with difficulty, and
it tired him to ride the few rods between his house and the War
Department. He was slow and sluggish in all his thoughts and actions.
Yet the people had confidence in him, and he in himself.
The newspapers were filled with absurd rumors and statements
concerning the movements and intentions of the Rebels. It was said
that Beauregard had sixty thousand men at Manassas. A New York paper,
having a large circulation, pictured Manassas as an impregnable
position; a plain commanded by heavy guns upon the surrounding hills!
It is indeed a plain, but the "commanding" hills are wanting. Rumor
reported that General Joseph E. Johnston, who was in the Shenandoah
valley, destroying the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, and burning the
bridges across the Potomac, had thirty thousand men; but we now know
that his whole force consisted of nine regiments, two battalions of
infantry, three hundred cavalry, and sixteen pieces of artillery.
It was for the interest of the Rebels to magnify their numbers and
resources. These exaggerations had their effect at the War Department
in Washington. General Butler proposed the early occupation of
Manassas, to cut off communication by rail between Richmond and upper
Virginia, but his proposition was rejected by General Scott. The
troops in and around Washington were only partially organized into
brigades. There was not much system. Everybody was full of zeal and
energy, and there was manifest impatience among the soldiers at the
inactivity of the commander-in-chief.
The same was true of the Rebels. They were mustering at Manassas.
Regiments and battalions were pouring through Richmond. Southern women
welcomed them with sweetest smiles, presented them with fairest
flowers, and urged them on to drive the "usurper" from Washington.
Southern newspapers, from the commencement, had been urging the
capture of the Federal capital. Said the Richmond _Examiner_, of April
23d:--
"The capture of Washington is perfectly within the power of
Virginia and Maryland, if Virginia will only make the effort by
her constituted authorities. Nor is there a single moment to
lose. The entire population pant for the onset....
"From the mountain-tops and valleys to the shores of the sea,
there is one wild shout of fierce resolve to capture Washington
City, at all and every human hazard. That filthy cage of unclean
birds must and will assuredly be purified by fire.... It is not
to be endured that this flight of abolition harpies shall come
down from the black North for their roosts in the heart of the
South, to defile and brutalize the land.... Our people can take
it,--they _will_ take it,--and Scott the arch-traitor, and
Lincoln the beast, combined, cannot prevent it. The just
indignation of an outraged and deeply injured people will teach
the Illinois Ape to repeat his race and retrace his journey
across the borders of the free negro States still more rapidly
than he came; and Scott the traitor will be given the opportunity
at the same time to try the difference between Scott's tactics
and the Shanghae drill for quick movements.
"Great cleansing and purification are needed and will be given to
that festering sink of iniquity,--that wallow of Lincoln and
Scott,--the desecrated city of Washington; and many indeed will
be the carcasses of dogs and caitiffs that will blacken the air
upon the gallows before the work is accomplished. So let it be."
General Beauregard was the most prominent of the Rebel commanders,
having been brought before the public by the surrender of Fort Sumter.
Next in prominence were the two Johnstons, Joseph E. and Albert
Sydney, and General Bragg. Stonewall Jackson had not been heard from.
Leo had just gone over to the Rebels. He had remained with General
Scott,--his confidant and chief adviser,--till the 19th of April, and
was made commander of the Rebel forces in Virginia on the 22d. The
Convention of Virginia, then in session at Richmond, passed the
ordinance of secession on the 17th,--to be submitted to the people for
ratification or rejection five weeks later. Lee had therefore
committed an act of treason without the paltry justification of the
plea that he was following the lead of his State.
Such was the general aspect of affairs when, in June, I received
permission from the War Department to become an army correspondent.
[Illustration: Pro Patria.]
CHAPTER I.
AROUND WASHINGTON.
[Sidenote: June, 1861.]
In March, 1861, there was no town in Virginia more thriving than
Alexandria; in June there was no place so desolate and gloomy. I
visited it on the 17th. Grass was growing in the streets. Grains of
corn had sprouted on the wharves, and were throwing up luxuriant
stalks. The wholesale stores were all closed; the dwelling-houses were
shut. Few of the inhabitants were to be seen. The stars and stripes
waved over the Marshall House, the place where Ellsworth fell. A mile
out from the city, on a beautiful plain, was the camp of the
Massachusetts Fifth, in which were two companies from Charlestown.
When at home they were accustomed to celebrate the anniversary of the
battle of Bunker Hill. Although now in the enemy's country, they could
not forget the day. They sat down to an ample collation. Eloquent
speeches were made, and an ode was sung, written by one of their
number.
"Though many miles away
From home and friends to-day,
We're cheerful still;
For, brothers, side by side
We stand in manly pride,
Beneath the shadow wide
Of Bunker Hill."
Boom--boom--boom was the quick report of far-distant cannon. What
could it be? A reconnoitring party of Ohio troops had gone up the
Loudon railroad. Had anything happened to them? There were eager
inquiries. The men fall into line, prepared for any emergency. A few
hours later the train returned, bringing back the mangled bodies of
those who fell in the ambuscade at Vienna.
[Illustration: Sixth Massachusetts regiment in Baltimore.]
I talked with the wounded. They were moving slowly up the road,--a
regiment on platform cars, pushed by the engine. Before reaching
Vienna an old man stepped out from the bushes making signs and
gestures for them to stop.
"Don't go. The Rebels are at Vienna."
"Only guerillas, I reckon," said one of the officers.
General Schenck, who was in command, waved his hand to the engineer,
and the train moved on. Suddenly there were quick discharges of
artillery, a rattling fire of small arms, and unearthly yells from
front and flank, within an hundred yards. The unsuspecting soldiers
were riddled with solid shot, canister, and rifle-balls. Some tumbled
headlong, never to rise again. Those who were uninjured leaped from
the cars. There was great confusion.
"Lie down!" cried some of the officers.
"Fall in!" shouted others.
Each did, for the moment, what seemed best. Some of the soldiers fired
at random, in the direction of the unseen enemy. Some crouched behind
the cars; others gained the shelter of the woods, where a line was
formed.
"Why don't you fall into line?" was the sharp command of an officer to
a soldier standing beside a tree.
"I would, sir, if I could," was the reply, and the soldier exhibited
his arm, torn by a cannon shot.
They gathered up the wounded, carried them to the rear in blankets,
began their homeward march, while the Rebels, eleven hundred strong,
up to this moment sheltered behind a woodpile, rushed out, destroyed
the cars, and retreated to Fairfax.
When the news reached Alexandria, a portion of the troops there were
hastily sent forward; they had a weary march. Morning brought no
breakfast, noon no dinner. A Secessionist had fled from his home,
leaving his flocks and herds behind. The Connecticut boys appropriated
one of the cows. They had no camp utensils, and were forced to broil
their steaks upon the coals. It was my first dinner in the field. Salt
was lacking, but hunger gave the meat an excellent seasoning. For
table and furniture we had the head of a barrel, a jack-knife, and a
chop-stick cut from a hazel-bush.
Congress assembled on the 4th of July, and the members availed
themselves of the opportunity to visit the troops. Vallandigham of
Ohio, who by word and act had manifested his sympathy for the Rebels,
visited the Second Ohio, commanded by Colonel McCook, afterwards
Major-General. I witnessed the reception given him by the boys of the
Buckeye State. The officers treated him courteously, but not
cordially. Not so the men.
"There is that d--d traitor in camp," said one, with flashing eyes.
"He is no better than a Rebel," said another.
"He helped slaughter our boys at Vienna the other day," said a third.
"Let us hustle him out of camp," remarked a fourth.
"Don't do anything rash. Let us inform him that his presence is not
desired," said one.
A committee was chosen to wait upon Vallandigham. They performed their
duty respectfully. He heard them, and became red in the face.
"Do you think that I am to be intimidated by a pack of blackguards
from northern Ohio?" he said. "I shall come to this camp as often as I
please,--every day if I choose,--and I give you notice that I will
have you taken care of. I shall report your insolence. I will see if a
pass from General Scott is not to be respected."
Turning to the officers, he began to inquire the names of the
soldiers. The news that Vallandigham was there had spread throughout
the camp, and a crowd was gathering. The soldiers were sore over the
slaughter at Vienna, and began to manifest their hatred and contempt
by groans and hisses.
"If you expect to frighten me, you have mistaken your man. I am
ashamed of you. I am sorry for the honor of the State that you have
seen fit to insult me," he said.
"Who has the most reason to be ashamed, you of us, or we of you?" said
one of the soldiers. "We are here fighting for our country, which you
are trying to destroy. What is your shame worth? You fired at us the
other day. You helped kill our comrades. There isn't a loyal man in
the country whose cheek does not redden with shame whenever your name
is mentioned," was the indignant reply.
Vallandigham walked into the officers' quarters. The soldiers soon
had an effigy, labelled "Vallandigham the traitor," hanging by the
neck from a tree. They riddled it with bullets, then took it down and
rode it on a rail, the fifers playing the "Rogues' March." When
Vallandigham left the camp, they gave him a farewell salute of groans
and hisses. A few of the soldiers threw onions and old boots at him,
but his person was uninjured. He did not repeat his visit. He was so
cross-grained by nature, so thorough a traitor, that through the
session of Congress and through the war he lost no opportunity to
manifest his hatred of the soldiers.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: July, 1861.]
It was past sunset on the 9th of July, when, accompanied by a friend,
I left Alexandria for Washington in an open carriage. Nearing the Long
Bridge, an officer on horseback, in a red-flannel blouse, dashed down
upon us, saying: "I am an officer of the Garibaldi Guard; my regiment
has mutinied, and the men are on their way to Washington! I want you
to hurry past them, give notice to the guard at the Long Bridge, and
have the draw taken up." We promised to do so if possible, and soon
came upon the mutineers, who were hastening towards the bridge. They
were greatly excited. They were talking loud and boisterously in
German. Their guns were loaded. There were seven nations represented
in the regiment. Few of them could understand English. We knew that if
we could get in advance of them, the two six-pounders looking down the
Long Bridge, with grape and canister rammed home, would quell the
mutiny. We passed those in the rear, had almost reached the head of
the column, when out sprang a dozen in front of us and levelled their
guns. Click--click--click went the locks.
"You no goes to Vashington in ze advance!" said one.
"You falls in ze rear!" said another.
"What does this mean?" said my friend, who was an officer. "Where is
your captain?" he asked.
The captain came up.
"What right have your men to stop us, sir? Who gave them authority? We
have passes, sir; explain this matter."
The captain, a stout, thick-set German, was evidently completely
taken aback by these questions, but, after a moment's hesitation,
replied,--
"No, zur, they no stops you; it was von mistake, zur. They will do zo
no more." Then approaching close to the carriage, he lowered his
voice, and in a confidential tone, as if we were his best friends,
asked, "Please, zur, vill you be zo kind as to tell me vat is the
passvord?"
"It's not nine o'clock yet. The sentinels are not posted. You need
none."
A tall, big-whiskered soldier had been listening. He could speak
English quite well, and, evidently desiring to apologize for the
rudeness of his comrades, approached and said, "You see we
Garibaldians are having a time of it, and--"
Here the captain gave him a vigorous push, with a "Hush!" long drawn,
which had a great deal of meaning in it.
"I begs your pardons for ze interruption," said the captain, extending
his hand and bowing politely.
Once more we moved on, but again the excited leaders, more furious
than before, thrust their bayonets in our faces, again saying, "You no
goes to Vashington in ze advance." One of them took deliberate aim at
my breast, his eyes glaring fiercely.
It would have been the height of madness to disregard their
demonstration. They had reached the guard at the Virginia end of the
bridge, who, at a loss to know what it meant, allowed them to pass
unchallenged.
[Illustration: Guarding long bridge.]
Now that we were compelled to follow, there was time to think of
contingencies. What if our horses had started? or what if in the
darkness a soldier, grieving over his imaginary wrong, and reckless of
life, had misunderstood us? or what if the loyal officers of the
regiment remaining at Alexandria had given notice by telegraph of what
had happened, and those two cannon at the Washington end of the bridge
had poured their iron hail and leaden rain along the causeway? It was
not pleasant to think of these possibilities, but we were in for
whatever might happen; and, remembering that God's providence is
always good and never evil, we followed our escort over the bridge.
They halted on the avenue, while we rode with all speed to General
Mansfield's quarters.
"I'll have every one of the rascals shot!" said the gray-haired
veteran commanding the forces in Washington. An hour later the
Garibaldians found themselves surrounded by five thousand infantry.
They laid down their arms when they saw it was no use to resist, were
marched back to Alexandria, and put to the hard drudgery of camp life.
* * * * *
The soldiers had an amusing story to tell of one of their number who
went into the lager-beer business, the sale of beer being then
allowed. A sutler put a barrel on tap, and soon had a crowd of thirsty
customers. But the head of the barrel was exposed in the rear. A
soldier spying it, soon had that end on tap, and was doing a thriving
business, selling at five cents a glass from his end of the barrel. He
had a constant run of custom. When the crowd had satisfied their
thirst, one of the soldiers approached the sutler.
"What do you charge for a glass?" he asked.
"Ten cents."
"Ten cents! Why, I can get just as much as I want for five."
"Not in this camp."
"Yes, sir, in this camp."
"Where, I should like to know?"
"Right round here."
The sutler crawled out from his tent to see about it, and stood
transfixed with astonishment when he beheld the operation at the other
end of his barrel. He was received with a hearty laugh, while the
ingenious Yankee who was drawing the lager had the impudence to ask
him if he wouldn't take a drink!
Virginia was pre-eminently the land of a feudal aristocracy, which
prided itself on name and blood,--an aristocracy delighting to trace
its lineage back to the cavaliers of Old England, and which looked
down with haughty contempt upon the man who earned his bread by the
sweat of his brow. The original "gentleman" of Virginia possessed
great estates, which were not acquired by thrift and industry, but
received as grants through kingly favor. But a thriftless system of
agriculture, pursued unvaryingly through two centuries, had greatly
reduced the patrimony of many sons and daughters of the cavaliers, who
looked out of broken windows and rickety dwellings upon exhausted
lands, overgrown with small oaks and diminutive pines. Yet they clung
with tenacity to their pride.
"The Yankees are nothing but old scrubs," said a little Virginia girl
of only ten years to me.
A young lady was brought to General Tyler's head-quarters at Falls
Church to answer a charge of having given information to the enemy.
Her dress was worn and faded, her shoes were down at the heel and out
at the toes. There was nothing left of the estate of her fathers
except a mean old house and one aged negro slave. She was reduced to
absolute poverty, yet was too proud to work, and was waited upon by
the superannuated negro.
"You are accused, madam, of having given information to the enemy,"
said General Tyler.
The lady bowed haughtily.
"You live in this old house down here?"
"I would have you understand, sir, that my name is Delaney. I did not
expect to be insulted!" she exclaimed, indignantly. Words cannot
describe her proud bearing. It was a manifestation of her regard for
blood, gentility, name, and her hatred of labor. The history of the
Rebellion was in that reply.
Virginia was also the land of sirens. A captain in a Connecticut
regiment, lured by the sweet voice of a young lady, went outside of
the pickets to spend a pleasant hour; but suddenly the Philistines
were upon him, and he was a captive. Delilah mocked him as he was led
away. Walking along the picket line on the 12th of July, I found a
half-dozen Connecticut boys under a fence, keeping close watch of
Delilah's mansion.
"There is a girl over there," said one of them, "who enticed our
captain up to the house yesterday, when he was captured. Last night
she came out and sung a song, and asked a lieutenant to go in and see
her piano and take tea; but he smelt a rat, and was shy. To-night
there are four of us going to creep up close to the house, and he is
going in to see the piano."
The trap was set, but the Rebels did not fall into it.
The pickets brought in a negro, one of the first contrabands who came
into the lines of the army of the Potomac. He was middle-aged, tall,
black, and wore a checked cotton shirt and slouched hat. His boots
were as sorry specimens of old leather as ever were worn by human
beings. He came up timidly to head-quarters, guarded by two soldiers.
He made a low bow to the General, not only with his head, but with his
whole body and legs, ending the _salaam_ with a scrape of his left
foot, rolling his eyes and grinning from ear to ear.
"What is your name?" asked the General.
"Sam Allston, sah."
"Who do you belong to?"
"I belongs to Massa Allston, sah, from Souf Carolina."
"Where is your master?"
"He be at Fairfax; he belong to Souf Carolina regiment, sah."
"How came you here?"
"Why, ye see, General, massa told me to go out and buy some chickens,
and I come right straight down here, sah."
"You didn't expect to buy them here, did you?"
"No, sah; but I thought I would like to see de Yankees."
"I reckon I shall have to send you back, Sam."
This was said not seriously, but to test Sam's sincerity.
"I don't want to go back, sah. Wouldn't go back no how if I could help
it; rather go a thousand miles away up Norf than go down Souf, sah.
They knock me about down there. Massa whipped me last week, for
talking with de other niggers about de war. O massa, don't send me
back again! I'll do anything for you, massa."
He was the picture of anguish, and stood wringing his hands while the
tears rolled down his cheeks. Freedom, with all its imagined
blessings, was before him; slavery, with all its certain horrors,
behind him.
The General questioned him about the Rebels.
"They say they will whip you Yankees. Dere's right smart chance of 'em
at Fairfax, General Bonham in command. Souf Carolina is kinder mad at
you Yankees. But now dey is kinder waiting for you to come, though
they be packing up their trunks, as if getting ready to move."
All of his stories corroborated previous intelligence, and his
information was of value.
"Well, Sam, I won't send you back," said the General. "You may go
where you please about the camp."
"De Lord God Almighty bless you, sah!" was the joyful exclamation.
There was no happier man in the world than Sam Allston that night. He
had found that which his soul most longed for,--Freedom!
[Illustration: Aid Society's store-room.]
[Illustration: The ideal freedman.]
CHAPTER II.
BULL RUN.
[Sidenote: July, 1861.]
At noon, on the 17th of July, the troops under General McDowell took
up their line of march toward Fairfax, without baggage, carrying three
days' rations in their haversacks. One division, under General Tyler,
which had been encamped at Falls Church, marched to Vienna, while the
other divisions, moving from Alexandria, advanced upon Fairfax
Court-House.
It was a grand pageant, the long column of bayonets and high-waving
flags. Union men whose homes were at Fairfax accompanied the march.
"It does my eyes good to see the troops in motion at last," said one.
"I have been exiled seven weeks. I know nothing about my family,
although I have been within a dozen miles of them all the time. I came
from the North three years ago. The Secessionists hated me, they
threatened to hang me, and I had to leave mighty sudden."
The head of General Tyler's column reached Vienna at sunset. The
infantry turned into the fields, while the artillery took positions on
the hills. Near the railroad was a large woodpile, behind which the
South Carolinians took shelter, when they fired upon the Ohio boys on
the cars. It was convenient for bivouac fires, and the men helped
themselves willingly. There I received instructions from Captain
Alexander, of the engineers, an old campaigner in Mexico, which,
during the four years of the war, I have never forgotten.
"Always sleep on the lee side of your bivouac fire," he said. "The
fire dries the ground, the heat envelopes you like a blanket; it will
keep off fever and ague. Better endure the discomfort of the smoke,
better look like a Cincinnati ham, than to feel an ache in every bone
in the morning, which you will be likely to feel if you spread your
blankets on the windward side, for then you have little benefit of the
heat, but receive the full rush of the air, which chills you on one
side, while you are roasting on the other." It was wise counsel, and
by heeding it I have saved my bones from many an ache.
It was at this place that a very laughable incident occurred. One of
the citizens of Vienna had a bee-house well stocked with hives. A
soldier espied them. He seized a hive and ran. Out came the bees,
buzzing about his ears. Another soldier, thinking to do better, upset
his hive, and seized the comb, dripping with honey. Being also hotly
besieged, he dropped it, ran his hands through his hair, slapped his
face, swung his arms, and fought manfully. Other soldiers seeing what
was going on, and anxious to secure a portion of the coveted sweets,
came up, and over went the half-dozen hives. The air was full of
enraged insects, which stung men and horses indiscriminately, and
which finally put a whole regiment to flight.
The Southern newspapers at this time were "firing the Southern heart,"
as they phrased it, by picturing the vandalism of the North.
Beauregard, on the 5th of June, at Manassas, issued a manifesto
addressed "to the people of the counties of Loudon, Fairfax, and
Prince William." Thus it read:--
"A reckless and unprincipled tyrant has invaded your soil.
Abraham Lincoln, regardless of all moral, legal, and
constitutional restraints, has thrown his abolition hosts among
you, who are murdering and imprisoning your citizens,
confiscating and destroying your property, and committing other
acts of violence and outrage too shocking and revolting to
humanity to be enumerated.
"All rules of civilized warfare are abandoned, and they proclaim
by their acts, if not on their banners, that their war cry is
'Beauty and Booty.' All that is dear to man,--your honor, and
that of your wives and daughters,--your fortunes and your lives,
are involved in this momentous conflict."
In contrast to this fulmination of falsehoods, General McDowell had
issued an order on the 2d of June, three days previous, directing
officers to transmit statements on the following points:--
"_First._ The quantity of land taken possession of for the
several field-works, and the kind and value of the crops growing
thereon, if any. _Second._ The quantity of land used for the
several encampments, and the kind and value of the growing
crops, if any. _Third._ The number, size, and character of the
buildings appropriated to public purposes. _Fourth._ The quantity
and value of trees cut down. _Fifth._ The kind and extent of
fencing destroyed. These statements will, as far as possible,
give the value of the property taken, or of the damage sustained,
and the name or names of the owners."[1]
[Footnote 1: McDowell's Order.]
A portion of the troops bivouacked in an oat-field, where the grain
was standing in shocks, and some of the artillerymen appropriated the
convenient forage.
The owner was complaining bitterly of the devastations. "They have
taken my grain, and I want my pay for it," he said to me.
"Are you a Union man?" I asked.
"I was for the Union till Virginia seceded, and of course had to go
with her; but whether I am a Union man or not, the government is bound
to respect private property," he replied.
At that moment General Tyler rode past.
"Say, General, ain't you going to pay me for my property which your
soldiers destroyed?"
"There is my quartermaster; he will settle it with you."
The man received a voucher for whatever had been taken. The column
took up its line of march, passed through a narrow belt of woods, and
reached a hill from which Fairfax Court-House was in full view. A
Rebel flag was waving over the town. There were two pieces of Rebel
artillery in a field, a dozen wagons in park, squads of soldiers in
sight, horsemen galloping in all directions. Nearer, in a meadow was a
squadron of cavalry on picket. I stood beside Captain (since General)
Hawley of Connecticut, commanding the skirmishers.
"Let me take your Sharpe's rifle," said he to a soldier. He rested it
on the fence, ran his eye along the barrel, and fired. The nearest
Rebel horseman, half a mile distant, slipped from his horse in an
instant, and fell upon the ground. It was the first shot fired by the
grand army on the march towards Manassas. The other troopers put spurs
to their horses and fled towards Fairfax, where a sudden commotion was
visible.
"The Rebels are in force just ahead!" said an officer who had
advanced a short distance into the woods.
"First and second pieces into position," said Captain Varian,
commanding a New York battery. The horses leaped ahead, and in a
moment the two pieces were pointing toward Fairfax. The future
historian, or the traveller wandering over the battle-fields of the
Rebellion, who may be curious to know where the first cannon-shots
were fired, will find the locality at Flint Hill, at that time the
site of a small school-house. The cannon were on either side of the
building.
"Load with shell," was the order, and the cartridges went home in an
instant.
Standing behind the pieces and looking directly along the road under
the shadow of the overhanging trees, I could see the Rebels in a
hollow beyond a farm-house. The shells went screaming towards them,
and in an instant they disappeared, running into the woods, casting
away blankets, haversacks, and other equipments.
The column moved on. The occupants of the house met us with joyful
countenances. The good woman, formerly from New Jersey, brought out a
pan of milk, at which we took a long pull.
"I can't take pay; it is pay enough to see your countenances," she
said.
Turning from Fairfax road the troops moved toward Germantown, north of
Fairfax,--a place of six miserable huts, over one of which the
Confederate flag was flying. Bonham's brigade of South Carolinians was
there. Ayer's battery galloped into position. A shell was sent among
them. They were about leaving, having been ordered to retreat by
Beauregard. The shell accelerated their movements. Camp equipage,
barrels of flour, clothing, entrenching tools, were left behind, and
we made ourselves merry over their running.
Those were the days of romance. War was a pastime, a picnic, an
agreeable diversion.
A gray-haired old negro came out from his cabin, rolling his eyes and
gazing at the Yankees.
"Have you seen any Rebels this morning?" we asked.
"Gosh a'mighty, massa! Dey was here as thick as bees, ges 'fore you
cum; but when dat ar bumshell cum screaming among 'em, dey ran as if
de Ole Harry was after 'em."
All of this, the flight of the Rebels, the negro's story, was
exhilarating to the troops, who more than ever felt that the march to
Richmond was going to be a nice affair.
On the morning of the 18th the head of the column entered Centreville,
once a thrifty place, where travellers from the western counties found
convenient rest on their journeys to Washington and Alexandria. Its
vitality was gone. The houses were old and poor. Although occupying
one of the most picturesque situations in the world, it was in the
last stages of decay.
A German met us with a welcome. Negro women peeped at us through the
chinks of the walls where the clay had fallen out. At a large
two-story house, which in former days reflected the glory of the Old
Dominion, sat a man far gone with consumption. He had a pitiful story
to tell of his losses by the Rebels.
Here we saw the women of Centreville, so accomplished in the practice
of snuff-dipping, filling their teeth and gums with snuff, and passing
round the cup with one swab for the company!
Richardson's brigade turned towards Blackburn's ford. Suddenly there
was a booming of artillery, followed by a sharp skirmish, which
Beauregard in his Report calls the first battle of Manassas. This was
in distinction from that fought on the 21st, which is generally known
as the battle of Bull Run.
It was a reconnoissance on the part of General Tyler to feel the
position of the enemy. It might have been conducted more adroitly,
without sacrifice. Under cover of skirmishers and artillery, their
positions would have been ascertained; no doubt their batteries could
have been carried if suitable arrangements had been made. But the long
cannonading brought down hosts of reinforcements from Manassas. And
when too late, three or four regiments were ordered down to the
support of the Union troops.
The First Massachusetts received the hottest of the fire. One soldier
in the thickest of the fight was shot; he passed his musket to his
comrade, saying, "It is all right, Bill," and immediately expired. The
soldier standing next to Lieutenant-Colonel Wells, received two shots
in his arm. He handed his gun to the Colonel, saying, "Here, I can't
use it; take it and use it." A great many of the soldiers had their
clothes shot through. One had three balls in his coat, but came out
unharmed.
As it is not intended that this volume shall be a history of the war,
but rather a panorama of it, we must pass briefly in review the first
great battle of the war at Bull Run, and the flight to Washington.
The day was calm and peaceful. Everywhere save upon the heights of
Centreville and the plains of Manassas it was a day of rest.
"I'll tell you what I heard that day,--
I heard the great guns far away,
Boom after boom!"
Long before sunrise the troops of the attacking column rose from their
bivouac and moved away towards the west. The sun had but just risen
when Benjamin's batteries were thundering at Blackburn's ford, and
Tyler was pressing upon the Stone Bridge. It was past eight o'clock
before the first light ripple of musketry was heard at Sudley Springs,
where Burnside was turning the left flank of the Rebels. Then came the
opening of the cannonade and the increasing roar as regiment after
regiment fell into line, and moved southward, through the thickets of
pine. Sharp and clear above the musketry rose the cheers of the
combatants.
"If you whip us, you will lick ninety thousand men. We have Johnston's
army with us. Johnston came yesterday, and a lot more from Richmond,"
said a prisoner, boastfully.
Onward pressed the Union troops, success attending their arms. The
battle was going in our favor. It was a little past three o'clock,
when, standing by the broken-down stone bridge which the Rebels had
destroyed, I had a full view of the action going on near Mrs. Henry's
house. The field beyond the Rebel line was full of stragglers.
[Illustration: Ladies working for the Army.]
A correspondent of the Charleston _Mercury_ thus writes of the aspect
of affairs in the Rebel lines at that moment:--
"When I entered the field at two o'clock the fortunes of the day
were dark. The regiments so badly injured, or wounded and worn,
as they staggered out gave gloomy pictures of the scene. We could
not be routed, perhaps, but it is doubtful whether we were
destined to a victory."
"All seemed about to be lost," wrote the correspondent of the Richmond
_Dispatch_. There was a dust-cloud in the west. I saw it rising over
the distant woods, approaching nearer each moment. A few moments later
the fatal mistake of Major Barry was made.[2] Griffin and Ricketts
could have overwhelmed the newly arrived troops, less than three
regiments, with canister. But it was not so to be. One volley from the
Rebels, and the tide of affairs was reversed; and the Union army,
instead of being victor, was vanquished.
[Footnote 2: See "Days and Nights on the Battle-Field," p.
58.]
A few moments before the disaster by Mrs. Henry's house, I walked past
General Schenck's brigade, which was standing in the road a few rods
east of the bridge. A Rebel battery beyond the run was throwing
shells, one of which ploughed through the Second Ohio, mangling two
soldiers, sprinkling their warm blood upon the greensward.
While drinking at a spring, there was a sudden uproar, a rattling of
musketry, and one or two discharges of artillery. Soldiers streamed
past, throwing away their guns and equipments. Ayer's battery dashed
down the turnpike. A baggage wagon was hurled into the ditch in a
twinkling. A hack from Washington, which had brought out a party of
Congressmen, was splintered to kindlings. Drivers cut their horses
loose and fled in precipitate haste. Instinct is quick to act. There
was no time to deliberate, or to obtain information. A swift pace for
a half-mile placed me beyond Cub Run, where, standing on a knoll, I
had a good opportunity to survey the sight, painful, yet ludicrous to
behold. The soldiers, as they crossed the stream, regained their
composure and fell into a walk. But the panic like a wave rolled over
Centreville to Fairfax. The teamsters of the immense wagon train threw
bags of coffee and corn, barrels of beef and pork, and boxes of bread,
upon the ground, and fled in terror towards Alexandria. The fright was
soon over. The lines at Centreville were in tolerable order when I
left that place at five o'clock.
Experience is an excellent teacher, though the tuition is sometimes
expensive. There has been no repetition of the scenes of that
afternoon during the war. The lesson was salutary. The Rebels on
several occasions had the same difficulty. At Fair Oaks, Glendale, and
Malvern we now know how greatly demoralized they became. No troops are
exempt from the liability of a panic. Old players are not secure from
stage fright. The coolest surgeon cannot always control his nerves.
The soldiers of the Union in the battle of Bull Run were not cowards.
They fought resolutely. The contest was sustained from early in the
morning till three in the afternoon. The troops had marched from
Centreville. The heat had been intense. Their breakfast was eaten at
one o'clock in the morning. They were hungry and parched with thirst,
yet they pushed the Rebels back from Sudley Springs, past the turnpike
to the hill by Mrs. Henry's.
There is abundant evidence that the Rebels considered the day as lost,
when Kirby Smith arrived.
Says the writer in the Richmond _Dispatch_, alluded to above:--
"They pressed our left flank for several hours with terrible
effect, but our men flinched not till their numbers had been so
diminished by the well-aimed and steady volleys that they were
compelled to give way for new regiments. The Seventh and Eighth
Georgia Regiments are said to have suffered heavily.
"Between two and three o'clock large numbers of men were leaving
the field, some of them wounded, others exhausted by the long
struggle, who gave us gloomy reports; but as the fire on both
sides continued steadily, we felt sure that our brave Southerners
had not been conquered by the overwhelming hordes of the North.
It is, however, due to truth to say that the result of this hour
hung trembling in the balance. We had lost numbers of our most
distinguished officers. Generals Bartow and Bee had been stricken
down; Lieutenant-Colonel Johnson of the Hampton Legion had been
killed; Colonel Hampton had been wounded.
"Your correspondent heard General Johnson exclaim to General
Cocke just at the critical moment, 'O for four regiments!' His
wish was answered, for in the distance our reinforcements
appeared. The tide of battle was turned in our favor by the
arrival of General Kirby Smith from Winchester, with four
thousand men of General Johnson's division. General Smith heard
while on the Manassas Railroad cars the roar of battle. He
stopped the train, and hurried his troops across the field to
the point just where he was most needed. They were at first
supposed to be the enemy, their arrival at that point of the
field being entirely unexpected. The enemy fell back and a panic
seized them."
Smith had about seventeen hundred men instead of four thousand, but he
came upon the field in such a manner, that some of the Union officers
supposed it was a portion of McDowell's troops. Smith was therefore
permitted to take a flanking position within close musket-shot of
Rickett's and Griffin's batteries unmolested. One volley, and the
victory was changed to defeat. Through chance alone it seemed, but
really through Providence, the Rebels won the field. The cavalry
charge, of which so much was said at the time, was a feeble affair.
The panic began the moment that Smith opened upon Ricketts and
Griffin. The cavalry did not advance till the army was in full
retreat.
It is laughable to read the accounts of the battle published in the
Southern papers. The Richmond _Dispatch_ has a letter written from
Manassas 23d July, which has throughout evidences of candor, and yet
this writer says, "We have captured sixty-seven pieces of artillery,"
while we had only thirty-eight guns on the field. Most necromancers
have the ability to produce hens' eggs without number from a
mysterious bag, but how they could capture sixty-seven pieces of
cannon, when McDowell had but thirty-eight, is indeed remarkable. The
same writer asserts that we carried into action the Palmetto State and
the Confederate flags.
Here is the story of a wonderful cannon-ball. Says the writer: "A
whole regiment of the enemy appeared in sight, going at double-quick
down the Centreville road. Major Walton immediately ordered another
shot. With the aid of our glass we could see them about two miles off.
There was no obstruction, and the whole front of the regiment was
exposed. _One half were seen to fall_, and if General Johnston had not
at that moment sent an order to cease firing, nearly the whole
regiment would have been killed!" The half that did not fall ought to
be grateful to Major Walton for not firing a second shot. The writer
says in conclusion: "Thus did fifteen thousand men, with eighteen
pieces of artillery, drive back ingloriously a force exceeding
thirty-five thousand, supported by nearly one hundred pieces of
cannon. We have captured nine hundred prisoners, sixty-seven pieces of
cannon, Armstrong guns and rifled cannon, hundreds of wagons, loads of
provisions and ammunition."
One writer asserted that thirty-two thousand pairs of handcuffs were
taken, designed for Rebel prisoners! This absurd statement was
believed throughout the South. In January, 1862, while in Kentucky, I
met a Southern lady who declared that it must be true, for she had
seen a pair of the handcuffs!
The war on the part of the North was undertaken to uphold the
Constitution and the Union, but the battle of Bull Run set men to
thinking. Four days after the battle, in Washington I met one who all
his lifetime had been a Democrat, standing stanchly by the South till
the attack on Sumter. Said he: "I go for liberating the niggers. We
are fighting on a false issue. The negro is at the bottom of the
trouble. The South is fighting for the negro, and nothing else. They
use him to defeat us, and we shall be compelled to use him to defeat
them."
These sentiments were gaining ground. General Butler had retained the
negroes who came into his camp, calling them "contraband of war." Men
were beginning to discuss the propriety of not only retaining, but of
seizing, the slaves of those who were in arms against the government.
The Rebels were using them in the construction of fortifications. Why
not place them in the category with gunpowder, horses, and cattle? The
reply was, "We must respect the Union people of the South." But where
were the Union people?
There were some in Western Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, and
Missouri; but very few in Eastern Virginia. At Centreville there was
one man in the seedy village who said he was for the Union: he was a
German. At a farm-house just out of the village, I found an old
New-Yorker, who was for the Union; but the mass of the people, men,
women, and children, had fled,--their minds poisoned with tales of the
brutality of Northern soldiers. The mass of the people bore toward
their few neighbors, who still stood for the Union, a most implacable
hatred. I recall the woebegone look which overspread the countenance
of a good woman at Vienna on Sunday night, when, as she gave me a
draught of milk, I made a plain, candid statement of the disaster
which had befallen our army. Her husband had been a friend to the
Federal army, had given up his house for officers' quarters; had
suffered at the hands of the Rebels; had once been obliged to flee,
leaving his wife and family of six children, all of tender age, and
the prospect was gloomy. He had gone to bed, to forget in sleep, if
possible, the crushing blow. It was near midnight, but the wife and
mother could not sleep. She was awake to every approaching footstep,
heard every sound, knowing that within a stone's throw of the dwelling
there were those, in former times fast friends, who now would be among
the first to hound her and her little ones from the place; and why?
because they loved the Union!
What had produced this bitterness? There could be but one
answer,--Slavery. It was clear that, sooner or later, the war would
become one of emancipation,--freedom to the slave of every man found
in arms against the government, or in any way aiding or abetting
treason. How seductive, how tyrannical this same monster Slavery!
Three years before the war, a young man, born and educated among the
mountains of Berkshire County, Massachusetts, graduating at Williams
College, visited Washington, and called upon Mr. Dawes, member of
Congress from Massachusetts, to obtain his influence in securing a
position at the South as a teacher. Mr. Dawes knew the young man, son
of a citizen of high standing, respected not only as a citizen, but in
the highest branch of the Legislature of the State in former times,
and gladly gave his influence to obtain the situation. A few days
after the battle Mr. Dawes visited the Old Capitol prison to see the
prisoners which had been brought in. To his surprise he found among
them the young man from Berkshire, wearing the uniform of a Rebel.
"How could you find it in your heart to fight against the flag of your
country, to turn your back upon your native State, and the
institutions under which you have been trained?" he asked.
"I didn't want to fight against the flag, but I was compelled to."
"How compelled?"
"Why, you see, they knew I was from the North; and if I hadn't
enlisted, the ladies would have presented me with a petticoat."
He expressed himself averse to taking the oath of allegiance. It was
only when allusion was made to his parents--the poignant grief which
would all but break his mother's heart, were she to hear of him as a
soldier in the traitors' lines,--that he gave way, and his eyes filled
with tears. He could turn against his country, his State, the
institutions of freedom, because his heart was in the South, because
he had dreaded the finger of scorn which would have cowed him with a
petticoat, but he could not blot out the influence of a mother's love,
a mother's patriotism. He had not lived long enough under the hot
breath of the simoom to have all the early associations withered and
crisped. The mention of "mother" made him a child again.
With him was another Massachusetts man, who had been South many years,
and who was more intensely Southern than himself. Another young man, a
South Carolinian, was a law student in Harvard College when his State
seceded. He went home to enlist. "If it had not been for the war I
should now be taking my degree," said he. He was rejoicing over the
result of the battle.
Slavery is not only tyrannical, but it is corrupting to morals. The
Secessionists of St. Joseph, Missouri, in their eagerness to
precipitate a Kansas regiment to destruction, burned a bridge on the
Hannibal and St. Joseph Railroad, a few miles east of St. Joseph. The
train left the city at three o'clock in the morning, and reached the
bridge before daybreak. The regiment was not on board, and instead of
destroying a thousand Union soldiers, a large number of the citizens
of St. Joseph,--with women and children, friends and neighbors of the
Secessionists,--were plunged into the abyss!
The action of these Missouri barbarians was applauded by the
Secessionists of Washington. A friend came into my room late one
evening in great excitement.
"What is the matter?"
"I am sick at heart," said he, "at what I have heard. I called upon
some of my female acquaintances to-night. I knew that they were
Secessionists, but did not think that they were so utterly corrupt as
I find them to be. They are refined, intelligent, and have moved in
the first society of Washington. They boldly declared that it was
justifiable to destroy that railroad train in Missouri; that it is
right to poison wells, or violate oaths of allegiance, to help on the
cause of the South!"
The bitterness of the women of the South during the Rebellion is a
strange phenomenon, without a parallel in history. For the women of
Ireland, who in the rebellion of '98 cut off the heads of English
residents, and chopped up their victims by piecemeal, were from the
bogs and fens,--one remove only from the beasts; but these women of
the South lay claims to a superior culture. It is one thing to be
devoted heart and soul to a cause, but it is quite another to advance
it at the cost of civilization, Christianity, and the womanly virtues.
The assertion that all women of the South thus gave themselves over to
do wickedly, would be altogether too sweeping; a large portion may be
included. Mrs. Greenhow and Belle Boyd have written out some of their
exploits and machinations for the overthrow of the Union. With them, a
false oath or any measure of deceit, was praiseworthy, if it would but
aid the Secession cause. They are fair representatives of the females
of the South.
[Illustration: Forwarded free.]
CHAPTER III.
THE FALL OF 1861.
[Sidenote: Oct., 1861.]
The months of August and September passed away without any action on
the part of General McClellan, who had been appointed commander of the
Army of the Potomac.
The disaster at Ball's Bluff occurred on the 21st of October, just
three months after the battle of Bull Run. On the afternoon of the 22d
the news was whispered in Washington. Riding at once with a
fellow-correspondent, Mr. H. M. Smith of the Chicago _Tribune_, to
General McClellan's head-quarters, and entering the anteroom, we found
President Lincoln there. I had met him on several occasions, and he
was well acquainted with my friend. He greeted us cordially, but sat
down quickly, rested his head upon his hand, and seemed to be
unusually agitated. His eyes were sunken, his countenance haggard, his
whole demeanor that of one who was in trouble.
"Will you please step in here, Mr. President," said an orderly from an
adjoining room, from whence came the click of the telegraph. He soon
came out, with his hands clasped upon his breast, his head bowed, his
body bent as if he were carrying a great burden. He took no notice of
any one, but with downcast eyes and faltering steps passed into the
street and towards the Executive mansion.
"We have met with a sad disaster. Fifteen hundred men lost, and
Colonel Baker killed," said General Marcy.
It was that which had overwhelmed the President. Colonel Baker was his
personal friend. They had long been intimately acquainted. In speaking
of that event afterwards, Mr. Lincoln said that it smote him like a
whirlwind in a desert. Few men have been appointed of God to bear such
burdens as were laid upon President Lincoln. A distracted country, a
people at war, all the foundations of society broken up; the cares,
trials, and perplexities which came every day without cessation,
disaster upon disaster, the loss of those he loved,--Ellsworth, Baker,
and his own darling Willie. A visitor at the White House the day of
Ellsworth's death found him in tears.
"I will make no apology, gentlemen," said he, "for my weakness; but I
knew poor Ellsworth well, and held him in great regard. Just as you
entered the room, Captain Fox left me, after giving me the painful
details of Ellsworth's unfortunate death. The event was so unexpected,
and the recital so touching, that it quite unmanned me. Poor fellow,"
he added, "it was undoubtedly a rash act, but it only shows the heroic
spirit that animates our soldiers, from high to low, in this righteous
cause of ours. Yet who can restrain grief to see them fall in such a
way as this,--not by the fortunes of war, but by the hand of an
assassin?"
The first time I ever saw Mr. Lincoln was the day after his nomination
by the Chicago Convention. I accompanied the committee appointed to
inform him of the action of the Convention to Springfield. It was
sunset when we reached the plain, unpretentious two-story
dwelling,--his Springfield home. Turning to the left as we entered the
hall, and passing into the library, we stood in the presence of a tall
man, with large features, great, earnest eyes, a countenance which,
once looked upon, forever remembered. He received the committee with
dignity and yet with evident constraint of manner. The address of Mr.
Ashmun, chairman of the committee, was brief, and so was Mr. Lincoln's
reply. Then followed a general introduction of the party.
There was a pitcher of ice-water and goblets on a stand, but there
were no liquors. The next morning a citizen narrated the following
incident.
When the telegraph informed Mr. Lincoln's neighbors that the committee
were on their way, a few of his friends called upon him to make
arrangements for their reception.
"You must have some refreshments prepared," said they.
"O certainly, certainly. What shall I get?"
"You will want some brandy, whiskey, wines, &c."
"I can't do that, gentlemen. I never have kept liquors, and I can't
get them now."
"Well, we will supply them."
"No, gentlemen, I can't permit you to do what I would not do myself. I
will furnish good water and enough of it, but no liquors."
He adhered to his decision; and thus at the beginning of the contest
gave an exhibition of that resoluteness of character, that
determination of will to adhere to what he felt was right, which was
of such inestimable value to the nation, in carrying the cause of the
Union triumphantly through all the dark days of the Rebellion.
* * * * *
It was sunset when Mr. Smith and myself reached Poolsville, after a
rapid horseback ride from Washington. The quartermasters were issuing
clothing to those who had cast away their garments while swimming the
river. The night was cold. There had been a heavy fall of rain, and
the ground was miry. It was a sad spectacle, those half-naked,
shivering soldiers, who had lost everything,--clothes, equipments, and
arms. They were almost heart-broken at the disaster.
"I enlisted to fight," said one, "but I don't want to be slaughtered.
O my God! shall I ever forget that sight, when the boat went down?" He
covered his face with his hands, as if to shut out the horrid
spectacle.
Colonel Baker was sent across the river with the Fifteenth and
Twentieth Massachusetts, a portion of the Tammany Regiment of New
York, and the California regiment, Colonel Baker's own, in all about
fifteen hundred men. His means of communication were only an old scow
and two small boats. He was left to fight unassisted four thousand
Rebels. Soon after he fell, there was a sudden rush to the boats,
which, being overloaded, were instantly swamped. The Rebels had it all
their own way, standing upon the bank and shooting the drowning men.
Colonel Baker's body had been brought off, and was lying at
Poolsville. The soldiers of his own regiment were inconsolable.
Poolsville is an insignificant village, situated in one of the richest
agricultural districts of Maryland, surrounded by gentle swells of
land, wooded vales, verdant slopes, broad fields, with the far-off
mountain ranges and sweeping Potomac,--that combination which would be
the delight of a painter who loves quiet rural scenery. The soil is
fertile, and needs only good culture to yield an hundred-fold. Amid
such native richness stands the village,--a small collection of
nondescript houses, with overhanging roofs, wide porticos, or sheds
which answer for piazzas, mammoth chimneys, built outside the edifice,
as if they were afterthoughts when the houses were constructed. The
streets are narrow, and the dwellings are huddled together as if there
were but one corner lot, and all were trying to get as close to it as
possible, reminding one of a crowd of boys round the old-fashioned
fireplace of a country school-house on a winter's morning. There is
not a new house in the place. The newest one was built many years ago.
You look in vain for neat white cottages, with well-kept grounds. You
are astonished at the immense number of old wagons and carriages, with
rickety tops, torn canvas, broken wheels, shafts, and battered
bodies,--of old lumber-carts and other weather-beaten vehicles under
skeleton sheds. Look where you will, you come to the conclusion that
time has sucked out the juice of everything. There is no freshness, no
sign of a renewal of life or of present vitality. There are a small
church, and two seedy, needy taverns,--mean-looking, uninviting
places, each with its crowd of idle men, canvassing the state of
public affairs.
Such was the village in 1861. The streets were alive with "little
images of God cut in ebony," as Mrs. Stowe calls a negro child. Many
of the "images," however, by contact with the Anglo-Saxon race,
through Slavery, had become almost white. There were three or four
hundred inhabitants, a few wealthy, with many poor.
We found accommodations at the best private residence in the place.
The owner had a number of outlying farms, and was reported to be very
wealthy. He was courteous, and professed to be a Union man. He was
disposing of his hay and grain to the United States government,
receiving the highest prices at his own door. Yet when conversing with
him, he said, "your army," "your troops," as if he were a foreigner. A
funeral procession passed the house,--a company of the Massachusetts
Fifteenth, bearing to the village graveyard a comrade, who had laid
down his life for his country at Ball's Bluff. Said the wife of my
host to a friend as they passed: "_Their_ government has got money
enough, and ought to take the bodies away; we don't want them buried
here; it will make the place unhealthy." These expressions revealed
one thing: that between them and the Federal Union and the
Constitution there was no bond of unity. There was no nationality
binding us together. Once they would not have spoken of the army of
the United States as "your army." What had caused this alienation?
Slavery. An ebony-hued chattel kindled my fire in the morning and
blacked my boots. A yellow chattel stood behind my chair at breakfast.
A stout chattel, worth twelve hundred dollars, groomed my horse. There
were a dozen young chattels at play upon the piazza. My host was an
owner of human flesh and blood. That made him at heart a Secessionist.
The army had not interfered with Slavery. Slaves found their way into
the camp daily, and were promptly returned to their professedly loyal
masters. Yet the presence of the troops was odious to the
slaveholders.
In the quiet of affairs around Washington I visited Eastern Maryland,
accompanied by two members of the press. The Rebels had closed the
navigation of the Potomac by erecting batteries at Cockpit Point.
General Hooker's division was at Budd's Ferry, Port Tobacco, and other
places down the river. It was the last day of October,--one of the
loveliest of the year,--when we started upon our excursion.
No description can convey an idea of the incomparable loveliness of
the scenery,--the broad river, with the slow-moving sail-boats, the
glassy, unruffled surface, reflecting canvas, masts, and cordage, the
many-colored hills, rich with autumnal tints, the marble piles of the
city, the broad streets, the more distant Georgetown, the thousands of
white tents near and far away, with all the nice shading and blending
of varied hue in the mellow light. On every hilltop we lingered to
enjoy the richness of nature, and to fix in memory the picture which,
under the relentless hand of war, would soon be robbed of its peculiar
charms.
Ten miles out and all was changed. The neat, tasteful, comfortable
residences were succeeded by the most dilapidated dwellings. The
fields, green with verdure, gave place to sandy barrens. To say that
everybody and everything were out at the elbows and down at the heels
is not sufficient. One must see the old buildings,--the crazy roofs,
the unglazed windows, the hingeless doors, the rotting stoops, the
reeling barns and sheds, leaning in every direction, as if all were in
drunken carousal,--the broken fences, the surrounding lumber,--of
carts, wagons, and used-up carriages, to obtain a correct idea of this
picture, so strongly and painfully in contrast to that from the
hill-tops overlooking the capital of the country.
The first stopping-place for travellers is the "White Horse." We had
heard much of the White Horse, and somehow had great expectations, or
rather an undefined notion that Clark Mills or some other artist had
sculptured from white marble a steed balanced on his hind legs and
leaping toward the moon, like that in front of the Presidential
mansion; but our great expectations dwindled like Pip's, when we
descended a hill and came upon a whitewashed, one-story building,--a
log-house, uninviting to man or beast. A poplar in front of the
domicile supported a swinging sign, on which the country artist had
displayed his marvellous skill in painting a white horse standing on
two legs. It was time for dinner, and the landlady spread the table
for her guests. There was no gold-tinted bill of fare, with
unpronounceable French phrases, no long line of sable waiters in white
aprons. My memory serves me as to the fare.
Pork, Pone, Potatoes.
The pork was cold, pone ditto, potatoes also. Pone is unraised
corn-cake baked in the ashes, and said to be good for indigestion. It
is a favorite cake in the South.
A saffron-hued young man, tall and lean, with a sharp nose and thin
face, sat on the steps of the White Horse.
"The _ager_ got hold of me yesterday and shook me right smart," he
said. "It is a bad place for the ager. The people that used to live
here have all moved away. The land is run out. They have _terbakkered_
it to death. We can't raise nothing, and it ain't no use to try." He
pointed to a deserted farm-house standing on a hill, and said,
"There's a place the owner has left to grow up to weeds. He can't get
nobody to carry it on."
A stately brick mansion, standing back from the highway once the
residence of a man of wealth and taste, with blinds, portico, and
carriage-house, elaborate in design and finish, was in the last stages
of ruin. The portico had settled away from the house. The roof was
hollowed like a weak-backed horse, the chimneys were tumbling, blinds
swinging by a hinge, windows smashed, outhouses tottering with age and
neglect, all presenting a most repulsive appearance. How changed from
former years, when the courteous, hospitable proprietor of the estate
received his guests at the magnificent portico, ushered them to his
spacious halls, opened the sideboard and drank to their health, while
attendant slaves took the horses to the stables! It is easy to fill up
the picture,--the grand dinner, the walk over the estate, the stroll
by the river, the duck-shooting on the marshes, the gang of slaves in
the tobacco-patch, the army of black and yellow servants in the
kitchens, chambers, and parlors. When this old house was in its glory,
this section of Maryland was in its prime; but how great the change!
It was sad to think of the departed days. Our reflections were of what
the place had been, what it was, and what it might have been, had
Maryland in the beginning of her history accepted Freedom instead of
Slavery.
Taverns are not frequent in the vicinity of Pomunkey, and it was
necessary that we should seek private hospitality for the night. A
first attempt for accommodations brought us to a house, but the owner
had no oats, hay, or corn; a second ride in from the highway, brought
us to a whitewashed farm-house, with immense outside chimneys, piazza,
adjoining mud-chinked negro-quarters, with chimneys of sticks and
clay, and a dozen surrounding buildings,--as usual, all tumbling to
pieces. Explanations as to who we were secured kind hospitality from
the host, a gray-headed man, with a family consisting of his wife,
three grown-up sons, and nine adult daughters.
"Such as I have is at your service, gentlemen," said our host. But he
had no hay, no oats, no corn, nothing but _shucks_ for our horses. Our
supper consisted of fried pork, fried salt shad, pone, wheat-cakes,
pea-coffee, strawberry-leaf tea, sweetened with damp brown sugar!
"We don't _raise_ butter in this section of the State," said our host,
in apology.
The supper was relished after an afternoon ride of thirty miles. The
evening being chilly, a roaring fire was kept up in the old-fashioned
fireplace. The daughters put on their most attractive attire, and left
nothing untried to entertain their three visitors. Could we dance?
Unfortunately we could not. It was a serious disappointment. They
evidently had anticipated having "a good time." One of the ladies
could play a violin, and treated us to jigs, reels, and hornpipes.
"You must sing the gentlemen a song, Jane," said one.
Jane turned scarlet at the suggestion, but finally, after polite
requests and a little urging, turned her back to the company, faced
the corner of the room, and sang a love-song. She could sing "Dixie,"
but knew nothing of the "Star-Spangled Banner" or "Hail Columbia." The
young ladies were in sympathy with the Rebellion.
"It must be expected that Southern people should sympathize with the
South," said our host.
"You own some slaves?" I said.
"I have three _servants_, sir. I think," he added, "that the people of
Eastern Maryland would be more favorable towards the Union if they
could be assured that the war would not finally become one of
emancipation. My neighbor over there had a servant who ran away into
the camp of one of the New York regiments. He went after him. The
Colonel told the master to take him, but the servant wouldn't leave
till the Colonel drew his pistol and threatened to shoot him. But
notwithstanding that, I reckon that the war will make them restless."
It was spoken frankly and unreservedly.
It was pitiable to walk round his farm in the morning, to see
everywhere the last stages of decay,--poor, worn-out lands,
broken-down fences, weedy fields, pastures without a blade of grass,
leafless orchards, old buildings,--everything a wreck; and yet to know
that he was wedded to the very institution which was reducing the
country to a wilderness. He was not an owner of the estate, but a
rentee. He paid one hundred and fifty dollars rental for three hundred
acres of land, and yet confessed that he was growing poorer year by
year. Tobacco, corn, and oats were the only crops. He could get no
manure. He could make no hay. He kept two cows, but made no butter.
The land was being exhausted, and he did not know what he should come
to. All energy and life were gone; we saw only a family struggling
against fate, and yet clinging with a death-grapple to the system that
was precipitating their ruin.
"Why do you not go to Illinois?"
"O, sir, I am too old to move. Besides, this is home."
We pictured the boundless resources of the West, the fertile lands,
the opportunities for bettering his condition, but our words fell upon
an inert mind. As a last argument, we said: "You have a large family
of daughters. In Illinois there are thousands of young men wanting
wives, who will make good husbands. There are few young men here, but
good homes await your daughters there."
There were blushes, smiles, and sparkling eyes from the "sacred nine."
My fellow-correspondent of the Chicago _Tribune_ then drew a florid
picture of the West,--of the need of the State for such good-looking,
virtuous ladies. His eloquence was persuasive. One of the daughters
wanted to know how far it was to Illinois; but when informed that it
was a thousand miles, her countenance fell. Bliss so far away was
unattainable.
We passed a second night with our host, who, during our absence, sent
one of the servants a dozen miles to obtain some butter, so courteous
an entertainer was he. Yet he was struggling with poverty. He kept
three slaves to wait upon his nine grown-up unmarried daughters, who
were looking out upon a dark future. There was not a single gleam of
light before them. They could not work, or, at the best, their work
was of trifling account. What would become of them? That was the one
question ever haunting the father.
"Why do you keep your slaves? they are a bill of cost to you every
year," we said.
"I know it. They are lazy, shiftless, and they will steal,
notwithstanding they have enough to eat and wear; but then I reckon I
couldn't get along without them very well. Sam is an excellent groom,
and Joe is a good ploughman. He can do anything if he has a mind to;
but he is lazy, like all the rest. I reckon that I couldn't get along
without him, though."
"Your sons can groom your horses and do your ploughing."
"Yes; but then they like to fish and hunt, you know; and you can't
expect them to do the work of the servants."
The secret was out. Slavery made labor dishonorable.
Conversing with another farmer about the negroes, he said: "They steal
all they can lay their hands on; and since the Yankee troops have been
in camp round here, they are ten times as bad as they used to be. My
chickens are fast disappearing. The officers buy them, I reckon."
We thought it quite likely; for having passed several days in General
Hooker's division, we could bear testimony to the excellent fare of
the officers' mess,--chickens served in all the various forms known to
culinary art. It was convenient for officers thus to supply themselves
with poultry. Of course the slave would say that he was the lawful
owner of the poultry. Why should he have any compunctions of
conscience about disposing of the chickens roosting on his master's
apple-trees, when his labor, his life, his happiness, his
children,--all his rights were stolen from him by his master? If the
sword cut in one direction, why not in another?
A few days later, in November, we visited Annapolis, a quaint old
city. The streets all centre at the State-House and St. John's Church.
There are antiquated houses with mossy roofs, brass knockers on the
doors, which were built two hundred years ago. We were carried back to
the time of the Revolution, when Annapolis was in its glory.
One would suppose, in walking past the substantial stone mansions,
that the owners were living at ease, in quiet and seclusion; that they
had notes, mortgages, and bonds laid by for a rainy day: but a fair
outside does not always indicate health within. In many of those old
mansions, grand in proportion, elaborate with cornice, there was
nothing but famine. How strong is aristocratic pride! Poverty cannot
subdue it. Men and women lived there sorely pressed to keep up even a
threadbare appearance, who, before the war, held soul and body
together by raising negroes for the Southern market, and by waiting
upon the Assembly when in session. They would have deemed it degrading
to hold social intercourse with a mason or a blacksmith, or with any
one compelled to earn his bread by the sweat of his brow. In poverty
they nursed their pride. The castes of Hindostan were hardly more
distinct. It is easy to see how a community can become lifeless under
such a state of society. The laboring men had gone away,--to the West,
to Baltimore, or to localities where it is not a crime to work for a
livelihood. In consequence, enterprise had died, property had
depreciated, and the entire place had become poverty-stricken.
[Sidenote: Nov., 1861.]
On the succeeding Sunday I was in Washington, where a superintendent
of one of the Sabbath schools was spending a portion of the hour in
singing. Among other songs was Rev. S. F. Smith's national hymn,--
"My country, 'tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty."
Among the persons present were three ladies, members of a family
sympathizing with secession. With unmistakable signs of disgust, they
at once left the house!
Not only at church, but in the army, the spirit of slavery was
rampant. The Hutchinson family visited Washington. They solicited
permission from the Secretary of War, Mr. Cameron, to visit the camps
in Virginia and sing songs to the soldiers, to relieve the tedious
monotony of camp life. Their request was granted, and their intentions
cordially commended by the Secretary; and, being thus indorsed,
received General McClellan's pass. Their songs have ever been of
freedom. They were welcomed by the soldiers. But there were officers
in the service who believed in slavery, who had been taught in
Northern pulpits that it was a divinely appointed, beneficent
institution of Almighty God. Information was given to General
McClellan that the Hutchinsons were poisoning the minds of the troops
by singing Abolition songs; and their career as free concert givers to
the patriotic soldiers was suddenly ended by the following order from
head-quarters:--
"By direction of Major-General McClellan, the permit given to the
Hutchinson family to sing in the camps, and their pass to cross
the Potomac, are revoked, and they will not be allowed to sing to
the troops."
Far from the noise and strife of war, on the banks of the Merrimack,
lived the poet of Peace and of Freedom, whose songs against oppression
and wrong have sunk deep into the hearts of the people. Whittier heard
of the expulsion of the Hutchinsons, and as if inspired by a spirit
divine, wrote the
"EIN FESTE BURG IST UNSER GOTT.[3]
"We wait beneath the furnace-blast
The pangs of transformation;
Not painlessly doth God recast
And mould anew the nation.
Hot burns the fire
Where wrongs expire;
Nor spares the hand
That from the land
Uproots the ancient evil.
"The hand-breadth cloud the sages feared
Its bloody rain is dropping;
The poison plant the fathers spared
All else is overtopping.
East, West, South, North.
It curses the earth;
All justice dies,
And fraud and lies
Live only in its shadow.
"What gives the wheat-field blades of steel?
What points the rebel cannon?
What sets the roaring rabble's heel
On the old star-spangled pennon?
What breaks the oath
Of the men o' the South?
What whets the knife
For the Union's life?--
Hark to the answer: Slavery!
"Then waste no blows on lesser foes
In strife unworthy freemen.
God lifts to-day the veil, and shows
The features of the demon!
O North and South,
Its victims both,
Can ye not cry,
'Let slavery die!'
And union find in freedom?
"What though the cast-out spirit tear
The nation in his going?
We who have shared the guilt must share
The pang of his o'erthrowing!
Whate'er the loss,
Whate'er the cross,
Shall they complain
Of present pain
Who trust in God's hereafter?
"For who that leans on His right arm
Was ever yet forsaken?
What righteous cause can suffer harm
If He its part has taken?
Though wild and loud
And dark the cloud,
Behind its folds
His hand upholds
The calm sky of to-morrow!
"Above the maddening cry for blood,
Above the wild war-drumming,
Let Freedom's voice be heard, with good
The evil overcoming.
Give prayer and purse
To stay the Curse
Whose wrong we share,
Whose shame we bear,
Whose end shall gladden Heaven!
"In vain the bells of war shall ring
Of triumphs and revenges,
While still is spared the evil thing
That severs and estranges.
But blest the ear
That yet shall hear
The jubilant bell
That rings the knell
Of Slavery forever!
"Then let the selfish lip be dumb,
And hushed the breath of sighing;
Before the joy of peace must come
The pains of purifying.
God give us grace
Each in his place
To bear his lot,
And, murmuring not,
Endure and wait and labor!
[Footnote 3: Our God is a strong fortress.]
The expulsion of the Hutchinsons, with Whittier's ringing words,
stirred people's thoughts. A change was gradually taking place in
men's opinions. The negroes were beginning to show themselves useful.
A detachment of the Thirteenth Massachusetts, commanded by Major
Gould, was stationed on the upper Potomac. A negro slave, belonging in
Winchester, came into the lines. He was intelligent, cautious, shrewd,
and loyal. Major Gould did not return him to his master, but asked him
if he would go back and ascertain the whereabouts of Stonewall
Jackson. The negro readily assented. He was supplied with packages of
medicine, needles, thread, and other light articles greatly needed in
the South. With these he easily passed the Rebel pickets: "Been out to
get 'em for massa," was his answer when questioned by the Rebels. Thus
he passed repeatedly into the Rebel lines, obtaining information which
was transmitted to Washington.
He had great influence with the slaves.
"They are becoming restless," said he, "but I tells 'em that they must
be quiet. I says to 'em, keep yer eyes wide open and pray for de good
time comin'. I tells 'em if de Souf whip, it is all night wid yer; but
if de Norf whip, it is all day wid yer."
"Do they believe it?" Major Gould asked.
"Yes, massa, all believe it. The black men am all wid yer, only some
of 'em isn't berry well informed; but dey is all wid yer. Massa tinks
dey isn't wid yer, but dey is."
How sublime the picture!--a slave counselling his fellow bondmen to
keep quiet and wait till God should give them deliverance!
Among the many Rebel ministers who had done what they could to
precipitate the rebellion was a Presbyterian minister in the vicinity
of Charlestown, Virginia. It was his custom, after closing his sermon,
to invite the young men to enlist in the regiments then forming. On
one of these occasions he made an address in which he gave utterance
to the following sentiment: "If it is necessary to defend Southern
institutions and Southern rights, I will wade up to my shoulders in
blood!" This was brave; but the time came when the chivalry of the
parson was put to the test. When the Rebels were routed at Bolivar,
he, not being mounted on so fleet a horse as those of his flock who
had given heed to his counsels and joined the cavalry, found himself
left behind. A bullet lodged in the body of his horse prevented
escape. He then tried his own legs, but soon found himself in the
hands of the soldiers, who brought him to head-quarters. He at once
claimed protection of Major Gould on the most extraordinary grounds.
He had read the poems of Hannah Gould, and presumed that Major Gould,
hailing from Massachusetts, must be her kinsman. When confronted with
the Major he promptly exclaimed, "Major, I have read the poems of Miss
Hannah Gould, and admire them; presuming that she is a relative of
yours, I claim your protection and consideration."
The Major replied that he had not the honor to be a relative of that
gifted lady, but that he should accord him all the consideration due
to those who had rebelled against the peace and dignity of the United
States, and had been taken with arms in their hands. He was marched
off with the others and placed under guard.
Slavery was strongly intrenched in the capital of the nation. Congress
had abolished it in the District of Columbia, but it still remained.
Said a friend to me one morning, "Are you aware that the Washington
jail is full of slaves?" I could not believe that slaves were then
confined there for no crime; but at once procured a pass from a
senator to visit the jail, and was admitted through the iron gateway
of one of the vilest prisons in the world. The air was stifled, fetid,
and malarious.
Ascending the stone stairway to the third story of the building,
entering a dark corridor and passing along a few steps, I came to a
room twelve or fifteen feet square, occupied by about twenty colored
men. They were at their dinner of boiled beef and corn-cake. There was
one old man sitting on the stone floor, silent and sorrowful. He had
committed no crime. Around, standing, sitting, or lying, were the
others, of all shades of color, from jet black to the Caucasian hue,
the Anglo-Saxon hair and contour of features. They were from ten to
fifty years of age; some were dressed decently, and others were in
rags. One bright fellow of twenty had on a pair of trousers only, and
tried to keep himself warm by drawing around him a tattered blanket. A
little fellow ten years old was all in rags. There was no chair or bed
in the room. They must stand, or sit, or lie upon the brick and
granite floor. There was no mattress or bedding; each had his little
bundle of rags, and that was all. They looked up inquiringly as I
entered, as if to make out the object of my visit.
One bright, intelligent boy belonged to Captain Dunnington, captain of
the Capitol police during Buchanan's administration, and then
commanding a Rebel battery. When Dunnington went from Washington to
join the Rebels he left the boy behind, and the police had arrested
him under an old Maryland law, because he had no master, and kept him
in jail five months.
There was an old man from Fairfax Court-House. When the army advanced
to Falls Church, his master sold his wife and child, for fear they
might escape. "You see, sir, that broke me all up. O, sir, it was hard
to part with them, to see 'em chained up and taken off away down South
to Carolina. My mind is almost gone. I don't want to die here; I
sha'n't live long. When your army fell back to Washington after the
battle of Bull Run, I came to Washington, and the police took me up
because I was a runaway."
There was another, a free negro, imprisoned on the supposition that he
was a fugitive, and kept because there was no one to pay his jail
fees. Another had been a hand on a Massachusetts schooner plying on
the Potomac, and had been arrested in the streets on the suspicion
that he was a slave.
Another had been employed on the fortifications, and government was
his debtor. There was a little boy, ten years old, clothed in rags,
arrested as a runaway. Women were there, sent in by their owners for
safe keeping. There were about sixty chargeable with no crime
whatever, incarcerated with felons, without hope of deliverance. They
were imprisoned because negroes about town, without a master, always
had been dealt with in that manner. The police, when the slaves had
been reclaimed, had been sure of their pay, or if they were sold,
their pay came from the auctioneer. When they saw me making notes,
they imagined that I was doing something for their liberation, and
with eagerness they crowded round, saying, "Please put down my name,
sir," "I do want to get out, sir," and similar expressions. They
followed me into the passage, gazed through the grated door, and when
I said "Good by, boys," there came a chorus of "Good byes" and "God
bless yous."
[Sidenote: Dec., 1861.]
Seeking Senator Wilson's room, I informed him of what I had witnessed,
and read the memoranda taken in the jail. The eyes of that
true-hearted man flashed with righteous indignation. "We will see
about this," said he, springing to his feet.
He visited the jail, saw the loathsome spectacle, heard the stories of
the poor creatures, and the next day introduced a resolution into the
Senate, which upset forever this system of tyranny, which had been
protected by the national authority.
The year closed gloomily. There were more than six hundred thousand
troops under arms ready to subdue the Rebellion, but General McClellan
hesitated to move. But there were indications of an early advance in
the West; therefore on the last days of December I left Washington to
be an observer of whatever might happen in Kentucky.
[Illustration: Ellsworth Zouave drill.]
CHAPTER IV.
AFFAIRS IN THE WEST.
[Sidenote: Jan., 1862.]
The church-bells of Louisville were ringing the new year in as with
the early morning we entered that city. There was little activity in
the streets. The breaking out of the war had stopped business. The
city, with a better location than Cincinnati, has had a slow growth.
Cassius M. Clay gave the reason, years ago.
"Why," he asked, "does Louisville write on an hundred of her stores
'To let,' while Cincinnati advertises 'Wanted'? There is but one
answer,--Slavery." Many of the houses were tenantless. The people
lounged in the streets. Few had anything to do. Thousands of former
residents were away, many with the Southern army, more with the Union.
There was division of feeling. Lines were sharply drawn. A dozen loyal
Kentuckians had been killed in a skirmish on Green River; among them
Captain Bacon, a prominent citizen of Frankfort. His body was at the
Galt House. Loyal Kentuckians were feeling these blows. Their temper
was rising; they were being educated by such adversity to make a true
estimate of Secession. Everything serves a purpose in this world. Our
vision is too limited to understand much of the governmental
providence of Him who notices the fall of a sparrow, and alike
controls the destiny of nations; but I could see in the emphatic
utterances of men upon the street, that revenge might make men
patriotic who otherwise might remain lukewarm in their loyalty.
A friend introduced a loyal Tennesseean, who was forced to flee from
Nashville when the State seceded. The vigilance committee informed him
that he must leave or take the consequences; which meant, a suspension
by the neck from the nearest tree. He was offensive because of his
outspoken loyalty. He was severe in his denunciations of the
government, on account of its slowness to put down the Rebellion.
"Sir," said he, "this government is not going to put down the
Rebellion, because it isn't in earnest. You of the North are
white-livered. Excuse me for saying it. No; I won't ask to be excused
for speaking the truth. You are afraid to touch the negro. You are
afraid of Kentucky. The little province of the United States gets down
on its knees to the nation of Kentucky. You are afraid that the State
will go over to the Rebels, if anything is done about the negro. Now,
sir, I know what slavery is; I have lived among it all my days. I know
what Secession is,--it means slavery. I know what Kentucky is,--a
proud old State, which has a great deal that is good about her and a
great deal of sham. Kentucky politicians are no better or wiser than
any other politicians. The State is living on the capital of Henry
Clay. You think that the State is great because he was great. O, you
Northern men are a brave set! (It was spoken with bitter sarcasm.) You
handle this Rebellion as gingerly as if it were a glass doll. Go on,
go on; you will get whipped. Buell will get whipped at Bowling Green,
Butler will get whipped at New Orleans. You got whipped at Big Bethel,
Ball's Bluff, and Manassas. Why? Because the Rebels are in earnest,
and you are not. Everything is at stake with them. They employ
niggers, you don't. They seize, rob, burn, destroy; they do everything
to strengthen their cause and weaken you, while you pick your way as
daintily as a dandy crossing a mud-puddle, afraid of offending
somebody. No, sir, you are not going to put down this Rebellion till
you hit it in the tenderest spot,--the negro. You must take away its
main support before it will fall."
General Buell was in command of the department, with his head-quarters
at the Galt House. He had a large army at Mumfordville and other
points. He issued his orders by telegraph, but he had no plan of
operations. There were no indications of a movement. The Rebel
sympathizers kept General Johnston, in command at Bowling Green, well
informed as to Buell's inaction. There was daily communication between
Louisville and the Rebel camp. There was constant illicit trade in
contraband goods. The policy of General McClellan was also the policy
of General Buell,--to sit still.
Events were more stirring in Missouri, and I proceeded to St. Louis,
where General Halleck was in command,--a thick-set, dark-featured,
black-haired man, sluggish, opinionated, and self-willed, arbitrary
and cautious.
Soon after his appointment to this department he issued, on the 20th
of November, his Order No. 3, which roused the indignation of earnest
loyal men throughout the country. Thus read the document:--
"It has been represented that information respecting the numbers
and condition of our forces is conveyed to the enemy by means of
fugitive slaves who are admitted within our lines. In order to
remedy this evil, it is directed that no such persons be
hereafter permitted to enter the lines of any camp, or of any
forces on the march, and that any within our lines be immediately
excluded therefrom."
General Schofield was in command of Northern Missouri, under General
Halleck. The guerillas had burned nearly all the railroad bridges, and
it was necessary to bring them to justice. The negroes along the line
gave him the desired intelligence, and six of the leaders were in this
way caught, tried by court-martial, and summarily shot. Yet General
Halleck adhered to his infamous order. Diligent inquiries were made of
officers in regard to the loyalty of the negroes, and no instance was
found of their having given information to the enemy. In all of the
slaveholding States a negro's testimony was of no account against a
white man under civil law; but General Schofield had, under military
law, inaugurated a new order of things,--a drum-head court, a speedy
sentence, a quick execution, on negro testimony. The Secessionists and
Rebel sympathizers were indignant, and called loudly for his removal.
The fine army which Fremont had commanded, and from which he had been
summarily dismissed because of his anti-slavery order, was at Rolla,
at the terminus of the southwest branch of the Pacific Railroad. This
road, sixteen miles out from St. Louis, strikes the valley of the
Maramec,--not the Merrimack, born of the White Hills, but a sluggish
stream, tinged with blue and green, widening in graceful curves, with
tall-trunked elms upon its banks, and acres of low lands, which are
flooded in freshets. It is a pretty river, but not to be compared in
beauty to the stream which the muse of Whittier has made classic.
Nearly all the residences in this section are Missourian in
architectural proportions and features,--logs and clay, with the
mammoth outside chimneys, cow-yard and piggery, an oven out of doors
on stilts, an old wagon, half a dozen horses, hens, dogs, pigs, in
front, and lean, cadaverous men and women peeping from the doorways,
with arms akimbo, and pipes between the teeth. This is the prevailing
feature,--this in a beautiful, fertile country, needing but the hand
of industry, the energy of a free people, vitalized by the highest
civilization, to make it one of the loveliest portions of the world.
At Franklin the southwestern branch of the Pacific Railroad diverges
from the main stem. It is a new place, brought into existence by the
railroad, and consists of a lime-kiln, a steam saw-mill, and a dozen
houses. Behind the town is a picturesque bluff, with the lime-kiln at
its base, which might be taken for a ruined temple of some old Aztec
city. Near at hand two Iowa regiments were encamped. A squad of
soldiers was on the plain, and a crowd stood upon the depot platform,
anxiously inquiring for the morning papers. It was a supply station,
provisions being sent up both lines. Two heavy freight trains,
destined for Rolla, were upon the southwestern branch. To one of them
passenger cars were attached, to which we were transferred.
When the branch was opened for travel in 1859, the directors run one
train a day,--a mixed train of passenger and freight cars,--and during
the first week their patronage in freight was immense,--it consisted
of a bear and a pot of honey! On the passage the bear ate the honey,
and the owner of the honey brought a bill against the company for
damages.
Beyond Franklin the road crosses the Maramec, enters a forest, winds
among the hills, and finally by easy grades reaches a crest of land,
from which, looking to the right or the left, you can see miles away
over an unbroken forest of oak. Far to the east is the elevated ridge
of land which ends in the Pilot Knob, toward the Mississippi, and
becomes the Ozark Mountain range toward the Arkansas line. We looked
over the broad panorama to see villages, church-spires, white
cottages, or the blue curling smoke indicative of a town or human
residence, but the expanse was primitive and unbroken. Not a sign of
life could be discovered for many miles as we slowly crept along the
line. The country is undulating, with the limestone strata cropping
out on the hillsides. In the railroad cuttings the rock, which at the
surface is gray, takes a yellow and reddish tinge, from the admixture
of ochre in the soil. In one cutting we recognized the lead-bearing
rocks, which abound through the southwestern section of the State.
We looked in vain to discover a school-house. A gentleman who was well
acquainted with this portion of the State, said that he knew of only
two school-houses,--one in Warsaw and the other in Springfield. In a
ride of one hundred and thirteen miles we saw but two churches. As
Aunt Ophelia found "Topsy" virgin soil, so will those who undertake to
reconstruct the South find these wilds of Southwestern Missouri. And
they are a fair specimen of the South.
It was evening when we reached Rolla. When we stepped from the car in
the darkness, there was a feeling that the place was a mortar-bed and
the inhabitants were preparing to make bricks. Our boots became heavy,
and, like a man who takes responsibility, when we once planted our
feet the tendency was for them to stay there. Guided by an
acquaintance who knew the way, the hotel was reached. In the distance
the weird camp-fires illumined the low-hanging clouds. From right and
left there came the roll of drums and the bugle-call. A group of men
sat around the stove in the bar. The landlord escorted us to the
wash-room,--a spacious, high-arched apartment, as wide as the east is
from the west, as long as the north is from the south, as high-posted
as the zenith, where we found a pail of water, a tin basin, and a
towel, for all hands; and which all hands had used. After ablution
came supper in the dining-hall, with bare beams overhead. Dinah waited
upon us,--coal-black, tall, stately, worth a thousand dollars before
the war broke out, but somewhat less just then, and Phillis, with a
mob-cap on her head, bleached a little in complexion by Anglo-Saxon or
Missourian blood.
We soon discovered that nothing was to be done by the army in this
direction. The same story was current here as on the Potomac and in
Kentucky,--"Not ready." General Sigel had sent in his resignation,
disgusted with General Halleck. General Curtis had just arrived to
take command. The troops were sore over the removal of Fremont: they
idolized him. Among the forty thousand men in the vicinity were those
who had fought at Wilson's Creek. The lines between Rebellion and
Loyalty were more sharply drawn here than in any other section of the
country. Men acted openly. The army was radical in its sentiments,
believing in Fremont's order for the liberation of the slaves, which
the President had set aside.
There was one other point which gave better promise of active
operations,--Cairo. Therefore bidding adieu to Rolla, we returned to
St. Louis and took the cars for Cairo.
It was an all-night ride, with a mixed company of soldiers and
civilians. There were many ladies on their way to visit their husbands
and brothers before the opening of the campaign. One woman had three
children. "Their father wants to see them once more before he goes
into battle," said the mother, sadly.
At last we found a place where men seemed to be in earnest. Cairo was
alive. At the levee were numerous steamboats. Soldiers were arriving.
There was a constant hammering and pounding on the gunboats, which
were moored along the shore.
The mud cannot be put into the picture. There was thick mud, thin mud,
sticky mud, slushy mud, slimy mud, deceptive mud, impassable mud,
which appeared to the sight, to say nothing of the peculiarities that
are understood by the nose; for within forty feet of our window were a
horse-stable and pig-yard, where slops from the houses and washes from
the sinks were trodden with the manure from the stables. Bunyan's
Slough of Despond, into which all the filth and slime of this world
settled, was nothing beside the slough of Cairo. There were sheds,
shanties, stables, pig-stys, wood-piles, carts, barrels, boxes,--the
_debris_ of everything thrown over the area. Of animate things,
water-carts,--two-horse teams, which were supplying the inhabitants
with drinking water from the river. There were truckmen stuck in the
mud. There were two pigs in irrepressible conflict; also two dogs.
Twenty feet distant, soldiers in their blue coats, officers with
swords, sash and belt, ladies, and citizens, were picking their way
along the sticky sidewalks. This was Cairo. Delectable Cairo!
The prominent names before the country at that period, as commanders
who were to lead our armies to victory, were McClellan, Buell, T. W.
Sherman, then at Port Royal, Fremont, Rosecrans, Burnside, Butler, and
Banks. William Tecumseh Sherman was reputed to be flighty in the head.
He had commanded the Department of the Ohio, but Buell had succeeded
him. He was now a brigade commander at Paducah, under General C. F.
Smith. There were several brigadiers at Cairo. General McClernand, who
had been a member of Congress, a strong partisan of Senator Douglas,
was most conspicuous. General Prentiss, who was ready to make a speech
on any and every occasion, was also well known. The commander of the
post was an obscure man. His name was Grant. At the beginning of the
war he was in the leather business at Galena. He had been educated at
West Point, where he stood well as a mathematician, but had left the
service, and had become a hard-working citizen. He was Colonel of the
Twenty-first Illinois, and had been made a brigadier by the President.
He was in charge of the expedition to Belmont, which, though
successful in the beginning, had ended almost in disaster. Having
credentials from the Secretary of War, I entered the head-quarters of
the commanding officer, and found a man of medium stature, thick set,
with blue eyes, and brown beard closely cropped, sitting at a desk. He
was smoking a meerschaum. He wore a plain blue blouse, without any
insignia of rank. His appearance was clerkly. General McClellan, in
Washington, commanded in state, surrounded by brilliant staffs, men in
fine broadcloth, gold braid, plumed hats, and wearing clanking sabres.
Orderlies and couriers were usually numerous at head-quarters.
"Is General Grant in?" was the question directed to the clerk in the
corner.
"Yes, sir," said the man, removing his meerschaum from his mouth, and
spitting with unerring accuracy into a spittoon by his side.
"Will you be kind enough to give this letter to him."
But the clerk, instead of carrying it into an adjoining room, to
present it to the commander-in-chief, opened it, ran his eye rapidly
over the contents, and said, "I am happy to make your acquaintance,
sir. Colonel Webster will give you a pass."
Such was my first interview with General Grant. I have seen him many
times since,--in the hour of victory, at Donelson; in the shadow of
the cloud, after Pittsburg Landing; during the fearful days of the
Wilderness; in the last great hours of triumph, with Lee and his army
paroled prisoners of war; and there has ever been the same quiet,
gentlemanly deportment.
The large hall of the St. Charles Hotel was the general resort of
officers, soldiers, guests, and citizens. I was conversing with a
friend the same afternoon when a short, muscular, quick-walking man,
in the prime of life, wearing a navy uniform, entered. His countenance
would attract attention even in a crowd, it was so mild, peaceful, and
pleasant. My friend introduced him as Commander Foote.
"I shall be pleased to see you at my office, which is on the
wharf-boat. I usually take a little recreation after dinner," said he.
Calling upon him the next day, I found him at leisure, having
despatched the business of the forenoon. There was a Bible on his
table and a hymn-book, and in one corner of the office a large package
of books, just received from the Sunday-School Union, directed to
"Captain A. H. Foote, U. S. N."
Noticing my eyes turned in that direction, he said: "They are for the
sailors; I want to do what I can for the poor fellows. They haven't
any chaplain; I read the service on Sunday and visit the crews, and
talk to them; but it is very little religious instruction which they
receive. I don't allow any work, except what is absolutely necessary,
on Sunday. I believe man and beast need rest one day in seven. I am
trying to persuade the men to leave off their grog rations, with a
fair chance of success."
[Illustration: General Grant.]
He was at leisure, and talked freely of matters relating to the
organization of the fleet. He had to contend with great difficulties.
The department had rendered him but little service. He had done his
best to obtain mortars; had despatched officers to Pittsburg, where
they were cast, but they were all sent East for the New Orleans
fleet. He regretted it exceedingly, for with good ordnance he thought
it would not be a difficult matter to reach New Orleans, though, as he
modestly remarked, quoting the Scriptural proverb, "It becomes not him
who putteth on the harness to boast." He was lacking men. Recruiting
officers had been sent to Chicago, Cleveland, Buffalo, and other lake
ports, but they had signally failed, because the department did not
pay any advance to those in the river service, while on the seaboard
advances were made. He had not men enough to man his gunboats.
[Illustration: General Sherman.]
The department had furnished him with but few new guns. He had been
obliged to take those which were at Sackett's Harbor,--old guns far
inferior to those with which Commodore Du Pont knocked Tybee and
Hilton Head to pieces. He had to get gun-carriages manufactured in
Cincinnati, other things at St. Louis, others at Pittsburg; but
notwithstanding this, had organized a fleet which would throw a
tremendous weight of metal. He was not ready to move, yet would move,
whether ready or not, whenever the word was given. He believed in
fighting at close quarters.